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移除书签THERE is a small square near the monastery of the Holy Birth which is called Trubnoy, or simply Truboy; —-
there is a market there on Sundays. Hundreds of sheepskins, wadded coats, fur caps, and chimneypot hats swarm there, like crabs in a sieve. —-
There is the sound of the twitter of birds in all sorts of keys, recalling the spring. —-
If the sun is shining, and there are no clouds in the sky, the singing of the birds and the smell of hay make a more vivid impression, and this reminder of spring sets one thinking and carries one’s fancy far, far away. —-
Along one side of the square there stands a string of waggons. —-
The waggons are loaded, not with hay, not with cabbages, nor with beans, but with goldfinches, siskins, larks, blackbirds and thrushes, bluetits, bullfinches. —-
All of them are hopping about in rough, home-made cages, twittering and looking with envy at the free sparrows. —-
The goldfinches cost five kopecks, the siskins are rather more expensive, while the value of the other birds is quite indeterminate.
“How much is a lark?”
The seller himself does not know the value of a lark. —-
He scratches his head and asks whatever comes into it, a rouble, or three kopecks, according to the purchaser. —-
There are expensive birds too. A faded old blackbird, with most of its feathers plucked out of its tail, sits on a dirty perch. —-
He is dignified, grave, and motionless as a retired general. —-
He has waved his claw in resignation to his captivity long ago, and looks at the blue sky with indifference. —-
Probably, owing to this indifference, he is considered a sagacious bird. —-
He is not to be bought for less than forty kopecks. —-
Schoolboys, workmen, young men in stylish greatcoats, and bird-fanciers in incredibly shabby caps, in ragged trousers that are turned up at the ankles, and look as though they had been gnawed by mice, crowd round the birds, splashing through the mud. —-
The young people and the workmen are sold hens for cocks, young birds for old ones. . . . —-
They know very little about birds. But there is no deceiving the bird-fancier. —-
He sees and understands his bird from a distance.
“There is no relying on that bird,” a fancier will say, looking into a siskin’s beak, and counting the feathers on its tail. —-
“He sings now, it’s true, but what of that? I sing in company too. —-
No, my boy, shout, sing to me without company; sing in solitude, if you can. . . . —-
You give me that one yonder that sits and holds its tongue! —-
Give me the quiet one! That one says nothing, so he thinks the more. . . .”
Among the waggons of birds there are some full of other live creatures. —-
Here you see hares, rabbits, hedgehogs, guinea-pigs, polecats. —-
A hare sits sorrowfully nibbling the straw. —-
The guinea-pigs shiver with cold, while the hedgehogs look out with curiosity from under their prickles at the public.
“I have read somewhere,” says a post-office official in a faded overcoat, looking lovingly at the hare, and addressing no one in particular, “I have read that some learned man had a cat and a mouse and a falcon and a sparrow, who all ate out of one bowl.”
“That’s very possible, sir. The cat must have been beaten, and the falcon, I dare say, had all its tail pulled out. —-
There’s no great cleverness in that, sir. —-
A friend of mine had a cat who, saving your presence, used to eat his cucumbers. —-
He thrashed her with a big whip for a fortnight, till he taught her not to. —-
A hare can learn to light matches if you beat it. Does that surprise you? It’s very simple! —-
It takes the match in its mouth and strikes it. An animal is like a man. —-
A man’s made wiser by beating, and it’s the same with a beast.”
Men in long, full-skirted coats move backwards and forwards in the crowd with cocks and ducks under their arms. —-
The fowls are all lean and hungry. Chickens poke their ugly, mangy-looking heads out of their cages and peck at something in the mud. —-
Boys with pigeons stare into your face and try to detect in you a pigeon-fancier.
“Yes, indeed! It’s no use talking to you,” someone shouts angrily. —-
“You should look before you speak! Do you call this a pigeon? —-
It is an eagle, not a pigeon!”
