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Updated: June 27, 2025
Aksionov rested awhile in the passage of the inn, then he stepped out into the porch, and, ordering a samovar to be heated, got out his guitar and began to play. Suddenly a troika drove up with tinkling bells and an official alighted, followed by two soldiers. He came to Aksionov and began to question him, asking him who he was and whence he came.
Aksionov tried to pass without looking at him, but Makar seized his hand and told him that he had dug a hole under the wall, getting rid of the earth by putting it into his high-boots, and emptying it out every day on the road when the prisoners were driven to their work. "Just you keep quiet, old man, and you shall get out too.
Makar Semyonich bent close over Aksionov, and whispered, "Ivan Dmitrich, forgive me!" "What for?" asked Aksionov. "It was I who killed the merchant and hid the knife among your things. I meant to kill you too, but I heard a noise outside, so I hid the knife in your bag and escaped out of the window." Aksionov was silent, and did not know what to say.
Aksionov laughed, and said, "You are afraid that when I get to the fair I shall go on a spree." His wife replied: "I do not know what I am afraid of; all I know is that I had a bad dream. I dreamt you returned from the town, and when you took off your cap I saw that your hair was quite grey." Aksionov laughed. "That's a lucky sign," said he.
Suddenly the officer drew a knife out of a bag, crying, "Whose knife is this?" Aksionov looked, and seeing a blood-stained knife taken from his bag, he was frightened. "How is it there is blood on this knife?" Aksionov tried to answer, but could hardly utter a word, and only stammered: "I don't know not mine."
He rose and went away. All that night Aksionov lay awake. He felt terribly unhappy, and all sorts of images rose in his mind. There was the image of his wife as she was when he parted from her to go to the fair. He saw her as if she were present; her face and her eyes rose before him; he heard her speak and laugh.
As they tied his feet together and flung him into the cart, Aksionov crossed himself and wept. His money and goods were taken from him, and he was sent to the nearest town and imprisoned there. Enquiries as to his character were made in Vladimir. The merchants and other inhabitants of that town said that in former days he used to drink and waste his time, but that he was a good man.
"Then his calculations were correct," I thought, as I pressed out into the street. In the town of Vladimir lived a young merchant named Ivan Dmitrich Aksionov. He had two shops and a house of his own. Aksionov was a handsome, fair-haired, curly-headed fellow, full of fun, and very fond of singing.
These words made Aksionov wonder whether this man knew who had killed the merchant; so he said, "Perhaps, Semyonich, you have heard of that affair, or maybe you've seen me before?" "How could I help hearing? The world's full of rumours. But it's a long time ago, and I've forgotten what I heard." "Perhaps you heard who killed the merchant?" asked Aksionov.
All his mirth went; he stooped; he walked slowly, spoke little, and never laughed, but he often prayed. In prison Aksionov learnt to make boots, and earned a little money, with which he bought The Lives of the Saints. He read this book when there was light enough in the prison; and on Sundays in the prison-church he read the lessons and sang in the choir; for his voice was still good.
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