Short Fiction by Leo Tolstoy (book reader for pc TXT) 📕

They both sided first with one and then with the other party, but no one listened to them. There were others like them, but these two, who kept moving through the crowd and shouting louder than anybody and frightening the proprietress, were listened to less than anyone else, and, intoxicated by the noise and shouting, gave themselves up entirely to the pleasure of wagging their tongues.

There were many other characters among the members of the Commune, stern, respectable, indifferent, dismal, or downtrodden; and there were women standing behind the men, but, God willing, I’ll speak of them some other time. The greater part of the crowd, however, consisted of peasants who stood as if they were in church, whispering behind each other’s backs about home affairs, about how best to mark the trees in the forest, or silently hoping that the jabbering would soon cease. There were also rich peasants, whose well-being the Meeting could not add to nor diminish. Such was Ermíl, with his broad, shiny face, whom the peasants called the “full-bellied,” because he was rich. Such too was Stárostin, whose face seemed to say, “You may talk away, but no one will touch me! I have four sons, but not one of them will have to go.” Now and then these two were attacked by some independent thinker such as Kopýlof or Resoún, but they replied quietly and firmly, and with a sense of their own immunity. If Doútlof was like the mother-hen in the game of hawk-and-chickens, his lads did not much resemble the chicks. They did not flutter about and squeak, but stood quietly behind him. His eldest son, Ignát, was already thirty; the second, too, was already a married man, and, moreover, not fit for service; the third was his nephew Elijah, who had just got married⁠—a fair, rosy young man in a smart sheepskin coat (he was post-horse driver). He stood looking at the crowd, sometimes scratching his head under his hat, as if the whole matter was no concern of his, though it was just him that the hawks wished to swoop down on.

“Why, my grandfather was a soldier,” said one, “and so I might in just the same way refuse to draw lots!⁠ ⁠… There’s no such law, friend. Last recruiting, Mihéyevitch was enlisted, and his uncle had then not even returned from service.”

“Neither your father nor any uncle of yours has served the Tsar,” Doútlof was saying at the same time. “Why, you have not even served the proprietress or the Commune, but spend all your time in the pub. Your sons have separated from you because it’s impossible to live with you, so you go suggesting other people’s sons for recruits! And I have done police duty for ten years and been churchwarden. Twice I have suffered from fires, and no one helped me over it; and now, because things go on peaceably and honourably in my homestead, am I to be ruined?⁠ ⁠… Give me my brother back, then! I dare say he has died in service.⁠ ⁠… Judge righteously, according to God’s will, Christian Commune, and don’t listen to a drunkard’s drivel.”

And at the same time Gerásim was saying to Doútlof:

“You are using your brother as an excuse, but he was not enlisted by the Commune. He was sent by the proprietor because of his evil ways, so he is no excuse for you.”

Gerásim had not finished when the long, yellow-faced Theodore Mélnitchny stepped forward and began dismally:

“Yes, that’s the way! The proprietors send whom they list, and then the Commune has got to get the muddle straight. The Commune has chosen your lad, and if you don’t like it, go and ask the lady. Perhaps she will order me, the one man of the family, to leave my children and go!⁠ ⁠… There’s law for you!” he said bitterly, and, waving his hand, he returned to his former place.

The red-haired Román, whose son had been chosen as a recruit, raised his head and muttered: “That’s it, that’s it!” and even sat down on the step in vexation.

But these were not the only ones who were speaking all at once. Besides those behind, who were talking about their own affairs, the chatterers did not neglect their part.

“And so it is, faithful Commune,” said the little Zhidkóf, repeating Doútlof’s words. “One must judge in a Christian manner.⁠ ⁠… In a Christian way, I mean, brothers, we must judge.”

“One must judge according to one’s conscience, my dear friend,” spoke the good-humoured Hrapkóf, repeating Kopýlof’s words, and pulling Doútlof by his sheepskin.

“That was the proprietor’s will, and not the decision of the Commune.”

“That’s right! That’s what it is,” said others.

“What drunkard is drivelling?” Resoún retorted to Doútlof. “Did you stand me any drinks? Or is your son, whom they pick up by the roadside, going to reproach me with drink?⁠ ⁠… Friends, we must decide! If you want to spare Doútlof, choose not only out of families with two men, but even the one man of a family, and he will have the laugh of us!”

“Doútlof’s will have to go! What’s the good of talking?”

“It’s evident the three-men families must be the first to draw lots,” began different voices.

“We must first see what the proprietress will say. Egór Miháylovitch was saying that they wanted to send a domestic serf,” put in a voice.

This remark stopped the dispute for a while, but soon it flared up anew, and again came down to personalities.

Ignát, whom Resoún had accused of being picked up drunk by the roadside, began to make out that Resoún had stolen a saw from some passing carpenter, and that, when drunk, he had nearly beaten his wife to death.

Resoún replied that he beat his wife, drunk or sober, and still it was not enough; and this set everybody laughing. But about the saw he became suddenly indignant, stepped closer to Ignát and asked:

“Who stole?⁠ ⁠…”

“You did,” replied the sturdy Ignát, drawing still closer.

“Who stole?⁠ ⁠… Was it not yourself?” shouted Resoún.

“No, it was you,” said Ignát.

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