It was in the seventies, the day after the winter Nikola. There was a holiday in the parish, and the village janitor, a merchant of the second guild, Vasily Andreevich Brekhunov, could not be absent: he had to be in church - he was a church warden - and at home he had to receive and treat relatives and friends. But now the last guests left, and Vasily Andreevich began to get ready to immediately go to the neighboring landowner to buy from him a grove that had long been bargained for. Vasily Andreevich was in a hurry to go, so that the city merchants would not recapture this advantageous purchase from him. The young landowner asked for ten thousand for the grove only because Vasily Andreevich gave seven for it. Seven thousand, however, was only one third of the real value of the grove. Vasily Andreevich, perhaps, would have bargained for more, since the forest was located in his vicinity and between him and the village district merchants a procedure had long been established according to which one merchant did not raise prices in the district of another, but Vasily Andreevich found out that the provincial timber merchants they wanted to go to trade in Goryachkinskaya grove, and he decided to go at once and put an end to the business with the landowner. And therefore, as soon as the feast was over, he took out his seven hundred rubles from the chest, added to them the two thousand and three hundred church rubles that he had, so that they amounted to three thousand rubles, and, diligently counting them and putting them in his wallet, got ready to go.
The worker Nikita, the only one of Vasili Andreevich's workers who was not drunk that day, ran to harness them. Nikita was not drunk that day because he was a drunkard, and now, with the charms, during which he drank away his undercoat and leather boots, he swore to drink and did not drink for the second month; I didn’t drink even now, despite the temptation of drinking wine everywhere on the first two days of the holiday.
Nikita was a fifty-year-old peasant from a nearby village, a non-owner, as they said about him, most who lived his life not at home, but in people. Everywhere he was appreciated for his diligence, dexterity and strength in work, most importantly - for his kind, pleasant character; but nowhere did he get along, because twice a year, or even more often, he took to drink, and then, in addition to drinking everything from himself, he became even more violent and captious. Vasily Andreevich also chased him away several times, but then took him again, cherishing his honesty, love for animals, and, most importantly, cheapness. Vasili Andreevich paid Nikita not eighty rubles, as such a worker cost, but forty rubles, which he gave him without calculation, in small change, and even then for the most part not in money, but at an expensive price in goods from the shop.
Nikita's wife, Marfa, who had once been a beautiful, lively woman, kept house with a small teenager and two girls and did not invite Nikita to live at home, firstly, because for twenty years she had lived with a cooper, a peasant from a foreign village, who stood by in their house; and secondly, because although she pushed her husband around as she liked when he was sober, she was afraid of him like fire when he was drunk. Once, having drunk drunk at home, Nikita, probably to take revenge on his wife for all his sober humility, broke open her chest, took out her most precious outfits and, taking an ax, chopped all her sundresses and dresses into small okroshka. The salary earned by Nikita was all given to his wife, and Nikita did not contradict this. So now, two days before the holiday, Martha came to Vasily Andreevich and took from him white flour, tea, sugar and an eighth of wine, only three rubles, and she also took five rubles in money and thanked for this, as for a special favor, while at the cheapest price Vasily Andreevich had twenty rubles.
- Did we make any arrangements with you? - said Vasily Andreevich to Nikita. - It is necessary - take it, you will live. I'm not like people: wait, yes, calculations, yes fines. We are honored. You serve me, and I do not leave you. You need, I will deliver.
And, saying all this, Vasili Andreevich was sincerely convinced that he was doing good to Nikita: he knew how to speak so convincingly, and so all the people who depended on his money, starting with Nikita, supported him in this conviction that he was not deceiving, but doing good to them.
- Yes, I understand, Vasily Andreevich; I think I serve, I try, like a father, I understand very well, - answered Nikita, realizing very well that Vasily Andreevich was deceiving him, but at the same time feeling that there was no point in trying to explain his calculations with him, but you had to live until there is no other place, and take what they give.
Now, having received the master's order to harness, Nikita, as always, cheerfully and willingly, cheerful and light step he went to the barn with his goose-walking legs, took off a heavy bridle with a tassel from a nail, and, rattling the rams on the bit, went to the closed barn, in which the horse that Vasily Andreevich had ordered to be harnessed stood separately.
- What, missed you, missed you, fool? - said Nikita, answering the weak neighing of greeting with which he was greeted by a well-built, somewhat lop-sided, karak, mukhorty stallion, who was standing alone in the barn. - But, but! hurry up, give me a drink first, ”he spoke to the horse in exactly the same way as one speaks to creatures that understand words, and, fanning a hollow fat, with a groove in the middle, corroded and covered with dust, put a bridle on the stallion’s beautiful young head, pulled out his ears and bangs and, having thrown off the coat, he led him to drink.
Cautiously getting out of the highly littered barn, Mukhorty began to play and bucked, pretending that he wanted to trot Nikita, who was running with him to the well, with his back foot.
- Pamper, pamper, rogue! - Nikita kept saying, knowing the caution with which Mukhorty raised his back leg only so as to touch his greasy coat, but not hit, and especially loved this manner.
Having drunk the cold water, the horse sighed, moving his wet strong lips, from which transparent drops dripped from his mustache into the trough, and froze, as if in thought; then suddenly she snorted loudly.
- If you don’t want to, don’t, we’ll know; don’t ask for more,” said Nikita, completely seriously and in detail explaining his behavior to Mukhortom; and again he ran to the barn, tugging on the reins of the bucking and crackling cheerful young horse all over the yard.
There were no workers, there was only one stranger, the cook's husband who came to the holiday.
“Go and ask, dear soul,” Nikita said to him, “what kind of sleigh should I order to harness: move or tiddly?
The cook's husband went to the iron-covered house on a high foundation and soon returned with the news that the tiny ones had been ordered to be harnessed. By this time Nikita had already put on the yoke, tied up a saddle studded with carnations, and, carrying a light painted bow in one hand, and leading the horse with the other, approached the two sledges standing under the barn.
“In the tiddly ones, so in the tiddly ones,” he said, and led the smart horse, which all the time pretended that she wanted to bite him, into the shafts, and with the help of the cook’s husband, he began to harness.
When everything was almost ready and all that remained was to light it up, Nikita sent the cook's husband to the barn for straw and to the barn for rope.
- That's fine. But, but, don't stumble! said Nikita, crushing in the sleigh the freshly threshed oat straw brought by the cook's husband. - And now let's put the sackcloth like this on the bed, and on top of it, the string. Like this, like this, it will be good to sit, ”he said, doing what he said, tucking a string over the straw on all sides around the seat.
“Thank you, dear soul,” Nikita said to the cook’s husband, “everything is easier together. - And, having dismantled the reins with a ring at the connected end, Nikita sat down on the frame and touched the good horse, which was asking for a move, along the frozen manure of the yard to the gate.
- Uncle Mikit, uncle, uncle! a seven-year-old boy in a black sheepskin coat, new white felt boots and a warm hat hurriedly ran out of the passage into the yard, shouted from behind him in a thin voice. “Put me down,” he begged, buttoning up his sheepskin coat as he went.
“Well, well, run, little dove,” said Nikita, and stopping him, he sat down the owner’s pale, thin boy, beaming with joy, and drove out into the street.
Current page: 1 (total book has 4 pages)
Lev Tolstoy
Owner and worker
It was in the seventies, the day after the winter Nikola. There was a holiday in the parish, and the village janitor, a merchant of the second guild, Vasily Andreevich Brekhunov, could not be absent: he had to be in church - he was a church warden - and at home he had to receive and treat relatives and friends. But now the last guests left, and Vasily Andreevich began to get ready to immediately go to the neighboring landowner to buy from him a grove that had long been bargained for. Vasily Andreevich was in a hurry to go, so that the city merchants would not recapture this advantageous purchase from him. The young landowner asked for ten thousand for the grove only because Vasily Andreevich gave seven for it. Seven thousand, however, was only one third of the real value of the grove. Vasily Andreevich, perhaps, would have bargained for more, since the forest was located in his vicinity and between him and the village district merchants a procedure had long been established according to which one merchant did not raise prices in the district of another, but Vasily Andreevich found out that the provincial timber merchants they wanted to go to trade in Goryachkinskaya grove, and he decided to go at once and put an end to the business with the landowner. And therefore, as soon as the feast was over, he took out his seven hundred rubles from the chest, added to them the two thousand and three hundred church rubles that he had, so that they amounted to three thousand rubles, and, diligently counting them and putting them in his wallet, got ready to go.
The worker Nikita, the only one of Vasili Andreevich's workers who was not drunk that day, ran to harness them. Nikita was not drunk that day because he was a drunkard, and now, with the charms, during which he drank away his undercoat and leather boots, he swore to drink and did not drink for the second month; I didn’t drink even now, despite the temptation of drinking wine everywhere on the first two days of the holiday.
