 This is the LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Brooks Jensen, Anacordis, Washington. Master and Man by Leo Tolstoy Meanwhile, Vasily was using his heels and the spare end of the halter to urge the cob in the direction where, for some reason or another, he supposed the forest and the forest-keeper to be. The snow blinded his eyes, and the wind seemed as if it were struggling to stop him, but, bending forward at times to double the skirts of his coat and tuck them between his knees and the icy saddle-piece, which made his seat such an uncomfortable one, he pressed the cob onwards, unceasingly. The animal moved with difficulty, yet proceeded whether it was directed in its usual docile manner. For what seemed to him some five minutes, Vasily rode straight ahead, seeing nothing in front of him but the cob's head and ears and a sea of whiteness and hearing nothing but the whistling of the wind over the cob's ears and round the collar of his fur coat. Suddenly, however, something black showed up before him. His heart began to beat hopefully, and he rode towards the object, imagining that he already discerned in its outlines the walls of the houses forming a village. The object did not keep still, however, but was forever waving from side to side. In fact, it turned out to be not a village, but a tall piece of wormwood which, growing out of the boundary ridge and projecting above the snow, bent violently over to one side each time the wind struck it and went whistling through its stems. Somehow the sight of this wormwood, thus tortured by the cruel wind, caused Vasily to shudder, and he restarted the cob in haste. Without noticing that, in turning aside to the wormwood, he had deviated from his former direction and was now riding at a tangent to it. Nonetheless, he imagined himself still to be bearing in the fancy direction of the forest-keeper's hut, and although the cob kept trying to swerve to the right, he has often straightened it again to the left. For the second time a dark object loomed up before him, filling his heart with joy since he felt certain that this time here was a village at last, yet it proved to be only another boundary ridge topped with wormwood. As in the case of the first one, the sound of the wind wailing through the dried stems seemed to fill Vasily with fear. This piece of wormwood was exactly similar to the other piece in all respects, Save One, namely that beside this second piece ran the track of a horse's hooves slightly powdered over with snow. Vasily pulled up, leaned forward, and looked at the track carefully. It was the track of a small sized hoof, and the covering of snow upon it was, as yet, a mere sprinkling. In short, it was the track of his own cob. He had described a complete circle, and that not a large one. So this is how I am to perish, he thought. Then, lest he should yield to his terror, he started forward again and urged the cob even more strenuously than before. At every moment, as he strained his eyes into the swirl of whiteness before him, he seemed to see dark points stand out for a second and then vanish as soon as he looked at them. Once he thought he heard what might have been either the barking of a dog or the howl of a wolf, but the sound was so faint and uncertain that he could not be sure whether he had really heard anything or whether it had only been his fancy. He stopped and listened attentively. Suddenly a weird, startling cry sounded in his very ears, and everything beneath him seemed to heave and tremble. He clutched the cob's mane, yet found that it too was quivering while the cry grew ever more and more piercing. For some seconds Vasily could not frame a thought or understand in the least what was happening. Yet all that had happened was that the cob had been seized with the idea either of inspiriting himself or calling for help, and had naid loudly in his raucous, guttural tones. How the beast frightened me! Be hanged to it, gasped Vasily to himself, yet although he understood now the cause of his terror he could not shake himself free from it. I must consider things a moment and steady myself, he thought. It was all to no purpose, for he could not master himself, could not keep from urging the cob on, taking no heed the while that he was now riding before the wind instead of against it. His body was chilled and aching all over, but especially in the lower part next to the saddle-piece where his coat was unhooked whilst his hands and feet were shaking violently, and his breath came in gasps. He felt sure now that he was to perish in the midst of this fearful waste of snow, and that nothing could save him. Suddenly the cob gave a groan as it stuck fast in a snowdrift, and struggling violently began to sink sideways onto its flank. Vasily leapt off, displacing as he did so the trace-loops in which his feet had been resting, and so also the saddle-piece on which he had been seated. Yet he had no sooner dismounted than the cob righted himself, lurched forward, took a couple of plunges, and disappeared with a loud neigh, trailing behind him the sacking and the harness, and leaving Vasily stranded in the snowdrift. Vasily made a rush to catch him, but the snow was so deep, and his fur coat so heavy, that he sank knee-deep at every step, and had taken no more than twenty strides when his breath failed him, and he had to stop. The timber, the weathers for the butcher, the rent-hold land, the store, the taverns, the iron-roof villa and warehouse, my little heir, am I to leave them all, he thought? Is it to end like this? No, no it cannot be. For some reason or another there came into his mind at that moment a picture of the wormwood waving in the wind, and of himself twice riding up to it. Such terror seized upon him that he could hardly believe in the reality of what was happening. I must be dreaming at all, he thought, and tried, as it were, to awake from his dream. Yet there was no awakening for him. It was