{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_38025/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_38025","id":"gutenberg_38025","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/38025","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Children & Young Adult Reading","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Category: Russian Literature","Russian literature -- Translations into English"],"text":"Tanscriber's note:\n\n Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).\n\n A letter with a breve is indicated by [)].\n\n\n\n\n\nThe Complete Works of Count Tolst\u00f3y\nVolume XII.\n\n\n[Illustration: \"The clerk beat Sidor's face until the blood came\"\n\n_Photogravure from Painting by A. Kivsh\u00e9nko_]\n\n\nFABLES FOR CHILDREN\nSTORIES FOR CHILDREN\nNATURAL SCIENCE STORIES\nPOPULAR EDUCATION\nDECEMBRISTS\nMORAL TALES\n\nby\n\nCOUNT LEV N. TOLST\u00d3Y\n\nTranslated from the Original Russian and Edited by\n\nLEO WIENER\n\nAssistant Professor of Slavic Languages at Harvard University\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\nBoston\nDana Estes & Company\nPublishers\n\nEdition De Luxe\nLimited to One Thousand Copies,\nof which this is\nNo. 411\n\n_Copyright, 1904_\nBy Dana Estes & Company\n\n_Entered at Stationers' Hall_\n\nColonial Press: Electrotyped and Printed by\nC. H. Simonds & Co., Boston, Mass., U. S. A.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\n PAGE\n FABLES FOR CHILDREN\n \u00c6sop's Fables 3\n Adaptations and Imitations of Hindoo Fables 19\n\n STORIES FOR CHILDREN\n The Foundling 39\n The Peasant and the Cucumbers 40\n The Fire 41\n The Old Horse 43\n How I Learned to Ride 46\n The Willow 49\n B\u00falka 51\n B\u00falka and the Wild Boar 53\n Pheasants 56\n Milton and B\u00falka 58\n The Turtle 60\n B\u00falka and the Wolf 62\n What Happened to B\u00falka in Pyatig\u00f3rsk 65\n B\u00falka's and Milton's End 68\n The Gray Hare 70\n God Sees the Truth, but Does Not Tell at Once 72\n Hunting Worse than Slavery 82\n A Prisoner of the Caucasus 92\n Erm\u00e1k 124\n\n NATURAL SCIENCE STORIES\n Stories From Physics:\n The Magnet 137\n Moisture 140\n The Different Connection of Particles 142\n Crystals 143\n Injurious Air 146\n How Balloons Are Made 150\n Galvanism 152\n The Sun's Heat 156\n Stories From Zoology:\n The Owl and the Hare 159\n How the Wolves Teach Their Whelps 160\n Hares and Wolves 161\n The Scent 162\n Touch and Sight 164\n The Silkworm 165\n Stories From Botany:\n The Apple-Tree 170\n The Old Poplar 172\n The Bird-Cherry 174\n How Trees Walk 176\n\n The Decembrists 181\n On Popular Education 251\n What Men Live By 327\n The Three Hermits 363\n Neglect the Fire 375\n The Candle 395\n The Two Old Men 409\n Where Love Is, There God Is Also 445\n\n TEXTS FOR CHAPBOOK ILLUSTRATIONS\n The Fiend Persists, but God Resists 463\n Little Girls Wiser than Old People 466\n The Two Brothers and the Gold 469\n Ily\u00e1s 472\n\n A Fairy-Tale about Iv\u00e1n the Fool 481\n\n\n\n\nLIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS\n\n\n PAGE\n \"The clerk beat S\u00eddor's face until the blood\n came\" (_The Candle, see page 397_) _Frontispiece_\n \"'Whose knife is this?'\" 73\n \"'God will forgive you'\" 81\n \"They rode off to the mountains\" 96\n \"'Whither are you bound?'\" 332\n \"But the candle was still burning\" 403\n\n\n\n\nFABLES FOR CHILDREN\n\n1869-1872\n\n\n\n\nFABLES FOR CHILDREN\n\n\n\n\nI. \u00c6SOP'S FABLES\n\n\nTHE ANT AND THE DOVE\n\nAn Ant came down to the brook: he wanted to drink. A wave washed him\ndown and almost drowned him. A Dove was carrying a branch; she saw the\nAnt was drowning, so she cast the branch down to him in the brook. The\nAnt got up on the branch and was saved. Then a hunter placed a snare for\nthe Dove, and was on the point of drawing it in. The Ant crawled up to\nthe hunter and bit him on the leg; the hunter groaned and dropped the\nsnare. The Dove fluttered upwards and flew away.\n\n\nTHE TURTLE AND THE EAGLE\n\nA Turtle asked an Eagle to teach her how to fly. The Eagle advised her\nnot to try, as she was not fit for it; but she insisted. The Eagle took\nher in his claws, raised her up, and dropped her: she fell on stones and\nbroke to pieces.\n\n\nTHE POLECAT\n\nA Polecat entered a smithy and began to lick the filings. Blood began to\nflow from the Polecat's mouth, but he was glad and continued to lick; he\nthought that the blood was coming from the iron, and lost his whole\ntongue.\n\n\nTHE LION AND THE MOUSE\n\nA Lion was sleeping. A Mouse ran over his body. He awoke and caught her.\nThe Mouse besought him; she said:\n\n\"Let me go, and I will do you a favour!\"\n\nThe Lion laughed at the Mouse for promising him a favour, and let her\ngo.\n\nThen the hunters caught the Lion and tied him with a rope to a tree. The\nMouse heard the Lion's roar, ran up, gnawed the rope through, and said:\n\n\"Do you remember? You laughed, not thinking that I could repay, but now\nyou see that a favour may come also from a Mouse.\"\n\n\nTHE LIAR\n\nA Boy was watching the sheep and, pretending that he saw a wolf, he\nbegan to cry:\n\n\"Help! A wolf! A wolf!\"\n\nThe peasants came running up and saw that it was not so. After doing\nthis for a second and a third time, it happened that a wolf came indeed.\nThe Boy began to cry:\n\n\"Come, come, quickly, a wolf!\"\n\nThe peasants thought that he was deceiving them as usual, and paid no\nattention to him. The wolf saw there was no reason to be afraid: he\nleisurely killed the whole flock.\n\n\nTHE ASS AND THE HORSE\n\nA man had an Ass and a Horse. They were walking on the road; the Ass\nsaid to the Horse:\n\n\"It is heavy for me.--I shall not be able to carry it all; take at least\na part of my load.\"\n\nThe Horse paid no attention to him. The Ass fell down from overstraining\nhimself, and died. When the master transferred the Ass's load on the\nHorse, and added the Ass's hide, the Horse began to complain:\n\n\"Oh, woe to me, poor one, woe to me, unfortunate Horse! I did not want\nto help him even a little, and now I have to carry everything, and his\nhide, too.\"\n\n\nTHE JACKDAW AND THE DOVES\n\nA Jackdaw saw that the Doves were well fed,--so she painted herself\nwhite and flew into the dove-cot. The Doves thought at first that she\nwas a dove like them, and let her in. But the Jackdaw forgot herself and\ncroaked in jackdaw fashion. Then the Doves began to pick at her and\ndrove her away. The Jackdaw flew back to her friends, but the jackdaws\nwere frightened at her, seeing her white, and themselves drove her away.\n\n\nTHE WOMAN AND THE HEN\n\nA Hen laid an egg each day. The Mistress thought that if she gave her\nmore to eat, she would lay twice as much. So she did. The Hen grew fat\nand stopped laying.\n\n\nTHE LION, THE BEAR, AND THE FOX\n\nA Lion and a Bear procured some meat and began to fight for it. The Bear\ndid not want to give in, nor did the Lion yield. They fought for so long\na time that they both grew feeble and lay down. A Fox saw the meat\nbetween them; she grabbed it and ran away with it.\n\n\nTHE DOG, THE COCK, AND THE FOX\n\nA Dog and a Cock went to travel together. At night the Cock fell asleep\nin a tree, and the Dog fixed a place for himself between the roots of\nthat tree. When the time came, the Cock began to crow. A Fox heard the\nCock, ran up to the tree, and began to beg the Cock to come down, as she\nwanted to give him her respects for such a fine voice.\n\nThe Cock said:\n\n\"You must first wake up the janitor,--he is sleeping between the roots.\nLet him open up, and I will come down.\"\n\nThe Fox began to look for the janitor, and started yelping. The Dog\nsprang out at once and killed the Fox.\n\n\nTHE HORSE AND THE GROOM\n\nA Groom stole the Horse's oats, and sold them, but he cleaned the Horse\neach day. Said the Horse:\n\n\"If you really wish me to be in good condition, do not sell my oats.\"\n\n\nTHE FROG AND THE LION\n\nA Lion heard a Frog croaking, and thought it was a large beast that was\ncalling so loud. He walked up, and saw a Frog coming out of the swamp.\nThe Lion crushed her with his paw and said:\n\n\"There is nothing to look at, and yet I was frightened.\"\n\n\nTHE GRASSHOPPER AND THE ANTS\n\nIn the fall the wheat of the Ants got wet; they were drying it. A hungry\nGrasshopper asked them for something to eat. The Ants said:\n\n\"Why did you not gather food during the summer?\"\n\nShe said:\n\n\"I had no time: I sang songs.\"\n\nThey laughed, and said:\n\n\"If you sang in the summer, dance in the winter!\"\n\n\nTHE HEN AND THE GOLDEN EGGS\n\nA master had a Hen which laid golden eggs. He wanted more gold at once,\nand so killed the Hen (he thought that inside of her there was a large\nlump of gold), but she was just like any other hen.\n\n\nTHE ASS IN THE LION'S SKIN\n\nAn Ass put on a lion's skin, and all thought it was a lion. Men and\nanimals ran away from him. A wind sprang up, and the skin was blown\naside, and the Ass could be seen. People ran up and beat the Ass.\n\n\nTHE HEN AND THE SWALLOW\n\nA Hen found some snake's eggs and began to sit on them. A Swallow saw it\nand said:\n\n\"Stupid one! You will hatch them out, and, when they grow up, you will\nbe the first one to suffer from them.\"\n\n\nTHE STAG AND THE FAWN\n\nA Fawn once said to a Stag:\n\n\"Father, you are larger and fleeter than the dogs, and, besides, you\nhave huge antlers for defence; why, then, are you so afraid of the\ndogs?\"\n\nThe Stag laughed, and said:\n\n\"You speak the truth, my child. The trouble is,--the moment I hear the\ndogs bark, I run before I have time to think.\"\n\n\nTHE FOX AND THE GRAPES\n\nA Fox saw some ripe bunches of grapes hanging high, and tried to get at\nthem, in order to eat them.\n\nShe tried hard, but could not get them. To drown her annoyance she said:\n\n\"They are still sour.\"\n\n\nTHE MAIDS AND THE COCK\n\nA mistress used to wake the Maids at night and, as soon as the cocks\ncrowed, put them to work. The Maids found that hard, and decided to kill\nthe Cock, so that the mistress should not be wakened. They killed him,\nbut now they suffered more than ever: the mistress was afraid that she\nwould sleep past the time and so began to wake the Maids earlier.\n\n\nTHE FISHERMAN AND THE FISH\n\nA Fisherman caught a Fish. Said the Fish:\n\n\"Fisherman, let me go into the water; you see I am small: you will have\nlittle profit of me. If you let me go, I shall grow up, and then you\nwill catch me when it will be worth while.\"\n\nBut the Fisherman said:\n\n\"A fool would be he who should wait for greater profit, and let the\nlesser slip out of his hands.\"\n\n\nTHE FOX AND THE GOAT\n\nA Goat wanted to drink. He went down the incline to the well, drank his\nfill, and gained in weight. He started to get out, but could not do so.\nHe began to bleat. A Fox saw him and said:\n\n\"That's it, stupid one! If you had as much sense in your head as there\nare hairs in your beard, you would have thought of how to get out before\nyou climbed down.\"\n\n\nTHE DOG AND HER SHADOW\n\nA Dog was crossing the river over a plank, carrying a piece of meat in\nher teeth. She saw herself in the water and thought that another dog\nwas carrying a piece of meat. She dropped her piece and dashed forward\nto take away what the other dog had: the other meat was gone, and her\nown was carried away by the stream.\n\nAnd thus the Dog was left without anything.\n\n\nTHE CRANE AND THE STORK\n\nA peasant put out his nets to catch the Cranes for tramping down his\nfield. In the nets were caught the Cranes, and with them one Stork.\n\nThe Stork said to the peasant:\n\n\"Let me go! I am not a Crane, but a Stork; we are most honoured birds; I\nlive on your father's house. You can see by my feathers that I am not a\nCrane.\"\n\nThe peasant said:\n\n\"With the Cranes I have caught you, and with them will I kill you.\"\n\n\nTHE GARDENER AND HIS SONS\n\nA Gardener wanted his Sons to get used to gardening. As he was dying, he\ncalled them up and said to them:\n\n\"Children, when I am dead, look for what is hidden in the vineyard.\"\n\nThe Sons thought that it was a treasure, and when their father died,\nthey began to dig there, and dug up the whole ground. They did not find\nthe treasure, but they ploughed the vineyard up so well that it brought\nforth more fruit than ever.\n\n\nTHE WOLF AND THE CRANE\n\nA Wolf had a bone stuck in his throat, and could not cough it up. He\ncalled the Crane, and said to him:\n\n\"Crane, you have a long neck. Thrust your head into my throat and draw\nout the bone! I will reward you.\"\n\nThe Crane stuck his head in, pulled out the bone, and said:\n\n\"Give me my reward!\"\n\nThe Wolf gnashed his teeth and said:\n\n\"Is it not enough reward for you that I did not bite off your head when\nit was between my teeth?\"\n\n\nTHE HARES AND THE FROGS\n\nThe Hares once got together, and began to complain about their life:\n\n\"We perish from men, and from dogs, and from eagles, and from all the\nother beasts. It would be better to die at once than to live in fright\nand suffer. Come, let us drown ourselves!\"\n\nAnd the Hares raced away to drown themselves in a lake. The Frogs heard\nthe Hares and plumped into the water. So one of the Hares said:\n\n\"Wait, boys! Let us put off the drowning! Evidently the Frogs are having\na harder life than we: they are afraid even of us.\"\n\n\nTHE FATHER AND HIS SONS\n\nA Father told his Sons to live in peace: they paid no attention to him.\nSo he told them to bring the bath broom, and said:\n\n\"Break it!\"\n\nNo matter how much they tried, they could not break it. Then the Father\nunclosed the broom, and told them to break the rods singly. They broke\nit.\n\nThe Father said:\n\n\"So it is with you: if you live in peace, no one will overcome you; but\nif you quarrel, and are divided, any one will easily ruin you.\"\n\n\nTHE FOX\n\nA Fox got caught in a trap. She tore off her tail, and got away. She\nbegan to contrive how to cover up her shame. She called together the\nFoxes, and begged them to cut off their tails.\n\n\"A tail,\" she said, \"is a useless thing. In vain do we drag along a dead\nweight.\"\n\nOne of the Foxes said:\n\n\"You would not be speaking thus, if you were not tailless!\"\n\nThe tailless Fox grew silent and went away.\n\n\nTHE WILD ASS AND THE TAME ASS\n\nA Wild Ass saw a Tame Ass. The Wild Ass went up to him and began to\npraise his life, saying how smooth his body was, and what sweet feed he\nreceived. Later, when the Tame Ass was loaded down, and a driver began\nto goad him with a stick, the Wild Ass said:\n\n\"No, brother, I do not envy you: I see that your life is going hard with\nyou.\"\n\n\nTHE STAG\n\nA Stag went to the brook to quench his thirst. He saw himself in the\nwater, and began to admire his horns, seeing how large and branching\nthey were; and he looked at his feet, and said: \"But my feet are\nunseemly and thin.\"\n\nSuddenly a Lion sprang out and made for the Stag. The Stag started to\nrun over the open plain. He was getting away, but there came a forest,\nand his horns caught in the branches, and the lion caught him. As the\nStag was dying, he said:\n\n\"How foolish I am! That which I thought to be unseemly and thin was\nsaving me, and what I gloried in has been my ruin.\"\n\n\nTHE DOG AND THE WOLF\n\nA Dog fell asleep back of the yard. A Wolf ran up and wanted to eat him.\n\nSaid the Dog:\n\n\"Wolf, don't eat me yet: now I am lean and bony. Wait a little,--my\nmaster is going to celebrate a wedding; then I shall have plenty to eat;\nI shall grow fat. It will be better to eat me then.\"\n\nThe Wolf believed her, and went away. Then he came a second time, and\nsaw the Dog lying on the roof. The Wolf said to her:\n\n\"Well, have they had the wedding?\"\n\nThe Dog replied:\n\n\"Listen, Wolf! If you catch me again asleep in front of the yard, do not\nwait for the wedding.\"\n\n\nTHE GNAT AND THE LION\n\nA Gnat came to a Lion, and said:\n\n\"Do you think that you have more strength than I? You are mistaken! What\ndoes your strength consist in? Is it that you scratch with your claws,\nand gnaw with your teeth? That is the way the women quarrel with their\nhusbands. I am stronger than you: if you wish let us fight!\"\n\nAnd the Gnat sounded his horn, and began to bite the Lion on his bare\ncheeks and his nose. The Lion struck his face with his paws and\nscratched it with his claws. He tore his face until the blood came, and\ngave up.\n\nThe Gnat trumpeted for joy, and flew away. Then he became entangled in a\nspider's web, and the spider began to suck him up. The Gnat said:\n\n\"I have vanquished the strong beast, the Lion, and now I perish from\nthis nasty spider.\"\n\n\nTHE HORSE AND HIS MASTERS\n\nA gardener had a Horse. She had much to do, but little to eat; so she\nbegan to pray to God to get another master. And so it happened. The\ngardener sold the Horse to a potter. The Horse was glad, but the potter\nhad even more work for her to do. And again the Horse complained of her\nlot, and began to pray that she might get a better master. And this\nprayer, too, was fulfilled. The potter sold the Horse to a tanner. When\nthe Horse saw the skins of horses in the tanner's yard, she began to\ncry:\n\n\"Woe to me, wretched one! It would be better if I could stay with my old\nmasters. It is evident they have sold me now not for work, but for my\nskin's sake.\"\n\n\nTHE OLD MAN AND DEATH\n\nAn Old Man cut some wood, which he carried away. He had to carry it far.\nHe grew tired, so he put down his bundle, and said:\n\n\"Oh, if Death would only come!\"\n\nDeath came, and said:\n\n\"Here I am, what do you want?\"\n\nThe Old Man was frightened, and said:\n\n\"Lift up my bundle!\"\n\n\nTHE LION AND THE FOX\n\nA Lion, growing old, was unable to catch the animals, and so intended to\nlive by cunning. He went into a den, lay down there, and pretended that\nhe was sick. The animals came to see him, and he ate up those that went\ninto his den. The Fox guessed the trick. She stood at the entrance of\nthe den, and said:\n\n\"Well, Lion, how are you feeling?\"\n\nThe Lion answered:\n\n\"Poorly. Why don't you come in?\"\n\nThe Fox replied:\n\n\"I do not come in because I see by the tracks that many have entered,\nbut none have come out.\"\n\n\nTHE STAG AND THE VINEYARD\n\nA Stag hid himself from the hunters in a vineyard. When the hunters\nmissed him, the Stag began to nibble at the grape-vine leaves.\n\nThe hunters noticed that the leaves were moving, and so they thought,\n\"There must be an animal under those leaves,\" and fired their guns, and\nwounded the Stag.\n\nThe Stag said, dying:\n\n\"It serves me right for wanting to eat the leaves that saved me.\"\n\n\nTHE CAT AND THE MICE\n\nA house was overrun with Mice. A Cat found his way into the house, and\nbegan to catch them. The Mice saw that matters were bad, and said:\n\n\"Mice, let us not come down from the ceiling! The Cat cannot get up\nthere.\"\n\nWhen the Mice stopped coming down, the Cat decided that he must catch\nthem by a trick. He grasped the ceiling with one leg, hung down from it,\nand made believe that he was dead.\n\nA Mouse looked out at him, but said:\n\n\"No, my friend! Even if you should turn into a bag, I would not go up to\nyou.\"\n\n\nTHE WOLF AND THE GOAT\n\nA Wolf saw a Goat browsing on a rocky mountain, and he could not get at\nher; so he said to her:\n\n\"Come down lower! The place is more even, and the grass is much sweeter\nto feed on.\"\n\nBut the Goat answered:\n\n\"You are not calling me down for that, Wolf: you are troubling yourself\nnot about my food, but about yours.\"\n\n\nTHE REEDS AND THE OLIVE-TREE\n\nThe Olive-tree and the Reeds quarrelled about who was stronger and\nsounder. The Olive-tree laughed at the Reeds because they bent in every\nwind. The Reeds kept silence. A storm came: the Reeds swayed, tossed,\nbowed to the ground,--and remained unharmed. The Olive-tree strained her\nbranches against the wind,--and broke.\n\n\nTHE TWO COMPANIONS\n\nTwo Companions were walking through the forest when a Bear jumped out on\nthem. One started to run, climbed a tree, and hid himself, but the other\nremained in the road. He had nothing to do, so he fell down on the\nground and pretended that he was dead.\n\nThe Bear went up to him, and sniffed at him; but he had stopped\nbreathing.\n\nThe Bear sniffed at his face; he thought that he was dead, and so went\naway.\n\nWhen the Bear was gone, the Companion climbed down from the tree and\nlaughing, said: \"What did the Bear whisper in your ear?\"\n\n\"He told me that those who in danger run away from their companions are\nbad people.\"\n\n\nTHE WOLF AND THE LAMB\n\nA Wolf saw a Lamb drinking at a river. The Wolf wanted to eat the Lamb,\nand so he began to annoy him. He said:\n\n\"You are muddling my water and do not let me drink.\"\n\nThe Lamb said:\n\n\"How can I muddle your water? I am standing downstream from you;\nbesides, I drink with the tips of my lips.\"\n\nAnd the Wolf said:\n\n\"Well, why did you call my father names last summer?\"\n\nThe Lamb said:\n\n\"But, Wolf, I was not yet born last summer.\"\n\nThe Wolf got angry, and said:\n\n\"It is hard to get the best of you. Besides, my stomach is empty, so I\nwill devour you.\"\n\n\nTHE LION, THE WOLF, AND THE FOX\n\nAn old, sick Lion was lying in his den. All the animals came to see the\nking, but the Fox kept away. So the Wolf was glad of the chance, and\nbegan to slander the Fox before the Lion.\n\n\"She does not esteem you in the least,\" he said, \"she has not come once\nto see the king.\"\n\nThe Fox happened to run by as he was saying these words. She heard what\nthe Wolf had said, and thought:\n\n\"Wait, Wolf, I will get my revenge on you.\"\n\nSo the Lion began to roar at the Fox, but she said:\n\n\"Do not have me killed, but let me say a word! I did not come to see you\nbecause I had no time. And I had no time because I ran over the whole\nworld to ask the doctors for a remedy for you. I have just got it, and\nso I have come to see you.\"\n\nThe Lion said:\n\n\"What is the remedy?\"\n\n\"It is this: if you flay a live Wolf, and put his warm hide on you--\"\n\nWhen the Lion stretched out the Wolf, the Fox laughed, and said:\n\n\"That's it, my friend: masters ought to be led to do good, not evil.\"\n\n\nTHE LION, THE ASS, AND THE FOX\n\nThe Lion, the Ass, and the Fox went out to hunt. They caught a large\nnumber of animals, and the Lion told the Ass to divide them up. The Ass\ndivided them into three equal parts and said: \"Now, take them!\"\n\nThe Lion grew angry, ate up the Ass, and told the Fox to divide them up\nanew. The Fox collected them all into one heap, and left a small bit for\nherself. The Lion looked at it and said:\n\n\"Clever Fox! Who taught you to divide so well?\"\n\nShe said:\n\n\"What about that Ass?\"\n\n\nTHE PEASANT AND THE WATER-SPRITE\n\nA Peasant lost his axe in the river; he sat down on the bank in grief,\nand began to weep.\n\nThe Water-sprite heard the Peasant and took pity on him. He brought a\ngold axe out of the river, and said: \"Is this your axe?\"\n\nThe Peasant said: \"No, it is not mine.\"\n\nThe Water-sprite brought another, a silver axe.\n\nAgain the Peasant said: \"It is not my axe.\"\n\nThen the Water-sprite brought out the real axe.\n\nThe Peasant said: \"Now this is my axe.\"\n\nThe Water-sprite made the Peasant a present of all three axes, for\nhaving told the truth.\n\nAt home the Peasant showed his axes to his friends, and told them what\nhad happened to him.\n\nOne of the peasants made up his mind to do the same: he went to the\nriver, purposely threw his axe into the water, sat down on the bank, and\nbegan to weep.\n\nThe Water-sprite brought out a gold axe, and asked: \"Is this your axe?\"\n\nThe Peasant was glad, and called out: \"It is mine, mine!\"\n\nThe Water-sprite did not give him the gold axe, and did not bring him\nback his own either, because he had told an untruth.\n\n\nTHE RAVEN AND THE FOX\n\nA Raven got himself a piece of meat, and sat down on a tree. The Fox\nwanted to get it from him. She went up to him, and said:\n\n\"Oh, Raven, as I look at you,--from your size and beauty,--you ought to\nbe a king! And you would certainly be a king, if you had a good voice.\"\n\nThe Raven opened his mouth wide, and began to croak with all his might\nand main. The meat fell down. The Fox caught it and said:\n\n\"Oh, Raven! If you had also sense, you would certainly be a king.\"\n\n\n\n\nII. ADAPTATIONS AND IMITATIONS OF HINDOO FABLES\n\n\nTHE SNAKE'S HEAD AND TAIL\n\nThe Snake's Tail had a quarrel with the Snake's Head about who was to\nwalk in front. The Head said:\n\n\"You cannot walk in front, because you have no eyes and no ears.\"\n\nThe Tail said:\n\n\"Yes, but I have strength, I move you; if I want to, I can wind myself\naround a tree, and you cannot get off the spot.\"\n\nThe Head said:\n\n\"Let us separate!\"\n\nAnd the Tail tore himself loose from the Head, and crept on; but the\nmoment he got away from the Head, he fell into a hole and was lost.\n\n\nFINE THREAD\n\nA Man ordered some fine thread from a Spinner. The Spinner spun it for\nhim, but the Man said that the thread was not good, and that he wanted\nthe finest thread he could get. The Spinner said:\n\n\"If this is not fine enough, take this!\" and she pointed to an empty\nspace.\n\nHe said that he did not see any. The Spinner said:\n\n\"You do not see it, because it is so fine. I do not see it myself.\"\n\nThe Fool was glad, and ordered some more thread of this kind, and paid\nher for what he got.\n\n\nTHE PARTITION OF THE INHERITANCE\n\nA Father had two Sons. He said to them: \"When I die, divide everything\ninto two equal parts.\"\n\nWhen the Father died, the Sons could not divide without quarrelling.\nThey went to a Neighbour to have him settle the matter. The Neighbour\nasked them how their Father had told them to divide. They said:\n\n\"He ordered us to divide everything into two equal parts.\"\n\nThe Neighbour said:\n\n\"If so, tear all your garments into two halves, break your dishes into\ntwo halves, and cut all your cattle into two halves!\"\n\nThe Brothers obeyed their Neighbour, and lost everything.\n\n\nTHE MONKEY\n\nA Man went into the woods, cut down a tree, and began to saw it. He\nraised the end of the tree on a stump, sat astride over it, and began to\nsaw. Then he drove a wedge into the split that he had sawed, and went on\nsawing; then he took out the wedge and drove it in farther down.\n\nA Monkey was sitting on a tree and watching him. When the Man lay down\nto sleep, the Monkey seated herself astride the tree, and wanted to do\nthe same; but when she took out the wedge, the tree sprang back and\ncaught her tail. She began to tug and to cry. The Man woke up, beat the\nMonkey, and tied a rope to her.\n\n\nTHE MONKEY AND THE PEASE\n\nA Monkey was carrying both her hands full of pease. A pea dropped on the\nground; the Monkey wanted to pick it up, and dropped twenty peas. She\nrushed to pick them up and lost all the rest. Then she flew into a\nrage, swept away all the pease and ran off.\n\n\nTHE MILCH COW\n\nA Man had a Cow; she gave each day a pot full of milk. The Man invited a\nnumber of guests. To have as much milk as possible, he did not milk the\nCow for ten days. He thought that on the tenth day the Cow would give\nhim ten pitchers of milk.\n\nBut the Cow's milk went back, and she gave less milk than before.\n\n\nTHE DUCK AND THE MOON\n\nA Duck was swimming in the pond, trying to find some fish, but she did\nnot find one in a whole day. When night came, she saw the Moon in the\nwater; she thought that it was a fish, and plunged in to catch the Moon.\nThe other ducks saw her do it and laughed at her.\n\nThat made the Duck feel so ashamed and bashful that when she saw a fish\nunder the Water, she did not try to catch it, and so died of hunger.\n\n\nTHE WOLF IN THE DUST\n\nA Wolf wanted to pick a sheep out of a flock, and stepped into the wind,\nso that the dust of the flock might blow on him.\n\nThe Sheep Dog saw him, and said:\n\n\"There is no sense, Wolf, in your walking in the dust: it will make your\neyes ache.\"\n\nBut the Wolf said:\n\n\"The trouble is, Doggy, that my eyes have been aching for quite awhile,\nand I have been told that the dust from a flock of sheep will cure the\neyes.\"\n\n\nTHE MOUSE UNDER THE GRANARY\n\nA Mouse was living under the granary. In the floor of the granary there\nwas a little hole, and the grain fell down through it. The Mouse had an\neasy life of it, but she wanted to brag of her ease: she gnawed a larger\nhole in the floor, and invited other mice.\n\n\"Come to a feast with me,\" said she; \"there will be plenty to eat for\neverybody.\"\n\nWhen she brought the mice, she saw there was no hole. The peasant had\nnoticed the big hole in the floor, and had stopped it up.\n\n\nTHE BEST PEARS\n\nA master sent his Servant to buy the best-tasting pears. The Servant\ncame to the shop and asked for pears. The dealer gave him some; but the\nServant said:\n\n\"No, give me the best!\"\n\nThe dealer said:\n\n\"Try one; you will see that they taste good.\"\n\n\"How shall I know,\" said the Servant, \"that they all taste good, if I\ntry one only?\"\n\nHe bit off a piece from each pear, and brought them to his master. Then\nhis master sent him away.\n\n\nTHE FALCON AND THE COCK\n\nThe Falcon was used to the master, and came to his hand when he was\ncalled; the Cock ran away from his master and cried when people went up\nto him. So the Falcon said to the Cock:\n\n\"In you Cocks there is no gratitude; one can see that you are of a\ncommon breed. You go to your masters only when you are hungry. It is\ndifferent with us wild birds. We have much strength, and we can fly\nfaster than anybody; still we do not fly away from people, but of our\nown accord go to their hands when we are called. We remember that they\nfeed us.\"\n\nThen the Cock said:\n\n\"You do not run away from people because you have never seen a roast\nFalcon, but we, you know, see roast Cocks.\"\n\n\nTHE JACKALS AND THE ELEPHANT\n\nThe Jackals had eaten up all the carrion in the woods, and had nothing\nto eat. So an old Jackal was thinking how to find something to feed on.\nHe went to an Elephant, and said:\n\n\"We had a king, but he became overweening: he told us to do things that\nnobody could do; we want to choose another king, and my people have sent\nme to ask you to be our king. You will have an easy life with us.\nWhatever you will order us to do, we will do, and we will honour you in\neverything. Come to our kingdom!\"\n\nThe Elephant consented, and followed the Jackal. The Jackal brought him\nto a swamp. When the Elephant stuck fast in it, the Jackal said:\n\n\"Now command! Whatever you command, we will do.\"\n\nThe Elephant said:\n\n\"I command you to pull me out from here.\"\n\nThe Jackal began to laugh, and said:\n\n\"Take hold of my tail with your trunk, and I will pull you out at once.\"\n\nThe Elephant said:\n\n\"Can I be pulled out by a tail?\"\n\nBut the Jackal said to him:\n\n\"Why, then, do you command us to do what is impossible? Did we not drive\naway our first king for telling us to do what could not be done?\"\n\nWhen the Elephant died in the swamp the Jackals came and ate him up.\n\n\nTHE HERON, THE FISHES, AND THE CRAB\n\nA Heron was living near a pond. She grew old, and had no strength left\nwith which to catch the fish. She began to contrive how to live by\ncunning. So she said to the Fishes:\n\n\"You Fishes do not know that a calamity is in store for you: I have\nheard the people say that they are going to let off the pond, and catch\nevery one of you. I know of a nice little pond back of the mountain. I\nshould like to help you, but I am old, and it is hard for me to fly.\"\n\nThe Fishes begged the Heron to help them. So the Heron said:\n\n\"All right, I will do what I can for you, and will carry you over: only\nI cannot do it at once,--I will take you there one after another.\"\n\nAnd the Fishes were happy; they kept begging her: \"Carry me over! Carry\nme over!\"\n\nAnd the Heron started carrying them. She would take one up, would carry\nher into the field, and would eat her up. And thus she ate a large\nnumber of Fishes.\n\nIn the pond there lived an old Crab. When the Heron began to take out\nthe Fishes, he saw what was up, and said:\n\n\"Now, Heron, take me to the new abode!\"\n\nThe Heron took the Crab and carried him off. When she flew out on the\nfield, she wanted to throw the Crab down. But the Crab saw the\nfish-bones on the ground, and so squeezed the Heron's neck with his\nclaws, and choked her to death. Then he crawled back to the pond, and\ntold the Fishes.\n\n\nTHE WATER-SPRITE AND THE PEARL\n\nA Man was rowing in a boat, and dropped a costly pearl into the sea. The\nMan returned to the shore, took a pail, and began to draw up the water\nand to pour it out on the land. He drew the water and poured it out for\nthree days without stopping.\n\nOn the fourth day the Water-sprite came out of the sea, and asked:\n\n\"Why are you drawing the water?\"\n\nThe Man said:\n\n\"I am drawing it because I have dropped a pearl into it.\"\n\nThe Water-sprite asked him:\n\n\"Will you stop soon?\"\n\nThe Man said:\n\n\"I will stop when I dry up the sea.\"\n\nThen the Water-sprite returned to the sea, brought back that pearl, and\ngave it to the Man.\n\n\nTHE BLIND MAN AND THE MILK\n\nA Man born blind asked a Seeing Man:\n\n\"Of what colour is milk?\"\n\nThe Seeing Man said: \"The colour of milk is the same as that of white\npaper.\"\n\nThe Blind Man asked: \"Well, does that colour rustle in your hands like\npaper?\"\n\nThe Seeing Man said: \"No, it is as white as white flour.\"\n\nThe Blind Man asked: \"Well, is it as soft and as powdery as flour?\"\n\nThe Seeing Man said: \"No, it is simply as white as a white hare.\"\n\nThe Blind Man asked: \"Well, is it as fluffy and soft as a hare?\"\n\nThe Seeing Man said: \"No, it is as white as snow.\"\n\nThe Blind Man asked: \"Well, is it as cold as snow?\"\n\nAnd no matter how many examples the Seeing Man gave, the Blind Man was\nunable to understand what the white colour of milk was like.\n\n\nTHE WOLF AND THE BOW\n\nA hunter went out to hunt with bow and arrows. He killed a goat. He\nthrew her on his shoulders and carried her along. On his way he saw a\nboar. He threw down the goat, and shot at the boar and wounded him. The\nboar rushed against the hunter and butted him to death, and himself died\non the spot. A Wolf scented the blood, and came to the place where lay\nthe goat, the boar, the man, and his bow. The Wolf was glad, and said:\n\n\"Now I shall have enough to eat for a long time; only I will not eat\neverything at once, but little by little, so that nothing may be lost:\nfirst I will eat the tougher things, and then I will lunch on what is\nsoft and sweet.\"\n\nThe Wolf sniffed at the goat, the boar, and the man, and said:\n\n\"This is all soft food, so I will eat it later; let me first start on\nthese sinews of the bow.\"\n\nAnd he began to gnaw the sinews of the bow. When he bit through the\nstring, the bow sprang back and hit him on his belly. He died on the\nspot, and other wolves ate up the man, the goat, the boar, and the Wolf.\n\n\nTHE BIRDS IN THE NET\n\nA Hunter set out a net near a lake and caught a number of birds. The\nbirds were large, and they raised the net and flew away with it. The\nHunter ran after them. A Peasant saw the Hunter running, and said:\n\n\"Where are you running? How can you catch up with the birds, while you\nare on foot?\"\n\nThe Hunter said:\n\n\"If it were one bird, I should not catch it, but now I shall.\"\n\nAnd so it happened. When evening came, the birds began to pull for the\nnight each in a different direction: one to the woods, another to the\nswamp, a third to the field; and all fell with the net to the ground,\nand the Hunter caught them.\n\n\nTHE KING AND THE FALCON\n\nA certain King let his favourite Falcon loose on a hare, and galloped\nafter him.\n\nThe Falcon caught the hare. The King took him away, and began to look\nfor some water to drink. The King found it on a knoll, but it came only\ndrop by drop. The King fetched his cup from the saddle, and placed it\nunder the water. The Water flowed in drops, and when the cup was filled,\nthe King raised it to his mouth and wanted to drink it. Suddenly the\nFalcon fluttered on the King's arm and spilled the water. The King\nplaced the cup once more under the drops. He waited for a long time for\nthe cup to be filled even with the brim, and again, as he carried it to\nhis mouth, the Falcon flapped his wings and spilled the water.\n\nWhen the King filled his cup for the third time and began to carry it to\nhis mouth, the Falcon again spilled it. The King flew into a rage and\nkilled him by flinging him against a stone with all his force. Just then\nthe King's servants rode up, and one of them ran up-hill to the spring,\nto find as much water as possible, and to fill the cup. But the servant\ndid not bring the water; he returned with the empty cup, and said:\n\n\"You cannot drink that water; there is a snake in the spring, and she\nhas let her venom into the water. It is fortunate that the Falcon has\nspilled the water. If you had drunk it, you would have died.\"\n\nThe King said:\n\n\"How badly I have repaid the Falcon! He has saved my life, and I killed\nhim.\"\n\n\nTHE KING AND THE ELEPHANTS\n\nAn Indian King ordered all the Blind People to be assembled, and when\nthey came, he ordered that all the Elephants be shown to them. The Blind\nMen went to the stable and began to feel the Elephants. One felt a leg,\nanother a tail, a third the stump of a tail, a fourth a belly, a fifth a\nback, a sixth the ears, a seventh the tusks, and an eighth a trunk.\n\nThen the King called the Blind Men, and asked them: \"What are my\nElephants like?\"\n\nOne Blind Man said: \"Your Elephants are like posts.\" He had felt the\nlegs.\n\nAnother Blind Man said: \"They are like bath brooms.\" He had felt the end\nof the tail.\n\nA third said: \"They are like branches.\" He had felt the tail stump.\n\nThe one who had touched a belly said: \"The Elephants are like a clod of\nearth.\"\n\nThe one who had touched the sides said: \"They are like a wall.\"\n\nThe one who had touched a back said: \"They are like a mound.\"\n\nThe one who had touched the ears said: \"They are like a mortar.\"\n\nThe one who had touched the tusks said: \"They are like horns.\"\n\nThe one who had touched the trunk said that they were like a stout rope.\n\nAnd all the Blind Men began to dispute and to quarrel.\n\n\nWHY THERE IS EVIL IN THE WORLD\n\nA Hermit was living in the forest, and the animals were not afraid of\nhim. He and the animals talked together and understood each other.\n\nOnce the Hermit lay down under a tree, and a Raven a Dove, a Stag, and\na Snake gathered in the same place, to pass the night. The animals began\nto discuss why there was evil in the world.\n\nThe Raven said:\n\n\"All the evil in the world comes from hunger. When I eat my fill, I sit\ndown on a branch and croak a little, and it is all jolly and good, and\neverything gives me pleasure; but let me just go without eating a day or\ntwo, and everything palls on me so that I do not feel like looking at\nGod's world. And something draws me on, and I fly from place to place,\nand have no rest. When I catch a glimpse of some meat, it makes me only\nfeel sicker than ever, and I make for it without much thinking. At times\nthey throw sticks and stones at me, and the wolves and dogs grab me, but\nI do not give in. Oh, how many of my brothers are perishing through\nhunger! All evil comes from hunger.\"\n\nThe Dove said:\n\n\"According to my opinion, the evil does not come from hunger, but from\nlove. If we lived singly, the trouble would not be so bad. One head is\nnot poor, and if it is, it is only one. But here we live in pairs. And\nyou come to like your mate so much that you have no rest: you keep\nthinking of her all the time, wondering whether she has had enough to\neat, and whether she is warm. And when your mate flies away from you,\nyou feel entirely lost, and you keep thinking that a hawk may have\ncarried her off, or men may have caught her; and you start out to find\nher, and fly to your ruin,--either into the hawk's claws, or into a\nsnare. And when your mate is lost, nothing gives you any joy. You do not\neat or drink, and all the time search and weep. Oh, so many of us perish\nin this way! All the evil is not from hunger, but from love.\"\n\nThe Snake said:\n\n\"No, the evil is not from hunger, nor from love, but from rage. If we\nlived peacefully, without getting into a rage, everything would be nice\nfor us. But, as it is, whenever a thing does not go exactly right, we\nget angry, and then nothing pleases us. All we think about is how to\nrevenge ourselves on some one. Then we forget ourselves, and only hiss,\nand creep, and try to find some one to bite. And we do not spare a\nsoul,--we even bite our own father and mother. We feel as though we\ncould eat ourselves up. And we rage until we perish. All the evil in the\nWorld comes from rage.\"\n\nThe Stag said:\n\n\"No, not from rage, or from love, or from hunger does all the evil in\nthe world come, but from terror. If it were possible not to be afraid,\neverything would be well. We have swift feet and much strength: against\na small animal we defend ourselves with our horns, and from a large one\nwe flee. But how can I help becoming frightened? Let a branch crackle in\nthe forest, or a leaf rustle, and I am all atremble with fear, and my\nheart flutters as though it wanted to jump out, and I fly as fast as I\ncan. Again, let a hare run by, or a bird flap its wings, or a dry twig\nbreak off, and you think that it is a beast, and you run straight up\nagainst him. Or you run away from a dog and run into the hands of a man.\nFrequently you get frightened and run, not knowing whither, and at full\nspeed rush down a steep hill, and get killed. We have no rest. All the\nevil comes from terror.\"\n\nThen the Hermit said:\n\n\"Not from hunger, not from love, not from rage, not from terror are all\nour sufferings, but from our bodies comes all the evil in the world.\nFrom them come hunger, and love, and rage, and terror.\"\n\n\nTHE WOLF AND THE HUNTERS\n\nA Wolf devoured a sheep. The Hunters caught the Wolf and began to beat\nhim. The Wolf said:\n\n\"In vain do you beat me: it is not my fault that I am gray,--God has\nmade me so.\"\n\nBut the Hunters said:\n\n\"We do not beat the Wolf for being gray, but for eating the sheep.\"\n\n\nTHE TWO PEASANTS\n\nOnce upon a time two Peasants drove toward each other and caught in each\nother's sleighs. One cried:\n\n\"Get out of my way,--I am hurrying to town.\"\n\nBut the other said:\n\n\"Get out of my way, I am hurrying home.\"\n\nThey quarrelled for some time. A third Peasant saw them and said:\n\n\"If you are in a hurry, back up!\"\n\n\nTHE PEASANT AND THE HORSE\n\nA Peasant went to town to fetch some oats for his Horse. He had barely\nleft the village, when the Horse began to turn around, toward the house.\nThe Peasant struck the Horse with his whip. She went on, and kept\nthinking about the Peasant:\n\n\"Whither is that fool driving me? He had better go home.\"\n\nBefore reaching town, the Peasant saw that the Horse trudged along\nthrough the mud with difficulty, so he turned her on the pavement; but\nthe Horse began to turn back from the street. The Peasant gave the Horse\nthe whip, and jerked at the reins; she went on the pavement, and\nthought:\n\n\"Why has he turned me on the pavement? It will only break my hoofs. It\nis rough underfoot.\"\n\nThe Peasant went to the shop, bought the oats, and drove home. When he\ncame home, he gave the Horse some oats. The Horse ate them and thought:\n\n\"How stupid men are! They are fond of exercising their wits on us, but\nthey have less sense than we. What did he trouble himself about? He\ndrove me somewhere. No matter how far we went, we came home in the end.\nSo it would have been better if we had remained at home from the start:\nhe could have been sitting on the oven, and I eating oats.\"\n\n\nTHE TWO HORSES\n\nTwo Horses were drawing their carts. The Front Horse pulled well, but\nthe Hind Horse kept stopping all the time. The load of the Hind Horse\nwas transferred to the front cart; when all was transferred, the Hind\nHorse went along with ease, and said to the Front Horse:\n\n\"Work hard and sweat! The more you try, the harder they will make you\nwork.\"\n\nWhen they arrived at the tavern, their master said:\n\n\"Why should I feed two Horses, and haul with one only? I shall do better\nto give one plenty to eat, and to kill the other: I shall at least have\nher hide.\"\n\nSo he did.\n\n\nTHE AXE AND THE SAW\n\nTwo Peasants went to the forest to cut wood. One of them had an axe, and\nthe other a saw. They picked out a tree, and began to dispute. One said\nthat the tree had to be chopped, while the other said that it had to be\nsawed down.\n\nA third Peasant said:\n\n\"I will easily make peace between you: if the axe is sharp, you had\nbetter chop it; but if the saw is sharp you had better saw it.\"\n\nHe took the axe, and began to chop it; but the axe was so dull that it\nwas not possible to cut with it. Then he took the saw; the saw was\nworthless, and did not saw. So he said:\n\n\"Stop quarrelling awhile; the axe does not chop, and the saw does not\nsaw. First grind your axe and file your saw, and then quarrel.\"\n\nBut the Peasants grew angrier still at one another, because one had a\ndull axe, and the other a dull saw. And they came to blows.\n\n\nTHE DOGS AND THE COOK\n\nA Cook was preparing a dinner. The Dogs were lying at the kitchen door.\nThe Cook killed a calf and threw the guts out into the yard. The Dogs\npicked them up and ate them, and said:\n\n\"He is a good Cook: he cooks well.\"\n\nAfter awhile the Cook began to clean pease, turnips, and onions, and\nthrew out the refuse. The Dogs made for it; but they turned their noses\nup, and said:\n\n\"Our Cook has grown worse: he used to cook well, but now he is no longer\nany good.\"\n\nBut the Cook paid no attention to the Dogs, and continued to fix the\ndinner in his own way. The family, and not the Dogs, ate the dinner, and\npraised it.\n\n\nTHE HARE AND THE HARRIER\n\nA Hare once said to a Harrier:\n\n\"Why do you bark when you run after us? You would catch us easier, if\nyou ran after us in silence. With your bark you only drive us against\nthe hunter: he hears where we are running; and he rushes out with his\ngun and kills us, and does not give you anything.\"\n\nThe Harrier said:\n\n\"That is not the reason why I bark. I bark because, when I scent your\nodour, I am angry, and happy because I am about to catch you; I do not\nknow why, but I cannot keep from barking.\"\n\n\nTHE OAK AND THE HAZELBUSH\n\nAn old Oak dropped an acorn under a Hazelbush. The Hazelbush said to the\nOak:\n\n\"Have you not enough space under your own branches? Drop your acorns in\nan open space. Here I am myself crowded by my shoots, and I do not drop\nmy nuts to the ground, but give them to men.\"\n\n\"I have lived for two hundred years,\" said the Oak, \"and the Oakling\nwhich will sprout from that acorn will live just as long.\"\n\nThen the Hazelbush flew into a rage, and said:\n\n\"If so, I will choke your Oakling, and he will not live for three days.\"\n\nThe Oak made no reply, but told his son to sprout out of that acorn. The\nacorn got wet and burst, and clung to the ground with his crooked\nrootlet, and sent up a sprout.\n\nThe Hazelbush tried to choke him, and gave him no sun. But the Oakling\nspread upwards and grew stronger in the shade of the Hazelbush. A\nhundred years passed. The Hazelbush had long ago dried up, but the Oak\nfrom that acorn towered to the sky and spread his tent in all\ndirections.\n\n\nTHE HEN AND THE CHICKS\n\nA Hen hatched some Chicks, but did not know how to take care of them. So\nshe said to them:\n\n\"Creep back into your shells! When you are inside your shells, I will\nsit on you as before, and will take care of you.\"\n\nThe Chicks did as they were ordered and tried to creep into their\nshells, but were unable to do so, and only crushed their wings. Then one\nof the Chicks said to his mother:\n\n\"If we are to stay all the time in our shells, you ought never to have\nhatched us.\"\n\n\nTHE CORN-CRAKE AND HIS MATE\n\nA Corn-crake had made a nest in the meadow late in the year, and at\nmowing time his Mate was still sitting on her eggs. Early in the morning\nthe peasants came to the meadow, took off the coats, whetted their\nscythes, and started one after another to mow down the grass and to put\nit down in rows. The Corn-crake flew up to see what the mowers were\ndoing. When he saw a peasant swing his scythe and cut a snake in two, he\nrejoiced and flew back to his Mate and said:\n\n\"Don't fear the peasants! They have come to cut the snakes to pieces;\nthey have given us no rest for quite awhile.\"\n\nBut his Mate said:\n\n\"The peasants are cutting the grass, and with the grass they are cutting\neverything which is in their way,--the snakes, and the Corn-crake's\nnest, and the Corn-crake's head. My heart forebodes nothing good: but I\ncannot carry away the eggs, nor fly from the nest, for fear of chilling\nthem.\"\n\nWhen the mowers came to the nest of the Corn-crake, one of the peasants\nswung his scythe and cut off the head of the Corn-crake's Mate, and put\nthe eggs in his bosom and gave them to his children to play with.\n\n\nTHE COW AND THE BILLY GOAT\n\nAn old woman had a Cow and a Billy Goat. The two pastured together. At\nmilking the Cow was restless. The old woman brought out some bread and\nsalt, and gave it to the Cow, and said:\n\n\"Stand still, motherkin; take it, take it! I will bring you some more,\nonly stand still.\"\n\nOn the next evening the Goat came home from the field before the Cow,\nand spread his legs, and stood in front of the old woman. The old woman\nwanted to strike him with the towel, but he stood still, and did not\nstir. He remembered that the woman had promised the Cow some bread if\nshe would stand still. When the woman saw that he would not budge, she\npicked up a stick, and beat him with it.\n\nWhen the Goat went away, the woman began once more to feed the Cow with\nbread, and to talk to her.\n\n\"There is no honesty in men,\" thought the Goat. \"I stood still better\nthan the Cow, and was beaten for it.\"\n\nHe stepped aside, took a run, hit against the milk-pail, spilled the\nmilk, and hurt the old woman.\n\n\nTHE FOX'S TAIL\n\nA Man caught a Fox, and asked her:\n\n\"Who has taught you Foxes to cheat the dogs with your tails?\"\n\nThe Fox asked: \"How do you mean, to cheat? We do not cheat the dogs, but\nsimply run from them as fast as we can.\"\n\nThe Man said:\n\n\"Yes, you do cheat them with your tails. When the dogs catch up with you\nand are about to clutch you, you turn your tails to one side; the dogs\nturn sharply after the tail, and then you run in the opposite\ndirection.\"\n\nThe Fox laughed, and said:\n\n\"We do not do so in order to cheat the dogs, but in order to turn\naround; when a dog is after us, and we see that we cannot get away\nstraight ahead, we turn to one side, and in order to do that suddenly,\nwe have to swing the tail to the other side, just as you do with your\narms, when you have to turn around. That is not our invention; God\nhimself invented it when He created us, so that the dogs might not be\nable to catch all the Foxes.\"\n\n\n\n\nSTORIES FOR CHILDREN\n\n1869-1872\n\n\n\n\nSTORIES FOR CHILDREN\n\n\n\n\nTHE FOUNDLING\n\n\nA poor woman had a daughter by the name of M\u00e1sha. M\u00e1sha went in the\nmorning to fetch water, and saw at the door something wrapped in rags.\nWhen she touched the rags, there came from it the sound of \"Ooah, ooah,\nooah!\" M\u00e1sha bent down and saw that it was a tiny, red-skinned baby. It\nwas crying aloud: \"Ooah, ooah!\"\n\nM\u00e1sha took it into her arms and carried it into the house, and gave it\nmilk with a spoon. Her mother said:\n\n\"What have you brought?\"\n\n\"A baby. I found it at our door.\"\n\nThe mother said:\n\n\"We are poor as it is; we have nothing to feed the baby with; I will go\nto the chief and tell him to take the baby.\"\n\nM\u00e1sha began to cry, and said:\n\n\"Mother, the child will not eat much; leave it here! See what red,\nwrinkled little hands and fingers it has!\"\n\nHer mother looked at them, and she felt pity for the child. She did not\ntake the baby away. M\u00e1sha fed and swathed the child, and sang songs to\nit, when it went to sleep.\n\n\n\n\nTHE PEASANT AND THE CUCUMBERS\n\n\nA peasant once went to the gardener's, to steal cucumbers. He crept up\nto the cucumbers, and thought:\n\n\"I will carry off a bag of cucumbers, which I will sell; with the money\nI will buy a hen. The hen will lay eggs, hatch them, and raise a lot of\nchicks. I will feed the chicks and sell them; then I will buy me a young\nsow, and she will bear a lot of pigs. I will sell the pigs, and buy me a\nmare; the mare will foal me some colts. I will raise the colts, and sell\nthem. I will buy me a house, and start a garden. In the garden I will\nsow cucumbers, and will not let them be stolen, but will keep a sharp\nwatch on them. I will hire watchmen, and put them in the cucumber patch,\nwhile I myself will come on them, unawares, and shout: 'Oh, there, keep\na sharp lookout!'\"\n\nAnd this he shouted as loud as he could. The watchmen heard it, and they\nrushed out and beat the peasant.\n\n\n\n\nTHE FIRE\n\n\nDuring harvest-time the men and women went out to work. In the village\nwere left only the old and the very young. In one hut there remained a\ngrandmother with her three grandchildren.\n\nThe grandmother made a fire in the oven, and lay down to rest herself.\nFlies kept alighting on her and biting her. She covered her head with a\ntowel and fell asleep. One of the grandchildren, M\u00e1sha (she was three\nyears old), opened the oven, scraped some coals into a potsherd, and\nwent into the vestibule. In the vestibule lay sheaves: the women were\ngetting them bound.\n\nM\u00e1sha brought the coals, put them under the sheaves, and began to blow.\nWhen the straw caught fire, she was glad; she went into the hut and took\nher brother Kiry\u00fasha by the arm (he was a year and a half old, and had\njust learned to walk), and brought him out, and said to him:\n\n\"See, Kiry\u00fasha, what a fire I have kindled.\"\n\nThe sheaves were already burning and crackling. When the vestibule was\nfilled with smoke, M\u00e1sha became frightened and ran back into the house.\nKiry\u00fasha fell over the threshold, hurt his nose, and began to cry; M\u00e1sha\npulled him into the house, and both hid under a bench.\n\nThe grandmother heard nothing, and did not wake. The elder boy, V\u00e1nya\n(he was eight years old), was in the street. When he saw the smoke\nrolling out of the vestibule, he ran to the door, made his way through\nthe smoke into the house, and began to waken his grandmother; but she\nwas dazed from her sleep, and, forgetting the children, rushed out and\nran to the farmyards to call the people.\n\nIn the meantime M\u00e1sha was sitting under the bench and keeping quiet; but\nthe little boy cried, because he had hurt his nose badly. V\u00e1nya heard\nhis cry, looked under the bench, and called out to M\u00e1sha:\n\n\"Run, you will burn!\"\n\nM\u00e1sha ran to the vestibule, but could not pass for the smoke and fire.\nShe turned back. Then V\u00e1nya raised a window and told her to climb\nthrough it. When she got through, V\u00e1nya picked up his brother and\ndragged him along. But the child was heavy and did not let his brother\ntake him. He cried and pushed V\u00e1nya. V\u00e1nya fell down twice, and when he\ndragged him up to the window, the door of the hut was already burning.\nV\u00e1nya thrust the child's head through the window and wanted to push him\nthrough; but the child took hold of him with both his hands (he was very\nmuch frightened) and would not let them take him out. Then V\u00e1nya cried\nto M\u00e1sha:\n\n\"Pull him by the head!\" while he himself pushed him behind.\n\nAnd thus they pulled him through the window and into the street.\n\n\n\n\nTHE OLD HORSE\n\n\nIn our village there was an old, old man, P\u00edmen Timof\u00e9ich. He was ninety\nyears old. He was living at the house of his grandson, doing no work.\nHis back was bent: he walked with a cane and moved his feet slowly.\n\nHe had no teeth at all, and his face was wrinkled. His nether lip\ntrembled; when he walked and when he talked, his lips smacked, and one\ncould not understand what he was saying.\n\nWe were four brothers, and we were fond of riding. But we had no gentle\nriding-horses. We were allowed to ride only on one horse,--the name of\nthat horse was Raven.\n\nOne day mamma allowed us to ride, and all of us went with the valet to\nthe stable. The coachman saddled Raven for us, and my eldest brother was\nthe first to take a ride. He rode for a long time; he rode to the\nthreshing-floor and around the garden, and when he came back, we\nshouted:\n\n\"Now gallop past us!\"\n\nMy elder brother began to strike Raven with his feet and with the whip,\nand Raven galloped past us.\n\nAfter him, my second brother mounted the horse. He, too, rode for quite\nawhile, and he, too, urged Raven on with the whip and galloped up the\nhill. He wanted to ride longer, but my third brother begged him to let\nhim ride at once.\n\nMy third brother rode to the threshing-floor, and around the garden, and\ndown the village, and raced up-hill to the stable. When he rode up to\nus Raven was panting, and his neck and shoulders were dark from sweat.\n\nWhen my turn came, I wanted to surprise my brothers and to show them how\nwell I could ride, so I began to drive Raven with all my might, but he\ndid not want to get away from the stable. And no matter how much I beat\nhim, he would not run, but only shied and turned back. I grew angry at\nthe horse, and struck him as hard as I could with my feet and with the\nwhip. I tried to strike him in places where it would hurt most; I broke\nthe whip and began to strike his head with what was left of the whip.\nBut Raven would not run. Then I turned back, rode up to the valet, and\nasked him for a stout switch. But the valet said to me:\n\n\"Don't ride any more, sir! Get down! What use is there in torturing the\nhorse?\"\n\nI felt offended, and said:\n\n\"But I have not had a ride yet. Just watch me gallop! Please, give me a\ngood-sized switch! I will heat him up.\"\n\nThen the valet shook his head, and said:\n\n\"Oh, sir, you have no pity; why should you heat him up? He is twenty\nyears old. The horse is worn out; he can barely breathe, and is old. He\nis so very old! Just like P\u00edmen Timof\u00e9ich. You might just as well sit\ndown on Timof\u00e9ich's back and urge him on with a switch. Well, would you\nnot pity him?\"\n\nI thought of P\u00edmen, and listened to the valet's words. I climbed down\nfrom the horse and, when I saw how his sweaty sides hung down, how he\nbreathed heavily through his nostrils, and how he switched his bald\ntail, I understood that it was hard for the horse. Before that I used to\nthink that it was as much fun for him as for me. I felt so sorry for\nRaven that I began to kiss his sweaty neck and to beg his forgiveness\nfor having beaten him.\n\nSince then I have grown to be a big man, and I always am careful with\nthe horses, and always think of Raven and of P\u00edmen Timof\u00e9itch whenever I\nsee anybody torture a horse.\n\n\n\n\nHOW I LEARNED TO RIDE\n\n\nWhen I was a little fellow, we used to study every day, and only on\nSundays and holidays went out and played with our brothers. Once my\nfather said:\n\n\"The children must learn to ride. Send them to the riding-school!\"\n\nI was the youngest of the brothers, and I asked:\n\n\"May I, too, learn to ride?\"\n\nMy father said:\n\n\"You will fall down.\"\n\nI began to beg him to let me learn, and almost cried. My father said:\n\n\"All right, you may go, too. Only look out! Don't cry when you fall off.\nHe who does not once fall down from a horse will not learn to ride.\"\n\nWhen Wednesday came, all three of us were taken to the riding-school. We\nentered by a large porch, and from the large porch went to a smaller\none. Beyond the porch was a very large room: instead of a floor it had\nsand. And in this room were gentlemen and ladies and just such boys as\nwe. That was the riding-school. The riding-school was not very light,\nand there was a smell of horses, and you could hear them snap whips and\ncall to the horses, and the horses strike their hoofs against the wooden\nwalls. At first I was frightened and could not see things well. Then our\nvalet called the riding-master, and said:\n\n\"Give these boys some horses: they are going to learn how to ride.\"\n\nThe master said:\n\n\"All right!\"\n\nThen he looked at me, and said:\n\n\"He is very small, yet.\"\n\nBut the valet said:\n\n\"He promised not to cry when he falls down.\"\n\nThe master laughed and went away.\n\nThen they brought three saddled horses, and we took off our cloaks and\nwalked down a staircase to the riding-school. The master was holding a\nhorse by a cord, and my brothers rode around him. At first they rode at\na slow pace, and later at a trot. Then they brought a pony. It was a red\nhorse, and his tail was cut off. He was called Ruddy. The master\nlaughed, and said to me:\n\n\"Well, young gentleman, get on your horse!\"\n\nI was both happy and afraid, and tried to act in such a manner as not to\nbe noticed by anybody. For a long time I tried to get my foot into the\nstirrup, but could not do it because I was too small. Then the master\nraised me up in his hands and put me on the saddle. He said:\n\n\"The young master is not heavy,--about two pounds in weight, that is\nall.\"\n\nAt first he held me by my hand, but I saw that my brothers were not\nheld, and so I begged him to let go of me. He said:\n\n\"Are you not afraid?\"\n\nI was very much afraid, but I said that I was not. I was so much afraid\nbecause Ruddy kept dropping his ears. I thought he was angry at me. The\nmaster said:\n\n\"Look out, don't fall down!\" and let go of me. At first Ruddy went at a\nslow pace, and I sat up straight. But the saddle was sleek, and I was\nafraid I would slip off. The master asked me:\n\n\"Well, are you fast in the saddle?\"\n\nI said:\n\n\"Yes, I am.\"\n\n\"If so, go at a slow trot!\" and the master clicked his tongue.\n\nRuddy started at a slow trot, and began to jog me. But I kept silent,\nand tried not to slip to one side. The master praised me:\n\n\"Oh, a fine young gentleman, indeed!\"\n\nI was very glad to hear it.\n\nJust then the master's friend went up to him and began to talk with him,\nand the master stopped looking at me.\n\nSuddenly I felt that I had slipped a little to one side on my saddle. I\nwanted to straighten myself up, but was unable to do so. I wanted to\ncall out to the master to stop the horse, but I thought it would be a\ndisgrace if I did it, and so kept silence. The master was not looking at\nme and Ruddy ran at a trot, and I slipped still more to one side. I\nlooked at the master and thought that he would help me, but he was still\ntalking with his friend, and without looking at me kept repeating:\n\n\"Well done, young gentleman!