Mayor

A young landowner, retired guards officer, Arkady Pavlych Penochkin. He has a lot of game on his estate, “the house was built according to the plans of a French architect, the people are dressed in English, he gives excellent dinners, he receives guests kindly... He is a sensible and positive person, he received, as usual, an excellent upbringing, he served, he rubbed shoulders in high society , and now he is engaged in farming with great success.”

And he has a pleasant appearance - short in stature, but “very handsome”, “from his rosy lips and cheeks he radiates health.” He dresses “excellently and tastefully”; “he’s a little keen on reading,” but in the province “he is considered one of the most educated nobles and the most enviable suitors”; “The ladies are crazy about him and especially praise his manners.” “His house is in extraordinary order.”

But how is this extraordinary order maintained?

Arkady Pavlych, in his words, “is strict, but fair, he cares about the welfare of his subjects and punishes them - for their own good.” “They should be treated like children,” he believes, given their ignorance.

But “a strange uneasiness takes possession of you in his house.”

In the evening, a curly-haired valet in blue livery obsequiously pulled off the guest's boots; In the morning, Arkady Pavlych, not wanting to let his guest go without breakfast in the English style, took him to his office. “Along with tea, they served us cutlets, soft-boiled eggs, butter, honey, cheese, etc. Two valets, wearing clean white gloves, quickly and silently warned us of our slightest desires. We sat on a Persian sofa.

Arkady Pavlych was wearing wide silk trousers, a black velvet jacket, a beautiful fez with a blue tassel and Chinese yellow shoes without backs. He drank tea, laughed, looked at his nails, smoked, put pillows under his side and generally felt in excellent spirits. Having had a hearty breakfast and with visible pleasure, Arkady Pavlych poured himself a glass of red wine, raised it to his lips and suddenly frowned.

Why isn't the wine heated? - he asked one of the valets in a rather harsh voice.

The valet was confused, stopped dead in his tracks, and turned pale.” Having dismissed him without further ado, the master then rang the bell and calmly ordered the fat man “with a low forehead and completely swollen eyes” who entered:

“- As for Fedor... make arrangements.”

The fat man answered briefly: “Yes, sir,” and left.

One can feel some kind of well-developed system of repression and general panic fear.

Then the owner, having learned that the guest was going hunting in Ryabovo, announced that he would go to Shipilovka, where he had been planning to visit for a long time. “Ryabovo is only five miles from my Shipilovka...”

By the way, he also mentioned that the mayor there was “well done, a statesman.”

The next day they left.

“At each descent from the mountain, Arkady Pavlych made a short but strong speech to the coachman, from which I could conclude that my acquaintance was a decent coward.” It was mentioned earlier; that he is “cautious like a cat and has never been involved in any kind of story; although on occasion he makes himself known and likes to puzzle and cut off a timid person.” A nobleman, a man of the world, knows how to pretend. And what a disgusting, cowardly and arrogant boor hides behind this decent façade. I had to see all this in life and reveal it.

And a painfully difficult question involuntarily arises. How can one fulfill the Christian commandment “Love thy neighbor”? Arkady Pavlovich Penochkin evokes hostility, not love.

The power of some people over others to one degree or another... The slave owner, then the landowner, then the owner, director, boss... The system itself promotes the violation of commandments. There was still a struggle for the next step forward - the abolition of serfdom. Not every landowner is able to refrain from tyranny, and even more so, to take care of the life, dignity, and interests of his serfs. As long as people are imperfect, impunity corrupts.

They arrived in Shipilovka following the cook, who “had already managed to give orders and warn whoever needed to be told.” The mayor was away, in another village. They immediately sent for him. They were met by the headman (the mayor's son). As we were driving through the village, we came across several men returning from the threshing floor. They sang songs, but fell silent in fear and took off their hats when they saw the master.

“Anxious excitement,” almost panic, spread throughout the village.

The mayor's hut stood apart from the others... The mayor's wife greeted them with “low bows and approached the master's hand... In the entryway, in a dark corner, the elder stood and also bowed, but did not dare to approach his hand...

Suddenly the cart rattled and stopped in front of the porch: the bailiff entered.

This, according to Arkady Pavlych, statesman was short in stature, broad-shouldered, gray-haired and dense, with a red nose, small blue eyes and a beard in the shape of a fan.” He “must have been on a spree in Perov: his face was quite swollen, and he smelled of wine.

“Oh, you, our fathers, you are our merciful ones,” he spoke in a sing-song voice and with such tenderness on his face that it seemed that tears were about to flow: “they allowed us to come in by force!... A pen, father, a pen,” he added, stretching out his lips ahead of time.

Arkady Pavlych granted his wish.

Well, brother Sofron, how are things going with you? - he asked in a gentle voice.

Oh, you, our fathers! - exclaimed Sofron: - how bad it is for them to go, what business!

But you are our fathers, you are merciful, you deigned to enlighten our village with your arrival, you made us happy to the grave!.. Everything is going well by your grace.

Here Sofron paused, looked at the master and, as if again carried away by the impulse of feeling (moreover, drunkenness was taking its toll), another time he asked for his hand and sang louder than ever:

Oh, you, our fathers, are merciful... and... so what! By God, I’ve become a complete fool with joy... By God, I look but I don’t believe it... Oh, you are our fathers!..”

Arkady Petrovich looked at the guest, grinned and asked in French: “Isn’t this touching?”

The next day we got up quite early. “The mayor appeared. He was wearing a blue overcoat, belted with a red sash. He spoke much less than yesterday, looked keenly and intently into the master’s eyes, and answered smoothly and efficiently.” Everyone went to the threshing floor. “We examined the threshing floor, barn, barns, sheds, windmill, barnyard, greenery, hemp fields; everything was really in excellent order”... Having returned to the village, we went to look at a winnowing machine that had recently been ordered from Moscow. As they left the barn, they suddenly saw something unexpected.

Near a dirty puddle, two men, young and old, in patched shirts, barefoot, belted with ropes, were kneeling. They were very worried, breathing quickly, and finally the old man said: “Intercede, sir!” and bowed to the ground.

It turned out that they were complaining about the mayor.

“- Father, I completely ruined it. Father, he gave two of his sons as recruits out of turn, and now he is taking away the third. Yesterday, father, he took the last cow out of the yard and beat my owner - there is his lordship (he pointed to the headman).

Hm? - said Arkady Pavlych.

Don’t let me go completely broke, breadwinner.

Mr. Penochkin frowned.

What does this mean, however? - he asked the mayor in a low voice and with a dissatisfied look.

