Moscow: A Story of the French Invasion of 1812. Whishaw Frederick

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      Moscow: A Story of the French Invasion of 1812

      CHAPTER I

      With a great jangling of sleigh-bells and much shouting from his driver, who addressed the three horses by every epithet both endearing and abusive that his vocabulary could provide, Count Maximof drove into the yard of his nearest neighbour, the Boyar Demidof. The visit was expected, for Maximof had sent a messenger to give warning of his approach and to notify the boyar of the object of his coming. The Count was accompanied by his wife, Avdotia, and his son, a child of ten years, as well as by the priest of the district who had been picked up en route at his own village. The child Alexander, commonly called Sasha, sat by the driver, a young serf of surly appearance and manners, while the three elders occupied—as best they could—the cushioned seat behind. This was designed to hold two with moderate comfort, so that the two outside passengers now fared indifferently, but the middle one, who was the Count, was comfortable enough.

      Demidof, with his wife, met the party at the threshold of his house, greeting them with voluble and exaggerated expressions of welcome, after the manner of Russian hosts of his day, which was about one hundred years ago.

      "You see I have brought him," said Maximof; "make your bow, Sasha, and ask after the health of your nevyesta (bride)."

      Sasha advanced shyly. "I hope Mademoiselle Vera Danilovna is well?" he said, glibly enough.

      "She is well and waiting anxiously to embrace her fiancé," said Demidof, laughing. "Go into the salon on the right and you will find her—what? You have a present for her—a doll—that is delightful; she will love you from the very beginning. That is the door."

      Sasha disappeared in the direction indicated.

      "The notary is here," continued Demidof. "We can complete the legal part of the matter immediately; after which you, Father Nicholas, shall perform your share of the ceremony."

      Parents, priest and notary now proceeded to the business of the occasion, which was the betrothal of Alexander Maximof, aged ten, to Vera Demidof, who numbered seven summers, and the signing of the contract of betrothal. When this latter document had been read over and approved and signed by all present, the two persons chiefly concerned in the matter were summoned for the religious ceremony; little Vera came hugging her doll, while Sasha was arrayed in a tiny Lancer uniform, the gift of his bride-to-be.

      The priest recited certain prayers and injunctions to which the principals paid scant attention; and, the ceremony ended, all sat down to dinner. At this function there were many servants, serfs of the estate, to wait upon the feasters; the food was good and plentiful, but badly cooked, the wine plentiful also, but indifferent, and the plates and dishes were filthy. Civilisation had not as yet reached a high standard in the Russia of that day, when, even in the best houses, though the furniture might be gorgeously gilt, it stood in dust and dirt; where men- and women-servants slept in the passages which were not aired during the day; where there were no arrangements for personal ablutions, and ventilation and sanitation were arts as yet undiscovered and undreamed of.

      The two mothers gushed over their children, who chattered and played together quite unconcerned to think of the serious nature of the function in which they had this day taken a chief part. It was a beautiful thing, Countess Maximof observed, to see innocent love actually in the birth, as at this moment. The fathers drank heavily and made boisterous jokes at which all present laughed aloud, including the servants and his reverence the priest, who drank as hard as any and gave no sign of displeasure when the humour of the two manor-lords surpassed in its vulgarity even the wide margin which, in those days of much breadth in such matters, was considered permissible.

      More than once Demidof rose to chastise some unfortunate serf who had in some manner displeased him. Neither of the gentlemen hesitated to use language towards the servants, whether male or female, too outrageous to be imagined, far less quoted, applying names and epithets of the most unsavoury and insulting nature.

      "You are too kind and gentle with your fellows," said Maximof, who was, even in those dark days of tyrannous and brutal manor-lords, a noted bully towards his serfs, and was hated by them in consequence even more bitterly than he himself was aware. "You should send that clumsy devil to me for a week, I'd train him for you."

      The clumsy devil referred to had spilt wine over his master's arm and had received a clout over his head for his carelessness. He now stood lamenting audibly by the sideboard.

      "You may have the fool," laughed Demidof, "for five roubles, and train him or bury him as you please."

      "Oh no, no, Barin, God forbid," cried the wretched man sinking upon his knees, "it is unlawful to sell me away from the land."

      "Good—I take him—send him over to-morrow!" Maximof hiccoughed, totally unconcerned by the fellow's blubbering and entreaties, to which his own master paid no more attention than the Count did.

      When dinner was over the afternoon was well spent and it was time to set out upon the twenty-mile drive which separated the houses of the two boyars. The children were made to kiss one another at parting, a demonstration to which the lady strongly objected though without assigning a reason until after her future lord's departure, when she explained to her mother's superstitious horror, but to her father's boisterous amusement, that she hated him.

      "He kicked me and hit me," she said, showing certain marks upon her limbs, "because I was tired of playing at soldiers with him and wanted to hug my doll. Don't invite him here again, mother!"

      "But he belongs to you, my dove, you must love him, he is yours and you are his," cried the horrified parent.

      "Then I'll spill wine over him and he shall sell me for five roubles, as father sold Gregory just now!" said the child. Whereat the mother crossed herself and muttered a prayer and the boyar laughed boisterously.

      Meanwhile the Maximof family sped homewards through the gloom of the early winter evening. The cold had a sobering influence both upon the boyar himself and upon the priest, who was with difficulty aroused from torpor, however, when his village was reached and the time came to drop him at his own house.

      The driver, Kiril, had found friends at Demidof's house anxious to entertain him in return for his dismal accounts of the cruelties and abominations practised by his boyar upon the serfs of his estate.

      "We are dogs, no better," he had told them; "you may thank God, brothers, that you are not in our place."

      "Go on and tell us all about it," said one, plying Kiril with more drink. Kiril had many a tale to tell at the price of a drink for each recital, and when true stories failed him he employed his inventive powers.

      "You, Gregory, had better hang yourself rather than come our way," said he, addressing the man sold in a fit of rage by Demidof at the dinner-table.

      "There is no need," said Gregory. "My master is not a fool when he is sober; he knows two things, one that he cannot sell me away from the land and the other that I am worth more than five roubles to him. He will remember these two things when he has slept, and I shall not go."

      "Good; so be it; remain and be happy! What in the devil's name does your master think of to mate his child with the whelp of a wolf? Like father like son; one day he will eat her."

      "In twelve years much may happen. Drink, friend, and tell us more of the doings of your master, who must indeed be a very child of Satan, if all you say is true."

      "It is true. Listen now how he knouted Masha, the herdsman's daughter; some lords have respect for the weakness of a woman, but he has none."

      Kiril was still narrating and still drinking when summoned to put in the horses and start homewards. By this time he was far from sober.

      On the way home he slept peacefully, the clever little horses knowing the road homewards and keeping faultlessly to the track.

      The priest had been left at his house and there remained but four or five miles to drive when the astute little animals suddenly shied with one accord, sending the sledge skidding across the road and bringing it up violently enough against a pine-tree.

      Maximof was rudely awakened from his sleep. His wife uttered a cry of alarm, the boyar swore