The Tartar Steppe. Dino Buzzati
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Название: The Tartar Steppe
Автор: Dino Buzzati
Издательство: Ingram
Жанр: Контркультура
Серия: Canons
isbn: 9781847677570
isbn:
To right and left the mountains stretched out as far as the eye could see in precipitous and apparently inaccessible ranges. They too – at least at that time of day – had a parched, yellow colour.
Instinctively Giovanni Drogo stopped his horse. Looking slowly round, he fixed his gaze on the dark walls without being able to read their true meaning. He thought of a prison, he thought of an abandoned palace. A slight breath of wind made a flag, which before had hung limply entangled with the flagstaff, billow out over the Fort. There was the indistinct echo of a trumpet. The sentries walked slowly to and fro. On the square before the gate of the Fort three or four men – at that distance it was impossible to make out whether they were soldiers or not – were loading sacks on to a cart. But over everything there lay a mysterious torpor.
Captain Ortiz, too, had halted to look at the building.
‘There it is,’ he said, although there was no need to say so.
Drogo thought: now he is going to ask me what I think of it, and was embarrassed at the thought. But instead the captain said nothing.
It was not imposing, Fort Bastiani, with its low walls, nor was it in any sense beautiful, nor picturesque with towers and bastions – there was not one single thing to make up for its bareness, to bring to mind the sweets of life. Yet as on the previous evening at the foot of the defile Drogo looked at it as if hypnotised and an inexplicable feeling of excitement entered his heart.
And beyond it, on the other side, what was there? What world opened up beyond that inhospitable building, beyond the ramparts, casemates and magazines which shut off the view? What did the northern kingdom look like, the stony desert no one had ever crossed? The map, Drogo recalled vaguely, showed beyond the frontier a vast zone with scanty names – but from the eminence of the Fort one would see some village, pastures, a house; or was there only the desolation of an uninhabited waste?
He felt himself suddenly alone, and his soldier’s high spirits, which had come so easily till now – as long as the uneventful garrison life lasted, the comforts of home, the constant company of gay friends, at night the little adventures in the gardens – all his self-assurance were suddenly gone. The Fort seemed to him one of those unknown worlds to which he had never seriously thought he might belong – not that they seemed unpleasant, but rather because they appeared infinitely remote from his own life. A world which would make much greater demands of him, a world without splendour unless it were that of its rigid laws.
If only he could turn back, not even cross the threshold of the Fort but ride back down to the plain, to his own city, to his old habits. Such was Drogo’s first thought; and, however shameful such weakness in a soldier, he was ready to confess to it, if necessary, provided they let him go at once. But from the invisible north a thick cloud was rising over the glacis and imperturbably the sentries walked up and down under the high sun. Drogo’s horse whinnied. Then the great silence fell once more.
Giovanni at last looked away from the Fort and glanced to the side, at the captain, hoping for a friendly word. Ortiz too had remained quite still and was gazing intently at the yellow walls. He, too, who had lived there for eighteen years, looked at them as if bewitched, as if once more he witnessed a miracle. It seemed he could not tire of looking upon them once again, and a vague smile, half joyful, half sad, slowly lit his face.
The first thing Drogo did was to report to the adjutant, Major Matti. The orderly officer, an easy-going, friendly young man called Carlo Morel, accompanied him through the heart of the fortress. Leaving the entrance hall, from which one caught a glimpse of a great empty courtyard, the two went down a long corridor whose end was lost to sight. The ceiling was hidden in shadow; at intervals a little beam of light came in through a narrow window.
It was not until they had climbed to the next floor that they met a soldier carrying a bundle of papers. From the damp and naked walls, the silence, the dim lighting, it seemed as if the inmates had forgotten that somewhere in the world there existed flowers, laughing women, gay and hospitable houses. Here everything spoke of renunciation, but for whom, to what mysterious end? Now they were traversing the second floor along a corridor exactly similar to the first. From somewhere behind the walls there came the distant echo of a laugh; to Drogo it seemed unreal.
Major Matti was plump and smiled with an excess of good nature. His office was huge, the desk big in proportion and covered with orderly heaps of paper. There was a coloured print of the king, and the major’s sword hung on a wooden peg driven in for the purpose.
Drogo came to attention and reported. He produced his personal documents and began to explain that he had not made any request to be posted to the fortress – he was determined to have himself transferred as soon as possible – but Major Matti interrupted him.
‘I knew your father years ago. A very fine gentleman. I am sure you will wish to live up to his memory. A President of the High Court, if I remember rightly?’
‘No, sir,’ said Drogo, ‘he was a doctor, my father.’
‘Ah, yes, of course, I was forgetting, a doctor, of course, of course.’ For a moment Matti seemed to be embarrassed, and Drogo noted how he kept raising his left hand to his collar as if trying to hide a round, greasy stain, evidently a fresh one, on the breast of his uniform.
The major recovered himself quickly.
‘I am very pleased to see you,’ he said. ‘You know what His Majesty Peter III said? “Fort Bastiani the guardian of my crown.” I may add that it is an honour to belong to it. Don’t you agree?’
He said these things automatically, as if they were a formula learned years before which he must produce on certain set occasions.
‘Yes, sir,’ said Giovanni, ‘you are quite right, but I must confess it was a surprise to me. I have my family in the city and should prefer if possible to stay …’
‘So you want to leave us before you arrive, do you? I must say I’m sorry, very sorry.’
‘It isn’t that I wish to. I would not dream of arguing. I mean that I …’
‘I understand,’ said the major and sighed as if this were an old story and he could sympathise with it. ‘I understand. You had thought the Fort would be different and now you are a bit frightened. But tell me honestly – how can you form an opinion of it if you have only arrived a few minutes ago?’
‘I haven’t the slightest objection to the Fort, sir,’ said Drogo. ‘Only I should prefer to stay in the city or at least near it. You understand? I am talking to you in confidence, because I see you understand these things. I put myself in your hands.’
‘Of course, of course,’ exclaimed Matti with a short laugh. ‘That’s what we are here for. We don’t want anyone here against his will – not even the least important sentry. Still, I’m sorry. You seem a good lad to me.’
The major fell silent a moment as if to consider the best solution. It was at this point, as he turned his head a little to the left, that Drogo’s glance fell on the window opening on to the inner courtyard. He could see the northern wall, yellowish like the others and sun-beaten like them, with here and there the black rectangle of a window. There was a clock as well, pointing СКАЧАТЬ