And he rushed hatless into the street.
"Whither art thou running, AkÃm Ivánitch, whither art thou running, dear little father?"—cried the maid-servant FetÃnya, who collided with him in the doorway.
"To the mistress! let me go! To the mistress...." roared AkÃm, and catching sight of Naúm's cart, which the servants had not yet had time to put in the stable-yard, he sprang into it, seized the reins, and lashing the horse with all his might, he set off at a gallop to the lady's manor-house.
"Dear little mother, Lizavéta Prókhorovna,"—he kept repeating to himself all the way,—"why such unkindness? I have shown zeal, methinks!"
And, in the meantime, he kept on beating the horse. Those who met him drew aside and gazed long after him.
In a quarter of an hour AkÃm had reached Lizavéta Prókhorovna's manor, had dashed up to the porch, had leaped from the cart, and burst straight into the anteroom.
"What dost thou want?"—muttered the startled footman, who was sweetly dozing on the locker.
"The mistress—I must see the mistress," vociferated AkÃm loudly.
The lackey was astounded.
"Has anything happened?"—he began.
"Nothing has happened, but I must see the mistress."
"What, what?"—said the lackey, more and more astounded, straightening himself up.
AkÃm recovered himself... It was as though he had been drenched with cold water.
"Announce to the mistress, Piótr Evgráfitch,"—he said, with a low obeisance,—"that AkÃm wishes to see her...."
"Good,... I will go .... I will announce thee .... but evidently thou art drunk. Wait,"—grumbled the lackey, and withdrew.
AkÃm dropped his eyes and became confused, as it were.... His boldness had swiftly abandoned him from the very moment he had entered the anteroom.
Lizavéta Prókhorovna was also disconcerted when AkÃm's arrival was announced to her. Sheimmediately gave orders that KirÃllovna should be called to her in her boudoir.
"I cannot receive him,"—she said hurriedly, as soon as the latter made her appearance;—"I cannot possibly do it. What can I say to him? Did n't I tell thee that he would be sure to come and would complain?"—she added, with vexation and agitation;—"I said so...."
"Why should you receive him, ma'am?"—calmly replied KirÃllovna;—"that is not necessary, ma'am. Why should you disturb yourself, pray?"
"But what am I to do?"
"If you will permit me, I will talk with him."
Lizavéta Prókhorovna raised her head.
"Pray, do me the favour, KirÃllovna. Do talk with him. Do thou tell him .... there—well, that I found it necessary ... and, moreover, that I will make it up to him .... well, there now, thou knowest what to say. Pray, do, KirÃllovna."
"Please do not fret, madam,"—returned KirÃllovna, and withdrew, with squeaking shoes.
A quarter of an hour had not elapsed when their squeaking became audible again, and KirÃllovna entered the boudoir with the same composed expression on her face, with the same crafty intelligence in her eyes.
"Well,"—inquired her mistress,—"how about AkÃm?"
"'T is all right, ma'am. He says, ma'am, that everything is in your power, he submits himself wholly to the will of your Graciousness, and if only you keep well and prosperous, he will forever be satisfied with his lot."
"And he made no complaint?"
"None whatever, ma'am. What was there for him to complain about?"
"But why did he come, then?"—said Lizavéta Prókhorovna, not without some surprise.
"Why, he came to ask, ma'am, until he receives compensation, whether you will not be so gracious as to remit his quit-rent for the coming year, that is to say ...."
"Of course I will! I will remit it,"—put in Lizavéta Prókhorovna, with vivacity;—"of course. And, tell him, in general terms, that I will reward him. Well, I thank thee, KirÃllovna. And he is a good peasant, I see. Stay,"—she added:—"here, give him this from me."—And she took out of her work-table a three-ruble bill.—"Here, take this and give it to him."
"I obey, ma'am,"—replied KirÃllovna, and coolly returning to her own room, she coolly locked up the bank-bill in an iron-bound casket which stood by the head of her bed; she kept in it all her ready money, and the amount was not small.
KirÃllovna by her report had soothed her lady, but the conversation between her and AkÃm had,in reality, not been precisely as she represented it, but to wit: she had ordered him to be summoned to her in the maids' hall. At first he refused to go to her, declaring that he did not wish to see KirÃllovna, but Lizavéta Prókhorovna herself; nevertheless, at last, he submitted, and wended his way through the back door to KirÃllovna. He found her alone. On entering the room he came to a halt at once, leaned against the wall near the door, and made an effort to speak .... and could not.
KirÃllovna stared intently at him.
"Do you wish to see the mistress, AkÃm Semyónitch?"—she began.
He merely nodded his head.
"That is impossible, AkÃm Semyónitch. And what is the use? What is done can't be undone, and you will only worry her. She cannot receive you now, AkÃm Semyónitch."
"She cannot,"—he repeated, and paused for a space.—"Then how is it to be,"—he said at last;—"that means that I must lose my house?"
"Hearken, AkÃm Semyónitch. I know that you have always been a reasonable man. This is the mistress's will. And it cannot be changed. You cannot alter it. There is nothing for you and me to discuss, for it will lead to no result. Is n't that so?"
AkÃm put his hands behind his back.
"But you had better consider,"—went on KirÃllovna,—"whether you ought not to ask the mistress to remit your quit-rent, had n't you?..."
"That means that I must lose the house,"—repeated AkÃm, in the same tone as before.
"AkÃm Semyónitch, I 've told you already 't is impossible to change that. You know that yourself even better than I do."
"Yes. But tell me, at any rate, how much my inn sold for?"
"I don't know that, AkÃm Semyónitch; I can't tell you.... But why do you stand there?"—she added.—"Sit down...."
"I 'll stand as I am, ma'am. I 'm a peasant. I thank you humbly."
"Why do you say that you are a peasant, AkÃm Semyónitch? You are the same as a merchant; you cannot be compared even with the house-serfs; why do you say that? Don't decry yourself without cause. Won't you have some tea?"
"No, thanks; I don't require it. And so my dear little house has become your property,"—he added, quitting the wall.—"Thanks for that, also. I will bid you good day, my little madam."
Thereupon he wheeled round, and left the room. KirÃllovna smoothed down her apron, and betook herself to her mistress.
"So it appears that I actually have become a merchant,"—said AkÃm to himself, as he paused in thought before the gate.—"A fine merchant!"He waved his hand and laughed a bitter laugh.—"Well, I might as well go home!"
And utterly oblivious of Naúm's horse, which he had driven thither, he trudged along the road to the inn. Before he had covered the first verst, he heard the rattle of a cart alongside of him.
"AkÃm, AkÃm Semyónitch!"—some one called to him.
He raised his eyes and beheld his acquaintance, the chanter of the parish church, Efrém, nicknamed "The Mole," a small, round-shouldered man, with a sharp-pointed little nose, and purblind eyes. He was sitting in a rickety little cart on a whisp of straw, with his breast leaning on the driver's seat.
