As soon as they had left the village, Misery sat up and asked the peasant,--
"Do you know the big stone that stands alone in the middle of a field not far from here?"
"Of course I know it," says the peasant.
"Drive straight to it," says Misery, and went on rocking himself to and fro, and groaning and complaining in his wretched little voice.
They came to the stone, and got down from the cart and looked at the stone. It was very big and heavy, and was fixed in the ground.
"Heave it up," says Misery.
The poor peasant set to work to heave it up, and Misery helped him, groaning, and complaining that the peasant was nothing of a fellow because he could not do his work by himself. Well, they heaved it up, and there below it was a deep hole, and the hole was filled with gold pieces to the very top; more gold pieces than ever you will see copper ones if you live to be a hundred and ten.
"Well, what are you staring at?" says Misery. "Stir yourself, and be quick about it, and load all this gold into the cart."
The peasant set to work, and piled all the gold into the cart down to the very last gold piece; while Misery sat on the stone and watched, groaning and chuckling in his weak, wretched little voice.
"Be quick," says Misery; "and then we can get back to the tavern."
The peasant looked into the pit to see that there was nothing left there, and then says he,--
"Just take a look, little Master Misery, and see that we have left nothing behind. You are smaller than I, and can get right down into the pit...."
Misery slipped down from the stone, grumbling at the peasant, and bent over the pit.
"You"ve taken the lot," says he; "there"s nothing to be seen."
"But what is that," says the peasant--"there, shining in the corner?"
"I don"t see it."
"Jump down into the pit and you"ll see it. It would be a pity to waste a gold piece."
Misery jumped down into the pit, and instantly the peasant rolled the stone over the hole and shut him in.
"Things will be better so," says the peasant. "If I were to let you out of that, sooner or later you would drink up all this money, just as you drank up everything I had."
Then the peasant drove home and hid the gold in the cellar; took the oxen and cart back to his neighbour, thanked him kindly, and began to think what he would do, now that Misery was his master no longer, and he with plenty of money.
"But he had to work for a week to pay for the loan of the oxen and cart," said Vanya.
"Well, during the week, while he was working, he was thinking all the time, in his head," said old Peter, a little grumpily. Then he went on with his tale.
As soon as the week was over, he bought a forest and built himself a fine house, and began to live twice as richly as his brother in the town. And his wife had two new dresses, perhaps more; with a lot of gold and silver braid, and necklaces of big yellow stones, and bracelets and sparkling rings. His children were well fed every day--rivers of milk between banks of kisel jelly, and mushrooms with sauce, and soup, and cakes with little b.a.l.l.s of egg and meat hidden in the middle. And they had toys that squeaked, a little boy feeding a goose that poked its head into a dish, and a painted hen with a lot of chickens that all squeaked together.
Time went on, and when his name-day drew near he thought of his brother, the merchant, and drove off to the town to invite him to take part in the feast.
"I have not forgotten, brother, that you invited me to yours."
"What a fellow you are!" says his brother; "you have nothing to eat yourself, and here you are inviting other people for your name-day."
"Yes," said the peasant, "once upon a time, it is true, I had nothing to eat; but now, praise be to G.o.d, I am no poorer than yourself. Come to my name-day feast and you will see."
"Very well," says his brother, "I"ll come; but don"t think you can play any jokes on me."
On the morning of the peasant"s name-day his brother, the merchant in the town, put on his best clothes, and his plump wife dressed in all her richest, and they got into their cart--a fine cart it was too, painted in the brightest colours--and off they drove together to the house of the brother who had once been poor. They took a basket of food with them, in case he had only been joking when he invited them to his name-day feast.
They drove to the village, and asked for him at the hut where he used to be.
An old man hobbling along the road answered them,--
"Oh, you mean our Ivan Ilyitch. Well, he does not live here any longer. Where have you been that you have not heard? His is the big new house on the hill. You can see it through the trees over there, where all these people are walking. He has a kind heart, he has, and riches have not spoiled it. He has invited the whole village to feast with him, because to-day is his name-day."
"Riches!" thought the merchant; "a new house!" He was very much surprised, but as he drove along the road he was more surprised still.
For he pa.s.sed all the villagers on their way to the feast; and every one was talking of his brother, and how kind he was and how generous, and what a feast there was going to be, and how many barrels of mead and, wine had been taken up to the house. All the folk were hurrying along the road licking their lips, each one going faster than the other so as to be sure not to miss any of the good things.
The rich brother from the town drove with his wife into the courtyard of the fine new house. And there on the steps was the peasant brother, Ivan Ilyitch, and his wife, receiving their guests. And if the rich brother was well dressed, the peasant was better dressed; and if the rich brother"s wife was in her fine clothes, the peasant"s wife fairly glittered--what with the gold braid on her bosom and the shining silver in her hair.
And the peasant brother kissed his brother from the town on both cheeks, and gave him and his wife the best places at the table. He fed them--ah, how he fed them!--with little red slips of smoked salmon, and beetroot soup with cream, and slabs of sturgeon, and meats of three or four kinds, and game and sweetmeats of the best. There never was such a feast--no, not even at the wedding of a Tzar. And as for drink, there were red wine and white wine, and beer and mead in great barrels, and everywhere the peasant went about among his guests, filling gla.s.ses and seeing that their plates were kept piled with the foods each one liked best.
And the rich brother wondered and wondered, and at last he could wait no longer, and he took his brother aside and said,--
"I am delighted to see you so rich. But tell me, I beg you, how it was that all this good fortune came to you."
The poor brother, never thinking, told him all--the whole truth about little Master Misery and the pit full of gold, and how Misery was shut in there under the big stone.
The merchant brother listened, and did not forget a word. He could hardly bear himself for envy, and as for his wife, she was worse. She looked at the peasant"s wife with her beautiful head-dress, and she bit her lips till they bled.
As soon as they could, they said good-bye and drove off home.
The merchant brother could not bear the thought that his brother was richer than he. He said to himself, "I will go to the field, and move the stone, and let Master Misery out. Then he will go and tear my brother to pieces for shutting him in; and his riches will not be of much use to him then, even if Misery does not give them to me as a token of grat.i.tude. Think of my brother daring to show off his riches to me!"
So he drove off to the field, and came at last to the big stone. He moved the stone on one side, and then bent over the pit to see what was in it.
He had scarcely put his head over the edge before Misery sprang up out of the pit, seated himself firmly on his shoulders, squeezed his neck between his little wiry legs, and pulled out handfuls of his hair.
"Scream away!" cried little Master Misery. "You tried to kill me, shutting me up in there, while you went off and bought fine clothes.
You tried to kill me, and came to feast your eyes on my corpse. Now, whatever happens, I"ll never leave you again."
"Listen, Misery!" screamed the merchant. "Ai, ai! stop pulling my hair. You are choking me. Ai! Listen. It was not I who shut you in under the stone...."
"Who was it, if it was not you?" asked Misery, tugging out his hair, and digging his knees into the merchant"s throat.
"It was my brother. I came here on purpose to let you out. I came out of pity."
Misery tugged the merchant"s hair, and twisted the merchant"s ears till they nearly came off.
"Liar, liar!" he shouted in his little, wretched, angry voice. "You tricked me once. Do you think you"ll get the better of me again by a clumsy lie of that kind? Now then. Gee up! Home we go."