Peasant Tales of Russia

The distant shock also re-echoed in the gallery they were traversing when they heard it. Fragments of earth fell from the roof and a great rock suddenly projected just above old Ivan's head, while the wall on the right hand bulged out. The miners rushed forward terrified, but Ivan stopped them and made them go more slowly. Some cowards flung themselves on their stomachs and hid their faces, but they were lifted up and obliged to proceed. The gallery they were now in became narrower and narrower. After having begun their march five abreast, they could now only go two by two with difficulty. A few minutes more, and they were obliged to walk in single file. Then the chief miner let the rest go in front of him and took the last place. He was among the few who had not lost their heads and acted thus, lest some cowards might remain behind stretched on the ground in an access of blind fear.

The gallery became ever more contracted. However, that did not seem to trouble old Ivan, who continued to advance with confidence. He still saw distinctly the white Apparition Who shed a mysterious radiance in the darkness. From time to time he murmured, "Here I am Lord, here I am!" and that renewed his strength.

Even now when his two elbows touched the walls, and the lowness of the rocky roof above his head prevented him raising his torch which he was obliged to hold in front of him a little slanted and at arm's length, the old man never doubted that he was guided by our Lord in person, Who pointed him out the way. Behind him the miners were half suffocated because the thick smoke of the torches filled the narrow passage in which it was difficult to breathe, as the confined atmosphere had been unchanged for an immeasurable time. This was apparent by the way in which the flames of the torches lengthened themselves, seeming to seek the oxygen they required, and then burning dimly in the darkness.

All at once Ivan halted. He was confronted by a dead wall without any apparent outlet. However, doubt was not possible for him, for he had distinctly seen the white Apparition pass through the wall. Now it was waiting for him on the other side of the wall which had so unexpectedly intervened.

"He has stopped there; I have seen Him!" Ivan stretched out his lean arm in front of him, no one knew why.

The chief miner decided to make a last attempt, "Let us dig, my children! We must make a way for ourselves."

But though he gave the order, he doubted whether there was anything on the other side of the wall but a mass of earth, rocks and ore. Fortunately, just here the passage was a little wider and they could work three abreast. They set to work bravely. However, the flames of the torches exhausted the air and they grew very dim. Their smoke blinded and half-choked the miners, but they persisted and dug huge holes in the earth which was not very hard.

Leaning his back against a wall, Ivan looked straight in front of him. He knew that behind this mass of earth and stones the Apparition which he had known so well in his childhood awaited him.

"We are buried alive!" murmured one of the men.

"Are we making any way?" asked the chief miner, ignoring the remark.

But the men, with perspiration pouring from them, continued their work without replying.

VIII

Half an hour passed in this way. Half-suffocated, some of the miners lay down flat on the ground. Many of them hid their faces as though unwilling to see death face to face – death which seemed so horrible in this black hole so far from the earth's surface. The pickaxes and shovels which were at work on the wall which barred their progress moved but slowly. Finally, the last batch who were working stopped, having no longer the strength to continue. In vain were their chests expanded to take deeper breaths – they were stifled, their throats were contracted, blood rushed to their heads; the air was failing them. The horrible consciousness of certain death was weighing upon them. But in any case the unfortunate men would not have had the strength to escape from this grim cul-de-sac. Their torches, flung to the earth, burnt no longer, but filled with smoke the gloom in which they were plunged.

The chief miner had an attack of vertigo. At his side a young miner began to bleed copiously at the mouth; another was struggling on the ground in an epileptic fit. Some began cursing and quarrelling or accusing old Ivan and the chief miner. One man uttered a cry, for another stretched at his side, had, in his frenzy, seized him by the throat. The chief miner thought he saw red streaks in the black darkness and felt as though something damp and slimy glided over his face. He collected all his remaining strength, rose with difficulty and took up his pickaxe again. His legs tottered. Several times he buried the pick in the black mass of earth which scattered and crumbled beneath his blows; his tool sank under the projecting rock and fragments of damp earth fell with a dull sound. He felt his arms grow numb and threaten to drop the tool.

