‘May I enquire,’ I asked, saluting, ‘if you are that Mr B. whose fine articles I have had the pleasure of reading in the Amateur of Enlightenment?’
‘No sir,’ he replied. ‘I am not a writer, but an attorney. But I know*** very well; only a quarter of an hour ago I met him at the Politseisky Bridge.’
And so my respect for Russian literature cost me thirty copecks in lost change, an official reprimand – almost an arrest – and all for nothing.
Despite all the objections of my reason, the daring idea of becoming a writer crossed my mind constantly. Finally, no longer able to resist my natural inclination, I made myself a thick exercise book with the firm intention of filling it with anything I could think of. I investigated and evaluated all genres of poetry (since I had not yet considered humble prose), and I decided to write an epic poem, drawn from the history of our fatherland. It did not take me very long to find a hero. I chose Rurik8 – and set to work.
I had acquired a certain skill in verse by copying out notebooks that circulated among us officers – for example, The Dangerous Neighbour,9 Critique of a Moscow Boulevard, Presnensky Ponds10 and so on. For all that, my poem made slow progress and I abandoned it at the third verse. I concluded that the epic genre was not for me and so I began a tragedy about Rurik. But tragedy just did not work. I attempted to make a ballad out of it – but for some reason I did not succeed with this genre either. Finally inspiration dawned upon me, and I started and successfully completed an inscription to the portrait of Rurik.
Despite the fact that my inscription was by no means unworthy of attention, particularly as it was the first composition of a young poet, I none the less felt that I was not born to be a poet and contented myself with this first attempt. But my creative endeavour had made me so attached to literary activity that no longer was I able to part from my exercise book and ink-pot. I felt the urge to descend to prose. At first, not wishing to busy myself with preliminary study, with setting out a plan, linking all the sections together and so on, I decided to record individual thoughts, in any order, at random, just as they entered my head. Unfortunately the thoughts would not come to mind, and in the course of two whole days the only observation that occurred to me was as follows:
He who does not obey the laws of reason and is accustomed to following the promptings of his passions, often goes astray and subjects himself to tardy repentance.
A just thought, of course, but far from original. So, abandoning such reflections, I attempted stories, but as I am unpractised in setting out fictional events in logical sequence, I selected some remarkable anecdotes that I had heard at different times from various people, and tried to embellish the truth with lively narration, and on occasion with the flowers of my own imagination. In composing these stories I gradually fashioned my style and learnt to express myself correctly, pleasantly and fluently. But soon my stock of anecdotes was exhausted and once again I started searching for a fitting subject for my literary activity.
The idea of abandoning these trivial and dubious anecdotes for the narration of true and great events excited my imagination. To be the judge, observer and prophet of epochs and nations struck me as the summit of achievement for a writer. But, with my pitiful education, what historical events could I write about, where erudite, conscientious scholars had not anticipated me? What aspect of history had not already been exhausted by them? Should I write a history of the world – but is there not already Abbé Millot’s11 immortal work? Should I address myself to Russian history? But what could I say after Tatishchev,12 Boltin and Golikov? And was I the kind of man to burrow into chronicles and attempt to fathom the secret meaning of a dead language when I had never been able even to learn the Slavonic numerals? I contemplated a history on a smaller scale, for example, a history of the provincial capital; but even here there were so many insuperable obstacles as far as I was concerned! A journey to the capital, visits to the Governor and the Bishop, a request for admission to the archives, monastery store-rooms and so on. A history of our local town would have been easier for me, but it would have been of no interest for either a scholar or a layman and would offer scant material for fine rhetoric. *** had acquired the status of town in 17** and the only event of note recorded in the town chronicles was the terrible fire that broke out ten years before, destroying the market and administrative offices.
An unexpected event put an end to my perplexity. While hanging up linen in the attic, an old woman servant found an old basket full of wood shavings, litter and books. The whole house knew of my love of reading. At that very moment when I was sitting over my exercise book, nibbling my pen and thinking of attempting rural sermons, my housekeeper triumphantly entered the room, dragging the basket and joyfully exclaiming, ‘Books!’ ‘Books!’ I repeated rapturously and threw myself on the basket. And in effect I saw a whole pile of books with green and blue paper covers – this was a collection of old almanacs. This discovery cooled my delight; nevertheless I was pleased at the unexpected find: after all, they were books, and I generously rewarded my laundress’s zeal with a silver half-rouble. Left on my own, I started inspecting the almanacs and before long was deeply engrossed in them. They formed an unbroken series, covering the years from 1744 to 1799, that is, exactly fifty-five years. The blue sheets of paper that are usually bound into almanacs were covered with old-fashioned handwriting. As I examined these pages I was amazed to see that they included not only observations about the weather and household accounts, but also historical fragments concerning the village of Goryukhino. Without delay I started sorting through these most valuable records and soon discovered that they comprised a complete history of the estate I had inherited, over the course of almost an entire century, in the strictest chronological order. In addition, they constituted an inexhaustible fund of economic, statistical, meteorological and other scholarly observations. Ever since, the study of these records has occupied me to the exclusion of all else, as I saw the possibility of extracting from them an orderly, interesting and instructive narrative. As I made myself sufficiently familiar with these precious records, I started searching for new sources for the history of the village of Goryukhino. Soon I was amazed at the abundance of such sources. After devoting six whole months to preliminary study, I finally embarked on my long-awaited task and with God’s help completed the said work on November 3, 1827.