Nikita was a fifty-year-old peasant from a nearby village, a non-owner, as they said about him, who lived most of his life not at home, but in people. Everywhere he was valued for his industriousness, dexterity and strength in work, most importantly - for his kind, pleasant character; but nowhere did he get along, because twice a year, or even more often, he took to drink, and then, in addition to drinking everything from himself, he became even more violent and captious. Vasily Andreevich also chased him away several times, but then took him again, cherishing his honesty, love for animals, and, most importantly, cheapness. Vasili Andreevich paid Nikita not eighty rubles, as such a worker cost, but forty rubles, which he gave him without calculation, in small change, and even then for the most part not in money, but at an expensive price in goods from the shop.
Nikita's wife, Marfa, who had once been a beautiful, lively woman, kept house with a small teenager and two girls and did not invite Nikita to live at home, firstly, because for twenty years she had lived with a cooper, a peasant from a foreign village, who stood by in their house; and secondly, because although she pushed her husband around as she liked when he was sober, she was afraid of him like fire when he was drunk. Once, having drunk drunk at home, Nikita, probably to take revenge on his wife for all his sober humility, broke open her chest, took out her most precious outfits and, taking an ax, chopped all her sundresses and dresses into small okroshka. The salary earned by Nikita was all given to his wife, and Nikita did not contradict this. So now, two days before the holiday, Martha came to Vasily Andreevich and took from him white flour, tea, sugar and an eighth of wine, only three rubles, and she also took five rubles in money and thanked for this, as for a special favor, while at the cheapest price Vasily Andreevich had twenty rubles.
- Did we make any arrangements with you? - said Vasily Andreevich to Nikita. - It is necessary - take it, you will live. I'm not like people: wait, yes, calculations, yes fines. We are honored. You serve me, and I do not leave you. You need, I will deliver.
And, saying all this, Vasili Andreevich was sincerely convinced that he was doing good to Nikita: he knew how to speak so convincingly, and so all the people who depended on his money, starting with Nikita, supported him in this conviction that he was not deceiving, but doing good to them.
- Yes, I understand, Vasily Andreevich; I think I serve, I try, like a father, I understand very well, - answered Nikita, realizing very well that Vasily Andreevich was deceiving him, but at the same time feeling that there was no point in trying to explain his calculations with him, but you had to live until there is no other place, and take what they give.
Now, having received the owner’s order to harness, Nikita, as always, cheerfully and willingly, with a cheerful and light step of his goose-walking legs, went to the barn, took off a heavy bridle with a tassel from a nail and, rattling the bits with rams, went to the closed barn, in which The horse that Vasily Andreevich had ordered to be harnessed stood apart.
- What, missed you, missed you, fool? - said Nikita, answering the weak neighing of greeting with which he was greeted by a well-built, somewhat lop-sided, karak, mukhorty stallion, who was standing alone in the barn. - But, but! hurry up, give me a drink first, ”he spoke to the horse in exactly the same way as one speaks to creatures that understand words, and, fanning a hollow fat, with a groove in the middle, corroded and covered with dust, put a bridle on the stallion’s beautiful young head, pulled out his ears and bangs and, having thrown off the coat, he led him to drink.
Cautiously getting out of the highly littered barn, Mukhorty began to play and bucked, pretending that he wanted to trot Nikita, who was running with him to the well, with his back foot.
- Pamper, pamper, rogue! - Nikita kept saying, knowing the caution with which Mukhorty raised his back leg only so as to touch his greasy coat, but not hit, and especially loved this manner.
Having drunk the cold water, the horse sighed, moving his wet strong lips, from which transparent drops dripped from his mustache into the trough, and froze, as if in thought; then suddenly she snorted loudly.
- If you don’t want to, don’t, we’ll know; don’t ask for more,” said Nikita, completely seriously and in detail explaining his behavior to Mukhortom; and again he ran to the barn, tugging on the reins of the bucking and crackling cheerful young horse all over the yard.
There were no workers, there was only one stranger, the cook's husband who came to the holiday.
“Go and ask, dear soul,” Nikita said to him, “what kind of sleigh should I order to harness: move or tiddly?
The cook's husband went to the iron-covered house on a high foundation and soon returned with the news that the tiny ones had been ordered to be harnessed. By this time Nikita had already put on the yoke, tied up a saddle studded with carnations, and, carrying a light painted bow in one hand, and leading the horse with the other, approached the two sledges standing under the barn.
“In the tiddly ones, so in the tiddly ones,” he said, and led the smart horse, which all the time pretended that she wanted to bite him, into the shafts, and with the help of the cook’s husband, he began to harness.
When everything was almost ready and all that remained was to light it up, Nikita sent the cook's husband to the barn for straw and to the barn for rope.
- That's fine. But, but, don't stumble! said Nikita, crushing in the sleigh the freshly threshed oat straw brought by the cook's husband. - And now let's put the sackcloth like this on the bed, and on top of it, the string. Like this, like this, it will be good to sit, ”he said, doing what he said, tucking a string over the straw on all sides around the seat.
“Thank you, dear soul,” Nikita said to the cook’s husband, “everything is easier together. - And, having dismantled the reins with a ring at the connected end, Nikita sat down on the frame and touched the good horse, which was asking for a move, along the frozen manure of the yard to the gate.
- Uncle Mikit, uncle, uncle! a seven-year-old boy in a black sheepskin coat, new white felt boots and a warm hat hurriedly ran out of the passage into the yard, shouted from behind him in a thin voice. “Put me down,” he begged, buttoning up his sheepskin coat as he went.
“Well, well, run, little dove,” said Nikita, and stopping him, he sat down the owner’s pale, thin boy, beaming with joy, and drove out into the street.
It was the third hour. It was frosty - ten degrees, overcast and windy. Half of the sky was covered with a low dark cloud. But it was quiet outside. On the street, the wind was more noticeable: snow was falling from the roof of the neighboring shed and it was spinning on the corner by the bathhouse. As soon as Nikita rode out the gate and turned the horse towards the porch, Vasily Andreevich, with a cigarette in his mouth, in a covered sheepskin coat, tightly and low belted with a sash, came out of the passage onto the high porch, screeching under his skin with felt boots, trampled with snow, and stopped . Taking a puff on the rest of the cigarette, he threw it under his feet and stepped on it, and, blowing smoke through his mustache and looking askance at the riding horse, began to tuck the corners of the collar of his sheepskin coat with fur inward on both sides of his ruddy, shaved face, except for his mustache, so that the fur would not sweated for breath.
- You see, what a procurator, you have already ripened! he said, seeing his son in the sleigh. Vasily Andreevich was excited by the wine he had drunk with the guests, and therefore even more than usual was pleased with everything that belonged to him and everything that he did. The sight of his son, whom he always called his heir in his thoughts, now gave him great pleasure; he looked at him, screwing up his eyes and baring his long teeth.
Wrapped over head and shoulders woolen handkerchief so that only her eyes were visible, Vassily Andreevich's pregnant, pale, and thin wife, seeing him off, stood behind him in the passage.
“Really, I would take Nikita,” she said, stepping out timidly from behind the door.
Vassily Andreevich made no reply, and to her words, which were obviously unpleasant to him, he frowned angrily and spat.
“You will go with the money,” his wife continued in the same plaintive voice. “And the weather would not have risen. Right, by God.
“Well, do I, or do I not know the way, that I certainly need an escort? said Vassily Andreevich, with that unnatural tightening of his lips with which he usually spoke to sellers and buyers, pronouncing every syllable with particular distinctness.
- Well, really, I would take it, I beg you! repeated the wife, wrapping the handkerchief on the other side.
- That's how the bath leaf stuck ... Well, where can I take it?
"Well, Vasily Andreevich, I'm ready," Nikita said cheerfully. “Only the horses would have been given food without me,” he added, turning to the mistress.
“I’ll take a look, Nikitushka, I’ll order Semyon,” said the hostess.
“So, shall we go, Vassily Andreevich?” Nikita said, waiting.
- Yes, you can see respect for the old woman. Only if you are going, go and put on some warmer diplomat,” Vasily Andreevich uttered, again smiling and winking an eye at Nikita’s torn, greasy and matted coat, torn under the armpits and in the back and in the hem, with a fringe, greasy and matted.
- Hey, dear soul, get out, hold the horse! Nikita called out into the yard to the cook's husband.
- I'm on my own, I'm on my own! squeaked the boy, taking his cold red hands out of his pockets and clutching at the cold belt reins.
“Just don’t hurt your diplomat, live it up!” shouted Vasily Andreevich, scoffing at Nikita.
