Serfin’ the tide of Russian history

Posted on 13. Jun, 2013 by in Culture, History

Since I’ve done a number of vocabulary and grammar posts recently, I thought that this week, for a change of pace, we’ll take a look at Russian history. And, more specifically, the history of that peculiar institution known as крепостничество (“serfdom”) — which for hundreds of years was the curse of the Russian poor and a constant political headache for the ruling monarchs until its formal abolition in 1858. (And even then, of course, the human effects of serfdom lingered on.)

But to understand the history of Russian serfdom, we first need to consider some basic definitions — for instance, what are the practical differences between a person held in крепостничество, “serfdom”, and someone in рабство, “slavery”? And are serfs the same as the ordinary members of the крестьяство (“the peasantry; the peasant class collectively”)?

So, to begin with, the word крестьянин is usually translated as “peasant.” However, keep in mind that the English word “peasant” can have negative connotations of нищета (“extreme poverty”) and безграмотность (“illiteracy”) — it seems almost oxymoronic to speak of a “rich, educated peasant.” But the Russian term is more neutral, and historically it wasn’t unheard of for a крестьянин to be wealthy and educated, though this was certainly the exception, not the rule! So, in some contexts, terms such as “farmer” or “agricultural worker” would be more appropriate translations than “peasant.”

Anyway, the noun крестьянин happens to have a slightly unusual declension, since the suffix -ин- is present throughout the singular but disappears in the plural. And it’s worth your time memorizing the declension because plenty of other nouns have the same pattern:

крестьянин (“peasant; farmer; tiller of land”)
  sing. pl.
nominative крестьянин крестьяне
genitive крестьянина крестьян
dative крестьянину крестьянам
accusative крестьянина крестьян
instrumental крестьянином крестьянами
prepositional крестьянине крестьянах

Don’t get the spelling confused with христианин (nom. pl. христиане), “a Christian.” And other nouns with this same pattern include:

  • дворянин (nom. pl. дворяне) — “nobleman; member of the hereditary gentry”
  • англичанин (англичане) — “Englishman”
  • мусульманин (мусульмане) — “a male Muslim”
  • россиянин (россияне) — “legal citizen of post-Soviet Russia”

All of these have feminine counterparts that are formed by replacing the -ин of the nominative singular with -ка. For example, крестьянка, “peasant woman,” which has a “normal” feminine declension (nom. pl. крестьянки, gen. pl. крестьянок).

And the word господин (today, “Mister,” but originally “gentleman” or “master”) has nearly the same pattern, except that the nominative plural ends in a stressed -а (not ). Thus the familiar phrase you’ll hear over a loudspeaker: «Дамы и господа, “Ladies and gentlemen!”

Anyway, although all serfs were peasants, not all of the крестьяне were serfs. In the early 18th century, by some estimates, nearly 80% of the Russian крестьянство (“peasantry”) were held in serfdom. But at other times in history, serfs accounted for far less than half of the peasants. As already mentioned, крепостничество is “serfdom,” and the adjective крепостной means “serfdom-related”. So, the phrase крепостной крестьянин, literally “peasant in serfdom”, can be used to translate “serf.” Or, you can simply use the adjective substantively as a noun — thus, освобождение крепостных, “the liberation of the serfs.”

So, then, what’s the actual difference between a крепостной, “private serf,” and an ordinary государственный крестьянин (“state peasant”)? Each was a земледелец (“agricultural laborer”) doing the same sort of backbreaking work, and generally they lived in similar conditions of squalid poverty. However, non-serfs worked land that was owned by the Russian state, while the serfs tilled land privately held by members of the дворянство (“gentry”). And despite their poverty, the state peasants were in some ways better off than the serfs — they had more freedom to travel, and if you were a state peasant, the odds were slightly better that at least one or two of your children might scramble into the urban middle class by military service, or by joining the clergy, or simply by “marrying up.” But if you were a serf, the odds were that most of your grandchildren would be born, live, and die as serfs.