A tall thin man, with a shaven upper lip and side whiskers, who looks like a sick and drunken footman, is selling a snow-white lap-dog. —-
The old lap-dog whines.
“She told me to sell the nasty thing,” says the footman, with a contemptuous snigger. —-
“She is bankrupt in her old age, has nothing to eat, and here now is selling her dogs and cats. —-
She cries, and kisses them on their filthy snouts. And then she is so hard up that she sells them. —-
‘Pon my soul, it is a fact! Buy it, gentlemen! —-
The money is wanted for coffee.”
But no one laughs. A boy who is standing by screws up one eye and looks at him gravely with compassion.
The most interesting of all is the fish section. Some dozen peasants are sitting in a row. —-
Before each of them is a pail, and in each pail there is a veritable little hell. —-
There, in the thick, greenish water are swarms of little carp, eels, small fry, water-snails, frogs, and newts. —-
Big water-beetles with broken legs scurry over the small surface, clambering on the carp, and jumping over the frogs. —-
The creatures have a strong hold on life. The frogs climb on the beetles, the newts on the frogs. —-
The dark green tench, as more expensive fish, enjoy an exceptional position; —-
they are kept in a special jar where they can’t swim, but still they are not so cramped. . . .
“The carp is a grand fish! The carp’s the fish to keep, your honour, plague take him! —-
You can keep him for a year in a pail and he’ll live! —-
It’s a week since I caught these very fish. —-
I caught them, sir, in Pererva, and have come from there on foot. —-
The carp are two kopecks each, the eels are three, and the minnows are ten kopecks the dozen, plague take them! —-
Five kopecks’ worth of minnows, sir? Won’t you take some worms?”
The seller thrusts his coarse rough fingers into the pail and pulls out of it a soft minnow, or a little carp, the size of a nail. —-
Fishing lines, hooks, and tackle are laid out near the pails, and pond-worms glow with a crimson light in the sun.
An old fancier in a fur cap, iron-rimmed spectacles, and goloshes that look like two dread-noughts, walks about by the waggons of birds and pails of fish. —-
He is, as they call him here, “a type. —-
” He hasn’t a farthing to bless himself with, but in spite of that he haggles, gets excited, and pesters purchasers with advice. —-
He has thoroughly examined all the hares, pigeons, and fish; —-
examined them in every detail, fixed the kind, the age, and the price of each one of them a good hour ago. —-
He is as interested as a child in the goldfinches, the carp, and the minnows. —-
Talk to him, for instance, about thrushes, and the queer old fellow will tell you things you could not find in any book. —-
He will tell you them with enthusiasm, with passion, and will scold you too for your ignorance. —-
Of goldfinches and bullfinches he is ready to talk endlessly, opening his eyes wide and gesticulating violently with his hands. —-
He is only to be met here at the market in the cold weather; —-
in the summer he is somewhere in the country, catching quails with a bird-call and angling for fish.
And here is another “type,” a very tall, very thin, close-shaven gentleman in dark spectacles, wearing a cap with a cockade, and looking like a scrivener of by-gone days. —-
He is a fancier; he is a man of decent position, a teacher in a high school, and that is well known to the habitués of the market, and they treat him with respect, greet him with bows, and have even invented for him a special title: —-
“Your Scholarship.” At Suharev market he rummages among the books, and at Trubnoy looks out for good pigeons.
“Please, sir!” the pigeon-sellers shout to him, “Mr. Schoolmaster, your Scholarship, take notice of my tumblers! —-
your Scholarship!”
“Your Scholarship!” is shouted at him from every side.
“Your Scholarship!” an urchin repeats somewhere on the boulevard.
And his “Scholarship,” apparently quite accustomed to his title, grave and severe, takes a pigeon in both hands, and lifting it above his head, begins examining it, and as he does so frowns and looks graver than ever, like a conspirator.