a real snow that was lashing his face, heaping his form over, and chilling his right hand which had lost its mitten. It was a real desert, too, in which he was now left, lonely, as lonely as the wormwood, and in which he must await an imminent, a swift, and an unthinkable death. O Queen of Heaven, O Holy Father St. Nicholas, who teaches us abstinence he began, with the dim recollection of the Thanksgiving service of yesterday, and the icon with its blackened face and gold vestment, and the candles for that icon which he had sold, and which returned to him straightway, he had replaced in his locker after lighting them for a brief moment. Again and again he besought the wonder-working St. Nicholas to save him from his fate, promising in return a Thanksgiving and many candles. Yet all the time he knew beyond the possibility of doubt that, although that blackened face and gold vestment, as well as the candles, the priest, and the thanks-givings, were all of them very important and necessary there in the church, they could do nothing for him here, and that between those candles and thanks-givings on one hand and his present forlorn plight on the other there could be no real connection whatever. Still I must not despair, he thought. I have only to follow the cob's track before it gets snowed over, and it will bring me out somewhere. Only I must not hurry too much, or I might plunge into another snow-drift, and be worse off than ever. Nevertheless, for all his determination to go quietly, he could not help quickening his pace, breaking into a run, tumbling down continually, picking himself up again and once more falling. Moreover, the cob's track was almost invisible where the snow was not deep. I am done for, he said at last. I am not following the cob's track at all, but only losing myself. Just as he said this, however, he happened a glance ahead and caught sight of something dark there. It was brownie, and not brownie alone, but also the shafts and the handkerchief. The cob was standing beside the sledge, with the harness and sacking still dangling down his flank, but standing in a different position to before, since he was just under the shafts, and had his head, which he kept shaking at intervals, drawn close to the ground by the halter, which had caught round his pastern. It seemed that Vasily had stuck fast in the same ravine as that into which Nikita and he had previously blundered. That as a matter of fact, the cob had been carrying him straight back to the sledge, and that at the moment when he jumped off, he had been only fifty paces from it. This ends Section 8. For more information, or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Brooks Jensen, Anacortis, Washington Master and Man by Leo Tolstoy Section 9. Staggering up to the sledge, Vasily grasped hold of it and stood for a long time, without moving as he endeavored to steady himself and regain his breath. There was nothing to be seen of Nikita in his old position, but in the sledge there lay something heaped with snow, which Vasily guessed to be his servant. Vasily's tears had now vanished, or if any were left it was merely lest he should have a return of the horrible panic which he had experienced on the cob's back, and still more, when he found himself left in the snowdrift. At all costs he must not give way to that panic again, and if he would avoid that, he must be up and doing something, must be occupying his thoughts with something. First of all, he planted himself with his back to the wind, and unfastened his fur coat to cool himself. Then, when he had regained his breath a little, he shook the snow off his boots and left hand mitten, the other one was hopelessly lost and probably lying somewhere a couple of inches below the snow, and refastened his belt tightly, much as he was accustomed to do when he was about to step out of his store to buy cartloads of grain which the mougiques had brought. This done he set about exerting himself. The first thing which had occurred to him to do was to disentangle the cob's leg, and, the halter thus freed, he tied Brownie up to the rim of the splashboard where he had been tied before. Next he had just gone behind the cob to straighten the crooper, sacking and saddle-piece on his back, when he saw something stir in the sledge, and then the head of Nikita emerged from beneath the snow which covered it. The frozen man raised himself a little, though evidently with a great effort, and made a strange gesture with his hand in front of his face as though he were brushing away a fly. As he did this he seemed to Vasily to be saying something, probably Vasily's name, so the latter left the sacking unstratant and stepped up to the sledge. How is it with you now, he asked, and what are you trying to say? Only that I—I am dying, answered Nikita, with difficulty and in gasps. Give my wages to the little lad or to the wife. It does not matter which. Are you frozen then, said Vasily? Yes, and dying. I know it quite well, replied Nikita in a choking voice, and still fluttering his hand before his face as though to brush away a fly. Pardon me for Christ's sake. For about half a minute Vasily stood without moving and in silence, and then all at once and with the same air of decision as marked him when he had struck hands over a good bargain. He took a step backwards, tucked up the sleaze of his coat, and began with both hands to rake the snow off Nikita and out of the sledge. This done he unhooked his belt, opened his fur coat, pushed Nikita hastily into a straight posture, and lay down upon him in such a way that the latter should be covered, not only with the coat, but with Vasily's own warm, overheated body. With one skirt of the coat tucked between Nikita's form and the side of the sledge, and the tail of it grasped between his ankles, Vasily remained lying prone with his head resting upon the splashboard and his ears deaf either to the movements of the cob or to the howling of the