by Leo Tolstoy
His little boy Míshka, running out onto the steps, begged to have a ride; the lisping Mary also begged that she might ‘have a lide’, and was ‘not cold even without the theepthkin’; so Polikéy stopped Drum and smiled his weak smile while Akulína put the children into the cart and, bending towards him, begged him in a whisper to remember his oath and not drink anything on the way. Polikéy took the children through the village as far as the smithy, put them down, wrapped himself up and put his cap straight again, and drove off at a slow, sedate trot, his cheeks quivering at every jolt and his feet knocking against the bark sides of the cart. Mary and Míshka, barefoot, rushed down the slippery hill to the house at such a rate and yelling so loudly that a stray dog from the village looked up at them and scurried home with its tail between its legs, which made Polikéy’s heirs yell ten times louder.
It was abominable weather: the wind was cutting, and something between rain and snow, and now and then fine hail, beat on Polikéy’s face and on his bare hands which held the reins – and over which he kept drawing the sleeves of his coat – and on the leather of the horse-collar, and on the head of old Drum, who set back his ears and half closed his eyes.
Then suddenly the rain stopped and it brightened up in a moment. The bluish snow clouds stood out clear and the sun began to come out, but uncertainly and cheerlessly like Polikéy’s own smile. Notwithstanding all this, Polikéy was deep in pleasant thoughts. He whom they threatened to exile and conscript, whom only those who were too lazy did not scold and beat, who was always shoved into the worst places, he was driving now to fetch a sum of money, and a large sum too, and his mistress trusted him, and he was driving in the steward’s cart behind Drum – with whom the lady herself sometimes drove out – just as if he were some proprietor with leather collar-strap and reins instead of ropes. And Polikéy sat up straighter, pushed in the bits of wadding hanging out of his cap, and again wrapped his coat closer.
If Polikéy, however, imagined that he looked just like a wealthy peasant proprietor he deluded himself. It is true, as everyone knows, that tradesmen worth ten thousand rubles drive in carts with leather harness, only this was not quite the same thing. A bearded man in a blue or black coat drives past sitting alone in a cart, driving a well-fed horse, and you just glance to see if the horse is sleek and he himself well fed, and at the way he sits, at the horse’s harness, and the tyres on the cartwheels, and at his girdle, and you know at once whether the man does business in hundreds or in thousands of rubles. Every experienced person looking closer at Polikéy, at his hands, his face, his newly-grown beard, his girdle, at the hay carelessly thrown into the cart, at lean Drum, at the worn tyres, would know at once that it was only a serf driving past, and not a merchant or a cattle-dealer or even a peasant proprietor, and that he did not deal in thousands or hundreds, or even tens of rubles. But Polikéy did not think so: he deceived himself, and deceived himself agreeably. He is going to carry home fifteen hundred rubles in the bosom of his coat. If he liked, he might turn Drum’s head towards Odessa instead of homewards, and drive off where Fate might take him. But he will not do such a thing; he will bring the lady her money all in order, and will talk about having had larger sums than that on him. When they came to an inn Drum began pulling at the left rein, turning towards the inn and stopping; but Polikéy, though he had the money given him to do the shopping with, gave Drum the whip and drove on. The same thing happened at the next inn, and about noon he got out of the cart, and opening the gate of the inn-keeper’s house where all his mistress’s people put up, he led the horse and cart into the yard. There he unharnessed, gave the horse some hay, dined with the inn-keeper’s men, not omitting to mention what important business he had come on, and then went out with the market-gardener’s bill in the crown of his cap.
