Here, as a boy not yet fifteen, Sasha begins his career as a man.
The task he has undertaken demands the industry, the patience, and
the devotion of his life; but he has been prepared for it by a sound
if a somewhat hard experience. I hope the boys who read this feel
satisfied already that he is going to succeed; yet I know also that
they like to be certain, and to have some little information as to
how it came about. So I will allow fifteen years to pass, and we
will now look upon Sasha as a man of about thirty years of age.
He has an office and warehouse on the great main street of St.
Petersburg, which is called the _Nevsky Prospekt_, that is, the
Perspective of the Neva, because when you look down it you see the
blue waters of the river Neva at the end. Over the door there is a
large sign-board with the name "Alexander Ivanovitch."[1] He employs
a number of clerks and salesmen, and has a servant who would go
through fire and water to help or serve him. I must relate how he
found this man, and why the latter is so faithful.
[1] _Ivanovitch_ means "the son of Ivan." Russian family names are
formed in this manner, and therefore the son has a different name
from the father, unless their baptismal names are the same.
On one of his journeys of business, five years before, Sasha visited
the town of Perm, on the western side of the Ural Mountains. It is
on the main highway to Siberia, and criminals are continually passing
either on the way thither in chains, or returning in rags when their
time of banishment has expired. One evening Sasha found by the
roadside, in the outskirts of the town, a miserable looking wretch
who seemed to be at the point of death. He felt the man's pulse,
lifted up his head and looked in his face, and was startled at
recognizing the younger of the three robbers who had attacked Baron
Popoff. He had him taken to the inn, tended, and restored, and after
being convinced of his earnest desire to lead a better life gave him
employment. The robber was not naturally a bad man, but very
ignorant and superstitious. It seemed to him both a miracle and a
warning that he should have been saved by Sasha, and he fully
believed that his soul would be lost if he should ever act
dishonestly towards him.
Keeping his heart steadily upon the great purpose of his life, Sasha
rose from one step to another until he became an independent and
wealthy merchant, far wealthier, indeed, than the baron supposed. He
paid the latter a handsome sum for his time, and sent only small
presents of money to his parents, for he knew how few and simple
their wants were. He felt a thousand times more keenly than old
Gregor what it was to be a serf. The old man was still living, but
very feeble and helpless, and Sasha often grew wild at the thought
that he might die before knowing freedom.
His plan of action had been long fixed, and now the hour had come
when he determined to try it. He had for years kept a strict watch
over the baron's life in St. Petersburg, knew the amount of his
increasing debts and the embarrassment they occasioned him, and could
very nearly calculate the hour when ruin would overtake him. He was
not disappointed, therefore, one morning at receiving an urgent
summons to wait upon his master.
"Sasha," said the latter, laying his hand upon the shoulder of his
serf with a familiarity he had never displayed before, "you are an
honest, faithful fellow. I need a few thousand roubles for a month
or two; can you get the money for me?"
"I have heard, my lord," answered Sasha, "that you are in difficulty.
I knew why you sent for me, and I come to offer you a way out of all
your troubles. Your debts amount to more than a hundred thousand
roubles: would you like to be relieved of them?"
"Would I not!--but how?" exclaimed the baron.
"I will pay them, my lord; but you will do one thing for me in
return."
"You, you!"
"I," Sasha quietly answered, "I will free you, and you will free me!"
"Ha!" the baron cried, springing to his feet. His pride was touched.
He was fond of boasting that he also had a serf who was a rich
merchant, and the fact had many a time helped his credit when he
wanted to borrow money. Unconsciously he shook his head.
"You have not the money," he said.
Sasha, who understood what was passing through the mind of the baron,
suffered so much from his cruel uncertainty that he turned deadly
pale.
"I am well known," he answered, "and can procure the money in an
hour. How much is my serfdom worth to you? My annual payment is
hardly one-tenth of the usurious interest which your debt wrings from
you: I offer to release you from all trouble, and thus add not less
than eight thousand roubles a year to your income. And my freedom,
which you can now sell back to me at such a price, may be mine
without buying in a few years more!"
The emperor, Alexander II. (who was assassinated in 1881), had at
that time just succeeded to the throne, and his intention to
emancipate the serfs was already suspected by the people. Sasha knew
that he was running a great risk in what he said; but his clasped
hands, his trembling voice, his eyes filled with tears, affected the
baron more powerfully than his words.
There was a long silence. The master turned away to the window, and
weighed the offer rapidly in his mind; the serf waited in breathless
anxiety in the centre of the room.
Suddenly the baron turned and struck his clenched fist on the table.
Then he stretched out his hand and said:
"Alexander Ivanovitch, I am glad to make your acquaintance as a
friend; I am no longer your master."
Sasha took the hand of the baron and kissed it, and his tears fell
thick and fast.
"Dear Lord Baron," he cried, "give me also the freedom of my father
and grandfather, and I will add a payment of five thousand roubles a
year for ten years to come!"
"And your ancestors for five hundred years back," the baron answered
laughing. "I don't know their names, but they can all be thrown into
the deed in one lump."
Before another day passed it was done. Sasha and the other living
members of his family were free, and his ancestors also would have
been free if they had not been dead. With the parchment signed and
sealed in his pocket he took a carriage and post-horses and travelled
day and night until he reached his native village. No one knew the
stranger in his rich merchant's dress; his father and brothers were
at work, and his mother had gone to see a neighbour:--old Gregor was
alone in the house. He was leaning back in a rude arm-chair, with a
sheep-skin over his knees; his eyes were closed, his mouth slightly
open, and his face so haggard and sunken that Sasha immediately
thought he was dead.
He knelt down beside the chair, and placed his hand on the old man's
heart, to see if it still beat. Presently came a broken voice,
saying:
"The black god--the truth, my boy!" and Gregor feebly stretched a
hand towards Sasha's breast. The latter tore open his dress, and
spread the cold, horny fingers over his own heart, the warmth of
which seemed to kindle a fresh life in the old man. He at last
opened his eyes.
"Little Sasha!" said he; "little Sasha will keep his word."
"Grandfather," exclaimed Sasha, "I have kept it."
"It's a man--a brave looking man," said Gregor; "but he has the voice
of my boy Sasha; and he has, yes, I know he has, his hand upon my
heart."
Sasha could no longer restrain himself.
"And the boy is a freeman, grandfather," he exclaimed; "we are all
free: here is the baron's deed, which says so, with the seal of the
empire upon it. Look, grandfather, look!--do you understand, you are
free!"
Gregor was lifted to his feet as if by an unseen hand. At that
moment Sasha's father and mother, and brothers entered the house.
The old man did not heed their cries of astonishment; clasping the
parchment to his breast, he looked upward and exclaimed in a piercing
voice:
"Free at last! all free! I will carry the news to God!"
Then, before any one--not even Sasha--could step forward to assist
him, he reeled and fell on the floor--dead. His prayer had been
granted.
THE COOLEST MAN IN RUSSIA.
I've seen many a brave man in my time, sure enough," said old Ivan
Starikoff, removing his short pipe to puff out a volume of smoke from
beneath his long white moustache.
"Many and many a one have I seen; for, thank heaven, the children of
holy Russia are never wanting in that way, but all of them put
together wouldn't make one such man as our old colonel, Count Pavel
Petrovitch Severin. It was not only that he faced danger like a
man--all the others did that--but he never seemed to know that there
was any danger at all. It was as good as a reinforcement of ten
battalions to have him among us in the thick of a fight, and to see
his grand, tall figure drawn up to its full height, and his firm face
and keen gray eyes turned straight upon the smoke of the enemy's
line, as if defying them to hurt him. And when the very earth was
shaking with the cannonade, and balls were flying thick as hail, and
the hot, stifling smoke closed us in like the shadow of death, with a
flash and a roar breaking through it every now and then, and the
whole air filled with the rush of the shot, like the wind sweeping
through a forest in autumn,--then Petrovitch would light a cigarette
and hum a snatch of a song, as coolly as if he were at a dinner party
in Moscow. And it really seemed as if the bullets ran away from
_him_, instead of his running away from them; for he never got shot.
