The Storyofa Kopeck.

BYS. STEPNIAK.PUBLISHED BY THE SECRETPRESS.

S. STEPNIAK.

PUBLISHED BY THE SECRET

PRESS.

Ah, my lads! it was a fine, free life in Russia when there were neither landlords nor priests nor fat shopkeepers.

But that didn’t last long, the old men say, for the devil saw that the peasant was getting the better of him; there was no stealing or lying on earth, because every one lived happily; and the devil began to think—how could he spoil the race of men. Seven years long he thought, never eating, drinking, or sleeping—then he invented the priest. Then he thought seven years more—and invented the barine.[45]Then he thought seven years more—and invented the merchant.

Then the devil was pleased, and chuckled till all the leaves fell off the trees.

So the devil sent priest, barine, and merchant to the peasant. But the silly peasant, instead of shaking them off, clothed and fed them and let them ride on his neck.

So from that time on there were no more good days for the peasant; priests and barines and shopkeepers tore him in pieces.

Not with knives or swords they wounded him, but with a copper kopeck. When the sun rose he thought: Where shall I get a kopeck? When the sun set he thought, Where shall I get a kopeck?

Then the peasant prayed to his Mother Earth: “Oh, Mother Earth, tell me where to get a kopeck.”

And the Earth answered, muttering: “In me is thy wealth.”

The peasant took a spade and began to dig. He dug all the day long, and a second and a third day. He dug a deep, deep pit, but still there was no kopeck. He dug through the soil and came to sand, through the sand and came to mud. He dug and dug and baled out the water. At last he came to clay. His spade was all spoiled, and yet there was no kopeck. Then he began to dig with his hands, and dug and dug; then he came to stone and could dig no further.

The peasant fell down on the breast of his Mother Earth, and asked her why she had jested with him so bitterly. Suddenly he saw; under a clod lay a copper kopeck. It was all green and spotted with damp, and as rough as the earth itself.

The peasant seized it, kissed it, wrapped it up and put it in his breast. Then he crawled out to God’s daylight and went home with his kopeck.

As he went the birch tree with her thick tresses greeted him and asked—

“Peasant, peasant, why is thy clothing like a fishing-net?”

“I have gained a kopeck,” he answered.

“Thy kopeck costs thee dear,” said the birch tree, shaking her locks.

He went on further and the forest bird asked him—

“Peasant, peasant, why art thou all roughened and blistered like oak-bark?”

“I have gained a kopeck.”

The bird whistled and flew away, saying to herself, “I’m glad I’m not a peasant.”

He walked on, and the river fish asked him—

“Peasant, peasant, why art thou as thin as a herring?”

“I have gained a kopeck.”

The fish said nothing, she only whisked her tail and dived right down to the river-bed to get away from the world, for fear she should be made into a peasant too.

The peasant walked on and met a priest, so he took off his cap and went to receive his blessing. The priest saw that the peasant was coming home from work, so that he very likely had a kopeck; and the priest thought he would like to have that kopeck himself. So he came up to the peasant and said—

“Open your mouth.”

The peasant opened it.

“Put out your tongue.”

He put it out. The priest put his hand in his pocket, took out some bread crumbs and sprinkled a little on the peasant’s tongue. What was left he put by for another time.

“Now give me your kopeck,” he said.

The peasant gave it him and went home.

“Well,” said his wife, “did you get a kopeck?”

“Yes.”

“Where is it?”

“I gave it for the kingdom of heaven,” he answered.

“Thanks be to God,” said his wife; “and now come to dinner.”

They said grace and sat down to dinner—fir-bark and rain-water. When they had finished the peasant gave thanks to God for these earthly blessings, and lay down to rest.

Meantime the priest went home, thinking what he should do with the peasant’s kopeck. He thought and thought; at last he said, “I know!” and called thePonomàr.[46]

The Ponomàr not only sang in the choir; he was not too proud to drive bargains too.

