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of Viaz’ma merchants to recall ancient Novgorod—Stroganov, Kalashnikov, Liutov, Sinel’nikov, Ershov, Kolesnikov, El’chaninov, etc. These families did not sit long in Viaz’ma with their hands folded. They became rich anew trading in linen and leather with the Hansa cities.
The major Viaz’ma merchants became linen czars. This was strange because the best flax grew in the light sandy soil of the Pskov, Novgorod, and Tver provinces. Smolensk had loamy soil, and the flax was coarser. But it was brought in from everywhere, and Viaz’ma became not only a Russian, but a European linen exchange.
The leather factories stretched out one after the other on a bend of the Vi-az’ma River. They stank horribly but people were used to it and seemed not to notice. From the river one could see huge piles of sandal shavings that looked like red pyramids.
Beyond the Smolensk gate stood two match factories, the El’chaninov and the Sinel’nikov. They were very different. The El’chaninov plant was in the “latest style.” It was rebuilt several years before the war and looked like a huge glass greenhouse. All the machinery was new with half being automated. Inside one heard the quiet hum of electric motors, central heating was everywhere, and the workers wore white coats as in a hospital. Around the factory was a new settlement for workers with small individual houses set in gardens.
Nearby, the Sinel’nikov match factory looked like a barracks. Assorted lumber and odd carts were sloppily strewn about. Everything was untidy. The workers lived in the city in no set location.
The El’chaninov matches were packaged in elegant raspberry colored boxes, 2 x 2 inches and less than half-an-inch thick. “El’chaninov Factory. 48 Matches” was stamped on them. The Sinel’nikov matches came in the simplest boxes. Incomprehensibly, Sinel’nikov workers were very proud of their factory, did not complain of their fate; management was always friendly. But El’chaninov’s workers were always whining.
The linen and leather merchants were very rich. Their presence was very beneficial for the town. The merchants competed against each other as to who would excel in charity. Mikhail Ivanovich Liutov built one of the finest hospitals in Russia, Stroganov built schools, and Sinel’nikov equipped the fire department. When my mother undertook the creation of the Viaz’ma library, all the merchants wanted to build it so it would carry their name. Only after having purchased the land, and with great difficulty, was my mother able to convince the merchants to build the library jointly and to stock it. The merchants of Viaz’ma were not only rich but generous, a type of people common in Russia.
The Liutov hospital stood between the city and the railroad station. Liutov hired a superb architect for it and obtained the newest medical equipment
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from Switzerland. The wards and operating rooms had rounded corners so that dust would not collect there. He brought in Italian experts for the special floors. The walls were tiled. Needless to say, Liutov procured the best doctors and nurses.
In the market square there was a one-story building called the “Trading Row.” This was an arcade with a covered passageway and shops in the interior. All kinds of merchants and storekeepers had businesses there. All of these merchants were either manufacturers or curriers, but they sat in their shops daily even though they had nothing to do with linen or leather. They sold necessities. The stores had boots, axes, scythes, harnesses, matting, hammers, nails, tar. There were barrels of herring, pickles, and all kinds of other things. The shops belonging to Stroganov and Kalashnikov were next to each other. One of the Stroganov brothers always sat on a barrel in front of his shop and played cards with Kalashnikov, also on a barrel instead of a table. You would arrive there and be greeted with a “What do you need?” “I need some nails.” “Go find some nails for yourself, whichever you need. The smaller ones are in the boxes. Let me know later what you took.” People walked around in the shops on their own. They took what they needed, tried on the boots without the owners even watching. In the Russia of those days, it was possible to conduct business in this fashion. Evidently, people were honest.
The eldest Stroganov brother, who was repeatedly elected mayor, was superbly educated and a natural scientist with a European reputation. He held honorary degrees from the universities of Edinburgh and London, and had doctorates from the universities of Heidelberg and Leipzig.