And Trubnoy Square, that little bit of Moscow where animals are so tenderly loved, and where they are so tortured, lives its little life, grows noisy and excited, and the business-like or pious people who pass by along the boulevard cannot make out what has brought this crowd of people, this medley of caps, fur hats, and chimneypots together; —-
what they are talking about there, what they are buying and selling.
AN ADVENTURE (A Driver’s Story)
IT was in that wood yonder, behind the creek, that it happened, sir. —-
My father, the kingdom of Heaven be his, was taking five hundred roubles to the master; —-
in those days our fellows and the Shepelevsky peasants used to rent land from the master, so father was taking money for the half- year. —-
He was a God-fearing man, he used to read the scriptures, and as for cheating or wronging anyone, or defrauding —God forbid, and the peasants honoured him greatly, and when someone had to be sent to the town about taxes or such-like, or with money, they used to send him. —-
He was a man above the ordinary, but, not that I’d speak ill of him, he had a weakness. —-
He was fond of a drop. There was no getting him past a tavern: —-
he would go in, drink a glass, and be completely done for! —-
He was aware of this weakness in himself, and when he was carrying public money, that he might not fall asleep or lose it by some chance, he always took me or my sister Anyutka with him.
To tell the truth, all our family have a great taste for vodka. —-
I can read and write, I served for six years at a tobacconist’s in the town, and I can talk to any educated gentleman, and can use very fine language, but, it is perfectly true, sir, as I read in a book, that vodka is the blood of Satan. Through vodka my face has darkened. —-
And there is nothing seemly about me, and here, as you may see, sir, I am a cab-driver like an ignorant, uneducated peasant.
And so, as I was telling you, father was taking the money to the master, Anyutka was going with him, and at that time Anyutka was seven or maybe eight—a silly chit, not that high. —-
He got as far as Kalantchiko successfully, he was sober, but when he reached Kalantchiko and went into Moiseika’s tavern, this same weakness of his came upon him. —-
He drank three glasses and set to bragging before people:
“I am a plain humble man,” he says, “but I have five hundred roubles in my pocket; —-
if I like,” says he, “I could buy up the tavern and all the crockery and Moiseika and his Jewess and his little Jews. I can buy it all out and out,” he said. —-
That was his way of joking, to be sure, but then he began complaining: —-
“It’s a worry, good Christian people,” said he, “to be a rich man, a merchant, or anything of that kind. —-
If you have no money you have no care, if you have money you must watch over your pocket the whole time that wicked men may not rob you. —-
It’s a terror to live in the world for a man who has a lot of money.”
The drunken people listened of course, took it in, and made a note of it. —-
And in those days they were making a railway line at Kalantchiko, and there were swarms and swarms of tramps and vagabonds of all sorts like locusts. —-
Father pulled himself up afterwards, but it was too late. —-
A word is not a sparrow, if it flies out you can’t catch it. —-
They drove, sir, by the wood, and all at once there was someone galloping on horseback behind them. —-
Father was not of the chicken-hearted brigade—that I couldn’t say—but he felt uneasy; —-
there was no regular road through the wood, nothing went that way but hay and timber, and there was no cause for anyone to be galloping there, particularly in working hours. —-
One wouldn’t be galloping after any good.
“It seems as though they are after someone,” said father to Anyutka, “they are galloping so furiously. —-
I ought to have kept quiet in the tavern, a plague on my tongue. —-
Oy, little daughter, my heart misgives me, there is something wrong!”
He did not spend long in hesitation about his dangerous position, and he said to my sister Anyutka:
“Things don’t look very bright, they really are in pursuit. —-
Anyway, Anyutka dear, you take the money, put it away in your skirts, and go and hide behind a bush. If by ill-luck they attack me, you run back to mother, and give her the money. —-
Let her take it to the village elder. Only mind you don’t let anyone see you; —-
keep to the wood and by the creek, that no one may see you. —-
Run your best and call on the merciful God. Christ be with you!”