"Can any of you help me?" he murmured, but he perceived with terror that he was voiceless, for although he thought he had spoken aloud, no one had heard him. It was like a struggle in a nightmare when the dreamer sees some terrible sight, e.g., an assassin creeping towards his bed, and tries to cry but in vain, for he is dumb. He makes a fresh effort as fruitless as the last and sees the assassin's knife come nearer. A fiendish face bends over him. He collects his last strength; it seems to him that his cry must wake the whole house and be heard in the street, yet the sleeping cat curled up on his bed does not hear the feeble groan which escapes from his labouring chest, "Come and help me!"

Well, it was the end. There was nothing more to hope for. Mechanically his hand again thrust the pick under the projecting rock. He felt a shock of surprise; the pick passed right through it; a shudder thrilled him; he clenched his teeth, made a superhuman effort, buried his pick still more deeply, throwing as much weight into it as he could, and then fell prostrate, his face towards the ground. His pickaxe had escaped from his hand and fallen through to the other side.

Through the opening thus formed there rushed a gust of refreshing air which at once increased in strength. The smoking torches which had been flung on the ground were spontaneously re-kindled. Their flame licked the walls. The miners began to breathe heavily; those who had half swooned revived a little and began to move. Many raised their heads, drinking in the air with such avidity that they became sick. The chief miner crept with difficulty through the opening and began to breathe with deep gasps the vivifying air.

"It is there … there!" repeated old Ivan dreamily.

"Yes, old man, it is there, you are right," the miners answered, suddenly recovering their courage.

All the men who had been half-insane a moment before were now convinced that they were saved. In any case, it was a respite; they would not die yet. Death had been left behind in the race once more; they would be able to wrestle with it, and they must profit by this respite to get out of this place. If they had to die after all, well, they would die, but elsewhere, not in this cramped black hole. They set to work again, and this time so zealously that in a short time they succeeded in clearing away the mass of earth which obstructed the opening into the neighbouring gallery. To judge from the quantity of air which came from below they guessed it must be much larger than the narrow passage in which they were working. They hastened to work at this outlet which promised deliverance. The pickaxes struck the rocks violently, and the shovels dug deeply. They disputed with each other the right to work, and he who could clear away the most won; they nearly came to blows in order to dig near the opening in order to reach the new passage. The opening grew larger every moment. Old Ivan glanced at it and his face grew radiant with joy, because he saw beyond it the white Apparition waiting.

"Here I am, Lord, here I am!" he murmured, and if his comrades had not prevented him, he would have tried to pass through the opening at the risk of blocking it up.

After another half-hour of work they could pass through the opening, although they had to stoop very low. The chief miner went first followed by all the rest. Once he was in the new gallery, old Ivan lifted his torch as high as before.

"I have never seen this gallery!" exclaimed the chief miner. He turned towards Ivan, but at the sight of him the words died in his throat, and he could only stammer, "What is the matter?"

Great tears were running down the old man's wrinkled cheeks; he was contemplating with an expression of profound grief the dark entrance of a side gallery.

"Well, old man! What is the matter?" the miners asked, surrounding him. He continued to gaze in the same direction. "Does this place remind you of something?" asked the chief miner. They all listened eagerly for his answer.

"It is here that my mother was buried in a landslip. Yes, here on this side."

"Comrades!" the chief miner exclaimed joyfully. "There is no doubt about it! We are in the Znamensky mine!"

So true is it that one man's grief is another man's happiness.

Old Ivan himself was forgotten. They saw that he had guided them all to the old mine, which had been long abandoned, but which he remembered from his childhood. As the mine had been dug in the rock itself, the shaft was undamaged, but they had to find the entrance to it.

The old man remained motionless where he was, his eyes fixed on the place where his mother had perished. The chief miner, who had recovered his collectedness of mind, approached him.

"Well, old man, has Jesus gone without you?"

"No … He is there… He waits for me. Here I am, Lord, here I am."

He resumed his march, and the miners followed him cheerfully.

