The moment Aksénov heard these words, he thought that that was the man who had killed the merchant. He got up and walked away. All that night Aksénov could not fall asleep. He felt sad, and had visions: now he saw his wife such as she had been when she bade him farewell for the last time, as he went to the fair. He saw her, as though she was alive, and he saw her face and eyes, and heard her speak to him and laugh. Then he saw his children such as they had been then, – just as little, – one of them in a fur coat, the other at the breast. And he thought of himself, such as he had been then, – gay and young; he recalled how he had been sitting on the porch of the hostelry, where he was arrested, and had been playing the guitar, and how light his heart had been then. And he recalled the pillory, where he had been whipped, and the executioner, and the people all around, and the chains, and the prisoners, and his prison life of the last twenty-six years, and his old age. And such gloom came over him that he felt like laying hands on himself.
"And all that on account of that evil-doer!" thought Aksénov.
And such a rage fell upon him against Makár Seménovich, that he wanted to have his revenge upon him, even if he himself were to be ruined by it. He said his prayers all night long, but could not calm himself. In the daytime he did not walk over to Makár Seménovich, and did not look at him.
Thus two weeks passed. At night Aksénov could not sleep, and he felt so sad that he did not know what to do with himself.
Once, in the night, he walked all over the prison, and saw dirt falling from underneath one bedplace. He stopped to see what it was. Suddenly Makár Seménovich jumped up from under the bed and looked at Aksénov with a frightened face. Aksénov wanted to pass on, so as not to see him; but Makár took him by his arm, and told him that he had dug a passage way under the wall, and that he each day carried the dirt away in his boot-legs and poured it out in the open, whenever they took the convicts out to work. He said:
"Keep quiet, old man, – I will take you out, too. And if you tell, they will whip me, and I will not forgive you, – I will kill you."
When Aksénov saw the one who had done him evil, he trembled in his rage, and pulled away his arm, and said:
"I have no reason to get away from here, and there is no sense in killing me, – you killed me long ago. And whether I will tell on you or not depends on what God will put into my soul."
On the following day, when the convicts were taken out to work, the soldiers noticed that Makár Seménovich was pouring out the dirt, and so they began to search in the prison, and found the hole. The chief came to the prison and began to ask all who had dug the hole. Everybody denied it. Those who knew had not seen Makár Seménovich, because they knew that for this act he would be whipped half-dead. Then the chief turned to Aksénov. He knew that Aksénov was a just man, and said:
"Old man, you are a truthful man, tell me before God who has done that."
Makár Seménovich stood as though nothing had happened and looked at the chief, and did not glance at Aksénov. Aksénov's arms and lips trembled, and he could not utter a word for long time. He thought: "If I protect him, why should I forgive him, since he has ruined me? Let him suffer for my torments! And if I tell on him, they will indeed whip him to death. And suppose that I have a wrong suspicion against him. Will that make it easier for me?"
The chief said once more:
"Well, old man, speak, tell the truth! Who has been digging it?"
Aksénov looked at Makár Seménovich, and said:
"I cannot tell, your Honour. God orders me not to tell. And I will not tell. Do with me as you please, – you have the power."
No matter how much the chief tried, Aksénov would not say anything more. And so they did not find out who had done the digging.
On the following night, as Aksénov lay down on the bed-boards and was just falling asleep, he heard somebody come up to him and sit down at his feet. He looked in the darkness and recognized Makár. Aksénov said:
"What more do you want of me? What are you doing here?"
Makár Seménovich was silent. Aksénov raised himself, and said:
"What do you want? Go away, or I will call the soldier."
Makár bent down close to Aksénov, and said to him in a whisper:
"Iván Dmítrievich, forgive me!"
Aksénov said:
"For what shall I forgive you?"
"It was I who killed the merchant and put the knife into your bag. I wanted to kill you, too, but they made a noise in the yard, so I put the knife into your bag and climbed through the window."
Aksénov was silent and did not know what to say. Makár Seménovich slipped down from the bed, made a low obeisance, and said:
"Iván Dmítrievich, forgive me, forgive me for God's sake! I will declare that it was I who killed the merchant, – you will be forgiven. You will return home."
Aksénov said:
"It is easy for you to speak so, but see how I have suffered! Where shall I go now? My wife has died, my children have forgotten me. I have no place to go to – "
Makár Seménovich did not get up from the floor. He struck his head against the earth, and said:
"Iván Dmítrievich, forgive me! When they whipped me with the knout I felt better than now that I am looking at you. You pitied me, and did not tell on me. Forgive me, for Christ's sake! Forgive me, the accursed evil-doer!" And he burst out into tears.
When Aksénov heard Makár Seménovich crying, he began to weep himself, and said:
"God will forgive you. Maybe I am a hundred times worse than you!"
And suddenly a load fell off from his soul. And he no longer pined for his home, and did not wish to leave the prison, but only thought of his last hour.
Makár Seménovich did not listen to Aksénov, but declared his guilt. When the decision came for Aksénov to leave, – he was dead.
HUNTING WORSE THAN SLAVERY
We were hunting bears. My companion had a chance to shoot at a bear: he wounded him, but only in a soft spot. A little blood was left on the snow, but the bear got away.
We met in the forest and began to discuss what to do: whether to go and find that bear, or to wait two or three days until the bear should lie down again.
We asked the peasant bear drivers whether we could now surround the bear. An old bear driver said:
"No, we must give the bear a chance to calm himself. In about five days it will be possible to surround him, but if we go after him now he will only be frightened and will not lie down."
But a young bear driver disputed with the old man, and said that he could surround him now.
"Over this snow," he said, "the bear cannot get away far, – he is fat. He will lie down to-day again. And if he does not, I will overtake him on snow-shoes."
My companion, too, did not want to surround the bear now, and advised waiting.
But I said:
"What is the use of discussing the matter? Do as you please, but I will go with Demyán along the track. If we overtake him, so much is gained; if not, – I have nothing else to do to-day anyway, and it is not yet late."
And so we did.
My companions went to the sleigh, and back to the village, but Demyán and I took bread with us, and remained in the woods.
When all had left us, Demyán and I examined our guns, tucked our fur coats over our belts, and followed the track.
It was fine weather, chilly and calm. But walking on snow-shoes was a hard matter: the snow was deep and powdery.
The snow had not settled in the forest, and, besides, fresh snow had fallen on the day before, so that the snow-shoes sunk half a foot in the snow, and in places even deeper.
The bear track