wind, but intent only on listening to Nikita's breathing. For a long time Nikita lay without moving. Then he gave a deep sigh and stirred fatally. There you are, you see, and yet you talk of dying began, Vasily. Just you lie still and grow warm, and we, to his great surprise, Vasily found that he could say no more. For tears were welling from his eyes, and his lower jaw was working. He broke off short, and swallowed a lump in his throat. How absurdly weak and nervous I have made myself, he thought. Yet not only did he find this weakness far from unpleasant, but it actually gave him a sensation of joy as he had never yet experienced. Yes, we shall manage it all right like this, he said to himself, conscious of a rapturous feeling of emotion. After this he lay for a long time in silence, merely wiping his eyes against the fur of the coat, and tucking back its right-hand skirt as the wind blew it up at intervals. But at length he felt as though he must communicate his joy to a fellow creature. Nikita, he said, that is better. I am getting warm now, came from underneath him. Nikita, my old friend, I thought we were done for. You would have been frozen, and I, once more, Vasily's cheek started quivering, and his eyes filled with tears, so that he could say no more. No, it is no good, he said to himself, yet I know what I know, and he remained silent. Still he lay there, warmth seemed to be passing into his body from Nikita below and from the fur coat above. Only the hands with which he held the skirts of the coat against Nikita's sides, and his feet, from between which the wind kept blowing the skirts away, were beginning to feel frozen. His mittenless right hand in particular felt numbed. Yet he never thought of his hands or feet, only how he could best warm the peasant, who was lying beneath him. More than once he glanced at the cob and saw that its back was uncovered, since the sacking had now slipped off altogether and was lying in the snow. He felt as if he ought to go and cover the animal over again, yet could not make up his mind to leave Nikita, even for a moment, and thus break the spell of that rapturous joy which now possessed him. As for his terrors, they had long since fled away. By heavens I am not going to be beaten, he said to himself, with reference to his efforts to warm Nikita, speaking indeed in just the same boastful tone in which he had been accustomed to speak of his sails or purchases. He lay for an hour, for two, for three, but took no heed of the passing time. At first there danced before his vision dim pictures of the storm, of the shafts, of the cob under his high dugah. Then these pictures became exchanged for jumbled memories of the festival, of his wife, of the Statovoi, and of the candle-locker, but beneath the picture of the candle-locker lay Nikita. Then again he saw the mougiques trading with him, and the white iron-roofed walls of his house, but beneath the picture of those walls again lay Nikita. Then everything became confused, one thing ran into another until at last these various scattered impressions came together as the colors of a rainbow merge into a beam of white light, and he fell asleep. For long he slept without dreaming, but just before the dawn came there also came some sleep-visions. He seemed to be standing by the candle-locker while old mother Takonova was asking him for a five-copek candle for the festival. He tried to take the candle out and give it to her, but his hands remained glued in his pockets. Then he tried to walk round the locker, but his legs refused to move, and his new, clean shoes stuck fast to the stone floor, so that he could not even raise his feet to take the shoes off. Then suddenly the locker was not a locker at all, but a bed, and on that bed Vesely could see himself lying face downwards, lying on his own bed at home. He was lying on the bed and could not rise, although it was necessary for him to do so. Seeing that Ivan met Veitch, the Stanovoi was coming to see him presently, and he must go with Ivan either to buy some timber or to put the crooper straight on the cob's back, he could not be sure which. He kept asking his wife, has he not come yet, Mikolovna, and she kept answering him, no, not yet. Then he could hear someone driving up to the steps outside, surely it must be he, but no, the vehicle had driven past. Is he not come yet, Mikolovna, he asked his wife, once more, and once more she replied, no, not yet. Thus he lay, and lay upon the bed, unable to rise, and ever waiting, waiting, and the waiting was at once painful and joyous. Suddenly the joy of it was filled to the full. He for whose coming he had been waiting was now at hand, and it was not Ivan met Veitch nor anyone else. Yet still it was the man for whom he had been waiting. He entered, did that man, and called him. And this man who had called him cried out to him again, and bade him go, and lie down upon Nikita. And Vasily was glad that this someone had come. Yes, I will go, he cried in his joy. And with that cry Vasily awoke. Yes he awoke, but awoke a very different man to what he had been when he fell asleep. He tried to rise and could not. He tried to move his hand and could not. He tried to move his leg and could not. Then he tried to turn his head, but that also he could not do. This surprised him, yet in no way troubled him. Then he remembered that Nikita was lying beneath him, and that Nikita was growing warm and coming back to life. It seemed to him that he was Nikita, and Nikita he, and that his life was no longer within himself, but within Nikita. He strained his ears till he caught the sound of breathing, yes, the faint deep breathing of Nikita. Nikita is alive, he cried to himself in triumph, and therefore so also am I. Then he began to think about his money, his store, his house, his sales and purchases, and Mironov's millions. He could not understand how that man, whom men called Vasily Brookanov, could bear to interest himself in such things as he did. That man can never have known what is the greatest thing of all, he thought of this Vasily Brookanov. He can never have known what I know. Yes, I know it for certain now. At last I know. Once again he heard the man calling him, who had called him before, and his whole being seemed to respond in joy and loving kindness as he replied, I am coming, I am coming, for he felt that he was free at last, and that nothing could hold him further. And indeed nothing further than that did Vasily Andreiich see or hear or feel in this world. Around him the tempest still kept on. The same swirlings of snow kept circling in eddies and covering the coats of the dead Vasily Andreiich and the trembling brownie and the sledge now almost invisible, and stretched out upon its floor the now-reviving Nikita as he lay prone beneath the body of his dead master. This ends Section 9. