Elijah the Prophet and Nicholas.[444]
Project Gutenberg EPUB3 edition
Ralston, William Ralston Shedden
A long while ago there lived a Moujik. Nicholas’s day he always kept holy, but Elijah’s not a bit; he would even work upon it. In honor of St. Nicholas he would have a taper lighted and a service performed, but about Elijah the Prophet he forgot so much as to think.
Well, it happened one day that Elijah and Nicholas were walking over the land belonging to this Moujik; and as they walked they looked—in the cornfields the green blades were growing up so splendidly that it did one’s heart good to look at them.
“Here’ll be a good harvest, a right good harvest!” says Nicholas, “and the Moujik, too, is a good fellow sure enough, both honest and pious: one who remembers God and thinks about the Saints! It will fall into good hands—”
“We’ll see by-and-by whether much will fall to his share!” answered Elijah; “when I’ve burnt up all his land with lightning, and beaten it all flat with hail, then this Moujik of yours will know what’s right, and will learn to keep Elijah’s day holy.”
Well, they wrangled and wrangled; then they parted asunder. St. Nicholas went off straight to the Moujik and said:
“Sell all your corn at once, just as it stands, to the Priest of Elijah.[445] If you don’t, nothing will be left of it: it will all be beaten flat by hail.”
Off rushed the Moujik to the Priest.
“Won’t your Reverence buy some standing corn? I’ll sell my whole crop. I’m in such pressing need of money just now. It’s a case of pay up with me! Buy it, Father! I’ll sell it cheap.”
They bargained and bargained, and came to an agreement. The Moujik got his money and went home.
Some little time passed by. There gathered together, there came rolling up, a stormcloud; with a terrible raining and hailing did it empty itself over the Moujik’s cornfields, cutting down all the crop as if with a knife—not even a single blade did it leave standing.
Next day Elijah and Nicholas walked past. Says Elijah:
“Only see how I’ve devastated the Moujik’s cornfield!”
“The Moujik’s! No, brother! Devastated it you have splendidly, only that field belongs to the Elijah Priest, not to the Moujik.”
“To the Priest! How’s that?”
“Why, this way. The Moujik sold it last week to the Elijah Priest, and got all the money for it. And so, methinks, the Priest may whistle for his money!”
“Stop a bit!” said Elijah. “I’ll set the field all right again. It shall be twice as good as it was before.”
They finished talking, and went each his own way. St. Nicholas returned to the Moujik, and said:
“Go to the Priest and buy back your crop—you won’t lose anything by it.”
The Moujik went to the Priest, made his bow, and said:
“I see, your Reverence, God has sent you a misfortune—the hail has beaten the whole field so flat you might roll a ball over it. Since things are so, let’s go halves in the loss. I’ll take my field back, and here’s half of your money for you to relieve your distress.”
The Priest was rejoiced, and they immediately struck hands on the bargain.
Meanwhile—goodness knows how—the Moujik’s ground began to get all right. From the old roots shot forth new tender stems. Rain-clouds came sailing exactly over the cornfield and gave the soil to drink. There sprang up a marvellous crop—tall and thick. As to weeds, there positively was not one to be seen. And the ears grew fuller and fuller, till they were fairly bent right down to the ground.
Then the dear sun glowed, and the rye grew ripe—like so much gold did it stand in the fields. Many a sheaf did the Moujik gather, many a heap of sheaves did he set up; and now he was beginning to carry the crop, and to gather it together into ricks.
At that very time Elijah and Nicholas came walking by again. Joyfully did the Prophet gaze on all the land, and say:
“Only look, Nicholas! what a blessing! Why, I have rewarded the Priest in such wise, that he will never forget it all his life.”
“The Priest? No, brother! the blessing indeed is great, but this land, you see, belongs to the Moujik. The Priest hasn’t got anything whatsoever to do with it.”
“What are you talking about?”
“It’s perfectly true. When the hail beat all the cornfield flat, the Moujik went to the Priest and bought it back again at half price.”
“Stop a bit!” says Elijah. “I’ll take the profit out of the corn. However many sheaves the Moujik may lay on the threshing-floor, he shall never thresh out of them more than a peck[446] at a time.”
“A bad piece of work!” thinks St. Nicholas. Off he went at once to the Moujik.
“Mind,” says he, “when you begin threshing your corn, never put more than one sheaf at a time on the threshing-floor.”
The Moujik began to thresh: from every sheaf he got a peck of grain. All his bins, all his storehouses, he crammed with rye; but still much remained over. So he built himself new barns, and filled them as full as they could hold.
Well, one day Elijah and Nicholas came walking past his homestead, and the Prophet began looking here and there, and said:
“Do you see what barns he’s built? has he got anything to put into them?”
“They’re quite full already,” answers Nicholas.
“Why, wherever did the Moujik get such a lot of grain?”
“Bless me! Why, every one of his sheaves gave him a peck of grain. When he began to thresh he never put more than one sheaf at a time on the threshing-floor.”
“Ah, brother Nicholas!” said Elijah, guessing the truth, “it’s you who go and tell the Moujik everything!”
“What an idea! that I should go and tell—”
“As you please; that’s your doing! But that Moujik sha’n’t forget me in a hurry!”