“A drunk man, sir,” answered the mayor, ... “not a hard worker.” It’s been five years now that I haven’t gotten out of arrears...

Sofron Yakovlich paid the arrears for me, father,” the old man continued: “here the fifth year old went, as he paid - into bondage and took me, father, and so...

Why did you end up with arrears? - Mr. Penochkin asked menacingly. (The old man opened his mouth) “I know you,” Arkady Pavlych continued passionately: “your job is to drink and lie on the stove, and a good man will answer for you.”

And a rude man too,” the mayor turned into a gentleman’s speech.

Well, that goes without saying...

Father Arkady Pavlych, - the old man spoke with despair: - have mercy, intercede, - what kind of rude person am I?

Have mercy, sir, intercede...

“And we’re not the only ones,” the young man began...

Arkady Pavlych suddenly flushed:

Who's asking you, huh? They don’t ask you, so you keep quiet... What is this? Keep quiet, they tell you! Be silent!.. Oh, my God! Yes, it's just a riot. No, brother, I don’t advise you to rebel... I... (Arkady Pavlych stepped forward, and probably remembered my presence, turned away and put his hands in his pockets)..." He immediately apologized to the guest in a quiet voice in French and, Having said to the petitioners: “I will order... okay, go,” he turned his back to them and left. “The petitioners stood still for a little while, looked at each other and trudged off without looking back.”

Then, already in Ryabov and getting ready to go hunting, the author of the Notes heard from a peasant acquaintance that Sofron was “a dog, not a man,” that Shipilovka was only listed as a landowner, and the mayor owned it “as his own property.”

“The peasants all around owe him; they work for him like farm laborers”...

It also turned out that the mayor “lives on more than just land: he makes a living on horses, and cattle, and tar, and oil, and hemp, and whatnot. Smart, painfully smart, and rich, you beast! Yes, that's what's bad - he fights. A beast is not a person, it is said: a dog, a dog, as there is a dog.

Why don't they complain about him?

Exta! What a need for the master! There are no arrears. So what does he need? Yes, go ahead, he added after a short silence: “please complain.” No, he...

It turned out that the peasant, who was now complaining to the master, had once argued with the mayor at a meeting. He started to “peck” at him, gave his sons up of turn to become soldiers... “Now he’ll get there. After all, he is such a dog, a dog.”

There was a stratification among the peasants; their own rich people, new “gentlemen” appeared in the villages. Sofron is rude and uneducated. Loving “show off”, he stuck something like a Greek pediment to the barnyard and under the pediment inscribed in white: “Built in the village of Shipilovka in the year one thousand and eight Sod Sarakov.” This cattle dfor." And after the abolition of serfdom, the children and grandchildren of the rich man will probably go to study, begin to think, and want to look at the world.

Ahead of many generations is a fierce struggle for benefits.

Only after much suffering, trial and error, searches, and discoveries will wild people acquire the ability to form other relationships. Impunity is not dangerous then. And some distant, (very distant!) descendant of the mayor will turn out to be quite worthy of universal love, even admiration; As the others.

In the meantime, bye... Are the commandments about love just an ideal, a guideline? Maybe to some extent. But you cannot live without an ideal, a guideline. And one cannot live without literature that awakens “good feelings”, an understanding of the surrounding reality, immediate and distant prospects.

Perhaps the only way to feel sorry for the same mayor is to try to understand the situation, the conditions that made him like this.

He himself would be horrified if he could look at himself from another reality, from the height of other, more human concepts.

Ivan Sergeevich Turgenev

"Burmeister"

Not far from my estate lives a young landowner, a retired officer, Arkady Pavlovich Penochkin. He is a reasonable and educated man, he cares about his subjects and punishes them for their own good. He is small in stature and not bad-looking. His light brown eyes and rosy cheeks radiate health and goodwill. Arkady Pavlovich is considered one of the most educated nobles and eligible bachelors of our province. He is careful and has not been involved in any story. His house in St. Petersburg is kept in enviable order. Arkady Pavlovich speaks in a soft and pleasant voice, peppering his speech liberally with phrases in French. Despite all these advantages, I visit it reluctantly. In his house I am overcome by a strange uneasiness.

One day I had to spend the night with Arkady Pavlovich. In the morning he did not let me go without breakfast, during which the footman was punished for forgetting to heat the wine. Penochkin found out that I was going to Ryabovo, and decided to go with me - his village of Shipilovka was located in the same place. He highly praised the local mayor Sofron, a “statesman.”

Arkady Pavlovich took with him a huge amount of things and a cook. We drove for a long time and came straight to Shipilovka. That day I had to forget about hunting and submit to my fate. At the outskirts we were met by the headman, the mayor's son, a huge red-haired man. Sofron himself was not at home. We drove around the village. At the sight of our carriage, people fell silent and ran away. An alarming unrest spread throughout the village. The mayor's wife met us at the porch and kissed Arkady Pavlovich's hand for a long time.

We had already settled down in the cold hut when the mayor arrived. He was short, stocky, broad-shouldered and gray-haired, with a red nose, small blue eyes and a fan-shaped beard. Entering the hut, he spoke in a sing-song voice and, with tears of tenderness, kissed the master’s hand. We were served dinner, and the mayor kept reporting on business and complaining that there was not enough land. He told how a dead body was found on Penochkin’s land, and he ordered it to be dragged to the neighbors’ land and appeased the police officer. Penochkin was amused by this trick. As he fell asleep, Penochkin noticed to me that since Sofron’s reign there had been no arrears for the peasants.

The next day, Arkady Pavlovich persuaded me to stay to show me his estate. Sofron accompanied us. During the inspection, he kept insisting that there was not enough land, and Penochkin allowed it to be purchased on his own behalf. Coming out of the barn after inspecting the winnowing machine, we saw two men in patched shirts. The eldest's name was Antip. They came to complain about the mayor. It turned out that Sofron paid the arrears for them and took them into bondage, and not only them. Sophron gave all of Antipas' adult sons as soldiers, and he wanted to give up the last one. Arkady Pavlovich did not want to listen to them to the end. Until my departure he was sulking at Sofron.

An hour later I was already in Ryabov and, together with a guy I knew, Anpadist, was getting ready to go hunting. I started talking to Anpadist about Sophron. He said that Shipilovka is only listed under Penkin, and the mayor owns it. He has much more land than Penochkin thinks, and besides, the mayor is also involved in trade. Antip once argued with the mayor, and now Sophron is taking revenge on him. Retold Yulia Peskovaya

My neighbor is a young landowner Arkady Penochkin. A retired officer, a well-mannered and sensible person, Penochkin cares about his subjects and does not forget to punish. Arkady has a pleasant appearance, is in full health and studies goodwill. A cautious and respectable nobleman is considered an eligible bachelor in our province. Despite the fact that Penochkin is a pleasant person in every sense, I visit him reluctantly, since there is some kind of restless atmosphere in his house.

