I.

The hot July sun shone dazzlingly over Smólkina, flooding its aged huts with an abundant torrent of brilliant rays. There was an especially great amount of sunlight on the roof of the village Elder's hut, which had recently been covered afresh with smoothly planed boards, yellow and fragrant. It was Sunday, and almost the entire population of the village had come out into the street, thickly overgrown with grass, and sprinkled with hillocks of dried mud. In front of the Elder's hut, a large group of peasant men and women had assembled, some were sitting on the earth, which was banked up around the foundation of the hut, others flat on the ground, others, still, were standing; small children were chasing one another in and out among them, every now and then receiving from their elders angry shouts and raps.

The centre of the throng was a tall man, with long, drooping mustaches. From his light-brown face, covered with a thick, blue mark of beard and a network of deep wrinkles, from the locks of gray hair which hung down beneath a dirty straw hat,—one might judge that this man was fifty years of age. He was staring at the ground, and the nostrils of his large, cartilaginous nose were quivering, and when he raised his head, casting a glance at the windows of the Elder's hut, his eyes became visible,—large, sad, even gloomy eyes, which were deeply sunken in their orbits,[Pg 466] while his thick eyebrows threw a shadow over the dark pupils. He was clad in the cinnamon-brown, tattered cassock of a monastic lay-brother, which barely covered his knees, and was girt about him with a rope. On his back was a canvas wallet, in his right hand, a long staff with an iron ferrule, with his left hand he clutched at his breast. The people round about stared at him suspiciously, sneeringly, with scorn, and, at last, with plain delight, that they had succeeded in catching the wolf before he had managed to do any damage to their flock. He had passed through the village, and, approaching the window of the Elder's hut, he had asked for a drink. The Elder had given him kvas[1] and had talked with him. But the wayfarer, contrary to the habit of pilgrims, had answered very reluctantly.... The Elder had asked him if he had a passport, and it turned out that he had not. And they had detained the wayfarer, resolved to send him to the District Council. The Elder had selected the sótsky[2] as his escort, and now, inside his hut, he was giving the latter instructions concerning the journey, leaving the prisoner in the midst of the crowd, who were making merry at his expense.

[1] See footnote on p. 13.—Translator.

[2] A sort of police-captain, elected by the peasants.—Translator.

As the prisoner had been brought to a halt at the trunk of a white willow tree, so he remained standing, with his curved back resting against it.

But now, on the porch of the hut, a wall-eyed old man, with a foxy face, and a small, gray, wedge-shaped beard, made his appearance. He lowered his booted feet sedately from step to step, and his round little belly waggled solidly under his long shirt of sarpinka.[3] And over his shoulders peered the square, bearded face of the policeman.

[3] See footnote on p. 242.

[Pg 467]

"You understand, Efímushka?" the Elder asked the policeman.

"What is there to understand? I understand all about it. That means, that I, the policeman of Smólkina, am bound to conduct this man to the Rural Chief, and—that's all there is to it!"—and having uttered his speech with distinct articulation, and with comical importance, the policeman winked at the spectators.

"And the document?"

"The document—lives in my breast."

"Well, all right!" said the Elder argumentatively, and he added, as he scratched his ribs violently:

"Then go ahead, and God be with you!"

"Start up! Shall we march on, father?" the policeman smilingly asked the prisoner.

"You might provide a conveyance," replied the latter, in a low tone to the policeman's question. The Elder grinned.

"A con-ve-eyance! Get out with you! There are lots of tramps like you cropping up in the fields and villages ... there wouldn't be horses enough to go around for them all. So trot along on your own legs. That's the way!"

"Never mind, father, we'll walk!"—said the policeman encouragingly.... "Do you think it's far from us? With God's blessing, not more than twenty versts! Yes, and it can't be as much as that. You and I will soon roll there. And there you can rest yourself."

"In the cooler..."[4] explained the Elder.

[4] This is not arbitrary slang, but a literal translation of the word, kholódnaya—the cooler, or cold place.—Translator.

"That's nothing," the policeman hastened to remark ... "When a man's tired he can rest even in jail. And[Pg 468] then—the cooler—it's refreshing ... after a hot day—it's very nice indeed there!"

The prisoner cast a surly glance at his escort—the latter smiled frankly and cheerfully.

"Come on, now, respected father! Farewell, Vasíl Gavrílitch! Go along!"

"The Lord be with you, Efímushka!—Keep a sharp lookout!"

"Look as sharp—as though you had three eyes!" put in a young fellow in the crowd.

"Lo-ook here now! Am I a baby, I'd like to know?"

And they set off, keeping close to the huts, in order to walk in the strip of shade. The man in the cassock went first, with the loose but swinging gait of a pedestrian accustomed to walking. The policeman, with a stout cudgel in his hand, walked behind.

