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Updated: May 9, 2025
'Well, what do you want? Mr. Pyenotchkin said again; 'have you lost your tongues, or what? Tell me, you, what is it you want? he added, with a nod at the old man. 'And don't be afraid, stupid. The old man craned forward his dark brown, wrinkled neck, opened his bluish twitching lips, and in a hoarse voice uttered the words, 'Protect us, lord! and again he bent his forehead to the earth.
'Sofron Yakovlitch paid the arrears for me, your honour, the old man went on; 'it's the fifth year's come that he's paid it, he's paid it and he's brought me into slavery to him, your honour, and here 'And why did you get into arrears? Mr. Pyenotchkin asked threateningly. 'And he's an impudent fellow, too, the agent threw in.
Pyenotchkin, obviously trying to imitate the peasant speech, with a wink to me. 'We've settled the land shares, your honour; all by your gracious favour. Day before yesterday the list was made out. The Hlinovsky folks made themselves disagreeable about it at first ... they were disagreeable about it, certainly.
'Hm! commented Arkady Pavlitch. 'Let him not destroy us to the end, gracious protector! Mr. Pyenotchkin scowled, 'What's the meaning of this? he asked the agent, in a low voice, with an air of displeasure. 'He's a drunken fellow, sir, answered the agent, for the first time using this deferential address, 'and lazy too. He's never been out of arrears this five years back, sir.
I began talking to Anpadist about the Shipilovka peasants, and Mr. Pyenotchkin, and asked him whether he knew the agent there. 'Sofron Yakovlitch? ... ugh! 'What sort of man is he? 'He's not a man; he's a dog; you couldn't find another brute like him between here and Kursk. 'Really? 'Why, Shipilovka's hardly reckoned as what's his name? Mr.
'Well, then, now I suppose you 're satisfied. Sofron had only been waiting for this. 'Ah, you are our father, our benefactor! he began, in the same sing- song as before. 'Indeed, now, your honour ... why, for you, our father, we pray day and night to God Almighty.... There's too little land, of course.... Pyenotchkin cut him short.
Twelve miles from my place lives an acquaintance of mine, a landowner and a retired officer in the Guards Arkady Pavlitch Pyenotchkin. He has a great deal of game on his estate, a house built after the design of a French architect, and servants dressed after the English fashion; he gives capital dinners, and a cordial reception to visitors, and, with all that, one goes to see him reluctantly.
'And now it would be as well to ride down to the copse, observed Mr. Pyenotchkin. Saddle-horses were led out to us at once; we went off to the copse, or, as they call it about us, the 'enclosure. In this 'enclosure' we found thick undergrowth and abundance of wild game, for which Arkady Pavlitch applauded Sofron and clapped him on the shoulder.
The bailiff drove a duck away from the puddle. The suppliants remained as they were a little, then looked at each other, and, without turning their heads, went on their way. Two hours later I was at Ryabovo, and making ready to begin shooting, accompanied by Anpadist, a peasant I knew well. Pyenotchkin had been out of humour with Sofron up to the time I left.
We shifted the burden on to other shoulders; you see a dead body's a matter of two hundred roubles, as sure as ninepence. Mr. Pyenotchkin laughed heartily at his agent's cunning, and said several times to me, indicating him with a nod, 'Quel gaillard, eh! Meantime it was quite dark out of doors; Arkady Pavlitch ordered the table to be cleared, and hay to be brought in.
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