1. The Migration

When my grandfather lived in the Government of Simbirsk, on the ancestral estate granted to his forefathers by the Tsars of Muscovy, he felt cramped and confined. Not that there was really want of room; for he had arable land and pasture, timber and other necessaries in abundance; but the trouble was, that the estate which his great-grandfather had held in absolute possession, had ceased to belong to one owner. This happened quite simply: for three successive generations the family consisted of one son and several daughters; and, when some of these daughters were married, their portions took the shape of a certain number of serfs and a certain amount of land. Though their shares were not large, yet, as the land had never been properly surveyed, at this time four intruders asserted their right to share in the management of it. To my grandfather, life under these conditions was intolerable: there was no patience in his passionate temperament; he loved plain dealing and hated complications and wrangles with his kith and kin.

For some time past, he had heard frequent reports about the district of Ufa—how there was land there without limit for the plough and for stock, with an indescribable abundance of game and fish and all the fruit of the earth; and how easy it was to acquire whole tracts of land for a very trifling sum of money. If tales were true, you had only to invite a dozen of the native Bashkir chiefs in certain districts to partake of your hospitality; you provided two or three fat sheep, for them to kill and dress in their own fashion; you produced a bucket of whisky, with several buckets of strong fermented Bashkir mead and a barrel of home-made country beer—which proves, by the way, that even in old days the Bashkirs were not strict Mahometans—and the rest was as simple as A B C. It was said, indeed, that an entertainment of this kind might last a week or even a fortnight: it was impossible for Bashkirs to do business in a hurry, and every day it was necessary to ask the question, "Well, good friend, is it time now to discuss my business?" The guests had been eating and drinking, without exaggeration, all day and all night; but, if they were not completely satisfied with the entertainment, if they had not had enough of their monotonous singing and playing on the pipe, and their singular dances in which they stood up or crouched down on the same spot of ground, then the greatest of the chiefs, clicking his tongue and wagging his head, would answer with much dignity and without looking his questioner in the face: "The time has not come; bring us another sheep!" The sheep was forthcoming, as a matter of course, with fresh supplies of beer and spirits; and the tipsy Bashkirs began again to sing and dance, dropping off to sleep wherever they felt inclined. But everything in the world has an end; and a day came at last when the chief would look his host straight in the face and say: "We are obliged to you, batyushka,² ever so much obliged! And now, what is it that you want?" The rest of the transaction followed a regular fashion. The customer began with the shrewdness native to your true Russian: he assured the Bashkir that he did not want anything at all; but, having heard that the Bashkirs were exceedingly kind people, he had come to Ufa on purpose to form a friendship with them, and so on. Then the conversation would somehow come round to the vast extent of the Bashkir territory and the unsatisfactory ways of the present tenants, who might pay their rent for a year or two and then pay no more and yet continue to live on the land, as if they were its rightful owners; it was rash to evict them, and a lawsuit became unavoidable. These remarks, which were true enough to the facts, were followed up by an obliging offer to relieve the kind Bashkirs of some part of the land which was such a burden to them; and in the end whole districts were bought and sold for a mere song. The bargain was clinched by a legal document, but the amount of land was never stated in it, and could not be, as it had never been surveyed. As a rule, the boundaries were settled by landmarks of this kind: "from the mouth of such and such a stream as far as the dead beech-tree on the wolf-track, and from the dead beech-tree in a bee-line to the watershed, and from the watershed to the fox-earths, and from the fox-earths to the hollow tree at Soltamratka," and so on. So precise and permanent were the boundaries enclosing ten or twenty or thirty thousand dessyatines³ of land! And the price of all this might be about one hundred roubles⁴ and presents worth another hundred, not including the cost of the entertainments.

Stories of this kind had a great attraction for my grandfather. As a man of strict integrity, he disapproved of the deception practised on the simple Bashkirs; but he considered that the harm lay, not in the business itself, but in the method of transacting it, and believed that it was possible to deal fairly and yet to buy a great stretch of land at a low price. In that case he could migrate with his family and transfer half of his serfs to the new estate; and thus he would secure the main object of this design. For the fact was, that for some time past he had been so much worried by unending disputes over the management of the land—disputes between himself and the relations who owned a small part of it—that his desire to leave the place where his ancestors had lived and he himself was born, had become a fixed idea. There was no other means of securing a quiet life; and to him, now that his youth was past, a quiet life seemed more desirable than anything else.

So he scraped together several thousand roubles, and said good-bye to his wife, whom he called Arisha when he was in a good humour and Arina when he was not; he kissed his children and gave them his blessing—his four young daughters and the infant son who was the single scion and sole hope of an ancient and noble family. The daughters he thought of no importance: "What's the good of them? They look out of the house, not in; if their name is Bagroff⁵ to-day, it may be anything on earth to-morrow; my hopes rest entirely on my boy, AlexyÉi"—such were my grandfather's parting words, when he started to cross the Volga on his way to the district of Ufa.

But perhaps I had better begin by telling you what sort of a man my grandfather was.

Stepan Mihailovitch Bagroff—this was his name—was under the middle height; but his prominent chest, uncommonly broad shoulders, sinewy arms, and wiry muscular frame, gave proof of his extraordinary strength. When it happened, in the rough-and-tumble amusements of young men, that a number of his brother-officers fastened on him at once, he would hurl them from him, as a sturdy oak hurls off the rain-drops, when its branches rock in the breeze after a shower. He had fair hair and regular features; his eyes were large and dark-blue, quick to light up with anger but friendly and kind in his hours of composure; his eyebrows were thick and the lines of his mouth pleasant to look at. The general expression of his features was singularly frank and open: no one could help trusting him; his word or his promise was better than any bond, and more sacred than any document guaranteed by Church or State. His natural intelligence was clear and strong. All landowners of that time were ignorant men, and he had received no sort of education; indeed he could hardly read and write his native language. But, while serving in the Army, and before he was promoted from the ranks, he had mastered the elementary rules of arithmetic and the use of the reckoning-board—acquirements of which he liked to speak even when he was an old man. It is probable that his period of service was not long; for he was only quarter-master of the regiment when he retired. But in those days even nobles served for long in the ranks or as non-commissioned officers, unless indeed they passed through this stage in their cradles, first enrolled as sergeants in the Guards and then making a sudden appearance as captains in line regiments. Of the career of Stepan Mihailovitch in the Army I know little; but I have been told that he was often employed in the capture of the highwaymen who infested the Volga, and always showed good sense in the formation of his plans and reckless courage in their execution; that the outlaws knew him well by sight and feared him like fire. On retiring from the Army, he lived for some years on his hereditary estate of Bagrovo⁶ and became very skilful in the management of land. It was not his way to be present from morning to night where his labourers were at work, nor did he stand like a sentry over the grain, when it was coming in and going out; but, when he was on the spot, he looked to some purpose, and, if he noticed anything amiss, especially any attempt to deceive him, he never failed to visit the offender with a summary form of punishment which may rouse the displeasure of my readers. But my grandfather, while acting in accordance with the spirit of his age, reasoned in a fashion of his own. In his view, to punish a peasant by fines or by forced labour on the estate made the man less substantial and therefore less useful to his owner; and to separate him from his family and banish him to a distant estate was even worse, for a man deprived of family ties was sure to go downhill. But to have recourse to the police was simply out of the question; that would have been considered the depth of disgrace and shame; every voice in the village would have been raised to mourn for the offender as if he were dead, and he would have considered himself as disgraced and ruined beyond redemption. And it must be said for my grandfather, that he was never severe except when his anger was hot; when the fit had passed away, the offence was forgotten. Advantage was often taken of this: sometimes the offender had time to hide, and the storm passed by without hurting any one. Before long, his people became so satisfactory that none of them gave him any cause to lose his temper.

