III
“The Slayer”
We drove four versts in utter silence; I was meditating on what had just happened, while the driver sat playing with the reins, alternately urging and holding in his horses. I was the first to speak.
“I am greatly obliged to you, my friend! It would have gone ill with me, had it not been for you.”
“You owe me no thanks,” he replied.
“What do you mean! … That was evidently a desperate crowd! …”
“That’s true. …”
“Do you know those men?”
“I know Kostiúshka. … But, then, I suppose every dog knows that rascal! … The merchant, too, I have seen before … but the one who was left behind I don’t think I ever saw. … Yes, I suppose he relied on Kostiúshka to do the business. … No, sir, Kostiúshka is not to be trusted! He is the first one to run! … But the man I speak of is no coward. …”
He paused.
“This has never happened before … not this kind of business,” … he began again, slightly shaking his head. … “I wonder how Kostiúshka got hold of him. … He is gathering the cormorants together against me, the cursed rascal! …”
“And why are they afraid of you?”
The driver smiled.
“Yes, there is no doubt they are afraid of me. I gave one of them his quietus, not far from here. …”
He reined in the horses, and, turning towards me, he said: “Look back; do you see the hollow yonder! … I killed a man there, on that very spot!”
It seemed to me that his voice trembled as he uttered these words, and, by the light of the dawn, that was beginning to brighten the eastern sky, I fancied I could detect an expression of deep sadness in his eyes.
We had reached the top of the hill, where we paused. The road ran towards the west. Behind us, outlined against the brightening sky, stood the bold wooded hill whose rocky summit looked like a giant finger uplifted to the clouds.
The morning breeze blew fresh on the hilltop, and the chilled horses, snorting impatiently, pawed the ground. The middle horse was about to start when the driver, checking him, bent over on his box and peered in the direction of the hollow.
Then, suddenly turning, he gathered up the reins, rose on the box, and shouted aloud.
Starting on a gallop, we fairly flew from the top of the hill to the bottom. It was a wild ride. With flattened ears, the horses dashed onward, as if beside themselves with fear, while the driver continued to rise from his seat and to wave his right arm. The troika seemed to feel, although it could not see, his motions. … The ground vanished beneath the wheels; the trees and shrubs ran to meet us, and seemed to fall as we passed, as though beaten down by a furious gale. …
When we were again on level ground, the horses were steaming. The middle horse panted heavily, and the side horses trembled, snorted, and moved their ears restlessly to and fro. Little by little, however, their terror left them. The driver slackened the reins, and spoke in soothing tones: “Gently, dearies, gently! … Don’t be frightened! … Isn’t it wonderful that a horse, a dumb beast,” he said to me, “should understand so well … for, every time we reach the top of this hill, it is impossible to hold them. … They scent a crime. …”
“That may be so,” I said, “but you urged them yourself just now.”
“Did I, really? Well, maybe I did! Ah, sir, if you knew what a weight there is on my mind! …”
“Well, if you tell me, I shall know! …”
The “Slayer” looked down.
“Very well,” he replied, after a pause, “I will tell you. … Go on, my darlings, don’t be frightened! …” And the horses started at an easy trot along the soft road.
“It all took place long ago, … and yet not so long ago, either; but much has happened since, and the great change in my life makes the past seem far away! I have been deeply wronged by those who were my superiors. And God, also, sent me sorrow; I lost my young wife and my child at one stroke, and, having no parents, I was left quite alone in the world, with neither relatives nor friends; and the priest himself took what little remained to me, to pay for the funeral. Living quite alone, I had more chance for meditation; and the more I pondered, the less I believed, until my former faith was shaken, if not lost, and I found no new one to take its place. It is true I am an ignorant man—I hardly know how to read—and I dared not trust too much to my own reason, … and I felt so heartsick, so sad, I would gladly have gone out of this world. … I gave up my hut and what little land was left me, all that I possessed, took an extra sheepskin coat, a pair of trousers, and a pair of boots, broke off a branch in the forest for a staff, and started. …”
“Where were you going?”
“Nowhere in particular. Sometimes I stayed in one place, and worked regularly day after day; then, again, I would wander from place to place, ploughing a field here and there, or lending a hand at harvest-time. In some places I stayed but for a day, or perhaps for a week, in others, for a month; and all this time I was watching to see how people lived, how they prayed and what they believed. … In a word, I was looking for upright people.”
“And did you find them?”
“How can I tell? … There are all kinds of people; and each one has his own troubles, of course. Still, it must be admitted that people in our neighborhood devote but little thought to God. … Each one thinks only about himself, how to satisfy his own desires; and can that be called living according to God’s laws! And who can say that the robber who wears the chains is the actual robber, after all! … Do you not agree with me?”