The market-gardener (who knew and evidently mistrusted Polikéy) having read the letter questioned him as to whether he had really been sent for the money. Polikéy tried to seem offended, but could not manage it, and only smiled his peculiar smile. The market-gardener read the letter over once more and handed him the money. Having received the money, Polikéy put it into his bosom and went back to the inn. Neither the beer-shop nor the tavern nor anything tempted him. He felt a pleasant agitation through his whole being, and stopped more than once in front of shops that showed tempting wares: boots, coats, caps, chintz, and foodstuffs, and went on with the pleasant feeling: ‘I could buy it all, but there now, I won’t do it!’ He went to the bazaar for the things he had been asked to buy, got them all, and started bargaining for a lined sheepskin coat, for which he was asked twenty-five rubles. For some reason the dealer, after looking at Polikéy, seemed to doubt his ability to buy it. But Polikéy pointed to his bosom, saying that he could buy the whole shop if he liked, and insisted on trying the coat on; felt it, patted it, blew into the wool till he became permeated with the smell of it, and then took it off with a sigh. ‘The price does not suit me. If you’ll let it go for fifteen rubles, now!’ he said. The dealer angrily threw the coat across the table, and Polikéy went out and cheerfully returned to his inn. After supper, having watered Drum and given him some oats, he climbed up on the stove, took out the envelope with the money and examined it for a long time, and then asked a porter who knew how to read to read him the address and the inscription: ‘With enclosure of one thousand six hundred and seventeen assignation rubles.’6 The envelope was made of common paper and sealed with brown sealing-wax with the impression of an anchor. There was one large seal in the middle, four at the corners, and there were some drops of sealing-wax near the edge. Polikéy examined all this, and studied it. He even felt the sharp edges of the notes. It gave him a kind of childish pleasure to know that he had such a sum in his hands. He thrust the envelope into a hole in the lining of his cap, and lay down with the cap under his head; but even in the night he kept waking and feeling the envelope. And each time he found it in its place he experienced the pleasant feeling that here was he, the disgraced, the down-trodden Polikéy, carrying such a sum and delivering it up more accurately than even the steward could have done.
VIII
ABOUT midnight the inn-keeper’s men and Polikéy were awakened by a knocking at the gate and the shouting of peasants. It was the party of recruits from Pokróvsk. There were about ten people: Khoryúshkin, Mityúkin, and Elijah (Dútlov’s nephew), two substitutes in case of need, the village Elder, old Dútlov, and the men who had driven them. A night-light was burning in the room, and the cook was sleeping on a bench under the icons. She jumped up and began lighting a candle. Polikéy also awoke, and leaning over from the top of the stove looked at the peasants as they came in. They came in crossing themselves, and sat down on the benches round the room. They all seemed perfectly calm, so that one could not tell which of them were the conscripts and which their escorts. They were greeting the people of the inn, talking loudly, and asking for food. It is true that some were silent and sad; but on the other hand others were unusually merry, evidently drunk. Among these was Elijah, who had never had too much to drink before.
‘Well, lads, shall we go to sleep or have some supper?’ asked the Elder.
‘Supper!’ said Elijah, throwing open his coat and setting himself on a bench. ‘Send for some vodka.’
‘Enough of your vodka!’ answered the Elder shortly, and turning to the others he said: ‘You just cut yourselves a bit of bread, lads! Why wake people up?’
‘Give me vodka!’ Elijah repeated, without looking at anybody, and in a voice that showed that he would not soon stop.
The peasants took the Elder’s advice, fetched some bread out of their carts, ate it, asked for a little kvas, and lay down, some on the floor and some on the stove.
Elijah kept repeating at intervals: ‘Let me have some vodka, I say, let me have some.’ Then, noticing Polikéy: ‘Polikéy! Hi, Polikéy! You here, dear friend? Why, I am going for a soldier.… Have said good-bye to my mother and my missus.… How she howled! They’ve bundled me off for a soldier.…
Stand me some vodka!’
‘I haven’t got any money,’ answered Polikéy, and to comfort him added: ‘Who knows? By God’s aid you may be rejected!…’
‘No, friend. I’m as sound as a young birch. I’ve never had an illness. There’s no rejecting for me! What better soldier can the Tsar want?’
Polikéy began telling him how a peasant gave a doctor a five-ruble note and got rejected.
Elijah drew nearer the oven, and they talked more freely.
‘No, Polikéy, it’s all up now! I don’t want to stay now myself. Uncle has done for me. As if he couldn’t have bought a substitute! … No, he grudged his son, and grudges the money, so they send me. No! I don’t myself want to stay.’ (He spoke gently, confidingly, under the influence of quiet sorrow.) ‘One thing only – I am sorry for mother, dear heart! … How she grieved! And the wife, too! … They’ve ruined the woman just for nothing; now she’ll perish – in a word, she’ll be a soldier’s wife! Better not to have married. What did they marry me for?… They’re coming here to-morrow.’
