What Men Live By, and Other Tales
Matryona muttered something to herself and did not move, but stayed
where she was, by the oven. She looked first at the one and then at
the other of them, and only shook her head. Simon saw that his wife was
annoyed, but tried to pass it off. Pretending not to notice anything, he
took the stranger by the arm.
"Sit down, friend," said he, "and let us have some supper."
The stranger sat down on the bench.
"Haven't you cooked anything for us?" said Simon.
Matryona's anger boiled over. "I've cooked, but not for you. It seems to
me you have drunk your wits away. You went to buy a sheep-skin coat,
but come home without so much as the coat you had on, and bring a naked
vagabond home with you. I have no supper for drunkards like you."
"That's enough, Matryona. Don't wag your tongue without reason. You had
better ask what sort of man--"
"And you tell me what you've done with the money?"
Simon found the pocket of the jacket, drew out the three-rouble note,
and unfolded it.
"Here is the money. Trifonof did not pay, but promises to pay soon."
Matryona got still more angry; he had bought no sheep-skins, but had
put his only coat on some naked fellow and had even brought him to their
house.
She snatched up the note from the table, took it to put away in safety,
and said: "I have no supper for you. We can't feed all the naked
drunkards in the world."
"There now, Matryona, hold your tongue a bit. First hear what a man has
to say-"
"Much wisdom I shall hear from a drunken fool. I was right in not
wanting to marry you-a drunkard. The linen my mother gave me you drank;
and now you've been to buy a coat-and have drunk it, too!"
Simon tried to explain to his wife that he had only spent twenty kopeks;
tried to tell how he had found the man--but Matryona would not let him
get a word in. She talked nineteen to the dozen, and dragged in things
that had happened ten years before.
Matryona talked and talked, and at last she flew at Simon and seized him
by the sleeve.
"Give me my jacket. It is the only one I have, and you must needs take
it from me and wear it yourself. Give it here, you mangy dog, and may
the devil take you."
Simon began to pull off the jacket, and turned a sleeve of it inside
out; Matryona seized the jacket and it burst its seams, She snatched it
up, threw it over her head and went to the door. She meant to go out,
but stopped undecided--she wanted to work off her anger, but she also
wanted to learn what sort of a man the stranger was.
IV
Matryona stopped and said: "If he were a good man he would not be naked.
Why, he hasn't even a shirt on him. If he were all right, you would say
where you came across the fellow."
"That's just what I am trying to tell you," said Simon. "As I came to
the shrine I saw him sitting all naked and frozen. It isn't quite
the weather to sit about naked! God sent me to him, or he would have
perished. What was I to do? How do we know what may have happened to
him? So I took him, clothed him, and brought him along. Don't be so
angry, Matryona. It is a sin. Remember, we all must die one day."
Angry words rose to Matryona's lips, but she looked at the stranger
and was silent. He sat on the edge of the bench, motionless, his hands
folded on his knees, his head drooping on his breast, his eyes closed,
and his brows knit as if in pain. Matryona was silent: and Simon said:
"Matryona, have you no love of God?"
Matryona heard these words, and as she looked at the stranger, suddenly
her heart softened towards him. She came back from the door, and going
to the oven she got out the supper. Setting a cup on the table, she
poured out some kvas. Then she brought out the last piece of bread, and
set out a knife and spoons.
"Eat, if you want to," said she.
Simon drew the stranger to the table.
"Take your place, young man," said he.
Simon cut the bread, crumbled it into the broth, and they began to eat.
Matryona sat at the corner of the table resting her head on her hand and
looking at the stranger.
And Matryona was touched with pity for the stranger, and began to feel
fond of him. And at once the stranger's face lit up; his brows were no
longer bent, he raised his eyes and smiled at Matryona.
When they had finished supper, the woman cleared away the things and
began questioning the stranger. "Where are you from?" said she.
"I am not from these parts."
"But how did you come to be on the road?"
"I may not tell."
"Did some one rob you?"
"God punished me."
"And you were lying there naked?"
"Yes, naked and freezing. Simon saw me and had pity on me. He took off
his coat, put it on me and brought me here. And you have fed me, given
me drink, and shown pity on me. God will reward you!"
Matryona rose, took from the window Simon's old shirt she had been
patching, and gave it to the stranger. She also brought out a pair of
trousers for him.
"There," said she, "I see you have no shirt. Put this on, and lie down
where you please, in the loft or on the oven."
The stranger took off the coat, put on the shirt, and lay down in the
loft. Matryona put out the candle, took the coat, and climbed to where
her husband lay.
Matryona drew the skirts of the coat over her and lay down, but could
not sleep; she could not get the stranger out of her mind.
When she remembered that he had eaten their last piece of bread and that
there was none for tomorrow, and thought of the shirt and trousers she
had given away, she felt grieved; but when she remembered how he had
smiled, her heart was glad.
Long did Matryona lie awake, and she noticed that Simon also was
awake--he drew the coat towards him.
"Simon!"
"Well?"
"You have had the last of the bread, and I have not put any to rise.
I don't know what we shall do tomorrow. Perhaps I can borrow some of
neighbor Martha."