On the other hand, state peasants were obliged to pay a подать (an old word for “tax”) to the state, which effectively kept most of them in perpetual servitude. And there was also a risk that the reigning monarch might decide to give away the state land you lived and worked on as a little gift to a member of the служилое дворянство, “the service gentry” — i.e., nobles who’d performed useful work for the crown, such as by leading the troops to victory as a military officer. Government land that was transferred to private hands in this fashion was called a поместье — and while this custom could be a great boon for the younger sons of noble families who’d inherited no property from dad, the peasants living on the поместье got screwed — you automatically became a privately-held крепостной, thereby losing whatever minimal advantages you’d had as a state-held peasant.

Finally, we might consider the difference between крепостничество, “serfdom”, and рабство “slavery” — the latter being sometimes called холопство, but only in the specific context of ancient/medieval Russian slavery. In theory, there are some distinctions. A раб or холоп might be a foreigner who had been taken as a war-captive by the Russian army; or he might be a Russian who was enslaved as punishment for a crime. And in some cases, this slave-status could be passed to a slave’s wife and inherited by their children. On the other hand, serfs were generally descended from free peasants who had sold themselves into “temporary” indentured servitude for a wealthy землевладелец (“land owner”), but couldn’t pay off the debt, and instead passed the debt on to their descendants.

“Never have I felt such [fill in emotion here]…”

Posted on 30. May, 2013 by in language, Russian for beginners, The Russian Emotion

When Russians ask you «Как ты чувствуешь себя (“How are you feeling?”), the expected answer would be something like “My cough seems to be getting worse” or “The traveler’s diarrhea is finally clearing up?” — in other words, they’re asking about your physiological well-being.

On the other hand, if they want to know about your emotional state, the question might be phrased as Какое у тебя настроение? (“What kind of mood are you in?”). Or more simply:

«Как дела
How are things?
«Как ты сегодня?»
How are you today?

Twenty of “The 77 Moods of Akbar and Jeff, from Matt Groening’s pre-Simpsons career.

And in this post, we’ll be looking at some vocabulary for various emotional states — in other words, different possible answers to «Как дела

First of all, as you probably know, you can answer this question in a fairly non-specific way using basic short-form neuter adjectives like хорошо (“good”), плохо (“bad”), or нормально (“So-so, not too bad”). And you can use a dative form as a “logical subject” to specify who is feeling good or not-so-good: Мне плохо, ему нормально (“I’m feeling bad, he’s feeling okay.”) And, of course, you can express stronger emotional states with words like отлично (“excellent”), великолепно (“magnificent”), and ужасно (“terrible”) — though, again, you’re not being clear about the exact nature of the emotion (for instance, are you terribly angry, terribly bored, terribly jealous, or terribly ashamed?)

So let’s try to be more specific, beginning with the different ways to express the basic concepts of “glad, sad, and mad”.

“Feelin’ Glad”

Expressions like “to be glad” or “to be happy” can generally be translated using a nominative subject with the appropriate gender/number of the short-form adjective рад, рада, радо, рады. And this can be followed by an infinitive (“glad to do something”), the dative form of a person that you feel happy for, or the dative of a thing that you’re glad about:

Все мы будем очень рады познакомиться с вами!
We’ll all be very glad (=”we’re looking forward to it”) to get acquainted with you!

Она рада своему брату.
She is happy for her brother.

Павел был рад возможности посетить Нью-Йорк.
Pavel was glad for the opportunity to visit New York.

Another way to express that a person is in an upbeat, Zip-a-dee-doo-dah kind of mood is by using the transitive verb радовать/обрадовать (“to gladden someone”) in an impersonal construction with an accusative direct object:

«Меня крайне радует, что летние каникулы скоро начнутся!» — сказал мой племянник.
“I’m so super excited that summer break will start soon!” — said my nephew.

