“A woman gathers a little grass for her cow; she’s caught and imprisoned,” said the white-bearded old man.
“Our own land is five versts away, and as to renting any it’s impossible; the price is raised so high that it won’t pay,” added the cross, toothless old man. “They twist us into ropes, worse than during serfdom.”
“I think as you do, and I count it a sin to possess land, so I wish to give it away,” said Nekhludoff.
“Well, that’s a good thing,” said the old man, with curls like Angelo’s “Moses,” evidently thinking that Nekhludoff meant to let the land.
“I have come here because I no longer wish to possess any land, and now we must consider the best way of dividing it.”
“Just give it to the peasants, that’s all,” said the cross, toothless old man.
Nekhludoff was abashed for a moment, feeling a suspicion of his not being honest in these words, but he instantly recovered, and made use of the remark, in order to express what was in his mind, in reply.
“I should be glad to give it them,” he said, “but to whom, and how? To which of the peasants? Why, to your commune, and not to that of Deminsk.” (That was the name of a neighbouring village with very little land.) All were silent. Then the ex-soldier said, “Just so.”
“Now, then, tell me how would you divide the land among the peasants if you had to do it?” said Nekhludoff.
“We should divide it up equally, so much for every man,” said the oven-builder, quickly raising and lowering his brows.