- In one puff, father Vasily Andreevich, - Nikita said and, quickly flickering his socks inside with his old, hemmed felt soles, felt boots, he ran into the yard and into the working hut.
- Come on, Arinushka, give me my robe from the oven - go with the owner! - Nikita said, running into the hut and removing the sash from the nail.
The worker, who had slept after dinner and was now putting on a samovar for her husband, cheerfully met Nikita and, infected by his haste, just like him, quickly stirred and took out a poor, worn-out cloth caftan that was drying there and began hastily brushing it off and kneading it.
“That’s something you will have a spacious walk with the owner,” Nikita said to the cook, always, out of good-natured courtesy, saying something to a person when he stayed with him eye to eye.
And, circling around him a narrow, matted sash, he pulled his already skinny belly into himself and dragged on a sheepskin coat with all his strength.
"That's it," he said after that, turning no longer to the cook, but to the sash, thrusting its ends into his belt. - Don't jump out! - and, raising and lowering his shoulders so that there was swagger in his hands, he put on a dressing gown on top, also strained his back so that his arms were free, padded under his armpits and took mittens from the shelf. - Well, that's fine.
“You should change your legs, Stepanych,” said the cook, “otherwise the boots are thin.”
Nikita stopped, as if remembering.
- It would be necessary ... Well, yes, it will do, not far!
And he ran into the yard.
“Will you be cold, Nikitushka?” - said the hostess, when he approached the sleigh.
“It’s cold, it’s warm at all,” Nikita answered, straightening the straw in the heads of the sleigh to cover his legs with it, and thrusting a whip, unnecessary for a good horse, under the straw.
Vasily Andreevich was already sitting in the sleigh, filling with his back, dressed in two fur coats, almost the entire bent back of the sleigh, and immediately, taking the reins, he set off the horse. Nikita, on the move, perched in front on the left side and stuck out one leg.
A good stallion with a slight creak of runners moved the sled and briskly set off along the frosty road knurled in the village.
- Where did you hit on? Give me the whip, Mikita! shouted Vasily Andreevich, obviously rejoicing at the heir, who was about to perch behind him on the skids. - I love you! Run to your mother, you son of a bitch.
The boy jumped off. Mukhorty added ambles and, stammering, switched to a trot.
The crosses in which Vasily Andreevich's house stood consisted of six houses. As soon as they drove past the last blacksmith's hut, they immediately noticed that the wind was much stronger than they thought. The road was almost invisible. The track of the skids was immediately swept up, and the road could be distinguished only by the fact that it was higher than the rest of the place. There was smoke all over the field, and it was not visible that line where the earth converges with the sky. The Telyatinsky forest, always clearly visible, only occasionally dimly blackened through the snow dust. The wind was blowing from the left side, turning stubbornly to one side the mane on Mukhortoy's steep, puffed-up neck, and turning his fluffy tail tied with a simple knot to one side. The long collar of Nikita, who was sitting on the side of the wind, pressed against his face and nose.
“I don’t have a real run for her, it’s snowy,” said Vasily Andreevich, proud of his good horse. - I once went to Pashutino on it, so it delivered in half an hour.
– Chago? asked Nikita, unable to hear through the collar.
"I've reached Pashutino in half an hour," shouted Vasily Andreevich.
What can I say, good horse! Nikita said.
They were silent. But Vasily Andreevich wanted to talk.
- Well, to the hostess, I punished the cooper not to drink tea? Vasily Andreevich spoke in the same loud voice, so sure that Nikita should be flattered to talk to such a significant and smart person like him, and so pleased with his joke that it never occurred to him that this conversation might be unpleasant for Nikita.
Nikita again did not hear the sound of the master's words carried by the wind.
Vasili Andreevich repeated his joke about the cooper in his loud, distinct voice.
“God be with them, Vasily Andreevich, I don’t delve into these matters. I don’t want her to offend the little one, otherwise God bless her.
"That's right," said Vasili Andreevich. - Well, what about, will you buy a horse by spring? he began new item conversation.
“Yes, we can’t escape,” answered Nikita, turning up the collar of his caftan and leaning over to the owner.
Now Nikita was interested in the conversation, and he wanted to hear everything.
“The little one has grown up, you have to plow yourself, otherwise everyone was hired,” he said.
- Well, take the boneless one, I won’t put it dearly! shouted Vassily Andreevich, feeling agitated and, as a result, attacking his favorite occupation, which consumed all his mental strength, the occupation - hawking.
“If you give me fifteen rubles, I’ll buy it on horseback,” said Nikita, who knew that the red price of the boneless, which Vasily Andreevich wants to sell him, is seven rubles, and that Vasily Andreevich, giving him this horse, will count it twenty-five rubles. , and then for six months you will not see money from him.
- The horse is good. I wish you the same as myself. Conscience. Brekhunov will not offend any person. Let mine disappear, and not like others. By honor, he shouted in that voice with which he spoke his teeth to his sellers and buyers. - The horse is real!
"As it is," said Nikita, sighing, and, making sure that there was nothing more to listen to, let his hand open the collar, which immediately covered his ear and face.
They drove in silence for half an hour. The wind blew through Nikita's side and arm, where the fur coat was torn.
He shrunk and breathed into the collar that covered his mouth, and he was not cold at all.
- What do you think, will we go to Karamyshevo or straight ahead? asked Vasily Andreevich.
At Karamyshevo, the ride was along a more brisk road, set up with good poles in two rows, but further. Directly it was closer, but the road was little traveled and there were no landmarks, or they were poor, skidded.
Nikita thought a little.
“But you can’t go astray just to go straight through the hollow, but it’s good in the forest there,” said Vasily Andreevich, who wanted to go straight.
"Your will," said Nikita, and again turned up his collar.
Vasily Andreevich did just that, and, having driven off half a verst, at a tall oak branch swaying in the wind, with dry leaves hanging here and there, turned to the left.
The wind from the turn became almost oncoming to them. And it started snowing from above. Vassily Andreevich ruled, puffed out his cheeks and breathed into his moustache from below. Nikita was dozing.
They drove in silence for about ten minutes. Suddenly Vasily Andreevich began to speak.
– Chago? Nikita asked, opening his eyes.
Vassily Andreevich did not answer, but bent over, looking back and forth in front of the horse. The horse, curled with sweat in the groin and on the neck, walked at a pace.
- What are you, I say? repeated Nikita.
"Chago, chago," Vasili Andreevich mimicked him angrily. - You can't see the pins! Must have gone wrong!
“So stop, I’ll take a look at the road,” said Nikita, and, easily jumping off the sleigh and taking out a whip from under the straw, he went to the left and from the side on which he was sitting.
The snow this year was not deep, so there was a road everywhere, but still in some places it was knee-deep and covered Nikita in his boots. Nikita walked, felt with his feet and with a whip, but there was no road anywhere.
- Well? said Vasili Andreevich, when Nikita went up to the sleigh again.
“There is no road on this side. You have to go to that side.
“There’s something blackening ahead, you go there and look,” said Vasily Andreevich.
Nikita went there too, went up to what was turning black—it was the blackening of the earth, pouring over the snow from the bare winters and turning the snow black. Walking to the right as well, Nikita returned to the sleigh, beat the snow off himself, shook it out of his boot, and got into the sledge.
“You have to go to the right,” he said decisively. - The wind was in my left side, and now it’s right in the face. Went to the right! he said decisively.
Vasili Andreevich listened to him and took to the right. But there was no road. They drove like this for a while. The wind did not decrease, and the snow began to fall.
“And we, Vasily Andreevich, have apparently gone completely astray,” Nikita suddenly said, as if with pleasure. - What's this? he said, pointing to black potato leaves sticking out from under the snow.
Vassily Andreevich stopped the horse, which was already sweating and moving heavily with its steep flanks.
- And what? - he asked.
- And the fact that we are on the Zakharovsky field. Wow where did you go!
- Vre? replied Vasily Andreevich.
“I’m not lying, Vasily Andreevich, but I’m telling the truth,” said Nikita, “and you can hear it from the sleigh—we’re driving over potatoes, and there are heaps—they were bringing the tops. Zakharovsky factory field.
- You see, where did you go! Vasily Andreevich said. - How can it be?
“But we must take it straight, that’s all, let’s go somewhere,” said Nikita. - Not to Zakharovka, so we'll go to the manor's farm.
Vasily Andreevich obeyed and let the horse go, as Nikita ordered. They drove like this for quite some time. Sometimes they went beyond the bare greenery, and the sleigh rattled over the thorns of frozen earth, sometimes they drove out to the stubble, now to the winter, then to the spring, through which from under the snow one could see sagebrush and straw dangling from the wind; sometimes they went out into deep, uniform white snow everywhere, beyond which nothing could be seen.
