Collected Shorter Fiction, Volume 1

by Leo Tolstoy

  ‘Why do you bow in such a way?’ Nekhlyúdov said irritably, raising her by the shoulder. ‘Can’t you say what you want to say simply? You know I don’t like grovellings. Get your son married if you like. I shall be very glad if you know of a wife for him.’

  The old woman rose and began rubbing her dry eyes with her sleeve. David followed her example and having rubbed his eyes with his puffy fist continued to stand in the same patiently meek attitude listening to what Arína said.

  ‘There are girls – of course there are. There’s Váska Mikháy’s girl, she’s all right, but she won’t consent unless it’s your wish.’

  ‘Doesn’t she agree?’

  ‘No, benefactor, not if she’s to marry by consent.’

  ‘Then what’s to be done? I can’t compel her. Look out for someone else – if not one of ours, one from another village. I’ll buy her out if she comes willingly, but I won’t force her to marry. There is no law that allows that, and it would be a great sin.’

  ‘Eh, eh, benefactor! Is it likely, seeing what our life is and our poverty, that any girl would come of her own accord? Even the poorest soldier’s wife wouldn’t agree to such poverty. What peasant will give his girl into a house like this? A desperate man wouldn’t do it. Why, we’re paupers, beggars. They’d say that we have starved one to death and that the same would happen to their daughter. Who would give his girl?’ she added, shaking her head dubiously. ‘Just consider, your Excellence.’

  ‘But what can I do?’

  ‘Think of something for us, dear sir,’ Arína repeated earnestly. ‘What are we to do?’

  ‘But what can I contrive? I can’t do anything at all in such a case.’

  ‘Who is to arrange it for us if not you?’ said Arína, hanging down her head and spreading her arms out in mournful perplexity.

  ‘As to the grain you asked for, I’ll give orders that you shall have some —’ said the master after a pause, during which Arína kept sighing and David echoed her. ‘I can’t do anything more.’

  And Nekhlyúdov went out into the passage. The mother and son followed him, bowing.

  Chapter XII

  ‘OH, what a life mine is!’ Arína said, sighing deeply.

  She stopped and looked angrily at her son. David at once turned and clumsily lifting his thick foot in its enormous and dirty bast shoe heavily over the threshold, disappeared through the door.

  ‘What am I to do with him, master?’ Arína went on. ‘You see yourself what he is like. He is not a bad man, doesn’t drink, is gentle, and wouldn’t harm a child – it would be a sin to say otherwise. There’s nothing bad in him, and God only knows what has happened to make him his own enemy. He himself is sad about it. Would you believe it, sir, my heart bleeds when I look at him and see how he suffers. Whatever he may be, I bore him and pity him – oh, how I pity him! … You see it’s not as if he went against me, or his father, or the authorities. He’s timid – like a little child, so to say. How can he live a widower? Arrange something for us, benefactor!’ she said again, evidently anxious to remove the bad impression her bitter words might have produced on the master. ‘Do you know, sir, your Excellence,’ she went on in a confidential whisper, ‘I have thought one thing and another and can’t imagine why he is like that. It can only be that bad folk have bewitched him.’

  She remained silent for a while.

  ‘If I could find the right man, he might be cured.’

  ‘What nonsense you talk, Arína. How can a man be bewitched?’

  ‘Oh, my dear sir, a man can be so bewitched that he’s never again a man! As if there were not many bad people in the world! Out of spite they’ll take a handful of earth from a man’s footprints … or something of that sort … and he is no longer a man. Is evil far from us? I’ve been thinking – shouldn’t I go to old Dundúk, who lives in Vorobëvka? He knows all sorts of charms and herbs, and removes spells and makes water flow from a cross. Perhaps he would help!’ said the old woman. ‘Maybe he would cure him.’

  ‘Now there is poverty and ignorance!’ thought the young master as he strode with big steps through the village, sorrowfully hanging his head. ‘What am I to do with him? It’s impossible to leave him like that, both for my own sake and on account of the example to others, as well as for himself,’ he said, counting off these different reasons on his fingers. ‘I can’t bear to see him in such a state, but how am I to get him out of it? He ruins all my best plans for the estate.… As long as there are peasants like that my dreams will never be realized,’ he reflected, experiencing vexation and anger against White David for ruining his plans. ‘Shall I have him sent to Siberia, as Jacob suggests, since he doesn’t want to get on; or send him to be a soldier? I should at least be rid of him and should save another and better peasant from being conscripted,’ he argued to himself.