“What you say has some truth, no doubt. … Well, and what next?”
“And so I grew more and more gloomy, for I saw there was no chance of improvement. Of course, I know a little better now; but even now. … But at that time I was beside myself, and it suddenly occurred to me that I might become a convict.”
“How could you do that?”
“Very simply. I called myself a vagrant, and was shut up in consequence. It was a sort of penance that I had imposed upon myself. …”
“And did you feel better after that?”
“Not a bit of it! It was simple folly. Perhaps you never were in prison, and, if so, you cannot know. But I have found out all I care to know about that kind of cloister. People who live an idle life, perfectly useless to the world, are pretty sure to fall into wicked ways, and seldom, if ever, do they think of God or of their own salvation; for, if they do, they are treated to the gibes and mockery of their companions. I soon found that my stupidity had brought me into the wrong place; so I told them who I was, and begged to be set free. But this was not a simple matter. Information had to be obtained, one thing and another investigated. … And, moreover, they said to me, ‘How did you dare to call yourself what you were not?’ I don’t know how the business would have ended had it not been for something that came to pass just then, … which, although it was not a good thing for me, perhaps saved me from something worse. …
“One day the report spread throughout the prison that the penitent Bezrúky was to be brought in. I heard the rumor much discussed, some believing it to be true, while others distrusted it. But for me it was a matter of indifference just then. What did I care whether they brought him or not!—it was all one to me!—Prisoners were arriving every day. But the convicts who had just come from town confirmed the story that they were bringing Bezrúky under a strong escort, and that he would be there at night. Prompted by curiosity, our gray population had gathered in the yard. I went with them, not from curiosity, however. … When I was uneasy, I often walked up and down in the yard. I was pacing to and fro, and had almost forgotten about Bezrúky, when suddenly the gates were opened, and an old man was led in. He was short and thin, and he wore a long white beard; one arm hung powerless by his side, and he tottered as he walked, like one whose feet refuse to support him. And yet, at this one man, five bayonets were levelled by the guards who escorted him. The sight overcame me. ‘Heavens!’ I thought, ‘what does it mean? Can a man be treated like a wild beast! And no stalwart, brawny fellow, but a feeble, insignificant old man, who looks as if he might not live the week out! …’
“And I pitied him from the bottom of my heart; and the more I looked, the more I pitied him. He was led into the office, and a smith was called to shackle his hands and feet. The old man took the fetters, made the sign of the cross over them (after the manner of the Old Faith), and put them on his feet. ‘Fasten it,’ he said to the smith. Then he made a second sign of the cross over the handcuffs, and, passing his hands through them, said: ‘Suffer me to wear them, O Lord, as a penance!’ ”
The driver bent his head and relapsed into silence, as though reliving, in his memory, the scene he had been describing. Then, suddenly lifting his head, he resumed:—
“From that moment he took possession of my heart! I must confess that he bewitched me, and, even though I afterwards discovered him to be a tempter and a fiend, an incarnate devil—may the Lord forgive me for saying so! when I recall that prayer of his, I can hardly believe it—so well could he play the saint that he seemed altogether different from the man he really was.
“And I was not the only one who felt his influence. Even our gray convicts became subdued; they gazed at him in silence. The scoffers grew quiet, and many crossed themselves. That was the way he affected them, sir!
“As for me, I yielded myself completely to his influence. For at that time my faith was unsettled, and this man seemed to me like the righteous men of old. I had made no friends in the prison; indeed, I had hardly spoken to anyone, and of the conversation around me I took no more heed than of the buzzing of flies. … Whatever my thoughts were, whether good or bad, I kept them to myself, and shared them with no one. I made up my mind that I would, if possible, make my way into the cell where the old man was kept in solitary confinement, and, watching my chance, I gave five kopeks to the guards, who allowed me to pass; and afterwards they used to let me in without any bribe. I looked in at his window, and saw an old man walking to and fro, muttering to himself, his shackles dragging behind him as he went. When he saw me, he turned, and came up to the door. ‘What do you want?’ he asked.—‘Nothing in particular,’ I said; ‘I have come to make you a call. I thought you might be lonely.’—‘I am not alone here,’ he said; ‘I am with God, and one is never lonely who dwells with God. Still, I am glad to see a good man.’—And thus I stood facing him, looking so like a fool that he could not help noticing my expression; but he said nothing, only gazed at me and shook his head. One day he said to me, ‘Draw back a little from the window, my lad; I want to get a better look at you.’ I stepped back, and he put his eye to the opening, and, after gazing long at me, he said: ‘Tell me something about yourself!’