\"\n\nI was now altogether to one side, and was very much frightened. I\nthought that I was lost; but I felt ashamed to cry. Ruddy shook me up\nonce more, and I slipped off entirely and fell to the ground. Then Ruddy\nstopped, and the master looked at the horse and saw that I was not on\nhim. He said:\n\n\"I declare, my young gentleman has dropped off!\" and walked over to me.\n\nWhen I told him that I was not hurt, he laughed and said:\n\n\"A child's body is soft.\"\n\nI felt like crying. I asked him to put me again on the horse, and I was\nlifted on the horse. After that I did not fall down again.\n\nThus we rode twice a week in the riding-school, and I soon learned to\nride well, and was not afraid of anything.\n\n\n\n\nTHE WILLOW\n\n\nDuring Easter week a peasant went out to see whether the ground was all\nthawed out.\n\nHe went into the garden and touched the soil with a stick. The earth was\nsoft. The peasant went into the woods; here the catkins were already\nswelling on the willows. The peasant thought:\n\n\"I will fence my garden with willows; they will grow up and will make a\ngood hedge!\"\n\nHe took his axe, cut down a dozen willows, sharpened them at the end,\nand stuck them in the ground.\n\nAll the willows sent up sprouts with leaves, and underground let out\njust such sprouts for roots; and some of them took hold of the ground\nand grew, and others did not hold well to the ground with their roots,\nand died and fell down.\n\nIn the fall the peasant was glad at the sight of his willows: six of\nthem had taken root. The following spring the sheep killed two willows\nby gnawing at them, and only two were left. Next spring the sheep\nnibbled at these also. One of them was completely ruined, and the other\ncame to, took root, and grew to be a tree. In the spring the bees just\nbuzzed in the willow. In swarming time the swarms were often put out on\nthe willow, and the peasants brushed them in. The men and women\nfrequently ate and slept under the willow, and the children climbed on\nit and broke off rods from it.\n\nThe peasant that had set out the willow was long dead, and still it\ngrew. His eldest son twice cut down its branches and used them for\nfire-wood. The willow kept growing. They trimmed it all around, and cut\nit down to a stump, but in the spring it again sent out twigs, thinner\nones than before, but twice as many as ever, as is the case with a\ncolt's forelock.\n\nAnd the eldest son quit farming, and the village was given up, but the\nwillow grew in the open field. Other peasants came there, and chopped\nthe willow, but still it grew. The lightning struck it; but it sent\nforth side branches, and it grew and blossomed. A peasant wanted to cut\nit down for a block, but he gave it up, it was too rotten. It leaned\nsidewise, and held on with one side only; and still it grew, and every\nyear the bees came there to gather the pollen.\n\nOne day, early in the spring, the boys gathered under the willow, to\nwatch the horses. They felt cold, so they started a fire. They gathered\nstubbles, wormwood, and sticks. One of them climbed on the willow and\nbroke off a lot of twigs. They put it all in the hollow of the willow\nand set fire to it. The tree began to hiss and its sap to boil, and the\nsmoke rose and the tree burned; its whole inside was smudged. The young\nshoots dried up, the blossoms withered.\n\nThe children drove the horses home. The scorched willow was left all\nalone in the field. A black raven flew by, and he sat down on it, and\ncried:\n\n\"So you are dead, old smudge! You ought to have died long ago!\"\n\n\n\n\nB\u00daLKA\n\n\nI had a small bulldog. He was called B\u00falka. He was black; only the tips\nof his front feet were white. All bulldogs have their lower jaws longer\nthan the upper, and the upper teeth come down behind the nether teeth,\nbut B\u00falka's lower jaw protruded so much that I could put my finger\nbetween the two rows of teeth. His face was broad, his eyes large,\nblack, and sparkling; and his teeth and incisors stood out prominently.\nHe was as black as a negro. He was gentle and did not bite, but he was\nstrong and stubborn. If he took hold of a thing, he clenched his teeth\nand clung to it like a rag, and it was not possible to tear him off, any\nmore than as though he were a lobster.\n\nOnce he was let loose on a bear, and he got hold of the bear's ear and\nstuck to him like a leech. The bear struck him with his paws and\nsqueezed him, and shook him from side to side, but could not tear\nhimself loose from him, and so he fell down on his head, in order to\ncrush B\u00falka; but B\u00falka held on to him until they poured cold water over\nhim.\n\nI got him as a puppy, and raised him myself. When I went to the\nCaucasus, I did not want to take him along, and so went away from him\nquietly, ordering him to be shut up. At the first station I was about to\nchange the relay, when suddenly I saw something black and shining coming\ndown the road. It was B\u00falka in his brass collar. He was flying at full\nspeed toward the station. He rushed up to me, licked my hand, and\nstretched himself out in the shade under the cart. His tongue stuck out\na whole hand's length. He now drew it in to swallow the spittle, and\nnow stuck it out again a whole hand's length. He tried to breathe fast,\nbut could not do so, and his sides just shook. He turned from one side\nto the other, and struck his tail against the ground.\n\nI learned later that after I had left he had broken a pane, jumped out\nof the window, and followed my track along the road, and thus raced\ntwenty versts through the greatest heat.\n\n\n\n\nB\u00daLKA AND THE WILD BOAR\n\n\nOnce we went into the Caucasus to hunt the wild boar, and B\u00falka went\nwith me. The moment the hounds started, B\u00falka rushed after them,\nfollowing their sound, and disappeared in the forest. That was in the\nmonth of November; the boars and sows are then very fat.\n\nIn the Caucasus there are many edible fruits in the forests where the\nboars live: wild grapes, cones, apples, pears, blackberries, acorns,\nwild plums. And when all these fruits get ripe and are touched by the\nfrost, the boars eat them and grow fat.\n\nAt that time a boar gets so fat that he cannot run from the dogs. When\nthey chase him for about two hours, he makes for the thicket and there\nstops. Then the hunters run up to the place where he stands, and shoot\nhim. They can tell by the bark of the hounds whether the boar has\nstopped, or is running. If he is running, the hounds yelp, as though\nthey were beaten; but when he stops, they bark as though at a man, with\na howling sound.\n\nDuring that chase I ran for a long time through the forest, but not once\ndid I cross a boar track. Finally I heard the long-drawn bark and howl\nof the hounds, and ran up to that place. I was already near the boar. I\ncould hear the crashing in the thicket. The boar was turning around on\nthe dogs, but I could not tell by the bark that they were not catching\nhim, but only circling around him. Suddenly I heard something rustle\nbehind me, and I saw that it was B\u00falka. He had evidently strayed from\nthe hounds in the forest and had lost his way, and now was hearing their\nbarking and making for them, like me, as fast as he could. He ran\nacross a clearing through the high grass, and all I could see of him was\nhis black head and his tongue clinched between his white teeth. I called\nhim back, but he did not look around, and ran past me and disappeared in\nthe thicket. I ran after him, but the farther I went, the more and more\ndense did the forest grow. The branches kept knocking off my cap and\nstruck me in the face, and the thorns caught in my garments. I was near\nto the barking, but could not see anything.\n\nSuddenly I heard the dogs bark louder, and something crashed loudly, and\nthe boar began to puff and snort. I immediately made up my mind that\nB\u00falka had got up to him and was busy with him. I ran with all my might\nthrough the thicket to that place. In the densest part of the thicket I\nsaw a dappled hound. She was barking and howling in one spot, and within\nthree steps from her something black could be seen moving around.\n\nWhen I came nearer, I could make out the boar, and I heard B\u00falka whining\nshrilly. The boar grunted and made for the hound; the hound took her\ntail between her legs and leaped away. I could see the boar's side and\nhead. I aimed at his side and fired. I saw that I had hit him. The boar\ngrunted and crashed through the thicket away from me. The dogs whimpered\nand barked in his track; I tried to follow them through the undergrowth.\nSuddenly I saw and heard something almost under my feet. It was B\u00falka.\nHe was lying on his side and whining. Under him there was a puddle of\nblood. I thought the dog was lost; but I had no time to look after him,\nI continued to make my way through the thicket. Soon I saw the boar. The\ndogs were trying to catch him from behind, and he kept turning, now to\none side, and now to another. When the boar saw me, he moved toward me.\nI fired a second time, almost resting the barrel against him, so that\nhis bristles caught fire, and the boar groaned and tottered, and with\nhis whole cadaver dropped heavily on the ground.\n\nWhen I came up, the boar was dead, and only here and there did his body\njerk and twitch. Some of the dogs, with bristling hair, were tearing his\nbelly and legs, while the others were lapping the blood from his wound.\n\nThen I thought of B\u00falka, and went back to find him. He was crawling\ntoward me and groaning. I went up to him and looked at his wound. His\nbelly was ripped open, and a whole piece of his guts was sticking out of\nhis body and dragging on the dry leaves. When my companions came up to\nme, we put the guts back and sewed up his belly. While we were sewing\nhim up and sticking the needle through his skin, he kept licking my\nhand.\n\nThe boar was tied up to the horse's tail, to pull him out of the forest,\nand B\u00falka was put on the horse, and thus taken home. B\u00falka was sick for\nabout six weeks, and got well again.\n\n\n\n\nPHEASANTS\n\n\nWild fowls are called pheasants in the Caucasus. There are so many of\nthem that they are cheaper there than tame chickens. Pheasants are\nhunted with the \"hobby,\" by scaring up, and from under dogs. This is the\nway they are hunted with the \"hobby.\" They take a piece of canvas and\nstretch it over a frame, and in the middle of the frame they make a\ncross piece. They cut a hole in the canvas. This frame with the canvas\nis called a hobby. With this hobby and with the gun they start out at\ndawn to the forest. The hobby is carried in front, and through the hole\nthey look out for the pheasants. The pheasants feed at daybreak in the\nclearings. At times it is a whole brood,--a hen with all her chicks, and\nat others a cock with his hen, or several cocks together.\n\nThe pheasants do not see the man, and they are not afraid of the canvas\nand let the hunter come close to them. Then the hunter puts down the\nhobby, sticks his gun through the rent, and shoots at whichever bird he\npleases.\n\nThis is the way they hunt by scaring up. They let a watch-dog into the\nforest and follow him. When the dog finds a pheasant, he rushes for it.\nThe pheasant flies on a tree, and then the dog begins to bark at it. The\nhunter follows up the barking and shoots the pheasant in the tree. This\nchase would be easy, if the pheasant alighted on a tree in an open\nplace, or if it sat still, so that it might be seen. But they always\nalight on dense trees, in the thicket, and when they see the hunter they\nhide themselves in the branches. And it is hard to make one's way\nthrough the thicket to the tree on which a pheasant is sitting, and hard\nto see it. So long as the dog alone barks at it, it is not afraid: it\nsits on a branch and preens and flaps its wings at the dog. But the\nmoment it sees a man, it immediately stretches itself out along a bough,\nso that only an experienced hunter can tell it, while an inexperienced\none will stand near by and see nothing.\n\nWhen the Cossacks steal up to the pheasants, they pull their caps over\ntheir faces and do not look up, because a pheasant is afraid of a man\nwith his gun, but more still of his eyes.\n\nThis is the way they hunt from under dogs. They take a setter and follow\nhim to the forest. The dog scents the place where the pheasants have\nbeen feeding at daybreak, and begins to make out their tracks. No matter\nhow the pheasants may have mixed them up, a good dog will always find\nthe last track, that takes them out from the spot where they have been\nfeeding. The farther the dog follows the track, the stronger will the\nscent be, and thus he will reach the place where the pheasant sits or\nwalks about in the grass in the daytime. When he comes near to where the\nbird is, he thinks that it is right before him, and starts walking more\ncautiously so as not to frighten it, and will stop now and then, ready\nto jump and catch it. When the dog comes up very near to the pheasant,\nit flies up, and the hunter shoots it.\n\n\n\n\nMILTON AND B\u00daLKA\n\n\nI bought me a setter to hunt pheasants with. The name of the dog was\nMilton. He was a big, thin, gray, spotted dog, with long lips and ears,\nand he was very strong and intelligent. He did not fight with B\u00falka. No\ndog ever tried to get into a fight with B\u00falka. He needed only to show\nhis teeth, and the dogs would take their tails between their legs and\nslink away.\n\nOnce I went with Milton to hunt pheasants. Suddenly B\u00falka ran after me\nto the forest. I wanted to drive him back, but could not do so; and it\nwas too far for me to take him home. I thought he would not be in my\nway, and so walked on; but the moment Milton scented a pheasant in the\ngrass and began to search for it, B\u00falka rushed forward and tossed from\nside to side. He tried to scare up the pheasant before Milton. He heard\nsomething in the grass, and jumped and whirled around; but he had a poor\nscent and could not find the track himself, but watched Milton, to see\nwhere he was running. The moment Milton started on the trail, B\u00falka ran\nahead of him. I called B\u00falka back and beat him, but could not do a thing\nwith him. The moment Milton began to search, he darted forward and\ninterfered with him.\n\nI was already on the point of going home, because I thought that the\nchase was spoiled; but Milton found a better way of cheating B\u00falka. This\nis what he did: the moment B\u00falka rushed ahead of him, he gave up the\ntrail and turned in another direction, pretending that he was searching\nthere. B\u00falka rushed there where Milton was, and Milton looked at me and\nwagged his tail and went back to the right trail. B\u00falka again ran up to\nMilton and rushed past him, and again Milton took some ten steps to one\nside and cheated B\u00falka, and again led me straight; and so he cheated\nB\u00falka all the way and did not let him spoil the chase.\n\n\n\n\nTHE TURTLE\n\n\nOnce I went with Milton to the chase. Near the forest he began to\nsearch. He straightened out his tail, pricked his ears, and began to\nsniff. I fixed the gun and followed him. I thought that he was looking\nfor a partridge, hare, or pheasant. But Milton did not make for the\nforest, but for the field. I followed him and looked ahead of me.\nSuddenly I saw what he was searching for. In front of him was running a\nsmall turtle, of the size of a cap. Its bare, dark gray head on a long\nneck was stretched out like a pestle; the turtle in walking stretched\nits bare legs far out, and its back was all covered with bark.\n\nWhen it saw the dog, it hid its legs and head and let itself down on the\ngrass so that only its shell could be seen. Milton grabbed it and began\nto bite at it, but could not bite through it, because the turtle has\njust such a shell on its belly as it has on its back, and has only\nopenings in front, at the back, and at the sides, where it puts forth\nits head, its legs, and its tail.\n\nI took the turtle away from Milton, and tried to see how its back was\npainted, and what kind of a shell it had, and how it hid itself. When\nyou hold it in your hands and look between the shell, you can see\nsomething black and alive inside, as though in a cellar. I threw away\nthe turtle, and walked on, but Milton would not leave it, and carried it\nin his teeth behind me. Suddenly Milton whimpered and dropped it. The\nturtle had put forth its foot inside of his mouth, and had scratched it.\nThat made him so angry that he began to bark; he grasped it once more\nand carried it behind me. I ordered Milton to throw it away, but he\npaid no attention to me. Then I took the turtle from him and threw it\naway. But he did not leave it. He hurriedly dug a hole near it; when the\nhole was dug, he threw the turtle into it and covered it up with dirt.\n\nThe turtles live on land and in the water, like snakes and frogs. They\nbreed their young from eggs. These eggs they lay on the ground, and they\ndo not hatch them, but the eggs burst themselves, like fish spawn, and\nthe turtles crawl out of them. There are small turtles, not larger than\na saucer, and large ones, seven feet in length and weighing seven\nhundredweights. The large turtles live in the sea.\n\nOne turtle lays in the spring hundreds of eggs. The turtle's shells are\nits ribs. Men and other animals have each rib separate, while the\nturtle's ribs are all grown together into a shell. But the main thing is\nthat with all the animals the ribs are inside the flesh, while the\nturtle has the ribs on the outside, and the flesh beneath them.\n\n\n\n\nB\u00daLKA AND THE WOLF\n\n\nWhen I left the Caucasus, they were still fighting there, and in the\nnight it was dangerous to travel without a guard.\n\nI wanted to leave as early as possible, and so did not lie down to\nsleep.\n\nMy friend came to see me off, and we sat the whole evening and night in\nthe village street, in front of my cabin.\n\nIt was a moonlit night with a mist, and so bright that one could read,\nthough the moon was not to be seen.\n\nIn the middle of the night we suddenly heard a pig squealing in the yard\nacross the street. One of us cried: \"A wolf is choking the pig!\"\n\nI ran into the house, grasped a loaded gun, and ran into the street.\nThey were all standing at the gate of the yard where the pig was\nsquealing, and cried to me: \"Here!\" Milton rushed after me,--no doubt he\nthought that I was going out to hunt with the gun; but B\u00falka pricked his\nshort ears, and tossed from side to side, as though to ask me whom he\nwas to clutch. When I ran up to the wicker fence, I saw a beast running\nstraight toward me from the other side of the yard. That was the wolf.\nHe ran up to the fence and jumped on it. I stepped aside and fixed my\ngun. The moment the wolf jumped down from the fence to my side, I aimed,\nalmost touching him with the gun, and pulled the trigger; but my gun\nmade \"Click\" and did not go off. The Wolf did not stop, but ran across\nthe street.\n\nMilton and B\u00falka made for him. Milton was near to the wolf, but was\nafraid to take hold of him; and no matter how fast B\u00falka ran on his\nshort legs, he could not keep up with him. We ran as fast as we could\nafter the wolf, but both the wolf and the dogs disappeared from sight.\nOnly at the ditch, at the end of the village, did we hear a low barking\nand whimpering, and saw the dust rise in the mist of the moon and the\ndogs busy with the wolf. When we ran up to the ditch, the wolf was no\nlonger there, and both dogs returned to us with raised tails and angry\nfaces. B\u00falka snarled and pushed me with his head: evidently he wanted to\ntell me something, but did not know how.\n\nWe examined the dogs, and found a small wound on B\u00falka's head. He had\nevidently caught up with the wolf before he got to the ditch, but had\nnot had a chance to get hold of him, while the wolf snapped at him and\nran away. It was a small wound, so there was no danger.\n\nWe returned to the cabin, and sat down and talked about what had\nhappened. I was angry because the gun had missed fire, and thought of\nhow the wolf would have remained on the spot, if the gun had shot. My\nfriend wondered how the wolf could have crept into the yard. An old\nCossack said that there was nothing remarkable about it, because that\nwas not a wolf, but a witch who had charmed my gun. Thus we sat and kept\ntalking. Suddenly the dogs darted off, and we saw the same wolf in the\nmiddle of the street; but this time he ran so fast when he heard our\nshout that the dogs could not catch up with him.\n\nAfter that the old Cossack was fully convinced that it was not a wolf,\nbut a witch; but I thought that it was a mad wolf, because I had never\nseen or heard of such a thing as a wolf's coming back toward the people,\nafter it had been driven away.\n\nIn any case I poured some powder on B\u00falka's wound, and set it on fire.\nThe powder flashed up and burned out the sore spot.\n\nI burned out the sore with powder, in order to burn away the poisonous\nsaliva, if it had not yet entered the blood. But if the saliva had\nalready entered the blood, I knew that the blood would carry it through\nthe whole body, and then it would not be possible to cure him.\n\n\n\n\nWHAT HAPPENED TO B\u00daLKA IN PYATIG\u00d3RSK\n\n\nFrom the Cossack village I did not travel directly to Russia, but first\nto Pyatig\u00f3rsk, where I stayed two months. Milton I gave away to a\nCossack hunter, and B\u00falka I took along with me to Pyatig\u00f3rsk.\n\nPyatig\u00f3rsk [in English, Five-Mountains] is called so because it is\nsituated on Mount Besh-tau. And besh means in Tartar \"five,\" and tau\n\"mountain.\" From this mountain flows a hot sulphur stream. It is as hot\nas boiling water, and over the spot where the water flows from the\nmountain there is always a steam as from a samov\u00e1r.\n\nThe whole place, on which the city stands, is very cheerful. From the\nmountain flow the hot springs, and at the foot of the mountain is the\nriver Podk\u00famok. On the slopes of the mountain are forests; all around\nthe city are fields, and in the distance are seen the mountains of the\nCaucasus. On these the snow never melts, and they are always as white as\nsugar. One large mountain, Elbrus, is like a white loaf of sugar; it can\nbe seen from everywhere when the weather is clear. People come to the\nhot springs to be cured, and over them there are arbours and awnings,\nand all around them are gardens with walks. In the morning the music\nplays, and people drink the water, or bathe, or stroll about.\n\nThe city itself is on the mountain, but at the foot of it there is a\nsuburb. I lived in that suburb in a small house. The house stood in a\nyard, and before the windows was a small garden, and in the garden stood\nthe landlord's beehives, not in hollow stems, as in Russia, but in\nround, plaited baskets. The bees are there so gentle that in the morning\nI used to sit with B\u00falka in that garden, amongst the beehives.\n\nB\u00falka walked about between the hives, and sniffed, and listened to the\nbees' buzzing; he walked so softly among them that he did not interfere\nwith them, and they did not bother him.\n\nOne morning I returned home from the waters, and sat down in the garden\nto drink coffee. B\u00falka began to scratch himself behind his ears, and\nmade a grating noise with his collar. The noise worried the bees, and so\nI took the collar off. A little while later I heard a strange and\nterrible noise coming from the city. The dogs barked, howled, and\nwhimpered, people shouted, and the noise descended lower from the\nmountain and came nearer and nearer to our suburb.\n\nB\u00falka stopped scratching himself, put his broad head with its white\nteeth between his fore legs, stuck out his tongue as he wished, and lay\nquietly by my side. When he heard the noise he seemed to understand what\nit was. He pricked his ears, showed his teeth, jumped up, and began to\nsnarl. The noise came nearer. It sounded as though all the dogs of the\ncity were howling, whimpering, and barking. I went to the gate to see\nwhat it was, and my landlady came out, too. I asked her:\n\n\"What is this?\"\n\nShe said:\n\n\"The prisoners of the jail are coming down to kill the dogs. The dogs\nhave been breeding so much that the city authorities have ordered all\nthe dogs in the city to be killed.\"\n\n\"So they would kill B\u00falka, too, if they caught him?\"\n\n\"No, they are not allowed to kill dogs with collars.\"\n\nJust as I was speaking, the prisoners were coming up to our house. In\nfront walked the soldiers, and behind them four prisoners in chains. Two\nof the prisoners had in their hands long iron hooks, and two had clubs.\nIn front of our house, one of the prisoners caught a watch-dog with his\nhook and pulled it up to the middle of the street, and another began to\nstrike it with the club.\n\nThe little dog whined dreadfully, but the prisoners shouted and laughed.\nThe prisoner with the hook turned over the dog, and when he saw that it\nwas dead, he pulled out the hook and looked around for other dogs.\n\nJust then B\u00falka rushed headlong at that prisoner, as though he were a\nbear. I happened to think that he was without his collar, so I shouted:\n\"B\u00falka, back!\" and told the prisoners not to strike the dog. But the\nprisoner laughed when he saw B\u00falka, and with his hook nimbly struck him\nand caught him by his thigh. B\u00falka tried to get away; but the prisoner\npulled him up toward him and told the other prisoner to strike him. The\nother raised his club, and B\u00falka would have been killed, but he jerked,\nand broke the skin at the thigh and, taking his tail between his legs,\nflew, with the red sore on his body, through the gate and into the\nhouse, and hid himself under my bed.\n\nHe was saved because the skin had broken in the spot where the hook\nwas.\n\n\n\n\nB\u00daLKA'S AND MILTON'S END\n\n\nB\u00falka and Milton died at the same time. The old Cossack did not know how\nto get along with Milton. Instead of taking him out only for birds, he\nwent with him to hunt wild boars. And that same fall a tusky boar ripped\nhim open. Nobody knew how to sew him up, and so he died.\n\nB\u00falka, too, did not live long after the prisoners had caught him. Soon\nafter his salvation from the prisoners he began to feel unhappy, and\nstarted to lick everything that he saw. He licked my hands, but not as\nformerly when he fawned. He licked for a long time, and pressed his\ntongue against me, and then began to snap. Evidently he felt like biting\nmy hand, but did not want to do so. I did not give him my hand. Then he\nlicked my boot and the foot of a table, and then he began to snap at\nthese things. That lasted about two days, and on the third he\ndisappeared, and no one saw him or heard of him.\n\nHe could not have been stolen or run away from me. This happened six\nweeks after the wolf had bitten him. Evidently the wolf had been mad.\nB\u00falka had gone mad, and so went away. He had what hunters call the\nrabies. They say that this madness consists in this, that the mad animal\ngets cramps in its throat. It wants to drink and cannot, because the\nwater makes the cramps worse. And so it gets beside itself from pain and\nthirst, and begins to bite. Evidently B\u00falka was beginning to have these\ncramps when he started to lick and then to bite my hand and the foot of\nthe table.\n\nI went everywhere in the neighbourhood and asked about B\u00falka, but could\nnot find out what had become of him, or how he had died. If he had been\nrunning about and biting, as mad dogs do, I should have heard of him. No\ndoubt he ran somewhere into a thicket and there died by himself.\n\nThe hunters say that when an intelligent dog gets the rabies, he runs to\nthe fields and forests, and there tries to find the herb which he needs,\nand rolls in the dew, and gets cured. Evidently B\u00falka never got cured.\nHe never came back.\n\n\n\n\nTHE GRAY HARE\n\n\nA gray hare was living in the winter near the village. When night came,\nhe pricked one ear and listened; then he pricked his second ear, moved\nhis whiskers, sniffed, and sat down on his hind legs. Then he took a\nleap or two over the deep snow, and again sat down on his hind legs, and\nlooked around him. Nothing could be seen but snow. The snow lay in waves\nand glistened like sugar. Over the hare's head hovered a frost vapour,\nand through this vapour could be seen the large, bright stars.\n\nThe hare had to cross the highway, in order to come to a threshing-floor\nhe knew of. On the highway the runners could be heard squeaking, and the\nhorses snorting, and seats creaking in the sleighs.\n\nThe hare again stopped near the road. Peasants were walking beside the\nsleighs, and the collars of their caftans were raised. Their faces were\nscarcely visible. Their beards, moustaches, and eyelashes were white.\nSteam rose from their mouths and noses. Their horses were sweaty, and\nthe hoarfrost clung to the sweat. The horses jostled under their arches,\nand dived in and out of snow-drifts. The peasants ran behind the horses\nand in front of them, and beat them with their whips. Two peasants\nwalked beside each other, and one of them told the other how a horse of\nhis had once been stolen.\n\nWhen the carts passed by, the hare leaped across the road and softly\nmade for the threshing-floor. A dog saw the hare from a cart. He began\nto bark and darted after the hare. The hare leaped toward the\nthreshing-floor over the snow-drifts, which held him back; but the dog\nstuck fast in the snow after the tenth leap, and stopped. Then the hare,\ntoo, stopped and sat up on his hind legs, and then softly went on to the\nthreshing-floor.\n\nOn his way he met two other hares on the sowed winter field. They were\nfeeding and playing. The hare played awhile with his companions, dug\naway the frosty snow with them, ate the wintergreen, and went on.\n\nIn the village everything was quiet; the fires were out. All one could\nhear was a baby's cry in a hut and the crackling of the frost in the\nlogs of the cabins. The hare went to the threshing-floor, and there\nfound some companions. He played awhile with them on the cleared floor,\nate some oats from the open granary, climbed on the kiln over the\nsnow-covered roof, and across the wicker fence started back to his\nravine.\n\nThe dawn was glimmering in the east; the stars grew less, and the frost\nvapours rose more densely from the earth. In the near-by village the\nwomen got up, and went to fetch water; the peasants brought the feed\nfrom the barn; the children shouted and cried. There were still more\ncarts going down the road, and the peasants talked aloud to each other.\n\nThe hare leaped across the road, went up to his old lair, picked out a\nhigh place, dug away the snow, lay with his back in his new lair,\ndropped his ears on his back, and fell asleep with open eyes.\n\n\n\n\nGOD SEES THE TRUTH, BUT DOES NOT TELL AT ONCE\n\n\nIn the city of Vlad\u00edmir there lived a young merchant, Aks\u00e9nov by name.\nHe had two shops and a house.\n\nAks\u00e9nov was a light-complexioned, curly-headed, fine-looking man and a\nvery jolly fellow and good singer. In his youth Aks\u00e9nov had drunk much,\nand when he was drunk he used to become riotous, but when he married he\ngave up drinking, and that now happened very rarely with him.\n\nOne day in the summer Aks\u00e9nov went to the N\u00edzhni-N\u00f3vgorod fair. As he\nbade his family good-bye, his wife said to him:\n\n\"Iv\u00e1n Dm\u00edtrievich, do not start to-day! I have had a bad dream about\nyou.\"\n\nAks\u00e9nov laughed, and said:\n\n\"Are you afraid that I might go on a spree at the fair?\"\n\nHis wife said:\n\n\"I do not know what I am afraid of, but I had a bad dream: I dreamed\nthat you came to town, and when you took off your cap I saw that your\nhead was all gray.\"\n\nAks\u00e9nov laughed.\n\n\"That means that I shall make some profit. If I strike a good bargain,\nyou will see me bring you some costly presents.\"\n\nAnd he bade his family farewell, and started.\n\nIn the middle of his journey he met a merchant whom he knew, and they\nstopped together in a hostelry for the night. They drank their tea\ntogether, and lay down to sleep in two adjoining rooms. Aks\u00e9nov did not\nlike to sleep long; he awoke in the middle of the night and, as it was\neasier to travel when it was cool, wakened his driver and told him to\nhitch the horses. Then he went to the \"black\" hut, paid his bill, and\nwent away.\n\n[Illustration: \"'Whose knife is this?'\"\n\n_Photogravure from Painting by A. Kivsh\u00e9nko_]\n\nWhen he had gone about forty versts, he again stopped to feed the horses\nand to rest in the vestibule of a hostelry. At dinner-time he came out\non the porch, and ordered the samov\u00e1r to be prepared for him. He took\nout his guitar and began to play. Suddenly a tr\u00f3yka with bells drove up\nto the hostelry, and from the cart leaped an officer with two soldiers,\nand he went up to Aks\u00e9nov, and asked him who he was and where he came\nfrom.\n\nAks\u00e9nov told him everything as it was, and said:\n\n\"Would you not like to drink tea with me?\"\n\nBut the officer kept asking him questions:\n\n\"Where did you stay last night? Were you alone, or with a merchant? Did\nyou see the merchant in the morning? Why did you leave so early in the\nmorning?\"\n\nAks\u00e9nov wondered why they asked him about all that; he told them\neverything as it was, and said:\n\n\"Why do you ask me this? I am not a thief, nor a robber. I am travelling\non business of my own, and you have nothing to ask me about.\"\n\nThen the officer called the soldiers, and said:\n\n\"I am the chief of the rural police, and I ask you this, because the\nmerchant with whom you passed last night has been found with his throat\ncut. Show me your things, and you look through them!\"\n\nThey entered the house, took his valise and bag, and opened them and\nbegan to look through them. Suddenly the chief took a knife out of the\nbag, and cried out:\n\n\"Whose knife is this?\"\n\nAks\u00e9nov looked, and saw that they had taken out a blood-stained knife\nfrom his bag, and he was frightened \"How did the blood get on the\nknife?\"\n\nAks\u00e9nov wanted to answer, but could not pronounce a word.\n\n\"I--I do not know--I--the knife--is not mine!\"\n\nThen the chief said:\n\n\"In the morning the merchant was found in his bed with his throat cut.\nNo one but you could have done it. The house was locked from within, and\nthere was no one in the house but you. Here is the bloody knife in your\nbag, and your face shows your guilt. Tell me, how did you kill him, and\nhow much money did you rob him of?\"\n\nAks\u00e9nov swore that he had not done it; that he had not seen the merchant\nafter drinking tea with him; that he had with him his own eight\nthousand; that the knife was not his. But his voice faltered, his face\nwas pale, and he trembled from fear, as though he were guilty.\n\nThe chief called in the soldiers, told them to bind him and to take him\nto the cart. When he was rolled into the cart with his legs tied, he\nmade the sign of the cross and began to cry. They took away his money\nand things, and sent him to jail to the nearest town. They sent to\nVlad\u00edmir to find out what kind of a man Aks\u00e9nov was, and all the\nmerchants and inhabitants of Vlad\u00edmir testified to the fact that Aks\u00e9nov\nhad drunk and caroused when he was young, but that he was a good man.\nThen they began to try him. He was tried for having killed the Ryaz\u00e1n\nmerchant and having robbed him of twenty thousand roubles.\n\nThe wife was grieving for her husband and did not know what to think.\nHer children were still young, and one was still at the breast. She took\nthem all and went with them to the town where her husband was kept in\nprison. At first she was not admitted, but later she implored the\nauthorities, and she was taken to her husband. When she saw him in\nprison garb and in chains, together with murderers, she fell to the\nground and could not come to for a long time. Then she placed her\nchildren about her, sat down beside him, and began to tell him about\nhouse matters, and to ask him about everything which had happened. He\ntold her everything. She said:\n\n\"What shall I do?\"\n\nHe said:\n\n\"We must petition the Tsar. An innocent man cannot be allowed to\nperish.\"\n\nHis wife said that she had already petitioned the Tsar, but that the\npetition had not reached him. Aks\u00e9nov said nothing, and only lowered his\nhead. Then his wife said:\n\n\"You remember the dream I had about your getting gray. Indeed, you have\ngrown gray from sorrow. If you had only not started then!\"\n\nAnd she looked over his hair, and said:\n\n\"Iv\u00e1n, my darling, tell your wife the truth: did you not do it?\"\n\nAks\u00e9nov said, \"And you, too, suspect me!\" and covered his face with his\nhands, and began to weep.\n\nThen a soldier came, and told his wife that she must leave with her\nchildren. And Aks\u00e9nov for the last time bade his family farewell.\n\nWhen his wife had left, Aks\u00e9nov thought about what they had been talking\nof. When he recalled that his wife had also suspected him and had asked\nhim whether he had killed the merchant, he said to himself: \"Evidently\nnone but God can know the truth, and He alone must be asked, and from\nHim alone can I expect mercy.\" And from that time on Aks\u00e9nov no longer\nhanded in petitions and stopped hoping, but only prayed to God.\n\nAks\u00e9nov was sentenced to be beaten with the knout, and to be sent to\nhard labour. And it was done.\n\nHe was beaten with the knout, and later, when the knout sores healed\nover, he was driven with other convicts to Siberia.\n\nIn Siberia, Aks\u00e9nov passed twenty-six years at hard labour. His hair\nturned white like snow, and his beard grew long, narrow, and gray. All\nhis mirth went away. He stooped, began to walk softly, spoke little,\nnever laughed, and frequently prayed to God.\n\nIn the prison Aks\u00e9nov learned to make boots, and with the money which he\nearned he bought himself the \"Legends of the Holy Martyrs,\" and read\nthem while it was light in the prison; on holidays he went to the prison\nchurch and read the Epistles, and sang in the choir,--his voice was\nstill good. The authorities were fond of Aks\u00e9nov for his gentleness, and\nhis prison comrades respected him and called him \"grandfather\" and\n\"God's man.\" When there were any requests to be made of the authorities,\nhis comrades always sent him to speak for them, and when the convicts\nhad any disputes between themselves, they came to Aks\u00e9nov to settle\nthem.\n\nNo one wrote Aks\u00e9nov letters from his home, and he did not know whether\nhis wife and children were alive, or not.\n\nOnce they brought some new prisoners to the prison. In the evening the\nold prisoners gathered around the new men, and asked them from what town\nthey came, or from what village, and for what acts they had been sent\nup. Aks\u00e9nov, too, sat down on the bed-boards near the new prisoners and,\nlowering his head, listened to what they were saying. One of the new\nprisoners was a tall, sound-looking old man of about sixty years of age,\nwith a gray, clipped beard. He was telling them what he had been sent up\nfor:\n\n\"Yes, brothers, I have come here for no crime at all. I had unhitched a\ndriver's horse from the sleigh. I was caught. They said, 'You stole it.'\nAnd I said, 'I only wanted to get home quickly, for I let the horse go.\nBesides, the driver is a friend of mine. I am telling you the\ntruth.'--'No,' they said, 'you have stolen it.' But they did not know\nwhat I had been stealing, or where I had been stealing. There were\ncrimes for which I ought to have been sent up long ago, but they could\nnot convict me, and now I am here contrary to the law. 'You are\nlying,--you have been in Siberia, but you did not make a long visit\nthere--'\"\n\n\"Where do you come from?\" asked one of the prisoners.\n\n\"I am from the city of Vlad\u00edmir, a burgher of that place. My name is\nMak\u00e1r, and by my father Sem\u00e9novich.\"\n\nAks\u00e9nov raised his head, and asked:\n\n\"Sem\u00e9novich, have you not heard in Vlad\u00edmir about the family of Merchant\nAks\u00e9nov? Are they alive?\"\n\n\"Yes, I have heard about them! They are rich merchants, even though\ntheir father is in Siberia. He is as much a sinner as I, I think. And\nyou, grandfather, what are you here for?\"\n\nAks\u00e9nov did not like to talk of his misfortune. He sighed, and said:\n\n\"For my sins have I passed twenty-six years at hard labour.\"\n\nMak\u00e1r Sem\u00e9novich said:\n\n\"For what sins?\"\n\nAks\u00e9nov said, \"No doubt, I deserved it,\" and did not wish to tell him\nany more; but the other prison people told the new man how Aks\u00e9nov had\ncome to be in Siberia. They told him how on the road some one had killed\na merchant and had put the knife into his bag, and he thus was sentenced\nthough he was innocent.\n\nWhen Mak\u00e1r Sem\u00e9novich heard that, he looked at Aks\u00e9nov, clapped his\nknees with his hands, and said:\n\n\"What a marvel! What a marvel! But you have grown old, grandfather!\"\n\nHe was asked what he was marvelling at, and where he had seen Aks\u00e9nov,\nbut Mak\u00e1r Sem\u00e9novich made no reply, and only said:\n\n\"It is wonderful, boys, where we were fated to meet!\"\n\nAnd these words made Aks\u00e9nov think that this man might know something\nabout who had killed the merchant. He said:\n\n\"Sem\u00e9novich, have you heard before this about that matter, or have we\nmet before?\"\n\n\"Of course I have heard. The earth is full of rumours. That happened a\nlong time ago: I have forgotten what I heard,\" said Mak\u00e1r Sem\u00e9novich.\n\n\"Maybe you have heard who killed the merchant?\" asked Aks\u00e9nov.\n\nMak\u00e1r Sem\u00e9novich laughed and said:\n\n\"I suppose he was killed by the man in whose bag the knife was found.\nEven if somebody stuck that knife into that bag, he was not caught, so\nhe is no thief. And how could the knife have been put in? Was not the\nbag under your head? You would have heard him.\"\n\nThe moment Aks\u00e9nov heard these words, he thought that that was the man\nwho had killed the merchant. He got up and walked away. All that night\nAks\u00e9nov could not fall asleep. He felt sad, and had visions: now he saw\nhis wife such as she had been when she bade him farewell for the last\ntime, as he went to the fair. He saw her, as though she was alive, and\nhe saw her face and eyes, and heard her speak to him and laugh. Then he\nsaw his children such as they had been then,--just as little,--one of\nthem in a fur coat, the other at the breast. And he thought of himself,\nsuch as he had been then,--gay and young; he recalled how he had been\nsitting on the porch of the hostelry, where he was arrested, and had\nbeen playing the guitar, and how light his heart had been then. And he\nrecalled the pillory, where he had been whipped, and the executioner,\nand the people all around, and the chains, and the prisoners, and his\nprison life of the last twenty-six years, and his old age. And such\ngloom came over him that he felt like laying hands on himself.\n\n\"And all that on account of that evil-doer!\" thought Aks\u00e9nov.\n\nAnd such a rage fell upon him against Mak\u00e1r Sem\u00e9novich, that he wanted\nto have his revenge upon him, even if he himself were to be ruined by\nit. He said his prayers all night long, but could not calm himself. In\nthe daytime he did not walk over to Mak\u00e1r Sem\u00e9novich, and did not look\nat him.\n\nThus two weeks passed. At night Aks\u00e9nov could not sleep, and he felt so\nsad that he did not know what to do with himself.\n\nOnce, in the night, he walked all over the prison, and saw dirt falling\nfrom underneath one bedplace. He stopped to see what it was. Suddenly\nMak\u00e1r Sem\u00e9novich jumped up from under the bed and looked at Aks\u00e9nov with\na frightened face. Aks\u00e9nov wanted to pass on, so as not to see him; but\nMak\u00e1r took him by his arm, and told him that he had dug a passage way\nunder the wall, and that he each day carried the dirt away in his\nboot-legs and poured it out in the open, whenever they took the convicts\nout to work. He said:\n\n\"Keep quiet, old man,--I will take you out, too. And if you tell, they\nwill whip me, and I will not forgive you,--I will kill you.\"\n\nWhen Aks\u00e9nov saw the one who had done him evil, he trembled in his rage,\nand pulled away his arm, and said:\n\n\"I have no reason to get away from here, and there is no sense in\nkilling me,--you killed me long ago. And whether I will tell on you or\nnot depends on what God will put into my soul.\"\n\nOn the following day, when the convicts were taken out to work, the\nsoldiers noticed that Mak\u00e1r Sem\u00e9novich was pouring out the dirt, and so\nthey began to search in the prison, and found the hole. The chief came\nto the prison and began to ask all who had dug the hole. Everybody\ndenied it. Those who knew had not seen Mak\u00e1r Sem\u00e9novich, because they\nknew that for this act he would be whipped half-dead. Then the chief\nturned to Aks\u00e9nov. He knew that Aks\u00e9nov was a just man, and said:\n\n\"Old man, you are a truthful man, tell me before God who has done that.\"\n\nMak\u00e1r Sem\u00e9novich stood as though nothing had happened and looked at the\nchief, and did not glance at Aks\u00e9nov. Aks\u00e9nov's arms and lips trembled,\nand he could not utter a word for long time. He thought: \"If I protect\nhim, why should I forgive him, since he has ruined me? Let him suffer\nfor my torments! And if I tell on him, they will indeed whip him to\ndeath. And suppose that I have a wrong suspicion against him. Will that\nmake it easier for me?\"\n\nThe chief said once more:\n\n\"Well, old man, speak, tell the truth! Who has been digging it?\"\n\nAks\u00e9nov looked at Mak\u00e1r Sem\u00e9novich, and said:\n\n\"I cannot tell, your Honour. God orders me not to tell. And I will not\ntell. Do with me as you please,--you have the power.\"\n\nNo matter how much the chief tried, Aks\u00e9nov would not say anything more.\nAnd so they did not find out who had done the digging.\n\nOn the following night, as Aks\u00e9nov lay down on the bed-boards and was\njust falling asleep, he heard somebody come up to him and sit down at\nhis feet. He looked in the darkness and recognized Mak\u00e1r. Aks\u00e9nov said:\n\n\"What more do you want of me? What are you doing here?\"\n\nMak\u00e1r Sem\u00e9novich was silent. Aks\u00e9nov raised himself, and said:\n\n\"What do you want? Go away, or I will call the soldier.\"\n\nMak\u00e1r bent down close to Aks\u00e9nov, and said to him in a whisper:\n\n[Illustration: \"'God will forgive you'\"\n\n_Photogravure from Painting by A. Kivsh\u00e9nko_]\n\n\"Iv\u00e1n Dm\u00edtrievich, forgive me!\"\n\nAks\u00e9nov said:\n\n\"For what shall I forgive you?\"\n\n\"It was I who killed the merchant and put the knife into your bag. I\nwanted to kill you, too, but they made a noise in the yard, so I put the\nknife into your bag and climbed through the window.\"\n\nAks\u00e9nov was silent and did not know what to say. Mak\u00e1r Sem\u00e9novich\nslipped down from the bed, made a low obeisance, and said:\n\n\"Iv\u00e1n Dm\u00edtrievich, forgive me, forgive me for God's sake! I will declare\nthat it was I who killed the merchant,--you will be forgiven. You will\nreturn home.\"\n\nAks\u00e9nov said:\n\n\"It is easy for you to speak so, but see how I have suffered! Where\nshall I go now? My wife has died, my children have forgotten me. I have\nno place to go to--\"\n\nMak\u00e1r Sem\u00e9novich did not get up from the floor. He struck his head\nagainst the earth, and said:\n\n\"Iv\u00e1n Dm\u00edtrievich, forgive me! When they whipped me with the knout I\nfelt better than now that I am looking at you. You pitied me, and did\nnot tell on me. Forgive me, for Christ's sake! Forgive me, the accursed\nevil-doer!\" And he burst out into tears.\n\nWhen Aks\u00e9nov heard Mak\u00e1r Sem\u00e9novich crying, he began to weep himself,\nand said:\n\n\"God will forgive you. Maybe I am a hundred times worse than you!\"\n\nAnd suddenly a load fell off from his soul. And he no longer pined for\nhis home, and did not wish to leave the prison, but only thought of his\nlast hour.\n\nMak\u00e1r Sem\u00e9novich did not listen to Aks\u00e9nov, but declared his guilt. When\nthe decision came for Aks\u00e9nov to leave,--he was dead.\n\n\n\n\nHUNTING WORSE THAN SLAVERY\n\n\nWe were hunting bears. My companion had a chance to shoot at a bear: he\nwounded him, but only in a soft spot. A little blood was left on the\nsnow, but the bear got away.\n\nWe met in the forest and began to discuss what to do: whether to go and\nfind that bear, or to wait two or three days until the bear should lie\ndown again.\n\nWe asked the peasant bear drivers whether we could now surround the\nbear. An old bear driver said:\n\n\"No, we must give the bear a chance to calm himself. In about five days\nit will be possible to surround him, but if we go after him now he will\nonly be frightened and will not lie down.\"\n\nBut a young bear driver disputed with the old man, and said that he\ncould surround him now.\n\n\"Over this snow,\" he said, \"the bear cannot get away far,--he is fat. He\nwill lie down to-day again. And if he does not, I will overtake him on\nsnow-shoes.\"\n\nMy companion, too, did not want to surround the bear now, and advised\nwaiting.\n\nBut I said:\n\n\"What is the use of discussing the matter? Do as you please, but I will\ngo with Demy\u00e1n along the track. If we overtake him, so much is gained;\nif not,--I have nothing else to do to-day anyway, and it is not yet\nlate.\"\n\nAnd so we did.\n\nMy companions went to the sleigh, and back to the village, but Demy\u00e1n\nand I took bread with us, and remained in the woods.\n\nWhen all had left us, Demy\u00e1n and I examined our guns, tucked our fur\ncoats over our belts, and followed the track.\n\nIt was fine weather, chilly and calm. But walking on snow-shoes was a\nhard matter: the snow was deep and powdery.\n\nThe snow had not settled in the forest, and, besides, fresh snow had\nfallen on the day before, so that the snow-shoes sunk half a foot in the\nsnow, and in places even deeper.\n\nThe bear track could be seen a distance away. We could see the way the\nbear had walked, for in spots he had fallen in the snow to his belly and\nhad swept the snow aside. At first we walked in plain sight of the\ntrack, through a forest of large trees; then, when the track went into a\nsmall pine wood, Demy\u00e1n stopped.\n\n\"We must now give up the track,\" he said. \"He will, no doubt, lie down\nhere. He has been sitting on his haunches,--you can see it by the snow.\nLet us go away from the track, and make a circle around him. But we must\nwalk softly and make no noise, not even cough, or we shall scare him.\"\n\nWe went away from the track, to the left. We walked about five hundred\nsteps and there we again saw the track before us. We again followed the\ntrack, and this took us to the road. We stopped on the road and began to\nlook around, to see in what direction the bear had gone. Here and there\non the road we could see the bear's paws with all the toes printed on\nthe snow, while in others we could see the tracks of a peasant's bast\nshoes. He had, evidently, gone to the village.\n\nWe walked along the road. Demy\u00e1n said to me:\n\n\"We need not watch the road; somewhere he will turn off the road, to the\nright or to the left,--we shall see in the snow. Somewhere he will turn\noff,--he will not go to the village.\"\n\nWe walked thus about a mile along the road; suddenly we saw the track\nturn off from the road. We looked at it, and see the wonder! It was a\nbear's track, but leading not from the road to the woods, but from the\nwoods to the road: the toes were turned to the road. I said:\n\n\"That is another bear.\"\n\nDemy\u00e1n looked at it, and thought awhile.\n\n\"No,\" he said, \"that is the same bear, only he has begun to cheat. He\nleft the road backwards.\"\n\nWe followed the track, and so it was. The bear had evidently walked\nabout ten steps backwards from the road, until he got beyond a fir-tree,\nand then he had turned and gone on straight ahead. Demy\u00e1n stopped, and\nsaid:\n\n\"Now we shall certainly fall in with him. He has no place but this swamp\nto lie down in. Let us surround him.\"\n\nWe started to surround him, going through the dense pine forest. I was\ngetting tired, and it was now much harder to travel. Now I would strike\nagainst a juniper-bush, and get caught in it; or a small pine-tree would\nget under my feet; or the snow-shoes would twist, as I was not used to\nthem; or I would strike a stump or a block under the snow. I was\nbeginning to be worn out. I took off my fur coat, and the sweat was just\npouring down from me. But Demy\u00e1n sailed along as in a boat. It looked as\nthough the snow-shoes walked under him of their own accord. He neither\ncaught in anything, nor did his shoes turn on him.\n\nAnd he even threw my fur coat over his shoulders, and kept urging me on.\n\nWe made about three versts in a circle, and walked past the swamp.\nDemy\u00e1n suddenly stopped in front of me, and waved his hand. I walked\nover to him. Demy\u00e1n bent down, and pointed with his hand, and whispered\nto me:\n\n\"Do you see, a magpie is chattering on a windfall: the bird is scenting\nthe bear from a distance. It is he.\"\n\nWe walked to one side, made another verst, and again hit the old trail.\nThus we had made a circle around the bear, and he was inside of it. We\nstopped. I took off my hat and loosened my wraps: I felt as hot as in a\nbath, and was as wet as a mouse. Demy\u00e1n, too, was all red, and he wiped\nhis face with his sleeve.\n\n\"Well,\" he said, \"we have done our work, sir, so we may take a rest.\"\n\nThe evening glow could be seen through the forest. We sat down on the\nsnow-shoes to rest ourselves. We took the bread and salt out of the\nbags; first I ate a little snow, and then the bread. The bread tasted to\nme better than any I had eaten in all my life. We sat awhile; it began\nto grow dark. I asked Demy\u00e1n how far it was to the village.\n\n\"About twelve versts. We shall reach it in the night; but now we must\nrest. Put on your fur coat, sir, or you will catch a cold.\"\n\nDemy\u00e1n broke off some pine branches, knocked down the snow, made a bed,\nand we lay down beside each other, with our arms under our heads. I do\nnot remember how I fell asleep. I awoke about two hours later. Something\ncrashed.\n\nI had been sleeping so soundly that I forgot where I was. I looked\naround me: what marvel was that? Where was I? Above me were some white\nchambers, and white posts, and on everything glistened white tinsel. I\nlooked up: there was a white, checkered cloth, and between the checks\nwas a black vault in which burned fires of all colours. I looked around,\nand I recalled that we were in the forest, and that the snow-covered\ntrees had appeared to me as chambers, and that the fires were nothing\nbut the stars that flickered between the branches.\n\nIn the night a hoarfrost had fallen, and there was hoarfrost on the\nbranches, and on my fur coat, and Demy\u00e1n was all covered with hoarfrost,\nand hoarfrost fell from above. I awoke Demy\u00e1n. We got up on our\nsnow-shoes and started. The forest was quiet. All that could be heard\nwas the sound we made as we slid on our snow-shoes over the soft snow,\nor when a tree would crackle from the frost, and a hollow sound would\npass through the whole woods. Only once did something living stir close\nto us and run away again. I thought it was the bear. We walked over to\nthe place from where the noise had come, and we saw hare tracks. The\nyoung aspens were nibbled down. The hares had been feeding on them.\n\nWe came out to the road, tied the snow-shoes behind us, and walked down\nthe road. It was easy to walk. The snow-shoes rattled and rumbled over\nthe beaten road; the snow creaked under our boots; the cold hoarfrost\nstuck to our faces like down. And the stars seemed to run toward us\nalong the branches: they would flash, and go out again,--just as though\nthe sky were walking round and round.\n\nMy companion was asleep,--I awoke him. We told him how we had made a\ncircle around the bear, and told the landlord to collect the drivers for\nthe morning. We ate our supper and lay down to sleep.\n\nI was so tired that I could have slept until dinner, but my companion\nwoke me. I jumped up and saw that my companion was all dressed and busy\nwith his gun.\n\n\"Where is Demy\u00e1n?\"\n\n\"He has been in the forest for quite awhile. He has investigated the\ncircle, and has been back to take the drivers out.\"\n\nI washed myself, put on my clothes, and loaded my guns. We seated\nourselves in the sleigh, and started.\n\nThere was a severe frost, the air was calm, and the sun could not be\nseen: there was a mist above, and the hoarfrost was settling.\n\nWe travelled about three versts by the road, and reached the forest. We\nsaw a blue smoke in a hollow, and peasants, men and women, were there\nwith clubs.\n\nWe climbed out of the sleigh and went up to the people. The peasants\nwere sitting and baking potatoes, and joking with the women.\n\nDemy\u00e1n was with them. The people got up, and Demy\u00e1n took them away to\nplace them in our last night's circuit. The men and women stretched\nthemselves out in single file,--there were thirty of them and they could\nbe seen only from the belt up,--and went into the woods; then my\ncompanion and I followed their tracks.\n\nThough they had made a path, it was hard to walk; still, we could not\nfall, for it was like walking between two walls.\n\nThus we walked for half a verst. I looked up, and there was Demy\u00e1n\nrunning to us from the other side on snow-shoes, and waving his hand for\nus to come to him.\n\nWe went up to him, and he showed us where to stand. I took up my\nposition and looked around.\n\nTo the left of me was a tall pine forest. I could see far through it,\nand beyond the trees I saw the black spot of a peasant driver. Opposite\nme was a young pine growth, as tall as a man's stature. In this pine\ngrowth the branches were hanging down and stuck together from the snow.\nThe path through the middle of the pine grove was covered with snow.\nThis path was leading toward me. To the right of me was a dense pine\nforest, and beyond the pine grove there was a clearing. And on this\nclearing I saw Demy\u00e1n place my companion.\n\nI examined my two guns and cocked them, and began to think where to take\nup a stand. Behind me, about three steps from me, there was a pine-tree.\n\"I will stand by that pine, and will lean the other gun against it.\" I\nmade my way to that pine, walking knee-deep in snow. I tramped down a\nspace of about four feet each way, and there took my stand. One gun I\ntook into my hands, and the other, with hammers raised, I placed against\nthe tree. I unsheathed my dagger and put it back in the scabbard, to be\nsure that in case of need it would come out easily.\n\nI had hardly fixed myself, when Demy\u00e1n shouted from the woods:\n\n\"Start it now, start it!\"\n\nAnd as Demy\u00e1n shouted this, the peasants in the circuit cried, each with\na different tone of voice: \"Come now! OO-oo-oo!\" and the women cried, in\ntheir thin voices: \"Ai! Eekh!\"\n\nThe bear was in the circle. Demy\u00e1n was driving him. In the circuit the\npeople shouted, and only my companion and I stood still, did not speak\nor move, and waited for the bear. I stood, and looked, and listened, and\nmy heart went pitapat. I was clutching my gun and trembling. Now, now he\nwill jump out, I thought, and I will aim and shoot, and he will fall--\nSuddenly I heard to the left something tumbling through the snow, only\nit was far away. I looked into the tall pine forest: about fifty steps\nfrom me, behind the trees, stood something large and black. I aimed and\nwaited. I thought it might come nearer. I saw it move its ears and turn\naround. Now I could see the whole of him from the side. It was a huge\nbeast. I aimed hastily. Bang! I heard the bullet strike the tree.\nThrough the smoke I saw the bear make back for the cover and disappear\nin the forest. \"Well,\" I thought, \"my business is spoiled: he will not\nrun up to me again; either my companion will have a chance to shoot at\nhim, or he will go through between the peasants, but never again toward\nme.\" I reloaded the gun, and stood and listened. The peasants were\nshouting on all sides, but on the right, not far from my companion, I\nheard a woman yell, \"Here he is! Here he is! Here he is! This way! This\nway! Oi, oi, oi! Ai, ai, ai!\"\n\nThere was the bear, in full sight. I was no longer expecting the bear\nto come toward me, and so looked to the right toward my companion. I saw\nDemy\u00e1n running without the snow-shoes along the path, with a stick in\nhis hand, and going up to my companion, sitting down near him, and\npointing with the stick at something, as though he were aiming. I saw my\ncompanion raise his gun and aim at where Demy\u00e1n was pointing. Bang! he\nfired it off.\n\n\"Well,\" I thought, \"he has killed him.\" But I saw that my companion was\nnot running toward the bear. \"Evidently he missed him, or did not strike\nhim right. He will get away,\" I thought, \"but he will not come toward\nme.\"\n\nWhat was that? Suddenly I heard something in front of me: somebody was\nflying like a whirlwind, and scattering the snow near by, and panting. I\nlooked ahead of me, but he was making headlong toward me along the path\nthrough the dense pine growth. I could see that he was beside himself\nwith fear. When he was within five steps of me I could see the whole of\nhim: his chest was black and his head was enormous, and of a reddish\ncolour. He was flying straight toward me, and scattering the snow in all\ndirections. I could see by the bear's eyes that he did not see me and in\nhis fright was rushing headlong. He was making straight for the pine\nwhere I was standing. I raised my gun, and shot, but he came still\nnearer. I saw that I had not hit him: the bullet was carried past him.\nHe heard nothing, plunged onward, and did not see me. I bent down the\ngun, almost rested it against his head. Bang! This time I hit him, but\ndid not kill him.\n\nHe raised his head, dropped his ears, showed his teeth,--and straight\ntoward me. I grasped the other gun; but before I had it in my hand, he\nwas already on me, knocked me down, and flew over me. \"Well,\" I thought,\n\"that is good, he will not touch me.\" I was just getting up, when I\nfelt something pressing against me and holding me down. In his onrush he\nran past me, but he turned around and rushed against me with his whole\nbreast. I felt something heavy upon me, something warm over my face, and\nI felt him taking my face into his jaws. My nose was already in his\nmouth, and I felt hot, and smelled his blood. He pressed my shoulders\nwith his paws, and I could not stir. All I could do was to pull my head\nout of his jaws and press it against my breast, and I turned my nose and\neyes away. But he was trying to get at my eyes and nose. I felt him\nstrike the teeth of his upper jaw into my forehead, right below the\nhair, and the lower jaw into the cheek-bones below the eyes, and he\nbegan to crush me. It was as though my head were cut with knives. I\njerked and pulled out my head, but he chawed and chawed and snapped at\nme like a dog. I would turn my head away, and he would catch it again.