But before, the estate was left in guardianship, and there was no real master; the guardian was master, and Ilich was master, and his wife was mistress, and the scribe was master. The peasants came to grief, oh, to so much grief!”
Again Nekhlyudov experienced a feeling akin to shame or to pricks of conscience. He raised his hat a little, and walked away.
VI
“YUKHVANKA THE SHREWD wants to sell a horse,” Nekhlyiidov read in his note-book, and crossed the street. Yukhvanka’s hut was carefully thatched with straw from the manorial barn, and was constructed of fresh, light gray aspen timbers (also from the manorial forest), with two shutters painted red, and a porch with a roof, and a quaint shingle balustrade of an artistic design. The vestibule and the “cold “hut were also in proper condition; but the general aspect of sufficiency and well-being, which this collection of buildings had, was somewhat impaired by the outhouse which leaned against the gate, with its unfinished wicker fence and open thatch which could be seen from behind it.
At the same time that Nekhlyudov was approaching the porch from one side, two peasant women came from the other with a full tub. One of them was the wife, the other the mother of Yukhvanka the Shrewd. The first was a plump, red-cheeked woman, with an unusually well-developed bosom, and broad, fleshy cheek-bones. She wore a clean shirt, embroidered on the sleeves and collar, an apron similarly decorated, a new linen skirt, leather shoes, glass beads, and a foppish square head-gear made of red paper and spangles.
The end of the yoke did not shake, but lay firmly on her broad and solid shoulder. The light exertion which was noticeable in her ruddy face, in the curvature of her back, and in the measured motion of her arms and legs, pointed to extraordinary health and masculine strength.
Yukhvanka’s mother, who was carrying the other end of the yoke, was, on the contrary, one of those old women who seem to have reached the extreme limit of old age and disintegration possible in living man. Her bony frame, covered with a black, torn shirt and colourless skirt, was so bent that the yoke rested more on her back than on her shoulder. Both her hands, with the distorted fingers of which she seemed to cling to the yoke, were of a dark brown colour, and seemed incapable of unbending; her drooping head, which was wrapped in a rag, bore the most monstrous traces of wretchedness and old age.
From under her narrow brow, which was furrowed in all directions by deep wrinkles, two red eyes, bereft of their lashes, looked dimly to the ground. One yellow tooth protruded from her upper sunken lip, and, shaking continually, now and then collided with her sharp chin. The wrinkles on the lower part of her face and throat resembled pouches that kept on shaking with every motion. She breathed heavily and hoarsely; but her bare, distorted feet, though apparently shuffling with difficulty against the ground, moved evenly one after the other.
VII
HAVING ALMOST COLLIDED with the master, the young woman deftly put down the tub, looked abashed, made a bow, glanced timidly at the master with her sparkling eyes, and trying with the sleeve of her embroidered shirt to conceal a light smile, and tripping in her leather shoes, ran up the steps.
“Mother, take the yoke to Aunt Nastasya,” she said, stopping in the door and turning to the old woman.
The modest young proprietor looked sternly, but attentively, at the ruddy woman, frowned, and turned to the old woman, who straightened out the yoke with her crooked fingers, and, slinging it over her shoulder, obediently directed her steps to the neighbouring hut.
“Is your son at home? “asked the master.
The old woman bent her arched figure still more, bowed, and was about to say something, but she put her hands to her mouth and coughed so convulsively that Nekhlyudov did not wait for the answer, and walked into the hut.
Yukhvanka, who was sitting in the red ^ corner on a bench, rushed to the oven the moment he espied the master, as if trying to hide from him; he hastily pushed something on the beds, and twitching his mouth and eyes, pressed against the wall, as if to make way for the master.
Yukhvanka was a blond, about thirty years of age, spare, slender, with a young beard that ran down to a point; he would have been a handsome man but for his fleeting hazel eyes which looked unpleasantly beneath his wrinkled brows, and for the absence of two front teeth, which was very noticeable because his lips were short and in continuous motion. He was clad in a holiday shirt with bright red gussets, striped calico drawers, and heavy boots with wrinkled boot-legs.