Snow came from above and sometimes rose from below. The horse, obviously, was tired, all curled up and frosty with sweat, and walked at a pace. Suddenly she broke off and sat down in a waterhole or in a ditch. Vasily Andreevich wanted to stop him, but Nikita shouted at him.
- What to keep! We drove in - we had to leave. But, honey! But! but dear! he shouted in a cheerful voice at the horse, jumping out of the sleigh and bogging himself down in the ditch.
The horse rushed and immediately got out onto a frozen embankment. Obviously, it was a dug ditch.
– Where are we? Vasily Andreevich said.
- Let's find out! Nikita replied. - Touch know. We'll go somewhere.
- But this must be the Goryachkinsky forest? said Vasily Andreevich, pointing to something black, which appeared from behind the snow, in front of them.
“We’ll drive up and see what kind of forest it is,” said Nikita.
Nikita saw that from the side of the blackened something the dry oblong leaves of the willow were rushing, and therefore he knew that this was not a forest, but a dwelling, but did not want to speak.
And indeed, they had not yet passed ten sazhens after the ditch, when, obviously, the trees turned black in front of them and some new dull sound was heard. Nikita guessed right: it was not a forest, but a row of tall vines with leaves still fluttering here and there. The vines were apparently planted along the ditch of the threshing floor. Having driven up to the sloughs humming dejectedly in the wind, the horse suddenly rose with its front legs higher than the sleigh, climbed out with its hind legs on a hill, turned to the left and ceased to be buried in the snow up to its knees. It was the road.
“So we’ve arrived,” said Nikita, “but no one knows where.
The horse, without losing his way, went along the snow-covered road, and they did not drive along it for forty sazhens, when a straight strip of wattle fence under the roof thickly covered with snow, from which snow continued to fall, turned black. Passing the barn, the road turned into the wind, and they drove into a snowdrift. But ahead there was an alley between two houses, so that, obviously, the snowdrift had blown up on the road and it was necessary to run over it. And indeed, having crossed the snowdrift, they drove into the street. At the outer yard, frozen linen hung up desperately from the wind: shirts, one red, one white, trousers, onuchi and a skirt. The white shirt was especially desperately torn, waving its sleeves.
“Look, the woman is lazy, or else she didn’t collect linen for the holiday,” said Nikita, looking at the dangling shirts.
stories -
Lev Tolstoy
Owner and worker
I
It was in the seventies, the day after the winter Nikola. There was a holiday in the parish, and the village janitor, a merchant of the second guild, Vasily Andreevich Brekhunov, could not be absent: he had to be in church - he was a church warden - and at home he had to receive and treat relatives and friends. But now the last guests left, and Vasily Andreevich began to get ready to immediately go to the neighboring landowner to buy from him a grove that had long been bargained for. Vasily Andreevich was in a hurry to go, so that the city merchants would not recapture this advantageous purchase from him. The young landowner asked for ten thousand for the grove only because Vasily Andreevich gave seven for it. Seven thousand, however, was only one third of the real value of the grove. Vasily Andreevich, perhaps, would have bargained for more, since the forest was located in his district, and a procedure had long been established between him and the village county merchants, according to which one merchant did not raise prices in the district of another, but Vasily Andreevich found out that the provincial the timber merchants wanted to go to trade in the Goryachkinskaya grove, and he decided to go at once and put an end to the business with the landowner. And therefore, as soon as the holiday was over, he took out his seven hundred rubles from the chest, added to them the two thousand and three hundred church rubles that he had, so that they amounted to three thousand rubles, and, diligently counting them and putting them in his wallet, got ready to go.
The worker Nikita, the only one of Vasili Andreevich's workers who was not drunk that day, ran to harness them. Nikita was not drunk that day because he was a drunkard, and now, with the charms, during which he drank away his undercoat and leather boots, he swore to drink and did not drink for the second month; I didn’t drink even now, despite the temptation of drinking wine everywhere on the first two days of the holiday.
Nikita was a fifty-year-old peasant from a nearby village, a non-owner, as they said about him, who lived most of his life not at home, but in people. Everywhere he was valued for his industriousness, dexterity and strength in work, most importantly - for his kind, pleasant character; but nowhere did he get along, because twice a year, or even more often, he took to drink, and then, in addition to drinking everything from himself, he became even more violent and captious. Vasily Andreevich also chased him away several times, but then took him again, cherishing his honesty, love for animals, and, most importantly, cheapness. Vasili Andreevich paid Nikita not eighty rubles, as such a worker cost, but forty rubles, which he gave him without calculation, in small change, and even then for the most part not in money, but at an expensive price in goods from the shop.
Nikita's wife, Marfa, who used to be a beautiful, lively woman, kept house with a small teenager and two girls and did not invite Nikita to live at home, firstly, because for twenty years she had lived with a cooper, a peasant from a foreign village, who stood by in their house; and secondly, because although she pushed her husband around as she pleased when he was sober, she was afraid of him like fire when he was drunk. Once, having drunk drunk at home, Nikita, probably to avenge his wife for all his sober humility, broke open her chest, took out her most precious outfits and, taking an ax, chopped all her sundresses and dresses into small okroshka. The salary earned by Nikita was all given to his wife, and Nikita did not contradict this. So now, two days before the holiday, Martha came to Vasily Andreevich and took from him white flour, tea, sugar and an eighth of wine, three rubles in total, and she also took five rubles in money and thanked for this, as for a special favor, then how at the cheapest price Vassily Andreevich had twenty rubles.
- Did we make any arrangements with you? - said Vasily Andreevich to Nikita. - It is necessary - take it, you will live. I'm not like people: wait, yes, calculations, yes fines. We are honored. You serve me, and I do not leave you.
And, saying this, Vasily Andreevich was sincerely convinced that he was doing good to Nikita: he was able to speak so convincingly, and so all the people who depended on his money, starting with Nikita, supported him in this conviction that he was not deceiving, but doing good to them.
- Yes, I understand, Vasily Andreevich; I think I serve, I try, like my own father. I understand very well,” replied Nikita, realizing very well that Vasily Andreevich was deceiving him, but at the same time feeling that it was useless to even try to explain his calculations with him, but to live until there was no other place, and take what they give.
Now, having received the owner’s order to harness, Nikita, as always, cheerfully and willingly, with a cheerful and light step of his goose-walking legs, went to the barn, took off a heavy bridle with a tassel from a nail and, rattling the bits with rams, went to the closed barn, in which The horse that Vasily Andreevich had ordered to be harnessed stood apart.
- What, missed you, missed you, fool? - said Nikita, answering the weak neighing of greeting with which he was greeted by a well-built, somewhat lop-sided, karak, mukhorty stallion, who was standing alone in the barn. - But, but! hurry up, give me a drink first, ”he spoke to the horse in exactly the same way as they speak to creatures that understand words, and, fanning his hollow, fat back with a groove in the middle, corroded and covered with dust, he put a bridle on the stallion’s beautiful young head, pulled out his ears and bangs and, having thrown off the coat, he led him to drink.
Cautiously getting out of the highly littered barn, Mukhorty began to play and bucked, pretending that he wanted to trot Nikita, who was running with him to the well, with his back foot.
- Pamper, pamper, rogue! - Nikita kept saying, knowing the caution with which Mukhorty raised his back leg only so as to touch his greasy coat, but not hit, and especially loved this manner.
Having drunk the cold water, the horse sighed, moving his wet strong lips, from which transparent drops dripped from his mustache into the trough, and froze, as if in thought; then suddenly she snorted loudly.
“If you don’t want to, you don’t need to, we’ll know; don’t ask for more,” said Nikita, completely seriously and in detail explaining his behavior to Mukhortom; and again he ran to the barn, tugging on the reins of the bucking and crackling cheerful young horse all over the yard.
There were no workers; there was only one stranger, the cook's husband, who had come to the feast.
“Go and ask, dear soul,” Nikita told him, “what kind of sledge to harness: move or tiddly?”
The cook's husband went to the iron-roofed house on a high foundation and soon returned with the news that the tiny ones had been ordered to be harnessed. By this time Nikita had already put on the yoke, tied up the saddle, upholstered with carnations, and, carrying a light painted bow in one hand, and leading the horse in the other, approached the two sledges standing under the barn.
“In tiddly ones, so tiddly ones,” he said, and led an intelligent horse into the shafts, all the time pretending that she wanted to bite him, and with the help of the cook's husband, he began to harness.
When everything was almost ready and all that remained was to light it up, Nikita sent the cook's husband to the barn for straw and to the barn for rope.
- That's fine. But, but, don't stumble! said Nikita, crushing in the sleigh the freshly threshed oat straw brought by the cook's husband. - And now let's lay the sackcloth like this, and on top of the rope. Like this, like this, it will be good to sit, - he said, doing what he said, - tucking a string over the straw on all sides around the seat.
