The Thief's Son
Воров сын
A jury was convened in a certain town. The jurors included peasants, nobles, and merchants. The foreman was a respected merchant named Ivan Akimovich Belov. Everyone respected him for his honest life: he conducted business fairly, never deceived anyone, never shortchanged anyone, and helped those in need. He was an old man, nearly seventy.
The jurors assembled, took their oath, and took their seats. The defendant was brought before them—a horse thief, charged with stealing a peasant’s horse. Just as they were about to begin the trial, Ivan Akimovich stood up and said to the judge: “Forgive me, your honor, I cannot serve as a juror.”
The judge was astonished. “What do you mean?” he said. “Why?”
“I simply cannot. Please excuse me.”
And suddenly Ivan Akimovich’s voice began to tremble, and he wept. He wept and wept until he could not speak. When he recovered himself, he said to the judge:
“I cannot judge, your honor, because my father and I are perhaps far worse than this thief. How can I judge someone who is just like me? I cannot. Please, I beg you, release me.”
The judge excused Ivan Akimovich, but that evening summoned him and asked: “Why do you refuse to serve on the jury?”
“Here is why,” said Ivan Akimovich, and he told the judge this story about himself:
“You think I am a merchant’s son, born in this city. That is not true. I am a peasant’s son. My father was a peasant, the worst thief in the district, and he died in prison. He was a kind man when sober, but when drunk he would beat my mother, brawl, and was ready for any wicked deed—though afterward he would always repent. Once he took me with him on a theft. And that very occasion became my good fortune.
“It happened like this. My father was with a band of thieves in a tavern, and they were discussing where they might find some loot. My father said to them: ‘Here’s what, lads. You know merchant Belov’s warehouse, the one facing the street? Well, there’s no end of goods in that warehouse. Only it’s hard to get in. But I’ve thought of something. There’s a little window, but it’s high up and narrow—a grown man can’t squeeze through. So here’s my idea. I’ve got a boy,’ he says—meaning me—‘a nimble little fellow. We’ll take him along, tie a rope around him, boost him up to the window. He’ll climb in, we’ll lower him down on the rope, and give him another rope to hold. He’ll tie the goods onto that rope for us to pull out. When we’ve taken what we need, we’ll pull him back up.’
“The thieves liked this idea and said: ‘Well then, bring the boy.’
“My father came home and called for me. Mother asked: ‘What do you need him for?’ ‘If I’m calling him, I need him.’ Mother said: ‘He’s outside.’ ‘Call him.’ Mother knew that when he was drunk, you couldn’t argue with him—he’d beat you. She ran out and called me. My father said to me: ‘Vanka! Are you good at climbing?’ ‘I can climb anywhere you like.’ ‘Well then,’ he says, ‘come with me.’ Mother tried to talk him out of it; he raised his hand at her, and she fell silent. Father took me, dressed me, and led me away. He brought me to the tavern, and they gave me tea with sugar and snacks. We sat there until evening. When it grew dark, they all set out—three of them in all—and took me along.
“We came to merchant Belov’s house. They tied one rope around me and gave me another to hold in my hands. ‘Understand?’ they said. ‘How could I not understand? I understand.’ They boosted me up to the window; I squeezed through, and they began to lower me on the rope. I stood on something solid and immediately began feeling around with my little hands. I couldn’t see anything—it was dark—I just felt around. Whenever I felt something furry, I tied it to the rope, not at the end but in the middle, and they pulled. I pulled the rope back and tied on something else. They pulled out about three bundles this way, then pulled the whole rope to themselves—meaning, that’s enough—and started pulling me back up. I held onto the rope with my little hands while they pulled. They had only pulled me halfway when—snap!—the rope broke, and I fell. Lucky for me, I landed on pillows and wasn’t hurt.
“Just at that moment, as I learned later, a watchman spotted them and raised the alarm. They fled with whatever they had stolen.
“They ran off and left me behind. I lay alone in the darkness, and terror overcame me. I cried and screamed: ‘Mama! Mama! Mama!’ I was so exhausted from fear and weeping, and I hadn’t slept all night, so I didn’t even notice when I fell asleep on those pillows. Suddenly I woke up—and there before me, holding a lantern, stood merchant Belov himself and a policeman. The policeman began asking who I had been with. I said, ‘With my father.’ ‘And who is your father?’ I began to cry again. Then old Belov said to the policeman: ‘Let him be. A child is a soul of God. It would not be right for him to inform on his own father. What’s lost is lost.’
“He was a good man, the late Belov—may he rest in peace. And his old wife was even more compassionate. She took me into the house, gave me treats, and I stopped crying. A child, as everyone knows, finds joy in everything. In the morning the mistress asked me: ‘Do you want to go home?’ I didn’t know what to say. ‘Yes, I want to.’ ‘And do you want to stay with me?’ she asked. ‘Yes, I want to.’ ‘Well then, stay.’
“So I stayed. I stayed and stayed, and lived with them from then on. They arranged papers for me as if I were a foundling and made me their foster son. At first I was an errand boy; then, as I grew older, they made me a clerk and I managed the shop. I must have served them well. They were kind people, and they came to love me so much that they even gave me their daughter in marriage. They made me like a son to them. When the old man died, the whole estate passed to me.
“So that is who I am—a thief myself and a thief’s son. How then can I judge others? Besides, it is not a Christian matter, your honor. We must forgive and love all people. And if this thief has gone astray, he should not be punished but pitied. Remember what Christ said.”
So spoke Ivan Akimovich. And the judge asked nothing more, but sat in thought—wondering whether, according to Christian teaching, it is even possible to judge one’s fellow man.
Translator’s Notes:
- Retold by Tolstoy from Nikolai Leskov’s original. Tolstoy simplified the language for his “popular” audience.
- The story illustrates themes central to the Circle of Reading: mercy, non-judgment, and Christian forgiveness.
Changelog: See _changelogs/01-the-thiefs-son.changelog.md