Am I better off now than I was in the time of serfage？ When such a question is put to them they feel taken aback. And in truth it is no easy matter to sum up the two sides of the account and draw an accurate balance， save in those exceptional cases in which the proprietor flagrantly abused his authority. The present money-dues and taxes are often more burdensome than the labour-dues in the old times. If the serfs had a great many ill-defined obligations to fulfil--such as the carting of the master's grain to market， the preparing of his firewood， the supplying him with eggs， chickens， home-made linen， and the like--they had， on the other hand， a good many ill-defined privileges. They grazed their cattle during a part of the year on the manor-land； they received firewood and occasionally logs for repairing their huts； sometimes the proprietor lent them or gave them a cow or a horse when they had been visited by the cattle-plague or the horse-stealer； and in times of famine they could look to their master for support. All this has now come to an end. Their burdens and their privileges have been swept away together， and been replaced by clearly defined， unbending， unelastic legal relations. They have now to pay the market-price for every stick of firewood which they burn， for every log which they require for repairing their houses， and for every rood of land on which to graze their cattle. Nothing is now to be had gratis. The demand to pay is encountered at every step. If a cow dies or a horse is stolen， the owner can no longer go to the proprietor with the hope of receiving a present， or at least a loan without interest， but must， if he has no ready money， apply to the village usurer， who probably considers twenty or thirty per cent， as a by no means exorbitant rate of interest.
Besides this， from the economic point of view village life has been completely revolutionised. Formerly the members of a peasant family obtained from their ordinary domestic resources nearly all they required. Their food came from their fields， cabbage-garden， and farmyard. Materials for clothing were supplied by their plots of flax and their sheep， and were worked up into linen and cloth by the female members of the household. Fuel， as I have said， and torches wherewith to light the izba--for oil was too expensive and petroleum was unknown--were obtained gratis. Their sheep， cattle， and horses were bred at home， and their agricultural implements， except in so far as a little iron was required， could be made by themselves without any pecuniary expenditure. Money was required only for the purchase of a few cheap domestic utensils， such as pots， pans， knives， hatchets， wooden dishes， and spoons， and for the payment of taxes， which were small in amount and often paid by the proprietor. In these circumstances the quantity of money in circulation among the peasants was infinitesimally small， the few exchanges which took place in a village being generally effected by barter. The taxes， and the vodka required for village festivals， weddings， or funerals， were the only large items of expenditure for the year， and they were generally covered by the sums brought home by the members of the family who went to work in the towns.
Very different is the present condition of affairs. The spinning， weaving， and other home industries have been killed by the big factories， and the flax and wool have to be sold to raise a little ready money for the numerous new items of expenditure. Everything has to be bought--clothes， firewood， petroleum， improved agricultural implements， and many other articles which are now regarded as necessaries of life， whilst comparatively little is earned by working in the towns， because the big families have been broken up， and a household now consists usually of husband and wife， who must both remain at home， and children who are not yet bread-winners. Recalling to mind all these things and the other drawbacks and advantages of his actual position， the old muzhik has naturally much difficulty in striking a balance， and he may well be quite sincere when， on being asked whether things now are on the whole better or worse than in the time of serfage， he scratches the back of his head and replies hesitatingly， with a mystified expression on his wrinkled face： "How shall I say to you？ They are both better and worse！" ("Kak vam skazat'？ I l鹴che i kh鹍zhe！")
If， however， you press him further and ask whether he would himself like to return to the old state of things， he is pretty sure to answer， with a slow shake of the head and a twinkle in his eye， as if some forgotten item in the account had suddenly recurred to him：
"Oh， no！"
What materially increases the difficulty of this general computation is that great changes have taken place in the well-