Have you ever thought about what fiction is? Probably, such a question may seem surprising: and so everything is clear. Every person throughout his life has to repeatedly create the works he needs for specific purposes - statements, autobiographies, dictations - using not gypsum or clay, not musical notes, not paints, but just a word. At the same time, almost every person will be very surprised if he is told that he thereby created a work of fiction, which is very different from visual art, music and sculpture making. However, everyone understands that a student's essay or dictation is fundamentally different from novels, short stories, news that are created by professional writers. In the works of professionals there is the most important difference - excogitation. But, oddly enough, in a school literature course, you don’t realize the full power of fiction. So using our website in your free time discover fiction for yourself. The Cossacks by graf Tolstoy Leo (leveled readers .txt) 📖
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whole day at home. Then his chief occupation was watching
Maryanka, whose every movement, without realizing it himself, he
followed greedily from his window or his porch. He regarded
Maryanka and loved her (so he thought) just as he loved the beauty
of the mountains and the sky, and he had no thought of entering
into any relations with her. It seemed to him that between him and
her such relations as there were between her and the Cossack
Lukashka could not exist, and still less such as often existed
between rich officers and other Cossack girls. It seemed to him
that if he tried to do as his fellow officers did, he would
exchange his complete enjoyment of contemplation for an abyss of
suffering, disillusionment, and remorse. Besides, he had already
achieved a triumph of self-sacrifice in connexion with her which
had given him great pleasure, and above all he was in a way afraid
of Maryanka and would not for anything have ventured to utter a
word of love to her lightly.
Once during the summer, when Olenin had not gone out shooting but
was sitting at home, quite unexpectedly a Moscow acquaintance, a
very young man whom he had met in society, came in.
‘Ah, mon cher, my dear fellow, how glad I was when I heard that
you were here!’ he began in his Moscow French, and he went on
intermingling French words in his remarks. ‘They said, “Olenin”.
What Olenin? and I was so pleased…. Fancy fate bringing us
together here! Well, and how are you? How? Why?’ and Prince
Beletski told his whole story: how he had temporarily entered the
regiment, how the. Commander-in-Chief had offered to take him as
an adjutant, and how he would take up the post after this campaign
although personally he felt quite indifferent about it.
‘Living here in this hole one must at least make a career—get a
cross—or a rank—be transferred to the Guards. That is quite
indispensable, not for myself but for the sake of my relations and
friends. The prince received me very well; he is a very decent
fellow,’ said Beletski, and went on unceasingly. ‘I have been
recommended for the St. Anna Cross for the expedition. Now I shall
stay here a bit until we start on the campaign. It’s capital here.
What women! Well, and how are you getting on? I was told by our
captain, Startsev you know, a kind-hearted stupid creature….
Well, he said you were living like an awful savage, seeing no one!
I quite understand you don’t want to be mixed up with the set of
officers we have here. I am so glad now you and I will be able to
see something of one another. I have put up at the Cossack
corporal’s house. There is such a girl there. Ustenka! I tell you
she’s just charming.’
And more and more French and Russian words came pouring forth from
that world which Olenin thought he had left for ever. The general
opinion about Beletski was that he was a nice, good-natured
fellow. Perhaps he really was; but in spite of his pretty, good-natured face, Olenin thought him extremely unpleasant. He seemed
just to exhale that filthiness which Olenin had forsworn. What
vexed him most was that he could not—had not the strength—
abruptly to repulse this man who came from that world: as if that
old world he used to belong to had an irresistible claim on him.
Olenin felt angry with Beletski and with himself, yet against his
wish he introduced French phrases into his own conversation, was
interested in the Commander-in-Chief and in their Moscow
acquaintances, and because in this Cossack village he and Beletski
both spoke French, he spoke contemptuously of their fellow
officers and of the Cossacks, and was friendly with Beletski,
promising to visit him and inviting him to drop in to see him.
Olenin however did not himself go to see Beletski. Vanyusha for
his part approved of Beletski, remarking that he was a real
gentleman.
Beletski at once adopted the customary life of a rich officer in a
Cossack village. Before Olenin’s eyes, in one month he came to be
like an old resident of the village; he made the old men drunk,
arranged evening parties, and himself went to parties arranged by
the girls—bragged of his conquests, and even got so far that, for
some unknown reason, the women and girls began calling him
grandad, and the Cossacks, to whom a man who loved wine and women
was clearly understandable, got used to him and even liked him
better than they did Olenin, who was a puzzle to them.
It was five in the morning. Vanyusha was in the porch heating the
samovar, and using the leg of a long boot instead of bellows.
Olenin had already ridden off to bathe in the Terek. (He had
recently invented a new amusement: to swim his horse in the
river.) His landlady was in her outhouse, and the dense smoke of
the kindling fire rose from the chimney. The girl was milking the
buffalo cow in the shed. ‘Can’t keep quiet, the damned thing!’
came her impatient voice, followed by the rhythmical sound of
milking.
