Part 7

Sasha waited until he could no longer hear their footsteps. Then he started up, and keeping away from the road they had taken, ran through the woods and thicket in the direction of the town. His only thought was to reach the hill the robbers had mentioned, from which both roads could be seen. He knew it well; there was a bridle-path, shorter than the main highway, and the Baron would probably take it, as he was on horseback. The hill divided the two roads; it was covered with young birch trees, which grew very thickly on the summit and almost choked up the path. But there was a long spur of thicket, he remembered, running out on the ridge, and whoever stood at the end of it could almost look into the town.

Sasha was so excited that he took a track almost as short as a bird flies. He tore through bushes and brambles without thinking of the scratches they gave him; he jumped across gullies and ran at full speed over open fields; he was faint, and bruised, and breathless, but he never paused until the farthest point of the thicket on the hill was reached. It was then about an hour before sunset, and only one or two foot-travellers were to be seen upon the highway. The town was half a mile off, but he could plainly see where the bridle-path issued from a little lane between the houses. Carefully concealing himself under a thick alder-bush, he kept his eyes fixed upon that point.

He was obliged to wait for what seemed a long, long while. The sun was just setting when, finally, a horseman made his appearance, and Sasha knew by the large white horse that it must be the Baron. The rider looked at his watch, and then began to canter along the level towards the hill. There was no time to lose; so, without pausing a moment to think, Sasha sprang out of his hiding-place, and darted down the grassy slope at full speed, crying “Lord Baron! Lord Baron!”

The rider, at first, did not seem to heed. He cantered on, and it required all Sasha’s remaining strength to reach the path in advance of him. Then he dropped upon his knees, lifted up his hands, and cried once more, “Stop, Lord Baron!”

The Baron reined up his horse just in time to avoid trampling on the boy. Sasha sprang to his feet, seized the bridle, and gasped, “The robbers!”

“Who are you?—and what does this mean?” the Baron asked in a stern voice.

But Sasha was too much in earnest to feel afraid of the great lord. “I am Sasha, the son of Ivan, the son of Gregor,” he said; and then related, as rapidly as he could, all that he had seen and heard.

The Baron looked at his pistols. “Ha!” he cried, “the caps are taken off! You may have done me good service, boy. Wait here; it’s not enough to escape the rascals; we must capture them!”

He turned his horse, and galloped back at full speed towards the town. Sasha watched him, thinking only that he was saved at last. It was growing dark, when the boy’s quick ear caught the sound of steps in the opposite direction. He turned and saw the three men approaching rapidly. With a deadly sense of terror he started and ran towards the town.

“Kill the little spy!” shouted, behind him, a voice which he well knew.

Sasha cried aloud for help as he ran; but no help came. He was already weak and exhausted from the exertion he had made, and he heard the robbers coming nearer and nearer. All at once it seemed to him that his cries were answered; but at the same moment a heavy blow came down upon his head and shoulder. He fell to the ground and knew no more.

IV

When Sasha came to his senses, it seemed to him that he must have been dead for a long time. First of all, he had to think who he was; and this was not so easy as you may suppose, for he found himself lying in a bed, in a room he had never seen before. It was broad daylight, and the sun shone upon one of his hands, which was so white and thin that it did not seem to belong to him. Then he lifted it, and was amazed to find how little strength there was in his arm. But he brought it to his head at last,—and there was another surprise. All his long, silken hair was gone! He was so weak and bewildered that he groaned aloud, and the tears ran down his cheeks.

There was a noise in the room, and presently old Gregor bent over the bed.

“Grandad,” said the boy—and how feeble his voice sounded!—“am I your Sasha still?”

The old man, crying for joy, dropped on his knees and said a prayer. “Now you will get well!” he cried; “but you mustn’t talk; the doctor said you were not to talk!”

“Where am I?” Sasha asked.

“At the palace! And the Baron’s own doctor comes every day to see you; and they let me stay here to nurse you—it will be a week to-morrow!”

“What’s the matter?”—“what has happened?”

“Don’t talk, for the love of Heaven,” said Gregor; “you saved the Baron from being robbed and killed; and the head robber struck your head and broke your arm; and the Baron and the people came just at the right time; and one of them was shot, and the other two are in jail. O my boy, remember the altar of the black god, Perun; be obedient to me; shut your eyes and keep quiet!”

But Sasha could not shut his eyes. Little by little his memory came back, and a sense of what he had done filled his mind and made him happy. He felt a dull ache in his left arm, and found that it was so tightly bandaged he could not move it; so he lay quite still, while Gregor sat and watched him with sparkling eyes. After a time the door opened, and a strange gentleman came in; it was the physician. The old man rose and conversed with him in whispers. Then Sasha found that a spoon was held to his lips; he mechanically swallowed something that had a strange, pleasant taste, and almost immediately fell asleep.

