"What is to be done now?"

Ivan was weeping.

"I do not know, father," he said. "How am I to live now, father?"

The old man closed his eyes and lisped something, as though gathering all his strength, and he once more opened his eyes and said:

"You will get along. With G.o.d's aid will you get along." The old man was silent awhile, and he smiled and said:

"Remember, Ivan, you must not tell who started the fire. Cover up another man's sin! G.o.d will forgive two sins."

And the old man took the taper into both hands, folded them over his heart, heaved a sigh, stretched himself, and died.

Ivan did not tell on Gavrilo, and n.o.body found out how the fire had been started.

And Ivan's heart was softened toward Gavrilo, and Gavrilo marvelled at Ivan, because he did not tell anybody. At first Gavrilo was afraid of him, but later he got used to him. The peasants stopped quarrelling, and so did their families. While they rebuilt their homes, the two families lived in one house, and when the village was built again, and the farmhouses were built farther apart, Ivan and Gavrilo again were neighbours, living in the same block.

And Ivan and Gavrilo lived neighbourly together, just as their fathers had lived. Ivan Shcherbakov remembered his father's injunction and G.o.d's command to put out the fire in the beginning. And if a person did him some harm, he did not try to have his revenge on the man, but to mend matters; and if a person called him a bad name, he did not try to answer with worse words still, but to teach him not to speak badly. And thus he taught, also the women folk and the children. And Ivan Shcherbakov improved and began to live better than ever.

THE CANDLE

1885

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.

(Matt. v. 38, 39.)

This happened in the days of slavery. There were then all kinds of masters. There were such as remembered their hour of death and G.o.d, and took pity on their people, and there were dogs,--not by that may their memory live! But there were no meaner masters than those who from serfdom rose, as though out of the mud, to be lords! With them life was hardest of all.

There happened to be such a clerk in a manorial estate. The peasants were doing manorial labour. There was much land, and the land was good, and there was water, and meadows, and forests. There would have been enough for everybody, both for the master and for the peasants, but the master had placed over them a clerk, a manorial servant of his from another estate.

The clerk took the power into his own hand, and sat down on the peasants' necks. He was a married man,--he had a wife and two married daughters,--and had saved some money: he might have lived gloriously without sin, but he was envious, and stuck fast in sin. He began by driving the peasants to manorial labour more than the usual number of days. He started a brick-kiln, and he drove all the men and women to work in it above their strength, and sold the brick. The peasants went to the proprietor in Moscow to complain against him, but they were not successful. When the clerk learned that the peasants had entered a complaint against him, he took his revenge out of them. The peasants led a harder life still. There were found faithless people among the peasants: they began to denounce their own brothers to the clerk, and to slander one another. And all the people became involved, and the clerk was furious.

The further it went, the worse it got, and the clerk carried on so terribly that the people became afraid of him as of a wolf. When he drove through the village, everybody ran away from him as from a wolf, so as not to be seen by him. The clerk saw that and raved more than ever because people were afraid of him. He tortured the peasants with beating and with work, and they suffered very much from him.

It used to happen that such evil-doers were put out of the way, and the peasants began to talk that way about him. They would meet somewhere secretly, and such as were bolder would say:

"How long are we going to endure this evil-doer? We are perishing anyway,--and it is no sin to kill a man like him."

One day the peasants met in the forest, before Easter week: the clerk had sent them to clean up the manorial woods. They came together at dinner-time, and began to talk:

"How can we live now?" they said. "He will root us up. He has worn us out with work: neither in the daytime nor at night does he give any rest to us or to the women. And the moment a thing does not go the way he wants it to, he nags at us and has us flogged. s.e.m.e.n died from that flogging; Anisim he wore out in the stocks. What are we waiting for? He will come here in the evening and will again start to torment us. We ought just to pull him down from his horse, whack him with an axe, and that will be the end of it. We will bury him somewhere like a dog, and mum is the word. Let us agree to stand by each other and not give ourselves away."

Thus spoke Vasili Minaev. He was more furious at the clerk than anybody else. The clerk had him flogged every week, and had taken his wife from him and made her a cook at his house.

Thus the peasants talked, and in the evening the clerk came. He came on horseback, and immediately began to nag them because they were not cutting right. He found a linden-tree in the heap.

