The Kreutzer Sonata and Other Stories
running up and down the road and asking every one he met if he or she
had found an envelope.
One of them had seen him also walking by the side of his tired-out
horse. “I thought,” said he, “that the man was drunk, and had not fed
his horse for two days—the animal looked so exhausted.”
Unable to sleep, and with her heart palpitating at every sound, Akulina
lay awake all night vainly awaiting Polikey’s return. When the cock
crowed the third time she was obliged to get up to attend to the fire.
Day was just dawning and the church-bells had begun to ring. Soon all
the children were also up, but there was still no tidings of the
missing husband and father.
In the morning the chill blasts of winter entered their humble home,
and on looking out they saw that the houses, fields, and roads were
thickly covered with snow. The day was clear and cold, as if befitting
the holy-day they were about to celebrate. They were able to see a long
distance from the house, but no one was in sight.
Akulina was busy baking cakes, and had it not been for the joyous
shouts of the children she would not have known that Polikey was coming
up the road, for a few minutes later he came in with a bundle in his
hand and walked quietly to his corner. Akulina noticed that he was very
pale and that his face bore an expression of suffering—as if he would
like to have cried but could not do so. But she did not stop to study
it, but excitedly inquired: “What! Illitch, is everything all right
with you?”
He slowly muttered something, but his wife could not understand what he
said.
“What!” she cried out, “have you been to see our mistress?”
Polikey still sat on the bed in his corner, glaring wildly about him,
and smiling bitterly. He did not reply for a long time, and Akulina
again cried:
“Eh? Illitch! Why don’t you answer me? Why don’t you speak?”
Finally he said: “Akulina, I delivered the money to our mistress; and
oh, how she thanked me!” Then he suddenly looked about him, with an
anxious, startled air, and with a sad smile on his lips. Two things in
the room seemed to engross the most of his attention: the baby in the
cradle, and the rope which was attached to the ladder. Approaching the
cradle, he began with his thin fingers quickly to untie the knot in the
rope by which the two were connected. After untying it he stood for a
few moments looking silently at the baby.
Akulina did not notice this proceeding, and with her cakes on the board
went to place them in a corner.
Polikey quickly hid the rope beneath his coat, and again seated himself
on the bed.
“What is it that troubles you, Illitch?” inquired Akulina. “You are not
yourself.”
“I have not slept,” he answered.
Suddenly a dark shadow crossed the window, and a minute later the girl
Aksiutka quickly entered the room, exclaiming:
“The _boyarinia_ commands you, Polikey Illitch, to come to her this
moment!”
Polikey looked first at Akulina and then at the girl.
“This moment!” he cried. “What more is wanted?”
He spoke the last sentence so softly that Akulina became quieted in her
mind, thinking that perhaps their mistress intended to reward her
husband.
“Say that I will come immediately,” he said.
But Polikey failed to follow the girl, and went instead to another
place.
From the porch of his house there was a ladder reaching to the attic.
Arriving at the foot of the ladder Polikey looked around him, and
seeing no one about, he quickly ascended to the garret.
Meanwhile the girl had reached her mistress’s house.
“What does it mean that Polikey does not come?” said the noblewoman
impatiently. “Where can he be? Why does he not come at once?”
Aksiutka flew again to his house and demanded to see Polikey.
“He went a long time ago,” answered Akulina, and looking around with an
expression of fear on her face, she added, “He may have fallen asleep
somewhere on the way.”
About this time the joiner’s wife, with hair unkempt and clothes
bedraggled, went up to the loft to gather the linen which she had
previously put there to dry. Suddenly a cry of horror was heard, and
the woman, with her eyes closed, and crazed by fear, ran down the
ladder like a cat.
“Illitch,” she cried, “has hanged himself!”
Poor Akulina ran up the ladder before any of the people, who had
gathered from the surrounding houses, could prevent her. With a loud
shriek she fell back as if dead, and would surely have been killed had
not one of the spectators succeeded in catching her in his arms.
Before dark the same day a peasant of the village, while returning from
the town, found the envelope containing Polikey’s money on the
roadside, and soon after delivered it to the _boyarinia_.
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 generous action; but the most barbarous and
tyrannical 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 become 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 chosen a superintendent from the
peasantry on one of his other estates. No sooner had the power to
govern been vested in this newly-made official than he began to
practice the most outrageous 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 superintendent determined to have revenge for their
boldness in going above him for redress, and their life and that of
their fellow-victims became 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, whereupon 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 became 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 villain 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 assembled to eat their
dinner and to hold a consultation. “Why can’t we leave now?” said one.
“Very soon we shall be reduced to nothing. 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 deserves, 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 Michael’s cruelty than any of his fellow-serfs. The
superintendent was in the habit of flogging him severely every week,
and he took also Vasili’s wife to serve him as cook.
Accordingly, during the evening that followed this meeting in the woods
Michael arrived 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 punished
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 already
given orders that they should be ready to plough during the Easter
holidays, and to sow the field with oats, whereupon the serfs became
stricken with grief, and gathered in Vasili’s house to hold another
indignation meeting. “If he has really forgotten God,” they said, “and
shall continue to commit such crimes against us, it is truly necessary