The Candle Page #2

"The Candle" is a short story by Leo Tolstoy that explores themes of morality, faith, and the fleeting nature of life. The narrative centers around a candle that symbolizes the human soul and the transient nature of existence. In a poignant and introspective style, Tolstoy reflects on how individuals often squander their time and fail to recognize the importance of living purposefully. Through the tale, he invites readers to contemplate the deeper meaning of their actions and the significance of every moment in the light of their mortality. The story serves as a reminder to cherish life and make choices that reflect one's true values.

• Short story

								

indignation meeting. “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. “Brethren,” said
he, “you are contemplating a grievous 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 become 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 intensify 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 murder; 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 flogging 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 during 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
Vasili 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 superintendent,
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 roadway. 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 religious 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 daughter
(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 myself 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
severely 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 importance 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 better 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 eating a
hearty meal consisting of cabbage-soup, roast pig, meat-cake, pastry
with milk, jelly, sweet cakes, and vodka, 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 accomplished 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

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