him and had asked him whether he had killed the merchant, he said to himself: "Evidently none but God can know the truth, and He alone must be asked, and from Him alone can I expect mercy." And from that time on Aksénov no longer handed in petitions and stopped hoping, but only prayed to God.
Aksénov was sentenced to be beaten with the knout, and to be sent to hard labour. And it was done.
He was beaten with the knout, and later, when the knout sores healed over, he was driven with other convicts to Siberia.
In Siberia, Aksénov passed twenty-six years at hard labour. His hair turned white like snow, and his beard grew long, narrow, and gray. All his mirth went away. He stooped, began to walk softly, spoke little, never laughed, and frequently prayed to God.
In the prison Aksénov learned to make boots, and with the money which he earned he bought himself the "Legends of the Holy Martyrs," and read them while it was light in the prison; on holidays he went to the prison church and read the Epistles, and sang in the choir, – his voice was still good. The authorities were fond of Aksénov for his gentleness, and his prison comrades respected him and called him "grandfather" and "God's man." When there were any requests to be made of the authorities, his comrades always sent him to speak for them, and when the convicts had any disputes between themselves, they came to Aksénov to settle them.
No one wrote Aksénov letters from his home, and he did not know whether his wife and children were alive, or not.
Once they brought some new prisoners to the prison. In the evening the old prisoners gathered around the new men, and asked them from what town they came, or from what village, and for what acts they had been sent up. Aksénov, too, sat down on the bed-boards near the new prisoners and, lowering his head, listened to what they were saying. One of the new prisoners was a tall, sound-looking old man of about sixty years of age, with a gray, clipped beard. He was telling them what he had been sent up for:
"Yes, brothers, I have come here for no crime at all. I had unhitched a driver's horse from the sleigh. I was caught. They said, 'You stole it.' And I said, 'I only wanted to get home quickly, for I let the horse go. Besides, the driver is a friend of mine. I am telling you the truth.' – 'No,' they said, 'you have stolen it.' But they did not know what I had been stealing, or where I had been stealing. There were crimes for which I ought to have been sent up long ago, but they could not convict me, and now I am here contrary to the law. 'You are lying, – you have been in Siberia, but you did not make a long visit there – '"
"Where do you come from?" asked one of the prisoners.
"I am from the city of Vladímir, a burgher of that place. My name is Makár, and by my father Seménovich."
Aksénov raised his head, and asked:
"Seménovich, have you not heard in Vladímir about the family of Merchant Aksénov? Are they alive?"
"Yes, I have heard about them! They are rich merchants, even though their father is in Siberia. He is as much a sinner as I, I think. And you, grandfather, what are you here for?"
Aksénov did not like to talk of his misfortune. He sighed, and said:
"For my sins have I passed twenty-six years at hard labour."
Makár Seménovich said:
"For what sins?"
Aksénov said, "No doubt, I deserved it," and did not wish to tell him any more; but the other prison people told the new man how Aksénov had come to be in Siberia. They told him how on the road some one had killed a merchant and had put the knife into his bag, and he thus was sentenced though he was innocent.
When Makár Seménovich heard that, he looked at Aksénov, clapped his knees with his hands, and said:
"What a marvel! What a marvel! But you have grown old, grandfather!"
He was asked what he was marvelling at, and where he had seen Aksénov, but Makár Seménovich made no reply, and only said:
"It is wonderful, boys, where we were fated to meet!"
And these words made Aksénov think that this man might know something about who had killed the merchant. He said:
"Seménovich, have you heard before this about that matter, or have we met before?"
"Of course I have heard. The earth is full of rumours. That happened a long time ago: I have forgotten what I heard," said Makár Seménovich.
"Maybe you have heard who killed the merchant?" asked Aksénov.
Makár Seménovich laughed and said:
"I suppose he was killed by the man in whose bag the knife was found. Even if somebody stuck that knife into that bag, he was not caught, so he is no thief. And how could the knife have been put in? Was not the bag under your head? You would have heard him."
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
