Picture to yourselves, gentle readers, a stout, tall man of seventy,
with a face reminding one somewhat of the face of Kriloff, clear and
intelligent eyes under overhanging brows, dignified in bearing, slow in
speech, and deliberate in movement: there you have Ovsyanikov. He wore
an ample blue overcoat with long sleeves, buttoned all the way up, a
lilac silk-handkerchief round his neck, brightly polished boots with
tassels, and altogether resembled in appearance a well-to-do merchant.
His hands were handsome, soft, and white; he often fumbled with the
buttons of his coat as he talked. With his dignity and his composure,
his good sense and his indolence, his uprightness and his obstinacy,
Ovsyanikov reminded me of the Russian boyars of the times before Peter
the Great.... The national holiday dress would have suited him well. He
was one of the last men left of the old time. All his neighbours had a
great respect for him, and considered it an honour to be acquainted
with him. His fellow peasant-proprietors almost worshipped him, and
took off their hats to him from a distance: they were proud of him.
Generally speaking, in these days, it is difficult to tell a
peasant-proprietor from a peasant; his husbandry is almost worse than
the peasant's; his calves are wretchedly small; his horses are only
half alive; his harness is made of rope. Ovsyanikov was an exception to
the general rule, though he did not pass for a wealthy man. He lived
alone with his wife in a clean and comfortable little house, kept a few
servants, whom he dressed in the Russian style and called his
'workmen.' They were employed also in ploughing his land. He did not
attempt to pass for a nobleman, did not affect to be a landowner;
never, as they say, forgot himself; he did not take a seat at the first
invitation to do so, and he never failed to rise from his seat on the
entrance of a new guest, but with such dignity, with such stately
courtesy, that the guest involuntarily made him a more deferential bow.
Ovsyanikov adhered to the antique usages, not from superstition (he was
naturally rather independent in mind), but from habit. He did not, for
instance, like carriages with springs, because he did not find them
comfortable, and preferred to drive in a racing droshky, or in a pretty
little trap with leather cushions, and he always drove his good bay
himself (he kept none but bay horses). His coachman, a young,
rosy-cheeked fellow, his hair cut round like a basin, in a dark blue
coat with a strap round the waist, sat respectfully beside him.
Ovsyanikov always had a nap after dinner and visited the bath-house on
Saturdays; he read none but religious books and used gravely to fix his
round silver spectacles on his nose when he did so; he got up, and went
to bed early. He shaved his beard, however, and wore his hair in the
German style. He always received visitors cordially and affably, but he
did not bow down to the ground, nor fuss over them and press them to
partake of every kind of dried and salted delicacy. 'Wife!' he would
say deliberately, not getting up from his seat, but only turning his
head a little in her direction, 'bring the gentleman a little of
something to eat.' He regarded it as a sin to sell wheat: it was the
gift of God. In the year '40, at the time of the general famine and
terrible scarcity, he shared all his store with the surrounding
landowners and peasants; the following year they gratefully repaid
their debt to him in kind. The neighbours often had recourse to
Ovsyanikov as arbitrator and mediator between them, and they almost
always acquiesced in his decision, and listened to his advice. Thanks
to his intervention, many had conclusively settled their boundaries....
But after two or three tussles with lady-landowners, he announced that
he declined all mediation between persons of the feminine gender. He
could not bear the flurry and excitement, the chatter of women and the
'fuss.' Once his house had somehow got on fire. A workman ran to him in
headlong haste shrieking, 'Fire, fire!' 'Well, what are you screaming
about?' said Ovsyanikov tranquilly, 'give me my cap and my stick.' He
liked to break in his horses himself. Once a spirited horse he was
training bolted with him down a hillside and over a precipice. 'Come,
there, there, you young colt, you'll kill yourself!' said Ovsyanikov
soothingly to him, and an instant later he flew over the precipice
together with the racing droshky, the boy who was sitting behind, and
the horse. Fortunately, the bottom of the ravine was covered with heaps
of sand. No one was injured; only the horse sprained a leg. 'Well, you
see,' continued Ovsyanikov in a calm voice as he got up from the
ground, 'I told you so.' He had found a wife to match him. Tatyana
Ilyinitchna Ovsyanikov was a tall woman, dignified and taciturn, always
dressed in a cinnamon-coloured silk dress. She had a cold air, though
none complained of her severity, but, on the contrary, many poor
creatures called her their little mother and benefactress. Her regular
features, her large dark eyes, and her delicately cut lips, bore
witness even now to her once celebrated beauty. Ovsyanikov had no
children.
