III
So Pahóm was well-contented, and everything would have been right if the
neighbouring peasants would only not have trespassed on his corn-fields and
meadows. He appealed to them most civilly, but they still went on: now the
Communal herdsmen would let the village cows stray into his meadows; then
horses from the night pasture would get among his corn. Pahóm turned
them out again and again, and forgave their owners, and for a long time he
forbore from prosecuting any one. But at last he lost patience and complained
to the District Court. He knew it was the peasants' want of land, and no evil
intent on their part, that caused the trouble; but he thought:
'I cannot go on overlooking it, or they will destroy all I have. They must be
taught a lesson.'
So he had them up, gave them one lesson, and then another, and two or three of
the peasants were fined. After a time Pahóm's neighbours began to bear
him a grudge for this, and would now and then let their cattle on to his land
on purpose. One peasant even got into Pahóm's wood at night and cut down
five young lime trees for their bark. Pahóm passing through the wood one
day noticed something white. He came nearer, and saw the stripped trunks lying
on the ground, and close by stood the stumps, where the trees had been.
Pahóm was furious.
'If he had only cut one here and there it would have been bad enough,' thought
Pahóm, 'but the rascal has actually cut down a whole clump. If I could
only find out who did this, I would pay him out.'
He racked his brains as to who it could be. Finally he decided: 'It must be
Simon — no one else
could have done it.' So he went to Simon's homestead to
have a look round, but he found nothing, and only had an angry scene. However,
he now felt more certain than ever that Simon had done it, and he lodged a
complaint. Simon was summoned. The case was tried, and re-tried, and at the end
of it all Simon was acquitted, there being no evidence against him.
Pahóm felt still more aggrieved, and let his anger loose upon the Elder
and the Judges.
'You let thieves grease your palms,' said he. 'If you were honest folk
yourselves, you would not let a thief go free.'
So Pahóm quarrelled with the Judges and with his neighbours. Threats to
burn his building began to be uttered. So though Pahóm had more land,
his place in the Commune was much worse than before.
About this time a rumour got about that many people were moving to new parts.
'There's no need for me to leave my land,' thought Pahóm. 'But some of
the others might leave our village and then there would be more room for us. I
would take over their land myself, and make my estate a bit bigger. I could
then live more at ease. As it is, I am still too cramped to be comfortable.
One day Pahóm was sitting at home, when a peasant, passing through the
village, happened to call in. He was allowed to stay the night, and supper was
given him. Pahóm had a talk with this peasant and asked him where he
came from. The stranger answered that he came from beyond the Volga, where he
had been working. One word led to another, and the man went on to say that many
people were settling in those parts. He told how some people from his village
had settled there. They had joined the Commune, and had had twenty-
five acres
per man granted them. The land was so good, he said, that the rye sown on it
grew as high as a horse, and so thick that five cuts of a sickle made a sheaf.
One peasant, he said, had brought nothing with him but his bare hands, and now
he had six horses and two cows of his own.
Pahóm's heart kindled with desire. He thought:
'Why should I suffer in this narrow hole, if one can live so well elsewhere? I
will sell my land and my homestead here, and with the money I will start afresh
over there and get everything new. In this crowded place one is always having
trouble. But I must first go and find out all about it myself.
Towards summer he got ready and started. He went down the Volga on a steamer to
Samára, then walked another three hundred miles on foot, and at last
reached the place. It was just as the stranger had said. The peasants had
plenty of land: every man had twenty-five acres of Communal land given him for
his use, and any one who had money could buy, besides, at two shillings an
acre as much good freehold land as he
wanted.
Having found out all he wished to know, Pahóm returned home as autumn
came on, and began selling off his belongings. He sold his land at a profit,
sold his homestead and all his cattle, and withdrew from membership of the
Commune. He only waited till the spring, and then started with his family for
the new settlement.
