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think of some word, some gentle tender word, such as 'blossom' or 'dawn,' or something like that, something sweet and pleasant. Then I will sit on my cot, and keep repeating that word to myself, ten times or more. And then it seems as if a kind hand caresses me, and so I go to sleep.

My heroic action was this. We were lying close up to their defenses, and for four days had not been able to climb out; we lay like reptiles. There was not a dry spot; one could not get accustomed to it. And H-, the ensign, had been caught on the wire when we had started to attack. At first he asked for help, called on the men by name; but one could not show one's nose without being shot. Then he only groaned and breathed heavily. That went on for four days, and he still lived. It is a sin to grumble at God, but here one says, 'Why be careful of one's life if one cannot spare one's soul?' I could n't endure it, and took him off the wire; but I got wounded. Then there was an attack, and our men captured the post.

I am very handsome myself. Women swarm about me like bees round a flower, and I'm not one to refuse them; but I am always expecting things to be different. For what is it like?—just like dogs or cows. Perhaps it will yet come about; I am not yet twenty-three. Beauty must be good for something, or else it's only like sugar in tea.

And then the staff sent some Jews to us. It was a joke. One roared like a whale, and another, as soon as he came, lay down as if dead. He was pale, but his ears wagged. Another, more forward, was always creeping up to the officers and whispering. But there, whisper or no whisper, we must all keep together. We sat in the trenches all night, and when we got there we entered

a house with Stepa Kovalev, and saw a lot of goods of all kinds. We did not know what they were all for. All sorts of articles! Our enemies do live well! We spread a blanket and began to put things into it. What was for each of us we could settle later. And, truth to say, it was a sin. All the same, if we did not take it, others would — there was no owner. There is nothing worse than to abandon a house, but it was not pleasant to stay there, either, especially not for a woman. O Lord, when one sees a woman, one neighs like a stallion. Then, weep or not, one had to act. As we were wrapping the things in the blanket our Jew appeared. 'Lads,' he said, 'that won't do.' We were siient. He went on jawing and we held our tongues. He became excited and shouted, and the captain came. He was amused, but could not help himself, and had to forbid it. He laughed, but ordered us to give up the things. Well, the Jew got it hot from us and from the captain. He went off to the hospital.

Here I am homesick for birds. I remember my boyhood, not only for the beatings I used to get, but also for the delight I had in birds. If Dad, as sometimes happened, would not let me into the house, I used to sleep all night somewhere in a hollow among the vegetable gardens. There were eldershrubs all around, and the birds' berries. Before the sun rose, the birds would be tuning up in the bushes, trying their voices. In the early morning how their voices feel the sun! So full of joy are those voices, the sun could not but appear in answer to that resounding call, could not but appear.

I was allowed to go out. I went to see the animals and the birds. What beauty unspeakable there is in the world! Some birds are clothed in feath

ers of every hue in the rainbow, and have eyes like precious stones. And such animals! Incredible! There is the lion, now, the king of beasts. The crowd stands around him, gazing with idle curiosity. But he lies quiet and won't stir, and looks right through you, as if you were not there at all. He is seeing something of his own, quite different. You feel the strength under that hide, a strength like cast steel; and his very calm is terrible. Believe it or not, as you will, but the earth breathes. Only your ear is not always attuned to hear it. Life makes too great a noise around you; we never have leisure, either to look or to listen closely. But there are peculiar days and nights, when the soul tears itself from the material and sees and hears earth live, as you might say, her own separate life. She stirs the swaying grasses and the waters; breathes in vapors, in mists, in the fragrance of flowers, in the exhalations of all living things. So immense is the life of the earth that man can sense it only by feeling, not from knowledge. I think monastic life is the real thing, the stillness that could make many things clear; but where find such retreats?

It sometimes happens that something good comes to you, perhaps a letter from home, saying that all are well, and send their love. And forthwith your soul weakens, and you begin to have all sorts of things the matter with you, and the sum of your sins increases. No! a man should have a stiff soul, tight-laced, trained to think of only one thing; then would there be no room for sin.