Incidentally, many English-Russian dictionaries translate “excited” as возбуждённый — however, you should be aware that this adjective may be understood by Russians to imply either “agitated and jittery” or “sexually aroused”! Therefore, using a construction like кого-нибудь очень (об)радовать (“to gladden someone very much”) is a better/safer choice, когда ты хочешь сказать, что (“when you mean that”) someone is gleefully anticipating something.

Since рад only has those four “short forms,” you can’t use it as a modifier if you want to say, for example, “a happy day.” Instead, you could go with радостный, “joyous”:

Давайте не ссоримся — ведь свадьба должна быть радостным делом.
Let’s not quarrel — after all, a wedding ought to be a happy event.

And in addition to рад, you can also use adjectives like счастливый and весёлый, which have slightly different shades of meaning. Счастливый (short forms счастлив, счастлива, -о, -ы) means “happy,” but tends to emphasize a long-term gladness that comes from being aware of one’s luck and good fortune — in fact, the noun счастье is translatable either as “happiness” or “good luck.” On the other hand, весёлый (весел, весела, весело, -ы) puts the emphasis on merriment and laughter, and the corresponding verb веселиться means “to have a fun time”:

Борис с друзьями веселятся на море.
Boris and his friends are hanging out and partying at the seashore.

“Feelin’ Sad”

In general, you can express “someone feels sad” by putting the person in the dative case, followed by a neuter short adjective like грустно or печально, both of which mean “sad, downcast, mournful, gloomy,” etc. Thus, Ему было грустно, “He was sad.” Another way would be to use the verb испытывать/испытать, “to experience (an emotion)”, together with a noun referring to the emotion, such as печаль, “sorrow,” or грусть “sadness”:

Героиня романа всё время испытывала тоску.
The heroine of the novel was in a constant state of melancholy ennui.

And this construction with испытать can be also used with any type of emotion, such as восторг (“ecstasy”), тревога (“agitation; alarm”), гнев (“wrath”), ревность (“jealousy”), and so forth. But there are also specific “sadness” verbs, such as печалиться (“to feel unhappy”) and тосковать (“to be filled with melancholy/ennui/homesickness”). For instance, the folk song «Ой мороз, мороз» includes these lines about the singer’s wife, who is described as being ревнивая (“inclined to jealousy”):

♪♫ Ждёт меня домой
Ждёт, печалится.

[She] is waiting for me to come home.
She waits, and feels sad. ♪♫

You could also put this verb into the imperative and say to this unhappy wife: Женщина, не печалься! — “Woman, don’t be sad!” — since her husband has promised (in the song) that he’ll be home at sunset to give her a big drink of water while he hugs his horse. Or possibly наоборот, “the other way around”.

But if the wife happens to be particularly обидчивая (“touchy; thin-skinned”) it’s just possible that она обиделась бы на ваш совет, что ей не следует печалиться (“she might take offense at your advice, that she has no reason to feel sad.”). Which brings us to…

“Feelin’ Mad”

There are different levels of anger, obviously, and we can start with обижать/обидеть, “to offend, to annoy, to insult” — as in the expression:

Он мухи не обидит!
He wouldn’t even hurt the feelings of a fly!

The perfective conjugates like this:

обидеть (“to offend”; also обидеться, “to take offense at”)
Past обидел, -а, -о, -и
  sing. pl.
1st обижу обидим
2nd обидишь обидите
3rd обидит обидят
Imperative обидь(те)!

So you could use the reflexive -ся forms of this verb to express minor anger/annoyance:

Почему ты обижаешься на такую мелочь?
Why are you getting huffy over such a trifling thing?

Sometimes people cause offense without meaning to, and обижать/обидеть covers those situations. But if you feel that someone is deliberately trying to be a pest, you could use the verb раздражать/раздражить, “to irritate; to annoy; to provoke”:

Меня раздражает, когда сотрудники говорят обо мне за спиной!
It annoys me when people at work talk about me behind my back!

As far as I know, the -ся form of this verb is more likely to be used in physiological contexts about literal inflammation:

У неё кишечник раздражился водкой и пикантными закусками.
Her digestive tract has become irritated by the vodka and spicy appetizers.

