An Honest Thief

Next day after dinner, while Astafy Ivanovitch was fitting on a coat which he was altering for me, again some one came into the passage. I half opened the door.

Agrafena stood all the time staring at him, agape with astonishment and doing nothing for the protection of my property. Astafy Ivanovitch flew in pursuit of the thief and ten minutes later came back out of breath and empty-handed. He had vanished completely. But the whole incident had so impressed Astafy Ivanovitch that I forgot the theft as I looked at him. He could not get over it. Every minute or two he would drop the work upon which he was engaged, and would describe over again how it had all happened, how he had been standing, how the greatcoat had been taken down before his very eyes, not a yard away, and how it had come to pass that he could not catch the thief.

Then he would sit down to his work again, then leave it once more, and at last I saw him go down to the dvornik to tell him all about it, and to upbraid him for letting such a thing happen in his domain. Then he came back and began scolding Agrafena. Then he sat down to his work again, and long afterwards he was still muttering to himself how it had all happened, how he stood there and I was here, how before our eyes, not a yard away, the thief took the coat off the peg, and so on.

In short, though Astafy Ivanovitch understood his business, he was a terrible slow-coach and busy-body. I wanted to while away the time by recalling the story of the lost greatcoat, the frequent repetition of which, together with the great earnestness of the speaker, was beginning to become very amusing. Even though it is no business of mine, I am put out. It makes me angry though it is not my coat that was lost. To my thinking there is no vermin in the world worse than a thief. Another takes what you can spare, but a thief steals the work of your hands, the sweat of your brow, your time.

I should think so! Yet, to be sure, there are thieves and thieves. And I have happened, sir, to come across an honest thief. How can a thief be honest? There are none such. I only meant to say that he was an honest man, sure enough, and yet he stole. I was simply sorry for him. I had been nearly a year out of a place, and just before I lost my place I made the acquaintance of a poor lost creature.

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We got acquainted in a public-house. He was a drunkard, a vagrant, a beggar, he had been in a situation of some sort, but from his drinking habits he had lost his work. God only knows what he had on! But he was not one to quarrel; he was a quiet fellow. A soft, good-natured chap. It was all one to me. And what a man he was, to be sure! Like a little dog he would follow me; wherever I went there he would be; and all that after our first meeting, and he as thin as a thread-paper! Well, thinks I, he is sticking to me; give him food and drink and shelter at night, too—here am I, a poor man, and a hanger-on to keep as well!

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My man was called Emelyan Ilyitch. I pondered and pondered what I was to do with him. To drive him away I was ashamed. I was sorry for him; such a pitiful, God-forsaken creature I never did set eyes on. And not a word said either; he does not ask, but just sits there and looks into your eyes like a dog.

To think what drinking will bring a man down to! And when it did get home to him at last, how he would get up from the window, would take up his bundle—I can see it now, the red-check handkerchief full of holes, with God knows what wrapped up in it, which he had always with him, and then how he would set his shabby old coat to rights, so that it would look decent and keep him warm, so that no holes would be seen—he was a man of delicate feelings! I shall soon be going away and then you will not find me. There was only one corner free in it.

She had been a nurse, so now she had a pension and a room of her own. I had gone out to see a man I knew, and when I came back in the evening, the first thing I saw was Emelyanoushka! There he was, sitting on my box and his check bundle beside him; he was sitting in his ragged old coat, waiting for me. And to while away the time he had borrowed a church book from the old lady, and was holding it wrong side upwards.

So I asked him straight off: Have you brought your passport, Emelyanoushka? And on thinking it over it seemed he would not be much trouble. He must be fed, I thought.

At midday I should have to give him another bit of bread and an onion; and in the evening, onion again with kvass, with some more bread if he wanted it. And if some cabbage soup were to come our way, then we should both have had our fill. I am no great eater myself, and a drinking man, as we all know, never eats; all he wants is herb-brandy or green vodka. So much so that if Emelyanoushka had gone away I should have felt that I had nothing to live for, I do believe.

I determined on the spot to be a father and guardian to him. You wait a bit, thought I; very well, Emelyanoushka, you may stay, only you must behave yourself; you must obey orders. For every sort of work a man needs a special ability, you know, sir. And I began to watch him on the quiet; I soon saw Emelyanoushka was a desperate character. I began, sir, with a word of advice: I said this and that to him. Have done with drinking!

Just look what rags you go about in: A pretty state of things! Would you believe it, sir? He would listen and listen to me and then heave such a sigh. Do you know there were two women fighting in the street today, Astafy Ivanovitch? I saw it before you did. But a policeman came up, took away the note, gave it back to the gentleman and threatened to take up both the men.

What do the folks matter? But do you know what I have to tell you, Emelyan Ilyitch? For the hundredth time I say to you, set to work, have some mercy on yourself! The Lord is chastising us for our sins. Well, sir, what is one to do with such a man? Where he got the money from, the Lord only knows; I had no hand in that.

