A Prisoner in the Caucasus

By Leo Tolstoy

"A Prisoner in the Caucasus" is a short story by Leo Tolstoy, published in 1870.
An officer with the name of Zhilin is serving in the army. One day he receives a letter from home. It is from his mother who asks him to come home because she has found a girl for him. He obtains a leave of absence and his adventure begins. It was a time of war with the Tartars in the Caucasus...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Otbebookpublishing
• Release date: Dec 27, 2015
• ISBN: 9783956761942

Leo Tolstoy

Leo Tolstoy was born in 1828 in Tula, near Moscow. His parents, who both died when he was young, belonged to the Russian nobility, and to the end of his life Tolstoy remained conscious of his aristocratic status. His novels, ‘War and Peace’ and ‘Anna Karenina’ are literary classics and he is revered as one of the greatest writers of the nineteenth century. He died in 1910 at the age of 82.

Book preview

A Prisoner In The Caucasus.

I.

A Russian of rank was serving as an officer in the army of the Caucasus. His name was Zhilin.

There came to him one day a letter from his home. His aged mother wrote him: I am now getting along in years, and before I die I should like to see my beloved son. Come and bid me farewell, lay me in the ground, and then with my blessing return again to your service. And I have been finding a bride for you, and she is intelligent and handsome and has property. If you like, you can marry and settle down together.

Zhilin cogitated, It is very true: the old lady has been growing feeble; maybe I shall not have a chance to see her again. Let us go, and if the bride is pretty—then I might marry.

He went to his colonel, got his leave of absence, took his farewell of his comrades, gave the soldiers of his command nine gallons[1] of vodka as a farewell treat, and made his arrangements to depart.

There was war at that time in the Caucasus. The roads were not open for travel either by day or night. If any of the Russians rode or walked outside of the fortress, the Tatars were likely either to kill him or carry him off to the mountains. And it was arranged that twice a week an escort of soldiers should go from fortress to fortress. In front and behind marched the soldiers, and the travellers rode in the middle.

It was now summer-time. At sunrise the baggage-train was made up behind the fortification; the guard of soldiery marched ahead, and the procession moved along the road.

Zhilin was on horseback, and his effects were on a cart that formed part of the train.

They had twenty-five versts[2] to travel. The train marched slowly; sometimes the soldiers halted; sometimes a wagon-wheel came off, or a horse balked, and all had to stop and wait.

The sun was already past the zenith, but the train had only gone half way, so great were the dust and heat. The sun was baking hot, and nowhere was there shelter. A bald steppe; not a tree or a shrub on the road.

Zhilin rode on ahead, occasionally stopping and waiting till the train caught up with him. He would listen, and hear the signal on the horn to halt again. And Zhilin thought, Would I better go on alone without the soldiers? I have a good horse under me; if I fall in with the Tatars, I can escape. Or shall I wait?

He kept stopping and pondering. And just then another officer, also on horseback, rode up to him; his name was Kostuilin, and he had a musket.

He said, Zhilin, let us ride on ahead together. I am so hungry that I cannot stand it any longer, and the heat too,—you could wring my shirt out! Kostuilin was a heavy, stout, ruddy man, and the sweat was dripping from him.

Zhilin reflected, and said, "And

Reviews for A Prisoner in the Caucasus

[blake.rosser · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

I'm not sure if I read this exact edition. Mine was published by Black's Readers Service Company, and it's not 678 pages but rather 632. It is notably missing one of Chekhov's most famous plays, Uncle Vanya, and it only has one of his novellas, The Shooting Party.

That said, this was amazing. It's not the best to read straight through, given the uniformly tragic and depressing nature of Chekhov's short stories and plays, but almost each story contains beautifully ornate descriptions of scenery along with profound insights into the human psyche. The aforementioned novella is masterful, not only with an intriguing story but also an ingenious narrative device in which Chekhov, writing in first person, publishes a murder story submitted by a dubious aspiring writer who turns out to be the murderer himself.

I'm not an expert on theater, but I found his plays ("The Cherry Orchard," "Three Sisters," and "The Seagull") extremely captivating and moving. The real treat, however, comes with his short stories. Raymond Carver said about Chekhov: Chekhov's stories are as wonderful (and necessary) now as when they first appeared. It is not only the immense number of stories he wrote—for few, if any, writers have ever done more—it is the awesome frequency with which he produced masterpieces, stories that shrive us as well as delight and move us, that lay bare our emotions in ways only true art can accomplish.. . . and I agree completely. While it doesn't seem like my collection contained perhaps Chekhov's most famous story, "The Lady with the Dog" (unless it was translated to a different name in my edition), there are many moments of pure genius, almost too many to count: "The Kiss," "La Cigale," "The Black Monk," "Verotchka," "A Husk," "Rothchild's Fiddle," "The Princess," "The Cossack," "Art," "Ward No.6," and "In the Ravine" (names may differ due to translation).

These are only the most perfect of his stories, but all of them are worthwhile. Most of them contain cruel, hypocritical, or otherwise unhappy characters who are struggling to live happily in a world without meaning. Not an original subject matter perhaps, but Chekhov was the first to do it this well, and he creates a personality with such subtle strokes that you almost don't realize it's happening until they insinuate themselves completely into your heart and mind as you read. He forsakes the light humor of Gogol and the fantastic melodrama of Dostoyevsky to go straight for the pathos. It's odd to think that he considered most of his works (the plays at least) to be comedies, when they are almost universally considered tragedies nowadays. I guess the Russians have a strange sense of humor.

For any aspiring writers, or for fans of Russian literature, Chekhov is a must-read. For fans of good literature in general really. Just don't get discouraged at his mastery.