University of Virginia Library

THE CANDLE.

"Ye have heard that it hath been said, an eye for an
eye and a tooth for a tooth: but I say unto you, That
ye resist not evil."—ST. MATTHEW V. 38, 39.

—

IT was in the time of serfdom—many years
before Alexander II.'s liberation of the sixty
million serfs in 1862. In those days the people
were ruled by different kinds of lords. There
were not a few who, remembering God, treated
their slaves in a humane manner, and not as
beasts of burden, while there were others who
were seldom known to perform a kind or gener-
ous action; but the most barbarous and tyran-
nical of all were those former serfs who arose
from the dirt and became princes.

It was this latter class who made life literally
a burden to those who were unfortunate enough
to come under their rule. Many of them had

arisen from the ranks of the peasantry to be-
come superintendents of noblemen's estates.

The peasants were obliged to work for their
master a certain number of days each week.

There was plenty of land and water and the soil
was rich and fertile, while the meadows and
forests were sufficient to supply the needs of
both the peasants and their lord.

There was a certain nobleman who had cho-
sen a superintendent from the peasantry on one
of his other estates. No sooner had the power
to govern been vested in this newly-made offi-
cial than he began to practice the most outra-
geous cruelties upon the poor serfs who had
been placed under his control. Although this
man had a wife and two married daughters,
and was making so much money that he could
have lived happily without transgressing in any
way against either God or man, yet he was
filled with envy and jealousy and deeply sunk
in sin.

Michael Simeonovitch began his persecutions

by compelling the peasants to perform more days
of service on the estate every week than the
laws obliged them to work. He established a
brick-yard, in which he forced the men and
women to do excessive labor, selling the bricks
for his own profit.

On one occasion the overworked serfs sent
a delegation to Moscow to complain of their
treatment to their lord, but they obtained no
satisfaction. When the poor peasants returned
disconsolate from the nobleman their superin-
tendent determined to have revenge for their
boldness in going above him for redress, and
their life and that of their fellow-victims be-
came worse than before.

It happened that among the serfs there were
some very treacherous people who would falsely
accuse their fellows of wrong-doing and sow
seeds of discord among the peasantry, where-
upon Michael would become greatly enraged,
while his poor subjects began to live in fear of
their lives. When the superintendent passed

through the village the people would run and
hide themselves as from a wild beast. Seeing
thus the terror which he had struck to the hearts
of the moujiks, Michael's treatment of them be-
came still more vindictive, so that from over-
work and ill-usage the lot of the poor serfs was
indeed a hard one.

There was a time when it was possible for the
peasants, when driven to despair, to devise
means whereby they could rid themselves of an
inhuman monster such as Simeonovitch, and so
these unfortunate people began to consider
whether something could not be done to relieve

them
of their intolerable yoke. They would
hold little meetings in secret places to bewail
their misery and to confer with one another as
to which would be the best way to act. Now and
then the boldest of the gathering would rise
and address his companions in this strain:

"How much longer can we tolerate such a vil-
lain to rule over us? Let us make an end of it
at once, for it were better for us to perish than

to suffer. It is surely not a sin to kill such a
devil in human form."

It happened once, before the Easter holidays,
that one of these meetings was held in the woods,
where Michael had sent the serfs to make a
clearance for their master. At noon they as-
sembled to eat their dinner and to hold a con-
sultation. "Why can't we leave now?" said
one. "Very soon we shall be reduced to noth-
ing. Already we are almost worked to death—
there being no rest, night or day, either for us
or our poor women. If anything should be
done in a way not exactly to please him he will
find fault and perhaps flog some of us to death—
as was the case with poor Simeon, whom he
killed not long ago. Only recently Anisim was
tortured in irons till he died. We certainly
cannot stand this much longer." "Yes," said
another, "what is the use of waiting? Let us
act at once. Michael will be here this evening,
and will be certain to abuse us shamefully.

Let us, then, thrust him from his horse and

with one blow of an axe give him what he de-
serves, and thus end our misery. We can then
dig a big hole and bury him like a dog, and no
one will know what became of him. Now let
us come to an agreement—to stand together as
one man and not to betray one another."

The last speaker was Vasili Minayeff, who,
if possible, had more cause to complain of Mi-
chael's cruelty than any of his fellow-serfs. The
superintendent was in the habit of flogging
him severely every week, and he took also Va-
sili's wife to serve him as cook.