IX

This last part of the journey was not very long. The old mine was not so narrow as the one they had just left. Large and lofty galleries led directly to the shaft; it had not been necessary to dig very deep here in order to find copper ore, and the shaft, which was of a moderate depth and dry, remained as it had always been. Although they no longer needed the old man, he still continued to lead them. The exaltation of spirit which he had shown, gave no sign of sinking, his walk was firm, and he held with a steady hand his brilliantly-burning torch. There still seemed to be some living occupants of the mine, though it had been quite abandoned, for now and then, as the miners proceeded, something fled out of their path, either a mole frightened by the unexpected sight of men, or a pole-cat which had made its home in these subterranean passages.

Ivan continued to see in front of him the white Apparition, and he believed that he heard Jesus calling and inviting him to follow.

The ground they were now passing over was almost entirely dry. It was evident that if here water had ever streamed from the roofs and the walls, it had long ago drained off down the slanting passages, probably into the neighbouring mine. Here and there some water-drops were visible shining on the stones, but one did not hear the loud noise of the water-springs, nor the roar of the torrents rushing down the crevasses. When the miners reached the shaft they beheld above their heads a greyish light, a certain indication that they were no longer very far from the surface of the earth.

"Well, now, how are we to get up?"

"There are still ladders left, but so rotten that they would not support us."

"Listen to me," said the chief miner. "One of us must try to get up there. Once he has got up, he will go and get help from the village. Hullo! Where is the old man?"

Still under the impression of his fixed idea, the old man had seen Jesus mounting the ladders and did not wish to remain behind. He thought no more of his comrades; he had forgotten them. However, the higher he climbed, clinging to the ladders, the more weary he felt. His weakness overcame him again, and long-forgotten phantoms seemed to be climbing at his side – he did not know whether they were phantoms or living beings. He saw his mother; she was wearing the same miner's boots which he had seen projecting from the mass of earth which covered her. He saw also the old man who had loved and petted him when he was a child. He saw him with his beard just as he used to be, wearing the same coarse shirt with unbuttoned collar, showing his chest covered with grey hair. Both these dumb companions smiled affectionately at him.

Overhead the orifice of the shaft continued to grow larger. The old man could already distinguish a fragment of pure blue sky, for what seemed from below the grey light of morning was, above the surface, the splendour of a sunny day. And in this splendour, Jesus was continually ascending, and was now well above the opening of the shaft.

He reached the last rung of the ladder. The earth was basking under the bright autumnal sun. The grass, although withered, appeared rejuvenated by it; yellowed leaves hung thickly on the branches of the birches. Birds were winging a zigzag flight through the cloudless sky. On the horizon mountains showed their forest-clothed summits. The air was impregnated with a pleasant warmth.

Ivan gazed above him with an expression of astonishment. The Apparition ascended higher and higher, inviting him to follow. His mother stood on one side, the old man on the other, gazing at him…

The miners had seen the old man scale the ladders of the shaft. Then, without listening to the chief miner, they hastened to follow him. They followed so close one after the other that they seemed to be climbing on each others' backs. When they reached the surface of the ground, they suddenly paused and remained without moving, after having uncovered their heads. They did not dare to disturb by a word the mystery which was being consummated before their eyes. Nor was the consummation long in coming. The miners formed a circle in the midst of which lay old Ivan stretched on the ground, his face turned towards the sky, his arms already numb, stretched far apart; his wide-open eyes saw no one; they were intently fixed on the blue vault above him as though following some one who was mounting in infinite space. His lips were seen to be feebly moving, and when the chief miner bent over him, his keen ear caught the dying old man's last whispers, "Here I am, Lord… I am following You!"

MAHMOUD'S FAMILY

I. Mahmoud

A fusillade of musketry fire had just broken out between the Russian and Turkish advance-posts.