After getting his estate into good order, my grandfather married; his bride was Arina Vassilyevna Nyeklyoodoff, a young lady of little fortune but, like himself, of ancient descent. This gives me an opportunity to explain that his pedigree was my grandfather's foible: he was moderately well-to-do, owning only 180 serfs, but his descent, which he traced back, by means of Heaven knows what documents, for six hundred years all the way to a Varyag⁷ prince called Shimon, he valued far more than any riches or office in the State. At one time he was much attracted by a rich and beautiful girl, but he would not marry her, merely because her great-grandfather was not a noble.

After this account of Stepan Mihailovitch, let us go back to the course of the narrative.

My grandfather first crossed the Volga by the ferry near Simbirsk, and then struck across the steppe on the further side, and travelled on till he came to Sergievsk, which stands on a hill at the meeting of two rivers and gives a name to the sulphur springs twelve versts⁸ from the town. The deeper he plunged into the district of Ufa, the more he was impressed by the spaciousness and fertility of that country. The first place where he found trees growing was the district of Boogoorooslan; and in the town of that name, perched on a high hill above the river, he made a halt, wishing to make inquiries and learn more particulars of the lands that were for sale. Of land belonging to the Bashkirs there was little left in this district: some of the occupiers were tenants of the Crown, whom the Government had settled on lands confiscated for rebellion, though later they granted a general pardon and restored their territory to the Bashkir owners; part of the land had been let to tenants by the Bashkirs themselves; and part had been bought up by migrating landowners. Using Boogoorooslan as a centre, my grandfather made expeditions to the surrounding districts and spent some time in the beautiful country watered by the Ik and the Dyoma.⁹ It is an enchanting region; and even in his old age Stepan Mihailovitch often spoke with enthusiasm of the first impression produced on him by the astonishing richness of that soil. But he did not allow himself to be carried away. Ascertaining on the spot that any purchaser of Bashkir land was quite sure to be involved in endless disputes and lawsuits—for it was impossible for the acquirer to make sure either of his own title or of the number of the former owners—my grandfather, who feared and hated like poison the very name of a lawsuit, resolved to buy no land direct from the Bashkirs or without formal legal documents to confirm his ownership. Thus he hoped to exclude the possibility of disputes, and surely he had reason for such a hope; but things turned out very differently, and the last claim was only settled by his youngest grandson when he was forty years old.

My grandfather returned reluctantly from the banks of the Ik and the Dyoma to Boogoorooslan, where he bought land from a Russian lady near the river of that name and distant twenty-five versts from the town. The river is rapid and deep and never runs dry. For forty versts, from the town of Boogoorooslan to the Crown settlement of Fair Bank, the country on both sides of the river was uninhabited, so that there was ample room; and the amenities of the spot were wonderful. The river was so transparent that, if you threw in a copper coin, you could see it resting on the bottom even in pools fifteen feet deep. In some places there was a thick border of trees and bushes—birches, poplars, service-trees, guelder-roses, and bird-cherries, where the hop-bines trailed their green festoons and hung their straw-coloured clusters from tree to tree; in other places, the grass grew tall and strong, with an infinite profusion of flowers, including tall Meadow Sweet, Lords' Pride (the scarlet Lychnis), Kings' Curls (the Martagon lily), and Cat-grass or Valerian. The river flows along a valley varying in breadth and bordered on both sides by sloping hills with a steep cliff here and there; the slopes were thickly covered with hard-wood trees of all sorts. As you got out of the valley, the level steppe spread out before you, a black virgin soil over two feet in depth. Along the river and in the neighbouring marshes, wild ducks of all kinds, and geese, woodcocks, and snipe made their nests and filled the air with their different notes and calls; while on the table-land above, where the grass grew thick and strong, the music in the air was as rich and quite distinct. Every kind of bird that lives in the steppe bred there in multitudes—bustards, cranes, and hawks; and on the wooded slopes there were quantities of black-game. The river swarmed with every variety of fish that could endure its ice-cold water—pike, perch, chub, dace, and even salmon. Both steppe and forest were filled beyond belief with wild creatures. In a word, the place was, and still is, a paradise for the sportsman.

My grandfather bought about 12,000 acres for 2500 roubles. That was a large sum in those days, and the price was much higher than was generally paid. When he had assured his title by legal documents, he went back with a light heart to his expectant family in the Government of Simbirsk. There he set to work with fierce energy and made all preparations for transferring at once a portion of his serfs to the new estate. It was an anxious and troublesome job, because the distance was considerable—about 400 versts. That same autumn twenty families of serfs started for the district of Boogoorooslan, taking with them ploughs and harrows with rye for sowing. They chose their ground and set to work on the virgin soil. Two thousand acres were lightly ploughed, then harrowed, and sown with winter rye; two thousand more were ploughed in preparation for the spring sowing; and some cottages were built. When this was done, the men travelled back to spend the winter at home. When winter was over, twenty more labourers again went forth; and, as the spring advanced, they sowed the two thousand acres with spring wheat, erected fences round the cottages and byres, and made stoves for the cottages out of clay. The second party then returned home. These were distinct from the actual settlers, who remained at home, preparing for their move and selling off what they did not need—their houses and kailyards, stock and corn, and all sorts of odds and ends.