I think it was in 1912 that he went to London for a long time. His brother and Kalashnikov decided to visit him there. They did not have his address, all they knew was that he was in London. They arrived there and asked for the best hotel. They were told the Ritz. They booked rooms, sat down by a window facing the street, and began to play cards. Having stayed there for two weeks, they decided to return to Viaz’ma. “It’s a hell of a city. We sat by a window for two weeks and did not see brother once.”
The Viaz’ma merchants always wore dark blue homespun coats, similar wide trousers, boots, and peaked caps. They wore silk braided belts. And if the light, tight coat was unfastened, the whitest of white shirts could be seen underneath. The store smelled of tar, matting, herring, but everything was cleanly swept.
As in other cities, there were artels in Viaz’ma. I don’t know when they started in Russia. These were voluntary associations of 30–40 people, though sometimes over 50. The smaller artels had about twelve men. There were construction artels, leather-working artels, and specialized ones. They built bridges, roads, did all forms of mechanical work, and excelled in shipbuild-
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ing. They had incredibly strict rules regarding honesty and professional knowledge of their craft. Everyone knew that if an artel took the job everything would be done as contracted. My father said that the artel was the most remarkable organization in Russia, and that an artel member was synonymous with honesty and irreproachability.
If someone needed machinery from Germany or cedar from Siberia, and artel was hired. “Here, I need 500 sazhens [one sazhen equals 7 ft.] of cedar, 12 feet by 9 inches, an inch thick—do you know where to get it?” “Yes.” “Well, be sure to get the top grade.” They came to an agreement and price. The merchant gave the artel man money without any signatures and the cedar planks were brought from Siberia at the best price possible.
No one ever worried that the artel people would cheat them. The majority of the artel men were from the peasantry, honest and smart. When I was already in England, the old Englishman Stanley Hogue used to tell me about the artels. He did business in Russia for 50 years and prior to that, his father did the same. They owned furniture factories in Moscow and Khar’kov, and they bought all their materials and wood through the artels. Not once in his fifty years in Russia did he ever actually sign a contract. He said that Russia was the only country where contracts were entered into orally rather than on paper. Transactions of twenty or thirty thousand rubles were agreed upon over a cup of tea. “No receipt was ever taken by them or me. I once gave an artel member 40,000 rubles, though I had never met him before. He delivered my order and provided an accounting down to the last penny. One could only do business this way in Russia.” Only once did he hear that a merchant had been cheated by an artel member. The name of this person was made public and all the money that the merchant lost was returned by the artel. This person could never be accepted into any other artel.
One policeman stood at the market square in Viaz’ma. What he did there, nobody knew. A second one stood on Nikitskaia Square and one strolled the Sennaia Square on Thursdays, market day. I never saw any other policemen in Viaz’ma, but it was said that there were fourteen altogether. The son of one of them was in my class.
Viaz’ma was outside the pale of settlement, but there were many Jews. I do not know precisely what allowed Jews to live outside the pale at that time, but I think that if any Jew had a profession he could live anywhere. In Viaz’ma, for example, all three pharmacists, all six dentists, I do not know how many doctors, the oculists, public notaries, many
storeowners, almost all the bankers, tailors, and shoemakers were Jews. I recall that on Troitskaia Street there were four houses next to each other which had brass plates reading, e.g., “Fel’dman—Dentist.” Not one of them was a dentist or tailor in actuality. Evidently they sold goods of a sort. Everybody knew this and no one bothered
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them. There were about 2,000 Jews in Viaz’ma. Out of thirty boys in my class, eight were Jews and seven of them sat in the front row because they were good students.
There were many educational institutions in Viaz’ma: the First Alexander III men’s gimnazium, the first women’s gimnazium standing opposite, the second women’s at the corner of Moskovskaia, the “realschule,” the technical school, the first and second city schools, and several common schools. I have already noted that my mother always wanted to establish a university in Vi-az’ma but the war came along.
