at our morning coffee, by the violent irruption into the dining-room, on
his knees, of a man with clasped hands uplifted, rolling eyes, and hair
wildly tossing, as he knocked his head on the floor, kissed our
hostess's gown, and uttered heart-rending appeals to her, to Heaven, and
to all the saints. "_Barynya!_ dear mistress!" he wailed. "Forgive! _Yay
Bogu_, it was not my fault. The Virgin herself knows that the carpenter
forced me to it. I'll never do it again, never. God is my witness!
_Barynya! Ba-a-rynya! Ba-a-a-a-a-a-rynya!_" in an indescribable, subdued
howl. He was one of her former serfs, the keeper of the dramshop; and
the carpenter, that indispensable functionary on an isolated estate, had
"drunk up" all his tools (which did not belong to him, but to our
hostess) at this man's establishment. The sly publican did not offer to
return them, and he would not have so much as condescended to promises
for the misty future, had he not been aware that the law permits the
closing of pothouses on the complaint of proprietors in just such
predicaments as this, as well as on the vote of the peasant Commune.
Having won temporary respite by his well-acted anguish, he was ready to
proceed again on the national plan of _avos_ which may be vulgarly
rendered into English by "running for luck."
But even more attractive than these house diversions and the village
were the other external features of that sweet country life. The
mushroom season was beginning. Equipped with baskets of ambitious size,
we roamed the forests, which are carpeted in spring with lilies of the
valley, and all summer long, even under the densest shadow, with rich
grass. We learned the home and habits of the shrimp-pink mushroom, which
is generally eaten salted; of the fat white and birch mushrooms, with
their chocolate caps, to be eaten fresh; of the brown and green butter
mushroom, most delicious of all to our taste, and beloved of the black
beetle, whom we surprised at his feast. However, the mushrooms were only
an excuse for dreaming away the afternoons amid the sweet glints of the
fragrant snowy birch-trees and the green-gold flickerings of the pines,
in the "black forest," which is a forest composed of evergreens and
deciduous trees. Now and then, in our rambles, we met and skirted great
pits dug in the grassy roads to prevent the peasants from conveniently
perpetrating thefts of wood. Once we came upon a party of timber-thieves
(it was Sunday afternoon), who espied us in time to rattle off in their
rude _telyega_ with their prize, a great tree, at a rate which would
have reduced ordinary flesh and bones to a jelly; leaving us to stare
helplessly at the freshly hewn stump. Tawny hares tripped across our
path, or gazed at us from the green twilight of the bushes, as we lay on
the turf and discussed all things in the modern heaven and earth, from
theosophy and Keely's motor to--the other extreme.
When the peasants had not forestalled us, we returned home with masses
of mushrooms, flower-like in hue,--bronze, pink, snow-white, green,
and yellow; and Osip cooked them delicately, in sour cream, to accompany
the juicy young blackcock and other game of our host's shooting. Osip
was a _cordon bleu_, and taxed his ingenuity to initiate us into all the
mysteries of Russian cooking, which, under his tuition, we found
delicious. The only national dish which we never really learned to like
was one in which he had no hand,--fresh cucumbers sliced lengthwise
and spread thick with new honey, which is supposed to be eaten after the
honey has been blessed, with the fruits, on the feast of the
Transfiguration, but which in practice is devoured whenever found, as
the village priest was probably aware. The priest was himself an
enthusiastic keeper of bees in odd, primitive hives. It was really
amazing to note the difference between the good, simple-mannered old man
in his humble home, where he received us in socks and a faded cassock,
and nearly suffocated us with vivaciously repetitious hospitality, tea,
and preserves, and the priest, with his truly majestic and inspired
mien, as he served the altar.
Among the wild creatures in our host's great forests were hares, wolves,
moose, and bears. The moose had retreated, for the hot weather, to the
lakes on the Crown lands adjacent, to escape the maddening attacks of
the gadflies. Though it was not the hungry height of the season with the
wolves, there was always an exciting possibility of encountering a stray
specimen during our strolls, and we found the skull and bones of a horse
which they had killed the past winter. From early autumn these gray
terrors roam the scene of our mushroom-parties, in packs, and kill
cattle in ill-protected farmyards and children in the villages.