The date fixed was the middle of June, that the colonists might reach their destination before St. Peter's Day,¹⁰ when hay-cutting begins. The carts were packed with the women and children and old people, and awnings of bast bent over them to protect them from the sun and rain; the indispensable pots and pans were piled up inside, the cocks and hens perched on the top, and the cows tied on behind; and off they started. The poor settlers shed bitter tears as they parted for ever with their past life, with the church in which they had been christened and married, and with the graves of their fathers and grandfathers. Nobody likes moving, and a Russian peasant least of all; but to move in those days to an unknown land inhabited by unbelievers, where the churches were so distant that a man might die without confession and infants remain long unchristened, a land of which rumour reported evil as well as good—this seemed a terrible ordeal. When the peasants had gone, my grandfather started after them. He had taken a vow that, when circumstances allowed, he would build a church dedicated to the Presentation of Our Lady—it was actually built by his son—and he named the new settlement after the festival. But the peasants, whose example was followed by their neighbours, called it New Bagrovo, after their master and in memory of Old Bagrovo, from which they had come; and to this day the formal name is only used in legal documents. No one knows the village, with its fine stone church and high manor-house, by any other name than Bagrovo. With unremitting care and attention my grandfather watched the labour of the people on their own land and on his; the hay was mown, the winter rye and spring corn were cut down and carried, and the right moment was chosen for each operation. The yield of the crops was fabulous. The peasants thought things were not so bad after all. By November, cottages were built for them all, and the beginning of a house for the owner was run up. All this was not done without help from neighbours. In spite of the long distances, they came willingly to lend a hand to the new landowner, who proved to be sensible and friendly; they ate and drank and turned to with a will, and sang as they worked. In that winter my grandfather went to Simbirsk and brought back his wife and children with him.

Next year forty more serfs were transferred and set up in their new abodes; and this proved an easier job. My grandfather's first operation in this year was to build a mill; without it, it had been necessary to drive forty versts to get his corn ground. A spot was chosen where the river was not deep, the bottom sound, and the banks high and solid. Then a dam of earth and brushwood was started from each bank, like a pair of hands ready to clasp; next, the dam was wattled with osiers, to make it more substantial; and all that remained was to stop the swift strong current and force it to fill the basin intended for it. The mill itself, with two pairs of millstones, was built beforehand on the lower bank. All the machinery was ready and even greased. It was the business of the river, when checked in its natural course, to fill the broad dam and pour through wooden pipes down upon the great wheel. When all was ready and four long oaken piles had been firmly driven into the clay bottom of the river, my grandfather invited his neighbours to lend him their assistance for two days; and they came, bringing horses and carts, spades, forks, and axes. On the first day, great piles of brushwood, straw, manure, and fresh-cut sods were heaped up on both banks of the Boogoorooslan, while the river continued to pour down its waters at its own sweet will. Hardly any one slept that night, and next morning at sunrise about a hundred men set to work to dam the stream; they all looked solemn and serious, as if they had important business before them. They began on both sides at the same moment. With loud cries they hurled with sturdy arms faggots of brushwood into the water; part was carried down by the stream, but part stuck against the piles and sank across the channel. Next came bundles of straw weighted with stones, then soil and manure, then more brushwood, followed by more straw and manure, and, on the top of all, a thick layer of sods. All this accumulation was swallowed up till it rose at last above the surface of the water. At once, a dozen strong and active men sprang on to the barrier and began to tread it and stamp it down. The operation was performed with the utmost speed; and the general excitement was so great and the noise so vociferous, that a passer-by, if he had not known the reason of it, might have been frightened. But there was no one there to be frightened by it: only the uninhabited steppes and dark forests and all the region round re-echoed the shouts of the labourers. The voices of women and children swelled the chorus; for such an important affair aroused interest in every breast, and the noise and excitement were universal. The resistance of the river was not overcome at once. For long it tore away and carried down brushwood and straw, manure and turf; but man at last conquered. The baffled water stopped, as if reflecting; then it turned back, and rose till it poured over its banks and inundated the fields. By evening the mill-pond had taken shape; or one might call it a floating lake, where the banks and all the green grass and bushes had disappeared; only the tops of submerged trees, doomed to die, stuck up here and there. Next day the mill began to work, and goes on working and grinding to this day.

2. The Government of Orenburg

How wonderful in those days was that region, in its wild and virginal richness! It is different now; it is not even what it was when I first knew it, when it was still fresh and blooming and undeflowered by hordes of settlers from every quarter. It is changed; but it is still beautiful and spacious, fertile and infinitely various, the Government of Orenburg. The name sounds strange, and the termination "burg" is inappropriate enough. But when I first knew that earthly paradise, it was still called the "Province of Ufa."

Thirty years ago, one who was born within it¹¹ expressed in verse his fears for the future of the land; and these have been realised in part, and the process still goes on. But still hast thou power to charm, wondrous land! Bright and clear, like great deep cups, are thy lakes—Kandry and Karatabyn. Full of water and full of all manner of fish are thy rivers, whether they race down the valleys and rocky gorges of the Ural Mountains, or steal softly, glittering like a string of jewels, through the prairie-grass of the steppes. Wondrous are these rivers of the steppe, formed by the union of countless little streams flowing from deep water-holes—streams so tiny that you can hardly see the trickle of water in them. And thy rivers that flow swift from fountain-heads and run under the shade of trees and bushes are transparent and cold as ice even in the heat of summer; and all kinds of trout, good to eat and beautiful to see, live there; but they soon die out, when man begins to defile with unclean hands the virgin streams of their clear cool retreats. Fertile is the black soil of thy corn-land, and rich thy pastures; and thy fields are covered in spring with the milk-white blossom of the cherry-tree and wild peach, while in summer the fragrant strawberries spread over them like a scarlet cloth, and the small cherries that turn purple later when they ripen in autumn. Rich is the harvest that rewards the peasant, however idle and ignorant, when he scratches with his rude ploughshare the surface of thy soil. Fresh and green and mighty stand thy forests of all manner of trees; and buzzing swarms of wild bees fill their self-chosen nests among the leaves with the fragrant honey of the lime blossom. The Ufa marten, with its priceless fur, is still to be found in the wooded head-waters of the great rivers.