Now – just as a certain historian13 similar to myself and whose name I cannot remember – having completed my arduous task, I lay down my pen and sadly wandered into my garden to reflect on what I had accomplished. It seems to me that, having finished my History of Goryukhino, I am no longer needed in this world, that my duty is done and that it is time for me to go to my rest!
Hereunder is appended a list of sources used by me in the composition of my History of Goryukhino.
1. A collection of old almanacs, in fifty-four parts. The first twenty parts were covered with old-fashioned writing, in abbreviated script. This chronicle was composed by my great-grandfather Andrey Stepanovich Belkin. It is distinguished for clarity and brevity of style – for example: May 4th. Snow. Trishka beaten for rudeness. 6th – the brown cow died. Senka flogged for drunkenness. Clear weather. 9th – rain and snow. Trishka flogged because of the weather. 11th – fine weather. Fresh snowfall. Hunted three hares, and so on, without any comments at all… The remaining thirty-five parts were written in different hands, most of them in so-called ‘shopkeeper’s hand’, with and without abbreviations, on the whole quite lengthy, disconnected and with no regard for orthography. Here and there a female hand is noticeable. In this section are included notes written by my grandfather Ivan Andreyevich Belkin and my grandmother Yevpraksiya Alekseyevna, as well as the steward Garbovitsky.
2. Chronicle of the Goryukhino sexton. This curious manuscript was found by me at the house of my priest, who married the daughter of the chronicler. The first sheets had been torn out and used by the priest’s children for making kites. One such kite fell into the middle of the
courtyard. I picked it up and was about to return it to the children when I noticed that there was writing on it. From the very first lines I could see that the kite had been made out of a chronicle, and fortunately I managed to save the rest. This chronicle, which I had acquired for a quarter of oats, is notable for profundity of thought and remarkable magniloquence.
3. Oral legends. I did not disregard any piece of information. But I am particularly obliged to Agrafena Trifonovna, mother of Avdey the clerk and (so it is said) the former mistress of the steward Garbovitsky.
4. Census lists, with comments by former village-elders concerning the morals and condition of the peasants.
The region that is named Goryukhino after its capital occupies more than six hundred acres of this earthly globe. The number of inhabitants extends to sixty-three souls. To the north the region borders on the villages of Derikhovo and Perkukhovo, whose inhabitants are poor, gaunt and undersized, and whose landowners are devoted to the martial exercise of hunting hares. To the south the River Sivka separates the village from the possessions of the free farmers of Karachevo, restless neighbours notorious for the unbridled cruelty of their natures. Bounding it to the west are the flowering fields of Zakharino, thriving under the sway of wise and enlightened landowners. To the east it borders upon wild, uninhabited land, an impassable bog, where only the cranberry grows, where only the monotonous croaking of frogs is heard and where, according to superstitious tradition, some demon has his abode.
Note This bog is called Demon’s Bog. It is said that a certain half-witted shepherdess was tending a herd of pigs not far from this isolated spot. She became pregnant and was quite unable to give a satisfactory explanation of this state of affairs. Popular opinion blamed the demon of the bog; but this fable is unworthy of an historian’s attention and after Niebuhr it would be inexcusable to give it credence.
From time immemorial Goryukhino has been famed for its fertility and salubrious climate. Rye, oats, barley and buckwheat thrive in its rich fields. A birch grove and fir forest provide its inhabitants with timber for building and fallen branches for heating their homes. There is no shortage of nuts, cranberries, whortleberries and bilberries. Mushrooms grow in extraordinary profusion and when fried in sour cream they provide pleasant, although unhealthy nourishment. The pond is teeming with carp, while pike and burbot are to be found in the River Sivka.
For the main part the inhabitants of Goryukhino are of medium height, and of sturdy, manly build; their eyes are grey and their hair fair or red. The women are noted for their slightly upturned noses, prominent cheekbones and ample proportions.
