Short Fiction by Leo Tolstoy (book reader for pc TXT) 📕

die!⁠ ⁠… Fold a coat for a pillow,” he said, turning to the porter, “or the blood will get 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 if he were trying to remember where he was. The porter picked up the broken bits of glass, and stuck a coat into the hole in the window to keep out the draught. The Elder again sat down to his bowl.

“Ah, Elijah, Elijah! I’m sorry for you, really! What’s to be done? There’s Harúshkin⁠ ⁠… 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 is chary of his own!⁠ ⁠… Mother says the steward told him to buy a substitute. 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!”

Doútlof returned, said his prayers in front of the icons, took off his outdoor things, and sat down beside the Elder. The cook brought more kvass and another spoon. Elijah was quiet, and closing his eyes lay down on the folded coat. The Elder, shaking his head silently, pointed to him. Doútlof waved his hand.

“As if one was not sorry!⁠ ⁠… My own brother’s son!⁠ ⁠… One is not only sorry, but it seems they also make me out a villain towards him.⁠ ⁠… Whether it’s his wife⁠ ⁠… she’s a cunning little woman though 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! Tomorrow 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 oven. “What is money? Money is dross!”

“If one had the money, who would grudge it?” muttered one of the tradesman’s men, lifting his head.

“Ah, money, money! It’s the cause of much sin,” replied Doútlof. “Nothing in the world is the cause of so much sin, and the Scriptures say so too.”

“Everything is said there,” the porter agreed. “There was a man told me how a merchant had stored up a heap of money and did not wish 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 the sons began to search for the money. Nothing was to be found. At last one of the sons guessed that probably the notes were all in the pillow. It went as far as the Tsar, and he allowed the grave to be opened. And what do you think? There was nothing in the pillow, but the coffin was full of creeping things, and so it was buried again.⁠ ⁠… You see what money does!”

“It’s a fact, it causes much sin,” said Doútlof, and he got up and began to say his prayers.

When he had finished, he looked at his nephew. The lad was asleep. Doútlof came up to him, loosened the girdle, and then lay down. One of the other peasants 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. Somehow he felt uneasy at the thought of spending the night there among the recruits. The cocks were already crowing more frequently, answering one another. Drum had eaten all his oats, and was straining towards the drinking-trough. Polikéy harnessed him and led him out, past the peasant carts. His cap, with its contents, was safe, and the wheels of his cart were soon rattling along the frozen Pokróvsk road.

Polikéy felt easier only when he had left the town behind. Up to then he kept imagining that at any moment he might hear himself being pursued, that he would be stopped, and that in place of Elijah’s arms his own would be bound behind his back, 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 kept touching up Drum with the whip. The first person he met was a priest in a tall fur cap, accompanied by a workman blind in one eye. 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; 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 incline, I’ll get down and arrange myself again.⁠ ⁠… 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 trotted up the next hill, and Polikéy, who was as anxious 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 roubles which 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 Akoulína had carefully sewn up the rents in one place,