"Art thou on thy way home, pray?"—he asked AkÃm.
AkÃm halted.
"Yes."
"I 'll drive you there,—shall I?"
"All right, do."
Efrém moved aside, and AkÃm clambered into the cart. Efrém, who was jolly with drink, it appeared, set to lashing his miserable little nag with the ends of his rope reins; the horse advanced at a weary trot, incessantly twitching her unbridled muzzle.
They drove about a verst, without saying one word to each other. AkÃm sat with bowed head,and Efrém merely mumbled something to himself, now stimulating the horse to greater speed, now reining it in.
"Whither hast thou been without a hat, Semyónitch?"—he suddenly asked AkÃm, and, without waiting for a reply, he went on in an undertone:—"thou hast left it in a nice little dram-shop, that 's what. Thou 'rt a tippler; I know thee, and I love thee because thou art a tippler—'t was high time, long ago, to place thee under ecclesiastical censure, God is my witness; because 't is a bad business.... Hurrah!"—he shouted suddenly, at the top of his lungs,—"hurrah! hurrah!"
"Halt! halt!"—rang out a woman's voice close at hand.—"Halt!"
AkÃm glanced round. Across the fields, in the direction of the cart, a woman was running, so pale and dishevelled that he did not recognise her at first.
"Halt, halt!"—she moaned again, panting and waving her arms.
AkÃm shuddered: it was his wife.
He seized the reins.
"And why should we halt?"—muttered Efrém;—"why should we halt for a female? Get u-uup!"
But AkÃm jerked the horse abruptly on its haunches.
At that moment Avdótya reached the road, and fairly tumbled headlong, face downward, in the dust.
"Dear little father, AkÃm Semyónitch,"—she shrieked;—"he has actually turned me out of doors!"
AkÃm gazed at her, and did not move, but merely drew the reins still more taut.
"Hurrah!"—cried Efrém again.
"And so he has turned thee out?"—said AkÃm.
"He has, dear little father, my dear little dove," replied Avdótya, sobbing.—"He has turned me out, dear little father. 'The house is mine now,' says he; 'so get out,' says he."
"Capital, that 's just fine ... capital!"—remarked Efrém.
"And thou wert counting on remaining, I suppose?"—said AkÃm, bitterly, as he continued to sit in the cart.
"Remain, indeed! Yes, dear little father,"—put in Avdótya, who had raised herself on her knees, and again beat her brow against the ground;—"for thou dost not know, seest thou, I.... Kill me, AkÃm Semyónitch, kill me here, on the spot...."
"Why should I beat thee, Aréfyevna!"—replied AkÃm, dejectedly:—"thou hast vanquished thyself! what more is there to say?"
"But what wilt thou think, AkÃm Semyónitch.... Why, the money .... was thy money.... It is gone, thy money... For I took it, accursed that I am, I got it from the cellar..... I gave it all to that man, that villain, that Naúm, accursed creature that I am!... And why didst thou tell me where thou hadst hidden thy money, wretched being that I am!.... For he bought the inn with thy money .... the villain...."
Sobs drowned her voice.
AkÃm clutched his head with both hands.
"What!"—he screamed at last;—"and so all the money too ... the money, and the inn, thou hast.... Ah! thou hast got it from the cellar .... from the cellar.... Yes, I will kill thee, thou brood of vipers!..."
And he leaped from the cart....
"Semyónitch, Semyónitch, don't beat her, don't fight,"—stammered Efrém, whose intoxication began to dissipate at such an unexpected event.
"Yes, dear little father, kill me, kill me, dear little father, kill me, the vile creature: beat away, don't heed him!"—shrieked Avdótya, as she writhed convulsively at AkÃm's feet.
He stood awhile and stared at her, then retreated a few paces, and sat down on the grass, by the roadside.
A brief silence ensued. Avdótya turned her head in his direction.
"Semyónitch, hey, Semyónitch!"—began Efrém, half-rising in the cart;—"have done with that—that will do ... for thou canst not repair the calamity. Phew, what an affair!"—he continued, as though to himself;—"what a damned bad woman... Do thou go to him,"—he added, bending over the cart-rail toward Avdótya;—"canst not see that he has gone crazy?"
Avdótya rose, approached AkÃm and again fell at his feet.
"Dear little father,"—she began in a faint voice.
AkÃm rose and went back to the cart. She clutched the skirt of his kaftan.
"Get away!"—he shouted fiercely, repulsing her.
"Whither art thou going?"—Efrém asked him, perceiving that he was taking his seat again beside him.
"Why, thou didst offer to drive me to the inn,"—said AkÃm:—"so drive me to thy house.... I have none any more, seest thou. They have bought it from me, you know."
"Well, all right, let 's go to my house. And how about her?"
AkÃm made no answer.
"And me, me,"—chimed in Avdótya, weeping;—"to whose care dost thou leave me .... whither am I to go?"
"Go to him,"—returned AkÃm, without turning round:—"to the man to whom thou didst carry my money... Drive on, Efrém!"
Efrém whipped up the horse, the cart rolled off, and Avdótya set up a shrill scream....
Efrém lived a verst from AkÃm's inn, in a tiny cot in the priest's glebe, disposed around the solitary five-domed church, which had recently been erected by the heirs of a wealthy merchant, in conformity with his testamentary dispositions. Efrém did not speak to AkÃm all the way, and only shook his head from time to time, uttering words of the following nature: "Akh, thou!" and, "Ekh, thou!" AkÃm sat motionless, slightly turned away from Efrém. At last they arrived. Efrém sprang out first from the cart. A little girl of six years in a little chemise girt low ran out to meet him, and screamed:
"Daddy! daddy!"
"And where is thy mother?"—Efrém asked her.
"She 's asleep in the kennel."
"Well, let her sleep. AkÃm Semyónitch, won't you please come into the house?"
(It must be observed that Efrém addressed him as "thou" only when he was intoxicated. Far more important persons than he addressed AkÃm as "you.")
AkÃm entered the chanter's cottage.
"Pray, come hither to the bench,"—said Efrém.—"Run along, you little rogues,"—heshouted at three other brats who, along with two emaciated cats bespattered with ashes, suddenly made their appearance from various corners of the room.—"Run away! Scat! Here, AkÃm Semyónitch, come here,"—he went on, as he seated his guest:—"and would n't you like something?"
"What shall I say to thee, Efrém?"—articulated AkÃm at last.—"Could n't I have some liquor?"
Efrém gave a start.
"Liquor? Certainly. I have none in the house,—liquor, that is to say,—but here, I 'll run at once to Father Feódor. He always has some on hand..... I 'll be back in a jiffy...."
And he snatched up his large-eared cap.
"And bring as much as possible; I 'll pay for it,"—shouted AkÃm after him.—"I still have money enough for that."