But if he saw any of us beginning to waver he would call out cheerily:
"Never fear, lads, remember what the old song says!" for in those
days we had an old camp-song that we were fond of singing, and the
chorus of it was this:--
"Then fear not swords that brightly shine,
Nor towers that grimly frown;
For God shall march before our line,
And hew our foemen down."
"He said this so often, that at last he got the nickname among us of
"Don't Fear," and he deserved it, if ever man did. Why, Father
Nickolai Pavlovitch himself (the Emperor Nicholas) gave him the cross
of St. George[1] with his own hand at the siege of Varna, in the year
'28. You see, our battery had been terribly cut up by the Turkish
fire, so at last there was only about half a dozen of us left on our
feet. It was as hot work as I was ever in,--shot pelting, earthworks
crumbling, gabions crashing, guns and gun-carriages tumbling over one
another, men falling on every side like leaves, till all at once a
shot went slap through our flag-staff, and down came the colours!
[1] The highest Russian decoration.
"Quick as lightning Pavel Petrovitch was upon the parapet, caught the
flag as it fell, and _held_ it right in the face of all the Turkish
guns, while I and another man spliced the pole with our belts. You
may think how the unbelievers let fly at him when they saw him
standing there on the top of the breast-work, just as if he'd been
set up for a mark; and all at once I saw one fellow (an Albanian by
his dress, and you know what deadly shots _they_ are) creep along to
the very angle of the wall and take steady aim at him!
"I made a spring to drag the colonel down (I was his servant, you
know, and whoever hurt him hurt _me_); but before I could reach him I
saw the flash of the Albanian's piece, and Pavel Petrovitch's cap
went spinning into the air with a hole right through it just above
the forehead. And what do you think the colonel did? Why, he just
snapped his fingers at the fellow, and called out to him, in some
jibber-jabber tongue only fit to talk to a Turk in:
"'Can't you aim better than that, you fool? If _I_ were your officer
I'd give you thirty lashes for wasting the government ammunition!'
"Well, as I said before, he got the St. George, and of course
everybody congratulated him, and there was a great shaking of hands,
and giving of good wishes, and drinking his health in _mavro
tchai_--that's a horrid mess of eggs, and scraped cheese, and sour
milk, and Moldavian wine, which these Danube fellows have the
impudence to call 'black tea,' as if it was anything like the good
old tea we Russians drink at home! (I've always thought, for my
part, that tea ought to grow in Russia; for it's a shame that these
Chinese idolators should have such grand stuff all to themselves.)
"Well, just in the height of the talk Pavel Petrovitch takes the
cross off his neck, and holds it out in his hand--just so--and says:
"'Well, gentlemen, you say I'm the coolest man in the regiment, but
perhaps everybody wouldn't agree with you. Now, just to show that I
want nothing but fair play, if I ever meet my match in that way I'll
give him this cross of mine!'
"Now among the officers who stood near him was a young fellow who had
lately joined--a quiet, modest lad, quite a boy to look at, with
light curly hair and a face as smooth as any lady's. But when he
heard what the colonel said he looked up suddenly, and there came a
flash from his clear blue eyes like the sun striking a bayonet. And
then I thought to myself:
"'It won't be an easy thing to match Pavel Petrovitch; but if it
_can_ be done, here is the man to do it!'
"I think that campaign was the hardest I ever served in. Before I
was enlisted I had often heard it said that the Turks had no winter;
but I had always thought that this was only a 'yarn,' though, indeed,
it would be only a just judgment upon the unbelievers to lose the
finest part of the whole year. But when down there I found it true,
sure enough. Instead of a good, honest, cracking frost to freshen
everything up, as our proverb says:
'Na zimni Kholod
Vsiaki molod'--
(in winter's cold every one is young), it was all chill, sneaking
rain, wetting us through and through, and making the hill-sides so
slippery that we could hardly climb them, and turning all the low
grounds into a regular lake of mud, through which it was a terrible
job to drag our cannon. Many a time in after days, when I've heard
spruce young cadets at home, who had never smelt powder in their
lives, talking big about 'glorious war,' and all that, I've said to
myself, 'Aha, my fine fellows! if you had been where _I_ have been,
marching for days and nights over ankles in mud, with nothing to eat
but stale black bread, so hard that you had to soak it before you
could get it down; and if you'd had to drink water through which
hundreds of horses had just been trampling; and to scramble up and
down hills under a roasting sun, with your feet so swollen and sore
that every step was like a knife going into you; and to lie all night
in the rain, longing for the sun to rise that you might dry yourself
a bit--perhaps _then_ you wouldn't talk quite so loud about 'glorious
war'!"
"However, we drove the Turks across the Balkans at last, and got down
to Yamboli, a little town at the foot of the mountains which commands
the high-road to Adrianople. And there the unbelievers made a stand,
and fought right well. I will say that of them; for they knew that
if Adrianople was lost all was over. But God fought for us, and we
beat them; though indeed, with half our men sick, and our clothes all
in rags, and our arms rusted, and our powder mixed with sand by those
rogues of army-contractors, it was a wonder that we could fight at
all.
"Towards afternoon, just as the enemy were beginning to give way, I
saw Pavel Petrovitch (who was a general by this time) looking very
hard at a mortar-battery about a hundred yards to our right; and all
at once he struck his knee forcibly with his hand, and shouted:
"'What do the fellows mean by firing like that? They might as well
pelt the Turks with potatoes! I'll soon settle them! Here, Ivan!'
Away he went, and I after him; and he burst into the battery like a
storm, and roared out:
"'Where's the blockhead who commands this battery?'
"A young officer stepped forward and saluted; and who should this be
but the light-haired youth with the blue eyes whom I had noticed that
night at Varna.
"'Well, you won't command it to-morrow, my fine fellow, for I'll have
you turned out this very day. Do you know that not a single shell
that you have thrown away since I've been watching you has exploded
at all?'
"'With your excellency's leave,' said the young fellow, respectfully,
but pretty firmly too, 'the fault is none of mine. These fuses are
ill-made, and will not burn down to the powder.'
"'Fuses!' exclaimed the general. 'Don't talk to me of fuses; I'm too
old for that rubbish! Isn't it enough for you to bungle your work,
but you must tell me a falsehood into the bargain?'
"At the word 'falsehood' the young officer's face seemed to turn
red-hot all in a moment, and I saw his hand clench as if he would
drive his fingers through the flesh. He made one stride to the heap
of bomb-shells, and taking one up in his arms struck a match on it.
"'Now,' said he quietly, 'your excellency can judge for yourself.
I'm going to light this fuse; if your excellency will please to stand
by and watch it burn you will see whether I have told you a falsehood
or not.'
"The general started, as well he might. Not that he was afraid--you
may be pretty sure of _that_--but to hear this quiet, bashful lad,
who looked as if he had nothing in him, coolly propose to hold a
lighted shell in his arms to see if it would go off, and ask _him_ to
stand by and watch it, was enough to startle anybody. However, he
wasn't one to think twice about accepting a challenge; so he folded
his arms and stood there like a statue. The young officer lighted
the fuse, and it began to burn.
"As for me and the other men, you may fancy what _we_ felt like. Of
course we couldn't run while our officers were standing their ground;
but we knew that if the shell _did_ go off, it would blow every man
of us to bits, and it was not pleasant to have to stand still and
wait for it. I saw the men set their teeth hard as the flame caught
the fuse; and as for me, I wished with all my heart and soul that if
there were any good fuses in the heap this might turn out to be one
of the bad ones. But no, it burned away merrily enough, and came
down, and down, and down nearer and nearer to the powder. The young
officer never moved a muscle, but stood looking steadily at the
general, and the general at him. At last the red spark got close to
the metal of the shell, and then I shut my eyes and prayed God to
receive my soul.
"Just at that moment I heard the man next me give a quick gasp, as if
he had just come up from a plunge under water; and I opened my eyes
again just in time to see the fuse go _out_, and the young officer
letting the shell drop at the general's feet without a word.
"For a moment the general stood stock-still, looking as if he didn't
quite know whether to knock the young fellow down or to hug him in
his arms like a son; but at last he held out his hand to him and said:
"'Well, it's a true proverb, that every one meets his match some day,
and I've met mine today, there's no denying it. There's the Cross of
St. George for you, my boy, and right well you deserve it, for if I'm
'the coolest man in my regiment,' you're the coolest in all Russia!'
