part like the rest, Dron was made village Elder and overseer of

Boguchárovo, and had since filled that post irreproachably for

twenty-three years. The peasants feared him more than they did their

master. The masters, both the old prince and the young, and the steward

respected him and jestingly called him “the Minister.” During the

whole time of his service Dron had never been drunk or ill, never after

sleepless nights or the hardest tasks had he shown the least fatigue,

and though he could not read he had never forgotten a single money

account or the number of quarters of flour in any of the endless

cartloads he sold for the prince, nor a single shock of the whole corn

crop on any single acre of the Boguchárovo fields.

Alpátych, arriving from the devastated Bald Hills estate, sent for his

Dron on the day of the prince’s funeral and told him to have twelve

horses got ready for the princess’ carriages and eighteen carts for

the things to be removed from Boguchárovo. Though the peasants paid

quitrent, Alpátych thought no difficulty would be made about complying

with this order, for there were two hundred and thirty households at

work in Boguchárovo and the peasants were well to do. But on hearing the

order Dron lowered his eyes and remained silent. Alpátych named certain

peasants he knew, from whom he told him to take the carts.

Dron replied that the horses of these peasants were away carting.

Alpátych named others, but they too, according to Dron, had no horses

available: some horses were carting for the government, others were too

weak, and others had died for want of fodder. It seemed that no horses

could be had even for the carriages, much less for the carting.

Alpátych looked intently at Dron and frowned. Just as Dron was a model

village Elder, so Alpátych had not managed the prince’s estates for

twenty years in vain. He was a model steward, possessing in the highest

degree the faculty of divining the needs and instincts of those he dealt

with. Having glanced at Dron he at once understood that his answers did

not express his personal views but the general mood of the Boguchárovo

commune, by which the Elder had already been carried away. But he also

knew that Dron, who had acquired property and was hated by the commune,

must be hesitating between the two camps: the masters’ and the serfs’.

He noticed this hesitation in Dron’s look and therefore frowned and

moved closer up to him.

“Now just listen, Drónushka,” said he. “Don’t talk nonsense to me. His

excellency Prince Andrew himself gave me orders to move all the people

away and not leave them with the enemy, and there is an order from the

Tsar about it too. Anyone who stays is a traitor to the Tsar. Do you

hear?”

“I hear,” Dron answered without lifting his eyes.

Alpátych was not satisfied with this reply.

“Eh, Dron, it will turn out badly!” he said, shaking his head.

“The power is in your hands,” Dron rejoined sadly.

“Eh, Dron, drop it!” Alpátych repeated, withdrawing his hand from his

bosom and solemnly pointing to the floor at Dron’s feet. “I can see

through you and three yards into the ground under you,” he continued,

gazing at the floor in front of Dron.

Dron was disconcerted, glanced furtively at Alpátych and again lowered

his eyes.

“You drop this nonsense and tell the people to get ready to leave their

homes and go to Moscow and to get carts ready for tomorrow morning

for the princess’ things. And don’t go to any meeting yourself, do you

hear?”

Dron suddenly fell on his knees.

“Yákov Alpátych, discharge me! Take the keys from me and discharge me,

for Christ’s sake!”

“Stop that!” cried Alpátych sternly. “I see through you and three yards

under you,” he repeated, knowing that his skill in beekeeping, his

knowledge of the right time to sow the oats, and the fact that he had

been able to retain the old prince’s favor for twenty years had long

since gained him the reputation of being a wizard, and that the power of

seeing three yards under a man is considered an attribute of wizards.

Dron got up and was about to say something, but Alpátych interrupted

him.

“What is it you have got into your heads, eh?... What are you thinking

of, eh?”

“What am I to do with the people?” said Dron. “They’re quite beside

themselves; I have already told them...”

“‘Told them,’ I dare say!” said Alpátych. “Are they drinking?” he asked

abruptly.

“Quite beside themselves, Yákov Alpátych; they’ve fetched another

barrel.”

“Well, then, listen! I’ll go to the police officer, and you tell them

so, and that they must stop this and the carts must be got ready.”

“I understand.”

Alpátych did not insist further. He had managed people for a long time

and knew that the chief way to make them obey is to show no suspicion

that they can possibly disobey. Having wrung a submissive “I understand”

from Dron, Alpátych contented himself with that, though he not only

doubted but felt almost certain that without the help of troops the

carts would not be forthcoming.

And so it was, for when evening came no carts had been provided. In the

village, outside the drink shop, another meeting was being held, which

decided that the horses should be driven out into the woods and the

carts should not be provided. Without saying anything of this to the

princess, Alpátych had his own belongings taken out of the carts which

had arrived from Bald Hills and had those horses got ready for

the princess’ carriages. Meanwhile he went himself to the police

authorities.