"Give me wine, or I'll do myself some harm."
"Don't, Ilya," said the stárosta gently, "please don't. It's better
not."
But these words had scarcely passed his lips ere Ilya leaped up,
smashed the window-pane with his fist, and screamed with all his might.
"You won't listen, here's for you," and darted for the other window to
smash that also.
Polikéï, in the twinkling of an eye, rolled over twice, and hid himself
in an angle of the stove, raising a panic among all the cockroaches.
The elder threw aside his cup, and hastened after Ilya. Dutlof slowly
put down the lantern, took off his girdle, clucked with his tongue,
shook his head, and went to Ilya, who was already struggling with the
elder and the porter, who tried to keep him from the window. They had
his hands behind his back, and held him tight apparently; but as soon
as he saw his uncle with the belt in his hand, tenfold strength was
given to him. He tore himself away, and, rolling his eyes in frenzy,
flung himself upon Dutlof with doubled fist.
"I'll kill you, don't you dare--You have ruined me! Why did you make me
marry? Don't you dare--I will kill you!"
Ilyushka was frantic. His face was purple, his eyes were wild, his
whole healthy young body trembled as in an ague. It seemed as if he
could and would kill all three of the muzhíks who were trying to subdue
him.
"You will shed your kinsman's blood, you blood-hound!"
Something passed over Dutlofs ever-calm face. He made a step forward.
"You'd better not do it," he said; and then, however he got his energy,
he threw himself with a quick motion on his nephew, rolled over with
him on the floor, and with the help of the elder, began to bind his
hands. Within five minutes they had him fast. At last Dutlof, with the
aid of the muzhíks, got up, tearing Ilya's hands from his sheepskin, in
which they were convulsively clutched, got up himself, and then carried
the young man, with his hands behind his back, to a bench in one corner
of the room.
"I said it would be worse," he remarked, getting his breath after the
struggle, and adjusting his shirt-band. "Why should he sin? We must
all die. Let him have a cloak for a pillow," he added, turning to the
dvornik; "the blood will run to his head" and, after girding himself
with a rope, he took his lantern, and went out to his horses.
Ilya with dishevelled locks, pale face, and disordered linen, glared
about the room as though he were trying to remember where he was. The
porter picked up the broken glass, and put a jacket in the window so
as to keep out the cold. The elder again sat down with his cup of kvas.
"Ay, Ilyúkha, Ilyúkha, I'm sorry for you, indeed I am. What's to be
done? Here's Khoriushkin, he's married too. No way of avoiding it."
"My uncle is my enemy, and he wants to kill me," reiterated Ilya with
tearless wrath. "Much he pities his own!... Mátushka said the overseer
told him to hire a substitute. He wouldn't do it. He says he wouldn't
borrow. Did I and my brother bring nothing into the house?... He is our
enemy."
Dutlof came into the house, said a prayer before the holy images, took
off his coat and hat, and sat down by the elder. The maid brought him
also a cup of kvas and a spoon. Ilya said nothing, shut his eyes, and
lay still on the cloak. The stárosta silently pointed to him, and shook
his head. Dutlof waved his hand.
"Am I not sorry to have him go? He's my own brother's son. And though
I pity him so, they make it out that I'm his enemy. His wife[14] put
it into his head; a crafty woman, but quite too young. The idea of her
thinking that we had money enough to hire a substitute! And so she
blamed me. And yet I'm sorry for him."
"Akh, he's a fine young fellow," said the stárosta.
"With my little means I couldn't do any thing for him. To-morrow I am
going to send Ignat in, and his wife will want to go."
"Send her along, first-rate," said the stárosta, and he got up and
mounted the stove. "What's money? Money's dust."
"Who would begrudge money if he had it?" asked one of the merchant's
people, lifting his head.
"Ekh! money, money! it causes many a sin," replied Dutlof. "Nothing
in the world causes so much sin as money, and it says so in the
Scriptures."
"It says every thing," said the porter. "A man told me the other day:
there was a merchant, he had made a lot of money, and he did not want
any of it to remain behind him. He loved his money so that he took it
with him into his tomb. He came to die, and ordered every penny that
he had to be put into a pillow in the grave with him. And so they did.
By and by his sons began to seek for his money. None anywhere. One of
them suspected that it was in the cushion. They go to the Tsar, and get
permission to dig it up. And what do you think? They discovered that
there was nothing there, but the grave was full of mould and worms; and
then they dig again, and there they find the money."
"Truly, much sin!" said Dutlof, and, standing up, he began to say his
prayers.
After he had prayed, he looked at his nephew. He was asleep. Dutlof
went to him, took off his belt, and then lay down. Another muzhík went
out to sleep with the horses.
[Footnote 12: A sort of beer made of rye-bread soaked in water and
fermented.]
[Footnote 13: _dvornik._]
[Footnote 14: _khozyáïka._]