Short Fiction - Leo Tolstoy (best books to read non fiction .TXT) 📗

the sick man, who lay on his back. The doctor was holding his left hand to feel the pulse.

“Is he very bad?” I asked.

Without answering me, the doctor turned to the woman.

“Light a lamp,” he said.

She called the girl, told her to rock the cradle, and went and lit a lamp and handed it to the doctor. I got down, so as not to be in his way. He took the lamp, and continued to examine the patient.

The little girl, staring at us, did not rock the cradle strongly enough, and the baby began to cry piercingly and piteously. The mother, having handed the lamp to the doctor, pushed the girl angrily aside and again began to rock the cradle.

I returned to the doctor, and again asked how the patient was. The doctor, still occupied with the patient, softly whispered one word.

I did not hear, and asked again.

“The death-agony,” he repeated, purposely using a non-Russian word, and got down and placed the lamp on the table.

The baby did not cease crying in a piteous and angry voice.

“What’s that? Is he dead?” said the woman, as if she had understood the foreign word the doctor had used.

“Not yet, but there is no hope!” replied he.

“Then I must send for the priest,” said the woman in a dissatisfied voice, rocking the screaming baby more and more violently.

“If only my husband was at home!⁠ ⁠… But now, who can I send? They’ve all gone to the forest for firewood.”

“I can do nothing more here,” said the doctor; and we went away.

I heard afterwards that the woman found someone to send for the priest, who had just time to administer the Sacrament to the dying man.

We drove home in silence, both, I think, experiencing the same feeling.

“What was the matter with him?” I asked at length.

“Inflammation of the lungs. I did not expect it to end so quickly. He had a very strong constitution, but the conditions were deadly. With 105 degrees of fever, he went and sat outside the hut, where there were only 20 degrees.”

Again we drove on in silence for a long time.

“I noticed no bedding or pillow on the oven,” said I.

“Nothing!” replied the doctor. And, evidently knowing what I was thinking about, he went on:

“Yesterday I was at Kroutoe to see a woman who has had a baby. To examine her properly, as was necessary, she should have been placed so that she could lie stretched out full length; but there was no place in the whole hut where that could be done.”

Again we were silent, and again we probably both had the same thoughts. We reached home in silence. At the porch stood a fine pair of horses, harnessed tandem to a carpet-upholstered sledge. The handsome coachman was dressed in a sheepskin coat, and wore a thick fur cap. They belonged to my son, who had driven over from his estate.

And here we are sitting at the dinner-table, laid for ten persons. One of the places is empty. It is my little granddaughter’s. She is not quite well today, and is having her dinner in her room with her nurse. A specially hygienic dinner has been prepared for her: beef-tea and sago.

At our big dinner of four courses, with two kinds of wine, served by two footmen, and eaten at a table decorated with flowers, this is the kind of talk that goes on:

“Where do these splendid roses come from?” asks my son.

My wife tells him that a lady, who will not divulge her name, sends them from Petersburg.

“Roses like these cost three shillings each,” says my son, and goes on to relate how at some concert or play such roses were showered on a performer till they covered the stage. The conversation passes on to music, and then to a man who is a very good judge and patron of music.

“By the by, how is he?”

“Oh, he is always ailing. He is again going to Italy. He always spends the winter there, and his health improves wonderfully.”

“But the journey is very trying and tedious.”

“Oh no! Not if one takes the express⁠—it is only thirty-nine hours.”

“All the same, it is very dull.”

“Wait a bit! We shall fly before long!”

Third Day Taxes

Besides my ordinary visitors and applicants, there are today some special ones. The first is a childless old peasant who is ending his life in great poverty. The second is a poor woman with a crowd of children. The third is, I believe, a well-to-do peasant.

All three have come from our village, and all have come about the same business. The taxes are being collected before the New Year, and the old man’s samovar, the woman’s only sheep, and one of the well-to-do peasant’s cows, have been noted down for seizure in case of nonpayment. They all ask me to defend them or assist them, or to do both.

The well-to-do peasant, a tall, handsome, elderly man, is the first to speak. He tells me that the Village Elder came, noted down the cow, and demands twenty-seven roubles. This levy is for the obligatory Grain Reserve Fund, and ought not, the peasant thinks, to be collected at this time of year. I know nothing about it, and tell him that I will inquire in the District Government Office, and will let him know whether the payment of the tax can be postponed or not.

The second to speak is the old man whose samovar has been noted. The small, thin, weakly, poorly clad man relates, with pathetic grief and bewilderment, how they came, took his samovar, and demanded three roubles and seventy kopecks of him, which he has not got and can’t get.

I ask him what the tax is for.

“Some kind of Government tax.⁠ ⁠… Who can tell what it is? Where am I and my old woman to get the money? As it is, we hardly manage to live!⁠ ⁠… What kind of laws are these? Have pity on our old age, and help us somehow!”

I promise to inquire,