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Give over drinking, mind what I say now, give it up! Next time you come home in liquor, you can spend the night on the stairs. What have I done to him? Lord have mercy upon us! There he was with his head on the step, and chilled to the marrow of his bones. Look at your old rag of a coat! You might take a needle and boggle up your rags, as decency demands. Ah, you drunken man! He actually did take a needle. Of course I said it in jest, but he was so scared he set to work.

He took off his coat and began threading the needle. I watched him; as you may well guess, his eyes were all red and bleary, and his hands were all of a shake. He kept shoving and shoving the thread and could not get it through the eye of the needle; he kept screwing his eyes up and wetting the thread and twisting it in his fingers—it was no good! He gave it up and looked at me. Why, you simple fellow, I said it you in joke, as a reproach. Give over your nonsense, God bless you! I know very well I am a drunkard and good for nothing! I can do nothing but vex you, my bene—bene—factor.

I felt as though a knife were thrust into my heart! Who could have guessed it? No, Emelyanoushka, thought I, I shall give you up altogether. You can go your way like the rubbish you are. Why, you, for instance, sir, would not have given a thought to it, but I would have given a great deal—if I had a great deal to give—that it never should have happened at all.

An Honest Thief and Other Stories

It struck me they were worth something. Of course for poor people like us everything comes in. And it happened just then that Emelyanoushka was having a sad time of it. There he sat day after day: It was sad to see him—he just sat and brooded. I went to vespers; when I came home I found Emelyanoushka sitting in the window, drunk and rocking to and fro. And I went to get something out of my chest. And when I looked in, the breeches were not there.

Am I going to wear such things? Why, a skirt I had I lost the other day through a fellow of your sort. I hunted high and low for them—they were nowhere to be found. And Emelyanoushka sits there rocking himself to and fro.



I was squatting on my heels facing him and bending over the chest, and all at once I stole a glance at him. Alack, I thought; my heart suddenly grew hot within me and I felt myself flushing up too. And suddenly Emelyanoushka looked at me. I was altering a waistcoat for a clerk who lived below us. Emelyanoushka seemed to have an inkling of what a rage I was in. Goodreads helps you keep track of books you want to read. Want to Read saving…. Want to Read Currently Reading Read. Refresh and try again. Open Preview See a Problem?

Thanks for telling us about the problem. Return to Book Page. Hardcover , pages. Published July 1st by Kessinger Publishing first published To see what your friends thought of this book, please sign up. Lists with This Book. This book is not yet featured on Listopia.

Jun 17, Jonfaith rated it liked it Shelves: Dostoevsky wrote a Christmas story. It recalls an early episode of the Twilight Zone where Art Carney plays a drunken department store Santa bearing the weight of all the world's children. The titular piece is but a parable. Even the throes of misery are lined with moral inscription, however faded. I was truly mov Dostoevsky wrote a Christmas story. I was truly moved by the half of the work in this collection and indifferent to the other.

It is fashionable to blame Constance Garrett - so I will. The Honest Thief There are people who are good, naturally good and help their fellow despite their own difficulties. That's what I liked in this book telling me that some still leave a chance to the other. The other has weaknesses but who knows By saying that we can possibly change it, to understand that it probably can not be. So accept the imperfections and give an onion, a piece of bread because we cannot anymore.

The goodness of ordinary people. The Christmas Tree and the Marriage 3 Stars. The Little Hero A peaceful story with a simple style that can not be recognize the author of Crime and Punishment, the author at the dark pen. In the little hero, he immersed himself in the eyes of a teenager discovers feelings, passions, love. His influence on my early impressions child was so strong that it has left its mark on my life. Expecting a man quite exceptional The narrator is Netochka, precocious child.

Having lost his father two years she will spend the next few years with the stepfather, she thought her father. Despite the misery, the strong disagreement of the parents, the unemployed and drunken father, the child loves this man and clings Este livro merece cinco estrelas com louvor.



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Mas Este livro merece cinco estrelas com louvor. May 30, Shelbie rated it really liked it Shelves: This was an interesting story; I kind of knew that it was by the title that it was going to be a different story. The names where harder to say, but other then that it was a good story.

I like how it ended when Emelyan told Astafy that he stole the breeches, which is a type of coat. I also liked how Emelyan saw that Astafy was a poor man, and gave him the breeches that he stole. Then they began to gain a relationship, and then Emelyan took him into his own house.

It makes me wonder if this was a This was an interesting story; I kind of knew that it was by the title that it was going to be a different story. It makes me wonder if this was a true story, because this could happen, or it has happen. Jun 02, Margarida rated it really liked it Shelves: This man had a brilliant mind.

May 13, Anna rated it really liked it Shelves: I love Dostoevsky's works.