"Rubbish!" he screamed wildly. "What do you really mean by war nowadays? War has been spoilt, transmogrified, and everything else, for the matter of that. Children are born idiots, women are stunted, badly brought-up creatures, and men have--nerves. 'Ugh, blood, blood! Oh, I shall faint,'" he imitated in an insulting, mockingly pitiful tone. "And all this only because the real, ferocious and merciless character of war has changed. Now, can this be called war when you fire a couple of shots at the enemy at a distance of fifteen _versts_, and then return home in triumph as a hero? Pretty heroes! You are taken prisoner, and then they say to you: 'My poor friend, how are you? Are you cold? Would you like a cigarette? Are you quite comfortable?' Damn it all!" Osadchi gave vent to a few inarticulate roars and lowered his head like a mad bull ready to attack. "In the Middle Ages, gentlemen, things were quite different. Night attacks--storming ladders and naked weapons--murder and conflagration everywhere. 'Soldiers, the town is yours for three days.' The slaughter begins, torch and sword perform their office; in the streets streams of blood and wine. Oh, glorious festival of brave men amidst bleeding corpses and smoking ruins, beautiful, naked, weeping women dragged by their hair to the victor's feet." "Anyhow, you haven't changed much," interrupted Sofia Pavlovna Taliman jokingly. "All the town a river of fire, the tempest sporting at night with the bodies of hanged men; vultures shriek and the victor lords it by the campfires beneath the gallows tree. Why take prisoners and waste time and strength for them? Ugh!" Osadchi, with teeth clenched, groaned like a wild beast. "Grand and glorious days! What fights! Eye to eye and chest to chest. An uninterrupted slaughter for hours, till the cold-blooded tenacity and discipline of one party, coupled with invincible fury, brought victory. And what fights then! What courage, what physical strength, and what superior dexterity in the use of weapons! Gentlemen"--Osadchi arose in all his gigantic stature and in his terrible voice insolence and cold-bloodedness reigned--"gentlemen, I know that from your military colleges have issued morbid, crazy phrases about what's called 'humanity in war,' etc., etc. But I drink at this moment--even if I am to drain my glass by myself--to the wars of bygone days and the joyful, bloody cruelty of old times." All were silent, hypnotized and cowed by this unexpected horrible ecstasy of an otherwise reserved and taciturn man, whom they now regarded with a feeling of terror and curiosity. At that moment Biek-Agamalov jumped up from where he was sitting. He did this so quickly and suddenly that he alarmed several who were present, and one of the ladies uttered a cry of terror. His widely staring eyes flashed wildly, and his white, clenched teeth resembled a beast of prey's. He seemed to be nearly stifled, and he could not find words.