It was too early for hare-coursing or wolf-hunting, but feathered game
was plentiful. Great was the rivalry in "bags" between our host and the
butler, a jealously keen sportsman. His dog, Modistka (the little
milliner), had taught the clever pointer Milton terribly bad tricks of
hunting alone, and was even initiating her puppies into the same evil
ways. When "Monsieur, Madame, and Bebe;" returned triumphantly from the
forest with their booty, and presented it to their indignant masters,
there were fine scenes! Bebe and his brothers of the litter were so
exactly alike in every detail that they could not be distinguished one
from the other. Hence they had been dubbed _tchinovniki_ (the
officials), a bit of innocent malice which every Russian can appreciate.
Of the existence of bears we had one convincing glimpse. We drove off,
one morning, in a drizzling rain, to picnic on a distant estate of our
host, in a "red" or "beautiful" forest (the two adjectives are
synonymous in Russian), which is composed entirely of pines. During our
long tramp through a superb growth of pines, every one of which would
have furnished a mainmast for the largest old-fashioned ship, a bear
stepped out as we passed through a narrow defile, and showed an
inclination to join our party. The armed Russian and Mordvinian
foresters, our guides and protectors, were in the vanguard; and as Misha
seemed peaceably disposed we relinquished all designs on his pelt,
consoling ourselves with the reflection that it would not be good at
this season of the year. We camped out on the crest of the hill, upon a
huge rug, soft and thick, the work of serfs in former days, representing
an art now well-nigh lost, and feasted on nut-sweet crayfish from the
Volga, new potatoes cooked in our gypsy kettle, curds, sour black bread,
and other more conventional delicacies. The rain pattered softly on us,
--we disdained umbrellas,--and on the pine needles, rising in
hillocks, here and there, over snowy great mushrooms, of a sort to be
salted and eaten during fasts. The wife of the priest, who is condemned
to so much fasting, had a wonderfully keen instinct for these particular
mushrooms, and had explained to us all their merits, which seemed
obscure to our non-fasting souls. Our Russian forester regaled us with
forest lore, as we lay on our backs to look at the tops of the trees.
But, to my amazement, he had never heard of the _Leshi_ and the
_Vodyanoi_, the wood-king and water-king of the folk-tales. At all
events, he had never seen them, nor heard their weird frolics in the
boughs and waves. The Mordvinian contributed to the entertainment by
telling us of his people's costumes and habits, and gave us a lesson in
his language, which was of the Tatar-Finnish variety. Like the Tchuvashi
and other tribes here on the Volga, the Mordvinians furnish pleasurable
excitement and bewilderment to ethnographists and students of religions.
These simple amusements came to an end all too soon, despite the rain.
We were seized with a fancy to try the peasant _telyega_ for the
descent, and packed ourselves in with the rug and utensils. Our
Mordvinian, swarthy and gray-eyed, walked beside us, casting glances of
inquiry at us, as the shaggy little horse plunged along, to ascertain
our degrees of satisfaction with the experiment. He thrust the dripping
boughs from our faces with graceful, natural courtesy; and when we
alighted, breathless and shaken to a pulp, at the forester's hut, where
our carriages awaited us, he picked up the hairpins and gave them to us
gravely, one by one, as needed. We were so entirely content with our
_telyega_ experience that we were in no undue haste to repeat it. We
drove home in the persistent rain, which had affected neither our bodies
nor our spirits, bearing a trophy of unfringed gentians to add to our
collection of goldenrod, harebells, rose-colored fringed pinks, and
other familiar wild flowers which reminded us of the western hemisphere.
The days were too brief for our delights. In the afternoons and
evenings, we took breezy gallops through the forests, along the boundary
sward of the fields, across the rich black soil of that third of the
land which, in the "three-field" system of cultivation, is allowed to
lie fallow after it has borne a crop of winter grain, rye, and one of
summer grain, oats. We watched the peasants plowing or scattering the
seed-corn, or returning, mounted side-saddle fashion on their horses,
with their primitive plows reversed. Only such rich land could tolerate
these Adam-like earth-scratchers. As we met the cows on their way home
from pasture, we took observations, to verify the whimsical barometer of
the peasants; and we found that if a light-hued cow headed the
procession the next day really was pretty sure to be fair, while a dark
cow brought foul weather. As the twilight deepened, the quail piped
under the very hoofs of our horses; the moon rose over the forest, which
would soon ring with the howl of wolves; the fresh breath of the river
came to us laden with peculiar scents, through which penetrated the
heavy odor of the green-black hemp.