The original inhabitants of the land are men of peace, the wandering tribes of Bashkirs. Their herds of horses and cattle and flocks of sheep, though far smaller than they were once, are still numerous. When the fierce storms of winter are over, the Bashkirs crawl forth, thin and wasted like flies in winter. With the first warmth and the first sprouting of the grass they drive out into the open their half-starved herds and flocks, and drag themselves after them, with their wives and children. A few weeks change them beyond recognition, both men and animals. What were mere skeletons have become spirited and tireless horses; and the stallion proudly guards his mares as they graze, and keeps both man and beast at a distance. The meagre cattle have grown fat, and their udders swell with milk. But for cow's milk the Bashkir cares nothing. For the koumiss¹² is now in season and already fermenting in the bags of horse-hide; and every creature that can drink, from the infant in arms to the tottering old man, swallows the health-giving beverage, a drink for heroes. And the result is marvellous: all the traces of winter and starvation soon disappear, and even the troubles of old age; their faces fill out, and pale sunken cheeks take on the hue of health. But their deserted villages are a sad and even alarming sight. A traveller unfamiliar with the country might well start, appalled by the emptiness and deadness of the place. There stand the deserted huts with their white chimneys, and the empty window-frames look mournfully at him like human faces with no eyes in the sockets. He may hear the bark of a half-starved watch-dog, whom his master visits and feeds at long intervals, or the mewing of a cat that has run wild and finds food for herself; but that is all: not one human being remains.

How varied and picturesque, each in its own way, are the different regions of the land—the forests, the steppes, and, more than all, the hills, where all metals, even gold, are found along the slopes of the Ural ridge! How vast the expanse, from the borders of Vyatka and Perm, where the mercury often freezes in winter, to the little town of Guryeff on the edge of Astrakhan, where small grapes ripen in the open air—grapes whose wine the Cossack trades in and drinks himself for coolness in summer and warmth in winter. How noble is the fishing in the Urals, unlike any other both in the fish that are caught and in the manner of catching them! It only needs a faithful and lively description to attract general attention.

But I must ask pardon. I have gone too far in the description of the beautiful country where I was born. Now let us go back and observe the life and unwearied activity of my grandfather.

3. Fresh Scenes.

Stepan Mihailovitch had peace at last. Many a time he thanked God from the bottom of his heart, when the move was completed and he found elbow-room on the banks of the Boogoorooslan. His spirits rose, and even his health was better. No petitions, no complaints, no disputes, no disturbance! No tiresome relations, no divided ownership! No thieves to fell his trees, no trespassers to trample down his corn and meadows! He was undisputed master at last in his own house, and beyond it: he might feed sheep, or mow grass, or cut firewood where he pleased without a word from any one.

The peasants too soon became accustomed to the new habitation and soon grew to love it. And that was but natural. Old Bagrovo had wood, but little water; meadow-land was so scarce that it was hard for them to find grazing for one horse and one cow apiece; and, though the natural soil was good, it had been cropped over and over from time immemorial till its fertility was exhausted. The new site gave them wide and fertile fields and meadows, never touched till now by ploughshare or scythe; it gave them a rapid river with good fresh water, and springs in abundance; it gave them a broad pond with fish in it and the river running through it; and it gave them a mill at their very doors, whereas before they had to travel twenty-five versts to have a load of corn ground, and perhaps to wait after all a couple of days till their turn came.

It surprises you perhaps that I called Old Bagrovo waterless; and you may blame my ancestors for choosing such a spot to settle in. But they were not to blame, and things were different in old days. Once on a time Old Bagrovo stood on a pretty stream, the Maina, which took its rise from the Mossy Lakes three versts distant; and also along the whole settlement there stretched a lake, not broad but long and clear, and deep in the middle, with a bottom of white sand; and another streamlet, called The White Spring, issued from this lake. So it was in former times, but it is quite another story now. Tradition tells that the Mossy Lakes were once deep round pools surrounded by trees, with ice-cold water and treacherous banks, and no one ventured near them except in winter, because the banks were said to give way under foot and engulf the bold disturber of the water-spirit's solitary reign. But man is the sworn foe of Nature, and she can never withstand his treacherous warfare against her beauty. Ancient tradition, unsupported by modern instances, ceased to be believed. The people steeped their flax on the banks and drove their herds there to water; and the Mossy Lakes were polluted by degrees, and grew shallow at the edges, and even dried up in places where the wood all round was cut. Then a thick scurf formed on the top; moss grew over it, and the vein-like roots of water-plants bound it together, till it was covered with tussocks and bushes and even fir-trees of some size. One of the pools is now entirely covered; of the other are left two deep water-holes, which even now are formidable for a stranger to approach, because the soil, with all its covering of plants and bushes and trees, rises and falls beneath the foot like a wave at sea. Owing to the dwindling of these lakes, the Maina now issues from the ground some distance below the settlement, and its upper waters have dried up. The lake by the village has become a filthy stinking canal; the sandy bottom is covered to a depth of over seven feet by mud and refuse of all kinds from the peasants' houses; of the White Spring not a trace is left, and the memory of it will soon be forgotten.

When my grandfather had settled down at New Bagrovo, he set to work, with all his natural activity and energy, to grow corn and breed stock. The peasants caught the contagion of his enthusiasm and worked so hard and steadily that they were soon as well set up and provided for as if they had been old inhabitants. After a few years, their stackyards took up thrice as much room as the village-street; and their drove of stout horses, their herds and flocks and pigs, would have done honour to a large and prosperous settlement.

After the success of Stepan Mihailovitch, migration to Ufa or Orenburg became more fashionable every year. Native tribes came streaming from every quarter—Mordvinians, Choovashes, Tatars, and Meshchers, and plenty of Russian settlers too—Crown-tenants from different districts, and landowners, large and small. My grandfather began to have neighbours. His brother-in-law, Ivan Nyeklyoodoff, bought land within twelve versts of Bagrovo, transferred his serfs there, built a wooden church, named his estate Nyeklyoodovo, and came to live there with his family. This afforded no gratification to my grandfather, who had a strong dislike to all his wife's relations—all "Nyeklyoodovdom," as he used to call them. Then a landowner called BakmÉtyeff bought land still closer, about ten versts from Bagrovo, on the upper waters of the Sovrusha, which runs to the south-west like the Boogoorooslan. On the other side, twelve versts along the river Nasyagai, another settlement was planted, Polibino, which now belongs to the Karamzin family. The Nasyagai is a larger and finer river than the Boogoorooslan, with more water and more fish in it, and birds still breed there much more freely. On the road to Polibino, and eight versts from Bagrovo, a number of Mordvinians settled in a large village called Noikino, and built a mill on the streamlet of Bokla. Close to the mill, the Bokla runs into the Nasyagai, which rolls its swift strong current straight to the south-west, and is reinforced by the Boogoorooslan not far from the town of that name. Then the Nasyagai unites with the Great Kinel, and loses thenceforth its sounding and significant¹³ name.

