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 II 
 
 SEBASTOPOL 
 
 BY 
 
 COUNT LEO TOLSTOI 
 
 TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH 
 BY 
 
 FRANK D. MILLET 
 
 WITH INTRODUCTION BY \V. D. HOWELLS 
 
 WITH PORTRAIT 
 
 NEW YORK 
 HARPER & BROTHERS, FRANKLIN SQUARE 
 
 1887
 
 
 Copyright, 1887, by Harper & Brothers. 
 
 All rights rcserrca.
 
 LEO TOLSTOI. 
 
 When I read in the excellent essay of 
 M. Ernest Dupuy that " Count Leo N. 
 Tolstoi was born on the 28th of August, 
 1828, at Yasnaya Polyana, a village near 
 Inla, in the government of Inla," I have a 
 sense of lunar remoteness in him. It is as 
 if these geographical expressions were de- 
 scriptive of localities in the ungazetteered 
 regions of the moon; and yet this far-fetched 
 Russian nobleman is precisely the human 
 being with whom at this moment I find my- 
 self in the greatest intimacy; not because 
 I know him, but because I know myself 
 through him ; because he has wa-itten more 
 faithfully of the life common to all men, the 
 universal life which is the most personal 
 life, than any other author whom I have 
 read. This merit the Russian novelists
 
 6 Leo Tolstoi. 
 
 have each in some degree ; Tolstoi has it 
 in pre-eminent degree, and that is why the 
 reading of " Peace and War," " Anna Ka- 
 renina," "My Religion," "Childhood, Boy- 
 hood, and Youth," " Scenes at the Siege of 
 Sebastopol," " The Cossacks," " The Death 
 of Ivan Illitch," " Katia," and " Polikouch- 
 ka," forms an epoch for thoughtful people. 
 In these books you seem to come face to 
 face with human nature for the first time 
 in fiction. All other fiction at times seems 
 fiction ; these alone seem the very truth 
 always. 
 
 The facts of Tolstoi" s life, as one gathers 
 them from the essays of M. Dupuy and of 
 M. Melchoir de Vogue, are briefly that he 
 studied Oriental languages and the law at 
 the University of Kazan ; then entered the 
 army, served in the Crimean war, resigned 
 at its close ; gave himself up to society and 
 literature in St. Petersburg; and finally left 
 the capital for his estates, where he has 
 since lived the life of lowly usefulness which 
 he believes to be the true Christian life. 
 The man whose career was in camps, in
 
 Leo Tolstoi. y 
 
 courts, and in salons, now makes shoes for 
 peasants, and humbly seeks to instruct them 
 and guide them by the little tales he writes 
 for them in the intervals of his great work 
 of newly translating the gospels. He mar- 
 ried the daughter of a German physician of 
 Moscow, and his wife and children share his 
 toils and ideals. Not much more is known 
 of the retirement of this very great man; 
 but I heard that an American traveller who 
 lately passed a day with him found him 
 steadfast in the conviction that withdrew 
 him from society — the conviction that Jesus 
 Christ came into the world to teach men 
 how to live in it, and that He meant liter- 
 ally what He said when He forbade us 
 luxury, war, litigation, unchastity, and hy- 
 pocrisy. His latest book, " Que Faire," is 
 a relentlessly searching statement of the 
 facts and reasons which forced this con- 
 viction upon him. 
 
 It is a sorrowful comment on our Chris- 
 tianity that this frank acceptance of Christ's 
 messao^e seems eccentric and even mad to 
 the world. But it is the " increasing pur-
 
 S Leo Tolstoi. 
 
 pose " which runs through all Tolstoi's work 
 from first to last ; it is what makes him ijreat 
 above all others who have written fiction. 
 It does not much matter where you begin 
 with him ; you feel instantly that the man is 
 mighty, and mighty through his conscience ; 
 that he is not trying to surprise or dazzle 
 you with his art, but that he is trying to 
 make you think clearly and feel rightly 
 about vital things with which " art " has of- 
 ten dealt with diabolical indifference or dia- 
 bolical malevolence. 
 
 I do not know how it is with others to 
 whom these books of Tolstoi's have come, 
 but for my own part I cannot think of them 
 as literature in the artistic sense at all. 
 Some people complain to me, when I praise 
 them, that they are too long, too diffuse, 
 too confused, that the characters' names are 
 hard to pronounce, and that the life they 
 portray is very sad and not amusing. In 
 the presence of these criticisms I can only 
 say that I find them nothing of the kind, 
 but that each history of Tolstoi's is as clear, 
 as orderly, as brief, as something I have lived
 
 Leo Tolstoi. 
 
 9 
 
 through myself; as for the names, they are 
 necessarily Russian. It is when some one 
 tells me they are " pessimistic " that I really 
 despair. I have always supposed pessimism 
 to be the doctrine of the prevalence of evil, 
 and these books perpetually teach me that 
 the good prevails, and always will prevail 
 whenever men put self aside, and strive sim- 
 ply and humbly to be good. We are all so 
 besotted with dreams and vanities that we 
 have come to think that the right will accom- 
 plish itself spectacularly, splendidly; but 
 Tolstoi' makes us know that it never can do 
 so. He teaches such of us as will hear him 
 that the Right is the sum of each man's poor 
 little personal effort to do right, and that the 
 success of this effort means daily, hourly 
 self-renunciation, self-abasement, the sinking 
 of one's pride in absolute squalor before 
 duty. This is not pleasant ; the heroic ideal 
 of righteousness is more picturesque, more 
 attractive ; but is this not the truth ? Let 
 any one try, and see ! I cannot think of 
 any service which imaginative literature has 
 done the race so 2:reat as that which Tolstoi'
 
 10 Leo Tolstoi. 
 
 has done in his conception of Karenin at 
 that crucial moment when the cruelly out- 
 raged man sees that he cannot be good with 
 dignity. This leaves all tricks of fancy, all 
 effects of art, immeasurably behind. 
 
 In fact, Tolstoi' brings us back in his fic- 
 tion, as in his life, to the Christ ideal. " Ex- 
 cept ye become as little children " — that is 
 what he says in every part of his work ; and 
 this w^ork, so incomparably good aesthetical- 
 ly, to my thinking, is still greater ethically. 
 You will not find its lessons put at you, any 
 more than you will those of life. No little 
 traps are sprung for your surprise ; no cal- 
 cium light is thrown upon this climax or 
 that ; no virtue or vice is posed for you ; 
 but if you have ears to hear or eyes to see, 
 listen and look, and you will have the sense 
 of inexhaustible significance. 
 
 I happened to begin with " The Cossacks " 
 — that epic of nature, and of a young man's 
 sorrowful, wandering desire to get into har- 
 mony with the divine scheme of beneficence; 
 then I read "Anna Karenina " — that most 
 tragical history of loss and ruin to brilliancy
 
 Leo Tolstoi. ii 
 
 and loveliness, out of which the good can 
 alone save itself ; then I came to " Peace and 
 War," that great assertion of the sufficiency 
 of common men in all crises, and the insuf- 
 ficiency of heroes ; I found some chapters 
 of the " Scenes at the Siege of Sebastopol," 
 and I read them with a yet keener sense of 
 this truth; " Childhood, Boyhood, and Youth" 
 made me acquainted for the first time in lit- 
 erature with the real heart of the young of 
 our species ; " The Death of Ivan Illitch " 
 expressed the horror and the stress of mor- 
 tality, with its final bliss, and made it a part 
 of Nature as I never had realized it before ; 
 " Polikouchka," slight, broken, almost uncon- 
 cluded,was perfect and powerful and infinite 
 in its scope of mercy and sympathy. 
 
 I know very well that I do not speak of 
 these books in measured terms ; I cannot. 
 As yet my sense of obligation to them is so 
 great that I neither can make nor wish to 
 make a close accounting with their author, 
 and I am not disposed to exploit them for 
 the reader's entertainment. As often as I 
 have tried to do this their aesthetic interest
 
 12 Leo Tolstoi. 
 
 has escaped me. I have been ashamed to 
 tag them with the tattered old adjectives of 
 praise, and I have found myself thinking of 
 them on their ethical side. But they exist 
 increasingly in English and in French, and 
 the best way, the only way, to get a due 
 sense of them is to read them. 
 
 W. D. HOWELLS.
 
 / 
 
 SEBASTOPOL IN DECEMBER, 183^
 
 SEB ASTOPOL. 
 
 SEBASTOPOL IN DECEMBER, 1854. 
 
 Dawn tinges the horizon above Mount 
 Sapoune; the shadows of the night have left 
 the surface of the sea, which, now dark blue 
 in color, only awaits the first ray of sunshine 
 to sparkle merrily ; a cold wind blows from 
 the fog-enveloped bay ; there is no snow on 
 the ground, the earth is black, but frost 
 stinors the face and cracks underfoot. The 
 quiet of the morning is disturbed only by 
 the incessant murmuring of the waves, and 
 is broken at long intervals by the dull roar 
 of cannon. All is silent on the men-of-war ; 
 the hour-glass has just marked the eighth 
 hour. Towards the north the activity of 
 day replaces little by little the tranquillity 
 of night. On this side a detachment of sol- 
 diers is going to relieve the guard, and the 
 click of their guns can be heard ; a surgeon
 
 i6 Sebastopol, 
 
 hurries towards his hospital; a soldier crawls 
 out of kis hut, washes his sunburned face 
 with icy water, turns towards the east, and 
 repeats a prayer, making rapid signs of the 
 cross. On that side an enormous, heavy 
 cart with creaking wheels reaches the cem- 
 etery where they are going to bury the 
 corpses heaped almost to the top of the vehi- 
 cle. Approach the harbor and you are disa- 
 greeably surprised by a mixture of odors; you 
 smell coal, manure, moisture, meat. There 
 are thousands of different objects : wood, 
 flour, gabions, beef, thrown in heaps here 
 and there; soldiers of different regiments, 
 some provided with guns and with bags, 
 others with neither guns nor bags, crowd 
 together ; they smoke, they quarrel, and they 
 bear loads upon the steamer stationed near 
 the plank bridge and ready to sail. Small 
 private boats, filled with all sorts of people 
 — soldiers, sailors, merchants, and women — 
 are constantly arriving and departing. " This 
 way for Grafskaya !" and two or three re- 
 tired sailors rise in their boats and offer you 
 their services. You choose the nearest one, 
 stride over the half-decomposed body of a 
 black horse lying in the mud two steps from
 
 December^ 18^4. ly 
 
 the boat, and seat yourself near the helm. 
 You push off from the shore ; all around 
 you the sea sparkles in the morning sun ; in 
 front of you an old sailor in an overcoat of 
 camel's-hair cloth and a lad with blond hair 
 are diligently rowing. You turn your eyes 
 upon the gigantic ships with scratched hulls 
 scattered over the harbor, upon the shallops, 
 — black dots on the sparkling azure of the 
 water — upon the pretty houses of the town, 
 to whose light-colored tones the rising sun 
 gives a rosy tinge, upon the hostile fleet 
 standing like light-houses in the crystalline 
 distance of the sea, and, at last, upon the 
 foaming waves, where play the salt drops 
 which the oars dash into the air. You 
 hear at the same time the regular sound of 
 voices which comes over the water, and the 
 grand roar of the cannonade at Sebastopol, 
 which seems to increase in strength as you 
 listen. 
 
 At the thought that you, you also, are in 
 Sebastopol, your whole soul is filled with a 
 sentiment of pride and of valor, and your 
 blood runs quicker in your veins. 
 
 " Straight towards the Constantine, your 
 excellency," says the old sailor, turning 
 
 2
 
 1 8 _ Sebastopol. 
 
 around to the direction you are giving to 
 the helm. 
 
 " Look ! she has still got all her cannons," 
 remarks the lad with the blond hair as the 
 boat glides along the side of the ship. 
 
 " She is quite new, she ought to have 
 them. Korniloff lives on board," repeats 
 the old man, examining in his turn the man- 
 of-war. 
 
 " There ! it has burst !" cries the lad, after 
 a long silence, his eyes fixed upon a small 
 white cloud of drifting smoke suddenly ap- 
 pearing in the sky above the south bay, and 
 accompanied by the strident noise of a shell 
 explosion. 
 
 " They are firing from the new battery to- 
 day," adds the sailor, calmly spitting in his 
 hand. " Come along, Nichka ; pull away. 
 Let's pass the shallop." 
 
 And the small boat moves rapidly over 
 the undulating surface of the bay, leaves the 
 heavy shallop behind laden with bags and 
 with soldiers, unskilful rowers who are pull- 
 ing awkwardly, and at last lands in the mid- 
 dle of a great number of boats moored to 
 the shore in the harbor of Grafskaya. A 
 crowd of soldiers in gray overcoats, sailors
 
 December, 18^4. ig 
 
 in black jackets, and women in motley gowns 
 comes and goes on the quay. Some peas- 
 ants are selling bread ; others, seated beside 
 their samovars, offer to customers warm 
 drink. 
 
 Here, on the upper steps of the landing, 
 are strewn about, pell-mell, rusty shot, shell, 
 canister, cast-iron cannon of different cali- 
 bres ; there, farther away, in a great open 
 square, are lying enormous joists, gun-car- 
 riages, sleeping soldiers. On one side are 
 wagons, horses, cannon, artillery caissons, 
 stacks of muskets ; farther on, soldiers, sail- 
 ors, officers, women, and children are mov- 
 ing about ; carts full of bread, bags, and bar- 
 rels, a Cossack on horseback, a general in his 
 droschky, are crossing the square. A bar- 
 ricade looms up in the street to the right, 
 and in its embrasures are small cannon, be- 
 side which a sailor is sitting quietly smok- 
 ing his pipe. On the left stands a pretty 
 house, on the pediment of which are scrawl- 
 ed numerals, and above can be seen soldiers 
 and blood-stained stretchers. The dismal 
 traces of a camp in war-time meet the eye 
 everywhere. Your first impression is, doubt- 
 less, a disagreeable one ; the strange amal-
 
 20 Sebastopol. 
 
 gamation of town life with camp life, of an 
 elegant city and a dirt}^ bivouac, strikes you 
 like a hideous incongruity. It seems to you 
 that all, overcome by terror, are acting vac- 
 uously; but if you examine the faces of those 
 men who are moving about you, you will 
 think differently. Look well at this soldier 
 of the wagon-train who is leading his bay 
 troitka horses to drink, humming through 
 his teeth, and you shall find that he does not 
 go astray in this confused crowd, which in 
 fact does not exist for him, for he is full of 
 his own business, and will do his duty, what- 
 ever it is — will lead his horses to the water- 
 ing-place or drag a cannon with as much 
 calm and assured indifference as if he were 
 at Toula or at Saransk. You notice the 
 same expression on the face of this officer, 
 with his irreproachable white gloves, who is 
 passing before you, of that sailor who sits on 
 the barricade smoking, of the soldiers who 
 wait with their stretchers at the door of 
 what was lately the Assembly Hall, even 
 upon the face of the young girl who crosses 
 the street, leaping from stone to stone for 
 fear of soiling her pink dress. Yes, a great 
 deception awaits you on your arrival at Se-
 
 December, 18^4. 21 
 
 bastopol. In vain you seek to discover upon 
 any face traces of agitation, fright, indeed 
 even enthusiasm, resignation to death, reso- 
 lution; there is nothing of all that. You 
 see the course of every - day life ; see peo- 
 ple occupied with their daily toils, so that, 
 in fact, you blame yourself for your exag- 
 gerated exaltation, and doubt not only the 
 truth of the opinion you have formed from 
 hearsay about the heroism of the defenders 
 of Sebastopol, but also doubt the accuracy 
 of the description which has been given you 
 on the north side and the sinister sounds 
 which fill the air there. Before doubting, 
 however, go up to a bastion, see the defend- 
 ers of Sebastopol on the very place of the 
 defence, or rather enter straight into this 
 house at whose door stand the stretcher- 
 bearers. You will see there the heroes of 
 the army, you will see there horrible and 
 heart-rending sights, both sublime and com- 
 ic, but wonderful and of a soul-elevatinor nat- 
 ure. Enter this great hall, which before the 
 war was the hall of the Assembly. Scarce- 
 ly have you opened the door before the 
 odor exhaled from forty or fifty amputations 
 and severe wounds turns you sick. You
 
 22 Sebastopol. 
 
 must not yield to the feeling which keeps 
 you on the threshold of the room, it is an 
 unworthy feeling; go boldly in, and not 
 blush at having come to look at these mar- 
 tyrs. You may approach and speak with 
 them. The wretches like to see a pitying 
 face, to relate their sufferings, and to hear 
 words of charity and sympathy. Passing 
 down the middle between the beds, you look 
 for the face which is the least rigid, the least 
 contracted by pain, and on finding it decide 
 to go near and put a question. 
 
 " Where are you wounded V you hesitat- 
 ingly ask an old, emaciated soldier, seated 
 on his bed, watching you with a kindly look, 
 and apparently inviting you to approach. 
 You have, I say, put this question hesitating- 
 ly, because the sight of the sufferer inspires 
 not only a lively pity, but also a sort of 
 dread of hurting his feelings, joined with a 
 profound respect. 
 
 "On the foot," replies the soldier; and 
 nevertheless you notice by the folds of the 
 blanket that his leg has been cut off above 
 the knee. 
 
 "God be praised!" he adds, "I shall be 
 discharged."
 
 December, 18^4. 2j 
 
 " Were you wounded long since ?" 
 " It is the sixth week, your excellency." 
 " Where do you feel badly now ?" 
 " Nowhere only in my calf when it is bad 
 weather ; nothing but that." 
 " How did it happen ?" 
 " On the fifth bastion, your excellency, in 
 the first bombardment. I had just sighted 
 the cannon, and was going quietly to the 
 other embrasure, when suddenly something 
 struck my foot. I thought I had fallen into 
 a hole. I looked — my leg was gone !" 
 " You didn't have any pain at first, then ,?" 
 " None at all, only just as if I had scald- 
 ed my leg ; that's all." 
 " And afterwards ?" 
 
 " None afterwards, only when they stretch- 
 ed the skin ; that was a little rough. First 
 of all things, your excellency, we mustn't 
 think. When we don't think we don't feel. 
 When a man thinks, it is the worse for 
 im. 
 Meanwhile, a woman dressed in gray, with 
 a black kerchief tied around her head, ap- 
 proaches, joins in the conversation, and be- 
 gins to give a detailed account of the sailor : 
 how he has suffered, how his life was de-
 
 2^ Sebastopol. 
 
 spaired of for four weeks, how, when wound- 
 ed, he made them stop the stretcher on which 
 he was being carried to the rear in order to 
 watch the discharge of our battery, and how 
 the grand-dukes had spoken with him, had 
 given him twenty -five rubles, and how he 
 had rephed that, not being able to serve any 
 more himself, he would like to come back to 
 the bastion to train the conscripts. The 
 good woman, her eyes sparkling with en- 
 thusiasm, relates this in one breath, looking 
 at you and then at the sailor, who turns 
 away and pretends not to hear, busy with 
 picking lint from his pillow. 
 
 " It is my wife, your excellency," says the 
 sailor at last, with an intonation of voice 
 which seems to say, " You must excuse her; 
 all that is woman's foolish prattle, you 
 know." 
 
 You then begin to understand what the 
 defenders of Sebastopol are, and you are 
 ashamed of yourself in the presence of this 
 man. You would have liked to express all 
 your admiration for him, all your sympathy, 
 but the words will not come, or those which 
 do come are worthless, and you can only 
 bow in silence before this unconscious gran-
 
 December, 18^4. 2^ 
 
 deur, before this firmness of soul and this 
 exquisite shame of his own merit. 
 
 "Ah, well, may God speedily cure you!" 
 you say, and you stop before another wound- 
 ed man lying on the floor, who, suffering 
 horrible pain, seems to be awaiting his death. 
 He is blond, and his pale face is much swol- 
 len. Stretched on his back, his left hand 
 thrown up, his position indicates acute 
 suffering. His hissing breath escapes with 
 difficulty from his dry, half- open mouth. 
 The glassy blue pupils of his eyes are rolled 
 up under the eyelids, and a mutilated arm, 
 wrapped in bandages, sticks out from under 
 the tumbled blanket. A nauseating, corpse- 
 like odor rises to your nostrils, and the fever 
 which burns the sufferer's limbs seems to 
 penetrate your own body. 
 
 " Is he unconscious T' you ask of the 
 woman who kindly accompanies you, and 
 to whom you are no longer a stranger. 
 
 " No ; he can still hear, but he is very 
 bad ;" and she adds, under her breath, " I 
 have just made him drink a little tea. He 
 is nothing to me, only I have pity on him ; 
 indeed, he has only been able to swallow a 
 few mouthfuls."
 
 26 Sebastopol. 
 
 " How do you feel ?" you ask him. 
 
 At the sound of your voice the wounded 
 man's eyes turn towards you, but he neither 
 sees nor understands. 
 
 " That burns my heart !" he murmurs. 
 
 A little farther on an old soldier is chang- 
 ing his clothes. His face and his body are 
 both of the same brown color, and as thin 
 as a skeleton. One of his arms has been 
 amputated at the shoulder. He is seated 
 on his bed, he is out of danger, but from 
 his dull, lifeless look, from his frightful thin- 
 ness, from his wrinkled face, you see that 
 this creature has already passed the greater 
 part of his existence in suffering. 
 
 On the opposite bed you see the pale, del- 
 icate, pain-shrivelled face of a woman whose 
 cheeks are flushed with fever. 
 
 " It is a sailor's wife. A shell hit her on 
 the foot while she was carrying dinner to 
 her husband in the bastion," says the guide. 
 
 " Has it been amputated ?" 
 
 " Above the knee." 
 
 Now, if your nerves are strong, enter there 
 at the left. It is the operating-room. There 
 you see surgeons with pale and serious coun- 
 tenances, their arms blood - splashed to the
 
 December, 18^4. 2"/ 
 
 elbows, beside the bed of a wounded man, 
 who, stretched on his back with open eyes, 
 is delirious under the influence of chloro- 
 form, and utters broken phrases, some un- 
 important, some touching. The surgeons 
 are busy with their repulsive but beneficent 
 task, amputation. You see the curved and 
 keen blade penetrate the healthy white flesh. 
 The wounded man suddenly comes to him- 
 self with heart-rending cries, with curses. 
 The assistant surgeon throws the arm into 
 a corner, while another wounded man on a 
 stretcher who sees the operation turns and 
 groans, more on account of the mental tort- 
 ure of expectation than from the physical 
 pain he feels. You will witness these horrible, 
 heart-rending scenes ; you will see war with- 
 out the brilliant and accurate alignment of 
 troops, without music, without the drum-roll, 
 without standards flying in the wind, with- 
 out galloping generals — you will see it as it 
 is, in blood, in suffering, and in death ! Leav- 
 ing this house of pain, you will experience a 
 certain impression of well-being, you will 
 take long breaths of fresh air, and will be 
 glad to feel yourself in good health ; but at 
 the same time the contemplation of these
 
 28 Sebastoj)ol. 
 
 misfortunes will have convinced you of your 
 own insignificance, and you will go up into 
 a bastion without hesitation. What are the 
 sufferings and the death of an atom like me, 
 you will ask yourself, in comparison with 
 these innumerable suffering's and deaths ? 
 Besides, in a short tmie the sight of the pure 
 sky, of the bright sun, of the pretty city, of 
 the open church, of the soldiers coming and 
 going in all directions, raises your spirits to 
 their normal state. Habitual indifference, 
 preoccupation with the present and with its 
 petty interests, resume the ascendant. Per- 
 haps you will meet on your way the funeral 
 corteore of an officer — a red coffin followed 
 by a band and by unfurled standards — and 
 perhaps the roar of the cannonade on the 
 bastion will strike your ear, but your thoughts 
 of a few moments before will not come back 
 again. The funeral will only be a pretty 
 picture for you, the growl of the cannon a 
 grand military accompaniment, and there 
 will be nothing in common between this 
 picture, these sounds, and the clear, person- 
 al impression of suffering and death called 
 up by the sight of the operating-room. 
 Pass the church, the barricade, and you
 
 December, 18^4, 2g 
 
 enter the most animated, the HveUest quar- 
 ter of the city. On both sides of the street 
 are shop signs, eating-house signs. Here 
 are merchants, women with men's hats or 
 with handkerchiefs on their heads, officers 
 in elegant uniforms. Everything testifies to 
 the courage, the assurance, the safety of the 
 inhabitants. 
 
 Enter this restaurant on the right. If 
 you want to Hsten to the sailors' and the 
 officers' talk, you will hear them relate the 
 incidents of the night before, of the affair 
 of the 24th; hear them grumble at the high 
 price of the badly cooked cutlets, and men- 
 tion the comrade recently killed. 
 
 " Devil take me ! we are badly off where 
 we are now," says the bass voice of a pale, 
 blond, beardless, newly appointed officer, his 
 neck wTapped in a green knit scarf. 
 
 " Where is that T some one asks. 
 
 " In the fourth bastion," replies the young 
 officer; and at this reply you attentively 
 look at him, and feel a certain respect for 
 him. His exasf aerated carelessness, his vio- 
 lent gestures, his too loud laughter, which 
 would shortly before have seemed to you 
 impudent, become in your eyes the index of
 
 JO Sebastopol. 
 
 a certain kind of combative spirit common 
 to all young people who are exposed to 
 great danger, and you are sure he is going 
 to explain that it is on account of the shells 
 and the bullets that they are so badly off in 
 the fourth bastion. Nothing of the kind ! 
 They are badly off there because the mud 
 is deep. 
 
 " Impossible to get up to the battery," he 
 says, pointing to his boots, muddied even to 
 the upper-leathers. 
 
 " My best gun captain was instantly killed 
 to-day by a ball in his forehead," rejoins a 
 comrade. 
 
 " Who was it .? Mituchine .?" 
 
 " No, another man. — Look here ! are you 
 never going to bring me my chop, you vil- 
 lain T says he, speaking to the waiter. — " It 
 was Abrossinoff, as brave a man as lived. 
 He took part in six sorties." 
 
 At the other end of the table two infan- 
 try officers are eating veal cutlets with green 
 pease washed down by sour Crimean wine, 
 by courtesy called Bordeaux. One of them, 
 a young man with red collar and two stars 
 on his coat, is telling to his neighbor with 
 a black collar and no stars the details of the
 
 December, iS^^. ji 
 
 fight on the Alma. The first is a little the 
 worse for liquor. His frequently interrupt- 
 ed tale, his uncertain look, which reflects the 
 lack of confidence which his story inspires 
 in his auditor, the fine part he gives himself, 
 the too high color of his picture, lead you 
 to guess that he is wandering away from 
 the absolute truth. But you haven't any- 
 thing to do with these tales, which you will 
 hear for a long time yet in the farthest cor- 
 ners of Russia; you have one wish alone, 
 that is, to go straight to the fourth bastion, 
 which you have heard so many and so va- 
 ried reports about. You will notice that 
 whoever tells you he has been there says it 
 with pride and satisfaction ; that w^hoever is 
 getting ready to go there either shows a lit- 
 tle emotion or affects an exaggerated sa7tg- 
 froid. If one man is joking with another, 
 he will invariably tell him, "Go to the fourth 
 bastion !" If a wounded man on a stretcher 
 is met, and he is asked where he comes from, 
 he will answer, almost without fail, " From 
 the fourth bastion !" Two completely dif- 
 ferent notions of this terrible earthwork have 
 been circulated; the first by those who have 
 never put their foot upon it, and for whom
 
 J2 Sebastopol. 
 
 it is the inevitable tomb of its defenders, the 
 second by those who, like the little blond 
 officer, liv^e there and simply speak of it, say- 
 ing it is dry or muddy there, warm or cold. 
 During the half hour you have been in the 
 restaurant the weather has changed and the 
 fog which spread over the sea has risen. 
 Thick, gray, moist clouds hide the sun. 
 The sky is gloomy, and a fine rain mixed 
 with snow is falling, wetting the roofs, the 
 sidewalks, and the soldiers' overcoats. After 
 passing one more barricade you go along up 
 the broad street. There are no more shop- 
 signs ; the houses are uninhabitable, the 
 doors fastened up with boards, the windows 
 broken. On this side the corner of a wall 
 has been carried away, on that side the roof 
 has been broken in. The buildings look 
 like old veterans tried by grief and mis- 
 ery, and stare at you with pride, one might 
 say with disdain even. On the way you 
 stumble over cannon-balls and into holes, 
 filled with water, which the shells have made 
 in the rocky ground. You pass detach- 
 ments of soldiers and officers. You occa- 
 sionally meet a woman or a child, but here 
 the woman does not wear a hat. As for the
 
 December, i8^^. jj 
 
 sailor's wife, she wears an old fur cloak, and 
 has soldiers' boots on her feet. The street 
 now leads down a gentle declivity, but there 
 are no more houses around you, nothing 
 but shapeless masses of stones, of boards, of 
 beams, and of clay. Before you, on a steep 
 hill, stretches a black space, all muddy, and 
 cut up with ditches. What you are look- 
 ing at is the fourth bastion. 
 
 Passers become rare, no more women are 
 met. The soldiers walk with rapid step. 
 A few drops of blood stain the path, and you 
 see coming towards you four soldiers bear- 
 ing a stretcher, and on the stretcher a face 
 of a sallow paleness and a bloody coat. If 
 you ask the bearers where he is wounded, 
 they will reply, with an irritated tone, with- 
 out looking at you, that he has been hit on 
 the arm or on the leg. If his head has 
 been carried away, if he is dead, they will 
 keep a morose silence. 
 
 The near whiz of balls and shells Gfives 
 you a disagreeable impression while you are 
 climbing the hill, and suddenly you have an 
 entirely different idea from the one you re- 
 cently had of the meaning of the cannon- 
 shots heard in the city. I do not know 
 3
 
 J 4 Sebasiopol. 
 
 what placid and sweet souvenir will sudden- 
 ly shine out in your memory. Your intimate 
 ego will occupy you so actively that you will 
 no longer think of noticing your surround- 
 ings. You will permit yourself to be over- 
 come by a painful feeling of irresolution. 
 However, the sight of a soldier who, with 
 extended arms, is slipping down the hill in 
 the liquid mud, and passes near you, running 
 and laughing, silences your small inward 
 voice, the cowardly counsellor which arises 
 in you in the presence of danger. You 
 straighten up in spite of yourself, you raise 
 your head, and you, in your turn, scale the 
 slippery slope of the clay hill. You have 
 scarcely gone a step before musket -balls 
 hum in your ears, and you ask yourself if it 
 would not be preferable to go under cover 
 of the trench thrown up parallel with the 
 path. But the trench is full of a yellow, 
 fetid, liquid mud, so that you are obliged to 
 go on in the path ; all the more since it is 
 the way everybody goes. At the end of 
 two hundred paces you come out on a place 
 surrounded by gabions, embankments, shel- 
 ters, platforms supporting enormous cast- 
 iron cannon, and heaps of symmetrically
 
 December, 18^4. j>5 
 
 piled cannon-balls. These heaps of things 
 give you the impression of a strange and 
 aimless disorder. Here on the battery as- 
 sembles a group of sailors ; there in the 
 middle of the enclosure lies a dismount- 
 ed cannon, half buried in the sticky mud, 
 through which an infantryman, musket in 
 hand, is going to the battery, pulling out 
 with difficulty first one foot and then the 
 other. Everywhere in this liquid mud 
 you see broken glass, unexploded shells, 
 cannon-balls — every trace of camp life. 
 You seem to hear the noise of a cannon- 
 ball falling only two yards away, and from 
 all sides come the sound of balls, which 
 sometimes hum like bees, sometimes groan 
 and split the air, which vibrates like a violin- 
 string, the whole dominated by the sinister 
 rumbling of cannon, which shakes you from 
 head to foot and fills you with terror. 
 
 This is, then, the fourth bastion, this real- 
 ly terrible place, you say to yourself, feeling 
 a little pride and a great deal of repressed 
 fear. Not at all ! You are the sport of an 
 illusion. This is not yet the fourth bastion ; 
 it is the Jason redoubt, a place which, com- 
 paratively, is neither dangerous nor fright-
 
 j6 Scbasiopol. 
 
 ful. In order to reach the fourth bastion 
 you enter the narrow trench which the in- 
 fantryman follows, stooping over. You will 
 perhaps see more stretchers, sailors, soldiers 
 with spades, wires leading to the mines, 
 earth -shelters equally muddy, into which 
 only two men can crawl, and where the bat- 
 talions of the Black Sea Sharpshooters live, 
 eat, smoke, and put their boots on and off, 
 in the midst of the debris of cast-iron of ev- 
 ery form thrown here and there. You will 
 perhaps find here four or five sailors playing 
 cards in the shelter of the parapet, and a 
 naval officer, who, seeing a new face come 
 up, and a spectator at that, will be really 
 pleased to initiate you into the details of the 
 arrangements and give you an explanation 
 of them. This officer, seated on a cannon, 
 is rolling a cigarette with such coolness, 
 passes so quietly from one embrasure to an- 
 other, and talks with you with such natural 
 calmness, that you recover your own sang- 
 froid^ in spite of the balls which are whist- 
 ling here in greater numbers. You ask him 
 questions, and even listen to his tales. The 
 sailor will describe to you, if you will only 
 ask him, the bombardment of the 5th, the
 
 Decefuber, 18^4. jy 
 
 state of his battery with a single serviceable 
 cannon, his men reduced to eight, and, more- 
 over, on the morning of the 6th, the battery- 
 fired with every gun. He will tell you also 
 how, on the 5th, a shell penetrated a bomb- 
 proof and struck down eleven sailors. He 
 will show you, through the embrasure, the 
 enemy's trenches and batteries, which are 
 only thirty or forty fathoms distant. I fear, 
 however, that, leaning out of the embrasure 
 in order to examine the enemy better, you 
 will see nothing, or that, if you perceive 
 something, you will be very much surprised 
 to learn that this white and rocky rampart 
 a few steps away, and from which are spout- 
 ing little clouds of smoke, is really the en- 
 emy — "///;;2," as the soldiers and sailors 
 say. 
 
 It is very possible that the ofHcer, either 
 through vanity or simply, without reflection, 
 to amuse himself, will be willing to have 
 them fire for you. At his order the captain 
 of the gun and the men, fourteen sailors all 
 told, gayly approach the cannon to load it, 
 some chewing biscuit, others cramming their 
 short pipes in their pockets, while their hob- 
 nailed shoes clatter on the platform. No-
 
 ^8 Sebastopol, 
 
 tice the faces of these men, their bearing, 
 their movements, and you will recognize in 
 each of the wrinkles of their sunburned faces 
 with high cheek-bones, in each muscle, in 
 the breadth of the shoulders, in the thick- 
 ness of the feet shod with colossal boots, in 
 each calm and bold gesture, the principal 
 elements that make up the strength of Rus- 
 sia — simplicity and obstinacy. You will 
 also see that danger, misery, and suffering 
 in the war will have imprinted on these 
 faces the consciousness of their dignity, of 
 high thoughts, of a sentiment. 
 
