Russka - Edward Rutherfurd [412]
In fact, as he looked at this terrible sight, Bobrov should not have been surprised. For what he saw was only the result of a practice which had become very common and was already leaving its mark over considerable areas of Russia. This was the practice of leasing.
It was very simple. Like most landowners after the Emancipation, Misha Bobrov had retained a very little ploughed land, rather more pasture, and most of the forest. Short of cash, unwilling to part with his remaining land for ever, he had therefore compromised and leased part of the woodland to a merchant. The provisions of the lease were fairly typical. For a fixed sum, half paid in advance, the merchant received a ten-year lease on the woodland, during which time, he could do as he pleased. Naturally, therefore, to recover his money, the merchant cut down all the trees as fast as he could, and sold the timber. Having only a short lease, however, he had no interest in replanting, but instead grazed livestock on the cleared ground so that, by the time the lease ran out, any chance of natural regrowth was destroyed.
The resulting soil erosion and gullying, in numerous provinces, was one of the most disastrous evils ever to befall the Russian landscape until the twentieth century.
Long ago, Misha had leased the wooded parts of the Riazan estate, and these had now been completely destroyed. A few years back he had done the same with these outlying woodlands at Russka, but then forgotten all about it. Now, as he gazed at the ruins, he felt a deep sense of shame.
It was fortunate for him, however, that he could not, at this moment, see into his son’s mind. For as Nicolai looked at the unsightly gully and pondered what had happened, the issues that had so troubled him of late were finally resolved. Popov is right, he thought. There is nothing that can be done with these landowners – even my own father. They are useless parasites. And once again he dedicated himself to the great task which, he knew, was now almost upon him.
So the two men slowly returned, Misha noting, rather sadly, that they spoke no further words to each other.
As he strolled back from Russka that same evening, Yevgeny Popov considered that, all in all, things were in a satisfactory state.
Young Bobrov was a bit emotional, but it didn’t matter. He would serve his purpose.
Peter Suvorin, too, had been helpful. An artist at heart, Popov judged: an idealist. ‘He’s very confused, but malleable,’ he considered. Above all, the young industrialist felt guilty, just like Nicolai Bobrov, and it was amazing how you could manipulate people who felt guilty. Men like this, moreover, men whose families had money or influence, were especially worth cultivating because one never knew when their resources might come in useful.
He had, as yet, told Peter Suvorin almost nothing. It was better that way. I’ll keep him up my sleeve, he thought. But the young man had been able to provide him with one, most useful, thing: a private place.
It was a storeroom at one end of a warehouse which was little used. The store contained various shovels and other items of equipment used for clearing snow in winter; during the summer months, therefore, no one ever went there. It had a lock, to which Peter Suvorin had given him the key. He had told Peter some foolish story about storing books in this place, which seemed to satisfy him; and then, by mid-May, he had set to work.
The little hand-printing press he kept there was quite sufficient for his needs. In a few days he had produced all the leaflets he needed for the time being, disassembled the press and hidden its parts under some floor-boards.
For now, he decided, it was time to begin.
It was a little book – a novel, in fact – badly written, by an obscure revolutionary; in parts it was absurdly sentimental: and yet to Nicolai Bobrov, as to thousands of his generation, it was an inspiration. Its title: What Is To Be Done.
It told of the new men who would lead