Upton Sinclair, ed. (1878–1968). rn The Cry for Justice: An Anthology of the Literature of Social Protest. 1915.
Makar’s DreamKorolenko, Vladimir Galaktionovich
Vladamir G. Korolenko
(Contemporary Russian novelist. In this short story a drunken old peasant is taken in a dream before the Taion, or god of the forest, to be judged for his many sins. The sins are piled upon a wooden scale-pan and the virtues upon a golden one—but alas, the virtues rise high into the air. Thereupon old Makar, driven to despair, breaks out into protest so eloquent that the judge is puzzled)T
“How is this?” said he. “There are good people still living on the earth. Their eyes are bright, and their faces shine, and their robes are spotless.… Their hearts are as tender as good soil; they receive the good seed, and bring forth beautiful fruit and the perfume is sweet in my nostrils. Look at yourself!”
All eyes were turned towards Makar, who felt ashamed of his appearance. He knew that his eyes were not bright, and his face begrimed, his hair and beard matted and tangled, and his clothes torn. True, he had been thinking of buying a pair of boots before his death, in order to appear at the judgment seat as behooves an honest peasant. But he had always spent the money on drink, and now he stood before the Taion in ragged shoes, like the last of the Yakouts.… He would gladly have sunk under the ground.
“Thy face is dark,” went on the Taion. “Thy eyes are not bright, and thy clothes are torn. And thy heart is overgrown with weeds and thorns. That is the reason why I love mine own that are pure and good and holy, and turn my face away from such as you are.”
Makar’s heart was ready to break. He felt ashamed of his existence. He hung his head, but suddenly lifted it and began to speak again.
Who were those just and good men the Taion was speaking about? If he meant those who were living in fine palaces on the earth at the same time as Makar did, he knew them well enough. Their eyes were bright because they had not shed as many tears as he had, and their faces shone because they were bathed in perfume, and their clean garments had been wrought by other people’s hands. Did he not see that he too had been born like the others, with bright, open eyes, in which heaven and earth were reflected as in a mirror, and with a pure heart which was ready to take in all that was beautiful in the world. And if he longed now to hide his wretched self under the ground, it was no fault of his … he did not know whose fault it was … all he knew was that all the patience had died in his heart.
If Makar had seen the effect which his speech had produced on the old Taion, and that every word he said fell on the golden scale like a weight of lead, his rebellious heart would have been soothed. But he saw nothing, because he was full of blind despair.
He thought of his past life, which had been so hard. How had he been able to bear it so long? He had borne it because the star of hope had shone through the darkness. And now the star had vanished, and the hope was dead.… Darkness fell on his soul, and a storm rose in it like the storm-wind which flies across the steppe in the dead of night. He forgot where he was, before whom he stood—forgot everything except his anger.
But the old Taion said to him: “Wait, poor man! You are no longer on earth. There is justice for you here.”
And Makar trembled. He realized that they pitied him; his heart was softened; and, as he thought of his wretched life, he burst into tears, weeping over himself. The old Taion wept too, and so did the old father Ivan. Tears flowed from the eyes of the young serving-men, and they wiped them with their wide sleeves.
And the scales trembled, and the wooden scale rose higher and higher!