 Suddenly a deafening noise makes you 
 quake from head to foot. You hear at the 
 same instant the shot whistling away, while 
 a thick powder-smoke envelops the platform 
 and the black figures of sailors moving 
 about. Listen to their conversation, notice 
 their animation, and you w411 discover among 
 them a feeling which you would not expect 
 to meet — that of hatred of the enemy, of 
 vencreance. " It fell straisrht into the em- 
 brasure ; two killed. Look ! they are car- 
 rying them away," and they shout for joy. 
 " But he is getting angry now, he is going 
 to hit back," says a voice, and in truth you
 
 December^ 18^4. jg 
 
 see at the same instant a flash and spurting 
 smoke, and the sentinel on the parapet calls, 
 " Cannon !" A ball whizzes in your ears 
 and buries itself in the ground, digging it 
 up and casting around a shower of earth 
 and stones. The commander of the battery 
 gets angry, renews the order to load a sec- 
 ond, a third gun. The enemy replies, and 
 you experience interesting sensations. The 
 sentinel again calls, " Cannon !" and the same 
 sound, the same blow, and the same throw- 
 ing up of earth are repeated. If, on the 
 other hand, he cries, " Mortar !'' you will be 
 struck by a regular, not disagreeable hiss- 
 ing, which has no connection in your mind 
 with anything terrible. It comes nearer and 
 with greater rapidity. You see the black 
 ball fall to the ground, and the bomb-shell 
 burst with a metallic cracking. The pieces 
 fly in air, w^iistling and screeching ; stones 
 hit each other, and mud splashes over you. 
 You feel a strange mixture of pleasure and 
 fright at these different sounds. At the 
 instant the projectile reaches you, you in- 
 variably think it will kill you. But pride 
 keeps you up, and no one notices the dag- 
 ger that is digging into your heart. So
 
 40 SebastopoL 
 
 when it has passed without grazing you, 
 you live again ; for an instant a feeling of 
 indescribable sweetness possesses you to 
 such a degree that you find a special charm 
 in danger, in the game of life and death. 
 You would like to have a ball or a shell fall 
 nearer, very near you. But the sentinel an- 
 nounces with his strong, full voice, '* Mor- 
 tar!" The hissing, the blow, the explosion 
 are repeated, but accompanied this time by 
 a human groan. You go up to the wound- 
 ed man at the same time with the stretcher- 
 bearers. He has a strange look, lying in 
 the mud mingled with his blood. Part of 
 his chest has been carried away. In the 
 first moment his mud-splashed face express- 
 es only fright and the premature sensation 
 of pain, a feeling familiar to man in this sit- 
 uation. But when thev brin^ the stretcher 
 to him, and he unassisted lies down on it on 
 his uninjured side, an exalted expression, 
 elevated but restrained thoughts, enliven his 
 features. With brilliant eyes and shut teeth 
 he raises his head with an effort, and at the 
 moment the stretcher-bearers move he stops 
 them, and addressing his comrades with 
 trembling voice, says, " Good-by, brothers !"
 
 December^ i8^^. ^i 
 
 He would like to say something more, he 
 seems to be trying to find something touch- 
 ing to say, but he limits himself to repeat- 
 ing, " Good-by, brothers !" A comrade ap- 
 proaches the wounded man, puts his cap on 
 his head for him, and turns back to his can- 
 non with a gesture of perfect indifference. 
 At the sight of your terrified expression of 
 face the officer, yawning, and rolling between 
 his fingers a cigarette in yellow paper, says, 
 " So it is every day, up to seven or eight 
 men." 
 
 You have just seen the defenders of Se- 
 bastopol on the very place of the defence, 
 and, strange to say, you will retrace your 
 steps without paying the least attention to 
 the bullets and balls which continue to whis- 
 tle the whole length of the road as far as 
 the ruins of the theatre. You walk with 
 calmness, your soul elevated and strength- 
 ened, for you bring away the consoling con- 
 viction that never, and in no place, can the 
 strength of the Russian people be broken ; 
 and you have gained this conviction not 
 from the solidity of the parapets, from the in- 
 geniously combined intrenchments,from the 
 number of mines, from the cannon heaped
 
 42 SebastopoL 
 
 one on the other, and all of which you 
 have not in the least understood, but from 
 the eyes, the words, the bearing, from what 
 may be called the spirit of the defenders of 
 Sebastopol. 
 
 There is so much simplicity and so little 
 effort in what they do that you are per- 
 suaded that they could, if it were necessary, 
 do a hundred times more, that they could 
 do everything. You judge that the senti- 
 ment that impels them is not the one you 
 have experienced, mean and vain, but anoth- 
 er and more powerful one, which has made 
 men of them, living tranquilly in the mud, 
 working and watching among the bullets, 
 with a hundred chances to one of beino: 
 killed, contrary to the common lot of their 
 kind. It is not for a cross, for rank ; it is 
 not that they are threatened into submit- 
 ting to such terrible conditions of existence. 
 There must be another, a higher motive 
 power. This motive power is found in a 
 sentiment which rarely shows itself, which 
 is concealed with modesty, but which is deep- 
 ly rooted in every Russian heart — patriot- 
 ism. It is now only that the tales that cir- 
 culated during the first period of the siege
 
 December, 18^4. 4 J 
 
 of Sebastopol, when there were neither 
 fortifications, nor troops, nor material pos- 
 sibility of holding out there, and when, 
 moreover, no one admitted the thought of 
 surrender — it is now only that the anecdote 
 of Korniloff, that hero worthy of antique 
 Greece, who said to his troops, " Children, 
 we will die, but we will not surrender Se- 
 bastopol," and the reply of our brave sol- 
 diers, incapable of using set speeches, " We 
 will die, hurrah !" — it is now only that these 
 stories have ceased to be to you beautiful 
 historical legends, since they have become 
 truth, facts. You will easily picture to your- 
 self, in the place of those you have just seen, 
 the heroes of this period of trial, who never 
 lost courage, and who joyfully prepared to 
 die, not for the defence of the city, but for 
 the defence of the country. Russia will long 
 preserve the sublime traces of the epoch of 
 Sebastopol, of which the Russian people 
 were the heroes ! 
 
 Day closes ; the sun, disappearing at the 
 horizon, shines through the gray clouds 
 which surround it, and lights up with pur- 
 ple rays the rippling sea with its green re- 
 flections, covered with ships and boats, the
 
 44 Sebastopol. 
 
 white houses of the city, and the population 
 stirring there. On the boulevard a regi- 
 mental band is playing an old waltz, which 
 sounds far over the water, and to which the 
 cannonade of the bastions forms a strange 
 and striking accompaniment.
 
 SEBASTOPOL IN MA V, 1833
 
 SEBASTOPOL IN MA V, 1855. 
 
 Six months had rolled by since the first 
 bomb-shell thrown from the bastions of Se- 
 bastopol ploughed up the soil and cast it 
 upon the enemy's works. Since that time 
 millions of bombs, bullets, and balls had 
 never ceased flying from bastions to trench- 
 es, from trenches to bastions, and the angel 
 of death had constantly hovered over them. 
 
 The self-love of thousands of human be- 
 ings had been sometimes wounded, some- 
 times satisfied, sometimes soothed in the 
 embrace of death ! What numbers of red 
 coffins with coarse palls! — and the bastions 
 still continued to roar. The French in their 
 camp, moved by an involuntary feeling of 
 anxiety and terror, examined in the soft even- 
 ing light the yellow and burrowed earth of 
 the bastions of Sebastopol, where the black 
 silhouettes of our sailors came and went; they 
 counted the embrasures bristling with fierce- 
 looking cannon. On the telegraph tower an
 
 4^ Sebastopol. 
 
 under-officer was watchino: throusfh his field- 
 glass the enemy's soldiers, their batteries, 
 their tents, the movements of their troops 
 on the Mamelon-Vert, and the smoke ascend- 
 ing from the trenches. A crowd composed 
 of heterogeneous races, moved by quite dif- 
 ferent desires, converged from all parts of 
 the world towards this fatal spot. Powder 
 and blood had not succeeded in solvinor the 
 question which diplomats could not settle. 
 
 A regimental band was playing in the be- 
 sieged city of Sebastopol; a crowd of sol- 
 diers and women in Sunday best was prom- 
 enading in the avenues. The clear sun of 
 spring had risen upon the English works, 
 had passed over the fortifications, over the 
 city, and over the Nicholas barracks, shed- 
 ding everywhere its just and joyous light; 
 now it was setting into the blue distance of 
 the sea, which gently rippled, sparkling with 
 silvery reflections. 
 
 An infantry officer of tall stature and 
 with a slight stoop, busy putting on gloves 
 of doubtful whiteness, though still presenta- 
 ble, came out of one of the small sailor-
 
 May, iSs5' 49 
 
 houses built on the left side of Marine 
 Street. He directed his steps towards the 
 boulevard, fixing his eyes in a distracted 
 manner on the toe of his boots. The ex- 
 pression of his ill-favored face did not de- 
 note a high intellectual capacity, but traits 
 of good-fellowship, good sense, honesty, and 
 love of order were to be plainly recognized 
 there. He was not well-built, and seemed 
 to feel some confusion at the awkwardness 
 of his own motions. He had a well-worn 
 cap on his head, and on his shoulders a light 
 cloak of a curious purplish color, under 
 which could be seen his watch-chain, his 
 trousers with straps, and his clean and well- 
 polished boots. If his features had not 
 clearly indicated his pure Russian origin 
 he would have been taken for a German, 
 for an aide-de-camp, or for a regimental bag- 
 gage-master — he wore no spurs, to be sure — 
 or for one of those cavalry officers who have 
 been exchanged in order to take active serv- 
 ice. In fact, he was one of the latter, and 
 while going up to the boulevard he was 
 thinking of a letter he had just received 
 from an ex-comrade, now a landholder in 
 the Government of F ; he was thinking 
 
 4
 
 50 Sebastopol. 
 
 of his comrade's wife, pale, blue-eyed Nata- 
 cha, his best friend; he was especially re- 
 calling the following passage : 
 
 " When they bring us the Invalide* 
 Poupka (that was the name the retired 
 uhlan gave his wife) rushes into the ante- 
 chamber, seizes the paper, and throws her- 
 self upon the sofa in the arbor f in the par- 
 lor, where we have passed so many pleasant 
 winter evenings in your company while 
 your regiment was in garrison in our city. 
 You can't imagine the enthusiasm with 
 which she reads the story of your heroic 
 exploits! ' Mikhailoff,' she often says in 
 speaking of you, ' is a pearl of a man, and I 
 shall throw myself on his neck when I see 
 him again ! He is fighting in the bastions, he 
 is! He will get the cross of St. George, 
 and the newspapers will be full of him.' In- 
 deed, I am beginning to be jealous of you. 
 It takes the papers a very long time to get 
 to us, and although a thousand bits of news 
 fiy from mouth to mouth, we can't believe 
 all of them. For example: your good 
 
 * The Military Gazette.— Trans. 
 
 t A sort of arbor covered with ivy was then used in 
 most fashionable parlors. — Trans.
 
 May, iSsS' 5^ 
 
 friends the musical girls related yesterday 
 how Napoleon, taken prisoner by our cos- 
 sacks, had been brought to Petersburg — you 
 understand that I couldn't believe that! 
 Then one of the officials of the war office, a 
 fine fellow, and a great addition to society 
 now our little town is deserted, assured us 
 that our troops had occupied Eupatoria, 
 thtis preventing the French from comimmica- 
 ting with Balaklava; that we lost two hun- 
 dred men in this business, and they about 
 fifteen thousand. My wife was so much 
 deli o-h ted at this that she celebrated it all 
 night long, and she has a feeling that you 
 took part in the action and distinguished 
 yourself." 
 
 In spite of these words, in spite of the ex- 
 pressions which I have put in italics and 
 the general tone of the letter. Captain Mi- 
 khailoff took a sweet and sad satisfaction in 
 imagining himself with his pale, provincial 
 lady friend. He recalled their evening con- 
 versations on sentiment in the parlor arbor, 
 and how his brave comrade, the ex-uhlan, 
 became vexed and disputed over games of 
 cards with kopek stakes when they succeed- 
 ed in starting a game in his study, and how
 
 5^ Sebastopol. 
 
 his wife joked him about it. He recalled 
 the friendship these good people had shown 
 for him ; and perhaps there was something 
 more than friendship on the side of the pale 
 friend ! All these pictures in their familiar 
 frames arose in his imagination with mar- 
 vellous softness. He saw them in a rosy 
 atmosphere, and, smiling at them, he han- 
 dled affectionately the letter in the bottom 
 of his pocket. 
 
 These memories brought the captain in- 
 voluntarily back to his hopes, to his dreams. 
 " Imagine," he thought, as he went along the 
 narrow alley, " Natacha's joy and astonish- 
 ment when she reads in the Invalide that I 
 have been the first to get possession of a 
 cannon, and have received the Saint Georee! 
 I shall be promoted to be captain-major: I 
 was proposed for it a long time ago. It 
 will then be very easy for me to get to be 
 chief of an army battalion in the course of 
 a year, for many among us have been killed, 
 and many others will be during this cam- 
 paign. Then, in the next battle, when I 
 have made myself well known, they will in- 
 trust a regiment to me, and I shall become 
 lieutenant-colonel, commander of the Order
 
 May, i8s5' 53 
 
 of Saint Anne — then colonel — " He was 
 already imagining himself general, honoring 
 with his presence Natacha, his comrade's 
 widow — for his friend would, according to 
 the dream, have to die about this time — 
 when the sound of the band came distinctly 
 to his ears. A crowd of promenaders at- 
 tracted his gaze, and he came to himself on 
 the boulevard as before, second -captain of 
 infantry. 
 
 II. 
 
 He first approached the pavilion, by the 
 side of which several musicians were play- 
 ing. Other soldiers of the same regiment 
 served as music-stands by holding before 
 them the open music -books, and a small 
 circle surrounded them, quartermasters, un- 
 der-ofhcers, nurses, and children, engaged in 
 watching rather than in listening. Around 
 the pavilion marines, aides-de-camp, officers 
 in white gloves were standing, were sitting, 
 or promenading. Farther off in the broad 
 avenue could be seen a confused crowd of 
 officers of every branch of the service, wom- 
 en of every class, some with bonnets on, the 
 majority with kerchiefs on their heads ; oth-
 
 54 Sebastopol. 
 
 ers wore neither bonnets nor kerchiefs, but, 
 astonishing to relate, there were no old 
 women, all were young. Below in fragrant 
 paths shaded by white acacias were seen 
 isolated groups, seated and walking. 
 
 No one expressed any particular joy at 
 the sight of Captain Mikhailoff, with the ex- 
 ception, perhaps, of Objogoff and Souslikoff, 
 captains in his regiment, who shook his 
 hand warmly. But the first of the two had 
 no gloves ; he wore trousers of camel's-hair 
 cloth, a shabby coat, and his red face was 
 covered with perspiration ; the second spoke 
 with too loud a voice, and with shocking 
 freedom of speech. It was not very flatter- 
 ing to walk with these men, especially in 
 the presence of officers in white gloves. 
 Among the latter was an aide-de-camp, with 
 whom Mikhailoff exchanged salutes, and a 
 staff-officer whom he could have saluted as 
 well, having seen him a couple of times at 
 the quarters of a common friend. 
 
 There was positively no pleasure in prom- 
 enading with these two comrades, whom he 
 met five or six times a day, and shook hands 
 with them each time. He did not come to 
 the band concert for that.
 
 May, i8s5' 55 
 
 He would have liked to go up to the 
 aide-de-camp with whom he exchanged sa- 
 lutes, and to chat with those gentlemen, not 
 in order that Captains Objogoff, Souslikoff, 
 Lieutenant Paschtezky, and others might 
 see him in conversation with them, but sim- 
 ply because they were agreeable, well-in- 
 formed people who could tell him some- 
 thing. 
 
 Why is Mikhailoff afraid ? and why can't 
 he make up his mind to go up to them ? 
 It is because he distrustfully asks himself 
 what he will do if these gentlemen do not 
 return his salute, if they continue to chat to- 
 gether, pretending not to see him, and if 
 they go away, leaving him alone among the 
 aristocrats. The word aristocrat, taken in 
 the sense of a particular group, selected with 
 great care, belonging to every class of soci- 
 ety, has lately gained a great popularity 
 among us in Russia — where it never ought 
 to have taken root. It has entered into all 
 the social strata where vanity has crept in 
 — and where does not this pitiable weakness 
 creep in ? Everywhere ; among the mer- 
 chants, the officials, the quartermasters, the 
 officers; at Saratoff, at Mamadisch, at Vi-
 
 5^ Scbastopol. 
 
 nitzy — everywhere, in a word, where men 
 are. Now, since there are many men in a 
 besieged city Hke Sebastopol, there is also a 
 great deal of vanity ; that is to say, aristo- 
 crats are there in large numbers, although 
 death, the great leveller, hovers constantly 
 over the head of each man, be he aristo- 
 crat or not. 
 
 To Captain Objogoff, Second- captain 
 Mikhailoff is an aristocrat; to Second- 
 captain Mikhai'loff, Aide-de-camp Kalou- 
 guine is an aidstocrat, because he is aide-de- 
 camp, and says thee and thou familiarly to 
 other aides-de-camp ; lastly, to Kalouguine, 
 Count Nordoff is an aristocrat, because he 
 is aide-de-camp of the Emperor. 
 
 Vanity, vanity, nothing but vanity ! even 
 in the presence of death, and among men 
 ready to die for an exalted idea. Is not 
 vanity the characteristic trait, the destruc- 
 tive ill of our age ? Why has this weakness 
 not been recognized hitherto, just as small- 
 pox or cholera has been recognized ? Why 
 in our time are there only three kinds of 
 men — those who accept vanity as an exist- 
 ing fact, necessary, and consequently just, 
 and freely submit to it ; those who consider
 
 May, i8s5' 57 
 
 it an evil element, but one impossible to de- 
 stroy ; and those who act under its influence 
 with unconscious servility ? Why have Ho- 
 mer and Shakespeare spoken of love, of 
 glory, and of suffering, while the literature 
 of our century is only the interminable his- 
 tory of snobbery and vanity ? 
 
 Mikhailoff, not able to make up his mind, 
 twice passed in front of the little group of 
 aristocrats. The third time, making a vio- 
 lent effort, he approached them. The group 
 was composed of four officers — the aide-de- 
 camp Kalouguine, whom Mikhailoff was ac- 
 quainted with, the aide-de-camp Prince Galt- 
 zine, an aristocrat to Kalouguine himself. 
 Colonel Neferdoff, one of the Hundred and 
 Twenty-tzuo (a group of society men who had 
 re-entered the service for this campaign 
 were thus called), lastly. Captain of Cavalry 
 Praskoukine, who was also among the Hun- 
 dred and Twenty-two. Happily for Mikhai- 
 loff, Kalouguine was in charming spirits ; 
 the general had just spoken very confiden- 
 tially to him, and Prince Galtzine, fresh from 
 Petersburg, was stopping in his quarters, so 
 he did not find it compromising to offer his 
 hand to a second-captain. Praskoukine did
 
 5^ SebastopoL 
 
 not decide to do as much, although he had 
 often met Mikhailoff in the bastion, had 
 drunk his wine and his brandy more than 
 once, and owed him twelve rubles and a 
 half, lost at a game of preference. Being 
 only slightly acquainted with Prince Galt- 
 zine, he had no wish to call his attention to 
 his intimacy with a simple second-captain 
 of infantry. He merely saluted slightly. 
 
 " Well, captain," said Kalouguine, " when 
 are we going back to the little bastion.? 
 You remember our meeting on the Schwartz 
 redoubt ? It was warm there, hey ?" 
 
 " Yes, it was warm there," replied Mikhai- 
 loff, remembering that night when, following 
 the trench in order to reach the bastion, he 
 had met Kalouguine marching with a grand 
 air, bravely clattering his sword. " I would 
 not have to return there until to-morrow, 
 but we have an oiificer sick." And he was 
 going on to relate how, although it was not 
 his turn on duty, he thouQrht he ou^ht to 
 offer to replace Nepchissetzky, because the 
 commander of the eighth company was ill, 
 and only an ensign remained, but Kalou- 
 guine did not give him time to finish. 
 
 " I have a notion," said he, turning tow-
 
 \ 
 
 May, i8s5' 59 
 
 ards Prince Galtzine, " that something will 
 come off in a day or two." 
 
 " But why couldn't something come off 
 to-day?" timidly asked Mikhailoif, looking 
 first at Kalouguine and then at Galtzine. 
 
 No one replied.   Galtzine made a slight 
 grimace, and looking to one side over Mi- 
 khailoff's cap, said, after a moment's silence, 
 
 " What a pretty girl ! — yonder, with the 
 red kerchief. Do you know her, captain.'*" 
 
 " It is a sailor's daughter. She lives close 
 by me," he replied. 
 
 " Let's look at her closer," 
 
 And Prince Galtzine took Kalouguine by 
 the arm on one side and the second-captain 
 on the other, sure that by this action he 
 would give the latter a lively satisfaction. 
 He was not deceived. Mikhailoff was super- 
 stitious, and to have anything to do with 
 women before going under fire was in his 
 eyes a great sin. But on that day he was 
 posing for a libertine. Neither Kalouguine 
 nor Galtzine was deceived by this, however. 
 The girl with the red kerchief was very 
 much astonished, having more than once 
 noticed that the captain blushed as he was 
 passing her window. Praskoukine marched
 
 6o Sebasiopol. 
 
 behind and nudged Galtzine, making all 
 sorts of remarks in French ; but the path 
 being too narrow for them to march four 
 abreast, he was obliged to fall behind, and in 
 the second file to take Serviaguine's arm — 
 a naval officer known for his exceptional bra- 
 very, and very anxious to join the group of 
 aristocrats. This brave man gladly linked 
 his honest and muscular hand into Praskou- 
 kine's arm, whom he knew, nevertheless, 
 to be not quite honorable. Explaining to 
 Prince Galtzine his intimacy with the sailor, 
 Praskoukine whispered that he was a well- 
 known, brave man; but Prince Galtzine, who 
 had been, the evening before, in the fourth 
 bastion, and had seen a shell burst twenty 
 paces from him, considered himself equal 
 in courage to this gentleman ; also being 
 convinced that most reputations were ex- 
 aggerated, paid no attention to Serviaguine. 
 Mikhailoff was so happy to promenade in 
 this brilliant company that he thought no 
 
 more of the dear letter received from ¥ , 
 
 nor of the dismal forebodings that assailed 
 him each time he went to the bastion. He 
 remained with them there until they had 
 visibly excluded him from their conversa-
 
 May, 1 8^^. 6i 
 
 tion, avoiding his eye, as if to make him un- 
 derstand that he could go on his way alone. 
 At last they left him in the lurch. In spite 
 of that, the second-captain was so satisfied 
 that he was quite indifferent to the haughty 
 expression with which the yunker* Baron 
 Pesth straightened up and took off his hat 
 before him. This young man had become 
 very proud since he had passed his first 
 night in the bomb-proof of the fifth bastion, 
 an experience which, in his own eyes, trans- 
 formed him into a hero. 
 
 III. 
 
 No sooner had Mikhai'loff crossed his own 
 threshold than entirely different thoughts 
 came into his mind. He again saw his lit- 
 tle room, where beaten earth took the place 
 of a wooden floor, his warped windows, in 
 which the broken panes were replaced by 
 paper, his old bed, over which was nailed to 
 the wall a rug with the design of a figure of 
 
 * A cadet. The yunker ranks between sergeant and 
 second-lieutenant, and belongs to the class of commis- 
 sioned officers. Both the title and the function are bor- 
 rowed from the German {Junker). The present spelling 
 is adopted to represent more nearly the Russian pro- 
 nunciation. — Trans.
 
 62 Sebastopol. 
 
 an amazon, his pair of Toula pistols, hanging 
 on the head-board, and on one side a second 
 untidy bed with an Indian coverlet belong- 
 ing to the yunker, who shared his quarters. 
 He saw his valet Nikita, who rose from the 
 ground where he was crouching, scratching 
 his head bristling with greasy hair. He saw 
 his old cloak, his second pair of boots, and 
 the bundle prepared for the night in the 
 bastion, wrapped in a cloth from which pro- 
 truded the end of a piece of cheese and the 
 neck of a bottle filled with brandy. Sud- 
 denly he remembered he had to lead his 
 company into the casemates that very night. 
 " I shall be killed, I'm sure," he said to 
 himself ; " I feel it. Besides, I offered to go 
 myself, and one w^ho does that is certain to 
 be killed. And what is the matter with this 
 sick man, this cursed Nepchissetzky ? Who 
 knows ? Perhaps he isn't sick at all. And, 
 thanks to him, a man will get killed — he'll 
 get killed, surely. However, if I am not 
 shot I will be put on the list for promotion. 
 I noticed the colonel's satisfaction w^ien I 
 asked permission to take the place of Nep- 
 chissetzky if he was sick. If I don t get 
 the rank of major, I shall certainly get the
 
 May, 1 8s 5' ^3 
 
 Vladimir Cross. This is the thirteenth time 
 I go on duty in the bastion. Oh, oh, un- 
 lucky number! I shall be killed, I'm sure; 
 I feel it. Nevertheless, some one must go. 
 The company cannot go with an ensign ; 
 and if anything should happen, the honor of 
 the regiment, the honor of the army would 
 be assailed. It is my duty to go — yes, my 
 sacred duty. No matter, I have a presenti- 
 ment — " 
 
 The captain forgot that he had this pre- 
 sentiment, more or less strong, every time 
 he went to the bastion, and he did not know 
 that all who go into action have this feeling, 
 though in very different degrees. His sense 
 of duty which he had particularly developed 
 calmed him, and he sat down at his table 
 and wrote a farewell letter to his father. In 
 the course of ten minutes the letter was fin- 
 ished. He arose with moist eyes, and began 
 to dress, repeating to himself all the prayers 
 which he knew by heart. His servant, a 
 dull fellow, three-quarters drunk, helped him 
 put on his new coat, the old one he was ac- 
 customed to wear in the bastion not being 
 mended. 
 
 "Why hasn't that coat been mended.?
 
 6^ Sebastopol. 
 
 You can't do anything but sleep, you 
 beast !" 
 
 " Sleep!" growled Nikita," when I am run- 
 ning about like a dog all day long. I tire 
 myself to death, and after that am not allow- 
 ed to sleep !" 
 
 " You are drunk again, I see." 
 
 " I didn't drink with your money ; why 
 do you find fault with me T 
 
 " Silence, fool !" cried the captain, ready 
 to strike him. 
 
 He was already nervous and troubled, 
 and Nikita's rudeness made him lose pa- 
 tience. Nevertheless, he was very fond of 
 the fellow, he even spoiled him, and had kept 
 him with him a dozen years. 
 
 " Fool ! fool !" repeated the servant. " Why 
 do you abuse me, sir — and at this time '^. It 
 isn't rioht to abuse me." 
 
 Mikhailoff thought of the place he was 
 going to, and was ashamed of himself. 
 
 " You would make a saint lose patience, 
 Nikita," he said, with a softer voice. " Leave 
 that letter addressed to my father lying on 
 the table. Don't touch it," he added, blushing. 
 
 " All right," said Nikita, weakening under 
 the influence of the wine he had taken, at
 
 May, 1855. 65 
 
 his own expense, as he said, and blinking 
 his eyes, ready to weep. 
 
 Then when the captain shouted, on leav- 
 ing the house, " Good-by, Nikita !" he burst 
 forth in a violent fit of sobbing, and seizing 
 the hand of his master, kissed it, howling all 
 the while, and saying, over and over again, 
 "Good-by, master!" 
 
 An old sailor's wife at the door, good 
 woman as she was, could not help taking 
 part in this affecting scene. Rubbing her 
 eyes with her dirty sleeve, she mumbled 
 something about masters who, on their side, 
 have to put up with so much, and went on to 
 relate for the hundredth time to the drunk- 
 en Nikita how she, poor creature, was left a 
 widow, how her husband had been killed 
 during the first bombardment and his house 
 ruined, for the one she lived in now did 
 not belong to her, etc., etc. After his mas- 
 ter was gone, Nikita lighted his pipe, begged 
 the landlord's daughter to fetch him some 
 brandy, quickly wiped his tears, and ended 
 up by quarrelling with the old woman about 
 a little pail he said she had broken. 
 
 " Perhaps I shall only be wounded," the 
 captain thought at nightfall, approaching 
 
 5
 
 66 Sevastopol. 
 
 the bastion at the head of his company. 
 " But where — here or there ?" 
 
 He placed his finger first on his stomach 
 and then on his chest. 
 
 " If it were only here," he thought, point- 
 ing to the upper part of his thigh, " and if 
 the ball passed round the bone ! But if it is 
 a fracture it's all over." 
 
 Mikhailoff, by following the trenches, 
 reached the casemates safe and sound. In 
 perfect darkness, assisted by an officer of 
 the sappers, he put his men to work ; then 
 he sat down in a hole in the shelter of the 
 parapet. They were firing only at inter- 
 vals ; now and again, first on our side and 
 then on his, a flash blazed forth, and the 
 fuse of a shell traced a curve of fire on the 
 dark, starlit sky. But the projectiles fell 
 far off, behind or to the right of the quar- 
 ters in which the captain hid at the bottom 
 of a pit. He ate a piece of cheese, drank a 
 few drops of brandy, lighted a cigarette, and 
 having said his prayers, tried to sleep. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Prince Galtzine, Lieutenant -colonel Ne- 
 ferdorf, and Praskoukine — whom nobody
 
 May, 18^5. dy 
 
 had invited, and with whom no one chatted, 
 but who followed them just the same — left 
 the boulevard to go and drink tea at Kalou- 
 guine's quarters. 
 
 " Finish your story about Vaska Mendel," 
 said Kalouguine. 
 
 Having thrown off his cloak, he was sit- 
 ting beside the window in a stuffed easy- 
 chair, and unbuttoned the collar of his well- 
 starched, fine Dutch linen shirt. 
 
 " How did he get married again .?" 
 
 " It's worth any amount of money, I tell 
 you ! There was a time when there was 
 nothing else talked about at Petersburg," 
 replied Prince Galtzine, laughingly. 
 
 He left the piano where he had been sit- 
 ting, and drew near the window. 
 
 " It's worth any amount of money! I know 
 all the details — " 
 
 And gayly and wittily he set about relat- 
 ing the story of an amorous intrigue, which 
 we will pass over in silence because it offers 
 us little interest. The striking thing about 
 these gentlemen was, that one of them seat- 
 ed in the window, another at the piano, and 
 a third on a chair with his legs doubled up, 
 seemed to be quite different men from what
 
 68 Scbastopol. 
 
 they were a moment before on the boule- 
 vard. No more conceit, no more of this 
 ridiculous affectation towards the infantry 
 oiificers. Here between themselves they 
 showed out what they were — good fellows, 
 gay, and in high spirits. Their conversa- 
 tion continued upon their comrades and 
 their acquaintances in Petersburg. 
 
 ^'AndMaslovsky.?" 
 
 " Which one — the uhlan or the horse- 
 guardsman ?" 
 
 " I know them both. In my time the 
 horse-guardsman was only a boy just out 
 of school. And the oldest, is he a cap- 
 tain r 
 
 " Oh yes, for a long time." 
 
 " Is he always with his Bohemian girl V 
 
 " No, he left her—" 
 
 And the talk went on in this tone. 
 
 Prince Galtzine sanor j^ a charminor man- 
 ner a gypsy song, accompanying himself 
 on the piano. Praskoukine, without being 
 asked, sang second, and so well too that, to 
 his great delight, they begged him to do it 
 again. 
 
 A servant brought in tea, cream, and rusks 
 on a silver tray.
 
 May, i8s5' ^9 
 
 " Give some to the prince," said Kalou- 
 guine. 
 
 " Isn't it strange to think," said Galtzine, 
 drinking his glass of tea near the window, 
 " that we are here in a besieged city, that 
 we have a piano, tea with cream, and all this 
 in lodgings which I would be glad to live 
 in at Petersburg ?" 
 
 " If we didn't even have that," said the old 
 lieutenant-colonel, always discontented, " ex- 
 istence would be intolerable. This contin- 
 ual expectation of something, or this seeing 
 people killed every day without stopping, 
 and this living in the mud without the least 
 comfort — " 
 
 " But our infantry ofhcers," interrupted 
 Kalousuine, " those who live in the bastion 
 with the soldiers, and share their soup with 
 them in the bomb-proof, how do they get 
 onr 
 
 " How do they get on ? They don't 
 change their linen, to be sure, for ten days 
 at a time, but they are astonishing fellows, 
 true heroes !" 
 
 Just at this moment an infantry officer 
 entered the room. 
 
 " I — I have received an order — to go to
 
 yo Sebastopol. 
 
 general — to his Excellency, from General 
 N "he said, timidly saluting. 
 
 Kalouguine rose, and without returning 
 the salute of the new-comer, without invit- 
 ing him to be seated, begged him with cruel 
 politeness and an official smile to wait a 
 while ; then he went on talking in French 
 with Galtzine, without paying the slightest 
 attention to the poor officer, who stood in 
 the middle of the room, and did not know 
 what to do with himself. 
 
 " I have been sent on an important mat- 
 ter," he said at last, after a moment of si- 
 lence. 
 
 " If that Is so, be kind enough to follow 
 me." Kalouguine threw on his cloak and 
 turned towards the door. An instant later 
 he came back from the general's room. 
 
 " Well, gentlemen, I believe they are go- 
 ing to make it warm to-night." 
 
 " Ah ! what — a sortie .?" they all asked to- 
 gether. 
 
 " I don't know, you will see yourselves," 
 he replied, with an enigmatic smile. 
 
 " My chief is in the bastion, I must go 
 there," said Praskoukine, putting on his 
 sword.
 
 May, 1855. 71 
 
 No one replied ; he ought to know what 
 he had to do. Praskoukine and Neferdorf 
 went out to go to their posts. 
 
 " Good-by, gentlemen, att revoir ! we will 
 meet again to - night," cried Kalouguine 
 through the window, while they set out at a 
 rapid trot, bending over the pommels of 
 their Cossack saddles. The sound of their 
 horses' shoes quickly died away in the dark 
 street. 
 
 " Come, tell me, will there really be some- 
 thing going on to-night?" said Galtzine, 
 leaning on the window-sill near Kalouguine, 
 whence they were watching the shells rising 
 over the bastions. 
 