“ ‘What is there to tell!’ I said; ‘I am a ruined man!’—‘Can I trust you?’ he asked, ‘You will not deceive me?’—‘I have never deceived anyone, and surely I would not deceive you. I will do anything for you.’ He thought awhile, and then he said: ‘I want to send someone outside tonight. Will you go?’—‘How can I get out?’ I asked.—‘I will teach you,’ he said. And his instructions were so successful that I left the prison that night, as easily as if it had been my own hut. I found the man to whom I was sent, and gave him the message, but, when on my way back the next morning, I must admit that, as I was approaching the prison, just before daybreak, a sense of excitement came over me. Why should I remain a prisoner of my own accord? Since I was free, the best thing I could do would be to leave those parts. The prison was in the country, and a broad highway lay before me. The dew glistened on the grass; it was close upon harvest-time. Beyond the river, I could hear the gentle soughing of the forest. … A lovely picture! And behind me stood the prison, frowning and blinking like an owl. … At night, when all is still, one does not care; but by daylight! … When I thought of the busy day spinning like a wheel, it seemed as though I could not bear it. My heart leaped within me, and the temptation to follow the road, to regain my lost liberty, and to roam hither and yonder at my own will, was almost too strong for me. … But when I remembered the old man, I felt that I could not deceive him. Stretching myself out on the grass, with my face downward, I rested awhile; then rose, and, without once looking back, took the direction of the prison. Looking up as I approached, I saw my old man in the tower, where our secret cells were, sitting by the window, watching me from behind the bars.
“During the day, I found a chance to glide into his cell and tell him how I had carried out his orders. He looked more cheerful, as he said to me: ‘Thank you, my child! You have done me a great favor; I shall never forget it.’ And after a pause he added, smiling, ‘I suppose you are anxious to be free?’—‘Yes, I am anxious, more than words can say.’—‘I thought so. And what brought you here!’—‘My own folly; I have committed no crime.’ He shook his head and said: ‘It makes me sad to see you. God has given you so much strength; you are no longer a boy, and yet you know very little about life. Here you are locked up. … And what is the good of it? The world, it is true, is full of sin, and yet it is in the world that you work out your salvation. …’—‘Yes, I know there is sin in the world,’ I replied, ‘but there is just as much of it here, where there is nothing to be gained by sinning.’—‘Have you repented of your own sins?’ he inquired.
“ ‘I am disgusted with myself!’
“ ‘Disgusted, and yet you know not why. This is not true repentance. True repentance is sweet. Listen, and remember what I tell you: God alone is without sin; man is a sinner by his very nature, and is saved by repentance alone. He must repent of his sins. How is he to repent who has committed no sin? And yet unless he does repent, we are told, he cannot be saved. Do you understand?’
“At the time, I must admit, I understood his words imperfectly; yet they sounded like good words. I had thought much about my own life: other people seemed to live their lives for some purpose, but not I; I was like the field-grass or a fox in the woods—no good to myself or to others. To be sure, if I were living in the world, I should probably be sinning, and here I was only restless. It is true, I did not know how to live; but why talk of living, when I was still shut up in prison! ‘I can manage that affair,’ said the old man. ‘I have prayed about you: it has been given to me to lead your soul out of prison. … If you will promise to obey me, I will show you the road to repentance.’—‘I will promise,’ I replied.—‘And will you take your oath?’—‘I will,’ I said. And so I pledged myself, for at that time he had so won my confidence that I was utterly in his power. I would have gone through fire and water for him. … I trusted that man. One of the convicts tried to warn me: ‘Why are you so intimate with Bezrúky? Don’t be taken in by his piety! You know about his hand: a traveller on the highway, whom he was planning to rob, sent a bullet through it.’ But I paid no heed to what he said, since he was tipsy at the time, and I cannot abide a drunken man. When I turned away from him he took offence. ‘Go to the deuce, fool that you are!’ I must allow that he was correct, although he was a drunkard.
“About this time, Bezrúky was less strictly guarded. He was brought from his cell into the general prison, but, like myself, he remained almost as solitary as before. Whenever the convicts teased him, or attempted to joke with him, he made no reply in words; but his glance was enough to make the boldest of them quail. He had an evil eye. … After a while came the time for his release. One summer day, as I was walking in the yard, I saw the superintendent go into the office, immediately followed by Bezrúky, under escort, and in less than an hour they both came out on the porch, Bezrúky dressed in his own suit of clothes, ready to leave, and looking quite happy, and the superintendent also smiling. I could not help thinking how strictly he was guarded when they brought him in—an innocent man, as he called himself. I felt sad and lonely at the thought of being left behind. Bezrúky glanced around, and, seeing me, made a sign, and I went up to him, pulling off my cap and saluting the chief, while Bezrúky said:—
“ ‘I say, Your Excellency, could you look out for this lad? He has not done anything.’