"I have commanded you not to cut any lindens down," he said. "Who cut it down? Tell me, or I will have every one of you flogged!"

He tried to find out in whose row the linden was. They pointed to Sidor.

The clerk beat Sidor's face until the blood came, and struck Vasili with a whip because his pile was small. He rode home.

In the evening the peasants met again, and Vasili began to speak.

"Oh, people, you are not men, but sparrows! 'We will stand up, we will stand up!' but when the time for action came, they all flew under the roof. Even thus the sparrows made a stand against the hawk: 'We will not give away, we will not give away! We will make a stand, we will make a stand!' But when he swooped down on them, they made for the nettles. And the hawk seized one of the sparrows, the one he wanted, and flew away with him. Out leaped the sparrows: 'Chivik, chivik!' one of them was lacking. 'Who is gone? Vanka. Well, served him right!' Just so you did.

'We will not give each other away, we will not give each other away!'

When he took hold of Sidor, you ought to have come together and made an end of him. But there you say, We will not give away, we will not give away! We will make a stand, we will make a stand!' and when he swooped down on you, you made for the bushes."

The peasants began to talk that way oftener and oftener, and they decided fully to make away with the clerk. During Pa.s.sion week the clerk told the peasants to get ready to plough the manorial land for oats during Easter week. That seemed offensive to the peasants, and they gathered during Pa.s.sion week in Vasili's back yard, and began to talk.

"If he has forgotten G.o.d," they said, "and wants to do such things, we must certainly kill him. We shall be ruined anyway."

Peter Mikhyeev came to them. He was a peaceable man, and did not take counsel with the peasants. He came, and listened to their speeches, and said:

"Brothers, you are planning a great crime. It is a serious matter to ruin a soul. It is easy to ruin somebody else's soul, but how about our own souls? He is doing wrong, and the wrong is at his door. We must suffer, brothers."

Vasili grew angry at these words.

"He has got it into his head that it is a sin to kill a man. Of course it is, but what kind of a man is he? It is a sin to kill a good man, but such a dog even G.o.d has commanded us to kill. A mad dog has to be killed, if we are to pity men. If we do not kill him, there will be a greater sin. What a lot of people he will ruin! Though we shall suffer, it will at least be for other people. Men will thank us for it. If we stand gaping he will ruin us all. You are speaking nonsense, Mikhyeev.

Will it be a lesser sin if we go to work on Christ's holiday? You yourself will not go."

And Mikhyeev said:

"Why should I not go? If they send me, I will go to plough. It is not for me. G.o.d will find out whose sin it is, so long as we do not forget him. Brothers, I am not speaking for myself. If we were enjoined to repay evil with evil, there would be a commandment of that kind, but we are taught just the opposite. You start to do away with evil, and it will only pa.s.s into you. It is not a hard thing to kill a man. But the blood sticks to your soul. To kill a man means to soil your soul with blood. You imagine that when you kill a bad man you have got rid of the evil, but, behold, you have reared a worse evil within you. Submit to misfortune, and misfortune will be vanquished."

The peasants could not come to any agreement: their thoughts were scattered. Some of them believed with Vasili, and others agreed with Peter's speech that they ought not commit a crime, but endure.

The peasants celebrated the first day, the Sunday. In the evening the elder came with the deputies from the manor, and said:

"Mikhail s.e.m.e.novich, the clerk, has commanded me to get all the peasants ready for the morrow, to plough the field for the oats." The elder made the round of the village with the deputies and ordered all to go out on the morrow to plough, some beyond the river, and some from the highway.

The peasants wept, but did not dare to disobey, and on the morrow went out with their ploughs and began to plough.

Mikhail s.e.m.e.novich, the clerk, awoke late, and went out to look after the farm. His home folk--his wife and his widowed daughter (she had come for the holidays)--were all dressed up. A labourer hitched a cart for them, and they went to ma.s.s, and returned home again. A servant made the samovar, and when Mikhail s.e.m.e.novich came, they sat down to drink tea.

Mikhail s.e.m.e.novich drank his tea, lighted a pipe, and sent for the elder.

"Well," he said, "have you sent out the peasants to plough?"

"Yes, Mikhail s.e.m.e.novich."