 " I can tell you, you alone. You have 
 been in the bastions, haven't you ?" 
 
 Although Galtzine had only been there 
 once he replied by an afhrmative gesture. 
 
 " Well, opposite our lunette there was a 
 trench" — and Kalouguine, who was not a 
 specialist, but who was satisfied of the value 
 of his military opinions, began to explain, 
 mixing himself up and making wrong use 
 of the terms of fortification, the state of our 
 works, the situation of the enemy, and the 
 plan of the affair which had been prepared.
 
 7^ Sebastopol. 
 
 " There ! there ! They have begun to 
 fire heavily on our quarters ; is that coming 
 from our side or from his — the one that has 
 just burst there?" And the two officers, 
 leaning on the window, watched the lines of 
 fire which the shells traced crossinof each 
 other in the air, the white powder-smoke, 
 the flashes which preceded each report and 
 illuminated for a second the blue-black sky ; 
 they listened to the roar of the cannonade, 
 which increased in violence. 
 
 " What a charming panorama !" said Ka- 
 louguine, attracting his guest's attention to 
 the' truly beautiful spectacle. " Do you 
 know that sometimes one can't tell a star 
 from a bomb-shell .?" 
 
 "Yes, it is true; I just took that for a 
 star, but it is coming down. Look 1 it 
 bursts ! And that large star there yonder 
 — what do they call it ? One would say it 
 was a shell 1" 
 
 " I am so accustomed to them that when 
 I go back to Russia a starry sky will seem 
 to me to be sparkling with bomb- shells. 
 One gets so used to it." 
 
 " Ought I not to go and take part in this 
 sortie .?" said Prince Galtzine, after a pause.
 
 May, 1855. yj 
 
 " My dear fellow, what an idea ! Don't 
 think of it. I won't let you go; you will 
 have time enough." 
 
 "Seriously — do you think I ought not 
 to?" 
 
 At this moment, right in the direction 
 these gentlemen were looking, could be 
 heard above the roar of artillery the rattle 
 of a terrible fusillade ; a thousand little 
 flames spurted and sparkled along the 
 whole line. 
 
 " Look, it is in full swing," said Kalou- 
 guine. " I can't calmly listen to this fusil- 
 lade ; it stirs my soul ! They are shouting 
 ' Hurrah !' " he added, stretching his ear tow- 
 ards the bastion, from which arose the dis- 
 tant and prolonged clamor of thousands of 
 voices. 
 
 " Who is shouting ' Hurrah' — he or we V 
 
 " I don't know ; but they are surely fight- 
 ing at the sword's point, for the fusillade has 
 stopped." 
 
 An ofificer on horseback, followed by a 
 Cossack, galloped up under their window, 
 stopped, and dismounted. 
 
 " Where do you come from ?" 
 
 " From the bastion, to see the general."
 
 7-/ Sebastopol. 
 
 " Come, what is the matter ? Speak !" 
 
 " They have attacked — have taken the 
 quarters. The French have pushed for- 
 ward their reserves — ours have been attack- 
 ed — and there were only two battahons of 
 them," said the officer, out of breath. 
 
 It was the same one who had come in 
 the evening, but this time he went towards 
 the door with confidence. 
 
 " Then we retreated ?" asked Galtzine. 
 
 " No," repHed the officer, in a surly tone, 
 " a battalion arrived in time. We repulsed 
 them, but the chief of the regiment is killed, 
 and many officers besides. They want re- 
 inforcements." 
 
 So saying, he went with Kalouguine into 
 the general's room, whither we will not fol- 
 low them. 
 
 Five minutes later Kalouguine set out 
 for the bastion on a horse, which he rode in 
 the Cossack fashion, a kind of riding which 
 seems to give a particular pleasure to the 
 aides-de-camp. He was the bearer of cer- 
 tain orders, and had to await the definite re- 
 sult of the affair. As to Prince Galtzine, 
 he, agitated by the painful emotions which 
 the signs of a battle in progress usually ex-
 
 Afay, 1833. 75 
 
 cite in the idle spectator, hastily went out 
 into the street to wander aimlessly to and 
 fro. 
 
 V. 
 
 Soldiers carried the wounded on stretch- 
 ers, and supported others under the arms. 
 It was very dark in the streets ; here and 
 there shone the lights in the hospital win- 
 dows or in the quarters of a wakeful officer. 
 The uninterrupted sound of the cannonade 
 and the fusillade came from the bastions, 
 and the same fires still lighted up the black 
 sky. From time to time could be recog- 
 nized the gallop of a staff-officer, the groan 
 of a wounded man, the steps and the voices 
 of the stretcher-bearers, the exclamations of 
 dotins: women who stood on the thresholds 
 of their houses and watched in the direction 
 of the firing. 
 
 Among these last we find our acquaint- 
 ance Nikita, the old sailor's widow with 
 whom he had made up, and the little daugh- 
 ter of the latter, a child of ten years. 
 
 " Oh, my God ! holy Virgin and Mother !" 
 murmured the old woman, with a sigh ; and 
 she followed with her eyes the shells which
 
 ^6 Sebastopol. 
 
 flew through space from one point to anoth- 
 er like balls of fire. " What a misfortune ! 
 what a misfortune ! The first bombardment 
 was not so hard. Look ! one cursed thimj 
 has burst in the outskirts of the town ri^ht 
 over our house !" 
 
 " No, it is farther off ; they are falling in 
 Aunt Arina's garden," said the child. 
 
 " Where is my master! where is he now!" 
 groaned Nikita, still drunk, and drawling his 
 words. " No tongue can tell how I love my 
 master ! If, God forbid, they commit the 
 sin of killing him, I assure you, good aunt, 
 I won't be answerable for what I may do ! 
 Really, he is such a good master that — 
 There is no w^ord to express it, you see. I 
 wouldn't exchange him for those who are 
 playing cards inside, true. Pooh !" con- 
 cluded Nikita, pointing to the captain's 
 room, in which the yunker Yvatchesky had 
 arranged with the ensigns a little festival 
 to celebrate the decoration he had just re- 
 ceived. 
 
 " What a lot of shooting-stars there are ! 
 what a lot of shooting -stars there are!" 
 cried the child, breaking the silence which 
 followed Nikita's speech. " There ! there !
 
 May, 183 s. 77 
 
 another one is falling ! What is that for ? 
 Say, mother." 
 
 " They'll destroy our cabin ]" sighed the 
 old woman, without replying. 
 
 " To-day," resumed the sing-song voice of 
 the little prattler — " to-day I saw in uncle's 
 room, near the wardrobe, an enormous ball ; 
 it had come through the roof and had fallen 
 right into the room. It is so large that 
 they can't lift it." 
 
 " The women who had husbands and 
 money are gone away," continued the old 
 woman. " I have only a cabin, and they 
 are destroying that ! Look ! look how they 
 are firing, the wretches ! Lord, my God !" 
 
 " And just as we were coming out of un- 
 cle's house," the child went on, "a bomb- 
 • shell came straight down ; it burst, and 
 threw the earth on all sides ; one little piece 
 almost struck us !" 
 
 VI. 
 
 Prince Galtzine met in constantly increas- 
 ing numbers wounded men borne on stretch- 
 ers, others dragging themselves along on 
 foot or supporting each other, and talking 
 noisily.
 
 7^ Sebastopol. 
 
 " When they fell upon us, brothers," said 
 the bass voice of a tall soldier who carried 
 two muskets on his shoulder — "when they 
 fell upon us, shouting 'Allah! allah !'* they 
 pushed one another on. We killed the first, 
 and others climbed over them. There was 
 nothing to be done; there were too many of 
 them — too many of them !" 
 
 " You come from the bastion .?" asked 
 Galtzine, interrupting the orator. 
 
 " Yes, your Excellency." 
 
 " Well, what happened there .? Tell me." 
 
 " This happened, your Excellency — his 
 strength surrounded us ; he climbed on the 
 ramparts and had the best of it, your Ex- 
 cellency." 
 
 "How.^ the best of it.? But you beat 
 them back .?" 
 
 "Ah yes, beat them back ! But when all 
 his strength came down upon us, he killed 
 our men, and no help for it !" 
 
 The soldier was mistaken, for the trench- 
 es were ours ; but, strange but well-authenti- 
 cated fact, a soldier wounded in a battle al- 
 
 * The Russian soldiers accustomed to fight the Turks 
 and to hear their battle-cries, always tell that the French 
 have the same shout, "Allah !"— Trans.
 
 May, iSss. ycj 
 
 ways believes it a lost and a terribly bloody 
 one. 
 
 " I was told, nevertheless, that you beat 
 him back," continued Galtzine, good-nat- 
 uredly ; " perhaps it was after you came 
 away. Did you leave there long ago ?" 
 
 " This very moment, your Excellency. 
 The trenches must belong to him ; he had 
 the upperhand — " 
 
 " Why, aren't you ashamed of yourselves ? 
 Abandon the trenches ! It is frightful," said 
 Galtzine, irritated by the indifference of the 
 man. 
 
 " What could be done when he had the 
 strens'thr 
 
 "Ah, your Excellency," said a soldier borne 
 on a stretcher, " why not abandon them, 
 when he has killed us all? If we had the 
 strength we would never have abandoned 
 them ! But what was to be done ? I had 
 just stuck one of them when I was hit — 
 Oh, softly, brothers, softly ! Oh, for mer- 
 cy's sake !" groaned the wounded man. 
 
 " Hold on ; far too many are coming 
 back," said Galtzine, again stopping the tall 
 soldier with the two muskets. " Wl^y don't 
 you go back, hey.? Halt!"
 
 8o Sebastopol. 
 
 The soldier obeyed, and took off his cap 
 with his left hand. 
 
 "Where are you going to?" sternly de- 
 manded the prince, " and who gave you per- 
 mission, good -for — " But coming nearer, 
 he saw that the soldier's riorht arm was cov- 
 ered with blood up to the elbow. 
 
 " I am wounded, your Excellency." 
 
 "Wounded! where?" 
 
 " Here, by a bullet," and the soldier 
 showed his arm ; " but I don't know what 
 hit me a crack there." He held his head 
 down, and showed on the back of his neck 
 locks of hair glued together by coagulated 
 blood. 
 
 " Whose gun is this ?" 
 
 " It is a French carbine, your Excellency ; 
 I brought it away. I wouldn't have come 
 away, but I had to lead that small soldier, 
 who might fall down;" and he pointed to 
 an infantryman who was walking some 
 paces ahead of them leaning on his gun 
 and dragging his left leg with difficulty. 
 
 Prince Galtzine was cruelly ashamed of 
 his unjust suspicions, and conscious that 
 he was. blushing, turned around. Without 
 questioning or looking after the wounded
 
 May, iSsS' ^^ 
 
 any more, he directed his steps towards the 
 field-hospital. Making his way to the en- 
 trance with difficulty through soldiers, lit- 
 ters, stretcher-bearers who came in with the 
 wounded and went out with the dead, Gal- 
 tzine entered as far as the first room, took 
 one look about him, recoiled involuntarily, 
 and precipitately fled into the street. What 
 he saw there was far too horrible ! 
 
 VII. 
 
 The great, high, sombre hall, lighted only 
 by four or five candles, where the surgeons 
 moved about examining the wounded, was 
 literally crammed with people. Stretcher- 
 bearers continually brought new wounded 
 and placed them side by side in rows on 
 the ground. The crowd was so great that 
 the wretches pushed against one another 
 and bathed in their neighbors' blood. Pools 
 of stagnant gore stood in the empty places ; 
 from the feverish breath of several hundred 
 men, the perspiration of the bearers, rose 
 a heavy, thick, fetid atmosphere in which 
 candles burned dimly in different parts of 
 the hall. A confused murmur of groans, 
 6
 
 82 Sebastopol. 
 
 sighs, death-rattles, was interrupted by pierc- 
 ing cries. Sisters of Charity, whose calm 
 faces did not express woman's futile and 
 tearful compassion, but an active and live- 
 ly interest, glided here and there in the 
 midst of bloody coats and shirts, sometimes 
 striding over the wounded, carrying medi- 
 cines, water, bandages, lint. Surgeons with 
 their sleeves turned up, on their knees be- 
 fore the wounded, examined and probed the 
 wounds by the flare of torches held by their 
 assistants, in spite of the terrible cries and 
 supplications of the patients. Seated at a 
 little table beside the door a major wrote 
 the number 532. 
 
 " Ivan Bogoief, private in the third com- 
 pany of the regiment from C .fractura 
 
 femtiris complicata /" shouted the surgeon, 
 who was dressing a broken limb at the oth- 
 er end of the hall. " Turn him over." 
 
 " Oh, oh, good fathers !" gasped the sol- 
 dier, begging them to leave him in peace. 
 
 '' Perfoi-atio capites. Simon Neferdof, lieu- 
 tenant-colonel of the infantry regiment from 
 
 N . Have a little patience, colonel. 
 
 There is no way of — I shall be obliged to 
 leave you there," said a third, who was fum-
 
 May, 1S55. 83 
 
 blins with a sort of hook in the head of the 
 unfortunate officer. 
 
 " In Heaven's name, get done quickly !" 
 "■ Perforatio pectoris. Sebastian Sereda, 
 private — what regiment ? But it is no use, 
 don't write it down. Moritur. Carry him 
 off," added the surgeon, leaving the dying 
 man, who with upturned eyes was already 
 gasping. 
 
 Forty or fifty stretcher-bearers awaited 
 their burdens at the door. The living were 
 sent to the hospital, the dead to the chapel. 
 They waited in silence, and sometimes a 
 sigh escaped them as they contemplated 
 this picture. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Kalouguine met many wounded on his 
 way to the bastion. Knowing by experience 
 the bad influence of this spectacle on the 
 spirit of a man who is going under fire, he 
 not only did not stop them to ask questions, 
 but he tried not to notice those he met. 
 At the foot of the hill he ran across a staff- 
 officer coming down from the bastion full 
 speed. 
 
 " Zobkine ! Zobkine ! one moment !"
 
 8^^ Sebastopol. 
 
 " What ?" 
 
 " Where do you come from ?" 
 
 " From the quarters." 
 
 " Well, what is going on there ? Is it 
 hot?" 
 
 " Terribly !" 
 
 And the officer galloped off. The fusil- 
 lade seemed to grow less ; on the other hand, 
 the cannonade began again with renewed 
 vigor. 
 
 " Hum — a bad business !" thousfht Kalou- 
 
 O 
 
 guine. He had an indefinite but very dis- 
 agreeable feeling; he had even a presenti- 
 ment, that is to say, a very common thought 
 — the thought of death. 
 
 Kalouguine possessed self-love and nerves 
 of steel. He was, in a word, what is com- 
 monly called a brave man. He did not give 
 way to this first impression ; he raised his 
 courage by recalling the story of one of 
 Napoleon's aides-de-camp, who came to his 
 chief with his head bloody, after having car- 
 ried an order with all speed. 
 
 " Are you wounded T' asked the emperor. 
 
 " I crave pardon, sire, I am dead !" replied 
 the aide-de-camp, and falling from his horse, 
 died on the spot.
 
 May, 1855. 8 5 
 
 This anecdote pleased him. Putting him- 
 self in imagination in the place of the aide- 
 de-camp, he lashed his horse, put on a still 
 more " Cossack " gait, and rising in his stir- 
 rups to cast a look upon the platoon that 
 followed him on a trot, he reached the place 
 where they had to dismount. There he 
 found four soldiers sitting on some rocks, 
 smoking their pipes. 
 
 " What are you doing there ?" he cried. 
 
 " We have been carrying a wounded man, 
 your Excellency, and we are resting," said 
 one of them, hiding his pipe behind his 
 back and taking off his cap. 
 
 " That's it — you are resting ! Forward ! 
 to your post !" 
 
 He put himself at their head and pro- 
 ceeded with them along the trench, meet- 
 ing wounded men at every step. On the 
 top of the plateau he turned to the left and 
 found himself, a few steps farther on, com- 
 pletely isolated. A piece of a shell whistled 
 near him and buried itself in the trenches ; 
 a mortar-bomb rising in the air seemed to 
 fly straight for his breast. Seized by a sud- 
 den terror, he rushed on several steps and 
 threw himself down. When the bomb had
 
 86 Sebastopol 
 
 burst some distance off he was very angry 
 with himself and got up. He looked around 
 to see if any one had noticed him lying 
 down ; no one was near. 
 
 Let fear once get possession of the soul, 
 and it does not readily yield its place to an- 
 other sentiment. He who had boasted of nev- 
 er bowing his head, went along the trenches 
 at a rapid pace, and almost on his hands and 
 feet. 
 
 " Ah ! it is a bad sign," thought he, as his 
 foot tripped. " I shall be killed, sure !" 
 
 He breathed with dii^culty ; he was bathed 
 with sweat, and he was astonished that he 
 made no effort to overcome his friorht. Sud- 
 
 O 
 
 denly, at the sound of a step which ap- 
 proached, he quickly straightened up, raised 
 his head, clinked his sabre with a swagger, 
 and lessened his pace. He met an officer 
 of sappers and a sailor. The former shout- 
 ed, " Lie down !" pointing to the luminous 
 point of a bomb-shell, which came nearer, 
 redoubling its speed and its brightness. 
 
 The projectile struck in the side of the 
 trench. At the cry of the officer, Kalou- 
 guine made a slight, involuntary bow, then 
 continued on his way without a frown.
 
 May, i8s5' ^7 
 
 "There's a brave fellow!" said the sailor 
 who coolly watched the fall of the bomb. 
 His practised eye had calculated that the 
 pieces would not fall into the trench. " He 
 wouldn't lie down !" 
 
 In order to reach the bomb-proof occu- 
 pied by the commander of the bastion, Ka- 
 louguine had only one more open space to 
 pass when he felt himself again overcome 
 by a stupid fear. His heart beat as if it 
 would burst, the blood rushed to his head, 
 and it was only by a violent effort of self- 
 control that he reached the shelter at a 
 run. 
 
 "Why are you so out of breath?" asked 
 the general, after he had delivered the order 
 he brought. 
 
 " I walked very quickly. Excellency." 
 " Can I offer you a glass of wine ?" 
 Kalouguine drank a bumper and lit a 
 cigarette. The engagement was finished, 
 but a violent cannonade continued on both 
 sides. The commander of the bastion and 
 several officers, among them Praskoukine, 
 vi^ere assembled in the bomb-proof; they 
 were talking over the details of the affair. 
 The interior, covered with figured paper
 
 88 Sebastopol. 
 
 with a blue ground, was furnished with a 
 lounge, a bed, a table covered with papers, 
 and decorated with a clock hanging on 
 the wall and an image, before which burned 
 a small lamp. Seated in this comfortable 
 room, Kalouguine saw all the marks of a 
 quiet life ; he measured with his eye the 
 great beams of the ceiling half a yard thick ; 
 he heard the noise of the cannonade, deaf- 
 ened by the bomb-proofs, and he could not 
 understand how he could have yielded twice 
 to unpardonable attacks of weakness. An- 
 gry with himself, he would have liked to ex- 
 pose himself to danger again to put his cour- 
 age to the proof. 
 
 A naval officer with a great mustache 
 and a cross of Saint George on his staff 
 overcoat came at this moment to beg the 
 general to give him some workmen to re- 
 pair two sand-bag embrasures in the bat- 
 tery. 
 
 " I am very glad to see you, captain," said 
 Kalouguine to the new-comer ; " the general 
 charged me to ask you if your cannon can 
 fire grape into the trenches." 
 
 " One single gun," replied the captain, 
 with a morose air.
 
 May, i8s5' ^9 
 
 " Let's go and look at them !" 
 The officer frowned and growled out, 
 " I have just passed the whole night there, 
 and I have come in to rest a little ; can't 
 you go there alone? You will find my 
 second in command. Lieutenant Kartz, who 
 will show you everything." 
 
 The captain had commanded this same 
 battery for full six months, and it was one of 
 the most dangerous posts. He had not left 
 the bastion, indeed, since the beginning of 
 the siege, and even before the construction 
 of the bomb-proof shelters. He had gained 
 among the sailors a reputation for invinci- 
 ble couraore. On this account his refusal 
 was a lively surprise to Kalouguine. 
 
 " That's what reputations are !" thought 
 the latter. " Then I will go alone, if you al- 
 low me," he added aloud, in a mocking tone, 
 to which the officer paid no attention. 
 
 Kalouguine forgot that this man counted 
 six whole months of life in the bastion, 
 while he, altogether, at different times, had 
 not passed more than fifty hours there. 
 Vanity, desire to shine, to get a reward, to 
 make a reputation, even the delight in dan- 
 ger, incited him still more, while the captain
 
 go Sebastopol. 
 
 had become indifferent to all that. He had 
 also made a show, had performed courage- 
 ous deeds, had uselessly risked his life, had 
 hoped for and had received rewards, had es- 
 tablished his reputation as a brave officer. 
 But to-day these stimulants had lost their 
 power over him ; he looked at things differ- 
 ently. Well understanding that he had little 
 chance of escaping death after six months 
 in the bastions, he did not thoughtlessly 
 risk his life, and limited himself to fulfilling 
 strictly his duty. In fact, the young lieu- 
 tenant appointed to his battery only eight 
 days ago, and Kalouguine to whom this 
 lieutenant showed it in detail, seemed ten 
 times braver than the captain. Rising in 
 each other's estimation, these two hung out 
 of the embrasures and climbed over the 
 ramparts. 
 
 His inspection ended, and as he was re- 
 turning to the bomb-proof, Kalouguine ran 
 against the general, who was going to the 
 observation tower, followed by his staff. 
 
 " Captain Praskoukine," ordered the gen- 
 eral, " go down, I beg, into the quarters on 
 the right. You will find there the second 
 battalion from M which is working
 
 May, 185S' p/ 
 
 down there. Order it to stop work, to re- 
 tire without noise, and to rejoin its regiment 
 in the reserve force at the bottom of the 
 hill. You understand? Lead it yourself 
 to the regiment." 
 
 " I'm off," replied Praskoukine, and he 
 departed on the run. 
 
 The cannonade diminished in violence. 
 
 IX. 
 
 " Are you the second battalion of the 
 
 regiment from M .?" asked Praskoukine 
 
 of a soldier who was carrying sand-bags. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Where is the commander T 
 
 Mikhailoff, supposing that the captain of 
 the company was wanted, came out of his 
 pit, raised his hand to his cap, and approach- 
 ed Praskoukine, whom he took for a com- 
 manding officer. 
 
 " The general orders you — you must — 
 you must retire at once — without any noise 
 — to the rear ; that is, to the reserve force," 
 said Praskoukine, stealthily looking in the 
 direction of the enemy's fire. 
 
 Having recognized his comrade, and hav- 
 ing gained an idea of the manoeuvre, Mi-
 
 g2 Sebasiopol. 
 
 khai'loff dropped his hand and gave the or- 
 der to the soldiers. They took their mus- 
 kets, put on their coats, and marched off. 
 
 He who has never felt it cannot appreci- 
 ate the joy which a man experiences at leav- 
 ing, after three hours of bombardment, a 
 place as dangerous as the quarters were. 
 During these three hours Mikhailoff, who, 
 not without reason, was thinking of death 
 as an inevitable thing, had the time to get 
 accustomed to the notion that he would 
 surely be killed, and that he no longer be- 
 longed to the living world. In spite of that, 
 it was by a violent effort that he kept from 
 running when he came out of the quarters 
 at the head of his company, side by side with 
 Praskoukine. 
 
 "■'All revoir ! don voyage T shouted the 
 major who commanded the battalion left 
 in the quarters. Mikhailoff had shared his 
 cheese with him, both of them seated in a 
 pit in shelter of the parapet. 
 
 " The same to you ; good-luck ! It seems 
 to me it is getting quieter." 
 
 But scarcely had he uttered these words 
 than the enemy, who had doubtless noticed 
 the movement, began to fire his best ; our
 
 May, i8sS' 93 
 
 side replied, and the cannonade began again 
 with violence. The stars were shining, but 
 with little light, for the night was dark. 
 The shots and the shell explosions alone 
 liofhted for an instant the surroundinor ob- 
 jects. The soldiers marched rapidly and 
 in silence, some hurrying past the others : 
 only the regular sound of their steps could 
 be heard on the hardened earth, accompa- 
 nied by the incessant roar of the cannon- 
 ade, the click of bayonets striking one an- 
 other, the sigh or the prayer of a soldier : 
 "Lord! Lord!" 
 
 Occasionally a wounded man groaned, 
 and a stretcher was called for. In the com- 
 pany which Mikhailoff commanded, the ar- 
 tillery fire had disabled twenty -six men 
 since the day before. 
 
 A flash illuminated the distant darkness 
 of the horizon; the sentinel on the bastion 
 cried, " Can — non !" and a ball, whistling over 
 the company, buried itself in the ground, 
 which it ploughed up, sending the stones 
 flying about. 
 
 " The devil take them ! How slowly they 
 march !" thought Praskoukine, who, follow- 
 ing Mikhailoff, was looking behind him at
 
 g4- SebastopoL 
 
 every step. " I could run ahead, since I 
 have delivered the order — Indeed, no ! 
 they would say I was a coward ! Whatever 
 happens I will march along with them." 
 
 " Why is he following me ?" said Mikhai- 
 lo£f, on his side. " I always noticed he 
 brings bad luck. There comes another, 
 straight towards us, seems to me." 
 
 A few hundred steps farther on they met 
 Kalouguine on his way to the quarters, 
 bravely rattling his sword. The general 
 had sent him to ask how the work went on, 
 but at the sight of Mikhailoff he said to 
 himself that, instead of exposing himself to 
 this terrible fire, he could just as well find 
 out by asking the officer who came from 
 there. Mikhailoff gave him, in fact, all the 
 details. Kalouguine accompanied him to 
 the end of the path, and re-entered the 
 trench which led to the bomb-proof. 
 
 " What's the news T asked the officer, 
 who was supping alone in the earthwork. 
 
 " Nothing. I don't believe there will be 
 any more fighting." 
 
 " How ! no more fighting } On the con- 
 trary, the general has just gone up to the 
 bastion. A new regiment has arrived. Be- 
 
 \
 
 May, i8s5' 95 
 
 sides — listen! — the fusillade is beginning 
 again. Don't go. What's the use of it.'^" 
 added the officer, as Kalouguine made a 
 movement. 
 
 " Nevertheless, I ought to go," said the 
 latter to himself. " However, haven't I been 
 exposed to danger long enough to-day ? 
 The fusillade is terrible." 
 
 " It is true," he continued aloud, " I had 
 better wait here." 
 
 Twenty minutes later the general came 
 back, accompanied by his officers, among 
 whom was the yunker, Baron Pesth, but 
 Praskoukine was not with them. Our 
 troops had retaken and reoccupied the 
 quarters. After having heard the details 
 of the affair, Kalouguine went out of the 
 shelter with Pesth. 
 
 X. 
 
 *' You have some blood on your overcoat; 
 were you fighting hand-to-hand.''" asked 
 Kalouguine. 
 
 " Oh ! it is frightful ! Imagine—" And 
 Pesth began to relate how he had led his 
 company after the death of his chief, how 
 he had killed a Frenchman, and how, with-
 
 g6 Sebastopol. 
 
 out his assistance, the battle would have 
 been lost. The foundation of the tale, that 
 is, the death of the chief and the French- 
 man killed by Pestli, was true, but the 
 yunker, elaborating the details, enlarged on 
 them and boasted. 
 
 He boasted without premeditation. Dur- 
 ing: the whole affair he had lived in a fan- 
 tastic mist, so much so that everything that 
 had happened seemed to him to have taken 
 place vaguely, God knows where or how, 
 and to belong to some one besides himself. 
 Naturally enough he tried to invent inci- 
 dents to his own advantage. However, this 
 is the way the thing happened : 
 
 The battalion to which he had been de- 
 tailed to take part in the sortie remained 
 two hours under the enemy's fire, then the 
 commander said a few words, the company 
 chiefs began to move about, the troops left 
 the shelter of the parapet and were drawn 
 up in columns a hundred paces farther on. 
 Pesth was ordered to place himself on the 
 flank of the second company. Neither un- 
 derstandinor the situation nor the move- 
 ment, the yunker, with restrained breath 
 and a prey to a nervous tremor which
 
 May, 1 8s 5' 97 
 
 ran down his back, placed himself at the 
 post indicated, and gazed mechanically be- 
 fore him into the distant darkness, expect- 
 ing something terrible. However, the sen- 
 timent of fear was not the dominating one 
 in his case, for the firing had ceased. What 
 appeared to him strange, uncomfortable, was 
 to find himself in the open field outside the 
 fortifications. 
 
 The commander of the battalion once 
 more pronounced certain words, which were 
 again repeated in a low voice by the ofHcers, 
 and suddenly the black wall formed by the 
 first company sank down. The order to lie 
 down had been given ; the second com- 
 pany did the same, and Pesth in lying down 
 pricked his hand with some sharp thing. 
 The small silhouette of the captain of the 
 second company alone remained standing, 
 and he brandished a naked sword without 
 ceasing to talk and to walk back and forth 
 in front of the soldiers. 
 
 " Attention, children ! Show yourselves 
 brave men ! No firins: • Sfet at the wretch- 
 es with the bayonet ! When I shout ' hur- 
 rah !' follow me — closely and all together — 
 we will show them what we can do. We 
 
 7
 
 g8 Sebastopol. 
 
 won't cover ourselves witli shame, will we, 
 children? For the Czar, bur father !" 
 
 "What's the name of the company chief?" 
 asked Pesth from a yunker next to him. 
 "He is a brave one !" 
 
 " Yes, he's always so under fire. He is 
 called Lissinkoffsky." 
 
 Just at this moment a flame spurted out, 
 followed by a deafening report; splinters 
 and stones flew in the air. Fifty seconds 
 later one of the stones fell from a great 
 heiHit and crushed the foot of a soldier. A 
 shell had fallen in the middle of the com- 
 pany, a proof that the French had noticed 
 the column. 
 
 " Ah ! you are sending us shells now ! 
 Let us get at you and you will taste the 
 Russian bayonet, curse you!" 
 
 The captain shouted so loud that the 
 commander of the battalion ordered him to 
 be silent. 
 
 The first company rose up, after that 
 the second ; the soldiers took up their mus- 
 kets and the battalion advanced. 
 
 Pesth, seized by a foolish terror, could not 
 remember whether they marched far; he 
 went on like a drunken man. Suddenly
 
 May, 1 8s 5' 99 
 
 thousands of fires flashed on all sides, with 
 whizzings and crackings. He gave a yell 
 and ran forward, because they all yelled and 
 ran ; then he tripped and fell over some- 
 thing. It was the company chief, wounded 
 at the head of his troops, who took the yun- 
 ker for a Frenchman and seized his leg. 
 Pesth pulled his feet away and got up. 
 Some one threw himself on him in the dark- 
 ness, and he was almost knocked over again. 
 A voice shouted to him, " Kill him, then ! 
 What are you waiting for .?" 
 
 A hand seized his musket, the point of 
 his bayonet buried itself in something soft. 
 
 "Ah! Dieul" 
 
 These words were spoken in French, with 
 an accent of pain and fright. The yunker 
 knew he had just killed a Frenchman. A 
 cold sweat moistened his whole body; he 
 began to tremble, and threw down his mus- 
 ket. But that lasted only a second; the 
 thought that he was a hero came to his 
 mind. Picking up his gun, he left the dead 
 man, running and shouting " Hurrah !" with 
 the rest. Twenty steps farther on he 
 reached the trench where our troops and 
 the commander of battalion were.
 
 loo Scbastopol. 
 
 " I have killed one !" said he to the latter. 
 " You are a brave fellow, baron," was the 
 reply. 
 
 XL 
 
 " Did you know that Praskoukine is 
 dead .?" said Pesth to Kalouo:uine on the 
 way back. 
 
 " It isn't possible !" 
 
 " Why not ? I saw him myself." 
 
 " Good-by ; I am in a hurry." 
 
 " A lucky day !" thought Kalouguine, as 
 he was entering his quarters. " For the 
 first time I am lucky. It has been a brill- 
 iant affair ; I have come out of it safe and 
 sound ; there must be recommendations for 
 decoration. A sword of honor will be the 
 least they can give me. Faith, I have well 
 deserved it !" 
 
 He made his report to the general, and 
 went to his room. Prince Galtzine was 
 reading a book at the table, and had been 
 waiting for him a long time. 
 
 It was with an inexpressible joy that Ka- 
 louguine found himself at home, far from 
 danger. Lying on his bed in his night- 
 shirt, he related to Galtzine the incidents of
 
 May, i8j^. loi 
 
 the fight. These incidents naturally ar- 
 ranged themselves so as to make it appear 
 how he, KaloLigLiine, was a brave and capa- 
 ble officer. He discreetly touched on this 
 because no one could be ignorant of it, and 
 no one, with the exception of the defunct 
 captain Praskoukine, had the right to doubt 
 it. The latter, although he felt very much 
 honored to walk arm-in-arm with the aide- 
 de-camp, had told one of his friends in his 
 very ear the evening before that Kalouguine 
 — a very good fellow, however — did not like 
 to walk on the bastions. 
 
 We left Praskoukine coming back with 
 Mikha'iloff. He reached a less exposed 
 place and began to breathe again, when he 
 perceived, on turning around, the sudden 
 Hght of a flash. The sentinel shouted, 
 " Mor — tar!" And one of the soldiers who 
 followed added, " It is coming straight into 
 the bastion !" Mikha'iloff looked. The lu- 
 minous point of the bomb-shell seemed to 
 stop directly over his head, exactly the mo- 
 ment when it was impossible to tell what 
 direction it was going to take. That was 
 for the space of a second. Suddenly, re- 
 doubling its speed, the projectile came
 
 102 SebastopoL 
 
 nearer and nearer. The sparks of the fuse 
 could be seen flying out, the dismal hissing 
 was plainly audible. It was going to drop 
 right in the midst of the battalion. " To 
 earth !" shouted a voice. Mikhailoff and 
 Praskoukine obeyed. The latter, with shut 
 eyes, heard the shell fall somewhere on the 
 hard earth very near him. A second, which 
 appeared to him an hour, passed, and the 
 shell did not burst. Praskoukine was frioht- 
 
 o 
 
 ened; then he asked himself what cause he 
 had for fear. Perhaps it had fallen farther 
 away, and he wrongly imagined that he 
 heard the fuse hissing near him. Opening 
 his eyes, he was satisfied to see Mikha'i- 
 loff stretched motionless at his feet ; but at 
 the same time he perceived, a yard off, the 
 lighted fuse of the shell spinning around 
 like a top. A glacial terror, which stifled 
 every thought, every sentiment, took pos- 
 session of his soul. He hid his face in his 
 hands. 
 