Father thrust the parcel of notes on Anyutka, and she looked out the thickest of the bushes and hid herself. —-
Soon after, three men on horseback galloped up to father. —-
One a stalwart, big-jawed fellow, in a crimson shirt and high boots, and the other two, ragged, shabby fellows, navvies from the line. —-
As my father feared, so it really turned out, sir. —-
The one in the crimson shirt, the sturdy, strong fellow, a man above the ordinary, left his horse, and all three made for my father.
“Halt you, so-and-so! Where’s the money!”
“What money? Go to the devil!”
“Oh, the money you are taking the master for the rent. —-
Hand it over, you bald devil, or we will throttle you, and you’ll die in your sins.”
And they began to practise their villainy on father, and, instead of beseeching them, weeping, or anything of the sort, father got angry and began to reprove them with the greatest severity.
“What are you pestering me for?” said he. “You are a dirty lot. —-
There is no fear of God in you, plague take you! —-
It’s not money you want, but a beating, to make your backs smart for three years after. —-
Be off, blockheads, or I shall defend myself. —-
I have a revolver that takes six bullets, it’s in my bosom!”
But his words did not deter the robbers, and they began beating him with anything they could lay their hands on.
They looked through everything in the cart, searched my father thoroughly, even taking off his boots; —-
when they found that beating father only made him swear at them the more, they began torturing him in all sorts of ways. —-
All the time Anyutka was sitting behind the bush, and she saw it all, poor dear. —-
When she saw father lying on the ground and gasping, she started off and ran her hardest through the thicket and the creek towards home. —-
She was only a little girl, with no understanding; —-
she did not know the way, just ran on not knowing where she was going. —-
It was some six miles to our home. Anyone else might have run there in an hour, but a little child, as we all know, takes two steps back for one forwards, and indeed it is not everyone who can run barefoot through the prickly bushes; —-
you want to be used to it, too, and our girls used always to be crowding together on the stove or in the yard, and were afraid to run in the forest.
Towards evening Anyutka somehow reached a habitation, she looked, it was a hut. —-
It was the forester’s hut, in the Crown forest; —-
some merchants were renting it at the time and burning charcoal. She knocked. —-
A woman, the forester’s wife, came out to her. —-
Anyutka, first of all, burst out crying, and told her everything just as it was, and even told her about the money. —-
The forester’s wife was full of pity for her.
“My poor little dear! Poor mite, God has preserved you, poor little one! —-
My precious! Come into the hut, and I will give you something to eat.”
She began to make up to Anyutka, gave her food and drink, and even wept with her, and was so attentive to her that the girl, only think, gave her the parcel of notes.
“I will put it away, darling, and to-morrow morning I will give it you back and take you home, dearie.”
The woman took the money, and put Anyutka to sleep on the stove where at the time the brooms were drying. —-
And on the same stove, on the brooms, the forester’s daughter, a girl as small as our Anyutka, was asleep. —-
And Anyutka used to tell us afterwards that there was such a scent from the brooms, they smelt of honey! —-
Anyutka lay down, but she could not get to sleep, she kept crying quietly; —-
she was sorry for father, and terrified. —-
But, sir, an hour or two passed, and she saw those very three robbers who had tortured father walk into the hut; —-
and the one in the crimson shirt, with big jaws, their leader, went up to the woman and said:
“Well, wife, we have simply murdered a man for nothing. —-
To-day we killed a man at dinner-time, we killed him all right, but not a farthing did we find.”
So this fellow in the crimson shirt turned out to be the forester, the woman’s husband.
“The man’s dead for nothing,” said his ragged companions. —-
“In vain we have taken a sin on our souls.”
The forester’s wife looked at all three and laughed.
“What are you laughing at, silly?”
“I am laughing because I haven’t murdered anyone, and I have not taken any sin on my soul, but I have found the money.”
“What money? What nonsense are you talking!”
“Here, look whether I am talking nonsense.”
