Sasha the serf, and other stories of Russian life

by Anonymous

At the time of which we are writing twenty-two millions of the Russian people were serfs. Their labour, even their property, belonged to the owner of the land upon which they lived. The latter had not the power to sell them to another, as was formerly the case in the Southern States of America, but he could remove them from one estate to another if he had several. Baron Popoff was a haughty and indifferent master, but not a cruel one; the people of the village had belonged to his family for several generations, and were accustomed to their condition. At least, they saw no way of changing it, except by a change of masters, which was more likely to be a misfortune than a benefit.

It was nearly dark when old Gregor and his grandson threw down their loads and entered the house. The supper was already waiting, for Sasha's sister, little Minka, had been up to the church door to see whether they were coming. In one corner of the room a tiny lamp was burning before a picture of the Virgin Mary and Child Jesus, all covered with gilded brass except the hands and faces, which were nearly black, partly from the smoke, and partly because the common Russian people imagine that the Hebrews were a very dark-skinned race. Sasha's father, Ivan, had also lighted a long pine-splint, and the room looked very cheerful. The boiled potatoes were smoking in a great wooden bowl, beside which stood a dish of salt, another of melted fat, and a loaf of black bread. They had neither plates, knives nor forks, only some coarse wooden spoons, and all ate out of the bowl, after the salt had been sprinkled and the fat poured over the potatoes. For drink there was an earthen pitcher of quass, a kind of thin and rather sour beer.

Old Gregor sat on one side of the table, and his son Ivan with Anna, his wife, opposite. There were five children, the eldest being Alexander (whom we know by his nickname "Sasha," which is the Russian for "Aleck" or "Sandy"), then Minka, Peter, Waska, and Sergius. Sasha was about thirteen years old, rather small for his age, and hardly to be called a handsome boy. Only there was something very pleasant in his large gray eyes, and his long, thick flaxen hair shone almost like silver when the sun fell upon it. However, he never thought about his looks. When he went to the village bath-house, on a Saturday evening, to take his steam-bath with the rest, the men would sometimes say, after examining his joints and muscles, "You are going to be strong, Sasha!"—and that was as much as he cared to know about himself.

The boy was burning with desire to tell the adventure with the bear, but he did not like to speak before his grandfather, and there was something in the latter's eye which made him feel that he was watching him. Gregor first lighted his pipe, and then, in the coolest manner possible—as if it were something that happened every day—related the story.

"Pity I hadn't your gun with me, Ivan," he said at the close; "what with the meat, the fat, and the skin, we should have had thirty roubles."

The children were quite noisy with excitement. Little Peter said, "What for did you let him go, Sasha? I'd have killed him, and carried him home!" Then all laughed so heartily that Peter began to cry, and was soon packed into a box in the corner, where he was soon as fast asleep as ever was the proverbial door-nail.

"Take the gun with you to-morrow, father." said Ivan.

"It's too much with my load of wood," answered the old man. "The old hunting-knife is all I want. Sasha will stand by me with a club: I don't think he'll be afraid next time."

Sasha was about to exclaim, "I was not afraid the first time!" but before he spoke it flashed across his mind that he did tremble a little; but he consoled himself a little that it was not from fear.

By this time it was dark outside. Two pine-splints had burned out, one after the other, and only the little lamp before the shrine enabled those present to see each other. The old people went to bed in their narrow rooms, which were hardly better than closets; and Sasha, spreading a coarse sack of straw on the floor, lay down, covering himself with his sheepskin coat, and in five minutes was so sound asleep that he might have been dragged about by the heels without being awakened.