’I don’t know, your honour. No doubt,
he deserves it. And, indeed, why not beat him?
You know, your honour, he crucified Christ!’
Tchertop-hanov uttered a whoop, gave his horse a lash
on the neck with the riding-whip, flew straight towards
the crowd, and plunging into it, began with the same
riding-whip thrashing the peasants to left and to
right indiscriminately, shouting in broken tones:
’Lawless brutes! lawless brutes! It’s
for the law to punish, and not pri-vate per-sons!
The law! the law! the law!’
Before two minutes had passed the crowd had beaten
a retreat in various directions; and on the ground
before the tavern door could be seen a small, thin,
swarthy creature, in a nankin long coat, dishevelled
and mangled... a pale face, rolling eyes, open mouth....
What was it?... deadly terror, or death itself?
‘Why have you killed this Jew?’ Tchertop-hanov
shouted at the top of his voice, brandishing his riding-whip
menacingly.
The crowd faintly roared in response. One peasant
was rubbing his shoulder, another his side, a third
his nose.
‘You’re pretty free with your whip!’
was heard in the back rows.
‘Why have you killed the Jew, you christened
Pagans?’ repeated Tchertop-hanov.
But, at this point, the creature lying on the ground
hurriedly jumped on to its feet, and, running up to
Tchertop-hanov, convulsively seized hold of the edge
of the saddle.
‘Alive!’ was heard in the background.
‘He’s a regular cat!’
‘Your ex-shelency, defend me, save me!’
the unhappy Jew was faltering meanwhile, his whole
body squeezed up against Tchertop-hanov’s foot;
’or they will murder me, they will murder me,
your ex-shelency!’
‘What have they against you?’ asked Tchertop-hanov.
’I can’t tell, so help me God! Some
cow hereabouts died... so they suspect me... but I...’
‘Well, that we’ll go into later!’
Tchertop-hanov interrupted; ’but now, you hold
on to the saddle and follow me. And you!’
he added, turning to the crowd,’ do you know
me?—I’m the landowner Panteley Tchertop-hanov.
I live at Bezsonovo,—and so you can take
proceedings against me, when you think fit—and
against the Jew too, while you’re about it!’
‘Why take proceedings?’ said a grey-bearded,
decent-looking peasant, bowing low, the very picture
of an ancient patriarch. (He had been no whit behind
the others in belabouring the Jew, however). ’We
know your honour, Panteley Eremyitch, well; we thank
your honour humbly for teaching us better!’
‘Why take proceedings?’ chimed in the
others.
’As to the Jew, we’ll take it out of him
another day! He won’t escape us! We
shall be on the look-out for him.’
Tchertop-hanov pulled his moustaches, snorted, and
went home at a walking pace, accompanied by the Jew,
whom he had delivered from his persecutors just as
he had once delivered Tihon Nedopyuskin.