I made his acquaintance, as the reader is already aware, at Radilov's,
and two days later I went to see him. I found him at home. He was
reading the lives of the Saints. A grey cat was purring on his
shoulder. He received me, according to his habit, with stately
cordiality. We fell into conversation.
'But tell me the truth, Luka Petrovitch,' I said to him, among other
things; 'weren't things better of old, in your time?'
'In some ways, certainly, things were better, I should say,' replied
Ovsyanikov; 'we lived more easily; there was a greater abundance of
everything. ... All the same, things are better now, and they will be
better still for your children, please God.'
'I had expected you, Luka Petrovitch, to praise the old times.'
'No, I have no special reason to praise old times. Here, for instance,
though you are a landowner now, and just as much a landowner as your
grandfather was, you have not the same power--and, indeed, you are not
yourself the same kind of man. Even now, some noblemen oppress us; but,
of course, it is impossible to help that altogether. Where there are
mills grinding there will be flour. No; I don't see now what I have
experienced myself in my youth.'
'What, for instance?'
'Well, for instance, I will tell you about your grandfather. He was an
overbearing man; he oppressed us poorer folks. You know,
perhaps--indeed, you surely know your own estates--that bit of land
that runs from Tchepligin to Malinina--you have it under oats now....
Well, you know, it is ours--it is all ours. Your grandfather took it
away from us; he rode by on his horse, pointed to it with his hand, and
said, "It's my property," and took possession of it. My father (God
rest his soul!) was a just man; he was a hot-tempered man, too; he
would not put up with it--indeed, who does like to lose his
property?--and he laid a petition before the court. But he was alone:
the others did not appear--they were afraid. So they reported to your
grandfather that "Piotr Ovsyanikov is making a complaint against you
that you were pleased to take away his land." Your grandfather at once
sent his huntsman Baush with a detachment of men.... Well, they seized
my father, and carried him to your estate. I was a little boy at that
time; I ran after him barefoot. What happened? They brought him to your
house, and flogged him right under your windows. And your grandfather
stands on the balcony and looks on; and your grandmother sits at the
window and looks on too. My father cries out, "Gracious lady, Marya
Vasilyevna, intercede for me! have mercy on me!" But her only answer
was to keep getting up to have a look at him. So they exacted a promise
from my father to give up the land, and bade him be thankful they let
him go alive. So it has remained with you. Go and ask your
peasants--what do they call the land, indeed? It's called "The
Cudgelled Land," because it was gained by the cudgel. So you see from
that, we poor folks can't bewail the old order very much.'
I did not know what answer to make Ovsyanikov, and I had not the
courage to look him in the face.
'We had another neighbour who settled amongst us in those days, Komov,
Stepan Niktopolionitch. He used to worry my father out of his life;
when it wasn't one thing, it was another. He was a drunken fellow, and
fond of treating others; and when he was drunk he would say in French,
"_Say bon_," and "Take away the holy images!" He would go to all the
neighbours to ask them to come to him. His horses stood always in
readiness, and if you wouldn't go he would come after you himself at
once!... And he was such a strange fellow! In his sober times he was
not a liar; but when he was drunk he would begin to relate how he had
three houses in Petersburg--one red, with one chimney; another yellow,
with two chimneys; and a third blue, with no chimneys; and three sons
(though he had never even been married), one in the infantry, another
in the cavalry, and the third was his own master.... And he would say
that in each house lived one of his sons; that admirals visited the
eldest, and generals the second, and the third only Englishmen! Then he
would get up and say, "To the health of my eldest son; he is the most
dutiful!" and he would begin to weep. Woe to anyone who refused to
drink the toast! "I will shoot him!" he would say; "and I won't let him
be buried!" ... Then he would jump up and scream, "Dance, God's people,
for your pleasure and my diversion!" Well, then, you must dance; if you
had to die for it, you must dance. He thoroughly worried his serf-girls
to death. Sometimes all night long till morning they would be singing
in chorus, and the one who made the most noise would have a prize. If
they began to be tired, he would lay his head down in his hands, and
begins moaning: "Ah, poor forsaken orphan that I am! They abandon me,
poor little dove!" And the stable-boys would wake the girls up at once.
He took a liking to my father; what was he to do? He almost drove my
father into his grave, and would actually have driven him into it, but
(thank Heaven!) he died himself; in one of his drunken fits he fell off
the pigeon-house. ... There, that's what our sweet little neighbours
were like!'
