Short Fiction, Leo Tolstoy [general ebook reader .txt] 📗

and unable to contain his anger, gave the woman such a blow that she was laid up for a week; and she was pregnant at the time. Iván was delighted. He went to the magistrate to lodge a complaint. “Now I’ll get rid of my neighbour! He won’t escape imprisonment, or exile to Siberia.” But Iván’s wish was not fulfilled. The magistrate dismissed the case. The woman was examined, but she was up and about and showed no sign of any injury. Then Iván went to the Justice of the Peace, but he referred the business to the District Court. Iván bestirred himself: treated the clerk and the Elder of the District Court to a gallon of liquor and got Gabriel condemned to be flogged. The sentence was read out to Gabriel by the clerk: “The Court decrees that the peasant Gabriel Gordéyef shall receive twenty lashes with a birch rod at the District Court.”

Iván too heard the sentence read, and looked at Gabriel to see how he would take it. Gabriel grew as pale as a sheet, and turned round and went out into the passage. Iván followed him, meaning to see to the horse, and he overheard Gabriel say, “Very well! He will have my back flogged: that will make it burn; but something of his may burn worse than that!”

Hearing these words, Iván at once went back into the Court, and said: “Upright judges! He threatens to set my house on fire! Listen: he said it in the presence of witnesses!”

Gabriel was recalled. “Is it true that you said this?”

“I haven’t said anything. Flog me, since you have the power. It seems that I alone am to suffer, and all for being in the right, while he is allowed to do as he likes.”

Gabriel wished to say something more, but his lips and his cheeks quivered, and he turned towards the wall. Even the officials were frightened by his looks. “He may do some mischief to himself or to his neighbour,” thought they.

Then the old Judge said: “Look here, my men; you’d better be reasonable and make it up. Was it right of you, friend Gabriel, to strike a pregnant woman? It was lucky it passed off so well, but think what might have happened! Was it right? You had better confess and beg his pardon, and he will forgive you, and we will alter the sentence.”

The clerk heard these words, and remarked: “That’s impossible under Statute 117. An agreement between the parties not having been arrived at, a decision of the Court has been pronounced and must be executed.”

But the Judge would not listen to the clerk.

“Keep your tongue still, my friend,” said he. “The first of all laws is to obey God, Who loves peace.” And the Judge began again to persuade the peasants, but could not succeed. Gabriel would not listen to him.

“I shall be fifty next year,” said he, “and have a married son, and have never been flogged in my life, and now that pockmarked Iván has had me condemned to be flogged, and am I to go and ask his forgiveness? No; I’ve borne enough.⁠ ⁠… Iván shall have cause to remember me!”

Again Gabriel’s voice quivered, and he could say no more, but turned round and went out.

It was seven miles from the Court to the village, and it was getting late when Iván reached home. He unharnessed his horse, put it up for the night, and entered the cottage. No one was there. The women had already gone to drive the cattle in, and the young fellows were not yet back from the fields. Iván went in, and sat down, thinking. He remembered how Gabriel had listened to the sentence, and how pale he had become, and how he had turned to the wall; and Iván’s heart grew heavy. He thought how he himself would feel if he were sentenced, and he pitied Gabriel. Then he heard his old father up on the oven cough, and saw him sit up, lower his legs, and scramble down. The old man dragged himself slowly to a seat, and sat down. He was quite tired out with the exertion, and coughed a long time till he had cleared his throat. Then, leaning against the table, he said: “Well, has he been condemned?”

“Yes, to twenty strokes with the rods,” answered Iván.

The old man shook his head.

“A bad business,” said he. “You are doing wrong, Iván! Ah! it’s very bad⁠—not for him so much as for yourself!⁠ ⁠… Well, they’ll flog him: but will that do you any good?”

“He’ll not do it again,” said Iván.

“What is it he’ll not do again? What has he done worse than you?”

“Why, think of the harm he has done me!” said Iván. “He nearly killed my wife, and now he’s threatening to burn us up. Am I to thank him for it?”

The old man sighed, and said: “You go about the wide world, Iván, while I am lying on the oven all these years, so you think you see everything, and that I see nothing.⁠ ⁠… Ah, lad! It’s you that don’t see; malice blinds you. Others’ sins are before your eyes, but your own are behind your back. ‘He’s acted badly!’ What a thing to say! If he were the only one to act badly, how could strife exist? Is strife among men ever bred by one alone? Strife is always between two. His badness you see, but your own you don’t. If he were bad, but you were good, there would be no strife. Who pulled the hair out of his beard? Who spoilt his haystack? Who dragged him to the law court? Yet you put it all on him! You live a bad life yourself, that’s what is wrong! It’s not the way I used to live, lad, and it’s not the way I taught you. Is that the way his old father and I used to live? How did we live? Why, as neighbours should! If he happened