Efímushka was a small peasant, low of stature, squarely built, with a broad, kindly face, framed in a light-brown beard which fell in tufts, and began just below his clear, gray eyes. He was almost always smiling at something, displaying strong, yellow teeth, and wrinkling the skin between his eyebrows, as though he were on the point of sneezing. He was clad in a long, full smock, whose skirts were tucked into his girdle, in order that they might not entangle his legs, on his head was stuck a dark-green cap without a visor, which was pulled down over his brows in front, and bore a strong resemblance to a prison-cap.

His companion walked on, paying no attention to him, as though he were not even conscious of his presence behind him. Their way led along a narrow country road; it wound, in serpentine curves, through a waving sea of rye, and the shadows of the travellers crept over the gold of the ears.

On the horizon the crest of a forest shone blue, on the wayfarers' left, the sown fields stretched out into the end[Pg 469]less distance, and among them la; the dark blot of a village, and beyond it, again, were fields, which vanished in pale-blue mist.

On their right, from behind a clump of willows, the spire of a belfry, still surrounded by scaffoldings, and not yet painted, pierced the blue sky—it gleamed so brilliantly in the sun, that it was painful to look at.

Larks were trilling in the sky, corn-flowers smiled among the rye, and the weather was hot—almost stifling. The dust flew up from under the travellers' feet.

Efímushka began to feel bored. Being a great chatterer by nature, he could not hold his tongue for long, and clearing his throat, he suddenly struck up, in a falsetto voice:

"Hey—ekh—the-ere, and why-y is thi-i-is ...
An' why do-oth sor-row gnaw my heart?"

"If your voice gives out, blow it up to its limits! Hm—ye-es ... but I did use to sing ... The Víshenki teacher used to say,—'come on, now, Efímushka, strike up!' And he and I burst into a flood of song! he was a just young fellow...."

"Who was he?" inquired the man in the cassock, with a bass voice.

"Why, the Víshenki teacher...."

"Víshenki—was that his name?"

"Víshenki is the name of a village, brother. But the teacher's name was Pável Mikhá?litch. He was a first-class man. He died three years ago...."

"Was he young?"

"He was under thirty...."

"What did he die of?...."

"Of grief, I suppose."

Efímushka's companion cast a sidelong glance at him, and burst out laughing.

[Pg 470]

"You see, my dear man, this is the way it was—he taught, he taught seven years in succession, and then he began to cough. He coughed, and coughed, and began to grieve.... Well, and with the grief, of course, he began to drink vódka. But Father Alexéi did not like him, and when he took to drink, that Father Alexéi sent off a document to the town—thus and so, says he—the teacher drinks, and 'tis nothing but a scandal. Then they sent another document from the town, in reply, and a woman teacher. She was a very long woman, and bony, with a huge nose. Well Pável Mikhá?litch sees that his business is done for. He was grieved; 'here I've taught and taught,' says he ... 'akh, you devils!' He went from the school straight to the hospital, and five days later, he gave up his soul to God.... That's all...."

They walked on for some time in silence. The forest drew nearer to the pedestrians with every step, growing before their very eyes, and turning green from blue.

"Are we going through the forest?" inquired Efímushka's companion.

"We shall cut across the corner of it, about half a verst. But why? Hey? What are you up to? I perceive that you are a goose, respected father!"

And Efímushka laughed, and wagged his head.

"What do you mean?" inquired the prisoner.

"Why, nothing. Akh, you stupid!" Shall we go through the forest?9 says he. You're simple, my dear man, nobody with any sense would have asked that question. Any sensible man would have walked straight up to the forest, and then...."

"What?"

"Nothing! I see through you, brother. Ekh, you dear, sly humbug! No—you drop that idea—about the forest! Do you think you can get the better of me? Why, I could[Pg 471] manage three such as you, and I could whip you with one hand, while the other was bound to my body ... Do you understand?"

"Yes! You fool!—" said the prisoner, curtly and significantly.

"What? Did I guess you?"—said Efímushka triumphantly.

"Blockhead! What have you guessed?" said the prisoner, with a wry smile.

"About the forest ... I understand!... 'I,' says he—that is you,—'when we come to the forest, will cut him down'—meaning me,—'I'll cut him down, and make off across the fields, and the forests?' Isn't that it?"

"You're stupid ..." said the man who had been divined, shrugging his shoulders.—"Come now, where could I go to?"

"Well, wherever you please—that's your affair."

"But where?—" Efímushka's companion was either angry, or was very anxious to hear from his escort precisely where he could go.

"Wherever you please, I tell you!" repeated Efímushka calmly.

"I have no place to run to, brother, none!"—said his companion quietly.

"Oh, co-ome now!" ejaculated the escort incredulously, and even waved his hand. "There's always some place to run to. The earth is big. There's always room for one man on it."

"Well, what do you mean? Do you mean that I am to run away?"—inquired the prisoner with curiosity, and he laughed.

"What a man you are! You're very fine! Is that proper? If you run away, whom can they put in prison, instead of[Pg 472] you? They'll put me there in your place. No, I only said that by way of talking...."