\n\"Well,\" I thought, \"my end has come.\" Suddenly I felt lighter. I looked\nup, and he was gone: he had jumped away from me, and was running now.\n\nWhen my companion and Demy\u00e1n saw that the bear had knocked me into the\nsnow, they dashed for me. My companion wanted to get there as fast as\npossible, but lost his way; instead of running on the trodden path, he\nran straight ahead, and fell down. While he was trying to get out of the\nsnow, the bear was gnawing at me. Demy\u00e1n ran up to me along the path,\nwithout a gun, just with the stick which he had in his hands, and he\nshouted, \"He is eating up the gentleman! He is eating up the gentleman!\"\nAnd he kept running and shouting, \"Oh, you wretched beast! What are you\ndoing? Stop! Stop!\"\n\nThe bear listened to him, stopped, and ran away. When I got up, there\nwas much blood on the snow, just as though a sheep had been killed, and\nover my eyes the flesh hung in rags. While the wound was fresh I felt no\npain.\n\nMy companion ran up to me, and the peasants gathered around me. They\nlooked at my wounds, and washed them with snow. I had entirely forgotten\nabout the wounds, and only asked, \"Where is the bear? Where has he\ngone?\"\n\nSuddenly we heard, \"Here he is! Here he is!\" We saw the bear running\nonce more against us. We grasped our guns, but before we fired he ran\npast us. The bear was mad: he wanted to bite me again, but when he saw\nso many people he became frightened. We saw by the track that the bear\nwas bleeding from the head. We wanted to follow him up, but my head hurt\nme, and so we drove to town to see a doctor.\n\nThe doctor sewed up my wounds with silk, and they began to heal.\n\nA month later we went out again to hunt that bear; but I did not get the\nchance to kill him. The bear would not leave the cover, and kept walking\naround and around and roaring terribly. Demy\u00e1n killed him. My shot had\ncrushed his lower jaw and knocked out a tooth.\n\nThis bear was very large, and he had beautiful black fur. I had the skin\nstuffed, and it is lying now in my room. The wounds on my head have\nhealed, so that one can scarcely see where they were.\n\n\n\n\nA PRISONER OF THE CAUCASUS\n\n\nI.\n\nA certain gentleman was serving as an officer in the Caucasus. His name\nwas Zhil\u00edn.\n\nOne day he received a letter from home. His old mother wrote to him:\n\n\"I have grown old, and I should like to see my darling son before my\ndeath. Come to bid me farewell and bury me, and then, with God's aid,\nreturn to the service. I have also found a bride for you: she is bright\nand pretty and has property. If you take a liking to her, you can marry\nher, and stay here for good.\"\n\nZhil\u00edn reflected: \"Indeed, my old mother has grown feeble; perhaps I\nshall never see her again. I must go; and if the bride is a good girl, I\nmay marry her.\"\n\nHe went to the colonel, got a furlough, bade his companions good-bye,\ntreated his soldiers to four buckets of v\u00f3dka, and got himself ready to\ngo.\n\nAt that time there was a war in the Caucasus. Neither in the daytime,\nnor at night, was it safe to travel on the roads. The moment a Russian\nwalked or drove away from a fortress, the Tartars either killed him or\ntook him as a prisoner to the mountains. It was a rule that a guard of\nsoldiers should go twice a week from fortress to fortress. In front and\nin the rear walked soldiers, and between them were other people.\n\nIt was in the summer. The carts gathered at daybreak outside the\nfortress, and the soldiers of the convoy came out, and all started.\nZhil\u00edn rode on horseback, and his cart with his things went with the\ncaravan.\n\nThey had to travel twenty-five versts. The caravan proceeded slowly; now\nthe soldiers stopped, and now a wheel came off a cart, or a horse\nstopped, and all had to stand still and wait.\n\nThe sun had already passed midday, but the caravan had made only half\nthe distance. It was dusty and hot; the sun just roasted them, and there\nwas no shelter: it was a barren plain, with neither tree nor bush along\nthe road.\n\nZhil\u00edn rode out ahead. He stopped and waited for the caravan to catch up\nwith him. He heard them blow the signal-horn behind: they had stopped\nagain.\n\nZhil\u00edn thought: \"Why can't I ride on, without the soldiers? I have a\ngood horse under me, and if I run against Tartars, I will gallop away.\nOr had I better not go?\"\n\nHe stopped to think it over. There rode up to him another officer,\nKostyl\u00edn, with a gun, and said:\n\n\"Let us ride by ourselves, Zhil\u00edn! I cannot stand it any longer: I am\nhungry, and it is so hot. My shirt is dripping wet.\"\n\nKostyl\u00edn was a heavy, stout man, with a red face, and the perspiration\nwas just rolling down his face. Zhil\u00edn thought awhile and said:\n\n\"Is your gun loaded?\"\n\n\"It is.\"\n\n\"Well, then, we will go, but on one condition, that we do not separate.\"\n\nAnd so they rode ahead on the highway. They rode through the steppe, and\ntalked, and looked about them. They could see a long way off.\n\nWhen the steppe came to an end, the road entered a cleft between two\nmountains. So Zhil\u00edn said:\n\n\"We ought to ride up the mountain to take a look; for here they may\nleap out on us from the mountain without our seeing them.\"\n\nBut Kostyl\u00edn said:\n\n\"What is the use of looking? Let us ride on!\"\n\nZhil\u00edn paid no attention to him.\n\n\"No,\" he said, \"you wait here below, and I will take a look up there.\"\n\nAnd he turned his horse to the left, up-hill. The horse under Zhil\u00edn was\na thoroughbred (he had paid a hundred roubles for it when it was a colt,\nand had himself trained it), and it carried him up the slope as though\non wings. The moment he reached the summit, he saw before him a number\nof Tartars on horseback, about eighty fathoms away. There were about\nthirty of them. When he saw them, he began to turn back; and the Tartars\nsaw him, and galloped toward him, and on the ride took their guns out of\nthe covers. Zhil\u00edn urged his horse down-hill as fast as its legs would\ncarry him, and he shouted to Kostyl\u00edn:\n\n\"Take out the gun!\" and he himself thought about his horse: \"Darling,\ntake me away from here! Don't stumble! If you do, I am lost. If I get to\nthe gun, they shall not catch me.\"\n\nBut Kostyl\u00edn, instead of waiting, galloped at full speed toward the\nfortress, the moment he saw the Tartars. He urged the horse on with the\nwhip, now on one side, and now on the other. One could see through the\ndust only the horse switching her tail.\n\nZhil\u00edn saw that things were bad. The gun had disappeared, and he could\ndo nothing with a sword. He turned his horse back to the soldiers,\nthinking that he might get away. He saw six men crossing his path. He\nhad a good horse under him, but theirs were better still, and they\ncrossed his path. He began to check his horse: he wanted to turn around;\nbut the horse was running at full speed and could not be stopped, and he\nflew straight toward them. He saw a red-bearded Tartar on a gray horse,\nwho was coming near to him. He howled and showed his teeth, and his gun\nwas against his shoulder.\n\n\"Well,\" thought Zhil\u00edn, \"I know you devils. When you take one alive, you\nput him in a hole and beat him with a whip. I will not fall into your\nhands alive----\"\n\nThough Zhil\u00edn was not tall, he was brave. He drew his sword, turned his\nhorse straight against the Tartar, and thought:\n\n\"Either I will knock his horse off its feet, or I will strike the Tartar\nwith my sword.\"\n\nZhil\u00edn got within a horse's length from him, when they shot at him from\nbehind and hit the horse. The horse dropped on the ground while going at\nfull speed, and fell on Zhil\u00edn's leg.\n\nHe wanted to get up, but two stinking Tartars were already astride of\nhim. He tugged and knocked down the two Tartars, but three more jumped\ndown from their horses and began to strike him with the butts of their\nguns. Things grew dim before his eyes, and he tottered. The Tartars took\nhold of him, took from their saddles some reserve straps, twisted his\narms behind his back, tied them with a Tartar knot, and fastened him to\nthe saddle. They knocked down his hat, pulled off his boots, rummaged\nall over him, and took away his money and his watch, and tore all his\nclothes.\n\nZhil\u00edn looked back at his horse. The dear animal was lying just as it\nhad fallen down, and only twitched its legs and did not reach the ground\nwith them; in its head there was a hole, and from it the black blood\ngushed and wet the dust for an ell around.\n\nA Tartar went up to the horse, to pull off the saddle. The horse was\nstruggling still, and so he took out his dagger and cut its throat. A\nwhistling sound came from the throat, and the horse twitched, and was\ndead.\n\nThe Tartars took off the saddle and the trappings. The red-bearded\nTartar mounted his horse, and the others seated Zhil\u00edn behind him. To\nprevent his falling off, they attached him by a strap to the Tartar's\nbelt, and they rode off to the mountains.\n\nZhil\u00edn was sitting back of the Tartar, and shaking and striking with his\nface against the stinking Tartar's back. All he saw before him was the\nmighty back, and the muscular neck, and the livid, shaved nape of his\nhead underneath his cap. Zhil\u00edn's head was bruised, and the blood was\nclotted under his eyes. And he could not straighten himself on the\nsaddle, nor wipe off his blood. His arms were twisted so badly that his\nshoulder bones pained him.\n\nThey rode for a long time from one mountain to another, and forded a\nriver, and came out on a path, where they rode through a ravine.\n\nZhil\u00edn wanted to take note of the road on which they were travelling,\nbut his eyes were smeared with blood, and he could not turn around.\n\nIt was getting dark. They crossed another stream and rode up a rocky\nmountain. There was an odour of smoke, and the dogs began to bark. They\nhad come to a native village. The Tartars got down from their horses;\nthe Tartar children gathered around Zhil\u00edn, and screamed, and rejoiced,\nand aimed stones at him.\n\nThe Tartar drove the boys away, took Zhil\u00edn down from his horse, and\ncalled a labourer. There came a Nogay, with large cheek-bones; he wore\nnothing but a shirt. The shirt was torn and left his breast bare. The\nTartar gave him a command. The labourer brought the stocks,--two oak\nplanks drawn through iron rings, and one of these rings with a clasp and\nlock.\n\nThey untied Zhil\u00edn's hands, put the stocks on him, and led him into a\nshed: they pushed him in and locked the door. Zhil\u00edn fell on the manure\npile. He felt around in the darkness for a soft spot, and lay down\nthere.\n\n[Illustration: \"They rode off to the mountains\"\n\n_Photogravure from Painting by A. Kivsh\u00e9nko_]\n\n\nII.\n\nZhil\u00edn lay awake nearly the whole night. The nights were short. He saw\nthrough a chink that it was getting light. He got up, made the chink\nlarger, and looked out.\n\nThrough the chink Zhil\u00edn saw the road: it went down-hill; on the right\nwas a Tartar cabin, and near it two trees. A black dog lay on the\nthreshold, and a goat strutted about with her kids, which were jerking\ntheir little tails. He saw a young Tartar woman coming up the hill; she\nwore a loose coloured shirt and pantaloons and boots, and her head was\ncovered with a caftan, and on her head there was a large tin pitcher\nwith water. She walked along, jerking her back, and bending over, and by\nthe hand she led a young shaven Tartar boy in nothing but his shirt. The\nTartar woman went into the cabin with the water, and out came the Tartar\nof the day before, with the red beard, wearing a silk half-coat, a\nsilver dagger on a strap, and shoes on his bare feet. On his head there\nwas a tall, black sheepskin hat, tilted backwards. He came out, and he\nstretched himself and smoothed his red beard. He stood awhile, gave the\nlabourer an order, and went away.\n\nThen two boys rode by, taking the horses to water. The muzzles of the\nhorses were wet. Then there ran out some other shaven boys, in nothing\nbut their shirts, with no trousers; they gathered in a crowd, walked\nover to the shed, picked up a stick, and began to poke it through the\nchink. When Zhil\u00edn shouted at the children, they screamed and started to\nrun back, so that their bare knees glistened in the sun.\n\nZhil\u00edn wanted to drink,--his throat was all dried up. He thought: \"If\nthey would only come to see me!\" He heard them open the shed. The red\nTartar came in, and with him another, black-looking fellow, of smaller\nstature. His eyes were black and bright, his cheeks ruddy, his small\nbeard clipped; his face looked jolly, and he kept laughing all the time.\nThis swarthy fellow was dressed even better: he had on a silk half-coat,\nof a blue colour, embroidered with galloons. In his belt there was a\nlarge silver dagger; his slippers were of red morocco and also\nembroidered with silver. Over his thin slippers he wore heavier shoes.\nHis cap was tall, of white astrakhan.\n\nThe red Tartar came in. He said something, as though scolding, and\nstopped. He leaned against the door-post, dangled his dagger, and like a\nwolf looked furtively at Zhil\u00edn. But the swarthy fellow--swift, lively,\nwalking around as though on springs--went up straight to Zhil\u00edn,\nsquatted down, showed his teeth, slapped him on the shoulder, began to\nrattle off something in his language, winked with his eyes, clicked his\ntongue, and kept repeating: \"Goot Uruss! Goot Uruss!\"\n\nZhil\u00edn did not understand a thing and said:\n\n\"Give me to drink, give me water to drink!\"\n\nThe swarthy fellow laughed. \"Goot Uruss!\" he kept rattling off.\n\nZhil\u00edn showed with his lips and hands that he wanted something to drink.\n\nThe swarthy fellow understood what he wanted, laughed out, looked\nthrough the door, and called some one: \"Dina!\"\n\nIn came a thin, slender little girl, of about thirteen years of age, who\nresembled the swarthy man very much. Evidently she was his daughter. Her\neyes, too, were black and bright, and her face was pretty. She wore a\nlong blue shirt, with broad sleeves and without a belt. The skirt, the\nbreast, and the sleeves were trimmed with red. On her legs were\npantaloons, and on her feet slippers, with high-heeled shoes over them;\non her neck she wore a necklace of Russian half-roubles. Her head was\nuncovered; her braid was black, with a ribbon through it, and from the\nribbon hung small plates and a Russian rouble.\n\nHer father gave her a command. She ran away, and came back and brought a\nsmall tin pitcher. She gave him the water, and herself squatted down,\nbending up in such a way that her shoulders were below her knees. She\nsat there, and opened her eyes, and looked at Zhil\u00edn drinking, as though\nhe were some animal.\n\nZhil\u00edn handed her back the pitcher. She jumped away like a wild goat.\nEven her father laughed. He sent her somewhere else. She took the\npitcher and ran away; she brought some fresh bread on a round board, and\nagain sat down, bent over, riveted her eyes on him, and kept looking.\n\nThe Tartars went away and locked the door.\n\nAfter awhile the Nogay came to Zhil\u00edn, and said:\n\n\"Ai-da, master, ai-da!\"\n\nHe did not know any Russian, either. All Zhil\u00edn could make out was that\nhe should follow him.\n\nZhil\u00edn started with the stocks, and he limped and could not walk, so\nmuch did the stocks pull his legs aside. Zhil\u00edn went out with the Nogay.\nHe saw a Tartar village of about ten houses, and a church of theirs,\nwith a small tower. Near one house stood three horses, all saddled. Boys\nwere holding the reins. From the house sprang the swarthy Tartar, and he\nwaved his hand for Zhil\u00edn to come up. He laughed all the while, and\ntalked in his language, and disappeared through the door.\n\nZhil\u00edn entered the house. It was a good living-room,--the walls were\nplastered smooth with clay. Along the front wall lay coloured cushions,\nand at the sides hung costly rugs; on the rugs were guns, pistols,\nswords,--all in silver. By one wall there was a small stove, on a level\nwith the floor. The floor was of dirt and as clean as a threshing-floor,\nand the whole front corner was carpeted with felt; and over the felt lay\nrugs, and on the rugs cushions. On these rugs sat the Tartars, in their\nslippers without their outer shoes: there were the swarthy fellow, the\nred Tartar, and three guests. At their backs were feather cushions, and\nbefore them, on a round board, were millet cakes and melted butter in a\nbowl, and Tartar beer, \"buza,\" in a small pitcher. They were eating with\ntheir hands, and their hands were all greasy from the butter.\n\nThe swarthy man jumped up and ordered Zhil\u00edn to be placed to one side,\nnot on a rug, but on the bare floor; he went back to his rug, and\ntreated his guests to millet cakes and buza. The labourer placed Zhil\u00edn\nwhere he had been ordered, himself took off his outer shoes, put them at\nthe door, where stood the other shoes, and sat down on the felt next to\nthe masters. He looked at them as they ate, and wiped off his spittle.\n\nThe Tartars ate the cakes. Then there came a Tartar woman, in a shirt\nlike the one the girl had on, and in pantaloons, and with a kerchief\nover her head. She carried away the butter and the cakes, and brought a\nsmall wash-basin of a pretty shape, and a pitcher with a narrow neck.\nThe Tartars washed their hands, then folded them, knelt down, blew in\nevery direction, and said their prayers. Then one of the Tartar guests\nturned to Zhil\u00edn, and began to speak in Russian:\n\n\"You,\" he said, \"were taken by Kazi-Muhammed,\" and he pointed to the red\nTartar, \"and he gave you to Abdul-Murat.\" He pointed to the swarthy man.\n\"Abdul-Murat is now your master.\"\n\nZhil\u00edn kept silence. Then Abdul-Murat began to speak. He pointed to\nZhil\u00edn, and laughed, and kept repeating:\n\n\"Soldier Uruss! Goot Uruss!\"\n\nThe interpreter said:\n\n\"He wants you to write a letter home that they may send a ransom for\nyou. When they send it, you will be set free.\"\n\nZhil\u00edn thought awhile and said:\n\n\"How much ransom does he want?\"\n\nThe Tartars talked together; then the interpreter said:\n\n\"Three thousand in silver.\"\n\n\"No,\" said Zhil\u00edn, \"I cannot pay that.\"\n\nAbdul jumped up, began to wave his hands and to talk to Zhil\u00edn, thinking\nthat he would understand him. The interpreter translated. He said:\n\n\"How much will you give?\"\n\nZhil\u00edn thought awhile, and said:\n\n\"Five hundred roubles.\"\n\nThen the Tartars began to talk a great deal, all at the same time. Abdul\nshouted at the red Tartar. He was so excited that the spittle just\nspirted from his mouth.\n\nBut the red Tartar only scowled and clicked his tongue.\n\nThey grew silent, and the interpreter said:\n\n\"The master is not satisfied with five hundred roubles. He has himself\npaid two hundred for you. Kazi-Muhammed owed him a debt. He took you for\nthat debt. Three thousand roubles, nothing less will do. And if you do\nnot write, you will be put in a hole and beaten with a whip.\"\n\n\"Oh,\" thought Zhil\u00edn, \"it will not do to show that I am frightened; that\nwill only be worse.\" He leaped to his feet, and said:\n\n\"Tell that dog that if he is going to frighten me, I will not give him a\npenny, and I will refuse to write. I have never been afraid of you dogs,\nand I never will be.\"\n\nThe interpreter translated, and all began to speak at the same time.\n\nThey babbled for a long time; then the swarthy Tartar jumped up and\nwalked over to Zhil\u00edn:\n\n\"Uruss,\" he said, \"dzhigit, dzhigit Uruss!\"\n\nDzhigit in their language means a \"brave.\" And he laughed; he said\nsomething to the interpreter, and the interpreter said:\n\n\"Give one thousand roubles!\"\n\nZhil\u00edn stuck to what he had said:\n\n\"I will not give more than five hundred. And if you kill me, you will\nget nothing.\"\n\nThe Tartars talked awhile and sent the labourer somewhere, and\nthemselves kept looking now at Zhil\u00edn and now at the door. The labourer\ncame, and behind him walked a fat man; he was barefoot and tattered; he,\ntoo, had on the stocks.\n\nZhil\u00edn just shouted, for he recognized Kostyl\u00edn. He, too, had been\ncaught. They were placed beside each other. They began to talk to each\nother, and the Tartars kept silence and looked at them. Zhil\u00edn told what\nhad happened to him; and Kostyl\u00edn told him that his horse had stopped\nand his gun had missed fire, and that the same Abdul had overtaken and\ncaptured him.\n\nAbdul jumped up, and pointed to Kostyl\u00edn, and said something. The\ninterpreter translated it, and said that both of them belonged to the\nsame master, and that the one who would first furnish the money would be\nthe first to be released.\n\n\"Now you,\" he said, \"are a cross fellow, but your friend is meek; he has\nwritten a letter home, and they will send five thousand roubles. He will\nbe fed well, and will not be insulted.\"\n\nSo Zhil\u00edn said:\n\n\"My friend may do as he pleases; maybe he is rich, but I am not. As I\nhave said, so will it be. If you want to, kill me,--you will not gain by\nit,--but more than five hundred will I not give.\"\n\nThey were silent for awhile. Suddenly Abdul jumped up, fetched a small\nbox, took out a pen, a piece of paper, and some ink, put it all before\nZhil\u00edn, slapped him on the shoulder, and motioned for him to write. He\nagreed to the five hundred.\n\n\"Wait awhile,\" Zhil\u00edn said to the interpreter. \"Tell him that he has to\nfeed us well, and give us the proper clothes and shoes, and keep us\ntogether,--it will be jollier for us,--and take off the stocks.\" He\nlooked at the master and laughed. The master himself laughed. He\nlistened to the interpreter, and said:\n\n\"I will give you the best of clothes,--a Circassian mantle and\nboots,--you will be fit to marry. We will feed you like princes. And if\nyou want to stay together, you may live in the shed. But the stocks\ncannot be taken off, for you will run away. For the night we will take\nthem off.\"\n\nHe ran up to Zhil\u00edn, and tapped him on the shoulder:\n\n\"You goot, me goot!\"\n\nZhil\u00edn wrote the letter, but he did not address it right. He thought he\nwould run away.\n\nZhil\u00edn and Kostyl\u00edn were taken back to the shed. They brought for them\nmaize straw, water in a pitcher, bread, two old mantles, and worn\nsoldier boots. They had evidently been pulled off dead soldiers. For the\nnight the stocks were taken off, and they were locked in the barn.\n\n\nIII.\n\nZhil\u00edn and his companion lived thus for a whole month. Their master kept\nlaughing.\n\n\"You, Iv\u00e1n, goot, me, Abdul, goot!\"\n\nBut he did not feed them well. All he gave them to eat was unsalted\nmillet bread, baked like pones, or entirely unbaked dough.\n\nKostyl\u00edn wrote home a second letter. He was waiting for the money to\ncome, and felt lonesome. He sat for days at a time in the shed counting\nthe days before the letter would come, or he slept. But Zhil\u00edn knew\nthat his letter would not reach any one, and so he did not write\nanother.\n\n\"Where,\" he thought, \"is my mother to get so much money? As it is, she\nlived mainly by what I sent her. If she should collect five hundred\nroubles, she would be ruined in the end. If God grants it, I will manage\nto get away from here.\"\n\nAnd he watched and thought of how to get away.\n\nHe walked through the village and whistled, or he sat down somewhere to\nwork with his hands, either making a doll from clay, or weaving a fence\nfrom twigs. Zhil\u00edn was a great hand at all kinds of such work.\n\nOne day he made a doll, with a nose, and hands, and legs, in a Tartar\nshirt, and put the doll on the roof. The Tartar maidens were going for\nwater. His master's daughter, Dina, saw the doll, and she called up the\nTartar girls. They put down their pitchers, and looked, and laughed.\nZhil\u00edn took down the doll and gave it to them. They laughed, and did not\ndare take it. He left the doll, and went back to the shed to see what\nthey would do.\n\nDina ran up, looked around, grasped the doll, and ran away with it.\n\nIn the morning, at daybreak, he saw Dina coming out with the doll in\nfront of the house. The doll was all dressed up in red rags, and she was\nrocking the doll and singing to it in her fashion. The old woman came\nout. She scolded her, took the doll away from her and broke it, and sent\nDina to work.\n\nZhil\u00edn made another doll, a better one than before, and he gave it to\nDina. One day Dina brought him a small pitcher. She put it down, herself\nsat down and looked at him, and laughed, as she pointed to the pitcher.\n\n\"What is she so happy about?\" thought Zhil\u00edn.\n\nHe took the pitcher and began to drink. He thought it was water, but,\nbehold, it was milk. He drank the milk, and said:\n\n\"It is good!\"\n\nDina was very happy.\n\n\"Good, Iv\u00e1n, good!\" and she jumped up, clapped her hands, took away the\npitcher, and ran off.\n\nFrom that time she brought him milk every day on the sly. The Tartars\nmake cheese-cakes from goat milk, and dry them on the roofs,--and so she\nbrought him those cakes also. One day the master killed a sheep, so she\nbrought him a piece of mutton in her sleeve. She would throw it down and\nrun away.\n\nOne day there was a severe storm, and for an hour the rain fell as\nthough from a pail. All the streams became turbid. Where there was a\nford, the water was now eight feet deep, and stones were borne down.\nTorrents were running everywhere, and there was a roar in the mountains.\nWhen the storm was over, streams were coming down the village in every\ndirection. Zhil\u00edn asked his master to let him have a penknife, and with\nit he cut out a small axle and little boards, and made a wheel, and to\neach end of the wheel he attached a doll.\n\nThe girls brought him pieces of material, and he dressed the dolls: one\na man, the other a woman. He fixed them firmly, and placed the wheel\nover a brook. The wheel began to turn, and the dolls to jump.\n\nThe whole village gathered around it; boys, girls, women, and men came,\nand they clicked with their tongues:\n\n\"Ai, Uruss! Ai, Iv\u00e1n!\"\n\nAbdul had a Russian watch, but it was broken. He called Zhil\u00edn, showed\nit to him, and clicked his tongue. Zhil\u00edn said:\n\n\"Let me have it! I will fix it!\"\n\nHe took it to pieces with a penknife; then he put it together, and gave\nit back to him. The watch was running now.\n\nThe master was delighted. He brought his old half-coat,--it was all in\nrags,--and made him a present of it. What could he do but take it? He\nthought it would be good enough to cover himself with in the night.\n\nAfter that the rumour went abroad that Zhil\u00edn was a great master. They\nbegan to come to him from distant villages: one, to have him fix a\ngun-lock or a pistol, another, to set a clock a-going. His master\nbrought him tools,--pinchers, gimlets, and files.\n\nOne day a Tartar became sick: they sent to Zhil\u00edn, and said, \"Go and\ncure him!\" Zhil\u00edn did not know anything about medicine. He went, took a\nlook at him, and thought, \"Maybe he will get well by himself.\" He went\nto the barn, took some water and sand, and mixed it. In the presence of\nthe Tartars he said a charm over the water, and gave it to him to drink.\nLuckily for him, the Tartar got well.\n\nZhil\u00edn began to understand their language. Some of the Tartars got used\nto him. When they needed him, they called, \"Iv\u00e1n, Iv\u00e1n!\" but others\nlooked at him awry, as at an animal.\n\nThe red Tartar did not like Zhil\u00edn. Whenever he saw him, he frowned and\nturned away, or called him names. There was also an old man; he did not\nlive in the village, but came from farther down the mountain. Zhil\u00edn saw\nhim only when he came to the mosque, to pray to God. He was a small man;\nhis cap was wrapped with a white towel. His beard and moustache were\nclipped, and they were as white as down; his face was wrinkled and as\nred as a brick. His nose was hooked, like a hawk's beak, and his eyes\nwere gray and mean-looking; of teeth he had only two tusks. He used to\nwalk in his turban, leaning on a crutch, and looking around him like a\nwolf. Whenever he saw Zhil\u00edn, he grunted and turned away.\n\nOne day Zhil\u00edn went down-hill, to see where the old man was living. He\nwalked down the road, and saw a little garden, with a stone fence, and\ninside the fence were cherry and apricot trees, and stood a hut with a\nflat roof. He came closer to it, and he saw beehives woven from straw,\nand bees were swarming around and buzzing. The old man was kneeling, and\ndoing something to a hive. Zhil\u00edn got up higher, to get a good look, and\nmade a noise with his stocks. The old man looked around and shrieked; he\npulled the pistol out from his belt and fired at Zhil\u00edn. He had just\ntime to hide behind a rock.\n\nThe old man went to the master to complain about Zhil\u00edn. The master\ncalled up Zhil\u00edn, and laughed, and asked:\n\n\"Why did you go to the old man?\"\n\n\"I have not done him any harm,\" he said. \"I just wanted to see how he\nlives.\"\n\nThe master told the old man that. But the old man was angry, and hissed,\nand rattled something off; he showed his teeth and waved his hand\nthreateningly at Zhil\u00edn.\n\nZhil\u00edn did not understand it all; but he understood that the old man was\ntelling his master to kill all the Russians, and not to keep them in the\nvillage. The old man went away.\n\nZhil\u00edn asked his master what kind of a man that old Tartar was. The\nmaster said:\n\n\"He is a big man! He used to be the first dzhigit: he killed a lot of\nRussians, and he was rich. He had three wives and eight sons. All of\nthem lived in the same village. The Russians came, destroyed the\nvillage, and killed seven of his sons. One son was left alive, and he\nsurrendered himself to the Russians. The old man went and surrendered\nhimself, too, to the Russians. He stayed with them three months, found\nhis son there, and killed him, and then he ran away. Since then he has\nstopped fighting. He has been to Mecca, to pray to God, and that is why\nhe wears the turban. He who has been to Mecca is called a Hadji and puts\non a turban. He has no use for you fellows. He tells me to kill you;\nbut I cannot kill you,--I have paid for you; and then, Iv\u00e1n, I like you.\nI not only have no intention of killing you, but I would not let you go\nback, if I had not given my word to you.\" He laughed as he said that,\nand added in Russian: \"You, Iv\u00e1n, good, me, Abdul, good!\"\n\n\nIV.\n\nZhil\u00edn lived thus for a month. In the daytime he walked around the\nvillage and made things with his hands, and when night came, and all was\nquiet in the village, he began to dig in the shed. It was difficult to\ndig on account of the rocks, but he sawed the stones with the file, and\nmade a hole through which he meant to crawl later. \"First I must find\nout what direction to go in,\" he thought; \"but the Tartars will not tell\nme anything.\"\n\nSo he chose a time when his master was away; he went after dinner back\nof the village, up-hill, where he could see the place. But when his\nmaster went away, he told his little boy to keep an eye on Zhil\u00edn and to\nfollow him everywhere. So the boy ran after Zhil\u00edn, and said:\n\n\"Don't go! Father said that you should not go there. I will call the\npeople!\"\n\nZhil\u00edn began to persuade him.\n\n\"I do not want to go far,\" he said; \"I just want to walk up the\nmountain: I want to find an herb with which to cure you people. Come\nwith me; I cannot run away with the stocks. To-morrow I will make you a\nbow and arrows.\"\n\nHe persuaded the boy, and they went together. As he looked up the\nmountain, it looked near, but with the stocks it was hard to walk; he\nwalked and walked, and climbed the mountain with difficulty. Zhil\u00edn sat\ndown and began to look at the place. To the south of the shed there was\na ravine, and there a herd of horses was grazing, and in a hollow could\nbe seen another village. At that village began a steeper mountain, and\nbeyond that mountain there was another mountain. Between the mountains\ncould be seen a forest, and beyond it again the mountains, rising higher\nand higher. Highest of all, there were white mountains, capped with\nsnow, just like sugar loaves. And one snow mountain stood with its cap\nabove all the rest. To the east and the west there were just such\nmountains; here and there smoke rose from villages in the clefts.\n\n\"Well,\" he thought, \"that is all their side.\"\n\nHe began to look to the Russian side. At his feet was a brook and his\nvillage, and all around were little gardens. At the brook women were\nsitting,--they looked as small as dolls,--and washing the linen. Beyond\nthe village and below it there was a mountain, and beyond that, two\nother mountains, covered with forests; between the two mountains could\nbe seen an even spot, and on that plain, far, far away, it looked as\nthough smoke were settling. Zhil\u00edn recalled where the sun used to rise\nand set when he was at home in the fortress. He looked down there,--sure\nenough, that was the valley where the Russian fortress ought to be.\nThere, then, between those two mountains, he had to run.\n\nThe sun was beginning to go down. The snow-capped mountains changed from\nwhite to violet; it grew dark in the black mountains; vapour arose from\nthe clefts, and the valley, where our fortress no doubt was, gleamed in\nthe sunset as though on fire. Zhil\u00edn began to look sharply,--something\nwas quivering in the valley, like smoke rising from chimneys. He was\nsure now that it must be the Russian fortress.\n\nIt grew late; he could hear the mullah call; the flock was being driven,\nand the cows lowed. The boy said to him, \"Come!\" but Zhil\u00edn did not feel\nlike leaving.\n\nThey returned home. \"Well,\" thought Zhil\u00edn, \"now I know the place, and I\nmust run.\" He wanted to run that same night. The nights were dark,--the\nmoon was on the wane. Unfortunately the Tartars returned toward evening.\nAt other times they returned driving cattle before them, and then they\nwere jolly. But this time they did not drive home anything, but brought\nback a dead Tartar, a red-haired companion of theirs. They came back\nangry, and all gathered to bury him. Zhil\u00edn, too, went out to see. They\nwrapped the dead man in linen, without putting him in a coffin, and\ncarried him under the plane-trees beyond the village, and placed him on\nthe grass. The mullah came, and the old men gathered around him, their\ncaps wrapped with towels, and took off their shoes and seated themselves\nin a row on their heels, in front of the dead man.\n\nAt their head was the mullah, and then three old men in turbans, sitting\nin a row, and behind them other Tartars. They sat, and bent their heads,\nand kept silence. They were silent for quite awhile. Then the mullah\nraised his head, and said:\n\n\"Allah!\" (That means \"God.\") He said that one word, and again they\nlowered their heads and kept silence for a long time; they sat without\nstirring. Again the mullah raised his head:\n\n\"Allah!\" and all repeated, \"Allah!\" and again they were silent. The dead\nman lay on the grass, and did not stir, and they sat about him like the\ndead. Not one of them stirred. One could hear only the leaves on the\nplane-tree rustling in the breeze. Then the mullah said a prayer, and\nall got up, lifted the dead body, and carried it away. They took it to a\ngrave,--not a simple grave, but dug under like a cave. They took the\ndead man under his arms and by his legs, bent him over, let him down\nsoftly, pushed him under in a sitting posture, and fixed his arms on his\nbody.\n\nA Nogay dragged up a lot of green reeds; they bedded the grave with it,\nthen quickly filled it with dirt, levelled it up, and put a stone up\nstraight at the head of it. They tramped down the earth, and again sat\ndown in a row near the grave. They were silent for a long time.\n\n\"Allah, Allah, Allah!\" They sighed and got up.\n\nA red-haired Tartar distributed money to the old men; then he got up,\ntook a whip, struck himself three times on his forehead, and went home.\n\nNext morning Zhil\u00edn saw the red Tartar take a mare out of the village,\nand three Tartars followed him. They went outside the village; then the\nred-haired Tartar took off his coat, rolled up his sleeves,--he had\nimmense arms,--and took out his dagger and whetted it on a steel. The\nTartars jerked up the mare's head, and the red-haired man walked over to\nher, cut her throat, threw her down, and began to flay her,--to rip the\nskin open with his fists. Then came women and girls, and they began to\nwash the inside and the entrails. Then they chopped up the mare and\ndragged the flesh to the house. And the whole village gathered at the\nhouse of the red-haired Tartar to celebrate the dead man's wake.\n\nFor three days did they eat the horse-flesh, drink buza, and remember\nthe dead man. On the fourth day Zhil\u00edn saw them get ready to go\nsomewhere for a dinner. They brought horses, dressed themselves up, and\nwent away,--about ten men, and the red Tartar with them; Abdul was the\nonly one who was left at home. The moon was just beginning to increase,\nand the nights were still dark.\n\n\"Well,\" thought Zhil\u00edn, \"to-night I must run,\" and he told Kostyl\u00edn so.\nBut Kostyl\u00edn was timid.\n\n\"How can we run? We do not know the road.\"\n\n\"I know it.\"\n\n\"But we cannot reach it in the night.\"\n\n\"If we do not, we shall stay for the night in the woods. I have a lot of\ncakes with me. You certainly do not mean to stay. It would be all right\nif they sent the money; but suppose they cannot get together so much.\nThe Tartars are mean now, because the Russians have killed one of\ntheirs. I understand they want to kill us now.\"\n\nKostyl\u00edn thought awhile:\n\n\"Well, let us go!\"\n\n\nV.\n\nZhil\u00edn crept into the hole and dug it wider, so that Kostyl\u00edn could get\nthrough; and then they sat still and waited for everything to quiet down\nin the village.\n\nWhen all grew quiet, Zhil\u00edn crawled through the hole and got out. He\nwhispered to Kostyl\u00edn to crawl out. Kostyl\u00edn started to come out, but he\ncaught a stone with his foot, and it made a noise. Now their master had\na dappled watch-dog, and he was dreadfully mean; his name was Ulyashin.\nZhil\u00edn had been feeding him before. When Ulyashin heard the voice, he\nbegan to bark and rushed forward, and with him other dogs. Zhil\u00edn gave a\nlow whistle and threw a piece of cake to the dog, and the dog recognized\nhim and wagged his tail and stopped barking.\n\nThe master heard it, and he called out from the hut, \"Hait, hait,\nUlyashin!\"\n\nBut Zhil\u00edn was scratching Ulyashin behind his ears; so the dog was\nsilent and rubbed against his legs and wagged his tail.\n\nThey sat awhile around the corner. All was silent; nothing could be\nheard but the sheep coughing in the hut corner, and the water rippling\ndown the pebbles. It was dark; the stars stood high in the heaven; the\nyoung moon shone red above the mountain, and its horns were turned\nupward. In the clefts the mist looked as white as milk.\n\nZhil\u00edn got up and said to his companion:\n\n\"Now, my friend, let us start!\"\n\nThey started. They had made but a few steps, when they heard the mullah\nsing out on the roof: \"Allah besmillah! Ilrakhman!\" That meant that the\npeople were going to the mosque. They sat down again, hiding behind a\nwall. They sat for a long time, waiting for the people to pass by. Again\neverything was quiet.\n\n\"Well, with God's aid!\" They made the sign of the cross, and started.\nThey crossed the yard and went down-hill to the brook; they crossed the\nbrook and walked down the ravine. The mist was dense and low on the\nground, and overhead the stars were, oh, so visible. Zhil\u00edn saw by the\nstars in what direction they had to go. In the mist it felt fresh, and\nit was easy to walk, only the boots were awkward, they had worn down so\nmuch. Zhil\u00edn took off his boots and threw them away, and marched on\nbarefoot. He leaped from stone to stone, and kept watching the stars.\nKostyl\u00edn began to fall behind.\n\n\"Walk slower,\" he said. \"The accursed boots,--they have chafed my feet.\"\n\n\"Take them off! You will find it easier without them.\"\n\nKostyl\u00edn walked barefoot after that; but it was only worse: he cut his\nfeet on the rocks, and kept falling behind. Zhil\u00edn said to him:\n\n\"If you bruise your feet, they will heal up; but if they catch you; they\nwill kill you,--so it will be worse.\"\n\nKostyl\u00edn said nothing, but he groaned as he walked. They walked for a\nlong time through a ravine. Suddenly they heard dogs barking. Zhil\u00edn\nstopped and looked around; he groped with his hands and climbed a hill.\n\n\"Oh,\" he said, \"we have made a mistake,--we have borne too much to the\nright. Here is a village,--I saw it from the mountain; we must go back\nand to the left, and up the mountain. There must be a forest here.\"\n\nBut Kostyl\u00edn said:\n\n\"Wait at least awhile! Let me rest: my feet are all blood-stained.\"\n\n\"Never mind, friend, they will heal up! Jump more lightly,--like this!\"\n\nAnd Zhil\u00edn ran back, and to the left, up the mountain into the forest.\nKostyl\u00edn kept falling behind and groaning. Zhil\u00edn hushed him, and walked\non.\n\nThey got up the mountain, and there, indeed, was a forest. They went\ninto the forest, and tore all the clothes they had against the thorns.\nThey struck a path in the forest, and followed it.\n\n\"Stop!\" Hoofs were heard tramping on the path. They stopped to listen.\nIt was the sound of a horse's hoofs. They started, and again it began to\nthud. They stopped, and it, too, stopped. Zhil\u00edn crawled up to it, and\nsaw something standing in the light on the road. It was not exactly a\nhorse, and again it was like a horse with something strange above it,\nand certainly not a man. He heard it snort. \"What in the world is it?\"\nZhil\u00edn gave a light whistle, and it bolted away from the path, so that\nhe could hear it crash through the woods: the branches broke off, as\nthough a storm went through them.\n\nKostyl\u00edn fell down in fright. But Zhil\u00edn laughed and said:\n\n\"That is a stag. Do you hear him break the branches with his horns? We\nare afraid of him, and he is afraid of us.\"\n\nThey walked on. The Pleiades were beginning to settle,--it was not far\nfrom morning. They did not know whether they were going right, or not.\nZhil\u00edn thought that that was the path over which they had taken him, and\nthat he was about ten versts from his own people; still there were no\ncertain signs, and, besides, in the night nothing could be made out.\nThey came out on a clearing. Kostyl\u00edn sat down, and said:\n\n\"Do as you please, but I will not go any farther! My feet refuse to\nmove.\"\n\nZhil\u00edn begged him to go on.\n\n\"No,\" he said, \"I cannot walk on.\"\n\nZhil\u00edn got angry, spit out in disgust, and scolded him.\n\n\"Then I will go by myself,--good-bye!\"\n\nKostyl\u00edn got up and walked on. They walked about four versts. The mist\ngrew denser in the forest, and nothing could be seen in front of them,\nand the stars were quite dim.\n\nSuddenly they heard a horse tramping in front of them. They could hear\nthe horse catch with its hoofs in the stones. Zhil\u00edn lay down on his\nbelly, and put his ear to the ground to listen.\n\n\"So it is, a rider is coming this way!\"\n\nThey ran off the road, sat down in the bushes, and waited. Zhil\u00edn crept\nup to the road, and saw a Tartar on horseback, driving a cow before him,\nand mumbling something to himself. The Tartar passed by them. Zhil\u00edn\nwent back to Kostyl\u00edn.\n\n\"Well, with God's help, he is gone. Get up, and let us go!\"\n\nKostyl\u00edn tried to get up, but fell down.\n\n\"I cannot, upon my word, I cannot. I have no strength.\"\n\nThe heavy, puffed-up man was in a perspiration, and as the cold mist in\nthe forest went through him and his feet were all torn, he went all to\npieces. Zhil\u00edn tried to get him up, but Kostyl\u00edn cried:\n\n\"Oh, it hurts!\"\n\nZhil\u00edn was frightened.\n\n\"Don't shout so! You know that the Tartar is not far off,--he will hear\nyou.\" But he thought: \"He is, indeed, weak, so what shall I do with him?\nIt will not do to abandon my companion.\"\n\n\"Well,\" he said, \"get up, get on my back, and I will carry you, if you\ncannot walk.\"\n\nHe took Kostyl\u00edn on his back, put his hands on Kostyl\u00edn's legs, walked\nout on the road, and walked on.\n\n\"Only be sure,\" he said, \"and do not choke me with your hands, for\nChrist's sake. Hold on to my shoulders!\"\n\nIt was hard for Zhil\u00edn: his feet, too, were blood-stained, and he was\nworn out. He kept bending down, straightening up Kostyl\u00edn, and throwing\nhim up, so that he might sit higher, and dragged him along the road.\n\nEvidently the Tartar had heard Kostyl\u00edn's shout. Zhil\u00edn heard some one\nriding from behind and calling in his language. Zhil\u00edn made for the\nbrush. The Tartar pulled out his gun and fired; he screeched in his\nfashion, and rode back along the road.\n\n\"Well,\" said Zhil\u00edn, \"we are lost, my friend! That dog will collect the\nTartars and they will start after us. If we cannot make another three\nversts, we are lost.\" But he thought about Kostyl\u00edn: \"The devil has\ntempted me to take this log along. If I had been alone, I should have\nescaped long ago.\"\n\nKostyl\u00edn said:\n\n\"Go yourself! Why should you perish for my sake?\"\n\n\"No, I will not go,--it will not do to leave a comrade.\"\n\nHe took him once more on his shoulders, and held on to him. Thus they\nwalked another verst. The woods extended everywhere, and no end was to\nbe seen. The mist was beginning to lift, and rose in the air like little\nclouds, and the stars could not be seen. Zhil\u00edn was worn out.\n\nThey came to a little spring by the road; it was lined with stones.\nZhil\u00edn stopped and put down Kostyl\u00edn.\n\n\"Let me rest,\" he said, \"and get a drink! We will eat our cakes. It\ncannot be far now.\"\n\nHe had just got down to drink, when he heard the tramping of horses\nbehind them. Again they rushed to the right, into the bushes, down an\nincline, and lay down.\n\nThey could hear Tartar voices. The Tartars stopped at the very spot\nwhere they had left the road. They talked awhile, then they made a\nsound, as though sicking dogs. Something crashed through the bushes, and\na strange dog made straight for them. It stopped and began to bark.\n\nThen the Tartars came down,--they, too, were strangers. They took them,\nbound them, put them on their horses, and carried them off.\n\nThey travelled about three versts, when they were met by Abdul, the\nprisoners' master, and two more Tartars. They talked with each other,\nand the prisoners were put on the other horses and taken back to the\nvillage.\n\nAbdul no longer laughed, and did not speak one word with them.\n\nThey were brought to the village at daybreak, and were placed in the\nstreet. The children ran up and beat them with stones and sticks, and\nscreamed.\n\nThe Tartars gathered in a circle, and the old man from down-hill came,\ntoo. They talked together. Zhil\u00edn saw that they were sitting in judgment\non them, discussing what to do with them. Some said that they ought to\nbe sent farther into the mountains, but the old man said that they\nshould be killed. Abdul disputed with them and said:\n\n\"I have paid money for them, and I will get a ransom for them.\"\n\nBut the old man said:\n\n\"They will not pay us anything; they will only give us trouble. It is a\nsin to feed Russians. Kill them, and that will be the end of it.\"\n\nThey all went their way. The master walked over to Zhil\u00edn and said:\n\n\"If the ransom does not come in two weeks, I will beat you to death. And\nif you try to run again I will kill you like a dog. Write a letter, and\nwrite it well!\"\n\nPaper was brought to them, and they wrote the letters. The stocks were\nput on them, and they were taken back of the mosque. There was a ditch\nthere, about twelve feet in depth,--and into this ditch they were let\ndown.\n\n\nVI.\n\nThey now led a very hard life. The stocks were not taken off, and they\nwere not let out into the wide world. Unbaked dough was thrown down to\nthem, as to dogs, and water was let down to them in a pitcher. There was\na stench in the ditch, and it was close and damp. Kostyl\u00edn grew very\nill, and swelled, and had a breaking out on his whole body; and he kept\ngroaning all the time, or he slept. Zhil\u00edn was discouraged: he saw that\nthe situation was desperate. He did not know how to get out of it.\n\nHe began to dig, but there was no place to throw the dirt in; the master\nsaw it, and threatened to kill him.\n\nOne day he was squatting in the ditch, and thinking of the free world,\nand he felt pretty bad. Suddenly a cake fell down on his knees, and a\nsecond, and some cherries. He looked up,--it was Dina. She looked at\nhim, laughed, and ran away. Zhil\u00edn thought: \"Maybe Dina will help me.\"\n\nHe cleaned up a place in the ditch, scraped up some clay, and began to\nmake dolls. He made men, horses, and dogs. He thought: \"When Dina comes\nI will throw them to her.\"\n\nBut on the next day Dina did not come. Zhil\u00edn heard the tramping of\nhorses; somebody rode by, and the Tartars gathered at the mosque; they\nquarrelled and shouted, and talked about the Russians. And he heard the\nold man's voice. He could not make out exactly what it was, but he\nguessed that the Russians had come close to the village, and that the\nTartars were afraid that they might come to the village, and they did\nnot know what to do with the prisoners.\n\nThey talked awhile and went away. Suddenly he heard something rustle\nabove him. He looked up; Dina was squatting down, and her knees towered\nabove her head; she leaned over, and her necklace hung down and dangled\nover the ditch. Her little eyes glistened like stars. She took two\ncheese-cakes out of her sleeve and threw them down to him. Zhil\u00edn said\nto her:\n\n\"Why have you not been here for so long? I have made you some toys. Here\nthey are!\"\n\nHe began to throw one after the other to her, but she shook her head,\nand did not look at them.\n\n\"I do not want them,\" she said. She sat awhile in silence, and said;\n\"Iv\u00e1n, they want to kill you!\" She pointed with her hand to her neck.\n\n\"Who wants to kill me?\"\n\n\"My father,--the old men tell him to. I am sorry for you.\"\n\nSo Zhil\u00edn said:\n\n\"If you pity me, bring me a long stick!\"\n\nShe shook her head, to say that she could not. He folded his hands, and\nbegan to beg her:\n\n\"Dina, if you please! Dear Dina, bring it to me!\"\n\n\"I cannot,\" she said. \"The people are at home, and they would see me.\"\n\nAnd she went away.\n\nZhil\u00edn was sitting there in the evening, and thinking what would happen.\nHe kept looking up. The stars could be seen, and the moon was not yet\nup. The mullah called, and all grew quiet. Zhil\u00edn was beginning to fall\nasleep; he thought the girl would be afraid.\n\nSuddenly some clay fell on his head. He looked up and saw a long pole\ncoming down at the end of the ditch. It tumbled, and descended, and came\ndown into the ditch. Zhil\u00edn was happy; he took hold of it and let it\ndown,--it was a stout pole. He had seen it before on his master's roof.\n\nHe looked up: the stars were shining high in the heavens, and over the\nvery ditch Dina's eyes glistened in the darkness. She bent her face over\nthe edge of the ditch, and whispered: \"Iv\u00e1n, Iv\u00e1n!\" and waved her hands\nin front of her face, as much as to say: \"Speak softly!\"\n\n\"What is it?\" asked Zhil\u00edn.\n\n\"They are all gone. There are two only at the house.\"\n\nSo Zhil\u00edn said:\n\n\"Kostyl\u00edn, come, let us try for the last time; I will give you a lift.\"\n\nKostyl\u00edn would not even listen.\n\n\"No,\" he said, \"I shall never get away from here. Where should I go,\nsince I have no strength to turn around?\"\n\n\"If so, good-bye! Do not think ill of me!\"\n\nHe kissed Kostyl\u00edn.\n\nHe took hold of the pole, told Dina to hold on to it, and climbed up.\nTwo or three times he slipped down: the stocks were in his way. Kostyl\u00edn\nheld him up, and he managed to get on. Dina pulled him by the shirt with\nall her might, and laughed.\n\nZhil\u00edn took the pole, and said:\n\n\"Take it to where you found it, for if they see it, they will beat you.\"\n\nShe dragged the pole away, and Zhil\u00edn went down-hill. He crawled down an\nincline, took a sharp stone, and tried to break the lock of the stocks.\nBut the lock was a strong one, and he could not break it. He heard some\none running down the hill, leaping lightly. He thought it was Dina. Dina\nran up, took a stone, and said:\n\n\"Let me do it!\"\n\nShe knelt down and tried to break it; but her arms were as thin as\nrods,--there was no strength in them. She threw away the stone, and\nbegan to weep. Zhil\u00edn again worked on the lock, and Dina squatted near\nhim, and held on to his shoulder. Zhil\u00edn looked around; on the left,\nbeyond the mountain, he saw a red glow,--the moon was rising.\n\n\"Well,\" he thought, \"before the moon is up I must cross the ravine and\nget to the forest.\"\n\nHe got up, threw away the stone, and, though in the stocks, started to\ngo.\n\n\"Good-bye, Dina dear! I will remember you all my life.\"\n\nDina took hold of him; she groped all over him, trying to find a place\nto put the cakes. He took them from her.\n\n\"Thank you,\" he said, \"you are a clever girl. Who will make dolls for\nyou without me?\" And he patted her on the head.\n\nDina began to cry. She covered her eyes with her hands, and ran up-hill\nlike a kid. In the darkness he could hear the ornaments in the braid\nstriking against her shoulders.\n\nZhil\u00edn made the sign of the cross, took the lock of his fetters in his\nhand, that it might not clank, and started down the road, dragging his\nfeet along, and looking at the glow, where the moon was rising. He\nrecognized the road. By the straight road it would be about eight\nversts. If he only could get to the woods before the moon was entirely\nout! He crossed a brook,--and it was getting light beyond the mountain.\nHe walked through the ravine; he walked and looked, but the moon was not\nyet to be seen. It was getting brighter, and on one side of the ravine\neverything could be seen more and more clearly. The shadow was creeping\ndown the mountain, up toward him.\n\nZhil\u00edn walked and kept in the shade. He hurried on, but the moon was\ncoming out faster still; the tops of the trees on the right side were\nnow in the light. As he came up to the woods, the moon came out entirely\nfrom behind the mountains, and it grew bright and white as in the\ndaytime. All the leaves could be seen on the trees. The mountains were\ncalm and bright; it was as though everything were dead. All that could\nbe heard was the rippling of a brook below.\n\nHe reached the forest,--he came across no men. Zhil\u00edn found a dark spot\nin the woods and sat down to rest himself.\n\nHe rested, and ate a cake. He found a stone, and began once more to\nbreak down the lock. He bruised his hands, but did not break the lock.\nHe got up, and walked on. He marched about a verst, but his strength\ngave out,--his feet hurt him so. He would make ten steps and then stop.\n\"What is to be done?\" he thought. \"I will drag myself along until my\nstrength gives out entirely. If I sit down, I shall not be able to get\nup. I cannot reach the fortress, so, when day breaks, I will lie down in\nthe forest for the day, and at night I will move on.\"\n\nHe walked the whole night. He came across two Tartars only, but he heard\nthem from afar, and so hid behind a tree.\n\nThe moon was beginning to pale, and Zhil\u00edn had not yet reached the edge\nof the forest.\n\n\"Well,\" he thought, \"I will take another thirty steps, after which I\nwill turn into the forest, where I will sit down.\"\n\nHe took the thirty steps, and there he saw that the forest came to an\nend. He went to the edge of it, and there it was quite light. Before him\nlay the steppe and the fortress, as in the palm of the hand, and to the\nleft, close by at the foot of the mountain, fires were burning and going\nout, and the smoke was spreading, and men were near the camp-fires.\n\nHe took a sharp look at them: the guns were glistening,--those were\nCossacks and soldiers.\n\nZhil\u00edn was happy. He collected his last strength and walked down-hill.\nAnd he thought: \"God forfend that a Tartar rider should see me in the\nopen! Though it is not far off, I should not get away.\"\n\nNo sooner had he thought so, when, behold, on a mound stood three\nTartars, not more than 150 fathoms away. They saw him, and darted toward\nhim. His heart just sank in him. He waved his arms and shouted as loud\nas he could:\n\n\"Brothers! Help, brothers!\"\n\nOur men heard him, and away flew the mounted Cossacks. They started\ntoward him, to cut off the Tartars.\n\nThe Cossacks had far to go, but the Tartars were near. And Zhil\u00edn\ncollected his last strength, took the stocks in his hand, and ran toward\nthe Cossacks. He was beside himself, and he made the sign of the cross,\nand shouted:\n\n\"Brothers! Brothers! Brothers!\"\n\nThere were about fifteen Cossacks.\n\nThe Tartars were frightened, and they stopped before they reached him.\nAnd Zhil\u00edn ran up to the Cossacks.\n\nThe Cossacks surrounded him, and asked:\n\n\"Who are you? Where do you come from?\"\n\nBut Zhil\u00edn was beside himself, and he wept, and muttered:\n\n\"Brothers! Brothers!\"\n\nThe soldiers ran out, and surrounded Zhil\u00edn: one gave him bread, another\ngruel, a third v\u00f3dka; one covered him with a cloak, another broke off\nthe lock.\n\nThe officers heard of it, and took him to the fortress. The soldiers\nwere happy, and his companions came to see him.\n\nZhil\u00edn told them what had happened, and said:\n\n\"So I have been home, and got married! No, evidently that is not my\nfate.\"\n\nAnd he remained in the service in the Caucasus. Not till a month later\nwas Kostyl\u00edn ransomed for five thousand. He was brought back more dead\nthan alive.\n\n\n\n\nERM\u00c1K\n\n\nIn the reign of Iv\u00e1n Vas\u00edlevich the Terrible there were the rich\nmerchants, the Strogan\u00f3vs, and they lived in Perm, on the river K\u00e1ma.\nThey heard that along the river K\u00e1ma, in a circle of 140 versts, there\nwas good land: the soil had not been ploughed for centuries, the forests\nhad not been cut down for centuries. In the forests were many wild\nanimals, and along the river fish lakes, and no one was living on that\nland, but only Tartars passed through it.\n\nThe Strogan\u00f3vs wrote a letter to the Tsar:\n\n\"Give us this land, and we will ourselves build towns there and gather\npeople and settle them there, and will not allow the Tartars to pass\nthrough it.\"\n\nThe Tsar agreed to it, and gave them the land. The Strogan\u00f3vs sent out\nclerks to gather people. And there came to them a large number of roving\npeople. Whoever came received from the Strogan\u00f3vs land, forest, and\ncattle, and no tenant pay was collected. All they had to do was to live\nand, in case of need, to go out in mass to fight the Tartars. Thus the\nland was settled by the Russian people.\n\nAbout twenty years passed. The Strogan\u00f3vs grew richer yet, and that\nland, 140 versts around, was not enough for them. They wanted to have\nmore land still. About one hundred versts from them were high mountains,\nthe Ural Mountains, and beyond them, they had heard, there was good\nland, and to that land there was no end. This land was ruled by a small\nSiberian prince, Kuchum by name. In former days Kuchum had sworn\nallegiance to the Russian Tsar, but later he began to rebel, and he\nthreatened to destroy Strogan\u00f3v's towns.\n\nSo the Strogan\u00f3vs wrote to the Tsar:\n\n\"You have given us land, and we have conquered it and turned it over to\nyou; now the thievish Tsarling Kuchum is rebelling against you, and\nwants to take that land away and ruin us. Command us to take possession\nof the land beyond the Ural Mountains; we will conquer Kuchum, and will\nbring all his land under your rule.\"\n\nThe Tsar assented, and wrote back:\n\n\"If you have sufficient force, take the land away from Kuchum. Only do\nnot entice many people away from Russia.\"\n\nWhen the Strogan\u00f3vs got that letter from the Tsar, they sent out clerks\nto collect more people. And they ordered them to persuade mostly the\nCossacks from the V\u00f3lga and the Don to come. At that time many Cossacks\nwere roving along the V\u00f3lga and the Don. They used to gather in bands of\ntwo, three, or six hundred men, and to select an atam\u00e1n, and to row down\nin barges, to capture ships and rob them, and for the winter they stayed\nin little towns on the shore.\n\nThe clerks arrived at the V\u00f3lga, and there they asked who the famous\nCossacks of that region were. They were told:\n\n\"There are many Cossacks. It is impossible to live for them. There is\nM\u00edshka Cherk\u00e1shenin, and Sar\u00fd-Azm\u00e1n; but there is no fiercer one than\nErm\u00e1k Timof\u00e9ich, the atam\u00e1n. He has a thousand men, and not only the\nmerchants and the people are afraid of him, but even the Tsarian army\ndoes not dare to cope with him.\"\n\nAnd the clerks went to Erm\u00e1k the atam\u00e1n, and began to persuade him to go\nto the Strogan\u00f3vs. Erm\u00e1k received the clerks, listened to their\nspeeches, and promised to come with his people about the time of the\nAssumption of the Blessed Virgin.\n\nNear the holiday of the Assumption there came to the Strogan\u00f3vs six\nhundred Cossacks, with their atam\u00e1n, Erm\u00e1k Timof\u00e9ich. At first Strogan\u00f3v\nsent them against the neighbouring Tartars. The Cossacks annihilated\nthem. Then, when nothing was doing, the Cossacks roved in the\nneighbourhood and robbed.\n\nSo Strogan\u00f3v sent for Erm\u00e1k, and said:\n\n\"I will not keep you any longer, if you are going to be so wanton.\"\n\nBut Erm\u00e1k said:\n\n\"I do not like it myself, but I cannot control my people, they are\nspoiled. Give us work to do!\"\n\nSo Strogan\u00f3v said:\n\n\"Go beyond the Ural and fight Kuchum, and take possession of his land.\nThe Tsar will reward you for it.\"\n\nAnd he showed the Tsar's letter to Erm\u00e1k. Erm\u00e1k rejoiced, and collected\nhis men, and said:\n\n\"You are shaming me before my master,--you are robbing without reason.\nIf you do not stop, he will drive you away, and where will you go then?\nAt the V\u00f3lga there is a large Tsarian army; we shall be caught, and then\nwe shall suffer for our old misdeeds. But if you feel lonesome, here is\nwork for you.