"In a jiffy,"... repeated Efrém once more, as he disappeared through the door. He really did return very speedily with two quart bottles under his arm, one of which was already uncorked, placed them on the table, got out two small green glasses, the heel of a loaf, and salt.
"That 's what I love,"—he kept repeating, as he seated himself opposite AkÃm.—"What 's the use of grieving?"—he filled the glasses for both .... and set to babbling.... Avdótya's behaviour had stunned him.—"'T is an astonishingaffair, truly,"—said he:—"how did it come about? He must have bewitched her to himself by magic .... hey? That 's what it means, that a woman should be strictly watched! She ought to have had a tight hand kept over her. And yet, it would n't be a bad thing for you to go home; for you must have a lot of property left there, I think."—And to many more speeches of the same sort did Efrém give utterance; when he was drinking he did not like to hold his tongue.
An hour later, this is what took place in Efrém's house. AkÃm, who had not replied by a single word, during the entire course of the drinking-bout, to the interrogations and comments of his loquacious host, and had merely drained glass after glass, was fast asleep on the oven, all red in the face—in a heavy, anguished slumber; the youngsters were wondering at him, while Efrém .... Alas! Efrém was asleep also, but only in a very cramped and cold lumber-room, in which he had been locked up by his wife, a woman of extremely masculine and robust build. He had gone to her in the stable, and had begun to threaten her, if she repeated something or other, but so incoherently and unintelligibly did he express himself that she instantly divined what the trouble was, grasped him by the collar, and led him to the proper place. However, he slept very well and even comfortably in the lumber-room. Habit!
KirÃllovna had not reported her conversation with AkÃm very accurately to Lizavéta Prókhorovna .... and the same may be said concerning Avdótya. Naúm had not turned her out of the house, although she had told AkÃm that he had done so; he had not the right to expel her.... He was bound to give the former proprietors time to move out. Explanations of quite another sort had taken place between him and Avdótya. When AkÃm had rushed into the street, shouting that he would go to the mistress, Avdótya had turned to Naúm, had stared at him with all her eyes, and clasped her hands.
"O Lord!"—she began;—"Naúm Ivánitch, what is the meaning of this? Have you bought our inn?"
"What if I have, ma'am?"—he retorted.—"I have bought it, ma'am."
Avdótya said nothing for a while, then suddenly took fright.
"So that is what you wanted the money for?"
"Precisely as you are pleased to put it, ma'am. Ehe, I do believe that measly little husband of yours has driven off with my horse,"—he added, as the rumble of wheels reached his ear.—"What a fine dashing fellow he is!"
"Why, but this is robbery, nothing else!"—shrieked Avdótya.—"For the money is ours, my husband's, and the inn is ours ...."
"No, ma'am, Avdótya Aréfyevna,"—Naúminterrupted her:—"the inn was n't yours, and what 's the use of saying so; the inn stood on the lady-mistress's land, so it belonged to her also; and the money really was yours, only you were so kind, I may put it, as to contribute it to me, ma'am; and I shall remain grateful to you, and shall even, if the occasion arises, return it to you,—if I should see my way to it; only, it is n't right that I should strip myself bare. Just judge for yourself if that is n't so."
Naúm said all this very calmly, and even with a slight smile.
"Good heavens!"—screamed Avdótya;—"but what 's the meaning of this? What is it? But how am I to show myself in my husband's sight after this? Thou villain!"—she added, gazing with hatred at Naúm's young, fresh face;—"have n't I ruined my soul for thee, have n't I become a thief for thy sake, hast not thou turned us out of doors, thou abominable villain?! After this there is nothing left for me but to put a noose about my neck, villain, deceiver, thou destroyer of me...."
And she wept in torrents....
"Pray, don't worry, Avdótya Aréfyevna,"—said Naúm;—"I 'll tell you one thing; a fellow must look out for number one; moreover, that 's what the pike is in the sea for, Avdótya Aréfyevna—to keep the carp from getting drowsy."
"Where are we to go now, what is to become of us?"—stammered Avdótya through her tears.
"That 's more than I can tell, ma'am."
"But I 'll cut thy throat, thou villain; I will, I will!..."
"No, you won't do that, Avdótya Aréfyevna; what 's the use of saying that? But I see that it will be better for me to go away from here for a while, or you will be much upset.... I will bid you good day, ma'am, and to-morrow I shall return without fail.... And you will be so good as to permit me to send my hired men to you to-day,"—he added, while Avdótya continued to repeat, through her tears, that she would cut his throat and her own also.
"And yonder they come, by the way,"—he remarked, looking out of the window. "Otherwise, some catastrophe might happen, which God forbid.... Matters will be more tranquil so. Do me the favour to get your belongings together to-day, ma'am, while they will stand guard over you and help you, if you like. I bid you good day, ma'am."
He bowed, left the room and called his men to him....
Avdótya sank down on the wall-bench, then laid herself breast down on the table, and began to wring her hands, then suddenly sprang to her feet, and ran after her husband.... We have described their meeting.
When AkÃm drove away from her in company with Efrém, leaving her alone in the fields, she first wept for a long time, without stirring from the spot. Having wept her fill, she directed her course to the mistress's manor. It was a bitter thing for her to enter the house, and still more bitter to show herself in the maids'-hall. All the maids flew to greet her with sympathy and expressions of regret. At the sight of them, Avdótya could not restrain her tears; they fairly gushed forth from her red and swollen eyes. Completely unnerved, she dropped down on the first chair she came to. They ran for KirÃllovna. KirÃllovna came, treated her very affectionately, but would not admit her to see the mistress, any more than she had admitted AkÃm. Avdótya herself did not insist very strongly on seeing Lizavéta Prókhorovna; she had come to the manor-house solely because she positively did not know where to lay her head.
KirÃllovna ordered the samovár to be prepared. For a long time Avdótya refused to drink tea, but yielded, at last, to the entreaties and persuasions of all the maids, and after the first cup drank four more. When KirÃllovna perceived that her visitor was somewhat pacified, and only shuddered from time to time, sobbing faintly, she asked her whither they intended to remove, and what they wished to do with their things. This question set Avdótya to crying again, and she began to asseverate that she wanted nothing more, except to die; but KirÃllovna, being a woman of brains, immediately stopped her and advised her to set about transferring her things that very day, without useless waste of time, to AkÃm's former cottage in the village, where dwelt his uncle, that same old man who had tried to dissuade him from marrying; she announced that, with the mistress's permission, they would be furnished with transportation, and the aid of people and horses; "and as for you, my dearest,"—added KirÃllovna, compressing her cat-like lips in a sour smile,—"there will always be a place for you in our house, and it will be very agreeable to us if you will be our guest until you recover yourself and get settled in your house. The principal thing is—you must not get downcast. The Lord gave, the Lord has taken away, and He will give again: everything depends on His will. Lizavéta Prókhorovna, of course, was obliged to sell your house, according to her calculations, but she will not forget you, and will reward you; she bade me say so to AkÃm Semyónitch... Where is he now?"