 Another second passed, during which a 
 whole world of thoughts, of hopes, of sensa- 
 tions, and of souvenirs passed through his 
 mind. 
 
 "Whom will it kill? Me or Mikha'floff,
 
 May, 1855, 103 
 
 or indeed both of us together? If it is I, 
 where will it hit me ? If in the head, it will 
 be all over ; if on the foot, they will cut it 
 off, then I shall insist that they give me 
 chloroform, and I may get well. Perhaps 
 Mikha'iloff alone will be killed, and later I 
 will tell how we were close together, and 
 how I was covered with his blood. No, no ! 
 it is nearer me — it will be I !" 
 
 Then he remembered the twelve rubles 
 he owed Mikhailoff, and another debt left 
 at Petersburg, which ought to have been 
 paid long ago. A Bohemian air that he 
 sang the evening before came to his mind. 
 He also saw in his imagination the lady he 
 was in love with in her lilac trimmed bon- 
 net; the man who had insulted him five 
 years before, and whom he had never taken 
 vengeance on. But in the midst of these 
 and many other souvenirs the present feel- 
 ing — the expectation of death — did not 
 leave him. " Perhaps it isn't going to ex- 
 plode !" he thought, and was on the point 
 of opening his eyes with desperate boldness. 
 But at this instant a red fire struck his eye- 
 balls through the closed lids, something hit 
 him in the middle of the chest with a terri-
 
 10^ Sebastopol. 
 
 ble crash. He ran forward at random, en- 
 tangled his feet in his sword, stumbled, and 
 fell on his side. 
 
 " God be praised, I am only bruised." 
 
 This was his first thought, and he wanted 
 to feel of his breast, but his hands seemed as 
 if they were tied. A vice griped his head, 
 soldiers ran before his eyes, and he mechan- 
 ically counted them : 
 
 " One, two, three soldiers, and, besides, an 
 officer who is losinor his cloak !" 
 
 A new light flashed ; he wondered what 
 had fired. Was it a mortar or a cannon } 
 Doubtless a cannon. Another shot, more 
 soldiers — five, six, seven. They passed in 
 front of him, and suddenly he became terri- 
 bly afraid of being crushed by them. He 
 wanted to cry out, to say that he was bruised, 
 but his lips were dry, his tongue was glued 
 to the roof of his mouth. He had a burn- 
 ing thirst. He felt that his breast was damp, 
 and the sensation of this moisture made him 
 think of water. ... He would have liked to 
 drink that which drenched him. 
 
 " I must have knocked the skin off in 
 falling," he said to himself, more and more 
 frightened at the idea of being crushed by
 
 May, 185s. los 
 
 the soldiers who were running in crowds 
 before him. He tried again to cry out, 
 
 " Take me ! — " 
 
 But instead of that he uttered a groan so 
 terrible that he was frightened at it himself. 
 Then red sparks danced before his eyes ; 
 it seemed as if the soldiers were piling 
 stones on him. The sparks danced more 
 rapidly, the stones piled on him stifled him 
 more and more. He stretched himself out, 
 he ceased to see, to hear, to think, to feel. 
 He had been killed instantly by a piece of 
 shell striking him full in the breast. 
 
 XII. 
 
 Mikhailoff also threw himself down on 
 seeing the shell. Like Praskoukine, he 
 thought of a crowd of thin^js durino: the 
 two seconds which preceded the explosion. 
 He said his prayers mentally, repeating, 
 
 " May Thy will be done ! Why, O Lord, 
 am I a soldier ? Why did I exchange into 
 the infantry to make this campaign ? Why 
 did I not remain in the uhlan regiment, in 
 
 the province of F , near my friend Na- 
 
 tacha ? and now see what is going to happen 
 to me."
 
 ip6 Sebastopol. 
 
 He began to count — " One, two, three, 
 four," saying to himself that if the shell ex- 
 ploded on an even number he would live, if 
 at an odd number he would be killed. 
 
 "It is all over, I am killed !" he thought, 
 at the sound of the explosion, without think- 
 ing any more of odd or even. Struck on 
 the head, he felt a terrible pain. 
 
 " Lord, pardon my sins !" he murmured, 
 clasping his hands. 
 
 He tried to rise, and fell unconscious, face 
 downward. His first sensation when he 
 came to himself was of blood runninor from 
 his nose. The pain in his head was much 
 lessened. 
 
 " My soul is departing. What will there 
 be OM^x yonder ? My God, receive my soul 
 in peace ! It is nevertheless strange," he 
 reasoned, " that I am dying, and I can dis- 
 tinctly hear the footsteps of the soldiers and 
 the sound of shots !" 
 
 "A stretcher this way! The company 
 chief is killed !" cried a voice which he rec- 
 ognized, that of the drummer Ignatieff. 
 
 Some one raised him up by the shoulders; 
 he opened his eyes with an effort and saw 
 the dark-blue sky over his head, myriads of
 
 May, i8s5' loy 
 
 stars, and two shells flying through space as 
 if they were racing with each other. He, saw 
 Ignatieff, soldiers loaded down with stretch- 
 ers and with muskets, the slope of the in- 
 trenchment, and suddenly he understood he 
 was still in the world. 
 
 A stone had slightly wounded him on the 
 head. His first impression was almost a 
 regret. He felt so well, so quietly prepared 
 to go OM^x yonder, that the return to reality, 
 the sight of the shells, of the trenches, and 
 of blood, was painful to him. The second 
 impression was an involuntary joy at feeling 
 himself alive, and the third was the desire 
 to leave the bastion as quickly as possible. 
 The drummer bandaged his chiefs head 
 and led him towards the field-hospital, sup- 
 porting him under his arm. 
 
 "Where am I going, and what for?" 
 thought the captain, coming to himself a 
 little. " My duty is to remain with my com- 
 pany — all the more," whispered a little voice 
 within him, " since it will shortly be out of 
 range of the enemy's fire." 
 
 " It's no use, my friend," he said to the 
 drummer, taking away his arm. " I won't 
 go to the field-hospital ; I will stay with my 
 company."
 
 io8 Sebastopol. 
 
 " You had better let yourself be properly- 
 taken care of, your Excellency. It don't 
 seem to be anything at first, but it may 
 grow worse. Indeed, your Excellency — " 
 
 Mikhailoff stopped, undecided what to 
 do. He would have followed Ignatieff's ad- 
 vice, perhaps, but he saw what a number of 
 wounded men crowded the hospital, almost 
 all of them seriously hurt. 
 
 " Perhaps the doctor will make fun of my 
 scratch," he said to himself, and without lis- 
 tening to the drummer's arguments he went 
 with a firm step to join his company. 
 
 " Where is officer Praskoukine, who was 
 beside me a short time ago ?" he asked of 
 the sub-lieutenant whom he found at the 
 head of the company. 
 
 "I don't know; I think he was killed," 
 hesitatingly replied the latter. 
 
 " Killed or wounded ? Why, don't you 
 know } He was marching with us. Why 
 didn't you bring him off?" 
 
 " It wasn't possible in that furnace." 
 
 " Oh ! why did you abandon a living 
 man, Mikhail Ivanitch ?" said Mikhailoff, 
 with a vexed tone. " If he is dead, we must 
 bring off his body."
 
 May, iSsS' log 
 
 " How can he be alive ? Indeed I tell 
 you I went up to him, and I saw — What 
 would you have? We scarcely had time 
 to bring off our own men. Ah ! the devils, 
 how they are firing shell now !" 
 
 Mikhailoff sat down, and held his head 
 in his hands. The walk had increased the 
 violence of the pain. 
 
 " No," said he, "we must certainly go and 
 get him. Perhaps he is alive. It is our 
 duty, Mikhail Ivanitch." 
 
 Mikhail Ivanitch did not reply. 
 
 " He didn't think of bringing him off at 
 the time, and now I must detail men for it. 
 Why send them into this hell -fire, which 
 will kill them, for nothing?" thought Mi- 
 khailoff. 
 
 " Children, we must go back to get that 
 officer who is wounded yonder in the ditch," 
 he said, without raising his voice, and in a 
 tone which had no authority, for he guessed 
 how disasfreeable the execution of this or- 
 der would be to the men. 
 
 But since he addressed himself to no one 
 in particular, not one of them came forward 
 at this call. 
 
 " Who knows ? he is dead, perhaps, and
 
 no Sebastopol. 
 
 it isn't worth while to risk our men useless- 
 ly. It is my fault ; I ought to have thought 
 of it. I will go alone ; it is my duty. Mi- 
 khail Ivanitch," he added, aloud, "lead on 
 the company, I will overtake you." 
 
 Gathering up the folds of his cloak with 
 one hand, he touched the image of St. Mi- 
 trophanes with the other. . He wore this on 
 his breast as a sign of special devotion to 
 the blessed one. 
 
 The captain retraced his steps, assured 
 himself that Praskoukine was really dead, 
 and came back holding in his hand the 
 bandage which had become unwound from 
 his own head. The battalion was already at 
 the foot of the hill, and almost out of reach 
 of the balls, when Mikhailoff rejoined it. A 
 few stray shells still came in their direction. 
 
 " I must go to-morrow and be registered 
 in the field - hospital," said the captain to 
 himself while the surgeon was dressing his 
 wound. 
 
 XIIL 
 
 Hundreds of mutilated, freshly bleeding 
 bodies, which two hours before were full of 
 hopes and of different desires, sublime or
 
 May, 1 8^^. Ill 
 
 humble, lay with stiffened limbs in the flow- 
 ery and dew -bathed valley which separated 
 the bastion from the intrenchment, or on 
 the smooth floor of the little mortuary chap- 
 el of Sebastopol. The dry lips of all of these 
 men murmured prayers, curses, or groans. 
 They crawled, they turned on their sides, 
 some were abandoned among the corpses 
 of the blossom-strewn valley, others lay on 
 stretchers, on cots, and on the damp floor 
 of the field -hospital. Notwithstanding all 
 this, the heavens shed their morning light 
 over Mount Saponne as on the preceding 
 days, the sparkling stars grew pale, a white 
 mist rose from the sombre and plaintively 
 swelling sea, the east grew purple with the 
 dawn, and long, flame-colored clouds stretch- 
 ed along the blue horizon. As on the days 
 before, the grand torch mounted slowly, 
 powerful and proud, promising joy, love, and 
 happiness to the awakened world. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 On the following evening the band of the 
 regiment of chasseurs again played on the 
 boulevard. Around the pavilion oflicers, 
 yunkers, soldiers, and young women prom-
 
 112 Sebasiopol. 
 
 enaded with a festal air in the paths of white 
 flowering acacias. 
 
 Kalouguine, Prince Galtzine, and another 
 colonel marched arm-in-arm along the street, 
 talking of the affair of the day before. The 
 chief subject of this conversation was, as it 
 always is, not of the affair itself, but of the 
 part the talkers had taken in it. The ex- 
 pression of their faces, the sound of their 
 voices, had something serious in it, and it 
 might have been supposed that the losses 
 profoundly affected them. But, to tell the 
 truth, since no one among them had lost 
 any one dear to him, they put on this offi- 
 cially mournful expression for propriety's 
 sake. Kalouguine and the colonel, although 
 they were very good fellows, would have 
 asked nothing better than to be present at 
 a similar engagement every day, in order to 
 receive each time a sword of honor or the 
 rank of major-general. When I hear a con- 
 queror who sends to their destruction mill- 
 ions of men in order to satisfy his personal 
 ambition called a monster, I always want 
 to lauQ^h. Ask sub-lieutenants Petrouchef 
 Antonoff, and others, and you will see that 
 each is a little Napoleon, a monster ready
 
 May, i8s5' nj 
 
 to engage in battle, to kill a hundred men, 
 in order to obtain one more little star or an 
 increase of pay. 
 
 " I ask pardon," said the colonel, " the af- 
 fair began on the left flank. / was there.'' 
 
 " Perhaps so," replied Kalouguine, " for I 
 was almost all the time on the right flank. 
 I went there twice, first to seek the general, 
 then simply of my own accord to look on. 
 It was there it was hot !" 
 
 " If Kalouguine says so it is a fact," con- 
 tinued the colonel, turning towards Galtzine. 
 
 "Do you know that only to-day V 
 
 told me you were a brave man .? Our losses 
 are truly frightful. In my own regiment 
 four hundred men disabled ! I don't under- 
 stand how I came out alive." 
 
 At the other end of the boulevard they 
 saw Mikhailoff s bandaged head arise. He 
 was coming to meet them. 
 
 " Are you wounded, captain ?" asked Ka- 
 louguine. 
 
 " Slightly — by a stone," said Mikhailoff. 
 
 " Le pavilion est il deja amene T' said 
 Prince Galtzine, looking over the head of 
 the captain, and addressing himself to no 
 one in particular. 
 8
 
 114 Scbastopol. 
 
 ''Noil pas encore',' said Mikhailoff, very 
 anxious to show that he knew French. 
 
 " Does the armistice still go on ?" asked 
 Galtzine, addressing him politely in Rus- 
 sian, as if to say to the captain, " I know 
 you speak French with difficulty, why not 
 simply speak Russian ?" Upon this the 
 aides-de-camp went away from Mikhailoff, 
 who felt, as on the evening before, very lone- 
 some. Not wishing to come in contact with 
 some of them, and not making up his mind 
 to approach others, he limited himself to sa- 
 luting certain officers, and sat down near the 
 Kazarsky monument to smoke a cigarette. 
 
 Baron Pesth also made his appearance on 
 the boulevard. He related that he had tak- 
 en part in the negotiations of the armistice, 
 that he had chatted with the French officers, 
 and that one of them had said to him, 
 
 " If daylight had come an hour later the 
 ambuscades would have been retaken," 
 
 To which he had replied, 
 
 " Sir, I don't say they would not have 
 been, so that I shall not contradict you," 
 and his answer had filled him with pride. 
 
 In reality, although he had been present 
 at the conclusion of the armistice, and had
 
 May, i8s5' nS 
 
 been very desirous of talking with the 
 French, he had said nothing remarkable. 
 The yunker simply promenaded for a long 
 time in front of the lines, asking the nearest 
 Frenchmen, 
 
 " What regiment do you belong to ?" 
 
 They answered him, and that was all. As 
 he advanced a little beyond the neutral zone, 
 a French sentinel, who did not imagine that 
 the Russian understood his language, flung 
 a formidable curse at him. 
 
 " He is coming to examine our works, 
 this damned — " 
 
 Indeed, after that the yunker returned 
 home, composing along the road the French 
 phrases he had just retailed to his acquaint- 
 ances. 
 
 Captain Zobkine was also seen on the 
 promenade, shouting with a loud voice ; Cap- 
 tain Objogoff, with his torn uniform ; the 
 captain of artillery, who asked no favors of 
 any one ; the yunker, in love — in a word, all 
 the personages of the day before, swayed 
 by the same eternal moving forces. Pras- 
 koukine, Neferdoff, and several others were 
 alone absent. Nobody thought of them. 
 Nevertheless, their bodies were neither 
 washed, nor dressed, nor buried in the earth.
 
 ii6 Sebastopol. 
 
 XV. 
 
 White flags are flying on our fortifica- 
 tions and in the French intrenchments. In 
 the blossom-covered valley mutilated bodies, 
 clothed in blue or in gray, with bare feet, 
 lie in heaps, and the men are carrying them 
 off to place them in carts. The air is poi- 
 soned by the odor of the corpses. Crowds 
 of people pour out of Sebastopol and out of 
 the French camp to witness this spectacle. 
 The different sides meet each other on this 
 ground with eager and kindly curiosity. 
 
 Listen to the words exchanged between 
 them. On this side, in a small group of 
 French and Russians, a young officer is 
 examining a cartridge-box. Although he 
 speaks bad French, he can make himself 
 understood. 
 
 " And why that— that bird .?" he asks. 
 
 " Because it is the cartridge-box of a regi- 
 ment of the guard, sir. It is ornamented 
 with the imperial eagle." 
 
 " And you — you belong to the guard .?" 
 
 " Pardon, sir, to the sixth regiment of the 
 line." 
 
 "And this — where was this boufjht.?"
 
 May, i8s5- 117 
 
 The officer points to the Httle wooden 
 mouth-piece which holds the Frenchman's 
 cio^arette. 
 
 " At Balaklava, sir. It is only palm-wood." 
 
 " Pretty," replies the officer, obliged to 
 make use of the few words he knew, and 
 which, nolens volens, intruded themselves 
 into the conversation. 
 
 " You will oblige me if you will keep that 
 as a souvenir of this meeting." 
 
 The Frenchman throws away his cigar- 
 ette, blows in the mouth-piece, and politely 
 presents it to the officer with a salute. The 
 latter gives him his in exchange. All the 
 French and Russian by-standers smile and 
 seem delighted. 
 
 Here comes a shrewd -looking infantry- 
 man in a red shirt, his overcoat thrown over 
 his shoulders. His face is full of good spir- 
 its and curiosity. Accompanied by two com- 
 rades, their hands behind their backs, he ap- 
 proaches and asks a Frenchman for a light. 
 The latter blows into his pipe, shakes it, and 
 offers a light to the Russian. 
 
 " Tabac bonn /" says the soldier in the red 
 shirt, and the by-standers smile. 
 
 " Yes, good tobacco — Turkish tobacco !"
 
 ii8 Scbastopol. 
 
 answers the Frenchman ; " and with you 
 Russian tobacco good ?" 
 
 '' Rotiss bonnP'' repeats the soldier in the 
 red shirt, and this time the spectators burst 
 out laughing. 
 
 '' Fran^ais pas bonn, bonn jour, mousiotcT 
 continues the soldier, making a show of all 
 he knew in French, laughing, and tapping 
 on the stomach of the man who was talking 
 with him. The Frenchmen also laugh. 
 
 " They are not pretty, these Russian 
 B ," said a Zouave. 
 
 " What are they laughing at ?" asks an- 
 other, with an Italian accent. 
 
 ''Le caftan bonuT the bold soldier begins 
 again, examining the embroidered uniform 
 of the Zouave. 
 
 " To your places, sacre nom f shouts a 
 French corporal at this instant. 
 
 The soldiers sulkily disperse. 
 
 Nevertheless, our young cavalry lieuten- 
 ant is strutting in a group of the enemy's 
 officers. 
 
 " I knew Count Sasonoff well," says one 
 of the latter. " He is one of the true Rus- 
 sian counts, such as we like." 
 
 " I also knew a Sasonoff," replies the cav-
 
 May, iSs5' 119 
 
 airy officer, " but he wasn't a count, as far 
 as I know. He is a small, dark man about 
 your age." 
 
 "That's it, sir — that's he. Oh, how I 
 would like to see the dear count ! If you 
 see him, give him my regards. Captain 
 Latour," he adds, bowing. 
 
 " What a miserable business we are car- 
 rying on ! It was hot last night, wasn't it .?" 
 continues the cavalry officer, anxious to keep 
 up the conversation, and pointing to the 
 corpses. 
 
 " Oh, sir, it is frightful. But what fine 
 fellows your soldiers are! It is a pleasure 
 to fisht with fine fellows like that." 
 
 " It must be confessed that your fellows 
 are up to snuff also," replies the Russian 
 horseman, with a salute, satisfied that he has 
 given him a good answer. 
 
 But enough on this subject. Let us 
 watch that ten -year- old boy, with an old 
 worn cap on his head which doubtless be- 
 longed to his father, and with naked legs 
 and large shoes on his feet, dressed in a 
 pair of cotton trousers, held up by a single 
 brace. He came out of the fortifications at 
 the beginning of the truce. He has been
 
 t20 Scbastopol. 
 
 walking about ever since on the low ground, 
 examining with stupid curiosity the French 
 soldiers and the dead bodies lying on the 
 ground. He is gathering the little blue 
 field-flowers with which the valley is strewn. 
 He retraces his steps with a great bouquet, 
 holding his nose so as not to smell the fetid 
 odor that comes on the wind. Stopping 
 near a heap of corpses, he looks a long time 
 at a headless, hideous, dead man. After an 
 examination, he goes near and touches with 
 his foot the arm stretched stiffly in the air. 
 As he presses harder on it the arm moves 
 and falls into place. The boy gives a cry, 
 hides his face in the flowers, and enters the 
 fortifications, running at full speed. 
 
 Yes, flags of truce float over the bastions 
 and on the intrenchments ; the brilliantly 
 shining sun is setting into the blue sea, 
 which ripples and sparkles under the golden 
 rays. Thousands of people assemble, look 
 at each other, chat, laugh. These people, 
 who are Christians, who profess to obey the 
 great law of love and devotion, are looking 
 at their work without throwing themselves 
 down in repentance at the knees of Him 
 who gave them life, and with life the fear of
 
 May, 1855, 121 
 
 death, the love of the good and the beautiful. 
 They do not embrace each other like broth- 
 ers, and shed tears of joy and happiness ! 
 We must at least take consolation in the 
 thought that we did not begin the war, that 
 we are only defending our country, our na- 
 tive land. The white flags are lowered; the 
 engines of death and of suffering thunder 
 once more ; again a flood of innocent blood 
 is shed, and groans and curses can be heard. 
 I have said what I have wanted to say for 
 this time at least, but a painful doubt over- 
 whelms me. It would have been better, per- 
 haps, to have kept silent, for possibly what 
 I have uttered is among those pernicious 
 truths obscurely hidden away in every one's 
 soul, and which, in order to remain harm- 
 less, must not be expressed ; just as old wine 
 must not be disturbed lest the sediment rise 
 and make the liquid turbid. Where, then, 
 in my tale do we see the evil we must avoid, 
 and the Qrood towards which we must strive 
 to go ? Where is the traitor ? Where is the 
 hero ? All are G:ood and all are bad. It is 
 not Kalouguine with his brilliant courage, 
 his gentlemanly bravado, and his vanity — 
 the chief motive power of all his actions ; it
 
 122 Sebastopol. 
 
 is not PraskoLikinc, an inoffensive cipher, 
 although he fell on the battle-field for his 
 faith, his ruler, and his country ; nor timid 
 Mikhailoff ; nor Pesth, that child with no 
 conviction and no moral sense, who can pass 
 for traitors or for heroes. 
 
 No ; the hero of my tale, the one I love 
 with all the power of my soul, the one I 
 have tried to reproduce in all his beauty, 
 just as he has been, is, and always will be 
 beautiful, is Truth.
 
 SEBASTOPOL IN AUGUST, 1855.
 
 SEBASTOFOL IN AUGUST, i8s5. 
 
 I. 
 
 Towards the end of the month of Au- 
 gust there was slowly moving along the 
 stony Sebastopol road between Douvanka* 
 and Baktchisara'i an officer's carriage of pe- 
 culiar form, unknown elsewhere, which held 
 a middle place in construction between a 
 basket - wagon, a Jewish britchka, and a 
 Russian cart. 
 
 In this carriage a servant, dressed in linen, 
 with a soft and shapeless officer s cap on his 
 head, held the reins. Seated behind him, 
 on parcels and bags covered with a soldier's 
 overcoat, was an officer in a summer cloak, 
 small in stature, as well as could be judged 
 from the position he was in, who was less 
 remarkable for the massive squareness of 
 his shoulders than for the thickness of his 
 body between his chest and his back. His 
 neck from the nape to the shoulder was 
 
 * The last station before Sebastopol. — Trans,
 
 126 Sebastopol. 
 
 heavy and largely developed, and the mus- 
 cles were firmly extended. What is com- 
 monly spoken of as a waist did not exist, 
 nor the stomach either, although he was far 
 from being fat ; and his face, upon which 
 was spread a layer of yellow and unhealthy 
 sunburn, was noticeable by its thinness. It 
 would have passed for an attractive one 
 if it had not been for a certain bloatino; 
 of the flesh and a skin furrowed by deep 
 wrinkles, which, interweaving, distorted the 
 features, took away all freshness, and gave 
 a brutal expression. His small, brown, ex- 
 traordinarily keen eyes had an almost impu- 
 dent look. His very thick mustache, which 
 he was in the habit of biting, did not extend 
 much in breadth. His cheeks and his chin, 
 which he had not shaved for two days, 
 were covered with a black and thick beard. 
 Wounded on the head by a piece of shell 
 on the loth of May, and still wearing a 
 bandage, he felt, nevertheless, entirely cured, 
 and left the hospital at Sympheropol to join 
 his regiment, posted somewhere there in the 
 direction where shots could be heard ; but 
 he had not been able to find out whether it 
 was at Sebastopol itself or at Severnai'a or at
 
 Augttst, 1 8^^. 1 2 "J 
 
 Inkerman. The cannonade was distinctly 
 heard, and seemed very near when the hills 
 did not cut off the sound which was brought 
 by the wind. Occasionally a tremendous ex- 
 plosion shook the air and made you tremble 
 in spite of yourself. Now and then less vio- 
 lent noises, like a drum-beat, followed each 
 other at short intervals, intermingled with 
 a deafening rumble ; or perhaps all was con- 
 founded in a hubbub of prolonged rolls, like 
 peals of thunder at the height of a storm 
 when the rain begins to fall. Every one 
 said, and indeed it could be heard, that the 
 violence of the bombardment was terrible. 
 The officer urged his servant to hasten. 
 They met a line of carts driven by Russian 
 peasants, who had carried provisions to Se- 
 bastopol, and who were on their way back, 
 bringing sick and wounded soldiers in gray 
 overcoats, sailors in black pilot-coats, volun- 
 teers in red fez caps, and bearded militia- 
 men. The officer's carriage was forced to 
 stop, and he, grimacing and squinting his 
 eyes in the impenetrable and motionless 
 cloud of dust raised by the carts, which flew 
 into the eyes and ears on all sides, examined 
 the faces as they passed by.
 
 128 Sebastopol. 
 
 " There is a sick soldier of our company," 
 said the servant, turning towards his mas- 
 ter and pointing to a wounded man. 
 
 Seated sidewise on the front of his cart 
 a Russian peasant, wearing his whole beard, 
 a felt cap on his head, was tying a knot in 
 an enormous whip, w^hich he held by the 
 handle under his elbow. He turned his 
 back to four or five soldiers shaken and 
 tossed about in the vehicle. One of them, 
 his arm tied up, his overcoat thrown on over 
 his shirt, seated erect and firm, although 
 somewhat pale and thin, occupied the mid- 
 dle place. Perceiving the officer, he instinct- 
 ively raised his hand to his cap, but remem- 
 bering his wound, he made believe he want- 
 ed to scratch his head. Another one was 
 lying down beside him on the bottom of 
 the cart. All that could be seen of him was 
 his two hands clinging to the wooden bars, 
 and his two raised knees swinging nerve- 
 lessly like two hempen dish-rags. A third, 
 with swollen face, his head wTapped with a 
 cloth on which was placed his soldier's cap, 
 seated sidewise, his legs hanging outside and 
 grazing the wheel, was dozing, his hands 
 resting on his knees.
 
 August, i8^^. i2g 
 
 " Doljikoff !" the traveller shouted at him. 
 
 " Present !" replied the latter, opening his 
 eyes and taking off his cap. His bass voice 
 was so full, so tremendous, that it seemed to 
 come out of the chest of twenty soldiers to- 
 gether. 
 
 " When were you wounded ?" 
 
 " Health to your Excellency!"* he cried 
 with his strong voice, his glassy and swollen 
 eyes growing animated at the sight of his 
 superior ofTficer. 
 
 " Where is the regiment V 
 
 "At Sebastopol, your Excellency. They 
 are thinking of going away from there 
 Wednesday." 
 
 " Where to ?" 
 
 " They don't know — to Severnai'a, no 
 doubt, your Excellency. At present," he 
 continued, dragging his words, ''he is firing 
 straight through everything, especially with 
 shells, even away into the bay. He is firing 
 in a frightful manner! — " And he added 
 words which could not be understood ; but 
 from his face and from his position it could 
 
 * This is the literal translation of the common phrase 
 used by the soldiers in reply to a greeting from their su- 
 perior officers. — Trans. 
 
 9
 
 ijo Scbaslopol. 
 
 be guessed that, with a suffering man's sense 
 of injury, he was saying something of a not 
 very consoHng nature. 
 
 Sub-Heutenant Koseltzoff, who had just 
 asked these questions, was neither an officer 
 of ordinary stamp nor among the number of 
 those who live and act in a certain way be- 
 cause others hve and act thus. His nature 
 had been richly endowed with inferior qual- 
 ities. He sang and played the guitar in an 
 agreeable manner, he conversed well, and 
 wrote with facility, especially official corre- 
 spondence, of which he had got the trick 
 during his service as battalion aide-de-camp. 
 His energy was remarkable, but this en- 
 ergy only received its impulse from self- 
 love, and although grafted on this second- 
 rate capacity, it formed a salient and char- 
 acteristic trait of his nature. That kind of 
 self-love which is most commonly developed 
 among men, especially among military men, 
 was so filtered through his existence that he 
 did not conceive a possible choice between 
 " first or nothing." Self-love was then the 
 motive force of his most intimate enthusi- 
 asms. Even alone in his own presence 
 he was fond of considering himself supe-
 
 August, 1855. iji 
 
 rior to tliose with whom he compared him- 
 self. 
 
 " Come ! I am not going to be the one to 
 listen to 'Moscow's'* chatter!" murmured 
 the sub-lieutenant, whose thoughts had been 
 troubled somewhat by meeting the train of 
 wounded ; and the soldier's words, the impor- 
 tance of which was increased and confirmed 
 at each step by the sound of the cannonade, 
 weighed heavily on his heart. 
 
 " They are curious fellows these ' Mos- 
 cows ' — Come, Nicolai'eff, forward ! you 
 are asleep, I think," he angrily shouted at 
 his servant, throwing back the lappels of 
 his coat. 
 
 Nicolai'eff shook the reins, made a little 
 encouraging sound with his lips, and the 
 wagon went off at a trot. 
 
 "We will stop only to feed them," said 
 the officer, "and then on the road — for- 
 ward !" 
 
 II. 
 
 Just as he entered the street of Douvan- 
 ka, where everything was in ruins, Sub-lieu- 
 
 * In certain regiments the officers nicknamed the sol- 
 diers "Moscow," half in scorn, half in kindly sport. — 
 Trans.
 
 IJ2 Sebastopol. 
 
 tenant Koseltzoff was stopped by a wagon- 
 train of cannon-balls and shells sfoinof tow- 
 ards Sebastopol, which was halted in the 
 middle of the road. 
 
 Two infantrymen, seated in the dust on 
 the stones of an overthrown wall, were eat- 
 ing bread and watermelon. 
 
 "Are you going far, fellow-countryman.?" 
 said one of them, chewing his mouthful. 
 He was speaking to a soldier standing near 
 them with a small knapsack on his shoulder. 
 
 " We are going to join our company ; we 
 have come from the country," replied the 
 soldier, turning his eyes from the watermel- 
 on and arranging his knapsack. " For three 
 weeks we have been guarding the compa- 
 ny's hay, but now they have summoned ev- 
 erybody, and we don't know where our regi- 
 ment is to-day. They tell us that since last 
 week our fellows have been at Korabelnaia. 
 Do you know anything about it, gentlemen .?" 
 
 *' It is in the city, brother, in the city," re- 
 plied an old soldier of the wagon-train, busy 
 cutting with his pocket-knife the white meat 
 of an unripe melon. " We just came from 
 there. What a terrible business, brother !" 
 
 " What is that, gentlemen .?"
 
 August, i8s5' ^33 
 
 " Don't you hear how he is firing now ? 
 No shelter anywhere ! It is frightful how 
 many of our men he has killed !" added the 
 speaker, making a gesture, and straighten- 
 ing up his cap. 
 
 The soldier on his travels pensively shook 
 his head, clacked his tongue, took his short 
 pipe out of its box, stirred up the half-burn- 
 ed tobacco with bis finger, lighted a bit of 
 tinder from the pipe of a comrade who was 
 smoking, and lifting his cap, said, 
 
 " There is no one but God, gentlemen. 
 We say good-by to you ;" and putting his 
 knapsack in place, went his way. 
 
 "Ah ! it is better worth while to wait," 
 said the watermelon eater, with tone of con- 
 viction. 
 
 " It is all the same," murmured the sol- 
 dier, settling the knapsack on his back, and 
 worming his way between the wheels of the 
 
 halted carts. 
 
 III. 
 
 At the station for horses Koseltzoff found 
 a_ crowd of people, and the first figure he 
 perceived was the postmaster in person, 
 very young and very thin, quarrelling with 
 two officers.
 
 IJ4 Sebastopol. 
 
 " You will not only wait twenty-four hours 
 but ten times twenty-four hours. Generals 
 wait too," he said, with the evident wish to 
 stir them up in a lively manner. " And I 
 am not going to hitch myself in, you under- 
 stand !" 
 
 " If this is so, if there are no horses, they 
 can't be given to any one. Why, then, are 
 they given to a servant who is carrying bag- 
 gage ?" shouted one of the two soldiers, 
 holding a glass of tea in his hand. 
 
 Although he carefully avoided using per- 
 sonal pronouns, it could easily be guessed 
 that he would have liked to say thee and 
 thou to his interlocutor. 
 
 " I want you to understand, Mr. Postmas- 
 ter," hesitatingly said the other ofificer, 
 " that we are not travelling for our pleas- 
 ure. If we have been summoned it is be- 
 cause we are necessary. You can be sure 
 I will tell the general, for it really seems 
 as if you have no respect for the rank of 
 officer." 
 
 " You spoil my work every time, and you 
 are in my way," rejoined his comrade, half 
 vexed. " Why do you talk to him about 
 respect ? You have to speak to him in
 
 August, 1855. ijs 
 
 another manner. Horses !" he suddenly 
 shouted, " horses, this instant !" 
 
 " I wouldn't ask better than to give them 
 to you, but where can I get them ? I un- 
 derstand very well, my friend," continued 
 the postmaster, after a moment of silence, 
 and warming up by degrees as he gesticu- 
 lated, " but what do you want me to do ? 
 Let me just " — and the officers' faces at 
 once had a hopeful expression — " keep soul 
 and body together to the end of the month, 
 and then I won't be seen any longer. I 
 would rather go to the Malakoff than re- 
 main here, God knows ! Do what you like 
 — but I haven't a single wagon in good con- 
 dition, and for three days the horses haven't 
 seen a handful of hay." 
 
 At these words he disappeared. Koselt- 
 zoff and the two officers entered the house. 
 
 " So !" said the elder to the younger with 
 a calm tone, which strongly contrasted with 
 his recent wrath. " We are already three 
 months on the road. Let's wait. It is no 
 misfortune ; there isn't any hurry." 
 