"And so said all the rest when the story got abroad; and the
commander-in-chief himself, the great Count Diebitsch, sent for the
lad, and said a few kind words to him that made his face flush up
like a young girl's. But in after days he became one of the best
officers the Russian army ever had; and I've seen him with my own
eyes complimented by the emperor himself in presence of the whole
army. And from that day forth the whole lot of us, officers and men
alike, never spoke of him by any other name but _Khladnokrovni_--'the
cold-blooded one.'"
KATINKA, THE PEASANT MAID.
Katinka was tired, and lonely too. All day long, and for many days
together, she had plied her distaff busily, drawing out the thread
finer and finer from the great bunches of flax, which she herself had
gathered and dried, till the birch-bark basket at her feet was almost
filled with firm, well-shaped "twists," and the sticks in the great
earthen pipkin, upon which the thread must be wound, grew fewer and
fewer.
The tips of her fingers were sore, and it was dull work with no one
to speak to except her faithful cat, Dimitri, who was never content
when he saw his mistress working, unless he had a ball of thread for
himself; and as she looked about her cheerless little room, so lonely
now, she thought of the days when a kind mother had been near to
lighten every duty; and joyous, merry children had been her
companions in all childish sports. She hated the tiresome flax now,
but _then_ the happiest days were spent in the great flax-fields,
playing at "hide-and-seek" up and down the paths the reapers made.
And when the summer showers came pelting down, how she would catch
her little sister Lisa, and run home with her on her back, while
neighbour Voscovitch's children laughed and shouted after her as she
ran. Ah, those were happy days! But now mother and sister were
gone! Only she and her father were left in the little home, and she
had to work so hard! She did wish that her life was different; that
she was not poor lonely Katinka the peasant maid any more. Oh! why
could she not be like the rich Lady Feodorovna instead, whose father,
Count Vassilivitch, owned nearly all the houses and lands from Tver
to Torjok, and had more than three hundred serfs on his estate.
Now Katinka's father, Ivan Rassaloff, was only an _istvostchick_ (a
drosky or cab driver), and owned nothing but a rickety old drosky,[1]
and Todcloff, a sturdy little Cossack pony, and drove travellers here
and there for a few kopecks a trip. But he saved money, and Katinka
helped him to earn more; and one of these days, when they could sell
the beautiful lace flounce on which she had been working during all
her odd moments for three years, and which was nearly finished, they
would be rich indeed. Besides, the isba (cottage) was not really so
bad, and it was all their own; and then there was always Dimitri to
talk to, who surely seemed to understand everything she said. So a
smile chased away the gathering frown, and this time she looked round
the room quite contentedly.
[1] Or droitzschka, a four-wheeled pleasure carriage.
Shall I tell you what the isba was like, that you may know how the
poor people live in Russia? It was built of _balks_ (great beams or
rafters), laid horizontally one above the other, the ends crossing at
each corner of the building; and it had a pointed roof, somewhat like
that of a Swiss _châlet_. Inside the chinks were filled with moss
and lime, to keep out the cold. It contained only one room; but a
great canvas curtain hung from the roof, which by night divided the
room in two, but by day was drawn aside.
There was a deal table, holding some earthenware pipkins, jars, and a
_samorar_, or tea-urn--for even the poorest peasants have an urn, and
drink tea at least three times a day; a deal settee, on which lay the
winter store of flax; Katinka's distaff, and the curious candlestick
which the Russian peasants use. This is a tall wooden upright
fastened into a sort of trough, or hollowed log of birchwood, to keep
it erect. To the top an iron cross-bar is attached (which can be
raised or lowered at will), having at the end a small bowl containing
oil and a floating wick, which burns brightly for several hours, and
is easily lowered and refilled; while the wooden trough below catches
the oil which drops.
But the most curious thing in the room was the stove. It was made of
sheet-iron, and very large, with a door at one end, into which whole
logs of wood could be put at once. It was oblong, and flat on the
top, like a great black trunk; and on this flat top, with the fire
smouldering away beneath him, Ivan always slept at night in the
winter; and sometimes, when it was very cold, Katinka would bring her
sheep-skin blanket and sleep there too! Not one Russian isba in
fifty contains a bed; when there is a large family, father, mother,
and little children all crowd upon the top of the stove in winter,
and in summer they roll themselves up in their blankets and sleep
outside by the door!
The lamp was lighted and shone brightly on Katinka, who made quite a
pretty picture as she rested a while from her work to speak to
Dimitri. She wore a white chemise with very full, long sleeves, and
over it a _sarafane_ of red linen with a short boddice and
shoulder-straps of dark blue. On her head she had tied a
gay-coloured kerchief, to keep the dust of the flax from her glossy
black hair, which hung in a single heavy braid far down her back.
One of these days, if she should marry, she would have to divide it
in two braids, and wear a kerchief always.
Her shoes were braided, in a kind of basket-work, of strips of
birch-bark, very pliant and comfortable, though rather clumsy in
appearance.
All the day Katinka had been thinking of something which her father
had told her in the morning about their neighbour, Nicholas
Paloffsky, and his poor, motherless little ones. The mother had been
very ill, for a long, long time, and Nicholas had spent all he could
earn in buying medicines and good food for her, but they could not
save her life. Then, when she died Nicholas was both father and
mother to the little ones for months; but at last he too fell ill,
and now there was no one to assist him.
Besides, he did not own his isba, and if the rent were not paid the
very next day the _starosta_, or landlord, would turn him and his
little ones out-of-doors, bitter winter though it was!
That was fearful! What could she do to help him? Suddenly there
flashed across her mind a thought of her beautiful lace flounce, on
which she had worked till she loved every thread of it, and in whose
meshes she had woven many a bright fancy about the spending of the
silver roubles that would be hers when she sold it. She had intended
to buy a scarlet _cusackau_, or jacket, with gold embroidery, and a
new drosky for her father, so that his passengers might give him a
few more kopecks for a ride. But other plans came to her mind now.
Just then Ivan came home hungry; and as she hastened to prepare his
supper of tea and black bread and raw carrots, and a kind of mushroom
stewed in oil, she almost forgot of her neighbour Nicholas while
waiting on her father, who was always so glad to come home to her and
his snug, warm room.
But to-night, for a wonder, he was cross. All day he had waited in
the cold, bleak public-square of Torjok, beating his arms and feet to
keep himself warm; and occasionally, I fear, beating his patient
little pony for the same reason. Not a "fare" had come near him,
except a fat priest, in a purple silk gown and broad-brimmed hat,
with long, flowing hair and beard, a gold-mounted staff in his hand,
and a silver crucifix hanging from his girdle, who on reaching the
church to which he bade Ivan drive quickly, gave him his
blessing--and nothing more! So Ivan's pockets were empty, and the
pony must go without his supper, unless Katinka had some dried fish
for him.
Katinka, who had a tender heart for all animals, carried a great
bowlful of fish out to Todeloff, who nibbled it eagerly; for ponies
in Russia, especially those that are brought from Iceland, consider
dried fish a great delicacy, and in winter often live on it for weeks
together. Then she gave him a "good-night" kiss on the little white
spot on his nose, and he seemed to whisper, "Now I don't mind the
beatings I had to-day!"
When she returned to the house her father was already wrapped up in a
sheepskin blanket on top of the stove, and snoring lustily; so she
lowered the curtain and crept softly into her little corner behind
it. But she could not sleep, for her mind was disturbed by thoughts
of neighbour Nicholas, whose little ones perhaps were hungry; and at
last she arose, filled and lighted the tall lamp, then unrolled her
precious flounce, and worked steadily at it till, when morning came,
only one little sprig remained to be done, and her doubts as to what
she should do were dispelled in the bright sunlight.
After breakfast, which she made ready as briskly as though she had
slept soundly all night, she said:
"Father, let me be your first fare to-day, and perhaps I may bring
you good luck. Will you drive me to the Lady Feodorovna's?"
"What in the world are you going to do there, Katinka?" said her
father, wonderingly.
