Chapter V (1)

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.