Once I had to spend the night with Arkady, in the morning he did not let me set off without breakfast, and when he found out that I was heading to Ryabovo, he volunteered to accompany me, since his village, Shipilovka, was located in those places. Penochkin spoke flatteringly about the mayor Sofron, who runs his village.

We took a bunch of things with us, a cook, and hit the road. Arriving at the village, I had to give up hunting and spend the whole day with Arkady. Our arrival alarmed the village residents. We were met by the mayor's son, who served as the village headman. Sofron himself was not at home, and therefore his wife met us.

Later the mayor arrived, a short, stocky man with blue eyes and a gray beard. Seeing the master, the steward obsequiously pressed his lips to Arkady's hand. We sat down to dinner and Sofron began to entertain us with conversations about village affairs. He mentioned a case when a dead man was found on the master’s land, and the cunning mayor ordered the body to be moved to the neighboring territory. The master told me that since the time Sofron served as mayor, the peasants had no arrears.

The next morning, Arkady dragged me to inspect his estate. The mayor accompanied us and constantly complained that there was not enough land. The master allowed Sofron to buy more land on his behalf. When we were inspecting another barn, men came out to meet us. They complained about the mayor because he paid the arrears for them, and now they work for him for nothing. Arkady did not want to listen to the men, but he pouted at Sofron for treating the men this way.

When I already arrived in Ryabovo and went hunting, I asked one of the men I knew about Sofron. He replied that, despite the fact that Shipilovka on paper belongs to Penochkin, it is Sofron who runs everything there. And he owns much more land than the master thinks.

Ivan Sergeevich Turgenev

BURMISTER

About fifteen versts from my estate lives a man I know, a young landowner, a retired guards officer, Arkady Pavlych Penochkin. There is a lot of game on his estate, the house was built according to the plans of a French architect, the people are dressed in English, he sets excellent dinners, he receives guests kindly, but still you are reluctant to go to him. He is a reasonable and positive person, he received, as usual, an excellent upbringing, served, got used to being in high society, and now he is engaged in farming with great success. Arkady Pavlych, in his own words, is strict, but fair, cares about the welfare of his subjects and punishes them - for their own good. “They must be treated like children,” he says in this case, “ignorance, mon cher; il faut prendre cela en consideration.” He himself, in the case of the so-called sad necessity, avoids sharp and impetuous movements and does not like to raise his voice, but rather pokes his hand directly, calmly saying: “After all, I asked you, my dear” or: “What’s wrong with you, my friend, come to your senses?” “- and only slightly clenches his teeth and twists his mouth. He is small in stature, smartly built, very handsome in appearance, and keeps his hands and nails very neat; his rosy lips and cheeks radiate health. He laughs sonorously and carefree, squinting his light brown eyes friendly. He dresses well and with taste; subscribes to French books, drawings and newspapers, but is not much of a reader: he barely got through The Eternal Jew. He plays cards skillfully. In general, Arkady Pavlych is considered one of the most educated nobles and the most enviable suitors of our province; the ladies are crazy about him and especially praise his manners. He behaves surprisingly well, is as careful as a cat, and has never been involved in any kind of mischief, although on occasion he makes himself known and likes to puzzle and cut off a timid person. He absolutely disdains bad company - he is afraid of being compromised; but in a cheerful hour he declares himself a fan of Epicurus, although in general he speaks poorly of philosophy, calling it the vague food of German minds, and sometimes just nonsense. He also loves music; at cards he sings through clenched teeth, but with feeling; He also remembers something else from Lucia and La Somnambula, but he takes something high. In winter he travels to St. Petersburg. His house is in extraordinary order; even the coachmen submitted to his influence and every day they not only wipe their collars and clean their coats, but also wash their own faces. Arkady Pavlych's servants, it's true, look at him from under their brows, but here in Rus' you can't tell a sullen person from a sleepy one. Arkady Pavlych speaks in a soft and pleasant voice, with emphasis and as if with pleasure, passing every word through his beautiful, perfumed mustache; also uses a lot of French expressions, such as: “Mais c"est impauable!”, “Mais comment donc!” etc. With all this, I, at least, am not very willing to visit him, and if it weren’t for the black grouse and partridges, I probably would have completely become acquainted with him. A strange kind of uneasiness takes possession of you in his house; even your comfort is not pleases you, and every evening when a curly-haired valet in a blue livery with coat of arms buttons appears in front of you and begins to servilely pull off your boots, you feel that if instead of his pale and lean figure, amazingly wide cheekbones and an incredibly stupid figure suddenly appeared before you the nose of a young, stout guy, who had just been taken from the plow by the master, but who had already managed to rip the recently awarded nankeen caftan at the seams in ten places - you would be incredibly happy and would willingly run the risk of losing your own leg, along with your boot, right down to the swivel...

Despite my dislike for Arkady Pavlych, I once had to spend the night with him. The next day, early in the morning, I ordered my stroller to be stored, but he did not want to let me go without breakfast in the English style and took me to his office. Along with tea, we were served cutlets, soft-boiled eggs, butter, honey, cheese, etc. Two valets, wearing clean white gloves, quickly and silently warned us of our slightest desires. We sat on a Persian sofa. Arkady Pavlych was wearing wide silk trousers, a black velvet jacket, a beautiful fairy with a blue tassel and Chinese yellow shoes without backs. He drank tea, laughed, looked at his nails, smoked, put pillows under his side and generally felt in excellent spirits. Having had a hearty breakfast and with visible pleasure, Arkady Pavlych poured himself a glass of red wine, raised it to his lips and suddenly frowned.

Why isn't the wine heated? - he asked one of the valets in a rather harsh voice.

The valet was confused, stopped dead in his tracks and turned pale.

I'm asking you, my dear? - Arkady Pavlych continued calmly, not taking his eyes off him.

The unfortunate valet hesitated in place, twirled his napkin and did not say a word. Arkady Pavlych lowered his head and looked at him thoughtfully from under his brows.

Pardon, mon cher,” he said with a pleasant smile, touching my knee in a friendly manner, and again stared at the valet. “Well, go,” he added after a short silence, raised his eyebrows and rang the bell.

A man entered, fat, dark, black-haired, with a low forehead and completely swollen eyes.

As for Fyodor... make arrangements,” Arkady Pavlych said in a low voice and with perfect composure.

“I’m listening, sir,” answered the fat man and went out.

