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Read Online The village. [Translation from the original Russian text by Isabel Hapgood] by 1870-1953 Ivan Alekseevich Bunin - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: 1870-1953 Ivan Alekseevich Bunin
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wailing proceeded from it—just like the one in the District offices, Tikhon Hitch said to himself. But the smoke was so dense that ten ventilators would have been of no avail. The rain rattled on the roof and Kuzma strode from corner to corner and talked:
"Ye-es! a nice state of things, there's no denying it! Indescribable kindliness! If you read history, your hair rises upright in horror: brother pitted against brother, kinsman against kinsman, son against father —treachery and murder, murder and treachery. The Epic legends, too, are a sheer delight: 'he slit his white breast,' 'he let his bowels out on the ground,' 'Ilya did not spare his own daughter; he stepped on her left foot, and pulled her right foot' And the songs? The same thing, always the same: the stepmother is 'wicked and greedy'; the father-in-law, 'harsh and quarrelsome,' sits on the sleeping-shelf above the stove, 'just like a dog
THE VILLAGE
on a rope'; the mother-in-law, equally wicked, sits on the stove 'just like a bitch on a chain'; the sisters-in-law are invariably 'young dogs and tricksters'; the brothers-in-law are 'malicious scoffers'; the husband is 'either a fool or a drunkard'; the 'old father-in-law bids him beat his wife soundly, until her hide drops off to her heels'; while the wife, having 'scrubbed the floor' for this same old man, 'ladled out the sour cabbage-soup, scraped the threshold clean, and baked turnover-patties,' addresses this sort of a speech to her husband: 'Get up, you disgusting fellow, wake up: here's dish-water, wash yourself; here are your leg-wrappers, wipe yourself; here's a bit of rope, hang yourself.' And our adages, Tikhon Hitch! Could anything more lewd and filthy be invented? And our proverbs! 'One man who has been soundly thrashed is worth two who have not been.' 'Simplicity is worse than thieving.' "
"So, according to you, the best way for a man to live is like an arrant fool?" inquired Tikhon Hitch with a sneer.
And Kuzma joyfully snapped up his words: "Well, that's right, that's the idea! There's nothing in the whole world so beggar-bare as we are, and on the other hand there's nobody more insolent on the ground of that same nakedness. What's the vicious way to insult a person? Accuse 'em of poverty! Say: 'You devil! You haven't a morsel to eat.' Here's an illustration: Deniska—well, I mean the son of Syery, he's a cobbler—said to me the other day—" '
THE VILLAGE
"Wait a minute," interrupted Tikhon Hitch. "How's Syery himself getting on?"
"Deniska says he's 'perishing with hunger.' "
"A good-for-nothing peasant!" said Tikhon Hitch with conviction. "Don't sing any of your songs about him to me."
"I'm not singing!" retorted Kuzma angrily. "But I ought to do it. For his name is Krasoff. However, that's another story. You'd better listen to what I have to say about Deniska. Well, he told me this: 'Sometimes, in a famine year, we foremen would go to the neighbourhood of the cemetery in the Black Suburb; and there those public women were—regular troops of them. And they were hungry, the lean hags, extremely hungry! If you gave one of them half a pound of bread for her work she'd devour it to the last crumb, there under you. It was downright ridiculous!' Take note," cried Kuzma sternly, pausing: "It was downright ridiculous'!"
"Oh, stop it, for Christ's sake!" Tikhon Hitch interrupted again. "Give me a chance to say a word about business!"
Kuzma stopped short. "Well, talk away," said he. "Only, what are you going to say? Tell him 'You ought to do thus and so'? Not a bit of it! If you give him money—that's the end of it. Just think it over: they have no fuel, they have nothing to eat, nothing to pay for a funeral. That means, 'tis your most sacred duty to give them some money—well, and something more to boot: a few potatoes, a wagon-load
THE VILLAGE
or two of straw. And hire the Bride. Send her here as my cook."
And immediately Tikhon Hitch felt as though a stone had been rolled off his
"Ye-es! a nice state of things, there's no denying it! Indescribable kindliness! If you read history, your hair rises upright in horror: brother pitted against brother, kinsman against kinsman, son against father —treachery and murder, murder and treachery. The Epic legends, too, are a sheer delight: 'he slit his white breast,' 'he let his bowels out on the ground,' 'Ilya did not spare his own daughter; he stepped on her left foot, and pulled her right foot' And the songs? The same thing, always the same: the stepmother is 'wicked and greedy'; the father-in-law, 'harsh and quarrelsome,' sits on the sleeping-shelf above the stove, 'just like a dog
THE VILLAGE
on a rope'; the mother-in-law, equally wicked, sits on the stove 'just like a bitch on a chain'; the sisters-in-law are invariably 'young dogs and tricksters'; the brothers-in-law are 'malicious scoffers'; the husband is 'either a fool or a drunkard'; the 'old father-in-law bids him beat his wife soundly, until her hide drops off to her heels'; while the wife, having 'scrubbed the floor' for this same old man, 'ladled out the sour cabbage-soup, scraped the threshold clean, and baked turnover-patties,' addresses this sort of a speech to her husband: 'Get up, you disgusting fellow, wake up: here's dish-water, wash yourself; here are your leg-wrappers, wipe yourself; here's a bit of rope, hang yourself.' And our adages, Tikhon Hitch! Could anything more lewd and filthy be invented? And our proverbs! 'One man who has been soundly thrashed is worth two who have not been.' 'Simplicity is worse than thieving.' "
"So, according to you, the best way for a man to live is like an arrant fool?" inquired Tikhon Hitch with a sneer.
And Kuzma joyfully snapped up his words: "Well, that's right, that's the idea! There's nothing in the whole world so beggar-bare as we are, and on the other hand there's nobody more insolent on the ground of that same nakedness. What's the vicious way to insult a person? Accuse 'em of poverty! Say: 'You devil! You haven't a morsel to eat.' Here's an illustration: Deniska—well, I mean the son of Syery, he's a cobbler—said to me the other day—" '
THE VILLAGE
"Wait a minute," interrupted Tikhon Hitch. "How's Syery himself getting on?"
"Deniska says he's 'perishing with hunger.' "
"A good-for-nothing peasant!" said Tikhon Hitch with conviction. "Don't sing any of your songs about him to me."
"I'm not singing!" retorted Kuzma angrily. "But I ought to do it. For his name is Krasoff. However, that's another story. You'd better listen to what I have to say about Deniska. Well, he told me this: 'Sometimes, in a famine year, we foremen would go to the neighbourhood of the cemetery in the Black Suburb; and there those public women were—regular troops of them. And they were hungry, the lean hags, extremely hungry! If you gave one of them half a pound of bread for her work she'd devour it to the last crumb, there under you. It was downright ridiculous!' Take note," cried Kuzma sternly, pausing: "It was downright ridiculous'!"
"Oh, stop it, for Christ's sake!" Tikhon Hitch interrupted again. "Give me a chance to say a word about business!"
Kuzma stopped short. "Well, talk away," said he. "Only, what are you going to say? Tell him 'You ought to do thus and so'? Not a bit of it! If you give him money—that's the end of it. Just think it over: they have no fuel, they have nothing to eat, nothing to pay for a funeral. That means, 'tis your most sacred duty to give them some money—well, and something more to boot: a few potatoes, a wagon-load
THE VILLAGE
or two of straw. And hire the Bride. Send her here as my cook."
And immediately Tikhon Hitch felt as though a stone had been rolled off his
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