Leo Tolstoy Archive
Written: 1855
Source: Text from WikiSource.org
Transcription/Markup: Andy Carloff
Online Source: RevoltLib.com; 2021
Besides Velenchiik, five other soldiers of my platoon were warming themselves at the fire.
In the best place, protected from the wind, on a cask, sat the gun-sergeant of the platoon, Maksimov, smoking a pipe. In the pose, the look, and all the motions of this man could be observed the habit of commanding and the consciousness of his personal dignity, even inde- pendently of the cask, on which he was sitting, and which, at a halt, formed the emblem of authority, and of the nankeen-covered fur half-coat.
When I came up, he turned his head toward me ; but his eyes remained fixed upon the fire, and only much later did they follow the direction of his head, and rest upon me. Maksimov was a freeman ; he was possessed of some means, had taken instruction in the school of the brigade, and had picked up some information. He was dreadfully rich and dreadfuUy learned, as the soldiers ex- pressed themselves.
I remember how once, at gun-practice with the quad- rant, he explained to the soldiers who were crowding around him that the level was " nothing else than that it originates because the atmospheric quicksilver has its motion." In reality, Maksimov was far from being stupid, and he knew his work very well, but he had an unfortunate peculiarity of speaking at times purposely in such a way that it was totally impossible to understand him, and so that, as I am convinced, he did not under- stand his own words. He was especially fond of the words " originates " and " to continue," and when he introduced his remarks with " originates " and " con- tinuing," I knew in advance that I should not understand a word of what followed. The soldiers, on the contrary, so far as I was able to observe, liked to hear his " origi- nates," and suspected that a deep meaning lay behind it, though, like myself, they did not comprehend a word. They referred this lack of comprehension to their own stupidity, and respected Fedor Maksimych the more for it. In short, Maksimych was a sagacious commander.
The second soldier, who was taking ofif the boots from his red, muscular legs, was Antonov, the same bombardier Antonov, who in the year '37, having been left with two others at a gun, without protection, had kept up a fire against a numerous enemy, and, with two bullets in his hip, had continued to attend to the gun and load it. " He would have been a gun-sergeant long ago, if it were not for his character," the soldiers would say of him. In- deed, his was a strange character : in his sober mood there was not a quieter, prompter, and more peaceful soldier ; but when he became intoxicated, he was an entirely different man : he did not respect the au- thorities, brawled, fought, and was an altogether use- less soldier. Not more than a week before he had gone on a spree during Butter-week, and, in spite of all threats, persuasions, and calls to duty, he continued his drunken bouts and brawls until the first Monday in Lent. But during the whole fast, in spite of the order for all men in the division to eat meat, he lived on nothing but hardtack, and in the first week he did not even take the prescribed dram of brandy. However, it was only neces- sary to see this undersized figure, built as though of iron, with his short, crooked legs and shining, whiskered face, take into his muscular hands the balalayka, while under the influence of liquor, and, carelessly casting his glances to both sides, strum some " lady's " song, or, to see him.
his overcoat, with the decorations danghng from it, thrown over shoulder, and his hands thrust into the pockets of his bhie nankeen trousers, stroll down the street, — it was only necessary to see the expression of military pride and contempt of everything un-military, which was displayed in his face at such a time, in order to understand how utterly impossible it was for him to keep from fighting at such a moment an imperti- nent or even innocent orderly, who got in his way, or a Cossack, a foot-soldier, or settler, in general one who did not belong to the artillery. He fought and was turbu- lent not so much for his own amusement, as for the sake of supporting the spirit of the whole soldierhood, of which he felt himself to be a representative.
The third soldier, with an earring in one ear, bristly mustache, a sharp, birdlike face, and a porcelain pipe between his teeth, who was squatting near the fire, was the artillery-rider Chikin. The dear man Chikin, as the soldiers called him, was a joker. Wliether in bitter cold, or up to his knees in mud, for two days without food, in an expedition, on parade, at instruction, the dear man always and everywhere made faces, pirouetted with his feet, and did such funny things that the whole platoon roared with laughter. At a halt or in camp there was always around Chikin a circle of young soldiers, with whom he played cards ; or he told them stories about a cunning soldier and an English milord, or imitated a Tartar or a German, or simply made his own remarks, which caused them nearly to die with laughter. It is true, his reputation as a joker was so well established in the battery that it was enough for him to open his mouth and wink, in order to provoke a general roar of laughter ; but there was really something truly comical and unex- pected in all he said and did. In everything he saw something especial, something that would not have oc- curred to anybody else, and what is more important, this ability to see something funny did not fail him under any trial.
The fourth soldier was a homely young lad, a recruit of the last year's draft, who was now for the first time taking part in an expedition. He was standing in the smoke, and so close to the fire that it looked as though his threadbare fur coat would soon ignite ; but, notwith- stancUng this, it was evident, from the way he spread the skirts of liis coat, from his self-satisfied pose with his arching calves, that he was experiencing great pleasure.
And, finally, the fifth soldier, seated a little distance from the fire, and whittling a stick, was Uncle Zhdanov. Zhdanov had seen more service than any other soldier in the battery ; he had known them all as recruits, and they called him uncle, from force of habit. It was reported that he never drank, nor smoked, nor played cards (not even nosM), nor ever swore. All his time which was free from military service he spent in plying the shoemaker's trade ; on hohdays he went to church, whenever it was possible, or placed a kopeck taper before the image, and opened the psalter, the only book which he could read. He associated little with the soldiers : he was coldly re- spectful to those who were higher in rank but younger in years ; his equals he had little chance to meet, since he did not drink ; but he was especially fond of recruits and young soldiers, — he always protected them, read the instructions to them, and frequently aided them. Every- body in the battery considered him a capitalist because he was possessed of twenty-five rubles with which he was prepared to assist those who really needed assistance. That same Maksimov, who was now gun-sergeant, told me that when he had arrived ten years ago as a recruit, and the older soldiers, who were given to drinking, drank up with him all the money he had, Zhdanov, noticing his unfortu- nate plight, called him up, upbraided him for liis conduct, even gave him some blows, read lum the instruction about the behavior of a soldier, and sent him away, giving him a shirt, for Maksimov had got rid of his, and half a ruble in money.
" He has made a man of me," Maksimov would say of him, with respect and gratitude. He had also helped Velenchuk, whom he had protected ever since he arrived as a recruit, at the time of the unfortunate loss of the overcoat, and he had aided many, many more during his twenty-five years of service.
It was impossible to expect in the service a man who knew his business better, or a soldier who was braver and more precise ; but he was too meek and retiring to be pro- moted to the rank of gun-sergeant, though he had been bombardier fifteen years. Zhdanov's one pleasure, and even passion, was songs ; he was especially fond of some of them, and he always gathered a circle of singers from among the young soldiers, and, though he could not sing himself, stood behind them, and, putting his hands into the pockets of his fur coat, and closing his eyes, expressed his satisfaction by the movement of his head and cheeks. I do not know why, but for some reason or other I dis- covered much expression in this even movement of the cheeks under his ears, which I had observed in nobody else but him. His snow-white head, his mustache dyed black, and his sunburnt, wrinkled face gave him, at first sight, a stern and austere expression ; but, upon looking more closely into his large, round eyes, especially when they were smiling (he never smiled with his lips), you were impressed by something extraordinarily meek and almost childlike.