Short Fiction Vladimir Korolenko (best motivational novels .TXT) 📖

hungry, and I gave him something to eat; then he asked for some tobacco to make a cigarette with, and stretched himself out again.”

“So much the better, my dear fellow. I rely on you, and when the surgeon arrives send him along.”

“I shall not fail to do so. But I was going to ask Your Excellency⁠ ⁠…”

And once more Yevséyitch went to the door, and looked cautiously around the vestibule.

“Well, what is it?” asked Proskuróf, who was on the point of leaving.

“I suppose we understand the matter,” began Yevséyitch, diplomatically, shuffling his feet, and casting side-glances at me; “if the peasants were to bring some pressure to bear now, it would be all right, would it?⁠ ⁠… the whole mir,32 I mean⁠—all our society?⁠ ⁠…”

“Well?” said Proskuróf, inclining his head in order better to grasp the sense of this disconnected explanation of the peasant.

“Just consider. Your Excellency, and think how it must be! We cannot stand this sort of thing much longer. Such trouble! Think of the power they have in their hands, and how successful they are!⁠ ⁠… Now, for instance, take that very same rascal!⁠ ⁠… What is he? There is no doubt but that he was bribed; it must have been done for money.⁠ ⁠… And if he had refused, they would have found another man.”

“That’s so,” said Proskuróf, by way of encouragement, and evidently very much interested. “Go on, my dear fellow; I see you have a head on your shoulders. Well, what then?”

“Nothing; only if we peasants felt that we had some power behind us,⁠ ⁠… perhaps, then, we might dare to testify against them.⁠ ⁠… Think of their evil doings!⁠ ⁠… and the mir is influential.”

“Well, you must know, if you help justice, justice will help you,” remarked Proskuróf, with dignity.

“To be sure,” ejaculated Yevséyitch, thoughtfully; “but, then, on the other hand, we cannot help thinking that, if Your Excellency should not be able to hold your own with the powers that be, we and our children would be ruined; for the power is in their hands.⁠ ⁠…”

Proskuróf shuddered, as though touched by an electric current, and, hurriedly seizing his hat, he rushed out of the room. I followed him, leaving Yevséyitch in the same perplexed attitude. He continued to gesticulate, muttering to himself, while Proskuróf, indignant, took his seat in the cart.

“That’s the way it always is!” he said; “nothing but compromises, whichever way one turns!⁠ ⁠… If success is assured to them, then they will consent to uphold justice.⁠ ⁠… What do you say to that state of things! It is immoral⁠—simply immoral!⁠ ⁠… It indicates that the sense of duty is deficient.⁠ ⁠…”

“If you ask my opinion, I must beg leave to differ from you. It seems to me that they have the right to demand from the authorities a guaranty of protection in all attempts to obtain justice. If this be denied, then what is the essence of authority?⁠—what meaning does it convey?⁠ ⁠… Do you not think that, if mob-law is forbidden, that very fact implies the assumption of certain responsibilities? And if they are not discharged, then⁠ ⁠…”

Proskuróf turned suddenly toward me, and seemed about to make some remark; but he did not speak, remaining silent, and absorbed in his own thoughts.

We had travelled nearly six miles, and were now about three miles from the Hollow, when we heard the sound of a bell. “Aha!” said Proskuróf, “he has not changed his horses. So much the better; he has had no time to interview the prisoner. I thought as much.”

VII The Inspector

When we reached the Hollow, the roseate disk of the sun was just sinking below the horizon line; but, although the deep evening shadows were already overspreading the place, it was yet daylight. All was cool and still. The “Stone” loomed vaguely through the fog, and above it rose the full, pale moon. The dark forest lay wrapped in the profound sleep of enchantment; not a leaf stirred. The silence was broken only by the sound of the bell, which tinkled clearly in the air, repeated by the reverberating echo of the Hollow, and also behind us the sound of ringing could be faintly heard.

A light smoke rose from the direction of the bushes. The peasant watchers were sitting silently round a fire, and as soon as they saw us they rose, taking off their caps. At a short distance from them, under a linen cover, lay the body.

“Good evening, boys!” said the examiner, in an undertone.

“Good evening, Your Excellency!” replied the peasants.

“Nothing has been disturbed?”

“Nothing, we believe.⁠ ⁠… We were obliged to do something to him.⁠ ⁠… But we have not touched the animal.”

“What animal?”

“Why, didn’t you know the brutes shot the sorrel horse?⁠ ⁠… The deceased was returning on one of the side horses.” We saw the slain animal lying some thirty sazhén33 from the road.

Proskuróf, accompanied by the watchers, went to inspect the locality; he approached the deceased, and raised the covering from his face.

The pallor of death overspread his calm features. His dim eyes, turned upwards toward the evening sky, wore that peculiar expression of bewilderment and inquiry which is sometimes stamped upon the face of the dead by the last emotion of departing life.⁠ ⁠… The face was unsullied by blood.

A quarter of an hour later, Proskuróf passed me; he was walking toward the crossing, accompanied by the peasants. The team that we had heard behind us had just arrived.

A middle-aged man, in police uniform, jumped out, followed by a young person in citizen’s dress, who proved to be the surgeon. The inspector seemed much fatigued. His broad chest heaved like a pair of bellows; his portly person, enveloped in a stylish military cloak, swayed to and fro as he moved, and his long, waxed moustache alternately rose and fell, keeping time to his puffing and panting. His long, curling hair, slightly gray, was covered with dust.

“Ouf!” he exclaimed, gasping. “It’s hard work to follow you, Afanásy Ivánovitch. How do you do?”

“My respects to you,” answered Proskuróf. “I am sorry