And what about the city itself? Only in Russia could there be such contrasts. The roadways were absolutely bad. Only in the center of town were the sidewalks slabbed. On the remaining streets, the sidewalks were earthen, and raised a foot or two above the roadway. The Viaz’ma River was neglected. There were no embankments anywhere and the shoreline in the city was overgrown. It was sad. Only on the Bel’skaia side, under the precipice on which the cathedral stood, was there a boathouse. Otherwise there were no boats, not a landing, even in the city park. In spring, the Viaz’ma overflowed broadly into the flood plain meadows. How beautiful it was to look from the cathedral cliff upon this huge lake of two to three versts in length and more than a verst wide. The Bober River flowed into the Viaz’ma between the tanneries. The bridges crossing the river were old and wooden.
But at night, Viaz’ma lit up splendidly. Huge electric lamps, which illuminated the streets as if it were day, hung from cables. The town prided itself on its electric signs. Above the Nemirov Hotel on Moskovskaia a multicolored wheel spun at night. Some sort of electric feathers and flowers sparkled above the Nemirov movie theater. Above Krakovskii’s pharmacy a large bottle poured red liquid into a glass which never filled up. A yellow and black shoe alternately flared above Izraztsov’s shoe store. Truly, there were many fantastical billboards.
At night, the town shone like the capital. Prior to the war, the band of the heavy artillery division played in the shell at the city park on spring and summer evenings. The youth of Viaz’ma strolled beneath the electric bulbs which hung like pears from trees. High schoolers, apprentices, soldiers, vendors, and bureaucrats walked arm in arm with their ladies. To me, the park appeared to be too small for Viaz’ma. I always dreamed that upon growing up I would establish a park with tree-lined paths, gazebos, a landing, and boats for the strollers.
There were also some extremely handsome houses that were saved during the conflagration when the French were retreating from the battle of Viaz’ma. There were also new three- and four-story brick buildings. These were apartment houses with nice apartments with high ceilings and airy rooms.
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Fires were rare in the city, perhaps because the houses stood far apart and had large gardens between them. The fire department with a high observation tower across from the city park always seemed to be closed. In actuality, a fireman was always on duty in the tower night and day. But I never saw the fire apparatus, nor the firemen racing anywhere.
All of the homesteads had stables, cowsheds, and barns. I do not know if Viaz’ma was famous for its cattle, or whether this was generally the case in provincial towns, but Viaz’ma cows were a lovely sight. Around five o’clock the herds returned from grazing. I often hung out the window looking at the cows. How gorgeous they were! As far as I remember, there were four herds in Viaz’ma of 150 cows, perhaps more: the Bel’skoe, Smolenskoe, Kaluzh-skoe, and Moskovskoe. The herdsmen gathered the cows in the morning and brought them back in the evening for milking. All had their barns filled with hay and oil-cake for winter. Besides draught horses, there were few others. Some people had a brichka or drozhki. Only the more wealthy had carriages with one central shaft and a pair of handsome horses. Corpulent merchant’s wives, all dressed to kill, used these carriages to go on visits. Rich storeown-ers also kept one-horse carriages.
Peasant wagons, loaded with hay and assorted viands, drifted from all directions to Sennaia Square where the Thursday market was held. Sometimes large fairs were held on the Torgovaia Square.
The city club stood on the Sennaia. All the merchants, bank directors, bureaucrats, etc. were members. I was never there, of course, but my father would go whenever serious matters concerning the town were to be decided.
The central telephone station stood on the corner of Sennaia and Kaluzh-skaia. Many, many people had telephones in the city and in the countryside. When you called, a young lady would answer: “Whom do you wish, Petr Petrovich or Mariia Nikolaevna?” “Well, Petr Petrovich.” “He’s not home. Wait, I will ask. Dasha, where did you say Petr Petrovich was going? Aah, to father Aleksei, or maybe the pharmacy. Wait, I will find him and connect you.” They all knew who was where, and who was drinking tea with whom, who was at the club, and all the news in general. The telephone station stood in a convenient spot, everything could be seen from its windows. And, in general, everybody knew each other—who got engaged, whose milk cow went dry, or who sprained a foot. Nothing malicious came to anyone from this.