"To ask if she will buy my lace," said Katinka. "She has so many
beautiful lace dresses, surely she will find a place on one for my
flounce."
"Ha!" said Ivan; "then we will have a feast. You shall make a cake
of white flour and honey, and we will not eat "black-brod" for a
month! But what will we do with so much money, my child?"
Katinka hesitated for a moment; then said, shyly:
"Pay Nicholas Paloffsky's rent, and send the Torjok doctor to cure
him. May I, father?" she added, entreatingly, forgetting that the
money would be her own.
"Hum-m-m!" said Ivan; "we shall see. But go now and prepare for your
drive, for Todeloff does not like to be kept waiting."
Katinka was soon ready. With her sheepskin jacket, hat and boots,
she did not fear the cold; and mounting the drosky, they drove
rapidly towards Count Vassilivitch's beautiful home, not fearing to
leave their little isba unattended, for the neighbours were all
honest, and besides, there was nothing to steal! A drive of four
versts (about three miles) brought them to their journey's end, and
Katinka's heart beat anxiously as the old drosky rattled up through
the courtyard to the grand hall door; but she went bravely up to the
fine porter, and asked to see Lady Feodorovna.
"_Bosja moia!_" (bless me); "what do _you_ want with my lady?" asked
the gorgeous Russ who, in crimson and gold livery, serf though he
was, looked scornfully down on free Katinka in her poor little
sheepskin jacket.
I think Katinka would scarcely have found courage to answer him; but
luckily the lady crossed the hall just then, and seeing Katinka,
kindly beckoned her to enter, leading the way to her own private
apartment.
"What do you wish with me?" she asked kindly. But Katinka was too
bewildered by the splendour on every side to answer as she should.
Truly it appeared like fairyland to the young peasant maid. The room
was long and very lofty; the ceiling, one great beautiful picture;
the floor had no carpet, but was inlaid with different kinds of wood
in many curious patterns; the walls were covered with blue flowered
silk, on which mirrors and lovely pictures were hung alternately;
while beautiful statues and luxurious couches covered with blue
damask added to the elegance and comfort of the room.
There was no big, clumsy stove to be seen--for in the houses of the
rich, in a recess in each room, is a kind of oven, in which a great
wood fire is allowed to smoulder all day--but a delicious feeling of
warmth prevailed, and a soft, sweet perfume floated on the air.
At last Katinka's eyes rested on the fair lady in her soft, fleecy
gown of white (for even in winter Russian ladies wear the thinnest
summer dresses in the house), and she said softly:
"I think this heaven, and surely you are like an angel!"
"Not an angel," said Lady Feodorovna, smiling, "but perhaps a good
fairy. Have you a wish, pretty maid?"
"Indeed, yes," replied Katinka. "I wish, wish, wish (for you must
always make a wish to a fairy three times) you would buy my lace
flounce. See!"--and she unrolled it hurriedly from out the clean
linen cloth in which it was wrapped. "It is fair and white, though I
have worked on it for three years, and it is all finished but one
little sprig. I could not wait for that; I want the money so much.
Will you buy it?"
"What is the price?" asked the lady, who saw that it was indeed a
beautiful piece of work.
"Ninety roubles" (about fifteen pounds), said Katinka almost in a
whisper, as if she feared to name so great a sum aloud, though she
knew the lace was worth it.
"Why, what will you do with so many roubles?" asked the lady, not
curiously, but in such a good fairy way that Katinka said:
"Surely I need not fear to tell you. But it is a long story. Will
you kindly listen to it all?"
"Yes, gladly; sit here," and the Lady Feodorovna pointed to one of
the beautiful blue couches, on the extreme edge of which Katinka sat
down timidly, making a very funny picture in her gray sheepskin
jacket and scarlet gown. "Now tell me, first, your name."
"Katinka Rassaloff, _barishna_ (lady), daughter of Ivan, peasants
from beyond Torjok. Beside us lives a good man, Nicholas Paloffsky,
who is ill, and _so_ poor. He has four little children, and many a
day I have divided my supper with them, and yet I fear they are often
hungry. The baby cries all day, for there is no mother to take care
of it, and the cries trouble the poor father, who can do nothing to
help. Besides, unless the rent is paid to-morrow they must leave
their isba. Think of that, lady; no home in this bitter winter
weather! no shelter for the baby! Ah! buy my lace, that I may help
them!" replied Katinka earnestly.
Without speaking, Lady Feodorovna rose and went to a beautiful
cabinet, unlocked the door with a tiny gold key which was suspended
by a chain to her girdle, took out a roll of silver roubles, and laid
them in Katinka's lap.
"There," said she, "are one hundred roubles. Are you content?"
Katinka took the soft white hand in hers and kissed it, while such a
happy smile lighted up her face that the "good fairy" needed no other
answer.
"Hasten home, Katinka," she said; "perhaps you may see me soon again."
Katinka curtsied deeply, then almost flew out of the great hall-door,
so startling the grand porter, who had his mouth wide open ready to
scold her, that he could not get it shut in time to say a word, but
opened his eyes instead to keep it company, and stood looking after
her till she was seated in the drosky. Then Ivan "flicked" Todeloff,
who kicked up his heels and rattled out of the courtyard in fine
style. When they were out of sight the porter found he could say
"_bosja moia_" again, so he said it; and feeling much relieved, was
gradually getting back to his usual dignified manner, when his lady
came tripping down the stairs, wrapped in a beautiful long sable
mantle, bidding him order her sledge, and one for her maid, to be
brought to the door at once.
When the sledges were brought Lady Feodorovna entered hers, and drew
the soft white bear-skin robe around her, while her maid threw over
her fur hood a fine, fleecy scarf of white wool. Then the maid put
numberless packages, small and great, into the foot of the other
sledge, leaving only just room to put herself in afterwards.
While they are waiting there I must tell you what Lady Feodorovna's
sledge was like. It was built something like an open brougham,
except that the back was higher, with a carved wooden ornament on the
top; there was no "dash-board," but the runners came far up in a
curve at the front, and where they joined was another splendid
ornament of wood, gilded and surmounted by a gilt eagle with
outspread wings.
The body of the sledge was of rose-wood, and in the front was a
beautiful painting of Cupid, the "love-god," and his mother. The
other sledge, which had a silver swan at the front, was not quite so
fine, although the shape was the same.
There were no horses to draw these sledges, but behind each stood a
servant in fur jacket, cap and boots, with a pair of skates hung over
his shoulder.
"I wish to go to the isba of Paloffsky, the peasant, beyond Torjok;
we will go the shorter way, by the river," said Lady Feodorovna.
"Hasten!"
Then the servants each gave a great push, and the sledges started off
so quickly and lightly down the slope to the river that they could
scarcely keep up with them. When they reached the banks of the
Blankow, which flowed past the count's grounds and was frozen over
for miles, the servants stooped and put on their skates, binding them
by long straps over their feet, and round and round their ankles.
Then they started down the river, and oh, how they flew! while the
sledges, with their gorgeous birds, fairly sparkled in the sunlight.
Sooner almost than I can tell it they had reached their journey's
end; the skates were unstrapped, and the sledges drawn up the bank to
the door of the little isba, which Lady Feodorovna entered, followed
by the maid with the parcels.
A sad picture met their eyes. Poor Nicholas sat on a bench by the
stove, wrapped in his sheepskin blanket, looking so pale, and thin
that he scarcely seemed alive; on his knees lay the hungry baby,
biting his little fist because he had nothing else to bite; while on
the floor beside him sat a little three-year-old fellow crying
bitterly, whom a sad little sister was vainly trying to comfort.
Nicholas looked up as the door opened, but did not speak as the
strange lady advanced, and bade her maid open the packages and put
their contents on the table. How the children stared! The little
one stopped crying, and crept up to the table, followed shyly by his
sister. Then the maid put a dainty white bread-roll in each little
hand. Then she took the baby gently from off the poor, tired
father's knee, and gave it spoonful after spoonful of sweet, pure
milk, till its little pinched cheeks seemed fairly to grow full and
rosy, and it gave a satisfied little "coo-o," that would have done
your hearts good to hear. Meanwhile Lady Feodorovna went up to
Nicholas, and said softly:
"Look at your little ones! they are happy now! Can you not rouse up
and drink this good bowl of soup? It is warm yet, and will do you
good. Drink, and then I will tell you some good news."