“Thank you, dear soul,” Nikita said to the cook’s husband, “everything is easier together. - And, having dismantled the reins with a ring at the connected end, Nikita sat down on the frame and touched the good horse, which was asking for a move, along the frozen manure of the yard to the gate.
- Uncle Mikit, uncle, uncle! a seven-year-old boy in a black sheepskin coat, new white felt boots and a warm hat hurriedly ran out of the passage into the yard, shouted from behind him in a thin voice. “Put me down,” he begged, buttoning up his sheepskin coat as he went.
“Well, well, run, little dove,” said Nikita, and stopping him, he sat down the owner’s pale, thin boy, beaming with joy, and drove out into the street.
It was the third hour. It was frosty - ten degrees, overcast and windy. Half of the sky was covered with a low dark cloud. But it was quiet outside. On the street, the wind was more noticeable: snow was falling from the roof of the neighboring barn, and it was spinning on the corner, by the bathhouse. As soon as Nikita rode out the gate and turned the horse towards the porch, Vassily Andreevich, with a cigarette in his mouth, in a covered sheepskin coat, tightly and low belted with a sash, came out of the passage onto the high porch, screeching under his skin with sheathed felt boots, trampled by snow, and has stopped. Taking a drag on the rest of the cigarette, he threw it under his feet and stepped on it, and, blowing smoke through his mustache and looking askance at the riding horse, began to fill the corners of the coat collar with the fur inside on both sides of his ruddy, shaved face, except for the mustache, with the fur inside, so that the fur would not sweat. from breathing.
- You see, what a procurator, you have already ripened! he said, seeing his son in the sleigh. Vasily Andreevich was excited by the wine he had drunk with the guests, and therefore even more than usual was pleased with everything that belonged to him and everything that he did. The sight of his son, whom he always thought of as his heir, now gave him great pleasure; he looked at him, screwing up his eyes and baring his long teeth.
Wrapped up over her head and shoulders in a woolen kerchief, so that only her eyes were visible, Vassily Andreevich's pregnant, pale, and thin wife, seeing him off, stood behind him in the passage.
“Really, I would take Nikita,” she said, stepping out timidly from behind the door.
Vassily Andreevich made no reply, and to her words, which were obviously unpleasant to him, he frowned angrily and spat.
“You will go with the money,” his wife continued in the same plaintive voice. - Yes, and the weather would not have risen, really, by golly.
“Well, do I, or do I not know the way, that I certainly need an escort? Vasily Andreevich said with that unnatural tension of his lips with which he usually spoke to sellers and buyers, pronouncing every syllable with particular distinctness.
- Well, right, I would take it. I beg you God! repeated the wife, wrapping the handkerchief on the other side.
- That's how the bath leaf stuck ... Well, where can I take it?
"Well, Vasily Andreevich, I'm ready," Nikita said cheerfully. “Only the horses would have been given food without me,” he added, turning to the mistress.
“I’ll take a look, Nikitushka, I’ll order Semyon,” said the hostess.
“So, shall we go, Vassily Andreevich?” Nikita said, waiting.
“Yeah, you see, to respect the old woman. Only if you are going, go and put on some warmer diplomat,” Vasily Andreevich uttered, again smiling and winking an eye at Nikita’s torn, greasy and matted coat, torn under the armpits and in the back and in the hem, with a fringe, greasy and matted.
- Hey, dear soul, go out and hold the horse! Nikita called out into the yard to the cook's husband.
- I'm on my own, I'm on my own! squeaked the boy, taking his cold red hands out of his pockets and clutching at the cold belt reins.
“Just don’t hurt your diplomat, live it up!” shouted Vasily Andreevich, scoffing at Nikita.
- In one puff, father Vasily Andreevich, - Nikita said and, quickly flashing his socks inside with his old felt boots lined with felt soles, he ran into the yard and into the worker's hut.
- Come on, Arinushka, give me my robe from the oven - go with the owner! - Nikita said, running into the hut and removing the sash from the nail.
The worker, who had slept after dinner and was now setting the samovar for her husband, cheerfully met Nikita and, infected by his haste, just like him, quickly stirred and took out a poor, worn-out cloth caftan that was drying there and began hastily shaking and kneading it.
“That’s something you will have a spacious walk with the owner,” Nikita said to the cook, always, out of good-natured courtesy, saying something to a person when he stayed with him eye to eye.
And, circling around him a narrow, matted sash, he pulled his already skinny belly into himself and dragged on a sheepskin coat with all his strength.
“That’s it,” he said after that, turning no longer to the cook, but to the sash, thrusting its ends into his belt, “you won’t jump out like that,” and, raising and lowering his shoulders so that there was swagger in his hands, he put on from above dressing gown, also strained his back, so that his hands were free, padded under his armpits and took mittens from the shelf. - Well, that's fine.
“You should change your legs, Stepanych,” said the cook, “otherwise the boots are thin.”
Nikita stopped, as if remembering.
- We should ... Well, yes, get off and so, not far! And he ran into the yard.
“Will you be cold, Nikitushka?” - said the hostess, when he approached the sleigh.
“It’s cold, it’s warm at all,” Nikita answered, straightening the straw in the heads of the sleigh to cover his legs with it, and thrusting a whip, unnecessary for a good horse, under the straw.
Vasily Andreevich was already sitting in the sleigh, filling with his back, dressed in two fur coats, almost the entire bent back of the sleigh, and immediately, taking the reins, he set off the horse. Nikita, on the move, perched in front on the left side and stuck out one leg.
II
With a slight creak of runners, the good stallion moved the sleigh and set off at a brisk pace along the frosty road knurled in the village.
- Where did you hit on? Give me the whip, Mikita! shouted Vassily Andreevich, obviously rejoicing at the heir, who was about to perch on the runners behind him. - I love you! Run to your mother, you son of a bitch!
The boy jumped off. Mukhorty added an amble and, stammering, switched to a trot.
The crosses in which Vasily Andreevich's house stood consisted of six houses. As soon as they left the last, Kuznetsov's hut, they immediately noticed that the wind was much stronger than they thought. The road was almost invisible. The track of the skids was immediately swept up, and the road could be distinguished only because it was higher than the rest of the place. It was spinning all over the field, and it was not visible that line where the earth converges with the sky. The Telyatinsky forest, always clearly visible, only occasionally dimly blackened through the snow dust. The wind was blowing from the left side, turning stubbornly to one side the mane on Mukhortoy's steep, puffed-up neck, and turning his fluffy tail tied with a simple knot to one side. The long collar of Nikita, who was sitting on the side of the wind, pressed against his face and nose.
“I don’t have a real run for her, it’s snowy,” said Vasily Andreevich, proud of his good horse. - I once went to Pashutino on it, so it delivered in half an hour.
– Chago? asked Nikita, unable to hear through the collar.
"I've reached Pashutino in half an hour," shouted Vasily Andreevich.
What can I say, good horse! Nikita said.
They were silent. But Vasily Andreevich wanted to talk.
- Well, to the hostess, I punished the cooper not to drink tea? Vasily Andreevich spoke in the same loud voice, so sure that Nikita should be flattered to talk to such an important and intelligent person as he was, and so pleased with his joke that it never occurred to him that this conversation could be unpleasant. Nikita.
Nikita again did not hear the sound of the master's words carried by the wind.
Vasili Andreevich repeated his joke about the cooper in his loud, distinct voice.
“God be with them, Vasily Andreevich, I don’t delve into these matters. I don’t want her to offend the little one, otherwise God bless her.
"That's right," said Vasili Andreevich. - Well, what about, will you buy a horse by spring? he began a new subject of conversation.
“Yes, we can’t escape,” answered Nikita, turning up the collar of his caftan and leaning over to the owner.
Now Nikita was interested in the conversation, and he wanted to hear everything.
“The little one has grown up, you have to plow yourself, and then everyone was hired,” he said.
- Well, take a bespitochnoe, I won’t put it expensive! shouted Vassily Andreevich, feeling agitated and, as a result, attacking his favorite occupation, which consumed all his mental strength, the occupation - hawking.
“If you give me fifteen rubles, I’ll buy it on horseback,” said Nikita, who knew that the red price of the boneless, which Vasily Andreevich wants to sell him, is seven rubles, and that Vasily Andreevich, giving him this horse, will count it twenty-five rubles. , and then for six months you will not see money from him.
- The horse is good. I wish you the same as myself. Conscience. Brekhunov will not offend any person. Let mine disappear, not like the others. By honor, he shouted in that voice with which he spoke his teeth to his sellers and buyers. - The horse is real!
