“My little sir,” the old man replied to me, “I would be only too delighted, but how can I?—I have offered that Topknot[49] huge remuneration. I offered him three hundred rubles, I assure thee on my honour! but in vain. What is one to do? We had acted illegally, on faith, after the ancient fashion ... and now see what a bad thing has come of it! I am sure that Topknot will take Ivan from me by force the first thing we know; he has a strong hand, the Governor eats sour cabbage-soup with him—the Topknot will send a soldier! I’m afraid of those soldiers! In former days, there’s no denying it, I would have defended Ivan,—but just look at me now, how decrepit I have grown. How am I to wage war?”—And, in fact, during my last visit I found that Alexyei Sergyeitch had aged very greatly; even the pupils of his eyes had acquired a milky hue—like that in infants—and on his lips there appeared not the discerning smile of former days, but that strainedly-sweet, unconscious smirk which never leaves the faces of very old people even in their sleep.
I imparted Alexyei Sergyeitch’s decision to Ivan. He stood a while, held his peace, and shook his head.—“Well,” he said at last, “what is fated to be cannot be avoided. Only my word is firm. That is to say: only one thing remains for me ... play the wag to the end.—Master, please give me something for liquor!” I gave it; he drank himself drunk—and on that same day he danced “the fish” in such wise that the maidens and married women fairly squealed with delight, so whimsically amusing was he.
The next day I went home, and three months later—when I was already in Petersburg—I learned that Ivan had actually kept his word!—He had been sent to his new master; his master had summoned him to his study and announced to him that he was to serve as his coachman, that he entrusted him with a troika of Vyatka horses,[50] and that he should exact a strict account from him if he treated them badly, and, in general, if he were not punctual.—“I’m not fond of jesting,” he said.—Ivan listened to his master, first made obeisance to his very feet, and then informed him that it was as his mercy liked, but he could not be his servant.—“Release me on quit-rent, Your High-Born,” he said, “or make a soldier of me; otherwise there will be a catastrophe before long.”
The master flared up.—“Akh, damn thee! What is this thou darest to say to me?—Know, in the first place, that I am ‘Your Excellency,’ and not ‘Your High-Born’; in the second place, thou art beyond the age, and thy size is not such that I can hand thee over as a soldier; and, in conclusion,—what calamity art thou threatening me with? Art thou preparing to commit arson?”
“No, your Excellency, not to commit arson.”
“To kill me, then, pray?”
Ivan maintained a stubborn silence.—“I will not be your servant,” he said at last.
“Here, then, I’ll show thee,” roared the gentleman, “whether thou wilt be my servant or not!”—And after having cruelly flogged Ivan, he nevertheless ordered that the troika of Vyatka horses should be placed in his charge, and appointed him a coachman at the stables.