Life, 1921-05-19 · page 15 of 36
Life — May 19, 1921 — page 15: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This page presents a fictional story titled "The Moujik's Revenge" (or "The Red Revolt") by Harvey Kent, accompanying two illustrations. The narrative depicts Russian peasants ("moujiks") during what appears to be a period of political upheaval—likely referencing early 20th-century Russian revolutionary tensions. The story shows a captured noblewoman, Sonia Petrioff, confronted by one of her father's former servants whom she'd brutalized years earlier. The satire suggests ironic role-reversal: the formerly powerless servant now holds authority over his former oppressor. A companion humor piece titled "Proof" jokes about identifying a "dead" critic by his loud snoring—basic comedic wordplay unrelated to the main story. The content reflects American fascination with Russian social upheaval and class conflict during this era.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
“ABOUT HOW MUCH WILL THIS OPERATION BE, pocToR?” “CAN'T SAY. DEPENDS ON HOW DEEP 1 WILL HAVE TO CUT.” “BUT I’M ONLY ABOUT THIRTEEN INCHES THROUGH. The Moujik’s Revenge What would you say now if I were to Proof beat you?” he queried as the knout sang “—_JOW do you know that man in the through the air. front row is the dean of the “T would say ‘Ouch!'" replied Olga. critics?” or The Red ‘olt the leading Cossack threw up his The End “Don’t you see he is snoring louder id the long line of prisoners halted, Harvey Kent. than the rest?” glad for even a momentary respite from the horrors of the march over the snow- covercl steppes. Some even sank down into the snow, their chains rattling grue- somely. Too far gone from misery and priva- tion to care even to make a pretense riitude, Sonia Petrinoff sank to the at the feet of her sister Olga, in exhaustion. As Olga bent over nfort her a grip upon her arm «| her to look up. There confronting her was one of her captors whose face, though more bestial than the others, was still vaguely familiar to her. With one hand stched her arm in a grip that made ¢ from pain, and in the other he idished the cruel whip of Russia, the knout, Then suddenly she recognized him as a discharged servant that her father had caused to be knouted for insolence to her and her sister many years ago. It was the man who broke the deathlike silence. “So,” the monster shouted, “ you know me now, do you? When they beat me like “ AREN'T MRS, MARKER’S CHILDREN GETTING TOO OLD FOR A GOVERNESS?” a dog, you looked on and said nothing. “ YEs—BUT HER HUSBAND ISN'T. comicbooks.com