THE HISTORY OF A WORTHY OLD MERCHANT.

Waipawa Mail, Volume XIII, Issue 2499, 30 August 1890, Page 6 (Supplement)

THE HISTORY OF A WORTHY OLD MERCHANT.

(by COUNT TOLSTOI.) Peter would have said ho was thinking off nothing, but his spirit was alert and meditative, and deriving much edification from » story he had heard trom Karataiew the evening before Plato, wrapped in his elonk, had been telling the soldiers in his sing-song, and now weak voice, a legend he had often repeated in Peter’s hearing. It was past midnight, and that hour his fever left him, and he recovered his wonted spirits. Looking at tho thin, pale face in the glare of the bivonao fire, Peter’s heart swelled within him. His pity for the man made him uncomfortable, and he would have been glad to get away ; but .as there was no other nre for him to sit by, be had no choice but to remain by his side. “Well, and how are you?” he asked, without looking at him. “ Bewailing one’s illness will not bring death V’ was the reply, and Plato went on with his history. Peter, as we have said, knew it by heart. It was one that the little soldier took a particular delight in telling. Peter listened to it this evening with fresh interest. It was th© history of a worthy old merchant, living with his family in tho fear of God, who one day set out on a pilgrimage with one of his friends. They stopped for the night at an inn, and next morning the merchant s friend was found murdered and robbed. A bloodstained knife was lying under the merchant’s pillow, and ho was tried and condemned, beaten, his nostrils slit, and then sent into penal servitude, “as was but just,” Karataiew added. “ So, my dear friends, for ten years and more the old man toiled in the hulks, and never did anyone any harm, but submitted as he ought, but still ho often prayed God to let him die. Well, one evening, the convicts all sitting round as it might be us here, began telling each other what they had been sent there for, and what tbeir sins were before God. One confessed that he had killed a man, another that he had killed two ; another had set a house on file, and another was a deserter; at last they asked the old man :—‘ Aud you, grandfather, what were you punished for F *I, my ohildren,’ says he, ‘ for my own sins and for those of others.’ I never killed ativ man, nor stole his goods, and I gave what 1 could to my neighbour when he was poor. I was a merchant, my little friends, aud very rich—’ and then ho told them, chapter and verse, how it had all happened. * And I don’t complain, 1 says he, ‘for it was God wh«* sent mo hero no doubt; but lam sorry for my poor wife and children. . .’ Aud ihe old man began to cry. —Well, and if the very man who had really committed the murder was not among thorn ! Whore did it happen, grandfather, and when, and how ? ’ “And lo and behold ! tho man asks all these questions, ondj his heart grows full, aud he goes up to the old man and falls at his feet: — 4 It is lor me, good old man, that you aro punished ; it is Gospel truth ; he is an innocent soul, friends, who is suffering hero. I struck the blow, and I slipped tho knife under your pillow while you were asleep. Forgive me, grand-father, forgive .me, for Christ’s sake!’” Karatiew paused with a pensivo smile, and gazing into tho fire he piled the logs together. “ And tho eld man say 9 to him. * May God forgive you, for we are all sinners together before Him : I am punished for my own sins. . . .* and ho cried bitter tears.” “Well, what do you say t# that, my friends s'” Plato asked, his smile lighting up his whole face, as if all the charm of the story was in the sequel. “ Tho real murderer confessed to the authorities, 4 1 have six souls on my conscience,’ says he—for he was a wicked wretch —* but tho old man troubles me most of all. I cannot bear that ho should be so miserable on my account.’ So they wrote nil he told them, and sent the paper to the right persons. It was a long way off, and then the trial took some time, and all the papers to be made »ut—as it always docs with the authorities. At last it got to the Czar, and the Czar gave an ukase :—‘Set tlr* merchant free and give him a pre ont, as th© authorities have decreed.’ and when tho ukase came they looked for the eld merchant. ‘ Where is the old man ?’ they ask, ‘ tho innocent, man who is being punished ? The Czar’s ukase ha© come !* and then they tried again to find him.” Here Karataiew’s voice grew tremulous. “But God’s pardon had come quicker,” ho went ou. “He was dead ! Yes, so it was, my friends !’* And he relapsed iuto silence, though the smile lingered long upon his face. It wai tho mystical sentiment of the story ami the pathetic rapture on the soldier’s face that had filled Peter's soul with vague and indescribable joy.