Accordingly, during the evening that fol-
lowed this meeting in the woods Michael ar-
rived on the scene on horseback. He began at
once to find fault with the manner in which the
work had been done, and to complain because
some lime-trees had been cut down.

"I told you not to cut down any lime-trees!"
shouted the enraged superintendent. "Who
did this thing? Tell me at once, or I shall flog
every one of you!"

On investigation, a peasant named Sidor was
pointed out as the guilty one, and his face was
roundly slapped. Michael also severely pun-
ished Vasili, because he had not done sufficient
work, after which the master rode safely
home.

In the evening the serfs again assembled, and
poor Vasili said: "Oh, what kind of people

are
we, anyway? We are only sparrows, and
not men at all! We agree to stand by each
other, but as soon as the time for action comes
we all run and hide. Once a lot of sparrows
conspired against a hawk, but no sooner did the
bird of prey appear than they sneaked off in the
grass. Selecting one of the choicest sparrows,
the hawk took it away to eat, after which the
others came out crying, 'Twee-twee!' and found
that one was missing. 'Who is killed?' they
asked. 'Vanka! Well, he deserved it.' You,
my friends, are acting in just the same manner.

When Michael attacked Sidor you should have
stood by your promise. Why didn't you arise,

and with one stroke put an end to him and to
our misery?"

The effect of this speech was to make the
peasants more firm in their determination to
kill their superintendent. The latter had al-
ready given orders that they should be ready
to plough during the Easter holidays, and to sow
the field with oats, whereupon the serfs be-
came stricken with grief, and gathered in Va-
sili's house to hold another indignation meet-
ing. "If he has really forgotten God," they
said, "and shall continue to commit such crimes
against us, it is truly necessary that we should
kill him. If not, let us perish, for it can make
no difference to us now."

This despairing programme, however, met
with considerable opposition from a peaceably-
inclined man named Peter Mikhayeff. "Breth-
ren," said he, "you are contemplating a griev-
ous sin. The taking of human life is a very
serious matter. Of course it is easy to end the
mortal existence of a man, but what will be-

come of the souls of those who commit the deed?

If Michael continues to act toward us unjustly
God will surely punish him. But, my friends,
we must have patience."

This pacific utterance only served to inten-
sify the anger of Vasili. Said he: "Peter is
forever repeating the same old story, 'It is a sin
to kill any one.' Certainly it is sinful to mur-
der; but we should consider the kind of man
we are dealing with. We all know it is wrong
to kill a good man, but even God would take
away the life of such a dog as he is. It is our
duty, if we have any love for mankind, to shoot
a dog that is mad. It is a sin to let him live.

If, therefore, we are to suffer at all, let it be in
the interests of the people—and they will thank
us for it. If we remain quiet any longer a flog-
ging will be our only reward. You are talking
nonsense, Mikhayeff. Why don't you think of
the sin we shall be committing if we work dur-
ing the Easter holidays—for you will refuse to
work then yourself?"

"Well, then," replied Peter, "if they shall
send me to plough, I will go. But I shall not
be going of my own free will, and God will know
whose sin it is, and shall punish the offender
accordingly. Yet we must not forget him.

Brethren, I am not giving you my own views
only. The law of God is not to return evil for
evil; indeed, if you try in this way to stamp
out wickedness it will come upon you all the
stronger. It is not difficult for you to kill the
man, but his blood will surely stain your own
soul. You may think you have killed a bad
man—that you have gotten rid of evil—but you
will soon find out that the seeds of still greater
wickedness have been planted within you. If
you yield to misfortune it will surely come to
you."

As Peter was not without sympathizers among
the peasants, the poor serfs were consequently
divided into two groups: the followers of Va-
sili and those who held the views of Mikhayeff.

On Easter Sunday no work was done. Toward

the evening an elder came to the peasants from
the nobleman's court and said: "Our superin-
tendent, Michael Simeonovitch, orders you to
go to-morrow to plough the field for the oats."

Thus the official went through the village and
directed the men to prepare for work the next
day—some by the river and others by the road-
way. The poor people were almost overcome
with grief, many of them shedding tears, but
none dared to disobey the orders of their master.

On the morning of Easter Monday, while the
church bells were calling the inhabitants to re-
ligious services, and while every one else was
about to enjoy a holiday, the unfortunate serfs
started for the field to plough. Michael arose
rather late and took a walk about the farm.