\"\n\nAnd he showed them the Tsar's letter, in which it said that Strogan\u00f3v\nhad been permitted to conquer land beyond the Ural. The Cossacks had a\nconsultation, and agreed to go. Erm\u00e1k went to Strogan\u00f3v, and they began\nto deliberate how they had best go.\n\nThey discussed how many barges they needed, how much grain, cattle,\nguns, powder, lead, how many captive Tartar interpreters, and how many\nforeigners as masters of gunnery.\n\nStrogan\u00f3v thought:\n\n\"Though it may cost me much, I must give them everything or else they\nwill stay here and will ruin me.\"\n\nStrogan\u00f3v agreed to everything, gathered what was needed, and fitted out\nErm\u00e1k and the Cossacks.\n\nOn the 1st of September the Cossacks rowed with Erm\u00e1k up the river\nCh\u00fasovaya on thirty-two barges, with twelve men in each. For four days\nthey rowed up the river, and then they turned into Ser\u00e9bryanaya River.\nBeyond that point it was impossible to navigate. They asked the guides,\nand learned that from there they had to cross the mountains and walk\noverland about two hundred versts, and then the rivers would begin\nagain. The Cossacks stopped, built a town, and unloaded all their\nequipment; they abandoned the boats, made carts, put everything upon\nthem, and started overland, across the mountains. All those places were\ncovered with forest, and nobody was living there. They marched for about\nten days, and struck the river Zhar\u00f3vnya. Here they stopped again, and\nmade themselves boats. They loaded them, and rowed down the river. They\nrowed five days, and then came more cheerful places,--meadows, forests,\nlakes. There was a plenty of fish and of animals, and animals that had\nnot been scared by hunters. They rowed another day, and sailed into the\nriver T\u00fara. Along the T\u00fara they came on Tartar people and towns.\n\nErm\u00e1k sent some Cossacks to take a look at a town, to see what it was\nlike, and whether there was any considerable force in it. Twenty\nCossacks went there, and they frightened all the Tartars, and seized the\nwhole town, and captured all the cattle. Some of the Tartars they\nkilled, and others they brought back alive.\n\nErm\u00e1k asked the Tartars through his interpreters what kind of people\nthey were, and under whose rule they were living. The Tartars said that\nthey were in the Siberian kingdom, and that their king was Kuchum.\n\nErm\u00e1k let the Tartars go, but three of the more intelligent he took with\nhim, to show him the road.\n\nThey rowed on. The farther they rowed, the larger did the river grow;\nand the farther they went, the better did the places become.\n\nThey met more and more people; only they were not strong men. And all\nthe towns that were near the river the Cossacks conquered.\n\nIn one town they captured a large number of Tartars and one old man who\nwas held in respect. They asked him what kind of a man he was. He said:\n\n\"I am Tauzik, a servant of my king, Kuchum, who has made me a commander\nin this town.\"\n\nErm\u00e1k asked Tauzik about his king; how far his city of Sib\u00edr was;\nwhether Kuchum had a large force; whether he had much wealth. Tauzik\ntold him everything. He said:\n\n\"Kuchum is the first king in the world. His city of Sib\u00edr is the largest\ncity in the world. In that city,\" he said, \"there are as many people and\nas many cattle as there are stars in the heaven. There is no counting\nhis force, and not all the kings of the world can conquer him.\"\n\nBut Erm\u00e1k said:\n\n\"We Russians have come here to conquer your king and to take his city,\nand to put it into the hands of the Russian Tsar. We have a large force.\nThose who have come with me are only the advance-guard; those that are\nrowing down behind us in barges are numberless, and all of them have\nguns. Our guns pierce trees, not like your bows and arrows. Just look!\"\n\nAnd Erm\u00e1k fired at a tree, and pierced it, and the Cossacks began to\nshoot on all sides. Tauzik in fright fell on his knees. Erm\u00e1k said to\nhim:\n\n\"Go to your King Kuchum and tell him what you have seen! Let him\nsurrender, and if he does not, we will destroy him.\"\n\nAnd he dismissed Tauzik.\n\nThe Cossacks rowed on. They sailed into the river Tob\u00f3l, and were\ngetting nearer to the city of Sib\u00edr. They sailed up to the small river\nBabas\u00e1n, and there they saw a small town on its bank, and around the\ntown a large number of Tartars.\n\nThey sent an interpreter to the Tartars, to find out what kind of people\nthey were. The interpreter returned, and said:\n\n\"That is Kuchum's army that has gathered there. The leader of that army\nis Kuchum's own son-in-law, Mametkul. He has commanded me to tell you\nthat you must return, or else he will destroy you.\"\n\nErm\u00e1k gathered his Cossacks, landed on the bank, and began to shoot at\nthe Tartars. The moment the Tartars heard the shooting, they began to\nrun. The Cossacks ran after them, and killed some, and captured others.\nMametkul barely escaped.\n\nThe Cossacks sailed on. They sailed into a broad, rapid river, the\nIrt\u00fdsh. Down Irt\u00fdsh River they sailed for a day, and came to a fair\ntown, and there they stopped. The Cossacks went to the town. As they\nwere coming near, the Tartars began to shoot their arrows, and they\nwounded three Cossacks. Then Erm\u00e1k sent an interpreter to tell the\nTartars that they must surrender the town, or else they would all be\nkilled. The interpreter went, and he returned, and said:\n\n\"Here lives Kuchum's servant, Atik Murza Kachara. He has a large force,\nand he says that he will not surrender the town.\"\n\nErm\u00e1k gathered the Cossacks, and said:\n\n\"Boys, if we do not take this town, the Tartars will rejoice, and will\nnot let us pass on. The more we strike them with terror, the easier will\nit be. Land all, and attack them all at once!\"\n\nSo they did. There were many Tartars there, and they were brave.\n\nWhen the Cossacks rushed at them, the Tartars began to shoot their\narrows. They covered the Cossacks with them. Some were killed, and some\nwounded.\n\nThe Cossacks became enraged, and when they got to the Tartars, they\nkilled all they could lay their hands on.\n\nIn this town the Cossacks found much property,--cattle, rugs, furs, and\nhoney. They buried the dead, rested themselves, took away much property,\nand sailed on. They did not sail far, when they saw on the shore, like a\ncity, an endless number of troops, and the whole army surrounded by a\nditch and the ditch protected by timber. The Cossacks stopped. They\ndeliberated. Erm\u00e1k gathered a circle about him.\n\n\"Well, boys, what shall we do?\"\n\nThe Cossacks were frightened. Some said that they ought to sail past,\nwhile others said that they ought to go back.\n\nAnd they looked gloomy and began to scold Erm\u00e1k. They said:\n\n\"Why did you bring us here? Already a few of ours have been killed, and\nmany have been wounded; and all of us will perish here.\"\n\nThey began to weep.\n\nBut Erm\u00e1k said to his sub-atam\u00e1n, Iv\u00e1n Kolts\u00f3:\n\n\"Well, V\u00e1nya, what do you think?\"\n\nAnd Kolts\u00f3 said:\n\n\"What do I think? If they do not kill us to-day, they will to-morrow;\nand if not to-morrow, we shall die anyway on the oven. In my opinion, we\nought to go out on the shore and rush in a body against the Tartars.\nMaybe God will give us victory.\"\n\nErm\u00e1k said:\n\n\"You are a brave man, V\u00e1nya! That is what must be done. Oh, you boys!\nYou are not Cossacks, but old women. All you are good for is to catch\nsturgeon and frighten Tartar women. Can't you see for yourselves? If we\nturn back we shall be destroyed; and if we stay here, they will destroy\nus. How can we go back? After a little work, it will come easier.\nListen, boys! My father had a strong mare. Down-hill she would pull and\non an even place she would pull. But when it came to going up-hill, she\nbecame stubborn and turned back, thinking that it would be easier. But\nmy father took a club and belaboured her with it. She twisted and tugged\nand broke the whole cart. My father unhitched her from the cart and gave\nher a terrible whacking. If she had pulled the cart, she would have\nsuffered no torment. So it is with us, boys. There is only one thing\nleft for us to do, and that is to make straight for the Tartars.\"\n\nThe Cossacks laughed, and said:\n\n\"Timof\u00e9ich, you are evidently more clever than we are. You have no\nbusiness to ask us fools. Take us where you please. A man does not die\ntwice, and one death cannot be escaped.\"\n\nAnd Erm\u00e1k said:\n\n\"Listen, boys! This is what we shall do. They have not yet seen us all.\nLet us divide into three parts. Those in the middle will march straight\nagainst them, and the other two divisions will surround them on the\nright and on the left. When the middle detachment begins to walk toward\nthem, they will think that we are all there, and so they will leap\nforward. Then we will strike them from the sides. That's the way, boys!\nIf we beat these, we shall not have to be afraid of anybody. We shall\nourselves be kings.\"\n\nAnd so they did. When the middle detachment with Erm\u00e1k advanced, the\nTartars screamed and leaped forward; then they were attacked by Iv\u00e1n\nKolts\u00f3 on the right, and by Meshchery\u00e1kov the atam\u00e1n on the left. The\nTartars were frightened, and ran. The Cossacks killed a great many of\nthem. After that nobody dared to oppose Erm\u00e1k. And thus he entered the\nvery city of Sib\u00edr. And there Erm\u00e1k settled down as though he were a\nking.\n\nThen kinglets came to see Erm\u00e1k, to bow to him. Tartars began to settle\ndown in Sib\u00edr, and Kuchum and his son-in-law Mametkul were afraid to go\nstraight at him, but kept going around in a circle, wondering how they\nmight destroy him.\n\nIn the spring, during high water, the Tartars came running to Erm\u00e1k, and\nsaid:\n\n\"Mametkul is again going against you: he has gathered a large army, and\nis making a stand near the river Vag\u00e1y.\"\n\nErm\u00e1k made his way over rivers, swamps, brooks, and forests, stole up\nwith his Cossacks, rushed against Mametkul, killed a large number of\nTartars, and took Mametkul alive and brought him to Sib\u00edr. After that\nthere were only a few unruly Tartars left, and Erm\u00e1k went that summer\nagainst those that had not yet surrendered; and along the Irt\u00fdsh and the\nOb Erm\u00e1k conquered so much land that one could not march around it in\ntwo months.\n\nWhen Erm\u00e1k had conquered all that land, he sent a messenger to the\nStrogan\u00f3vs, and a letter:\n\n\"I have taken Kuchum's city,\" he said, \"and have captured Mametkul, and\nhave brought all the people here under my rule. Only I have lost many\nCossacks. Send people to us that we may feel more cheerful. There is no\nend to the wealth in this country.\"\n\nHe sent to them many costly furs,--fox, marten, and sable furs.\n\nTwo years passed after that. Erm\u00e1k was still holding Sib\u00edr, but no aid\ncame from Russia, and few Russians were left with Erm\u00e1k.\n\nOne day the Tartar Karacha sent a messenger to Erm\u00e1k, saying:\n\n\"We have surrendered to you, but now the Nogays are oppressing us. Send\nyour brave men to aid us! We shall together conquer the Nogays. And we\nswear to you that we shall not insult your brave men.\"\n\nErm\u00e1k believed their oath, and sent forty men under Iv\u00e1n Kolts\u00f3. When\nthese forty men came there, the Tartars rushed against them and killed\nthem, so there were still fewer Cossacks left.\n\nAnother time some Bukhara merchants sent word to Erm\u00e1k that they were on\ntheir way to the city of Sib\u00edr with goods, but that Kuchum had taken his\nstand with an army and would not let them pass through.\n\nErm\u00e1k took with him fifty men and went out to clear the road for the\nBukhara merchants. He came to the Irt\u00fdsh River, but did not find the\nBukharans. He remained there over night. It was a dark night, and it\nrained. The Cossacks had just lain down to sleep, when suddenly the\nTartars rushed out and threw themselves on the sleepy men and began to\nstrike them down. Erm\u00e1k jumped up and began to fight. He was wounded in\nthe hand. He ran toward the river. The Tartars after him. He threw\nhimself into the river. That was the last time he was seen. His body was\nnot recovered, and no one found out how he died.\n\nThe following year came the Tsar's army, and the Tartars were pacified.\n\n\n\n\n\nNATURAL SCIENCE STORIES\n\n1869-1872\n\n\n\n\nNATURAL SCIENCE STORIES\n\n\n\n\nSTORIES FROM PHYSICS\n\n\n\n\nTHE MAGNET\n\n\nI.\n\nIn olden days there was a shepherd whose name was Magnes. Magnes lost a\nsheep. He went to the mountains to find it. He came to a place where\nthere were barren rocks. He walked over these rocks, and felt that his\nboots were sticking to them. He touched them with his hand, but they\nwere dry and did not stick to his hand. He started to walk again, and\nagain his boots stuck to the rocks. He sat down, took off one of his\nboots, took it into his hand, and touched the rocks with it.\n\nWhenever he touched them with his skin, or with the sole of his boot,\nthey did not stick; but when he touched them with the nails, they did\nstick.\n\nMagnes had a cane with an iron point.\n\nHe touched a rock with the wood; it did not stick; he touched it with\nthe iron end, and it stuck so that he could not pull it off.\n\nMagnes looked at the stone, and he saw that it looked like iron, and he\ntook pieces of that stone home with him. Since then that rock has been\nknown, and has been called Magnet.\n\n\nII.\n\nMagnet is found in the earth with iron ore. Where there is magnet in the\nore, the iron is of the best quality. The magnet resembles iron.\n\nIf you put a piece of iron on a magnet, the iron itself begins to\nattract other iron. And if you put a steel needle on a magnet, and hold\nit thus for awhile, the needle will become a magnet, and will attract\niron. If two magnets are brought together at their ends, one side will\nturn away from the other, while the other sides will be attracted.\n\nIf a magnetic rod is broken in two, each half will attract at one end,\nand will turn away at the other end. Cut it again, and the same will\nhappen; cut it again, as often as you please, and still the same will\nhappen: equal ends will turn away from each other, while opposite ends\nwill be attracted, as though the magnet were pushing away at one end,\nand pulling in at the other. No matter how you may break it, it will be\nas though there were a bump at one end, and a saucer at the other.\nWhichever way you put them together,--a bump and a saucer will meet, but\na bump and a bump, or a saucer and a saucer will not.\n\n\nIII.\n\nIf you magnetize a needle (holding it for awhile over a magnet), and\nattach it in the middle to a pivot in such a way that it can move freely\naround, and let it loose, it will turn with one end toward midday\n(south), and with the other toward midnight (north).\n\nWhen the magnet was not known, people did not sail far out to sea. When\nthey went out far into the sea, so that land was not to be seen, they\ncould tell only by the stars and the sun where they had to sail. But\nwhen it was dark, and the sun or stars could not be seen, they did not\nknow which way to sail. And a ship was borne by the winds and carried on\nrocks and wrecked.\n\nSo long as the magnet was not known, they did not sail far from the\nshore; but when the magnet was discovered, they made a magnetic needle\non a pivot, so that it should move around freely. By this needle they\ncould tell in which direction to sail. With the magnetic needle they\nbegan to sail farther away from the shores, and since then they have\ndiscovered many new seas.\n\nOn ships there is always a magnetic needle (compass), and there is a\nmeasuring-rope with knots at the stern of a ship. This rope is fixed in\nsuch a way that when it unrolls, they can tell how far the ship has\ntravelled. And thus, in sailing in a boat, they always know in what spot\nit is, whether far from the shore, and in what direction it is sailing.\n\n\n\n\nMOISTURE\n\n\nI.\n\nWhy does a spider sometimes make a close cobweb, and sit in the very\nmiddle of its nest, and at other times leave its nest and start a new\nspider-web?\n\nThe spider makes its cobweb according to the weather, both the present\nand the future weather. Looking at a spider, you can tell what kind of\nweather it is going to be: if it sits tightly in the middle of the\ncobweb and does not come out, it means that it is going to rain. If it\nleaves the nest and makes new cobwebs, it is going to clear off.\n\nHow can the spider know in advance what weather it is going to be?\n\nThe spider's senses are so fine that as soon as the moisture begins to\ngather in the air,--though we do not yet feel it, and for us the weather\nis clear,--for the spider it is already raining.\n\nJust as a naked man will feel the moisture, when a man in his clothes\ndoes not, so it is already raining for a spider, while for us it is only\ngetting ready to rain.\n\n\nII.\n\nWhy do the doors swell in the winter and close badly, while in the\nsummer they shrink and close well?\n\nBecause in the fall and winter the wood is saturated with water, like a\nsponge, and spreads out, while in the summer the water comes out as a\nvapour, and the wood shrinks.\n\nWhy does soft wood, like aspen, swell more, and oak less?\n\nBecause in the hard wood, in the oak, the empty places are smaller, and\nthe water cannot gather there, while in the soft wood in the aspen,\nthere are larger empty places, and the water can gather there. In rotten\nwood these empty places are still larger, and so rotten wood swells most\nand shrinks most.\n\nBeehives are made out of the softest and rottenest wood; the very best\nare made from rotten willow wood. Why? Because the air passes through\nthe rotten wood, and in such a hive the bees feel better.\n\nWhy do boards warp?\n\nBecause they dry unevenly. If you place a damp board with one side\ntoward the stove, the water will leave it, and the board will contract\non that side and will pull the other side along; but the damp side\ncannot contract, because it is full of water, and so the whole board\nwill be bent.\n\nTo keep the floors from warping, the dry boards are cut into small\npieces, and these pieces are boiled in water. When all the water is\nboiled out of them, they are glued together, and then they never warp\n(parquetry).\n\n\n\n\nTHE DIFFERENT CONNECTION OF PARTICLES\n\n\nWhy are cart bolsters cut and wheel naves turned not from oak, but from\nbirch? Bolsters and naves have to be strong, and oak is not more\nexpensive than birch.\n\nBecause oak splits lengthwise, and birch does not split, but ravels out.\n\nBecause, though oak is more firmly connected than birch, it is connected\nin such a way that it splits lengthwise, while birch does not.\n\nWhy are wheels and runners bent from oak and elm, and not from birch and\nlinden?\n\nBecause, when oak and elm are steamed in a bath, they bend and do not\nbreak, while birch and linden ravel in every direction.\n\nThis is again for the same reason, that is, that the particles of the\nwood in the oak and in the birch are differently connected.\n\n\n\n\nCRYSTALS\n\n\nIf you pour salt into water and stir it, the salt will begin to melt and\nwill entirely disappear; but if you pour more and still more salt into\nit, the salt will in the end not dissolve, and no matter how much you\nmay stir after that, the salt will remain as a white powder. The water\nis saturated with the salt and cannot receive any more. But heat the\nwater and it will receive more; and the salt which did not dissolve in\nthe cold water, will melt in hot water. But pour in more salt, even the\nhot water will not receive it. And if you heat the water still more, the\nwater will pass away in steam, and more of the salt will be left.\n\nThus, for everything which dissolves in the water there is a measure\nafter which the water will not dissolve any more. Of anything, more will\nbe dissolved in hot than in cold water, and in each case, when it is\nsaturated, it will not receive any more. The thing will be left, but the\nwater will go away in steam.\n\nIf the water is saturated with saltpetre powder, and then more saltpetre\nis added, and all is heated and is allowed to cool off without being\nstirred, the superfluous saltpetre will not settle as a powder at the\nbottom of the water, but will all gather in little six-edged columns,\nand will settle at the bottom and at the sides, one column near another.\nIf the water is saturated with saltpetre powder and is put in a warm\nplace, the water will go away in vapours, and the superfluous saltpetre\nwill again gather in six-edged columns.\n\nIf water is saturated with simple salt and heated, and is allowed to\npass away in vapour, the superfluous salt will not settle as powder, but\nas little cubes. If the water is saturated both with salt and saltpetre,\nthe superfluous salt and saltpetre will not mix, but will settle each in\nits own way: the saltpetre in columns, and the salt in cubes.\n\nIf water is saturated with lime, or with some other salt, and anything\nelse, each thing will settle in its own way, when the water passes away\nin vapour: one in three-edged columns, another in eight-edged columns, a\nthird in bricks, a fourth in little stars,--each in its own way. These\nfigures are different in each solid thing. At times these forms are as\nlarge as a hand,--such stones are found in the ground. At times these\nforms are so small that they cannot be made out with the naked eye; but\nin each thing there is its own form.\n\nIf, when the water is saturated with saltpetre, and little figures are\nforming in it, a corner be broken off one of these little figures with a\nneedle, new pieces of saltpetre will come up and will fix the broken end\nas it ought to be,--into a six-edged column. The same will happen to\nsalt and to any other thing. All the tiny particles turn around and\nattach themselves with the right side to each other.\n\nWhen ice freezes, the same takes place.\n\nA snowflake flies, and no figure is seen in it; but the moment it\nsettles on anything dark and cold, on cloth, on fur,--you can make out\nits figure; you will see a little star, or a six-cornered little board.\nOn the windows the steam does not freeze in any form whatever, but\nalways as a star.\n\nWhat is ice? It is cold, solid water. When liquid water becomes solid,\nit forms itself into figures and the heat leaves it. The same takes\nplace with saltpetre: when it changes from a liquid into solid figures,\nthe heat leaves it. The same is true of salt, of melted cast-iron, when\nit changes from a liquid into a solid. Whenever a thing changes from a\nliquid into a solid, heat leaves it, and it forms figures. And when it\nchanges from a solid to a liquid it takes up heat, and the cold leaves\nit, and its figures are dissolved.\n\nBring in melted iron and let it cool off; bring in hot dough and let it\ncool off; bring in slacked lime and let it cool off,--and it will be\nwarm. Bring in ice and let it melt,--and it will grow cold. Bring in\nsaltpetre, salt, or any other thing that dissolves in the water, and\nmelt it in the water, and it will grow cold. In order to freeze\nice-cream, they put salt in the water.\n\n\n\n\nINJURIOUS AIR\n\n\nIn the village of Nik\u00f3lskoe, the people went on a holiday to mass. In\nthe manor yard were left the cow-tender, the elder, and the groom. The\ncow-tender went to the well for water. The well was in the yard itself.\nShe pulled out the bucket, but could not hold it. The bucket pulled away\nfrom her, struck the side of the well, and tore the rope. The cow-tender\nreturned to the hut and said to the elder:\n\n\"Aleks\u00e1ndr! Climb down into the well,--I have dropped the bucket into\nit.\"\n\nAleks\u00e1ndr said:\n\n\"You have dropped it, so climb down yourself.\"\n\nThe cow-tender said that she did not mind fetching it herself, if he\nwould let her down.\n\nThe elder laughed at her, and said:\n\n\"Well, let us go! You have an empty stomach now, so I shall be able to\nhold you up, for after dinner I could not do it.\"\n\nThe elder tied a stick to a rope, and the woman sat astride it, took\nhold of the rope, and began to climb down into the well, while the elder\nturned the well-wheel. The well was about twenty feet deep, and there\nwas less than three feet of water in it. The elder let her down slowly,\nand kept asking:\n\n\"A little more?\"\n\nAnd the cow-tender cried from below:\n\n\"Just a little more!\"\n\nSuddenly the elder felt the rope give way: he called the cow-tender, but\nshe did not answer. The elder looked into the well, and saw the\ncow-tender lying with her head in the water, and with her feet in the\nair. The elder called for help, but there was nobody near by; only the\ngroom came. The elder told him to hold the wheel, and he himself pulled\nout the rope, sat down on the stick, and went down into the well.\n\nThe moment the groom let the elder down to the water, the same thing\nhappened to the elder. He let go of the rope and fell head foremost upon\nthe woman. The groom began to cry, and ran to church to call the people.\nMass was over, and people were walking home. All the men and women\nrushed to the well. They gathered around it, and everybody holloaed, but\nnobody knew what to do. The young carpenter Iv\u00e1n made his way through\nthe crowd, took hold of the rope, sat down on the stick, and told them\nto let him down. Iv\u00e1n tied himself to the rope with his belt. Two men\nlet him down, and the rest looked into the well, to see what would\nbecome of Iv\u00e1n. Just as he was getting near the water, he dropped his\nhands from the rope, and would have fallen down head foremost, if the\nbelt had not held him. All shouted, \"Pull him out!\" and Iv\u00e1n was pulled\nout.\n\nHe hung like dead down from the belt, and his head was drooping and\nbeating against the sides of the well. His face was livid. They took him\noff the rope and put him down on the ground. They thought that he was\ndead; but he suddenly drew a deep breath, began to rattle, and soon\nrevived.\n\nOthers wanted to climb down, but an old peasant said that they could not\ngo down because there was bad air in the well, and that that bad air\nkilled people. Then the peasants ran for hooks and began to pull out the\nelder and the woman. The elder's mother and wife cried at the well, and\nothers tried to quiet them; in the meantime the peasants put down the\nhooks and tried to get out the dead people. Twice they got the elder\nhalf-way up by his clothes; but he was heavy, and his clothes tore and\nhe fell down. Finally they stuck two hooks into him and pulled him out.\nThen they pulled out the cow-tender. Both were dead and did not revive.\n\nThen, when they examined the well, they found that indeed there was bad\nair down in the well.\n\nThis air is so heavy that neither man nor any animal can live in it.\nThey let down a cat into the well, and the moment she reached the place\nwhere the bad air was, she died. Not only can no animal live there, even\nno candle will burn in it. They let down a candle, and the moment it\nreached that spot, it went out.\n\nThere are places underground where that air gathers, and when a person\ngets into one of those places, he dies at once. For this purpose they\nhave lamps in the mines, and before a man goes down to such a place,\nthey let down the lamp. If it goes out, no man can go there; then they\nlet down fresh air until the lamp will burn.\n\nNear the city of Naples there is one such cave. There is always about\nthree feet of bad air in it on the ground, but above it the air is good.\nA man can walk through the cave, and nothing will happen to him, but a\ndog will die the moment it enters.\n\nWhere does this bad air come from? It is made of the same good air that\nwe breathe. If you gather a lot of people in one place, and close all\nthe doors and windows, so that no fresh air can get in, you will get the\nsame kind of an air as in the well, and people will die.\n\nOne hundred years ago, during a war, the Hindoos captured 146 Englishmen\nand shut them up in a cave underground, where the air could not get in.\n\nAfter the captured Englishmen had been there a few hours they began to\ndie, and toward the end of the night 123 had died, and the rest came out\nmore dead than alive, and ailing. At first the air had been good in the\ncave; but when the captives had inhaled all the good air, and no fresh\nair came in, it became bad, just like what was in the well, and they\ndied.\n\nWhy does the good air become bad when many people come together?\n\nBecause, when people breathe, they take in good air and breathe out bad\nair.\n\n\n\n\nHOW BALLOONS ARE MADE\n\n\nIf you take a blown-up bladder under water and let go of it, it will fly\nup to the surface of the water and will swim on it. Just so, when water\nis boiled in a pot, it becomes light at the bottom, over the fire,--it\nis turned into a gas; and when a little of that water-gas is collected\nit goes up as a bubble. First comes up one bubble, then another, and\nwhen the whole water is heated, the bubbles come up without stopping.\nThen the water boils.\n\nJust as the bubbles leap to the surface, full of vapoury water, because\nthey are lighter than water, just so will a bladder which is filled with\nhydrogen, or with hot air, rise, because hot air is lighter than cold\nair, and hydrogen is lighter than any other gases.\n\nBalloons are made with hydrogen or with hot air. With hydrogen they are\nmade as follows: They make a large bladder, attach it by ropes to posts,\nand fill it with hydrogen. The moment the ropes are untied, the balloon\nflies up in the air, and keeps flying up until it gets beyond the air\nwhich is heavier than hydrogen. When it gets up into the light air, it\nbegins to swim in it like a bladder on the surface of the water.\n\nWith hot air balloons are made like this: They make a large empty ball,\nwith a neck below, like an upturned pitcher, and to the mouth of it they\nattach a bunch of cotton, and that cotton is soaked with spirits, and\nlighted. The fire heats the air in the balloon, and makes it lighter\nthan the cold air, and the balloon is drawn upward, like the bladder in\nthe water. And the balloon will fly up until it comes to the air which\nis lighter than the hot air in the balloon.\n\nNearly one hundred years ago two Frenchmen, the brothers Montgolfier,\ninvented the air balloons. They made a balloon of canvas and paper and\nfilled it with hot air,--the balloon flew. Then they made another, a\nlarger balloon, and tied under the balloon a sheep, a cock, and a duck,\nand let it off. The balloon rose and came down safely. Then they\nattached a little basket under the balloon, and a man seated himself in\nit. The balloon flew so high that it disappeared from view; it flew\naway, and came down safely. Then they thought of filling a balloon with\nhydrogen, and began to fly higher and faster.\n\nIn order to fly with a balloon, they attach a basket under the balloon,\nand in this basket two, three, and even eight persons are seated, and\nthey take with them food and drink.\n\nIn order to rise and come down as one pleases, there is a valve in the\nballoon, and the man who is flying with it can pull a rope and open or\nclose the valve. If the balloon rises too high, and the man who is\nflying wants to come down, he opens the valve,--the gas escapes, the\nballoon is compressed, and begins to come down. Then there are always\nbags with sand in the balloon. When a bag with sand is thrown out, the\nballoon gets lighter, and it flies up. If the one who is flying wants to\nget down, but sees that it is not what he wants below him,--either a\nriver or a forest,--he throws out the sand from the bags, and the\nballoon grows lighter and rises again.\n\n\n\n\nGALVANISM\n\n\nThere was once a learned Italian, Galvani. He had an electric machine,\nand he showed his students what electricity was. He rubbed the glass\nhard with silk with something smeared over it, and then he approached to\nthe glass a brass knob which was attached to the glass, and a spark flew\nacross from the glass to the brass knob. He explained to them that the\nsame kind of a spark came from sealing-wax and amber. He showed them\nthat feathers and bits of paper were now attracted, and now repelled, by\nelectricity, and explained to them the reason of it. He did all kinds of\nexperiments with electricity, and showed them all to his students.\n\nOnce his wife grew ill. He called a doctor and asked him how to cure\nher. The doctor told him to prepare a frog soup for her. Galvani gave\norder to have edible frogs caught. They caught them for him, killed\nthem, and left them on his table.\n\nBefore the cook came after the frogs, Galvani kept on showing the\nelectric machine to his students, and sending sparks through it.\n\nSuddenly he saw the dead frogs jerk their legs on the table. He watched\nthem, and saw that every time when he sent a spark through the machine,\nthe frogs jerked their legs. Galvani collected more frogs, and began to\nexperiment with them. And every time he sent a spark through the\nmachine, the dead frogs moved their legs as though they were alive.\n\nIt occurred to Galvani that live frogs moved their legs because\nelectricity passed through them. Galvani knew that there was\nelectricity in the air; that it was more noticeable in the amber and\nglass, but that it was also in the air, and that thunder and lightning\ncame from the electricity in the air.\n\nSo he tried to discover whether the dead frogs would not move their legs\nfrom the electricity in the air. For this purpose he took the frogs,\nskinned them, chopped off their heads, and hung them on brass hooks on\nthe roof, beneath an iron gutter. He thought that as soon as there\nshould be a storm, and the air should be filled with electricity, it\nwould pass by the brass rod to the frogs, and they would begin to move.\n\nBut the storm passed several times, and the frogs did not move. Galvani\nwas just taking them down, and as he did so a frog's leg touched the\niron gutter, and it jerked. Galvani took down the frogs and made the\nfollowing experiment: he tied to the brass hook an iron wire, and\ntouched the leg with the wire, and it jerked.\n\nSo Galvani decided that the animals lived because there was electricity\nin them, and that the electricity jumped from the brain to the flesh,\nand that made the animals move. Nobody had at that time tried this\nmatter and they did not know any better, and so they all believed\nGalvani. But at that time another learned man, Volta, experimented in\nhis own way, and proved to everybody that Galvani was mistaken. He tried\ntouching the frog differently from what Galvani had done, not with a\ncopper hook with an iron wire, but either with a copper hook and a\ncopper wire, or an iron hook and an iron wire,--and the frogs did not\nmove. The frogs moved only when Volta touched them with an iron wire\nthat was connected with a copper wire.\n\nVolta thought that the electricity was not in the dead frog but in the\niron and copper. He experimented and found it to be so: whenever he\nbrought together the iron and the copper, there was electricity; and\nthis electricity made the dead frogs jerk their legs. Volta tried to\nproduce electricity differently from what it had been produced before.\nBefore that they used to get electricity by rubbing glass or\nsealing-wax. But Volta got electricity by uniting iron and copper. He\ntried to connect iron and copper and other metals, and by the mere\ncombination of metals, silver, platinum, zinc, lead, iron, he produced\nelectric sparks.\n\nAfter Volta they tried to increase electricity by pouring all kinds of\nliquids--water and acids--between the metals. These liquids made the\nelectricity more powerful, so that it was no longer necessary, as\nbefore, to rub in order to produce it; it is enough to put pieces of\nseveral metals in a bowl and fill it with a liquid, and there will be\nelectricity in that bowl, and the sparks will come from the wires.\n\nWhen this kind of electricity was discovered, people began to apply it:\nthey invented a way of gold and silver plating by means of electricity,\nand electric light, and a way to transmit signs from place to place over\na long distance by means of electricity.\n\nFor this purpose pieces of different metals are placed in jars, and\nliquids are poured into them. Electricity is collected in these jars,\nand is transferred by means of wires to the place where it is wanted,\nand from that place the wire is put into the ground. The electricity\nruns through the ground back to the jars, and rises from the earth by\nmeans of the other wire; thus the electricity keeps going around and\naround, as in a ring,--from the wire into the ground, and along the\nground, and up the wire, and again through the earth. Electricity can\ntravel in either direction, just as one wants to send it: it can first\ngo along the wire and return through the earth, or first go through the\nearth, and then return through the wire. Above the wire, in the place\nwhere the signs are given, there is attached a magnetic hand, and that\nhand turns in one direction, when the electricity is allowed to pass\nthrough the wire and back through the earth, and in another direction,\nwhen the electricity is sent through the earth and back through the\nwire. Along this hand there are certain signs, and by means of these\nsigns they write from one place to another on the telegraph.\n\n\n\n\nTHE SUN'S HEAT\n\n\nGo out in the winter on a calm, frosty day into the field, or into the\nwoods, and look about you and listen: all around you is snow, the rivers\nare frozen, dry grass blades stick out of the grass, the trees are\nbare,--nothing is moving.\n\nLook in the summer: the rivers are running and rippling, in every puddle\nthe frogs croak and plunge in; the birds fly from place to place, and\nwhistle, and sing; the flies and the gnats whirl around and buzz; the\ntrees and the grass grow and wave to and fro.\n\nFreeze a pot with water, and it will become as hard as a rock. Put the\nfrozen pot on the fire: the ice will begin to break, and melt, and move;\nthe water will begin to stir, and bubbles will rise; then, when it\nbegins to boil, it whirls about and makes a noise. The same happens in\nthe world from the heat. Without heat everything is dead; with the heat\neverything moves and lives. If there is little heat, there is little\nmotion; with more heat, there is more motion; with much heat, there is\nmuch motion; with very much heat, there is also very much motion.\n\nWhere does the heat in the world come from? The heat comes from the sun.\n\nIn winter the sun travels low, to one side, and its beams do not fall\nstraight upon the earth, and nothing moves. The sun begins to travel\nhigher above our heads, and begins to shine straight down upon the\nearth, and everything is warmed up in the world, and begins to stir.\n\nThe snow settles down; the ice begins to melt on the rivers; the water\ncomes down from the mountains; the vapours rise from the water to the\nclouds, and rain begins to fall. Who does it all?--The sun. The seeds\nswell, and let out rootlets; the rootlets take hold of the ground; old\nroots send up new shoots, and the trees and the grass begin to grow. Who\nhas done that?--The sun.\n\nThe bears and moles get up; the flies and bees awaken; the gnats are\nhatched, and the fish come out from their eggs, when it is warm. Who has\ndone it all?--The sun.\n\nThe air gets warmed up in one place, and rises, and in its place comes\ncolder air,--and there is a wind. Who has done that?--The sun.\n\nThe clouds rise and begin to gather and to scatter,--and the lightning\nflashes. Who has made that fire?--The sun.\n\nThe grass, the grain, the fruits, the trees grow up; animals find their\nfood, men eat their fill, and gather food and fuel for the winter; they\nbuild themselves houses, railways, cities. Who has prepared it all?--The\nsun.\n\nA man has built himself a house. What has he made it of? Of timbers. The\ntimbers were cut out of trees, but the trees are made to grow by the\nsun.\n\nThe stove is heated with wood. Who has made the wood to grow?--The sun.\n\nMan eats bread, or potatoes. Who has made them grow?--The sun. Man eats\nmeat. Who has made the animals, the birds to grow?--The grass. But the\ngrass is made to grow by the sun.\n\nA man builds himself a house from brick and lime. The bricks and the\nlime are burnt by wood. The wood has been prepared by the sun.\n\nEverything that men need, that is for their use,--all that is prepared\nby the sun, and on all that goes much sun's heat. The reason that men\nneed bread is because the sun has produced it, and because there is much\nsun's heat in it. Bread warms him who eats it.\n\nThe reason that wood and logs are needed is because there is much heat\nin them. He who buys wood for the winter, buys sun's heat; and in the\nwinter he burns the wood whenever he wants it, and lets the sun's heat\ninto his room.\n\nWhen there is heat, there is motion. No matter what motion it may\nbe,--it all comes from heat, either directly from the sun's heat, or\nfrom the heat which the sun has prepared in the coal, the wood, the\nbread, and the grass.\n\nHorses and oxen pull, men work,--who moves them?--Heat. Where does the\nheat come from?--From the food. And the food has been prepared by the\nsun.\n\nWatermills and windmills turn around and grind. Who moves them?--Wind\nand water. And who drives the wind?--Heat. And who drives the\nwater?--Again heat. Heat raises the water in the shape of vapour, and\nwithout this the water would not be falling down. A machine works,--it\nis moved by steam. And who makes steam?--Wood. And in the wood is the\nsun's heat.\n\nHeat makes motion, and motion makes heat. And both heat and motion are\nfrom the sun.\n\n\n\n\nSTORIES FROM ZOOLOGY\n\n\n\n\nTHE OWL AND THE HARE\n\n\nIt was dusk. The owls began to fly through the forest to find some prey.\n\nA large hare leaped out on a clearing and began to smooth out his fur.\nAn old owl looked at the hare, and seated himself on a branch; but a\nyoung owl said to him:\n\n\"Why do you not catch the hare?\"\n\nThe old owl said:\n\n\"He is too much for me: if I get caught in him, he will drag me into the\nwoods.\"\n\nBut the young owl said:\n\n\"I will stick one claw into his body, and with the other I will clutch a\ntree.\"\n\nThe young owl made for the hare, and stuck one claw into his back so\nthat all his talons entered the flesh, and the other claw it got ready\nto push into the tree. The hare yanked the owl, while the owl held on to\nthe tree, and thought, \"He will not get away.\" The hare darted forward\nand tore the owl. One claw was left in the tree, and the other in the\nhare's back.\n\nThe next year a hunter killed that hare, and wondered how the owl's\ntalons had grown into the hare's back.\n\n\n\n\nHOW THE WOLVES TEACH THEIR WHELPS\n\n\nI was walking along the road, and heard a shout behind me. It was the\nshepherd boy who was shouting. He was running through the field, and\npointing to something.\n\nI looked, and saw two wolves running through the field: one was\nfull-grown, and the other a whelp. The whelp was carrying a dead lamb on\nhis shoulders, and holding on to one of its legs with its teeth. The old\nwolf was running behind. When I saw the wolves, I ran after them with\nthe shepherd, and we began to shout. In response to our cries came\npeasants with dogs.\n\nThe moment the old wolf saw the dogs and the people, he ran up to the\nwhelp, took the lamb away from him, threw it over his back, and both\nwolves ran as fast as they could, and disappeared from view.\n\nThen the boy told what had happened: the large wolf had leaped out from\nthe ravine, had seized the lamb, killed it, and carried it off.\n\nThe whelp ran up to him and grasped the lamb. The old wolf let the whelp\ncarry the lamb, while he himself ran slowly beside him.\n\nOnly when there was danger, did the old wolf stop his teaching and\nhimself take the lamb.\n\n\n\n\nHARES AND WOLVES\n\n\nThe hares feed at night on tree bark; the field hares eat the winter rye\nand the grass, and the threshing-floor hares eat the grain in the\ngranary. Through the night the hares make a deep, visible track through\nthe snow. The hares are hunted by men, and dogs, and wolves, and foxes,\nand ravens, and eagles. If a hare walked straight ahead, he would be\neasily caught in the morning by his tracks; but God has made a hare\ntimid, and his timidity saves him.\n\nA hare goes at night fearlessly through the forests and fields, making\nstraight tracks; but as soon as morning comes and his enemies wake up,\nand he hears the bark of dogs, or the squeak of sleighs, or the voice of\npeasants, or the crashing of a wolf through the forest, he begins to\ntoss from side to side in his fear. He jumps forward, gets frightened at\nsomething, and runs back on his track. He hears something again, and he\nleaps at full speed to one side and runs away from his old track. Again\nsomething makes a noise, and the hare turns back, and again leaps to one\nside. When it is daylight, he lies down.\n\nIn the morning the hunters try to follow the hare tracks, and they get\nmixed up on the double tracks and long leaps, and marvel at the hare's\ncunning. But the hare did not mean to be cunning. He is merely afraid of\neverything.\n\n\n\n\nTHE SCENT\n\n\nMan sees with his eyes, hears with his ears, smells with his nose,\ntastes with his mouth, and feels with his fingers. One man's eyes see\nbetter, another man's see worse. One hears from a distance, and another\nis deaf. One has keen senses and smells a thing from a distance, while\nanother smells at a rotten egg and does not perceive it. One can tell a\nthing by the touch, and another cannot tell by touch what is wood and\nwhat paper. One will take a substance in his mouth and will find it\nsweet, while another will swallow it without making out whether it is\nbitter or sweet.\n\nJust so the different senses differ in strength in the animals. But with\nall the animals the sense of smell is stronger than in man.\n\nWhen a man wants to recognize a thing, he looks at it, listens to the\nnoise that it makes, now and then smells at it, or tastes it; but, above\nall, a man has to feel a thing, to recognize it.\n\nBut nearly all animals more than anything else need to smell a thing. A\nhorse, a wolf, a dog, a cow, a bear do not know a thing until they smell\nit.\n\nWhen a horse is afraid of anything, it snorts,--it clears its nose so as\nto scent better, and does not stop being afraid until it has smelled the\nobject well.\n\nA dog frequently follows its master's track, but when it sees him, it\ndoes not recognize him and begins to bark, until it smells him and finds\nout that that which has looked so terrible is its master.\n\nOxen see other oxen stricken down, and hear them roar in the\nslaughter-house, but still do not understand what is going on. But an ox\nor a cow need only find a spot where there is ox blood, and smell it,\nand it will understand and will roar and strike with its feet, and\ncannot be driven off the spot.\n\nAn old man's wife had fallen ill; he went himself to milk the cow. The\ncow snorted,--she discovered that it was not her mistress, and would not\ngive him any milk. The mistress told her husband to put on her fur coat\nand kerchief,--and the cow gave milk; but the old man threw open the\ncoat, and the cow scented him, and stopped giving milk.\n\nWhen hounds follow an animal's trail, they never run on the track\nitself, but to one side, about twenty paces from it. When an\ninexperienced hunter wants to show the dog the scent, and sticks its\nnose on the track, it will always jump to one side. The track itself\nsmells so strong to the dog that it cannot make out on the track whether\nthe animal has run ahead or backward. It runs to one side, and then only\ndiscovers in what direction the scent grows stronger, and so follows the\nanimal. The dog does precisely what we do when somebody speaks very loud\nin our ears; we step a distance away, and only then do we make out what\nis being said. Or, if anything we are looking at is too close, we step\nback and only then make it out.\n\nDogs recognize each other and make signs to each other by means of their\nscent.\n\nThe scent is more delicate still in insects. A bee flies directly to the\nflower that it wants to reach; a worm crawls to its leaf; a bedbug, a\nflea, a mosquito scents a man a hundred thousand of its steps away.\n\nIf the particles which separate from a substance and enter our noses are\nsmall, how small must be those particles that reach the organ of smell\nof the insects!\n\n\n\n\nTOUCH AND SIGHT\n\n\nTwist the forefinger over the middle finger and touch a small ball with\nthem, so that it may roll between the two fingers, and shut your eyes.\nYou will think that there are two balls. Open your eyes,--and you will\nsee that it is one ball. The fingers have deceived you, but the eyes\ncorrect you.\n\nLook (best of all sidewise) at a good, clean mirror,--you will think\nthat it is a window or a door, and that there is something behind it.\nTouch it with a finger,--and you will see that it is a mirror. The eyes\nhave deceived you, but the fingers correct you.\n\n\n\n\nTHE SILKWORM\n\n\nI had some old mulberry-trees in my garden. My grandfather had planted\nthem. In the fall I was given a dram of silkworm eggs, and was advised\nto hatch them and raise silkworms. These eggs are dark gray and so small\nthat in that dram I counted 5,835 of them. They are smaller than the\ntiniest pin-head. They are quite dead; only when you crush them do they\ncrack.\n\nThe eggs had been lying around on my table, and I had almost forgotten\nabout them.\n\nOne day, in the spring, I went into the orchard and noticed the buds\nswelling on the mulberry-trees, and where the sun beat down, the leaves\nwere out. I thought of the silkworm eggs, and took them apart at home\nand gave them more room. The majority of the eggs were no longer dark\ngray, as before, but some were light gray, while others were lighter\nstill, with a milky shade.\n\nThe next morning, I looked at the eggs, and saw that some of the worms\nhad hatched out, while other eggs were quite swollen. Evidently they\nfelt in their shells that their food was ripening.\n\nThe worms were black and shaggy, and so small that it was hard to see\nthem. I looked at them through a magnifying-glass, and saw that in the\neggs they lay curled up in rings, and when they came out they\nstraightened themselves out. I went to the garden for some mulberry\nleaves; I got about three handfuls of leaves, which I put on my table,\nand began to fix a place for the worms, as I had been taught to do.\n\nWhile I was fixing the paper, the worms smelled their food and started\nto crawl toward it. I pushed it away, and began to entice the worms to a\nleaf, and they made for it, as dogs make for a piece of meat, crawling\nafter the leaf over the cloth of the table and across pencils, scissors,\nand papers. Then I cut off a piece of paper, stuck holes through it with\na penknife, placed the leaf on top of it, and with the leaf put it down\non the worms. The worms crawled through the holes, climbed on the leaf,\nand started to eat.\n\nWhen the other worms hatched out, I again put a piece of paper with a\nleaf on them, and all crawled through the holes and began to eat. The\nworms gathered on each leaf and nibbled at it from its edges. Then, when\nthey had eaten everything, they crawled on the paper and looked for more\nfood. Then I put on them new sheets of perforated paper with mulberry\nleaves upon them, and they crawled over to the new food.\n\nThey were lying on my shelf, and when there was no leaf, they climbed\nabout the shelf, and came to its very edge, but they never fell down,\nthough they are blind. The moment a worm comes to an edge, it lets out a\nweb from its mouth before descending, and then it attaches itself to it\nand lets itself down; it hangs awhile in the air, and watches, and if it\nwants to get down farther, it does so, and if not, it pulls itself up by\nits web.\n\nFor days at a time the worms did nothing but eat. I had to give them\nmore and more leaves. When a new leaf was brought, and they transferred\nthemselves to it, they made a noise as though a rain were falling on\nleaves,--that was when they began to eat the new leaf.\n\nThus the older worms lived for five days. They had grown very large and\nbegan to eat ten times as much as ever. On the fifth day, I knew, they\nwould fall asleep, and waited for that to happen. Toward evening, on the\nfifth day, one of the older worms stuck to the paper and stopped eating\nand stirring.\n\nThe whole next day I watched it for a long time. I knew that worms\nmoulted several times, because they grew up and found it close in their\nold hide, and so put on a new one.\n\nMy friend and I watched it by turns. In the evening my friend called\nout:\n\n\"It has begun to undress itself,--come!\"\n\nI went up to him, and saw that the worm had stuck with its old hide to\nthe paper, had torn a hole at the mouth, thrust forth its head, and was\nwrithing and working to get out, but the old shirt held it fast. I\nwatched it for a long time as it writhed and could not get out, and I\nwanted to help it. I barely touched it with my nail, but soon saw that I\nhad done something foolish. Under my nail there was something liquid,\nand the worm died. At first I thought that it was blood, but later I\nlearned that the worm has a liquid mass under its skin, so that the\nshirt may come off easier. With my nail I no doubt disturbed the new\nshirt, for, though the worm crawled out, it soon died.\n\nThe other worms I did not touch. All of them came out of their shirts in\nthe same manner; only a few died, and nearly all came out safely, though\nthey struggled hard for a long time.\n\nAfter shedding their skins, the worms began to eat more voraciously, and\nmore leaves were devoured. Four days later they again fell asleep, and\nagain crawled out of their skins. A still larger quantity of leaves was\nnow consumed by them, and they were now a quarter of an inch in length.\nSix days later they fell asleep once more, and once more came out in new\nskins, and now were very large and fat, and we had barely time to get\nleaves ready for them.\n\nOn the ninth day the oldest worms quit eating entirely and climbed up\nthe shelves and rods. I gathered them in and gave them fresh leaves, but\nthey turned their heads away from them, and continued climbing. Then I\nremembered that when the worms get ready to roll up into larv\u00e6, they\nstop eating and climb upward.\n\nI left them alone, and began to watch what they would do.\n\nThe eldest worms climbed to the ceiling, scattered about, crawled in all\ndirections, and began to draw out single threads in various directions.\nI watched one of them. It went into a corner, put forth about six\nthreads each two inches long, hung down from them, bent over in a\nhorseshoe, and began to turn its head and let out a silk web which began\nto cover it all over. Toward evening it was covered by it as though in a\nmist; the worm could scarcely be seen. On the following morning the worm\ncould no longer be seen; it was all wrapped in silk, and still it spun\nout more.\n\nThree days later it finished spinning, and quieted down. Later I learned\nhow much web it had spun in those three days. If the whole web were to\nbe unravelled, it would be more than half a mile in length, seldom less.\nAnd if we figure out how many times the worm has to toss its head in\nthese three days in order to let out all the web, it will appear that in\nthese three days the worm tosses its head 300,000 times. Consequently,\nit makes one turn a second, without stopping. But after the work, when\nwe took down a few cocoons and broke them open, we found inside the\nworms all dried up and white, looking like pieces of wax.\n\nI knew that from these larv\u00e6 with their white, waxen bodies would come\nbutterflies; but as I looked at them, I could not believe it. None the\nless I went to look at them on the twentieth day, to see what had become\nof them.\n\nOn the twentieth day, I knew, there was to be a change. Nothing was to\nbe seen, and I was beginning to think that something was wrong, when\nsuddenly I noticed that the end of one of the cocoons grew dark and\nmoist. I thought that it had probably spoiled, and wanted to throw it\naway. But then I thought that perhaps it began that way, and so I\nwatched to see what would happen. And, indeed, something began to move\nat the wet end. For a long time I could not make out what it was. Later\nthere appeared something like a head with whiskers. The whiskers moved.\nThen I noticed a leg sticking out through the hole, then another, and\nthe legs scrambled to get out of the cocoon. It came out more and more,\nand I saw a wet butterfly. When all six legs scrambled out, the back\njumped out, too, and the butterfly crawled out and stopped. When it\ndried it was white; it straightened its wings, flew away, circled\naround, and alighted on the window.\n\nTwo days later the butterfly on the window-sill laid eggs in a row, and\nstuck them fast. The eggs were yellow. Twenty-five butterflies laid\neggs. I collected five thousand eggs. The following year I raised more\nworms, and had more silk spun.\n\n\n\n\nSTORIES FROM BOTANY\n\n\n\n\nTHE APPLE-TREE\n\n\nI set out two hundred young apple-trees, and for three years I dug\naround them in the spring and the fall, and in winter wrapped them with\nstraw against the hares. On the fourth year, when the snow melted, I\nwent to take a look at my apple-trees. They had grown stouter during the\nwinter: the bark was glossy and filled with sap; all the branches were\nsound, and at all the tips and axils there were pea-shaped flower-buds.\nHere and there the buds were bursting, and the purple edges of the\nflower-leaves could be seen. I knew that all the buds would be blossoms\nand fruit, and I was delighted as I looked at the apple-trees. But when\nI took off the wrapping from the first tree, I saw that down at the\nground the bark was nibbled away, like a white ring, to the very wood.\nThe mice had done that. I unwrapped a second tree, and the same had\nhappened there. Of the two hundred trees not one was unharmed. I smeared\npitch and wax on the nibbled spots; but when the trees were all in\nbloom, the blossoms at once fell off; there came out small leaves, and\nthey, too, dropped off. The bark became wrinkled and black. Out of the\ntwo hundred apple-trees only nine were left. On these nine trees the\nbark had not been gnawed through all around, but strips of bark were\nleft on the white ring. On the strips, where the bark held together,\nthere grew out knots, and, although the trees suffered, they lived. All\nthe rest were ruined; below the rings there came out shoots, but they\nwere all wild.\n\nThe bark of the tree is like the arteries in man: through the arteries\nthe blood goes to the whole body, and through the bark the sap goes\nalong the tree and reaches the branches, leaves, and flowers. The whole\ninside of a tree may be taken out, as is often the case with old\nwillows, and yet the tree will live so long as the bark is alive; but\nwhen the bark is ruined, the tree is gone. If a man's arteries are cut\nthrough, he will die, in the first place, because the blood will flow\nout, and in the second, because the blood will not be distributed\nthrough the body.\n\nEven thus a birch dries up when the children bore a hole into it, in\norder to drink its sap, and all the sap flows out of it.\n\nJust so the apple-trees were ruined because the mice gnawed the bark all\naround, and the sap could not rise from the roots to the branches,\nleaves, and flowers.\n\n\n\n\nTHE OLD POPLAR\n\n\nFor five years our garden was neglected. I hired labourers with axes and\nshovels, and myself began to work with them in the garden. We cut out\nand chopped out all the dry branches and wild shoots, and the\nsuperfluous trees and bushes. The poplars and bird-cherries grew ranker\nthan the rest and choked the other trees. A poplar grows out from the\nroots, and it cannot be dug out, but the roots have to be chopped out\nunderground.\n\nBeyond the pond there stood an enormous poplar, two men's embraces in\ncircumference. About it there was a clearing, and this was all overgrown\nwith poplar shoots. I ordered them to be cut out: I wanted the spot to\nlook more cheerful, but, above all, I wanted to make it easier for the\nold poplar, because I thought that all those young trees came from its\nroots, and were draining it of its sap. When we cut out these young\npoplars, I felt sorry as I saw them chop out the sap-filled roots\nunderground, and as all four of us pulled at the poplar that had been\ncut down, and could not pull it out. It held on with all its might, and\ndid not wish to die. I thought that, no doubt, they had to live, since\nthey clung so much to life. But it was necessary to cut them down, and\nso I did it. Only later, when nothing could be done, I learned that they\nought not to have been cut down.\n\nI thought that the shoots were taking the sap away from the old poplar,\nbut it turned out quite differently. When I was cutting them down, the\nold poplar was already dying. When the leaves came out, I saw (it grew\nfrom two boughs) that one bough was bare; and that same summer it dried\nup completely. The tree had been dying for quite awhile, and the tree\nknew it, so it tried to give its life to the shoots.\n\nThat was the reason why they grew so fast. I wanted to make it easier\nfor the tree, and only killed all its children.\n\n\n\n\nTHE BIRD-CHERRY\n\n\nA bird-cherry grew out on a hazel bush path and choked the bushes. I\ndeliberated for a long time whether I had better cut down the\nbird-cherry, or not. This bird-cherry grew not as a bush, but as a tree,\nabout six inches in diameter and thirty feet high, full of branches and\nbushy, and all besprinkled with bright, white, fragrant blossoms. You\ncould smell it from a distance. I should not have cut it down, but one\nof the labourers (to whom I had before given the order to cut down the\nbird-cherry) had begun to chop it without me. When I came, he had\nalready cut in about three inches, and the sap splashed under the axe\nwhenever it struck the same cut. \"It cannot be helped,--apparently such\nis its fate,\" I thought, and I picked up an axe myself and began to chop\nit with the peasant.\n\nIt is a pleasure to do any work, and it is a pleasure to chop. It is a\npleasure to let the axe enter deeply in a slanting line, and then to\nchop out the chip by a straight stroke, and to chop farther and farther\ninto the tree.\n\nI had entirely forgotten the bird-cherry, and was thinking only of\nfelling it as quickly as possible. When I got tired, I put down my axe\nand with the peasant pressed against the tree and tried to make it fall.\nWe bent it: the tree trembled with its leaves, and the dew showered down\nupon us, and the white, fragrant petals of the blossoms fell down.\n\nAt the same time something seemed to cry,--the middle of the tree\ncreaked; we pressed against it, and it was as though something wept,\nthere was a crash in the middle, and the tree tottered. It broke at the\nnotch and, swaying, fell with its branches and blossoms into the grass.