In summer, at Stáry Urt, all the officers who were there did nothing but play, and play rather high. As, living in camp, one has to meet frequently, I was very often present at play, but in spite of persuasions I kept steady for a month; but one fine day for fun I put down a small stake. I lost, staked again, and lost again. I was in bad luck; the passion for play reawoke in me, and in two days I had lost all the money I had, and what Nicholas gave me (about Rs. 250) and another Rs. 500 besides, for which I gave a note-of-hand payable in January 1852.
I should tell you that near the camp there is an Aoul [native village] inhabited by Circassians. A young fellow (a Circassian) named Sádo used to come to the camp and play; but as he could neither reckon nor write, there were scamps who cheated him. For that reason I never wished to play against Sádo, and I even told him that he ought not to play, because he was being cheated; and I offered to play for him. He was very grateful to me for this, and presented me with a purse; and as it is the custom of that nation to exchange presents, I gave him a wretched gun I had bought for Rs. 8. I should tell you that to become a Kounák, that is to say, a friend, it is customary to exchange presents, and afterwards to eat in the house of one's Kounák. After that, according to the ancient custom of these peoples (which hardly exists now except as a tradition) you become friends for life and death: that is to say, if I asked of him all his money, or his wife, or his weapons, or all the most precious things he has, he must give them to me, and I also must not refuse him anything. Sádo made me promise to come to his house and become his Kounák. I went. After having regaled me in their fashion, he asked me to choose anything in his house that I liked: his weapons, his horse—anything. I wished to choose what was of least value, and took a horse's bridle with silver mountings; but he said I was offending him, and obliged me to take a sword worth at least Rs. 100.
His father is a rather rich man, but keeps his money buried, and does not give his son a cent. The son, to have money, goes and steals horses and cows from the enemy. Sometimes he risks his life 20 times to steal something not worth Rs. 10, but he does it not from greed, but because it is 'the thing.' The greatest robber is most esteemed, and is called Dzhigit, 'a Brave.' Sometimes Sádo has Rs. 1000, sometimes not a cent. After one visit to him, I gave him Nicholas's silver watch, and we became the greatest friends in the world. He has proved his devotion several times by exposing himself to danger for my sake; but that is nothing to him—it has become a habit and a pleasure.
When I left Stáry Urt and Nicholas remained there, Sádo used to go to him every day, saying that he did not know how to get on without me, and that he felt terribly dull. I wrote to Nicholas saying that as my horse was ill I begged him to find me one at Stáry Urt. Sádo having learnt this, must needs come to me and give me his horse, in spite of all I could do to refuse it.
After the folly I committed in playing at Stáry Urt, I did not touch a card again, and I was always lecturing Sádo, who is devoted to gambling and, though he does not know how to play, always has astonishing luck. Yesterday evening I was engaged in considering my money matters and my debts, and thinking how I was to pay them. Having long thought of these things, I saw that if I do not spend too much, all my debts will not embarrass me, but can be paid off little by little in 2 or 3 years; but the Rs. 500 that I had to pay this month, threw me into despair. It was impossible for me to pay it, and at the moment it embarrassed me much more than did previously the 4000 of Ogaryóf. The stupidity, after having contracted those debts in Russia, of coming here and adding fresh ones, made me despair. In the evening while saying my prayers, I asked God—and very fervently—to get me out of this disagreeable scrape. 'But how can I get out of this scrape?' thought I, as I lay down. 'Nothing can happen that will make it possible for me to meet that debt.' I already pictured to myself all the unpleasantnesses I should have to go through because of it. (See English sentence in the French text, above.)
Next day I received a letter from Nicholas enclosing yours and several others. He wrote me: (See English sentence in the French text, above).
Is it not astonishing to see one's petitions granted like this the very next day? That is to say, there is nothing so wonderful as the divine goodness to one who merits it so little as I. And is not the trait of Sádo's devotion admirable? He knows I have a brother Sergius, who loves horses, and as I have promised to take him to Russia when I go, he tells me that, if it costs him his life 100 times over, he will steal the best horse to be found in the mountains, and will take it to him.
Please, have a 6-barrelled pistol bought in Toúla and sent to me, and also a musical-box, if that does not cost too much. These are things which will give him much pleasure.
[9] Religion and the experience I have of life (however small it may be) have taught me that life is a trial. In my case it is more than a trial, it is also an expiation of my faults.
It seems to me that the frivolous idea I had of journeying to the Caucasus was an idea with which I was inspired from above. It is the hand of God that has guided me—I do not cease to thank Him for it. I feel that I have become better here (and that is not saying much, for I was very bad) and I am firmly persuaded that all that can happen to me here can only be for my good, since it is God himself who has so willed it. Perhaps it is a very audacious notion; nevertheless it is my conviction. That is why I bear the fatigues and the physical privations I have mentioned (they are not physical privations: there are none for a fellow of 23 who is in good health) without resenting them, and even with a kind of pleasure in thinking of the happiness that awaits me.