From the street in front of the house horses’ hoofs were heard
clattering briskly, and Olenin, riding bareback on a handsome
dark-grey horse which was still wet and shining, rode up to the
gate. Maryanka’s handsome head, tied round with a red kerchief,
appeared from the shed and again disappeared. Olenin was wearing a
red silk shirt, a white Circassian coat girdled with a strap which
carried a dagger, and a tall cap. He sat his well-fed wet horse
with a slightly conscious elegance and, holding his gun at his
back, stooped to open the gate. His hair was still wet, and his
face shone with youth and health. He thought himself handsome,
agile, and like a brave; but he was mistaken. To any experienced
Caucasian he was still only a soldier. When he noticed that the
girl had put out her head he stooped with particular rested on the
ground without altering their shape; how her strong arms with the
sleeves rolled up, exerting the muscles, used the spade almost as
if in anger, and how her deep dark eyes sometimes glanced at him.
Though the delicate brows frowned, yet her eyes expressed pleasure
and a knowledge of her own beauty.
‘I say, Olenin, have you been up long?’ said Beletski as he
entered the yard dressed in the coat of a Caucasian officer.
‘Ah, Beletski,’ replied Olenin, holding out his hand. ‘How is it
you are out so early?’
‘I had to. I was driven out; we are having a ball tonight.
Maryanka, of course you’ll come to Ustenka’s?’ he added, turning
to the girl.
Olenin felt surprised that Beletski could address this woman so
easily. But Maryanka, as though she had not heard him, bent her
head, and throwing the spade across her shoulder went with her
firm masculine tread towards the outhouse.
‘She’s shy, the wench is shy,’ Beletski called after her. ‘Shy of
you,’ he added as, smiling gaily, he ran up the steps of the
porch.
‘How is it you are having a ball and have been driven out?’
‘It’s at Ustenka’s, at my landlady’s, that the ball is, and you
two are invited. A ball consists of a pie and a gathering of
girls.’
‘What should we do there?’
Beletski smiled knowingly and winked, jerking his head in the
direction of the outhouse into which Maryanka had disappeared.
Olenin shrugged his shoulders and blushed.
‘Well, really you are a strange fellow!’ said he.
‘Come now, don’t pretend’
Olenin frowned, and Beletski noticing this smiled insinuatingly.
‘Oh, come, what do you mean?’ he said, ‘living in the same house—
and such a fine girl, a splendid girl, a perfect beauty’
‘Wonderfully beautiful! I never saw such a woman before,’ replied
Olenin.
‘Well then?’ said Beletski, quite unable to understand the
situation.
‘It may be strange,’ replied Olenin, ‘but why should I not say
what is true? Since I have lived here women don’t seem to exist
for me. And it is so good, really! Now what can there be in common
between us and women like these? Eroshka—that’s a different
matter! He and I have a passion in common—sport.’
‘There now! In common! And what have I in common with Amalia
Ivanovna? It’s the same thing! You may say they’re not very clean-
-that’s another matter… A la guerre, comme a la guerre! …’
‘But I have never known any Amalia Ivanovas, and have never known
how to behave with women of that sort,’ replied Olenin. ‘One
cannot respect them, but these I do respect.’
‘Well go on respecting them! Who wants to prevent you?’
Olenin did not reply. He evidently wanted to complete. what he had
begun to say. It was very near his heart.
‘I know I am an exception…’ He was visibly confused. ‘But my
life has so shaped itself that I not only see no necessity to
renounce my rules, but I could not live here, let alone live as
happily as I am doing, were I to live as you do. Therefore I look
for something quite different from what you look for.’
Beletski raised his eyebrows incredulously. ‘Anyhow, come to me
this evening; Maryanka will be there and I will make you
acquainted. Do come, please! If you feel dull you can go away.
Will you come?’
‘I would come, but to speak frankly I am afraid of being’
seriously carried away.’
‘Oh, oh, oh!’ shouted Beletski. ‘Only come, and I’ll see that you
aren’t. Will you? On your word?’
‘I would come, but really I don’t understand what we shall do;
what part we shall play!’
‘Please, I beg of you. You will come?’
‘Yes, perhaps I’ll come,’ said Olenin.
‘Really now! Charming women such as one sees nowhere else, and to
live like a monk! What an idea! Why spoil your life and not make
use of what is at hand? Have you heard that our company is ordered
to Vozdvizhensk?’
‘Hardly. I was told the 8th Company would be sent there,’ said
Olenin.
‘No. I have had a letter from the adjutant there. He writes that
the Prince himself will take part in the campaign. I am very glad
I shall see something of him. I’m beginning to get tired of this
place.’
‘I hear we shall start on a raid soon.’
‘I have not heard of it; but I have heard that Krinovitsin has
received the Order of St. Anna for a raid. He expected a
lieutenancy,’ said Beletski laughing. ‘He was let in! He has set
off for headquarters.’
It was growing dusk and Olenin began thinking about the party. The
invitation he had received worried him. He felt inclined to go,
but what might take place there seemed strange, absurd, and even
rather alarming. He knew that neither Cossack men nor older women,
nor anyone besides the girls, were to be there. What was going to
happen? How was he to behave? What would they talk about? What
connexion was there between him and those wild Cossack girls?
Beletski had told him of such curious, cynical, and yet rigid
relations. It seemed strange to think that he would be there in
the same hut with Maryanka and perhaps might have to talk to her.
It seemed to him impossible when he remembered her majestic
bearing. But Beletski spoke of it as if it were all perfectly
simple. ‘Is it possible that Beletski will treat Maryanka in the
same way? That is interesting,’
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