“ ‘What is your name?’ asked the superintendent.
“ ‘Feódor Seelín,’ I replied.
“ ‘Ah, I remember! We will see about you. No man is to be condemned for his own stupidity. This fellow ought to be kicked out, to teach him better than to come where he does not belong. That’s all there is about it, for I believe the necessary information was received some time ago. He will certainly be released in the course of a week.’
“ ‘That’s good,’ said Bezrúky, ‘and you, my lad,’ he continued, calling me aside, ‘when you are released, go to Kildéyef’s and ask for the master, Iván Zakhárof. I have spoken to him about you, my boy—and remember your oath.’
“And then they went away. In a week I too was released, and went at once, according to Bezrúky’s directions, to the appointed place, where I found Iván Zakhárof, and when I explained to him that Bezrúky had sent me, ‘I know!’ he said; ‘the old man has spoken to me about you. Well, you may work for me for a while, and we will see later what is to be done.’
“ ‘And where is Bezrúky now?’ I inquired.
“ ‘He is away on business,’ he answered; ‘but we expect him shortly.’
“And so I remained there; but not really as a workman, for no duties were assigned to me. The family was a small one—the master, a grown-up son, who was a workman … and myself, beside the womenfolks, and Bezrúky, who was there from time to time. They were Staroviéry and very pious people, strict followers of the law; they never used tobacco or liquor. And as to their workman, Kuzmá, he was a ragged, half-witted fellow, as black as an Ethiopian; as soon as he heard the tinkle of a bell, he used to rush out and hide in the bushes, and, above all, he stood in mortal terror of Bezrúky. If he caught sight of him in the distance, he would run for the woods, to hide himself, and always in the very same place. The family might call him again and again—he never would answer a syllable. But let Bezrúky go after him and speak one word, he would follow like a lamb, and do everything he bade him.
“Bezrúky did not come often, and, when he did come, he hardly ever talked with me. I used to notice that, when talking with the master, he would, at the same time, often look at me, to see how I worked; but if I approached him, he always told me that he was busy. ‘Have patience, my lad! I am coming to live here before long; then we shall have more time to talk.’ I had fallen into a restless state of mind, though I had nothing to complain of—I was not overworked, and never had a cross word spoken to me; the food was good, and, though I was a driver, I was but seldom sent out with any traveller. It was generally the master himself who went, or the son with the workman, particularly if it happened to be in the nighttime. Yet, when I was idle, I felt more dejected than ever, as might naturally be expected. My thoughts kept my mind uneasy and restless. …
“Returning home from the mill, one evening, some weeks after I was released, I found our hut full of men. I unharnessed the horse, and was just on the point of entering the porch when the master came out and said: ‘Don’t go in yet; wait till I call you! Mind what I say; don’t go in yet!’—‘What’s all this about!’ I thought to myself; but I turned and went up to the hayloft, where I stretched myself out on the hay. Finding it impossible to sleep, and remembering that I had left my axe by the brook, I decided to go after it, for I thought to myself that those men might discover it on their way home, and carry it off with them. As I passed by the windows, I looked in and saw that the room was full of men; the inspector himself was seated at a table, on which were spread food and brandy, together with paper and pens … in short, it was plainly to be seen that an investigation was going on; and seated on a bench near the wall I beheld Bezrúky himself. Good heavens! I was completely paralyzed! His hair was disarranged, his hands bound behind him, his eyes shining like two fiery coals. … I can hardly tell you how dreadful he seemed to me. …
“I drew back, and stood at a short distance from the window. … It was autumn; the night was dark and starry; I shall never forget it. I heard the splash of the river and the murmur of the forests as if in a dream. Trembling, I dropped on the grass by the riverbank. How long I had stayed there I cannot say when I heard someone coming along the forest-path, swinging a cane. He wore a white coat and hat, and I recognized the clerk, who lived four versts from there. He crossed the bridge and went straight to the hut, and I could not resist going up to the window to see what would happen next. … He entered, took off his cap, and looked around. Evidently, he did not know why he had been summoned. As he went up to the table, he said, in passing Bezrúky, ‘How do you do, Iván Alekséyitch!’ Such a glance as Bezrúky gave him! The proprietor pulled him by the sleeve and whispered something in his ear that seemed to surprise him. He went up to the inspector, who had already been imbibing rather freely, and who, rousing himself, looked up at him with his blurred eyes, and, after exchanging the usual greeting, asked, pointing at Bezrúky, ‘Do you know this man?’—‘No,’ he replied, ‘I don’t remember ever seeing him before.’