The forester’s wife untied the parcel and, wicked woman, showed them the money. —-
Then she described how Anyutka had come, what she had said, and so on. —-
The murderers were delighted and began to divide the money between them, they almost quarrelled, then they sat down to the table, you know, to drink. —-
And Anyutka lay there, poor child, hearing every word and shaking like a Jew in a frying-pan. —-
What was she to do? And from their words she learned that father was dead and lying across the road, and she fancied, in her foolishness, that the wolves and the dogs would eat father, and that our horse had gone far away into the forest, and would be eaten by wolves too, and that she, Anyutka herself, would be put in prison and beaten, because she had not taken care of the money. —-
The robbers got drunk and sent the woman for vodka. —-
They gave her five roubles for vodka and sweet wine. —-
They set to singing and drinking on other people’s money. —-
They drank and drank, the dogs, and sent the woman off again that they might drink beyond all bounds.
“We will keep it up till morning,” they cried. —-
“We have plenty of money now, there is no need to spare! —-
Drink, and don’t drink away your wits.”
And so at midnight, when they were all fairly fuddled, the woman ran off for vodka the third time, and the forester strode twice up and down the cottage, and he was staggering.
“Look here, lads,” he said, “we must make away with the girl, too! —-
If we leave her, she will be the first to bear witness against us.”
They talked it over and discussed it, and decided that Anyutka must not be left alive, that she must be killed. —-
Of course, to murder an innocent child’s a fearful thing, even a man drunken or crazy would not take such a job on himself. —-
They were quarrelling for maybe an hour which was to kill her, one tried to put it on the other, they almost fought again, and no one would agree to do it; —-
then they cast lots. It fell to the forester. —-
He drank another full glass, cleared his throat, and went to the outer room for an axe.
But Anyutka was a sharp wench. For all she was so simple, she thought of something that, I must say, not many an educated man would have thought of. —-
Maybe the Lord had compassion on her, and gave her sense for the moment, or perhaps it was the fright sharpened her wits, anyway when it came to the test it turned out that she was cleverer than anyone. —-
She got up stealthily, prayed to God, took the little sheepskin, the one the forester’s wife had put over her, and, you understand, the forester’s little daughter, a girl of the same age as herself, was lying on the stove beside her. —-
She covered this girl with the sheepskin, and took the woman’s jacket off her and threw it over herself. —-
Disguised herself, in fact. She put it over her head, and so walked across the hut by the drunken men, and they thought it was the forester’s daughter, and did not even look at her. —-
Luckily for her the woman was not in the hut, she had gone for vodka, or maybe she would not have escaped the axe, for a woman’s eyes are as far-seeing as a buzzard’s. —-
A woman’s eyes are sharp.
Anyutka came out of the hut, and ran as fast as her legs could carry her. —-
All night she was lost in the forest, but towards morning she came out to the edge and ran along the road. —-
By the mercy of God she met the clerk Yegor Danilitch, the kingdom of Heaven be his. —-
He was going along with his hooks to catch fish. Anyutka told him all about it. —-
He went back quicker than he came—thought no more of the fish—gathered the peasants together in the village, and off they went to the forester’s.
They got there, and all the murderers were lying side by side, dead drunk, each where he had fallen; the woman, too, was drunk. —-
First thing they searched them; they took the money and then looked on the stove—the Holy Cross be with us! —-
The forester’s child was lying on the brooms, under the sheepskin, and her head was in a pool of blood, chopped off by the axe. —-
They roused the peasants and the woman, tied their hands behind them, and took them to the district court; —-
the woman howled, but the forester only shook his head and asked:
“You might give me a drop, lads! My head aches!”
Afterwards they were tried in the town in due course, and punished with the utmost rigour of the law.
So that’s what happened, sir, beyond the forest there, that lies behind the creek. —-
Now you can scarcely see it, the sun is setting red behind it. —-
I have been talking to you, and the horses have stopped, as though they were listening too. —-
Hey there, my beauties! Move more briskly, the good gentleman will give us something extra. Hey, you darlings!
