Vladimir went with Yermola to Sutchok"s. I told them I would wait for them at the church. While I was looking at the tombstones in the churchyard, I stumbled upon a blackened, four-cornered urn with the following inscription, on one side in French: "Ci-git Theophile-Henri, Vicomte de Blangy"; on the next; "Under this stone is laid the body of a French subject, Count Blangy; born 1737, died 1799, in the 62nd year of his age": on the third, "Peace to his ashes": and on the fourth:--
"Under this stone there lies from France an emigrant.
Of high descent was he, and also of talent.
A wife and kindred murdered he bewailed, And left his land by tyrants cruel a.s.sailed; The friendly sh.o.r.es of Russia he attained, And hospitable shelter here he gained; Children he taught; their parents" cares allayed: Here, by G.o.d"s will, in peace he has been laid."
The approach of Yermola with Vladimir and the man with the strange nickname, Sutchok, broke in on my meditations.
Barelegged, ragged and dishevelled, Sutchok looked like a discharged stray house-serf of sixty years old.
"Have you a boat?" I asked him.
"I have a boat," he answered in a hoa.r.s.e, cracked voice; "but it"s a very poor one."
"How so?"
"Its boards are split apart, and the rivets have come off the cracks."
"That"s no great disaster!" interposed Yermola; "we can stuff them up with tow."
"Of course you can," Sutchok a.s.sented.
"And who are you?"
"I am the fisherman of the manor."
"How is it, when you"re a fisherman, your boat is in such bad condition?"
"There are no fish in our river."
"Fish don"t like slimy marshes," observed my huntsman, with the air of an authority.
"Come," I said to Yermola, "go and get some tow, and make the boat right for us as soon as you can."
Yermola went off.
"Well, in this way we may very likely go to the bottom," I said to Vladimir. "G.o.d is merciful," he answered. "Anyway, we must suppose that the pond is not deep."
"No, it is not deep," observed Sutchok, who spoke in a strange, far- away voice, as though he were in a dream, "and there"s sedge and mud at the bottom, and it"s all overgrown with sedge. But there are deep holes too."
"But if the sedge is so thick," said Vladimir, "it will be impossible to row."
"Who thinks of rowing in a punt? One has to punt it. I will go with you; my pole is there--or else one can use a wooden spade."
"With a spade it won"t be easy; you won"t touch the bottom perhaps in some places," said Vladimir.
"It"s true; it won"t be easy."
I sat down on a tomb-stone to wait for Yermola. Vladimir moved a little to one side out of respect to me, and also sat down. Sutchok remained standing in the same place, his head bent and his hands clasped behind his back, according to the old habit of house-serfs.
"Tell me, please," I began, "have you been the fisherman here long?"
"It is seven years now," he replied, rousing himself with a start.
"And what was your occupation before?"
"I was coachman before."
"Who dismissed you from being coachman?"
"The new mistress."
"What mistress?"
"Oh, that bought us. Your honour does not know her; Alyona Timofyevna; she is so fat ... not young."
"Why did she decide to make you a fisherman?"
"G.o.d knows. She came to us from her estate in Tamboff, gave orders for all the household to come together, and came out to us. We first kissed her hand, and she said nothing; she was not angry.... Then she began to question us in order; "How are you employed? what duties have you?" She came to me in my turn; so she asked: "What have you been?" I say, "Coachman." "Coachman? Well, a fine coachman you are; only look at you!
You"re not fit for a coachman, but be my fisherman, and shave your beard. On the occasions of my visits provide fish for the table; do you hear?" ... So since then I have been enrolled as a fisherman. "And mind you keep my pond in order." But how is one to keep it in order?"
"Whom did you belong to before?"
"To Serga Sergiitch Pehterev. We came to him by inheritance. But he did not own us long; only six years altogether. I was his coachman ...
but not in town, he had others there--only in the country."
"And were you always a coachman from your youth up?"
"Always a coachman? Oh, no! I became a coachman in Serga Sergiitch"s time, but before that I was a cook--but not town-cook; only a cook in the country."
"Whose cook were you, then?"
"Oh, my former master"s, Afanasy Nefeditch, Serga Sergiitch"s uncle.
Lgov was bought by him, by Afanasy Nefeditch, but it came to Serga Sergiitch by inheritance from him."
"Whom did he buy it from?"
"From Tatyana Va.s.silyevna."
"What Tatyana Va.s.silyevna was that?"
"Why, that died last year in Bolhov ... that is, at Karatchev, an old maid.... She had never married. Don"t you know her? We came to her from her father, Va.s.sily s.e.m.e.nitch. She owned us a goodish while ... twenty years."
"Then were you cook to her?"
"At first, to be sure, I was cook, and then I was coffee-bearer."
"What were you?"