\nThe twigs and blossoms trembled for awhile after the fall, and stopped.\n\n\"It was a fine tree!\" said the peasant. \"I am mightily sorry for it!\"\n\nI myself felt so sorry for it that I hurried away to the other\nlabourers.\n\n\n\n\nHOW TREES WALK\n\n\nOne day we were cleaning an overgrown path on a hillock near the pond.\nWe cut down a lot of brier bushes, willows, and poplars,--then came the\nturn of a bird-cherry. It was growing on the path, and it was so old and\nstout that it could not be less than ten years old. And yet I knew that\nfive years ago the garden had been cleaned. I could not understand how\nsuch an old bird-cherry could have grown out there. We cut it down and\nwent farther. Farther away, in another thicket, there grew a similar\nbird-cherry, even stouter than the first. I looked at its root, and saw\nthat it grew under an old linden. The linden with its branches choked\nit, and it had stretched out about twelve feet in a straight line, and\nonly then came out to the light, raised its head, and began to blossom.\n\nI cut it down at the root, and was surprised to find it so fresh, while\nthe root was rotten. After we had cut it down, the peasants and I tried\nto pull it off; but no matter how much we jerked at it, we were unable\nto drag it away: it seemed to have stuck fast. I said:\n\n\"Look whether it has not caught somewhere.\"\n\nA workman crawled under it, and called out:\n\n\"It has another root; it is out on the path!\"\n\nI walked over to him, and saw that it was so.\n\nNot to be choked by the linden, the bird-cherry had gone away from\nunderneath the linden out on the path, about eight feet from its former\nroot. The root which I had cut down was rotten and dry, but the new one\nwas fresh. The bird-cherry had evidently felt that it could not exist\nunder the linden, so it had stretched out, dropped a branch to the\nground, made a root of that branch, and left the other root. Only then\ndid I understand how the first bird-cherry had grown out on the road. It\nhad evidently done the same,--only it had had time to give up the old\nroot, and so I had not found it.\n\n\n\n\nTHE DECEMBRISTS\n\nFragments of a Novel\n\n1863-1878\n\n\n\n\nTHE DECEMBRISTS\n\nA Novel\n\n\nFIRST FRAGMENT\n\nI.\n\nThis happened not long ago, in the reign of Alexander II., in our days\nof civilization, progress, questions, regeneration of Russia, and so\nforth, and so forth; at a time when the victorious Russian army was\nreturning from Sevastopol, surrendered to the enemy; when all of Russia\ncelebrated the annihilation of the Black Sea fleet, and white-stoned\nMoscow received and congratulated with this happy event the remainders\nof the crews of that fleet, offering them a good Russian cup of v\u00f3dka,\nand bread and salt, according to the good Russian custom, and bowing\ndown to their feet. It was that time when Russia, in the person of\nfar-sighted virgin politicians, lamented the shattered dream of a Te\nDeum in the Cathedral of St. Sophia, and the loss of two great men, so\npainful for the country, who had perished during the war (one, who had\nbeen carried away by the desire to celebrate the Te Deum in the\nabove-mentioned cathedral at the earliest time possible, and who fell in\nthe fields of Wallachia, but who, at least, left two squadrons of\nhussars in the same fields, and the other, an unappreciated man, who had\ndistributed tea, other people's money, and bed-sheets to the wounded,\nwithout stealing any of these things); that time, when on all sides, in\nall branches of human activities, great men--generals, administrators,\neconomists, writers, orators, and simply great men, without any especial\ncalling or purpose--sprang up in Russia like mushrooms; that time, when,\nat the jubilee of a Moscow actor, there appeared the public opinion,\nconfirmed by a toast, which began to rebuke all the criminals,--when\nmenacing commissions galloped south from St. Petersburg, to convict and\npunish the evil-doers of the commissariat,--when in all the cities\ndinners with speeches were given to the heroes of Sevastopol, and when\nto them, with arms and legs torn off, toasts were drunk, on meeting them\non the bridges and on the highways; that time, when oratorical talents\ndeveloped so rapidly in the nation that a certain dram-shopkeeper\neverywhere and upon all occasions wrote and printed and recited by rote\nat dinners such strong speeches, that the guardians of the peace had to\ntake repressive measures against the dram-shopkeeper's eloquence,--when\nin the very English club a special room was set aside for the discussion\nof public matters,--when periodicals sprang up under the most\ndiversified standards,--periodicals that evolved European principles on\na European basis, but with a Russian world conception, and periodicals\non an exclusively Russian basis, but with a European world\nconception,--when suddenly there appeared so many periodicals that all\nnames seemed to be exhausted,--\"The Messenger,\" and \"The Word,\" and \"The\nSpeaker,\" and \"The Observer,\" and \"The Star,\" and \"The Eagle,\" and many\nmore, and, in spite of it, there appeared ever new names; that time,\nwhen the constellation of philosophic writers made its appearance to\nprove that science was national, and not national, and non-national, and\nso forth, and the constellation of artistic writers, who described a\ngrove, and the sunrise, and a storm, and the love of a Russian maiden,\nand the indolence of a certain official, and the bad conduct of many\nofficials; that time, when on all sides appeared questions (as in the\nyear '56 they called every concourse of circumstances, of which no one\ncould make any sense), questions of cadet corps, universities,\ncensorship, oral judicature, finance, banking, police, emancipation, and\nmany more:--everybody tried to discover ever new questions, everybody\ntried to solve them, wrote, read, spoke, made projects, wanted to mend\neverything, destroy, change, and all Russians, like one man, were in\nindescribable ecstasy.\n\nThat is a state of affairs which has been twice repeated in the Russia\nof the nineteenth century,--the first time, when in the year '12 we\nrepulsed Napoleon I., and the second time, when in the year '56 we were\nrepulsed by Napoleon III. Great, unforgettable time of the regeneration\nof the Russian people! Like the Frenchman who said that he has not lived\nwho has not lived through the great French Revolution, I venture to say\nthat he who has not lived through the year '56 in Russia does not know\nwhat life is. The writer of these lines not only lived through that\ntime, but was one of the actors of that period. Not only did he pass\nseveral weeks in one of the blindages of Sevastopol, but he also wrote a\nwork on the Crimean War, which brought him great fame, and in which he\ndescribed clearly and minutely how the soldiers fired their guns from\nthe bastions, how the wounds were dressed at the ambulance, and how they\nburied people in the cemetery. Having achieved these deeds, the writer\nof these lines arrived in the centre of the empire,--a rocket\nestablishment,--where he cut the laurels for his deeds. He saw the\ntransports of the two capitals and of the whole nation, and experienced\nin his person to what extent Russia knew how to reward real deserts. The\nmighty of this world sought his friendship, pressed his hands, gave him\ndinners, urged him to come to their houses, and, in order to learn the\ndetails of the war from him, informed him of their own sentimentalities.\nConsequently the writer of these lines can appreciate that great and\nmemorable time. But that is another matter.\n\nAt that very time, two vehicles on wheels and a sleigh were standing at\nthe entrance of the best Moscow hotel. A young man ran through the door,\nto find out about quarters. In one of the vehicles sat an old man with\ntwo ladies. He was talking about the condition of Blacksmith Bridge in\nthe days of the French. It was the continuation of a conversation\nstarted as they entered Moscow, and now the old man with the white\nbeard, in his unbuttoned fur coat, calmly continued his conversation in\nthe vehicle, as though he intended to stay in it overnight. His wife and\ndaughter listened to him, but kept looking at the door with some\nimpatience. The young man emerged from the door with the porter and room\nservant.\n\n\"Well, Sergy\u00e9y,\" asked the mother, thrusting her emaciated face out into\nthe glare of the lamplight.\n\nEither because it was his habit, or because he did not wish the porter\nto take him for a lackey on account of the short fur coat which he wore,\nSergy\u00e9y replied in French that there were rooms to be had, and opened\nthe carriage door. The old man looked for a moment at his son, and again\nturned to the dark corner of the vehicle, as though nothing else\nconcerned him:\n\n\"There was no theatre then.\"\n\n\"Pierre!\" said his wife, lifting her cloak; but he continued:\n\n\"Madame Chalm\u00e9 was in Tversk\u00e1ya Street--\"\n\nDeep in the vehicle could be heard a youthful, sonorous laugh.\n\n\"Papa, step out! You are forgetting where we are.\"\n\nThe old man only then seemed to recall that they had arrived, and looked\naround him.\n\n\"Do step out!\"\n\nHe pulled his cap down, and submissively passed through the door. The\nporter took him under his arm, but, seeing that the old man was walking\nwell, he at once offered his services to the lady. Judging from the\nsable cloak, and from the time it took for her to emerge, and from the\nway she pressed down on his arm, and from the way she, leaning on her\nson's arm, walked straight toward the porch, without looking to either\nside, Nat\u00e1lya Nikol\u00e1evna, his wife, seemed to the porter to be an\nimportant personage. He did not even separate the young lady from the\nmaids, who climbed out from the other vehicle; like them, she carried a\nbundle and a pipe, and walked behind. He recognized her only by her\nlaughing and by her calling the old man father.\n\n\"Not that way, father,--to the right!\" she said, taking hold of the\nsleeve of his sheepskin coat. \"To the right.\"\n\nOn the staircase there resounded, through the noise of the steps, the\ndoors, and the heavy breathing of the elderly lady, the same laughter\nwhich had been heard in the vehicle, and about which any one who heard\nit thought: \"How excellently she laughs,--I just envy her.\"\n\nTheir son, Sergy\u00e9y, had attended to all the material conditions on the\nroad, and, though he lacked knowledge of the matter, he had attended to\nit with the energy and self-satisfying activity which are characteristic\nof twenty-five years of age. Some twenty times, and apparently for no\nimportant reason, he ran down to the sleigh in his greatcoat, and ran\nup-stairs again, shivering in the cold and taking two or three steps at\na time with his long, youthful legs. Nat\u00e1lya Nikol\u00e1evna asked him not to\ncatch a cold, but he said that it was all right, and continued to give\norders, slamming doors, and walking, and, when it seemed that only the\nservants and peasants had to be attended to, he several times walked\nthrough all the rooms, leaving the drawing-room by one door, and coming\nin through another, as though he were looking for something else to do.\n\n\"Well, papa, will you be driven to the bath-house? Shall I find out?\" he\nasked.\n\nHis papa was deep in thought and, it seemed, was not at all conscious of\nwhere he was. He did not answer at once. He heard the words, but did not\ncomprehend them. Suddenly he comprehended.\n\n\"Yes, yes, yes. Find out, if you please, at Stone Bridge.\"\n\nThe head of the family walked through the rooms with hasty, agitated\nsteps, and seated himself in a chair.\n\n\"Now we must decide what to do, how to arrange matters,\" he said. \"Help\nalong, children, lively! Like good fellows, drag things around, put them\nup, and to-morrow we shall send Ser\u00e9zha with a note to sister M\u00e1rya\nIv\u00e1novna, to the Nik\u00edtins, or we shall go there ourselves. Am I right,\nNat\u00e1sha? But now, fix things!\"\n\n\"To-morrow is Sunday. I hope, Pierre, that first of all you will go to\nmass,\" said his wife, kneeling in front of a trunk and opening it.\n\n\"That is so, it is Sunday! We shall by all means all of us go to the\nCathedral of the Assumption. Thus will our return begin. O Lord! When I\nthink of the day when I was for the last time in the Cathedral of the\nAssumption! Do you remember, Nat\u00e1sha? But that is another matter.\"\n\nAnd the head of the family rose quickly from the chair, on which he had\njust seated himself.\n\n\"Now we must settle down!\"\n\nAnd without doing anything, he kept walking from one room to another.\n\n\"Well, shall we drink tea? Or are you tired, and do you want to rest?\"\n\n\"Yes, yes,\" replied his wife, taking something out from the trunk. \"You\nwanted to go to the bath-house, did you not?\"\n\n\"Yes--in my day it was near Stone Bridge. Ser\u00e9zha, go and find out\nwhether there is still a bath-house near Stone Bridge. This room here\nSer\u00e9zha and I shall occupy. Ser\u00e9zha! Will you be comfortable here?\"\n\nBut Ser\u00e9zha had gone to find out about the bath-house.\n\n\"No, that will not do,\" he continued. \"You will not have a straight\npassage to the drawing-room. What do you think, Nat\u00e1sha?\"\n\n\"Calm yourself, Pierre, everything will come out all right,\" Nat\u00e1sha\nsaid, from another room, where peasants were bringing in things.\n\nBut Pierre was still under the influence of that ecstatic mood which the\narrival had evoked in him.\n\n\"Look there,--don't mix up Ser\u00e9zha's things! You have thrown his\nsnow-shoes down in the drawing-room.\" And he himself picked them up and\nwith great care, as though the whole future order of the quarters\ndepended upon it, leaned them against the door-post and tried to make\nthem stand there. But the snow-shoes did not stick to it, and, the\nmoment Pierre walked away from them, fell with a racket across the door.\nNat\u00e1lya Nikol\u00e1evna frowned and shuddered, but, seeing the cause of the\nfall, she said:\n\n\"S\u00f3nya, darling, pick them up!\"\n\n\"Pick them up, darling,\" repeated the husband, \"and I will go to the\nlandlord, or else you will never get done. I must talk things over with\nhim.\"\n\n\"You had better send for him, Pierre. Why should you trouble yourself?\"\n\nPierre assented.\n\n\"S\u00f3nya, bring him here, what do you call him? M. Cavalier, if you\nplease. Tell him that we want to speak about everything.\"\n\n\"Chevalier, papa,\" said S\u00f3nya, ready to go out.\n\nNat\u00e1lya Nikol\u00e1evna, who was giving her commands in a soft voice, and was\nsoftly stepping from room to room, now with a box, now with a pipe, now\nwith a pillow, imperceptibly finding places for a mountain of baggage,\nin passing S\u00f3nya, had time to whisper to her:\n\n\"Do not go yourself, but send a man!\"\n\nWhile a man went to call the landlord, Pierre used his leisure, under\nthe pretext of aiding his consort, in crushing a garment of hers and in\nstumbling against an empty box. Steadying himself with his hand against\nthe wall, the Decembrist looked around with a smile; but S\u00f3nya was\nlooking at him with such smiling eyes that she seemed to be waiting for\npermission to laugh. He readily granted her that permission, and himself\nburst out into such a good-natured laugh that all those who were in the\nroom, his wife, the maids, and the peasants, laughed with him. This\nlaughter animated the old man still more. He discovered that the divan\nin the room for his wife and daughter was not standing very conveniently\nfor them, although they affirmed the opposite, and asked him to calm\nhimself. Just as he was trying with his own hands to help a peasant to\nchange the position of that piece of furniture, the landlord, a\nFrenchman, entered the room.\n\n\"You sent for me,\" the landlord asked sternly and, in proof of his\nindifference, if not contempt, slowly drew out his handkerchief, slowly\nunfolded it, and slowly cleared his nose.\n\n\"Yes, my dear sir,\" said Peter Iv\u00e1novich, stepping up toward him, \"you\nsee, we do not know ourselves how long we are going to stay here, I and\nmy wife--\" and Peter Iv\u00e1novich, who had the weakness of seeing a\nneighbour in every man, began to expound his plans and affairs to him.\n\nM. Chevalier did not share that view of people and was not interested in\nthe information communicated to him by Peter Iv\u00e1novich, but the good\nFrench which Peter Iv\u00e1novich spoke (the French language, as is known, is\nsomething like rank in Russia) and his lordly manner somewhat raised the\nlandlord's opinion about the newcomers.\n\n\"What can I do for you?\" he asked.\n\nThis question did not embarrass Peter Iv\u00e1novich. He expressed his desire\nto have rooms, tea, a samov\u00e1r, supper, dinner, food for the servants, in\nshort, all those things for which hotels exist, and when M. Chevalier,\nmarvelling at the innocence of the old man, who apparently imagined that\nhe was in the Trukhm\u00e9n steppe, or supposed that all these things would\nbe given him without pay, informed him that he could have all those\nthings, Peter Iv\u00e1novich was in ecstasy.\n\n\"Now that is nice! Very nice! And so we shall get things all fixed.\nWell, then please--\" but he felt embarrassed to be speaking all the time\nabout himself, and he began to ask M. Chevalier about his family and his\nbusiness. When Sergy\u00e9y Petr\u00f3vich returned to the room, he did not seem\nto approve of his father's address; he observed the landlord's\ndissatisfaction, and reminded his father of the bath. But Peter\nIv\u00e1novich was interested in the question of how a French hotel could be\nrun in Moscow in the year '56, and of how Madame Chevalier passed her\ntime. Finally the landlord himself bowed and asked him whether he was\nnot pleased to order anything.\n\n\"We will have tea, Nat\u00e1sha. Yes? Tea, then, if you please! We will have\nsome other talks, my dear monsieur! What a charming man!\"\n\n\"And the bath, papa?\"\n\n\"Oh, yes, then we shall have no tea.\"\n\nThus the only result from the conversation with the newly arrived guests\nwas taken from the landlord. But Peter Iv\u00e1novich was now proud and happy\nof his arrangements. The drivers, who came to ask a _pourboire_, vexed\nhim, because Ser\u00e9zha had no change, and Peter Iv\u00e1novich was on the point\nof sending once more for the landlord, but the happy thought that\nothers, too, ought to be happy on that evening helped him out of that\npredicament. He took two three-rouble bills, and, sticking one bill into\nthe hand of one of the drivers, he said, \"This is for you\" (Peter\nIv\u00e1novich was in the habit of saying \"you\" to all without exception,\nunless to a member of his family); \"and this is for you,\" he said,\ntransferring the other bill from the palm of his hand to that of the\ndriver, in some such manner as people do when paying a doctor for a\nvisit. After attending to all these things, he was taken to the\nbath-house.\n\nS\u00f3nya, who was sitting on the divan, put her hand under her head and\nburst out laughing.\n\n\"Oh, how nice it is, mamma! Oh, how nice!\"\n\nThen she placed her feet on the divan, stretched herself, adjusted\nherself, and fell into the sound, calm sleep of a healthy girl of\neighteen years of age, after six weeks on the road. Nat\u00e1lya Nikol\u00e1evna,\nwho was still busy taking out things in her sleeping-room, heard, no\ndoubt with her maternal ear, that S\u00f3nya was not stirring, and went out\nto take a look at her. She took a pillow and, raising the girl's\nreddened, dishevelled head with her large white hand, placed her on the\npillow. S\u00f3nya drew a deep, deep sigh, shrugged her shoulders, and put\nher head on the pillow, without saying \"_Merci_,\" as though that had all\nbeen done of its own accord.\n\n\"Not on that bed, not on that, Gavr\u00edlovna, K\u00e1tya,\" Nat\u00e1lya Nikol\u00e1evna\nimmediately turned to the maids who were making a bed, and with one\nhand, as though in passing, she adjusted the straying hair of her\ndaughter. Without stopping and without hurrying, Nat\u00e1lya Nikol\u00e1evna\ndressed herself, and upon the arrival of her husband and her son\neverything was ready: the trunks were no longer in the rooms; in\nPierre's sleeping-room everything was arranged as it had been for\nseveral decades in Irk\u00fatsk: the morning-gown, the pipe, the\ntobacco-pouch, the sugared water, the Gospel, which he read at night,\nand even the image stuck to the rich wall-paper in the rooms of\nChevalier, who never used such adornments, but on that evening they\nappeared in all the rooms of the third division of the hotel.\n\nHaving dressed herself, Nat\u00e1lya Nikol\u00e1evna adjusted her collar and\ncuffs, which, in spite of the journey, were still clean, combed herself,\nand seated herself opposite the table. Her beautiful black eyes gazed\nsomewhere into the distance: she looked and rested herself. She seemed\nto be resting, not from the unpacking alone, nor from the road, nor from\nthe oppressive years,--she seemed to be resting from her whole life, and\nthe distance into which she was gazing, and in which she saw living and\nbeloved faces, was that rest which she was wishing for. Whether it was\nan act of love, which she had done for her husband, or the love which\nshe had experienced for her children when they were young, or whether it\nwas a heavy loss, or a peculiarity of her character,--everyone who\nlooked at that woman could not help seeing that nothing could be\nexpected from her, that she had long ago given all of herself to life,\nand that nothing was left of her. All that there was left was something\nworthy of respect, something beautiful and sad, as a reminiscence, as\nthe moonlight. She could not be imagined otherwise than surrounded by\nall the comforts of life. It was impossible for her ever to be hungry,\nor to eat eagerly, or to have on soiled clothes, or to stumble, or to\nforget to clear her nose. It was a physical impossibility. Why it was\nso, I do not know, but every motion of hers was dignity, grace,\ngentleness toward all those who could enjoy her sight.\n\n \"Sie pflegen und weben\n Himmlische Rosen ins irdische Leben.\"\n\nShe knew those verses and loved them, but was not guided by them. All\nher nature was an expression of that thought; all her life was this one\nunconscious weaving of invisible roses in the lives of those with whom\nshe came in contact. She had followed her husband to Siberia only\nbecause she loved him; she had not thought what she could do for him,\nand instinctively had done everything. She had made his bed, had put\naway his things, had prepared his dinner and his tea, and, above all,\nhad always been where he was, and no woman could have given more\nhappiness to her husband.\n\nIn the drawing-room the samov\u00e1r was boiling on the round table. Nat\u00e1lya\nNikol\u00e1evna sat near it. S\u00f3nya wrinkled her face and smiled under her\nmother's hand, which was tickling her, when father and son, with\nwrinkled finger-tips and glossy cheeks and foreheads (the father's bald\nspot was particularly glistening), with fluffy white and black hair, and\nwith beaming countenances, entered the room.\n\n\"It has grown brighter since you have come in,\" said Nat\u00e1lya Nikol\u00e1evna.\n\"O Lord, how white you are!\"\n\nShe had been saying that each Saturday, for several decades, and each\nSaturday Pierre experienced bashfulness and delight, whenever he heard\nthat. They seated themselves at the table; there was an odour of tea and\nof the pipe, and there were heard the voices of the parents, the\nchildren, and the servants, who received their cups in the same room.\nThey recalled everything funny that had happened on the road, admired\nS\u00f3nya's hair-dressing, and laughed. Geographically they were all\ntransferred a distance of five thousand versts, into an entirely\ndifferent, strange milieu, but morally they were that evening still at\nhome, just such as the peculiar, long, solitary family life had made\nthem to be. It will not be so to-morrow. Peter Iv\u00e1novich seated himself\nnear the samov\u00e1r, and lighted his pipe. He was not in a cheerful mood.\n\n\"So here we are,\" he said, \"and I am glad that we shall not see any one\nto-night; this is the last evening we shall pass with the family,\" and\nhe washed these words down with a large mouthful of tea.\n\n\"Why the last, Pierre?\"\n\n\"Why? Because the eaglets have learned to fly, and they have to make\ntheir own nests, and from here they will fly each in a different\ndirection--\"\n\n\"What nonsense!\" said S\u00f3nya, taking his glass from him, and smiling at\nhim, as she smiled at everything. \"The old nest is good enough!\"\n\n\"The old nest is a sad nest; the old man did not know how to make\nit,--he was caught in a cage, and in the cage he reared his young ones,\nand was let out only when his wings no longer would hold him up. No, the\neaglets must make their nests higher up, more auspiciously, nearer to\nthe sun; that is what they are his children for, that his example might\nserve them; but the old one will look on, so long as he is not blind,\nand will listen, when he becomes blind-- Pour in some rum, more,\nmore--enough!\"\n\n\"We shall see who is going to leave,\" replied S\u00f3nya, casting a cursory\nglance at her mother, as though she felt uneasy speaking in her\npresence. \"We shall see who is going to leave,\" she continued. \"I am not\nafraid for myself, neither am I for Ser\u00e9zha.\" (Ser\u00e9zha was walking up\nand down in the room, thinking of how clothes would be ordered for him\nto-morrow, and wondering whether he had better go to the tailor, or send\nfor him; he was not interested in S\u00f3nya's conversation with his father.)\nS\u00f3nya began to laugh.\n\n\"What is the matter? What?\" asked her father.\n\n\"You are younger than we, papa. Much younger, indeed,\" she said, again\nbursting out into a laugh.\n\n\"Indeed!\" said the old man, and his austere wrinkles formed themselves\ninto a gentle, and yet contemptuous, smile.\n\nNat\u00e1lya Nikol\u00e1evna bent away from the samov\u00e1r which prevented her seeing\nher husband.\n\n\"S\u00f3nya is right. You are still sixteen years old, Pierre. Ser\u00e9zha is\nyounger in feelings, but you are younger in soul. I can foresee what he\nwill do, but you will astound me yet.\"\n\nWhether he recognized the justice of this remark, or was flattered by\nit, he did not know what reply to make, and only smoked in silence,\ndrank his tea, and beamed with his eyes. But Ser\u00e9zha, with\ncharacteristic egoism of youth, interested in what was said about him,\nentered into the conversation and affirmed that he was really old, that\nhis arrival in Moscow and the new life, which was opening before him,\ndid not gladden him in the least, and that he calmly reflected on the\nfuture and looked forward toward it.\n\n\"Still, it is the last evening,\" repeated Peter Iv\u00e1novich. \"It will not\nbe again to-morrow.\"\n\nAnd he poured a little more rum into his glass. He sat for a long time\nat the tea-table, with an expression as though he wished to say many\nthings, but had no hearers. He moved up the rum toward him, but his\ndaughter softly carried away the bottle.\n\nII.\n\nWhen M. Chevalier, who had been up-stairs to look after his guests,\nreturned to his room and gave the benefit of his observations on the\nnewcomers to his life companion, in laces and a silk garment, who in\nParisian fashion was sitting back of the counter, several habitual\nvisitors of the establishment were sitting in the room. Ser\u00e9zha, who had\nbeen down-stairs, had taken notice of that room and of its visitors. If\nyou have been in Moscow, you have, no doubt, noticed that room yourself.\n\nIf you, a modest man who do not know Moscow, have missed a dinner to\nwhich you are invited, or have made a mistake in your calculations,\nimagining that the hospitable Muscovites would invite you to dinner, or\nsimply wish to dine in the best restaurant, you enter the lackeys' room.\nThree or four lackeys jump up: one of them takes off your fur coat and\ncongratulates you on the occasion of the New Year, or of the\nButter-week, or of your arrival, or simply remarks that you have not\ncalled for a long while, though you have never been in that\nestablishment before.\n\nYou enter, and the first thing that strikes your eyes is a table set, as\nyou in the first moment imagine, with an endless quantity of palatable\ndishes. But that is only an optical illusion, for the greater part of\nthat table is occupied by pheasants in feather, raw lobsters, boxes with\nperfume and pomatum, and bottles with cosmetics and candy. Only at the\nvery edge, if you look well, will you find the v\u00f3dka and a piece of\nbread with butter and sardines, under a wire globe, which is quite\nuseless in Moscow in the month of December, even though it is precisely\nsuch as those which are used in Paris. Then, beyond the table, you see\nthe room, where behind a counter sits a Frenchwoman, of extremely\nrepulsive exterior, but wearing the cleanest of gloves and a most\nexquisite, fashionable gown. Near the Frenchwoman you will see an\nofficer in unbuttoned uniform, taking a dram of v\u00f3dka, a civilian\nreading a newspaper, and somebody's military or civilian legs lying on a\nvelvet chair, and you will hear French conversation, and more or less\nsincere, loud laughter.\n\nIf you wish to know what is going on in that room, I should advise you\nnot to enter within, but only to look in, as though merely passing by to\ntake a sandwich. Otherwise you will feel ill at ease from the\ninterrogative silence and glances, and you will certainly take your tail\nbetween your legs and skulk away to one of the tables in the large hall,\nor to the winter garden. Nobody will keep you from doing so. These\ntables are for everybody, and there, in your solitude, you may call Dey\na gar\u00e7on and order as many truffles as you please. The room with the\nFrenchwoman, however, exists for the select, golden Moscow youth, and it\nis not so easy to find your way among the select as you imagine.\n\nOn returning to this room, M. Chevalier told his wife that the gentleman\nfrom Siberia was dull, but that his son and daughter were fine people,\nsuch as could be raised only in Siberia.\n\n\"You ought just to see the daughter! She is a little rose-bush!\"\n\n\"Oh, this old man is fond of fresh-looking women,\" said one of the\nguests, who was smoking a cigar. (The conversation, of course, was\ncarried on in French, but I render it in Russian, as I shall continue to\ndo in this story.)\n\n\"Oh, I am very fond of them!\" replied M. Chevalier. \"Women are my\npassion. Do you not believe me?\"\n\n\"Do you hear, Madame Chevalier?\" shouted a stout officer of Cossacks,\nwho owed a big bill in the institution and was fond of chatting with the\nlandlord.\n\n\"He shares my taste,\" said M. Chevalier, patting the stout man on his\nepaulet.\n\n\"And is this Siberian young lady really pretty?\"\n\nM. Chevalier folded his fingers and kissed them.\n\nAfter that the conversation between the guests became confidential and\nvery jolly. They were talking about the stout officer; he smiled as he\nlistened to what they were saying about him.\n\n\"How can one have such perverted taste!\" cried one, through the\nlaughter. \"Mlle. Clarisse! You know, Str\u00fagov prefers such of the women\nas have chicken calves.\"\n\nThough Mlle. Clarisse did not understand the salt of that remark, she\nbehind her counter burst out into a laughter as silvery as her bad\nteeth and advanced years permitted.\n\n\"Has the Siberian lady turned him to such thoughts?\" and she laughed\nmore heartily still. M. Chevalier himself roared with laughter, as he\nsaid:\n\n\"_Ce vieux coquin_,\" patting the officer of Cossacks on his head and\nshoulders.\n\n\"But who are they, those Siberians? Mining proprietors or merchants?\"\none of the gentlemen asked, during a pause in the laughter.\n\n\"Nik\u00edta, ask ze passport from ze chentleman zat as come,\" said M.\nChevalier.\n\n\"We, Alexander, ze Autocrat--\" M. Chevalier began to read the passport,\nwhich had been brought in the meantime, but the officer of Cossacks tore\nit out of his hands, and his face expressed surprise.\n\n\"Guess who it is,\" he said, \"for you all know him by reputation.\"\n\n\"How can we guess? Show it to us! Well, Abdel Kader, ha, ha, ha! Well,\nCagliostro-- Well, Peter III.--ha, ha, ha, ha!\"\n\n\"Well, read it!\"\n\nThe officer of Cossacks unfolded the paper and read the name of him who\nonce had been Prince Peter Iv\u00e1novich, and the family name which\neverybody knows and pronounces with a certain respect and pleasure, when\nspeaking of a person bearing that name, as of a near and familiar\nperson. We shall call him Lab\u00e1zov. The officer of Cossacks had a dim\nrecollection that this Peter Lab\u00e1zov had been something important in the\nyear '25, and that he had been sent to hard labour,--but what he had\nbeen famous for, he did not exactly know. But of the others not one knew\nanything about him, and they replied:\n\n\"Oh, yes, the famous prince,\" just as they would have said, \"Of course,\nhe is famous!\" about Shakespeare, who had written the \"\u00c6neid.\" But they\nrecognized him from the explanations of the stout officer, who told\nthem that he was a brother of Prince Iv\u00e1n, an uncle of the Ch\u00edkins, of\nCountess Prut, in short, the well-known--\n\n\"He must be very rich, if he is a brother of Prince Iv\u00e1n,\" remarked one\nof the young men, \"if the fortune has been returned to him. It has been\nreturned to some.\"\n\n\"What a lot of exiles are returning nowadays!\" remarked another.\n\"Really, fewer seem to have been sent away, than are returning now.\nZhik\u00ednski, tell us that story of the 18th!\" he turned to an officer of\nsharp-shooters, who had the reputation of being a good story-teller.\n\n\"Do tell it!\"\n\n\"In the first place, it is a true story, and happened here, at\nChevalier's, in the large hall. Three Decembrists came to have their\ndinner. They were sitting at one table, eating, drinking, talking.\nOpposite them sat down a gentleman of respectable mien, of about the\nsame age, and he listened to their talking about Siberia. He asked them\nsomething, they exchanged a few words, began to converse, and it turned\nout that he, too, was from Siberia.\n\n\"'And do you know Nerch\u00ednsk?'\n\n\"'Indeed I do, I lived there.'\n\n\"'And do you know Taty\u00e1na Iv\u00e1novna?'\n\n\"'Of course I do!'\n\n\"'Permit me to ask you,--were you, too, exiled?'\n\n\"'Yes, I had the misfortune to suffer, and you?'\n\n\"'We are all exiles of the 14th of December. It is strange that we\nshould not know you, if you, too, were exiled for the 14th. Permit me to\nknow your name!'\n\n\"'F\u00e9dorov.'\n\n\"'Also for the 14th?'\n\n\"'No, for the 18th.'\n\n\"'For the 18th?'\n\n\"'For the 18th of September, for a gold watch. I was falsely accused of\nhaving stolen it, and I suffered, though innocent.'\"\n\nAll of them rolled in laughter, except the story-teller, who with a most\nserious face looked at the outstretched hearers and swore that it was a\ntrue story.\n\nSoon after the story one of the young men got up and went to the club.\nHe passed through the halls which were filled with tables at which old\nmen were playing whist; turned into the \"infernal region,\" where the\nfamous \"Puchin\" had begun his game against the \"company;\" stood for\nawhile near one of the billiard-tables, where, holding on to the\ncushion, a distinguished old man was fumbling around and with difficulty\nstriking a ball; looked into the library, where a general, holding a\nnewspaper a distance away from him, was reading it slowly above his\nglasses, and a registered young man turned the leaves of one periodical\nafter another, trying to make no noise; and finally seated himself on a\ndivan in the billiard-room, near some young people who were playing\npyramids, and who were as much gilded as he was.\n\nIt was a day of dinners, and there were there many gentlemen who always\nfrequented the club. Among them was Iv\u00e1n Vav\u00edlovich P\u00e1khtin. He was a\nman of about forty years of age, of medium stature, fair-complexioned,\nwith broad shoulders and hips, with a bare head, and a glossy, happy,\nclean-shaven face. He was not playing at pyramids, but had just sat down\nbeside Prince D----, with whom he was on \"thou\" terms, and had accepted\na glass of champagne which had been offered to him. He had located\nhimself so comfortably after the dinner, having quietly unbuckled his\ntrousers at the back, that it looked as though he could sit there all\nhis life, smoking a cigar, drinking champagne, and feeling the proximity\nof princes, counts, and the children of ministers. The news of the\narrival of the Lab\u00e1zovs interfered with his calm.\n\n\"Where are you going, P\u00e1khtin,\" said a minister's son, having noticed\nduring the game that P\u00e1khtin had got up, pulled his waistcoat down, and\nemptied his champagne in a large gulp.\n\n\"Sy\u00e9vernikov has invited me,\" said P\u00e1khtin, feeling a restlessness in\nhis legs. \"Well, will you go there?\"\n\n\"Anast\u00e1sya, Anast\u00e1sya, please unlock the door for me.\" That was a\nwell-known gipsy-song, which was in vogue at that time.\n\n\"Perhaps. And you?\"\n\n\"Where shall I, an old married man, go?\"\n\n\"Well!\"\n\nP\u00e1khtin, smiling, went to the glass hall, to join Sy\u00e9vernikov. He was\nfond of having his last word appear to be a joke. And so it came out at\nthat time, too.\n\n\"Well, how is the countess's health?\" he asked, walking over to\nSy\u00e9vernikov, who had not called him at all, but who, according to\nP\u00e1khtin's surmise, should more than any one else learn of the arrival of\nthe Lab\u00e1zovs. Sy\u00e9vernikov had somehow been mixed up with the affair of\nthe 14th, and was a friend of the Decembrists. The countess's health was\nmuch better, and P\u00e1khtin was very glad to hear it.\n\n\"Do you know, Lab\u00e1zov has arrived; he is staying at Chevalier's.\"\n\n\"You don't say so! We are old friends. How glad I am! How glad! The poor\nold fellow must have grown old. His wife wrote to my wife--\"\n\nBut Sy\u00e9vernikov did not finish saying what it was she had written,\nbecause his partners, who were playing without trumps, had made some\nmistake. While speaking with Iv\u00e1n P\u00e1vlovich, he kept an eye on them, and\nnow he leaned forward with his whole body against the table, and,\nthumping it with his hands, he tried to prove that they ought to have\nplayed from the seven. Iv\u00e1n P\u00e1vlovich got up and, going up to another\ntable, in the middle of a conversation informed another worthy gentleman\nof his bit of news, again got up, and repeated the same at a third\ntable. The worthy gentlemen were all glad to hear of the arrival of the\nLab\u00e1zovs, so that, upon returning to the billiard-room, Iv\u00e1n P\u00e1vlovich,\nwho at first had had his misgivings about whether he had to rejoice in\nthe return of the Lab\u00e1zovs, or not, no longer started with an\nintroduction about the ball, about an article in the _Messenger_, about\nhealth, or weather, but approached everybody directly with the\nenthusiastic announcement of the safe return of the famous Decembrist.\n\nThe old man, who was still vainly endeavouring to hit the white ball\nwith his cue, would, in P\u00e1khtin's opinion, be very much delighted to\nhear the news. He went up to him.\n\n\"Are you playing well, your Excellency?\" he said, just as the old man\nstuck his cue into the marker's red waistcoat, wishing to indicate that\nit had to be chalked.\n\n\"Your Excellency\" was not said, as you might think, from a desire of\nbeing subservient (no, that was not the fashion in '56). Iv\u00e1n P\u00e1vlovich\nwas in the habit of calling the old man by his name and patronymic, but\nthis was said partly as a joke on men who spoke that way, partly in\norder to hint that he knew full well to whom he was talking, and yet was\ntaking liberties, and partly in truth: altogether it was a very delicate\njest.\n\n\"I have just learned that Peter Lab\u00e1zov has returned. Straight from\nSiberia, with his whole family.\"\n\nThese words P\u00e1khtin pronounced just as the old man again missed his\nball, for such was his bad luck.\n\n\"If he has returned as cracked as he went away, there is no cause for\nrejoicing,\" gruffly said the old man, who was irritated by his\nincomprehensible failure.\n\nThis statement vexed Iv\u00e1n P\u00e1vlovich, and again he was at a loss whether\nthere was any cause for rejoicing at Lab\u00e1zov's return, and, in order\nfully to settle his doubt, he directed his steps to a room, where\ngenerally assembled the clever people, who knew the meaning and value of\neach thing, and, in short, knew everything. Iv\u00e1n P\u00e1vlovich was on the\nsame footing of friendship with the frequenters of the intellectual room\nas with the gilded youths and with the dignitaries. It is true, he had\nno special place of his own in the intellectual room, but nobody was\nsurprised to see him enter and seat himself on a divan. They were just\ndiscussing in what year and upon what occasion there had taken place a\nquarrel between two Russian journalists. Waiting for a moment of\nsilence, Iv\u00e1n P\u00e1vlovich communicated his bit of news, not as something\njoyous, nor as an unimportant event, but as though part of the\nconversation. But immediately, from the way the \"intellectuals\" (I use\nthe word \"intellectuals\" as a name for the frequenters of the\n\"intellectual\" room) received the news and began to discuss it, Iv\u00e1n\nP\u00e1vlovich understood that it belonged there, and that only there would\nit receive such an elaboration as to enable him to carry it farther and\n_savoir \u00e0 quoi s'en tenir_.\n\n\"Lab\u00e1zov was the only one who was wanting,\" said one of the\nintellectuals; \"now all the living Decembrists have returned to Russia.\"\n\n\"He was one of the herd of the famous--\" said P\u00e1khtin, still with an\ninquisitive glance, prepared to make that quotation both jocular and\nserious.\n\n\"Indeed, Lab\u00e1zov was one of the most remarkable men of that time,\" began\nan intellectual. \"In 1819 he was an ensign of the Sem\u00e9novski regiment,\nand was sent abroad with messages to Duke Z----. Then he returned and in\nthe year '24 was received in the First Masonic lodge. The Masons of that\ntime used all to gather at the house of D---- and at his house. He was\nvery rich. Prince Zh----, F\u00e9dor D----, Iv\u00e1n P----, those were his\nnearest friends. Then his uncle, Prince Visari\u00f3n, to remove the young\nman from that society, took him to Moscow.\"\n\n\"Pardon me, Nikol\u00e1y Step\u00e1novich,\" another intellectual interrupted him,\n\"it seems to me that that happened in the year '23, because Visari\u00f3n\nLab\u00e1zov was appointed a commander of the Third Corps in '24, and was\nthen in Warsaw. He had offered him an adjutantship, and after his\nrefusal, he was removed. However, pardon me for interrupting you.\"\n\n\"Not at all. Proceed!\"\n\n\"Pardon me!\"\n\n\"Proceed! You ought to know that better than I, and, besides, your\nmemory and knowledge have been sufficiently attested here.\"\n\n\"In Moscow he against his uncle's will left the army,\" continued the one\nwhose memory and knowledge had been attested, \"and there he gathered\naround him a second society, of which he was the progenitor and the\nheart, if it be possible so to express it. He was rich, handsome,\nclever, educated; they say he was exceedingly amiable. My aunt used to\ntell me that she did not know a more bewitching man. Here he married\nMiss Kr\u00ednski, a few months before the revolt broke out.\"\n\n\"The daughter of Nikol\u00e1y Kr\u00ednski, the one of Borodin\u00f3 fame, you know,\"\nsomebody interrupted him.\n\n\"Well, yes. Her immense fortune he still possesses, but his own paternal\nestate passed over to his younger brother, Prince Iv\u00e1n, who is now\nOber-Hof-Kaffermeister\" (he gave him some such name) \"and was a\nminister.\"\n\n\"The best thing is what he did for his brother,\" continued the narrator.\n\"When he was arrested, there was one thing which he succeeded in\ndestroying, and that was his brother's letters and documents.\"\n\n\"Was his brother mixed up in it, too?\"\n\nThe narrator did not say \"Yes,\" but compressed his lips and gave a\nsignificant wink.\n\n\"Then, during all the inquests Peter Lab\u00e1zov kept denying everything\nwhich concerned his brother, and so suffered more than the rest. But the\nbest part of it is that Prince Iv\u00e1n got all the property, and never sent\na penny to his brother.\"\n\n\"They say that Peter Lab\u00e1zov himself declined it,\" remarked one of the\nhearers.\n\n\"Yes; but he declined it only because Prince Iv\u00e1n wrote him before the\ncoronation, excusing himself and saying that if he had not taken it, it\nwould have been confiscated, and that he had children and debts, and\nthat now he was unable to return it to him. Peter Lab\u00e1zov replied to him\nin two lines: 'Neither I nor my heirs have any right, nor can have any\nright, to the property legally appropriated by you.' That was all. How\nwas that? And Prince Iv\u00e1n swallowed it, and in delight locked up that\ndocument with the notes in a safe, and showed it to no one.\"\n\nOne of the peculiarities of the intellectual room was that its visitors\nknew, whenever they wanted to know, everything that was taking place in\nthe world, no matter how secret the event might have been.\n\n\"Still it is a question,\" said a new interlocutor, \"whether it was just\nto deprive the children of Prince Iv\u00e1n of the property, with which they\nhave grown up and have been educated, and to which they thought they had\na right.\"\n\nThus the conversation was transferred to an abstract sphere, which did\nnot interest P\u00e1khtin.\n\nHe felt the necessity of communicating the news to fresh people, and so\nhe rose and, speaking to the right and to the left, walked from one hall\nto another. One of his fellow officers stopped him to give him the news\nof Lab\u00e1zov's arrival.\n\n\"Who does not know that?\" replied Iv\u00e1n P\u00e1vlovich, with a calm smile,\nturning to the exit. The news had had time to complete its circle, and\nwas again returning to him.\n\nThere was nothing else to do in the club, and he went to an evening\nparty. It was not a special entertainment, but a salon where guests were\nreceived any evening. There were there eight ladies, and one old\ncolonel, and all found it terribly dull. P\u00e1khtin's firm gait alone and\nhis smiling face cheered the ladies and maidens. And the news was the\nmore appropriate, since the old Countess Fuks and her daughter were\npresent in the salon. When P\u00e1khtin told nearly word for word what he had\nheard in the intellectual room, Madame Fuks, shaking her head and\nmarvelling at her old age, began to recall how she used to go out\ntogether with Nat\u00e1sha Kr\u00ednski, the present Princess Lab\u00e1zov.\n\n\"Her marriage is a very romantic story, and all that happened under my\neyes. Nat\u00e1sha was almost engaged to My\u00e1tlin, who was later killed in a\nduel with Debras. Just then Prince Peter arrived in Moscow, fell in love\nwith her, and proposed to her. But her father, who wanted My\u00e1tlin very\nmuch,--they were, in general, afraid of Lab\u00e1zov because he was a\nMason,--refused him. The young man continued to see her at balls,\neverywhere, and became friendly with My\u00e1tlin, whom he begged to decline.\nMy\u00e1tlin agreed to do so, and he persuaded her to elope. She, too,\nagreed, but the last repentance----\" (the conversation was taking place\nin French), \"and she went to her father and said that everything was\nready for the elopement, and she could leave him, but hoped for his\nmagnanimity. And, indeed, her father forgave her,--everybody begged for\nher,--and gave his consent. Thus the wedding was celebrated, and it was\na jolly wedding! Who of us thought that a year later she would follow\nhim to Siberia! She, an only daughter, the most beautiful, the richest\nwoman of that time. Emperor Alexander always used to notice her at\nballs, and had danced with her so often. Countess G---- gave a _bal\ncostum\u00e9_,--I remember it as though it were to-day,--and she was a\nNeapolitan maid, oh, so charming! Whenever he came to Moscow, he used to\nask, '_que fait la belle Napolitaine_?' And suddenly this woman, in such\na condition (she bore a child on the way), did not stop for a moment to\nthink, without preparing anything, without collecting her things, just\nas she was, when they took him, followed him a distance of five thousand\nversts.\"\n\n\"Oh, what a remarkable woman!\" said the hostess.\n\n\"Both he and she were remarkable people,\" said another lady. \"I have\nbeen told,--I don't know whether it is true,--that wherever they worked\nin the mines in Siberia, or whatever it is called, the convicts, who\nwere with them, improved in their presence.\"\n\n\"But she has never worked in the mines,\" P\u00e1khtin corrected her.\n\nHow much that year '56 meant! Three years before no one had been\nthinking of the Lab\u00e1zovs, and if any one recalled them, it was with that\nunaccountable feeling of dread with which one speaks of one lately dead;\nbut now they vividly recalled all the former relations, all the\nbeautiful qualities, and each lady was making a plan for getting the\nmonopoly of the Lab\u00e1zovs, in order to treat the other guests to them.\n\n\"Their son and their daughter have come with them,\" said P\u00e1khtin.\n\n\"If they are only as handsome as their mother used to be,\" said Countess\nFuks. \"Still, their father, too, was very, very handsome.\"\n\n\"How could they educate their children there?\" asked the hostess.\n\n\"They say, nicely. They say that the young man is as nice, as amiable,\nand as cultured as though he had been brought up in Paris.\"\n\n\"I predict great success to that young person,\" said a homely spinster.\n\"All those Siberian ladies have something pleasantly trivial about them,\nwhich everybody, however, likes.\"\n\n\"Yes, yes,\" said another spinster.\n\n\"Here we have another rich prospective bride,\" said a third spinster.\n\nThe old colonel, of German origin, who had come to Moscow three years\nbefore, in order to marry a rich girl, decided as quickly as possible,\nbefore the young people knew anything about it, to present himself and\npropose. But the spinsters and ladies thought almost the same about the\nyoung Siberian.\n\n\"No doubt that is the one I am destined to marry,\" thought a spinster\nwho had been going out for eight years.\n\n\"No doubt it was for the best that that stupid officer of the Chevalier\nGuards did not propose to me. I should certainly have been unhappy.\"\n\n\"Well, they will again grow yellow with envy, if this one, too, falls in\nlove with me,\" thought a young and pretty lady.\n\nWe hear much about the provincialism of small towns,--but there is\nnothing worse than the provincialism of the upper classes. There are no\nnew persons there, and society is prepared to receive all kinds of new\npersons, if they should make their appearance; but they are rarely, very\nrarely, recognized as belonging to their circle and accepted, as was the\ncase with the Lab\u00e1zovs, and the sensation produced by them is stronger\nthan in a provincial town.\n\nIII.\n\n\"This is Moscow, white-stoned Mother Moscow,\" said Peter Iv\u00e1novich,\nrubbing his eyes in the morning, and listening to the tolling of the\nbells which was proceeding from Gazette Lane. Nothing so vividly\nresurrects the past as sounds, and these sounds of the Moscow bells,\ncombined with the sight of a white wall opposite the window, and with\nthe rumbling of wheels, so vividly reminded him not only of the Moscow\nwhich he had known thirty-five years before, but also of the Moscow with\nthe Kremlin, with the palaces, with Iv\u00e1n the bell, and so forth, which\nhe had been carrying in his heart, that he experienced a childish joy at\nbeing a Russian, and in Moscow.\n\nThere appeared the Bukhara morning-gown, wide open over the broad chest\nwith its chintz shirt, the pipe with its amber, the lackey with soft\nmanners, tea, the odour of tobacco; a loud male voice was heard in\nChevalier's apartments; there resounded the morning kisses, and the\nvoices of daughter and son, and the Decembrist was as much at home as in\nIrk\u00fatsk, and as he would have been in New York or in Paris.\n\nNo matter how much I should like to present to my readers the Decembrist\nhero above all foibles, I must confess, for truth's sake, that Peter\nIv\u00e1novich took great pains in shaving and combing himself, and in\nlooking at himself in the mirror. He was dissatisfied with the garments,\nwhich had been made in Siberia with little elegance, and two or three\ntimes he buttoned and unbuttoned his coat.\n\nBut Nat\u00e1lya Nikol\u00e1evna entered the drawing-room, rustling with her black\nmoire gown, with mittens and with ribbons in her cap, which, though not\naccording to the latest fashion, were so arranged that, far from making\nher appear _ridicule_, they made her look _distingu\u00e9e_. For this ladies\nhave a special sixth sense and perspicacity, which cannot be compared to\nanything.\n\nS\u00f3nya, too, was so dressed that, although she was two years behind in\nfashion, she could not be reproached in any way. On her mother\neverything was dark and simple, and on the daughter bright and\ncheerful.\n\nSer\u00e9zha had just awakened, and so they went by themselves to mass.\nFather and mother sat in the back seat, and their daughter was opposite\nthem. Vas\u00edli climbed on the box, and the hired carriage took them to the\nKremlin. When they got out of the carriage, the ladies adjusted their\nrobes, and Peter Iv\u00e1novich took the arm of his Nat\u00e1lya Nikol\u00e1evna, and,\nthrowing back his head, walked up to the door of the church. Many\npeople, merchants, officers, and everybody else, could not make out what\nkind of people they were.\n\nWho was that old man with his old sunburnt, and still unblanched face,\nwith the large, straight work wrinkles of a peculiar fold, different\nfrom the wrinkles acquired in the English club, with snow-white hair and\nbeard, with a good, proud glance and energetic movements? Who was that\ntall lady with that determined gait, and those weary, dimmed, large,\nbeautiful eyes? Who was that fresh, stately, strong young lady, neither\nfashionable, nor timid? Merchants? No, no merchants. Germans? No, no\nGermans. Gentlefolk? No, they are different,--they are distinguished\npeople. Thus thought those who saw them in church, and for some reason\nmore readily and cheerfully made way for them than for men in thick\nepaulets. Peter Iv\u00e1novich bore himself just as majestically as at the\nentrance, and prayed quietly, with reserve, and without forgetting\nhimself. Nat\u00e1lya Nikol\u00e1evna glided down on her knees, took out a\nhandkerchief, and wept much during the cherubical song. S\u00f3nya seemed to\nbe making an effort over herself in order to pray. Devotion did not come\nto her, but she did not look around, and diligently made the signs of\nthe cross.\n\nSer\u00e9zha stayed at home, partly because he had overslept himself, partly\nbecause he did not like to stand through a mass, which made his legs\nfaint,--a matter he was unable to understand, since it was a mere trifle\nfor him to walk forty miles on snow-shoes, whereas standing through\ntwelve pericopes was the greatest physical torture for him,--but chiefly\nbecause he felt that more than anything he needed a new suit of clothes.\nHe dressed himself and went to Blacksmith Bridge. He had plenty of\nmoney. His father had made it a rule, ever since his son had passed his\ntwenty-first year, to let him have as much money as he wished. It lay\nwith him to leave his parents entirely without money.\n\nHow sorry I am for the 250 roubles which he threw away in Kuntz's shop\nof ready-made clothes! Any one of the gentlemen who met Ser\u00e9zha would\nhave been only too happy to show him around, and would have regarded it\nas a piece of happiness to go with him to get his clothes made. But, as\nit was, he was a stranger in the crowd, and, making his way in his cap\nalong Blacksmith Bridge, he went to the end, without looking into the\nshops, opened the door, and came out from it in a cinnamon-coloured\nhalf-dress coat, which was tight (though at that time they wore wide\ncoats), and in loose black trousers (though they wore tight trousers),\nand in a flowery atlas waistcoat, which not one of the gentlemen, who\nwere in Chevalier's special room, would have allowed their lackeys to\nwear, and bought a number of other a things; on the other hand, Kuntz\nmarvelled at the young man's slender waist, the like of which, as he\nexplained to everybody, he had never seen. Ser\u00e9zha knew that he had a\nbeautiful waist, and he was very much flattered by the praise of a\nstranger, such as Kuntz was.\n\nHe came out with 250 roubles less, but was dressed badly, in fact so\nbadly that his apparel two days later passed over into Vas\u00edli's\npossession and always remained a disagreeable memory for Ser\u00e9zha.\n\nAt home he went down-stairs, seated himself in the large hall, looking\nnow and then into the sanctum, and ordered a breakfast of such strange\ndishes that the servant in the kitchen had to laugh. Then he asked for\na periodical, and pretended to be reading. When the servant, encouraged\nby the inexperience of the young man, addressed some questions to him,\nSer\u00e9zha said, \"Go to your place!\" and blushed. But he said this so\nproudly that the servant obeyed. Mother, father, and daughter, upon\nreturning home, found his clothes excellent.\n\nDo you remember that joyous sensation of childhood, when you were\ndressed up for your name-day and taken to mass, and when, upon returning\nwith a holiday expression in your clothes, upon your countenance, and in\nyour soul, you found toys and guests at home? You knew that on that day\nthere would be no classes, that even the grown-ups celebrated on that\nday, and that that was a day of exceptions and pleasures for the whole\nhouse; you knew that you alone were the cause of that holiday, and that\nyou would be forgiven, no matter what you might do, and you were\nsurprised to see that the people in the streets did not celebrate along\nwith your home folk, and the sounds were more audible, and the colours\nbrighter,--in short, a name-day sensation. It was a sensation of that\nkind that Peter Iv\u00e1novich experienced on his return from church.\n\nP\u00e1khtin's solicitude of the evening before did not pass in vain: instead\nof toys Peter Iv\u00e1novich found at home several visiting-cards of\ndistinguished Muscovites, who, in the year '56, regarded it as their\nperemptory duty to show every attention possible to a famous exile, whom\nthey would under no consideration have wished to see three years before.\nIn the eyes of Chevalier, the porter, and the servants of the hotel, the\nappearance of carriages asking for Peter Iv\u00e1novich, on that one morning\nincreased their respect and subserviency tenfold.\n\nAll those were name-day toys for Peter Iv\u00e1novich. No matter how much\ntried in life, how clever a man may be, the expression of respect from\npeople respected by a large number of men is always agreeable. Peter\nIv\u00e1novich felt light of heart when Chevalier, bowing, offered to change\nhis apartments and asked him to order anything he might need, and\nassured him that he regarded Peter Iv\u00e1novich's visit as a piece of luck,\nand when, examining the visiting-cards and throwing them into a vase, he\ncalled out the names of Count S----, Prince D----, and so forth.\n\nNat\u00e1lya Nikol\u00e1evna said that she would not receive anybody and that she\nwould go at once to the house of M\u00e1rya Iv\u00e1novna, to which Peter\nIv\u00e1novich consented, though he wished very much to talk to some of the\nvisitors.\n\nOnly one visitor managed to get through before the refusal to meet him.\nThat was P\u00e1khtin. If this man had been asked why he went away from the\nPrech\u00edstenka to go to Gazette Lane, he would have been unable to give\nany excuse, except that he was fond of everything new and remarkable,\nand so had come to see Peter Iv\u00e1novich, as something rare. One would\nthink that, coming to see a stranger for no other reason than that, he\nwould have been embarrassed. But the contrary was true. Peter Iv\u00e1novich\nand his son and S\u00f3nya Petr\u00f3vna became embarrassed. Nat\u00e1lya Nikol\u00e1evna\nwas too much of a _grande dame_ to become embarrassed for any reason\nwhatever. The weary glance of her beautiful black eyes was calmly\nlowered on P\u00e1khtin. But P\u00e1khtin was refreshing, self-contented, and\ngaily amiable, as always. He was a friend of M\u00e1rya Iv\u00e1novna's.\n\n\"Ah!\" said Nat\u00e1lya Nikol\u00e1evna.\n\n\"Not a friend,--the difference of our years,--but she has always been\nkind to me.\"\n\nP\u00e1khtin was an old admirer of Peter Iv\u00e1novich's,--he knew his\ncompanions. He hoped that he could be useful to the newcomers. He would\nhave appeared the previous evening, but could not find the time, and\nbegged to be excused, and sat down and talked for a long time.\n\n\"Yes, I must tell you, I have found many changes in Russia since then,\"\nPeter Iv\u00e1novich said, in reply to a question.\n\nThe moment Peter Iv\u00e1novich began to speak, you ought to have seen with\nwhat respectful attention P\u00e1khtin received every word that flew out of\nthe mouth of the distinguished old man, and how after each sentence, at\ntimes after a word, P\u00e1khtin with a nod, a smile, or a motion of his eyes\ngave him to understand that he had received and accepted the memorable\nsentence or word.\n\nThe weary glance approved of that manoeuvre. Sergy\u00e9y Petr\u00f3vich seemed to\nbe afraid lest his father's conversation should not be weighty enough,\ncorresponding to the attention of the hearer. S\u00f3nya Petr\u00f3vna, on the\ncontrary, smiled that imperceptible self-satisfied smile which people\nsmile who have caught a man's ridiculous side. It seemed to her that\nnothing was to be got from him, that he was a \"shy\u00fashka,\" as she and her\nbrother nicknamed a certain class of people.\n\nPeter Iv\u00e1novich declared that during his journey he had seen enormous\nchanges, which gave him pleasure.\n\n\"There is no comparison, the masses--the peasants--stand so much higher\nnow, have so much greater consciousness of their dignity,\" he said, as\nthough repeating some old phrases. \"I must say that the masses have\nalways interested me most. I am of the opinion that the strength of\nRussia does not lie in us, but in the masses,\" and so forth.\n\nPeter Iv\u00e1novich with characteristic zeal evolved his more or less\noriginal ideas in regard to many important subjects. We shall hear more\nof them in fuller form. P\u00e1khtin was melting for joy, and fully agreed\nwith him in everything.