"As it is," said Nikita, sighing, and, making sure that there was nothing more to listen to, let his hand open the collar, which immediately covered his ear and face.
They drove in silence for half an hour. The wind blew through Nikita's side and arm, where the fur coat was torn.
He shrunk and breathed into the collar that covered his mouth, and he was not cold at all.
- What do you think, will we go to Karamyshevo or straight ahead? asked Vasily Andreevich.
On Karamyshevo, the ride was along a more brisk road, lined with good poles in two rows, but further. Directly it was closer, but the road was little traveled and there were no landmarks, or they were inferior, brought in.
Nikita thought a little.
“Although it’s farther to Karamyshevo, go ahead,” he said.
“But you can’t go astray just to go straight through the hollow, but it’s good in the forest there,” said Vasily Andreevich, who wanted to go straight.
"Your will," said Nikita, and again turned up his collar.
Vasily Andreevich did just that, and, having driven off half a verst, at a tall oak branch swaying in the wind with dry leaves hanging on it in some places, he turned to the left.
The wind from the turn became almost oncoming to them. And it started snowing from above. Vassily Andreevich ruled, puffed out his cheeks and breathed into his moustache from below. Nikita was dozing.
They drove in silence for about ten minutes. Suddenly Vasily Andreevich began to speak.
– Chago? Nikita asked, opening his eyes. Vassily Andreevich did not answer, and bent over, looking back and forth in front of the horse. The horse, curled with sweat in the groin and on the neck, walked at a pace.
- What are you, I say? repeated Nikita.
- Chago, chago! Vasili Andreevich mimicked him angrily. - You can't see the pins! Must have gone wrong!
“So stop, I’ll take a look at the road,” said Nikita, and, easily jumping off the sleigh and taking out a whip from under the straw, he went to the left and from the side on which he was sitting.
The snow this year was not deep, so there was a road everywhere, but still in some places it was knee-deep and covered Nikita in his boots. Nikita walked, felt with his feet and with a whip, but there was no road anywhere.
- Well? said Vasili Andreevich, when Nikita went up to the sleigh again.
“There is no road on this side. You have to go to that side.
“There’s something blackening ahead, you go there and look,” said Vasily Andreevich.
Nikita went there too, went up to what was turning black—it was the blackening of the earth, pouring over the snow from the bare winters and turning the snow black. Walking to the right as well, Nikita returned to the sleigh, beat the snow off himself, shook it out of his boot, and got into the sledge.
“You have to go to the right,” he said decisively. - The wind was in my left side, and now it’s right in the face. Went to the right! he said decisively.
Vasili Andreevich listened to him and took to the right. But there was no road. They drove like this for a while. The wind did not decrease, and the snow began to fall.
“And we, Vasily Andreevich, have apparently gone completely astray,” Nikita suddenly said, as if with pleasure. - What's this? he said, pointing to black potato leaves sticking out from under the snow.
Vassily Andreevich stopped the horse, which was already sweating and moving heavily with its steep flanks.
- And what? - he asked.
- And the fact that we are on the Zakharovsky field. Wow where did you go!
- Vre? replied Vasily Andreevich.
“I’m not lying, Vasily Andreevich, but I’m really talking,” said Nikita, “and you can hear from the sleigh - we’re going through the potatoes; and there heaps - they brought the tops. Zakharovsky factory field.
- You see, where did you go! Vasily Andreevich said. - How can it be?
“But we must take it straight, that’s all, let’s go somewhere,” said Nikita. - Not to Zakharovka, so we'll go to the manor's farm.
Vasily Andreevich obeyed and let the horse go, as Nikita ordered. They drove like this for quite some time. Sometimes they drove out onto bare greenery, and the sleigh rattled over the quivers of frozen ground. Sometimes they went out to stubble, now to winter, then to spring, along which from under the snow one could see sagebrush and straw dangling from the wind; sometimes they drove into deep and everywhere the same white even snow, from above which nothing could be seen.
Snow came from above and sometimes rose from below. The horse, obviously, was tired, all curled up and frosty with sweat, and walked at a pace. Suddenly she broke off and sat down in a waterhole or in a ditch. Vasily Andreevich wanted to stop him, but Nikita shouted at him:
- What to keep! We drove in - we had to leave. But, honey! But! but dear! he shouted in a cheerful voice at the horse, jumping out of the sleigh and bogging himself down in the ditch.
The horse rushed and immediately got out onto a frozen embankment. Obviously, it was a dug ditch.
– Where are we? Vasily Andreevich said.
- Let's find out! Nikita replied. - Touch know, we'll go somewhere.
- But this must be the Goryachkinsky forest? said Vasily Andreevich, pointing to something black that appeared from behind the snow in front of them.
“We’ll drive up and see what kind of forest it is,” said Nikita.
Nikita saw that from the side of the blackened something the dry oblong leaves of the willow were rushing, and therefore he knew that this was not a forest, but a dwelling, but did not want to speak. And indeed, they had not yet passed ten sazhens after the ditch, when, obviously, the trees turned black in front of them, and some new dull sound was heard. Nikita guessed correctly: it was not a forest, but a row of tall vines, with leaves still fluttering on them here and there. The vines were apparently planted along the ditch of the threshing floor. Having driven up to the sloughs humming dejectedly in the wind, the horse suddenly rose with its front legs higher than the sleigh, climbed out with its hind legs on a hill, turned to the left and ceased to be buried in the snow up to its knees. It was the road.
“So we’ve arrived,” said Nikita, “but no one knows where.
The horse, without losing his way, went along the snow-covered road, and they did not drive along it for forty sazhens, when a straight strip of wattle fence under the roof thickly covered with snow, from which snow continued to fall, turned black. Passing the barn, the road turned into the wind, and they drove into a snowdrift. But ahead there was an alley between two houses, so that, obviously, the snowdrift had blown up on the road, and it was necessary to run over it. And indeed, having crossed the snowdrift, they drove into the street. At the outer yard, frozen linen hung up desperately from the wind: shirts, one red, one white, trousers, onuchi and a skirt. The white shirt was especially desperately torn, waving its sleeves.
“Look, the woman is lazy, or else she didn’t collect linen for the holiday,” said Nikita, looking at the dangling shirts.
III
At the beginning of the street it was still windy and the road was visible, but in the middle of the village it became quiet, warm and cheerful. At one yard a dog was barking, at another a woman, covering her head with a coat, ran from somewhere and entered the door of the hut, stopping on the threshold to look at the passers-by. From the middle of the village the songs of the girls were heard.
There seemed to be less wind, snow, and frost in the village.
“But this is Grishkino,” said Vasily Andreevich.
“It is,” answered Nikita.
And indeed, it was Grishkino. It turned out that they strayed to the left and drove about eight versts, not quite in the direction they needed, but nevertheless moved towards their destination. It was five versts from Grishkin to Goryachkin.
In the middle of the village they came across tall man walking in the middle of the street.
– Who is going? the man shouted, stopping his horse, and immediately recognizing Vasily Andreevich, he grabbed the shaft and, moving his hands along it, went to the sleigh and sat down on the beam.
It was a peasant, Isai, whom Vassily Andreevich knew, well known in the district for being the first horse thief.
- A! Vasily Andreevich! Where is God taking you? - said Isai, dousing Nikita with the smell of drunk vodka.
- Yes, we were in Goryachkino.
- Wow, where did you go! You would need to Malakhov.
“We don’t need much, but they didn’t please,” said Vasily Andreevich, stopping the horse.
“The horse is kind,” Isai said, looking around the horse and tightening the loose knot of the knotted thick tail with his habitual movement right up to the very tip.
- What, spend the night, or what?
- No, brother, you must go.
- It is necessary, apparently. And whose is it? A! Nikita Stepanych!
- And then who is it? Nikita replied. - But as it were, dear soul, we will not go astray here again.
- Where can I go wrong! Turn back, go straight down the street, and there, as you leave, everything is straight. Don't take it to the left. You will go to the highway, and then to the right.
- Where is the turn from the highway? Summer or winter? Nikita asked.
- According to the winter. Now, as you leave, bushes, opposite the bushes there is still a large oak pole, curly-haired, - there it is.
Vasili Andreevich turned his horse back and rode along the settlement.
- And then we would spend the night! Isai shouted at them from behind.
But Vasily Andreevich did not answer him and touched the horse: five versts of flat road, two of which were forest, seemed easy to drive, especially since the wind seemed to have died down and the snow had ceased.
Having again passed along the street along a road that was knurled and blackened in some places with fresh manure and passed a yard with linen, whose white shirt had already been torn off and hung on one frozen sleeve, they again drove out to the terribly humming vines and again found themselves in an open field. The blizzard not only did not subside, but seemed to intensify. The whole road was swept up, and one could know that he had not lost his way, only by the landmarks. But it was difficult to see the landmarks ahead, because the wind was oncoming.
