Tolstoi for the young. Select tales from Tolstoi

Martin sat at the window and did not work so much as peer out into the street, and when an unfamiliar pair of boots came along, he would stoop down and look up to catch a glimpse of the person to whom they belonged. A yard-porter passed in new felt boots and a water-carrier; then an old soldier of Nicholas’ reign came alongside the window, spade in hand. Martin recognized him by his felt boots. The old man was called Stepan and a merchant who lived near by kept him out of charity. His duties were to help the yard-porter. He stopped opposite Martin’s window to clear away the snow. Martin looked at him and again went on with his work.

“What a fool I am getting in my old age,” Martin thought, amused at his own fancies. “Stepan is shovelling away the snow and I thought it was Christ come to visit me. Old dotard that I am!”

Yet after a dozen stitches or so Martin was again drawn to the window. He looked out and saw that Stepan had leaned his spade against the wall and was resting and trying to warm himself. The man was old and broken and had no strength even to clear away the snow. “Why not give him a cup of tea while the samovar is still on the boil?” Martin thought. And he put down his awl, rose, brought the samovar to the table, poured out a cup of tea and tapped on the window. Stepan turned and came up. Martin beckoned to him and went to open the door.

“Come in and get warm,” he said; “you must be quite frozen.”

“Christ save us! but my bones do ache,” Stepan said. Stepan came in, shook the snow off himself and began to wipe his boots so as not to dirty the floor, reeling as he did so.

“Don’t bother to wipe your feet,” Martin said; “I will wipe the floor afterwards; I am used to that. Come in and sit down. Here is a cup of tea.”

And Martin poured out two cups, gave one to his guest, poured some of his own into a saucer and began to blow on it in order to cool it.

Stepan finished his cup, turned it upside down in the saucer, put the remaining bit of sugar on top and began to thank Martin, who could see that the old man wanted some more.

“Have another cup,” Martin said and poured out more tea for his guest and for himself, and as he drank, he kept peering out of the window.

“Are you expecting some one?” Stepan asked.

“I? I hardly like to tell you whom I expect. But I wait and wait. A certain word took possession of my heart. Was it a dream or not, I cannot tell. It was like this, brother; I was reading the Gospels last night about Christ our Father and how He suffered on earth. You have heard tell of it, I daresay.”

“Yes,” Stepan said, “but we are ignorant folk and cannot read.”

“Well, I was reading how the Lord walked on earth, how He went to visit a Pharisee who did not receive Him well. And I wondered, as I read, how any man could receive the Lord without due honour. ‘Supposing such a thing were to happen to me,’ I thought, ‘what would I not do to receive Him? And the Pharisee did nothing!’ Thinking thus I fell asleep, and as I slept I heard a voice call to me. I rose; the voice seemed to whisper ‘Expect me; I am coming to-morrow.’ I heard it twice. Well, would you believe it? the idea took hold of my mind, and though I upbraid myself, I keep on expecting the Lord to come to me.”

Stepan shook his head, but made no remark. He finished his cup of tea and laid it down on its side in the saucer, but Martin took it up and filled it again.

“Have some more, bless you! I was thinking, too, that our Lord despised no one when He walked on earth; He was mostly with common folk. He went about with plain people and chose His disciples from men of our kind – simple workmen and sinners like ourselves. ‘He who raises himself,’ He said, ‘shall be humbled, and he who humbles himself shall be raised. You call Me Lord,’ he said, ‘and I will wash your feet. He who would be first,’ He said, ‘let him be the servant of all, because,’ He said, ‘blessed are the poor, the humble, the meek, the merciful.’ ”

Stepan forgot his tea. He was an old man and easily moved to tears; and as he listened the tears rolled down his cheeks.

“Have some more,” Martin said, but Stepan crossed himself, thanked Martin, pushed away his cup and rose.

“Thank you Martin,” he said; “you have nourished my body and my soul.”

“You are welcome another time. I shall always be pleased to see you; come again.”

Stepan went out; Martin poured himself out a last cup of tea, drank it, cleared away the dishes and sat down again by the window to work, stitching the back seam of a boot. As he stitched he peered out of the window to see if Christ was coming, and he kept on thinking of Him and His doings and recalling His words.

Two soldiers passed; one in Government boots, the other in boots of his own; then the owner of the next house went by in clean goloshes, and a baker with a basket. All these passed on; then a woman came up in woollen stockings and coarse country shoes. She went by the window and stopped by the wall. Martin looked up and saw that she was a stranger, poorly clad, with a baby in her arms. She was standing with her back to the wind, trying to wrap up the baby, but there was nothing to wrap it in. Her garments were summer ones and ragged, too. Through the window Martin heard the baby crying; the woman tried to comfort it but could not.

Martin rose and going out at the door and up the steps, he called to her.