The domestic servants were through with their
work and had dressed themselves for the day,
while Michael's wife and their widowed daugh-
ter (who was visiting them, as was her custom
on holidays) had been to church and returned.

A steaming samovar awaited them, and they

began to drink tea with Michael, who, after
lighting his pipe, called the elder to him.

"Well," said the superintendent, "have you
ordered the moujiks to plough to-day?"

"Yes, sir, I did," was the reply.

"Have they all gone to the field?"

"Yes, sir; all of them. I directed them my-
self where to begin."

"That is all very well. You gave the orders,
but are they ploughing? Go at once and see, and
you may tell them that I shall be there after
dinner. I shall expect to find one and a half
acres done for every two ploughs, and the work
must be well done; otherwise they shall be se-
verely punished, notwithstanding the holiday."

"I hear, sir, and obey."

The elder started to go, but Michael called
him back. After hesitating for some time, as
if he felt very uneasy, he said:

"By the way, listen to what those scoundrels
say about me. Doubtless some of them will
curse me, and I want you to report the exact

words. I know what villains they are. They
don't find work at all pleasant. They would
rather lie down all day and do nothing. They
would like to eat and drink and make merry on
holidays, but they forget that if the ploughing
is not done it will soon be too late. So you go
and listen to what is said, and tell it to me in
detail. Go at once."

"I hear, sir, and obey."

Turning his back and mounting his horse, the
elder was soon at the field where the serfs were
hard at work.

It happened that Michael's wife, a very good-
hearted woman, overheard the conversation
which her husband had just been holding with
the elder. Approaching him, she said:

"My good friend,
Mishinka
[diminutive of
Michael], I beg of you to consider the impor-
tance and solemnity of this holy-day. Do not
sin, for Christ's sake. Let the poor moujiks
go home."

Michael laughed, but made no reply to his

wife's humane request. Finally he said to
her:

"You've not been whipped for a very long
time, and now you have become bold enough
to interfere in affairs that are not your own."

"
Mishinka
," she persisted, "I have had a
frightful dream concerning you. You had bet-
ter let the moujiks go."

"Yes," said he; "I perceive that you have
gained so much flesh of late that you think you
would not feel the whip. Lookout!"

Rudely thrusting his hot pipe against her
cheek, Michael chased his wife from the room,
after which he ordered his dinner. After eat-
ing a hearty meal consisting of cabbage-soup,
roast pig, meat-cake, pastry with milk, jelly,
sweet cakes, and vodki, he called his woman
cook to him and ordered her to be seated and
sing songs, Simeonovitch accompanying her on
the guitar.

While the superintendent was thus enjoying
himself to the fullest satisfaction in the musical

society of his cook the elder returned, and,
making a low bow to his superior, proceeded
to give the desired information concerning the
serfs.

"Well," asked Michael, "did they plough?"

"Yes," replied the elder; "they have accom-
plished about half the field."

"Is there no fault to be found?"

"Not that I could discover. The work seems
to be well done. They are evidently afraid of
you."

"How is the soil?"

"Very good. It appears to be quite soft."

"Well," said Simeonovitch, after a pause,
"what did they say about me? Cursed me, I
suppose?"

As the elder hesitated somewhat, Michael
commanded him to speak and tell him the
whole truth. "Tell me all," said he; "I want
to know their exact words. If you tell me the
truth I shall reward you; but if you conceal any-
thing from me you will be punished. See here,

Catherine, pour out a glass of vodki to give him
courage!"

After drinking to the health of his superior,
the elder said to himself: "It is not my fault
if they do not praise him. I shall tell him the
truth." Then turning suddenly to the superin-
tendent he said:

"They complain, Michael Simeonovitch!

They complain bitterly."

"But what did they say?" demanded Michael.

"Tell me!"

"Well, one thing they said was, 'He does not
believe in God.'"

Michael laughed. "Who said that?" he
asked.

"It seemed to be their unanimous opinion.
'He has been overcome by the Evil One,' they
said."

"Very good," laughed the superintendent;
"but tell me what each of them said. What did
Vasili say?"

The elder did not wish to betray his people,

but he had a certain grudge against Vasili, and
he said:

"He cursed you more than did any of the
others."

"But what did he say?"

"It is awful to repeat it, sir. Vasili said,
'He shall die like a dog, having no chance to
repent!'"