In a day or two he was strong enough to sit up in bed, and was allowed to talk. Then the Baron and Baroness came, with the lady who was their guest, to see him. They were all eager to learn the particulars of the occurrence, especially how Sasha had discovered the plot of the robbers. He began at the beginning, and had got as far as the latter’s change of language on seeing him, when he stopped in great confusion and looked at his grandfather.

Gregor neither spoke nor moved, but his eyes seemed to say plainly, “Tell everything.”

Sasha then related the whole story to the end. The Baroness came to the bedside, stooped down, kissed him, and said, “You have saved your lord!”

But the other lady, who had been watching him very curiously, suddenly exclaimed: “Why, it’s the same nice-looking little serf I saw before; and when I spoke of him in French he blushed. I’m sure he understood me! Don’t you understand me now, my boy?”

She asked the question in French, and Sasha answered in the same language, “Yes, madam.”

The lady clapped her hands in delight; but the Baron asked very sternly, “Where did you learn so many languages?”

“From me!” Gregor answered. “The boy likes to know things, and I’ve always thought—saving your opinion, my good lord—that when God gives any one a strong wish for knowledge He means it to be answered. So I opened to him all there is in this foolish old head of mine, while we were together in the forest; and it was such a pleasure for him to take that it came to be a pleasure for me to give. You understand, my lady?”

“Yes,” said the Baroness, “I understand that without Sasha’s knowledge of German, my husband would probably have been murdered.”

“That’s not so certain,” the Baron replied. “But some celebrated man has said ‘All’s well that ends well,’ The fellow did his duty like a full-grown man, and I’ll take care of him.”

Therewith they went out of the room, and Sasha immediately asked, in some anxiety, “Grandfather, you meant I should tell?”

“Yes,” Gregor answered; “for the youngest robber has already confessed that they spoke in German, and thought themselves safe, while you were passing. They are vagabonds from the borders of Poland, and knew a little of three or four tongues. It is all right, my boy; the Baron is satisfied, and means to help you. Your chance has come sooner than I expected. I must have a little time to think about it; my head is like a stiff joint, hard to bend when I want to use it. It’s good luck to me that you can’t get out of bed for a week to come!”

He laughed as he left the bedside, and took his seat on the broad stone bench beside the stove. Sasha kept silent, for he knew that the old man’s brain was hard at work. He tried to do a little thinking himself, but it made him feel weak and giddy; in fact, the blow upon his head would have killed a more delicate boy.

His strength came back so rapidly, however, that in a week he was able to walk out, with his arm in a sling. He was still pale, and looked so strange in his short hair that on his first visit home his mother burst into tears on seeing him. Then Minka, Peter, Sergius, and Waska lifted up their voices and cried; and Ivan, who was at first angry with them, finally cried also, without knowing why he did it. All this made Sasha feel very uncomfortable, and he was on the point of saying “I won’t do it again!” when old Gregor made silence in the house. He had looked through the window and seen some of the neighbors coming; so the whole family became cheerful again as rapidly as they could.

By this time, Gregor had made up his mind. Sasha knew that he could not change it if he would, and he was therefore very glad to find how well his grandfather’s notions agreed with his own. While he was waiting for the Baron to speak again, he was not losing time; for the strange lady who was visiting at the castle took quite a friendly interest in teaching him French and German, and giving him Russian books which were not too difficult to read. He was so eager to satisfy her, that he really made astonishing progress.

When the robbers were tried before the judge, he was called upon to give testimony against them. One of the three having been killed, the youngest one was not afraid to confess, and his story and Sasha’s agreed perfectly. The boy described the unwillingness of the former to undertake the crime; even the Baron said a word in his favor; and the judge, at last, sentenced him to be banished to Siberia for only ten years, while the older robber was sent there for life.

That evening, the Baron asked Sasha, “Would you like to be one of my house-servants, boy?”

Just as his grandfather had advised him, Sasha answered: “It is not for me to choose my lord; but I think I can serve you much more to your profit if you will let me try to become a merchant.”

“A merchant!” the Baron exclaimed.

“Not all at once,” said Sasha; “I could be of use now, as a boy to help carry and sell things, because I can count and speak a little in other tongues. I should make myself so useful to some merchant that he would give me a chance to learn the whole business in time. Then I should earn money, and could pay you for the privilege.”

The Baron had often envied noblemen of his acquaintance, some of whose serfs were rich manufacturers or merchants, and paid them large annual sums for the privilege of living for themselves. Here seemed to be a chance for him to gain something in the same way. The boy spoke so confidently, and looked in his face with such straightforward eyes, that he felt obliged to consider the proposition seriously.

“How will you get to St. Petersburg?” he asked.

“When you go, my lord,” said Sasha, “I could sit on the box at the coachman’s feet. I will help him with the horses, and it shall cost you nothing. When I get there, I know I shall find a place.”

The Baron then said, “You may go.”

V

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 let fifteen years pass, and we will now look upon Sasha, for the last time, as a man of thirty.