'How the times have changed!' I observed.
'Yes, yes,' Ovsyanikov assented. 'And there is this to be said--in the
old days the nobility lived more sumptuously. I'm not speaking of the
real grandees now. I used to see them in Moscow. They say such people
are scarce nowadays.'
'Have you been in Moscow?'
'I used to stay there long, very long ago. I am now in my seventy-third
year; and I went to Moscow when I was sixteen.'
Ovsyanikov sighed.
'Whom did you see there?'
'I saw a great many grandees--and every one saw them; they kept open
house for the wonder and admiration of all! Only no one came up to
Count Alexey Grigoryevitch Orlov-Tchesmensky. I often saw Alexey
Grigoryevitch; my uncle was a steward in his service. The count was
pleased to live in Shabolovka, near the Kaluga Gate. He was a grand
gentleman! Such stateliness, such gracious condescension you can't
imagine! and it's impossible to describe it. His figure alone was worth
something, and his strength, and the look in his eyes! Till you knew
him, you did not dare come near him--you were afraid, overawed indeed;
but directly you came near him he was like sunshine warming you up and
making you quite cheerful. He allowed every man access to him in
person, and he was devoted to every kind of sport. He drove himself in
races and out-stripped every one, and he would never get in front at
the start, so as not to offend his adversary; he would not cut it
short, but would pass him at the finish; and he was so pleasant--he
would soothe his adversary, praising his horse. He kept tumbler-pigeons
of a first-rate kind. He would come out into the court, sit down in an
arm-chair, and order them to let loose the pigeons; and his men would
stand all round on the roofs with guns to keep off the hawks. A large
silver basin of water used to be placed at the count's feet, and he
looked at the pigeons reflected in the water. Beggars and poor people
were fed in hundreds at his expense; and what a lot of money he used to
give away!... When he got angry, it was like a clap of thunder.
Everyone was in a great fright, but there was nothing to weep over;
look round a minute after, and he was all smiles again! When he gave a
banquet he made all Moscow drunk!--and see what a clever man he was!
you know he beat the Turk. He was fond of wrestling too; strong men
used to come from Tula, from Harkoff, from Tamboff, and from everywhere
to him. If he threw any one he would pay him a reward; but if any one
threw him, he perfectly loaded him with presents, and kissed him on the
lips.... And once, during my stay at Moscow, he arranged a hunting
party such as had never been in Russia before; he sent invitations to
all the sportsmen in the whole empire, and fixed a day for it, and gave
them three months' notice. They brought with them dogs and grooms:
well, it was an army of people--a regular army!
'First they had a banquet in the usual way, and then they set off into
the open country. The people flocked there in thousands! And what do
you think?... Your father's dog outran them all.'
'Wasn't that Milovidka?' I inquired.
'Milovidka, Milovidka!... So the count began to ask him, "Give me your
dog," says he; "take what you like for her." "No, count," he said, "I
am not a tradesman; I don't sell anything for filthy lucre; for your
sake I am ready to part with my wife even, but not with Milovidka.... I
would give myself into bondage first." And Alexey Grigoryevitch praised
him for it. "I like you for it," he said. Your grandfather took her
back in the coach with him, and when Milovidka died, he buried her in
the garden with music at the burial--yes, a funeral for a dog--and put
a stone with an inscription on it over the dog.'
'Then Alexey Grigoryevitch did not oppress anyone,' I observed.
'Yes, it is always like that; those who can only just keep themselves
afloat are the ones to drag others under.'
'And what sort of a man was this Baush?' I asked after a short silence.
'Why, how comes it you have heard about Milovidka, and not about Baush?
He was your grandfather's chief huntsman and whipper-in. Your
grandfather was as fond of him as of Milovidka. He was a desperate
fellow, and whatever order your grandfather gave him, he would carry it
out in a minute--he'd have run on to a sword at his bidding.... And
when he hallooed ... it was something like a tally-ho in the forest.
And then he would suddenly turn nasty, get off his horse, and lie down
on the ground ... and directly the dogs ceased to hear his voice, it
was all over! They would give up the hottest scent, and wouldn't go on
for anything. Ay, ay, your grandfather did get angry! "Damn me, if I
don't hang the scoundrel! I'll turn him inside out, the antichrist!