Vasili Andreevich screwed up his eyes, bent his head and looked at the poles, but let his horse go more, hoping for it. And the horse really did not stray and walked, turning now to the right, then to the left along the meanders of the road, which she sensed under her feet, so that, despite the fact that the snow from above intensified and the wind intensified, the landmarks continued to be visible now to the right, then to the left.
So they rode for about ten minutes, when suddenly something black appeared right in front of the horse, moving in an oblique net of snow driven by the wind. They were fellow travelers. Mukhorty caught up with them completely and thumped his feet on the chairs ahead of the sleigh.
- Go around ... ah-ah ... in front! shouted from the sleigh. Vasily Andreevich began to drive around. Three men and a woman sat in a sleigh. Obviously, these were guests from the holiday. One peasant whipped the snow-covered behind of a horse with a twig. Two, waving their hands, shouted something in the front. A wrapped-up woman, all covered with snow, sat motionless, ruffled, in the back of the sleigh.
- Whose will you be? shouted Vasily Andreevich.
- A-ah-ah ... skies! - was just audible.
- Whose, I say?
- A-a-a-sky! one of the peasants shouted with all his might, but still it was impossible to hear which ones.
- Wali! Don't give up! - shouted another, without ceasing to thrash the horse with a twig.
- From the holiday, you see?
- Go, go! Wali, Semka! Drive around! Wali!
The sledges knocked against each other with the bends, almost caught, disengaged, and the peasant sleigh began to lag behind.
A shaggy, snow-covered, belly horse, breathing heavily under a low arc, obviously from last strength trying in vain to run away from the twig that hit her, she hobbled her short legs through the deep snow, throwing them under her. The muzzle, obviously young, with its lower lip tucked up like a fish's, with dilated nostrils and ears flattened in fear, held on for a few seconds near Nikita's shoulder, then began to lag behind.
“Wine does something,” said Nikita. - They tortured a horse for decoration. Asians as is!
For several minutes the snuffling of the nostrils of the tortured horse and the drunken cries of the peasants were heard, then the sniffling subsided, then the cries fell silent. And all around again nothing was heard, except for the whistling wind near the ears and the occasional faint creak of the skids over the blown-out parts of the road.
This meeting amused and encouraged Vasily Andreevich, and he bolder, without taking apart the stakes, drove the horse, hoping for it.
Nikita had nothing to do, and, as always, when he was in such a position, he dozed off, making up for a lot of sleepless time. Suddenly the horse stopped, and Nikita almost fell, pecking forward with his nose.
"But we're not going well again," said Vasili Andreevich.
- And what?
- Yes, no pegs to be seen. They must have lost their way again.
“But they’ve gone astray, we need to look,” Nikita said curtly, got up and again, lightly stepping with his inward turned feet, went to walk in the snow.
He walked for a long time, hiding from view, again showing himself and again hiding, and finally returned.
“There is no road here, maybe somewhere ahead,” he said, getting into the sleigh.
It was already starting to get dark. The blizzard did not intensify, but did not weaken either.
“If only I could hear those peasants,” said Vasili Andreevich.
- Yes, you see, they didn’t catch up, they must have strayed far. Or maybe they got lost, - said Nikita.
– Where are you going to go? Vasily Andreevich said.
“But you need to let the horse go,” said Nikita. - He lead. Come on reins.
Vasili Andreevich gave up the reins all the more willingly, since his warm-gloved hands began to feel cold.
Nikita took the reins and only held them, trying not to move them, rejoicing at the mind of his pet. Indeed, a smart horse, turning first one ear, then the other, began to turn.
“Just don’t talk,” Nikita kept saying. - Look what to do! Go, go know! So-so.
The wind began to blow back, it became warmer.
“And smart, too,” Nikita continued to rejoice at the horse. - Kirghizen - he is strong, but stupid. And this one, look what you do with your ears. You don't need a telegraph, you can smell it a mile away.
And before half an hour had passed, something really blackened ahead: whether the forest, the village, and right side landmarks appeared again. Apparently, they were back on the road again.
“But this is Grishkino again,” Nikita said suddenly.
Indeed, now on the left they had the same barn from which the snow was blowing, and further on the same rope with frozen linen, shirts and trousers, which were still desperately ruffled by the wind.
Again they drove into the street, again it became quiet, warm, cheerful, again the dung road became visible, again voices and songs were heard, again the dog barked. It was already so dark that some of the windows were lit up with lights.
In the middle of the street, Vassily Andreevich turned his horse towards a large house with two brick links and stopped it at the porch.
Nikita went up to the lighted window, in the light of which fluttering snowflakes shone, and tapped with a whip.
- Who's there? a voice answered Nikita's call.
“From Krestov, the Brekhunovs, dear man,” answered Nikita. - Get out for an hour!
They moved away from the window, and after about two minutes, the door in the passage could be heard coming unstuck, then the latch in the outer door banged, and, holding the door from the wind, a tall old peasant with a white beard leaned out in a sheepskin coat over a white festive shirt, and behind him a fellow in a red shirt and leather boots.
“Are you, Andreich?” said the old man.
- Yes, they got lost, brother, - said Vasily Andreevich, - they wanted to go to Goryachkino, but they got to you. We drove off, got lost again.
“Look, how they got lost,” said the old man. - Petrushka, go open the gate! he turned to the little one in the red shirt.
"That's possible," answered the fellow in a merry voice, and ran into the passage.
“Yes, brother, we won’t spend the night,” said Vasily Andreevich.
- Where to go - night time, spend the night!
- And I would be glad to spend the night, but I have to go. You can't do it, brother.
“Well, warm yourself to the extreme, straight to the samovar,” said the old man.
“It’s possible to get warm,” said Vasily Andreevich, “it won’t get darker, but the moon will rise and brighten. Let's go in, let's get warm, Mikit?
“Well, well, you can get warm,” said Nikita, who was very cold and really wanted to warm his cold members in the warmth.
Vasily Andreevich went with the old man to the hut, while Nikita rode through the gates opened by Petrushka and, at his direction, pushed the horse under the shed of the barn. The shed was flooded, and a high arc caught on the line. The hens with the rooster, already seated on the line, began to croak something displeased and scratched the line with their paws. The alarmed sheep, stamping their hooves on the frozen manure, shied away. The dog, squealing desperately, with fright and anger like a puppy, barked at the stranger.
Nikita talked to everyone: he apologized to the chickens, reassured them that he would not disturb them again, reproached the sheep for being frightened, without knowing why, and incessantly admonished the little dog while he tied the horse.
"That's all right," he said, slapping the snow off himself. - Look, it's pouring! he added to the dog. - Yes, you will! Well, you will, stupid, you will. You're only worrying about yourself," he said. - Not thieves, their ...
“And these, as they say, are three household advisers,” said the fellow, tossing strong hand under the canopy the sleds remaining outside.
- What about advisors? Nikita said.
- And so it is printed in Pulson: a thief creeps up to the house, a dog barks, - do not yawn, then look. Pe-t-uh sings - then get up. The cat is washing - so, dear guest, get ready to treat him, - said the fellow, smiling.
Petruha was literate and knew almost by heart the only book he had of Paulson and loved, especially when he was a little drunk, as now, to quote from it sayings that seemed to him suitable for the occasion.
"That's right," said Nikita.
- I'm freezing, I'm tea, uncle? Petruha added.
- Yes, there is, - said Nikita, and they went through the yard and the hall to the hut.
IV
The yard into which Vasily Andreevich stopped was one of the richest in the village. The family kept five allotments and took on more land on the side. There were six horses in the yard, three cows, two heels, about twenty sheep. There were twenty-two souls of all the family in the yard: four married sons, six grandchildren, of which one Petruha was married, two great-grandchildren, three orphans and four daughters-in-law with children. It was one of the few houses left undivided; but even in him there was already going on a deaf inner work of discord, as always begun between the women, which was inevitably bound to soon lead to a division. Two sons lived in Moscow in water carriers, one was a soldier. At home now there were an old man, an old woman, the second son - the owner and the eldest son, who had come from Moscow for the holiday, and all the women and children; in addition to the family, there was also a guest-neighbor and godfather.
Above the table in the hut hung a lamp with an upper shield, brightly illuminating under it tea utensils, a bottle of vodka, snacks and brick walls hung with icons in the red corner and pictures on both sides of them. In the first place sat at the table in one black sheepskin coat, Vasily Andreevich, sucking on his frozen mustache and looking around at the people and the hut with his bulging hawkish eyes. Besides Vasily Andreevich, a bald-headed, white-bearded old master in a white homespun shirt was sitting at the table; next to him, in a thin cotton shirt, with a hefty back and shoulders, is a son who came from Moscow for a holiday, and another son, broad-shouldered - the older brother who was in charge of the house, and a thin red-haired man - a neighbor.
