Novels, Tales, Journeys

*3 Among the leaders who commanded it (the army of Prince Paskevich) one singled out General Muraviev…the Georgian Prince Chavchavadze…the Armenian Prince Bebutov…Prince Potemkin, General Raevsky, and finally—Mr. Pushkin…who had left the capital in order to sing the exploits of his compatriots.

*4 See the glossary of Caucasian terms on this page.

*5 So Persian caps are called. Author.

*6 for the great liberty

*7 it is always good (Italian)

*8 “You don’t know those people; you’ll see it will come to playing with knives.”

*9 Alas, Postumus, Postumus, the fleeting / years slip by…(Horace, Odes, II, 14).

*10 …nor in Armenia, / friend Valgius, does the ice stay inert / for months on end…(Horace, Odes, II, 9).

*11 “Are you tired from yesterday?”—“Just a little, monsieur le Comte.”—“That upsets me, because we’re going to make another march to catch up with the pasha, and then we’ll have to pursue the enemy another thirty versts [twenty miles].”

*12 He was a man with a woman’s breasts, had undeveloped t[esticles], a puny and boyish p[enis]. We inquired, had he been emasculated?—God, he replied, castrated me.

*13 “Just look at the Turks…you can never trust them.” (French)

Glossary of Caucasian Terms

abaz: a silver coin minted by the Russians for use in Georgia

amanat: hostage or hostages, used in the Caucasus for diplomatic purposes

arba: a two- or four-wheeled horse-drawn cart

aul: village

bashlik: a pointed hood with long flaps for tying around the neck

bek: alternate spelling of bey, “chieftain”

burdyuk: a Caucasian wineskin

chadra: a long garment with a headcover or veil

chikhir: young wine

delibash: Turkish cavalrymen

dolman: a long, loose Turkish robe, open in front

pashalik: the territory governed by a Turkish pasha, a high military/political officer

saklia: a flat-roofed Caucasian mountain dwelling, most often of one room

seraskir: a Turkish army commander

FRAGMENTS AND SKETCHES

The Guests Were Arriving at the Dacha

I

The guests were arriving at * * *’s dacha. The reception room was filling with ladies and gentlemen, all coming at the same time from the theater, where a new Italian opera had been performed. Order was gradually established. The ladies seated themselves on the sofas. Around them formed a circle of men. Games of whist were set up. Several young men remained standing; and an inspection of Parisian lithographs took the place of general conversation.

Two men sat on the balcony. One of them, a traveling Spaniard, seemed to take a keen delight in the loveliness of the northern night. He gazed admiringly at the clear, pale sky, the majestic Neva illumined by an ineffable light, and the neighboring dachas silhouetted in the transparent twilight.

“How beautiful your northern night is,” he said finally, “and how shall I help missing its loveliness even under the sky of my own fatherland?”

“One of our poets,” the other answered him, “compared it to a flaxen-haired Russian beauty.1 I must admit that a swarthy, dark-eyed Italian or Spanish woman, full of vivacity and southern voluptuousness, captivates my imagination more. However, the ancient argument between la brune et la blonde has yet to be resolved. By the way, do you know how a certain foreign lady explained to me the strictness and purity of Petersburg morals? She claimed that for amorous adventures our winter nights are too cold and our summer nights too bright.”

The Spaniard smiled.

“So it’s all thanks to the influence of the climate,” he said. “Petersburg is the promised land of beauty, amiability, and irreproachability.”

“Beauty is a matter of taste,” the Russian answered, “but there’s no point in talking about our amiability. It’s not fashionable; no one even thinks of it. The women are afraid of being taken for coquettes, the men of losing their dignity. They all strive to be nonentities with taste and decorum. As for purity of morals, so as not to take advantage of a foreigner’s trustfulness, I shall tell you…”

And the conversation took a most satirical turn.

Just then the door to the reception room opened, and Volskaya came in. She was in the first bloom of youth. Her regular features, her big dark eyes, the vivacity of her movements, the very strangeness of her dress—all could not help but attract attention. The men greeted her with a sort of jocular affability, the ladies with noticeable ill will; but Volskaya noticed nothing; responding obliquely to commonplace questions, she glanced around distractedly; her face, changeable as a cloud, showed vexation; she sat down beside the imposing Princess G. and se mit à bouder,^*1 as they say.

Suddenly she gave a start and turned to the balcony. Restlessness came over her. She rose, walked past the chairs and tables, stopped for a moment behind the chair of old General R., made no reply to his subtle compliment, and suddenly slipped out to the balcony.