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Updated: June 25, 2025
Liza soon came back again and took up her former position on the platform. "Why do you think that Vladimir Nikolaevich has no heart?" she asked, a few minutes afterwards. "I have already told you that I may be mistaken. However, time will reveal all." Liza became contemplative. Lavretsky began to talk about his mode of life al Vasilievskoe, about Mikhalevich, about Anton.
Peter Nikolaevich called some of the men working on the estate and ordered them to drive the cattle into his yard. The peasants were working in the fields, and, disregarding the screaming of the women, Peter Nikolaevich's men succeeded in driving in the cattle. When they came home the peasants went in a crowd to the cattle-yard on the estate, and asked for their cattle.
The peasants loudly declared that the pasture ground was their property, because their fathers and grandfathers had used it, and protested that he had no right whatever to lay hand on their cattle. "Give back our cattle, or you will regret it," said an old man coming up to Peter Nikolaevich. "How shall I regret it?" cried Peter Nikolaevich, turning pale, and coming close to the old man.
He could remain silent for hours without being at all put out of countenance himself or making others uncomfortable, but as soon as the conversation concerned himself he would begin to talk circumstantially and with evident satisfaction. "Consider my position, Peter Nikolaevich.
That is the one thing they all care for like that cadet last autumn. What a fool he was! 'Ivan Nikolaevich! she said aloud. 'What are your commands? 'How old is he? 'Who? 'Kasatsky. 'Over forty, I should think. 'And does he receive all visitors? 'Yes, everybody, but not always. 'Cover up my feet. Not like that how clumsy you are! No! More, more like that! But you need not squeeze them!
Soon after Peter Nikolaevich had settled there, and begun to enforce order, young Turin, having observed an independent tendency in the peasants on the Liventsov estate, as well as their determination to uphold their rights, became interested in them.
"Une nature poétique," said Maria Dmitrievna, "certainly cannot go cultivating the soil et puis, it is your vocation, Vladimir Nikolaevich, to do every thing en grand." This was too much even for Panshine, who grew confused, and changed the conversation. He tried to turn it on the beauty of the starry heavens, on Schubert's music, but somehow his efforts did not prove successful.
The money he had left was soon gone; he had to sell all his clothes and went about nearly in rags. His sweetheart left him. But notwithstanding, he kept up his high spirits, and when the spring came he started to walk home. Peter Nikolaevich had been an official in the Customs, and had gained eighteen thousand roubles during his service.
About twelve years ago he quitted the service not quite of his own accord: as a matter of fact he had been compelled to leave and bought an estate from a young landowner who had dissipated his fortune. Peter Nikolaevich had married at an earlier period, while still an official in the Customs. His wife, who belonged to an old noble family, was an orphan, and was left without money.
He came often to the village to talk with the men, and developed his socialistic theories, insisting particularly on the nationalisation of the land. After Peter Nikolaevich had been murdered, and the murderers sent to trial, the revolutionary group of the small town boiled over with indignation, and did not shrink from openly expressing it.
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