Chapter 6

I had long been curious to see how Martin Petrovitch arranged his household, what sort of a home he had. One day I invited myself to accompany him on horseback as far as Eskovo (that was the name of his estate). �Upon my word, you want to have a look at my dominion,� was Martin Petrovitch�s comment. �By all means! I�ll show you the garden, and the house, and the threshing-floor, and everything. I have plenty of everything.� We set off. It was reckoned hardly more than a couple of miles from our place to Eskovo. �Here it is—my dominion!� Martin Petrovitch roared suddenly, trying to turn his immovable neck, and waving his arm to right and left. �It�s all mine!� Harlov�s homestead lay on the top of a sloping hill. At the bottom, a few wretched-looking peasants� huts clustered close to a small pond. At the pond, on a washing platform, an old peasant woman in a check petticoat was beating some soaked linen with a bat.

�Axinia!� boomed Martin Petrovitch, but in such a note that the rooks flew up in a flock from an oat-field near.� �Washing your husband�s breeches?�

The peasant woman turned at once and bowed very low.

�Yes, sir,� sounded her weak voice.

�Ay, ay! Yonder, look,� Martin Petrovitch continued, proceeding at a trot alongside a half-rotting wattle fence, �that is my hemp-patch; and that yonder�s the peasants�; see the difference? And this here is my garden; the apple-trees I planted, and the willows I planted too. Else there was no timber of any sort here. Look at that, and learn a lesson!�

We turned into the courtyard, shut in by a fence; right opposite the gate, rose an old tumbledown lodge, with a thatch roof, and steps up to it, raised on posts. On one side stood another, rather newer, and with a tiny attic; but it too was a ramshackly affair. �Here you may learn a lesson again,� observed Harlov; �see what a little manor-house our fathers lived in; but now see what a mansion I have built myself.� This �mansion� was like a house of cards. Five or six dogs, one more ragged and hideous than another, welcomed us with barking. �Sheep-dogs!� observed Martin Petrovitch. �Pure-bred Crimeans! Sh, damned brutes! I�ll come and strangle you one after another!� On the steps of the new building, there came out a young man, in a long full nankeen overall, the husband of Martin Petrovitch�s elder daughter. Skipping quickly up to the droshky, he respectfully supported his father-in-law under the elbow as he got up, and even made as though he would hold the gigantic feet, which the latter, bending his bulky person forward, lifted with a sweeping movement across the seat; then he assisted me to dismount from my horse.

�Anna!� cried Harlov, �Natalia Nikolaevna�s son has come to pay us a visit; you must find some good cheer for him. But where�s Evlampia?� (Anna was the name of the elder daughter, Evlampia of the younger.)

�She�s not at home; she�s gone into the fields to get cornflowers,� responded Anna, appearing at a little window near the door.

�Is there any junket?� queried Harlov.

�Yes.�

�And cream too?�

�Yes.�

�Well, set them on the table, and I�ll show the young gentleman my own room meanwhile. This way, please, this way,� he added, addressing me, and beckoning with his forefinger. In his own house he treated me less familiarly; as a host he felt obliged to be more formally respectful. He led me along a corridor. �Here is where I abide,� he observed, stepping sideways over the threshold of a wide doorway, �this is my room. Pray walk in!�

His room turned out to be a big unplastered apartment, almost empty; on the walls, on nails driven in askew, hung two riding-whips, a three-cornered hat, reddish with wear, a single-barrelled gun, a sabre, a sort of curious horse-collar inlaid with metal plates, and the picture representing a burning candle blown on by the winds. In one corner stood a wooden settle covered with a particoloured rug. Hundreds of flies swarmed thickly about the ceiling; yet the room was cool. But there was a very strong smell of that peculiar odour of the forest which always accompanied Martin Petrovitch.

�Well, is it a nice room?� Harlov questioned me.

�Very nice.�

�Look-ye, there hangs my Dutch horse-collar,� Harlov went on, dropping into his familiar tone again. �A splendid horse-collar! got it by barter off a Jew. Just you look at it!�

�It�s a good horse-collar.�

�It�s most practical. And just sniff it � what leather!� I smelt the horse-collar. It smelt of rancid oil and nothing else.

�Now, be seated,—there on the stool; make yourself at home,� observed Harlov, while he himself sank on to the settle, and seemed to fall into a doze, shutting his eyes and even beginning to snore. I gazed at him without speaking, with ever fresh wonder; he was a perfect mountain—there was no other word! Suddenly he started.

�Anna!� he shouted, while his huge stomach rose and fell like a wave on the sea; �what are you about? Look sharp! Didn�t you hear me?�

�Everything�s ready, father; come in,� I heard his daughter�s voice.

I inwardly marvelled at the rapidity with which Martin Petrovitch�s behests had been carried out; and followed him into the drawing-room, where, on a table covered with a red cloth with white flowers on it, lunch was already prepared: junket, cream, wheaten bread, even powdered sugar and ginger. While I set to work on the junket, Martin Petrovitch growled affectionately, �Eat, my friend, eat, my dear boy; don�t despise our country cheer,� and sitting down again in a corner, again seemed to fall into a doze. Before me, perfectly motionless, with downcast eyes, stood Anna Martinovna, while I saw through the window her husband walking my cob up and down the yard, and rubbing the chain of the snaffle with his own hands.