The Witch, and Other Stories

In Short

This collection of short stories captures the stark realities of late 19th-century Russian life, moving between the stifling confines of rural villages and the lonely, expansive countryside. Through precise, unadorned observations, the narratives chart the lives of peasants, officials, and laborers as they confront hunger, routine abuse, and moral confusion. The stories have endured because of their unflinching honesty; they refuse to sentimentalize the suffering of their subjects, instead finding a profound, haunting beauty in the small, often tragic, moments that constitute a human life.

The Story

The stories traverse a landscape defined by mud, extreme weather, and social stagnation. In the opening scenes, a sexton listens to a violent storm, suspicious of his wife’s infidelity, his jealousy curdling into a bitter, helpless resentment that mirrors the volatile elements outside. The narrative shifts to the village of Reybuzh, where a wealthy, grasping patriarch and his family preside over a house of domestic misery. Here, two women—one young and vibrant, the other ailing and broken—whisper in the dark about murdering their oppressors, a fantasy born not of true malice but of an overwhelming longing for a life they have never known.

The struggle continues in the lives of those caught in the gears of bureaucracy and labor. A frail, sickly man is escorted across the countryside, his mild, submissive demeanor contrasting sharply with the harsh, impenetrable fog that seems to consume the road beneath his feet. Elsewhere, workers find themselves locked in petty disputes over bridge construction and property damage, their resentment bubbling over into drunken violence. The themes of decline are pervasive; even the local shepherd observes that the land itself is drying up, the streams vanishing, and the forests thinning, as if nature itself is slowly withdrawing from the inhabitants.

Personal tragedies unfold with quiet, devastating frequency. A mother, Lipa, carries her infant son home from a hospital after his death, her grief underscored by the indifference of the natural world—the moon shines on, regardless of whether men are alive or dead. Throughout these accounts, life is punctuated by the rhythmic, often cruel demands of the tavern, the church, and the fields. Characters like the "tramps" and the laborers live on the margins of society, often turning to drink or petty crime simply to endure the crushing weight of their existence.

The collection concludes with the image of a woman and a child wandering the countryside, begging for alms. They pass telegraph poles humming with secrets they will never understand and encounter the bleaching skeletons of livestock, moving toward an uncertain future. They have left behind a village of broken spirits, but in the vast, open space of the road, they find a temporary, fragile freedom, chanting for bread in a world that offers little mercy but remains, in its own way, hauntingly alive.

How It Unfolds

The storm gathers A sexton lies in his hut, listening to a tempest that serves as a backdrop for his private, festering suspicions about his wife. The atmosphere of gloom and malevolence establishes the isolation that haunts every character.

Domestic traps In a two-storey house, the residents navigate a hierarchy of misery where wealth provides no escape from cruelty. The whispers of the women reveal a shared, secret desire to break the chains of their household, yet they remain tethered by fear and habit.

The landscape of decline The narrative expands to the wider countryside, where the struggle for survival is mirrored by the environmental degradation of the land. The sense of a world in collapse permeates the interactions between laborers and officials.

The weight of loss A mother’s journey with her dead child highlights the terrifying silence of the universe in the face of individual suffering. The contrast between her internal grief and the indifferent beauty of the moon underscores the loneliness of the human condition.

The road forward The final movements focus on the act of wandering, as characters trade their homes for the road. The journey offers no clear resolution or salvation, only the continuation of a life spent seeking a "peaceful life, free from sin."

The People

Savely Gykin, the sexton, is defined by his jealousy and suspicion, his focus trapped within the four walls of his hut. He embodies the internal rot of a man who watches the world with malice rather than understanding.

Varvara is a young, buxom woman in a loveless marriage who represents the untapped, dangerous vitality of the village. She is capable of imagining murder to secure her freedom, yet she ultimately settles back into the rhythms of her bleak existence.

Sofya is the counterpoint to Varvara: an ailing, passive figure who finds the audacity of her companion’s dreams both sinful and intoxicating. Her shivering, trembling form suggests a life lived entirely under the shadow of others.

Lipa is a gentle, frightened soul who experiences the ultimate tragedy—the death of her child. Her journey away from the village marks her transition from a cog in a household machine to a solitary figure seeking solace in the vast, open country.

The Shepherd serves as the prophetic voice of the collection, an old man who has watched the land wither for decades. He is the observer who links the physical decay of the forests and rivers to the moral and spiritual malaise of the people.

In Its Own Voice

"A victorious force was in full chase over the fields, storming in the forest and on the church roof, battering spitefully with its fists upon the windows, raging and tearing, while something vanquished was howling and wailing...."

The storm outside the sexton’s hut is described as a reflection of the internal conflict and misery of the inhabitants.

"The moon, which cares not whether it is spring or winter, whether men are alive or dead, looks down as lonely, too."

This reflection occurs as Lipa mourns her son, emphasizing the chilling indifference of the natural world to human grief.

What It's Really About

The work is a meditation on the crushing weight of stagnation and the elusive nature of freedom. It asks whether human beings can ever truly escape their circumstances or the cycles of abuse that define their communities. There is a profound inquiry into the relationship between the individual and the vast, often hostile landscape of Russia, suggesting that social structures are merely artificial constraints placed upon a life that is fundamentally lonely and transitory. Ultimately, it questions the possibility of goodness in a world where survival often requires the surrender of one's own humanity.

Why Read It Today

Readers who appreciate a narrative that prioritizes emotional truth over structured plot will find this collection deeply resonant. There is a tactile, sensory quality to the writing—the smell of dung-heaps, the dampness of the earth, the chill of the morning air—that makes the setting feel startlingly present. It is not an easy read; the characters’ lives are marked by a repetitive, grinding hopelessness that mirrors the real-world conditions of the time. You will encounter harsh attitudes, casual cruelty, and a pervasive sense of malaise that does not resolve itself with tidy endings or moral lessons.

However, the reward is in the precision of the observation. The author captures the "strange expression" of those who have been beaten by life and the "mysteriously humming" wires of a modernizing, yet decaying, world. It feels like looking through a window into a vanished century, yet the fundamental anxieties—the fear of being alone, the desire to be "superior" to one's circumstances, and the ache for a life that is not merely "drying up"—are profoundly modern. Those who enjoy literature that allows them to witness the quiet, internal lives of others without judgment will find this an essential and lasting experience.