Avdótya replied that, on meeting her, he had grossly insulted her, and had driven off to Chanter Efrém's.
"To that creature's!"—replied KirÃllovna, significantly.—"Well, I understand that it is painful for him now, and I don't believe you canhunt him up to-day. What is to be done? We must take measures, Maláshka,"—she added, turning to one of the chambermaids. "Just ask Nikanór Ãlitch to step here; I will have a talk with him."
Nikanór Ãlitch, a man of very paltry appearance, who served somewhat in the capacity of overseer, immediately presented himself, obsequiously listened to everything which KirÃllovna said to him,—remarked: "It shall be executed," left the room and issued his orders. Avdótya was furnished with three carts and three peasants; these were voluntarily joined by a fourth, who said of himself that he would be "more intelligent than they," and she set off in company with them for the inn, where she found her former hired men and her maid-servant, FetÃnya, in great terror and excitement....
Naúm's recruits, three extremely robust young fellows, had arrived in the morning, and had gone nowhere since, but had maintained a very zealous guard over the inn, according to Naúm's promise—so zealous, that one cart speedily proved to be devoid of tires...
Bitter, very bitter was it for poor Avdótya to pack up her things. Despite the assistance of the "intelligent" man, who, by the way, knew how to do nothing but stalk about with a staff in his hand, and watch the others, and spit to one side,she did not succeed in moving out that day, and remained to spend the night in the inn, having first requested FetÃnya not to leave her room; but it was not until daybreak that she fell into a feverish doze, and the tears streamed down her cheeks even in her sleep.
In the meantime, Efrém awoke earlier than was his wont in his lumber-room, and began to thump and demand his release. At first his wife would not let him out, declaring to him through the door that he had not yet had enough sleep; but he excited her curiosity by promising to tell her about the remarkable thing which had happened to AkÃm; she undid the latch.—Efrém imparted to her everything he knew, and wound up with the question: "Was he awake or not?"
"Why, the Lord knows,"—replied his wife;—"go and see for thyself; he has not climbed down from the oven yet.—You both got pretty drunk last night; thou shouldst just see thyself—thy face has no semblance of a face; 't is like some sort of ladle; and what a lot of hay has got into thy hair!"
"Never mind if it has,"—returned Efrém,—and passing his hand over his head, he entered the house.—AkÃm was no longer asleep; he was sitting on the oven with his legs dangling; his face also was very strange and discomposed. It appeared all the more distorted because AkÃm was not in the habit of drinking heavily.
"Well, how now, AkÃm Semyónitch, how have you slept?"—began Efrém....
AkÃm looked at him with a turbid gaze.
"Come, brother Efrém,"—he said hoarsely,—"can't we do it again—thou knowest what?"
Efrém darted a swift glance at AkÃm .... at that moment he felt a sort of thrill; that is the kind of sensation a sportsman experiences when standing on the skirt of the woods, at the sudden yelping of his hound in the forest, from which, apparently, all the wild beasts have already fled.
"What—more?"—he asked at last.
"Yes; more."
"My wife will see,"—thought Efrém,—"and I don't believe she will allow it."—"All right, it can be done,"—he said aloud;—"have patience."—He went out and, thanks to artfully conceived measures, succeeded in smuggling in a huge bottle unperceived beneath the skirt of his coat....
AkÃm seized the bottle ... But Efrém did not start to drink with him as on the preceding evening—he was afraid of his wife, and,—having told AkÃm that he would go and see how things were progressing at his house, and how his belongings were being packed, and whether he were not being robbed,—he immediately set off for the inn astride of his unfed little nag,—not forgetting himself, however, if we may take into consideration his projecting bosom.
Soon after his departure, AkÃm fell asleep again, and lay like one dead on the oven.... He did not even wake up—at all events, he showed no signs of being awake—when Efrém, returning four hours later, began to shove him and try to rouse him, and whisper over him some extremely indistinct words to the effect that everything was gone and transported and the holy pictures were gone too, and everything was already over—and that every one was hunting for him, but that he, Efrém, had taken due measures, and had prohibited ... and so forth. But he did not whisper long. His wife led him off to the lumber-room again, and herself lay down in the house, on the platform over the oven, in great indignation at her husband and at the guest, thanks to whom her husband had got drunk.... But when, on awakening very early, according to her wont, she cast a glance at the oven, AkÃm was no longer on it.... The cocks had not yet crowed for the second time, and the night was still so dark that the sky was barely turning grey directly overhead, and at the rim was still completely drowned in vapour, when AkÃm emerged from the gate of the chanter's house. His face was pale, but he darted a keen glance around him, and his gait did not betray the drunkard.... He walked in the direction of his former dwelling—the inn, which had already definitively become the property of its new owner, Naúm.
Naúm was not sleeping either, at the time when AkÃm stealthily quitted Efrém's house. He was not asleep; he was lying completely dressed on the wall-bench, with his sheepskin coat rolled up under his head. It was not that his conscience was tormenting him—no! he had been present with astounding cold-bloodedness, from the morning on, at the packing and transportation of AkÃm's household goods, and had more than once spoken to Avdótya, who was downcast to such a degree that she did not even upbraid him.... His conscience was at ease, but divers surmises and calculations occupied his mind. He did not know whether he was going to make a success of his new career; up to that time, he had never kept an inn—and, generally speaking, had never even had a nook of his own; and so he could not get to sleep.—"This little affair has been begun well,"—he thought;—"what will the future be?"... When the last cart-load of AkÃm's effects had set off just before night-fall (Avdótya had followed it weeping), he had inspected the entire inn, all the stables, cellars, and barns; he had crawled up into the attic, had repeatedly ordered his labourers to maintain a strict watch, and, when he was left alone after supper, he had not been able to get to sleep. It so happened that on that day none of the travellers stopped to pass the night; and this pleased him greatly. "I must buy a dog without fail to-morrow,—the worst-tempereddog I can get, from the miller; for they have carried off theirs,"—he said to himself, as he tossed from side to side, and, all of a sudden, he raised his head hastily.... It seemed to him as though some one had stolen past under the window... He listened... Not a sound. Only a grasshopper shrilled behind the oven, from time to time, and a mouse was gnawing somewhere, and his own breath was audible. All was still in the empty room, dimly illuminated by the yellow rays of a tiny glass shrine-lamp, which he had found time to suspend and light in front of a small holy picture in the corner... He lowered his head; and now again he seemed to hear the gate squeaking .... then the wattled hedge crackled faintly.... He could not endure it, leaped to his feet, opened the door into the next room, and called in a low tone: "Feódor, hey, Feódor!"—No one answered him.... He went out into the anteroom and nearly fell prone, as he stumbled over Feódor, who was sprawling on the floor. The labourer stirred, growling in his sleep; he shook him.