Nicholas took the bowl which she held towards him, but his hand
trembled so that it would have fallen if she had not herself held it
to his lips. As he tasted the warm nourishing soup new life seemed
to come to him, and he grasped the bowl eagerly, drinking till the
last drop was gone; then, looking up with a grateful smile he said
simply, "Ah! we were so hungry, my little ones and I! Thanks,
_barishna_."
"Now for my good news," said the lady. "Here is the money for your
rent; and here are ten roubles more, for clothes for your little
ones. The food there is sufficient for to-day; to-morrow I will send
you more. Do not thank me," she added, as Nicholas tried to speak;
"you must thank Katinka Kassaloff for it all."
Just then a great noise was heard outside, and little Todeloff came
prancing merrily up to the door, shaking his head and rattling the
little bells on his _douga_ (the great wooden arch that all Russian
horses have attached to their collars) as proudly as if he had the
finest drosky in all St. Petersburg behind him.
Katinka jumped quickly down, and entering the little isba stood
fairly speechless at seeing Lady Feodorovna, whom she had left so
shortly before in her own beautiful home.
"Ah, Katinka! I have stolen a march on you," said the good fairy.
"There is nothing you can do here."
"Is there not?" said Katinka. "See! here is the starosta's receipt
for a year's rent, and there," turning towards the door as a
venerable old man entered, "is the Torjok doctor, who has come to
make neighbour Nicholas well."
I must tell you what the doctor was like. He wore a long fur coat
with wide sleeves, fur boots, and a great pair of fur gloves, so that
he looked almost like a bear standing up. He wore queer blue
spectacles, and from under a little black velvet cap long, silky,
white hair fell over his shoulders, and his white beard nearly
reached to his waist.
The doctor walked up to Nicholas, put his hands on his knees,
stooped, and looked gravely at him; then rising, turned sharply to
Katinka and said.
"There is no sick one here! Why did you bring me so far for nothing?
But it is two roubles all the same."
"Here are the roubles," said Katinka, "and I am very glad we do not
want you;" which was not at all polite of her.
Then, too, Ivan had driven off in search of passengers, so the poor
doctor had to walk nearly a verst (three quarters of a mile) through
the snow, back to Torjok, which made him growl like a real bear all
the way.
Katinka went shyly up to Nicholas, who was frowning crossly at her,
and said:
"Are you angry with me? Do not frown so, I beg. Well, frown if you
will! the children do not, and I did it all for them; I love them!"
and she caught up baby Demetrius and buried her face in his curly
hair to hide a tear that would come; for she felt grieved that
Nicholas did not thank her, even with a smile, for what she had done.
When she looked up Lady Feodorovna and her maid were gone, and
Nicholas stood before her holding little Noviska by one hand, while
two-year-old Todleben clung to his knee.
"Katinka," said Nicholas gently, "now I can thank you with all my
heart, though I cannot find words to speak my thanks. Let the
children kiss you for it all; that is best."
Katinka kissed the children heartily, then she put down the baby and
opened the door, but Nicholas's face was sober then, though his eyes
still smiled as he said:
"Come back to tea, Katinka, and bring your father with you, and our
young neighbour Alexis, who often is hungry, and we will have a feast
of all these good things."
"_Horro sha_" (very well), said Katinka, then she quickly ran home.
Dimitri met her at the door, crying piteously.
"Poor Pussy!" said Katinka; "you have had nothing to eat all day!
What a shame!"
"Miauw!" said Dimitri to that.
"Never mind, Pussy; you shall have all my supper, and father's too,
for we are invited out to tea, so must not eat anything now."
"Miauw, miauw!" said pussy again to that, and scampered away to his
bowl to be all ready for his fish, and milk, and sour cabbage soup,
that he knew was coming.
Then Katinka hastened to brush her pretty hair, and put on her best
_sarafane_ (dress), with the scarlet embroidered boddice and straps,
and was all ready when her father came in, to tell him of their
invitation, and help him to make his toilet.
"I must have my hair cut," said Ivan, seating himself on a bench,
while Katinka tied a band round his head, fastening it over his
forehead, then got a great pair of shears and cut his hair straight
round by the band. Then like a good little Russian daughter as she
was, Katinka took a little bit of tallow candle and rubbed it on her
father's head to keep it smooth, belted down his gray flannel blouse,
and handed him his sheepskin jacket, with a hint that it was high
time for them to be off.
When the guests entered his isba Nicholas kissed Ivan--for that is
always the custom between Russian men who are friends--then he called
to Alexis:
"Heads up, my boy, and help me with the supper."
Alexis, who was turning somersaults in his joy, came right side up
with a spring, and soon the feast was on the table, and the four
wooden benches drawn up around it.
Ivan and Nicholas had each a bench for himself, Alexis sat beside
Katinka, while Noviska and Todleben were placed on the remaining
bench.
Katinka had wrapped baby Demetrius up in his little lambskin blanket,
and laid him on the top of the stove, where he fell fast asleep while
she was patting his soft cheek.
What appetites they all had! and how quickly the good things
disappeared! wine-soup and grouse; cheese-cakes and honey; white
rolls and sweet cream-cakes vanished almost as if by magic, till at
last there was only a bowl of cream left. Alexis--who had acted as
waiter, removing all the empty dishes in turn--placed this in the
middle of the table, giving to each one a birch-wood spoon and
refilling the glasses with tea; then he sat down by Katinka again at
the plain uncovered table.
Let me tell you that tea is prepared in Russia in a very different
manner to what it is in this country. It is made very strong, and is
drunk always from glasses instead of from cups, and so hot that it
would bring tears from the eyes of any one but a Russian. Milk is
not used; a slice of lemon instead floats on the top. Sugar is never
put in the glass, but tea-drinkers hold a lump between their teeth,
and then drink the tea through the sugar! Even very little children
are given strong tea to drink as soon as they have teeth to hold the
sugar, and they seem to thrive on it.
There was much to talk about. Nicholas had a very busy time of it in
persuading Katinka to take the rent money which the grand lady had
left, and which he protested he no longer required, since the
landlord was paid, and he already felt well enough to work. Katinka
in her turn, had to laugh at the jokes of Alexis, who was really a
funny boy when he was not hungry; Todleben had to sing a droll little
child's song; and Ivan had to tell Nicholas all about the queer and
wonderful ways of his pony Todeloff.
And here we must leave the party--a happy, grateful company, though
Nicholas still looked pale and feeble, and the "company boy," Alexis,
had eaten so tremendously that Ivan did nothing but stare at him in
astonishment.
THREE KOPECKS.[1]
[1] The "kopeck" is a Russian coin of about the value of an English
halfpenny.
Crouched low in a sordid chamber,
With a cupboard of empty shelves,--
Half-starved, and, alas! unable
To comfort or help themselves,--
Two children were left forsaken,
All orphaned of mortal care;
But with spirits too close to heaven
To be tainted by earth's despair,--
Alone in that mighty city,
Which shines like an Arctic star,
By the banks of the frozen Neva,
In the realm of the mighty Czar.
Now, Max was an urchin of seven;
But his delicate sister, Leeze,
With the crown of her rippling ringlets,
Could scarcely have reached your knees!
As he looked at his sister, weeping,
And tortured by hunger's smart,
A thought like an angel entered
At the door of his opened heart.
He wrote on a fragment of paper,--
With quivering hand and soul,--
"_Please send to me, Christ! three kopecks,
To purchase for Leeze a roll!_"
Then, rushed to a church, his missive
To drop ere the vesper psalms,--
As the surest post bound Christward,--
In the unlocked Box for Alms!
While he stood upon tip-toe to reach it,
One passed from the priestly band,
And with smile like a benediction
Took the note from his eager hand.
Having read it, the good man's bosom
Grew warm with a holy joy:
"Ah! Christ may have heard you already,--
Will you come to my house, my boy?"
"But not without Leeze?" "No, surely,
We'll have a rare party of three;
Go, tell her that somebody's waiting
To welcome her home to tea." ...