‘But why have they brought you so soon?’ asked Polikéy; ‘nothing was heard about it, and then, all of a sudden …’
‘Why, they’re afraid I shall do myself some mischief,’ answered Elijah, smiling. ‘No fear! I’ll do nothing of the kind. I shall not be lost even as a soldier; only I’m sorry for mother.… Why did they get me married?’ he said gently and sadly.
The door opened and shut with a loud slam as old Dútlov came in, shaking the wet off his cap, and as usual in bast shoes so big that they looked like boats.
‘Afanásy,’ he said to the porter, when he had crossed himself, ‘isn’t there a lantern to get some oats by?’
And without looking at Elijah he began slowly lighting a bit of candle. His mittens and whip were stuck into the girdle tied neatly round his coat, and his toil-worn face appeared as usual, simple, quiet, and full of business cares, as if he had just arrived with a train of loaded carts.
Elijah became silent when he saw his uncle, and looked dismally down at the bench again. Then, addressing the Elder, he muttered:
‘Vodka, Ermíl! I want some drink!’ His voice sounded wrathful and dejected.
‘Drink, at this time?’ answered the Elder, who was eating something out of a bowl. ‘Don’t you see the others have had a bite and lain down? Why are you making a row?’
The word ‘row’ evidently suggested to Elijah the idea of violence.
‘Elder, I’ll do some mischief if you don’t give me vodka!’
‘Couldn’t you bring him to reason?’ the Elder said, turning to Dútlov, who had lit the lantern, but had stopped, evidently to see what would happen, and was looking pityingly at his nephew out of the corner of his eyes, as if surprised at his childishness.
Elijah, looking down, again muttered:
‘Vodka! Give … do mischief!’
‘Leave off, Elijah!’ said the Elder mildly. ‘Really, now, leave off! You’d better!’
But before the words were out Elijah had jumped up and hit a window-pane with his fist, and shouting at the top of his voice: ‘You would not listen to me, so there you have it!’ rushed to the other window to break that too.
Polikéy in the twinkling of an eye rolled over twice and hid in the farthest corner of the top of the stove, so quickly that he scared all the cockroaches there. The Elder threw down his spoon and rushed towards Elijah. Dútlov slowly put down his lantern, untied his girdle, and shaking his head and making a clicking noise with his tongue, went up to Elijah, who was already struggling with the Elder and the inn-keeper’s man, who were keeping him away from the window. They had caught his arms and seemed to be holding him fast; but the moment he saw his uncle with the girdle his strength increased tenfold and he tore himself away, and with rolling eyes and clenched fists stepped up to Dútlov.
‘I’ll kill you! Keep away, you brute! … You have ruined me, you and your brigands of sons, you’ve ruined me! … Why did they get me married?… Keep away! I’ll kill you!…’
Elijah was terrible. His face was purple, his eyes rolled, the whole of his healthy young body trembled as in a fever. He seemed to wish and to be able to kill all the three men who were facing him.
‘You’re drinking your brother’s blood, you blood-sucker!’
Something flashed across Dútlov’s ever-serene face. He took a step forward.
‘You won’t take it peaceably!’ said he suddenly. The wonder was where he got the energy; for with a quick motion he caught hold of his nephew, rolled to the ground with him, and with the aid of the Elder began binding his hands with the girdle. They struggled for about five minutes. At last with the help of the peasants Dútlov rose, pulling his coat out of Elijah’s clutch. Then he raised Elijah, whose hands were tied behind his back, and made him sit down on a bench in a corner.
‘I told you it would be the worse for you,’ he said, still out of breath with the struggle, and pulling straight the narrow girdle tied over his shirt. ‘Why sin? We shall all have to die! … Fold a coat for a pillow for him,’ he said, turning to the inn-keeper’s men, ‘or the blood will go to his head.’ And he tied the cord round his waist over his sheepskin and, taking up the lantern, went to see after the horses.
Elijah, pale, dishevelled, his shirt pulled out of place, was gazing round the room as though trying to remember where he was. The inn-keeper’s men picked up the broken bits of glass and stuffed a coat into the hole in the window to keep the draught out. The Elder sat down again to his bowl.
‘Ah, Elijah, Elijah! I’m sorry for you, really! What’s to be done? There’s Khoryúshkin … he, too, is married. Seems it can’t be helped!’
