About midnight the merchant's people and Polikéï were aroused by a
knocking at the gate and the shouting of muzhíks. It was the contingent
of recruits, whom they were bringing in from Pokrovskoé. There were
ten men in all: Khoriushkin, Mitiushkin, and Ilya, Dutlofs nephew,
two substitutes, the stárosta or elder, the old man Dutlof, and three
drivers. The night-lamp was burning in the house, and the cook was
asleep on the bench under the holy images. She sprang up, and began to
light the lamps. Polikéï also woke up, and bending down from the stove
tried to see who the muzhíks were.
Some of them came in, crossed themselves, and sat down on the bench.
They were all extremely quiet, so that it was impossible to make out
who belonged to the detachment. They greeted each other, jested, and
asked for something to eat. To be sure, some were silent and glum; on
the other hand, others were extraordinarily gay, and apparently the
worse for liquor. In this number was Ilya, who had never been drunk
before.
"Well, boys, are you going to have something to eat, or are you going
to bed?" asked the village elder.
"Have something to eat," replied Ilya, throwing back his sheepskin, and
sprawling out on the bench. "Send for some vodka."
"You've had enough vodka!" rejoined the elder shortly, and turned to
the others.... "Better lunch on some bread, boys, and not keep the
people sitting up."
"Give us some vodka," repeated Ilya, not looking at any one, and in a
tone of voice that made it evident that he was not going to be put off.
The muzhíks listened to the elder's advice, brought from the cart a
great loaf of bread, ate it up, asked for kvas,[12] and lay down to
sleep; some on the floor, some on the stove.
Ilya kept saying occasionally, "Give me vodka, I say, give me vodka."
Suddenly he caught sight of Polikéï. "Ilyitch--there's Ilyitch! you
here, dear old fellow! Here I am going as a soldier; said good-by to
mamma, and my wife,--how bad she felt! They made me a soldier.--Set up
some vodka!"
"No money," said Polikéï. "However, it's as God gives: maybe they'll
find you disqualified," he added in a comforting tone.
"No, brother, I have always been as sound as a birch: how could they
find me disqualified? How many soldiers more does the Tsar need?"
Polikéï began to relate a story of how a muzhík gave a bribe to a
_dokhter,_ and so escaped.
Ilya came up to the stove, and continued the conversation.
"No, Ilyitch, now it's done, and I myself don't want to get off. My
uncle didn't buy me off. Wouldn't they have bought themselves off? No,
he didn't want to spare his son, and he didn't want to spare his money;
and they sent me instead.... And now I don't want to get off. [He
spoke quietly, confidentially, under the influence of deep dejection.]
However, I'm sorry for mamma. And how the sweetheart took on! Yes, and
my wife--that's the way they kill the women. Now it's all over; I am a
soldier. Better not to have got married. Why did they make me marry?
To-morrow we go."
"Why did they take you away with short notice?" asked Polikéï "Nothing
had been said about it, and then suddenly" ...
"You see, they were afraid I should do something to myself," replied
Ilyushka smiling. "I wouldn't have done any thing, of course. I sha'n't
be ruined by going as a soldier; but I'm sorry for the old woman. Why
did they make me marry?" he repeated in a soft and melancholy tone.
The door opened, squeaking loudly, and the old man Dutlof, shaking the
wet from his hat, came into the room in his huge sabots, which fitted
his feet almost like canoes.
"Afanási," said he, crossing himself and addressing the porter,[13]
"isn't there some one to hold a lantern while I give the horses their
oats?"
Dutlof did not look at his nephew, but quietly busied himself with
making a candle-end burn. His glove and whip were thrust into his belt,
and his cloak was closely buttoned; he had just come with the baggage.
His ordinarily calm, peaceful, and thoughtful face was full of care.
Ilya, when he saw his uncle, stopped talking, again turned his eyes
gloomily toward the bench, and then addressing the stárosta said,--
"Give me some vodka, Yermil; I want something to drink."
His voice was angry and stern.
"This is no time for wine now," replied the stárosta, sipping his cup
of kvas.--"Don't you see the folks have gone to bed? What do you want
to make a disturbance for?"
The words "make a disturbance" apparently suggested to him the idea of
making a disturbance.
"Stárosta, I'll do myself some harm, if you don't give me some vodka."
"You'd better bring him to reason," said the stárosta to Dutlof, who
had now lighted the lantern, but stood listening to what was coming,
and looking askance with deep commiseration at his nephew, as though
wondering at his childishness.