“Come this way, my dear!”

The woman turned to him.

“Don’t stand in the cold there with the baby; come inside in the warm; you can make him more comfortable here. Come along!”

The woman was surprised to see an old man in an apron and spectacles on his nose inviting her to his room, but she followed him. They descended the stairs and entered the room. Martin led her to the bed.

“Come and sit here, my dear,” he said. “It is nearer to the stove; you can warm yourself and feed the baby.”

“I haven’t any milk; I have eaten nothing myself since morning,” the woman said, yet putting the child to the breast.

Martin shook his head. He got some bread and a cup, opened the oven door and filled the cup with soup. He then took the porridge-pot out of the oven, but the porridge was not quite done. He spread a cloth and put the soup and bread on the table.

“Sit down and have something to eat, my dear. I’ll look after the baby. I have had children of my own and know how to nurse them.”

The woman crossed herself, sat down by the table and began to eat, and Martin sat on the bed with the baby. He clucked and clucked, but having no teeth he could not do it well, and the baby would not stop its crying. And Martin tried to amuse him with his finger. He poked the finger straight at the baby’s mouth, then drew it back again. He would not let the child take the finger in its mouth because it was black with cobbler’s wax. The child looked at the finger, stopped crying and began to laugh. Martin was pleased.

As the woman ate she told him about herself, saying who she was and where she was going.

“I am a soldier’s wife,” she said. “It is now eight months that my husband has been taken away and I haven’t heard a word from him. I had a place as a cook when the child was born, but they would not keep me after that. I’ve been without a place for three months now and eaten everything I possessed. I wanted to go as a wet-nurse, but no one would have me because they said I was too thin. I went to a merchant’s wife with whom our grandmother is in service and she promised to take me. I thought she meant at once, but she told me to come next week, and she lives a long way. I’m quite worn out, and the baby is half-starved. If our landlady did not take pity on us, I don’t know how we should live.”

Martin sighed and said, “Have you no warm clothes?”

“How can I have warm clothes! I pawned my last shawl yesterday for sixpence!”

The woman went up to the bed and took the child. Martin rummaged about among the things hanging on the wall and brought out an old coat.

“Though it isn’t much of a thing, it will do to wrap up in,” he said.

The woman looked at the coat; then at the old man. She took the coat and burst into tears. Martin turned away, crawled under the bed and pulled out a box. He rummaged about in it and once more sat down facing the woman.

And the woman said, “Christ save you, Grandfather. It must have been He who sent me to your window, otherwise the child and I would have been starved to death. It was mild when I started, but it’s very cold now. The dear Lord made you look out of the window and caused you to pity me.”

Martin smiled and said, “He did make me, indeed! I was not gazing idly out of the window, my dear.”

And Martin told the woman his dream and how he had heard a voice and how the voice had promised him that the Lord should come and visit him this day.

“All things are possible,” the woman said, and she rose, put on the coat, wrapped the child in it and began to take her leave, thanking Martin.

“Take this in Christ’s name,” Martin said, thrusting a sixpence into her hand. “It will do to take out your shawl.”

The woman crossed herself, Martin did likewise, then accompanied her to the door.

When she had gone Martin ate some soup, cleared the table, and again sat down to work. But he did not forget the window. As soon as a shadow fell across it, he looked up to see who it was. Acquaintances passed and strangers, and nothing particular happened. Suddenly Martin saw an old apple-woman stop by his window. She was carrying a basket of apples. She must have sold nearly all, for only a few remained. Over her shoulders was a bag of chips and shavings, she had collected no doubt in half-finished houses, and was taking home. The bag made her shoulder ache it seemed and she wanted to change it over to the other shoulder. She let it down on the pavement, placed her basket of apples on a post and shook the bag. As she was doing so a boy in a ragged cap appeared from somewhere, snatched an apple out of the basket and was about to slip away when the old woman saw him and caught him by the sleeve. The boy struggled to get away, but the old woman held him fast with both hands. She had knocked off his cap and clutched him by the hair. The boy screamed, the woman cursed. Martin did not wait to put the awl in its place, but dropped it on the floor and rushed out at the door and stumbled up the stairs, dropping his spectacles on the way. He ran out into the street. The old woman was pulling the boy by the hair, cursing and threatening to take him to the policeman; the boy struggled and resisted her. “Why do you strike me?” he was saying. “I didn’t take anything!”

Martin tried to part them; he took the boy by the hand and said, “Let him go, Granny. Forgive him for Christ’s sake.”

“I’ll forgive him so that he won’t forget it for a long time! I’ll take the rascal to the police-station!”

Martin began to plead with her.

“Let him go, Granny; he won’t do it again. Let him go for Christ’s sake!”

The old woman released the boy, who was about to run away when Martin stopped him.