The latest arrivals were some Mordvinian colonists, a detachment from the larger settlement at Mordovsky Boogoorooslan, nine versts from Bagrovo. This smaller settlement, called Kivatsky, was within two versts of my grandfather, down the river; and he made a wry face at first; for it reminded him of old times in Simbirsk. But the result was quite different. They were good-tempered, quiet people, who respected my grandfather as much as the official in charge of them.

Before many years had passed, Stepan Mihailovitch had gained the deep respect and love too of the whole district. He was a real benefactor to his neighbours, near or far, old or new, and especially to the latter, owing to their ignorance of the place and lack of supplies, and the various difficulties which always befall settlers. Too often people start off on this difficult job without due preparation, without even providing themselves with bread and corn or the means to buy them. My grandfather's full granaries were always open to such people. "Take what you want, and pay me back next harvest, if you can; and if you can't—well, never mind!"—with such words as these he used to distribute with a generous hand corn seed and flour. And more than this: he was so sensible, so considerate towards petitioners, and so inflexibly strict in the keeping of his word, that he soon became quite an oracle in that newly settled corner of the spacious district of Orenburg. Not only did he help his neighbours by his generosity, but he taught them how to behave. To speak the truth was the only key to his favour: a man who had once lied to him and deceived him was ill advised if he came again to Bagrovo: he would be certain to depart with empty hands, and might think himself lucky if he came off with a whole skin. My grandfather settled many family disputes and smothered many lawsuits at their first birth. People travelled from every quarter to seek his advice and hear his decision; and both were punctiliously followed. I have known grandsons and great-grandsons of that generation and heard them speak of Stepan Mihailovitch; and the figure of the strict master but kind benefactor is still unforgotten. I have often heard striking facts told about him by simple people, who shed tears and crossed themselves as they ejaculated a prayer for his soul's rest. It is not surprising that his peasants loved so excellent a master; but he was loved also by his personal servants who had often to endure the terrible storms of his furious rage. Many of his younger servants spent their last days under my roof; and in their old age they liked to talk of their late master—of his strict discipline and passionate temper, and also of his goodness and justice; and they never spoke of him with dry eyes.

Yet this kind, helpful, and even considerate man was subject at times to fearful explosions of anger which utterly defaced the image of humanity in him and made him capable, for the time, of repulsive and ferocious actions. I once saw him in this state when I was a child—it was many years after the time I am writing about—and the fear that I felt has left a lively impression on my mind to this day. I seem to see him before me now. He was angry with one of his daughters; I believe she had told him a lie and persisted in it. It was impossible to recognise his former self. He was trembling all over and supported on each side by a servant; his face was convulsed, and a fierce fire shot from his eyes which were clouded and darkened with fury. "Let me get at her!"—he called out in a strangled voice. (So far, my recollection is clear; and the rest I have often heard others tell.) My grandmother tried to throw herself at his feet, to intercede for the culprit; but in an instant her kerchief and cap flew to a distance, and Stepan Mihailovitch was dragging his wife though she was now old and stout, over the floor by her hair. Meantime, not only the offender, but all her sisters, and even their brother with his young wife and little son,¹⁴ had fled out of doors and sought concealment in the wood that grew round the house. The rest of them spent the whole night there; but the daughter-in-law, fearing that her child would catch cold, went back and passed the night in a servant's cottage. For a long time my grandfather raged at large through the deserted house. At last, when he was weary of dragging his wife about by the hair, and weary of striking his servants, Mazan and Tanaichonok, he dropped upon his bed utterly exhausted and soon fell into a deep sleep which lasted till the following morning.

At dawn Stepan Mihailovitch woke up. His face was bright and clear, and his voice cheerful as he hailed his wife. She hurried in at once from the next room, looking as if nothing had happened the day before. "I want my tea! Where are the children, and AlexyÉi and his wife? I want to see Seryozha"—thus spoke the madman on his waking, and all the family appeared, composed and cheerful, in his presence. But there was one exception. His daughter-in-law was a woman of strong character herself, and no entreaties could induce her to smile so soon upon the wild beast of the day before; and her little son kept constantly saying, "I won't go to grandfather! I'm frightened!" She really did not feel well and excused herself on that ground; and she kept her child in her room. The family were horrified and expected a renewal of the storm. But the wild beast of yesterday had wakened up as a human being. He talked playfully over his tea and then went himself to visit the invalid. She was really unwell and was lying in bed, looking thin and altered. The old man sat down beside her, kissed her, said kind things to her, and caressed his grandson; then he left the room, saying that he would find the day long "without his dear daughter-in-law." Half an hour later she entered his room, wearing a pretty dress which he used to say especially became her, and holding her son by the hand. My grandfather welcomed her almost in tears: "Just see!" he said fondly; "though she was not well, she got up and dressed, regardless of herself, and came to cheer up an old man." His wife and daughters bit their lips and looked down; for they all disliked his favourite; but she answered his affectionate greeting with cheerful respect, and looked proudly and triumphantly at her ill-wishers.

But I will say no more of the dark side of my grandfather's character. I would rather dwell on his bright side and describe one of his good days, which I have often and often heard spoken of.

4. My Grandfather, on one of his Good Days

It was the end of June, and the weather was very hot. After a stifling night, a fresh breeze set in from the East at dawn, the breeze which always flags when the sun grows hot. At sunrise my grandfather awoke. It was hot in his bedroom; for the room was not large, and, though the window with its narrow old-fashioned sash was raised as high as it would go, he had curtains of home-made muslin round his bed. This precaution was indispensable: without it, the wicked mosquitos would have kept him awake and devoured him. The winged musicians swarmed round the bed, drove their long probosces into the fine fabric which protected him, and kept up their monotonous serenade all through the night. It sounds absurd, but I cannot conceal the fact that I like the shrill high note and even the bite of the mosquito; for it reminds me of sleepless nights in high summer on the banks of the Boogoorooslan, where the bushes grew thick and green and all round the nightingales called; and I remember the beating heart of youth and that vague feeling, half pleasure and half pain, for which I would now give up all that remains of the sinking fire of life.

My grandfather woke up, rubbed the sweat off his high forehead with a hot hand, put his head out between the curtains, and burst out laughing. His two servants, Mazan and Tanaichonok, lay stretched on the floor; their attitudes might have made any one laugh, and they snored lustily. "Confound the rascals! How they snore!" said my grandfather, and smiled again. You could never be sure about Stepan Mihailovitch. It might have been expected that such forcible language would have been followed up by a blow in the ribs from the blackthorn staff which always stood by his bed, or a kick, or even a salutation in the form of a stool. But no: my grandfather had laughed on opening his eyes, and he kept up that mood throughout the day. He rose quickly, crossed himself once or twice, and thrust his bare feet into a pair of old rusty leather slippers; then, wearing only his shirt of coarse home-made linen—my grandmother would not give him any better—he went out upon the stoop,¹⁵ to enjoy the freshness and moisture of the morning all round him.