 Koseltzoff with difficulty found in the 
 room of the post-house, all smoky, dirty, and 
 filled with officers and trunks, an empty cor-
 
 Ij6 Sebastopol. 
 
 ner near the window. He sat down there, 
 and, rolling a cigarette, began to examine 
 faces and to listen to conversations. The 
 chief group was j^laced on the right of the 
 entrance door, around a shaky and greasy 
 table on which two copper tea-urns, stained 
 here and there with verdigris, were boiling ; 
 lump - sugar was strewn about in several 
 paper wrappings. A young officer without 
 a mustache, in a new Circassian coat, was 
 pouring water into a teapot ; four others of 
 about his own ao;e w^re scattered in differ- 
 ent corners of the room. One of them, his 
 head placed on a cloak which served him as 
 a pillow, was sleeping on a divan ; another, 
 standing near a table, was cutting roast mut- 
 ton into small mouthfuls for a one-armed 
 comrade. Two officers, one in an aide-de- 
 camp's overcoat, the other in a fine cloth 
 infantry overcoat, and carrying a saddle-bag, 
 were sitting beside the stove; and it could 
 be readily divined by the way they looked 
 at the others, by the manner the one with 
 the saddle-bag was smoking, that they were 
 not officers of the line, and that they were 
 very glad of it. Their manner did not be- 
 tray scorn but a certain satisfaction with
 
 August, iS^^. ijy 
 
 themselves, founded partly on their relations 
 with the generals, and on a feeling of supe- 
 riority developed to such a point that they 
 tried to conceal it from others. There was 
 also in the place a doctor with fleshy lips, 
 and an artilleryman with a German physi- 
 ognomy, seated almost on the feet of the 
 sleeper, busily counting money. Four men- 
 servants, some dozing, some fumbling in the 
 trunks and the packets heaped up near the 
 door, completed the number of those pres- 
 ent, among whom Koseltzoff found not a 
 face he knew. The young officers pleased 
 him. He guessed at once from their appear- 
 ance that they had just come out of school, 
 and this called to his mind that his young 
 brother was also coming straight therefrom 
 to serve in one of the Sebastopol batteries. 
 On the other hand, the officer with the sad- 
 dle-bag, whom he believed he had met some- 
 where, altogether displeased him. He found 
 him to have an expression of face so antipa- 
 thetic and so insolent that he was going to 
 sit down on the large base of the stove, with 
 the intention of putting him in his proper 
 place if he happened to say anything dis- 
 agreeable. In his quality of brave and hon-
 
 ijS Sebastopol. 
 
 orable officer at the front he did not like the 
 staff-officers, and for such he took these at 
 the first glance. 
 
 IV. 
 
 " It is bad luck," said one of the young 
 fellows, " to be so near the end and not be 
 able to get there. There will perhaps be a 
 battle to-day, even, and we will not be in it." 
 
 The sympathetic timidity of a young man 
 who fears to say something out of place 
 could be guessed from the slightly sharp 
 sound of his voice, and from the youthful 
 rosiness which spread in patches over his 
 fresh face. 
 
 The one-armed officer looked at him with 
 a smile. 
 
 " You will have time enough, believe me," 
 he said. 
 
 The young officer respectfully turning 
 his eyes upon the thin face of the latter 
 suddenly lighted up by a smile, continued 
 to pour the tea in silence. And truly the 
 figure, the position of the wounded man, 
 and, above all, the fluttering sleeve of his 
 uniform, gave him that appearance of calm 
 indifference which seemed to reply to every-
 
 August, i8sS' 139 
 
 thing said and done about him, " All this is 
 very well, but I know it all, and I could do 
 it if I wanted to." 
 
 " What shall we decide to do ?" asked the 
 young officer of his comrade with the Cir- 
 cassian coat, " Shall we pass the night here, 
 or shall we push on with our single horse ? 
 
 "Just think of it, captain," he continued, 
 when his companion had declined his sug- 
 gestion (he spoke to the one-armed man, 
 picking up a knife he had dropped), " since 
 they told us that horses could not be had at 
 Sebastopol at any price, we bought one out 
 of the common purse at Sympheropol." 
 
 " Did they skin you well ?" 
 
 " I don't know anything about it, captain. 
 We paid for the whole thing, horse and 
 wagon, ninety rubles. Is it very dear.?" he 
 added, addressing all who looked at him, 
 Koseltzoff included. 
 
 " It isn't too dear if the horse is young," 
 said the latter. 
 
 " Isn't it } Nevertheless, we have been 
 assured it was dear. He limps a little, it is 
 true, but that will go off. They told us he 
 was very strong." 
 
 " What institution are you from ?" Kosel-
 
 1^0 Sebastopol. 
 
 tzoff asked him, wishing to get news of his 
 brother. 
 
 " We belonged to the regiment of the 
 nobility. There are six of us who are go- 
 ing of our own accord to Sebastopol," re- 
 plied the loquacious little ofhcer, " but we 
 don't exactly know where our battery is. 
 Some say at Sebastopol, but this gentleman 
 says it is at Odessa." 
 
 " Wouldn't you have been able to find 
 out at Sympheropol .?" asked Koseltzoff. 
 
 " They didn't know anything there. Im- 
 agine it. They insulted one of our com- 
 rades who went to the government office 
 for information ! It was very disagreeable. 
 Wouldn't you like to have this cigarette, 
 already rolled ?" he continued, offering it to 
 the one-armed officer, who was looking for 
 his cigar-case. 
 
 The young man's enthusiasm even en- 
 tered into the little attentions he showered 
 on him. 
 
 " You have also just come from Sebasto- 
 pol ?" he rejoined. " Heavens, how astonish- 
 ing ! At Petersburg we did nothing but think 
 of you all, you heroes !" he added, turning to 
 Koseltzoff with good-fellowshijD and respect.
 
 August, i^SS' ^4^ 
 
 " What if you are obliged to go back 
 there ?" asked the latter. 
 
 "That's just what we are afraid of; for 
 after having bought the horse and what we 
 had to get — this coffee-pot, for example, 
 and a few other trifles — we are left without 
 a penny," he said, in a lower tone, casting 
 a look at his companion on the sly, "so that 
 we don't know how we are going to get out 
 of it." 
 
 " You haven't received money on the 
 road, then ?" Koseltzoff asked him. 
 
 "No," murmured the young man, "but 
 they promised to give it to us here." 
 
 " Have you the certificate ?" 
 
 " I know the certificate is the chief thing. 
 One of my uncles, a Senator at Moscow, 
 could have given it to me, but I was as- 
 sured I should receive it here without 
 fail." 
 
 " Doubtless." 
 
 " I believe it also," replied the young offi- 
 cer, in a tone which proved that after hav- 
 ing repeated the same question in thirty dif- 
 ferent places, and having received different 
 replies everywhere, he no longer believed 
 any one.
 
 142 Sebastopol. 
 
 V. 
 
 " Who ordered beet soup ?" shouted the 
 house-keeper at this moment, a stout, slov- 
 enly dressed wench, about forty years old, 
 who was bringing in a great earthen 
 dish. 
 
 There was a general silence, and every 
 eye was turned towards the woman. One 
 of the officers even winked, exchanging with 
 his comrade a look which plainly referred to 
 the matron. 
 
 " But it was Koseltzoff who ordered it," 
 rejoined the young officer ; " we must wake 
 him up. Halloo ! come and eat," he added, 
 approaching the sleeper and shaking him 
 by the shoulder. 
 
 A youth of seventeen years, with black, 
 lively, sparkling eyes and red cheeks, rose 
 with a bound, and having involuntarily push- 
 ed against the doctor, said, "A thousand par- 
 dons !" rubbing his eyes and standing in the 
 middle of the room. 
 
 Sub -lieutenant Koseltzoff immediately 
 recognized his younger brother and went 
 up to him. 
 
 *' Do you know me .''" he asked.
 
 August, 1 8s 5' 143 
 
 "Oh, oh, what an astonishing thing!" cried 
 the younger, embracing him. 
 
 Two kisses were heard, but just as they 
 were about to give each other a third, as 
 the custom is, they hesitated a moment. It 
 miofht have been said that each asked him- 
 self why he must kiss three times. 
 
 " How glad I am to see you !" said the 
 elder, leading his brother outside. " Let's 
 chat a bit." 
 
 " Come, come ! I don't want any soup 
 now. Eat it up, Federson," said the youth 
 to his comrade. 
 
 " But you were hungry — " 
 
 " No, I don't want it now." 
 
 Once outside on the piazza, after the first 
 joyous outbursts of the youth, who went on 
 to ask his brother questions without speak- 
 ing to him of that which concerned himself, 
 the latter, profiting by a moment of silence, 
 asked him why he had not gone into the 
 guard, as they had expected him to do. 
 
 " Because I wanted to go to Sebastopol. 
 If everything comes out all right, I shall 
 gain more than if I had remained in the 
 guard. In that branch of the service you 
 have to count ten years to the rank of cola-
 
 144 Sebastopol. 
 
 nel, while here Todtleben has gone from 
 Heutenant-colonel to general in two years. 
 And if I am killed, well, then, what's to be 
 done ?" 
 
 " How you do argue," said the elder broth- 
 er, with a smile. 
 
 "And then, that I have just told you is of 
 no importance. The chief reason " — and he 
 stopped, hesitating, smiling in his turn, and 
 blushing as if he were going to say some- 
 thing very shameful — " the chief reason is 
 that my conscience bothered me. I felt 
 scruples at living in Petersburg while men 
 are dying here for their country. I counted 
 also on being with you," he added, still more 
 bashfully. 
 
 " You are a curious fellow," said the broth- 
 er, without looking at him, hunting for his 
 cigar-case. " I am sorry wt. can't stay to- 
 gether." 
 
 " Come, pray tell me the truth about the 
 bastions. Are they horribly frightful ?" 
 
 " Yes, at first ; then one gets used to it. 
 You will see." 
 
 " Tell me also, please, do you think Se- 
 bastopol will be taken t It seems to me 
 that such a thing cannot happen."
 
 August, iSs5' 146 
 
 " God only knows !" 
 
 " Oh, if you only knew how annoyed I am ! 
 Imagine my misfortune. On the road I 
 have been robbed of different things, among 
 others my helmet, and I am in a fearful po- 
 sition. What will I do when I am present- 
 ed to my chief V 
 
 Vladimir Koseltzoff, the 3'ounger, looked 
 very much like his brother Michael, at least 
 as much as a half -open columbine can 
 resemble one which has lost its flower. 
 He had similar blond hair, but thicker, and 
 curled around the temples ; while one long 
 lock strayed down the white and delicate 
 back of his neck ; a sign of happiness, as 
 the old women say. Rich young blood sud- 
 denly tinged his habitually dull complexion 
 at each impression of his soul ; a veil of 
 moisture often swept over his eyes, which 
 were like his brother's, but more open and 
 more limpid ; a fine blond down began to 
 show on his cheeks and on his upper lip, 
 which, purplish red in color, often extended 
 in a timid smile, exposing teeth of dazzling 
 whiteness. As he stood there in his un- 
 buttoned coat, under which could be seen a 
 red shirt with Russian collar; slender, broad- 
 10
 
 /./<^ Sebastopol. 
 
 shouldered, a cigarette between his fingers, 
 leaning against the balustrade of the piazza, 
 his face lighted up by unaffected joy, his 
 eyes fixed on his brother, he was really the 
 most charming and most sympathetic youth 
 possible to see, and one looked away from 
 him reluctantly. Frankly happy to find his 
 brother, whom he considered with pride and 
 respect as a hero, he was, nevertheless, a little 
 ashamed of him on account of his own more 
 cultivated education, of his acquaintance 
 with French, of his association with people 
 in high places, and finding himself superior 
 to him, he hoped to succeed in civilizing him. 
 His impressions, his judgments, were formed 
 at Petersburg^ under the influence of a wom- 
 an who, having a weakness for pretty faces, 
 made him pass his holidays in her house. 
 Moscow had also contributed its part, for 
 he had danced there at a great ball at the 
 house of his uncle the Senator. 
 
 VI. 
 
 After having chatted so long as to prove, 
 what often happens, that, while loving each 
 other very much, they had few common in-
 
 August, J'^SS- ^47 
 
 terests, the brothers were silent for a mo- 
 ment or two. 
 
 " Come, get your traps and we'll go," said 
 the elder. 
 
 The younger blushed and was confused. 
 
 " Straight away to Sebastopol ?" he ask- 
 ed, at length. 
 
 . " Of course. I don't believe you have 
 many things with you ; we will find a place 
 for them." 
 
 "All right, we'll go," replied the younger, 
 as he went into the house sighing. 
 
 Just as he was opening the door of the 
 hall he stopped and held down his head. 
 
 " Go straight to Sebastopol," he said to 
 himself, " be exposed to shells — it is terrible ! 
 However, isn't it all the same whether it is 
 to-day or later ? At least with my brother — " 
 
 To tell the truth, at the thought that the 
 carriage would carry him as far as Sebasto- 
 pol in a single trip, that no new incident 
 would delay him longer on the road, he be- 
 gan to appreciate the danger he had come 
 to meet, and the proximity of it profoundly 
 moved him. Having succeeded in calming 
 himself at last, he rejoined his comrades, and 
 remained such a long time with them that
 
 /-/c? Sebastopol. 
 
 his brother, out of patience, opened the door 
 to call him, and saw him standing before the 
 officer, who was scolding him like a school- 
 boy. At the sight of his brother his coun- 
 tenance fell. 
 
 " I'll come at once," he shouted, making 
 a gesture with his hand ; " wait for me, I'm 
 coming!" 
 
 A moment later he went to find him. 
 
 " Just think," he said, with a deep sigh," I 
 can't go off with you." 
 
 " Stuff and nonsense ! Why not T 
 
 " I am going to tell you the truth, Micha. 
 We haven't a penny ; on the other hand, 
 we owe money to that captain. It is horri- 
 bly shameful !" 
 
 The elder brother scowled and kept silent. 
 
 "Do you owe much.?" he asked at last, 
 without looking at him. 
 
 " No, not much ; but it worries me awfully. 
 He paid three posts for me. I used his sugar, 
 and then we played the game of preference, 
 and I owe him a trifle on that." 
 
 " That's bad, Volodia ! What would you 
 have done if you hadn't met me V said the 
 elder, in a stern tone, never looking at him. 
 
 " But you know I count on receiving my
 
 A HO MS t, iSjS' H9 
 
 travelling expenses at Sebastopol, and then 
 I shall pay him. That can still be done ; 
 and so I had rather go there with him to- 
 
 morrow." 
 
 At this moment the elder brother took a 
 purse out of his pocket, from which his trem- 
 bling finQ:ers drew two notes of ten rubles 
 each and one of three. 
 
 " Here's all I have," said he. " How much 
 do you want .?" He exaggerated a little in 
 saying that it was all his fortune, for he still 
 had four gold-pieces sewn in the seams of 
 his uniform, but he had promised himself 
 not to touch them. 
 
 It was found, on adding up, that Koseltzoff 
 owed only eight rubles — the loss on the game 
 and the suf^ar toQ:ether. The elder brother 
 gave them to him, making the remark that 
 one never ought to play when he had not 
 the wherewithal to pay. The younger said 
 nothing; for his brother's remark seemed 
 to throw a doubt on his honesty. Irritated, 
 ashamed of having done something which 
 could lead to suspicions or reflections on 
 his character on the part of his brother, of 
 whom he was fond, his sensitive nature was 
 so violently agitated by it that, feeling it im-
 
 1^0 Sebastopol. 
 
 possible to stifle the sobs which choked him, 
 he took the note without a word and car- 
 ried it to his comrade. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Nikolai'eff, after refreshing himself at 
 Douvanka with two glasses of brandy which 
 he bought from a soldier who was selling it 
 on the bridge, shook the reins, and the car- 
 riage jolted over the stony road w^hich, with 
 spots of shadow at rare intervals, led along 
 Belbek to Sebastopol ; while the brothers, 
 seated side by side, their legs knocking to- 
 gether, kept an obstinate silence, each think- 
 ing about the other. 
 
 " Why did he offend mq .?" thought the 
 younger. " Does he really take me for a 
 thief .-^ He seems to be still angry. Here 
 we have quarrelled for good, and yet w^e 
 two, how happy w^e could have been at Se- 
 bastopol ! Two brothers, intimate friends, 
 and both fighting the enemy — the elder 
 lacking cultivation a little, but a brave sol- 
 dier, and the younger as brave as he, for at 
 the end of a week I shall have proved to all 
 that I am no longer so young. I sha'n't 
 blush any more ; my face will be manly and
 
 Augtist, iS^^, i^i 
 
 my mustache will have time to grow so far,'' 
 he thought, pinching the down which was 
 visible at the corners of his mouth. " Per- 
 haps we will get there to-day, even, and will 
 take part in a battle. My brother must be 
 very headstrong and very brave ; he is one 
 of those who talk little and do better than 
 others. Is he continually pushing me on 
 purpose towards the side of the carriage.'* 
 He must see that it annoys me, and he 
 makes believe he does not notice it. We will 
 surely get there to-day," he continued to him- 
 self, keeping close to the side of the carriage, 
 fearing if he stirred that he would show his 
 brother he was not well seated. " We go 
 straight to the bastion — I with the artillery, 
 my brother with his company. Suddenly 
 the French throw themselves upon us. I 
 fire on the spot, I kill a crowd of them, but 
 they run just the same straight upon me. 
 Impossible to fire — I am lost ! but my 
 brother dashes forward, sword in hand. I 
 seize my musket and we run together ; the 
 soldiers follow us. The French throw^ them- 
 selves on my brother. I run up ; I kill first 
 one, then another, and I save Micha. I am 
 wounded in the arm ; I take my musket in
 
 1^2 Sebastopol. 
 
 the other hand and run on. My brother is 
 killed at my side by a bullet ; I stop a mo- 
 ment, I look at him sadly, I rise and cry, 
 • Forward with me ! let us avenge him !' I 
 add, ' I loved my brother above everything; 
 I have lost him. Let us avenge ourselves, 
 kill our enemies, or all die together!' All 
 follow me, shouting. But there is the whole 
 French army, Pelissier at their head. We 
 kill all of them, but I am w^ounded once, 
 twice, and the third time mortally. They 
 gather around me. Gortschakoff comes and 
 asks what I wish for. I reply that I wish 
 for nothing — I wish for only one thing, to 
 be placed beside my brother and to die with 
 him. They carry me and lay me down be- 
 side his bloody corpse. I raise myself up 
 and say, ' Yes, you could not appreciate 
 two men who sincerely loved their country. 
 They are killed — may God pardon you !' 
 and thereupon I die." 
 
 Who could tell to what point these dreams 
 were destined to be realized } 
 
 " Have you ever been in a hand-to-hand 
 fight ?" he suddenly asked his brother, en- 
 tirely forgetting that he did not want to 
 speak to him again.
 
 August, i8sS' 153 
 
 '* No, never. We have lost two thousand 
 men in our regiment, but always in the 
 works. I also was wounded there. War is 
 not carried on as you imagine, Volodia." 
 
 This familiar name softened the younger. 
 He wished to explain himself to his brother, 
 who did not imagine he had offended him. 
 
 " Are you angry with me, Micha T' he 
 asked, after a few moments. 
 
 " Why ?" 
 
 -" Because — nothing. I thought there had 
 been between us — " 
 
 " Not at all," rejoined the elder, turning 
 towards him and giving him a friendly tap 
 on the knee. 
 
 " I ask pardon, Micha, if I have offended 
 you," said the younger, turning aside to hide 
 the tears which filled his eyes. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 " Is this really Sebastopol ?" asked Volo- 
 dia, when they had reached the top of the 
 hill. 
 
 Before them appeared the bay with its 
 forest of masts, the sea, with the hostile 
 fleet in the distance, the white shore batte- 
 ries, the barracks, the aqueducts, the docks.
 
 I ^4 Sebastopol. 
 
 the buildings of the city. Clouds of white 
 and pale lilac-colored smoke continually rose 
 over the yellow hills that surrounded the 
 city, and came out sharp against the clear 
 blue sky, lighted by the rosy rays, brilliant- 
 ly reflected by the waves ; while at the hori- 
 zon the sun was setting into the sombre 
 sea. 
 
 It was without the least thrill of horror 
 that Volodia looked upon this terrible place 
 he had thought so much about. He expe- 
 rienced, on the contrary, an aesthetic joy, a 
 feeling of heroic satisfaction at thinking that 
 in half an hour he would be there himself, 
 and it was with profound attention that he 
 looked uninterruptedly, up to the very mo- 
 ment they arrived at Severnaia, at this pict- 
 ure of such original charm. There was 
 the baggage of his brother's regiment, and 
 there also he had to find out where his own 
 regiment and his battery was. 
 
 The officer of the w^agon-train lived near 
 to what they called the new little town, com- 
 posed of board shanties built by sailors' 
 families. In a tent adjoining a shed of con- 
 siderable size, made of leafy oak branches 
 which had not yet time to wdther, the broth-
 
 August, i8sS' 155 
 
 ers found the officer sitting down in a shirt 
 of dirty yellow color before a rather slovenly 
 table, on which a cup of tea was cooling be- 
 side a plate and a decanter of brandy. A 
 few crumbs of bread and of caviare had fallen 
 here and there. He was carefully counting 
 a package of notes. But before bringing 
 him on the stage, we must necessarily ex- 
 amine closer the interior of his camp, his 
 duties, and his mode of life. The new hut 
 was large, solid, and conveniently built, pro- 
 vided with turf tables and seats, the same as 
 they build for the generals ; and in order to 
 keep the leaves from falling, three rugs, in 
 bad taste, although new, but probably very 
 dear, were stretched on the walls and the 
 ceiling of the building. On the iron bed 
 placed under the principal rug, which repre- 
 sented the everlasting amazon, could be seen 
 a red coverlid of shaggy stuff, a soiled torn 
 pillow, and a cloak of cat-skin. On a table 
 were, helter-skelter, a mirror in a silver frame, 
 a brush of the same metal in a frightfully 
 dirty state, a candlestick, a broken horn comb 
 full of greasy hair, a bottle of liquor orna- 
 mented by an enormous red and gold label, 
 a gold watch with the portrait of Peter the
 
 I S^ Sebastopol. 
 
 Great, gilt pen-holders, boxes holding per- 
 cussion-caps, a crust of bread, old cards 
 thrown about in disorder, and finally, under 
 the bed, bottles, some empty, others full. It 
 was the duty of this officer to look out for 
 the wagon -train and the forage for the 
 horses. One of his friends, occupied with 
 financial work, shared his dwelling, and was 
 asleep in the tent at this moment, while he 
 was making out the monthly accounts with 
 Government money. He had an agreeable 
 and martial appearance. He was distin- 
 guished by his great size, a large mustache, 
 and a fair state of corpulence. But there 
 were two unpleasant things in him which met 
 the eye at once. First, a constant perspira- 
 tion on his face, joined with a puffiness which 
 almost hid his little gray eyes and gave him 
 the look of a leather bottle full of porter, 
 and, second, extreme slovenliness, which 
 reached from his thin gray hair to his great 
 naked feet, shod in ermine-trimmed slippers. 
 " What a lot of money! — heavens, what a 
 lot of money!" said Koseltzoff the first, who, 
 on entering, cast a hungry look on the notes. 
 " If you would lend me half, Vassili Mikhai- 
 lovitch !"
 
 August, 1 855. 157 
 
 The officer of the wagon-train looked sour 
 at the sight of the visitors, and gathering 
 up the money, saluted them without rising. 
 
 " Oh, if it were mine, but it is money be- 
 loneinof to the Crown, brother ! But whom 
 have you there ?" 
 
 He looked at Volodia while he piled up 
 the papers and put them in an open chest 
 beside him. 
 
 " It is my brother just out of school. We 
 come to ask where the regiment is." 
 
 " Sit down, gentlemen," he said, rising to 
 go into the tent. " Can I offer you a little 
 porter ?" 
 
 " I agree to porter, Vassili Mikhailovitch." 
 
 Volodia, on whom a profound impression 
 was produced by the grand airs of the offi- 
 cer, as well as by his carelessness and by 
 the respect his brother showed him, said to 
 himself timidly, sitting on the edge of the 
 lounge, " This officer, whom everybody re- 
 spects, is doubtless a good fellow, hospitable, 
 and probably very brave." 
 
 " Where is our regiment, then T asked 
 the elder brother from the officer, who had 
 disappeared in the tent. 
 
 "What do you say.?" shouted the latter.
 
 i^S Sebastopol. 
 
 The other repeated his question. 
 
 " I saw Seifer to-day," he replied; " he told 
 me it was in the fifth bastion." 
 
 " Is it, sure ?" 
 
 " If I say so it is sure. However, devil 
 take him ! he lies cheaply enough ! Say," 
 he added, " will you have some porter ?" 
 
 " I would gladly take a drink," replied Ko- 
 seltzoff. 
 
 "And you, Ossip Ignatievitch," continued 
 the same voice in the tent, addressing the 
 sleeping commissary, " will you have a drink } 
 You have slept enough ; it is almost five 
 o'clock." 
 
 " Enough of that old joke. You see well 
 enough that I am not asleep," replied a shrill 
 and lazy voice. 
 
 " Get up, then, for I am tired of it," and 
 the ofificer rejoined his guests. " Give us 
 some Sympheropol porter !" he shouted to 
 his servant. 
 
 The latter, pushing against Volodia proud- 
 ly, as it appeared to the young man, pulled 
 out from under the bench a bottle of the 
 porter called for. 
 
 The bottle had been empty some time, 
 but the conversation was still going on, when
 
 August, 1 8^^, I ^g 
 
 the flap of the tent was put aside to let pass 
 a small man in a blue dressing-gown with 
 cord and tassel, and a cap trimmed with 
 red braid and ornamented with a cockade. 
 
 With lowered eyes, and twisting his black 
 mustache, he only replied to the officer's sa- 
 lute by an imperceptible movement of the 
 shoulders. 
 
 " Give me a glass," he said, sitting down 
 near the table. " Surely you have just come 
 from Petersburg, young man ?" he said, ad- 
 dressing Volodia with an amiable air. 
 
 " Yes, and I am going to Sebastopol." 
 
 " Of your own accord V 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Why in the devil are 3^ou going, then .? 
 Gentlemen, really I don't understand that," 
 continued the commissary. " It seems to 
 me, if I could, I would go back to Peters- 
 burg on foot. I have had my bellyful of 
 this cursed existence." 
 
 " But what are you grumbling at V asked 
 the elder Koseltzoff. " You are leadino: a 
 very enviable life here." 
 
 The commissary, surprised, cast a look at 
 him, turned around, and addressing Volo- 
 dia, said, " This constant danger, these pri-
 
 i6o Sebastopol. 
 
 vatlons, for it Is impossible to get anytliing — 
 all that is terrible. I really cannot under- 
 stand you, gentlemen. If you only got some 
 advantage out of it ! But is it agreeable, I 
 ask you, to become at your age good-for- 
 nothing for the rest of your days ?" 
 
 " Some try to make money, some serve for 
 honor," replied Koseltzoff the elder, vexed. 
 
 " What is honor when there is nothinaf 
 to eat V rejoined the commissary, with a dis- 
 dainful smile, turning towards the officer of 
 the wagon -train, who followed his example. 
 " Wind up the music-box," he said, pointing 
 to a box. " We'll hear ' Lucia ;' I like that." 
 
 " Is this Vassili Mikhailovitch a brave 
 man," Volodia asked his brother, when, twi- 
 light having fallen, they rolled again along 
 the Sebastopol road. 
 
 " Neither good nor bad, but a terribly mi- 
 serly fellow. As to the commissary, I can't 
 bear to see even his picture. I shall knock 
 him down some day." 
 
 IX. 
 
 When they arrived, at nightfall, at the 
 great bridge over the bay, Volodia was not 
 exactly in bad humor, but a terrible weight
 
 Atigust, 185^. 161 
 
 lay on his heart. Everything he saw, every- 
 thing he heard, harmonized so Httle with the 
 last impressions that had been left in his 
 mind by the great, light examination -hall 
 with polished floor, the voices of his com- 
 rades and the gayety of their sympathetic 
 bursts of laughter, his new uniform, the well- 
 beloved Czar, whom he was accustomed to 
 see during seven years, and who, taking 
 leave of them with tears in his eyes, had 
 called them "his children" — yes, everything 
 he saw little harmonized with his rich dreams 
 sparkling from a thousand facets. 
 
 " Here we are !" said his brother, getting 
 
 out of the carriage in front of the M 
 
 battery. " If they let us cross the bridge 
 we will go straight to the Nicholas bar- 
 racks. You will stop there until to-morrow 
 morning. As for me, I shall go back to my 
 regiment to find out where the battery is, 
 and to-morrow I will go and hunt you up." 
 
 " Why do that ? rather let's go together," 
 said Volodia. " I will go to the bastion 
 with you ; won't that be the same thing ? 
 One must get accustomed to it. If you go 
 there, why can't I go V 
 
 " You would do better not to go." 
 II
 
 i62 Sebastopol. 
 
 " Let me go— pleas'e do. At least I will 
 see what it is — " 
 
 " I advise you not to go there ; but, never- 
 theless—" 
 
 The cloudless sky was sombre, the stars, 
 and the flashes of the cannon, and the bombs 
 flying in space, shone in the darkness. The 
 tete dtL pout and the great white pile of the 
 battery came out sharply in the dark night. 
 Every instant reports, explosions, shook the 
 air, together or separately, ever louder, ever 
 more distinct. The mournful murmur of 
 the waves played an accompaniment to this 
 incessant roll. A fresh breeze filled with 
 moisture blew from the sea. The brothers 
 approached the bridge. A soldier awkward- 
 ly shouldered arms and shouted, 
 
 " Who comes there .?" 
 
 " A soldier." 
 
 " You can't pass." 
 
 " Impossible — we must pass !" 
 
 " Ask the officer." 
 
 The officer was taking a nap, seated on 
 an anchor. He arose and gave the order 
 to let them pass. 
 
 " You can go in, but you can't come out. 
 Attention ! Where are you getting to all
 
 August, i^SS' ^^3 
 
 together ?" he shouted to the wagons piled 
 up with gabions, which were stopping at the 
 entrance to the bridge. 
 
 On the first pontoon they met some sol- 
 diers talking in a loud voice. 
 
 " He has received his outfit ; he has re- 
 ceived it all." 
 
 "Ah ! friends," said another voice, "when 
 a fellow gets to Severnaia he begins to re- 
 vive. There is quite another air here, by 
 heavens !" 
 
 " What nonsense are you talking there ?" 
 said the first. " The other day a cursed 
 bomb -shell carried away the legs of two 
 sailors. Oh! oh!" 
 
 The water in several places was dashing 
 into the second pontoon, where the two 
 brothers stopped to await their carriage. 
 The wind, which had appeared light on 
 land, blew here with violence and in gusts. 
 The bridge swayed, and the waves, madly 
 dashing against the beams, broke upon the 
 anchors and the ropes and flooded the floor- 
 ing. The sea roared with a hollow sound, 
 forming a black, uniform, endless line, which 
 separated it from the starry horizon, now 
 lighted by a silvery glow. In the distance
 
 164 Sebastopol. 
 
 twinkled the lights of the hostile fleet. On 
 the left rose the dark mass of a sailing ship, 
 against the sides of which the water dashed 
 violently; on the right, a steamer coming 
 from Severnai'a, noisily and swiftly advanced. 
 A bomb -shell burst, and lighted up for a 
 second the heaps of gabions, revealing two 
 men standing on the deck of the ship, a 
 third in shirt-sleeves, sittins^ with swinofino- 
 legs, busy repairing the deck, and showing 
 the white foam and the dashinq: waves with 
 green reflections made by the steamer in 
 motion. 
 
 The same lights continued to furrow the 
 sky over Sebastopol, and the fear-inspiring 
 sounds came nearer. A wave driven from 
 the sea broke into foam on the right side 
 of the bridge and wet Volodia's feet. Two 
 soldiers, noisily dragging their legs through 
 the water, passed by. Suddenly something 
 burst with a crash and lighted up before 
 them the part of the bridge along which 
 was passing a carriage, followed by a sol- 
 dier on horseback. The pieces fell whist- 
 ling into the water, which spouted up in 
 jets. 
 
 "Ah, Mikhail Semenovitch !" said the
 
 horseman, drawing up before Koseltzoff the 
 elder, " here you are — well again ?" 
 
 " Yes, as you see. Where in God's name 
 are you going ?" 
 
 " To Severnaia for cartridges. They send 
 me in place of the aide-de-camp of the regi- 
 ment. They are expecting an assault every 
 moment." 
 
 "And Martzeff, where s he.?" 
 
 " He lost a leg yesterday in the city, in 
 his room. He w^as asleep. You know him, 
 perhaps." 
 
 " The regiment is in the fifth, isn't it ?" 
 
 "Yes; it relieved the M . Stop at 
 
 the field -hospital, you will find our fellows 
 there ; they wdll show you the way." 
 
 " Have my quarters in the Morskai'a been 
 
 kept r 
 
 "Ah, brother, the shells destroyed them 
 long since ! You wouldn't recognize Sebas- 
 topol any longer. There isn't a soul there ; 
 neither women, nor band, nor eating-house. 
 The last cafe closed yesterday. It is now 
 so dismal ! Good-by !" and the officer went 
 away on the trot. 
 
 A terrible fear suddenly seized Volodia. 
 It seemed to him that a shell was going to
 
 i66 Sebastopol. 
 
 fall on him, and that a piece would surely 
 strike him on the head. The moist dark- 
 ness, the sinister sounds, the constant noise 
 of the wrathful waves, all seemed to urge 
 him to take not another step, and to tell him 
 that no good awaited him there ; that his 
 foot would never touch the solid earth on 
 the other side of the bay ; that he would do 
 well to turn back, to flee as quickly as pos- 
 sible this terrible place where death reigns. 
 " Who knows t Perhaps it is too late. My 
 lot is fixed." He said this to himself, trem- 
 bling at the thought, and also on account 
 of the water which was runnins: into his 
 boots. He sighed deeply, and kept away 
 from his brother a little. 
 
 "My God! shall I really be killed— I .? 
 Oh, my God, have mercy on me !" he mur- 
 mured, making the sign of the cross. 
 
 " Now we will push on, Volodia," said his 
 companion, when their carriage had rejoined 
 them. " Did you see the shell T 
 
 Farther on they met more wagons car- 
 rying wounded men and gabions. One of 
 them, filled with furniture, was driven by a 
 woman. On the other side no one stopped 
 their passage.
 
 A 71 gust, 1855. iSy 
 
 Instinctively hugging the wall of the Nich- 
 olas battery the two brothers silently went 
 alone it, with ears attentive to the noise of 
 the shells which exploded over their heads 
 and to the roar of the pieces thrown down 
 from above ; and at last they reached the 
 part of the battery w^here the holy image 
 was placed. There they learned that the 
 Fifth Light Artillery Regiment, which Vo- 
 lodia was to join, was at Korabelnai'a. They 
 consequently made up their minds in spite 
 of the danger to go and sleep in the fifth 
 bastion, and to go from there to their bat- 
 tery on the next day. Passing through the 
 narrow passage, stepping over the soldiers 
 who were sleeping along the wall, they at 
 last reached the hospital. 
 