The fog was so dense that the confused masses of the Balkan mountains could hardly be distinguished. They seemed more like clouds which had descended on the earth to pass the night there. A red light showed through the fog from a distance; perhaps it was a Turkish bivouac-fire or the conflagration of some lonely farm. The Cossacks turned their piercing eyes in this direction, but in vain, for it was absolutely impossible to make out what it was in such dense gloom.

It was the Turks who had begun firing; the Russians were content with merely replying. Neither side was visible to the other, but they fired, fearing lest, owing to the denseness of the fog, the enemy might approach close to them without being seen. On such occasions one fires involuntarily; it is a kind of mutual warning, "I am not asleep, you understand; take care!"

The sounds of firing died away in the damp and heavy atmosphere. Slowly the night fell, gradually blotting out from view the field of battle, and the corpses still lying on the snow. Everything was silent; only a groan from a wounded man or the death-rattle of a horse was audible from time to time. But that was all, and the soldiers, exhausted by marching during the day and fighting in the evening, had not sufficient energy left to think of carrying away the bodies of their comrades. They wished for nothing but a night of rest and sleep.

"Not very cheerful for us, the night of the New Year, eh, Major?" said the Colonel, a short stout man addressing a tall thin one, who had his arm in a sling. The two were sitting on the balcony of a Turkish house.

"No, it isn't! And no letters from home either."

"That is the least of my anxieties; I know our military post too well."

"Ah, how gladly one would see those one loves, were it only for a single moment! But to spend Christmas in the Shipka Pass and the New Year here, sapristi! there is no fun in that. In our house the Christmas tree is lighted and the children are running round it. Your wife and children are sure to be with mine, and they will be talking of us. Probably they are anxious because of our silence. As if we could write – we who only rush on, like madmen, at the risk of breaking our heads! By the way, how is your arm?"

"Not very grand, you know."

"Well, make use of it!"

"To do what?"

"To go away. Apply for leave for health's sake."

"You ought not to say so to me."

"Why?"

"Because we are already short of officers as you know very well. In my battalion there are sub-lieutenants commanding whole companies. Moreover, you and I are not in the habit of separating. We will return home together, that is all. Don't let us talk any more about it."

It was now quite dark, and the horizon was hidden. Here and there the darkness was pierced by the luminous points of some windows in the village which were still lit up. Suddenly there appeared in the street the red moving flame of torch and in the circle of light formed by it a red face wearing a pair of moustaches. At moments there also came to view in the same luminous circle a horse's head with its ears erect.

"Panteleieff!" cried the Colonel in the direction of the torch. The torch entered into the courtyard, and soon the horse stood before the officers, snorting and scraping the hard snow with its hoofs. The Cossack who was riding it reversed his torch, and clouds of black smoke, rising heavily, surrounded his arm.

"Where are you going like that?"

"To the advance-posts, Colonel."

"Why?"

"The firing has begun again."

"Go and tell them, that if it is nothing unusual, it is useless to reply. When the Turks are tired of throwing away ammunition, they will stop of themselves."

Several soldiers entered the courtyard, stamping heavily. Panteleieff lifted his torch and it was seen that they had some one in their midst.

"March on, march on, shaven pate! There is no chance of getting any rest with you fellows about; may the Devil take you!" the soldiers said, grumbling. It was evident that they were not yet aware of the officers' presence.

"Well, well! Must we then encourage you with a butt-end?"

"What is it, my children?" said the Colonel, rising.

"We are bringing a Turk, Colonel. We met him by chance – picked him up under a bush."

"Under a bush? How?"

"He was crouched down like a quail. Lieutenant Vassilieff told us to take him alive and to bring him to you, Colonel. His name is Mahmoud."

"Give us a light, Panteleieff."

The Cossack held his torch near the group and the red light showed distinctly a face with a large nose and straggling grey moustaches. The nose had a lump in the middle; the reddish scar of a recent wound was visible on the forehead surmounted by a turban formed of a piece of dirty cloth snatched from some old tent. Mahmoud also wore a yellow cloak made of camel-skin.

"Stop! Stop! he is an officer," said the Colonel, turning towards his friend.