The railroad station was a bit over a verst from town. Many people came to Viaz’ma on business. It was an important station, the principal one between Moscow and Smolensk on the Moscow-Brest railroad. A branch of the Nikolaevskii railroad to Rzhev and Likhoslavl terminated in Viaz’ma as well, and the Syzran-Viaz’ma railroad began here. Passengers from Europe who were traveling across Siberia to China or Japan transferred in Viaz’ma
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to the Trans-Siberian express. In Cheliabinsk, the train met the St. Petersburg express and, combined, crossed Siberia. The travelers all unfailingly bought the famous Viaz’ma gingerbread.
Viaz’ma had many cabmen. There were five carriages on the Torgovaia and five or six on the Nikitskaia. The rest were at the station. The cabmen were good, some even excellent. All of them were first-rate psychologists. Whenever someone arrived and hired a cabbie, the latter would engage the visitor in conversation. They always wanted to know what business one had. The uninteresting ones were taken directly to the Nemirov Hotel. To the more intriguing, the cabman would say: “Instead of stopping at the hotel, master (or mistress), why don’t you go to Kolesnikov (or to Stroganov, Sinel’nikov, etc…) they will be hospitable to you.” And truly, the merchant ladies liked to entertain visitors. They liked to joke and gossip with someone from the capital or even from just another city. The cabmen never made a mistake; they always brought only good people. Old Mr. Hogue told me: “I traveled all over Russia and never stayed in a hotel except in St. Petersburg, Moscow, Kiev, and Odessa. And it never cost me anything, either. The coachmen always suggested someone they knew. Having been driven to a house, I would be treated like a long-lost brother. A very hospitable people.”
In the summertime, only officers and their ladies used the coachmen to ride around. But in winter, the coachmen harnessed two or three horses to a sleigh, and the youth would race around until dark. High schoolers, clerks, young merchants—all rode around beneath fur rugs.
We had a steady coachman named Stepan. He knew all of us well. His horses were superb and his carriage had rubber tires. When we needed a coachman, we would call Nemirov: “Is Stepan free?” “He’ll be right over.” His sleigh was also a fine one, with a spirited troika.
The coachmen were all monarchists and patriots. They knew everybody in town, and lectured our youth. They were listened to, since they were smart men.
THE SUMMER OF 1914
The author’s family lived in Viaz’ma, a city mid-way between Moscow and Smolensk, but they summered on their ancestral estate to the n
orth. This is the setting of the following passage.
This was the last summer that I spent in Glubokoe with the whole family. As always, we went there in May. The weather that year was magnificent. As usual, a crowd of people had gathered at Glubokoe. Grandmother had finally received permission from the department of the interior to start an archeolog-
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ical dig on Kamennoe Lake. The archeologist was to come from Pskov in June.
The heat which came in April melted the snows so quickly that the streams and rivers ran unexpectedly high. The lakes rose more than usual. The plywood plant had a millpond for soaking birch and aspen logs, but the lake rose over the breakwater and washed away many logs. We noticed the drifting logs the first time we went boating. Strangely enough, they floated vertically so only their ends showed. These foot-wide circles floated just above the surface. We hooked one with a gaff and pulled it back to the mill. My older brother Peter decided that it would be fun and a good turn to fish out all the logs. The next day we took iron hooks attached to ropes and went log-catching. After a day we be came so proficient that we would tow in ten or more logs at a time. In this manner we fished out more than 200 logs so that they became scarce in the lake.
One day grandmother suggested a picnic on Babinensk Lake. This lake, fairly narrow but two versts long, was on the road to Opochek. It lay amidst steep hills covered by a pine forest and for some reason was always light blue. On our side, the forest had been cut a number of years ago. The dense second-growth of pine and birch rose some fifteen to twenty feet and had not been thinned out.
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