\n\n\"You must by all means meet the Aks\u00e1tovs. Will you permit me to\nintroduce them to you, prince? You know they have permitted him to\npublish his periodical. To-morrow, they say, the first number will\nappear. I have also read his remarkable article on the consistency of\nthe theory of science in the abstract. Remarkably interesting. Another\narticle, the history of Servia in the eleventh century, of that famous\ngeneral Karbov\u00e1nets, is also very interesting. Altogether an enormous\nstep.\"\n\n\"Indeed,\" said Peter Iv\u00e1novich. But he was apparently not interested in\nall these bits of information; he did not even know the names and merits\nof all those men whom P\u00e1khtin quoted as universally known.\n\nBut Nat\u00e1lya Nikol\u00e1evna, without denying the necessity of knowing all\nthese men and conditions, remarked in justification of her husband that\nPierre received his periodicals very late. He read entirely too much.\n\n\"Papa, shall we not go to aunty?\" asked S\u00f3nya, upon coming in.\n\n\"We shall, but we must have our breakfast. Won't you have anything?\"\n\nP\u00e1khtin naturally declined, but Peter Iv\u00e1novich, with the hospitality\ncharacteristic of every Russian and of him in particular, insisted that\nP\u00e1khtin should eat and drink something. He himself emptied a wine-glass\nof v\u00f3dka and a tumbler of Bordeaux. P\u00e1khtin noticed that as he was\nfilling his glass, Nat\u00e1lya accidentally turned away from it, and the son\ncast a peculiar glance on his father's hands.\n\nAfter the wine, Peter Iv\u00e1novich, in response to P\u00e1khtin's questions\nabout what his opinion was in respect to the new literature, the new\ntendency, the war, the peace (P\u00e1khtin had a knack of uniting the most\ndiversified subjects into one senseless but smooth conversation), in\nresponse to these questions Peter Iv\u00e1novich at once replied with one\ngeneral _profession de foi_, and either under the influence of the wine,\nor of the subject of the conversation, he became so excited that tears\nappeared in his eyes, and P\u00e1khtin, too, was in ecstasy, and himself\nbecame tearful, and without embarrassment expressed his conviction that\nPeter Iv\u00e1novich was now in advance of all the foremost men and should\nbecome the head of all the parties. Peter Iv\u00e1novich's eyes became\ninflamed,--he believed what P\u00e1khtin was telling him,--and he would have\ncontinued talking for a long time, if S\u00f3nya Petr\u00f3vna had not schemed to\nget Nat\u00e1lya Nikol\u00e1evna to put on her mantilla, and had not come herself\nto raise Peter Iv\u00e1novich from his seat. He poured out the rest of the\nwine into a glass, but S\u00f3nya Petr\u00f3vna drank it.\n\n\"What is this?\"\n\n\"I have not had any yet, papa, pardon.\"\n\nHe smiled.\n\n\"Well, let us go to M\u00e1rya Iv\u00e1novna's. You will excuse us, Monsieur\nP\u00e1khtin.\"\n\nAnd Peter Iv\u00e1novich left the room, carrying his head high. In the\nvestibule he met a general, who had come to call on his old\nacquaintance. They had not seen each other for thirty-five years. The\ngeneral was toothless and bald.\n\n\"How fresh you still are!\" he said. \"Evidently Siberia is better than\nSt. Petersburg. These are your family,--introduce me to them! What a\nfine fellow your son is! So to dinner to-morrow?\"\n\n\"Yes, yes, by all means.\"\n\nOn the porch they met the famous Chikh\u00e1ev, another old acquaintance.\n\n\"How did you find out that I had arrived?\"\n\n\"It would be a shame for Moscow if it did not know it. It is a shame\nthat you were not met at the barrier. Where do you dine? No doubt with\nyour sister, M\u00e1rya Iv\u00e1novna. Very well, I shall be there myself.\"\n\nPeter Iv\u00e1novich always had the aspect of a proud man for one who could\nnot through that exterior make out the expression of unspeakable\ngoodness and impressionableness; but just then even M\u00e1rya Nikol\u00e1evna was\ndelighted to see his unwonted dignity, and S\u00f3nya Petr\u00f3vna smiled with\nher eyes, as she looked at him. They arrived at the house of M\u00e1rya\nIv\u00e1novna. M\u00e1rya Iv\u00e1novna was Peter Iv\u00e1novich's godmother and ten years\nhis senior. She was an old maid.\n\nHer history, why she did not get married, and how she had passed her\nyouth, I will tell some time later.\n\nShe had lived uninterruptedly for forty years in Moscow. She had neither\nmuch intelligence, nor great wealth, and she did not think much of\nconnections,--on the contrary; and there was not a man who did not\nrespect her. She was so convinced that everybody ought to respect her\nthat everybody actually respected her. There were some young liberals\nfrom the university who did not recognize her power, but these gentlemen\nmade a bold front only in her absence. She needed only to enter the\ndrawing-room with her royal gait, to say something in her calm manner,\nto smile her kindly smile, and they were vanquished. Her society\nconsisted of everybody. She looked upon all of Moscow as her home folk,\nand treated them as such. She had friends mostly among the young people\nand clever men, but women she did not like. She had also dependents,\nwhom our literature has for some reason included with the Hungarian\nwoman and with generals in one common class for contempt; but M\u00e1rya\nIv\u00e1novna considered it better for Sk\u00f3pin, who had been ruined in cards,\nand Madame By\u00e9shev, whom her husband had driven away, to be living with\nher than in misery, and so she kept them.\n\nBut the two great passions in M\u00e1rya Iv\u00e1novna's present life were her two\nbrothers. Peter Iv\u00e1novich was her idol. Prince Iv\u00e1n was hateful to her.\nShe had not known that Peter Iv\u00e1novich had arrived; she had attended\nmass, and was just finishing her coffee.\n\nAt the table sat the vicar of Moscow, Madame By\u00e9shev, and Sk\u00f3pin. M\u00e1rya\nIv\u00e1novna was telling them about young Count V----, the son of P----\nZ----, who had returned from Sevastopol, and with whom she was in love.\n(She had some passion all the time.) He was to dine with her on that\nday. The vicar got up and bowed himself out. M\u00e1rya Iv\u00e1novna did not keep\nhim,--she was a freethinker in this respect: she was pious, but had no\nuse for monks and laughed at the ladies that ran after them, and boldly\nasserted that in her opinion monks were just such men as we sinful\npeople, and that it was better to find salvation in the world than in a\nmonastery.\n\n\"Give the order not to receive anybody, my dear,\" she said, \"I will\nwrite to Pierre. I cannot understand why he is not coming. No doubt,\nNat\u00e1lya Nikol\u00e1evna is ill.\"\n\nM\u00e1rya Iv\u00e1novna was of the opinion that Nat\u00e1lya Nikol\u00e1evna did not like\nher and was her enemy. She could not forgive her because it was not she,\nhis sister, who had given up her property and had followed him to\nSiberia, but Nat\u00e1lya Nikol\u00e1evna, and because her brother had definitely\ndeclined her offer when she got ready to go with him. After thirty-five\nyears she was beginning to believe that Nat\u00e1lya Nikol\u00e1evna was the best\nwoman in the world and his guardian angel; but she was envious, and it\nseemed all the time to her that she was not a good woman.\n\nShe got up, took a few steps in the parlour, and was on the point of\nentering the cabinet when the door opened, and Madame By\u00e9shev's\nwrinkled, grayish face, expressing joyous terror, was thrust through the\ndoor.\n\n\"M\u00e1rya Iv\u00e1novna, prepare yourself,\" she said.\n\n\"A letter?\"\n\n\"No, something better--\"\n\nBut before she had a chance to finish, a man's loud voice was heard in\nthe antechamber:\n\n\"Where is she? Go, Nat\u00e1sha.\"\n\n\"He!\" muttered M\u00e1rya Iv\u00e1novna, walking with long, firm steps toward her\nbrother. She met them all as though she had last seen them the day\nbefore.\n\n\"When didst thou arrive? Where have you stopped? How have you come,--in\na carriage?\" Such were the questions which M\u00e1rya Iv\u00e1novna put, walking\nwith them to the drawing-room and not hearing the answers, and looking\nwith large eyes, now upon one, and now upon another. Madame By\u00e9shev was\nsurprised at this calm, even indifference, and did not approve of it.\nThey all smiled; the conversation died down, and M\u00e1rya Iv\u00e1novna looked\nsilently and seriously at her brother.\n\n\"How are you?\" asked Peter Iv\u00e1novich, taking her hand, and smiling.\n\nPeter Iv\u00e1novich said \"you\" to her, though she had said \"thou.\" M\u00e1rya\nIv\u00e1novna once more looked at his gray beard, his bald head, his teeth,\nhis wrinkles, his eyes, his sunburnt face, and recognized all that.\n\n\"Here is my S\u00f3nya.\"\n\nBut she did not look around.\n\n\"What a stup--\" her voice faltered, and she took hold of his bald head\nwith her large white hands. \"What a stupid you are,\" she had intended to\nsay, \"not to have prepared me,\" but her shoulders and breast began to\ntremble, her old face twitched, and she burst out into sobs, pressing to\nher breast his bald head, and repeating: \"What a stupid you are not to\nhave prepared me!\"\n\nPeter Iv\u00e1novich no longer appeared as such a great man to himself, not\nso important as he had appeared on Chevalier's porch. His back was\nresting against a chair, but his head was in his sister's arms, his nose\nwas pressed against her corset, his nose was tickled, his hair\ndishevelled, and there were tears in his eyes. But he felt happy.\n\nWhen this outburst of joyous tears was over, M\u00e1rya Iv\u00e1novna understood\nwhat had happened and believed it, and began to examine them all. But\nseveral times during the course of the day, whenever she recalled what\nhe had been then, and what she had been, and what they were now, and\nwhenever the past misfortunes, and past joys and loves, vividly rose in\nher imagination, she was again seized by emotion, and got up and\nrepeated: \"What a stupid you are, Pierre, what a stupid not to have\nprepared me!\"\n\n\"Why did you not come straight to me? I should have found room for you,\"\nsaid M\u00e1rya Iv\u00e1novna. \"At least, stay to dinner. You will not feel\nlonesome, Sergy\u00e9y,--a young, brave Sevastopol soldier is dining here\nto-day. Do you not know Nikol\u00e1y Mikh\u00e1ylovich's son? He is a writer,--has\nwritten something nice. I have not read it, but they praise it, and he\nis a dear fellow,--I shall send for him. Chikh\u00e1ev, too, wanted to come.\nHe is a babbler,--I do not like him. Has he already called on you? Have\nyou seen Nik\u00edta? That is all nonsense. What do you intend to do? How are\nyou, how is your health, Nat\u00e1lya? What are you going to do with this\nyoung fellow, and with this beauty?\"\n\nBut the conversation somehow did not flow.\n\nBefore dinner Nat\u00e1lya Nikol\u00e1evna went with the children to an old aunt;\nbrother and sister were left alone, and he began to tell her of his\nplans.\n\n\"S\u00f3nya is a young lady, she has to be taken out; consequently, we are\ngoing to live in Moscow,\" said M\u00e1rya Iv\u00e1novna.\n\n\"Never.\"\n\n\"Ser\u00e9zha has to serve.\"\n\n\"Never.\"\n\n\"You are still as crazy as ever.\"\n\nBut she was just as fond of the crazy man.\n\n\"First we must stay here, then go to the country, and show everything to\nthe children.\"\n\n\"It is my rule not to interfere in family matters,\" said M\u00e1rya\nIv\u00e1novna, after calming down from her agitation, \"and not to give\nadvice. A young man has to serve, that I have always thought, and now\nmore than ever. You do not know, Pierre, what these young men nowadays\nare. I know them all: there, Prince Dm\u00edtri's son is all ruined. Their\nown fault. I am not afraid of anybody, I am an old woman. It is not\ngood.\" And she began to talk about the government. She was dissatisfied\nwith it for the excessive liberty which was given to everything. \"The\none good thing they have done was to let you out. That is good.\"\n\nPierre began to defend it, but M\u00e1rya Iv\u00e1novna was not P\u00e1khtin: they\ncould come to no terms. She grew excited.\n\n\"What business have you to defend it? You are just as senseless as ever,\nI see.\"\n\nPeter Iv\u00e1novich grew silent, with a smile which showed that he did not\nsurrender, but that he did not wish to quarrel with M\u00e1rya Iv\u00e1novna.\n\n\"You are smiling. We know that. You do not wish to discuss with me, a\nwoman,\" she, said, merrily and kindly, and casting a shrewd, intelligent\nglance at her brother, such as could not be expected from her old,\nlarge-featured face. \"You could not convince me, my friend. I am ending\nmy three score and ten. I have not been a fool all that time, and have\nseen a thing or two. I have read none of your books, and I never will.\nThere is only nonsense in them!\"\n\n\"Well, how do you like my children? Ser\u00e9zha?\" Peter Iv\u00e1novich said, with\nthe same smile.\n\n\"Wait, wait!\" his sister replied, with a threatening gesture. \"Don't\nswitch me off on your children! We shall have time to talk about them.\nHere is what I wanted to tell you. You are a senseless man, as senseless\nas ever, I see it in your eye. Now they are going to carry you in their\narms. Such is the fashion. You are all in vogue now. Yes, yes, I see by\nyour eyes that you are as senseless as ever,\" she added, in response to\nhis smile. \"Keep away, I implore you in the name of Jesus Christ our\nLord, from those modern liberals. God knows what they are up to. I know\nit will not end well. Our government is silent just now, but when it\ncomes later to showing up the nails, you will recall my words. I am\nafraid lest you should get mixed up in things again. Give it up! It is\nall nonsense. You have children.\"\n\n\"Evidently you do not know me, M\u00e1rya Iv\u00e1novna,\" said her brother.\n\n\"All right, all right, we shall see. Either I do not know you, or you do\nnot know yourself. I just told you what I had on my heart, and if you\nwill listen to me, well and good. Now we can talk about Ser\u00e9zha. What\nkind of a lad is he?\" She wanted to say, \"I do not like him very much,\"\nbut she only said: \"He resembles his mother remarkably: they are like\ntwo drops of water. S\u00f3nya is you all over,--I like her very much, very\nmuch--so sweet and open. She is a dear. Where is she, S\u00f3nya? Yes, I\nforgot.\"\n\n\"How shall I tell you? S\u00f3nya will make a good wife and a good mother,\nbut my Ser\u00e9zha is clever, very clever,--nobody will take that from him.\nHe studied well,--a little lazy. He is very fond of the natural\nsciences. We have been fortunate: we had an excellent, excellent\nteacher. He wants to enter the university,--to attend lectures on the\nnatural sciences, chemistry--\"\n\nM\u00e1rya Iv\u00e1novna scarcely listened when her brother began to speak of the\nnatural sciences. She seemed to feel sad, especially when he mentioned\nchemistry. She heaved a deep sigh and replied directly to that train of\nthoughts which the natural sciences evoked in her.\n\n\"If you knew how sorry I am for them, Pierre,\" she said, with sincere,\ncalm, humble sadness. \"So sorry, so sorry. A whole life before them. Oh,\nhow much they will suffer yet!\"\n\n\"Well, we must hope that they will be more fortunate than we.\"\n\n\"God grant it, God grant it! It is hard to live, Pierre! Take this one\nadvice from me, my dear: don't philosophize! What a stupid you are,\nPierre, oh, what a stupid! But I must attend to matters. I have invited\na lot of people, but how am I going to feed them?\" She flared up, turned\naway, and rang the bell.\n\n\"Call Tar\u00e1s!\"\n\n\"Is the old man still with you?\"\n\n\"Yes; why, he is a boy in comparison with me.\"\n\nTar\u00e1s was angry and clean, but he undertook to get everything done.\n\nSoon Nat\u00e1lya Nikol\u00e1evna and S\u00f3nya, agleam with cold and happiness, and\nrustling in their dresses, entered the room; Ser\u00e9zha was still out,\nattending to some purchases.\n\n\"Let me get a good look at her!\"\n\nM\u00e1rya Iv\u00e1novna took her face. Nat\u00e1lya Nikol\u00e1evna began to tell\nsomething.\n\n\nTHE DECEMBRISTS\n\nSECOND FRAGMENT\n\n(Variant of the First Chapter)\n\nThe litigation \"about the seizure in the Government of P\u00e9nza, County of\nKrasnoslob\u00f3dsk, by the landed proprietor and ex-lieutenant of the\nGuards, Iv\u00e1n Ap\u00fdkhtin, of four thousand desyat\u00ednas of land from the\nneighbouring Crown peasants of the village of Izleg\u00f3shcha,\" was through\nthe solicitude of the peasants' representative, Iv\u00e1n Mir\u00f3nov, decided in\nthe court of the first instance--the County Court--in favour of the\npeasants, and the enormous parcel of land, partly in forest, and partly\nin ploughings which had been broken by Ap\u00fdkhtin's serfs, in the year\n1815 returned into the possession of the peasants, and they in the year\n1816 sowed in this land and harvested.\n\nThe winning of this irregular case by the peasants surprised all the\nneighbours and even the peasants themselves. This success of theirs\ncould be explained only on the supposition that Iv\u00e1n Petr\u00f3vich Ap\u00fdkhtin,\na very meek, peaceful man, who was opposed to litigations and was\nconvinced of the righteousness of this matter, had taken no measures\nagainst the action of the peasants. On the other hand, Iv\u00e1n Mir\u00f3nov, the\npeasants' representative, a dry, hook-nosed, literate peasant, who had\nbeen a township elder and had acted in the capacity of collector of\ntaxes, had collected fifty kopeks from each peasant, which money he\ncleverly applied in the distribution of presents, and had very shrewdly\nconducted the whole affair.\n\nImmediately after the decision handed down by the County Court,\nAp\u00fdkhtin, seeing the danger, gave a power of attorney to the shrewd\nmanumitted serf, Ily\u00e1 Mitrof\u00e1nov, who appealed to the higher court\nagainst the decision of the County Court. Ily\u00e1 Mitrof\u00e1nov managed the\naffair so shrewdly that, in spite of all the cunning of the peasants'\nrepresentative, Iv\u00e1n Mir\u00f3nov, in spite of the considerable presents\ndistributed by him to the members of the higher court, the case was\nretried in the Government Court in favour of the proprietor, and the\nland was to go back to him from the peasants, of which fact their\nrepresentative was duly informed.\n\nThe representative, Iv\u00e1n Mir\u00f3nov, told the peasants at the meeting of\nthe Commune that the gentleman in the Government capital had pulled the\nproprietor's leg and had \"mixed up\" the whole business, so that they\nwanted to take the land back again, but that the proprietor would not be\nsuccessful, because he had a petition all written up to be sent to the\nSenate, and that then the land would be for ever confirmed to the\npeasants; all they had to do was to collect a rouble from each soul. The\npeasants decided to collect the money and again to entrust the whole\nmatter to Iv\u00e1n Mir\u00f3nov. When Mir\u00f3nov had all the money in his hands, he\nwent to St. Petersburg.\n\nWhen, in the year 1817, during Passion-week,--it fell late that\nyear,--the time came to plough the ground, the Izleg\u00f3shcha peasants\nbegan to discuss at a meeting whether they ought to plough the land\nunder litigation during that year, or not; and, although Ap\u00fdkhtin's\nclerk had come to see them during Lent with the order that they should\nnot plough the land and should come to some agreement with him in regard\nto the rye already planted in what had been the doubtful, and now was\nAp\u00fdkhtin's land, the peasants, for the very reason that the winter crop\nhad been sowed on the debatable land, and because Ap\u00fdkhtin, in his\ndesire to avoid being unfair to them, wished to arbitrate the matter\nwith them, decided to plough the land under litigation and to take\npossession of it before touching any other fields.\n\nOn the very day when the peasants went out to plough, which was Maundy\nThursday, Iv\u00e1n Petr\u00f3vich Ap\u00fdkhtin, who had been preparing himself for\ncommunion during the Passion-week, went to communion, and early in the\nmorning drove to the church in the village of Izleg\u00f3shcha, of which he\nwas a parishioner, and there he, without knowing anything about the\nmatter, amicably chatted with the church elder. Iv\u00e1n Petr\u00f3vich had been\nto confession the night before, and had attended vigils at home; in the\nmorning he had himself read the Rules, and at eight o'clock had left the\nhouse. They waited for him with the mass. As he stood at the altar,\nwhere he usually stood, Iv\u00e1n Petr\u00f3vich rather reflected than prayed,\nwhich made him dissatisfied with himself.\n\nLike many people of that time, and, so far as that goes, of all times,\nhe was not quite clear in matters of religion. He was past fifty years\nof age; he never omitted carrying out any rite, attended church, and\nwent to communion once a year; in talking to his only daughter, he\ninstructed her in the articles of faith; but, if he had been asked\nwhether he really believed, he would not have known what to reply.\n\nOn that day more than on any other, he felt meek of spirit, and,\nstanding at the altar, he, instead of praying, thought of how strangely\neverything was constructed in the world: there he was, almost an old\nman, taking the communion for perhaps the fortieth time in his life, and\nhe knew that everybody, all his home folk and all the people in the\nchurch, looked at him as a model and took him for an example, and he\nfelt himself obliged to act as an example in matters of religion,\nwhereas he himself did not know anything, and soon, very soon, he would\ndie, and even if he were killed he could not tell whether that in which\nhe was showing an example to others was true. And it also seemed strange\nto him how every one considered--that he saw--old people to be firm and\nto know what was necessary and what not (thus he always thought about\nold men), and there he was old and positively failed to know, and was\njust as frivolous as he had been twenty years before; the only\ndifference was that formerly he did not conceal it, while now he did.\nJust as in his childhood it had occurred to him during the service that\nhe might crow like a cock, even so now all kinds of foolish things\npassed through his mind, and he, the old man, reverentially bent his\nhead, touching the flagstones of the church with the old knuckles of his\nhands, and Father Vas\u00edli was evidently timid in celebrating mass in his\npresence, and incited to zeal by his zeal.\n\n\"If they only knew what foolish things are running through my head! But\nthat is a sin, a sin; I must pray,\" he said to himself, when the service\ncommenced; and, trying to catch the meaning of the responses, he began\nto pray. Indeed, he soon transferred himself in feeling to the prayer\nand thought of his sins and of everything which he regretted.\n\nA respectable-looking old man, bald-headed, with thick gray hair,\ndressed in a fur coat with a new white patch on one-half of his back,\nstepping evenly with his out-toeing bast shoes, went up to the altar,\nbowed low to him, tossed his hair, and went beyond the altar to place\nsome tapers. This was the church elder, Iv\u00e1n Fed\u00f3tov, one of the best\npeasants of the village of Izleg\u00f3shcha. Iv\u00e1n Petr\u00f3vich knew him. The\nsight of this stern, firm face led Iv\u00e1n Petr\u00f3vich to a new train of\nthoughts. He was one of those peasants who wanted to take the land away\nfrom him, and one of the best and richest married farmers, who needed\nthe land, who could manage it, and had the means to work it. His stern\naspect, ceremonious bow, and measured gait, and the exactness of his\nwearing-apparel,--the leg-rags fitted his legs like stockings and the\nlaces crossed each other symmetrically on either leg,--all his\nappearance seemed to express rebuke and enmity on account of the land.\n\n\"I have asked forgiveness of my wife, of M\u00e1nya\" (his daughter), \"of the\nnurse, of my valet, Vol\u00f3dya, but it is his forgiveness that I ought to\nask for, and I ought to forgive him,\" thought Iv\u00e1n Petr\u00f3vich, and he\ndecided that after matins he would ask Iv\u00e1n Fed\u00f3tov to forgive him.\n\nAnd so he did.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThere were but few people in church. The country people were in the\nhabit of going to communion in the first and in the fourth week. Now\nthere were only forty men and women present, who had not had time to go\nto communion before, a few old peasant women, the church servants, and\nthe manorial people of the Ap\u00fdkhtins and his rich neighbours, the\nChern\u00fdshevs. There was also there an old woman, a relative of the\nChern\u00fdshevs, who was living with them, and a deacon's widow, whose son\nthe Chern\u00fdshevs, in the goodness of their hearts, had educated and made\na man of, and who now was serving as an official in the Senate. Between\nthe matins and the mass there were even fewer people left in the church.\nThere were left two beggar women, who were sitting in the corner and\nconversing with each other and looking at Iv\u00e1n Petr\u00f3vich with the\nevident desire to congratulate him and talk with him, and two\nlackeys,--one his own, in livery, and the other, Chern\u00fdshev's, who had\ncome with the old woman. These two were also whispering in an animated\nmanner to each other, just as Iv\u00e1n Petr\u00f3vich came out from the\naltar-place; when they saw him, they grew silent. There was also a\nwoman in a tall head-gear with a pearl face-ornament and in a white fur\ncoat, with which she covered up a sick child, who was crying, and whom\nshe was attempting to quiet; and another, a stooping old woman, also in\na head-gear, but with a woollen face-ornament and a white kerchief,\nwhich was tied in the fashion of old women, and in a gray gathered coat\nwith an iris-design on the back, who, kneeling in the middle of the\nchurch, and turning to an old image between two latticed windows, over\nwhich hung a new scarf with red edges, was praying so fervently,\nsolemnly, and impassionately that one could not fail directing one's\nattention to her.\n\nBefore reaching the elder, who, standing at the little safe, was\nkneading over the remnants of some tapers into one piece of wax, Iv\u00e1n\nPetr\u00f3vich stopped to take a look at the praying woman. The old woman was\npraying well. She knelt as straight as it was possible to kneel in front\nof the image; all the members of her body were mathematically\nsymmetrical; her feet behind her pressed with the tips of her bast shoes\nat the same angle against the stone floor; her body was bent back, to\nthe extent to which her stooping shoulders permitted her to do so; her\nhands were quite regularly placed below her abdomen; her head was thrown\nback, and her face, with an expression of bashful commiseration,\nwrinkled, and with a dim glance, was turned straight toward the image\nwith the scarf. Having remained in an immobile position for a minute or\nless,--evidently a definite space of time,--she heaved a deep sigh and,\ntaking her right hand away, swung it above her head-gear, touched the\ncrown of her head with folded fingers, and made ample crosses by\ncarrying her hand down again to her abdomen and to her shoulders; then\nshe swayed back and dropped her head on her hands, which were placed\nevenly on the floor, and again raised herself, and repeated the same.\n\n\"Now she is praying,\" Iv\u00e1n Petr\u00f3vich thought, as he looked at her. \"She\ndoes it differently from us sinners: this is faith, though I know that\nshe is praying to her own image, or to her scarf, or to her adornment on\nthe image, just like the rest of them. All right. What of it?\" he said\nto himself, \"every person has his own faith: she prays to her image, and\nI consider it necessary to beg the peasant's forgiveness.\"\n\nAnd he walked over to the elder, instinctively scrutinizing the church\nin order to see who was going to see his deed, which both pleased and\nshamed him. It was disagreeable to him, because the old beggar women\nwould see it, and more disagreeable still, because M\u00edshka, his lackey,\nwould see it. In the presence of M\u00edshka,--he knew how wide-awake and\nshrewd he was,--he felt that he should not have the strength to walk up\nto Iv\u00e1n Fed\u00f3tov. He beckoned to M\u00edshka to come up to him.\n\n\"What is it you wish?\"\n\n\"Go, my dear, and bring me the rug from the carriage, for it is too damp\nhere for my feet.\"\n\n\"Yes, sir.\"\n\nWhen M\u00edshka went away, Iv\u00e1n Petr\u00f3vich at once went up to Iv\u00e1n Fed\u00f3tov.\nIv\u00e1n Fed\u00f3tov was disconcerted, like a guilty person, at the approach of\nthe gentleman. Timidity and hasty motions formed a queer contradiction\nto his austere face and curly steel-gray hair and beard.\n\n\"Do you wish a dime taper?\" he said, raising the desk, and now and then\ncasting his large, beautiful eyes upon the master.\n\n\"No, I do not want a taper, Iv\u00e1n. I ask you to forgive me for Christ's\nsake, if I have in any way offended you. Forgive me, for Christ's sake,\"\nIv\u00e1n Petr\u00f3vich repeated, with a low bow.\n\nIv\u00e1n Fed\u00f3tov completely lost his composure and began to move restlessly,\nbut when he comprehended it all, he smiled a gentle smile:\n\n\"God forgives,\" he said. \"It seems to me, I have received no offence\nfrom you. God will forgive you,--I have not been offended by you,\" he\nhastened to repeat.\n\n\"Still--\"\n\n\"God will forgive you, Iv\u00e1n Petr\u00f3vich. So you want two dime tapers?\"\n\n\"Yes, two.\"\n\n\"He is an angel, truly, an angel. He begs even a base peasant to forgive\nhim. O Lord, true angels,\" muttered the deacon's widow, in an old black\ncapote and black kerchief. \"Truly, we ought to understand that.\"\n\n\"Ah, Param\u00f3novna!\" Iv\u00e1n Petr\u00f3vich turned to her. \"Are you getting ready\nfor communion, too? You, too, must forgive me, for Christ's sake.\"\n\n\"God will forgive you, sir, angel, merciful benefactor! Let me kiss your\nhand!\"\n\n\"That will do, that will do, you know I do not like that,\" said Iv\u00e1n\nPetr\u00f3vich, smiling, and going away from the altar.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThe mass, as always, did not take long to celebrate in the parish of\nIzleg\u00f3shcha, the more so since there were few communicants. Just as,\nafter the Lord's Prayer, the regal doors were closed, Iv\u00e1n Petr\u00f3vich\nlooked through the north door, to call M\u00edshka to take off his fur coat.\nWhen the priest saw that motion, he angrily beckoned to the deacon, and\nthe deacon almost ran out to call in the lackey. Iv\u00e1n Petr\u00f3vich was in a\npretty good humour, but this subserviency and expression of respect from\nthe priest who was celebrating mass again soured him entirely; his thin,\nbent, shaven lips were bent still more and his kindly eyes were lighted\nup by sarcasm.\n\n\"He acts as though I were his general,\" he thought, and immediately he\nthought of the words of the German tutor, whom he had once taken to the\naltar to attend a Russian divine service, and who had made him laugh\nand had angered his wife, when he said, \"_Der Pop war ganz b\u00f6se, dass\nich ihm Alles nachgesehen hatte_.\" He also recalled the answer of the\nyoung Turk that there was no God, because he had eaten up the last piece\nof him. \"And here I am going to communion,\" he thought, and, frowning,\nhe made a low obeisance.\n\nHe took off his bear-fur coat, and in his blue dress coat with bright\nbuttons and in his tall white neckerchief and waistcoat, and tightly\nfitting trousers, and heelless, sharp-toed boots, went with his soft,\nmodest, and light gait to make his obeisances to the large images. Here\nhe again met that same obsequiousness from the other communicants, who\ngave up their places to him.\n\n\"They act as though they said, '_Apr\u00e8s vous, s'il en reste_,'\" he\nthought, awkwardly making side obeisances; this awkwardness was due to\nthe fact that he was trying to find that mean in which there would be\nneither disrespect, nor hypocrisy. Finally the doors were opened. He\nsaid the prayer after the priest, repeating the words, \"As a robber;\"\nhis neckerchief was covered with the chalice cloth, and he received his\ncommunion and the lukewarm water in the ancient dipper, having put new\nsilver twenty-kopek pieces on ancient plates; after hearing the last\nprayers, he kissed the cross and, putting on his fur coat left the\nchurch, receiving congratulations and experiencing the pleasant\nsensation of having everything over. As he left the church, he again\nfell in with Iv\u00e1n Fed\u00f3tov.\n\n\"Thank you, thank you!\" he replied to his congratulations. \"Well, are\nyou going to plough soon?\"\n\n\"The boys have gone out, the boys have,\" replied Iv\u00e1n Fed\u00f3tov, more\ntimidly even than before. He supposed that Iv\u00e1n Petr\u00f3vich knew whither\nthe Izleg\u00f3shcha peasants had gone out to plough. \"It is damp, though.\nDamp it is. It is early yet, early it is.\"\n\nIv\u00e1n Petr\u00f3vich went up to his parents' monument, bowed to it, and went\nback to be helped into his six-in-hand with an outrider.\n\n\"Well, thank God,\" he said to himself, swaying on the soft, round\nsprings and looking at the vernal sky with the scattering clouds, at the\nbared earth and the white spots of unmelted snow, and at the tightly\nbraided tail of a side horse, and inhaling the fresh spring air, which\nwas particularly pleasant after the air in the church.\n\n\"Thank God that I have been through the communion, and thank God that I\nnow may take a pinch of snuff.\" And he took out his snuff-box and for a\nlong time held the pinch between his fingers, smiling and, without\nletting the pinch out of the hand, raising his cap in response to the\nlow bows of the people on the way, especially of the women, who were\nwashing the tables and chairs in front of their houses, just as the\ncarriage at a fast trot of the large horses of the six-in-hand plashed\nand clattered through the mud of the street of the village of\nIzleg\u00f3shcha.\n\nIv\u00e1n Petr\u00f3vich held the pinch of snuff, anticipating the pleasure of\nsnuffing, not only down the whole village, but even until they got out\nof a bad place at the foot of a hill, toward which the coachman\ndescended not without anxiety: he held up the reins, seated himself more\nfirmly, and shouted to the outrider to go over the ice. When they went\naround the bridge, over the bed of the river, and scrambled out of the\nbreaking ice and mud, Iv\u00e1n Petr\u00f3vich, looking at two plovers that rose\nfrom the hollow, took the snuff and, feeling chilly, put on his glove,\nwrapped himself in his fur coat, plunged his chin into the high\nneckerchief, and said to himself, almost aloud, \"Glorious!\" which he was\nin the habit of saying secretly to himself whenever he felt well.\n\nIn the night snow had fallen, and when Iv\u00e1n Petr\u00f3vich had driven to\nchurch the snow had not yet disappeared, but was soft; now, though there\nwas no sun, it was all melted from the moisture, and on the highway, on\nwhich he had to travel for three versts before turning into Chirak\u00f3vo,\nthe snow was white only in last year's grass, which grew in parallel\nlines along the ruts; but on the black road the horses splashed through\nthe viscous mud. The good, well-fed, large horses of his own stud had no\ndifficulty in pulling the carriage, and it just rolled over the grass,\nwhere it left black marks, and over the mud, without being at all\ndetained. Iv\u00e1n Petr\u00f3vich was having pleasant reveries; he was thinking\nof his home, his wife, and his daughter.\n\n\"M\u00e1nya will meet me at the porch, and with delight. She will see such\nholiness in me! She is a strange, sweet girl, but she takes everything\ntoo much to heart. The r\u00f4le of importance and of knowing everything that\nis going on in this world, which I must play before her, is getting to\nbe too serious and ridiculous. If she knew that I am afraid of her!\" he\nthought. \"Well, K\u00e1to,\" (his wife) \"will no doubt be in good humour\nto-day, she will purposely be in good humour, and we shall have a fine\nday. It will not be as it was last week on account of the Pr\u00f3shkin\nwomen. What a remarkable creature! How afraid of her I am! What is to be\ndone? She does not like it herself.\" And he recalled a famous anecdote\nabout a calf. A proprietor, having quarrelled with his wife, was sitting\nat a window, when he saw a frisky calf: \"I should like to get you\nmarried!\" he said. And Iv\u00e1n Petr\u00f3vich smiled again, according to his\ncustom solving every difficulty and every perplexity by a joke, which\ngenerally was directed against himself.\n\nAt the third verst, near a chapel, the outrider bore to the left, into a\ncross-road, and the coachman shouted to him for having turned in so\nabruptly that the centre horses were struck by the shaft; and the\ncarriage almost glided all the way down-hill. Before reaching the house,\nthe outrider looked back at the coachman and pointed to something; the\ncoachman looked back at the lackey, and indicated something to him. And\nall of them looked in the same direction.\n\n\"What are you looking at?\" asked Iv\u00e1n Petr\u00f3vich.\n\n\"Geese,\" said M\u00edshka.\n\n\"Where?\"\n\nThough he strained his vision, he could not see them.\n\n\"There they are. There is the forest, and there is the cloud, so be\npleased to look between the two.\"\n\nIv\u00e1n Petr\u00f3vich could not see anything.\n\n\"It is time for them. Why, it is less than a week to Annunciation.\"\n\n\"That's so.\"\n\n\"Well, go on!\"\n\nNear a puddle, M\u00edshka jumped down from the footboard and tested the\nroad, again climbed up, and the carriage safely drove on the pond dam in\nthe garden, ascended the avenue, drove past the cellar and the laundry,\nfrom which water was falling, and nimbly rolled up and stopped at the\nporch. The Chern\u00fdshev calash had just left the yard. From the house at\nonce ran the servants: gloomy old Dan\u00edlych with the side whiskers,\nNikol\u00e1y, M\u00edshka's brother, and the boy Pavl\u00fashka; and after them came a\ngirl with large black eyes and red arms, which were bared above the\nelbow, and with just such a bared neck.\n\n\"M\u00e1rya Iv\u00e1novna, M\u00e1rya Iv\u00e1novna! Where are you going? Your mother will\nbe worried. You will have time,\" was heard the voice of fat Kater\u00edna\nbehind her.\n\nBut the girl paid no attention to her; just as her father had expected\nher to do, she took hold of his arm and looked at him with a strange\nglance.\n\n\"Well, papa, have you been to communion?\" she asked, as though in dread.\n\n\"Yes. You look as though you were afraid that I am such a sinner that I\ncould not receive the communion.\"\n\nThe girl was apparently offended by her father's jest at such a solemn\nmoment. She heaved a sigh and, following him, held his hand, which she\nkissed.\n\n\"Who is here?\"\n\n\"Young Chern\u00fdshev. He is in the drawing-room.\"\n\n\"Is mamma up? How is she?\"\n\n\"Mamma feels better to-day. She is sitting down-stairs.\"\n\nIn the passage room Iv\u00e1n Petr\u00f3vich was met by nurse Evpraks\u00e9ya, clerk\nAndr\u00e9y Iv\u00e1novich, and a surveyor, who was living at the house, in order\nto lay out some land. All of them congratulated Iv\u00e1n Petr\u00f3vich. In the\ndrawing-room sat Lu\u00edza K\u00e1rlovna Trug\u00f3ni, for ten years a friend of the\nhouse, an emigrant governess, and a young man of sixteen years,\nChern\u00fdshev, with his French tutor.\n\n\nTHE DECEMBRISTS\n\nTHIRD FRAGMENT\n\n(Variant of the First Chapter)\n\nOn the 2d of August, 1817, the sixth department of the Directing Senate\nhanded down a decision in the debatable land case between the economic\npeasants of the village of Izleg\u00f3shcha and Chern\u00fdshev, which was in\nfavour of the peasants and against Chern\u00fdshev. This decision was an\nunexpected and important calamitous event for Chern\u00fdshev. The case had\nlasted five years. It had been begun by the attorney of the rich village\nof Izleg\u00f3shcha with its three thousand inhabitants, and was won by the\npeasants in the County Court; but when, with the advice of lawyer Ily\u00e1\nMitrof\u00e1nov, a manorial servant bought of Prince Saltyk\u00f3v, Prince\nChern\u00fdshev carried the case to the Government, he won it and besides,\nthe Izleg\u00f3shcha peasants were punished by having six of them, who had\ninsulted the surveyor, put in jail.\n\nAfter that, Prince Chern\u00fdshev, with his good-natured and merry\ncarelessness, entirely acquiesced, the more so since he knew full well\nthat he had not \"appropriated\" any land of the peasants, as was said in\nthe petition of the peasants. If the land was \"appropriated,\" his father\nhad done it, and since then more than forty years had passed. He knew\nthat the peasants of the village of Izleg\u00f3shcha were getting along well\nwithout that land, had no need of it, and lived on terms of friendship\nwith him, and was unable to understand why they had become so infuriated\nagainst him. He knew that he never offended and never wished to offend\nany one, that he lived in peace with everybody, and that he never wished\nto do otherwise, and so could not believe that any one should think of\noffending him. He hated litigations, and so did not defend his case in\nthe Senate, in spite of the advice and earnest solicitations of his\nlawyer, Ily\u00e1 Mitrof\u00e1nov; by allowing the time for the appeal to lapse,\nhe lost the case in the Senate, and lost it in such a way that he was\nconfronted with complete ruin. By the decree of the Senate he not only\nwas to be deprived of five thousand desyat\u00ednas of land, but also, for\nthe illegal tenure of that land, was to be mulcted to the amount of\n107,000 roubles in favour of the peasants.\n\nPrince Chern\u00fdshev had eight thousand souls, but all the estates were\nmortgaged and he had large debts, so that this decree of the Senate\nruined him with his whole large family. He had a son and five daughters.\nHe thought of his case when it was too late to attend to it in the\nSenate. According to Ily\u00e1 Mitrof\u00e1nov's words there was but one\nsalvation, and that was, to petition the sovereign and to transfer the\ncase to the Imperial Council. To obtain this it was necessary in person\nto approach one of the ministers or a member of the Council, or, better\nstill, the emperor himself. Taking all that into consideration, Prince\nGrig\u00f3ri Iv\u00e1novich in the fall of the year 1817 with his whole family\nleft his beloved estate of Stud\u00e9nets, where he had lived so long without\nleaving it, and went to Moscow. He started for Moscow, and not for St.\nPetersburg, because in the fall of that year the emperor with his whole\ncourt, with all the highest dignitaries, and with part of the Guards, in\nwhich the son of Grig\u00f3ri Iv\u00e1novich was serving, was to arrive in Moscow\nto lay the corner-stone of the Church of the Saviour in commemoration\nof the liberation of Russia from the French invasion.\n\nIn August, immediately after receiving the terrible news of the decree\nof the Senate, Prince Grig\u00f3ri Iv\u00e1novich got ready to go to Moscow. At\nfirst the majordomo was sent away to fix the prince's own house on the\nArb\u00e1t; then was sent out a caravan with furniture, servants, horses,\ncarriages, and provisions. In September the prince with his whole family\ntravelled in seven carriages, drawn by his own horses, and, after\narriving in Moscow, settled in his house. Relatives, friends, visitors\nfrom the province and from St. Petersburg began to assemble in Moscow in\nthe month of September. The Moscow life, with its entertainments, the\narrival of his son, the d\u00e9buts of his daughters, and the success of his\neldest daughter, Aleks\u00e1ndra, the only blonde among all the brunettes of\nthe Chern\u00fdshevs, so much occupied and diverted the prince's attention\nthat, in spite of the fact that here in Moscow he was spending\neverything which would be left to him after paying all he owed, he\nforgot his affair and was annoyed and tired whenever Ily\u00e1 Mitrof\u00e1nov\ntalked of it, and undertook nothing for the success of his case.\n\nIv\u00e1n Mir\u00f3novich Ba\u00fashkin, the chief attorney of the peasants, who had\nconducted the case against the prince with so much zeal in the Senate,\nwho knew all the approaches to the secretaries and departmental chiefs,\nand who had so skilfully distributed the ten thousand roubles, collected\nfrom the peasants, in the shape of presents, now himself brought his\nactivity to an end and returned to the village, where, with the money\ncollected for him as a reward and with what was left of the presents, he\nbought himself a grove from a neighbouring proprietor and built there a\nhut and an office. The case was finished in the court of the highest\ninstance, and everything would now proceed of its own accord.\n\nThe only ones of those concerned in the case who could not forget it\nwere the six peasants who were passing their seventh month in jail, and\ntheir families that were left without their heads. But nothing could be\ndone in the matter. They were imprisoned in Krasnoslob\u00f3dsk, and their\nfamilies tried to get along as well as they could. Nobody could be\ninvoked in the case. Iv\u00e1n Mir\u00f3novich himself said that he could not take\nit up, because it was not a communal, nor a civil, but a criminal case.\nThe peasants were in prison, and nobody paid any attention to them; but\none family, that of Mikha\u00edl Ger\u00e1simovich, particularly his wife\nT\u00edkhonovna, could not get used to the idea that the precious old man,\nGer\u00e1simovich, was sitting in prison with a shaven head. T\u00edkhonovna could\nnot rest quiet. She begged Mir\u00f3novich to take the case, but he declined\nit. Then she decided to go herself to pray to God for the old man. She\nhad made a vow the year before that she would go on a pilgrimage to a\nsaint, and had delayed it for another year only because she had had no\ntime and did not wish to leave the house to the young daughters-in-law.\nNow that the misfortune had happened and Ger\u00e1simovich was put into jail,\nshe recalled her vow; she turned her back on her house and, together\nwith the deacon's wife of the same village, got ready to go on the\npilgrimage.\n\nFirst they went to the county seat to see her old man in the prison and\nto take him some shirts; from there they went through the capital of the\nGovernment to Moscow. On her way T\u00edkhonovna told the deacon's wife of\nher sorrow, and the latter advised her to petition the emperor who, it\nwas said, was to be in P\u00e9nza, telling her of various cases of pardon\ngranted by him.\n\nWhen the pilgrims arrived in P\u00e9nza, they heard that there was there, not\nthe emperor, but his brother Grand Duke Nikol\u00e1y P\u00e1vlovich. When he came\nout of the cathedral, T\u00edkhonovna pushed herself forward, dropped down on\nher knees, and began to beg for her husband. The grand duke was\nsurprised, the governor was angry, and the old woman was taken to the\nlockup. The next day she was let out and she proceeded to Tr\u00f3itsa. In\nTr\u00f3itsa she went to communion and confessed to Father Pa\u00edsi. At the\nconfession she told him of her sorrow, and repented having petitioned\nthe brother of the Tsar. Father Pa\u00edsi told her that there was no sin in\nthat and that there was no sin in petitioning the Tsar even in a just\ncase, and dismissed her. In Kh\u00f3tkov she called on the blessed abbess,\nand she ordered her to petition the Tsar himself.\n\nOn their way back, T\u00edkhonovna and the deacon's wife stopped in Moscow to\nsee the saints. Here she heard that the Tsar was there, and she thought\nthat it was evidently God's command that she should petition the Tsar.\nAll that had to be done was to write the petition.\n\nIn Moscow the pilgrims stopped in a hostelry. They begged permission to\nstay there overnight; they were allowed to do so. After supper the\ndeacon's wife lay down on the oven, and T\u00edkhonovna, placing her wallet\nunder her head, lay down on a bench and fell asleep. In the morning,\nbefore daybreak, T\u00edkhonovna got up, woke the deacon's wife, and went\nout. The innkeeper spoke to her just as she walked into the yard.\n\n\"You are up early, granny,\" he said.\n\n\"Before we get there, it will be time for matins,\" T\u00edkhonovna replied.\n\n\"God be with you, granny!\"\n\n\"Christ save you!\" said T\u00edkhonovna, and the pilgrims went to the\nKremlin.\n\n * * * * *\n\nAfter standing through the matins and the mass, and having kissed the\nrelics, the old women, with difficulty making their way, arrived at the\nhouse of the Chern\u00fdshevs. The deacon's wife said that the old lady had\ngiven her an urgent invitation to stop at her house, and had ordered\nthat all pilgrims should be received.\n\n\"There we shall find a man who will write the petition,\" said the\ndeacon's wife, and the pilgrims started to blunder through the streets\nand ask their way. The deacon's wife had been there before, but had\nforgotten where it was. Two or three times they were almost crushed, and\npeople shouted at them and scolded them. Once a policeman took the\ndeacon's wife by the shoulder and, giving her a push, forbade her to\nwalk through the street on which they were, and directed them through a\nforest of lanes. T\u00edkhonovna did not know that they were driven off the\nVozdv\u00edzhenka for the very reason that through that street was to drive\nthe Tsar, of whom she was thinking all the time, and to whom she\nintended to give the petition.\n\nThe deacon's wife walked, as always, heavily and complainingly, while\nT\u00edkhonovna, as usual, walked lightly and briskly, with the gait of a\nyoung woman. At the gate the pilgrims stopped. The deacon's wife did not\nrecognize the house: there was there a new hut which she had not seen\nbefore; but on scanning the well with the pumps in the corner of the\nyard, she recognized it all. The dogs began to bark and made for the\nwomen with the staffs.\n\n\"Don't mind them, aunties, they will not touch you. Away there, accursed\nones!\" the janitor shouted to the dogs, raising the broom on them. \"They\nare themselves from the country, and just see them bark at country\npeople! Come this way! You will stick in the mud,--God has not given any\nfrost yet.\"\n\nBut the deacon's wife, frightened by the dogs, and muttering in a\nwhining tone, sat down on a bench near the gate and asked the janitor to\ntake her by. T\u00edkhonovna made her customary bow to the janitor and,\nleaning on her crutch and spreading her feet, which were tightly\ncovered with leg-rags, stopped near her, looking as always calmly in\nfront of her and waiting for the janitor to come up to them.\n\n\"Whom do you want?\" the janitor asked.\n\n\"Do you not recognize us, dear man? Is not your name Eg\u00f3r?\" asked the\ndeacon's wife. \"We are coming back from the saints, and so are calling\non her Serenity.\"\n\n\"You are from Izleg\u00f3shcha,\" said the janitor. \"You are the wife of the\nold deacon,--of course. All right, all right. Go to the house! Everybody\nis received here,--nobody is refused. And who is this one?\"\n\nHe pointed to T\u00edkhonovna.\n\n\"From Izleg\u00f3shcha, Ger\u00e1simovich's wife,--used to be Fady\u00e9ev's,--I\nsuppose you know her?\" said T\u00edkhonovna. \"I myself am from Izleg\u00f3shcha.\"\n\n\"Of course! They say your husband has been put into jail.\"\n\nT\u00edkhonovna made no reply; she only sighed and with a strong motion threw\nher wallet and fur coat over her shoulder.\n\nThe deacon's wife asked whether the old lady was at home and, hearing\nthat she was, asked him to announce them to her. Then she asked about\nher son, who was an official and, thanks to the prince's influence, was\nserving in St. Petersburg. The janitor could not give her any\ninformation about him and directed them over a walk, which crossed the\nyard, to the servants' house. The old women went into the house, which\nwas full of people,--women, children, both old and young,--all of them\nmanorial servants, and prayed turning to the front corner. The deacon's\nwife was at once recognized by the laundress and the old lady's maid,\nand she was at once surrounded and overwhelmed with questions: they took\noff her wallet, placed her at the table, and offered her something to\neat. In the meantime T\u00edkhonovna, having made the sign of the cross to\nthe images and saluted everybody, was standing at the door, waiting to\nbe invited in. At the very door, in front of the first window, sat an\nold man, making boots.\n\n\"Sit down, granny! Don't stand up. Sit down here, and take off your\nwallet,\" he said.\n\n\"There is not enough room to turn around as it is. Take her to the\n'black' room,\" said a woman.\n\n\"This comes straight from Madame Chalm\u00e9,\" said a young lackey, pointing\nto the iris design on T\u00edkhonovna's peasant coat, \"and the pretty\nstockings and shoes.\"\n\nHe pointed to her leg-rags and bast shoes, which were new, as she had\nspecially put them on for Moscow.\n\n\"Par\u00e1sha, you ought to have such.\"\n\n\"If you are to go to the 'black' room, all right; I will take you\nthere.\" And the old man stuck in his awl and got up; but, on seeing a\nlittle girl, he called her to take the old woman to the black room.\n\nT\u00edkhonovna not only paid no attention to what was being said in her\npresence and of her, but did not even look or listen. From the time that\nshe entered the house, she was permeated with the feeling of the\nnecessity of working for God and with the other feeling, which had\nentered her soul, she did not know when, of the necessity of handing the\npetition. Leaving the clean servant room, she walked over to the\ndeacon's wife and, bowing, said to her:\n\n\"Mother Param\u00f3novna, for Christ's sake do not forget about my affair!\nSee whether you can't find a man.\"\n\n\"What does that woman need?\"\n\n\"She has suffered insult, and people have advised her to hand a petition\nto the Tsar.\"\n\n\"Take her straight to the Tsar!\" said the jesting lackey.\n\n\"Oh, you fool, you rough fool,\" said the old shoemaker. \"I will teach\nyou a lesson with this last, then you will know how to grin at old\npeople.\"\n\nThe lackey began to scold, but the old man, paying no attention to him,\ntook T\u00edkhonovna to the black room.\n\nT\u00edkhonovna was glad that she was sent out of the baking-room, and was\ntaken to the black, the coachmen's room. In the baking-room everything\nlooked clean, and the people were all clean, and T\u00edkhonovna did not feel\nat ease there. The black coachmen's room was more like the inside of a\npeasant house, and T\u00edkhonovna was more at home there. The black hut was\na dark pine building, twenty by twenty feet, with a large oven, bed\nplaces, and hanging-beds, and a newly paved, dirt-covered floor. When\nT\u00edkhonovna entered the room, there were there the cook, a white,\nruddy-faced, fat, manorial woman, with the sleeves of her chintz dress\nrolled up, who with difficulty was moving a pot in the oven with an\noven-fork; then a young, small coachman, who was learning to play the\nbalal\u00e1yka; an old man with an unshaven, soft white beard, who was\nsitting on a bed place with his bare feet and, holding a skein of silk\nbetween his lips, was sewing on some fine, good material, and a\nshaggy-haired, swarthy young man, in a shirt and blue trousers, with a\ncoarse face, who, chewing bread, was sitting on a bench at the oven and\nleaning his head on both his arms, which were steadied against his\nknees.\n\nBarefoot N\u00e1stka with sparkling eyes ran into the room with her lithe,\nbare feet, in front of the old woman, jerking open the door, which stuck\nfast from the steam within, and squeaking in her thin voice:\n\n\"Aunty Mar\u00edna, Sim\u00f3nych sends this old woman, and says that she should\nbe fed. She is from our parts: she has been with Param\u00f3novna to worship\nthe saints. Param\u00f3novna is having tea.--Vl\u00e1sevna has sent for her--\"\n\nThe garrulous little girl would have gone on talking for quite awhile\nyet; the words just poured forth from her and, apparently, it gave her\npleasure to hear her own voice. But Mar\u00edna, who was in a perspiration,\nand who had not yet succeeded in pushing away the pot with the beet\nsoup, which had caught in the hearth, shouted angrily at her:\n\n\"Stop your babbling! What old woman am I to feed now? I have enough to\ndo to feed our own people. Shoot you!\" she shouted to the pot, which\ncame very near falling down, as she removed it from the spot where it\nwas caught.\n\nBut when she was satisfied in regard to the pot, she looked around and,\nseeing trim T\u00edkhonovna with her wallet and correct peasant attire,\nmaking the sign of the cross and bowing low toward the front corner,\nfelt ashamed of her words and, as though regaining her consciousness\nafter the cares which had worn her out, she put her hand to her breast,\nwhere beneath the collar-bone buttons clasped her dress, and examined it\nto see whether it was buttoned, and then put her hands to her head to\nfasten the knot of the kerchief, which covered her greasy hair, and took\nup an attitude, leaning against the oven-fork and waiting for the salute\nof the trim old woman. T\u00edkhonovna made her last low obeisance to God,\nand turned around and saluted in three directions.\n\n\"God aid you, good day!\" she said.\n\n\"You are welcome, aunty!\" said the tailor.\n\n\"Thank you, granny, take off your wallet! Sit down here,\" said the cook,\npointing to a bench where sat the shaggy-haired man. \"Move a little,\ncan't you? Are you stuck fast?\"\n\nThe shaggy man, scowling more angrily still, rose, moved away, and,\ncontinuing to chew, riveted his eyes on the old woman. The young\ncoachman made a bow and, stopping his playing, began to tighten the\nstrings of his balal\u00e1yka, looking now at the old woman, and now at the\ntailor, not knowing how to treat the old woman,--whether respectfully,\nas he thought she ought to be treated, because the old woman wore the\nsame kind of attire that his grandmother and mother wore at home (he\nhad been taken from the village to be an outrider), or making fun of\nher, as he wished to do and as seemed to him to accord with his present\ncondition, his blue coat and his boots. The tailor winked with one eye\nand seemed to smile, drawing the silk to one side of his mouth, and\nlooked on. Mar\u00edna started to put in another pot, but, even though she\nwas busy working, she kept looking at the old woman, while she briskly\nand nimbly took off her wallet and, trying not to disturb any one, put\nit under the bench. N\u00e1stka ran up to her and helped her, by taking away\nthe boots, which were lying in her way under the bench.\n\n\"Uncle Pankr\u00e1t,\" she turned to the gloomy man, \"I will put the boots\nhere. Is it all right?\"\n\n\"The devil take them! Throw them into the oven, if you wish,\" said the\ngloomy man, throwing them into another corner.\n\n\"N\u00e1stka, you are a clever girl,\" said the tailor. \"A pilgrim has to be\nmade comfortable.\"\n\n\"Christ save you, girl! That is nice,\" said T\u00edkhonovna. \"I am afraid I\nhave put you out, dear man,\" she said, turning to Pankr\u00e1t.\n\n\"All right,\" said Pankr\u00e1t.\n\nT\u00edkhonovna sat down on the bench, having taken off her coat and\ncarefully folded it, and began to take off her footgear. At first she\nuntied the laces, which she had taken special care in twisting smooth\nfor her pilgrimage; then she carefully unwrapped the white lambskin\nleg-rags and, carefully rubbing them soft, placed them on her wallet.\nJust as she was working on her other foot, another of awkward Mar\u00edna's\npots got caught and spilled over, and she again started to scold\nsomebody, catching the pot with the fork.\n\n\"The hearth is evidently burned out, grandfather. It ought to be\nplastered,\" said T\u00edkhonovna.\n\n\"When are you going to plaster it? The chimney never cools off: twice a\nday you have to bake bread; one set is taken out, and the other is\nstarted.\"\n\nIn response to Mar\u00edna's complaint about the bread-baking and the\nburnt-out hearth, the tailor defended the ways of the Chern\u00fdshev house\nand said that they had suddenly arrived in Moscow, that the hut was\nbuilt and the oven put up in three weeks, and that there were nearly one\nhundred servants who had to be fed.\n\n\"Of course, lots of cares. A large establishment,\" T\u00edkhonovna confirmed\nhim.\n\n\"Whence does God bring you?\" the tailor turned to her.\n\nAnd T\u00edkhonovna, continuing to take off her foot-gear, at once told him\nwhere she came from, whither she had gone, and how she was going home.\nShe did not say anything about the petition. The conversation never\nbroke off. The tailor found out everything about the old woman, and the\nold woman heard all about awkward, pretty Mar\u00edna. She learned that\nMar\u00edna's husband was a soldier, and she was made a cook; that the tailor\nwas making caftans for the driving coachmen; that the stewardess's\nerrand girl was an orphan, and that shaggy-haired, gloomy Pankr\u00e1t was a\nservant of the clerk, Iv\u00e1n Vas\u00edlevich.\n\nPankr\u00e1t left the room, slamming the door. The tailor told her that he\nwas a gruff peasant, but that on that day he was particularly rude\nbecause the day before he had smashed the clerk's knickknacks on the\nwindow, and that he was going to be flogged to-day in the stable. As\nsoon as Iv\u00e1n Vas\u00edlevich should come, he would be flogged. The little\ncoachman was a peasant lad, who had been made an outrider, and now that\nhe was grown he had nothing to do but attend to the horses, and strum\nthe balal\u00e1yka. But he was not much of a hand at it.\n\n\n\n\nON POPULAR EDUCATION\n\n1875\n\n\n\n\nON POPULAR EDUCATION\n\n\nI suppose each of us has had more than one occasion to come in contact\nwith monstrous, senseless phenomena, and to find back of these phenomena\nput forward some important principle, which overshadowed those\nphenomena, so that in our youthful and even maturer years we began to\ndoubt whether it was true that those phenomena were monstrous, and\nwhether we were not mistaken. And having been unable to convince\nourselves that monstrous phenomena might be good, or that the protection\nof an important principle was illegitimate, or that the principle was\nonly a word, we remained in regard to those phenomena in an ambiguous,\nundecided condition.\n\nIn such a state I was, and I assume many of us are, in respect to the\nprinciple of \"development\" which obfuscates pedagogy, in its connection\nwith the rudiments. But popular education is too near to my heart, and I\nhave busied myself too much with it, to remain too long in indecision.\nThe monstrous phenomena of the imaginary development I could not call\ngood, nor could I be persuaded that the development of the pupil was\nbad, and so I began to inquire what that development was. I do not\nconsider it superfluous to communicate the deductions to which I have\nbeen led during the study of this matter.\n\nTo define what is understood by the word \"development,\" I shall take the\nmanuals of Messrs. Bun\u00e1kov and Evtush\u00e9vski, as being new works, which\ncombine all the latest deductions of German pedagogy, intended as guides\nfor the teachers in the popular schools, and selected by the advocates\nof the sound method as manuals in their schools.