"If we're alive we shall find something to eat."
The woman lay still awhile, and then said, "He seems a good man, but why
does he not tell us who he is?"
"I suppose he has his reasons."
"Simon!"
"Well?"
"We give; but why does nobody give us anything?"
Simon did not know what to say; so he only said, "Let us stop talking,"
and turned over and went to sleep.
V
In the morning Simon awoke. The children were still asleep; his wife
had gone to the neighbor's to borrow some bread. The stranger alone was
sitting on the bench, dressed in the old shirt and trousers, and looking
upwards. His face was brighter than it had been the day before.
Simon said to him, "Well, friend; the belly wants bread, and the naked
body clothes. One has to work for a living What work do you know?"
"I do not know any."
This surprised Simon, but he said, "Men who want to learn can learn
anything."
"Men work, and I will work also."
"What is your name?"
"Michael."
"Well, Michael, if you don't wish to talk about yourself, that is your
own affair; but you'll have to earn a living for yourself. If you will
work as I tell you, I will give you food and shelter."
"May God reward you! I will learn. Show me what to do."
Simon took yarn, put it round his thumb and began to twist it.
"It is easy enough--see!"
Michael watched him, put some yarn round his own thumb in the same way,
caught the knack, and twisted the yarn also.
Then Simon showed him how to wax the thread. This also Michael mastered.
Next Simon showed him how to twist the bristle in, and how to sew, and
this, too, Michael learned at once.
Whatever Simon showed him he understood at once, and after three days he
worked as if he had sewn boots all his life. He worked without stopping,
and ate little. When work was over he sat silently, looking upwards.
He hardly went into the street, spoke only when necessary, and neither
joked nor laughed. They never saw him smile, except that first evening
when Matryona gave them supper.
VI
Day by day and week by week the year went round. Michael lived and
worked with Simon. His fame spread till people said that no one sewed
boots so neatly and strongly as Simon's workman, Michael; and from all
the district round people came to Simon for their boots, and he began to
be well off.
One winter day, as Simon and Michael sat working, a carriage on
sledge-runners, with three horses and with bells, drove up to the hut.
They looked out of the window; the carriage stopped at their door, a
fine servant jumped down from the box and opened the door. A gentleman
in a fur coat got out and walked up to Simon's hut. Up jumped Matryona
and opened the door wide. The gentleman stooped to enter the hut, and
when he drew himself up again his head nearly reached the ceiling, and
he seemed quite to fill his end of the room.
Simon rose, bowed, and looked at the gentleman with astonishment. He had
never seen any one like him. Simon himself was lean, Michael was thin,
and Matryona was dry as a bone, but this man was like some one from
another world: red-faced, burly, with a neck like a bull's, and looking
altogether as if he were cast in iron.
The gentleman puffed, threw off his fur coat, sat down on the bench, and
said, "Which of you is the master bootmaker?"
"I am, your Excellency," said Simon, coming forward.
Then the gentleman shouted to his lad, "Hey, Fedka, bring the leather!"
The servant ran in, bringing a parcel. The gentleman took the parcel and
put it on the table.
"Untie it," said he. The lad untied it.
The gentleman pointed to the leather.
"Look here, shoemaker," said he, "do you see this leather?"
"Yes, your honor."
"But do you know what sort of leather it is?"
Simon felt the leather and said, "It is good leather."
"Good, indeed! Why, you fool, you never saw such leather before in your
life. It's German, and cost twenty roubles."
Simon was frightened, and said, "Where should I ever see leather like
that?"
"Just so! Now, can you make it into boots for me?"
"Yes, your Excellency, I can."
Then the gentleman shouted at him: "You can, can you? Well, remember
whom you are to make them for, and what the leather is. You must make me
boots that will wear for a year, neither losing shape nor coming unsown.
If you can do it, take the leather and cut it up; but if you can't, say
so. I warn you now if your boots become unsewn or lose shape within a
year, I will have you put in prison. If they don't burst or lose shape
for a year I will pay you ten roubles for your work."
Simon was frightened, and did not know what to say. He glanced at
Michael and nudging him with his elbow, whispered: "Shall I take the
work?"
Michael nodded his head as if to say, "Yes, take it."
Simon did as Michael advised, and undertook to make boots that would not
lose shape or split for a whole year.
Calling his servant, the gentleman told him to pull the boot off his
left leg, which he stretched out.
"Take my measure!" said he.
Simon stitched a paper measure seventeen inches long, smoothed it out,
knelt down, wiped his hand well on his apron so as not to soil the
gentleman's sock, and began to measure. He measured the sole, and round
the instep, and began to measure the calf of the leg, but the paper was
too short. The calf of the leg was as thick as a beam.
"Mind you don't make it too tight in the leg."
Simon stitched on another strip of paper. The gentleman twitched his
toes about in his sock, looking round at those in the hut, and as he did
so he noticed Michael.
"Whom have you there?" asked he.
"That is my workman. He will sew the boots."
"Mind," said the gentleman to Michael, "remember to make them so that
they will last me a year."
Simon also looked at Michael, and saw that Michael was not looking at
the gentleman, but was gazing into the corner behind the gentleman, as