"You're a blessed fool.. yet you seem a good sort of peasant,—" said Efímushka's travelling-companion with a sigh. Efímushka hastened to agree with him.

"That's just what some folks do call me, a blessed fool ... and as for my being a good sort of a peasant—that's true too. I'm straightforward, that's the chief thing. Some folks always act in a roundabout way, with guile, but what's that to me? I'm a man who is alone in the world. If you're guileful, you die, and if you live uprightly, you die. So I try to be as straightforward as possible."

"You do well!"—remarked Efímushka's companion indifferently.

"Why not? Why should I begin to squirm in my soul, when I'm alone, that's all there is to it. I'm a free man, brother. As I like, so I live, I pass my life according to the law.... Ye-es.... And what is your name?"

"My name? Well.. call me Pável Ivánoff, if you like...."

"Very well! Are you an ecclesiastic?"

"N-no...."

"Well, now? Why, I thought you were...."

"Did you think so from my dress?"

"Yes, exactly so! You're for all the world like a runaway monk, or a disfrocked priest.... But your face doesn't suit, in the face you look more like a soldier.... God knows what sort of a man you are"—and Efímushka cast an inquisitive glance at the pilgrim. The latter sighed, adjusted his hat on his head, mopped his perspiring brow, and asked the policeman:

"Do you smoke tobacco?"

"Oh, mercy me! Of course I smoke!"

[Pg 473]

He pulled a dirty tobacco-pouch out of his bosom, and bending his head, but not halting, he began to stuff tobacco into a clay pipe.

"There now, smoke that!"—The prisoner stopped, and bending toward a match which his escort lighted, he drew in his cheeks. Blue smoke floated up into the air.

"From what class do you come? Are you a petty burgher?"

"A noble...." said the prisoner briefly, and spat to one side, on the ears of rye, already clothed in a golden glow.

"E-eh! That's clever! Then how do you come to be going about without a passport?"

"Why, I'm just roaming."

"Well—well! That's practical! Your nobility is accustomed to this wolfs life, I guess? E-ekh, you unfortunate!"

"Well, that will do ... stop your chatter,"—said the unfortunate curtly.

But Efímushka, with growing curiosity and sympathy, scrutinized the passportless man, and wagging his head thoughtfully, he went on:

"A-a?! How Fate does play with a man, when you come to think of it! How, I suppose it is true that you are a nobleman, because you carry yourself so magnificently. Have you been living long in this manner?"

The man with the magnificent carriage cast a surly glance at Efímushka, and waved him off with his hand, as he would have treated a troublesome wasp.

"drop it, I say! Why are you persisting, like a woman?"

"Now, don't you get angry!"—remarked Efímushka soothingly. "I'm speaking with pure motives ... I have a very kind heart...."

[Pg 474]

"Well, that's lucky for you ... But your tongue wags incessantly—that's unlucky for me."

"Well, all right! I can hold my tongue ... a man can hold his tongue if people don't want to listen to his conversation. But you're getting angry without any cause.... Is it my fault that you have been compelled to live the life of a vagabond?"

The prisoner halted, and set his teeth so tightly, that his cheek-bones stood out like two acute angles, and the gray bristles on them stood on end. He eyed Efímushka from head to foot, with eyes puckered up and blazing with wrath.

But before Efímushka observed this pantomime, he began again to cover the ground with long strides.

On the countenance of the loquacious policeman lay an impress of pensiveness. He stared upward, at the spot whence the trills of the larks poured forth, and whistled to them through his teeth, brandishing his cudgel in time with his steps. They reached the edge of the forest. It stood like a dark, motionless wall—not a sound was wafted from it to greet the travellers. The sun was already setting, and its slanting rays dyed the crests of the trees with crimson and gold. From the trees breathed forth a fragrant dampness, the twilight, and concentrated silence, which filled the forest gave birth to a feeling of awe.

When a forest stands before one's eyes, dark and motionless, when it is completely submerged in mysterious stillness, and every tree seems to be listening keenly to something—then the forest appears to be full of something living, which is only temporarily keeping quiet. And one waits, with the expectation that the next moment something vast and incomprehensible to human understanding will emerge from it, will emerge, and begin to speak in a mighty voice about the great mysteries of Nature's creation....

[Pg 475]
II.

On reaching the edge of the forest, Efímushka and his companion decided to take a rest, and seated themselves on the grass, near a large oak stump. The prisoner slowly drew the wallet from his shoulders, and indifferently inquired of the policeman:

"Would you like some bread?"

"If you give it, I'll chew it," replied Efímushka, with a smile.

And so they began, in silence, to chew their bread. Efímushka ate slowly, sighing all the while, and gazing off somewhere into the distance, across a field on his left, but his companion was entirely engrossed in the process of satisfying his hunger, ate fast, and munched noisily, measuring his crust of bread with his eyes. The field darkened, the grain had already lost its golden hue, and had become rosy-yellow, tufts of dark clouds crept up the sky from the southwest, and shadows fell from them upon the plain,—fe............