And the next Lord's-day, in his pulpit,
The preacher so spake of these
Stray lambs from the fold, which Jesus
Had blessed by the sacred seas;--
So recounted their guileless story,
As he held each child by the hand
That the hardest there could feel it,
And the dullest could understand.
O'er the eyes of the listening fathers
There floated a gracious mist;
And oh, how the tender mothers
Those desolate darlings kissed!
"You have given your tears," said the preacher,
"Heart-alms we should none despise;--
But the open palm, my children,
Is more than the weeping eyes!"
Then followed a swift collection,
From the altar steps to the door,
Till the sum of two thousand roubles
The vergers had counted o'er.
So you see that the unposted letter
Had somehow gone to its goal,
And more than three kopecks gathered
To purchase for Leeze a roll!
PAUL H. HAYNE.
THE DEVIL IN THE MINE.
For several years I was compelled to live in the interior of Russia,
the establishment with which I was connected being one of those
centres of industrial enterprise which, for their vastness in extent
and in the number of persons employed, are perhaps unequalled in the
whole world.
The labourers and work people--upwards of forty thousand--under my
charge, were, if anything, slightly above the average of their
compeers in intelligence; it need not, therefore, be supposed that
this story, or rather incident, conveys any exaggerated idea of the
Russian moujik, or common labourer.
While engaged in my office one afternoon in September, the youth in
attendance announced that one of the miners from the works wished to
see me most particularly. Now for a peasant to demand an interview
with his native master, especially when the latter had just dined,
was a proceeding of very rare occurrence, and showed that something
very extraordinary must have taken place, as the relative positions
of master and moujik in the social scale are very widely different.
I had, however, frequently found, that by occasionally listening to
what the men had to say, and allowing myself apparently to sympathize
with their little weaknesses, I gained the way to their hearts;
discovering at the same time the fact that the moujik was not seldom
a much better man than his master at the period I write of, which was
before the emancipation of the serfs in Russia.
"Allow him to come in, Ivan," I said to the lad, and presently the
miner entered. He first looked carefully round him, and then,
equally cautiously, he peered underneath the tables and seats in the
room--all the time nervously clutching the greasy cap which he held
in his hand. He literally shook in his coarse bark shoes; his face
was naturally pale, but it was all the paler by contrast with his
dark eyes staring from under their heavy eyelids.
"Barrin" (master, in a superior sense), said he, whispering hoarsely
from chattering lips, "I have seen the devil!"
"Indeed!" said I, greatly surprised, but of course pretending not to
be alarmed in the slightest degree; "where have you been fortunate
enough to meet with such good luck?"
"Oh, barrin," answered the man eagerly, "we have got him all right:
he is safe at the bottom of an ore-pit in our village; and," he
added, confidently, "he can't get out, because the whole of the
villagers have surrounded the pit-head."
"That is all right, Ivan," I said; "wait for a few minutes and I will
go with you, and we will see if we can catch him."
Ordering three fast horses to be harnessed to my tarantass, and
refreshing Ivan with a good glass of vodka (spirits) to shake his
benumbed faculties together, away we soon went at the rate of twenty
versts an hour to the village from whence Ivan had come.
It would have been perfectly useless for me to have attempted to
persuade this man that the person or "party," whoever he or whatever
it was they had got in the pit, was not Satan himself. No; the only
way to convince a Russian is to prove the matter; and even absolute
proof is not always convincing.
On my arrival at the village I at once observed that something very
unusual was exciting the attention of the inhabitants, as instead of
the usual number of lazy men and women who are generally to be seen
standing idling about in the streets of every hamlet, I found the
place absolutely deserted; but on an adjacent hill stood the cause of
the commotion.
A crowd of people--men, women, and children--were standing round the
mouth of an ore-pit, some ten fathoms deep, and about as much like an
ordinary English draw-well without the brick-lining as could possibly
be conceived. All were talking at once, and all agreed that they had
caught no less a personage than the very devil himself, as they felt
quite sure that the miner who had last come out of the pit could not
possibly be mistaken.
Now came the knotty questions: "How shall we get his Satanic majesty
out of his retreat? and who among the spectators would be bold enough
to undertake the risk of tackling such an awkward customer?"
The only manner of being hoisted up and down these antiquated
examples of mining is by sitting astride a small piece of wood
fastened to the end of a not too thick piece of rope, which in its
turn is wound up and down by a wooden windlass--not a very desirable
mode of descending, even when the men are not sure the "old
gentleman" himself is in their neighbourhood, but decidedly dangerous
when they think he is.
I therefore, although strongly solicited, declined the honour of
descending, and looked about for a substitute. My eye caught sight
of one of those rough-and-ready "ne'er-do-weels" who are to be found
in Russia as well as in every other country--men who come to the
surface of society when some particular daring deed has to be done,
and sink out of sight again when the rewards of success have been
distributed.
A few glasses of vodka in advance, and three silver roubles in
prospective, assisted by friendly pats on the back from his
companions, who were afraid to go themselves, were sufficient
encouragements to animate this man of valour to the heroic pitch.
The villagers set him astride the piece of wood, and began to lower
away; indeed they were in such a hurry to send him down to the
presence of the Evil One that I began to fear he would be dropped
altogether.
However, he arrived at the bottom in safety; and now was the
opportunity for observing, more clearly and closely, how the diabolic
idea had seized on the popular mind.
All were in a rampant state of excitement and expectation. The mayor
was wondering where he could lock up the infernal prisoner; in fact,
doubting whether or not he should send to the nearest town for the
assistance of the military.
Two or three suggested that I had made a mistake in not ordering the
fire-engines to come, and many more were speculating upon the
probability of their envoy having been already devoured by the devil
as a return for his temerity.
Presently the rope was shaken, which is the signal to draw up. Very
gently and very nervously this operation commences; a good many of
the crowd show signs of running away; and the men at the windlass
maintain that it turns very heavily. A few peaceable citizens
suggest that, after all, perhaps the better way would be not to bring
the prisoner up, but to leave him where he is, with a strong guard
always on the watch to see that he did not pop up suddenly and set
fire to the village; but seeing that this means only letting go the
windlass, and the poor fellow that is attached to it, I insist on
their proceeding with the winding-up.
In time the man's head appeared coming out of the darkness, and he
called out, "I have got him all right."
The peasants then began to think that, after all, his diabolic
majesty was not so awful as they supposed--the captive brought to
light proving to be no more than an immense specimen of the Horned
Owl of the Ural Mountains, whose enormous eyes shone from his ruffled
plumage like two balls of fire.
The disappointment was thoroughly real, as, by the time the affair
had finished, the news having spread, people were arriving from the
neighbouring villages to see the wonderful sight; and as there was no
devil after all, the moujiks did not think it advisable to ask me to
treat them to vodka all round, which in Russia is a natural adjunct
to the occurrence of anything extraordinary in a village.
But perhaps the greatest disappointment was felt by the poor fellow
who made the adventurous descent. He, of course, received his three
silver roubles, but he lost the "kudos" for his act of daring.
In answer to the question, "Well, Ivan, how did you manage it all?"
he replied:
"Well, Barrin, you see, when I got to the bottom I saw something
blazing; so I shut my eyes, made a rush at it, and brought it up in
my arms in the best way I could, and here it is."
This same owl--a splendid specimen--I had stuffed, and kept facing my
writing-table for a long time afterwards, as a memento of the Russian
peasants' belief in the "Devil and all his works."
A BEAR-HUNT IN RUSSIA.
The Russians are not a sporting people, and it is only the bear that
gives them anything like a desire for the hunt.
If a moujik can only find bruin in his winter quarters he is happy,
as it gives him that which he loves so much--a "pot" shot.
There are always several peasants in every neighbourhood who spend
the winter in searching for bear-holes, primarily with the idea of
selling the "find" to some local gentleman, or, if that fails, of
making a few roubles out of the animal's skin and fat.