One day the horses were ordered, as usual. They did not appear. The
cavalryman who had been hired expressly to train them had not only
neglected his duty, but had run away, without warning, to reap his own
little field, in parts unknown. He had carefully observed silence as to
its existence, when he was engaged. This was item number one. Item
number two was that there was something the matter with all the horses,
except Little Boy, Little Bird, and the small white Bashkir horse from
the steppes, whose ear had been slit to subdue his wildness. The truth
was, the steward's young son had been practicing high jumping, bareback,
in a circus costume of pink calico shirt and trousers, topped by his
tow-colored hair. We had seen this surreptitious performance, but
considered it best to betray nothing, as the lad had done so well in the
village school that our hosts were about to send him to town, to
continue his studies at their expense.
The overseer, another soldier, was ordered to don his uniform and
accompany us. He rebelled. "He had just got his hair grown to the square
state which suited his peasant garb, and it would not go with his
dragoon's uniform in the least. Why, he would look like a Kazak!
Impossible, utterly!" He was sternly commanded not to consider his hair;
this was not the city, with spectators. When he finally appeared, in
full array, we saw that he had applied the shears to his locks, in a
hasty effort to compromise between war and peace without losing the cut.
The effect was peculiar; it would strike his commanding officer dumb
with mirth and horror. He blushed in a deprecating manner whenever we
glanced at him.
There was a bath-house beside the river. But a greater luxury was the
hot bath, presided over by old Alexandra. Alexandra, born a serf on the
estate, was now like a humble member of the family, the relations not
having changed, perceptibly, since the emancipation, to the old woman's
satisfaction. She believed firmly in the _Domovoi_ (the house sprite),
and told wonderful tales of her experiences with him. Skepticism on that
point did not please her. When the horses were brought round with matted
manes, a sign of an affectionate visit from the _Domovoi_, which must
not be removed, under penalty of his displeasure, it was useless to tell
Alexandra that a weasel had been caught in the act, and that her sprite
was no other. She clung to her belief in her dreaded friend.
The bath was a small log house, situated a short distance from the
manor. It was divided into anteroom, dressing-room, and the bath proper.
When we were ready, Alexandra, a famous bath-woman, took boiling water
from the tank in the corner oven, which had been heating for hours, made
a strong lather, and scrubbed us soundly with a wad of linden bast
shredded into fibres. Her wad was of the choicest sort; not that which
is sold in the popular markets, but that which is procured by stripping
into rather coarse filaments the strands of an old mat-sack, such as is
used for everything in Russia, from wrappers for sheet iron to bags for
carrying a pound of cherries. After a final douche with boiling water,
we mounted the high shelf, with its wooden pillow, and the artistic part
of the operation began. As we lay there in the suffocating steam,
Alexandra whipped us thoroughly with a small besom of birch twigs,
rendered pliable and secure of their tender leaves by a preliminary
plunge in boiling water. When we gasped for breath, she interpreted it
as a symptom of speechless delight, and flew to the oven and dashed a
bucket of cold water on the red-hot stones placed there for the purpose.
The steam poured forth in intolerable clouds; but we submitted,
powerless to protest. Alexandra, with all her clothes on, seemed not to
feel the heat. She administered a merciless yet gentle massage to every
limb with her birch rods,--what would it have been like if she had
used nettles, the peasants' delight?--and rescued us from utter
collapse just in time by a douche of ice-cold water. We huddled on all
the warm clothing we owned, were driven home, plied with boiling tea,
and put to bed for two hours. At the end of that time we felt made over,
physically, and ready to beg for another birching. But we were warned
not to expose ourselves to cold for at least twenty-four hours, although
we had often seen peasants, fresh from their bath, birch besom in hand,
in the wintry streets of the two capitals.
We visited the peasants in their cottages, and found them very reluctant
to sell anything except towel crash. All other linen which they wove
they needed for themselves, and it looked as even and strong as iron.
