Best Russian Short Stories by - (ebook reader wifi txt) 📕
The Cloak N.V. Gogol
The District Doctor I.S. Turgenev
The Christmas Tree And The Wedding F.M. Dostoyevsky
God Sees The Truth, But Waits L.N. Tolstoy
How A Muzhik Fed Two Officials M.Y. Saltykov
The Shades, A Phantasy V.G. Korolenko
The Signal V.N. Garshin
The Darling A.P. Chekhov
The Bet A.P. Chekhov
Vanka A.P. Chekhov
Hide and Seek F.K. Sologub
Dethroned I.N. Potapenko
The Servant S.T. Semyonov
One Autumn Night M. Gorky
Her Lover M. Gorky
Lazarus L.N. Andreyev
The Revolutionist M.P. Artzybashev
The Outrage A.I. Kuprin
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One day Gerasim betook himself to a friend from his village, who lived at the extreme outer edge of Moscow, near Sokolnik. The man was coachman to a merchant by the name of Sharov, in whose service he had been for many years. He had ingratiated himself with his master, so that Sharov trusted him absolutely and gave every sign of holding him in high favour. It was the man’s glib tongue, chiefly, that had gained him his master’s confidence. He told on all the servants, and Sharov valued him for it.
Gerasim approached and greeted him. The coachman gave his guest a proper reception, served him with tea and something to eat, and asked him how he was doing.
“Very badly, Yegor Danilych,” said Gerasim. “I’ve been without a job for weeks.”
“Didn’t you ask your old employer to take you back?”
“I did.”
“He wouldn’t take you again?”
“The position was filled already.”
“That’s it. That’s the way you young fellows are. You serve your employers so-so, and when you leave your jobs, you usually have muddied up the way back to them. You ought to serve your masters so that they will think a lot of you, and when you come again, they will not refuse you, but rather dismiss the man who has taken your place.”
“How can a man do that? In these days there aren’t any employers like that, and we aren’t exactly angels, either.”
“What’s the use of wasting words? I just want to tell you about myself. If for some reason or other I should ever have to leave this place and go home, not only would Mr. Sharov, if I came back, take me on again without a word, but he would be glad to, too.”
Gerasim sat there downcast. He saw his friend was boasting, and it occurred to him to gratify him.
“I know it,” he said. “But it’s hard to find men like you, Yegor Danilych. If you were a poor worker, your master would not have kept you twelve years.”
Yegor smiled. He liked the praise.
“That’s it,” he said. “If you were to live and serve as I do, you wouldn’t be out of work for months and months.”
Gerasim made no reply.
Yegor was summoned to his master.
“Wait a moment,” he said to Gerasim. “I’ll be right back.”
“Very well.”
IIIYegor came back and reported that inside of half an hour he would have to have the horses harnessed, ready to drive his master to town. He lighted his pipe and took several turns in the room. Then he came to a halt in front of Gerasim.
“Listen, my boy,” he said, “if you want, I’ll ask my master to take you as a servant here.”
“Does he need a man?”
“We have one, but he’s not much good. He’s getting old, and it’s very hard for him to do the work. It’s lucky for us that the neighbourhood isn’t a lively one and the police don’t make a fuss about things being kept just so, else the old man couldn’t manage to keep the place clean enough for them.”
“Oh, if you can, then please do say a word for me, Yegor Danilych. I’ll pray for you all my life. I can’t stand being without work any longer.”
“All right, I’ll speak for you. Come again to-morrow, and in the meantime take this ten-kopek piece. It may come in handy.”
“Thanks, Yegor Danilych. Then you will try for me? Please do me the favour.”
“All right. I’ll try for you.”
Gerasim left, and Yegor harnessed up his horses. Then he put on his coachman’s habit, and drove up to the front door. Mr. Sharov stepped out of the house, seated himself in the sleigh, and the horses galloped off. He attended to his business in town and returned home. Yegor, observing that his master was in a good humour, said to him:
“Yegor Fiodorych, I have a favour to ask of you.”
“What is it?”
“There’s a young man from my village here, a good boy. He’s without a job.”
“Well?”
“Wouldn’t you take him?”
“What do I want him for?”
“Use him as man of all work round the place.”
“How about Polikarpych?”
“What good is he? It’s about time you dismissed him.”
“That wouldn’t be fair. He has been with me so many years. I can’t let him go just so, without any cause.”
“Supposing he has worked for you for years. He didn’t work for nothing. He got paid for it. He’s certainly saved up a few dollars for his old age.”
“Saved up! How could he? From what? He’s not alone in the world. He has a wife to support, and she has to eat and drink also.”
“His wife earns money, too, at day’s work as charwoman.”
“A lot she could have made! Enough for kvas.”
“Why should you care about Polikarpych and his wife? To tell you the truth, he’s a very poor servant. Why should you throw your money away on him? He never shovels the snow away on time, or does anything right. And when it comes his turn to be night watchman, he slips away at least ten times a night. It’s too cold for him. You’ll see, some day, because of him, you will have trouble with the police. The quarterly inspector will descend on us, and it won’t be so agreeable for you to be responsible for Polikarpych.”
“Still, it’s pretty rough. He’s been with me fifteen years. And to treat him that way in his old age—it would be a sin.”