“What could it all mean? The inspector certainly knew him well. He went on with his examination.
“ ‘Is this Iván Alekséyef, who belongs in this neighborhood, and is known under the name of Bezrúky?’
“ ‘No,’ replied the clerk; ‘that is not he.’
“The inspector picked up his pen, and, after writing something down, he proceeded to read it aloud. And I stood outside, by the window, wondering what it all meant; for he read from the paper that this old man, Iván Alekséyef, was not Iván Alekséyef; that neither the clerk nor the neighbors recognized him as such; and that he called himself Iván Ivánof, and showed his passport in proof of it. Wonderful thing! Of all these people who set their hands to the document, not one of them seemed to know him. It was certain that the witnesses had been carefully chosen for the occasion, for they were all debtors of Iván Zakhárof—his slaves, in fact.
“After this business was transacted, the witnesses were allowed to depart. … The inspector had previously ordered that Bezrúky should be set at liberty, and Iván Zakhárof brought the money and handed it to the inspector, who, after counting it, put it in his pocket.
“ ‘Now, old man, you will have to leave these parts for the next three months! But if you choose to stay, remember that you are not to blame me. … Well, now get my horses ready.’
“I left the window and went up into the hayloft, expecting that someone would presently come to fetch the horses, and I did not want to be found lurking under the windows. As I lay on the hay, unable to go to sleep, I felt as if I were in a dream. … Somehow, I could not collect my thoughts. I heard the tinkling of the bell as the inspector drove away, saw that the lights were put out, and all became still in the house. I was just falling asleep when again I heard a bell, for it was a very still night, and one could hear sounds a long way off … it drew nearer and nearer. … Someone was coming towards the hut from the direction of the river. By and by the folks in the hut heard it, and a fire had been kindled by the time the troika drove up into the yard. A driver whom we knew had brought the travellers here, as a friendly return for the customers we had brought him.
“I thought that they would very likely spend the night here, and, if not, I knew that they seldom sent me out at night, for it was generally the master who drove—or maybe his son, with the workman; so I was just falling asleep again, when I was roused by the voices of the master and Bezrúky, who were conversing in an undertone under the roof of the hay-shed.
“ ‘Well, what shall we do now?’ said the old man; ‘where is Kuzmá?’
“ ‘That’s the trouble; Iván has gone with the inspector, and as soon as Kuzmá saw the crowd he ran to the bushes, and he is not to be found.’
“ ‘Such a fool! I believe he is half-witted! And how about Feódor?’ the old man said—meaning me, you understand.
“ ‘When Feódor came home from the mill tonight, he wanted to go into the hut, but I would not let him.’
“ ‘That’s well. He must have gone to sleep. You don’t think that he saw anything?’
“ ‘I suppose not, for he went directly to the hayloft.’
“ ‘That is good. We will try him tonight.’
“ ‘You had better look out! Do you dare to trust him?’ said Zakhárof.
“ ‘Yes; although he is a simple-minded lad, he has great strength, and, moreover, he obeys me; I can twist him round my little finger. Besides, you must remember that I am now about to go away for six months, and we must break him in before I go.’
“ ‘Yes, but I cannot help distrusting him,’ said Zaldiarof; ‘I have no faith in him whatever, although he looks so simple.’
“ ‘Well, well, I know him; he is not a clever lad, to be sure, but that’s the kind that best suits us. And we must certainly get rid of Kuzmá; I am afraid he will get us into some scrape.’
“Then I heard them call, ‘Feódor!’—‘Feódor!’ and I really had not the courage to answer.
“ ‘Get up, my good Feódor,’ said the old man, in his sweetest tones. ‘Were you asleep?’ he asked.
“ ‘Yes,’ I replied. …
“ ‘Get up, my boy, and harness the horses; you will have to drive the travellers. Do you remember your oath?’
“ ‘I do’; and my teeth chattered as I spoke, and cold chills were running all over me.
“ ‘I think the time for keeping your promise to obey all my commands is at hand. And, meanwhile, be lively about harnessing, for the travellers are in haste.’
“I pulled out the telyéga from the shed, put the collar on the middle horse, and began to harness. Meanwhile, my heart was throbbing violently, and I felt all the time as if this must be a dream.