 X. 
 
 Entering the first room, filled with beds 
 on which the wounded were lying, they were 
 struck by the heavy and nauseating odor 
 which is peculiar to hospitals. Two Sis- 
 ters of Charity came to meet them. One 
 of them, about fifty years old, had a stern 
 face ; she held in her hands a bundle of 
 bandaorcs and lint, and was Sfivinsf orders to
 
 i68 SebastopoL 
 
 a very young assistant-surgeon who was fol- 
 lowing her. The other, a pretty girl of 
 twenty, had a blond, pale, and delicate face. 
 She appeared particularly gentle and timid 
 under her little white cap ; she followed her 
 companion with her hands in her apron- 
 pockets, and it could be seen that she was 
 afraid of stopping behind. Koseltzoff asked 
 them to show him Martzeff, who had lost a 
 leg the day before. 
 
 " Of the P regiment T asked the el- 
 der of the two sisters. "Are you a rela- 
 tive ?" 
 
 " No, a comrade." 
 
 " Show them the way," she said In French 
 to the younger sister, and left them, accom- 
 panied by the assistant-surgeon, to go to a 
 wounded man. 
 
 " Come, come, what are you looking like 
 that for.'^" said Koseltzoff to Volodia, who 
 had stopped with raised eyebrows, and whose 
 eyes, full of painful sympathy, could not 
 leave the wounded, whom he watched with- 
 out ceasing, at the same time following his 
 brother, and repeating, in spite of himself, 
 " Oh, my God ! my God !" 
 
 " He has just come in, has he not i*" the
 
 August, i^SS- ^^9 
 
 young sister asked Koseltzoff, pointing to 
 Volodia. 
 
 " Yes, he has just come." 
 
 She looked at him again and burst into 
 tears, despairingly repeating, " My God ! my 
 God ! when will it end ?" 
 
 They entered the officers' room. Mar- 
 tzeff was there, lying on his back, his muscu- 
 lar arms bare to the elbow and held under 
 his head. The expression on his yellow vis- 
 age was that of a man who shuts his teeth 
 tightly so as not to cry out with pain. His 
 well leg, with a stocking on, stuck out from 
 under the coverlid, and the toes worked con- 
 vulsively. 
 
 " Well, how do you feel V asked the young 
 sister, raising" the wounded man's hot head 
 and arranging his pillow with her thin fin- 
 gers, on one of which Volodia espied a gold 
 ring. " Here are your comrades come to 
 see you." 
 
 " I am suffering, you know," he replied, 
 with an irritated air. " Don't touch me ; it 
 is well as it is," and the toes in the stocking 
 moved with a nervous action. " How do 
 you do ? What's your name ? Ah, par- 
 don !" when Koseltzoff had told his name.
 
 lyo Sebastopol. 
 
 *' Here everything is forgotten. Neverthe- 
 less we lived together," he added, without 
 expressing the least joy, and looking at Vo- 
 lodia with a questioning air. 
 
 " It is my brother; he has just come from 
 Petersburg." 
 
 '* Ah ! and I have done with it, I believe. 
 Heavens, how I am suffering ! If that would 
 only stop quicker !" 
 
 He pulled his leg in with a convulsive 
 movement. His toes worked with double 
 restlessness. He covered his face with both 
 hands. 
 
 " He must be left in quiet ; he is very ill," 
 the sister whispered to them. Her eyes 
 were full of tears. 
 
 The brothers, who had decided to go to 
 the fifth bastion, changed their minds on 
 coming out of the hospital, and concluded, 
 without telling each other the true reason, 
 to separate, in order to not expose them- 
 selves to useless danger. 
 
 " Will you find your way, Volodia ?" asked 
 the elder. " However, NikolaVeff will lead 
 you to Korabelnaia. Now I am going alone, 
 and to-morrow I will be with you." 
 
 That was all they said in this last interview.
 
 August, i8^§. lyi 
 
 XL 
 
 The cannon roared with the same vio- 
 lence, but Ekatherinenskaia Street, through 
 which Volodia went, accompanied by Niko- 
 laieff, was empty and quiet. He could see in 
 the darkness only the white walls standing 
 in the midst of the great overthrown houses, 
 and the stones of the sidewalk he was on. 
 Sometimes he met soldiers and officers, and 
 going along the left side, near the Admi- 
 ralty, he noticed, by the bright light of a 
 fire which burned behind a fence, a row of 
 dark -leaved acacias, covered with dust, re- 
 cently planted along the sidewalk and held 
 up by green painted stakes. His steps and 
 those of Nikolaieff, who was loudly breath- 
 insf, resounded alone in the silence. His 
 thoughts were vague. The pretty Sister of 
 Charity, Martzeff's leg, with his toes mov- 
 ing convulsively in his stocking, the dark- 
 ness, the shells, the different pictures of 
 death, passed confusedly in his memory. 
 His young and impressionable soul was ir- 
 ritated and wounded by his isolation, by the 
 complete indifference of every one to his 
 lot, althougli he was exposed to danger.
 
 1^2 Scbastopol. 
 
 " I shall suffer, I shall be killed, and no 
 one will mourn me," he said to himself. 
 Where, then, was the life of the hero full of 
 the energetic ardor and of the sympathies 
 he had so often dreamed of? The shells 
 shrieked and burst nearer and nearer, and 
 Nikolai'eff sighed oftener without speaking. 
 In crossing the bridge which led to Kora- 
 belna'ia he saw something two steps off 
 plunge whistling into the gulf, illuminating 
 for a second with a purple light the violet- 
 tinted waves, and then bound off, throwing 
 a shower of water into the air. 
 
 "Curse it! the villain is still alive," mur- 
 mured Nikolaieff. 
 
 " Yes," answered Volodia, in spite of him- 
 self, and surprised at the sound of his own 
 voice, so shrill and harsh. 
 
 They now met wounded men carried on 
 stretchers, carts filled with gabions, a regi- 
 ment, men on horseback. One of the latter, 
 an officer followed by a Cossack, stopped at 
 the sight of Volodia, examined his face, then, 
 turning away, hit his horse with his whip 
 and continued on his way. " Alone, alone ! 
 whether I am alive or not, it is the same 
 to all !" said the youth to himself, ready to
 
 August, i8§^. lyj 
 
 burst into tears. Having passed a great 
 white wall, he entered a street bordered 
 with little, quite ruined houses, continually 
 lighted up by the flash of the shells. A 
 drunken woman in rags, followed by a sail- 
 or, came out of a small door and stumbled 
 against him. " I beg pardon, your Excel- 
 lency," she murmured. The poor boy's 
 heart was more and more oppressed, while 
 the flashes continually lit up the black hori- 
 zon and the shells whistled and burst about 
 him. Suddenly Nikolaieff sighed, and spoke 
 w^ith a voice which seemed to Volodia to 
 express a restrained terror. 
 
 "It was well worth while to hurry from 
 home to come here ! We went on and went 
 on, and what was the use of hurrying .?" 
 
 " But, thank the Lord ! my brother is 
 cured," said Volodia, in order by talking to 
 drive away the horrible feeling which had 
 got possession of him. 
 
 " Finely cured, when he is in a bad way 
 altoQ:ether ! The well ones would find them- 
 selves much better off in the hospital in 
 times like these. Do we, perchance, take 
 any pleasure in being here .'* Now an arm 
 is lost, now a leg, and then — And yet it 13
 
 i'/4 Sebastopol. 
 
 better here in the city than in the bastion, 
 Lord God ! On the way a man has to say all 
 his prayers. Ah, scoundrel ! it just hummed 
 in my cars," he added, listening to the sound 
 of a piece of shell which had passed close 
 to him. " Now," continued Nikolaieff, " I 
 was told to lead your Excellency, and I know 
 I must do what I am ordered to, but our 
 carriage is in the care of a comrade, and the 
 bundles are undone. I was told to come, 
 and I have come. But if any one of the 
 things we have brought is lost, it is I, Niko- 
 laieff, who answers for it." 
 
 A few steps farther on they came out on 
 an open space. 
 
 " Here is your artillery, your Excellency," 
 he suddenly said. "Ask the sentinel, he 
 will show you." 
 
 Volodia went forward alone. No longer 
 hearing behind him Nikolaieff's sighs, he 
 felt himself abandoned for good and all. 
 The feeling of this desertion in the presence 
 of danger, of death, as he believed, oppressed 
 his heart with the glacial weight of a stone. 
 Halting in the middle of the place, he looked 
 aJl about him to see if he was observed, and 
 taking his head in both hands, he mur-
 
 August, 185^. I'/S 
 
 mured, with a voice broken by terror, " My 
 God ! am I really a despicable poltroon, a 
 coward ? I who have lately dreamed of dy- 
 ing for my country, for my Czar, and that 
 with joy ! Yes, I am an unfortunate and 
 despicable being !" he cried, in profound de- 
 spair, and quite undeceived about himself. 
 Having finally overcome his emotion, he 
 asked the sentinel to show him the house 
 of the commander of the battery. 
 
 XII. 
 
 The commander of the battery lived in 
 a little two -story house. It was entered 
 through a court-yard. In one of the win- 
 dows, in which a pane was missing and was 
 replaced by a sheet of paper, shone the fee- 
 ble lisht of a candle. The servant, seated 
 in the door-way, was smoking his pipe. Hav- 
 ing announced Volodia to his master, he 
 showed him into his room. There, between 
 two windows, beside a broken mirror, was 
 seen a table loaded with official papers, sev- 
 eral chairs, an iron bed with clean linen and 
 a rue: before it. Near the door stood the 
 sergeant-major, a fine man, with a splendid 
 pair of mustaches, his sword in its belt. On
 
 1^6 SebastopoL 
 
 his coat sparkled a cross and the medal of 
 the Hungary campaign. The staff-officer, 
 small in stature, with a swollen and ban- 
 daged cheek, walked up and down, dressed 
 in a frock-coat of fine cloth which bore 
 marks of long wear. He was decidedly cor- 
 pulent, and appeared about forty years old. 
 A bald spot was clearly marked on the top 
 of his head ; his thick mustache, hanging 
 straight down, hid his mouth ; his brown 
 eyes had an agreeable expression ; his 
 hands were fine, white, a little fat ; his feet, 
 very much turned out, were put down with 
 a certain assurance and a certain affectation 
 which proved that bashfulness was not the 
 weak side of the commander. 
 
 "I have the honor to present myself. I 
 am attached to the Fifth Light Battery — 
 Koseltzoff, the second-ensign," said Volodia, 
 who, entering the room, recited in one breath 
 this lesson learned by heart. 
 
 The commander of the battery replied by 
 a somewhat dry salute, and without offer- 
 ing him his hand begged him to be seated. 
 Volodia then sat down timidly near the writ- 
 ing-table, and in his distraction getting hold 
 of a pair of scissors, began to play with them
 
 August, i8^^. //7 
 
 mechanically. With hands behind his back 
 and with bowed head, the commander of the 
 battery continued his promenade in silence, 
 casting his eyes from time to time on the 
 fingers which continued to juggle with the 
 scissors. 
 
 " Yes," he said, stopping at last in front 
 of the sergeant-major, "from to-morrow on 
 we must give another measure of oats to 
 the caisson horses ; they are thin. What 
 do you think of it T 
 
 "Why not.-^ It can be done, your High 
 Excellency ; oats are now cheaper," replied 
 the sergeant-major, his arms stuck to the 
 side of his body and his fingers stirring — an 
 habitual movement with which he usually 
 accompanied his conversation. 
 
 " Then there is the forage-master, Frant- 
 zone, who wrote me a line yesterday, your 
 High Excellency. He said we must buy 
 axle - trees without fail ; they are cheap. 
 What are your orders T' 
 
 " Well, they must be bought ; there is 
 money," answered the commander, continu- 
 ing to walk. " Where are your traps T he 
 suddenly said, pausing before Volodia. 
 
 Poor Volodia, pursued by the thought 
 
 12
 
 i'/8 Sebastopol. 
 
 that he was a coward, saw in each look, in 
 each word, the scorn he must inspire; and 
 it seemed to him that his chief had ah-eady 
 discovered his sad secret, and tliat he was 
 jeering at him. Then he replied in confu- 
 sion that his things were at Grafskaia, and 
 that his brother would send them to him 
 the following day. 
 
 " Where shall we put up the ensign .?" the 
 lieutenant-colonel asked the sergeant-major, 
 without listening to the young man's an- 
 swer. 
 
 " The ensign ?" repeated the sergeant- 
 major. A rapid glance thrown on Volodia, 
 and which seemed to say, " What sort of an 
 ensign is that .?" finished the disconcerting 
 of the latter. " Down there, your Excel- 
 lency, with the second-captain. Since the 
 captain is in the bastion his bed is empty !" 
 
 " Will that do for you while you are wait- 
 ing ?" asked the commander of the battery. 
 " You must be tired, I think. To-morrow 
 it can be more conveniently arranged for 
 you. 
 
 Volodia arose and saluted. 
 
 " Will you have some tea .?" added his su- 
 perior officer. " The samovar can be heated."
 
 A 71 gust, 185 s. lyg 
 
 Volodia, who had already reached the 
 door, turned around, saluted again, and went 
 out. 
 
 The lieutenant-colonel's servant conduct- 
 ed him down-stairs, and showed him into a 
 bare and dirty room where different broken 
 things were thrown aside as rubbish, and in 
 which, in a corner, a man in a red shirt, 
 whom Volodia took for a soldier, was sleep- 
 ing on an iron bed without sheets or cov- 
 erlid, wrapped in his overcoat. 
 
 " Peter Nikolaievitch " — and the servant 
 touched the sleeper's shoulder — "get up; 
 the ensign is going to sleep here. It's 
 Viang, our yunker," he added, turning to 
 Volodia. 
 
 " Oh, don't disturb yourself, I beg," cried 
 the latter, seeing the yunker, a tall and ro- 
 bust young man, with a fine face, but one 
 entirely devoid of intelligence, rise, throw 
 his overcoat over his shoulders, and drowsi- 
 ly go away, murmuring, " That's nothing; I 
 will go and sleep in the yard." 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Left alone with his thoughts, Volodia at 
 first felt a return of the terror caused by the
 
 i8o Sebastopol. 
 
 trouble which amtatcd his soul. Countinor 
 upon sleep to be able to cease thinking of 
 his surroundings and to forget himself, he 
 blew out his candle and lay down, covering 
 himself all up with his overcoat, even his 
 head, for he had kept his fear of darkness 
 since his childhood. But suddenly the idea 
 came to him that a shell mioht fall throuQ-h 
 the roof and kill him. He listened. The 
 commander of the battery was walking up 
 and down over his head. 
 
 " It will begin by killing him first," he 
 said to himself, " then me. I shall not die 
 alone !" This reflection calmed him, and 
 he was going to sleep when this time the 
 thought that Sebastopol might be taken 
 that very night, that the French might 
 burst in his door, and that he had no weap- 
 on to defend himself , completely waked him 
 up again. He rose and walked the room. 
 The fear of the real danger had stifled the 
 mysterious terror of darkness. He hunted 
 and found to hand only a saddle and a 
 samovar. " I am a coward, a poltroon, a 
 wretch," he thought again, filled with disgust 
 and scorn of himself. He lay down and 
 tried to stop thinking ; but then the im-
 
 August, 185^. 181 
 
 pressions of the day passed again through 
 his mind, and the continual sounds which 
 shook the panes of his single window recall- 
 ed to him the danger he was in. Visions 
 followed. Now he saw the wounded cover- 
 ed with blood ; now bursting shells, pieces of 
 which flew into his room; now the pretty Sis- 
 ter of Charity who dressed his wounds weep- 
 ing over his agony, or his mother, who, car- 
 rying him back to the provincial town, pray- 
 ing to God for him before a miraculous im- 
 age, shed hot tears. Sleep eluded him ; but 
 suddenly the thought of an all - powerful 
 Deity who sees everything and who hears 
 every prayer filashed upon him distinct and 
 clear in the midst of his reveries. He fell 
 upon his knees, making the sign of the cross, 
 and clasping his hands as he had been 
 taught in his childhood. This simple gest- 
 ure aroused in him a feeling of infinite, long- 
 forgotten calm. 
 
 " If I am to die, it is because I am use- 
 less! Then, may Thy wdll be done, O Lord! 
 and may it be done quickly. But if the 
 couraore and firmness which I lack are nee- 
 essary to me, spare me the shame and the 
 dishonor, which I cannot endure, and teach
 
 i82 Sebastopol. 
 
 me what I must do to accomplish Thy 
 will." 
 
 His weak, childish, and terrified soul was 
 fortified, was calmed at once, and entered 
 new, broad, and luminous regions. He 
 thought of a thousand things ; he experi- 
 enced a thousand sensations in the short 
 duration of this feeling ; then he quietly 
 went to sleep, heedless of the dull roar of 
 the bombardment and of the shaking win- 
 dows. 
 
 Lord, Thou alone hast heard. Thou alone 
 knowest the simple but ardent and despairing 
 prayers of ignorance, the confused repent- 
 ance asking for the cure of the body and 
 the purification of the soul — the prayers 
 which rise to Thee from these places where 
 death resides ; beginning with the general, 
 who with terror feels a presentiment of ap- 
 proaching death, and a second after thinks 
 only of wearing a cross of Saint George on 
 his neck, and ending with the simple soldier 
 prostrate on the bare earth of the Nicholas 
 battery, supplicating Thee to grant him for 
 his sufferings the recompense he uncon- 
 sciously has a glimpse of.
 
 August^ i8^^. i8j 
 
 XIV. 
 
 The elder Koseltzoff, having met a sol- 
 dier of his reg:iment in the street, was ac- 
 companied by him to the fifth bastion. 
 
 " Keep close to the wall, Excellency," the 
 soldier said. 
 
 " What for ?" 
 
 " It is dangerous, Excellency. He is al- 
 ready passing over us," replied the soldier, 
 listening to the whistling of the ball, which 
 struck with a dry sound the other side of 
 the hard road. But Koseltzoff continued 
 on in the middle of the road without heed- 
 ing this advice. There were the same streets, 
 the same but more frequent flashes, the same 
 sounds and the same groans, the same meet- 
 ino- of wounded men, the same batteries, 
 parapet, and trenches, just as he had seen 
 them in the spring. But now their aspect 
 was more dismal, more sombre and more 
 martial, so to speak. A greater number of 
 houses was riddled, and there were no more 
 lights in the windows — the hospital was 
 the only exception — no more w^omen in 
 the street; and the character of the accus- 
 tomed, careless life formerly imprinted on
 
 184 Sebastopol. 
 
 everything was effaced, and was replaced by 
 the element of anxious, weary expectation, 
 and of redoubled and incessant effort. 
 
 He came at last to the farthermost in- 
 trenchment, and a soldier of the P reg- 
 iment recognized his former company chief. 
 There was the third battalion, as could be 
 guessed in the darkness by the constrained 
 murmur of voices and the clicks of the mus- 
 kets placed against the wall, which the 
 flash of the discharges lit up at frequent in- 
 tervals. 
 
 " Where is the commander of the regi- 
 ment V asked Koseltzoff. 
 
 " In the bomb-proof with the marines, 
 your Excellency," replied the obliging sol- 
 dier. " If you would like to go I will show 
 you the way." 
 
 Passing from one trench to another, he 
 led Koseltzoff to the ditch, where a sailor 
 was smoking his pipe. Behind him was a 
 door, through the cracks of which shone a 
 light. 
 
 " Can we go in T' 
 
 " I will announce you ;" and the sailor en- 
 tered the bomb-proof, where two voices could 
 be heard.
 
 August, 185^. 18^ 
 
 " If Prussia continues to keep neutral, 
 then Austria — " said one of them. 
 
 " What is Austria good for when the 
 slavs — " said the other. — " Ah yes ! ask him 
 to come in," added this same voice. 
 
 Koseltzoff, who had never before put his 
 foot in these bomb-proof quarters, was struck 
 by their elegance. A polished floor took 
 the place of boards, a screen hid the en- 
 trance door. In a corner was a great icon 
 representing the holy Virgin, with its gilt 
 frame lighted by a small pink glass lamp. 
 Two beds were placed along the wall, on 
 one of which a naval officer was sleeping 
 in his clothes, on the other, near a table on 
 which two open bottles of wine were stand- 
 ing, sat the new regimental chief and an 
 aide-de-camp. Koseltzoff, who was not 
 bashful, and who felt himself in nowise 
 guilty, either towards the State or towards 
 the chief of the regiment, felt, nevertheless, 
 at the sight of the latter — his comrade until 
 very recently — a certain apprehension. 
 
 " It is strange," he thought, seeing him rise 
 to listen to him. " He has commanded the 
 regiment scarcely six weeks, and power is al- 
 ready visible in his bearing, in his look, in
 
 i86 Sebastopol. 
 
 his clothes. Not a long while ago this same 
 Batretcheff amused himself in our quarters, 
 wore for whole weeks the same dark calico 
 shirt, and ate his hash and his sour cream 
 without inviting any one to share it, and now 
 an expression full of hard pride can be read 
 in his eyes, which say to me, 'Although I 
 am your comrade, for I am a regimental 
 chief of the new school, you may be sure I 
 know perfectly well that you would give half 
 your life to be in my place.' " 
 
 " You have been treating yourself to a 
 rather long absence," said the colonel, coldly, 
 lookinor at him. 
 
 " I have been ill, colonel, and my wound 
 is not yet altogether healed." 
 
 " If that's so, what did you come back 
 for.?" Koseltzoff's corpulence inspired his 
 chief with defiance. " Can 3'ou do your 
 duty?" 
 
 " Certainly I can." 
 
 "All right. Ensign Zaitzeftwill conduct 
 you to the ninth company, the one you have 
 already commanded. You will receive the 
 order of the day. Be so good as to send 
 me the regimental aide-de-camp as you go 
 out," and his chief, bowing slightly, gave him
 
 August, 185^. 18 y 
 
 to understand by this that the interview was 
 ended. 
 
 On his way out Koseltzoff muttered in- 
 distinct words and shrugged his shoulders 
 several times. It might readily be believed 
 that he felt ill at ease, or that he was irri- 
 tated, not exactly against his regimental 
 chief, but rather against himself and against 
 all his surroundings. 
 
 XV. 
 
 Before eoincf to find his officers he went 
 to look up his company. The' parapets 
 built of 'gabions, the trenches, the cannon in 
 front of which he passed, even the frag- 
 ments and the shells themselves over which 
 he stumbled, and which the flashes of the 
 discharges lighted up without pause or re- 
 laxation, everything was familiar to him, and 
 had been deeply engraven on his memory 
 three months before, during the fortnight 
 he had lived in the bastion. Notwithstand- 
 ing the dismal side of these memories, a cer- 
 tain inherent charm of the past came out 
 of them, and he recognized the places and 
 things with an unaffected pleasure, as if the 
 two weeks had been full of only agreea-
 
 i88 ScbastopoL 
 
 ble impressions. His company was placed 
 along the covered way which led to the 
 sixth bastion. 
 
 Entering the shelter open on one side, he 
 found so many soldiers there that he could 
 scarcely find room to pass. At one end 
 burned a wretched candle, which a reclin- 
 ing soldier was holding over a book that his 
 comrade was spelling out. Around him, in 
 the twilight of a thick and heavy atmos- 
 phere, several heads could be seen turned 
 towards the reader, listening eagerly. Ko- 
 seltzoff recognized the A B C of this sen- 
 tence: " P-r-a-y-e-r a-f-t-e-r s-t-u-d-y. I give 
 Thee thanks, my Cre-a-tor." 
 
 " Snuff the candle !" some one shouted. 
 " What a good book !" said the reader, pre- 
 paring to go on. But at the sound of Ko- 
 seltzoff's voice calling the sergeant-major 
 it was silent. The soldiers moved, coughed, 
 and blew their noses, as always happens 
 after an enforced silence. The sergeant- 
 major arose from the middle of the group, 
 buttoning his uniform, stepping over his 
 comrades, and trampling on their feet, which 
 for lack of room they did not know where 
 to stow, approached the officer.
 
 August, 1 8^^. i8g 
 
 " How do you do, my boy? Is this our 
 company ?" 
 
 " Health to your Excellency ! We con- 
 gratulate you on your return," replied the 
 sergeant-major, gayly and good-natured- 
 ly. " You are cured, Excellency ? God be 
 praised for that ! for we missed you a good 
 deal." 
 
 Koseltzoff, it was evident, was beloved by 
 his company. Voices could immediately be 
 heard spreading the news that the old com- 
 pany chief had come back, he who had been 
 wounded — Mikhail Semenovitch Koseltzoff. 
 Several soldiers, the drummer amonor oth- 
 ers, came to greet him. 
 
 " How do you do, Obanetchouk .?" said 
 Koseltzoff. " Are you safe and sound } 
 How do you do, children .?" he then added, 
 raising his voice. 
 
 The soldiers replied in chorus, 
 
 " Health to your Excellency !" 
 
 " How goes it, children V 
 
 " Badly, your Excellency. The French 
 have the upper hands. He fires from be- 
 hind the intrenchments, but he doesn't show 
 himself outside." 
 
 " Now, then, who knows } perhaps I shall
 
 igo Sebastopol. 
 
 have the chance of seeing him come out of 
 the intrenchments, children. It won't be the 
 first time we have fought him together." 
 
 "We are ready to do our best, your Excel- 
 lency," said several voices at the same time. 
 
 " He is very bold, then ?" 
 
 " Terribly bold," replied the drummer in 
 a low tone, but so as to be heard, and speak- 
 ing to another soldier, as if to justify his 
 chief for having made use of the expression, 
 and to persuade his comrade that there was 
 nothing exaggerated nor untrue in it. 
 
 Koseltzoff left the soldiers in order to 
 join the officers in the barracks. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 The great room of the barracks was filled 
 with people — a crowd of naval, artillery, and 
 infantry officers. Some were sleeping, oth- 
 ers were talking, seated on a caisson or on 
 the carriage of a siege-gun. The largest 
 group of the three, seated on their cloaks 
 spread on the ground, w^ere drinking porter 
 and playing cards. 
 
 "Ah! Koseltzoff's come back! Bravo! 
 And your wound T said divers voices from 
 different sides.
 
 Aligns t, i8^^. igi 
 
 Here also he was liked, and they were re- 
 joiced at his return. 
 
 After having shaken hands with his ac- 
 quaintances, Koseltzoff joined the gay group 
 of card-players. One of them, thin, w^ith a 
 long nose, and a large mustache which en- 
 croached on his cheeks, cut the cards with 
 his white, slender fingers on one of which 
 was a great seal ring. He seemed disturb- 
 ed, and dealt with an affected carelessness. 
 On his right, lying half raised on his elbow, 
 a gray-haired major staked and paid a half- 
 ruble every time with exaggerated calmness. 
 On his left, crouching on his heels, an offi- 
 cer with a red and shining face joked and 
 smiled with an effort, and when his card was 
 laid down, one of his hands moved in the 
 empty pocket of his trousers He played a 
 heavy game, but without any money — a fact 
 which visibly irritated the dark officer with 
 the handsome face. Another officer, pale, 
 thin, and bald, with an enormous nose and 
 a large mouth, walking about the room with 
 a bundle of bank-notes in his hand, counted 
 down the money on the bank and won every 
 time. 
 
 Koseltzoff drank a small glass of brandy 
 and sat down beside the players.
 
 ig2 Scbastopol. 
 
 " Come, Mikhail Semenovitch, come ; put 
 up your stake !" said the officer who was 
 cutting the cards ; " Til bet you have brought 
 back a lot of money." 
 
 " Where could I have got it ? On the 
 contrary, I spent my last penny in town !" 
 
 " Really ! You must have fleeced some 
 one at Sympheropol, I'm sure !" 
 
 " What an idea !" replied Koseltzoff, not 
 wanting his words to be believed, and un- 
 buttoning his uniform, to be more comfort- 
 able, he took a few old cards, 
 
 " I have nothing to risk, but, devil take 
 me ! who can foresee luck ? A gnat can 
 sometimes accomplish wonders ! Let's go 
 on drinking to keep our courage up." 
 
 Shortly after he swallowed a second small 
 glass of brandy, a little porter into the bar- 
 gain, and lost his last three rubles, while a 
 hundred and fifty were charged to the ac- 
 count of the little officer with the sweat- 
 moistened face. 
 
 " Have the kindness to send me the mon- 
 ey," said the banker, interrupting the deal 
 to look at him. 
 
 " Allow me to put off sending it until to- 
 morrow," replied the one addressed, rising.
 
 August, i8s5. 193 
 
 His hand was nervously moving in his emp- 
 ty pocket. 
 
 " Hum !" said the banker, spitefully throw- 
 ing the last cards of the pack right and left. 
 " We can't play in this way," he rejoined ; 
 " I will stop the game. It can't be done, 
 Zakhar Ivanovitch. We are playing cash 
 down, and not for credit." 
 
 " Do you distrust me ? That would be 
 strange indeed !" 
 
 " From whom have I to get eight rubles V 
 the major who had just won asked at this 
 moment. " I have paid out more than 
 twenty, and when I win I get nothing," 
 
 " How do you think I can pay you when 
 there is no money on the table V 
 
 " That's nothing to me !" cried the major, 
 rising. " I am playing with you, and not 
 with this gentleman !" 
 
 " As long as I tell you," said the perspir- 
 ing officer — " as long as I tell you I will pay 
 you to-morrow, how do you dare insult me V 
 
 " I'll say what I like. This is no way of 
 doing !" cried the major, excited. 
 
 " Come, be quiet, Fedor Fedorovitch !" 
 shouted several players at once, turning 
 around. 
 13
 
 ig^ Sebastopol. 
 
 Let us drop the curtain on this scene. 
 To-morrow, perhaps to-day, each of these 
 men will go to meet death gayly, proudly, 
 and will die calmly and firmly. The only 
 consolation of a life the conditions of which 
 freeze with horror the coldest imagination, 
 of a life which has nothing human in it, to 
 which all hope is interdicted, is forgetful- 
 ness, annihilation of the consciousness of 
 the reahty. In the soul of every man lies 
 dormant the noble spark which at the prop- 
 er time will make a hero of him ; but this 
 spark grows tired of shining always. Nev- 
 ertheless, when the fatal moment comes, it 
 will burst into a flame which will illumine 
 grand deeds. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 The next day the bombardment contin- 
 ued with the same violence. About eleven 
 o'clock in the forenoon Volodia Koseltzoff 
 joined the officers of his battery. He be- 
 came accustomed to these new faces, asked 
 them questions, and, in his turn, shared his 
 impressions with them. The modest but 
 slightly pedantic conversation of the artillery- 
 men pleased him and inspired his respect.
 
 August, 1S55. ig^ 
 
 On the other hand, his own sympathetic 
 apjDearance, his timid manner, and his sim- 
 pHcity predisposed these gentlemen in his 
 favor. The oldest officer of the battery, a 
 short, red-haired captain with a foretop, and 
 with well -smoothed locks on his temples, 
 brought up in the old traditions of artillery, 
 amiable with ladies, and posing for a savant, 
 asked him questions about his acquaintance 
 with this science or that, about the new in- 
 ventions, joked in an affectionate way about 
 his youth and his handsome face, and treated 
 him like a son, all of which charmed Volo- 
 dia. Sub-lieutenant Dedenko, a young offi- 
 cer with an accent of Little Russia, with 
 shaggy hair and a torn overcoat, pleased him 
 also, in spite of his loud voice, his frequent 
 quarrels, and his brusque movements, for 
 under this rude exterior Volodia saw a 
 brave and worthy man. Dedenko eagerly 
 offered his services to Volodia, and tried to 
 prove to him that the cannon at Sebastopol 
 had not been placed according to rule. On 
 the other hand, Lieutenant Tchernovitzky, 
 with high-arched eyebrows, who wore a well- 
 cared -for but worn and mended overcoat, 
 and a gold chain on a satin waistcoat, did
 
 ig6 Sebastopol. 
 
 not inspire him with any sympathy, al- 
 though superior to the others in poHteness. 
 He continually asked Volodia details about 
 the emperor, the minister of war, related 
 with factitious enthusiasm the heroic ex- 
 ploits accomplished at Sebastopol, expressed 
 his regrets at the small number of true pa- 
 triots, made a show of a great deal of knowl- 
 edge, of wit, of exceedingly noble sentiments, 
 but in spite of all that, and without being 
 able to tell why, all these discourses sound- 
 ed false in his ears, and he even noticed 
 that the officers in general avoided speak- 
 ing to Tchernovitzky. The yunker, Viang, 
 whom he had waked up the evening before, 
 sat modestly in a corner, kept silent, laughed 
 sometimes at a joke, always ready to recall 
 what had been forgotten, presented to the 
 officers in turn the small glass of brandy, 
 and rolled cigarettes for all. Charmed by 
 the simple and polite manners of Volodia, 
 who did not treat him like a boy, and by 
 his agreeable appearance, his great, fine 
 eyes never left the face of the new-comer. 
 Urged by a feeling of great admiration, he 
 divined and forestalled all his wishes, a fact 
 which the officers immediately noticed, and
 
 August, 1 8^^. igy 
 
 which furnished the subject of unsparing 
 jokes. 
 
 A little before dinner second - captain 
 Kraut, relieved from duty on the bastion, 
 joined the little company. A blond, fine- 
 looking fellow, of a lively turn of mind, proud 
 possessor of a pair of red mustaches, and side- 
 whiskers of the same color, he spoke the lan- 
 guage to perfection, but too correctly and 
 too elegantly for a pure-blooded Russian. 
 Quite as irreproachable in duty as in his pri- 
 vate life, perfection was his failing. A perfect 
 comrade, to be counted on beyond proof in 
 all affairs of interest, he lacked something 
 as a man, just because everything in him 
 was an accomplishment. In striking con- 
 trast with the ideal Germans of Germany, 
 he was, after the example of the Russian 
 Germans, in the highest degree practical. 
 
 " Here he is! here's our hero!" shouted the 
 captain at the moment Kraut came in, gestic- 
 ulating and clanking his spurs. " What'll 
 you have, Frederic Christianovitch — tea or 
 brandy .?" 
 
 " I am having some tea made, but I won't 
 refuse brandy while I am waiting, for my 
 soul's consolation ! Happy to make your
 
 igS Sebastopol. 
 
 acquaintance ! Please get fond of us, and 
 be well-disposed towards us," he said to Vo- 
 lodia, who had arisen to salute him. " Sec- 
 ond-captain Kraut ! The artificer told me 
 you came last evening." 
 