He has a store 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 Neva at the end. Over the door there is a large sign, with the name, “Alexander Ivanovitch.” (_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.) He employs a number of clerks and salesmen, and has a servant who would go through fire and water to help him. I must relate how he found this man, and why the latter is so faithful.

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. 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 annual sum for his time, and sent only small presents of money to his parents, for he knew how few and simple their needs 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 long been 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 moment when ruin would come. He was not disappointed therefore, at receiving an urgent summons from his master.

“Sasha,” said the latter, laying his hand upon the serf’s shoulder 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,” Sasha answered, “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?” the Baron cried.

“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 Baron’s mind, 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., 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, kissed it, and his tears fell fast. “Dear lord Baron!” he cried; “give 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 be all thrown into the deed, in one lump.”

Before another day it was done. Sasha and the living members of his family were free, and his ancestors would also 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 in the fields at work, and his mother had stepped out to see a neighbor; 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 thought him dead.

He kneeled 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: “The black god—the truth, my boy!” and Gregor feebly stretched a hand toward 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,” he said, “little Sasha will keep his word.”

“I have kept it, grandfather!” Sasha cried.

“It’s a man, a brave-looking man,” said Gregor; “but he has the boy’s voice—and I know the boy’s hand is on my heart.”

Sasha could no longer restrain himself. “And the boy is a free man, 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!—do you understand?—you are free!”

Gregor was lifted to his feet, as if by an unseen hand. At that moment Sasha’s parents 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’ll carry the news to God!” Then, with a single gasp, he reeled, and, before any one could reach him, fell at full length on the floor, dead.

VI Studies of Animal Nature

I have always had a great respect for animals, and have endeavored to treat them with the consideration which I think they deserve. They have quick perceptions and know when to be confiding or reticent. I have learned no better way to gain their confidence than to ask myself, “If I were such or such an animal, how should I wish to be treated by man?” and to act upon that suggestion. The finest and deepest parts of their natures can be reached only by an intercourse which is purely kind and sympathetic.

In the first place, animals have much more capacity to understand human speech than is generally supposed. The Hindoos invariably talk to their elephants, and it is amazing how much the latter comprehend. The Arabs govern their camels with a few cries, and my associates in the African desert were always amused whenever I addressed a remark to the big dromedary who was my property for two months; yet, at the end of that time, the beast evidently knew the meaning of a number of simple sentences. Some years ago, seeing the hippopotamus in Barnum’s Museum looking very stolid and dejected, I spoke to him in English, but he did not even move his eyes. Then I went to the opposite corner of the cage, and said in Arabic, “I know you; come here to me!” He instantly turned his head towards me; I repeated the words, and thereupon he came to the corner where I was standing, pressed his huge, ungainly head against the bars of the cage, and looked in my face with a touching delight while I stroked his muzzle. I have two or three times found a lion who recognized the same language, and the expression of his eyes, for an instant, seemed positively human.

I know of nothing more moving, indeed, semi-tragic, than the yearning helplessness in the face of a dog who understands what is said to him and cannot answer. We often hear it said that no animal can endure the steady gaze of the human eye; but this is a superstition. An intelligent dog or horse not only endures, but loves it. The eye of a beast is restless from natural habit, but hardly more so than that of savage man. Cats, birds, and many other animals seek, rather than avoid, a friendly human eye. It is possible that tigers may have been turned away by an unflinching gaze, but I suspect the secret lay in the surprise of the beast at so unusual an experience, rather than in direct intimidation. Thieves are said to have the belief that a dog, for the same reason, will not attack a naked man, but I do not remember any account of a burglary where they have tried the experiment. Cattle, however, are easily surprised. Once, in 1849, on the Salinas Plains in California, I escaped exactly the same onset of a vast herd of wild cattle as Mr. Harte describes in his _Gabriel Conroy_, by sitting down upon the ground. They were so unaccustomed to seeing a man except on horseback, that the position was an absolute bewilderment to them. The foremost halted within a hundred feet, formed a line as regular as a file of soldiers, and stared stupidly, until a team, luckily approaching at the right time, released me from my hazardous situation.

Few persons are aware of the great effect which quiet speech exercises upon the most savage dog. A distinguished English poet told me that he was once walking in the country with Canon Kingsley, when they passed a lodge where an immense and fierce mastiff, confined by a long chain, rushed out upon them. They were just beyond his reach, but the chain did not seem secure; the poet would have hurried past, but Kingsley, laying a hand upon his arm, said, “Wait a moment, and see me subdue him!” Thereupon he walked up to the dog, who, erect upon his hind feet, with open jaws and glaring eyes, was the embodiment of animal fury. Kingsley lifted his hand, and quietly said, “You are wrong! You have made a mistake; you must go back to your kennel!” The dog sank down upon his fore feet, but still growled angrily; the Canon repeated his words in a firm voice, advancing step by step, as the dog gave way. He continued speaking grave reproof, as to a human being, until he had forced the mastiff back into his kennel, where the latter silently, and perhaps remorsefully, lay down.