Here in the south the rope-and-moss-plugged log house stood flat on the
ground, and was thatched with straw, which was secured by a ladder-like
arrangement of poles along the gable ends. Three tiny windows, with
tinier panes, relieved the street front of the house. The entrance was
on the side, from the small farmyard, littered with farming implements,
chickens, and manure, and inclosed with the usual fence of wattled
branches. From the small ante-room designed to keep out the winter cold,
the store-room opened at the rear, and the living-room at the front. The
left hand corner of the living-room, as one entered, was occupied by the
oven, made of stones and clay, and whitewashed. In it the cooking was
done by placing the pots among the glowing wood coals. The bread was
baked when the coals had been raked out. Later still, when desired, the
owners took their steam bath, more resembling a roasting, inside it, and
the old people kept their aged bones warm by sleeping on top of it,
close to the low ceiling. Round three sides of the room ran a broad
bench, which served for furniture and beds. In the right-hand corner,
opposite the door,--the "great corner" of honor,--was the case of
images, in front of which stood the rough table whereon meals were
eaten. This was convenient, since the images were saluted, at the
beginning and end of meals, with the sign of the cross and a murmured
prayer. The case contained the sacred picture wherewith the young couple
were blessed by their parents on their marriage, and any others which
they might have acquired, with possibly a branch of their Palm Sunday
pussy willows. A narrow room, monopolizing one of the windows, opened
from the living-room, beyond the oven, and served as pantry and kitchen.
A wooden trough, like a chopping-tray, was the washtub. The ironing or
mangling apparatus consisted of a rolling-pin, round which the article
of clothing was wrapped, and a curved paddle of hard wood, its
under-surface carved in pretty geometrical designs, with which it was
smoothed. This paddle served also to beat the clothes upon the stones,
when the washing was done in the river, in warm weather. A few wooden
bowls and spoons and earthen pots, including the variety which keeps
milk cool without either ice or running water, completed the household
utensils. Add a loom for weaving crash, the blue linen for the men's
trousers and the women's scant _sarafans_, and the white for their
aprons and chemises, and the cloth for coats, and the furnishing was
done.
The village granaries, with wattled walls and thatched roofs, are placed
apart, to lessen the danger from fire, near the large gates which give
admission to the village, through the wattled fence encircling it. These
gates, closed at night, are guarded by peasants who are unfitted,
through age or infirmities, for field labor. They employ themselves, in
their tiny wattled lean-tos, in plaiting the low shoes of linden bark,
used by both men and women, in making carts, or in some other simple
occupation. An axe--a whole armory of tools to the Russian peasant--
and an iron bolt are their sole implements.
We were cut off from intercourse with one of the neighboring estates by
the appearance there of the Siberian cattle plague, and were told that,
should it spread, arrivals from that quarter would be admitted to the
village only after passing through the disinfecting fumes of dung fires
burning at the gate.
Incendiaries and horse-thieves are the scourges of village life in
Russia. Such men can be banished to Siberia, by a vote of the Commune of
peasant householders. But as the Commune must bear the expense, and
people are afraid that the evil-doer will revenge himself by setting the
village on fire, if he discovers their plan, this privilege is exercised
with comparative rarity. The man who steals the peasant's horse condemns
him to starvation and ruin. Such a man there had been in our friends'
village, and for long years they had borne with him patiently. He was
crafty and had "influence" in some mysterious fashion, which made him a
dangerous customer to deal with. But at last he was sent off. Now,
during our visit, the village was trembling over a rumor that he was on
his way back to wreak vengeance on his former neighbors. I presume they
were obliged to have him banished again, by administrative order from
the Minister of the Interior,--the only remedy when one of this class
of exiles has served out his term,--before they could sleep
tranquilly.
When seen in his village home, it is impossible not to admire the
hard-working, intelligent, patient, gentle, and sympathetic _muzhik_, in
spite of all his faults. We made acquaintance with some of his
democratic manners during a truly unique picnic, arranged by our
charming hosts expressly to convince us that the famous sterlet merited
its reputation. We had tried it in first-class hotels and at their own
table, as well as at other private tables, and we maintained that it was
merely a sweet, fine-grained, insipid fish.
"Wait until we show you _zhiryokha_ [sterlet grilled in its own fat] and
_ukha_ [soup] as prepared by the fishermen of the Volga. The Petersburg
and Moscow people cannot even tell you the meaning of the word
'_zhiryokha_'" was the reply. "As for the famous 'amber' soup, you have
seen that even Osip's efforts do not deserve the epithet."
