I had seen a roving fanatic in the village
collecting peasants round him, and shouting to
them like a street ranter. He never wore
anything on his head or feet even in the coldest
frost, and his other clothing was indecently
scant. He was often drunk, and I have seen
him in that state lying helpless on the ground.
This fanatic was esteemed a prophet, and listened
to as such. He carried a long pole, and danced
some holy dance to words of high prophetic
omen.

As neither I nor any of my family went to any
church, old or new faith, we were suspected to
be something dreadful. I had no images in my
house, except one brought by the servants and
hung up in the kitchen. I had refused to allow
a band of priests to go through some mummery
by way of blessing the house at my first going
in. This was not at all satisfactory, and strange
rumours and doubts of my Christianity went
about, even to the length of suggestion that we
were a household of Turks or Mahomedans, the
abomination of abominations to a Russian, and
more especially a "starrie verra." As I had no
way of publicly exhibiting my faith but by my
works, I was obliged to let them all talk as they
liked. The tide, however, was soon to turn, and
I was to get credit for more sanctity than I
deserved.

After my household goods arrived from
Moscow the crockery was cleaned and nicely
put away in a handy place for particular
occasions. For common service we used the base
earthenware of the country. What crockery
can have to do with the "starrie verra" may be
a matter of astonishment, but it has much to do
with it, as my poor wife found to her cost. She
loves good Wedgewood, and I had been obliged
to bring a capital set for twenty-four from
England to St. Petersburg, never dreaming that it
would have to travel yet another fourteen
hundred miles. I had proposed to sell it, but
she answered with decision, "Don't be foolish.
It must be packed." So packed it was, and
here it stood, as I have said, ready for use. One
day she said to me, "Tell me, my dear, what
'starrie verra' means."

"Starrie, old; verra, faith—old faith. "Why
do you ask?"

"Because a woman has come for the cook's
place, and she says she is a 'starrie verra,' who
will not steal. Shall I take her?"

"Certainly, by all means; an honest cook is
a gold mine."

The woman came. She was of a staid, stern,
even gloomy expression, about thirty-five years
old, was clean, and had a cowl on her head
which hid every hair. All the time she
remained with us I had no evidence that she was
not entirely bald. From this maid's armpits to
her heels were two straight lines, so that her
waist was quite as mysterious as her hair.
Except for the gloomy expression on her face her
features were good, and her eye—or I was much
mistaken—showed a kind heart, spite of her
habitual grimness. She never smiled, jested,
nor laughed, but we soon found that she was
valuable. Her work was always done to the
minute, and done well. We became rather
attached to Anastasia, and while keeping her grim
gravity unrelaxed she evidently softened to the
younger members of the family. They, again,
took amazingly to the stern old lass. Give me
a child for finding out character covered up,
whether in smiles or gloom. The children find
it out; ay, and they bring it out. A terrific
breaking of pots in the kitchen had taken place
five minutes after Anastasia's first installation.
Mugs, jugs, cans, brown pots, plates and dishes
of various dimensions she smashed into atoms
at once, saying, "Unclean! unclean!" As this
was a very likely fact, and the things were of
little value, she was rather encouraged than
otherwise in this new work of reformation. "A
new broom sweeps clean," seemed true enough
of her. Every article in the kitchen, iron, wood,
and earthenware, had been horribly defiled, was
pooganie (unclean), was smashed and thrown
out. She asked nobody's leave, nor did she
stand on the manner of doing it, but did it. A
new outfit was obtained from the "econom,"
and as her religion suffered her to eat with none
of us, a complete set of dishes was got for her
own individual use. No one durst lay a finger
upon these on any pretence whatever. If
touched, they were smashed the next moment.
Nor would she for the world touch food out of
any dish or vessel which had been used by
another. If a dog got into the kitchen, and put
his nose (as dogs generally do) into half a dozen
pots and dishes, whether these were her own
particular vessels or not, they were smashed.

The following conversation ensued one evening
upon hearing one of these dreadful smashing
bouts in the kitchen:

"What noise is that, my dear?"

"Oh, it is Anastasia breaking a few dishes.
Never mind her."

"Never mind her! I wonder you allow that
old fanatic to go on so; she will ruin us in pots
alone." (And assuming a fierce look), "I shall
go and turn her out this moment."

"No you won't. Listen: this woman is a
jewel. She breaks a few dishes, it is true, but
her religion seems to demand it. I suppose it
also tells her to be honest, for she is so. You
told me not to examine her box, but for all that
I have done so many a time. She always leaves
the key in it. It contained nothing but an old
Bible, in the old church characters, which I
could not read, and a few clothes. Not a
vestige of my property could I ever find. That is
not all: the other servants either don't, or
cannot steal by a hundredth part as much as
formerly. Her breakage does not amount to a
tithe of the old robberies. Now say shall she
be turned out?"

"Certainly I prefer the smasher to the thief."

"Now come to the kitchen, I hear she has
gone out. I wish to show you something."

We went to the kitchen, and there my wife
pointed out to me that all the utensils in which
any food was left or kept had a cross made of
chips laid across the top. Bread was in course