So if you want to say “he/she/they were annoyed,” you could instead use the short forms of the past passive participle, namely: раздражён, раздражена, раздражёны.

And for more intense anger, there’s сердить/рассердить (кого-н./что-н.), “to enrage someone/something”, and сердиться/рассердиться, “to become very angry”. The person that your anger is directed towards is expressed by на кого-н. (acc.), and you can use the short-form adjective сердит, -а, -ы as an alternative to the verb. Finally, the reflexive perfective рассердиться can be translated “to burst out in anger” (referring to the start of the angry state, rather than to its completion. Thus:

Коля чем-то рассердил Таню.
Kolya (Nick) had somehow angered Tanya.
Таня сердилась на Колю. = Таня была сердита на Колю.
Tanya was feeling angry at Kolya.
Наконец, Таня рассердилась на Колю.
Finally, Tanya blew her top at Kolya.

Shave and a haircut, two bits!

Posted on 23. May, 2013 by in Conjugation tables for verbs, language, Russian for beginners


Even if you don’t know the words, anyone who’s ever seen an old Bugs Bunny cartoon will recognize the seven-note melody of “Shave and a haircut…” — it’s classically used as a musical accompaniment to punctuate the end of a joke.

And I instinctively hummed the tune after I found this great little анекдот online, concerning a visit to a парикмахерская (“barbershop” or “hair salon”), and filled with useful vocabulary related to haircuts, shaving, and grooming. Here’s the joke in Russian — I’ll save the translation till the bottom of the post, but there are a few pop-up notes to give you some help:

Мужчина с маленьким мальчиком заходят в парикмахерскую. После того как мужчине сделали стрижку и побрили, он встал, вынул расчёску и тщательно причесался, посадил мальчика в
кресло, и говорит парикмахерше:
— «Мне надо сбегать за сигаретами. Буду через пару минут!»
Но мальчика уже успели подстричь, а мужчины всё не было.
Парикмахерша говорит:
– «Ну и куда же исчез твой папа?»
Мальчик отвечает:
– «Это не мой папа. Он просто подошёл ко мне на улице и сказал: “Ну пацан, сегодня мы с тобой подстрижёмся на халяву!”»

Before we get to the specific vocabulary about cutting hair and other things that a barber does, let’s take a quick look at the very last word in the punchline, since the joke doesn’t make sense without it! Халява is a somewhat slangy term meaning “a freebie,” and it’s typically used in the expression на халяву, which is similar to the English “on the house”:

В казино мы выпили на халяву.
They “comped” our drinks at the casino.

Incidentally, I’ve heard that casinos often water down their free drinks (they don’t want gamblers getting too drunk), but why complain? As the saying goes, на халяву и уксус сладкий — “when they’re giving it away free, even vinegar is sweet”!

A парикмахерская is a shop where you go to get your волосы (“hair on the head”) clipped and/or groomed. With the work being done by a парикмахер (masc.) or a парикмахерша (fem.). The services available may include a стрижка (“simple haircut/trim”) for both sexes; a причёска (“fancy hairdo/hairstyling”) for women; and for men, a бритьё (“shave”). Some shops may also trim and style a man’s усы (“mustache”) and борода (“beard”).

The various tools of the trade include cutting implements such as ножницы (“scissors”) and the машинка для стрижки (“electric hair-clippers”). For men, some barbers still do old-fashioned shaves with a бритва (“shaving razor”), although many guys prefer to do it at home with an электробритва. And чтобы расправить волосы (“in order to smooth/fix the hair”) after it has been cut, a парикмахер will also use a расчёска (“comb”) or a щётка для волос (“hairbrush”), both of which come in various shapes.

That covers some of the Russian equivalents for nouns like “hairdo” and “razor”, but in order to say “I forgot to shave this morning!” or “How much do you charge to trim a woman’s hair, no styling?”, you’ll need some basic verbs.