“A sin! Why, what harm would you be doing him? He won’t starve. He’ll go to the almshouse. It will be better for him, too, to be quiet in his old age.”
Sharov reflected.
“All right,” he said finally. “Bring your friend here. I’ll see what I can do.”
“Do take him, sir. I’m so sorry for him. He’s a good boy, and he’s been without work for such a long time. I know he’ll do his work well and serve you faithfully. On account of having to report for military duty, he lost his last position. If it hadn’t been for that, his master would never have let him go.”
IV
The next evening Gerasim came again and asked:
“Well, could you do anything for me?”
“Something, I believe. First let’s have some tea. Then we’ll go see my master.”
Even tea had no allurements for Gerasim. He was eager for a decision; but under the compulsion of politeness to his host, he gulped down two glasses of tea, and then they betook themselves to Sharov.
Sharov asked Gerasim where he had lived before and what work he could do. Then he told him he was prepared to engage him as man of all work, and he should come back the next day ready to take the place.
Gerasim was fairly stunned by the great stroke of fortune. So overwhelming was his joy that his legs would scarcely carry him. He went to the coachman’s room, and Yegor said to him:
“Well, my lad, see to it that you do your work right, so that I shan’t have to be ashamed of you. You know what masters are like. If you go wrong once, they’ll be at you forever after with their fault-finding, and never give you peace.”
“Don’t worry about that, Yegor Danilych.”
“Well—well.”
Gerasim took leave, crossing the yard to go out by the gate. Polikarpych’s rooms gave on the yard, and a broad beam of light from the window fell across Gerasim’s way. He was curious to get a glimpse of his future home, but the panes were all frosted over, and it was impossible to peep through. However, he could hear what the people inside were saying.
“What will we do now?” was said in a woman’s voice.
“I don’t know, I don’t know,” a man, undoubtedly Polikarpych, replied. “Go begging, I suppose.”
“That’s all we can do. There’s nothing else left,” said the woman. “Oh, we poor people, what a miserable life we lead. We work and work from early morning till late at night, day after day, and when we get old, then it’s, ‘Away with you!’”
“What can we do? Our master is not one of us. It wouldn’t be worth the while to say much to him about it. He cares only for his own advantage.”
“All the masters are so mean. They don’t think of any one but themselves. It doesn’t occur to them that we work for them honestly and faithfully for years, and use up our best strength in their service. They’re afraid to keep us a year longer, even though we’ve got all the strength we need to do their work. If we weren’t strong enough, we’d go of our own accord.”
“The master’s not so much to blame as his coachman. Yegor Danilych wants to get a good position for his friend.”
“Yes, he’s a serpent. He knows how to wag his tongue. You wait, you foul-mouthed beast, I’ll get even with you. I’ll go straight to the master and tell him how the fellow deceives him, how he steals the hay and fodder. I’ll put it down in writing, and he can convince himself how the fellow lies about us all.”
“Don’t, old woman. Don’t sin.”
“Sin? Isn’t what I said all true? I know to a dot what I’m saying, and I mean to tell it straight out to the master. He should see with his own eyes. Why not? What can we do now anyhow? Where shall we go? He’s ruined us, ruined us.”
The old woman burst out sobbing.
Gerasim heard all that, and it stabbed him like a dagger. He realised what misfortune he would be bringing the old people, and it made him sick at heart. He stood there a long while, saddened, lost in thought, then he turned and went back into the coachman’s room.
“Ah, you forgot something?”
“No, Yegor Danilych.” Gerasim stammered out, “I’ve come—listen—I want to thank you ever and ever so much—for the way you received me—and—and all the trouble you took for me—but—I can’t take the place.”
“What! What does that mean?”
“Nothing. I don’t want the place. I will look for another one for myself.”
Yegor flew into a rage.
“Did you mean to make a fool of me, did you, you idiot? You come here so meek—‘Try for me, do try for me’—and then you refuse to take the place. You rascal, you have disgraced me!”
Gerasim found nothing to say in reply. He reddened, and lowered his eyes. Yegor turned his back scornfully and said nothing more.
Then Gerasim quietly picked up his cap and left the coachman’s room. He crossed the yard rapidly, went out by the gate, and hurried off down the street. He felt happy and lighthearted.
ONE AUTUMN NIGHT BY MAXIM GORKY
Once in the autumn I happened to be in a very unpleasant and inconvenient position. In the town where I had just arrived and where I knew not a soul, I found myself without a farthing in my pocket and without a night’s lodging.
Having sold during the first few days every part of my costume without which it was still possible to go about, I passed from the town into the quarter called “Yste,” where were the steamship wharves—a quarter which during the navigation season fermented with boisterous, laborious life, but now was silent and deserted, for we were in the last days of October.
Dragging my feet along the moist sand, and obstinately scrutinising it with the desire to discover in it any sort of fragment of food, I wandered alone among the deserted buildings and warehouses, and thought how good it would be to get a full meal.
In our present state of culture hunger of the mind is more quickly satisfied than hunger of the body. You wander about the streets, you are surrounded by buildings not bad-looking from the outside and—you may safely say it—not so badly furnished inside, and the sight of them may excite within you stimulating ideas about architecture, hygiene, and many other wise
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