The Major looked at the Turk attentively. "Yes, and he is also an old acquaintance. Don't you recognize him. That scar to begin with, and I am sure he has two fingers missing from his left hand. Show us his left hand."

The soldier who was standing next to Mahmoud took hold of his hand and held it up.

"Yes, it is Mahmoud Bey, a Turkish Colonel. Prisoner and runaway; his account is settled. The general will probably have him shot. That depends on the mood he is in. It is a pity. Bring him here, my children. One of you stay with us; the rest go as quickly as possible."

Mahmoud Bey was brought into the room next to the balcony. A soldier armed with a musket stationed himself on the threshold.

The prisoner was almost a giant, thickset and broad-shouldered. He appeared to be over fifty. His eyes had a melancholy expression under their bristling grey eyebrows; his ragged moustache, also grey, was constantly twitching; his feet were bound round with rags, his cloak was torn and had a blood-stain on one shoulder.

"What is this blood?"

"Kyriloff tickled him up a little with his bayonet behind the bush, Colonel."

"Why?"

"Because, Colonel, it was in vain that we called to him in good Russian, 'Come out, shaven-pate!' He did not listen to us, but only waved his hands. Kyriloff was annoyed, and pricked him a little. Then he left his bush. To tell the truth, we wanted to finish him on the spot, but Lieutenant Vassilieff told us to bring him here."

"Somione! give him a chair."

The prisoner sat down, after placing his hand on his heart, his mouth, and his head successively. His expression was still melancholy; he evidently did not expect anything pleasant from his new masters. His large nose drooped over his ragged moustaches, his head was sunk between his shoulders.

II. The Examination

Having, in the course of his military career, served in the regiment on the frontier of the Caucasus, the Major had picked up a little Turkish. So they dispensed with an interpreter.

"I think we have met before?" he said to the prisoner. "You are Colonel Mahmoud Bey?"

The Turk lowered his head, and assumed an attitude of utter prostration.

"Perhaps there is a mistake, and I am taking you for some one else?" added the Major.

"I never lie!" said the prisoner, rising. "I escaped here from Kazanlik and have been recaptured by your soldiers. One cannot go far on foot!" he added, smiling sadly, "especially when one is, like myself, wounded in the head and the leg. And I have been again wounded in the shoulder."

"You should know that according to the usages of war," answered the Major, who attempted, but in vain, to speak in an official tone.

"It is superfluous to tell me that. The power is on your side. You are the victors; tell them to kill me. I knew perfectly well the risk I ran when last night I escaped from the house of the officer in whose charge I was. I have played, I have lost, and I must die."

The Major, touched by the prisoner's tone, began to speak to him more gently.

"Were you uncomfortable where you lodged?"

"No."

"Did they treat you well?"

"The officer with whom I lodged is a very generous man. He obliged me to take his bed; he gave me food and drink; he treated me like a brother not like an enemy."

"But were you afraid of being ill-treated in Russia?"

"No. I know that the Russians always treat their prisoners well."

"In that case, why did you run away?"

"What is that to you? Here I am in your hands; do your duty. But be quick! be quick!"

Something very like a choked-down sob contracted the throat of the old Turk, and again his head sank.

"What did you hope to get by escaping? The Turks are retreating everywhere, famine reigns among you, and the population has fled. Would you not have done better to have waited? The war will soon be over, and you would have been able to go home to your own house."

"Home to my own house? Where is that?"

"I don't understand you."

"Well, you soon will. I know how things are going on and have no illusions. An order has recently come from Constantinople telling people to emigrate to Asia Minor. Every one will go; my family with the rest. Where will they go? How am I to find them again? Bah! Don't let us talk about it; it is useless. I did what I thought was my duty; do your own. No one escapes death. That which is to happen, will happen; it is written. No one lives beyond the limit fixed by destiny. What I did was certainly not for myself…"

The prisoner's voice broke again, and he made a despairing gesture.

"You spoke of your family… I also have a family," said the Major with a pensive air.

"You are very lucky then to be alive, and to be able to go and meet them. You are not a prisoner."