“Bezrúky also saddled his own horse, which was docile as a dog; he could saddle him with one hand. Then he mounted, and, having whispered something into the horse’s ear, he rode off. After harnessing the middle horse, I looked out of the gate, and watched him as he started on a trot towards the woods. Although the moon had not yet risen, it was tolerably light; and after I saw him disappear in the woods, I felt easier. I drove up to the door, and was asked to come in. The traveller was a young woman with three small children, the oldest of whom looked about four, and the youngest girl might have been two years old. ‘I wonder where you are going, you poor creature!’ I thought to myself; ‘and without a husband, too! Such a kind and friendly lady!’ She made me sit down, and gave me some tea, and asked me what sort of a neighborhood it was, and whether there had been any reports of robberies. ‘I have not heard of any,’ I replied; and couldn’t help thinking: ‘Ah, my blessed heart, you are afraid!’ and how could she help it, to be sure! She had a good deal of luggage, and all the signs of wealth, and, above all, there were her children. A mother’s heart is an anxious one, and I don’t suppose she was travelling for pleasure.
“Well, we started. It was about two hours before daylight. We had reached the highway, and driven on for a verst or so, when suddenly one of the side horses shied. ‘What now!’ I thought. I stopped the team, and saw Kuzmá creeping out of the bushes. There he stood, by the roadside, shaking his locks and grinning at me. ‘Deuce take you!’ said I to myself. I was somewhat startled, and the lady sat there more dead than alive. … The children were asleep, but she was wide-awake, watching. I knew that she was crying. … ‘I am afraid,’ she said. ‘I am afraid of you all. …’—‘God bless you, my dear lady,’ I cried, ‘I am not a villain. Why didn’t you stay at the hut, where you were? …’—‘I was more frightened there than I am here. My last driver told me that we should come to a village at night; and, instead of that, he brought me to this place in the woods. And the old man had such a wicked look! …’ she continued. … What was I to do with her! I could see that she felt very wretched. ‘What had we better do now?’ I asked. ‘Will you turn back, or shall we go on?’ And I walked round the carriage, trying to think of some way to comfort her, for I felt very sorry for her. We were not far from the Hollow, which could only be reached from the byroad; and we had to pass the ‘Stone.’ Seeing the quandary I was in, she cheered up, and said: ‘Well, get up on the box, and let us go on. I am not going back, for I am afraid of those men. … I would rather go on with you; you look like a kind man.’ At that time, sir, I was like a child; I had not the stamp of Cain on my face. Now men are afraid of me; they call me ‘Slayer.’ Then I too cheered up, and mounted the box. ‘Let us talk,’ said the lady. And she began first to ask questions about me, and then she told me about herself: that she was going to join her husband, who was an exile belonging to the wealthy class. ‘How long have you been with these people?’ she asked, ‘and are you living with them as a workman, or in what capacity?’—‘I came to them very recently, as a workman,’ I replied.—‘What kind of folk are they?’—‘They seem to be fair sort of men; but who can tell?’ I said; ‘they are strict in their mode of life; they never use either wine or tobacco.’—‘That is not an essential,’ she said.—‘And how ought one to live?’ I asked; for I saw that she was a sensible woman, and thought that she might tell me something worth knowing.—‘Can you read?’ she asked.—‘Yes,’ I answered, ‘a little.’—‘What is the chief commandment in the Bible?’—‘Love,’ I replied.—‘You are right. And it says, moreover, there can be no greater love than when a man lays down his life for his brother. That is the substance of the law. Of course, one must use one’s reason, too,’ she added, ‘and discriminate. But such forms as moving the fingers in a certain manner, in order to make the sign of the cross, and abstaining from the use of tobacco, are not essential …’—‘You are right,’ I replied; ‘still, some forms are needed, to remind a man of his duties.’
“Thus we talked as we drove leisurely along. We came to a small stream in the woods, which we had to cross. It was a shallow stream, and, during the dry season, all one had to do was to give the ferryboat a push and it would touch the opposite shore; there was no need of a ferryman. The children, waking, opened their eyes, and saw that it was nighttime. The soughing of the forest, the starlit sky overhead, the moon rising before daybreak, … all this was a novel sight for them, … of course, they didn’t know much about such things!
“When we drove into the woods, I was fairly startled, and my heart almost stopped beating, for what did I see but a figure on horseback ahead of us! I could not see distinctly, but I thought I recognized Bezrúky’s gray horse, and I could hear the clatter of his hoofs. My heart sank within me. ‘What is going to happen now?’ I thought. ‘Why did the old man come out here?’ Now, it had seemed to me like a foreboding of evil when he reminded me of my oath, just before we started. … Until that evening I had thought a good deal of the old man, although I must confess I always stood in awe of him; but now I began to be really afraid of him—the very thought of his face made me shiver.