  He thought of this with satisfaction; but at the same time a vague consciousness told him that he was thinking with only one side of his mind and that it was not right. He stopped. ‘Wait a bit, what was I thinking about?’ he asked himself. ‘Oh yes, into the army or to exile. But what for? He is a good man, better than many others – and besides what do I know.… Shall I set him free?’ he thought, not now considering the question with only one side of his mind as previously. ‘That would be unfair and impossible.’ But suddenly a thought occurred to him which pleased him very much, and he smiled with the expression of a man who has solved a difficult problem. ‘Take him into my house,’ he reflected, ‘observe him myself and get him used to work and reform him by kindness, persuasion, and a proper choice of occupation.’

  Chapter XIII

  ‘THAT’S what I will do,’ said Nekhlyúdov to himself with cheerful self-satisfaction, and remembering that he still had to see the rich peasant Dútlov he turned towards a tall roomy homestead with two chimneys, that stood in the middle of the village. As he drew near it he met at the neighbouring hut a plainly dressed woman of about forty coming to meet him.

  ‘A pleasant holiday, sir!’ said she without any sign of timidity, stopping beside him, smiling pleasantly and bowing.

  ‘Good morning, nurse,’ he replied. ‘How are you? I am going to see your neighbour.’

  ‘Yes, your Excellence, that’s a good thing. But won’t you please come in? My old man would be so glad!’

  ‘Well, I’ll come in and we’ll have a talk, nurse. Is this your hut?’

  ‘That’s it, sir.’

  The woman, who had been his wet-nurse, ran on in front. Following her into the entry Nekhlyúdov sat down on a barrel and lit a cigarette.

  ‘It’s hot in there. Let’s sit out here and have a chat,’ he said in answer to his nurse’s invitation to enter the hut. The nurse was still a fresh-looking and handsome woman. Her features, and especially her large dark eyes, much resembled those of her master. She folded her arms under her apron and looking fearlessly at Nekhlyúdov, and continually moving her head, began to talk.

  ‘Why are you pleased to honour Dútlov with a visit, sir?’

  ‘I want him to rent land from me, about thirty desyatíns,7 and start a farm, and also buy a forest jointly with me. You see he has money, so why should it lie idle? What do you think of it, nurse?’

  ‘Well, why not? Of course, sir, everyone knows that the Dútlovs are strong people. I reckon he’s the leading peasant on the whole estate,’ the nurse answered, swaying her head. ‘Last year they put up another building with their own timber, without troubling you. They must have at least eighteen horses, apart from foals and colts, and as to cattle and sheep – when the women go out into the street to drive them in it’s a sight to see how they crowd the gateway, and they must also have two hundred hives of bees if not more. Dútlov is a very strong peasant and must have money.’

  ‘Do you think he has much money?’ asked Nekhlyúdov.

  ‘People say – it may be their spite – that the old man has a good lot of money. Naturally he won’t talk about it or tell his sons, but he must have. Why shouldn’t he be i
nterested in a forest? Unless he may be afraid of the talk spreading of his having money. Some five years back he took up meadows in a small way, in shares with Shkálik, the inn-keeper, but either Shkálik swindled him or something happened, and the old man lost some three hundred rubles and since then he has given it up. How can they help being well-to-do, your Excellency?’ the nurse went on. ‘They have three allotments of lands, a big family all of them workers, and the old man himself – there’s no denying it – is a capital manager. He has such luck everywhere that people all wonder; what with his grain, his horses, and cattle, and bees, and his sons. He’s got them all married now. He used to find wives for them among our own people, but now he’s got Ilyúshka married to a free girl – he paid for her emancipation himself— and she, too, has turned out well.’

  ‘And do they live peaceably?’

  ‘Where there’s a real head to a house there’s always peace. Take the Dútlovs – of course the daughters-in-law have words behind the oven, but with their father at the head the sons live in unity all the same.’

  The nurse paused a little.