"Who 's there? What 's wanted?"—Feódor was beginning....
"What art thou yelling for? Hold thy tongue!"—articulated Naúm in a whisper.—"The idea of your sleeping, you damned brutes! Hast thou not heard anything?"
"No,"—replied the man.... "Why?"
"And where are the others sleeping?"
"The others are sleeping where they were ordered to.... But has anything happened?..."
"Silence!—Follow me."
Naúm softly opened the door leading from the anteroom into the yard.... Out of doors everything was very dark;... it was possible to make out the sheds with their pillars only because they stood out still more densely black in the midst of the black mist....
"Sha'n't I light a lantern?"—said Feódor in a low voice.
But Naúm waved his hand and held his breath.... At first he could hear nothing except those nocturnal sounds which one can almost always hear in inhabited places: a horse was munching oats, a pig grunted once faintly in its sleep, a man was snoring somewhere; but suddenly there reached his ear a suspicious sort of noise, proceeding from the extreme end of the yard, close to the fence....
It seemed as though some one was moving about, and breathing or blowing.... Naúm looked over Feódor's shoulder, and, cautiously descending the steps, walked in the direction of the sound.... A couple of times he halted, and listened, then continued to creep stealthily onward.... Suddenly he gave a start.... Ten paces from him, in the dense gloom, a point of light suddenly glimmered brightly: it was a red-hot coal, and beside the coal there showed itself for a brief instant the front part of some one's face, with lips puffed out.... Swiftly and silently Naúm darted at the light, as a cat darts at a mouse.... Hastily rising from the ground, a long body rushed to meet him, and almost knocked him from his feet, almost slipped through his hands, but he clung to it with all his might....
"Feódor! Andréi! Petrúshka!"—he shouted, at the top of his lungs;—"come here quick, quick! I 've caught a thief, an incendiary!"
The man whom he had captured struggled and resisted .... but Naúm did not release him.... Feódor immediately darted to his assistance.
"A lantern, quick, a lantern! Run for a lantern! wake the others, be quick!"—Naúm shouted to him,—"and I 'll manage him alone meanwhile—I 'll sit on him... Be quick! and fetch a belt to bind him with!"
Feódor flew to the cottage.... The man whom Naúm was holding suddenly ceased his resistance....
"So, evidently, 't is not enough for thee to have taken my wife and my money, and my house, but thou art bent on destroying me also,"—he said in a dull tone....
Naúm recognised AkÃm's voice.
"So 't is thou, dear little dove,"—said he;—"good, just wait a bit!"
"Let me go,"—said AkÃm.—"Art not thou satisfied?"
"See here, to-morrow I 'll show you in the presence of the judge how satisfied I am...." And Naúm tightened his hold on AkÃm....
The labourers ran up with two lanterns and some ropes.... "Bind him!"—ordered Naúm, sharply.... The labourers seized AkÃm, lifted him up, and bound his hands behind him.... One of them was beginning to swear, but on recognising the former landlord of the inn, he held his peace, and merely exchanged glances with the others.
"Just see there, see there, now,"—Naúm kept repeating the while, as he passed the lantern along the ground;—"yonder, there are coals in a pot; just look, he has brought a whole firebrand in the pot—we must find out where he got that pot ... and here, he has broken twigs...." And Naúm assiduously stamped out the fire with his foot.—"Search him, Feódor!"—he added, "and see whether he has anything more about him."
Feódor searched and felt AkÃm, who stood motionless with his head drooping on his breast, like a dead man.—"There is—here 's a knife,"—said Feódor, drawing an old kitchen-knife from AkÃm's breast.
"Ehe, my dear fellow, so that 's what thou hadst in mind!"—exclaimed Naúm.—"You arewitnesses, my lads—see there, he intended to cut my throat, to burn up my house.... Lock him up in the cellar until morning; he can't get out of there.... I will stand watch all night myself, and to-morrow at dawn we will take him to the chief of police .... and you are witnesses, do you hear...."
They thrust AkÃm into the cellar, and slammed the door behind him.... Naúm stationed two of the labourers there, and did not lie down to sleep himself.
In the meantime, Efrém's wife, having convinced herself that her unbidden guest had taken himself off, was on the point of beginning her cooking, although it was hardly daylight out of doors as yet. She squatted down by the oven to get some coals, and saw that some one had already raked out the live embers thence; then she bethought herself of her knife—and did not find it; in conclusion, one of her four pots was missing. Efrém's wife bore the reputation of being anything but a stupid woman—and with good reason. She stood for a while in thought, then went to the lumber-room to her husband. It was not easy to arouse him fully—and still more difficult was it to make him understand why he had been awakened... To everything which his wife said, Chanter Efrém made one and the same reply:
"He 's gone,—well, God be with him ...but what business is that of mine? He has carried off a knife and a pot—well, God be with him—but what business is that of mine?"
But, at last, he rose, and after listening intently to his wife, he decided that it was a bad business, and that it could not be left as it now stood.
"Yes,"—the chanter's wife insisted,—"'t is a bad business; I do believe he 'll do mischief out of desperation.... I noticed last night that he was not asleep as he lay there on the oven; it would n't be a bad idea for thee, Efrém Alexándritch, to find out whether ...."
"See here, Ulyána Feódorovna, I 'll tell thee what,"—began Efrém;—"I 'll go to the inn myself immediately; and do thou be kind, dear little mother; give me a little glass of liquor to cure me of my drunkenness."
Ulyána reflected.
"Well,"—she decided at last,—"I 'll give thee some liquor, Efrém Alexándritch; only look out, don't dally."
"Be at ease, Ulyána Feódorovna."
And, having fortified himself with a glass of liquor, Efrém set out for the inn.
Day had but just dawned when he rode up to the inn, and at the gate a cart was already standing harnessed, and one of Naúm's labourers was sitting on the driver's seat, holding the reins in his hands.
"Whither art thou going?"—Efrém asked him.
"To town,"—replied the labourer.
"Why?"
The labourer merely shrugged his shoulders and made no reply. Efrém sprang from his horse and entered the house. In the anteroom he ran across Naúm, fully dressed, and wearing a cap.
"I congratulate the new landlord on his new domicile,"—said Efrém, who was personally acquainted with him.—"Whither away so early?"
"Yes, there is cause for congratulation,"—replied Naúm, surlily.—"This is my first day, and I have almost been burnt out."
Efrém started.—"How so?"
"Why, just that; a kind man turned up, who tried to set the house on fire. Luckily, I caught him in the act; now I 'm taking him to town."
"It can't be AkÃm, can it?".... asked Efrém, slowly.
"And how dost thou know? It is AkÃm. He came by night, with a firebrand in a pot, and had already crept into the yard, and laid a fire.... All my lads are witnesses.—Wouldst like to take a look? But, by the way, 't is high time we were carrying him off."