So the Ponomàr came, and the priest said to him—

“Look here, long-mane! It’s a fast to-day, so I’ve had no meat. Here’s a kopeck for you; roast me your sucking-pig, and see you don’t blab to any one, or I’ll tear your hair out. But if you manage it properly I’ll give you the tail to pick.”

The Ponomàr went away. “What next, Fat-paunch,” he thought. “No, no! You can pick the tail yourself, and I’ll fatten up the sucking-pig and sell it to theArkhierèy[47]himself.”

And he took the kopeck to the village shopkeeper, and said—

“Look here, gossip, here’s a kopeck for you; give thepriest a sucking-pig for it and me a hive of honey for my trouble.”

The shopkeeper laughed, but he took the kopeck. “I’ll go to the peasant,” he thought.

So he went to the peasant and showed him the kopeck.

“Do you see this kopeck?” he said. “Well, you give me for it your sucking-pig and a hive of honey and a wolf-skin for a coat.”

“All right,” said the peasant, “I’m well rested now.”

First of all he gave the shopkeeper his sucking-pig, that he had kept for a holiday—the greatest holiday in the year.

“Well, never mind,” he thought. “When my little son that lies in his cradle now grows up we’ll have a proper holiday.”

Then he took a slice of bark-bread, put a knife into his boot, and went to the forest. He walked on, sniffing; does it smell of honey anywhere? No, not a bit. He went on and on; he had eaten his bread, and had to live on roots and acorns, and still no honey. At last he smelt it faintly in the distance, and went on till he came to a great lime-tree, with the bees swarming round it. But see! a huge bear was standing by the hollow trunk, and just going to put his paw in.

“Oh, Lord!” cried the peasant, “surely he is not going to take the honey from me!”

He drew out his knife and rushed at the bear; the bear turned round, drew himself up grandly, and came to meet him. The peasant hastily tore off a lot of fine birch twigs, twisted them round his left hand, and took the knife in his right.

They met. The bear put out his paw, but the peasant warded him off with the left hand, and with the right plunged the knife up to its handle right into his heart. Then he sprang back sharply, but unluckily he got tangledin a branch, so that the bear was able to catch him, and they met in a hand-to-hand fight. First the bear hugged him and nearly broke his bones; then he hugged the bear. The blood rushed from the wound, and Mishka fell down dead.

The peasant rubbed himself a little after the bear’s embrace, and thought: “God is merciful even to peasants! If He had not sent me the bear I should have had to go hunting for a wolf heaven knows how long; but now, perhaps, the shopkeeper won’t mind taking a bear’s skin instead of a wolf’s.”

He skinned the bear, took the honey, and went home with his prize. But when the shopkeeper saw the bear-skin he shook his head and said—

“A bear-skin instead of a wolf-skin! What will you give into the bargain?”

“Why, what can I give?” said the peasant; “my breeches?”

“All right.”

The peasant took off his breeches and gave them to the shopkeeper; then he received his kopeck and took it to the barine to pay off his debt for last year’s cattle-drinking tax; no doubt it was the barine’s prayers that made the water flow in the river so that the peasant’s cattle could drink.

As he went the peasant looked at the kopeck that he held in his hand. It had passed through many hands, and was no longer so rough and rusty as when he had given it to the priest for the kingdom of heaven. It was the same kopeck, but the peasant did not recognise it, and said: “All right. This is a nice kopeck, much cleaner than my old one. I’ll give it to the barine now; it won’t soil his honour’s hands.”

So he went up to the manor-house, took off his cap and stood at the gate. But as ill luck would have it the barinya was looking out of the window to see whether a youngofficer was coming, and when she saw the peasant without breeches she cried out—

“Ah! ah! I shall die!” turned up her eyes, fainted away, and dropped on the carpet, only just kicking a little.

The servants ran to tell the barine that the barinya was graciously pleased to see a peasant without breeches and is dying. The barine rushed out and stamped his foot at the peasant and shouted at him, but when he heard that the peasant had come to pay the tax he got quiet. He graciously took the kopeck, and just wrote a note and gave it to the peasant.