 " Allow me to thank you for your bed, 
 which I profited by last night." 
 
 " Did you at least sleep comfortably there } 
 Because one of the legs is gone, and no one 
 can repair it during the siege. You have to 
 keep wedging it up." 
 
 " So then you got out of it safely ?" De- 
 denko asked him. 
 
 " Yes, thank God ! but Skvortzoff was 
 hit. We had to repair one of the carriages ; 
 the side of it was smashed to pieces." 
 
 He suddenly arose and walked up and 
 down. It could be seen that he felt the 
 agreeable sensation of a man who has 
 just come safe and sound out of great 
 danger. 
 
 " Now, Dmitri Gavrilovitch," he said, tap- 
 ping the captain's knee in a friendly man- 
 ner, " how are you, brother ? What has be- 
 come of your presentation for advancement } 
 Has it finally been settled ?" 
 
 " No ; nothing has come of it."
 
 Au^gust, i8^^. igg 
 
 " And nothing will come of it," said De- 
 denko ; " I've proved it to you already." 
 
 " Why will nothing come of it ?" 
 
 " Because your statement is badly made." 
 
 " Ah, what a violent wrangler !" said Kraut, 
 gayly. "A truly obstinate Little Russian. 
 All right ; you will see that they will make 
 you lieutenant to pay for your mortification." 
 
 " No, they won't do anything." 
 
 " Viang," added Kraut, speaking to the 
 yunker, " fill my pipe and bring it to me, 
 please." 
 
 Kraut's presence had waked them all up. 
 Chatting with each one, he gave the details 
 of the bombardment, and asked questions 
 about what had taken place during his ab- 
 sence. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 " Now, then, are you settled V Kraut asked 
 of Volodia. " But, pardon me, what is your 
 name — both your names } It's our custom 
 in the artillery. Have you a saddle-horse .?" 
 
 " No," answered Volodia, " and I am much 
 troubled about it. I have spoken to the 
 captain. I shall have neither horse nor 
 money until I get my forage-money and my
 
 200 Scbastopol. 
 
 travelling expenses. I would like to ask the 
 commander of the battery to lend me his 
 horse, but I am afraid he will refuse." 
 
 " You would like to ask this of Apollo 
 Serguei'tch T said Kraut, looking at the cap- 
 tain, while he made a sound with his lips 
 which expressed doubt. 
 
 " Well," said the latter, " if he refuses, 
 there is no great harm done. To tell the 
 truth, there is seldom need of a horse here. 
 I will undertake to ask him to-day even." 
 
 " You don't know him," said Dedenko. 
 " He would refuse anything else, but he 
 wouldn't refuse his horse to this gentleman. 
 Would you like to bet on it ?" 
 
 *' Oh, I know you are ripe for contradic- 
 tion, you — " 
 
 " I contradict when I know a thinor \ He 
 isn't generous usually, but he will lend his 
 horse, because he has no interest in refus- 
 ing It. 
 
 " How no interest ? When oats cost eight 
 rubles here it is evidently in his interest. 
 He will have one horse the less to keep." 
 
 " Vladimir Semenovitch !" cried Viang, 
 coming back with Kraut's pipe. "Ask for 
 the spotted one ; it is a charming horse."
 
 August, iSj^. 201 
 
 "That's the one you fell into the ditch 
 with, eh, Viang ?" observed the second-cap- 
 tain. 
 
 " But you are mistaken in saying that 
 oats are eight rubles," maintained Dedenko, 
 in the mean time, continuing the discus- 
 sion. "According to the latest news they 
 are ten-fifty. It is evident that there is no 
 profit in — " 
 
 " You would like to leave him nothing, 
 then ? If you were in his place you would 
 not lend your horse to go into town either. 
 When I am commander of the battery my 
 horses, brother, will have four full measures 
 to eat every day ! I sha'n't think of making 
 an income, rest assured !" 
 
 " He who lives will see," replied the sec- 
 ond-captain. " You will do the same when 
 you have a battery, and he also," pointing 
 to Volodia. 
 
 " Why do you suppose, Frederic Chris- 
 tianovitch, that this gentleman would also 
 like to reserve for himself some small prof- 
 it ? If he has a certain amount of money, 
 what will he do it for ?" Tchernovitzky ask- 
 ed in his turn. 
 
 " No — I — excuse me, captain," said Volo-
 
 202 Sebastopol. 
 
 dia, blushing up to his ears. " That would 
 be dishonest in my eyes." 
 
 " Oh ! oh ! what milk porridge !" Kraut 
 said to him. 
 
 " This is another question, captain, but 
 it seems to me that I couldn't take mon- 
 ey for myself which doesn't belong to 
 me." 
 
 " And I will tell you something else," said 
 the second-captain, in a more serious tone. 
 " You must learn that, being battery com- 
 mander, there is -every advantage in manag- 
 ing affairs well. You must know that the 
 soldier's food doesn't concern him. It has 
 always been that way with us in the artil- 
 lery. If you don't succeed in making both 
 ends meet, you will have nothing left. Let 
 us count up your expenses. You have first 
 the forage " — and the captain bent one fin- 
 ger ; " next the medicine " — he bent a sec- 
 ond one ; " then the administration — that 
 makes three; then the draft -horses, which 
 certainly cost fiv^e hundred rubles — that 
 makes four; then the refitting of the sol- 
 diers' collars ; then the charcoal, which is 
 used in great quantities, and at last the ta- 
 ble of your officers ; lastly, as chief of the
 
 August, 1 8^^. 20 J 
 
 battery you must live comfortably, and you 
 need a carriage, a cloak, etc." 
 
 "And the principal thing is this, Vladimir 
 Semenovitch," said the captain, who had 
 been silent up to this moment. " Look at 
 a man like me, for example, who has served 
 twenty years, receiving at first two, then 
 three hundred rubles pay. Well, then, why 
 shouldn't the Government reward him for 
 his years of service by giving him a morsel 
 of bread for his old days." 
 
 " It can't be discussed," rejoined the sec- 
 ond-captain ; " so don't be in a hurry to judge. 
 Serve a little while and you will see." 
 
 Volodia, quite ashamed of the remark 
 which he had thrown out without stopping 
 to reflect, murmured a few words, and lis- 
 tened in silence how Dedenko set about de- 
 fending the opposite thesis. The discussion 
 was interrupted by the entrance of the colo- 
 nel's orderly announcing that dinner was 
 ready. 
 
 " You ought to tell Apollo Serguei'tch to 
 give us wine to-day," said Captain Tcherno- 
 vitzky, buttoning his coat. " Devil take his 
 avarice! He will be shot, and no one will 
 get any."
 
 20^ Sebastopol. 
 
 " Tell him yourself." 
 
 " Oh no, you are my elder; the hierarchy 
 before everything !" 
 
 XIX. 
 
 A table, covered with a stained table- 
 cloth, was placed in the middle of the room 
 in which Volodia had been received by the 
 colonel the evening before. The latter gave 
 him his hand, and asked him questions about 
 Petersburg and about his journey. 
 
 " Now, gentlemen, please come up to the 
 brandy. The ensigns don't drink," he add- 
 ed, with a smile. 
 
 The commander of the battery did not 
 seem as stern to-day as the day before ; he 
 had rather the air of a kind and hospi- 
 table host than that of a comrade amone 
 his of^cers. In spite of that, all, from the 
 old captain to Ensign Dedenko, evinced re- 
 spect for him which betrayed itself in the 
 timid politeness with which they spoke to 
 him and came up in line to drink their little 
 glass of brandy. 
 
 The dinner consisted of cabbage - soup, 
 served in a great tureen in which swam 
 lumps of meat with fat attached, laurel
 
 August, I'^SS' ^^5 
 
 leaves, and a good deal of pepper, Polish 
 zrasi with mustard, koldouni with slightly 
 rancid butter; no napkins ; the spoons were 
 of pewter and of wood, the glasses were two 
 in number. On the table was a single water 
 decanter with broken neck. The conversa- 
 tion did not flag. They first spoke of the 
 battle of Inkerman, in w^hich the battery 
 took a part. Each related his impressions, 
 his opinions on the causes of the failure, 
 keeping silent as soon as the battery com- 
 mander spoke. Then they complained of 
 the lack of cannon of a certain calibre; they 
 talked of certain other improvements, which 
 gave Volodia an opportunity of showing his 
 knowledge. The curious part was that the 
 talk did not even touch upon the frightful 
 situation of Sebastopol, which seemed to 
 mean that each one, on his part, thought 
 too much about it to speak of it. 
 
 Volodia, very much astonished, and even 
 vexed, that there was no question of the 
 duties of his service, said to himself that he 
 seemed to have come to Sebastopol only in 
 order to o^ive the details about the new can- 
 non and to dine with the battery commander. 
 
 During the repast a shell burst very near
 
 2o6 Sebastopol. 
 
 the house. The floor and the wall were 
 shaken by it as by an earthquake, and pow- 
 der-smoke spread over the window outside. 
 
 " You certainly didn't see tliat at Peters- 
 buro;, but here we often have these surprises. 
 Go, Viang," added the commander, " and see 
 where the shell burst." 
 
 Viang went to look, and announced that 
 it had burst in the yard. After that they 
 did not speak of it again. 
 
 A little before the end of the dinner one 
 of the military clerks came in to give to his 
 chief three sealed envelopes. " This one is 
 very urgent. A Cossack has just brought 
 it from the commander of the artillery," he 
 said. The ofhcers watched the practised 
 fingers of their superior with anxious impa- 
 tience while he broke the seal of the enve- 
 lope, which bore the words " in haste," and 
 drew a paper from it. 
 
 " What can that be T each one thought. 
 " Can it be the order to leave Sebastopol for 
 a rest, or the order to bring out the whole 
 battery upon the bastion ?" 
 
 " Once more !" cried the commander, an- 
 grily, throwing the sheet of paper on the 
 table.
 
 August, i8^^. 2oy 
 
 " What is it, Apollo Serguei'tch ?" asked 
 the oldest of the officers. 
 
 " They want an officer and men for a mor- 
 tar battery. I have only four officers, and 
 my men are not up to the full number," he 
 growled, " and now they ask for some of 
 them. However, some one must go, gen- 
 tlemen," he continued, after a moment ; 
 " they must be there at seven o'clock. Send 
 me the sergeant-major. Now, gentlemen, 
 who will go } Decide it among yourselves." 
 
 " But here is this gentleman who hasn't 
 yet served," said Tchernovitzky, pointing to 
 Volodia. 
 
 " Yes ; I wouldn't ask for anything bet- 
 ter," said Volodia, feeling a cold sweat moist- 
 en his neck and his backbone. 
 
 " No — why not ?" interrupted the captain. 
 " No one ought to refuse ; but it is useless 
 to ask him to go ; and since Apollo Ser- 
 guei'tch leaves us free, we will draw lots, as 
 we did the other time." 
 
 All consented to this. Kraut carefully 
 cut several little paper squares, rolled them 
 up, and threw them into a cap. The cap- 
 tain cracked a few jokes and profited by 
 this occasion to ask the colonel for wine.
 
 2o8 Sebastopol. 
 
 "to give us courage," he added. Dedenko 
 had a depressed air, Volodia smiled, Tcher- 
 novitzky declared that he would be chosen 
 by the lot. As to Kraut, he was perfectly 
 calm. 
 
 They offered Volodia the first chance. 
 He took one of the papers, the longest, but 
 immediately changed it for another, shorter 
 and smaller, and unrolling it, read the word 
 " Go." 
 
 " It is I," he said, with a sigh. 
 
 " All right. May God protect you ! It 
 will be your baptism of fire," said the com- 
 mander, looking with a pleasant smile at the 
 disturbed face of the ensign. " But get 
 ready quickly, and in order that it may be 
 pleasanter, Viang will go with you in the 
 place of the artificer. 
 
 XX. 
 
 Viang, delighted with his mission, ran 
 away to dress, and came back at once to 
 assist Volodia to make up his bundles, ad- 
 vising him to take his bed, his fur cloak, an 
 old number of the "Annals of the Country," 
 a coffee-pot with an alcohol lamp, and other 
 useless articles. The captain, in his turn,
 
 August, i8^^. 2og 
 
 advised Volodia to read in the " Manual for 
 the use of Artillery Officers " the passage 
 relating to firing mortars, and to copy it at 
 once ! Volodia set himself to work at it 
 immediately, happy and surprised to feel 
 that the dread of danger, especially the 
 fear of passing for a coward, was less strong 
 than on the evening before. His impres- 
 sions of the day and his occupation had part- 
 ly contributed to diminish the violence of 
 this ; and then it is well known that an 
 acute sensation cannot last long without 
 weakening. In a word, his fear was being 
 cured. At seven in the evening, at the mo- 
 ment the sun was setting behind the Nicho- 
 las barracks, the sergeant-major came to 
 tell him that the men were ready, and were 
 waiting for him, 
 
 " I have given the list to Viang, your Ex- 
 cellency ; you can ask him for it," he said. 
 
 " Must I make a little speech to them?" 
 thought Volodia, on his way, accompanied 
 by the yunker, to join the twenty artillery- 
 men who, swords by their sides, were wait- 
 ing for him outside — "or must I simply 
 say to them, 'How do you do, children?' or, 
 indeed, say nothing at all ? Why not say
 
 2IO Sebastopol. 
 
 ' How do you do, children ?' I think I ought 
 to ;" and with his full and sonorous voice he 
 cried boldly, " How do you do, children ?" 
 The soldiers replied cheerfully to his salu- 
 tation ; his young and fresh voice sounded 
 agreeably in their ears. He put himself at 
 their head, and although his heart was beat- 
 ing as if he had just run several furlongs, 
 his walk was light and his face was smiling. 
 When they got near the Malakoff mamelon, 
 he noticed, while climbing up it, that Viang, 
 who did not leave his heels, and who had 
 seemed so courageous down below in their 
 quarters, stooped and ducked his head as 
 if the bullets and shells which were whist- 
 ling without cessation were coming straight 
 towards him. Several soldiers did the same, 
 and the majority of the faces expressed, if 
 not fear, at least disquiet. This circum- 
 stance reassured him and revived his cour- 
 
 age. 
 
 " Here I am, then, I also, on the Mala- 
 ko£f mamelon. I imagined it a thousand 
 times more terrible, and I am walking, I am 
 advancing, without saluting the bullets ! I 
 am less afraid than the others, and I am 
 not a coward, then," he said to himself joy-
 
 August, i8^^. 211 
 
 fully, with the enthusiasm of satisfied self- 
 love. 
 
 This feeling was, however, shaken by the 
 spectacle that presented itself to his eyes. 
 When he reached in the twilight the Kor- 
 niloff battery, four sailors, some holding by 
 the legs, others by the arms, the bloody 
 corpse of a man with bare feet and no coat, 
 were in the act of throwing him over the 
 parapet. (The second day of the bombard- 
 ment they threw the dead into the ditch, be- 
 cause they had no time to carry them off.) 
 Volodia, stupefied, saw the corpse strike the 
 upper part of the rampart, and slide from 
 there into the ditch. Fortunately for him, 
 he met at this very moment the commander 
 of the bastion, who gave him a guide to lead 
 him to the battery and into the bomb-proof 
 quarters of the men. We will not relate 
 how often our hero was exposed to danger 
 during that night. We will say nothing of 
 how he was undeceived when he noticed 
 that instead of findino^ them firins: here ac- 
 cording to the precise rules such as they 
 practise at Petersburg on the plain of Vol- 
 kovo, he saw himself in front of two broken 
 mortars, one with its muzzle bruised by
 
 212 Sebastopol. 
 
 a shell, the other still upright on the pieces 
 of a destroyed platform. We will not tell 
 how it was impossible for him to get the 
 soldiers in order to repair it before daylight, 
 how he found no charge of the calibre indi- 
 cated in the " Manual," nor describe his feel- 
 ings at seeing two of his soldiers fall, hit 
 before his eyes, nor how he himself, even, 
 escaped death twenty times by a hair's- 
 breadth. Happily for him, the captain of 
 the mortar, who had been given him for an 
 assistant, a tall sailor attached to these mor- 
 tars since the beginning of the siege, assured 
 him that they could make use of them still, 
 and promised him while he was walking on 
 the bastion, lantern in hand, as calmly as 
 if he were in his kitchen-garden, to put them 
 in good condition before morning. 
 
 The bomb-proof reduct into which his 
 guide conducted him was only a great, long 
 cavern dug in the rocky earth, two fathoms 
 deep, protected by oaken timbers eighteen 
 inches thick. There he established himself 
 with his soldiers. 
 
 As soon as Viang noticed the little low 
 door which led into it, he threw himself in 
 the first with such haste that he nearly fell
 
 August, i8 ^^, 21 J 
 
 on the stone -paved floor, cowered down in 
 a corner, and did not care to come out of 
 it. The soldiers placed themselves on the 
 ground along the wall. Some of them light- 
 ed their pipes, and Volodia arranged his bed 
 in a corner, stretched himself on it, lighted 
 a candle in his turn, and smoked a cigarette. 
 Over their heads could be heard, deadened 
 by the bomb-proof, the uninterrupted roar of 
 the discharges. A single cannon close be- 
 side them shook their shelter every time it 
 thundered^ In the interior everything was 
 quiet. The soldiers, still intimidated by the 
 presence of the new officer, only exchanged 
 a word with each other now and then to 
 ask for a light or a little room. A rat was 
 scratching somewhere among the stones, 
 and Viang, who had not yet recovered from 
 his emotion, occasionally sighed deeply as he 
 looked about him. Volodia, on his bed in 
 this peaceful corner crammed with people, 
 lighted by a single candle, gave himself up 
 to the feeling of comfort which he had often 
 had as a child when, playing hide-and-seek, 
 he slipped into a wardrobe or under his 
 mother's skirt, holding his breath, stretch- 
 ing his ears, being very much afraid of the
 
 214 Sebastopol. 
 
 dark, and feeling at the same time an un- 
 conscious impression of well-being. 
 
 In the same way here, without being al- 
 together at his ease, he felt rather disposed 
 
 to be cheerful. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 At the end of ten minutes the soldiers 
 got bold and began to talk. Near the ofH- 
 cer's bed, in the circle of light, were placed 
 the highest in rank — the two artificers, one 
 an old gray-haired man, his breast adorned 
 with a mass of medals and crosses, among 
 which the cross of Saint George was want- 
 ing, however, the other a young man, smok- 
 ing cigarettes which he was rolling, and the 
 drummer, who placed himself, as is the cus- 
 tom, at the orders of the officer, in the back- 
 ground. In the shadow of the entrance, 
 behind the bombardier and the medalled 
 soldiers seated in front, the " humbles " kept 
 themselves. They were the first to break 
 silence. One of them, running in fright- 
 ened from outside, served as a theme for 
 their conversation. 
 
 " Eh ! say there, you didn't stay long in the 
 street. Young girls are not playing there, 
 hey .?" said a voice.
 
 August, i8s5> 21 s 
 
 " On the contrary, they are singing won- 
 derful sonss. You don't hear such ones in 
 the village," replied the new-comer, with a 
 laugh, and all out of breath. 
 
 " Vassina doesn't like the shells ; no, he 
 doesn't like them !" some one cried from the 
 aristocratic side. 
 
 " When it is necessary it is another story," 
 slowly replied Vassina, whom everybody lis- 
 tened to when he spoke. " The twenty-fourth, 
 for example, they fired so that it was a bless- 
 ing, and there is no harm in that. Why let 
 us be killed for nothing ? Do the chiefs 
 thank us for that ?" 
 
 These words provoked a general laugh. 
 
 " Nevertheless, there is Melnikoff, who is 
 outside all the time," said some one. 
 
 " It is true. Make him come in," added 
 the old artificer, "otherwise he will get killed 
 for nothing." 
 
 " Who is this Melnikoff ?" asked Volodia. 
 
 " He is, your Excellency, an animal who 
 is afraid of nothing. He is walking about 
 outside. Please examine him ; he looks like 
 a bear." 
 
 " He practises witchcraft," added Vassina, 
 in his calm voice.
 
 2 lb ScbastopoL 
 
 Melnikoff, a very corpulent soldier (a rare 
 thing), with red hair, a tremendously bulging 
 forehead, and light blue projecting eyes, came 
 in just at this moment. 
 
 "Are you afraid of bomb-shells ?" Volodia 
 asked him. 
 
 " Why should I be afraid of them ?" re- 
 peated Melnikoff, scratching his neck. " No 
 bomb-shell will kill me, I know." 
 
 " Do you like to live here V 
 
 " To be sure I do ; it is very entertaining," 
 and he burst out laughing. 
 
 " Then you must be sent out In a sortie. 
 Would you like to t I will speak to the 
 general," said Volodia, although he knew no 
 general. 
 
 " Why not like to } I should like to very 
 much !" and Melnikoff disappeared behind 
 his comrades. 
 
 " Come, children, let's play ' beggar my 
 neighbor !' Who has cards V asked an im- 
 patient voice, and the game immediately be- 
 gan in the farthest corner. The calling of 
 the tricks could be heard, the sound of taps 
 on the nose and the bursts of laughter. Vo- 
 lodia in the mean time drank tea prepared 
 by the drummer, offering some to the arti-
 
 August, 1 8^^. 21/ 
 
 ficers, joking and chatting with them, desir- 
 ous of making himself popular, and very well 
 satisfied with the respect they showed him. 
 The soldiers having noticed that the " ba- 
 rine " was a good fellow, became animated, 
 and one of them announced that the siege 
 was soon eoinsf to come to an end, for a sail- 
 or had told him for a certainty that Constan- 
 tine, the Czar's brother, was coming to deliv- 
 er them with the 'merican' * fleet; that there 
 would soon be an armistice of two weeks 
 to rest, and that seventy-five kopeks would 
 have to be paid for every shot that was fired 
 during the truce. 
 
 Vassina, whom Volodia had already no- 
 ticed — the short soldier with fine great eyes 
 and side-whiskers — related in his turn, in 
 the midst of a general silence, which was 
 next broken by bursts of laughter, the joy 
 that had been felt at first on seeing him 
 come back to his village on his furlough, and 
 how his father had then sent him to work in 
 the fields every day, while the lieutenant- 
 forester sent to fetch his wife in a carriage. 
 Volodia was amused by all these tales. He 
 
 * American.
 
 2i8 Sebastopol. 
 
 had no longer the least fear, and the strong 
 odors which filled their reduct did not cause 
 him any disgust. He felt, on the contrary, 
 very gay, and in a very agreeable mood. 
 
 Several soldiers were snoring already. 
 Viang was also lying on the ground, and 
 the old artificer, having spread his overcoat 
 on the earth, crossed himself with devotion 
 and mumbled the evening prayer, when Vo- 
 lodia took a fancy to go and see what was 
 going on out of doors. 
 
 " Pull in your legs !" the soldiers immedi- 
 ately said to one another as they saw him 
 get up, and each one drew his legs back to 
 let him pass. 
 
 Viang, who was supposed to be asleep, 
 got up and seized Volodia by the lapel of 
 his coat. " Come, don't go ! what is the 
 use T he said, in a tearful and persuasive 
 voice. " You don't know what it is. Bul- 
 lets are raining out there. We are better 
 off here." 
 
 But Volodia went out without heeding 
 him, and sat down on the very threshold of 
 their quarters by the side of Melnikoff. 
 
 The air was fresh and pure, especially af- 
 ter that he had just been breathing, and the
 
 Atigiist, iS^^. 21 g 
 
 night was clear and calm. Through the 
 roar of the cannonade could be heard the 
 creak of the wheels of the carts bringing 
 gabions, and the voices of those working in 
 the magazine. Over their heads sparkled 
 the starry sky, striped by the luminous fur- 
 rows of the projectiles. On the left was 
 a small opening, two feet and a half high, 
 leading to a bomb-proof shelter, where could 
 be perceived the feet and the backs of the 
 sailors who lived there, and who were plain- 
 ly heard talking. Opposite rose the mound 
 which covered the magazine, in front of 
 which figures, bent double, passed and re- 
 passed. On the very top of the eminence, 
 exposed to bullets and shells which did not 
 stop whistling at that spot, was a tall black 
 figure, with his hands in his pockets, tram- 
 pling on the fresh earth which was brought 
 in bags. From time to time a shell fell and 
 burst two paces from him. The soldiers 
 who were carrying sacks bent down and 
 separated, while the black silhouette contin- 
 ued quietly to level the earth with his feet 
 without changing his position. 
 
 " Who is it .?" Volodia asked Melnikoff. 
 
 " I don't know ; I am going to see."
 
 220 Sebastopol. 
 
 " Don't go ; it is no use." 
 
 But Melnikoff rose without listenino: to 
 him, went up to the black man, and remain- 
 ed immovable a long time beside him with 
 the same indifference to dano-er. 
 
 " It is the guardian of the magazine, your 
 Excellency," he said, on his return. " A 
 shell made a hole in it, and they are cover- 
 ing it up with earth." 
 
 When the shells seemed to fly straight 
 upon the bomb-proof quarters Volodia 
 squeezed himself into the corner, and then 
 came out raising his eyes to the sky to see 
 if others were comino^. Althousfh Vlangf, 
 still lying down, had more than once begged 
 him to come in, Volodia passed three hours 
 seated on the threshold, finding a certain 
 pleasure in thus exposing himself, as well 
 as in watching the flight of the projectiles. 
 Towards the end of the evening: he knew 
 perfectly well the number of the cannon and 
 the direction they fired, and where their 
 shots struck. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 The next day — the 27th of August — af- 
 ter ten hours of sleep, Volodia came out
 
 Atcgust, 1855. 221 
 
 of the bomb-proof fresh and well, Viang 
 followed him, but at the first hissing of a 
 cannon-ball he bounded back and threw 
 himself through the narrow opening, knock- 
 ing his head as he went, to the general 
 laugh of the soldiers, all of whom, with the 
 exception of Viang, of the old artificer, and 
 two or three others who rarely showed them- 
 selves in the trenches, had slipped outside 
 to breathe the fresh morning air. In spite 
 of the violence of the bombardment, they 
 could not be prevented from remaining 
 there, some near the entrance, others shel- 
 tered by the parapet. As to Melnikoff, he 
 had been going and coming between the bat- 
 teries since daybreak, looking in the air 
 with indifference. 
 
 On the very threshold of the quarters were 
 seated three soldiers, two old and one young 
 one. The latter, a curly-headed Jewish in- 
 fantryman attached to the battery, picked 
 up a bullet which rolled at his feet, and flat- 
 tening it against a stone with a piece of a 
 shell, he cut out of it a cross on the model 
 of that of Saint George, while the others 
 chatted, watching his work with interest, for 
 he succeeded well with it,
 
 222 Sebastopol. 
 
 " I say that if we stay here some time yet, 
 when peace comes we shall be retired." 
 
 " Sure enough. I have only four years 
 more to serve, and I have been here six 
 months !" 
 
 " That doesn't count for retirement," said 
 another, at the moment when a cannon-ball 
 whizzing over the group struck the earth a 
 yard away from Melnikoff, who was coming 
 towards them in the trench. 
 
 " It almost killed Melnikoff!" cried a sol- 
 dier. 
 
 " It won't kill me," replied the former. 
 
 " Here, take this cross for your bravery," 
 said the young Jewish soldier, finishing the 
 cross and giving it to him. 
 
 " No, brother, here the months count for 
 years without exception. There was an or- 
 der about it," continued the talker. 
 
 " Whatever happens, there will surely be, 
 on the conclusion of peace, a review by the 
 Emperor at Warsaw, and if we are not re- 
 tired we shall have an unlimited furlough." 
 
 Just at this instant a small cannon-ball 
 passing over their heads with a ricochet, 
 seemed to moan and whistle together and 
 fell on a stone.
 
 August, 1 8^^. 22^ 
 
 "Attention!" said one of the soldiers. 
 " Perhaps between now and night you will 
 get your definite furlough !" 
 
 Everybody began to laugh. Two hours 
 had not passed, evening had not yet come, be- 
 fore two of them had, in effect, received their 
 "definite furlough," and five had been wound- 
 ed, but the rest continued to joke as before. 
 
 In the morning the two mortars had been 
 put in order, and Volodia received at ten 
 o'clock the order from the commander of 
 the bastion to assemble his men and eo 
 with them upon the battery. Once at work, 
 there remained no trace of that terror which 
 the evening before showed itself so plainly. 
 Viang alone did not succeed in overcoming 
 it ; he hid himself, and bent down every in- 
 stant. Vassina had also lost his coolness, 
 he was excited and saluted. As to Volo- 
 dia, stirred by an enthusiastic satisfaction, he 
 thought no more of the danger. The joy 
 he felt at doing his duty well, at being no 
 longer a coward, at feeling himself, on the 
 contrary, full of courage, the feeling of com- 
 manding and the presence of twenty men, 
 who he knew were watching him with curi- 
 osity, had made a real hero of him. Being
 
 22^ Sebastopol. 
 
 even a little vain of his bravery, he got up 
 on the banquette, unbuttoning his coat so as 
 to be well observ^ed. The commander of the 
 bastion, in going his rounds, although he 
 had been accustomed during eight months 
 to courage in all its forms, could not help 
 admiring this fine-looking boy with animated 
 face and eyes, his unbuttoned coat exposing 
 a red shirt, which confined a white and deli- 
 cate neck, clapping his hands, and crying in 
 a voice of command, " First ! second !" and 
 jumping gayly on the rampart to see where 
 his shell had fallen. At half-past eleven the 
 firing stopped on both sides, and at noon 
 precisely began the assault on the Malakoff 
 mamelon, as well as upon the second, third, 
 and fifth bastions. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 On this side of the bay, between Inker- 
 man and the fortifications of the north, two 
 sailors were standing, in the middle of the 
 day, on Telegraph Height. Near them an 
 officer was looking at Sebastopol through 
 a field-glass, and another on horseback, ac- 
 companied by a Cossack, had just rejoined 
 him near the great signal-pole.
 
 August, i8^^. 22^ 
 
 The sun soared over the gulf, where the 
 water, covered with ships at anchor, and 
 with sail and row boats in motion, played 
 merrily in its warm and luminous rays. A 
 light breeze, which scarcely shook the leaves 
 of the stunted oak bushes that grew beside 
 the signal-station, filled the sails of the boats, 
 and made the waves ripple softly. On the 
 other side of the gulf Sebastopol was visi- 
 ble, unchanged, with its unfinished church, 
 its column, its quay, the boulevard which 
 cut the hill with a green band, the elegant 
 library building, its little lakes of azure blue, 
 with their forests of masts, its picturesque 
 aqueducts, and, above all that, clouds of a 
 bluish tint, formed by powder-smoke, light- 
 ed up from time to time by the red flame of 
 the firing. It was the same proud and beau- 
 tiful Sebastopol, with its festal air, surround- 
 ed on one side by the yellow smoke-crowned 
 hills, on the other by the sea, deep blue in 
 color, and sparkling brilliantly in the sun. 
 At the horizon, where the smoke of a steam- 
 er traced a black line, white, narrow clouds 
 were rising, precursors of a wind. Along 
 the whole line of the fortifications, along the 
 heights, especially on the left side, spurted 
 15
 
 226 Sebastopol. 
 
 out suddenly, torn by a visible flash, although 
 it was broad daylight, plumes of thick white 
 smoke, which, assuming various forms, ex- 
 tended, rose, and colored the sky with som- 
 bre tints. These jets of smoke came out on 
 all sides — from the hills, from the hostile 
 batteries, from the city — and flew towards 
 the sky. The noise of the explosions shook 
 the air with a continuous roar. Towards 
 noon these smoke -puffs became rarer and 
 rarer, and the vibrations of the air strata 
 became less frequent. 
 
 "Do you know that the second bastion 
 is no longer replying T said the hussar offi- 
 cer on horseback ; " it is entirely demol- 
 ished. It is terrible !" 
 
 " Yes, and the Malakoff replies twice out 
 of three times," answered the one who was 
 looking through the field-glass. " This si- 
 lence is drivinor me mad ! Thev are firinof 
 straight on the Korniloff battery, and that 
 is not replying." 
 
 " You'll see it will be as I said ; towards 
 noon they will cease firing. It is always that 
 way. Come and take breakfast, they are 
 waiting for us. There is nothing more to 
 see here."
 
 August, 1855. 22^ 
 
 " Wait, don't bother me," replied, with 
 marked agitation, the one looking through 
 the field-glass. 
 
 " What is it ? — what's the matter ?" 
 
 " There is a movement in the trenches ; 
 they are marching in close columns." 
 
 " Yes, I see it well," said one of the sail- 
 ors ; " they are advancing by columns. We 
 must set the signal." 
 
 "But see, there — see ! They are coming 
 out of the trenches !" 
 
 They could see, in fact, with the naked 
 eye black spots going down from the hill 
 into the ravine, and proceeding from the 
 French batteries towards our bastions. In 
 the foreground, in front of the former, black 
 spots could be seen very near our lines. 
 Suddenly, from different points of the bas- 
 tion at the same time, spurted out the white 
 plumes of the discharges, and, thanks to the 
 wind, the noise of a lively fusillade could be 
 heard, like the patter of a heavy rain against 
 the windows. The black lines advanced, 
 wrapped in a curtain of smoke, and came 
 nearer. The fusillade increased in violence. 
 The smoke burst out at shorter and shorter 
 intervals, extended rapidly along the line in
 
 228 Sebastopol. 
 
 a single light, lilac-colored cloud, unrolling 
 and enlarging itself by turns, furrowed here 
 and there by flashes or rent by black points. 
 All the noises mingled together in the tu- 
 mult of one continued roar. 
 
 " It is an assault," said the officer, pale 
 with emotion, handing his glass to the sailor. 
 
 Cossacks and officers on horseback went 
 along the road, preceding the commander- 
 in-chief in his carriage, accompanied by his 
 suite. Their faces expressed the painful 
 emotion of expectation. 
 
 " It is impossible that it is taken !" said 
 the officer on horseback. 
 
 " God in heaven ! — the flag ! Look now !" 
 cried the other, choked by emotion, turning 
 away from the glass. " The French flag is 
 in the Malakoff mamelon !" 
 
 " Impossible !" 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 Koseltzoff the elder, who had had the 
 time during the night to win and lose again 
 all his winnings, including even the gold- 
 pieces sewn in the seams of his uniform, 
 was sleeping, towards morning, in the bar- 
 racks of the fifth bastion, a heavy but deep
 
 August, iSsS' 22g 
 
 sleep, when the sinister cry rang out, re- 
 peated by different voices, " The alarm !" 
 
 " Wake up, Mikhail Semenovitch ! It is 
 an assault !" a voice cried in his ear. 
 