Voila, mon cher, les desagrements de la campagne,” Arkady Pavlych remarked cheerfully. - Where are you going? Stay, sit a little longer.

No,” I answered, “I have to go.”

Everybody go hunting! Oh, these are hunters for me! Where are you going now?

Forty miles from here, in Ryabovo.

To Ryabovo? Oh, my God, in that case I’ll go with you. Ryabov is only five miles from my Shipilovka, but I haven’t been to Shipilovka for a long time: I couldn’t find time. This is how it came in handy: you will go hunting today in Ryabov, and come to me in the evening. Ce sera charmant. We will have dinner together - we will take the cook with us - you will spend the night with me. Wonderful! Wonderful! - he added without waiting for my answer. C "est arrange... Hey, who's there? Tell us to lay the stroller, but quickly. Have you ever been to Shipilovka? I would be ashamed to suggest you spend the night in my bailiff's hut, but I know you are unpretentious and in Ryabov in a hay barn spent the night... Let's go, let's go!

And Arkady Pavlych sang some kind of French romance.

After all, maybe you don’t know,” he continued, swaying on both legs, “I have men there on rent. Constitution - what will you do? However, they pay me the dues regularly. I would admit that I would have forced them into corvée long ago, but there is not enough land! I'm already surprised how they make ends meet. However, c "est leur affaire. My mayor there is a fine fellow, une forte tete, a statesman! You will see... How, really, it turned out well!