The interior of Yukhvanka’s hut was not so small and gloomy as Churis’s, though it was as close, and smelled of smoke and sheepskins, and the peasant clothes and uten-sils were scattered about in the same disorderly fashion. Two things strangely arrested the attention : a small dented samovar, which stood on a shelf, and a black frame with a remnant of a glass, and a portrait of a general in a red uniform, which was hanging near the images.
Nekhlyudov looked with dissatisfaction at the samovar, at the general’s portrait, and at the beds, where from under a rag peeped out the end of a brass-covered pipe, and turned to the peasant.
“Good morning, Epifan,” he said, looking into his eyes.
Epifan bowed, and mumbled, “We wish you health, ‘r Grace,” pronouncing the last words with peculiar tenderness, and his eyes in a twinkle surveyed the whole form of the master, the hut, the floor, and the ceiling, not stopping at anything; then he hurriedly walked up to the beds, pulled down a coat from them, and began to put it on.
“Why are you dressing yourself? “said Nekhlyudov, seating himself on a bench, and obviously trying to look as stern as possible at Epifan.
“Please, ‘r Grace, how can I? It seems to me we know— “
“I came in to see why you must sell a horse, how many horses you have, and what horse it is you want to sell,” dryly said the master, evidently repeating questions prepared in advance.
“We are well satisfied with ‘r Grace, because you have deigned to call on me, a peasant,” replied Yukhvanka, casting rapid glances at the general’s portrait, at the oven, at the master’s boots, and at all objects except Nekhlyudov’s face. “We always pray God for ‘r Grace— “
“Why are you selling a horse? “repeated Nekhlyudov, raising his voice, and clearing his throat.
Yukhvanka sighed, shook his hair (his glance again surveyed the whole hut), and, noticing the cat that had been quietly purring on a bench, he called out to her, “Scat, you scamp! “and hurriedly turned to the master. “The horse, ‘r Grace, which is useless — If it were a good animal I would not sell it, ‘r Grace.”
“How many horses have you in all?”
“Three, ‘r Grace.”
“Have you any colts?”
“Why, yes, ‘r Grace! I have one colt.”
1 The best corner, corresponding to a sitting-room, is called “red.”
VIII
“COME, SHOW ME your horses! Are they in the yard?”
“Yes, ‘r Grace. I have done as I have been ordered to, ‘r Grace. Would we dare to disobey ‘r Grace? Yakov Alpatych commanded me not to let the horses out to pasture for the next day, as the prince wanted to inspect them, so we did not let them out. We do not dare disobey ‘r Grace.”
As Nekhlyudov walked out of the door, Yukhvanka got the pipe down from the beds, and threw it behind the oven. His lips quivered just as restlessly, though the master was not looking at him.
A lean gray mare was rummaging through some musty hay under the shed; a two-months-old, long-legged colt of an indefinable colour, with bluish feet and mouth, did not leave her mother’s thin tail that was all stuck up with burrs. In the middle of the yard stood, blinking and pensively lowering his head, a thick-bellied chestnut gelding, apparently a good peasant horse.
“Are these all your horses?”
“By no means, ‘r Grace. Here is a little mare and a little colt,” answered Yukhvanka, pointing to the horses which the master could not help having noticed.
“I see that. Now, which one do you want to sell?”
“This one, ‘r Grace,” he answered, waving with the flap of his coat in the direction of the drowsy gelding, continually blinking, and twitching his lips. The gelding opened his eyes and lazily turned his back to him.
“He does not look old, and is apparently a sound horse,” said Nekhlyudov. “Catch him, and show me his teeth! I will find out if he is old.”
“It is impossible for one person to catch him, ‘r Grace. The whole beast is not worth a penny. He has a temper : he bites and kicks, ‘r Grace,” answered Yukhvanka, smil-ing merrily, and turning his eyes in all directions.
“What nonsense! Catch him, I tell you!”
Yukhvanka smiled for a long time, and shuffled his feet, and not until Nekhlyudov cried out in anger, “Well, will you?