I'll stuff his heels down his gullet, the cut-throat!" And it ended by
his going up to find out what he wanted; why he wouldn't halloo to the
hounds? Usually, on such occasions, Baush asked for some vodka, drank
it up, got on his horse, and began to halloo as lustily as ever again.'
'You seem to be fond of hunting too, Luka Petrovitch?'
'I should have been--certainly, not now; now my time is over--but in my
young days.... But you know it was not an easy matter in my position.
It's not suitable for people like us to go trailing after noblemen.
Certainly you may find in our class some drinking, good-for-nothing
fellow who associates with the gentry--but it's a queer sort of
enjoyment.... He only brings shame on himself. They mount him on a
wretched stumbling nag, keep knocking his hat off on to the ground and
cut at him with a whip, pretending to whip the horse, and he must laugh
at everything, and be a laughing-stock for the others. No, I tell you,
the lower your station, the more reserved must be your behaviour, or
else you disgrace yourself directly.'
'Yes,' continued Ovsyanikov with a sigh, 'there's many a gallon of
water has flowed down to the sea since I have been living in the world;
times are different now. Especially I see a great change in the
nobility. The smaller landowners have all either become officials, or
at any rate do not stop here; as for the larger owners, there's no
making them out. I have had experience of them--the larger
landowners--in cases of settling boundaries. And I must tell you; it
does my heart good to see them: they are courteous and affable. Only
this is what astonishes me; they have studied all the sciences, they
speak so fluently that your heart is melted, but they don't understand
the actual business in hand; they don't even perceive what's their own
interest; some bailiff, a bondservant, drives them just where he
pleases, as though they were in a yoke. There's Korolyov--Alexandr
Vladimirovitch--for instance; you know him, perhaps--isn't he every
inch a nobleman? He is handsome, rich, has studied at the 'versities,
and travelled, I think, abroad; he speaks simply and easily, and shakes
hands with us all. You know him?... Well, listen then. Last week we
assembled at Beryozovka at the summons of the mediator, Nikifor Ilitch.
And the mediator, Nikifor Ilitch, says to us: "Gentlemen, we must
settle the boundaries; it's disgraceful; our district is behind all the
others; we must get to work." Well, so we got to work. There followed
discussions, disputes, as usual; our attorney began to make objections.
But the first to make an uproar was Porfiry Ovtchinnikov.... And what
had the fellow to make an uproar about?... He hasn't an acre of ground;
he is acting as representative of his brother. He bawls: "No, you shall
not impose on me! no, you shan't drive me to that! give the plans here!
give me the surveyor's plans, the Judas's plans here!" "But what is
your claim, then?" "Oh, you think I'm a fool! Indeed! do you suppose I
am going to lay bare my claim to you offhand? No, let me have the plans
here--that's what I want!" And he himself is banging his fist on the
plans all the time. Then he mortally offended Marfa Dmitrievna. She
shrieks out, "How dare you asperse my reputation?" "Your reputation,"
says he; "I shouldn't like my chestnut mare to have your reputation."
They poured him out some Madeira at last, and so quieted him; then
others begin to make a row. Alexandr Vladimirovitch Korolyov, the dear
fellow, sat in a corner sucking the knob of his cane, and only shook
his head. I felt ashamed; I could hardly sit it out. "What must he be
thinking of us?" I said to myself. When, behold! Alexandr
Vladimirovitch has got up, and shows signs of wanting to speak. The
mediator exerts himself, says, "Gentlemen, gentlemen, Alexandr
Vladimirovitch wishes to speak." And I must do them this credit; they
were all silent at once. And so Alexandr Vladimirovitch began and said
"that we seemed to have forgotten what we had come together for; that,
indeed, the fixing of boundaries was indisputably advantageous for
owners of land, but actually what was its object? To make things easier
for the peasant, so that he could work and pay his dues more
conveniently; that now the peasant hardly knows his own land, and often
goes to work five miles away; and one can't expect too much of him."
Then Alexandr Vladimirovitch said "that it was disgraceful in a
landowner not to interest himself in the well-being of his peasants;
that in the end, if you look at it rightly, their interests and our
interests are inseparable; if they are well-off we are well-off, and if
they do badly we do badly, and that, consequently, it was injudicious
and wrong to disagree over trifles" ... and so on--and so on.... There,
how he did speak! He seemed to go right to your heart.... All the
gentry hung their heads; I myself, faith, it nearly brought me to
tears. To tell the truth, you would not find sayings like that in the
old books even.... But what was the end of it? He himself would not
give up four acres of peat marsh, and wasn't willing to sell it. He
said, "I am going to drain that marsh for my people, and set up a
cloth-factory on it, with all the latest improvements. I have already,"
he said, "fixed on that place; I have thought out my plans on the
subject." And if only that had been the truth, it would be all very
well; but the simple fact is, Alexandr Vladimirovitch's neighbour,
Anton Karasikov, had refused to buy over Korolyov's bailiff for a
hundred roubles. And so we separated without having done anything. But
Alexandr Vladimirovitch considers to this day that he is right, and
still talks of the cloth-factory; but he does not start draining the
marsh.'