About fifteen versts from my estate lives a man I know, a young landowner, a retired guards officer, Arkady Pavlych Penochkin. There is a lot of game on his estate, the house was built according to the plans of a French architect, the people are dressed in English, he sets excellent dinners, he receives guests kindly, but still you are reluctant to go to him. He is a reasonable and positive person, he received, as usual, an excellent upbringing, served, got used to being in high society, and now he is engaged in farming with great success. Arkady Pavlych, in his own words, is strict, but fair, cares about the welfare of his subjects and punishes them - for their own good. “They must be treated like children,” he says in this case, “ignorance, mon cher; il faut prendre cela en considération.” He himself, in the case of the so-called sad necessity, avoids sharp and impetuous movements and does not like to raise his voice, but rather pokes his hand directly, calmly saying: “After all, I asked you, my dear,” or: “What’s wrong with you, my friend, come to your senses,” and only slightly clenches his teeth and twists his mouth. He is small in stature, smartly built, very handsome in appearance, and keeps his hands and nails very neat; his rosy lips and cheeks radiate health. He laughs sonorously and carefree, squinting his light brown eyes friendly. He dresses well and with taste; subscribes to French books, drawings and newspapers, but is a little eager to read: he barely got through The Eternal Jew. He plays cards skillfully. In general, Arkady Pavlych is considered one of the most educated nobles and the most enviable suitors of our province; the ladies are crazy about him and especially praise his manners. He behaves surprisingly well, is as careful as a cat, and has never been involved in any kind of mischief, although on occasion he makes himself known and likes to puzzle and cut off a timid person. He absolutely disdains bad company - he is afraid of being compromised; but in a cheerful hour he declares himself a fan of Epicurus, although in general he speaks poorly of philosophy, calling it the vague food of German minds, and sometimes just nonsense. He also loves music; at cards he sings through clenched teeth, but with feeling; He also remembers something else from Lucia and Somnambula, but he takes something high. In winter he travels to St. Petersburg. His house is in extraordinary order; even the coachmen submitted to his influence and every day they not only wipe their collars and clean their coats, but also wash their own faces. Arkady Pavlych's servants, it's true, look at him from under their brows, but here in Rus' you can't tell a sullen person from a sleepy one. Arkady Pavlych speaks in a soft and pleasant voice, with emphasis and as if with pleasure, passing every word through his beautiful, perfumed mustache; also uses a lot of French expressions, such as: “Mais c" est impayable!”, “Mais comment donc!” etc. With all this, I, at least, am not very willing to visit him and, if not for the black grouse and partridges, I would probably have completely become acquainted with him. A strange kind of uneasiness takes possession of you in his house; even your comfort is not pleases you, and every evening when a curly-haired valet in a blue livery with coat of arms buttons appears in front of you and begins to servilely pull off your boots, you feel that if instead of his pale and lean figure, amazingly wide cheekbones and an incredibly stupid figure suddenly appeared before you the nose of a young, stout guy, who had just been taken from the plow by the master, but who had already managed to rip the recently awarded nankeen caftan at the seams in ten places - you would be incredibly happy and would willingly run the risk of losing your own leg, along with your boot, right down to the swivel... . Despite my dislike for Arkady Pavlych, I once had to spend the night with him. The next day, early in the morning, I ordered my stroller to be stored, but he did not want to let me go without breakfast in the English style and took me to his office. Along with tea, we were served cutlets, soft-boiled eggs, butter, honey, cheese, etc. Two valets, wearing clean white gloves, quickly and silently warned us of our slightest desires. We sat on a Persian sofa. Arkady Pavlych was wearing wide silk trousers, a black velvet jacket, a beautiful fez with a blue tassel and Chinese yellow shoes without backs. He drank tea, laughed, looked at his nails, smoked, put pillows under his side and generally felt in excellent spirits. Having had a hearty breakfast and with visible pleasure, Arkady Pavlych poured himself a glass of red wine, raised it to his lips and suddenly frowned. - Why isn’t the wine heated? - he asked one of the valets in a rather harsh voice. The valet was confused, stopped dead in his tracks, and turned pale. - I’m asking you, my dear? - Arkady Pavlych continued calmly, not taking his eyes off him. The unfortunate valet hesitated in place, twirled his napkin and did not say a word. Arkady Pavlych lowered his head and looked at him thoughtfully from under his brows. “Pardon, mon cher,” he said with a pleasant smile, touching my knee in a friendly manner, and again stared at the valet. “Well, go,” he added after a short silence, raised his eyebrows and rang the bell. A man entered, fat, dark, black-haired, with a low forehead and completely swollen eyes. “About Fyodor... make arrangements,” said Arkady Pavlych in a low voice and with perfect composure. “I’m listening, sir,” answered the fat man and went out. “Voilà, mon cher, les désagréments de la campagne,” Arkady Pavlych remarked cheerfully. - Where are you going? Stay, sit a little longer. “No,” I answered, “I have to go.” - Let's go hunting! Oh, these are hunters for me! Where are you going now? - Forty miles from here, in Ryabovo. - To Ryabovo? Oh, my God, in that case I’ll go with us. Ryabovo is only five miles from my Shipilovka, but I haven’t been to Shipilovka for a long time: I couldn’t find time. This is how it came in handy: you will go hunting today in Ryabov, and come to me in the evening. Ce sera charmant. We will have dinner together, we will take the cook with us, and you will spend the night with me. Wonderful! Wonderful! - he added without waiting for my answer. - C "est arrangé... Hey, who's there? Tell us to lay the carriage, but quickly. Have you ever been to Shipilovka? I would be ashamed to offer you to spend the night in my bailiff's hut, but you, I know, are unpretentious and in Ryabov in We should spend the night in a hay barn... Let's go, let's go! And Arkady Pavlych sang some kind of French romance. “Perhaps you don’t know,” he continued, swaying on both legs, “I have peasants there on rent.” Constitution - what will you do? However, they pay me the dues regularly. I would admit that I would have forced them into corvée long ago, but there is not enough land! I'm already surprised how they make ends meet. However, c "est leur affaire. My mayor there is a fine fellow, une forte tête, a statesman! You will see... How, really, it turned out well! There was nothing to do. Instead of nine o'clock in the morning we left at two. Hunters will understand my impatience. Arkady Pavlych loved, as he put it, to pamper himself on occasion and took with him such an abyss of linen, supplies, clothes, perfume, pillows and various toiletries that another thrifty and self-controlled German would have had enough of all this grace for a year. At each descent from the mountain, Arkady Pavlych made a short but strong speech to the coachman, from which I could conclude that my acquaintance was a decent coward. However, the journey was completed very safely; Only on one recently repaired bridge did a cart with a cook fall over, and the rear wheel crushed his stomach. Arkady Pavlych, seeing the fall of the home-grown Karem, was seriously frightened and immediately ordered to ask: were his hands intact? Having received an affirmative answer, he immediately calmed down. With all that said, we drove for quite a long time; I sat in the same carriage with Arkady Pavlych and at the end of the journey