I said just now that Arina Vassilyevna would not give her husband finer linen; and the reader will remark with justice that this is inconsistent with the relations between the two. I am sorry, but I cannot help it. It is really true that female persistence triumphed, as it always does, over male violence. My grandmother got more than one beating over the coarse linen, but she continued to supply him with it till at last her husband got used to it. He resorted once to extreme measures: he took an axe and chopped up all his objectionable shirts on the threshold of his room, while my grandmother howled at the sight and implored him to beat her rather than spoil his good clothes. But even this device failed: the coarse shirts appeared once more, and the victim submitted. I must apologise for interrupting my narrative, in order to meet an imaginary objection on the part of the reader.

Without troubling any one, he went himself to the store-room, fetched a woollen mat, and spread it out on the top step of the stoop; then he sat down upon it, meaning to follow his regular custom of watching the sun rise. To see sunrise gives every man a kind of half-conscious pleasure; and my grandfather felt an added satisfaction when he looked down over his courtyard, by this time sufficiently equipped with all the buildings necessary for his farming operations. The court was not, indeed, fenced; and the animals, when turned out of the peasants' yards, used to pay it passing visits, before they were all gathered together and driven to the common pasture. So it was on this morning; and the same thing was repeated every evening. Some pigs, fresh from the mire, rubbed and scratched themselves against the very stoop on which my grandfather was sitting, while they feasted with grunts of satisfaction on crab-shells and other refuse from the table which that unsophisticated household deposited close to the steps. Cows and sheep also looked in, and it was inevitable that these visitors should leave uncleanly tokens behind them. But to this my grandfather did not object in the least. On the contrary, he looked with pleasure at the fine beasts, taking them as a certain indication that his peasants were doing well. The loud cracking of the herdsman's long whip soon evicted the trespassers. Now the servants began to stir. The stout groom, Spiridon—known even in advanced old age as "little Spirka"—led out, one after another, three colts, two bays and one brown. He tied them to a post, rubbed them down, and exercised them at the end of a long halter, while my grandfather admired their paces and also admired in fancy the stock he hoped to raise from them—a dream which he realised with entire success. Then the old housekeeper came forth from the cellar in which she slept, and went down to the river to wash. First she sighed and groaned, according to her invariable custom; then she turned towards the sunrise and said a prayer, before she set to work at washing and scrubbing plates and dishes. Swallows and martins twittered cheerfully as they cut circles in the air, quails called loudly in the fields, the song of the larks rained down from the sky, the hoarse note of the sitting landrails came from the bushes, and the bleat of the snipe from the neighbouring marsh, the mocking-birds imitated the nightingales with all their might; and forth from behind the hill issued the bright sun! Blue smoke rose in columns from the peasants' houses and then swayed in the breeze like the fluttering flags of a line of ships; and soon the labourers were plodding towards the fields.

My grandfather began to feel a desire for cold water to wash in and then for his tea. He roused his two servants from their ungainly attitudes; and they jumped up in a great fright at first, but were soon reassured by his good-humoured voice: "Mazan, my washing things! Tanaichonok, wake Aksyutka and your mistress, and then tea!" There was no need to repeat these orders: clumsy Mazan was already flying at top speed to the spring for water, carrying a glittering copper basin, while handy Tanaichonok woke up Aksyutka, a young but ugly maid; and she, while she put straight the kerchief on her head, called her mistress, Arina Vassilyevna, now grown old and stout. In a few minutes all the household were on their legs, and all knew by this time that the old master had got out of bed on the right side! A quarter of an hour later, a table was standing by the stoop—the white tablecloth was home-made and adorned with a pattern—a samovar,¹⁶ in the shape of a large copper teapot, was hissing on the table, and Aksyutka was busy about the tea. Meanwhile Arina Vassilyevna was greeting her husband. On some mornings it was the etiquette to sigh and look sorrowful; but to-day she asked after his health in a loud cheerful voice: "How had he slept? What dreams had he had?" Stepan Mihailovitch greeted his wife affectionately and called her "Arisha"; he never kissed her hand, but sometimes gave her his to kiss as a sign of favour. Arina Vassilyevna, in her pleasure, looked quite young and pretty; one forgot her stout awkward figure. She brought a stool at once and sat down on the stoop beside my grandfather, which she never ventured to do unless he was in a very good humour. "Come, Arisha, let us have a cup of tea together before it gets hot," said Stepan Mihailovitch; "it was a stifling night, but I slept so sound that I have forgotten all my dreams. How did you sleep?" This question was a signal mark of favour, and my grandmother replied at once that, when Stepan Mihailovitch had a good night, she of course had one too, but that Tanyusha¹⁷ was restless all night. Tanyusha was the youngest daughter and, as often happens, her father's favourite. He was vexed to hear this account of her, and ordered that she was not to be called but to sleep on till she woke. She had been called at the same time as her sisters Alexandra and Elizabeth, and was dressed already; but no one ventured to mention this fact. She made haste to undress, got back into bed, and had the shutters drawn. She could not get to sleep, but she lay in the dark for two hours; and her father was pleased that Tanyusha had had her sleep out. The only son,¹⁸ who was now nine, was never wakened early. But the two elder daughters appeared immediately; and Stepan Mihailovitch gave them his hand to kiss and called them by their pet names, Lexanya and Lizanka. They were both clever girls, and Alexandra had also inherited her father's active mind and violent temper but none of his good qualities. My grandmother, a very simple woman, was entirely under the thumb of her daughters; and, whenever she ventured to play tricks upon Stepan Mihailovitch, it was because they had put her up to it; but she was so clumsy that she seldom succeeded, and her husband knew very well who was at the bottom of it. He knew also that his daughters were prepared to deceive him whenever they got the chance—though, for the sake of a quiet life, he let them suppose that he was blind to their goings-on. But this only lasted while he was in a good temper: as soon as he got angry, he stated his view of their conduct in the most unsparing and uncomplimentary terms, and sometimes even chastised them. But, like true daughters of Eve, they were not discouraged. When the fit of anger passed and the cloud lifted from their father's brow, they started again upon their underhand schemes, and pretty often they were successful in carrying them out.