First, there’s стричь, which can mean “to cut someone’s hair” (стричь волосы кому-нибудь) or “to give someone a haircut” (стричь кого-нибудь), depending on the construction you use. A synonymous phrase is делать стрижку кому-нибудь, literally “do a haircut for someone”. In any case, it suggests a relatively simple cut-and-trim without a lot of fancy styling. The conjugation pattern is somewhat similar to мочь (“to be able”):

стричь (“to cut [hair]” imperf.)
Past стриг, стригла, -ло, -ли
  sing. pl.
1st стригу стрижём
2nd стрижёшь стрижёте
3rd стрижёт стригут
Imperative стриги(те)!

As far as I know, the most commonly used perfective is подстричь (same conjugation as above), though sometimes you might run across остричь or постричь. But the prefix под- can imply “just a little bit; not too much” — which is, of course, what one often says after sitting down in a barber’s chair!

Attaching the so-called “reflexive” -ся to стричь will usually give the meaning “to have your hair cut by someone else”. If you actually cut your own hair and you want to make this clear, you could use a сам(а)/себя type of construction together with the phrase сделать стрижку, like so:

Ты подстригся в парикмахерской? = Тебя подстригли в парикмахерской?
–Нет, я сам сделал себе стрижку дома.

Did you get your hair cut (did they cut your hair) at the salon?
No, I gave myself a haircut at home.

The verb брить (“to shave”) has a one-syllable infinitive ending with -ить, so you might logically THINK that it conjugates like пить, “to drink”. But, instead, it’s:

брить (“to shave”, imperf.)
Past брил, брила, -о, -и
  sing. pl.
1st брею бреем
2nd бреешь бреете
3rd бреет бреют
Imperative брей(те)!

The perfective for this one is побрить. And for this verb pair, the -ся form happens to have a literally reflexive meaning — (по)бриться is “to shave (oneself)”:

Кодга Миша брился сегодня утром, он нарочно не брил верхнюю губу, потому что он хочет отрастить усы.
When Mike was shaving this morning, he deliberately didn’t shave his upper lip, because he wants to grow out a mustache.

The derived adjective бритый means “clean-shaven”. But if you haven’t shaved for a while, the небритый (“unshaven”) regions may be covered with щетина — which here means “stubble,” although more literally it’s “bristles”, as on a щётка (“brush”) or a кабан (“wild boar”).

And the perfective расчесать (imperfective расчёсывать) is “to comb or brush” the hair:

расчесать (“to comb, to brush hair”, perf.)
Past расчесал, расчесала, -о, -и
  sing. pl.
1st расчешу расчешем
2nd расчешешь расчешете
3rd расчешет расчешут
Imperative расчеши(те)!

For example:

Русалка расчёсывает свои длинные волосы серебряным гребнем .
The mermaid is combing her long hair with a silver comb.

Русалка причёсывается (“the mermaid is combing her hair”), in J.W. Waterhouse’s imaginatively titled oil-on-canvas A Mermaid, 1901

The verb pair причёсывать/причесать also refers to combing/brushing the hair, but it has another sense: “to style someone’s hair” (hence the already mentioned noun причёска, “a hairdo”). As with брить(ся), the combing/brushing verbs have -ся forms that are truly reflexive. Thus, Русалка причёсывается is a complete sentence meaning “The mermaid is combing her hair”, even though the noun волосы isn’t used.

And now, finally, here’s how the joke translates:

A man and a little boy drop into a barber shop. After they’ve given the man a haircut and a shave, he stood up, pulled out a comb and carefully combed his hair, sat the boy in the chair, and then says to the hairstylist: “I need to nip out for cigarettes. I’ll be back in a couple minutes!”
But by the time they’d already finished trimming the boy’s hair, the man still wasn’t back.
The hairdresser says, “Well, where did your dad disappear to?”
The boy answers, “That’s not my dad. He just came up to me on the street and said, ‘Well, kiddo, today you and I are getting our hair cut on the house!’”

♪♫ Shave-and-a-haircut, BUMP-BUMP! ♪♫