The King of Vodka by Linda Himelstein

the ins and outs of tavern life, was an old pro—Grigoriy had taught him well. He served drinks, washed glasses, and mopped floors. He hauled whatever needed hauling. Pyotr proved his worth—and potential—in no time. Ivan, sensing his nephew’s drive and quick mind, also put him to work in his shop in Gostiniy Dvor. The shop was more like a small room or stall, and it was filed between hundreds of others in Gostiniy Dvor’s mall-like setup. Ivan sold liquor, to be sure, but he also likely sold tobacco and kefir, a distinctly Russian drink made of sour milk. He did not trade goods at Red Square. In the nineteenth century, the cobblestoned square was the purview of food peddlers, those who mainly sold cakes and sweets. It was also a gathering place for large celebrations and feasts. Alcohol was not a welcome commodity there.
    Pyotr’s natural intensity, ambition, and focus seemed to thrive in Moscow. He noted how goods were priced, how they were marketed, why people bought what they did. He paid attention to it all, including Uncle Ivan’s penchant for vodka—even though it, like so many other things, was specifically forbidden.
    Since the time of Catherine the Great in the eighteenth century, only state-owned distilleries and the gentry could produce vodka legally. The land-owning nobility received this privilege in 1765, which included a pass on taxes that accompanied liquor production. The law, eventually repealed in 1863, rarely stopped anyone from partaking in Russia’s great pastime. Villagers made their own home brews. And city businessmen, intent on earning a decent living, could find no better place to apply their entrepreneurial zeal than the nation’s pervasive vodka culture.
    Villagers and businessmen alike got away with this criminal behavior, for the most part, because it was simply too difficult—and too unpopular—to stop the vodka traffic. Officials happilyaccepted favors from the would-be felons. Peasants and the bourgeoisie frequented unsanctioned shops and pubs, hoping to buy better, cheaper vodka. And the tsar, who did not want to anger the lower classes by cutting off liquor sources, was willing to let things be.
    The situation, complex and corrupt, was one of many that paved the way for some of the most capitalistic advancements the nation had seen. Ivan, by now a well-respected, even prominent businessman, was only too happy to take advantage of the moment, bringing his sons and nephews along with him for the lucrative ride.
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    P YOTR WAS GAINING valuable experience and earning more money than he had ever had. He was moving quickly through boyhood, maturing into a dashing, lanky man, with eyes that seemed to reach into the soul of anyone who could sustain his penetrating gaze. The fuzz on his face turned brittle, offering up the seeds for the dark, well-cropped beard that Pyotr would wear throughout most of his adult life. Within the community of serfs and beyond, Pyotr presented an attractive package. He was smart, ambitious, and determined. More than that, he could read, even write, albeit not well, according to his signed documents. This outside persona, combined with the fiercely private and reserved side of Pyotr Smirnov, made for a clean canvas on which people could sketch their own portraits of the man behind the handsome, serious face.
    Perhaps that is what attracted Nadezhda Yegorova to him when they met during one of Pyotr’s routine visits back home. Like so many other migrants, Pyotr regularly appeared in his village during the harvest and planting seasons. On these visits, he would carry back his earnings and present them to his father, Arseniy. As head of the family, he kept the Smirnov accounts, dividing the money as needed, always saving with an eye toward freedom.
    It was likely during one of these visits that Pyotr met Nadezhda. Not much is known about her other than she was the daughter of a church deacon from a large nearby