Vasilii Ianov, The Heart of a Peasant
From the 1890’s to persecutions of the mid-1930’s there existed a movement in Russia which, in varying degrees, reflected the social, ethical, and religious ideas of Leo Tolstoy. Though labeled “Tolstoyism,” the movement was not monolithic, nor could any of its factions claim exclusive rights to Tolstoy’s legacy. There were groups of adherents, discussion circles, and publications of various kinds. Pacifism was certainly a major binding force. Vasilii Ianov (1897-1971) was a peasant and a follower of what he fervently professed to be Tolstoy’s views. Memoirs of a peasant are quite rare. And certainly, even more so of one who was an ardent believer in Tolstoy’s moral stance. Taken from Vasilii Ianov, “Kratkie vospominaniia o perezhitom” [Brief Memoir of my Experiences] in
MY BIRTH AND DEATH OF MY FATHER
I was born in 1897 at the end of July in Kaluga Province, district of Zhizdrensk, village of Bol’shaia Rechka. The latter is now called Malaia Pesochnia.
For some reason I do not remember all of the talk and circumstances regarding my birth, thus I will relate what I heard from others.
On this day, my father and his oldest daughter had just returned from tilling potatoes and he was unharnessing the sweaty horse. A neighbor came up to him and with a mix of bashfulness and joy said to him: “Well, Vasilii Ivanovich, I congratulate you on the birth of a son!”
“Well, thank God, thank God,” answered father. And the neighbor said: “Now the family is large, your health is poor, may the Lord take the child quickly.”
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“It is a sin to think that way aunt Mar’ia,” said father. “On the contrary, we must make all effort to raise and bring him up to be a good person and a hardworking peasant.”
Father was carrying the harness to the fence when aunt Mar’ia again came up to him. “He is a real copy of you, you can’t get a cry out of him. I moved him this way and that, but he stayed quiet. He’s not sensitive to pain. He’s forbearing like his father.”
“That’s good. He feels that it’s silly to be irritated by trifles. Nervousness and caprice don’t lead to anything good. This experience will benefit him in life.” Father went into the
“Thank God, thank God, and how are you doing?”
“Oh, I’m fine. I’m happy for him because he is so loveable.” Father kissed mother gently. That was how my parents initially welcomed me into this world.
“We’ll name our newborn Vasia, my name. I don’t have long to live and I’m getting weaker all the time. I’m not a worker anymore, you can’t make it too long with consumption.”
“You sure gladdened me, telling me you’ll die soon. And what am I to do with five of them?” said mother.
“It’s good that I’ll die first. What would I do with them without you? I know you’ll make it with them. They won’t be hungry, you’ll train them, and you’ll be like a bee with them. They’ll have it good with a mother like you.”
“Why did we make children if we feel we’re not able to raise them?” asked mother.
“You’re right. For momentary earthly pleasures we became blind and we did not think of the harsh consequences. We can’t bring back the past. I’m to blame, forgive me.”
“Don’t take all the blame on yourself. I’m not a seventeen-year-old girl and have just given birth for the ninth time. It wasn’t sweet each time and I bit my lips till they bled. I repented and swore not to repeat this. So, I can’t blame anybody. Get up, girl, and get to work.”
And my mother began to get up from the bed. But father put her back.
“Rest for a week, I’ll take care of the kids.”
After one year, father died from consumption. Before death, he said that he would die that day. Though mother was used to father’s illness, she nevertheless burst into tears and all of us children were also crying.
The neighbors and village friends gathered more often in the house to see father one last time. He was a kind man, a superb storyteller, and probably the only person in the village who could read the Gospels.
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All who came tried to move up closer, to be seen by father and hear a final word of wisdom. But at the sight of his great suffering, all became petrified and filled the
“Good people,” said father with a deep sigh, “I’ll soon be dying, but at the end I’d like to say my wishes. Listen, Nastia, don’t give the children away, raise them yourself. Have the most pity for the little one. He’ll be your breadwinner, though now he is the weakest of all. Don’t marry off the girls early. They’ll have enough time to experience sorrow and suffering. It would be better if they didn’t marry at all in their life, as I now understand it. That would be the very best. The boys would do well if they didn’t marry either, but their road is different. They’ll be drafted as soldiers and they will be corrupted there in many ways.”
And so I am again with my beloved family, among my fellow villagers, amidst my native fields. Around me I do not hear the sound of commands or interrogations, but calm human speech. Nor are there marches, jumping, and convulsive movements by command, but the reasonable labor so essential for all people, a labor without which no minister, poet, scholar, general, or accountant can survive—all those whose own so-called labor is frequently valued above that of the peasant. I settled into my work, but the past, again and again, inevitably rose before me. Why? Why was all this necessary? According to Tolstoy, each person is a messenger of God, of the most elevated element that one recognizes in oneself. And each of us is allotted labor in fulfillment of this supreme law of life. In carrying out this labor, one must forget and discard all that is personal, the egotistical aspirations, desires, goals. It will then be easy to accomplish God’s will. There will be no doubts, disappointments, fear, sadness, or loneliness.
I only did my duty, that which the highest attributes of my essence demanded from me. I did not wish for anything personally and things went easily. I did not become infected by the spirit of malice and hostility which surrounded me everywhere in my life, neither in jail, during interrogations, in the barracks, nor on the march. I did not get angry, was not envious, was unafraid, and felt no burden. I was also happy and at peace and observed that people with whom I had contact found this catching and were kind and well disposed toward me. If I was displeased at times, it was only with myself, that much that was egotistical was still within me, that I was not fully of God’s will.