“Here, my man,” he said, “just take this note for me to theStanovòy.”[48]

The peasant took the note, gave it to the Stanovòy, and was just going when he looked at the Stanovòy and stopped short. The Stanovòy was clenching his fists and grinding his teeth and panting with rage.

“How dare you!” he shouted to the peasant; “you clown! how dare you insult the lady?”

The peasant tried to explain, but it was no use; the Stanovòy grew more furious than ever.

“What? You want to deny it, you hound! I’ll send you to Siberia! I’ll flay you alive!”—and so on, and so on. And he flew at the peasant as if he wanted to toss him or jump into his mouth.

The peasant’s wife heard the row, caught up a cock, ran to the Stanovòy and dropped at his feet.

“Little father!” she cried, “there is a cock for you. Take it, and welcome, but don’t kill my good man, or I and all the children will starve.”

The Stanovòy almost choked with fury.

“A cock! How dare you offer me a cock! I’ve served God and the Emperor for twenty years as Stanovòy andnever suffered such an insult yet. Bring me your goat at once, or I’ll have your cottage pulled down!”

There was nothing for it; they brought him the goat. The Stanovòy grew calm and ordered the peasant to be only flogged and then let go free. The peasant went home and told his wife to make him new breeches, because he must soon go to work in the barine’s garden to pay off a debt, and perhaps the barinya might see him again.

The barine was walking about the manor thinking what he should do with the kopeck. At last he sent for the peasant.

“Look here, friend,” he said, “you said you wanted firewood. There’s a stick in the kitchen-garden that you may have, only you must do an errand for me. You must go to my friend, Saffròn Kouzmìch—he lives only five hundred versts off—and tell him that I send him my compliments, and ask him to visit me.”

“All right,” said the peasant.

So he went to Saffròn Kouzmìch. He walked and walked and walked. At last he got to the place and gave his message.

Saffròn Kouzmìch came at once, for he and our barine were great friends; when they were young they had served the Tzar together. So he came to visit the barine, and they played for the kopeck. Saffròn Kouzmìch won it, and drove away very merry and sang all the way home. But our barine was very angry, so he called theSòtsky[49]and told him to collect taxes from the peasant.

The Sòtsky came to the peasant and asked for the taxes.

“Where am I to get the money from?” asked the peasant.

“Where you like. But you must get it somewhere, or the barine will send for the Stanovòy again.”

The peasant scratched his head. However, there wasnothing for it, he must get the money. So he went to look for work. He went everywhere, and could find no work. At last he came to the same gentleman who had won the kopeck, and asked him for work. The gentleman called his steward.

“Is there any work?” he asked.

“Certainly,” said the steward, “the dam is broken down, and must be mended at once. But it’s very dangerous work, for the workman may get carried away by the water, and besides, it’s just under the mill-wheel. It will do nicely for this peasant; any peasant will jump into the fire, let alone the water, for a kopeck.”

“Very well,” said the gentleman.

The steward went to the peasant and said—

“Mend the mill-dam, and just build a cottage for me, because I took your part and got you the job. You shall have a kopeck. Only mind you do the cottage first, for we are in the Almighty’s hands, and you may get drowned.”

“All right,” said the peasant.

He took an axe, cut down some trees, dragged them to the steward’s yard and built a cottage. The steward came and looked—a capital cottage.

“Very good,” he said, and gave the peasant a glass to smell, out of which he had drunk vodka two days before.

“Thank you,” said the peasant. “That was very kind.”

Then he went to mend the dam. The water was seething like a boiling pot. He got the job done at last, but the water swept him down right under the mill-wheel.

“He’s lost!” thought the steward; “the kopeck he has earned remains with me.”

But the peasant dived, and so got out of the water safe and sound, and the steward had to give him his kopeck. The peasant walked home with the kopeck, thinking—

“God be thanked! Now the barine won’t demand thetax for a week. I shall have time to do some work for myself, and to rest enough for the whole year as well.”

