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

saw they went on to a stolen horse, a bag of oats, some strip of kitchen-garden, a dead body; and the two peasants said such terrible things to one another, that if a one-hundredth part of them had been true they would at the very least have legally deserved exile to Siberia.

In the meantime old Doútlof had chosen another way of defending himself. He did not like his son’s shouting, and tried to stop him, saying: “It’s a sin.⁠ ⁠… Leave off, I tell you!”

At the same time he argued that not only those who had three young men at home were three-men families, but also those whose sons had separated from them.

Stárostin smiled slightly, cleared his throat, and, stroking his beard with the air of a rich man, answered that it all depended on the proprietress, and that evidently his sons had deserved well, since the order was for them to be exempt.

Gerásim answered Doútlof’s arguments with respect to the families that had broken up, by the remark that they ought not to have been allowed to break up, as was the rule during the lifetime of the late proprietor; that it was no use crying over spilt milk; and that, after all, one could not enlist the only man left in a household.

“Did they break up their households for fun? Why should they now be completely ruined?” came the voices of the men whose families had separated; and the chatterers joined in, too.

“You’d better buy a substitute, if you’re not satisfied. You can afford it!” said Resoún to Doútlof.

Doútlof wrapped his coat round him with a despairing gesture, and stepped back behind the others.

“I suppose you’ve counted my money?” he muttered angrily. “We shall see what Egór Miháylovitch will say, when he comes from the proprietress.”

VI

At that very moment Egór Miháylovitch came out of the house. One cap after another was lifted, and as the steward approached, all the heads⁠—white, grey, red, brown, fair, or bald in front or on top⁠—were uncovered, and the voices were gradually silenced, till at last all was quiet.

Egór Miháylovitch stepped onto the porch, evidently intending to speak. In his long coat, his hands stuffed awkwardly into the pockets, his cap pulled over his forehead, he stood firmly, his feet apart, on this elevated place, lording it over all these heads⁠—mostly old, bearded and handsome⁠—that were turned towards him. He was now a different man from what he had been when he stood before his mistress. He was majestic.

“This is the mistress’s decision, lads! It is not her wish to give up any of the domestic serfs; but from among you, those whom you yourselves decide on, they shall go. Three are wanted this time. By rights only two and a half are wanted, but the half will be taken into account next time. It comes to the same thing: if it were not today, it would have to be tomorrow.”

“Of course, that’s quite right!” some voices said.

“In my opinion,” continued Egór Miháylovitch, “Harúshkin and Váska Mitúhin must go; that is evidently God’s will.”

“Yes, that’s quite right!” said the voices.

“… The third will have to be one of the Doútlofs, or one out of a two-men family.⁠ ⁠… What do you say?”

“Doútlof!” cried the voices. “There are three of them of the right age!”

And again, slowly, slowly, the shouting increased, and somehow the question of the strip of kitchen-garden and some kind of sacks stolen from the mistress’s yard came up again. Egór Miháylovitch had been managing the estate for the last twenty years, and he was a clever and experienced man. He stood and listened for about a quarter of an hour, then he ordered everybody to be quiet and the three younger Doútlofs to draw lots, to see which of the three was to go.

They prepared the lots, which were shaken up in a hat, and Hrapkóf took one out. It was Elijah’s. All became silent.

“Is it mine? Let me see!” said Elijah in a faltering voice.

All remained silent. Egór Miháylovitch gave orders that everybody should bring the recruiting money⁠—a tax of seven kopecks from every household⁠—next day, and saying that all was finished, dismissed the Meeting. The crowd moved away, the men covered their heads, and as they turned the corner their voices and the sound of their footsteps mingled into a hum. The steward stood on the porch, watching the departing crowd, and when the young Doútlofs had passed him, he beckoned the old man, who had stopped of his own accord, and they went into the office.

“I am sorry for you, old man,” said Egór Miháylovitch, sitting down in an armchair in front of the table. “Your turn has come. Won’t you buy a recruit to take your nephew’s place?”

The old man, without speaking, gave Egór Miháylovitch a significant look.

“He can’t escape,” said Egór Miháylovitch, in answer to that look.

“We’d be glad enough to buy a substitute, but have not the means, Egór Miháylovitch. Two horses went to the knacker’s this summer, and then there was my nephew’s wedding.⁠ ⁠… Evidently it’s our fate⁠ ⁠… for living honestly. It’s very well for him to talk!” (He was thinking of Resoún.)

Egór Miháylovitch rubbed his face with his hand and yawned. He was evidently tired of the subject; besides, he was ready for his tea.

“Eh, old fellow! Don’t you be mean!” said he. “Have a hunt in the cellar; I dare say you’ll turn up some four hundred old rouble notes, and I’ll get you a substitute⁠—a regular wonder!⁠ ⁠… The other day a fellow came offering himself.”

“In the government?” asked Doútlof, meaning the town.

“Well, will you buy him?”

“I’d be glad enough, God’s my witness!⁠ ⁠… but⁠ ⁠…”

Egór Miháylovitch sternly interrupted him.

“Well, then, listen to me, old man! See that Elijah does himself no injury, and as soon as I send word⁠—whenever that may be⁠—he is to be taken to town at once. You will take him, and you will be answerable for him; but if⁠—which God forbid!⁠—anything should happen to him, I’ll send