'And how does he manage in his estate?'
'He is always introducing new ways. The peasants don't speak well of
him--but it's useless to listen to them. Alexandr Vladimirovitch is
doing right.'
'How's that, Luka Petrovitch? I thought you kept to the old ways.'
'I--that's another thing. You see I am not a nobleman or a landowner.
What sort of management is mine?... Besides, I don't know how to do
things differently. I try to act according to justice and the law, and
leave the rest in God's hands! Young gentlemen don't like the old
method; I think they are right.... It's the time to take in ideas. Only
this is the pity of it; the young are too theoretical. They treat the
peasant like a doll; they turn him this way and that way; twist him
about and throw him away. And their bailiff, a serf, or some overseer
from the German natives, gets the peasant under his thumb again. Now,
if any one of the young gentlemen would set us an example, would show
us, "See, this is how you ought to manage!" ... What will be the end of
it? Can it be that I shall die without seeing the new methods?... What
is the proverb?--the old is dead, but the young is not born!'
I did not know what reply to make to Ovsyanikov. He looked round, drew
himself nearer to me, and went on in an undertone:
'Have you heard talk of Vassily Nikolaitch Lubozvonov?'
'No, I haven't.'
'Explain to me, please, what sort of strange creature he is. I can't
make anything of it. His peasants have described him, but I can't make
any sense of their tales. He is a young man, you know; it's not long
since he received his heritage from his mother. Well, he arrived at his
estate. The peasants were all collected to stare at their master.
Vassily Nikolaitch came out to them. The peasants looked at
him--strange to relate! the master wore plush pantaloons like a
coachman, and he had on boots with trimming at the top; he wore a red
shirt and a coachman's long coat too; he had let his beard grow, and
had such a strange hat and such a strange face--could he be drunk? No,
he wasn't drunk, and yet he didn't seem quite right. "Good health to
you, lads!" he says; "God keep you!" The peasants bow to the ground,
but without speaking; they began to feel frightened, you know. And he
too seemed timid. He began to make a speech to them: "I am a Russian,"
he says, "and you are Russians; I like everything Russian.... Russia,"
says he, "is my heart, and my blood too is Russian".... Then he
suddenly gives the order: "Come, lads, sing a Russian national song!"
The peasants' legs shook under them with fright; they were utterly
stupefied. One bold spirit did begin to sing, but he sat down at once
on the ground and hid himself behind the others.... And what is so
surprising is this: we have had landowners like that, dare-devil
gentlemen, regular rakes, of course: they dressed pretty much like
coachmen, and danced themselves and played on the guitar, and sang and
drank with their house-serfs and feasted with the peasants; but this
Vassily Nikolaitch is like a girl; he is always reading books or
writing, or else declaiming poetry aloud--he never addresses any one;
he is shy, walks by himself in his garden; seems either bored or sad.
The old bailiff at first was in a thorough scare; before Vassily
Nikolaitch's arrival he was afraid to go near the peasants' houses; he
bowed to all of them--one could see the cat knew whose butter he had
eaten! And the peasants were full of hope; they thought, 'Fiddlesticks,
my friend!--now they'll make you answer for it, my dear; they'll lead
you a dance now, you robber!' ... But instead of this it has turned
out--how shall I explain it to you?--God Almighty could not account for
how things have turned out! Vassily Nikolaitch summoned him to his
presence and says, blushing himself and breathing quick, you know: "Be
upright in my service; don't oppress any one--do you hear?" And since
that day he has never asked to see him in person again! He lives on his
own property like a stranger. Well, the bailiff's been enjoying
himself, and the peasants don't dare to go to Vassily Nikolaitch; they
are afraid. And do you see what's a matter for wonder again; the master
even bows to them and looks graciously at them; but he seems to turn
their stomachs with fright! 'What do you say to such a strange state of
things, your honour? Either I have grown stupid in my old age, or
something.... I can't understand it.'