Meantime the office was buzzing with the voices of the muzhíks. It was
no laughing matter. Almost all the muzhíks were in the meeting; and
while Yégor Mikháïlovitch was conferring with her ladyship, the men
put on their hats, more voices began to be heard above the general
conversation, and the voices became louder.
The murmur of many voices, occasionally interrupted by some eager,
heated discourse, filled the air; and this murmur, like the sound of
the roaring sea, came to the ears of the lady of the house, who felt at
hearing it a nervous unrest analogous to the feeling excited by a heavy
thunder-shower. It was neither terrible nor yet unpleasant to her. It
seemed to her that the voices kept growing louder and more turbulent,
and then some one person would make himself heard. "Why should it
be impossible to do every thing gently, peaceably, without quarrel,
without noise?" she said, "according to the sweet law of Christianity
and brotherly love?"
Many voices suddenly were heard together, but louder than all shouted
Feódor Rézun, the carpenter. He was a man who had two grown sons, and
he attacked the Dutlofs. The old man Dutlof spoke in his own defence;
he came out in front of the crowd, behind which he had been standing,
and spreading his arms wide and lifting up his beard spoke so rapidly,
in a choked voice, that it would have been hard for himself to know
what he was saying. His children and nephews, fine young fellows, stood
and pressed behind him; and the old man Dutlof reminded one of the one
who is the _old hen_ in the game of _Korshun,_[6] or "Hawk." Rézun was
the hawk; and not Rézun alone, but all those who had two sons, and all
the bachelors, almost all the meeting, in fact, united against Dutlof.
The trouble lay in this: Dutlofs brother had been sent as a soldier
thirty years before; and therefore he did not wish to be considered
as one of those who had three men in the family, but he desired his
brother's service to be taken into account, and that he should be
reckoned as one who had two grown assistants, and that the third
recruit should be taken from that set.
There were four families, besides Dutlofs, that had three able-bodied
men. But one was the village elder's, and his mistress had freed him
from service. From another family, a recruit had been taken at the last
conscription. From the other two families, two men had been already
nominated, and one of them had not come to the meeting; but his wife
stood, heavy at heart, in the very rear, anxiously hoping that somehow
the wheel would turn in favor of her happiness. The other of the two
nominees, the red-haired Román, in a torn cloak (though he was not
poor), stood leaning against the door-step, with downcast head; he said
nothing all the while, but occasionally looked up attentively when any
one spoke louder than usual, and then dropped his head again; and thus
his unhappiness was expressed in his whole appearance. The old man,
Sem'yón Dutlof, would have given the impression, even to these who knew
him slightly, that he had laid up hundreds and thousands of rubles. He
was dignified, God-fearing, substantial; he was, moreover, an elder of
the Church. So much the more striking was the chance in which he found
himself.
Rézun the carpenter was, on the contrary, a tall, dark, dissipated
man, quick to quarrel, and fond of speaking in meetings and in the
market-place, with workmen, merchants, muzhíks, or gentlemen. Now he
was calm and sarcastic, and with all the advantage of his stature, all
the force of his loud voice, and his oratorical talent, was nagging the
elder of the church, who was such a slip-shod speaker, and had been
driven far out of his path.
The others who took part in the discussion were as follows: The
round-faced, young-looking Garaska Kopilof, stocky, with a four-square
head, and curly beard; one of the speakers who imitated Rézun rather
than the younger generation, always distinguished for his bitter
speech, and already a man of weight in the meeting. Then Féodor
Melnitchnui, a tall, yellow, gaunt, round-shouldered muzhík, also
young, with thin hair and beard, and with small eyes; always prone to
anger, sour-tempered, ready to see every one's bad side, and frequently
embarrassing the meeting with his abrupt and unexpected questions and
remarks. Both of these speakers were on Rézun's side. Moreover, two
chatterers occasionally took part,--one who had a good-natured phiz,
and a large and bushy red beard; his name was Khrapkof, and he was
forever saying, "My dearly beloved friend:" and the other, Zhidkof, a
small man, with a bird-like face, who was also in the habit of saying,
"It follows, my brethren;" he kept turning to all sides, and his words
were without rhyme or reason. One of these two took one side, the
other the other; but no one heeded what they said. There were others
like them; but these two kept moving in and out in the crowd, shouted
more than anybody else, disturbing the mistress, were listened to less
than anybody else, and, being confused by the racket and shouting,
found full satisfaction in talking nonsense.
There were many different characters in this group of peasants: some
were morose, some courteous, some indifferent, some disputatious;
there were also a few women behind the muzhíks, with sticks. But
about all these I will tell some other time, as God shall give. The
throng consisted, for the most part, however, of muzhíks, who behaved
during the meeting as though it were church, and standing in the rear
talked in a whisper about their domestic affairs, exchanging views,
for instance, about the best time for beginning to cut their wood, or
quietly hoped that they soon adjourn the meeting. And then there were
some well-to-do men, whose comfort the meeting could not benefit or
curtail. To this number belonged Yermil, with his broad, shiny face,
whom the muzhíks called "big-belly" because he was rich. To this number
also belonged Starostin, on whose face a self-satisfied expression of
power was habitual: "Say whatever you please among yourselves, but I
am safe enough. I have four sons, but you won't take any of them."
Occasionally, the opinionated young orators, like Kopilof or Rézun,
would have a fling at them; and they would reply, but calmly and
decidedly in the consciousness of their unassailable position.
However much Dutlof was like the old hen in the game of "Hawk," it
could not be said that his lads were like the chickens. They did not
hop about nor scream, but stood calmly behind him. The oldest, Ignat,
was now thirty years old; the second, Vasíli, was already married, but
was not old enough to come under the conscription; the third, Ilyushka,
the nephew who had just been married, had a red and white complexion,
and was dressed in an elegant sheepskin coat (he was a driver[7] by
profession); he stood gazing at the people, occasionally scratching the
back of his head under the cap, as though the affair did not concern
him at all any more than if it were the game of "Hawk."
"Because my grandfather went as a soldier," Rézun was saying, "that's
no reason why I should refuse the lot. Friends, it is no kind of a law
at all. At the last conscription they took Mikhéichef, and his uncle is
still in the service."
"Neither your father nor your uncle ever served the Tsar both at once,"
said Dutlof, "and you never served gentlemen nor the Commune; but
you've always been a tippler, and your children take after you. It's
impossible to live with you, and yet you point out other men. But for
ten years I have been police-commissioner,[8] and I have been elder,
and twice I have been burnt out, and no one ever helped me; and is it
because we live peaceably at our place, ay and honorably, that I am to
be ruined? Give me back my brother. He died there, didn't he? Judge
right, judge according to God's law, O orthodox Commune! and do not
listen to the lies of that drunkard."