Leo Tolstoy
The Works of Leo Tolstoi. One Volume Edition. Roslyn, NY: Black's
Readers Service Co., 1928, pages 4-18.
[4] CHAPTER I: THE HUT
A shoemaker named Simon, who had neither house nor land of his own, lived
with his wife and children in a peasant's hut, and earned his living by
his work. Work was cheap but bread was dear, and what he earned he spent
for food. The man and his wife had but one sheepskin coat between them
for winter wear, and even that was worn to tatters, and this was the second
year he had been wanting to buy sheep-skins for a new coat. Before winter
Simon saved up a little money: a three-rouble note lay hidden in his wife's
box, and five roubles and twenty kopeks were owed him by customers in the
village.
So one morning he prepared to go to the village to buy the sheep-skins.
He put on over his shirt his wife's wadded nankeen jacket, and over that
he put his own cloth coat. He took the threerouble note in his pocket,
cut himself a stick to serve as a staff, and started off after breakfast.
"rll collect the five roubles that are due to me," thought he, "add the
three I have got, and that will be enough to buy sheep-skins for the winter
coat."
He came to the village and called at a peasant's hut, but the man was
not at home. The peasant's wife promised that the money should be paid
next week, but she would not pay it herself. Then Simon called on another
peasant, but this one swore he had no money, and would only pay twenty
kopeks which he owed for a pair of boots Simon had mended. Simon then tried
to buy the sheep-skins on credit, but the dealer would not trust him.
"Bring your money," said he, "then you may have your pick of the skins.
We know what debt-collecting is like."
So all the business the shoemaker did was to get the twenty kopeks
for boots that he had mended, and to take a pair of felt boots a peasant
gave him to sole with leather.
Simon felt downhearted. He spent the twenty kopeks on vodka, and started
homewards without having bought any skins. In the morning he had felt the
frost; but now, after drinking the [5] vodka, he felt warm even without
a sheep-skin coat. He trudged along, striking his stick on the frozen earth
with one hand, swinging the felt boots with the other, and talking to himself.
"I'm quite warm," said he, "though I have no skeep-skin coat. I've
had a drop, and it runs through all my veins. I need no sheep-skins. I
go along and don't worry about anything. That's the sort of man ! am! What
do I care? I can live without sheep-skins. ! don't need them. My wife will
fret, to be sure. And, true enough, it is a shame; one works all day long,
and then does not get paid. Stop a bit! If you don't bring that money along,
sure enough, I'll skin you, blessed if I don't. How's that? He pays twenty
kopeks at a time! What can I do with twenty kopecs? Drink it--that's all
one can do! Hard up, he says be is! So he may be--but what about me? You
house, and cattle, and everything; only what I stand up in! You have corn
of your own growing; I have buy every grain. Do what I will, I spend three
roubles every week for alone. I come home and find the all used up, and
I have to fork another rouble and a half. So just pay up what you owe,
and no nonsense about it !"
By this time he had nearly reached shrine at the bend of the
road. up, he saw something whitish behind the shrine. The daylight was
fading, and the shoemaker peered at thing without being able to make out
what it was. "There was no white stone here before. Can it be an ox? It's
not too white; and what could a man be doing there?"
He came closer, so that it was clearly visible. To his surprise it
really was a man, alive or dead, sitting naked, leaning motionless against
the shrine. Terror seized the shoemaker, and he thought, "Some one has
killed him, stripped him, and left him here. If I meddle I shall surely
get into trouble."
So the shoemaker went on. He passed in front of the shrine so that
he could not see the man. When he had gone some way, he looked back, and
saw that the man was no longer leaning against the shrine, but was moving
as if looking towards him. The shoemaker felt more frightened than before,
and thought, "Shall I go back to him, m shall I go on? If I go near him
something dreadful may happen. Who knows who the fellow is? He has not
come here for any good. If I go near him he may jump up and throttle me,
and there will be no getting away. Or if not, he'd still be a burden on
one's hands. What could I do with a naked man? I couldn't give him my last
clothes. Heaven only help me to get away!"
So the shoemaker hurried on, leaving the shrine behind him--when suddenly
his conscience smote him, and he stopped in the road.
"What are you doing, Simon?" said he to himself. "The man may be dying
of want, and you slip past afraid. Have you grown so rich as to be afraid
of robbers? Ah, Simon, shame on you!"
So he turned back and went up to the man.