When he had drunk his tea and talked about things in general with his womankind, my grandfather got ready to drive out. Some time before, he had said to Mazan, "My horse!"—and an old brown gelding was already standing by the steps, harnessed to a long car, a very comfortable conveyance, with an outer frame-work of netting and a plank, covered with felt, to sit on. Spiridon, the driver, wore a simple livery: he had bare feet and nothing on but his shirt, with a red woollen belt, from which hung a key and a copper comb. On a similar occasion on the previous day, he had worn no hat; but this had been disapproved of, and he now wore some head-gear which he had woven out of broad strips of bast.¹⁹ My grandfather made merry over this "sunbonnet." Then he put on his own cap and long coat of unbleached home-made cloth, placed beneath him his heavy cloak in case of rain, and took his seat on the car. Spiridon also folded his coat and sat upon it; it was made of unbleached cloth but dyed bright red with madder. Madder grew freely in the fields round Bagrovo, and was so much used that the servants about the house were called by the neighbours "redbreasts"; I have heard the nickname myself fifteen years after my grandfather's death.

In the fields, Stepan Mihailovitch found everything to his mind. He examined the rye-crop; it was now past flowering and stood up like a wall, as high as a man; a light breeze was blowing, and bluish-purple waves went over it, now lighter and now darker in the sunlight; and the sight gladdened his heart. He visited the young oats and millet and all the spring-sown crops, and then went to the fallow, where he ordered his car to be driven backwards and forwards over the field. This was his regular way of testing the goodness of the work: any spot of ground that had not been properly ploughed and harrowed gave the light car a jolt; and, when my grandfather was not in a good humour, he stuck a twig or a stick in the ground at the place, sent for the bailiff if he was not present, and settled accounts with him on the spot. But to-day all went well: his wheels may have encountered such obstacles, but he took no notice of them. His next point was the hay-fields, where he admired the tall thick steppe-grass which was to fall beneath the scythe before many days were past. He paid a visit to the peasants' fields also, to see for himself, who had a good crop and who had not; and he drove over their fallow to test it. He noticed everything and forgot nothing. Passing over an untilled strip, he saw some wild strawberries nearly ripe; he stopped and, with Mazan's help, picked a large handful of splendid big berries, which he took home as a present for his "Arisha." In spite of the great heat, he was out till nearly noon.

As soon as my grandfather's car was seen descending the hill, dinner was set on the table, and all the family stood on the steps to receive him. "Well, Arisha," he called out cheerfully, "what splendid crops God is giving us this year! Great is His goodness! And here are some strawberries for you; they are nearly ripe; the pickers must go out to-morrow." This attention was almost too much for my grandmother. As he spoke, he walked into the house, and the smell of the hot cabbage-soup came to meet him from the parlour. "Ah! I see dinner's ready; good!" said Stepan Mihailovitch more cheerfully than before, and walked straight into the parlour and sat down at table, without visiting his own room. I should mention that my grandfather had a rule: at whatever hour, early or late, he returned from the fields, dinner must be on the table, and Heaven help the women, if they did not notice him coming and failed to serve the meal in time! There were occasions when such neglect gave rise to sad consequences; but, on this happy day, everything went without a hitch. Behind my grandfather's chair stood a stout lad, holding a birch-bough with the leaves on, to drive away the flies. The hottest weather will not make a true Russian refuse cabbage-soup, and my grandfather supped his with a wooden spoon, because silver would have burnt his lips. Soup was followed by a fish-salad, made of kippered sturgeon, as yellow as wax, and shelled crayfish. All the courses were of this light kind, and were washed down with kvass²⁰ and home-made beer; the drinks were iced and so was the salad. There were days when dinner was eaten in terrible stillness and silent dread of an explosion; but this was a cheerful meal, with much loud talking and laughing. Every boy and girl about the place had heard that the master was in a cheerful temper, and they all crowded into the parlour in hopes of a "piece." He gave them all something good to eat; for there was five times as much food on the table as the family could eat.

Immediately after dinner he went to lie down. All flies were expelled from the bed-curtains, and the curtains drawn round him with the ends tucked under the mattress; and soon his mighty snoring proclaimed that the master was asleep. All the rest went to their rooms to lie down. Mazan and Tanaichonok, when they had had their dinner and swallowed their share of the remnants from the dining-room table, also lay down in the passage, close to the door of my grandfather's bedroom. Though they had slept before dinner, they went to sleep again at once; but they were soon wakened by the heat and the burning rays of the sun coming through the windows. They felt a strong desire to cool their parched throats with some of their master's iced beer; and the bold scamps managed to get it in the following way. My grandfather's dressing-gown and nightcap were lying on a chair near the half-open door of his room. Tanaichonok put them on and sat down on the stoop, while Mazan went off to the cellar with a jug and wakened the old housekeeper, who like every soul in the house was fast asleep. He said his master was awake and wanted an iced tankard at once. She was surprised at his waking so soon; but Mazan then pointed to the figure in the dressing-gown and nightcap sitting on the stoop. The beer was drawn at once and ice added; and Mazan went quickly back with his prize. The cronies shared the jug between them and then replaced the garments. An hour later their master awoke in excellent humour, and his first words were, "Iced beer!" This frightened the rascals; and, when Tanaichonok hurried off to the cellar, the housekeeper guessed at once where the previous jug had gone. She produced the liquor, but followed the messenger back herself, and found the real Simon Pure sitting on the stoop and wearing the dressing-gown. The truth came out at once; and Mazan and Tanaichonok shaking with fear fell at their master's feet. And what do you think my grandfather did? He burst out laughing, sent for his wife and daughters, and told them the story with loud bursts of laughter. The culprits breathed again, and one of them even ventured to grin. But Stepan Mihailovitch noticed this and very nearly grew angry: he frowned, but the composing effect of his good day was so strong that his face cleared up, and he said with a significant look, "Well, I forgive you this once; but, if it happens again ..."—there was no need to end the sentence.

It is certainly strange that the servants of a man so passionate and so violent in his moments of passion should dare to be so impudent. But I have often noticed in the course of my life that the strictest masters have the most venturesome and reckless servants. My grandfather had other experiences of a similar kind. This same servant, Mazan, was sweeping out his master's room one day and preparing to make the bed, when he was suddenly tempted by the soft down of the bedding and pillows. He thought he would like a little taste of luxury; so down he lay on his master's bed and fell asleep. My grandfather himself came upon him sound asleep, and only laughed! He did, indeed, give the man one good rap with his staff; but that was nothing—he only did it in order to see how frightened Mazan would be. Worse tricks than these were played upon Stepan Mihailovitch in his time. During his absence from home, his cousin and ward, Praskovya Ivanovna Bagroff, was given in marriage to a dangerous and disreputable man whom he detested; the girl, who was only fourteen and a great heiress, was an inmate of Bagrovo and very dear to its owner. It is true that the plot was executed by the girl's relations on her mother's side; but Arina Vassilyevna gave her consent, and her daughters were actively engaged in it. But I shall return to my narrative for the present and leave this incident to be told later.