Do not pine, lad; what's the use? So very little will be wasted out of life, the merest trifle. You're so very young. The war is making havoc of the whole world. One soul is like one pea in a bag, which, without being

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A blue flame flashed up; a lad ran to the light of it, and grasped it in his hand. The fiery bloom burned his hand, but he did not open it. His heart sank within him, for there were voices and a great noise in the wood; sometimes that, and then again such an unearthly dead silence, as deafens the ear not less than noise. He closed his eyes tight, and through his eyelids he saw devils of various shapes and sizes, who all rushed up to him, but could not strike him. He walked through fire and through water, and through deadly thickets, through this incomprehensible devilish mirage. The live fire blazed in his hand, burning him to the heart, but uttering promises. 'Carry me, lucky one! for the great good fortune I bring. Think of something; give me some order; I will get and bring anything wished for. Let not devilish temptations lure thee. Do not destroy thy soul, nor anybody's soul. This bloom has power in the night, if carried through the mirage. Fortune, success and all good things shall be thine, and joy, love, and heart's ease.'

Thick and ancient woods; one cannot see through them, one cannot pass through them; one can only sing about them in ancient songs. Such woods stand with no path in them. There is such strength in the earth as can overgrow man's roads with wild grasses, and bury them beneath fallen branches, and drive swift currents over them. In the wood there is a different life, not for men's eye. And the devil is there.

One says to another, 'He is no sort of man if he has not read Pushkin and those other writers.' Just think what the fellow who says that imagines! Why, none of us have read them; and are we really not men? He's read them, and yet there's no sense in him! He's weak in body and weak in character, he's easily frightened, he's cross with himself and with the others. He's not a man but a skunk, and that's all your Pushkin's worth. But among us there are real heroes. I can't forget that one, he insulted us so.

He mimicked very well and seemed cleverer than the other simple folk, but when it came to business he was no good. He could tell anything and invent anything, and put songs and tales together well, but he lived only on someone else's hump. Such a fellow could perhaps have found a place in a town; there people loaf the whole day; but the village keeps hold of your hand. If you have n't a hand, you can't feed yourself.

What's the use of talking? As if the like of us were ever asked to talk! At home I was a good scholar. I used to go to the teacher's every day for a separate lesson. He liked me for my cleverness; and indeed I was apt in all things. If I heard a poem but once, I did not have to learn it, I remembered it. I figured out problems in my mind. I could mend a watch or clock as quick as I could look at it. I could understand anything. So I understood that this was not the kind of people that were wanted for the war. And now I am in the infantry; here I sit, like a dog leashed for hunting, and see and know nothing.

Never had I seen such a jasmine. It was not a shrub but a tree. The smell held one's soul. In such a thicket of

jasmine were we posted. We lay down; one could hardly breathe, so strong was the scent of the jasmine. In my head, an old-wife's fairy tale seemed to be repeating itself. There were no real thoughts, nor weariness nor fear; only the fairy-tale. But before long the tale ended. The thing fell right among the jasmines, and I ceased to dream, just as Stepnyack, with an oath, began to regret his legs. He had lost both of them. I had lost an eye at the very same moment. Let the smart old wife tell him stories.

I remained there; had they forgotten me? I was on guard. I lived there a day, and ate dry rusks. The second day there were no rusks left. On the third day I was so hungry I went to search for some mushrooms and found them. I boiled water in a tin and swallowed it with the mushrooms, but threw it all up. What was to be done? No one came for me. By the evening I was ready to die; my stomach ached and twisted, and I was sick. I had an attack of cholera. Then they fetched me to the barracks. Such was my fate.

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I have got a little property by the war. I did not rob; and what money I have received was given me by a Jewish woman. I took their part. I was looking on when our country-folk, with whips, were making an old Jew gallop over a hedge. He was a hundred-yearold Jew, with curls, dry, with white socks on his legs, and with hair yellowgray. I went up to them. 'Don't you fear God? The Jew is old. What a sin!' They let him go, and the Jewess thanked me and gave me money. I took it. Ten krones!

I think I shall have time to run there. I do so want that shirt; it is a nice one, and I want to see the woman, the laundress. A fine woman, she has given me no offense. And an Austrian came to meet me - I from one end of the village and he from the other. And the woman's hut was at the Austrian's end. I rushed into the hut and seized the clothes on the shelves, just what there was; then seized the woman and made for the door and ran. But they shouted and fired. Not one of them hit me! And I had got four pairs of trousers and a warm shirt. I now have a dowry, ready for my wedding.