“As I sat there, without moving, my mind seemed paralyzed and I could scarcely hear a sound. The lady spoke now and then, but I was unable to answer her; at last she gave up trying to talk, and there she sat, the poor creature! …
“We had now entered an impenetrable forest. My spirits were gloomier than the night itself. I was half-unconscious, but the horses, familiar with the road, carried us along without my guidance, toward that selfsame stone. We reached it, … and there, just as I anticipated, stood the gray horse across the road, and the eyes of the old man bestriding him gleamed like two coals of fire, so help me God! … The reins fell from my hands, and my horses, coming up to the gray horse, stopped of their own accord.
“ ‘Feódor!’ said the old man, ‘get down!’ I jumped down from the box, and he himself dismounted, having placed his horse directly in front of the troika, which stood perfectly still, as if bewitched; I too seemed to be under a spell. He came up to me, and said something; then, taking me by the hand, he led me to the carriage, and I discovered that I was holding an axe! … I yielded to him, … for I had not the courage to resist, villain that he was. ‘Sin, and you will repent afterwards. …’ What else he said I know not. We went up to the carriage. He stood beside me. ‘First strike the woman on the head!’ I looked into the carriage. There sat the lady, like a wounded dove, shielding her children, and gazing at me with all her eyes. My heart quivered. … The children were awake; they looked like birdlings. I cannot tell whether they understood what was going on, or not. …
“Her gaze seemed to rouse me as from a dream. Lifting the axe, I turned my eyes away. … But my heart was swelling with rage. … I looked at Bezrúky, who quailed beneath my glance. … Then my wrath grew more furious. I knew that I was about to do a horrible deed; but I had no pity. Once more I looked at the old man, whose green eyes flashed restlessly. … He was frightened, and that made him wriggle like a snake. I raised my arm and struck out, … and, before he could groan, I stretched him prostrate at my feet, and then I stamped upon him as he lay there dead, … for I was like nothing but an infuriated beast, the Lord have mercy on me!”
The driver breathed heavily.
“And what happened then?” I inquired, seeing him thoughtful and silent.
“What did you say?” he replied; “you want to know what happened next? Well, as I said, I was stamping on him as he lay there dead, when, behold! I saw Iván Zakhárof galloping towards us, with a rifle in his hand. I turned just as he reached us, … and I should have certainly finished him, as I did Bezrúky, only, I am thankful to say, he had the sense to turn back. Just as soon as his eye lighted on me, he turned his horse, dealing him heavy blows with the rifle. The horse actually howled like a human being, and flew like a bird.
“When, at last, I came to my senses, it seemed to me that I could not look anyone in the eye. … I mounted the box and gave the horses the lash, … but they refused to start, … and then I saw that the gray horse was still barring the way. I had forgotten that he had been trained to do that. I made the sign of the cross, as it came to my mind that I might have to kill that cursed horse also. I went up to him, but he remained motionless except for the movement of his ears. I pulled him by the rein, but he would not stir. ‘You had better get out of the carriage, madam,’ I said, ‘for the horses might become frightened and run, because of this horse, which persists in standing right in front of them.’ Obedient as a child, the lady got out, and the children followed, clinging to their mother. The place itself was dark and gloomy; that alone frightened them, and then to see me in trouble with these devils.
“I backed my troika, took up the axe once more, and went close to the gray horse. ‘Get out of the way,’ I cried, ‘else I will kill you!’ He pricked up his ears, as much as to say, ‘I will not budge. … The deuce take you!’ … Everything grew blurred before my eyes. My hair seemed to stand on end. … Swinging the axe, I struck him on the head with all my might. … He uttered a scream, and fell down dead. … I took him by the legs, dragged him towards his master, and then I put them side by side, near the edge of the road. ‘Stay there, will you!’
“ ‘Get in,’ I said to the lady. She helped the younger children first, but had not strength enough left to get the oldest one in. … ‘Will you help me?’ she said. As I went up to them, the boy put out his arms to me, and I was about to lift him up, when I remembered. … ‘Take the child away,’ I cried; ‘I am stained with blood, and am not fit to touch him! …’
“Finally they managed in some way to get into the telyéga, and I took the reins; but the horses snorted, and refused to stir. What was I to do? ‘Put the baby on the box, …’ I said. She placed the child beside me, holding him from behind. I gave the horses a blow with the reins, and they started on the run … just as you saw them a short time ago. They ran to escape the scent of blood.
