Short Fiction, Leo Tolstoy [general ebook reader .txt] 📗

the street. Crossing himself, he went out barefoot into the yard to the horses. One could see that he had been there too. The mare standing under the shed beside a tub of chaff had got her foot into the cord of her halter, had spilt the chaff, and now, holding up her foot, turned her head and waited for her master. Her foal had tumbled behind a heap of manure. The old man raised it to its feet, disentangled the mare’s foot and fed her, and went back to the hut. The old woman got up and lit the splint.

“Wake the lads! I’m going to town!” And, taking a wax taper from the icon, Doútlof lit it and went down with it into the cellar. Not only in his hut, but in all the neighbouring houses the lights were burning when he came up again. The young fellows were up and preparing to start. The women were coming and going with pails of milk. Ignát was harnessing the horse to one cart, and the second son was greasing the wheels of another. The young wife was no longer sobbing. She had made herself neat, and had bound a shawl over her head, and now sat waiting till it would be time to go to town to say goodbye to her husband.

The old man appeared particularly stern. He did not say a word to anyone, put on his best coat, tied his girdle round him, and with all Polikéy’s money in the bosom of his coat, went to Egór Miháylovitch.

“Mind you don’t dawdle,” he called to his son, who was turning the wheels on the raised and newly greased axle. “I’ll be back in a minute; see that everything is ready.”

The steward had only just got up, and was drinking tea. He, too, was preparing to go to town, to hand over the recruits.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Egór Miháylovitch, I want to buy the lad off. Do be so good! You said t’other day that you knew one in the town that was willing⁠ ⁠… Explain it to me, how to do it; we are ignorant people.”

“Why, have you reconsidered it?”

“I have, Egór Miháylovitch. I’m so sorry⁠ ⁠… a brother’s child, after all, whatever he may be.⁠ ⁠… I’m sorry for him!⁠ ⁠… It’s the cause of much sin, money is. Do be so good and explain it to me!” he said, bowing low.

Egór Miháylovitch, as was his wont on such occasions, stood for a long time thoughtfully smacking his lips; and, having considered the matter, wrote two notes, and explained what was to be done in town, and how to do it.

When Doútlof got home, the young wife had already set off with Ignát. The fat grey mare stood ready harnessed in the gateway. Doútlof broke a twig out of the hedge, and, lapping his coat over, got into the cart and whipped up the horse. He made the mare run so fast that her fat sides gradually shrank, and Doútlof did not look at her, so as not to awaken any feeling of pity in himself. He was tormented by the thought that he might come too late for the recruiting, that Elijah would go as a soldier, and the devil’s money would remain on his hands.

I will not describe all Doútlof’s proceedings that morning. I will only say that he was specially lucky. The man to whom Egór Miháylovitch had given him a note had a volunteer quite ready, who had already spent twenty-three roubles, and had already been passed by the Court. His master wanted four hundred roubles for him, and a buyer in the town had for the last three weeks been offering him three hundred. Doútlof settled the matter in a couple of words.

“Will you take three and a quarter hundred?” he said, holding out his hand, but with a look that showed that he was prepared to give more. The master held back his hand, and went on asking four hundred.

“You won’t take a quarter?” Doútlof said, catching hold with his left hand of the man’s right, and preparing to smack it with his own right hand. “You won’t take it? Well, Heaven help you!” he said suddenly, smacking the master’s hand with the full swing of his other arm, and turning away with his whole body.

“Evidently it must come to that⁠ ⁠… take three and a half hundred! Get the receipt ready, and bring the fellow along. And now, here are two ten-rouble notes on account. Is it enough?”

And Doútlof unfastened his girdle and got out the money.

The master, though he did not draw away his hand, yet did not seem quite to agree, and, not accepting the deposit money, went on stipulating that Doútlof should wet the bargain and stand treat to the volunteer.

“Don’t you commit a sin,” Doútlof kept repeating, as he held out the money. “We shall all have to die some day,” he went on, in such a gentle, persuasive and assured tone that the master said:

“Well, all right!”

Doútlof smacked his hand again, and began praying for God’s blessing. They woke up the volunteer, who was still sleeping after yesterday’s carouse, thought fit to examine him, and went with him to the offices of the Administration.

The volunteer was merry. He demanded rum to get screwed on, for which Doútlof gave him some money, and only when they came into the vestibule did he become abashed. For a long time they stood in the anteroom, the old master in his full blue cloak, and the volunteer in a short fur coat, his eyebrows raised and his eyes staring. For a long time they whispered, asked to be allowed to go somewhere or other, looked for somebody or other, and for some reason took off their caps and bowed to every scrivener they met, and meditatively listened to the decisions read out by a scrivener whom the master knew. All hope of getting the business done that day began to vanish, and the volunteer was