  ‘It seems that the old man wants to make his eldest son Karp head of the house now. “I am getting old,” he says. “My place is to see to the bees.” Well, Karp is a good peasant, a careful peasant, but all the same he won’t be anything like the old man was as a manager – he hasn’t the same sense.’

  ‘Then Karp may like to take up the land and the forest. What do you think?’ Nekhlyúdov asked, wishing to get from his nurse all that she knew about her neighbours.

  ‘Scarcely, sir,’ she replied. ‘The old man hasn’t told his son anything about his money. As long as he lives and the money is in his house, the old man will control things; besides, they go in chiefly for carting.’

  ‘And you think the old man won’t consent?’

  ‘He will be afraid.’

  ‘But what of?’

  ‘But how can a serf belonging to a master let it be known what he has got, sir? In a hapless hour he might lose all his money! When he went into business with the inn-keeper and made a mistake, how could he go to law with him? So the money was lost. And with his proprietor he’d get settled at once.’

  ‘Oh, is that it? …’ said Nekhlyúdov flushing. ‘Well, goodbye nurse.’

  ‘Good-bye, dear sir, your Excellence. Thank you kindly.’

  Chapter XIV

  ‘HADN’T I better go home?’ thought Nekhlyúdov as he approached Dútlov’s gate, feeling an indefinite sadness and moral weariness.

  But at that moment the new plank gates opened before him with a creak, and in the gateway appeared a handsome, ruddy, fair-haired lad of eighteen dressed as a stage-coach-driver and leading three strong-limbed shaggy horses, which were still perspiring. Briskly shaking back his flaxen hair he bowed to the master.

  ‘Is your father at home, Ilyá?’ asked Nekhlyúdov.

  ‘He’s in the apiary at the back of the yard,’ replied the lad, leading one horse after the other out through the half-open gate.

  ‘No, I’ll keep to my intention and make him the offer, and do what depends on me,’ Nekhlyúdov thought, and letting the horses pass out he entered Dútlov’s large yard. He could see that the manure had recently been carted away: the earth was still dark and damp, and here and there, especially by the gateway, lay bits of reddish, fibrous manure. In the yard and under the high penthouse stood many carts, ploughs, sledges, troughs, tubs, and peasant property of all kinds, in good order. Pigeons flew about and cooed in the shade under the broad strong rafters. There was a smell of manure and tar in the place. In one corner Karp and Ignát were fixing a new transom under a large iron-bound three-horse cart. Dútlov’s three sons all bore a strong family resemblance. The youngest, Ilyá, whom Nekhlyúdov had met by the gate, had no beard and was shorter, ruddier, and more smartly dressed than the others. The second, Ignát, was taller, darker, had a pointed beard, and though also wearing boots, a driver’s shirt, and a felt hat, had not such a festive and carefree appearance as his younger brother. The eldest, Karp, was still taller, and was wearing bast shoes, a grey coat, and a shirt without gussets. He had a large red beard and looked not only serious but almost gloomy.

  ‘Shall I send father to you, your Excellence?’ he asked, coming up to his master and awkwardly making a slight bow.

  ‘No, I’ll go myself to the apiary and see his arrangements there … but I want to speak to you,’ said Nekhlyúdov stepping to the opposite side of the yard so that Ignát should not hear what he was about to say to Karp.

  The self-confidence of these two peasants and a certain pride in their deportment, as well as what his nurse had told him, so embarrassed the young master that he did not find it easy to speak of the business he had in mind. He had a sort of guilty feeling and it seemed to him easier to speak to one brother out of hearing of the others. Karp seemed surprised that the master should take him aside, but followed him.

  ‘This is what it is,’ Nekhlyúdov began hesitatingly. ‘I wanted to ask, have you many horses?’

  ‘We can muster five tróyka teams, and there are some foals too,’ Karp answered readily, scratching his back.

  ‘Do your brothers drive the stage-coach?’

  ‘We drive stage-coaches with three tróykas, and Ilyá has been away carting; he’s only just back.’

  ‘And does that pay? What do you earn by it?’

  ‘Earnings, your Excellence? At most we feed ourselves and the horses – and thank God for that.’

  ‘Then why don’t you take up something else? You might buy some forest or rent land.’