NB muscular peasant woman: this expression is often found in the village-elder’s comments on the census lists. The men are of good character, industrious (especially in their own fields), brave and warlike; many of them have fought bears single-handed and are renowned in the district as fist fighters; in general all show an inclination for the sensual pleasures of drunkenness. In addition to domestic work, the women share a large portion of their husbands’ work; and they are not inferior to them as regards courage – very few of them fear the village-elder. They constitute a powerful community guard, keeping constant vigil in the manor-house courtyard, and they are called spear-women (from the Slavonic word spear). The chief duty of these spear-women is to beat a cast-iron plate with a stone, thereby striking fear into those of evil intent. They are as chaste as they are pretty; to the advances of the insolent they respond severely and unequivocally.
The inhabitants of Goryukhino have long carried on a rich trade in bast baskets and shoes. In this they are helped by the River Sivka, which they cross in the spring in dug-outs, like the ancient Scandinavians, at other times of the year wading across it, having rolled up their trousers to the knees beforehand.
The language spoken in Goryukhino is definitely a branch of Slavonic, but differs from it as much as Russian does. It is filled with abbreviations and truncations – some letters have been left out altogether or replaced by others. However, a Great Russian14 has no difficulty in understanding anyone from Goryukhino, and vice versa.
The men used at the age of thirteen to marry girls of twenty. The wives would beat their husbands for four or five years. Subsequently the husbands would beat their wives; and thus both sexes enjoyed their period of authority and a correct balance was maintained.
Funeral ceremonies were performed in the following way. On the day of death the deceased was taken directly to the cemetery so that his corpse should not unnecessarily take up space in his cottage. As a result, it often happened that the corpse, to the indescribable joy of the relatives, would sneeze or yawn just as it was being conveyed out of the village in its coffin. Wives would bewail their husbands, howling and muttering, ‘Light of my life, my brave darling! Whom have you left me to? How shall I keep your memory sacred?’ After the return from the cemetery a wake in honour of the deceased would commence, and relatives and friends would be intoxicated for two or three days, even for an entire week, depending on their zeal and degree of attachment to his memory. These ancient rites have been preserved to this day.
The dress of the people of Goryukhino consisted of shirts worn over breeches – this is a distinguishing feature of their Slav origins. In winter they wore sheepskin jackets, but more for show than from need, since they usually slung them over one shoulder and then discarded them when doing the slightest work which called for bodily movement.
From earliest times, the arts and poetry have been in a fairly flourishing state in Goryukhino. Besides the priest and junior deacons, there have always been literate men in the village. The chronicle records a clerk by the name of Terenty, who lived around 1767 and who could write not only with his right hand but also with his left. This remarkable man became famous throughout the whole neighbourhood for being able to compose all kinds of documents, letters, petitions, civil passports and so on. Having suffered more than once on account of his skill and readiness to oblige, and for having taken part in various remarkable events, he died in ripe old age just when he was learning to write with his right foot, since the script of both his hands had become too well known. As the reader will see below, he plays an important role in the history of Goryukhino.
Music has always been the favourite art of the educated people of Goryukhino, the sound of the balalaika and bagpipes bringing delight to sensitive hearts, and they can be heard to this day in their dwellings, especially in the ancient communal hall, embellished with branches of spruce and the emblem of the two-headed eagle.15
At one time poetry flourished in ancient Goryukhino. To this day the poems of Arkhip the Bald are preserved in the memory of posterity.
In tenderness they are in no way inferior to the eclogues of the celebrated Virgil and in beauty of imagery they far surpass the idylls of Mr Sumarokov.16 And although in elaborateness of style they do not emulate the latest productions of our muses, they are equal to them in inventiveness and wit. Let me quote as an example the following satirical poem:
To the great boyar’s mansion
Wends his way the Elder, Anton,
In his bosom he carries
For the boyar his monthly tallies;
The boyar looks on with vacant face,
He can make nothing of this case;
Oh, Anton you’ve cleaned the boyar out,
Of that there is no doubt;
Through you the village has naught to eat,
While the Elder’s wife is replete.
Having thus acquainted my reader with the ethnographic and statistical position of Goryukhino and with the customs and habits of its inhabitants, I shall now proceed to the narrative itself.
Legendary Times
Trifon the Village-Elder
The system of government in Goryukhino has changed several times. It was in turn under the authority of leaders elected by the village community, then of stewards who were appointed by the landowners and finally directly under the authority of the landowners themselves. The advantages an
d disadvantages of these various forms of administration will be examined by me in the course of my narrative.
Tales of Belkin and Other Prose Writings Page 11