"Dear little father, Naúm Ivánitch,"—began Efrém,—"release him; don't utterly ruin the old man. Don't take that sin on your soul, NaúmIvánitch. Just reflect,—the man is desperate,—he has lost, you know ...."
"Stop that prating!"—Naúm interrupted him.—"The idea! As though I would let him go! Why, he would set me on fire again to-morrow...."
"He will not do it, Naúm Ivánitch, believe me. Believe me, you yourself will be more at ease so—for, you see, there will be inquiries—the court—you surely know what I mean."
"Well, and what about the court? I have nothing to fear from the court...."
"Dear little father, Naúm Ivánitch, how can you help fearing the court?..."
"Eh, stop that; I see that thou art drunk early, and to-day is a feast-day, to boot."
Efrém suddenly, and quite unexpectedly, fell to weeping.
"I am drunk, but I 'm speaking the truth,"—he blurted out.—"But do you release him, in honour of Christ's festival."
"Come, let 's be starting, cry-baby."
And Naúm went out on the porch....
"Forgive him for Avdótya Aréfyevna's sake,"—said Efrém, following him.
Naúm approached the cellar, and threw the door wide open. Efrém, with timorous curiosity, craned his neck from behind Naúm's back, and with difficulty made out AkÃm in one corner of the shallow cellar. The former wealthy householder, the man respected in all the countryside, was sitting with pinioned arms on the straw, like a criminal... On hearing the noise, he raised his head.... He seemed to have grown frightfully thin in the last two days, especially during the last night—his sunken eyes were hardly visible beneath his lofty brow, yellow as wax, his parched lips had turned dark ... his whole face had undergone a change, and assumed a strange expression: both harsh and terrified.
"Get up and come out,"—said Naúm.
AkÃm rose, and stepped across the threshold.
"AkÃm Semyónitch,"—roared Efrém,—"thou hast ruined thyself, my dear man!"
AkÃm glanced at him in silence.
"If I had known why thou didst ask for liquor, I would n't have given it to thee; indeed, I would n't! I do believe I would have drunk it all myself! Ekh, Naúm Ivánitch,"—added Efrém, seizing Naúm by the hand;—"have mercy on him, let him go!"
"Thou 'rt joking,"—retorted Naúm, with a grin.—"Come out, there,"—he added, again addressing AkÃm... "What art thou waiting for?"
"Naúm Ivánoff,".... began AkÃm.
"What?"
"Naúm Ivánoff,"—repeated AkÃm;—"listen; I am guilty; I wanted to punish thee myself; but God must judge between thou and me. Thouhast taken everything from me, thou knowest that thyself—everything, to the very last morsel.—Now thou canst ruin me, and this is all I have to say to thee: If thou wilt release me now—well! let things stand! do thou possess everything! I agree, and wish thee all success. And I say to thee, as in the presence of God: If thou dost release me—thou shalt not regret it. God bless thee!"
AkÃm shut his eyes, and ceased speaking.
"Certainly, certainly,"—retorted Naúm;—"as though one could trust thee!"
"But thou canst, by God, thou canst!"—said Efrém; "really, thou canst. I 'm ready to go bail for AkÃm Semyónitch with my head—come now, really!"
"Nonsense!"—exclaimed Naúm.—"Let 's be off!"
AkÃm looked at him.
"As thou wilt, Naúm Ivánitch. Thou hast the power. Only, thou art taking a great deal on thy soul. All right, if thou art impatient,—let us start...."
Naúm, in his turn, darted a keen glance at AkÃm. "But it really would be better,"—he thought to himself, "to let him go to the devil! Otherwise, folks will devour me alive. There 'll be no living for Avdótya.".... While Naúm was reasoning with himself no one uttered a single word. The labourer on the cart, who could seeeverything through the gate, merely shook his head and slapped the reins on the horse's back. The other two labourers stood on the porch and also maintained silence.
"Come, listen to me, old man,"—began Naúm;—"if I let thee go,—and I forbid these fine fellows" (he nodded his head in the direction of the labourers) "to blab; shall we be quits, thou and I—thou understandest me—quits .... hey?"
"Possess everything, I say."
"Thou wilt not consider me in thy debt?"
"Thou wilt not be in debt to me, neither shall I be in debt to thee." Again Naúm was silent for a space.
"Well, take thy oath on that!"
"I do, as God is holy,"—replied AkÃm.
"Here goes then, although I know beforehand that I shall repent of it,"—remarked Naúm.—"But so be it! Give me your hands."
AkÃm turned his back toward him; Naúm began to unbind him.
"Look out, old man,"—he added, as he slipped the rope over his wrists:—"remember, I have spared thee; be careful!"
"You 're a dear, Naúm Ivánitch,"—stammered the deeply-moved Efrém.—"The Lord will be merciful to you!"
AkÃm stretched out his chilled and swollen arms, and was starting for the gate....
All of a sudden Naúm "turned Jewish," asthe expression is—evidently, he was sorry that he had released AkÃm....
"Thou hast taken an oath, look out,"—he shouted after him.
AkÃm turned round, and surveying the house with an embracing glance, said sadly:—"Possess thou everything, forever, undisturbed .... farewell."
And he stepped quietly into the street, accompanied by Efrém. Naúm waved his hand, ordered the cart to be unharnessed, and went back into the house.
"Whither away, AkÃm Semyónitch? Art not thou coming to my house?"—exclaimed Efrém,—perceiving that AkÃm turned to the right from the highway.
"No, Efrémushka, thanks,"—replied AkÃm.... "I will go and see what my wife is doing."
"Thou canst see later on.... But now thou must for joy .. thou knowest ...."
"No, thanks, Efrém.... I 've had enough as it is. Farewell."—And AkÃm walked away without looking behind him.
"Eka! He has had enough as it is!"—ejaculated the astounded chanter;—"and I have taken my oath on his behalf! Well, I did n't expect this,"—he added with vexation,—"after I had vouched for him. Phew!"
He remembered that he had forgotten to take his knife and pot, and returned to the inn....Naúm gave orders that his things should be delivered to him, but it never entered his head to entertain him. Thoroughly enraged and completely sober he presented himself at home.
"Well, what?"—his wife asked him;—"didst thou find him?"
"Did I find him?"—retorted Efrém;—"certainly I found him; there are thy utensils for thee."
"AkÃm?"—inquired his wife, with special emphasis.
Efrém nodded his head.
"Yes, AkÃm. But what a goose he is! I went bail for him; without me he would have been put in prison, and he never even treated me to a glass of liquor. Ulyána Feódorovna, do you, at least, show me consideration; give me just one little glass."
But Ulyána Feódorovna showed him no consideration and drove him out of her sight.