I felt mortal melancholy, especially since within a few hours my acquaintance was completely exhausted and was already beginning to become liberal. Finally we arrived, not to Ryabovo, but straight to Shipilovka; somehow it turned out that way. That day I couldn’t hunt anyway, so I reluctantly resigned myself to my fate. The cook arrived a few minutes earlier than us and, apparently, had already managed to give orders and warn whoever needed to be told, because at the very entrance to the outskirts we were met by the headman (the mayor's son), a burly and red-haired man, a fathom tall, on horseback and without a hat, wearing new army jacket wide open. “Where is Sophron?” - Arkady Pavlych asked him. The elder first quickly jumped off his horse, bowed to the master from the waist, said: “Hello, Father Arkady Pavlych,” then he raised his head, shook himself and reported that Sofron had gone to Perov, but that they had already sent for him. “Well, follow us,” said Arkady Pavlych. The elder, out of decency, pulled the horse aside, jumped onto it and began to trot after the carriage, holding his hat in his hand. We drove around the village. Several men in empty carts came towards us; they rode from the threshing floor and sang songs, jumping up and down with their whole bodies and dangling their legs in the air; but at the sight of our carriage and the elder they suddenly fell silent, took off their winter hats (it was summer) and stood up, as if awaiting orders. Arkady Pavlych bowed graciously to them. Anxious excitement apparently spread throughout the village. Women in checkered coats threw wood chips at slow-witted or overzealous dogs; a lame old man with a beard starting just under his eyes tore the half-watered horse away from the well, hit it for some unknown reason on the side, and then bowed. Boys in long shirts ran screaming into the huts, lay down on their bellies on the high threshold, hung their heads, threw their legs up, and thus very quickly rolled out the door, into the dark hallway, from where they never showed up. Even the hens trot into the gateway; one lively rooster with a black chest that looked like a satin vest and a red tail curled to the very crest remained on the road and was just about to scream, but suddenly he became embarrassed and also ran. The mayor's hut stood apart from the others, in the middle of thick green hemp. We stopped in front of the gate. Mr. Penochkin stood up, picturesquely threw off his cloak and got out of the carriage, looking around affably. The mayor's wife greeted us with low bows and approached the master's hand. Arkady Pavlych let her kiss her to her heart's content and went up onto the porch. In the entryway, in a dark corner, the elder stood and also bowed, but did not dare to approach her hand. In the so-called cold hut - from the entryway to the right - two other women were already busy; They took out all sorts of rubbish from there, empty jugs, stiff sheepskin coats, oil pots, a cradle with a bunch of rags and a motley child, and swept up the rubbish with bath brooms. Arkady Pavlych sent them away and sat down on the bench under the icons. The coachmen began to bring in chests, caskets and other amenities, trying in every possible way to moderate the sound of their heavy boots. Meanwhile, Arkady Pavlych asked the headman about the harvest, sowing and other household items. The headman answered satisfactorily, but somehow sluggishly and awkwardly, as if he were buttoning his caftan with frozen fingers. He stood at the door and every now and then stepped aside and looked back, giving way to the nimble valet. Because of his powerful shoulders, I was able to see how the mayor’s wife was quietly beating some other woman in the hallway. Suddenly the cart rattled and stopped in front of the porch: the bailiff entered. This, according to Arkady Pavlych, statesman was short in stature, broad-shouldered, gray-haired and dense, with a red nose, small blue eyes and a beard in the shape of a fan. Let us note by the way that since Rus' has stood, there has never been an example of a man who has become fat and rich without a full beard; another wore a thin beard all his life, like a wedge, - suddenly, you look, it was surrounded all around like a radiance - where does the hair come from! The mayor must have been on a spree in Perov: his face was quite swollen, and he smelled of wine. “Oh, you, our fathers, you are our merciful ones,” he began in a sing-song voice and with such tenderness on his face that it seemed that tears were about to flow, “you deigned to welcome us with force!.. A pen, father, a pen,” he added , already stretching out his lips ahead of time. Arkady Pavlych granted his wish. - Well, brother Sofron, how are things going with you? - he asked in a gentle voice. “Oh, you, our fathers,” exclaimed Sophron, “how bad it is for them to go, their affairs!” But you, our fathers, you, the merciful ones, deigned to enlighten our village with your arrival, and made us happy for days to come. Glory to you, Lord, Arkady Pavlych, glory to you, Lord! Everything will be fine by your grace. Here Sofron paused, looked at the master and, as if again carried away by the impulse of feeling (moreover, drunkenness was taking its toll), another time he asked for his hand and sang louder than ever: - Oh, you, our fathers, are merciful... and... so what! By God, I've become a complete fool with joy... By God, I look but I don't believe it... Oh, you, our fathers!.. Arkady Pavlych looked at me, grinned and asked: “N"est-ce pas que c"est touchant?” “Yes, father, Arkady Pavlych,” continued the restless mayor, “how are you doing this?” You are completely crushing me, father; They didn’t deign to notify me of your arrival. Where will you spend the night? After all, there is uncleanness, rubbish... “Nothing, Sofron, nothing,” Arkady Pavlych answered with a smile, “it’s good here.” - But, you are our fathers, for whom is it good? It’s good for our brother, the man; but you... oh you, my fathers, merciful ones, oh you, my fathers!.. Forgive me, I’m a fool, I’m crazy, by God I’m completely stupid. Meanwhile dinner was served; Arkady Pavlych began to eat. The old man sent his son away, saying he was making him feel stuffy. - Well, have you separated yourself, old man? - asked Mr. Penochkin, who clearly wanted to imitate peasant speech and winked at me. - We separated, father, all by your grace. On the third day the fairy tale was signed. The Khlynovsky ones broke down first... they broke down, father, for sure. They demanded... they demanded... and God knows what they demanded; But they are fools, father, stupid people. And we, father, by your grace expressed our gratitude and satisfied Mikolai Mikolaich the mediocre; everyone acted on your orders, father; as you deigned to order, so we acted, and with the knowledge of Yegor Dmitrich we did everything. “Egor reported to me,” Arkady Pavlych noted importantly. - Of course, father, Yegor Dmitrich, of course. - Well, so, are you happy now? Sophron was just waiting for this. - Oh, you, our fathers, our merciful ones! - he sang again... - Yes, have mercy on me... but for you, our fathers, we pray to the Lord God day and night... Of course, there is not enough land... Penochkin interrupted him: - Well, okay, okay, Sophron, I know that you are my diligent servant... And what, how did you grind? Sophron sighed. - Well, you are our fathers, the threshing is not very good. Well, Father Arkady Pavlych, let me tell you what a deal it turned out to be. (Here he approached Mr. Penochkin, spreading his arms, bent down and squinted one eye.) A dead body appeared on our land.