\n\nIn discussing what is to form the foundation for a choice of this or\nthat method for the teaching of reading, Mr. Bun\u00e1kov says:\n\n\"No, an opinion about the method of construction based on such\nnear-sighted and flimsy foundations (that is, on experience) will be too\ndoubtful. Only the theoretical substratum, based on the study of human\nnature, can make the judgments in this sphere firm and independent of\nall casualties, and to a considerable degree guard them against gross\nerrors. Consequently for the final choice of the best method of teaching\nthe rudiments, it is necessary first of all to stand on theoretic soil,\non the basis of previous considerations, the general conditions of which\ngive to this or that method the actual right to be called satisfactory\nfrom the pedagogical standpoint. These conditions are: (1) It has to be\na method which is capable of developing the child's mental powers, so\nthat the acquisition of the rudiments may be obtained together with the\ndevelopment and the strengthening of the reasoning powers. (2) It must\nintroduce into the instruction the child's personal interest, so that\nthe matter be furthered by this interest, and not by dulling violence.\n(3) It must represent in itself the process of self-instruction,\ninciting, supporting, and directing the child's self-activity. (4) It\nmust be based on the impressions of hearing, as of the sense which\nserves for the acquisition of language. (5) It has to combine analysis\nwith synthesis, beginning with the dismemberment of the complex whole\ninto simple principles, and passing over to the composition of a complex\nwhole out of the simple principles.\"\n\nSo this is what the method of instruction is to be based upon. I will\nremark, not for contradiction, but for the sake of simplicity and\nclearness, that the last two statements are quite superfluous, because\nwithout the union of analysis and synthesis there can be not only no\ninstruction, but also no other activity of the mind, and every\ninstruction, except that of the deaf and dumb, is based on the sense of\nhearing. These two conditions are put down only for beauty's sake and\nfor the obscuration of the style, so common in pedagogical treatises,\nand so have no meaning whatever. The first three at first sight appear\nquite true as a programme. Everybody, of course, would like to know how\nthe method is secured that will \"develop,\" that will \"introduce into the\ninstruction the pupil's personal interest,\" and that will \"represent the\nprocess of self-instruction.\"\n\nBut to the questions as to why this method combines all those qualities\nyou will find an answer neither in the books of Messrs. Bun\u00e1kov and\nEvtush\u00e9vski, nor in any other pedagogical work of the founders of this\nschool of pedagogy, unless they be those hazy discussions of this\nnature, such as that every instruction must be based on the union of\nanalysis and synthesis, and by all means on the sense of hearing, and so\nforth; or you will find, as in Mr. Evtush\u00e9vski's book, expositions about\nhow in man are formed impressions, sensations, representations, and\nconcepts, and you will find the rule that \"it is necessary to start from\nthe object and lead the pupil up to the idea, and not start with the\nidea, which has no point of contact in his consciousness,\" and so forth.\nAfter such discussions there always follows the conclusion that\ntherefore the method advocated by the pedagogue gives that exclusive\nreal development which it was necessary to find.\n\nAfter the above-cited definition of what a good method ought to be, Mr.\nBun\u00e1kov explains how children ought to be educated, and, having given an\nexposition of all the methods, which in my opinion and experience lead\nto results which are diametrically opposite to development, he says\nfrankly and definitely:\n\n\"From the standpoint of the above-mentioned fundamental principles for\nestimating the value of the satisfactoriness of the methods of\nrudimentary instruction, the method which we have just elucidated in its\ngeneral features presents the following plastic qualities and\npeculiarities: (1) As a sound method it wholly preserves the\ncharacteristic peculiarities of all sound method,--it starts from the\nimpressions of hearing, at once establishing the regular relation to\nlanguage, and only later adds to them the impressions of sight, thus\nclearly distinguishing sound, matter, and the letter, its\nrepresentation. (2) As a method which unites reading with writing it\nbegins with decomposition and passes over to composition, combining\nanalysis with synthesis. (3) As a method which passes over to the study\nof words and sounds from the study of objects it proceeds along a\nnatural path, co\u00f6perates with the regular formation of concepts and\nideas, and acts in a developing way on all the sides of the child's\nnature: it incites the children to be observant, to group their\nobservations, to render them orally; it develops the external senses,\nmind, imagination, memory, the gift of speech, concentration,\nself-activity, the habit of work, the respect for order. (4) As a method\nwhich provides ample work to all the mental powers of the child, it\nintroduces into instruction the personal interest, rousing in children\nwillingness and love of work, and transforming it into a process of\nself-instruction.\"\n\nThis is precisely what Mr. Evtush\u00e9vski does; but why it is all so\nremains inexplicable to him who is looking for actual reasons and does\nnot become entangled in such words as psychology, didactics, methodics,\nheuristics. I advise all those who have no inclination for philosophy\nand therefore have no desire to verify all those deductions of the\npedagogues not to be embarrassed by these words and to be assured that\na thing which is not clear cannot be the basis of anything, least of all\nof such an important and simple thing as popular education.\n\nAll the pedagogues of this school, especially the Germans, the founders\nof the school, start with the false idea that those philosophical\nquestions which have remained as questions for all the philosophers from\nPlato to Kant, have been definitely settled by them. They are settled so\ndefinitely that the process of the acquisition by man of impressions,\nsensations, concepts, ratiocinations, has been analyzed by them down to\nits minutest details, and the component parts of what we call the soul\nor the essence of man have been dissected and divided into parts by\nthem, and that, too, in such a thorough manner that on this firm basis\ncan go up the faultless structure of the science of pedagogy. This fancy\nis so strange that I do not regard it as necessary to contradict it,\nmore especially as I have done so in my former pedagogical essays. All I\nwill say is that those philosophical considerations which the pedagogues\nof this school put at the basis of their theory not only fail to be\nabsolutely correct, not only have nothing in common with real\nphilosophy, but even lack a clear, definite expression with which the\nmajority of the pedagogues might agree.\n\nBut, perchance, the theory of the pedagogues of the new school, in spite\nof its unsuccessful references to philosophy, has some value in itself.\nAnd so we will examine it, to see what it consists in. Mr. Bun\u00e1kov says:\n\n\"To these little savages (that is, the pupils) must be imparted the main\norder of school instruction, and into their consciousness must be\nintroduced such initial concepts as they will have to come in contact\nwith from the start, during the first lessons of drawing, reading,\nwriting, and every elementary instruction, such as: the right side and\nthe left, to the right--to the left, up--down, near by--around, in\nfront--in back, close by--in the distance, before--behind,\nabove--below, fast--slow, softly--aloud, and so forth. No matter how\nsimple these concepts may be, I know from practice that even city\nchildren, from well-to-do families, are frequently, when they come to\nthe elementary schools, unable to distinguish the right side from the\nleft. I assume that there is no need of expatiating on the necessity of\nexplaining such concepts to village children, for any one who has had to\ndeal with village schools knows this as well as I do.\"\n\nAnd Mr. Evtush\u00e9vski says:\n\n\"Without entering into the broad field of the debatable question about\nthe innate ability of man, we only see that the child can have no innate\nconcepts and ideas about real things,--they have to be formed, and on\nthe skill with which they are formed by the educator and teacher depends\nboth their regularity and their permanency. In watching the development\nof the child's soul one has to be much more cautious than in attending\nto his body. If the food for the body and the various bodily exercises\nare carefully chosen both as regards their quantity and their quality,\nin conformity with the man's growth, so much more cautious have we to be\nin the choice of food and exercises for the mind. A badly placed\nfoundation will precariously support what is fastened to it.\"\n\nMr. Bun\u00e1kov advises that ideas be imparted as follows:\n\n\"The teacher may begin a conversation such as he deems fit: one will ask\nevery pupil for his name; another about what is going on outside; a\nthird about where each comes from, where he lives, what is going on at\nhome,--and then he may pass over to the main subject. 'Where are you\nsitting now? Why did you come here? What are we going to do in this\nroom? Yes, we are going to study in this room,--so let us call it a\nclass-room. See what there is under your feet, below you. Look, but do\nnot say anything. The one I will tell to speak shall answer. Tell me,\nwhat do you see under your feet? Repeat everything we have found out\nand have said about this room: in what room are we sitting? What are the\nparts of the room? What is there on the walls? What is standing on the\nfloor?'\n\n\"The teacher from the start establishes the order which is necessary for\nthe success of his work: each pupil is to answer only when asked to do\nso; all the others are to listen and should be able to repeat the words\nof the teacher and of their companions; the desire to answer, when the\nteacher directs a question to everybody, is to be expressed by raising\nthe left hand; the words are to be pronounced neither in a hurry, nor by\ndrawing them out, but loudly, distinctly, and correctly. To obtain this\nlatter result the teacher gives them a living example by his loud,\ncorrect, distinct enunciation, showing them in practice the difference\nbetween soft and loud, distinct and correct, slow and fast. The teacher\nshould see to it that all the children take part in the work, by having\nsomebody's question answered or repeated, now by one, now by another,\nand now by the whole class at once, but especially by rousing the\nindifferent, inattentive, and playful children: the first he must\nenliven by frequent questions, the second he must cause to concentrate\nthemselves on the subject of the common work, and the third he must\ncurb. During the first period the children ought to answer in full, that\nis, by repeating the question: 'We are sitting in the class-room' (and\nnot in brief, 'In the class-room'); 'Above, over my head, I see the\nceiling;' 'On the left I see three windows,' and so forth.\"\n\nMr. Evtush\u00e9vski advises that in this way be begun all the lessons on\nnumbers from 1 to 10, of which there are to be 120, and which are to be\ncontinued through the year.\n\n\"One. The teacher shows the pupils a cube, and asks: 'How many cubes\nhave I?' and taking several cubes into the other hand, he asks, 'And how\nmany are there here?'--'Many, a few.'\n\n\"'Name here in the class-room an object of which there are\nseveral.'--'Bench, window, wall, copy-book, pencil, slate-pencil, pupil,\nand so forth.'--'Name an object of which there is only one in the\nclass-room.'--'The blackboard, stove, door, ceiling, floor, picture,\nteacher, and so forth.'--'If I put this cube away in my pocket, how many\ncubes will there be left in my hand?'--'Not one.'--'And how many must I\nagain put into my hand, to have as many as before?'--'One.'--'What is\nmeant by saying that P\u00e9tya fell down once? How many times did P\u00e9tya\nfall? Did he fall another time? Why does it say once?'--'Because we are\nspeaking only of one case and not of another case.'--'Take your slates\n(or copy-books). Make on them a line of this size.' (The teacher draws\non the blackboard a line two or four inches in length, or shows on the\nruler that length.) 'Rub it off. How many lines are left?'--'Not\none.'--'Draw several such lines.' It would be unnatural to invent any\nother exercises in order to acquaint the children with number one. It\nsuffices to rouse in them that conception of unity which they, no doubt,\nhad previous to their school instruction.\"\n\nThen Mr. Bun\u00e1kov speaks of exercises on the board, and so on, and Mr.\nEvtush\u00e9vski of the number four with its decomposition. Before examining\nthe theory itself of the transmission of ideas, the question\ninvoluntarily arises whether that theory is not mistaken in its very\nproblem. Has the condition of the pedagogical material with which it has\nto do been correctly defined? The first thing that startles us is the\nstrange relation to some imaginary children, to such as I, at least,\nhave never seen in the Russian Empire. The conversations, and the\ninformation which they impart, refer to children of less than two years\nof age, because two-year-old children know all that is contained in\nthem, but as to the questions which have to be asked, they have\nreference to parrots. Any pupil of six, seven, eight, or nine years will\nnot understand a thing in these questions, because he knows all about\nthat, and cannot make out what it all means. The demands for such\nconversations evince either complete ignorance, or a desire to ignore\nthat degree of development on which the pupils stand.\n\nMaybe the children of Hottentots and negroes, or some German children,\ndo not know what is imparted to them in such conversations, but Russian\nchildren, except demented ones, all those who come to a school, not only\nknow what is up and what down, what is a bench and what a table, what is\ntwo and what one, and so forth, but, in my experience, the peasant\nchildren who are sent to school by their parents can every one of them\nexpress their thoughts well and correctly, can understand another\nperson's thought (if it is expressed in Russian), and can count to\ntwenty and more; playing with knuckle-bones they count in pairs and\nsixes, and they know how many points and pairs there are in a six.\nFrequently the pupils who came to my school brought with them the\nproblem with the geese, and explained it to me. But even if we admit\nthat children possess no such conceptions as those the pedagogues want\nto impart to them by means of conversations, I do not find the method\nchosen by them to be correct.\n\nThus, for example, Mr. Bun\u00e1kov has written a reader. This book is to be\nused in conjunction with the conversations to teach the children\nlanguage. I have run through the book and have found it to be a series\nof bad language blunders, wherever extracts from other books are not\nquoted. The same complete ignorance of language I have found in Mr.\nEvtush\u00e9vski's problems. Mr. Evtush\u00e9vski wants to give ideas by means of\nproblems. First of all he ought to have seen to it that the tool for the\ntransmission of ideas, that is, the language, was correct.\n\nWhat has been mentioned here refers to the form in which the development\nis imparted. Let us look at the contents themselves. Mr. Bun\u00e1kov\nproposes the following questions to be put to the children: \"Where can\nyou see cats? where a magpie? where sand? where a wasp and a suslik?\nwhat are a suslik and a magpie and a cat covered with, and what are the\nparts of their bodies?\" (The suslik is a favourite animal of pedagogy,\nno doubt because not one peasant child in the centre of Russia knows\nthat word.)\n\n\"Naturally the teacher does not always put these questions straight to\nthe children, as forming the predetermined programme of the lesson; more\nfrequently the small and undeveloped children have to be led up to the\nsolution of the question of the programme by a series of suggestive\nquestions, by directing their attention to the side of the subject which\nis more correct at the given moment, or by inciting them to recall\nsomething from their previous observations. Thus the teacher need not\nput the question directly: 'Where can a wasp be seen?' but, turning to\nthis or that pupil, he may ask him whether he has seen a wasp, where he\nhas seen it, and then only, combining the replies of several pupils,\ncompose an answer to the first question of his programme. In answering\nthe teacher's questions, the children will often connect several remarks\nthat have no direct relation to the matter; for example, when the\nquestion is about what the parts of a magpie are, one may say\nirrelevantly that a magpie jumps, another that it chatters funnily, a\nthird that it steals things,--let them add and give utterance to\neverything that arises in their memory or imagination,--it is the\nteacher's business to concentrate their attention in accordance with the\nprogramme, and these remarks and additions of the children he should\ntake notice of for the purpose of elaborating the other parts of the\nprogramme. In viewing a new subject, the children at every convenient\nopportunity return to the subjects which have already been under\nconsideration. Since they have observed that a magpie is covered with\nfeathers, the teacher asks: 'Is the suslik also covered with feathers?\nWhat is it covered with? And what is a chicken covered with? and a\nhorse? and a lizard?' When they have observed that a magpie has two\nlegs, the teacher asks: 'How many legs has a dog? and a fox? and a\nchicken? and a wasp? What other animals do you know with two legs? with\nfour? with six?'\"\n\nInvoluntarily the question arises: Do the children know, or do they not\nknow, what is so well explained to them in these conversations? If the\npupils know it all, then, upon occasion, in the street or at home, where\nthey do not need to raise their left hands, they will certainly be able\nto tell it in more beautiful and more correct Russian than they are\nordered to do. They will certainly not say that a horse is \"covered\"\nwith wool; if so, why are they compelled to repeat these questions just\nas the teacher has put them? But if they do not know them (which is not\nto be admitted except as regards the suslik), the question arises: by\nwhat will the teacher be guided in what is with so much unction called\nthe programme of questions,--by the science of zoology, or by logic? or\nby the science of eloquence? But if by none of the sciences, and merely\nby the desire to talk about what is visible in the objects, there are so\nmany visible things in objects, and they are so diversified, that a\nguiding thread is needed to show what to talk upon, whereas in objective\ninstruction there is no such thread, and there can be none.\n\nAll human knowledge is subdivided for the purpose that it may more\nconveniently be gathered, united, and transmitted, and these\nsubdivisions are called sciences. But outside their scientific\nclassifications you may talk about objects anything you please, and you\nmay say all the nonsense imaginable, as we actually see. In any case,\nthe result of the conversation will be that the children are either\nmade to learn by heart the teacher's words about the suslik, or to\nchange their own words, place them in a certain order (not always a\ncorrect order), and to memorize and repeat them. For this reason all the\nmanuals of this kind, in general all the exercises of development,\nsuffer on the one hand from absolute arbitrariness, and on the other\nfrom superfluity. For example, in Mr. Bun\u00e1kov's book the only story\nwhich, it seems, is not copied from another author, is the following:\n\n\"A peasant complained to a hunter about his trouble: a fox had carried\noff several of his chickens and one duck; the fox was not in the least\nafraid of watch-dog Dandy, who was chained up and kept barking all night\nlong; in the morning he had placed a trap with a piece of roast meat in\nthe fresh tracks on the snow,--evidently the red-haired sneak was\ndisporting near the house, but he did not go into the trap. The hunter\nlistened to what the peasant had to say to him, and said: 'Very well;\nnow we will see who will be shrewder!' The hunter walked all day with\nhis gun and with his dog, over the tracks of the fox, to discover how he\nfound his way into the yard. In the daytime the sneak sleeps in his\nlair, and knows nothing of what is going on, so that had to be\nconsidered: on its path the hunter dug a hole and covered it with\nboards, dirt, and snow; a few steps from it he put down a piece of\nhorseflesh. In the evening he seated himself with a loaded gun in his\nambush, fixed things in such a way that he could see everything and\nshoot comfortably, and there he waited. It grew dark. The moon swam out.\nCautiously, looking around and listening, the fox crept out of his lair,\nraised his nose, and sniffed. He at once smelled the odour of\nhorseflesh, and ran at a slow trot to the place, and suddenly stopped\nand pricked his ears: the shrewd one saw that there was a mound there\nwhich had not been in that spot the previous evening. This mound\napparently vexed him, and made him think; he took a large circle around\nit, and sniffed and listened, and sat down, and for a long time looked\nat the meat from a distance, so that the hunter could not shoot him,--it\nwas too far. The fox thought and thought, and suddenly ran at full speed\nbetween the meat and the mound. Our hunter was careful, and did not\nshoot. He knew that the sneak was merely trying to find out whether\nanybody was sitting behind that mound; if he had shot at the running\nfox, he would certainly have missed him, and then he would not have seen\nthe sneak, any more than he could see his own ears. Now the fox quieted\ndown,--the mound no longer disturbed him: he walked briskly up to the\nmeat, and ate it with great delight. Then the hunter aimed carefully,\nwithout haste, so that he might not miss him. Bang! The fox jumped up\nfrom pain and fell down dead.\"\n\nEverything is arbitrary here: it is an arbitrary invention to say that a\nfox could carry off a peasant's duck in winter, that peasants trap\nfoxes, that a fox sleeps in the daytime in his lair (for he sleeps only\nat night); arbitrary is that hole which is uselessly dug in winter and\ncovered with boards without being made use of; arbitrary is the\nstatement that the fox eats horseflesh, which he never does; arbitrary\nis the supposed cunning of the fox, who runs past the hunter; arbitrary\nare the mound and the hunter, who does not shoot for fear of missing,\nthat is, everything, from beginning to end, is bosh, for which any\npeasant boy might arraign the author of the story, if he could talk\nwithout raising his hand.\n\nThen a whole series of so-called exercises in Mr. Bun\u00e1kov's lessons is\ncomposed of such questions as: \"Who bakes? Who chops? Who shoots?\" to\nwhich the pupil is supposed to answer: \"The baker, the wood-chopper, and\nthe marksmen,\" whereas he might just as correctly answer that the woman\nbakes, the axe chops, and the teacher shoots, if he has a gun. Another\narbitrary statement in that book is that the throat is a part of the\nmouth, and so on.\n\nAll the other exercises, such as \"The ducks fly, and the dogs?\" or \"The\nlinden and birch are trees, and the horse?\" are quite superfluous.\nBesides, it must be observed that if such conversations are really\ncarried on with the pupils (which never happens) that is, if the pupils\nare permitted to speak and ask questions, the teacher, choosing simple\nsubjects (they are most difficult), is at each step perplexed, partly\nthrough ignorance, and partly because _ein Narr kann mehr fragen, als\nzehn Weise antworten_.\n\nExactly the same takes place in the instruction of arithmetic, which is\nbased on the same pedagogical principle. Either the pupils are informed\nin the same way of what they already know, or they are quite arbitrarily\ninformed of combinations of a certain character that are not based on\nanything. The lesson mentioned above and all the other lessons up to ten\nare merely information about what the children already know. If they\nfrequently do not answer questions of that kind, this is due to the fact\nthat the question is either wrongly expressed in itself, or wrongly\nexpressed as regards the children. The difficulty which the children\nencounter in answering a question of that character is due to the same\ncause which makes it impossible for the average boy to answer the\nquestion: Three sons were to Noah,[1]--Shem, Ham, and Japheth,--who was\ntheir father? The difficulty is not mathematical, but syntactical, which\nis due to the fact that in the statement of the problem and in the\nquestion there is not one and the same subject; but when to the\nsyntactical difficulty there is added the awkwardness of the proposer of\nthe problems in expressing himself in Russian, the matter becomes of\ngreater difficulty still to the pupil; but the trouble is no longer\nmathematical.\n\n [Footnote 1: The Russian way of saying \"Noah had three sons.\"]\n\nLet anybody understand at once Mr. Evtush\u00e9vski's problem: \"A certain boy\nhad four nuts, another had five. The second boy gave all his nuts to the\nfirst, and this one gave three nuts to a third, and the rest he\ndistributed equally to three other friends. How many nuts did each of\nthe last get?\" Express the problem as follows: \"A boy had four nuts. He\nwas given five more. He gave away three nuts, and the rest he wants to\ngive to three friends. How many can he give to each?\" and a child of\nfive years of age will solve it. There is no problem here at all, but\nthe difficulty may arise only from a wrong statement of the problem, or\nfrom a weak memory. And it is this syntactical difficulty, which the\nchildren overcome by long and difficult exercises, that gives the\nteacher cause to think that, teaching the children what they know\nalready, he is teaching them anything at all. Just as arbitrarily are\nthe children taught combinations in arithmetic and the decomposition of\nnumbers according to a certain method and order, which have their\nfoundation only in the fancy of the teacher. Mr. Evtush\u00e9vski says:\n\n\"Four. (1) The formation of the number. On the upper border of the board\nthe teacher places three cubes together--I I I. How many cubes are there\nhere? Then a fourth cube is added. And how many are there now? I I I I.\nHow are four cubes formed from three and one? We have to add one cube to\nthe three.\n\n\"(2) Decomposition into component parts. How can four cubes be formed?\nor, How can four cubes be broken up? Four cubes may be broken up into\ntwo and two: II + II. Four cubes may be formed from one, and one, and\none, and one more, or by taking four times one cube: I + I + I + I. Four\ncubes may be broken up into three and one: III + I. It may be formed\nfrom one, and one, and two: I + I + II. Can four cubes be put together\nin any other way? The pupils convince themselves that there can be no\nother decomposition, distinct from those already given. If the pupils\nbegin to break the four cubes in this way: one, two, and one, or, two,\none and one; or, one and three, the teacher will easily point out to\nthem that these decompositions are only repetitions of what has been got\nbefore, only in a different order.\n\n\"Every time, whenever the pupils indicate a new method of decomposition,\nthe teacher places the cubes on a ledge of the blackboard in the manner\nhere indicated. Thus there will be four cubes on the upper ledge; two\nand two in a second place; in a third place the four cubes will be\nseparated at some distance from each other; in a fourth place, three and\none, and in a fifth one, one, and two.\n\n\"(3) Decomposition in order. It may easily happen that the children will\nat once point out the decomposition of the number into component parts\nin order; even then the third exercise cannot be regarded as\nsuperfluous: Here we have formed four cubes of twos, of separate cubes,\nand of threes,--in what order had we best place the cubes on the board?\nWith what shall the decomposition of the four cubes begin? With the\ndecomposition into separate cubes. How are four cubes to be formed from\nseparate cubes? We must take four times one cube. How are four cubes to\nbe formed from twos, from a pair? We must take two twos,--twice two\ncubes, two pairs of cubes. How shall we afterward break up the four\ncubes? They can be formed of threes: for this purpose we take three and\none, or one and three. The teacher explains to the pupils that the last\ndecomposition, that is, 1 1 2, does not come under the accepted order,\nand is a modification of one of the first three.\"\n\nWhy does Mr. Evtush\u00e9vski not admit this last decomposition? Why must\nthere be the order indicated by him? All that is a matter of mere\narbitrariness and fancy. In reality, it is apparent to every thinking\nman that there is only one foundation for any composition and\ndecomposition, and for the whole of mathematics. Here is the\nfoundation: 1 + 1 = 2, 2 + 1 = 3, 3 + 1 = 4, and so forth,--precisely\nwhat the children learn at home, and what in common parlance is called\ncounting to ten, to twenty, and so forth. This process is known to every\npupil, and no matter what decomposition Mr. Evtush\u00e9vski may make, it is\nto be explained from this one. A boy that can count to four, considers\nfour as a whole, and so also three, and two, and one. Consequently, he\nknows that four was produced from the consecutive addition of one.\nSimilarly he knows that four is produced by adding twice one to two,\njust as he knows twice one is two. What, then, are the children taught\nhere? That which they know, or that process of counting which they must\nlearn according to the teacher's fancy.\n\nThe other day I happened to witness a lesson in mathematics according to\nGrube's method. The pupil was asked: \"How much is 8 and 7?\" He hastened\nto answer and said 16. His neighbour, too, was in a hurry and, without\nraising his left hand, said: \"8 and 8 is 16, and one less is 15.\" The\nteacher sternly stopped him, and compelled the first boy to add one\nafter one to 8, until he came to 15, though the boy knew long ago that\nhe had made a blunder. In that school they had reached the number 15,\nbut 16 was supposed to be unknown yet.\n\nI am afraid that many people, reading all these long refutals of the\nmethods of object instruction and counting according to Grube, which I\nam making, will say: \"What is there here to talk about? Is it not\nevident that it is all mere nonsense which it is not worth while to\ncriticize? Why pick out the errors and blunders of a Bun\u00e1kov and\nEvtush\u00e9vski, and criticize what is beneath all criticism?\"\n\nThat was the way I myself thought before I was led to see what was going\non in the pedagogical world, when I convinced myself that Messrs.\nBun\u00e1kov and Evtush\u00e9vski were not mere individuals, but authorities in\nour pedagogics, and that what they prescribe is actually carried out in\nour schools. In the backwoods we may find teachers, especially women,\nwho spread Evtush\u00e9vski's and Bun\u00e1kov's manuals out before them and ask\naccording to their prescription how much one feather and one feather is,\nand what a hen is covered with. All that would be funny if it were only\nan invention of the theorist, and not a guide in practical work, a guide\nthat some follow already, and if it did not concern one of the most\nimportant affairs of life,--the education of the children. I was amused\nat it when I read it as theoretical fancies; but when I learned and saw\nthat that was being practised on children, I felt pity for them and\nashamed.\n\nFrom a theoretical standpoint, not to mention the fact that they\nfaultily define the aim of education, the pedagogues of this school make\nthis essential error, that they depart from the conditions of all\ninstruction, whether this instruction be on the highest or lowest stage\nof the science, in a university or in a popular school. The essential\nconditions of all instruction consist in selecting the homogeneous\nphenomena from an endless number of heterogeneous phenomena, and in\nimparting the laws of these phenomena to the students. Thus, in the\nstudy of language, the pupils are taught the laws of the word, and in\nmathematics, the laws of the numbers. The study of language consists in\nimparting the laws of the decomposition and of the reverse composition\nof sentences, words, syllables, sounds,--and these laws form the subject\nof instruction. The instruction of mathematics consists in imparting the\nlaws of the composition and decomposition of the numbers (but I beg to\nobserve,--not in the process of the composition and the decomposition of\nthe numbers, but in imparting the laws of that composition and\ndecomposition). Thus, the first law consists in the ability of regarding\na collection of units as a unit of a higher order, precisely what a\nchild does when he says: \"2 and 1 = 3.\" He regards 2 as a kind of unit.\nOn this law are based the consequent laws of numeration, then of\naddition, and of the whole of mathematics. But arbitrary conversations\nabout the wasp, and so forth, or problems within the limit of 10,--its\ndecomposition in every manner possible,--cannot form a subject of\ninstruction, because, in the first place, they transcend the subject\nand, in the second place, because they do not treat of its laws.\n\nThat is the way the matter presents itself to me from its theoretical\nside; but theoretical criticism may frequently err, and so I will try to\nverify my deductions by means of practical data. G---- P---- has given\nus a sample of the practical results of both object instruction and of\nmathematics according to Grube's method. One of the older boys was told:\n\"Put your hand under your book!\" in order to prove that he had been\ntaught the conceptions of \"over\" and \"under,\" and the intelligent boy,\nwho, I am sure, knew what \"over\" and \"under\" was, when he was three\nyears old, put his hand on the book when he was told to put it under it.\nI have all the time observed such examples, and they prove more clearly\nthan anything else how useless, strange, and disgraceful, I feel like\nsaying, this object instruction is for Russian children. A Russian child\ncannot and will not believe (he has too much respect for the teacher and\nfor himself) that the teacher is in earnest when he asks him whether the\nceiling is above or below, or how many legs he has. In arithmetic, too,\nwe have seen that pupils who did not even know how to write the numbers\nand during the whole time of the instruction were exercised only in\nmental calculations up to 10, for half an hour did not stop blundering\nin every imaginable way in response to questions which the teacher put\nto them within the limit of 10. Evidently the instruction of mental\ncalculation brought no results, and the syntactical difficulty, which\nconsists in unravelling a question that is improperly put, has remained\nthe same as ever. And thus, the practical results of the examination\nwhich took place did not confirm the usefulness of the development.\n\nBut I will be more exact and conscientious. Maybe the process of\ndevelopment, which at first is confined not so much to the study, as to\nthe analysis of what the pupils know already, will produce results later\non. Maybe the teacher, who at first takes possession of the pupils'\nminds by means of the analysis, later guides them firmly and with ease,\nand from the narrow sphere of the descriptions of a table and the count\nof 2 and 1 leads them into the real sphere of knowledge, in which the\npupils are no longer confined to learning what they know already, but\nalso learn something new, and learn that new information in a new, more\nconvenient, more intelligent manner. This supposition is confirmed by\nthe fact that all the German pedagogues and their followers, among them\nMr. Bun\u00e1kov, say distinctly that object instruction is to serve as an\nintroduction to \"home science\" and \"natural science.\" But we should be\nlooking in vain in Mr. Bun\u00e1kov's manual to find out how this \"home\nscience\" is to be taught, if by this word any real information is to be\nunderstood, and not the descriptions of a hut and a vestibule,--which\nthe children know already. Mr. Bun\u00e1kov, on page 200, after having\nexplained that it is necessary to teach where the ceiling is and where\nthe stove, says briefly:\n\n\"Now it is necessary to pass over to the third stage of object\ninstruction, the contents of which have been defined by me as follows:\nThe study of the country, county, Government, the whole realm with its\nnatural products and its inhabitants, in general outline, as a sketch of\nhome science and the beginning of natural science, with the predominance\nof reading, which, resting on the immediate observations of the first\ntwo grades, broadens the mental horizon of the pupils,--the sphere of\ntheir concepts and ideas. We can see from the mere definition that here\nthe objectivity appears as a complement to the explanatory reading and\nnarrative of the teacher,--consequently, what is said in regard to the\noccupations of the third year has more reference to the discussion of\nthe second occupation, which enters into the composition of the subject\nunder instruction, which is called the native language,--the explanatory\nreading.\"\n\nWe turn to the third year,--the explanatory reading, but there we find\nabsolutely nothing to indicate how the new information is to be\nimparted, except that it is good to read such and such books, and in\nreading to put such and such questions. The questions are extremely\nqueer (to me, at least), as, for example, the comparison of the article\non water by Ush\u00ednski and of the article on water by Aks\u00e1kov, and the\nrequest made of the pupils that they should explain that Aks\u00e1kov\nconsiders water as a phenomenon of Nature, while Ush\u00ednski considers it\nas a substance, and so forth. Consequently, we find here again the same\nfoisting of views on the pupils, and of subdivisions (generally\nincorrect) of the teacher, and not one word, not one hint, as to how any\nnew knowledge is to be imparted.\n\nIt is not known what shall be taught: natural history, or geography.\nThere is nothing there but reading with questions of the character I\nhave just mentioned. On the other side of the instruction about the\nword,--grammar and orthography,--we should just as much be looking in\nvain for any new method of instruction which is based on the preceding\ndevelopment. Again the old Perevl\u00e9vski's grammar, which begins with\nphilosophical definitions and then with syntactical analysis, serves as\nthe basis of all new grammatical exercises and of Mr. Bun\u00e1kov's manual.\n\nIn mathematics, too, we should be looking in vain, at that stage where\nthe real instruction in mathematics begins, for anything new and more\neasy, based on the whole previous instruction of the exercises of the\nsecond year up to 20. Where in arithmetic the real difficulties are met\nwith, where it becomes necessary to explain the subject from all its\nsides to the pupil, as in numeration, in addition, subtraction,\ndivision, in the division and multiplication of fractions, you will not\nfind even a shadow of anything easier, any new explanation, but only\nquotations from old arithmetics.\n\nThe character of this instruction is everywhere one and the same. The\nwhole attention is directed toward teaching the pupil what he already\nknows. And since the pupil knows what he is being taught, and easily\nrecites in any order desired what he is asked to recite by the teacher,\nthe teacher thinks that he is really teaching something, and the pupil's\nprogress is great, and the teacher, paying no attention to what forms\nthe real difficulty of teaching, that is, to teaching something new,\nmost comfortably stumps about in one spot.\n\nThis explains why our pedagogical literature is overwhelmed with manuals\nfor object-lessons, with manuals about how to conduct kindergartens (one\nof the most monstrous excrescences of the new pedagogy), with pictures\nand books for reading, in which are eternally repeated the same articles\nabout the fox and the blackcock, the same poems which for some reason\nare written out in prose in all kinds of permutations and with all kinds\nof explanations; but we have not a single new article for children's\nreading, not one Russian, nor Church-Slavic grammar, nor a Church-Slavic\ndictionary, nor an arithmetic, nor a geography, nor a history for the\npopular schools. All the forces are absorbed in writing text-books for\nthe instruction of children in subjects they need not and ought not to\nbe taught in school, because they are taught them in life. Of course,\nthere is no end to the writing of such books; for there can be only one\ngrammar and arithmetic, but of exercises and reflections, like those I\nhave quoted from Bun\u00e1kov, and of the orders of the decomposition of\nnumbers from Evtush\u00e9vski, there may be an endless number.\n\nPedagogy is in the same condition in which a science would be that would\nteach how a man ought to walk; and people would try to discover rules\nabout how to teach the children, how to enjoin them to contract this\nmuscle, stretch that muscle, and so forth. This condition of the new\npedagogy results directly from its two fundamental principles: (1) that\nthe aim of the school is development and not science, and (2) that\ndevelopment and the means for attaining it may be theoretically defined.\nFrom this has consistently resulted that miserable and frequently\nridiculous condition in which the whole matter of the schools now is.\nForces are wasted in vain, and the masses, who at the present moment are\nthirsting for education, as the dried-up grass thirsts for rain, and are\nready to receive it, and beg for it,--instead of a loaf receive a stone,\nand are perplexed to understand whether they were mistaken in regarding\neducation as something good, or whether something is wrong in what is\nbeing offered to them. That matters are really so there cannot be the\nleast doubt for any man who becomes acquainted with the present theory\nof teaching and knows the actual condition of the school among the\nmasses. Involuntarily there arises the question: how could honest,\ncultured people, who sincerely love their work and wish to do good,--for\nsuch I regard the majority of my opponents to be,--have arrived at such\na strange condition and be in such deep error?\n\nThis question has interested me, and I will try to communicate those\nanswers which have occurred to me. Many causes have led to it. The most\nnatural cause which has led pedagogy to the false path on which it now\nstands, is the criticism of the old order, the criticism for the sake of\ncriticism, without positing new principles in the place of those\ncriticized. Everybody knows that criticizing is an easy business, and\nthat it is quite fruitless and frequently harmful, if by the side of\nwhat is condemned one does not point out the principles on the basis of\nwhich this condemnation is uttered. If I say that such and such a thing\nis bad because I do not like it, or because everybody says that it is\nbad, or even because it is really bad, but do not know how it ought to\nbe right, the criticism will always be useless and injurious. The views\nof the pedagogues of the new school are, above all, based on the\ncriticism of previous methods. Even now, when it seems there would be no\nsense in striking a prostrate person, we read and hear in every manual,\nin every discussion, \"that it is injurious to read without\ncomprehension; that it is impossible to learn by heart the definitions\nof numbers and operations with numbers; that senseless memorizing is\ninjurious; that it is injurious to operate with thousands without being\nable to count 2-3,\" and so forth. The chief point of departure is the\ncriticism of the old methods and the concoction of new ones to be as\ndiametrically opposed to the old as possible, but by no means the\npositing of new foundations of pedagogy, from which new methods might\nresult.\n\nIt is very easy to criticize the old-fashioned method of studying\nreading by means of learning by heart whole pages of the psalter, and of\nstudying arithmetic by memorizing what a number is, and so forth. I will\nremark, in the first place, that nowadays there is no need of attacking\nthese methods, because there will hardly be found any teachers who would\ndefend them, and, in the second place, that if, criticizing such\nphenomena, they want to let it be known that I am a defender of the\nantiquated method of instruction, it is no doubt due to the fact that my\nopponents, in their youth, do not know that nearly twenty years ago I\nwith all my might and main fought against those antiquated methods of\npedagogy and co\u00f6perated in their abolition.\n\nAnd thus it was found that the old methods of instruction were not good\nfor anything, and, without building any new foundation, they began to\nlook for new methods. I say \"without building any new foundation,\"\nbecause there are only two permanent foundations of pedagogy:\n\n(1) The determination of the criterion of what ought to be taught, and\n(2) the criterion of how it has to be taught, that is, the determination\nthat the chosen subjects are most necessary, and that the chosen method\nis the best.\n\nNobody has even paid any attention to these foundations, and each school\nhas in its own justification invented quasi-philosophical justificatory\nreflections. But this \"theoretical substratum,\" as Mr. Bun\u00e1kov has\naccidentally expressed himself quite well, cannot be regarded as a\nfoundation. For the old method of instruction possessed just such a\ntheoretical substratum.\n\nThe real, peremptory question of pedagogy, which fifteen years ago I\nvainly tried to put in all its significance, \"Why ought we to know this\nor that, and how shall we teach it?\" has not even been touched. The\nresult of this has been that as soon as it became apparent that the old\nmethod was not good, they did not try to find out what the best method\nwould be, but immediately set out to discover a new method which would\nbe the very opposite of the old one. They did as a man may do who finds\nhis house to be cold in winter and does not trouble himself about\nlearning why it is cold, or how to help matters, but at once tries to\nfind another house which will as little as possible resemble the one he\nis living in. I was then abroad, and I remember how I everywhere came\nacross messengers roving all over Europe in search of a new faith, that\nis, officials of the ministry, studying German pedagogy.\n\nWe have adopted the methods of instruction current with our nearest\nneighbours, the Germans, in the first place, because we are always\nprone to imitate the Germans; in the second, because it was the most\ncomplicated and cunning of methods, and if it comes to taking something\nfrom abroad, of course, it has to be the latest fashion and what is most\ncunning; in the third, because, in particular, these methods were more\nthan any others opposed to the old way. And thus, the new methods were\ntaken from the Germans, and not by themselves, but with a theoretical\nsubstratum, that is, with a quasi-philosophical justification of these\nmethods.\n\nThis theoretical substratum has done great service. The moment parents\nor simply sensible people, who busy themselves with the question of\neducation, express their doubt about the efficacy of these methods, they\nare told: \"And what about Pestalozzi, and Diesterweg, and Denzel, and\nWurst, and methodics, heuristics, didactics, concentrism?\" and the bold\npeople wave their hands, and say: \"God be with them,--they know better.\"\nIn these German methods there also lay this other advantage (the cause\nwhy they stick so eagerly to this method), that with it the teacher does\nnot need to try too much, does not need to go on studying, does not need\nto work over himself and the methods of instruction. For the greater\npart of the time the teacher teaches by this method what the children\nknow, and, besides, teaches it from a text-book, and that is convenient.\nAnd unconsciously, in accordance with an innate human weakness, the\nteacher is fond of this convenience. It is very pleasant for me, with my\nfirm conviction that I am teaching and doing an important and very\nmodern work, to tell the children from the book about the suslik, or\nabout a horse's having four legs, or to transpose the cubes by twos and\nby threes, and ask the children how much two and two is; but if, instead\nof telling about the suslik, the teacher had to tell or read something\ninteresting, to give the foundations of grammar, geography, sacred\nhistory, and of the four operations, he would at once be led to working\nover himself, to reading much, and to refreshing his knowledge.\n\nThus, the old method was criticized, and a new one was taken from the\nGermans. This method is so foreign to our Russian un-pedantic mental\nattitude, its monstrosity is so glaring, that one would think that it\ncould never have been grafted on Russia, and yet it is being applied,\neven though only in a small measure, and in some way gives at times\nbetter results than the old church method. This is due to the fact that,\nsince it was taken in our country (just as it originated in Germany)\nfrom the criticism of the old method, the faults of the former method\nhave really been rejected, though, in its extreme opposition to the old\nmethod, which, with the pedantry characteristic of the Germans, has been\ncarried to the farthest extreme, there have appeared new faults, which\nare almost greater than the former ones.\n\nFormerly reading was taught in Russia by attaching to the consonants\nuseless endings (_buki_--_uki_, _vyedi_--_yedi_), and in Germany _es em\nde ce_, and so forth, by attaching a vowel to each consonant, now in\nfront, and now behind, and that caused some difficulty. Now they have\nfallen into the other extreme, by trying to pronounce the consonants\nwithout the vowels, which is an apparent impossibility. In Ush\u00ednski's\ngrammar (Ush\u00ednski is with us the father of the sound method), and in all\nthe manuals on sound, a consonant is defined thus: \"That sound which\ncannot be pronounced by itself.\" And it is this sound which the pupil is\ntaught before any other. When I remarked that it is impossible to\npronounce _b_ alone, but that it always gives you _b[)u]_, I was told\nthat was due to the inability of some persons, and that it took great\nskill to pronounce a consonant. And I have myself seen a teacher correct\na pupil more than ten times, though he seemed quite satisfactorily to\npronounce short _b_, until at last the pupil began to talk nonsense. And\nit is with these _b's_, that is, sounds that cannot be pronounced, as\nUsh\u00ednski defines them, or the pronunciation of which demands special\nskill, that the instruction of reading begins according to the pedantic\nGerman manuals.\n\nFormerly syllables were senselessly learned by heart (that was bad);\ndiametrically opposed to this, the new fashion enjoins us not to divide\nup into syllables at all, which is absolutely impossible in a long word,\nand which in reality is never done. Every teacher, according to the\nsound method, feels the necessity of letting a pupil rest after a part\nof a word, having him pronounce it separately. Formerly they used to\nread the psalter, which, on account of its high and deep style, is\nincomprehensible to the children (which was bad); in contrast to this\nthe children are made to read sentences without any contents whatever,\nto explain intelligible words, or to learn by heart what they cannot\nunderstand. In the old school the teacher did not speak to the pupil at\nall; now the teacher is ordered to talk to them on anything and\neverything, on what they know already, or what they do not need to know.\nIn mathematics they formerly learned by heart the definition of\noperations, but now they no longer have anything to do with operations,\nfor, according to Evtush\u00e9vski, they reach numeration only in the third\nyear, and it is assumed that for a whole year they are to be taught\nnothing but numbers up to ten. Formerly the pupils were made to work\nwith large abstract numbers, without paying any attention to the other\nside of mathematics, to the disentanglement of the problem (the\nformation of an equation). Now they are taught solving puzzles, forming\nequations with small numbers before they know numeration and how to\noperate with numbers, though experience teaches any teacher that the\ndifficulty of forming equations or the solution of puzzles are overcome\nby a general development in life, and not in school.\n\nIt has been observed--quite correctly--that there is no greater aid for\na pupil, when he is puzzled by a problem with large numbers, than to\ngive him the same problem with smaller numbers. The pupil, who in life\nlearns to grope through problems with small numbers, is conscious of the\nprocess of solving, and transfers this process to the problem with large\nnumbers. Having observed this, the new pedagogues try to teach only the\nsolving of puzzles with small numbers, that is, what cannot form the\nsubject of instruction and is only the work of life.\n\nIn the instruction of grammar the new school has again remained\nconsistent with its point of departure,--with the criticism of the old\nand the adoption of the diametrically opposite method. Formerly they\nused to learn by heart the definition of the parts of speech, and from\netymology passed over to syntax; now they not only begin with syntax,\nbut even with logic, which the children are supposed to acquire.\nAccording to the grammar of Mr. Bun\u00e1kov, which is an abbreviation of\nPerevl\u00e9vski's grammar, even with the same choice of examples, the study\nof grammar begins with syntactical analysis, which is so difficult and,\nI will say, so uncertain for the Russian language, which does not fully\ncomply with the classic forms of syntax. To sum up, the new school has\nremoved certain disadvantages, of which the chief are the superfluous\naddition to the consonants and the memorizing of definitions, and in\nthis it is superior to the old method, and in reading and writing\nsometimes gives better results; but, on the other hand, it has\nintroduced new defects, which are that the contents of the reading are\nmost senseless and that arithmetic is no longer taught as a study.\n\nIn practice (I can refer in this to all the inspectors of schools, to\nall the members of school councils, who have visited the schools, and to\nall the teachers), in practice, in the majority of schools, where the\nGerman method is prescribed, this is what takes place, with rare\nexceptions. The children learn not by the sound system, but by the\nmethod of letter composition; instead of saying _b_, _v_, they say\n_b[)u]_, _v[)u]_, and break up the words into syllables. The object\ninstruction is entirely lost sight of, arithmetic does not proceed at\nall, and the children have absolutely nothing to read. The teachers\nquite unconsciously depart from the theoretical demands and fall in with\nthe needs of the masses. These practical results, which are repeated\neverywhere, should, it seems, prove the incorrectness of the method\nitself; but among the pedagogues, those that write manuals and prescribe\nrules, there exists such a complete ignorance of and aversion to the\nknowledge of the masses and their demands that the relation of reality\nto these methods does not in the least impair the progress of their\nbusiness. It is hard to imagine the conception about the masses which\nexists in this world of the pedagogues, and from which result their\nmethod and all the consequent manner of instruction.\n\nMr. Bun\u00e1kov, in proof of how necessary the object instruction and\ndevelopment is for the children of a Russian school, with extraordinary\nna\u00efvet\u00e9 adduces Pestalozzi's words: \"Let any one who has lived among the\ncommon people,\" he says, \"contradict my words that there is nothing more\ndifficult than to impart any idea to these creatures. Nobody, indeed,\ngainsays that. The Swiss pastors affirm that when the people come to\nthem to receive instruction they do not understand what they are told,\nand the pastors do not understand what the people say to them. City\ndwellers who settle in the country are amazed at the inability of the\ncountry population to express themselves; years pass before the country\nservants learn to express themselves to their masters.\" This relation of\nthe common people in Switzerland to the cultured class is assumed as the\nfoundation for just such a relation in Russia.\n\nI regard it as superfluous to expatiate on what is known to everybody,\nthat in Germany the people speak a special language, called\nPlattdeutsch, and that in the German part of Switzerland this\nPlattdeutsch is especially far removed from the German language, whereas\nin Russia we frequently speak a bad language, while the masses always\nspeak a good Russian, and that in Russia it will be more correct to put\nthese words of Pestalozzi in the mouth of peasants speaking of the\nteachers. A peasant and his boy will say quite correctly that it is very\nhard to understand what those creatures, meaning the teachers, say. The\nignorance about the masses is so complete in this world of the\npedagogues that they boldly say that to the peasant school come little\nsavages, and therefore boldly teach them what is down and what up, that\na blackboard is placed on a stand, and that underneath it there is a\ngroove. They do not know that if the pupils asked the teacher, there\nwould turn up very many things which the teacher would not know; that,\nfor example, if you rub off the paint from the board, nearly any boy\nwill tell you of what kind of wood the board is made, whether of pine,\nlinden, or aspen, which the teacher cannot tell; that a boy will always\ntell better than the teacher about a cat or a chicken, because he has\nobserved them better than the teacher; that instead of the problem about\nthe wagons the boy knows the problems about the crows, about the cattle,\nand about the geese. (About the crows: There flies a flock of crows, and\nthere stand some oak-trees: if two crows alight on each, a crow will be\nlacking; if one on each, an oak-tree will be lacking. How many crows and\nhow many oak-trees are there? About the cattle: For one hundred roubles\nbuy one hundred animals,--calves at half a rouble, cows at three\nroubles, and oxen at ten roubles. How many oxen, cows, and calves are\nthere?) The pedagogues of the German school do not even suspect that\nquickness of perception, that real vital development, that contempt for\neverything false, that ready ridicule of everything false, which are\ninherent in every Russian peasant boy,--and only on that account so\nboldly (as I myself have seen), under the fire of forty pairs of\nintelligent youthful eyes, perform their tricks at the risk of ridicule.\nFor this reason, a real teacher, who knows the masses, no matter how\nsternly he is enjoined to teach the peasant children what is up and what\ndown, and that two and three is five, not one real teacher, who knows\nthe pupils with whom he has to deal, will be able to do that.\n\nThus, the chief causes which have led us into such error are: (1) the\nignorance about the masses; (2) the involuntarily seductive ease of\nteaching the children what they already know; (3) our proneness to\nimitate the Germans, and (4) the criticism of the old, without putting\ndown a new, foundation. This last cause has led the pedagogues of the\nnew school to this, that, in spite of the extreme external difference of\nthe new method from the old, it is identical with it in its foundation,\nand, consequently, in the methods of instruction and in the results. In\neither method the essential principle consists in the teacher's firm and\nabsolute knowledge of what to teach and how to teach, and this knowledge\nof his he does not draw from the demands of the masses and from\nexperience, but simply decides theoretically once for all that he must\nteach this or that and in such a way, and so he teaches. The pedagogue\nof the ancient school, which for briefness' sake I shall call the church\nschool, knows firmly and absolutely that he must teach from the\nprayer-book and the psalter by making the children learn by rote, and he\nadmits no alterations in his methods; in the same manner the teacher of\nthe new, the German, school knows firmly and absolutely that he must\nteach according to Bun\u00e1kov and Evtush\u00e9vski, begin with the words\n\"whisker\" and \"wasp,\" ask what is up and what down, and tell about the\nfavourite suslik, and he admits no alterations in his method. Both of\nthem base their opinion on the firm conviction that they know the best\nmethods. From the identity of the foundations arises also a further\nsimilarity. If you tell a teacher of the church reading that it takes\nthe children a long time and causes them difficulty to acquire reading\nand writing, he will reply that the main interest is not in the reading\nand writing, but in the \"divine instruction,\" by which he means the\nstudy of the church books. The same you will be told by a teacher of\nRussian reading according to the German method. He will tell you (all\nsay and write it) that the main question is not the rapidity of the\nacquisition of the art of reading, writing, and arithmetic, but in the\n\"development.\" Both place the aim of instruction in something\nindependent of reading, writing, and arithmetic, that is, of science, in\nsomething else, which is absolutely necessary.\n\nThis similarity continues down to the minutest details. In either method\nall instruction previous to the school, all knowledge acquired outside\nthe school, is not taken into account,--all entering pupils are regarded\nas equally ignorant, and all are made to learn from the beginning. If a\nboy who knows the letters and the syllables _a_, _be_, enters a church\nschool, he is made to change them to _buki-az_--_ba_. The same is true\nof the German school.\n\nJust so, in either school it happens that some children cannot learn the\nrudiments.