Accordingly, we assembled one morning at seven o'clock, to the sound of
the hunting-horn, to set out for a point on the Volga twelve miles
distant. We found Milton, the Milliner, and the whole litter of
officials in possession of the carriage, and the coachman's dignity
relaxed into a grin at their antics, evoked by a suspicion that we were
going hunting. Our vehicle, on this occasion, as on all our expeditions
to field and forest, was a stoutly built, springless carriage, called a
_lineika_, or little line, which is better adapted than any other to
country roads, and is much used. In Kazan, by some curious confusion of
ideas, it is called a "guitar." Another nickname for it is "the
lieutenant's coach," which was bestowed upon it by the Emperor Nicholas.
The Tzar came to visit one of the Volga provinces, and found a _lineika_
awaiting him at the landing, for the reason that nothing more elegant,
and with springs, could scale the ascent to the town, over the rough
roads. The landed proprietors of that government were noted for their
dislike for the service of the state, which led them to shirk it,
regardless of the dignity and titles to be thus acquired. They were in
the habit of retiring to their beloved country homes when they had
attained the lowest permissible rung of that wonderful Jacob's ladder
leading to the heaven of officialdom, established by Peter the Great,
and dubbed the Table of Ranks. This grade was lieutenant in the army or
navy, and the corresponding counselor in the civil service. The story
runs that Nicholas stretched himself out at full length on it for a
moment, and gave it its name. Naturally, such men accepted the Emperor's
jest as a compliment, and perpetuated its memory.
This style of carriage, which I have already described in my account of
our visit to Count Tolstoy, is a development of the Russian racing-gig,
which is also used for rough driving in the country, by landed
proprietors. In the latter case it is merely a short board, bare or
upholstered, on which the occupant sits astride, with his feet resting
on the forward axle. Old engravings represent this uncomfortable model
as the public carriage of St. Petersburg at the close of the last
century.
Our _troika_ of horses was caparisoned in blue and red leather, lavishly
decorated with large metal plaques and with chains which musically
replaced portions of the leather straps. Over the neck of the middle
horse, who trotted, rose an ornamented arch of wood. The side horses,
loosely attached by leather thongs, galloped with much freedom and
grace, their heads bent downward and outward, so that we could watch
their beautiful eyes and crimson nostrils. Our coachman's long _armyak_
of dark blue cloth, confined by a gay girdle, was topped by a close
turban hat of black felt, stuck all the way round with a row of eyes
from a peacock's tail. He observed all the correct rules of Russian
driving, dashing up ascents at full speed, and holding his arms
outstretched as though engaged in a race, which our pace suggested.
Our road to the Volga lay, at first, through a vast grainfield, dotted
with peasants at the harvest. Miles of sunflowers followed. They provide
oil for the poorer classes to use in cooking during the numerous fasts,
when butter is forbidden, and seeds to chew in place of the unattainable
peanut. Our goal was a village situated beneath lofty chalk hills,
dazzling white in the sun. A large portion of the village, which had
been burned a short time before, was already nearly rebuilt, thanks to
the ready-made houses supplied by the novel wood-yards of Samara.
The butler had been dispatched on the previous evening, with a
wagon-load of provisions and comforts, and with orders to make the
necessary arrangements for a boat and crew with fisherman Piotr. But,
for reasons which seemed too voluble and complicated for adequate
expression, Piotr had been as slow of movement as my bumptious
_yamtschik_ of the posting-station, and nothing was ready. Piotr, like
many elderly peasants, might sit for the portrait of his apostolic
namesake. But he approved of more wine "for the stomach's sake" than any
apostle ever ventured to recommend, and he had ingenious methods of
securing it. For example, when he brought crayfish to the house, he
improved the opportunity. The fishermen scorn these dainties, and throw
them out of the nets. The fact that they were specially ordered was
sufficient hint to Piotr. He habitually concealed them in the steward's
hemp patch or some other handy nook, and presented himself to our host
with the announcement that he would produce them when he was paid his
"tea-money" in advance, in the shape of a glass of _vodka_. The swap
always took place.
In spite of this weakness, Piotr was a very well-to-do peasant. We
inspected his establishment and tasted his cream, while he was
exhausting his stock of language. His house was like all others of that
region in plan, and everything was clean and orderly. It had an air
about it as if no one ever ate or really did any work there, which was
decidedly deceptive, and his living-room contained the nearest approach
to a bed and bedding which we had seen: a platform supported by two legs
and the wall, and spread with a small piece of heavy gray and black
felt.