In the meantime, AkÃm was proceeding with quiet strides along the road which led to Lizavéta Prókhorovna's village. He had not yet been able fully to recover himself; he was all quivering inside, like a man who has but just escaped imminent death. He seemed not to believe in his freedom. With dull amazement he stared at the fields, at the sky, at the larks which were fluttering their wings in the warm air. On the previous day, at Efrém's house, he had not slept at all sincedinner, although he had lain motionless on the oven; at first he had tried to drown with liquor the intolerable pain of injury within him, the anguish of wrathful, impotent indignation .... but the liquor could not entirely overcome him; his heart waxed hot within him, and he began to meditate how he might pay off his malefactor.... He thought of Naúm alone; Lizavéta Prókhorovna did not enter his head, and from Avdótya he mentally turned away. Toward evening, the thirst for revenge had blazed up in him to the point of crime, and he, the good-natured, weak man, with feverish impatience waited for the night, and like a wolf pouncing on its prey, he rushed forth with fire in his hand to annihilate his former home... But he had been captured .... locked up.... Night came. What had not he turned over in his mind during that atrocious night! It is difficult to convey in words all the tortures which he had undergone; it is all the more difficult, because these torments even in the man himself were wordless and dumb.... Toward morning, before the arrival of Naúm and Efrém, AkÃm had felt somewhat easier in mind... "Everything is lost!".... he thought .... "everything is scattered to the winds!"—and he waved his hand in despair over everything.... If he had been born with an evil soul, he might have turned into a criminal at that moment; but evil was not a characteristic of AkÃm.Beneath the shock of the unexpected and undeserved calamity, in the reek of despair, he had made up his mind to a felonious deed; it had shaken him to the very foundations, and, having miscarried, it had left behind in him a profound weariness.... Conscious of his guilt, he wrenched his heart free from all earthly things, and began to pray bitterly but zealously. At first he prayed in a whisper, at last, accidentally, perhaps, he ejaculated almost aloud: "O Lord!"—and the tears gushed from his eyes.... Long did he weep, then calmed down at last.... His thoughts probably would have undergone a change, had he been forced to smart for his attempt of the day before ... but now he had suddenly recovered his liberty ... and, half-alive, all shattered, but calm, he was on his way to an interview with his wife.
Lizavéta Prókhorovna's manor stood a verst and a half distant from her village, on the left-hand side of the country road along which AkÃm was walking. At the turn which led to the manor, he was on the point of pausing .... but he marched past. He had decided first to go to his former cottage, to his old uncle.
AkÃm's tiny and already rickety cottage was situated almost at the extreme end of the village; AkÃm traversed the entire length of the street without encountering a single soul. The whole population was in church. Only one ailing oldwoman lifted her window to gaze after him, and a little girl, who had run out to the well with an empty bucket, gaped in wonder at him and also followed him with her eyes. The first person whom he met was precisely the uncle whom he was seeking. The old man had been sitting since early morning on the earthen bank outside the cottage under the windows, taking snuff, and warming himself in the sun; he was not quite well, and for that reason had not gone to church; he was on his way to see another ailing old man, a neighbour, when he suddenly espied AkÃm.... He stopped short, let the latter come up to him, and looking him in the face, he said:
"Morning, AkÃmushka!"
"Morning,"—replied AkÃm, and stepping past the old man, he entered the gate to his cottage.... In the yard stood his horses, his cow, his cart; and his chickens were roaming about there also.... He entered the cottage in silence. The old man followed him. AkÃm seated himself on the bench, and rested his clenched fists on it. The old man gazed compassionately at him, from his stand at the door.
"And where is my housewife?"—inquired AkÃm.
"Why, at the manor-house,"—replied the old man, briskly. "She is there. They have placed thy cattle here, and thy coffers, just as they were—but she is yonder. Shall I go for her?"
AkÃm did not reply immediately.
"Yes, go,"—he said at last.
"Ekh, uncle, uncle,"—he articulated with a sigh, while the latter was taking his cap from its nail:—"dost thou remember what thou saidst to me on the eve of my wedding?"
"God's will rules all things, AkÃmushka."
"Dost thou remember how thou saidst to me that I was no fit mate for you peasants—and now see what a pass things have come to.... I myself have become as poor as a church mouse."
"A man can't make calculations against bad people,"—replied the old man;—"and as for him, the dishonest scoundrel, if any one were to teach him a good lesson, some gentleman, for instance, or any other power,—what cause would there be to fear him? The wolf recognised his prey."—And the old man put on his cap and departed.
Avdótya had but just returned from church when she was informed that her husband's uncle was inquiring for her. Up to that time she had very rarely seen him; he had not been in the habit of coming to their inn, and in general he bore the reputation of being a queer fellow; he was passionately fond of snuff, and preserved silence most of the time.
She went out to him.
"What dost thou want, Petróvitch? Has anything happened, pray?"
"Nothing has happened, Avdótya Aréfyevna; thy husband is asking for thee."
"Has he returned?"
"Yes."
"But where is he?"
"Why, in the village; he 's sitting in his cottage."
Avdótya quailed.
"Well, Petróvitch,"—she asked, looking him straight in the eye,—"is he angry?"
"'T is not perceptible that he is."
Avdótya dropped her eyes.
"Well, come along,"—she said, throwing on a large kerchief, and the two set out. They walked in silence until they reached the village. But when they began to draw near to the cottage, Avdótya was seized with such alarm that her knees trembled under her.
"Dear little father, Petróvitch,"—she said,—"do thou go in first.... Tell him that I have come."
Petróvitch entered the cottage and found AkÃm sitting buried in profound thought, on the selfsame spot where he had left him.
"Well,"—said AkÃm, raising his head;—"has n't she come?"
"Yes, she has come,"—replied the old man.—"She 's standing at the gate...."
"Send her hither."
The old man went out, waved his hand toAvdótya, said to her: "Go along!" and sat down again himself on the earthen bank along the cottage wall. With trepidation Avdótya opened the door, crossed the threshold and paused....
AkÃm looked at her.
"Well, Aréfyevna,"—he began,—"what are we—thou and I—to do now?"
"Forgive me,"—she whispered.
"Ekh, Aréfyevna, we are all sinful folks. What 's the use of discussing it!"
"That villain has ruined both of us,"—began Avdótya in a voice which jingled and broke, and the tears streamed down her face.—"Thou must not let things stand as they are, AkÃm Semyónitch; thou must get the money from him. Do not spare me. I am ready to declare under oath that I lent the money to him. Lizavéta Prókhorovna had a right to sell our house, but why should he rob us?.... Get the money from him."
"I have no money to receive from him,"—replied AkÃm, gloomily.—"He and I have settled our accounts."
Avdótya was astounded.—"How so?"
