Journey from St. Petersburg to Moscow Irina Reyfman (snow like ashes .TXT) 📖

or not the noose was firm. This was my case. The soldier’s life is a hard one, better than the noose, though. And it would be a good thing if all it meant were death rather than perishing from a slow death, under the cudgel, cat-o’-nine-tails, in chains, in a cellar, naked, barefoot, thirsty, hungry, under ceaseless harassment. Dear sir, although you consider serfs your property, often worse than cattle, it is to their bitterest misfortune that they have not been deprived of sensation. You find it surprising, I see, to hear words like these from the mouth of a peasant; but now that you have heard them, why do you not feel surprise at the hard-heartedness of your brethren, the nobility?”

And in truth, I had not anticipated what was said from someone dressed in a rough plain rough caftan with a shaven brow. Yet out of a desire to satisfy my curiosity I asked him to explain to me how, being of such low extraction, he had attained an understanding those wrongly called noble frequently lacked.

“If you will not be bored listening to my tale, then I shall tell you that I was born into slavery, the son of the serf tutor of my former master. What delight it is for me that I shall no longer be called Vanka nor by some abusive appellation nor be summoned by whistling. My old master, a good-hearted man, wise, and virtuous, not rarely aggrieved for the fate of his slaves, wishing to reward me, too, for my father’s long-term service, gave me an education equal to his son’s. There was hardly any difference between us except that the cloth on the caftan he wore was somewhat finer. What the young gentleman was taught, I was also taught. Our lessons were equal in every way and I can say without boasting that I excelled my young owner in much.

“‘Vanyusha,’ the old gentleman would say to me, ‘your happiness depends entirely on you. You have greater motivation to learning and morality than my son. After my death, he will be rich and will know no need, whereas you have known it from birth. So then, try to be worthy of the care I have taken of you.’ When my young master was in his seventeenth year, he and I were sent to foreign lands with a tutor who was instructed to consider me a companion rather than a servant. As he saw me off, my old master said to me, ‘I hope that you will return for my own peace of mind and that of your parents. Within the borders of this state you are a slave, but outside them you are free. When you return, the shackles that were laid on you at birth will not be restored.’ We were away five years and were on the way back to Russia. My young master was in a state of joy to see his parent, while I, I admit, felt hopeful about using the promise I’d been made. My heart trembled as I crossed again the borders of my fatherland. And in truth, the heart’s foreboding was not wrong. In Riga, my young master received the news of his father’s death. He was moved by it, I was brought to despair. For all my efforts to earn the friendship and trust of my young master had always been futile. Not only did he not love me but hated me, perhaps because of the envy typical of small souls.

“Seeing the dismay the news of his father’s death caused me, he told me that he would not forget the promise made to me provided I were deserving. It was the first time he dared to mention this, since after attaining his independence after the death of his father, he immediately dismissed his tutor in Riga, after paying him generously for his labors. One has to be fair to my former master since he has many good qualities but they are overshadowed by a timidity of spirit and flightiness.

“A week after our return to Moscow my former master fell in love with a young woman, fine of countenance. But she joined to her physical beauty the most vile spirit and a cruel and severe heart. Brought up in the arrogance of her pedigree, she regarded only appearance, nobility, wealth as distinctions. In two months, she became the spouse of my master and my mistress. Until that time, I felt no change in my condition and lived in the home of my owner as a companion. Although he did not give me orders, I sometimes anticipated his wishes, aware of his power and my lot. Scarcely had the young mistress crossed the threshold of the home in which she was determined to be in charge than I sensed the hardship of my fate. On the first evening after the wedding and the next day, when I was introduced to her by her spouse as his companion, she was occupied by the usual concerns of a new marriage. But in the evening, when in the presence of the bustling assembly everyone came to the table and sat down to the newlyweds’ first supper, I, as was customary, took my place at the lower end. The new mistress told her husband fairly loudly that if he wanted her to sit at the table with the guests, he should not allow serfs to sit there. After a look at me, prompted now by her, he sent to tell me to leave the table and take supper in my room. Imagine how strongly I felt this humiliation. I, however, hid the tears welling up in my eyes and withdrew. On the next day I did not dare to show up. Not inquiring about me, they brought me my dinner and supper. It was the same on subsequent days. One day in the afternoon, a week after the wedding, the new mistress, inspecting the house and assigning duties and lodgings to all