“‘VERY GOOD,’ HE SAID, AND GAVE THE PEASANT A GLASS TO SMELL, OUT OF WHICH HE HAD DRUNK VODKA TWO DAYS BEFORE.”

He went straight to the manor. All the court was strewn with juniper—every one was in black clothes, and there were two candles in the window.

“What has happened?” asked the peasant.

“The barine is dead,” they told him.

The peasant burst into tears. “God rest his soul!” he thought; “he was a kind barine.”

He asked for the barinya to take her the kopeck, but shecould not see him. She was broken-hearted about the barine, and a young officer was consoling her in her grief. So she would let no one in. The peasant went home, dug a pit in the cellar, and put his kopeck into it, just so that it should not get lost.

Some days afterwards, as he was going home, he heard some one sobbing. He looked round and saw a little girl sitting by the road and crying bitterly.

“What are you crying for, my lass?” he asked.

The child told him that her brother was very ill, so that a priest had to be called, to dip his finger in oil and rub it on the sick man’s lips. The priest would not come for nothing, and they could not pay him.

The peasant laid his great rough hand on the child’s head, ruffled her hair and said—

“Don’t cry, silly child! I’ll pay the priest.”

The little girl thanked him and ran to the priest; and the peasant went down into the cellar, dug out his kopeck, and brought it to the light. He looked at it and clasped his hands: he had recognised his kopeck—the same that with such toil he had won from the bosom of Mother Earth. Lying in the earth again, it had become just as green and rough as it was then.... And the peasant wept bitter tears of anger and grief, for he understood that all his labour had been in vain: he had gained nothing but this same kopeck, which had been his already. Now it must go to the priest again, and wander about the world once more, and every one into whose hands it fell would ride upon his neck. And if by chance it should come into his cottage again, he must only give it away once more, either to the barine or to the priest.

“I will give no one my kopeck!” the peasant decided.

“‘GIVE ME THE KOPECK! I’VE LISTENED TO ENOUGH OF YOUR NONSENSE!’”

He went to the neighbour’s cottage, and saw that the sick man’s lips were already smeared with oil, and in the middle of the room stood the priest, who had collected all kinds of things—cakes, eggs, flaxen threads—and was looking round to see what more he could get. He saw there was nothing more to give, and turned to the peasant.

“Well, now give me the kopeck.”

“Oh, little father, little father!” said the peasant; “do not rob the Orthodox people!”

“You rascal!” cried the priest. “How dare you say such things to your spiritual father!”

“Little father, little father! From my very soul I say it;—do not rob the Orthodox people. Think what you are doing, little father!”

The priest caught up the baby’s cradle, rushed at the peasant and cried—

“Give me the kopeck! I’ve listened to enough of your nonsense!”

The peasant answered, holding him by the hands—

“No, little father, go your way, and God go with you; I will not give you the kopeck. It would be a sin to encourage your sin.”

The priest lifted up the tail of his cassock and rushed straight to the manor-house. He ran in and found the barinya with the officer. The officer was merry, as merry as could be, for he had just asked the barinya to be his wife, and she had consented.

“Why, little father, what’s the matter with you?” he asked, laughing. “Has your wife been thrashing you?”

“My wife! That would be nothing serious; we could soon settle that.The peasant has mutinied, that’s what has happened!” And he told them what the peasant had said.

“Well, you’re a fine fellow to call yourself a priest! Your hair may be long, but your head’s short enough! Couldn’t manage a peasant!”

“Bring him to me,” said the new barine to his lackey.“I won’t even speak; I’ll just look at him, and you’ll see how tame he’ll get!”

The lackey went to fetch the peasant, and the barine twirled his moustaches and waited to show off his courage to the priest and the barinya. Presently the lackey came back with the peasant, and stood at the door.

“Bring him here!” said the barine; “let me look at him.” And he glanced sideways, now at the priest, now at the barinya.