‘It’s all on account of that fiend, my uncle, that I’m being ruined!’ Elijah repeated, dryly and bitterly. ‘He was chary of his own son! … Mother says the steward told him to buy me off. He won’t: he says he can’t afford it. As if what my brother and I have brought into his house were a trifle! … He is a fiend!’
Dútlov returned to the room, said a prayer in front of the icons, took off his outdoor things, and sat down beside the Elder. The cook brought more kvas and another spoon. Elijah grew silent, and closing his eyes lay down on the folded coat. The Elder pointed to him and shook his head silently. Dútlov waved his hand.
‘As if one was not sorry! … My own brother’s son! … And as if things were not bad enough it seems they also made me out a villain to him.… Whether it’s his wife – she’s a cunning little woman for all she’s so young – that has put it into his head that we could afford to buy a substitute! … Anyhow, he’s reproaching me. But one does pity the lad!…’
‘Ah! he’s a fine lad,’ said the Elder.
‘But I’m at the end of my tether with him! To-morrow I shall let Ignát come, and his wife wanted to come too.’
‘All right – let them come,’ said the Elder, rising and climbing onto the stove. ‘What is money? Money is dross!’
‘If one had the money, who would grudge it?’ muttered one of the inn-keeper’s men, lifting his head.
‘Ah, money, money! It causes much sin,’ replied Dútlov. ‘Nothing in the world causes so much sin, and the Scriptures say so too.’
‘Everything is said there,’ the workman agreed. ‘There was a man told me how a merchant had stored up a heap of money and did not want to leave any behind; he loved it so that he took it with him to the grave. As he was dying he asked to have a small pillow buried with him. No one suspected anything, and so it was done. Then his sons began looking for his money and nothing was to be found. At last one of them guessed that probably the notes were all in the pillow. The matter went to the Tsar, and he allowed the grave to be opened. And what do you think? They opened the coffin. There was nothing in the pillow, but the coffin was full of small snakes, and so it was buried again.… You see what money does!’
‘It’s a fact, it brings much sin,’ said Dútlov, and he got up and began saying his prayers.
When he had finished he looke
d at his nephew. The lad was asleep. Dútlov came up to him, untied the girdle with which he was bound, and then lay down. Another peasant went out to sleep with the horses.
IX
As soon as all was quiet Polikéy climbed down softly, like a guilty man, and began to get ready. For some reason he felt uneasy at the thought of spending the night there among the recruits. The cocks were already crowing to one another more often. Drum had eaten all his oats and was straining towards the drinking-trough. Polikéy harnessed him and led him out past the peasants’ carts. His cap with its contents was safe, and the wheels of the cart were soon rattling along the frosty road to Pokróvsk. Polikéy felt more at ease only when he had left the town behind. Till then he kept imagining that at any moment he might hear himself being pursued, that he would be stopped, and they would tie up his arms instead of Elijah’s, and he would be taken to the recruiting station next morning. It might have been the frost, or it might have been fear, but something made cold shivers run down his back, and again and again he touched Drum up. The first person he met was a priest in a tall fur cap, accompanied by a one-eyed labourer. Taking this for an evil omen Polikéy grew still more alarmed, but outside the town this fear gradually passed. Drum went on at a walking pace and the road in front became more visible. Polikéy took off his cap and felt the notes. ‘Shall I hide it in my bosom?’ he thought. ‘No; I should have to undo my girdle.… Wait a bit! When I get to the foot of the hill I’ll get down and put myself to rights.… The cap is sewn up tight at the top, and it can’t fall through the lining. After all, I’d better not take the cap off till I get home.’ When he had reached the foot of the incline Drum of his own accord galloped up the next hill and Polikéy, who was as eager as Drum to get home, did not check him. All was well – at any rate so Polikéy imagined, and he gave himself up to dreams of his mistress’s gratitude, of the five rubles she would give him, and of the joy of his family. He took off his cap, felt for the envelope, and, smiling, put the cap tighter on his head. The velveteen crown of the cap was very rotten, and just because Akulína had carefully sewn up the rents in one place, it burst open in another; and the very movement by which Polikéy in the dusk had thought to push the envelope with the money deeper under the wadding, tore the cap farther and pushed out a corner of the envelope through the velveteen crown.