"Oh, the villain!" exclaimed Michael. "He
would kill me if he were not afraid. All right,
Vasili; we shall have an accounting with you.

And Tishka—he called me a dog, I suppose?"

"Well," said the elder, "they all spoke of
you in anything but complimentary terms; but
it is mean in me to repeat what they said."

"Mean or not you must tell me, I say!"

"Some of them declared that your back should
be broken."

Simeonovitch appeared to enjoy this immense-
ly, for he laughed outright. "We shall see whose
back will be the first to be broken," said he.

"Was that Tishka's opinion? While I did not

suppose they would say anything good about
me, I did not expect such curses and threats.

And Peter Mikhayeff—was that fool cursing me
too?"

"No; he did not curse you at all. He ap-
peared to be the only silent one among them.

Mikhayeff is a very wise moujik, and he sur-
prises me very much. At his actions all the
other peasants seemed amazed."

"What did he do?"

"He did something remarkable. He was
diligently ploughing, and as I approached him I
heard some one singing very sweetly. Looking
between the ploughshares, I observed a bright
object shining."

"Well, what was it? Hurry up!"

"It was a small, five-kopeck wax candle, burn-
ing brightly, and the wind was unable to blow
it out. Peter, wearing a new shirt, sang beau-
tiful hymns as he ploughed, and no matter how
he handled the implement the candle continued
to burn. In my presence he fixed the plough,

shaking it violently, but the bright little object
between the colters remained undisturbed."

"And what did Mikhayeff say?"

"He said nothing—except when, on seeing
me, he gave me the holy-day salutation, after
which he went on his way singing and ploughing
as before. I did not say anything to him, but,
on approaching the other moujiks, I found that
they were laughing and making sport of their
silent companion. 'It is a great sin to plough
on Easter Monday,' they said. 'You could not
get absolution from your sin if you were to pray
all your life.'"

"And did Mikhayeff make no reply?"

"He stood long enough to say: 'There should
be peace on earth and good-will to men,' after
which he resumed his ploughing and singing,
the candle burning even more brightly than
before."

Simeonovitch had now ceased to ridicule, and,
putting aside his guitar, his head dropped on
his breast and he became lost in thought. Pres-

ently he ordered the elder and cook to depart,
after which Michael went behind a screen and
threw himself upon the bed. He was sighing
and moaning, as if in great distress, when his
wife came in and spoke kindly to him. He re-
fused to listen to her, exclaiming:

"He has conquered me, and my end is near!"

"Mishinka," said the woman, "arise and go to
the moujiks in the field. Let them go home,
and everything will be all right. Heretofore
you have run far greater risks without any fear,
but now you appear to be very much alarmed."

"He has conquered me!" he repeated. "I
am lost!"

"What do you mean?" demanded his wife,
angrily. "If you will go and do as I tell you
there will be no danger. Come,
Mishinka
," she
added, tenderly; "I shall have the saddle-horse
brought for you at once."

When the horse arrived the woman persuaded
her husband to mount the animal, and to fulfil
her request concerning the serfs. When he

reached the village a woman opened the gate for
him to enter, and as he did so the inhabitants,
seeing the brutal superintendent whom every-
body feared, ran to hide themselves in their
houses, gardens, and other secluded places.

At length Michael reached the other gate,
which he found closed also, and, being unable
to open it himself while seated on his horse, he
called loudly for assistance. As no one re-
sponded to his shouts he dismounted and opened
the gate, but as he was about to remount, and
had one foot in the stirrup, the horse became
frightened at some pigs and sprang suddenly
to one side. The superintendent fell across the
fence and a very sharp picket pierced his stom-
ach, when Michael fell unconscious to the ground.

Toward the evening, when the serfs arrived
at the village gate, their horses refused to en-
ter. On looking around, the peasants discov-
ered the dead body of their superintendent lying
face downward in a pool of blood, where he had
fallen from the fence. Peter Mikhayeff alone

had sufficient courage to dismount and approach
the prostrate form, his companions riding around
the village and entering by way of the back
yards. Peter closed the dead man's eyes, after
which he put the body in a wagon and took it
home.

When the nobleman learned of the fatal ac-
cident which had befallen his superintendent,
and of the brutal treatment which he had meted
out to those under him, he freed the serfs, ex-
acting a small rent for the use of his land and
the other agricultural opportunities.

And thus the peasants clearly understood
that the power of God is manifested not in evil,
but in goodness.

[THE END.]