 " A school-boy trick," he replied, opening 
 his eyes without believing the news ; but 
 when he perceived an officer, pale, agitated, 
 running wildly from one corner to another, 
 he understood all, and the thought that he 
 might perhaps be taken for a coward re- 
 fusing to join his company in a critical mo- 
 ment, gave him such a violent start that he 
 rushed out and ran straight to find his sol- 
 diers. The cannon were dumb, but the mus- 
 ket-firing was at its height, and the bullets 
 were whistling, not singly but in swarms, 
 just as the flights of little birds pass over 
 our heads in autumn. The whole of the 
 place occupied by the battalion the evening 
 before was filled with smoke, with cries, and 
 with curses. On his way he met a crowd 
 of soldiers and wounded, and thirty paces 
 farther on he saw his company brought to 
 a stand against a wall. 
 
 " The Swartz redoubt is occupied," said 
 a young officer. " All is lost !" 
 
 " What stuff and nonsense !" he angrily
 
 2JO Sebastopol. 
 
 replied, and drawing his small rusty sword 
 from its scabbard, shouted, " Forward, chil- 
 dren ! Hurrah!" 
 
 His strong and resounding voice stimu- 
 lated his own courage, and he ran forward 
 along the traverse. Fifty soldiers dashed af- 
 ter him with a shout. They came out on an 
 open place, and a hail of bullets met them. 
 Two struck him simultaneously, but he did 
 not have time to understand where they had 
 hit him, or whether they had bruised or had 
 wounded him, for in the smoke before him 
 blue uniforms and red trousers started up, 
 and cries were heard which were not Rus- 
 sian. A Frenchman sitting on the rampart 
 was waving his hat and shouting. The con- 
 viction that he would be killed whetted 
 Koseltzoff's courage. He continued to run 
 forward ; some soldiers passed him, others 
 appeared suddenly from another side and 
 began to run with him. The distance be- 
 tween them and the blue uniforms, who re- 
 gained their intrenchments by running, re- 
 mained the same, but his feet stumbled 
 over the dead and the wounded. Arrived 
 at the outer ditch, everything became con- 
 fused before his eyes, and he felt a violent
 
 Augtist, 1 8^^. 2JI 
 
 pain in his chest. A half hour later he was 
 lying on a stretcher near the Nicholas bar- 
 rack. He knew he was wounded, but he 
 felt no pain. He would have liked, never- 
 theless, to drink something cold, and to feel 
 himself lying more comfortably. 
 
 A stout little doctor with black whiskers 
 came up to him and unbuttoned his over- 
 coat. Koseltzoff looked over his chin at 
 the face of the doctor, who was examining 
 his wound without causing him the least 
 pain. He, having covered the wounded 
 man again with his shirt, wiped his fingers 
 on the lapels of his coat, and turning aside 
 his head, passed to another in silence. Ko- 
 seltzoff mechanically followed with his eyes 
 all that was going on about him, and re- 
 membering the fifth bastion, congratulated 
 himself with great satisfaction. He had val- 
 iantly done his duty. It was the first time 
 since he was in the service that he had per- 
 formed it in a way that he had nothing to 
 reproach himself for. The surgeon, who 
 had just dressed another officers wound, 
 pointed him out to a priest, who had a fine 
 large red beard, and who stood there with a 
 cross.
 
 2J2 Sebastopol. 
 
 " Am I going to die ?" Koseltzoff asked 
 him, seeing him come near. 
 
 The priest made no reply, but recited a 
 prayer and held the cross down to him. 
 Death had no terror for Koseltzoff. Carry- 
 ing the cross to his lips with weakening 
 hands, he wept. 
 
 " Are the French driven back ?" he asked 
 the priest in a firm voice. 
 
 " Victory is ours along the whole line," 
 answered the latter, hiding the truth to 
 spare the feelings of the dying man, for the 
 French flag was already flying on the Ma- 
 lakoff mamelon. 
 
 " Thank God !" murmured the wounded 
 man, whose tears ran down his cheeks un- 
 noticed. The memory of his brother passed 
 through his mind for a second. " God 
 grant him the same happiness !" he said. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 But such was not Volodia's lot. While 
 he was listening to a tale that Vassina was 
 relating, the alarm cry, " The French are 
 coming !" made his blood rush immediately 
 back to his heart ; he felt his cheeks joale 
 and turn cold, and he remained a second
 
 August, 1 8^^. 2JJ 
 
 stupefied. Then looking around, he saw the 
 soldiers button their coats and glide out one 
 after the other, and he heard one of them, 
 Melnikoff, probably, say, in a joking way, 
 " Come, children, let's offer him bread and 
 salt." 
 
 Volodia and Viang, who did not leave his 
 heels, went out together and ran to the bat- 
 tery. On one side as well as on the other 
 the artillery had ceased firing. The des-. 
 picable and cynical cowardice of the yunker 
 still more than the coolness of the soldiers 
 had the effect of restoring his courage. 
 
 " Am I like him .?" he thought, rushing 
 quickly towards the parapet, near which the 
 mortars were placed. From there he dis- 
 tinctly saw the French dash across the space, 
 free from every obstacle, and run straight 
 towards him. Their bayonets, sparkling in 
 the sun, were moving in the nearest trench- 
 er. A small, square-shouldered Zouave ran 
 ahead of the others, sabre in hand, leaping 
 over the ditches. " Grape !" shouted Volo- 
 dia, throwing himself down from the para- 
 pet. But the soldiers had already thought 
 of it, and the metallic noise of the grape, 
 thrown first by one mortar and then by
 
 2J4 Sebastopol. 
 
 the other, thundered over his head. " First ! 
 second !" he ordered, runnino- across between 
 the two mortars, completely forgetting the 
 danger. Shouts and the musket reports of 
 the battalion charged with the defence of 
 the battery were heard on one side, and sud- 
 denly on the left arose a desperate clamor, 
 repeated by many voices: " They are coming 
 in our rear!" and Volodia, turning around, 
 saw a score of Frenchmen. One of them, 
 a fine man with a black beard, ran towards 
 him, and halting ten paces from the battery, 
 fired at him point-blank and went on. Vo- 
 lodia, petrified, could not believe his eyes. 
 In front of him, on the rampart, were blue 
 uniforms, and two Frenchmen who were 
 spiking a cannon. With the exception of 
 Melnikoff, killed by a bullet at his side, and 
 Viang, who with downcast eyes, and face 
 inflamed by fury, was brandishing a hand- 
 spike, no one was left. 
 
 " Follow me, Vladimir Semenovitch ! fol- 
 low me !" shouted Viang, in a despairing 
 tone, defending himself with the lever from 
 the French who came behind him. The 
 yunker's menacing look, and the blow which 
 he struck two of them, made them halt.
 
 August, i8s5. 2JS 
 
 " Follow me, Vladimir Semenovitch ! — 
 What are you waiting for ? Fly !" and he 
 threw himself into the trench, from which 
 our infantry were firing on the enemy. He 
 immediately came out of it, however, to see 
 what had become of his beloved lieutenant. 
 A shapeless thing, clothed in a gray over- 
 coat, lay, face to earth, on the spot where Vo- 
 lodia stood, and the whole place was filled by 
 the French, who were firing at our men. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 Viang found his battery again in the sec- 
 ond line of defence, and of the twenty sol- 
 diers who recently composed it, only eight 
 were alive. 
 
 Towards nine o'clock in the evening Viang 
 and his men were crossing the bay in a steam- 
 boat in the direction of Severnai'a. The boat 
 was laden with wounded, with cannon, and 
 with horses. The firing had stopped every- 
 where. The stars sparkled in the sky as on 
 the night before, but a strong wind was blow- 
 ing and the sea was rough. On the first and 
 second bastions flames flashed up close to the 
 ground, preceding explosions which shook 
 the atmosphere and showed stones and black
 
 2j6 Sebastopol. 
 
 objects of strange form thrown into the air. 
 Something near the docks was on fire, and 
 a red flame was reflected in the water. The 
 bridge, covered with people, was lighted up 
 by fires from the Nicholas battery. A great 
 sheaf of flames seemed to rise over the water 
 on the distant point of the Alexander battery, 
 and lighted up the under side of a cloud of 
 smoke which hovered over it. As on the 
 preceding evening, the lights of the hostile 
 fleet sparkled afar on the sea, calm and inso- 
 lent. The masts of our scuttled vessels, slow- 
 ly settling into the depths of the water, con- 
 trasted sharply against the red glow of the 
 fires. On the deck of the steamboat no one 
 spoke. Now and then, in the midst of the 
 regular chopping of the waves struck by the 
 wheels, and the hissing of escaping steam, 
 could be heard the snorting of horses, the 
 striking of their iron-shod hoofs on the 
 planks, the captain speaking a few words of 
 command, and also the dolorous groaning 
 of the wounded. Viang, who had not eaten 
 since the day before, drew a crust of bread 
 from his pocket and gnawed it, but at the 
 thought of Volodiahe broke out sobbing so 
 violently that the soldiers were surprised at it.
 
 August, i8ss- ^37 
 
 " Look ! our Viang is eating bread and 
 weeping," said Vassina. 
 
 " Strange !" added one of them. 
 
 " See ! they have burned our barracks !" 
 he continued, sighing. " How many of our 
 fellows are dead, and dead to no purpose, 
 for the French have got possession !" 
 
 " We have scarcely come out alive. We 
 must thank God for it," said Vassina. 
 
 " It's all the same. It is maddening !" 
 
 " Why ? Do you think they will lead a 
 happy life there .? Wait a bit ; we will take 
 them back. We will still lose some of our 
 men, possibly, but as true as God is holy, if 
 the emperor orders it we will take them 
 back ! Do you think they have been left as 
 they were ? Come, come ; these were only 
 naked walls. The intrenchments were blown 
 up. He has planted his flag on the mame- 
 lon, it is true, but he won't risk himself in 
 the town. Wait a bit ; we won't be be- 
 hindhand with you ! Only give us time," he 
 said, looking in the direction of the French. 
 
 " It will be so, that's sure," said another, 
 with conviction. 
 
 On the whole line of the bastions of Se- 
 bastopol, where during whole months an ar-
 
 2j8 Sebastopol. 
 
 dent and energetic life was stirring, where 
 durincr months death alone reHeved the a^- 
 ony of the heroes, one after the other, who 
 inspired the enemy's terror, hatred, and final- 
 ly admiration — on these bastions, I say, there 
 was not a single soul, everything there was 
 dead, fierce, frightful, but not silent, for ev- 
 erything all around was falling in with a din. 
 On the earth, torn up by a recent explosion, 
 were lying, here and there, broken beams, 
 crushed bodies of Russians and French, 
 heavy cast-iron cannon overturned into the 
 ditch by a terrible force, half buried in the 
 ground and forever dumb, bomb-shells, balls, 
 splinters of beams, ditches, bomb-proofs, and 
 more corpses, in blue or in gray overcoats, 
 which seemed to have been shaken by su- 
 preme convulsions, and which were lighted 
 up now every instant by the red fire of the 
 explosions which resounded in the air. 
 
 The enemy well saw that something un- 
 usual was going on in formidable Sebasto- 
 pol, and the explosions, the silence of death 
 on the bastions, made them tremble. Un- 
 der the impression of the calm and firm re- 
 sistance of the last day they did not yet dare 
 believe in the disappearance of their invinci-
 
 August, 18^5. 2jg 
 
 ble adversary, and they awaited, silent and 
 motionless, the end of the dismal night. 
 
 The army of Sebastopol, like a sea whose 
 liquid mass, agitated and uneasy, spreads 
 and overflows, moved slowly forward in the 
 dark night, undulating into the impenetra- 
 ble gloom, over the bridge on the bay, pro- 
 ceeding towards Severnai'a, leaving behind 
 them those spots where so many heroes had 
 fallen, sprinkling them with their blood, 
 those places defended during eleven months 
 against an enemy twice as strong as itself, 
 and which it had received the order this 
 very day to abandon without a fight. 
 
 The first impression caused by this order 
 of the day weighed heavily on the heart of 
 every Russian ; next the fear of pursuit was 
 the dominant feeling with all. The sol- 
 diers, accustomed to fight in the places they 
 were abandoning, felt themselves without 
 defence the moment they left those behind. 
 Uneasy, they crowded together in masses 
 at the entrance of the bridge, which was 
 lifted by violent wind gusts. Through the 
 obstruction of regiments, of militiamen, of 
 wagons, some crowding the others, the in- 
 fantry, whose muskets clashed together, and
 
 240 Sebastopol. 
 
 the officers carrying orders, made a passage 
 for themselves with difficulty. The inhabi- 
 tants and the military servants accompany- 
 ing the baggage begged and wept to be per- 
 mitted to cross, while the artillery, in a hurry 
 to go away, rolled along noisily, coming 
 down towards the bay. Although the at- 
 tention was distracted by a thousand details, 
 the feeling of self-preservation, and the de- 
 sire to fly as soon as possible from that fatal 
 spot, filled each ones soul. It was thus 
 with the mortally wounded soldier lying 
 among five hundred other unfortunates on 
 the flag -stones of the Paul quay, begging 
 God for death ; with the exhausted militia- 
 man, who by a last effort forces his way 
 into the compact crowd to leave a free pas- 
 sage for a superior officer ; with the general 
 who is commanding the passage with a firm 
 voice, and restraining the impatient sol- 
 diers ; with the straggling sailor or the bat- 
 talion on the march, almost stifled by the 
 moving crowd ; with the wounded officer 
 borne by four soldiers, who, stopped by the 
 crowd, lay down the stretcher near the 
 Nicholas barracks ; with the old artillery- 
 man, who, during sixteen years, has not left
 
 All gust, i8^^. 241 
 
 the cannon which, with the assistance of his 
 comrades and at the command of his chief, 
 incomprehensible for him, he is about to 
 tumble over into the bay; and, at length, 
 with the sailors who have just scuttled their 
 ships, and are vigorously rowing away in 
 their boats. 
 
 Arrived at the end of the bridge, each 
 soldier, with very few exceptions, takes off 
 his cap and crosses himself. But besides 
 this feeling he has another, more poignant, 
 deeper — a feeling akin to repentance, to 
 shame, to hatred ; for it is with an inex- 
 pressible bitterness of heart that each of 
 them sighs, utters threats against the ene- 
 my, and, as he reaches the north side, throws 
 a last look upon abandoned Sebastopol. 
 
 FINIS. 
 
 16
 
 BEN-HUll: A TALE OF THE CHRIST. 
 
 By Lew, Wallace. New Edition, pp. 552. 16mo, 
 Cloth, $1 50. 
 
 Anything so startling, new, and distinctive as the leading feature of this 
 romance does not often appear in works of fiction. . . . Some of Mr. Wal- 
 lace's writing is remarkable for its pathetic eloquence. The scenes de- 
 scribed in the New Testament are rewritten with the power and skill of 
 an accomplished master of style. — N'. Y. Times. 
 
 Its real basis is a description of the life of the Jews and Romans at the 
 beginning of the Christian era, and this is both forcible and brilliant. . . . 
 We are carried through a surprising variety of scenes ; we witness a sea- 
 fight, a chariot-race, the internal economy of a Roman galley, domestic in- 
 teriors at Antioch, at Jerusalem, and among the tribes of the desert; pal- 
 aces, prisons, the haunts of dissipated Roman youth, the houses of pious 
 families of Israel. There is plenty of exciting incident; everything is 
 animated, vivid, and glowing. — zV. Y. IVibune. 
 
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 one of the greatest novels of the day. — Boiton Post. 
 
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 Antioch at the time of our Saviour's advent. — Examiner, N. Y. 
 
 It is really Scripture history of Christ's time clothed gracefully and 
 delicately in the flowing and loose drapery of modern fiction. . . . Few late 
 works of fiction excel it in genuine ability and interest. — N. Y. Graphic. 
 
 One of the most remarkable and delightful books. It is as real and 
 warm as life itself, and as attractive as the grandest and most lieroic 
 chapters of history. — hidianapolis Journal. 
 
 The book is one of unquestionable power, and will be read with un- 
 wonted interest by many readers who are weary of the conventional novel 
 and romance. — Boston Journal. 
 
 Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York. 
 
 4S~ The above work sent by mail, postage prepaid, to any part of the United States 
 or Canada, on receipt of the price.
 
 THEIR PILGRIMAGE. 
 
 By Charles Dudley Warner. Richly Illustrated by C. S. 
 Reinhart. pp. viii., 364. 8vo, Half Leather, $2 00. 
 
 Aside from the delicious story — its wonderful portraitures of character 
 aud its dramatic developmeut — the book is precious to all who know any- 
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 able descriptions of those famous resorts and their frequenters. Even 
 without the aid of Mr. Reinhart's brilliant drawings, Mr. Warner conjures 
 up word-pictures of Cape May, Newport, Saratoga, Lake George, Richfield 
 Springs, Niagara, the White Mountains, and all the rest, which strike the 
 eye like photographs, so clear is every outline. But Mr. Reinhart's de- 
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 single one of them. "Their Pilgrimage" is destined, for an indefinite 
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 in its pages. — N". Y. Joicrnal of Commerce. 
 
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 Reinhart for nearly eighty finely conceived drawings, and to the publishers 
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 No more entertaining travelling companions for a tour of pleasure re- 
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 natured fun. — Christian Union, N. Y. 
 
 Mr. Reinhart's spirited and realistic illustrations are very attractive, and 
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 travel and fiction which we looked forward to with confidence did, in fact, 
 distinguish this story among the serials of the year. — N. Y. Evening Post. 
 
 Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York. 
 
 fc^ " The above work sent by mail, pontage prepaid, to any part of the United Stale* 
 or Canada, on receijit of the price.
 
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 His Little Mother 12mo, Cloth, 90 cents; 4to, Paper 10 
 
 John Halifax, Gentleman. Illustrated Svo, Paper 50 
 
 I'inio, Cloth, 90 cents; 4to, Paper 15 
 
 Miss Tommy Tinio, Cloth, 90 cents; 12mo, Paper 50 
 
 Mistress and Maid 12ni<), Cloth, 90 cents; Svo, Paper 30 
 
 My Mother and I. Illustrated.. 12mo, Cloth, 90 cents ; Svo, Paper 40 
 
 Nothing New Svo, Paper 30 
 
 Ogilvies. Illustrated 12mo, Cloth, 90 cents; Svo, Paper 35
 
 8 Harder rf; Brothers' Popular Novels. 
 
 PEIOK 
 
 MULOCK'S (Miss) Olive. IllM 12mo, Cloth, 90 cents ; 8vo, Paper $ 85 
 
 The Laurel Bush. IllM 12nio, Cloth, 90 ceuts; 8vo, Paper 25 
 
 The Woman's Kingdom. lU'd. . .12mo, Cloth, 90 ets.; 8vo, Paper 60 
 
 Two Marriages 12mo, Cloth 90 
 
 Unkind Word, and Other Stories 12mo, Cloth 90 
 
 Young Mrs. Jardinc 12mo, Cloth, $1 25; 4 to, Paper 10 
 
 MURRAY'S (D. C.) A Life's Atonement 4to, Paper 20 
 
 A Model Father 4to, Paper 10 
 
 By the Gate of the Sea 4to, Paper, 15 cents ; 12mo, Paper 15 
 
 Hearts 4to, Paper 20 
 
 The Way of the World ..4to, Paper 20 
 
 Val Strange 4to, Paper 20 
 
 Adrian Vidal. Illustrated 4to, Paper 25 
 
 NORRIS'S (W. E.) A Man of His Word, &c 4to, Paper 20 
 
 Heaps of Money 8vo, Paper 15 
 
 Mademoiselle de Mersac 4to, Paper 20 
 
 Matrimony 4to, Paper 20 
 
 No New Thing 4to, Paper 25 
 
 That Terrible Man 12mo, Paper 25 
 
 Thirlby Hall. Illustrated 4to, Paper 25 
 
 OLIPH ANT'S (Laurence) Altiora Peto . 4to, Paper, 20 ots. ; 1 6mo, Paper 20 
 
 Piccadilly 16mo, Paper 25 
 
 OLIPHANT'S (Mrs.) Agnes 8 vo, Paper 50 
 
 A Son of the Soil 8vo, Paper 50 
 
 Athelings 8vo, Paper 50 
 
 Brownlows 8vo, Paper 50 
 
 Carit^. Illustrated 8vo, Paper 50 
 
 Chronicles of Carlingford 8vo, Paper 60 
 
 Days of My Life 12mo, Cloth 1 50 
 
 For Love and Life 8vo, Paper 50 
 
 Harry Joscelyn 4to, Paper 20 
 
 He That Will Not when He May 4to, Paper 20 
 
 Hester..,., ." 4to, Paper 20 
 
 Innocent. Illustrated ,..8vo. Paper 50 
 
 It was a Lover and His Lass 4to, Paper 20 
 
 Lady Jane 4to, Paper 10 
 
 Lucy Crofton 12mo, Cloth 1 50 
 
 Madam Itimo, Cloth, ^o cents; 4to, Paper 25 
 
 Madonna Mary 8vo, Paper 50 
 
 Miss Marjoribanks Svo, Paper 50 
 
 Mrs. Arthur 8vo, Paper 40 
 
 Ombra Svo, Paper 50 
 
 Ph(pbe, Junior 8vo, Paper 35 
 
 Sir Tom 4to, Paper 20 
 
 Squire Arden 8vo, Paper 50 
 
 The Curate in Charge Svo, Paper 20 
 
 The Fugitives 4to, Paper 10 
 
 The Greatest Heiress in England 4to, Paper 10 
 
 The Ladies Lindores 16mo, Cloth, $1 00; 4to, Paper 20
 
 Harper <& Brothers'' Popular Novels. 9 
 
 PEIOE 
 
 OLIPHANT'S (Mrs.) The Laird of Norlaw 12mo, Cloth $1 50 
 
 The Last of the Mortimers 12mo, Cloth 1 50 
 
 The Primrose Path 8vo, Paper 50 
 
 The Story of Valentine ami his Brother 8vo, Paper 50 
 
 The Wizard's Son 4to, Paper 25 
 
 Within the Precincts 4to, Paper 15 
 
 Young Musgrave 8vo, Paper 40 
 
 PAYN'S (James) A Beggar on Horseback Svo, Paper 35 
 
 A Confidential Agent 4to, Paper 15 
 
 A Grape from a Thorn 4to, Paper 20 
 
 A Woman's Vengeance Svo, Paper 35 
 
 At Her Mercy Svo, Paper 30 
 
 Bred in the Bone Svo, Paper 40 
 
 By Proxy Svo, Paper 35 
 
 Carlvon's Year Svo, Paper 25 
 
 For Cash Only 4to, Paper 20 
 
 Found Dead Svo, Pa[)er 25 
 
 From Exile , 4to, Paper 15 
 
 GwendoUne's Harvest. Svo, Paper 25 
 
 Halves Svo, Paper 30 
 
 High Spirits 4to, Paper 15 
 
 Kit. Illustrated 4to, Paper 20 
 
 Less Black than We're Painted Svo, Paper 35 
 
 Murphy's Master Svo, Paper 20 
 
 One of the Family Svo, Paper 25 
 
 The Best of Husbands Svo, Paper 25 
 
 The Canon's Ward. Illustrated 4to, Paper 25 
 
 The Talk of tiie Town 4to, Paper 20 
 
 Thicker than Water 16mo, Cloth, $1 00; 4to, Paper 20 
 
 Under One Koof 4to, Paper 15 
 
 Walter's Word Svo, Paper 5ft 
 
 What He Cost Her Svo, Paper 40 
 
 Won— Not Wooed Svo, Paper 30 
 
 BEADE'S Novels: Household Edition. lU'd 12mo, Cloth, per vol. 1 00 
 
 A Simpleton and Wandering Heir, 
 
 A Terrible Temptation. 
 
 A Woman-Hater. 
 
 Foul Play. 
 
 Good Stories. 
 
 Griffith Gaunt. 
 
 Hard Cash. 
 
 It is Never Too Late to Mend. 
 
 Love me Little, Love me Long. 
 
 Peg Woffiugton, Christie John- 
 stone, &c. 
 
 Put Yourself in His Place. 
 
 The Cloister and the Hearth. 
 
 White Lies. 
 A Perilous Secret... 12mo, 01., Y5 cts. ; 4to, Pap., 20 cts. ; 16rao, Pap. 40 
 
 A Hero and a Martyr Svo, Paper 15 
 
 A Simpleton Svo, Paper 30 
 
 A Terrible Temptation. Illustrated Svo, Paper 25 
 
 A Woman-Hater. Ill'd Svo, Paper, 30 cents ; 12mo, Paper 20 
 
 Foul Play Svo, Paper 30 
 
 Good Stories of Man and Other Animals. Illustrated. ,.4to, Paper 20 
 Griffith Gaunt. Illustrated Svo, Paper 30
 
 10 
 
 Harper <& Brothers^ Popular JVoveli. 
 
 READE'S (Charles) Ilard Cash. Illustrated 8vo, Paper ^ 
 
 It is Never Too Late to Meud 8vo, Paper 
 
 Jack of all Trades I61T10, Paper 
 
 Love Me Little, Love Me Long 8vo, Paper 
 
 Miiltum in Parvo. Illustrated 4to, Paper 
 
 Peg Wofiington, &c 8vo, Paper 
 
 Put Yourself in His Place. Illustrated 8vo, Paper 
 
 T,he Cloister and the Hearth 8vo, Paper 
 
 The Coming Man 32mo, Paper 
 
 The Jilt 32mo, Paper 
 
 The Picture 16mo, Paper 
 
 The Wandering Heir. Illustrated 8vo, Paper 
 
 White Lies 8vo, Paper 
 
 ROBINSON'S (F. W.) A Bridge of Glass 8vo, Paper 
 
 A Fair Maid 4to, Paper 
 
 A Girl's Romance, and Other Stories 8vo, Paper 
 
 As Long as She Lived 8vo, Paper 
 
 Carry's Confession 8vo, Paper 
 
 Christie's Faith 12mo, Cloth 
 
 Coward Conscience 4to, Paper 
 
 Her Face was Her Fortune Svo, Paper 
 
 Lazarus in London 4to, Paper 
 
 Little Kate Kirby. Illustrated Svo, Paper 
 
 Mattie: a Stray 8vo, Paper 
 
 No Man's Friend Svo, Paper 
 
 Othello the Second 32mo, Paper 
 
 Poor Humanity Svo, Paper 
 
 Poor Zeph! 32mo, Paper 
 
 Romance on Four Wheels , Svo, Paper 
 
 Second-Cousin Sarah. Illustrated 8vo, Paper 
 
 Stern Necessity Svo, Paper 
 
 The Barmaid at Battleton 32mo, Paper 
 
 The Black Speck 4to, Paper 
 
 The Hands of Justice , 4to, Paper 
 
 The Man She Cared For 4to, Paper 
 
 The Romance of a Back Street 32mo, Paper 
 
 True to Herself Svo, Paper 
 
 RUSSELL'S (W. Clark) Auld Lang Syne 4to, Paper 
 
 A Sailor's Sweetheart 4to, Paper 
 
 A Sea Queen 16mo, Cloth, $1 00; 4to, Paper 
 
 An Ocean Free Lance 4to, Paper 
 
 Jack's Courtship 16mo, Cloth, 1 00; 4to, Paper 
 
 John Holdsworth, Chief Mate 4to, Paper 
 
 Little Loo 4to, Paper 
 
 My Watch Below 4to, Paper 
 
 On the Fo'k'sle Head 4to, Paper 
 
 Round the Galley Fire 4to, Paper 
 
 The "Lady Maud:" Schooner Yacht. Illustrated 4to, Paper 
 
 Wreck of the " Grosvenor " Svo, Paper, 30 cents ; 4to, Paper
 
 Harper ct Brothers' Popular Novels. 11 
 
 PBIOK 
 
 SCOTT'S Novels. See Waverlei) Novels. 
 
 SHERWOOD'S (Mrs. John) A Transplauted Rose 12mo, Cloth $1 OO 
 
 TABOR'S (Eliza) Eglantiue 8vo, Paper 40 
 
 Hope Meredith 8vo, Paper 35 
 
 Jeanie's Quiet Life 8vo, Paper 30 
 
 Little Miss Primrose 4to, Paper 15 
 
 Meta's Faith 8vo, Paper 35 
 
 The Blue Ribbon 8vo, Paper 40 
 
 The Last of Her Line 4to, Paper 15 
 
 The Senior Songman 4to, Paper 20 
 
 • THACKERAY'S (Miss) Bluebeard's Keys 8vo, Paper 35 
 
 Da Capo 32mo, Paper 20 
 
 Miscellaneous Works 8vo, Paper 90 
 
 Miss Angel 8vo, Paper 50 
 
 Miss Williamson's Divagations 4to, Paper 15 
 
 Old Kensington. Illustrated Svo, Paper 60 
 
 THACKERAY'S (W. M.) Denis Duval. Illustrated 8vo, Paper 25 
 
 Henry Esmond, and Lovel the Widower. 12 Ill's Svo, Paper 60 
 
 Henry Esmond 8vo, Pa., 50 cents ; 4to, Paper 15 
 
 Lovel the Widower Svo, Paper 20 
 
 Pendennis. 179 Illustrations Svo, Paper 75 
 
 The Adventures of Philip. 64 Illustrations 8vo, Paper 60 
 
 The Great Hoggarty Diamond Svo, Paper 20 
 
 The Newcomes. 162 Illustrations Svo, Paper 90 
 
 The "Virginians. 150 Illustrations 8vo, Paper 90 
 
 Vanity Fair. 32 Illustrations Svo, Paper 80 
 
 THACKERAY'S Works. Illustrated.. 12mo, Cloth, per vol. 1 25 
 
 Novels: Vanity Fair. — Pendennis. — The Newcomes. — The Virgin- 
 ians. — Philip. — Esmond, and Lovel the Widower. 6 vols. Mi»- 
 cellanemis: Barry Lyndon, Hoggarty Diamond, &c. — Paris and 
 Irish Sketch-Books, &c. — Book of Snobs, Sketches, &c. — Four 
 Georges, English Humorists, Roundabout Papers, &c. — Catharine, 
 &c. 5 vols. 
 
 TOWNSEND'S (G. A.) The Entailed Hat 16rao, Cloth 1 50 
 
 TROLLOPE'S (Anthony) An Eye for an Eye 4to, Paper 10 
 
 An Old Man's Love 4to, Paper 15 
 
 Ayala's Angel 4to, Paper 20 
 
 Cousin Henry 4to, Paper 10 
 
 Doctor Thorne ISmo, Cloth I 50 
 
 Doctor Wortle's School 4to, Paper 15 
 
 Framley Parsonage 4to, Paper 15 
 
 Harry Heathcote of Gangoil. Illustrated Svo, Paper 20 
 
 He Knew He was Right. Illustrated Svo, Paper 80 
 
 Is He Popenjoy ? 4to, Paper 20 
 
 John Caldigate 4to, Paper 18 
 
 Kept in the Dark 4to, Paper Ifi 
 
 Lady Anna Svo, Pa])er 30 
 
 Marion Fay. Illustrated 4to, Paper 20 
 
 Phineas Redux. Illustrated Svo, Paper 76
 
 12 Harper <& Brothers^ Popular Novels. 
 
 PRICK 
 
 TROLLOPE'S (Anthony) Rachel Ray 8vo, Paper $ 36 
 
 Ralph the Heir. Illustrated 8vo, Paper 75 
 
 Sir Harry Hotspur of Humblethwaite. Illustrated 8vo, Paper 35 
 
 The American Senator Svo, Paper 60 
 
 The Belton Estate Svo, Paper 36 
 
 The Bertrams 4to, Paper 16 
 
 The Duke's Children 4to, Paper 20 
 
 The Eustace Diamonds. Illustrated Svo, Paper 80 
 
 The Fixed Period 4to, Paper 15 
 
 The Golden Lion of Granpere. Illustrated Svo, Paper 40 
 
 The Lady of Launay 32mo, Paper 20 
 
 The Last Chronicle of Barset. Illustrated Svo, Paper 90 
 
 The Prime Minister Svo, Paper 60 
 
 The Small House at Allington. Illustrated Svo, Paper 75 
 
 The Vicar of Bullhampton. Illustrated Svo, Paper 80 
 
 The Warden, and Barchester Towers Svo, Paper 60 
 
 The Way We Live Now. Illustrated Svo, Paper 90 
 
 Thompson Hall. Illustrated 32mo, Paper 20 
 
 Why Frau Frohman Raised her Prices, &c 4to, Paper 10 
 
 (Frances E.) Among Aliens. Illustrated 4to, Paper 15 
 
 Anne Furness Svo, Paper 50 
 
 Like Ships Upon the Sea 4to, Paper 20 
 
 Mabel's Progress Svo, Paper 40 
 
 The Sacristan's Household. Illustrated Svo, Paper 50 
 
 Veronica Svo, Paper 50 
 
 WALLACE'S (Lew) Ben-Hur 16mo, Cloth 1 50 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 12mo. With 2000 Illustrations. 
 
 Thistle Edition 48 Vols., Green Cloth, per vol. 1 00 
 
 Complete Sets, Half Morocco, Gilt Tops 72 00 
 
 HoLYROOD Edition 48 Vols., Brown Cloth, per vol. 75 
 
 Complete Sets, Half Morocco, Gilt Tops 72 00 
 
 Popular Edition 24 Vols., Green Cloth, per vol. 1 25 
 
 Complete Sets, Half Morocco 54 00 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS. 12mo. With 2000 Illustrations. 
 
 Waverley ; Guy Mannering ; The Antiquary ; Rob Roy ; Old 
 Mortality ; The Heart of Mid-Lothian ; A Legend of Montrose ; 
 The Bride of Lammermoor ; The Black Dwarf ; Ivanhoe ; The 
 Monastery ; The Abbot ; Kenilworth ; The Pirate ; The Fortunes 
 of Nigel ; Peveril of the Peak ; Quentin Durward ; St. Ronan's 
 Well ; Redgauntlet ; The Betrothed ; The Talisman ; Woodstock ; 
 Chronicles of the Canongate, The Highland Widow, &c. ; The 
 Fair Maid of Perth ; Anne of Geierstein ; Count Robert of Paris ; 
 Castle Dangerous ; The Surgeon's Daughter ; Glossary. 
 
 VOOLSON'S (C. F.) Anne. Illustrated by Reinhart 16mo, Cloth 1 25 
 
 For the Major. Illustrated 16mo, Cloth 1 00 
 
 YATES'S (Edmund) Dr. Wainwright's Patient Svo, Paper 30 
 
 Kissing the Rod Svo, Paper 40 
 
 Land at Last Svo, Paper 40 
 
 Wrecked in Port Svo, Paper 35
 
 '-■^i- '.',''■.   '' 'i'':^'-"':-'' 
 
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 PRINTED IN U.S.A.