The operation of searching is difficult, and even dangerous; the snow
is so extremely fine and soft that walking on it without snow-shoes
is impossible, and these long narrow slips of wood turned up at the
ends, with a piece of leather nailed across the middle into which to
place the feet, are difficult things to manage. Going on level
ground is easy enough, but up or down hill the wearer of them is very
apt to tumble; and then with some three feet of shoe sticking into
the snow, and head and arms deeply plunged by the force of the fall,
extrication is a work of time and partial suffocation a close
probability.
"When, therefore," says Mr. Barry in his _Ivan at Home_, "we have
discovered a bear, we let him alone until the snow is on the eve of
disappearing, and he can be comfortably approached. By that time,
also, he will be waking up from his hibernation, and a little more
lively than he would be if we roused him in the midst of his winter
slumbers.
"My greatest adventure in bear-hunting came about in the following
manner. I was accustomed to pay a reward of twenty-five roubles to
the man who found me a bear, and this reward kept my peasants on the
look-out. The first moujik who, towards the end of a long winter,
came to claim it one fine morning, lived at a distance of some hours'
drive from my house. We drove over to his village to arrive towards
evening, and sat down to supper in his house, where the head forester
met me. After supper we cleared out the moujik and his family, and
settled down, my head forester and I, to sleep.
"Hours before daylight we were on our way to the forest, the snow had
begun to melt, and the road was rough for sledging, especially here
and there when we came to bare places, where the snow was destroyed
by tepid springs, which are very common in some parts of Russia.
"The jolting of the sledge was unpleasant, and so far the journey was
a disagreeable one. But the coral magnificence of the ancient forest
compensated for bodily discomfort. No person of observation can pass
these primeval forests without discovering wonders at every turn.
The monster trees--whose thick trunks and arms are twisted into
fantastic distortions, darken the road with the thick caverns they
form where the wind has uprooted them by dozens, and they lean
supported by their branches across the way--seen in the gray morning
as we glide along our silent path of snow have a solemn and imposing
influence on the mind, like that produced by the ruins of some grand
old temple, whose foundation, like that of our Russian forest, is
hidden in remote antiquity.
"When we left our sledge and took to struggling through the wood we
sank deep in the snow at every step, and were thoroughly glad to
arrive at last before the winter residence of our bear. The
air-holes left for breathing purposes were freshly discoloured, and
showed that bruin was at home, so we got to business without delay.
"Shooting a bear as he emerges from his winter quarters is not
unattended with danger, because, if the shots do not happen to be
mortal, the animal charges, and the men near the hole are sometimes
knocked over and severely injured. It is very necessary, therefore,
that the shooter should be supported by a man with a spear, who
stands close behind him and receives the bear in case of need on the
point of his weapon. This duty can only be intrusted to an old hand,
and one who never flinches.
"Besides the gun which the shooter carries in hand, he must have a
second in reserve behind him, as bears sometimes "take a great deal
of killing." The battery being supposed to be arranged, the moujiks
begin to call and talk to the bear. If this does not move him they
insert a small tree, and literally 'stir him up with a long pole.'
The animal then (generally in a drowsy state) puts his head through
the opening, and upon presenting a fair mark is killed. But if he is
already awake in his hole before the stirring up process commences he
will bolt out with a rush which is far from agreeable.
"On the occasion I am referring to we had made a mistake in our
calculations, for after all the bear had given us the slip; but we
knew that he could not be far off, as he must only have left his hole
a few minutes before. We accordingly separated to hunt him up. I
was walking among the brushwood with a man behind me carrying a spare
double-barrelled rifle, when I heard the bear growl, but could not
see him; presently I made him out about thirty or forty paces off,
and looking round to see that my other gun was near, beheld the
fellow carrying it in the act of making off as fast as he could. I
caught him up and made him stand, and in the meantime the bear was
slowly advancing towards us. There was so much underwood that I
could not see to make a sure shot, but at last was obliged to fire.
The rifle I had in my hand was an English Enfield. I missed the
shoulder and struck the brute in the side. I found afterwards that
the bullet had gone through him, literally riddling him. He took no
notice of this beyond giving a growl. He then came towards me, when
I took my second gun and fired point-blank at his forehead; the gun
was a smooth-bore and the bullet round; this also had no effect on
him beyond causing just a shake of his head and another growl. I had
only one barrel left, and did not like the situation, as my spearman
was hunting on his own account and had not yet come up; but I for the
first time in my life learned by experience the full value of a
breech-loader, for I had just time to put a cartridge into the empty
barrel, giving me two more chances, when the animal was almost close
to me. Stepping aside, I fired into his heart, and he fell dead at
my feet.
"This was a lesson to me in the future not to depend upon myself
alone in attempting to kill a bear."
A STORY OF PETER THE GREAT.
Some hundred and fifty years ago the "Emperor of all the Russias" was
Peter the Great; and Peter, with all his faults, was a
generous-hearted man, and loved an adventure dearly. It was a cold
bleak day in November when our story commences, and the fishermen on
the Gulf of Finland could easily foretell a coming storm from the
clouds which were gathering on the horizon from the south-east. As
the clouds grew darker, the wind blew in louder gusts, and the waves
rose with whiter and taller crests, and lashed the shores with an
ever-increasing vehemence. Along the beach on the north side of the
Gulf of Finland are some twenty or thirty fishermen's huts, which
form part of the straggling town of Lachta. Hard by is the spot
where a ferry-boat starts--or rather started a century ago--for the
opposite side of the gulf some twice or three times a week. As the
door of one of these cottages opened, a young sailor came out,
followed by his mother, who saw that he was bent on crossing the lake
for the purpose of transacting some business at the little village of
Liborg, and was vainly endeavouring to stay him by pointing out the
signs of the growing storm.
"Only see, my dear son," she cried, "how rough and angry the lake is
now; see what madness it is to venture out in an open boat upon its
waves on such a day. If the ferry-boat must go, let it start without
you, and do you stay at home, my Steenie, for your poor mother's
sake."
"Oh! mother," replied the young man, "you are over-anxious; my
business with Carl Wald compels me to go across whether I like it or
not, and I cannot disappoint him if the ferry-boat starts at all, and
start it will directly from the quay, for I see the passengers
gathering together at the top of the steps. Only look now, there is
Alec and Nicholas going across, and I cannot stay behind. Then,
good-bye, mother, I am off to the _Katharine_." So saying he stepped
briskly forward.
"Well, Paul, my man," said Steenie to the old boatman, "here's rather
a rough passage across for us; I suppose you will go all the same,
though you don't seem to like the looks of the weather a bit better
than I do? But I don't see any other boats out this afternoon for
certain."
"Oh, Paul! Oh, Steenie! it is just tempting Providence to think of
crossing over with such a sea rising, and with the wind almost dead
against you," cried the distracted widow.
"As to that, there's always danger afloat," answered Paul, "be it
fair or foul; and Providence takes care of us afloat as well as ever
he does on land. Here, Alec, let go that rope. Now then, to your
oars. She's off now, boys! Helm aport now."
"Port it is," growled the steersman, who evidently had no fancy for
the voyage, and had all this time been crying out against the
unpropitious state of the weather.
The boatmen who were on the steps and along the beach assured the
widow that there was no real danger; and so having bid her son an
affectionate farewell, and uttering many a devout prayer for his safe
return next week, she went back into her cottage low and depressed in
her spirits, and sat watching the boat from her window as it did
battle with each crested surge and rose proudly on its course. Need
we say that she watched it with a mother's eye, until a projecting
cliff shut it wholly out of sight? The storm, however, continued as
before, and the mother had but one resource left, to commit her
beloved son and the frail boat in which he crossed the waters of the
lake to the merciful goodness of that Providence who is "the God of
the fatherless and the widow."
Meanwhile the little vessel was battling with the angry waves in a
place where there was a narrow passage, some fifty yards broad,
between two dangerous shelving sandbanks, well known to the master of
the _Katharine_ and his crew. The sandbanks themselves, as it
happened, lay partly under the lee of one of the little islands which
stud the coast near Lachta; and the current was bearing strong upon
the bank upon the leeward. At this moment the _Katharine_ shipped a
large quantity of water; as ill-luck would have it, the tiller broke,
and before the boat's head could be righted she had drifted upon the
edge of the bar of sand, and there she stuck fast. The little bark
would have been overwhelmed by the breakers but for the shelter
afforded by the corner of the island and the shifting of the wind a
point or two round to the north; indeed she was fast filling with
water, in spite of the efforts of the passengers to keep her afloat
by bailing. To add to the general confusion on board, it now turned
out that several of the passengers, who had been drinking at the
village inn before starting from Lachta, were fairly intoxicated, and
the rest were sinking down bewildered into the apathy of despair, so
that only Stephen and two of the boatmen had their wits about them.
