Part 15 (1/2)

Yesterday and to-day (a Censor's erasure) I feel depressed and think of you, only of you. When things are quiet and there is little doing many a fine thing pa.s.ses un.o.bserved; I allude to the flowers, of which I am sending you specimens. They grow quite close to the trench, but it is difficult and dangerous to get them, as one may easily be killed. I have seen such flowers before, but am ignorant of their name.”

”Goodbye. My love. Forgive the 'army style'; this letter is for you alone.”

The letter contained two of those little blue violets which spring up directly the snow has melted.

I handed the letter, as always, to his mother that she might read it too; her lips began to tremble, and her eyes filled with tears as she read, but in the midst of her tears she laughed. And we both of us, I the young woman, and Mammy the old mother, laughed and cried simultaneously, tightly clasped in each other's arms. I had pictured the War hitherto in the words: ”Towny, bayonet me!”. And now Alexander had sent me from it--violets! Two violets that are still unfaded.

I had noticed before the phenomenon of the four seasons suddenly bursting, as it were, upon the human consciousness. I remember that happening to me in my childhood when on holiday in the country. The summer was still in full swing, everything seemed just as usual, when suddenly one morning, in a most ordinary gust of wind, the red-vine leaves, then some three weeks old, were blown into my eyes, and all at once I realized that it was autumn. My mood changed on the instant, and I prepared to go home, back to town.

How many years is it since I have seen the autumn, winter, or spring-- since I felt their magic? But to-day, after a long-past summer, I have all at once felt the call of the spring. Only to-day I have noticed that our windows are tightly closed, that I am wearing a dark costume, that it is already May, and that bluebells are blossoming in the fields. I had forgotten that I was young. I remembered it to-day.

And I know further that I have faith, that I have love--love of Georgie and Alexander. I know too, although there is so much terror, so much that is foolish and ugly, there is still youth, love, and the spring--and the blue violets that grow by the trenches.

After Mammy and I had wept and laughed in each other's embrace, I went out alone into the fields beyond the factory--to love, to think, to dream . . . I love Alexander Alexandrovitch for ever and ever...

THE SEAS AND HILLS

A rainy night, trenches--not in the forest lands of Lithuania, but at the Vindavo-Rybinsky station in Moscow itself. The train is like a trench; voices are heard from the adjoining carriage.

”Where do you come from?” ”Yes, yes, that is so, truly! You remember the ravine there, all rocks, and the lake below; many met their doom there.” ”Let me introduce you to the Commander of the Third Division.” ”Give me a light, old fellow! We are back from furlough.”

The train is going at nightfall to Rzhov, Velikiya Luki, and Polotsk.

Outside on the platform the brethren are lying at ease under benches, drinking tea, and full of contentment. The gas-jets s.h.i.+ne dimly in the rain, and behind the spattered panes of gla.s.s the women's eyes gleam like lamp-lights. There is a smell of naphthaline.

”Where is the Commandant's carriage?” ”No women allowed here! Men only! We're for the front!” And there is a smell of leather, tar, and leggings--a smell of men.

”Yes, yes, you're right! Ha-ha! He is a liar, an egregious liar! No, I bet you a beauty like that isn't going headlong into an attack!”

There is a sound of laughing and a deep base voice speaking with great a.s.surance. The third bell.

”Where's the Commandant's carriage?” ”Well, goodbye!” ”Ha-ha-ha-ha!

He lies, Madam, I a.s.sure you, he lies.” ”Bah! those new boots they have issued have given me corns; I'll have to send them back.”

This conversation proceeded from beneath a bench and from the steps that led to a top-compartment; the men hung up their leggings which, though marked with fresh Government labels, were none the less reeking with perspiration. The lamps moved along the platform and disappeared into the night; the figures of women and stretcher- bearers silently crept along; a sentry began to flirt with one of the former; the rain fell slantingly, arrow-like, in the darkness.

They reached Rzhov at midnight in the train; the men climbed out of the windows for tea; then clambered in again with their rifles; the carriages resounded with the rattling of canteens. It was raining heavily and there was a sound of splas.h.i.+ng water. The brethren in the corridors grumbled bitterly as they inspected papers. Under the benches there was conversation, and also garbage.

Then morning with its rose-coloured clouds: the sky had completely cleared; rain-drops fell from the trees; it was bright and fragrant.

Velikiya Luki, Lovat; at the station were soldiers, not a single woman.

The train eludes the enemy's reconnaissance. Soldiers, soldiers, soldiers!--rifles, rifles!--canteens:--the brethren! It is no longer Great Russia; around are pine woods, hills, lakes, and the land is everywhere strewn with cobble-stones and pebbles--- whilst at every little station from under fir-trees creep silent, sombre figures, barefooted and wearing sheep-skin coats and caps--in the summer. It is Lithuania.

The enemy's reconnaissance is a diversion: otherwise the day is long and dreary--all routine like a festival; already one knows the detachment, the number of wounded, the engagements with the enemy. Many had alighted from the train at Velikiya Luki, and n.o.body had got in. We are quiet and idle all day long.

Then towards night we reach Polotsk--the white walls of the monastery are left behind; we come to the Dvina, and the train rumbles over a bridge. Now we journey by night only, without a time-table or lights, and again under a drizzling rain. The train stops without whistling and as silently starts again. Around us all is still, as in October; the country-side is shrouded by night. Men alight at each stop after Polotsk; no one sits down again; and at every stop thirty miles of narrow gauge railway lead to the trenches. What monotony after Moscow! after the hustle and clatter of an endless day! There is the faintest glimmer of dawn, and the eastern sky looks like a huge green bottle.

”Get up--we have arrived!”

Budslav station; the roof is demolished by aeroplane bombs. Soldiers sleep side by side in a little garden on asphalt steps beneath crocuses. A drowsy Jew opens his bookstall on the arrival of the train: he sells books by Chirikov, Von Vizin, and Verbitskaya. And from the distance, with strange distinctness, comes a sound like m.u.f.fled clapping.