"Why, because we have. Knowest thou,"—pursued AkÃm, and his eyes began to blaze;—"knowest thou where I spent the night? Thou dost not know? In Naúm's cellar, bound hand and foot, like a ram, that 's where I spent last night. I tried to burn down his house, and hecaught me, did Naúm; he 's awfully clever! And to-day he was preparing to carry me to the town, but he pardoned me; consequently, there is no money coming to me from him.... 'And when did I ever borrow any money of thee?' he will say. And am I to say: 'My wife took it out from under my floor, and carried it to thee?'—'Thy wife is a liar,' he will say. And would n't it be a big exposure for thee, Aréfyevna? Hold thy tongue, rather, I tell thee, hold thy tongue."
"Forgive me, Semyónitch, forgive me,"—whispered the thoroughly frightened Avdótya.
"That 's not the point,"—replied AkÃm, after remaining silent for a while:—"but what are we—thou and I—to do? We no longer have a home ... nor money either...."
"We 'll get along somehow, AkÃm Semyónitch;—we will ask Lizavéta Prókhorovna and she will help us; KirÃllovna has promised me that."
"No, Aréfyevna, thou mayest ask her for thyself along with thy KirÃllovna; thou and she are birds of a feather.[43]But I 'll tell thee what: do thou stay here, with God's blessing. I shall not stay here. Luckily, we have no children, and perhaps I shall not starve alone. One person can worry along alone."
"What wilt thou do, Semyónitch—dost mean to go as carrier again?"
AkÃm laughed bitterly.
"A pretty carrier I would make, there 's no denying that! A fine, dashing young fellow thou hast picked out! No, Aréfyevna, that is not the same sort of business as marrying, for example; an old man is not fit for it. Only I will not remain here, that 's what; I won't have people pointing the finger at me .... understand? I shall go to pray away my sins, Aréfyevna, that 's where I shall go."
"What sins hast thou, Semyónitch?"—articulated Avdótya, timidly.
"Well, wife, I know what they are."
"But in whose care wilt thou leave me, Semyónitch? How am I to live without a husband?"
"In whose care shall I leave thee? Ekh, Aréfyevna, how thou sayest that, forsooth! Much need hast thou of a husband like me, and an old man and a ruined one to boot. The idea! Thou has dispensed with me before, thou canst dispense with me hereafter also. And what property we have left thou mayest take for thyself, curse it!...."
"As thou wilt, Semyónitch,"—replied Avdótya, sadly;—"thou knowest best about that."
"Exactly so. Only, don't think that I am angry with thee, Aréfyevna.
"No, what 's the use of being angry, when .... I ought to have discovered how things stood earlier in the day. I myself am to blame—and I am punished."—(AkÃm heaved a sigh.)—"As you have made your bed, so you must lie upon it.[44]I am advanced in years, and 't is time for me to be thinking of my soul. The Lord Himself has brought me to my senses. Here was I, seest thou, an old fool, who wanted to live at his ease with a young wife.... No, brother—old man, first do thou pray, and beat thy brow against the earth, and be patient, and fast.... And now, go, my mother. I am very tired and I will get a bit of sleep."
And AkÃm stretched himself out, grunting on the bench.
Avdótya started to say something, stood for a while gazing at him, then turned and went away....
"Well, did n't he thrash thee?"—Petróvitch asked her, as he sat, all bent double, on the earthen bank, when she came alongside of him. Avdótya passed him in silence.—"See there now, he did n't beat her,"—said the old man to himself, as he grinned, ruffled up his hair, and took a pinch of snuff.
AkÃm carried out his purpose. He speedily put his petty affairs in order, and a few days after the conversation which we have transcribed, he went, already garbed for the journey, to bidfarewell to his wife, who had settled for the time being in a tiny wing of the mistress's manor-house. Their leave-taking did not last long.... KirÃllovna, who chanced to be on hand, advised AkÃm to present himself to the mistress; and he did so. Lizavéta Prókhorovna received him with a certain amount of confusion, but affably permitted him to kiss her hand, and inquired where he was intending to betake himself? He replied that he was going first to KÃeff, and thence wherever God should grant. She lauded his purpose, and dismissed him. From that time forth he rarely made his appearance at home, although he never forgot to bring his mistress a blessed bread with a particle taken out for her health....[45]But, on the other hand, everywhere where devout Russians congregate, his gaunt and aged but still comely and sedate face was to be seen: at the shrine of St. Sergius, and on the White Shores, and in the Óptin Hermitage, and in distant Valaám.[46]He went everywhere.... This year he passed you in the ranks of the countless throng which marched in a procession of the cross behind the holy picture of the Birth-giver of God at the Korennáya Hermitage;[47]next year you would find him sitting with his wallet on his back, along with other pilgrims on the porch of St. Nicholas the Wonder-Worker in Mtzensk.... He made his appearance in Moscow nearly every spring.
From place to place he trudged with his quiet, unhurried but unceasing stride—'t is said that he even went to Jerusalem.... He appeared to be perfectly composed and happy, and many persons talked about his piety and humility, especially those people who had chanced to converse with him.
In the meanwhile, Naúm's affairs throve exceedingly. He took hold briskly and understandingly, and, as the saying is, went to the head fast. Everybody in the neighbourhood knew by what means he had acquired possession of the inn, and they knew also that Avdótya had given him her husband's money; no one liked Naúm because of his cold and harsh character..... They narrated with condemnation concerning him that one day he had replied to AkÃm himself, who had begged alms under his window, "God will provide," and had brought out nothing to him; but all agreed that no more lucky man than he existed; his grain throve better than his neighbours' grain; his bees swarmed more abundantly; even his hens laid more eggs; his cattle never fell ill; his horses never went lame..... For a long time Avdótya could not endure to hear his name (she had accepted Lizavéta Prókhorovna's offer, and had again entered her service in the capacity of head-seamstress); but eventually, her aversion diminished somewhat; 't was said that want forced her to have recourse to him, and he gave her a hundred rubles.... We shall not condemn her too severely; poverty will break any one's spirit, and the sudden revolution in her life had aged and tamed her down greatly; it is difficult to believe how quickly shelost her good looks, how she grew disheartened and low-spirited....
"And how did it all end?"—the reader will ask.
Thus: Naúm, after having conducted his business successfully for fifteen years, sold his inn on profitable terms to a petty burgher.... He never would have parted with his house if the following apparently insignificant incident had not occurred: two mornings in succession his dog, as it sat in front of the windows, howled in a prolonged and mournful manner; on the second occasion he went out into the street, gazed attentively at the howling dog, shook his head, set off for the town, and that very day agreed on the price with a petty burgher, who had long been trying to purchase his inn.... A week later he departed for some distant place—out of the Government,—and what think you? that very night the inn was burned to the ground; not even a kennel remained intact, and Naúm's successor was reduced to beggary. The reader can easily imagine what rumours arose in the neighbourhood concerning this conflagration.... Evidently he carried his "luck" away with him, all declared.... It is reported that he engaged in the grain business, and became very wealthy. But was it for long? Other equally firm pillars have fallen prone, and sooner or later a bad deed has a bad ending.