“In the morning I brought the lady to the local police-quarters in the village, and there I told my story. ‘Arrest me, for I have killed a man.’ The lady told them just how it all happened. ‘This man saved my life,’ she said. They bound me with ropes, and she cried at the sight, poor dear! ‘Why do you bind him? He did a good deed; he saved my children from murderers! …’ She was a determined one! Seeing that no one heeded her words, she tried to untie the ropes with her own hands, but I stopped her. ‘Don’t do that,’ I said. ‘Don’t be anxious about this matter; it is no longer in the hands of man, but in the care of the Lord. Whether I am guilty or innocent, God and the world will judge. …’—‘How can you be guilty?’ she said.—‘It was my pride,’ I replied; ‘my guilt sprang from my pride. I thought I was better and wiser than most men, and I became intimate with those wretches because I was too proud to take advice, and through my own self-conceit I have become a murderer. …’ She yielded at last to my remonstrances, and desisted. When she came to bid me goodbye, in her compassion, she embraced me. … ‘My poor fellow!’ she said, and bade the children kiss me. ‘No, no!’ I exclaimed; ‘don’t stain the children; I am a murderer! …’ I feared lest the children might shrink from me. But she lifted the two younger ones in her arms, and the oldest one came of his own accord, and when he put his arms around my neck I broke down, and burst out sobbing. I could not control myself. Oh, what a kindhearted lady she was! … Maybe the Lord will forgive me, for her sake. …
“ ‘If there be any justice in this world,’ she said to me, ‘we will obtain it for you. I shall not forget you as long as I live!’ And she was as good as her word. You know what our courts are, … continual delays. I should have been in prison up to this day, had it not been for the efforts that she and her husband made to gain my release.”
“Then, you were imprisoned for some time?”
“Yes, for quite a while. And the want of money was the cause of it. After a time she sent me half a thousand rubles, and she and her husband wrote me a letter. As soon as it was known that money had come, my case began to move at once. The inspector appeared, and I was called to the office. ‘Your case is before me,’ he said; ‘now, how much will you give me if I make it all right?’
“ ‘A fine official you are!’ I thought to myself; ‘and what is it that he wants to be paid for? Instead of judging me fairly, according to the law, for which I should be truly thankful, he asks for a bribe. …’
“ ‘I will give you nothing,’ I said; ‘judge me according to the law. …’
“He laughed. ‘I see that you are a fool! The law admits of two interpretations; but that has been shelved, and, meanwhile, I have the authority in my hands. It is in my power to put you wherever I please.’
“ ‘How so?’
“ ‘It is a simple matter. You appear to be a stupid fellow. Listen! You will say, in your defence, that you saved the lives of this lady and her children.’
“ ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘What then?’
“ ‘Very well; and this might be attributed to you as an act of virtue, for it is a good deed. That is one view of the case.’
“ ‘And what is the other one?’ I asked.
“ ‘The other one? Simply this. Consider your strength, see what a giant you are! The old man was like a child in your hands. When he suggested what you say, you should have politely tied his hands and brought him before the authorities; but, instead of doing this, you dealt him a blow which felled him to the ground. That was a lawless act, and one that you had no right to commit. You understand?’
“ ‘I do,’ I said. ‘I see that I can find no justice! But I will give you nothing! You are not the judge, and this is not impartial judgment!’
“He was angry.
“ ‘Very well, then!’ said he. ‘You may rot in jail while your suit is going on!’
“ ‘All right,’ I said; ‘but you need not threaten.’
“And so he had me locked up in jail. But the lady persisted; she went so far as to intercede for me with the higher authorities, and it was not long before a document was received that made it hot for the inspector. One day I was summoned to the office, and, after a great deal of loud talking, was at last released. So, after all, I had no trial … and I hardly know … I have been told that, nowadays, justice is to be found in our courts, and I sometimes wish I could be tried by a jury and abide by their verdict.”
“And what became of Iván Zakhárof?”
“Iván Zakhárof has never been heard from since. It was said that he and Bezrúky planned that the former was to follow me at a short distance, and, if I should refuse to commit the murder, Zakhárof was to shoot me. But you see it was not the will of the Lord, … for, when Zakhárof arrived upon the scene, everything was all over, and he took fright. I heard that, when he returned, he went directly to work to dig up his money; and, having done this, he made for the woods, without saying a word to anyone. … Towards morning the house caught fire. Whether he set it on fire accidentally, or whether it was done by Kuzmá, was never known; but one thing is certain—that, by nightfall, nothing was left of it but a bed of coals, and thus the rogues’ nest was destroyed. The women are beggars to this day, and the son is a convict, for he had no money to buy himself off.
“Ho! … my dearies, we have arrived, thanks be to God! See, the sun is just rising! …”