The young proprietor evidently desired to ask some more questions of the
peasants. He did not move from the bench; and he glanced irresolutely, now
at Churis, now at the empty, unlighted stove.
"Well, have you had dinner yet?" he asked at last.
A mocking smile arose to Churis's lips, as though it were ridiculous to him
for his master to ask such foolish questions; he made no reply.
"What do you mean,--dinner, benefactor?" said the old woman, sighing
deeply. "We've eaten a little bread; that's our dinner. We couldn't get any
vegetables to-day so as to boil some soup,[9] but we had a little
kvas,--enough for the children."
[Footnote 9: _shchets_ for _shchi_.]
"To-day was a fast-day for us, your excellency," remarked Churis
sarcastically, taking up his wife's words. "Bread and onions; that's the
way we peasants live. Howsomever, praise be to the Lord, I have a little
grain yet, thanks to your kindness; it's lasted till now; but there's
plenty of our peasants as ain't got any. Everywheres there's scarcity of
onions. Only a day or two ago they sent to Mikháïl the gardener, to get a
bunch for a farthing: couldn't get any anywheres. Haven't been to God's
church scarcely since Easter. Haven't had nothing to buy a taper for Mikóla
[St. Nicholas] with."
Nekhliudof, not by hearsay nor by trust in the words of others, but by the
evidence of his own eyes, had long known the extreme depth of poverty into
which his peasantry had sunken: but the entire reality was in such perfect
contrast to his own bringing-up, the turn of his mind, and the course of
his life, that in spite of himself he kept forgetting the truth of it; and
every time when, as now, it was brought vividly, tangibly, before him, his
heart was torn with painful, almost unendurable melancholy, as though some
absolute and unavoidable punishment were torturing him.
"Why are you so poor?" he exclaimed, involuntarily expressing his thought.
"How could such as we help being poor, sir,[10] your excellency? Our land
is so bad, you yourself may be pleased to know,--clay and sand-heaps; and
surely we must have angered God, for this long time, ever since the
cholera, the corn won't grow. Our meadows and every thing else have been
growing worse and worse. And some of us have to work for the farm, and some
detailed for the manor-lands. And here I am with no one to help me, and I'm
getting old. I'd be glad enough to work, but I hain't no strength. And my
old woman's ailing; and every year there's a new girl born, and I have to
feed 'em all. I get tired out all alone, and here's seven dependent on me.
I must be a sinner in the eyes of the Lord God, I often think to myself.
And when God takes me off sudden-like, I feel it would be easier for me;
just as it's better for them than to lead such a dog's life here"....
[Footnote 10: _bátiushka._]
"Oh, _okh_!" groaned the old woman, as a sort of confirmation of her
husband's words.
"And this is all the help I have," continued Churis, pointing to the
white-headed, unkempt little boy of seven, with a huge belly, who at this
moment, timidly and quietly pushing the door open, came into the hut, and,
resting his eyes in wonder and solemnity on the master, clung hold of
Churis's shirt-band with both hands.
"This is all the assistance I have here," continued Churis in a sonorous
voice, laying his shaggy hand on the little lad's white hair. "When will he
be good for any thing? But my work isn't much good. When I reach old age I
shall be good for nothing; the rupture is getting the better of me. In wet
weather it makes me fairly scream. I am getting to be an old man, and yet I
have to take care of my land.[11] And here's Yermilof, Demkin, Zabref, all
younger than I am, and they have been freed from their land long ago. Well,
I haven't any one to help me with it; that's my misfortune. Have to feed so
many; that's where my struggle lies, your excellency."
"I should be very glad to make it easier for you, truly. But how can I?"
asked the young bárin in a tone of sympathy, looking at the serf.
"How make it easier? It's a well-known fact, if you have the land you must
do enforced labor also;[12] that's the regulation. I expect something from
this youngster. If only you'd be good enough to let him off from going to
school. But just a day or two ago, the officer[13] came and said that your
excellency wanted him to go to school. Do let him off; he has no capacity
for learning, your excellency. He's too young yet; he won't understand any
thing."
[Footnote 11: The lands belonging to the Russian commune, or _mir_, were
periodically distributed by allotment, each full-grown peasant receiving as
his share a _tiagló_ representing what the average man and his wife were
capable of cultivating. When the period was long--ten years for
instance--it sometimes happened that a serf, by reason of illness,
laziness, or other misfortune, would find it hard to cultivate his share,
pay the tax on it, and also do the work required of him on his bárin's
land. Such was Churis's complaint.]
[Footnote 12: _barshchina_: work on the master's land.]
[Footnote 13: _zemski._]
"No, brother, you're wrong there," said the bárin. "Your boy is old enough
to understand; it's time for him to be learning. Just think of it! How
he'll grow up, and learn about farming; yes, and he'll know his a-b-c's,
and know how to read; and read in church. He'll be a great help to you if
God lets him live," said Nekhliudof, trying to make himself as plain as
possible, and at the same time blushing and stammering.
"Very true, your excellency. You don't want to do us an injury, but there's
no one to take care of the house; for while I and the old woman are doing
the enforced labor, the boy, though he's so young, is a great help, driving
the cattle and watering the horses. Whatever he is, he's a true muzhík;"
and Churis, with a smile, took the lad's nose between his fat fingers, and
deftly removed the mucus.
"Nevertheless, you must send him to school, for now you are at home, and he
has plenty of time,--do you hear? Don't you fail."
Churis sighed deeply, and made no reply.