But though they strove with all their might, they were unable to move
the boat from off the sandbank. At this moment, when the waves were
breaking over the little _Katharine_, and had already swept off into
deep water one or two hapless passengers, who had lost all heart and
courage, a sail was seen approaching.
It was rather a large vessel, with a gallant crew of some twenty men,
who had been inspecting a portion of the coast. They had seen the
perilous position of old Paul and his boat, and had borne down to his
assistance, for in spite of the terrible raging of the wind and waves
the captain could not see the poor fellows swept away one by one and
drowned without at least making an effort to save them.
The vessel neared the sandbank; but how may she approach close enough
to rescue the unfortunate fellows on board the _Katharine_? A boat
is lowered from the vessel, and four as gallant Russian sailors as
ever ploughed the fresh waters of Ladoga or the Baltic have rowed up
to the spot; but the strength of two of the crew, added to the
exertions of Stephen and the boatmen of the _Katharine_, are not
sufficient to move the boat from the firm grasp with which the sand
held her keel. They were, therefore, beginning to relax their
efforts, when a second boat, with a crew of six stout-hearted
fellows, neared the bank, and by vigorous efforts reached the spot in
time to reinforce their comrades. Without the loss of a moment, one
of the crew, a fine tall muscular Russian, some six feet five inches
high, stripped off his outer garments, leaped into the sea, and after
swimming a few sharp strokes gained a footing on the sand. This was
heavy work indeed, as the sand was not hard and firm, but mixed with
mud and slime; but the giant strength of the new arrival turned the
scale, and after a few short and sharp heaves the _Katharine_ moved
once more. In a few moments she was afloat again, and taken in tow
by the other boat.
And where was Stephen all this time? Worn out with fatigue and cold,
for he had been immersed some two hours in the chilly waves, and
standing in deep water and nearly exhausted by their violence, he had
lost his footing on the slippery bank, and having got in a moment
beyond his depth was vainly attempting to keep his head above water
by swimming in his drenched and dripping clothes, the weight of which
in a few minutes more would have carried him down.
"Oh! Steenie, Steenie!" cried the old boatman, Paul, with a loud
voice of agony, which would make itself heard even above the roaring
of the angry wind and waves; "can none of you save my poor Stephen,
the bravest lad that ever trod a deck! He's gone now; and but for
his help this day my boat would have been lost."
"He's not lost yet!" cried the tall seaman; and, plunging into the
waves, he caught him by the hair of the head just as he was sinking a
third time; the next wave would have carried him fairly down, and his
life would have been gone beyond recall.
It was but the work of a moment for the strong, tall stranger to swim
with the lad towards the boat, which was hovering near; and in
another second the gallant crew had lifted him in over the gunwale
and laid him at the bottom of the boat. As soon as he showed signs
of life, and began to open his eyes, a flask of brandy was applied to
his mouth, and he soon revived. The tall man, too, got in, and
leaving two of his crew to help old Paul to tow the _Katharine_
ashore, he gave the signal to his men, and they pulled off with all
their might in the direction of Lachta. Though the waves were still
running high, yet, fortunately, the wind was astern; so the sharp,
quick strokes of the crew soon brought the boat to a landing-place
from which, a few hours before, poor Stephen had departed in such
high spirits, and with such confidence in Paul's seamanship and the
ability of the _Katharine_ to make the passage.
As soon as the boat came to the sheltered nook where the steps of the
landing-place led up from the sea, Stephen was put ashore, and partly
led and partly carried he reached the cottage of his mother. At the
sight of her son the poor widow burst into a flood of tears, and
began to give way to an agony of joy and grief. A warm bath was soon
prepared for her son; and after the application of some gentle
restoratives poor Stephen was able to sit up and thank his kind
preserver, the tall stranger, who, with his two men behind him, just
now lifted up the latch of the cottage-door and had entered the room.
"Gracious Heaven!" exclaimed the grateful mother; "why, sir, you are
in wet clothes too! Sit down, sir, by the fire, and accept of my
humble fare, while I go and find some of my Steenie's clothes for you
to put on, and I dry those dripping garments."
The tall stranger sat down, and, as the widow left the room, gave his
two followers a hint not to make known to the boy or his mother who
he was. In a few minutes the stranger had retired, and assumed a
plain old suit belonging to the young man whose life he had saved,
and was engaged in eating some hot bacon which the widow had just
placed on the table before him, with many protestations of her
eternal gratitude to the saviour of her son.
"May the King of Heaven, who never turns a deaf ear to the widow's
prayer, mercifully reward you for saving my Steenie's life! It is
not many a sailor, or merchant either, that would have done as you
did to-day. Heaven speed you; and may you never forget that the poor
widow of Lachta is praying for you night and morning, that the
Almighty may increase your store, whenever you are sailing over the
stormy sea, or the lakes of Onega and Ladoga."
The tall stranger was about to rise and depart, when suddenly the
door opened, and a naval officer entered with a crowd of attendants.
It was the captain and mate of the barque which Paul and Steenie had
seen in the offing, and which had sent her boats to the rescue of the
_Katharine_.
"My noble master, may it please your majesty," he said, falling on
one knee, "the _Royal Peter_ has come safe, and she has towed the
_Katharine_ too into the little port of Lachta."
The poor widow fell down upon her knees in astonishment, and faltered
forth her apologies for not having recognized his majesty, and for
having treated him with such apparent disrespect.
"Nay, nay, my good woman," said the czar, smiling, "how could you
know the emperor thus disguised in mud and dirt. But you will know
him henceforth. I shall keep your son's clothes in remembrance of
this day; and when your boy 'Steenie,' as you call him, wakes up from
the sound sleep into which he has fallen, tell him that he will
always find a true friend in Peter Alexovitch."
Our readers when they learn that the foregoing story is founded upon
a plain historical fact--as they will find upon reading for
themselves the "Life of Peter the Great,"--will be grieved to hear
that the noble conduct of the emperor on this occasion cost him his
life. He had for a long time suffered under a chronic internal
disease, which none of the court physicians could effectually combat;
and in the month of November, 1724, in which our story is laid,
having gone, contrary to the advice of his physicians, to inspect the
works on Lake Ladoga, his exposure to the wet and cold, in rescuing
the poor ferryman and his crew in the manner related, affected him so
seriously that he never afterwards recovered. The emperor went home
to his palace at St. Petersburg without loss of time, but his malady
increased in spite of all the remedies which the medical skill of
Russia could furnish; and gradually he sank under the disease, till
death put an end to his sufferings towards the close of the following
January.
Such was the end of Peter I. of Russia, deservedly named the "Great;"
though he was the strangest compound of contradictions, perhaps, that
the world has ever seen. In him the most ludicrous undertakings were
mingled with the grandest political schemes. Benevolence and
humanity were as conspicuous in his character as a total disregard of
human life. He was at once kind-hearted and severe, even to the
extent of ferocity. Without education himself he promoted arts,
sciences, and literature. "He gave," says one of his biographers, "a
polish to his people, and yet he was himself a savage; he taught them
the art of war, of which, however, he was himself ignorant; from the
sight of a small boat on the river Moskwa he created a powerful
fleet, and made himself an expert and active shipwright, sailor,
pilot, and commander; he changed the manners, customs, and laws of
the Russians, and lives in their memory, not merely as the founder of
their empire, but as the father of his country."
Yes; the memory of Peter the Great to this day is dear among all
classes of the Russians, from the noblest of the Boyards down to the
meanest peasant. But if among the towns and villages of his vast
empire there be one in which his name is cherished with especial
honour, it is that little fishing town of Lachta; and in proof of our
assertion we may add, that the cottage in which "Steenie" and his
mother lived and died is still familiarly known to every traveller in
those parts as "Peter's House."