He woke up at five in the afternoon and drank his iced beer. Soon afterwards he wanted his tea, in spite of the sultry heat of the day; for he believed that a very hot drink makes hot weather more bearable. But first he went down to bathe in the cool waters of the river, which flowed under the windows of the house. When he came back, the whole family were waiting for him at the tea-table—the same table set in the shade, with the same hissing teapot and the same Aksyutka. When he had drunk his fill of his favourite sudorific beverage, with cream so thick that the curd on it was yellow, my grandfather proposed that the whole party should make an expedition to the mill. The plan was received with joy; and Alexandra and Tatyana, who were fond of angling, took fishing-rods with them. Two cars were brought round in a minute. Stepan Mihailovitch and his wife took their seats on one, and placed between them their one boy,²¹ the precious scion of their ancient and noble line; while the other carried the three daughters, with a boy to dig for worms on the mill-dam and bait their hooks for the young ladies. When they reached the mill, a seat was brought out for Arina Vassilyevna, and she sat down in the shade of the building, not far from the mill-race where her daughters were fishing. Meanwhile Elizabeth, the eldest, partly to please her father and partly from her own interest in such matters, went with Stepan Mihailovitch to inspect the mill and the pounding-machine. The little boy either watched his sisters fishing—he was not allowed to fish himself in deep places—or played beside his mother, who never took her eyes off him, in her fear that the child would somehow tumble in.

Both sets of millstones were at work, one making wheat-flour for the master's table, and the other grinding rye for a neighbour; and there was millet under the pounding-machine. My grandfather was well acquainted with all farming operations: he understood a mill thoroughly and explained all the details to his attentive and intelligent companion. He saw in a moment any defect in the machinery or mistake in the position of the stones. One of them he ordered to be lowered half a notch, and the rye-meal came out finer, to the great satisfaction of its owner. At the other stone, his ear detected at once that one of the cogs on the small wheel was getting worn. He stopped the current, and BoltunyÓnok,²² the miller, jumped down beside the wheel. He looked at it and felt it and then said, "You are quite right, batyushka Stepan Mihailovitch! One of the cogs is a little worn." "A little you call it!"—said my grandfather, not at all vexed: "but for my coming, the wheel would have snapped this very night!" "I am sorry I did not notice it, Stepan Mihailovitch." "Well, never mind! Bring a new wheel, and take the worn cog off the other; and mind the new cog is neither thicker nor thinner than the rest; the whole secret lies in that." The new wheel, fitted and tested beforehand, was fixed at once and greased with tar; and the current was turned on by degrees, also by my grandfather's instructions; at once the stone began to hum and grind smoothly and evenly, with no stumbling or knocking. The visitors went next to the pounding-machine, where my grandfather took a handful of millet from the mortar. He blew the chaff away and said to the man who had brought the grain to the mill, a Mordvinian and an old acquaintance: "Have a care, friend Vaska! If you look, every grain is pounded already, and, if you go on, you will have less of it." Vaska tried it himself and saw that my grandfather was right. He said, "Thank you," ducked his head by way of bowing, and ran off to stop the current. Their last visit was to the poultry-yard, where a large number of ducks and geese, hens and turkeys, were looked after by an old woman and her little grand-daughter. Everything here was in excellent order. As a sign of special favour, my grandfather gave both of them his hand to kiss, and ordered that the hen-wife should get an extra allowance of 20 lbs. of wheat-flour every month to make pies with. Stepan Mihailovitch rejoined his wife in good spirits. Everything had gone right: his daughter had shown intelligence, the mill was working well, and the hen-wife, Tatyana Gorozhana,²³ was attending to her duties.

The heat had long been abating; coolness came from the water and from the approach of evening; a long cloud of dust drifted along the road and came nearer the village with the bleating of sheep and lowing of cattle; the sun was losing light and sinking behind the steep hill. Stepan Mihailovitch stood on the mill-dam and surveyed the wide mirror of the pond as it lay motionless in the frame of its sloping banks. A fish jumped from time to time; but my grandfather was no fisherman. "Time to go home, Arisha," he said at last: "I expect the bailiff is waiting for me." Seeing his good humour, his daughters asked leave to fish on: they said the fish would take better at sunset, and they would walk home in half an hour. Leave was given, and the old couple started for home on one of the cars, while Elizabeth took her little brother in the other. As Stepan Mihailovitch had expected, the bailiff was waiting for him by the stoop, and some peasants and their wives were there with him; they had got a hint from the bailiff, who knew already that his master was in the right mood, and now seized the opportunity to state some exceptional needs or prefer some exceptional requests. Not one of them was disappointed. To one my grandfather gave corn, and forgave an old debt which the man could have paid; another was allowed to marry his son before the winter²⁴ and to a girl of their own choosing; he gave leave to a soldier's wife,²⁵ who was to be turned out of the village for misconduct, to go on living with her father; and so on. Nor was that all: strong home-made spirits were offered to each of them, in a silver cup which held more than an ordinary dram. Then my grandfather gave his orders to the bailiff, shortly and clearly, and went off to his supper which had been standing ready some time. The evening meal did not differ much from the midday dinner; but the cooler air probably gave a keener edge to appetite. It was a custom with Stepan Mihailovitch to send his family off to bed and sit up for half an hour or so on the stoop, with nothing on but his shirt, for the sake of coolness. This day he stayed there longer than usual, laughing and jesting with Mazan and Tanaichonok; he made them wrestle and fight with their fists, and urged them on till they began to hit out in earnest and even clutched each other by the hair. He had laughed his fill; and now a word of command, and the tone it was spoken in, brought them to their senses and parted them.

All the landscape lay before him, still and wonderful, enfolded by the short summer night. The glow of sunset had not yet disappeared, and would go on till it gave place to the glow of dawn. Hour by hour, the depths of the vault of heaven grew darker; hour by hour, the stars flashed brighter, and the cries of the night birds grew louder, as if they were becoming more familiar with man; the clack of the mill sounded nearer in the misty damp of the night air. My grandfather rose from his stoop, and crossed himself once or twice, looking at the starry sky. Then, though the heat in his bedroom was stifling, he lay down on the hot feather-bed and ordered his curtains to be drawn round him.