A SPORTSMAN'S SKETCHES
'How's that, Luka Petrovitch? I thought you kept to the old ways,'
'I—that's another thing. You see I am not a nobleman or a landowner. What sort of management is mine? . . . Besides, I don't know how to do things differently. I try to act according to justice and the law, and leave the rest in God's hands! Young gentlemen don't like the old method; I think they are right. . . . It's the time to take in ideas. Only this is the pity of it; the young are too theoretical. They treat the peasant like a doll; they turn him this way and that way; twist him about and throw him away. And their bailiff, a serf, or some overseer from the German natives, gets the peasant under his thumb again. Now, if any one of the young gentlemen would set us an example, would show us, "See, this is how you ought to manage!" . . . What will be the end of it? Can it be that I shall die without seeing the new methods? . . . What is the proverb?—the old is dead, but the young is not born!'
I did not know what reply to make to Ovsyanikov. He looked round, drew himself nearer to me, and went on in an undertone:
'Have you heard talk of Vassily Nikolaitch Lubozvonov?'
'No, I haven't.'
'Explain to me, please, what sort of strange creature he is. I can't make anything of it. His peasants have described him, but I can't make any sense of their tales. He is a young man, you
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