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Brooks Jensen, Anacordis, Washington. Master and Man by Leo Tolstoy. Section 10. Just before morning Nikita awoke. It was the frost making its way down his back which aroused him. He had just been dreaming that he was driving from the mill with the load of his master's flower, and that instead of taking the bridge over the stream he went by the ford and stuck fast. He could see himself getting under the load and trying to lift it as he straightened his back. Yet strange to say the load would not move but clung always to his back so that he could neither move the cart nor withdraw himself from beneath it. It seemed to be breaking his very loins and how cold it felt. At all costs he must get away from beneath it. Hold on, he found himself saying to the someone who was causing the load to break his back, take off some of the sacks. Yet the load kept growing colder and colder and pressing more and more heavily upon him. Then suddenly something gave a loud bang and he became fully awake and remembered all that had happened, that chilly load it was his dead frozen master. That loud bang it had been caused by brownies striking his hooves against the sledge. Andrej, Andrej he cried cautiously to his master, though he half guessed the truth already, as he raised his back stiffly. But Andrej returned no answer, while his body and legs were cold and stiff and heavy as weights. There is no doubt that he is dead, thought Nikita. He turned his head round, pushed the snow away from in front of his face and opened his eyes. It was quite light now. The wind was still humming through the shafts and the snow streaming down, but with this difference that the snow was no longer dashing itself against the sides of the sledge but piling itself up in silence over sledge and cob, from the ladder of which not even the sound of breathing was now to be heard. Brownie too must be frozen, thought Nikita, and indeed those two loud hoofstrokes upon the sledge which had awakened him had been the last efforts of the now dead and frozen animal to keep upon his legs. O God, little father of ours, surely thou wilt call me also, said Nikita, and if so, thy will be done. It would be hard that the two of us should be taken and the other left, let death come when it will. And he drew his hand in again, closed his eyes, and fell asleep, firmly convinced that this time he was really and truly dead. It was about the time of the midday meal next day when some mougiques dug out Vasily and Nikita, seventy yards only from the road, and half a burst from the village. The snow had drifted completely over the sledge, but the shafts with the handkerchief on them were still visible. Brownie, belly deep in the snow, stood a white frozen mass, his dead muzzle pressed tightly inwards against his rigid neck, his nostrils fringed with icicles, and his eyes coated over and glazed with ice as with frozen tears. Moreover, he had so wasted away in that one night that there remained of him but skin and bones. As for Vasily, he too was stiff as a frozen carcass, and when his legs were pulled aside, the corpse rolled off Nikita in a solid lump. His prominent hawk-like eyes were frozen hard, and his mouth opened little under his cropped mustache, filled with snow. Nikita only was alive, though frostbitten all over. Yet when brought to himself, he could not be persuaded that he was not dead, and that all that was now happening to him was not taking place in the next world instead of this. Indeed, his first feeling when he heard the mougiques shouting above him as they dug out the sledge and then rolled the stiffened Vasily off him was one of surprise that mougiques shouted in the next world even as they had shouted in this, and had similar bodies. When at length he understood that he was really here, here in this present world, he felt vexed rather than pleased, especially as he could feel that the fingers of both his hands were frostbitten. For about two months he lay in hospital. Three of his fingers had to be amputated, but the others healed so that he was able to go to work again and to live twenty years longer, first as a laborer, then in his old age, as a watchman. Indeed, he died only this year, at home and under the icons with a lighted wax candle in his hands, just as he had always wished. Before his death he took leave of his old wife and pardoned her for the cooper. He took leave also of his son and grandchildren, and died thoroughly happy to think that his death left his son and daughter-in-law freed from the burden of having a supernumerary mouth to feed, and that this time he himself would really pass from a life which had grown worrisome to him to that other life which had been growing more and more familiar and alluring to him each year and hour. Is he better or worse off now where he has awakened after his death, the death which really came that time? Is he disillusioned, or has he really found what he expected? Soon we shall all know. This ends section 10 and ends the book Master and Man by Leo Tolstoy.