"Why, like this. Do you know," Akim went on and his eyes gleamed, "do
you know where I spent the night? You don't know? In Naum's cellar,
with my arms and legs tied like a sheep--that's where I spent the
night. I tried to set fire to the place, but he caught me--Naum did;
he is too sharp! And to-day he meant to take me to the town but he let
me off; so I can't claim the money from him.... 'When did I borrow
money from you?' he would say. Am I to say to him, 'My wife took it
from under the floor and brought it to you'? 'Your wife is telling
lies,' he will say. Hasn't there been scandal enough for you,
Arefyevna? You'd better say nothing, I tell you, say nothing."
"I am guilty, Semyonitch, I am guilty," Avdotya, terrified, whispered
again.
"That's not what matters," said Akim, after a pause. "What are we
going to do? We have no home or no money."
"We shall manage somehow, Akim Semyonitch. We'll ask Lizaveta
Prohorovna, she will help us, Kiriliovna has promised me."
"No, Arefyenva, you and your Kirillovna had better ask her together;
you are berries off the same bush. I tell you what: you stay here and
good luck to you; I shall not stay here. It's a good thing we have no
children, and I shall be all right, I dare say, alone. There's always
enough for one."
"What will you do, Semyonitch? Take up driving again?"
Akim laughed bitterly.
"I should be a fine driver, no mistake! You have pitched on the right
man for it! No, Arefyenva, that's a job not like getting married, for
instance; an old man is no good for the job. I don't want to stay
here, just because I don't want them to point the finger at me--do you
understand? I am going to pray for my sins, Arefyevna, that's what I
am going to do."
"What sins have you, Semyonitch?" Avdotya pronounced timidly.
"Of them I know best myself, wife."
"But are you leaving me all alone, Semyonitch? How can I live without
a husband?"
"Leaving you alone? Oh, Arefyevna, how you do talk, really! Much you
need a husband like me, and old, too, and ruined as well! Why, you got
on without me in the past, you can get on in the future. What property
is left us, you can take; I don't want it."
"As you like, Semyonitch," Avdotya replied mournfully. "You know
best."
"That's better. Only don't you suppose that I am angry with you,
Arefyevna. No, what's the good of being angry when ... I ought to have
been wiser before. I've been to blame. I am punished." (Akim sighed.)
"As you make your bed so you must lie on it. I am old, it's time to
think of my soul. The Lord himself has brought me to understanding.
Like an old fool I wanted to live for my own pleasure with a young
wife.... No, the old man had better pray and beat his head against the
earth and endure in patience and fast.... And now go along, my dear. I
am very weary, I'll sleep a little."
And Akim with a groan stretched himself on the bench.
Avdotya wanted to say something, stood a moment, looked at him, turned
away and went out.
"Well, he didn't beat you then?" asked Petrovitch sitting bent up on
the ledge when she was level with him. Avdotya passed by him without
speaking. "So he didn't beat her," the old man said to himself; he
smiled, ruffled up his beard and took a pinch of snuff.
* * * * *
Akim carried out his intention. He hurriedly arranged his affairs and
a few days after the conversation we have described went, dressed
ready for his journey, to say goodbye to his wife who had settled for
a time in a little lodge in the mistress's garden. His farewell did
not take long. Kirillovna, who happened to be present, advised Akim to
see his mistress; he did so, Lizaveta Prohorovna received him with
some confusion but graciously let him kiss her hand and asked him
where he meant to go. He answered he was going first to Kiev and after
that where it would please the Lord. She commended his decision and
dismissed him. From that time he rarely appeared at home, though he
never forgot to bring his mistress some holy bread.... But wherever
Russian pilgrims gather his thin and aged but always dignified and
handsome face could be seen: at the relics of St. Sergey; on the
shores of the White Sea, at the Optin hermitage, and at the far-away
Valaam; he went everywhere.
This year he has passed by you in the ranks of the innumerable
people who go in procession behind the ikon of the Mother of God to
the Korennaya; last year you found him sitting with a wallet on
his shoulders with other pilgrims on the steps of Nikolay, the
wonder-worker, at Mtsensk ... he comes to Moscow almost every spring.
From land to land he has wandered with his quiet, unhurried, but
never-resting step--they say he has been even to Jerusalem. He seems
perfectly calm and happy and those who have chanced to converse with
him have said much of his piety and humility. Meanwhile, Naum's
fortunes prospered exceedingly. He set to work with energy and good
sense and got on, as the saying is, by leaps and bounds. Everyone in
the neighbourhood knew by what means he had acquired the inn, they
knew too that Avdotya had given him her husband's money; nobody liked
Naum because of his cold, harsh disposition.... With censure they told
the story of him that once when Akim himself had asked alms under his
window he answered that God would give, and had given him nothing; but
everyone agreed that there never had been a luckier man; his corn came
better than other people's, his bees swarmed more frequently; even his
hens laid more eggs; his cattle were never ill, his horses did not go
lame.... It was a long time before Avdotya could bear to hear his name
(she had accepted Lizaveta Prohorovna's invitation and had reentered
her service as head sewing-maid), but in the end her aversion was
somewhat softened; it was said that she had been driven by poverty to
appeal to him and he had given her a hundred roubles.... She must not
be too severely judged: poverty breaks any will and the sudden and
violent change in her life had greatly aged and humbled her: it was
hard to believe how quickly she lost her looks, how completely she let
herself go and lost heart....
How did it all end? the reader will ask. Why, like this: Naum, after
having kept the inn successfully for about fifteen years, sold it
advantageously to another townsman. He would never have parted from
the inn if it had not been for the following, apparently
insignificant, circumstance: for two mornings in succession his dog,
sitting before the windows, had kept up a prolonged and doleful howl.
He went out into the road the second time, looked attentively at the
howling dog, shook his head, went up to town and the same day agreed
on the price with a man who had been for a long time anxious to
purchase it. A week later he had moved to a distance--out of the
province; the new owner settled in and that very evening the inn was
burnt to ashes; not a single outbuilding was left and Naum's successor
was left a beggar. The reader can easily imagine the rumours that this
fire gave rise to in the neighbourhood.... Evidently he carried his
"luck" away with him, everyone repeated. Of Naum it is said that he
has gone into the corn trade and has made a great fortune. But will it
last long? Stronger pillars have fallen and evil deeds end badly
sooner or later. There is not much to say about Lizaveta Prohorovna.
She is still living and, as is often the case with people of her sort,
is not much changed, she has not even grown much older--she only seems
to have dried up a little; on the other hand, her stinginess has
greatly increased though it is difficult to say for whose benefit she
is saving as she has no children and no attachments. In conversation
she often speaks of Akim and declares that since she has understood
his good qualities she has begun to feel great respect for the Russian
peasant. Kirillovna bought her freedom for a considerable sum and
married for love a fair-haired young waiter who leads her a dreadful
life; Avdotya lives as before among the maids in Lizaveta Prohorovna's
house, but has sunk to a rather lower position; she is very poorly,
almost dirtily dressed, and there is no trace left in her of the
townbred airs and graces of a fashionable maid or of the habits of a
prosperous innkeeper's wife.... No one takes any notice of her and she
herself is glad to be unnoticed; old Petrovitch is dead and Akim is
still wandering, a pilgrim, and God only knows how much longer his
pilgrimage will last!
1852.
* * * * *