- How so? “I can’t even imagine, father, you are our fathers: apparently the enemy has misled you.” Yes, fortunately, it turned out to be near someone else’s boundary; but only, to be honest, on our land. I immediately ordered him to be dragged onto someone else’s wedge while it was possible, but I set a guard and ordered my own to be silent! - I say. And just in case, I explained to the police officer: these are the rules, I say; Yes, his tea, and gratitude... After all, what do you think, father? After all, it’s left on the strangers’ necks; but a dead body is worth two hundred rubles - like a kalach. Mr. Penochkin laughed a lot at his bailiff’s trick and several times said to me, pointing at him with his head: “Quel gaillard, huh?” Meanwhile, it became completely dark outside; Arkady Pavlych ordered the table to be cleared and hay brought. The valet laid out sheets for us and laid out pillows; we went to bed. Sophron went home, having received orders the next day. Arkady Pavlych, falling asleep, talked a little more about the excellent qualities of the Russian peasant and immediately noticed to me that since Sofron’s administration the Shipilovsky peasants had not had a penny of arrears... The watchman hammered on the board; the child, apparently not yet imbued with the feeling of proper self-sacrifice, squeaked somewhere in the hut... We fell asleep. The next morning we got up quite early. I was about to go to Ryabovo, but Arkady Pavlych wanted to show me his estate and begged me to stay. I myself was not averse to seeing in practice the excellent qualities of a statesman - Sofron. The mayor appeared. He was wearing a blue overcoat, belted with a red sash. He spoke much less than yesterday, looked keenly and intently into the master’s eyes, and answered smoothly and efficiently. We went with him to the threshing floor. Sofronov’s son, a three-arshin headman, by all appearances a very stupid man, also followed us, and the Zemstvo Fedoseich, a retired soldier with a huge mustache and a strange expression on his face, also joined us: as if he had been unusually surprised at something a long time ago and since then I haven’t come to my senses yet. We examined the threshing floor, barn, barns, barn, windmill, barnyard, greenery, hemp fields; everything was really in excellent order, just the dull faces of the men led me to some bewilderment. In addition to the useful, Sofron also took care of the pleasant: he lined all the ditches with broom, laid paths between the stacks on the threshing floor and sprinkled them with sand, built a weather vane in the windmill in the form of a bear with an open mouth and a red tongue, stuck something like a Greek pediment to the brick barnyard and under on the pediment he inscribed in white: “It was built in all of Shipilofka in the eighth year of Sod in Sarak. This cattle dfor." - Arkady Pavlych became completely softened and began to explain to me French the benefits of a quitrent state, and, however, he noticed that corvée is more profitable for landowners - but you never know!.. He began to give the mayor advice on how to plant potatoes, how to prepare feed for livestock, etc. Sofron listened to the master’s speech with attention, sometimes objected, but no longer called Arkady Pavlych either father or merciful, and kept insisting that they didn’t have enough land, it wouldn’t hurt to buy it. “Well, buy it,” said Arkady Pavlych, “in my name, I wouldn’t mind.” To these words Sofron did not answer anything, only stroked his beard. “However, now it wouldn’t hurt to go to the forest,” Mr. Penochkin noted. They immediately brought us riding horses; we went to the forest, or, as we say, to “order”. In this “order” we found wilderness and terrible game, for which Arkady Pavlych praised Sofron and patted him on the shoulder. Mr. Penochkin adhered to Russian concepts regarding forestry and immediately told me what he called a very amusing incident, how one joker-landowner brought his forester to reason by tearing out about half of his beard, as proof that cutting the forest does not grow thicker. .. However, in other respects, both Sofron and Arkady Pavlych were both not averse to innovation. Upon returning to the village, the mayor took us to see a winnowing machine that he had recently ordered from Moscow. The winnowing machine certainly worked well, but if Sofron had known what kind of trouble awaited both him and the master on this last walk, he probably would have stayed at home with us. Here's what happened. Coming out of the barn, we saw the following sight. A few steps from the door, next to a dirty puddle in which three ducks splashed carefree, two men were kneeling: one was an old man of about sixty, the other a young man of about twenty, both in fancy patched shirts, bare feet and belted with ropes. Zemsky Fedoseich busily fussed around them and probably would have managed to persuade them to leave if we had hesitated in the barn, but when he saw us, he stood up straight and froze in place. The headman stood there with an open mouth and perplexed fists. Arkady Pavlych frowned, bit his lip and approached the petitioners. Both silently bowed at his feet. - What do you need? what are you asking for? - he asked in a stern voice and somewhat nasally. (The men looked at each other and didn’t say a word, they just squinted as if from the sun, and began to breathe quickly.) - Well, what then? - Arkady Pavlych continued and immediately turned to Sofron. - From what family? “From the Tobolev family,” the mayor answered slowly. - Well, what are you doing? - Mr. Penochkin spoke again, - you don’t have languages, or what? Tell me, what do you want? - he added, shaking his head at the old man. - Don't be afraid, fool. The old man stretched out his dark brown, wrinkled neck, opened his blue lips crookedly, and said in a hoarse voice: “Intercede, sir!” - and again hit his forehead on the ground. The young man also bowed. Arkady Pavlych looked at the backs of their heads with dignity, threw back his head and spread his legs a little. - What's happened? Who are you complaining about? - Have mercy, sir! Let me breathe... We are completely tortured. (The old man spoke with difficulty.) -Who tortured you? - Yes, Sofron Yakovlich, father. Arkady Pavlych was silent. - What is your name? - Antipom, father.- And who is this? - And my son, father. Arkady Pavlych paused again and twitched his mustache. - Well, then how did he torture you? - he spoke, looking at the old man through his mustache. - Father, I completely ruined it. Father, he gave two of his sons to the uncool without a queue, and now he is taking away the third. Yesterday, father, he took the last cow from the yard and beat my owner - there is his mercy. (He pointed to the headman.) - Hm! - said Arkady Pavlych. - Don’t let me go completely broke, breadwinner. Mr. Penochkin frowned. - What does this mean, however? - he asked the mayor in a low voice and with a dissatisfied look. Drunk person- With“,” answered the mayor, using the “slovo-er” for the first time, “not hard-working.” This is the fifth year that we have not come out of arrears, sir. “Sofron Yakovlich paid the arrears for me, father,” the old man continued, “here the fifth year old went, as he paid, and as he paid, he took me into bondage, father, and so... - Why did you end up with arrears? - Mr. Penochkin asked menacingly, (The old man hung his head.) - Tea, do you like to get drunk, hang out in taverns? (The old man opened his mouth.) “I know you,” Arkady Pavlych continued with impatience, “your job is to drink and lie on the stove, and a good man will answer for you.” “And a rude man too,” the mayor said in his master’s speech. - Well, that goes without saying. It always happens this way; I have noticed this more than once. He's been dissolute and rude for a whole year, and now he's lying at his feet. “Father, Arkady Pavlych,” the old man spoke with despair, “have mercy, intercede, what kind of rude person am I?” As I say before God, it’s unbearable. Sofron Yakovlich disliked me, for which he disliked me - God will be his judge! He is completely ruining, father... The last son... and that one... (A tear sparkled in the yellow and wrinkled eyes of the old man.) Have mercy, sir, intercede... “Yes, and not just us,” the young man began... Arkady Pavlych suddenly flushed: - Who’s asking you, huh? They don’t ask you, so you keep quiet... What is this? Keep quiet, they tell you! be silent!.. Oh, my God! yeah it's just a riot. No, brother, I don’t advise you to rebel... I... (Arkady Pavlych stepped forward, and probably remembered my presence, turned away and put his hands in his pockets.) Je vous demande bien pardon, mon cher

