I will not hear a word while you lie on the floor;'
and looking through the curtains I saw her
with her fingers in both ears. Sanya said,
'Lucy dear, let them go on, they are only
moushicks.' 'They are men,' said Lucy; and turning
to them, she said, 'Now listen and remember
what I tell you; never go on your knees,
and kiss the ground to me again. I won't have
it; you must kneel to God only. Stand up and
make your request in a respectful manner, then
I will hear you, and help you if I can.' The
moushicks did not understand her; they stared
in blank astonishment; they heard her words
of rebuke, but supposed that they had not been
abject enough; and again cast themselves down
at full length. Lucy ran into my arms and
burst into tears. My Sanya could not for a
long time understand it, but I hope I did; and
the end is, that this abominable practice has
been peremptorily abolished in my family."

Now, let me describe my visit to the Black
village, or, as the Russians call it, "Churnoi
Deravonie."

We (for I was not alone) arrived about ten
o'clock, in fine time and humour for breakfast,
but saw very few evidences of life as we passed
down the road between the straggling poverty-
stricken shapeless hovels of mud and wood. On
approaching the baronial residence and farm
offices, we found a small crowd of some twenty
peasant men and women assembled at one of the
barn-doors, where a middle-aged lady was
gesticulating with direful energy to the assembled
peasants. The lady was dressed in a fur wrapper,
had tied her head up in a comfortable woollen
shawl, had put her hands in good warm fur gloves,
and wore on her feet a pair of long velvet boots
lined with rabbit-skin. The peasants seemed
as if they had just risen from consuming fever.
They were lean and wan and haggard, with their
hair matted, their poor clothing tattered, and
their faces fixed in sullen discontent. The lady,
busy among her "souls," did not appear to
notice our approach. She was in too great a
passion to attend to anything but the outpouring
of her wrath.

"Dogs! sons and daughters of dogs! Is this
the service you pay your baron? Pigs and
swine! Is this a time to come to your work?
Rats and vermin! You should have been here
at four o'clock, and now it is ten. Defilement
of mothers! I will have every one of you
whipped. And you, starost, who ought to be
an example, are the worst of the whole pack of
thieves. You came here at this hour with
seventeen souls, when you ought to have had
forty here at four o'clock to thrash and put that
rye away. Devils you all are! If my brother
were well, he would punish you like sons and
daughters of dogs, that you are!"

The old starost, quite unconcerned under all
this abuse, merely shrugged his shoulders until
they reached his ears, and held out his two hands
from his sides with each finger as far separate
from its neighbour as possible. If any one will
put himself in this posture, and stare fixedly
before him until his eyes are glassy, he will
have achieved the universal deprecatory careless
shrug of Russia.

"What's to be done, baroness?" he asked.
I have been fighting the pigs all the morning
to get them to come, but, the deuce take it,
they say they are all unwell, and cannot work.
See! These are all I could get, and I had to pull
them off their beds to bring them here, and,
deuce take me, they are not worth bringing!
But what's to be done, baroness? It's God's
doing."

"Go into the barn and work, you whelps,"
said my lady. "Starost, drive them in, you
old fool. Be quick, pig." And here she gave
the old fellow a side blow with her gloved hand
which made him stagger back. But, recovering
himself, he pretended to make furious assault
on the poor invalids, cuffing, kicking, and
pushing them to the door of the barn, through
which they huddled and disappeared.

"Now then, you old fool," said the lady, "go
and bring the others."

"And who will watch these, baroness?"

"I will. Be off, thief."

"I'll try, baroness. But they won't come."

"Begone, devil, and obey my orders." Again
she essayed to strike the man, but he started off
in quick time to the village.

The language used towards these poor people
did not astonish me. It is the usual style
towards serfs. But it is not often that a lady is
the speaker. I had been told of this baroness
that she was a Tartar, and a Tartar she assuredly
was. Observing us as the old starost left, she
came hurriedly over to us. "Ah, bless me, is
it you, my dears? Forgive me, you young ladies,
I did not see you sooner. You are welcome,
my darlings. How is your mother? Sanya,
who is this you bring with you?" (I am
introduced, and touch the Tartar's glove.) "You
see what awful work we have with these serfs,
sir? They think that since their freedom has
been so much talked of, they are not to work
any more. They are perfectly unmanageable.
My brother's illness has forced me to take them
in hand, and I'll let them know I am not to be
played with. Now go to the house, dears, and
take off your things. I will be with you as
soon as I see these peasants at work." And off
she went into the barn.

The house was large and dilapidated. When
we drove into the front yard we found all
silent and empty. No one came to take charge
of our horses, or usher us in. Our coachman
could not leave his horses, one of them
being rather restive: so, after halloaing for some
time, I was obliged to enter unannounced.
Just inside the door, and coiled up in a corner
like a huge boa-constrictor, lay what I
suspected was the porter sound asleep. I gave
him a shake, but this had no effect. I then
kicked his legs, but he only groaned. Seeing
a jug of water on a little table in the passage, I
poured it on him. He started up half awake
and made a fierce butt at me with his head.
Fortunately he missed me, and came down on
the floor, head first. This had only the effect