Old-World Landowners

I greatly enjoy the modest life of those secluded landlords in remote villages that in Little Russia are usually called “old-fashioned” (starosvetskiye): like frail, picturesque little houses, they are good for their colorful variety and their complete contrast with the new smooth building whose walls haven’t yet been washed by rain, whose roofs haven’t been covered with green mold, and whose unplastered porch doesn’t show off its red bricks.

Sometimes I like to step for a moment into the sphere of this extraordinarily secluded life, where no desire crosses the palisade surrounding a small courtyard, the fence of the garden filled with apple and plum trees, the village huts around it that have leaned to one side, shaded by willows, elderberry, and pear trees. Their quiet, humble household life is so hushed—so hushed—that for a moment you forget yourself and think that passions, desires, and the restless creations of an evil spirit that disturb the world simply don’t exist—you’ve only seen them in a shining, glittering dream…