The peasants, after drinking and eating, were just about to drink tea, and the samovar was already buzzing, standing on the floor by the stove. On the floorboards and on the stove you could see the guys. A woman was sitting on the bunk above the cradle. The old hostess, with her face covered in all directions with small wrinkles, which even wrinkled her lips, looked after Vasily Andreevich.
While Nikita was entering the hut, she poured a glass of vodka into a thick glass and brought it to her guest.
“Don’t blame me, Vasily Andreevich, you can’t, you should congratulate him,” she said. - Eat, killer whale.
The sight and smell of the vodka, especially now that he was cold and tired, greatly embarrassed Nikita. He frowned and, brushing off the snow from his hat and caftan, stood in front of the icons and, as if not seeing anyone, crossed himself three times and bowed to the icons, then, turning to the old master, bowed first to him, then to all who were at the table, then to the women standing near the stove, and, saying: "Happy holiday," he began to undress without looking at the table.
“Well, you’re frosty, uncle,” said the elder brother, looking at Nikita’s snow-covered face, eyes and beard.
Nikita took off his caftan, brushed it off again, hung it up by the stove, and went up to the table. He was also offered vodka. There was a moment of agonizing struggle: he almost took the glass and knocked the fragrant light moisture into his mouth; but he glanced at Vasili Andreevich, remembered his vow, remembered his drunken boots, remembered the cooper, remembered the fellow to whom he had promised to buy a horse by spring, sighed and refused.
“I don’t drink, thank you very much,” he said, frowning, and sat down on a bench by the second window.
- Why so? the older brother said.
“I don’t drink, and I don’t drink,” said Nikita, without raising his eyes, looking askance at his thin mustache and beard and thawing icicles from them.
"It doesn't suit him," said Vassily Andreevich, biting a glass of wine he had drunk with a bagel.
- Well, then, a seagull, - said the affectionate old woman. - I'm tea, chill, hearty. What are you, women, digging with a samovar?
“Ready,” answered the young woman, and, fanning the covered samovar that was leaving with a curtain, she carried it with difficulty, picked it up and knocked it on the table.
Meanwhile, Vasily Andreevich was telling how they got lost, how they returned twice to the same village, how they strayed, how they met drunks. The hosts marveled, explained where and why they had lost their way and who the drunks they met were, and taught them how to drive.
- Here a small child will reach Molchanovka, only to please at the turn from the highway - you can see a bush here. But you didn't make it! the neighbor said.
- And then we would spend the night. The women will lay the bed, - the old woman persuaded.
“We should have gone in the morning, dear business,” the old man confirmed.
- It is impossible, brother, business! Vasily Andreevich said. “You’ll miss an hour, you won’t make it up in a year,” he added, remembering the grove and the merchants who could interrupt this purchase from him. - Shall we get there? he turned to Nikita.
Nikita did not answer for a long time, as if preoccupied with the thawing of his beard and mustache.
"Don't go astray again," he said gloomily. Nikita was gloomy because he passionately wanted vodka, and the only thing that could quench this desire was tea, and tea had not yet been offered to him.
“Why, if only we could get to the turn, and then we won’t get lost; forest to the very place, - said Vasily Andreevich.
- It's your business, Vasily Andreevich; go so go, - said Nikita, accepting the glass of tea served to him.
- Let's get some tea, and march.
Nikita said nothing, but only shook his head and, carefully pouring the tea into a saucer, began to warm his hands, with fingers always swollen from work, on the steam. Then, biting off a tiny piece of sugar, he bowed to the hosts and said:
“Bless you,” and pulled the warming fluid into himself.
“If only someone had escorted us to the turn,” said Vassily Andreevich.
“Well, it’s possible,” said the eldest son. - Petruha harnesses, and leads to the turn.
“So buckle up, brother. And I will thank you.
- And what are you, killer whale! said the kind old lady. - We are happy with our hearts.
“Petruha, go harness the mare,” said the older brother.
“That’s possible,” said Petrukha, smiling, and at once, tearing off his hat from a nail, he avoided harnessing it.
While the horse was being laid down, the conversation turned to where it left off when Vasili Andreevich rode up to the window. The old man complained to the neighbor-headman about the third son, who did not send him anything for the holiday, but sent a French scarf to his wife.
“The young people are fighting off the hands,” said the old man.
- How it fights back, - said the godfather, - there is no sweetness! They became painfully smart. There's Demochkin - that's how he broke his father's arm. All from a great mind, apparently.
Nikita listened, peered into faces, and evidently wanted to take part in the conversation, too, but he was all absorbed in tea and only nodded his head approvingly. He drank glass after glass, and he became warmer and warmer, and nicer and nicer. The conversation went on for a long time, all about the same thing, about the dangers of sections; and the conversation, obviously, was not abstract, but it was about a division in this house, a division demanded by the second son, who immediately sat there and was gloomily silent. Obviously, this was a sore point, and this question occupied all the households, but out of decency, in front of strangers, they did not sort out their private business. But, finally, the old man could not stand it and, with tears in his voice, began to say that he would not allow sharing while he was alive, that he had a house, thank God, and everyone would go around the world to share.
“Like the Matveevs,” said the neighbor. - There was a real house, but they divided it - no one has anything.
“That’s what you want, too,” the old man turned to his son.
The son did not answer, and it came an awkward silence. This silence was broken by Petrukha, who had already laid down his horse and returned to the hut a few minutes before, smiling all the time.
“So Pulson has a fable,” he said, “a parent gave his sons a broom to break. They didn’t break it right away, but it was easy along the twig. So it is,” he said, smiling from ear to ear. - Ready! he added.
We are a very specific nation, but at the same time we always compare ourselves with someone. We are very close to the French, we adore their comedies, their language, culture. We like the Italians, their love of life and love of singing. But we also like the British with their passion for gardens, tea drinking and boundless devotion to the Queen. So we made a selection british classics that will make your weekend truly worthy of delight.
Return to BridesheadEvelyn Waugh's classic British coming-of-age and character-building novel is one of iconic works English literature. It has been filmed several times, but this version will appeal to gourmets: 11 episodes plus sophisticated Jeremy Irons in leading role!
Jane EyreCharlotte Brontë's great novel has been filmed several times. In the USSR, everyone was shocked by the version with Timothy Dalton in the title role. But this version with Samantha Morton in the title role will not leave you indifferent: a cold and gray estate, terrible secret the owner of the castle and barely restrained feelings. Ah, what an idyll!
Doctor ZhivagoIt's our classic this time, with Keira Knightley as Lara. Many critics consider this version to be the most reliable and the next letter of the legendary masterpiece of Boris Pasternak. The history of our state in the first decades of the 20th century through interweaving love story- one of the greatest masterpieces, it is impossible to tear yourself away!
Mansfield ParkJane Austen's novel, not the most popular, but worthy and equally touchingly fabulous, tells the story of Fanny Price, a poor pupil in the Bertram family. The main role in this version was played by Frances O'Connor, after which Steven Spielberg himself invited the actress to Hollywood.
Why wasn't Evans asked?This detective story is based on the story of Agatha Christie, and the investigation is conducted by Miss Marple. The vicar's son discovers a dying man who, before dying, manages to utter a mysterious phrase. And in the pocket of the deceased they find a photograph of a beautiful woman.
PoirotDavid Suchet is back with us! The legendary series, adored by millions of viewers around the world based on the works of Agatha Christie, whose hero is Hercule Poirot, can probably be watched endlessly. Of all the performers of this role, the best one is Suchet, this is recognized by numerous polls.
The Secret of the Seven DialsAnother detective based on the novel by Agatha Christie. In an old mansion rented by a millionaire, a mysterious crime has been committed: before killing his victim, the killer for some reason put seven alarm clocks in a row.
Secret EnemyAnd the last on the list is a detective based on the novel by Agatha Christie. In the difficult post-war years, the young spouses Tommy and Tuppence decide to become adventurers in order to earn some extra money. Their first client mysteriously disappears...
HornblowerThe series is based on the novels English writer and military historian Cecil Scott Forester. The son of a doctor, Horatio Hornblower, endowed with aptitude in mathematics and the study of languages, received a good education and joined the British Royal Navy at the age of 17. If you like adventure naval battles and the history of the 18th and 19th centuries, feel free to look!
EmmaAnother version of Jane Austen's novel, a picture starring Gwyneth Paltrow was shot the same year. main character Emma is endowed with an attractive appearance, good manners And happy family. But something was missing in her life. And she decides to dispel her everyday life with the help of matchmaking to her friends, suitable, in her opinion, suitors.