They brought in the peasant. The barine stood in the middle of the room, with his left arm akimbo, his right hand in his pocket, and his neck stretched out, clenching his teeth and rolling his eyes. The peasant looked at him, and got quite frightened.

“Little father!” he cried, “you must be ill! Wait a minute, poor fellow, I’ll bring you some water to drink!”

Without waiting for an answer, he ran out into the yard, took off his greasy cap, filled it from the water-tub, and brought it to the barine.

“There, little father, drink!”

But the barine sat blinking his eyes; he was ashamed before the priest and the barinya. The barinya flew at the peasant; she was almost ready to tear his beard out.

“How dare you bring the barine water in your filthy cap?” she cried.

He emptied the water out of the window and asked the barine—

“What do you want with me?”

The barine had recovered himself; he leaned back in the armchair, put his hands in his pockets, and said—

“What are you mutinying for, my friend?”

“Mutiny? It’s a sin for the priest to rob the people, and to encourage him is a sin too; that’s all!”

“What do you mean, my friend? Why, the priest is your spiritual father. Do you want him to live by his ownlabour, instead of yours? I suppose you’ll say next that I ought to support myself too, instead of your working for me!”

“You’re no fool, even if you are a barine,” said the peasant. “You have just guessed it; I won’t pay you either.”

The barine started up as if he had been stung, rushed at the peasant and demanded the kopeck of him; but it was no use, the peasant would not give him the kopeck.

The peasant went home, but officer, priest, and barinya sat thinking what they should do with him. They thought and thought, and at last agreed to send a message to the Stanovòy, that the peasant had mutinied, and would not give up his kopeck, and that the Stanovòy must come and manage him. The Stanovòy turned quite white when he read the letter.

“Heavens!” he thought; “my end is come, the peasant will murder me!”

However, he was an official, and must go. He put four pistols into his belt, mounted his fleetest horse and rode off. He rode slowly till he came to a hundred paces from the peasant’s cottage, then started his horse at a furious gallop, and rushed past the cottage like a whirlwind, crying out—

“Give up the kopeck! Give up the kopeck, you villain! I will tear you in pieces if you don’t; I will sweep you off the face of the earth!” And he lashed his horse furiously.

There was a fearful hubbub in the cottage. The peasant was not at home; but when the Stanovòy made such a noise outside, the cow began to moo, the pig began to grunt, the sheep began to bleat, and the dogs jumped over the fence and rushed, barking, after the Stanovòy.

“I am lost!” he thought. He dropped the reins, caught at the horse’s mane and closed his eyes, so as not to see death, and the horse rushed on and knocked against a huge stone. The Stanovòy was flung head over heels on tothe ground, where he lay and thought: “I am killed! God receive my soul!”

The dogs ran up, smelt him all over, and ran home again, wagging their tails. He lay still, waiting for death. He waited and waited, but it did not come; at last he opened one eye, then the other. Then he cautiously lifted his head and looked round. His horse lay beside him with its legs broken.

“Oh, Lord!” thought the Stanovòy, “what shall I do? The peasant will seize me and take me into captivity!”

He almost died of terror, but he plucked up his courage and set off to run. He ran on, stumbling and falling, now among the brambles, now in the mud, till he got so dirty and scratched, that he looked like a wild creature. At last he reached the police-station, and sat down at once to write a report to the Governor, stating that the peasant had mutinied and refused to give up his kopeck; that he, the Stanovòy, had gone to persuade him; but that the peasant would not listen, and in answer had bellowed like a whole herd of cattle. Then the peasant had loosed upon him a peculiarbreed of dogs, which he had got for the purpose; these dogs were fearful to see—the size of calves—and ran like the wind. Then the peasant had flung a great stone at him, as big as a bull, and broken the forelegs of his horse.

The Governor read this report and said—

“The Stanovòy must be rewarded for his bravery with St. George’s Cross!”