Hunter's Notes: Burmister
Summary story
A young landowner, retired guards officer, Arkady Pavlych Penochkin. He has a lot of game on his estate, “the house was built according to the plans of a French architect, the people are dressed in English, he gives excellent dinners, he receives guests kindly... He is a sensible and positive person, he received, as usual, an excellent upbringing, he served, he rubbed shoulders in high society , and now he is engaged in farming with great success.” And he has a pleasant appearance - short in stature, but “very handsome”,

“His rosy lips and cheeks radiate health.” He dresses “excellently and tastefully”; “he’s a little keen on reading,” but in the province “he is considered one of the most educated nobles and the most enviable suitors”; “The ladies are crazy about him and especially praise his manners.” “His house is in extraordinary order.”
But how is this extraordinary order maintained?
Arkady Pavlych, in his words, “is strict, but fair, cares about the welfare of his subjects and punishes them - for their own good.” “They should be treated like children,” he believes, given their ignorance.
But “a strange uneasiness takes possession of you in his house.”
Once the author of “Notes” had a chance to visit Penochkin.
In the evening, a curly-haired valet in blue livery obsequiously pulled off the guest's boots; In the morning, Arkady Pavlych, not wanting to let his guest go without breakfast in the English style, took him to his office. “Along with tea, they served us cutlets, soft-boiled eggs, butter, honey, cheese, etc. Two valets, wearing clean white gloves, quickly and silently warned us of our slightest desires. We sat on a Persian sofa. Arkady Pavlych was wearing wide silk trousers, a black velvet jacket, a beautiful fez with a blue tassel and Chinese yellow shoes without backs. He drank tea, laughed, looked at his nails, smoked, put pillows under his side and generally felt in excellent spirits. Having had a hearty breakfast and with visible pleasure, Arkady Pavlych poured himself a glass of red wine, raised it to his lips and suddenly frowned.
Why isn't the wine heated? – he asked one of the valets in a rather harsh voice.
The valet was confused, stopped dead in his tracks, and turned pale.” Having dismissed him without further ado, the master then rang the bell and calmly ordered the fat man “with a low forehead and completely swollen eyes” who entered:
“- As for Fedor... make arrangements.”
The fat man answered briefly: “Yes, sir,” and left.
One can feel some kind of well-developed system of “repression” and general panic fear.
Then the owner, having learned that the guest was going hunting in Ryabovo, announced that he would go to Shipilovka, where he had been planning to visit for a long time. “Ryabovo is only five miles from my Shipilovka...”
By the way, he also mentioned that the mayor there was “well done, a statesman.”
The next day they left.
“At each descent from the mountain, Arkady Pavlych made a short but strong speech to the coachman, from which I could conclude that my acquaintance was a decent coward.” It was mentioned earlier; that he is “cautious like a cat and has never been involved in any kind of story; although on occasion he makes himself known and likes to puzzle and cut off a timid person.” A nobleman, a man of the world, knows how to pretend. And what a disgusting, cowardly and arrogant boor hides behind this decent façade. I had to see all this in life and reveal it.
And a painfully difficult question involuntarily arises. How can one fulfill the Christian commandment “Love thy neighbor”? Arkady Pavlovich Penochkin evokes hostility, not love.
The power of some people over others to one degree or another... The slave owner, then the landowner, then the owner, director, boss... The system itself promotes the violation of commandments. There was still a struggle for the next step forward - the abolition of serfdom. Not every landowner is able to refrain from tyranny, and even more so, to take care of the life, dignity, and interests of his serfs. As long as people are imperfect, impunity corrupts.
They arrived in Shipilovka following the cook, who “had already given orders and warned whoever needed to be told.” The mayor was away, in another village. They immediately sent for him. They were met by the headman (the mayor's son). As we were driving through the village, we came across several men returning from the threshing floor. They sang songs, but fell silent in fear and took off their hats when they saw the master.
“Anxious excitement,” almost panic, spread throughout the village.
The mayor's hut stood apart from the others... The mayor's wife greeted them with “low bows and approached the master's hand... In the entryway, in a dark corner, the elder stood and also bowed, but did not dare to approach his hand...
Suddenly the cart rattled and stopped in front of the porch: the bailiff entered.
This, according to Arkady Pavlych, statesman was short in stature, broad-shouldered, gray-haired and dense, with a red nose, small blue eyes and a beard in the shape of a fan.” He “must have been on a spree in Perov: his face was quite swollen, and he smelled of wine.
“Oh, you, our fathers, you are our merciful ones,” he spoke in a sing-song voice and with such
With tenderness on his face that it seemed that tears were about to flow: “They allowed me to come in by force!... A pen, father, a pen,” he added, already stretching out his lips ahead of time.
Arkady Pavlych granted his wish.
Well, brother Sofron, how are things going with you? – he asked in a gentle voice.
Oh, you, our fathers! - exclaimed Sofron: - how bad it is for them to go, what business!
But you are our fathers, you are merciful, you deigned to enlighten our village with your arrival, you made us happy to the grave!.. Everything is going well by your grace.
Here Sofron paused, looked at the master and, as if again carried away by the impulse of feeling (moreover, drunkenness was taking its toll), another time he asked for his hand and sang louder than ever:
Oh, you, our fathers, are merciful... and... so what! By God, I’ve become a complete fool with joy... By God, I look but I don’t believe it... Oh, you are our fathers!..”
Arkady Petrovich looked at the guest, grinned and asked in French: “Isn’t this touching?”
The next day we got up quite early. “The mayor appeared. He was wearing a blue overcoat, belted with a red sash. He spoke much less than yesterday, looked keenly and intently into the master’s eyes, and answered smoothly and efficiently.” Everyone went to the threshing floor. “We examined the threshing floor, barn, barns, barns, windmill, barnyard, greenery, hemp fields; everything was really in excellent order”... Having returned to the village, we went to look at a winnowing machine that had recently been ordered from Moscow. As they left the barn, they suddenly saw something unexpected.
Near a dirty puddle, two men, young and old, in patched shirts, barefoot, belted with ropes, were kneeling. They were very worried, breathing quickly, and finally the old man said: “Intercede, sir!” and bowed to the ground.
It turned out that they were complaining about the mayor.
“- Father, I completely ruined it. Father, he gave two of his sons as recruits out of turn, and now he is taking away the third. Yesterday, father, he took the last cow out of the yard and beat my owner - there is his lordship (he pointed to the headman).
- Hm? - said Arkady Pavlych.
– Don’t let me go completely broke, breadwinner.
Mr. Penochkin frowned.
What does this mean, however? - he asked the mayor in a low voice and with a dissatisfied look.
A drunk man, sir,” answered the mayor,... “not working.” It’s been five years now that I haven’t gotten out of arrears...
Sofron Yakovlich paid the arrears for me, father,” the old man continued: “here the fifth year old went, as he paid - into bondage and took me, father, and so...
- Why do you have arrears? – Mr. Penochkin asked menacingly. (The old man opened his mouth) “I know you,” Arkady Pavlych continued passionately: “your job is to drink and lie on the stove, and a good man will answer for you.”
And he’s a rude guy too,” the mayor said into his master’s speech.
Well, that goes without saying...
Father Arkady Pavlych, - the old man spoke with despair: - have mercy, intercede - what kind of rude person am I?
Have mercy, sir, intercede...
“And we’re not the only ones,” the young man began...
Arkady Pavlych suddenly flushed:
– Who’s asking you, huh? They don’t ask you, so you keep quiet... What is this? Keep quiet, they tell you! Be silent!.. Oh, my God! Yes, it's just a riot. No, brother, I don’t advise you to rebel... I... (Arkady Pavlych stepped forward, and probably remembered my presence, turned away and put his hands in his pockets)..." He immediately apologized to the guest in a quiet voice in French and, Having said to the petitioners: “I will order... okay, go,” he turned his back to them and left. “The petitioners stood still for a little while, looked at each other and trudged off without looking back.”
Then, already in Ryabov and getting ready to go hunting, the author of “Notes” heard from a peasant acquaintance that Sofron was “a dog, not a man,” that Shipilovka was only listed as a landowner, and the mayor owned it “as his own property.”
” - The peasants all around owe him; they work for him like farm laborers”...
It also turned out that the mayor “lives in more than one land: he trades in horses, and cattle, and tar, and oil, and hemp, and whatnot. Smart, painfully smart, and rich, you beast! Yes, that's what's bad - he fights. A beast is not a person, it is said: a dog, a dog, as there is a dog.
- Why don’t they complain about him?
- Eksta! What a need for the master! There are no arrears. So what does he need? Yes, go ahead, he added after a short silence: “please complain.” No, he… “
It turned out that the peasant, who was now complaining to the master, had once argued with the mayor at a meeting. He started to “peck” at him, gave his sons to be soldiers out of turn... “Now he’ll get there. After all, he is such a dog, a dog.”
There was a stratification among the peasants; their own rich people, new “gentlemen,” appeared in the villages. Sofron is rude and uneducated. Loving “show off,” he stuck to the barnyard “something like a Greek pediment and under the pediment in whitewash he inscribed: “Built in the village of Shipilovka in the year one thousand and eight Sod Sarakov.” This cattle dfor.” And after the abolition of serfdom, the children and grandchildren of the rich man will probably go to study, begin to think, and want to look at the world.
Ahead of many generations is a fierce struggle for benefits.
Only after much suffering, trial and error, searches, and discoveries will wild people acquire the ability to form other relationships. Impunity is not dangerous then.
And some distant, (very distant!) descendant of the mayor will turn out to be quite worthy of universal love, even admiration; As the others.
In the meantime, bye... Are the commandments about love just an ideal, a guideline? Maybe to some extent. But you cannot live without an ideal, a guideline. And one cannot live without literature that awakens “good feelings”, an understanding of the surrounding reality, immediate and distant prospects.
Perhaps the only way to feel sorry for the same mayor is to try to understand the situation, the conditions that made him like this.
He himself would be horrified if he could look at himself from another reality, from the height of other, more human concepts.