  ‘Of course, your Excellence, we might rent land if there were any handy.’

  ‘That is what I want to propose to you. Instead of the carting business that does no more than keep you, why not rent some thirty desyatíns of land from me? I’ll let you have that whole strip beyond Sápov and you could start your own farming on a large scale.’

  And Nekhlyúdov, carried away by the plan for a peasant farm which he had repeatedly thought out and considered, went on to explain his offer, no longer hesitatingly. Karp listened very attentively to his master’s words.

  ‘We are very grateful to your honour,’ he said when Nekhlyúdov, having finished, looked at him inquiringly expecting an answer. ‘Of course it is not a bad plan. It’s better for a peasant to work on the land than to drive with a whip in his hand. Getting among strangers and seeing all sorts of people, the likes of us get spoilt. There is nothing better for a peasant than to work the land.’

  ‘Then what do you think of it?’

  ‘As long as father is alive what can I think, your Excellence? It is as he pleases.’

  ‘Take me to the apiary. I’ll talk to him.’

  ‘This way, please,’ said Karp, walking slowly towards the barn at the back. He opened a low door that led to the apiary, and having let his master pass, and shut the door behind him, returned to Ignát and silently resumed his interrupted work.

  Chapter XV

  NEKHLYÚDOV, stooping, passed from under the shade of the penthouse through the low doorway to the apiary beyond the yard. Symmetrically placed hives covered with pieces of board stood in a small space surrounded by a loosely-woven fence of straw and wattle. Golden bees circled noisily round the hives, and the place was flooded by the hot brilliant beams of the June sun. From the door a trodden path led to a wooden shrine on which stood a small tinsel-faced icon which glittered in the sunlight. Several graceful young lime trees, stretching their curly crowns above the thatch of the neighbouring building, mingled the just audible rustle of their fresh dark-green foliage with the humming of the bees. On the fine curly grass that crept in between the hives lay black and sharply defined shadows of the roofed fence, of the lime trees, and of the hives with their board roofs. At the door of a freshly-thatched wooden shed that stood among the limes could be seen the short, bent figure of an old man whose uncovered grey head, with a bald patch, shone in the sun. On hearing the creak of the door the old m
an turned and, wiping his perspiring sunburnt face with the skirt of his smock, came with a mild and pleasant smile to meet his master.

  It was so cosy, pleasant, and quiet in the sun-lit apiary; the grey-haired old man with the fine, close wrinkles radiating from his eyes who, with large shoes on his bare feet, came waddling and smiling with good-natured self-satisfaction to welcome his master to his own private domain, was so simple-hearted and kind that Nekhlyúdov immediately forgot the unpleasant impressions he had received that morning, and his cherished dream vividly recurred to him. He saw all his peasants as well off and kindly as old Dútlov, and all smiling happily and affectionately at him because they were indebted to him alone for their wealth and happiness.

  ‘Wouldn’t you like a net, your Excellence? The bees are angry now, and sting,’ said the old man, taking down from the fence a dirty linen bag attached to a bark hoop and smelling of honey, and offering it to his master. ‘The bees know me and don’t sting me,’ he added with the mild smile that seldom left his handsome sunburnt face.

  ‘Then I don’t want it either. Are they swarming yet?’ Nekhlyúdov asked, also smiling, without knowing why.

  ‘Hardly swarming, sir, Dmítri Nikoláevich,’ replied the old man, expressing a special endearment by addressing his master by his Christian name and patronymic. ‘Why, they’ve only just begun to be active. You know what a cold spring it has been.’

  ‘I have been reading in a book,’ Nekhlyúdov began, driving off a bee which had got into his hair and buzzed just above his ear, ‘that if the combs are placed straight up, fixed to little laths, the bees swarm earlier. For this purpose hives are made of boards with cross-pieces.

  ‘Please don’t wave your arm about, it makes them worse,’ said the old man. ‘Hadn’t you better have the net?’

  Nekhlyúdov was in pain; but a certain childish vanity made him reluctant to own it, and so he again declined the net and continued to tell the old man about the construction of beehives of which he had read in Maison Rustique and in which, he believed, there would be twice as many swarms; but a bee stung him on the neck and he grew confused and hesitated in the midst of his description.