Then he ordered off a squadron of soldiers to fight the peasant. Early next morning the Governor, the Stanovòy, and the squadron of soldiers started off on their campaign against the peasant. In the evening they reached the wood where the peasant lived. The soldiers pitched their tent and lay down to sleep, and the officers met in the Governor’s tent to hold council and decide how they should capture the peasant. Finally they agreed that a direct attack was dangerous, so they must wait till dawn, when the peasant would come out into the wood to wash in the spring, and then surround and seize him.

The next morning they surrounded the spring, and hid themselves in the bushes, so that the peasant should not see them. Just as he was going to stoop down and wash, they suddenly blew their trumpets and beat their drums and shouted on all sides of him.

“What can it be?” thought the peasant, rubbing his eyes. But the Stanovòy, fired with courage, rushed forwards, like one possessed, waving his sword and shouting to the soldiers—

“Courage, men! We will die for our father the Tzar, and for the Orthodox faith!”

Then he caught up a banner and cried—

“Follow me! hurrah!”

“Hurrah! hurrah! hurra-a-ah!” yelled the soldiers, and charged upon the peasant.

He tried to defend himself, but it was useless; in amoment they seized him, tied his hands and led him to the Governor. But he had time to break several guns, and bite through two bayonets.

“Give up the kopeck!” shouted the Governor.

“I won’t!” said the peasant.

So they put him in prison and tried him. They sentenced him, for the crime of mutiny and obstinacy, to receive twenty-five thousand lashes, and then to be sent back to his former habitation. Further (in order that he might not continue to hide his kopeck), to feed a squadron of soldiers, who should be billeted upon him until he gave up the kopeck. And for the bayonets that he had bitten through, and the Stanovòy’s uniform that was spoiled, to pay costs.

The punishment was inflicted, and the peasant sent home. Then the soldiers arrived, and sat down to dinner.

The peasant killed them a sheep. They ate it and cried—“More!”

He killed a pig—“More! More!”

He killed a cow—“Why,” they cried, “we are hungrier than before dinner!”

“If they go on like this,” thought the peasant, “they’ll end by eating me.”

“Wait a minute, mates,” he said; “I’ll go to the beehives and get you honey.”

“All right,” said the soldiers.

He took his cap and ran out of the cottage.

“Now sit and gnaw logs for honey, accursed brood!” he thought; “and if you don’t like that, try bricks instead, but I’ll not feed you any more!”

And he went away into the deep, dense forest. He walked on for three days and three nights, till, in the evening of the third day, he came to wild thickets, where no human foot had ever trod. Then he sat down on a hillock, looked around him, lifted his left foot and took from under hisankle-straps his kopeck—that same kopeck for which he had suffered so much. He looked at it and said—

“I have suffered many griefs for thee, my kopeck, since first I carried thee in my bosom, to bring down on me the birds of prey. I know that without thee I shall be still more unhappy; but they shall rather tear out my eyes than thou, my kopeck that I have toiled for, shalt go to serve my enemies!”

And he dug a pit and buried his kopeck. Then he lay down on the grave of his kopeck and thought in bitterness of spirit—

“If thou hast no kopeck, lie down in thy coffin; if thou hast a kopeck, drown thee in the river!”

And the peasant sighed heavily, heavily, and he fell down upon the earth and prayed, saying—

“Oh, Mother Earth! teach me, for I know not, what I shall do, that I may have not only sorrow and misery—that even inmylife there may be bright days!”

And the peasant fell asleep.

Sunrise is wiser than nightfall. Next morning the peasant awoke, and, after pondering deeply, he broke off a strong bough, cut it with a stone and made a spade; with this he raised an earthen hut. And he covered it with brushwood, and filled the chinks with moss, and roofed it over. Then he closed the entrance with a stone and took up his dwelling there.

Time passed on, and a household grew up about the peasant, with fields and pastures and all things needful. There he dwelt and passed his days in peace and joy, praising God.

What then, my lads? If the good folk were but a bit wiser and would stand up for themselves and their own, maybe every man might live in peace and plenty, and never need to slip away and hide his head in the forest. Think of that!

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