I went to the window; tap, tap! A woman opened it, a timid woman, who trembled and did not speak. I asked for bread. On the wall hung a cupboard from which she took bread and cheese, and she began warming some vodka on a primus. I ate, but there was a noise in my ears. I thought no power could tempt me from this spot. Again came a tap, tap! at the window. The woman opened as she had done for me. I looked up and saw an Austrian tumble into the hut. We looked at one another. A piece of bread stuck in my throat till I was ready to vomit. What we were to do, we did not know. He sat down and took some bread and cheese.

He gobbled it and tucked away at it no worse than I had done. The woman served the vodka hot, two cups of it. And we began to drink just as if we were chums. We drank and ate, and lay down on the bench, head to head. In the morning we parted. There was no one to give us any orders.

Should I inform on him, or should I not? I wanted to, his speeches were so very much against all law. It was not alone that he abused the command he went for the Tsar himself. Had I informed, it had been good for me; our company commander would have had to give me a bill of three roubles, and those lower down would have respected me. And you know it is those lower down who are nearest to us. Yet I held my tongue. I did not take any leaflets, as that would have been against my oath of allegiance; but I listened, and that was sin enough. But he was such a fascinating speaker. If you ask me why I did not inform, I could not tell you. But the fact remains I did not. He would bewitch you. We are only too well prepared. Wronged in every way, humbled, living worse than animals, waiting all the time for somebody to teach us; so we listen. We do not follow him we are afraid; but we do listen. As to informing, God forbid!

As soon as it was dark, we went. They helped us down into their trench. What a trench! More like a palace. And don't the dogs live in clover! Coffee and rum the first thing. They chattered away, but every other word was 'Kamerad, Kamerad.' Their officer distributed leaflets, very politely. We took them why not? Most of us could not read, so no harm was done; and why should we be rude? So we ate and drank and talked, and now it was time to go home. Half an hour later

we were firing at each other. Comradeship is one thing, service is another.

Do you think one has to be a special kind of man to kill another man? It does not take much effort to do that. You come home, you find want every where the children half-starved, the wife dried to a stick, and blaming you and nagging at you for it all. Your own belly rumbles all day with hunger. And then a thief comes by night and tries to steal your only remaining wretched horse. Well, when you catch him, all you think of is to put the evil thing out of the way. And so you kill him.

There is no kind feeling in my soul for those who have remained at home. When I read that things are going badly for them there, I am glad. Let them, think I, eat one another up like reptiles for having sent us into torment.

It is beyond human strength to destroy that monster-War. There is no end or limit to it. So how could anybody be leisurely thinking in a leisurely way about domestic affairs or comfortable living? Think of your soul. That is what everything depends on in the next world. As to this world, our life in it can hold neither light nor joy.

THE REMARKABLE RIGHTNESS OF RUDYARD KIPLING

BY KATHARINE FULLERTON GEROULD

I

It looks Chestertonian as I write it. As if a world of concrete things were to be gathered into the titular abstraction; or as if Kipling's rightness were presently to be proved remarkable in that it is all wrong.

And yet, I think, Chesterton or no Chesterton, where is he, by the way? -I mean precisely what I have set down: Rudyard Kipling's remarkable rightness. Right, because time has sustained him against scoffers; remarkable, because no one originally expected that particular kind of rightness from him.

This is not to be a discursive or an exhaustive discussion of Kipling's ut

terances on planetary or even racial questions. I have not annotated his complete works with his 'rightness' in mind. Indeed, to treat him exhaustively would be a very difficult task; for the sum of his wisdom is made up, not of a few big 'works,' but of an infinite number of significant brevities. My only excuse for dealing with him at all is that I have lived a long time with the prose and verse of Kipling, and that my knowledge of him has reached what Henry James called the point of saturation. I will not pretend that I have read every word he has ever printed in the Allahabad Pioneer or even in the London Times; but I know him very well. I belong to the generation that took its Kipling hard. My friends who

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