Lady Macbeth of Mtsensk And Other Stories (Penguin Classics) by Nikolai Leskov

Author:Nikolai Leskov [Leskov, Nikolai]
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3
ISBN: 9780241199817
Publisher: Penguin Books Ltd
Published: 2017-08-22T04:00:00+00:00

10

‘For a man on a long journey, the nature of his travelling companion is of the first importance. With a good, intelligent companion it’s easier to bear both cold and hunger, and I had received this blessing in the person of that wonderful youth Levonty. He and I set off on foot, taking with us knapsacks and a sufficient sum of money; in order to guard it and our lives, we took an old-fashioned short-bladed sabre with a broad handle, which we kept permanently ready in case of danger. We travelled as tradesmen do, living each day at a time, all the while, of course, keeping a constant look-out for anything that might be to our advantage. Right at the outset we visited Klintsy and Zlynka, and then called on some of our own people in Oryol, but this brought no useful results. We couldn’t find any good isographers anywhere, and eventually we reached Moscow. But what can I say? Alas, Moscow! Alas, glorious empress of the Russias! We, the Old Believers, were not favoured by you.

‘It’s hard to know whether one should talk about it, or whether it’s best to keep quiet about it, but the spirit we encountered in Moscow was not the one we were thirsting for. We discovered that the ancient traditions were no longer supported by love of goodness and piety, but only by bigotry; as, day by day, Levonty and I became more and more convinced that this was so, we began to feel embarrassed, for we both saw things which were offensive to any peaceful follower of the faith: in our embarrassment, however, we refrained from discussing any of this with each other.

‘There were, of course, isographers to be found in Moscow, and highly skilled ones at that; but what was the point of seeking them out when none of them possessed the spirit of which the traditions of our fathers relate to us? When, in olden times, the devout icon-painters had set about their holy art, they had prayed and fasted, and had produced the same high quality of work for any fee, whether large or small, as the honour of their exalted task demanded. These modern painters – well, some of them work in reft’,1 and others work in white oil,2 but only for short periods of time, never for the whole of their lives; the primers they use are weak, chalky ones, never alabaster, and they add water to the paints they use in a lazy fashion, all in one go, and not, as in olden times, in as many as four or even five separate stages, producing colours that were as fluid as water, and which lent their work its wonderful delicacy, a delicacy nowadays unattainable. And it’s not just a matter of their technical clumsiness: they themselves have grown slack in their behaviour. They will boast in front of one another, or one of them will drag the name of another in the muck, in order to humiliate

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