\n\nJust so, with either method, the mechanical side of instruction\npredominates over the mental. In either school the pupils excel in a\ngood handwriting and good enunciation with absolutely exact reading,\nthat is, not as it is spoken, but as it is written. Just so, with either\nmethod, there always reigns an external order in the school, and the\nchildren are in constant fear and can be guided only with the greatest\nseverity. Mr. Korol\u00e9v has incidentally remarked that in instruction\naccording to the sound method blows are not neglected. I have seen the\nsame in the schools of the German method, and I assume that without\nblows it is impossible to get along even in the new German school,\nbecause, like the church school, it teaches without asking what the\npupil finds interesting to know, but what, in the teacher's opinion,\nseems necessary, and so the school can be based only on compulsion.\nCompulsion is attained with children generally by means of blows. The\nchurch and the new German school, starting from the same principles and\narriving at the same results, are absolutely identical. But, if it came\nto choosing one of the two, I should still prefer the church school. The\ndefects are the same, but on the side of the church school is the custom\nof a thousand years and the authority of the church, which is so\npowerful with the masses.\n\nHaving finished the analysis and criticism of the German school, I\nconsider it necessary,--in view of what I have said, namely, that\ncriticism is fruitful only when, condemning, it points out how that\nwhich is bad ought to be,--I consider it necessary to speak of those\nfoundations of instruction which I regard as legitimate, and on which I\nrear my method of instruction.\n\nIn order to elucidate in what I find these unquestionable foundations of\nevery pedagogical activity, I shall be compelled to repeat myself, that\nis, to repeat what I said fifteen years ago in the pedagogical\nperiodical, _Y\u00e1snaya Poly\u00e1na_, which I then published. This repetition\nwill not be tedious for the pedagogues of the new school, because what I\nthen wrote is not exactly forgotten, but has never been considered by\nthe pedagogues,--and yet I still think that just what was expressed by\nme at that time might have placed pedagogy, as a theory, on a firm\nfoundation. Fifteen years ago, when I took up the matter of popular\neducation without any preconceived theories or views on the subject,\nwith the one desire to advance the matter in a direct and\nstraightforward manner, I, as a teacher in my school, was at once\nconfronted with two questions: (1) What must I teach? and (2) How must\nI teach it?\n\nAt that time, even as at the present, there existed the greatest\ndiversity of opinion in the answers to these questions.\n\nI know that some pedagogues, who are locked up in their narrow\ntheoretical world, think that there is no other light than what peeps\nthrough the windows, and that there is no longer any diversity of\nopinions.\n\nI ask those who think so to observe that it only seems so to them, just\nas it seems so to the circles that are opposed to them. In the whole\nmass of people who are interested in education, there exists, as it has\nexisted before, the greatest diversity of opinions. Formerly, just as\nnow, some, in reply to the question of what ought to be taught, said\nthat outside of the rudiments the most useful information for a primary\nschool is obtained from the natural sciences; others, even as now, that\nthat was not necessary, and was even injurious; even as now, some\nproposed history, or geography, while others denied their necessity;\nsome proposed the Church-Slavic language and grammar, and religion,\nwhile others found that, too, superfluous, and ascribed a prime\nimportance to \"development.\" On the question of how to teach there has\nalways been a still greater diversity of answers. The most diversified\nmethods of instructing in reading and arithmetic have been proposed.\n\nIn the bookstalls there were sold, side by side, the self-teachers\naccording to the _buki-az--ba_, Bun\u00e1kov's lessons, Zolot\u00f3v's charts,\nMadame Darag\u00e1n's alphabets, and all had their advocates. When I\nencountered these questions and found no answer for them in Russian\nliterature, I turned to the literature of Europe. After having read what\nhad been written on the subject and having made the personal\nacquaintance of the so-called best representatives of the pedagogical\nscience in Europe, I not only failed to find anywhere an answer to the\nquestion I was interested in, but I convinced myself that this question\ndoes not even exist for pedagogy, as a science; that every pedagogue of\nany given school firmly believed that the methods which he used were the\nbest, because they were based on absolute truth, and that it would be\nuseless for him to look at them with a critical eye.\n\nHowever, because, as I said, I took up the matter of popular education\nwithout any preconceived notions, or because I took up the matter\nwithout prescribing laws from a distance about how I ought to teach, but\nbecame a schoolmaster in a village popular school in the backwoods,--I\ncould not reject the idea that there must of necessity exist a criterion\nby means of which the question could be solved: What to teach and how to\nteach it. Should I teach the psalter by heart, or the classification of\nthe organisms? Should I teach according to the sound alphabet,\ntranslated from the German, or from the prayer-book? In the solution of\nthis question I was aided by a certain pedagogical tact, with which I am\ngifted, and especially by that close and impassioned relation in which I\nstood to the matter.\n\nWhen I entered at once into the closest direct relations with those\nforty tiny peasants that formed my school (I call them tiny peasants\nbecause I found in them the same characteristics of perspicacity, the\nsame immense store of information from practical life, of jocularity,\nsimplicity, and loathing for everything false, which distinguish the\nRussian peasant), when I saw that susceptibility, that readiness to\nacquire the information which they needed, I felt at once that the\nantiquated church method of instruction had outlived its usefulness and\nwas not good for them. I began to experiment on other proposed methods\nof instruction; but, because compulsion in education, both by my\nconviction and by my character, are repulsive to me, I did not exercise\nany pressure, and, the moment I noticed that something was not readily\nreceived, I did not compel them, and looked for something else. From\nthese experiments it appeared to me and to those teachers who instructed\nwith me at Y\u00e1snaya Poly\u00e1na and in other schools on the same principle of\nfreedom, that nearly everything which in the pedagogical world was\nwritten about schools was separated by an immeasurable abyss from\nreality, and that many of the proposed methods, such as object-lessons,\nthe natural sciences, the sound method, and others, called forth\ncontempt and ridicule, and were not accepted by the pupils. We began to\nlook for those contents and those methods which were readily taken up by\nthe pupils, and struck that which forms my method of instruction.\n\nBut this method stood in a line with all other methods, and the question\nof why it was better than the rest remained as unsolved as before.\nConsequently, the question of what the criterion was as to what to teach\nand how to teach received an even greater meaning for me; only by\nsolving it could I be convinced that what I taught was neither injurious\nnor useless. This question both then and now has appeared to me as a\ncorner-stone of the whole pedagogy, and to the solution of this question\nI devoted the publication of the pedagogical periodical _Y\u00e1snaya\nPoly\u00e1na_. In several articles (I do not renounce anything I then said) I\ntried to put the question in all its significance and to solve it as\nmuch as I could. At that time I found no sympathy in all the pedagogical\nliterature, not even any contradiction, but the most complete\nindifference to the question which I put. There were some attacks on\ncertain details and trifles, but the question itself evidently did not\ninterest any one. I was young then, and that indifference grieved me. I\ndid not understand that with my question, \"How do you know what to teach\nand how to teach?\" I was like a man who, let us say, in a gathering of\nTurkish pashas discussing the question in what manner they may collect\nthe greatest revenue from the people, should propose to them the\nfollowing: \"Gentlemen, in order to know how much revenue to collect from\neach, we must first analyze the question on what your right to exact\nthat revenue is based.\" Obviously all the pashas would continue their\ndiscussion of the measures of extortion, and would reply only with\nsilence to his irrelevant question. But the question cannot be\ncircumvented. Fifteen years ago no attention was paid to it, and the\npedagogues of every school, convinced that everybody else was talking to\nthe wind and that they were right, most calmly prescribed their laws,\nbasing their principles on philosophies of a very doubtful character,\nwhich they used as a substratum for their wee little theories.\n\nAnd yet, this question is not quite so difficult if we only renounce\ncompletely all preconceived notions. I have tried to elucidate and solve\nthis question, and, without repeating those proofs, which he who wishes\nmay read in the article, I will enunciate the results to which I was\nled. \"The only criterion of pedagogy is freedom, the only\nmethod--experience.\" After fifteen years I have not changed my opinion\none hair's breadth; but I consider it necessary to define with greater\nprecision what I understand by these words, not only in respect to\neducation in general, but also in respect to the particular question of\npopular education in a primary school. One hundred years ago the\nquestion what to teach and how to teach could have had no place either\nin Europe or with us. Education was inseparably connected with religion.\nTo learn reading meant to learn Holy Writ. In the Mohammedan countries\nthis relation of the rudiments and religion still persists in its full\nforce. To learn means to learn the Koran, and, therefore, Arabic. But\nthe moment religion ceased to be the criterion of what ought to be\ntaught, and the school became independent of it, this question had to\narise. But it did not arise because the school was not suddenly freed\nfrom its dependence on religion, but by imperceptible steps. Now it is\naccepted by everybody that religion cannot serve as the contents, nor as\nan indication of the method of education, and that education has\ndifferent demands for its basis. In what do these demands consist? On\nwhat are they based? In order that these principles should be\nincontrovertible, it is necessary either that they be proved\nphilosophically, incontrovertibly, or that, at least, all educated\npeople should be agreed on them. But is it so? There can be no doubt\nwhatsoever about this, that in philosophy have not been found those\nprinciples on which could be built up the decision of what ought to be\ntaught, the more so since the matter itself is not an abstract, but a\npractical affair, which depends on an endless number of vital\nconditions. Still less can these principles be discovered in the common\nconsent of all men who busy themselves with this matter, in the consent\nwhich we may take as a practical foundation, as an expression of the\nuniversal common sense. Not only in matters of popular, but even of\nhigher education do we see a complete diversity of opinions among the\nbest representatives of education, as, for example, in the question of\nclassicism and realism. And yet, in spite of the absence of any\nfoundations, we see education proceeding on its own path and on the\nwhole being guided by only one principle, namely by freedom. There exist\nside by side the classical and the real school, each of which is\nprepared to regard itself as the only natural school, and both satisfy\nsome want, for parents send their children to either.\n\nIn the popular school the right to determine what the children shall\nlearn, no matter from what standpoint we may consider this question,\nbelongs just as much to the masses, that is, either to the pupils\nthemselves, or to the parents who send the children to school, and so\nthe answer to the question what the children are to be taught in a\npopular school can be got only from the masses. But, perhaps, we shall\nsay that we, as highly cultured people, must not submit to the demands\nof the rude masses and that we must teach the masses what to wish. Thus\nmany think, but to that I can give this one answer: give us a firm,\nincontrovertible foundation why this or that is chosen by you, show me a\nsociety in which the two diametrically opposed views on education do not\nexist among the highly cultured people; where it is not eternally\nrepeated that if education falls into the hands of the clergy, the\nmasses are educated in one sense, and if education falls into the hands\nof the progressists, the people are educated in another sense,--show me\na state of society where that does not exist, and I will agree with you.\nSo long as that does not exist, there is no criterion except the freedom\nof the learner, where, in matters of the popular school, the place of\nthe learning children is taken by their parents, that is, by the needs\nof the masses.\n\nThese needs are not only definite, quite clear, and everywhere the same\nthroughout Russia, but also so intelligent and broad that they include\nall the most diversified demands of the people who are debating what the\nmasses ought to be taught. These needs are: the knowledge of Russian and\nChurch-Slavic reading, and calculation. The masses everywhere and always\nregard the natural sciences as useless trifles. Their programme is\nremarkable not only by its unanimity and firm definiteness, but, in my\nopinion, also by the breadth of its demands and the correctness of its\nview. The masses admit two spheres of knowledge, the most exact and the\nleast subject to vacillation from a diversity of views,--the languages\nand mathematics; everything else they regard as trifles. I think that\nthe masses are quite correct,--in the first place, because in this\nknowledge there can be no half information, no falseness, which they\ncannot bear, and, in the second, because the sphere of those two kinds\nof knowledge is immense. Russian and Church-Slavic grammar and\ncalculation, that is, the knowledge of one dead and one living language,\nwith their etymological and syntactical forms and their literatures, and\narithmetic, that is, the foundation of all mathematics, form their\nprogramme of knowledge, which, unfortunately, but the rarest of the\ncultured class possess. In the third place, the masses are right,\nbecause by this programme they will be taught in the primary school only\nwhat will open to them the more advanced paths of knowledge, for it is\nevident that the thorough knowledge of two languages and their forms,\nand, in addition to them, of arithmetic, completely opens the paths to\nan independent acquisition of all other knowledge. The masses, as though\nfeeling the false relation to them, when they are offered incoherent\nscraps of all kinds of information, repel that lie from themselves, and\nsay: \"I need know but this much,--the church language and my own and the\nlaws of the numbers, but that other knowledge I will take myself if I\nwant it.\"\n\nThus, if we admit freedom as the criterion of what is to be taught, the\nprogramme of the popular schools is clearly and firmly defined, until\nthe time when the masses shall express some new demands. Church-Slavic\nand Russian and arithmetic to their highest possible stages, and nothing\nelse but that. That is the determination of the limits of the programme\nof the popular school, which, however, does not presume that all three\nsubjects be introduced systematically. With such a programme the\nattainment of symmetrical results in all three subjects would naturally\nbe desirable; but it cannot be said that the predominance of one subject\nover another would be injurious. The problem consists only in keeping\nwithin the limits of the programme. It may happen that from the demands\nof the parents, and especially from the knowledge of the teacher, this\nor that subject will be more prominent,--with a clerical person the\nChurch-Slavic language, with a teacher from a county school--either\nRussian or arithmetic; in all these cases the demands of the masses will\nbe satisfied, and the instruction will not depart from its fundamental\ncriterion.\n\nThe second part of the question, how to teach, that is, how to discover\nwhich method is the best, has remained just as unsolved.\n\nJust as in the first part of the question of what to teach, the\nassumption that on the basis of reflections it is possible to build a\nprogramme of instruction leads to contradictory schools, so it is also\nwith the question as to how to teach. Let us take the very first\nstage of the teaching of reading. One asserts that it is easier to\nteach so from cards; another--according to the _b_, _v_ system; a\nthird--according to Korf; a fourth--according to the _be_, _ve_, _ge_\nsystem, and so forth. It is said that the nuns teach reading in six\nweeks by the _buki-az_--_ba_ system. And every teacher, convinced of the\nsuperiority of his method, proves this superiority either by the fact\nthat he teaches with it faster than others, or by reflections of the\ncharacter which Mr. Bun\u00e1kov and the German pedagogues adduce. At the\npresent time, when there are thousands of examples, we ought to know\nprecisely by what to be guided in our choice. Neither theory, nor\nreflections, nor even the results of instruction can show this\ncompletely.\n\nEducation and instruction are generally considered in the abstract, that\nis, the question is discussed how in the best and easiest manner to\nproduce a certain act of instruction on a certain subject (whether it be\none child or a mass of children). This view is quite faulty. All\neducation and instruction can be viewed only as a certain relation of\ntwo persons or of two groups of persons having for their aim education\nor instruction. This definition, more general than all the other\ndefinitions, has special reference to popular education, where the\nquestion is the education of an immense number of persons, and where\nthere can be no question about an ideal education. In general, with the\npopular education we cannot put the question, \"How is the best education\nto be given?\" just as with the question of the nutrition of the masses\nwe cannot ask how the most nutritious and best loaf is to be baked. The\nquestion has to be put like this: \"How is the best relation to be\nestablished between given people who want to learn and others who want\nto teach?\" or, \"How is the best bread to be made from given bolted\nflour?\" Consequently the question of how to teach and what is the best\nmethod is a question of what will be the best relation between teacher\nand pupil.\n\nNobody, I suppose, will deny that the best relation between teacher and\npupil is that of naturalness, and that the contrary relation is that of\ncompulsion. If so, the measure of all methods is to be found in the\ngreater or lesser naturalness of relations and, therefore, in the lesser\nor greater compulsion in instruction. The less the children are\ncompelled to learn, the better is the method; the more--the worse. I am\nglad that I do not have to prove this evident truth. Everybody is agreed\nthat just as in hygiene the use of any food, medicine, exercise, that\nprovokes loathing or pain, cannot be useful, so also in instruction can\nthere be no necessity of compelling children to learn anything that is\ntiresome and repulsive to them, and that, if necessity demands that\nchildren be compelled, it only proves the imperfection of the method.\nAny one who has taught children has no doubt observed that the less the\nteacher himself knows the subject which he teaches and the less he likes\nit, the more will he have to have recourse to severity and compulsion;\non the contrary, the more the teacher knows and loves his subject, the\nmore natural and easy will his instruction be. With the idea that for\nsuccessful instruction not compulsion is wanted, but the rousing of the\npupil's interest, all the pedagogues of the school which is opposed to\nme agree. The only difference between us is that the conception that the\nteaching must rouse the child's interest is with them lost in a mass of\nother conflicting notions about \"development,\" of the value of which\nthey are convinced and in which they exercise compulsion; whereas I\nconsider the rousing of the pupil's interest, the greatest possible\nease, and, therefore, the non-compulsion and naturalness of instruction\nas the fundamental and only measure of good and bad instruction.\n\nEvery progress of pedagogy, if we attentively consider the history of\nthis matter, consists in an ever increasing approximation toward\nnaturalness of relations between teacher and pupil, in a lessened\ncompulsion, and in a greater ease of instruction.\n\nThe objection was formerly made and, I know, is made even now that it is\nhard to find the limit of freedom which shall be permitted in school. To\nthis I will reply that this limit is naturally determined by the\nteacher, his knowledge, his ability to manage the school; that this\nfreedom cannot be prescribed; the measure of this freedom is only the\nresult of the greater or lesser knowledge and talent of the teacher.\nThis freedom is not a rule, but serves as a check in comparing schools\nbetween themselves, and as a check in comparing new methods which are\nintroduced into the school curriculum. The school in which there is less\ncompulsion is better than the one in which there is more. The method\nwhich at its introduction into the school does not demand an increase of\ndiscipline is good; but the one which demands greater severity is\ncertainly bad. Take, for example, a more or less free school, such as\nmine was, and try to start a conversation in it about the table and the\nceiling, or to transpose cubes,--you will see what it hubbub will arise\nin the school and how you will feel the necessity of restoring order by\nmeans of severity; try to tell them an interesting story, or to give\nthem problems, or make one write on the board and let the others correct\nhis mistakes, and allow them to leave the benches, and you will find\nthem all occupied and there will be no naughtiness, and you will not\nhave to increase your severity,--and you may safely say that the method\nis good.\n\nIn my pedagogical articles I have given theoretical reasons why I find\nthat only the freedom of choice on the side of the learners as to what\nthey are to be taught and how can form a foundation of any instruction;\nin practice I have always applied these rules in the schools under my\nguidance, at first on a large scale, and later in narrower limits, and\nthe results have always been very good, both for the teachers and the\npupils, as also for the evolution of new methods,--and this I assert\nboldly, for hundreds of visitors have come to the Y\u00e1snaya Poly\u00e1na school\nand know all about it.\n\nThe consequences of such a relation to the pupils has been for the\nteachers that they did not consider that method best which they knew,\nbut tried to discover other methods, became acquainted with other\nteachers for the purpose of learning their methods, tested new methods,\nand, above all, were learning something all the time. A teacher never\npermitted himself to think that in cases of failure it was the pupils'\nfault,--their laziness, playfulness, dulness, deafness, stammering,--but\nwas firmly convinced that he alone was to blame for it, and for every\nfailure of a pupil or of all the pupils he tried to find a remedy. For\nthe pupils the result was that they learned readily, always begged the\nteachers to give them evening classes in the winter, and were absolutely\nfree in the school,--which, in my conviction and experience, is the\nchief condition for successful progress in instruction. Between teachers\nand pupils there were always established friendly, natural relations,\nwith which alone it is possible for the teacher to know his pupils well.\nIf, from a first, external impression of the school, we were to\ndetermine the difference between the church, the German, and my own\nschool, it would be this: in a church school you hear a peculiar,\nunnatural, monotonous shouting of all the pupils and now and then the\nstern cries of the teacher; in the German school you hear only the\nteacher's voice and now and then the timid voices of the pupils; in mine\nyou hear the loud voices of the teachers and the pupils, almost\nsimultaneously.\n\nAs for the methods of instruction the consequences were that not one\nmethod of instruction was adopted or rejected because it was liked or\nnot, but only because it was accepted or not by the pupils without\ncompulsion. But in addition to the good results which were always\nobtained without fail from the application of my method by myself and by\neverybody else (more than twenty teachers), who taught according to my\nmethod (\"without fail\" I say for the reason that not once did we have a\npupil who did not learn the rudiments), besides these results, the\napplication of the principles of which I have spoken had the effect that\nduring these fifteen years all the various modifications, to which my\nmethod was subjected, not only did not remove it from the needs of the\nmasses, but, on the contrary, brought it nearer and nearer to them. The\nmasses, at least in our parts, know the method itself and discuss it,\nand prefer it to the church method, which I cannot say of the sound\nmethod. In the schools which are conducted according to my method the\nteacher cannot remain motionless in his knowledge, such as he is and\nmust be with the method of sounds. If a teacher according to the new\nGerman fashion wants to go ahead and perfect himself, he has to follow\nthe pedagogical literature, that is, to read all those new inventions\nabout the conversations about the suslik and about the transposition of\nthe squares. I do not think that that can promote his personal\neducation. On the contrary, in my school, where the subjects of\ninstruction, language and mathematics, demand positive knowledge, every\nteacher, in advancing his pupils, feels the need of learning himself,\nwhich was constantly the case with all the teachers I had.\n\nBesides, the methods of instruction themselves, which are not settled\nonce for all, but always strive to be as easy and as simple as possible,\nare modified and improved from the indications which the teacher\ndiscovers in the relations of the learners to his instruction.\n\nThe very opposite to this I see in what, unfortunately, takes place in\nthe schools of the German pattern, which of late have been introduced in\nour country in an artificial manner. The failure to recognize that\nbefore deciding what to teach and how to teach we must solve the\nquestion how we can find that out has led the pedagogues to a complete\ndisagreement with reality, and the abyss which fifteen years ago was\nfelt to exist between theory and practice has now reached the farthest\nlimits. Now that the masses are on all sides begging for education,\nwhile pedagogy has more than ever passed to personal fancies, this\ndiscord has reached incredible proportions.\n\nThis discord between the demands of pedagogy and reality has of late\nfound its peculiarly striking expression not only in the matter of\ninstruction itself, but also in another very important side of the\nschool, namely in its administration. In order to show in what condition\nthis matter has been and might be, I shall speak of Krap\u00edvensk County of\nthe Government of T\u00fala, in which I live, which I know, and which, from\nits position, forms the type of the majority of counties of central\nRussia.\n\nIn 1862 fourteen schools were opened in a district of ten thousand\nsouls, when I was rural judge; besides, there existed about ten schools\nin the district among the clericals and in the manors among the\nservants. In the three remaining districts of the county there were\nfifteen large and thirty small schools among the clericals and manorial\nservants. Without saying anything about the number of the learners, of\nwhich, I assume, there were in general not less than now, nor about the\ninstruction itself, which was partly bad and partly good, but on the\nwhole not worse than at present, I will tell how and on what that\nbusiness was based.\n\nAll schools were then, with few exceptions, based on a free agreement of\nthe teacher with the parents of the pupils, or with the whole\npartnership of the peasants paying a lump sum for everybody. Such a\nrelation between the parents or Communes and the teachers is even now\nmet with in some exceedingly rare places of our county and of the\nGovernment in general. Everybody will agree that, leaving aside the\nquestion of the quality of instruction, such a relation of the teacher\nto the parents and peasants is most just, natural, and desirable. But,\nwith the introduction of the law of 1864, this relation was abolished\nand is being abolished more and more. Everybody who knows the matter as\nit is will observe that with the abolition of this relation the people\ntake less and less part in the matter of their education, which is only\nnatural. In some County Councils the school tax of the peasants is even\nturned into the County Council, and the salary, appointment of teachers,\nlocation of schools,--all that is done quite independently of those for\nwhom it is intended (in theory the peasants, no doubt, are members of\nthe County Council, but in practice they have through this mediation no\ninfluence on their own schools). Nobody will, I suppose, assert that\nthat is just, but some will say: \"The illiterate peasants cannot judge\nwhat is good and what bad, and we must build for them as well as we\ncan.\" But how do we know? Do we know firmly, are we all of one opinion,\nhow to build schools? And does it not frequently turn out bad, for we\nhave built much worse than they have?\n\nThus, in relation to the administrative side of the schools I have again\nto put a third question, on the same basis of freedom: Why do we know\nhow best to arrange a school? To this question German pedagogy gives an\nanswer which is quite consistent with its whole system. It knows what\nthe best school is, it has formed a clear, definite ideal, down to the\nminutest details, the benches, the hours of instruction, and so forth,\nand gives an answer: the school has to be such and such, according to\nthis pattern,--this alone is good and every other school is injurious. I\nknow that, although the desire of Henry IV. to give each Frenchman soup\nand a chicken was unrealizable, it was impossible to say that the desire\nwas false. But the matter assumes an entirely different aspect when the\nsoup is of a very questionable quality and is not a chicken soup, but a\nworthless broth. And yet the so-called science of pedagogy is in this\nmatter indissolubly connected with power; both in Germany and with us\nthere are prescribed certain ideal one-class, two-class schools, and so\nforth; and the pedagogical and the administrative powers do not wish to\nknow the fact that the masses would like to attend to their own\neducation. Let us see how such a view of popular education has been\nreflected in practice on the question of education.\n\nBeginning with the year 1862 the idea that education was necessary has\nmore and more spread among the masses: on all sides schools were\nestablished by church servants, hired teachers, and the Communes.\nWhether good or bad, these schools were spontaneous and grew out\ndirectly from the needs of the masses; with the introduction of the law\nof 1864 this tendency was increased, and in 1870 there were, according\nto the reports, about sixty schools in Krap\u00edvensk County. Since then\nofficials of the ministry and members of the County Council have begun\nto meddle more and more with school matters, and in Krap\u00edvensk County\nforty schools have been closed and schools of a lower order have been\nprohibited from being opened. I know that those who closed those schools\naffirm that these schools existed only nominally and were very bad; but\nI cannot believe it, because I know well-instructed pupils from three\nvillages, Tr\u00f3sna, Lam\u00edntsovo, and Y\u00e1snaya Poly\u00e1na, where schools were\nclosed. I also know\u2014-and this will seem incredible to many\u2014-what is\nmeant by prohibiting the opening of schools. It means that, on the basis\nof a circular of the ministry of public instruction, which spoke of the\nprohibition of unreliable teachers (this, no doubt, had reference to the\nNihilists), the school council transferred this prohibition to the minor\nschools, taught by sextons, soldiers, and so forth, which the peasants\nthemselves had opened, and which, no doubt, are not at all comprised in\nthe circular. But, instead, there exist twenty schools with teachers,\nwho are supposed to be good because they receive a salary of two hundred\nroubles in silver, and the County Council has distributed Ush\u00ednski's\ntext-books, and these schools are called one-class schools, because they\nteach in them according to a programme, and the whole year around, that\nis, also in summer, with the exception of July and August.\n\nLeaving aside the question of the quality of the former schools, we\nshall now take a glance at their administrative side, and we will\ncompare, from this side, what was before, with what is now. In the\nadministrative, external side of the school there are five main\nsubjects, which are so closely connected with the school business itself\nthat on their good or bad structure depend to a great extent the success\nand dissemination of popular education. These five subjects are: (1) the\nschool building, (2) the schedule of instruction, (3) the distribution\nof the schools according to localities, (4) the choice of the teacher,\nand--what is most important--(5) the material means, the remuneration of\nthe teachers.\n\nIn regard to the school building the masses rarely have any difficulty,\nwhen they start a school for themselves, and if the Commune is rich and\nthere are any communal buildings, such as a storehouse or a deserted\ninn, the Commune fixes it up; if there is none, it buys a building, at\ntimes even from a landed proprietor, or it builds one of its own. If the\nCommune is not well-to-do and is small, it hires quarters from a\npeasant, or establishes a rotation, and the teacher passes from hut to\nhut. If the Commune, as it most generally does, selects a teacher from\nits own midst, a manorial servant, a soldier, or a church servant, the\nschool is located at the house of that person, and the Commune looks\nonly after the heating. In any case, I have never heard that the\nquestion of the location of the school ever troubled a Commune, or that\nhalf the sum set aside for instruction should be lost, as is done by\nschool councils, on the buildings, nay, not even one-sixth or one-tenth\nof the whole sum. The peasant Communes have arranged it one way or\nanother, but the question of the school building has never been regarded\nas troublesome. Only under the influence of the higher authorities do\nthere occur cases where the Communes build brick buildings with iron\nroofs. The peasants assume that the school is not in the structure, but\nin the teacher, and that the school is not a permanent institution, but\nthat as soon as the parents have acquired knowledge, the next generation\nwill get the rudiments without a teacher. But the County Council\ndepartment of the ministry always assumes--since for it the whole\nproblem consists in inspecting and classifying--that the chief\nfoundation of the school is the structure and that the school is a\npermanent establishment, and so, as far as I know, now spends about\none-half of its money on buildings, and inscribes empty school buildings\nin the list of the schools of the third order. In the Krap\u00edvensk County\nCouncil seven hundred roubles out of two thousand roubles are spent on\nbuildings. The ministerial department cannot admit that the teacher\n(that educated pedagogue who is assumed for the masses) would lower\nhimself to such an extent as to be willing to go, like a tailor, from\nhut to hut, or to teach in a smoky house. But the masses assume nothing\nand only know that for their money they can hire whom they please, and\nthat, if they, the hiring peasants, live in smoky huts, the hired\nteacher has no reason to turn up his nose at them.\n\nIn regard to the second question, about the division of the school time,\nthe masses have always and everywhere invariably expressed one demand,\nand that is that the instruction shall be carried on in the winter only.\n\nEverywhere the parents quit sending their children in the spring, and\nthose children who are left in the school, from one-fourth to one-fifth\nof the whole number, are the little tots or the children of rich\nparents, and they attend school unwillingly. When the masses hire a\nteacher themselves, they always hire him by the month and only for the\nwinter. The ministerial department assumes that, just as in the\ninstitutions of learning there are two months of vacation, so it ought\nalso to be in a one-class country school. From the standpoint of the\nministerial department that is quite reasonable: the children will not\nforget their instruction, the teacher is provided for during the whole\nyear, and the inspectors find it more comfortable to travel in the\nsummer; but the masses know nothing about all that, and their common\nsense tells them that in winter the children sleep for ten hours,\nconsequently their minds are fresh; that in winter there are no plays\nand no work for the children, and that if they study in winter as long\nas possible, taking in even the evenings, for which a lamp costing one\nrouble fifty kopeks is needed and kerosene costing as much, there will\nbe enough instruction. Besides, in the summer every boy is of use to\nthe peasant, and in summer proceeds the life instruction, which is more\nimportant than school learning. The masses say that there is no reason\nwhy they should pay the teacher during the summer. \"Rather will we\nincrease his pay for the winter months, and that will please him better.\nWe prefer to hire a teacher at twenty-five roubles a month for seven\nmonths, than at twelve roubles a month for the whole year. For the\nsummer the teacher will hire himself out elsewhere.\"\n\nAs to the third question, the distribution of the schools according to\nlocalities, the arrangements of the masses most markedly differ from\nthose of the school council. In the first place, the distribution of the\nschools, that is, whether there shall be more or less of them for a\ncertain locality, always depends on the character of the whole\npopulation (when the masses themselves attend to it). Wherever the\nmasses are more industrial and work out, where they are nearer to the\ncities, where they need the rudiments,--there there are more schools;\nwhere the locality is more removed and agricultural, there there are\nfewer of them. In the second place, when the masses themselves attend to\nthe matter, they distribute the schools in such a way as to give all the\nparents a chance to make use of the schools in return for their money,\nthat is, to send their children to school. The peasants of small, remote\nvillages of from thirty to forty souls, where half the population will\nbe found, prefer to have a cheap teacher in their own village, than an\nexpensive one in the centre of the township, whither their children\ncannot walk or be driven. By this distribution of the schools, the\nschools themselves, as arranged by the peasants, depart, it is true,\nfrom the required pattern of the school, but, instead, acquire the most\ndiversified forms, everywhere adapting themselves to local conditions.\nHere a clerical person from a neighbouring village teaches eight boys at\nhis house, receiving fifty kopeks a month from each. Here a small\nvillage hires a soldier for eight roubles for the winter, and he goes\nfrom house to house. Here a rich innkeeper hires a teacher for his\nchildren for five roubles and board, and the neighbouring peasants join\nhim, by adding two roubles for each of their boys. There a large village\nor a compact township levies fifteen kopeks from each of the twelve\nhundred souls and hires a teacher for 180 roubles for the winter. There\nthe priest teaches, receiving as a remuneration either money, or labour,\nor both. The chief difference in this respect between the view of the\npeasants and that of the County Council is this: the peasants, according\nto the more or less favourable local conditions, introduce schools of a\nbetter or worse quality, but always in such a way that there is not a\nsingle locality where some kind of instruction is not offered; while\nwith the arrangement of the County Council a large half of the\npopulation is left outside every possibility of partaking of that\neducation even in the distant future.\n\nIn matters of the petty villages, forming one-half of the population,\nthe ministerial department acts most decisively. It says: \"We provide\nschools where there is a building and where the peasants of the township\nhave collected enough money to support a teacher at two hundred roubles.\nWe will contribute from the County Council what is wanting, and the\nschool is entered on the lists.\" The villages that are removed from the\nschool may send their children there, if they so wish. Of course, the\npeasants do not take their children there, because it is too far, and\nyet they pay. Thus, in the Y\u00e1senets township all pay for three schools,\nbut only 450 souls in three villages make use of the school, though\nthere are in all three thousand souls; thus, only one-seventh of the\npopulation makes use of the school, though all pay for it. In the\nCherm\u00f3shen township there are nine hundred souls and there is a school\nthere, but only thirty pupils attend it, because all the villages of\nthat township are scattered. To nine hundred souls there ought to be\nfour hundred pupils. And yet, both in the Y\u00e1senets and the Cherm\u00f3shen\ntownships the question of the distribution of schools is regarded as\nsatisfactorily solved.\n\nIn matters of the choice of a teacher, the masses are again guided by\nquite different views from the County Council. In choosing a teacher,\nthe masses look upon him in their own way, and judge him accordingly. If\nthe teacher has been in the neighbourhood, and the masses know what the\nresults of his teaching are, they value him according to these results\nas a good or as a bad teacher; but, in addition to the scholastic\nqualities, the masses demand that the teacher shall be a man who stands\nin close relations to the peasant, able to understand his life and to\nspeak Russian, and so they will always prefer a country to a city\nteacher. In doing so, the masses have no bias and no antipathy toward\nany class in particular: he may be a gentleman, official, burgher,\nsoldier, sexton, priest,--that makes no difference so long as he is a\nsimple man and a Russian. For this reason the peasants have no cause for\nexcluding clerical persons, as the County Councils do. The County\nCouncils select their teachers from among strangers, getting them from\nthe cities, while the masses look for them among themselves. But the\nchief difference in this respect between the view of the Communes and\nthat of the County Council consists in this: the County Council has only\none type,--the teacher who has attended pedagogical courses, who has\nfinished a course in a seminary or school, at two hundred roubles; but\nwith the masses, who do not exclude this teacher and appreciate him, if\nhe is good, there are gradations of all kinds of teachers. Besides, with\nthe majority of school councils there are definite favourite types of\nteachers, for the most part such as are foreign to the masses and\nantagonistic to them, and other types which the school councils\ndislike. Thus, evidently, the favourite type of many counties of the\nGovernment of T\u00fala are lady teachers; the disliked type are the clerical\npersons, and in the whole of the T\u00fala and Krap\u00edvensk counties there is\nnot one school with a teacher from the clergy, which is quite remarkable\nfrom an administrative point of view. In Krap\u00edvensk County there are\nfifty parishes. The clerical persons are the cheapest of teachers,\nbecause they are permanently settled and for the most part can teach in\ntheir own houses with the aid of their wives and daughters,--and these\nare, it seems, purposely avoided, as though they were very harmful\npeople.\n\nIn matters of the remuneration of the teachers, the difference between\nthe view of the masses and that of the County Council has almost all\nbeen expressed in the preceding pages. It consists in this: (1) the\nmasses choose a teacher according to their means, and they admit and\nknow from experience that there are teachers at all prices, from two\npuds of flour a month to thirty roubles a month; (2) teachers are to be\nremunerated for the winter months, for those during which there can be\nsome instruction; (3) the masses, in the housing of the school as also\nin matters of the remuneration of the teachers, always know how to find\na cheap way: they give flour, hay, the use of carts, eggs, and all kinds\nof trifles, which are imperceptible to the world at large, but which\nimprove the teacher's condition; (4) above all, a teacher is paid, or is\nremunerated in addition to the payment, by the parents of the pupils,\nwho pay by the month, or by the whole Commune which enjoys the\nadvantages of the school, and not by the administration that has no\ndirect interest in the matter.\n\nThe ministerial department cannot act differently in this respect. The\nnorm of the salary for a model teacher is given, consequently these\nmeans have to be got together in some way. For example: a Commune\nintends to open a school,--the township gives it a certain number of\nkopeks per soul. The County Council calculates how much to add. If there\nare no demands made by other schools, it gives more, sometimes twice as\nmuch as the Commune has given; at times, when all the money has been\ndistributed, it gives less, or entirely refuses to give any. Thus, there\nis in Krap\u00edvensk County a Commune which gives ninety roubles, and the\nCounty Council adds to that three hundred roubles for a school with an\nassistant; and there is another Commune which gives 250 roubles, and the\nCounty Council adds another fifty roubles; and a third Commune which\noffers fifty-six roubles, and the County Council refuses to add anything\nor to open the school, because that money is insufficient for a normal\nschool, and all the money has been distributed.\n\nThus, the chief distinctions between the administrative view of the\nmasses and that of the County Council are the following: (1) the County\nCouncil pays great attention to the housing and spends large sums upon\nit, while the masses obviate this difficulty by domestic, economic\nmeans, and look upon the primary schools as temporary, passing\ninstitutions; (2) the ministerial department demands that instruction be\ncarried on during the whole year, with the exception of July and August,\nand nowhere introduces evening classes, while the masses demand that\ninstruction be carried on only in the winter and are fond of evening\nclasses; (3) the ministerial department has a definite type of teachers,\nwithout which it does not recognize the school, and has a loathing for\nclerical persons and, in general, for local instructors; the masses\nrecognize no norm and choose their teachers preferably from local\ninhabitants; (4) the ministerial department distributes the schools by\naccident, that is, it is guided only by the desire of forming a normal\nschool, and has no care for that greater half of the population which\nunder such a distribution is left outside the school education; the\nmasses not only recognize no definite external form of the school, but\nin the greatest variety of ways get teachers with all kinds of means,\narranging worse and cheaper schools with small means and good and\nexpensive schools with greater means, and turn their attention to\nfurnishing all localities with instruction in return for their money;\n(5) the ministerial department determines one measure of remuneration,\nwhich is sufficiently high, and arbitrarily increases the amount from\nthe County Council; the masses demand the greatest possible economy and\ndistribute the remuneration in such a way that those whose children are\ntaught pay directly.\n\nIt seems as though it would be superfluous to expatiate on how clearly\nthe common sense of the masses is expressed in these demands, in\ncontradistinction to that artificial structure, in which, at its very\nbirth, they are trying to imprison the business of popular education.\nEven besides this, the feeling of justice is involuntarily provoked\nagainst such an order of things. See what is taking place. The masses\nhave felt the necessity of education, and have begun to work in the\ndirection of attaining their end. In addition to all the taxes which\nthey pay, they have voluntarily imposed upon themselves the tax for\neducation, that is, they have begun to hire teachers. What have we done?\n\"Oh, you are able to pay,\" we said, \"wait, then, for you are stupid and\nrude. Let us have the money, and we will arrange it for you in the best\nmanner possible.\"\n\nThe masses have given up their money (as I have said, in many County\nCouncils the levy for the schools has been turned directly into a tax).\nThe money was taken, and the education was arranged for them.\n\nI am not going to repeat about the artificiality of the education, but\nhow the whole matter has been arranged. In Krap\u00edvensk County there are\nforty thousand souls, including girls, according to the last census.\nAccording to Bunyak\u00f3vski's table of the distribution of ten thousand of\nthe Orthodox population for the year 1862, there ought to be, of the\nmale sex between six and fourteen years, 1,834, and of the female sex,\n1,989,--in all 3,823 to each ten thousand. According to my own\nobservations, there ought to be more, no doubt on account of the\nincrease of the population, so that the average school population may\nboldly be put at four thousand. In a school there are, on an average, in\nthe large centres, about sixty pupils, and in the smaller, from ten to\ntwenty-five. In order that all may receive instruction, the smaller\ncentres, forming the greater half of the population, need schools for\nten, fifteen, and twenty pupils, so that the average of a school, in my\nopinion, would be not more than thirty pupils. How many schools are,\nthen, needed for sixteen thousand pupils? Divide sixteen thousand by\nthirty, and we get 530 schools. Let us assume that, although at the\nopening of the schools all pupils from seven to fifteen years of age\nwill enter, not all will attend regularly for the period of eight years;\nlet us reject one-fourth, that is 130 schools and, consequently, 4,200\npupils. Let us say that there are four hundred schools. Only twenty have\nbeen opened. The County Council gives two thousand roubles and has added\none thousand roubles, making in all three thousand roubles. From some of\nthe peasants, not from all, fifteen kopeks are levied from each soul, in\nall about four thousand roubles. On the building of schools seven\nhundred roubles are spent, and on the pedagogical courses twelve hundred\nroubles have been used in one year. But let us suppose that the County\nCouncil will act quite simply and sensibly, and will not waste money on\npedagogical courses and other trifles; let us suppose that all peasants\nwill pay the new school tax of fifteen kopeks, what will the future of\nthis matter be? From the peasants six thousand, from the County Council\nthree thousand, in all nine thousand. Let us assume that ten more\nschools will be added. Nine thousand roubles will barely suffice for the\nsupport of these schools, and that only in case the school council will\nact most prudently and economically. Consequently, with the County\nCouncil administration, thirty schools to forty thousand of the\npopulation are the highest limit of what the dissemination of the\nschools in the county may reach. And this limit of the school business\ncan be attained only if the peasants will levy fifteen kopeks on each\nsoul, which is extremely doubtful, and if the disbursement of this money\nwill be in the hands of the peasants, and not of the County Council. I\ndo not speak of the possible increase of three thousand roubles, because\nthis increase of three thousand roubles partly falls back on those same\npeasants, and on the other hand is not secured by anything, forming only\nan accidental means. Thus, in order to bring the business of popular\neducation to the state in which it ought to be, that is, in order that\nthere shall be four hundred schools to the forty thousand of the\npopulation, and in order that the schools shall not be a toy, but may\nanswer a real want of the masses, there is no other issue than that the\npeasants be taxed, not fifteen kopeks, but three roubles a soul, in\norder that the necessary three hundred roubles to each school be\nobtained. Even then I do not see any reason for thinking that as many\nschools as are needed would be built.\n\nDo we not see that now, when the simplest arithmetical calculation shows\nthat the only means for the success of the schools is the simplification\nof methods, the simplicity and cheapness of the arrangement of the\nschool,--the pedagogues are busy, as though having made a wager to\nconcoct a most difficult, most complicated, and expensive (and, I must\nadd, most bad) instruction? In the manuals of Messrs. Bun\u00e1kov and\nEvtush\u00e9vski I have figured up three hundred roubles' worth of aids to\ninstruction which, in their opinion, are absolutely necessary for the\nestablishment of a primary school. All they talk about in pedagogical\ncircles is how to prepare improved teachers in the seminaries, so that a\nvillage might not be able to get them even for four hundred roubles. On\nthat road of perfection, on which pedagogy stands, it is quite apparent\nto me that if 120,000 roubles were collected in a county, the pedagogues\nwould find use for them all in twenty schools, with adjustable tables,\nseminaries for teachers, and so forth. Have we not seen that forty\nschools were closed in Krap\u00edvensk County, and that those who closed them\nwere fully convinced that they thus advanced the cause of education, for\nnow they have twenty \"good\" schools? But what is most remarkable is that\nthose who express these demands are not in the least interested in\nknowing whether the masses for whom they are preparing all these things\nwant them, and still less, who is going to pay for it all. But the\nCounty Councils are so befogged by these demands that they do not see\nthe simple calculation and the simple justice. It is as though a man\nasked me to buy him two puds of flour for a month, and I bought him for\nthat rouble a box of perfumed confectionery and reproached him for his\nignorance, because he was dissatisfied.\n\nAs I wish to remain true to my rule that criticism should point out how\nthat which is not good ought to be, I shall try to show how the whole\nschool business ought to be arranged, if it is not to be a plaything,\nand is to have a future. The answer is the same as to the first two\nquestions,--freedom. The masses must be given the freedom to arrange\ntheir schools as they wish, and as little as possible should any one\ninterfere in their arrangement. Only with such a view of the matter will\nall the obstacles to the dissemination of the schools be obviated,\nthough they have seemed insuperable. The chief obstacles are the\ninsufficiency of the means and the impossibility of increasing them. To\nthe first the masses reply that they are using all the measures at\ntheir command to make the schools cost little; to the second they reply\nthat the means will always be found so long as they themselves are the\nmasters, and that they are not willing to increase the means for the\nsupport of that which they do not need.\n\nThe essential difference between the view of the people and of the\nministerial department consists in the following: (1) In the opinion of\nthe masses there is no one definite norm and form of the school, outside\nand below which the school is not recognized, as is assumed by the\nministerial department; a school may be of any kind, either a very good\nand expensive one, or a very poor and cheap one, but even in a very poor\none reading and writing may be learned, and, as in a richer parish a\nbetter pope is appointed and a better church built, so also may a better\nschool be built in a wealthy village, and a poorer school in a less\nwell-to-do village; but just as one can pray equally well in a poor or\nin a rich parish, even so it is with learning. (2) The masses regard as\nthe first condition of their education an even, equal distribution of\nthis education, though it be in its lowest stage, and then only they\npropose a further, again an even, raising of the level of education,\nwhile the ministerial department considers it necessary to give to a\ncertain chosen few, to one-twentieth of the whole number, a specimen of\neducation, to show them how nice it is. (3) The ministerial department,\neither unable or purposely unwilling to calculate, has raised the\neducational business to such a high, expensive level, and one which is\nso foreign to the masses, that considering the high price at which the\neducation is acquired, no issue from that situation can be foreseen, and\nthe number of learners can never be increased; but the masses, who know\nhow to calculate, and who are interested in that calculation, have no\ndoubt long ago figured out what I have pointed out above, and see as\nclear as daylight that those expensive schools, which cost as much as\nfour hundred roubles each, may be good indeed, but are not what they\nneed, and try in every way possible to diminish the expenses for their\nschools.\n\nWhat, then, is to be done? How are the County Councils to act in order\nthat this business may not be a plaything and a pastime, but shall have\na future? Let them conform with the needs of the masses, and, so far as\npossible, cheapen and free the forms of the school, and afford the\nCommunes the greatest possible power in the establishment of the\nschools.\n\nFor this it is necessary that the County Councils shall entirely abandon\nthe distribution of the taxes to the schools and the distribution of the\nschools according to localities, but shall leave this distribution to\nthe peasants themselves. The determination of the pay to the teacher,\nthe hiring, purchase, or building of the house, the choice of place and\nof the teacher himself,--all that ought to be left to the peasants. The\nCounty Council, that is, the school council, should only demand that the\nCommunes inform it where and on what foundations schools have been\nestablished, not in order that, upon learning the facts, it shall\nprohibit them, as is done now, but in order that, learning about the\nconditions under which the school exists, it may add (if the conditions\nare in conformity with the demands of the council) from its County\nCouncil's sums, for the support of the school newly founded, a certain,\ndefinite part of what the school costs the Commune: a half, a third, a\nfourth, according to the quality of the school and the means and wishes\nof the County Council. Thus, for example, a village of twenty souls\nhires a transient man at two roubles a month to teach the children. The\nschool council, that is, a person authorized by it, of whom I shall\nspeak later, upon receiving that information, invites the transient to\ncome to him, asks him what he knows and how he teaches, and, if the\ntransient is the least bit educated and does not represent anything\nharmful, apportions to him the amount determined upon by the County\nCouncil, one-half, one-third, or one-fourth, in precisely the same way\nthe school council proceeds in reference to a clerical person hired by\nthe Commune at five roubles per month, or in reference to a teacher\nhired at fifteen roubles per month. Of course, that is the way the\nschool council acts in reference to the teachers hired by the Communes\nthemselves; but if the Communes turn to the school council, the latter\nrecommends to them teachers under the same conditions. But in doing so\nthe County Council must not forget that there should not be merely\nteachers at two hundred roubles; the school council should be an\nemployment agency for teachers of every description and of every price,\nfrom one rouble to thirty roubles a month. On buildings the school\ncouncil ought not to spend or add anything, because they are one of the\nmost unproductive items of expense. But the County Council ought not to\ndisdain, as it now does, teachers at two, three, four, five roubles per\nmonth and locations in smoky huts or by rotation from farm to farm.\n\nThe County Council ought to remember that the prototype of the school,\nthat ideal toward which it ought to tend, is not a stone building with\nan iron roof, with blackboards and desks, such as we see in model\nschools, but the very hut in which the peasant lives, with those benches\nand tables on which he eats, and not a teacher in a Prince Albert or a\nlady teacher in a chignon, but a male teacher in a caftan and shirt, or\na female teacher in a peasant skirt and with a kerchief on her head, and\nnot with one hundred pupils, but with five, six, or ten.\n\nThe County Council must have no bias or antipathy for certain types of\nteachers, as is the case at present. Thus, for example, the T\u00fala County\nCouncil just now has a special bias for the type of school-teachers from\nthe gymnasia and clerical schools, and the greater part of the schools\nin T\u00fala County are in their charge. In Krap\u00edvensk County there exists a\nstrange antipathy for teachers from the clerical profession, so that in\nthis county, where there are as many as fifty parishes, there is not one\nclerical person employed as a teacher. The County Council, in proposing\na teacher, ought to be guided by two chief considerations: in the first\nplace, that the teacher should be as cheap as possible; in the second,\nthat by his education he should stand as near to the masses as possible.\nOnly thanks to the opposite view on the matter can be explained such an\ninexplicable phenomenon as that in Krap\u00edvensk County (almost the same is\ntrue of the whole Government and of the majority of Governments) there\nare fifty parishes and twenty schools, and that for these twenty schools\nthere is not a single clerical teacher, although there is not a parish\nwhere a priest, or a deacon, or a sexton, or their daughters and wives\ncould not be found, who would not be glad to do the teaching for\none-fourth the pay that the teachers coming from the city would be\nwilling to take.\n\nBut I shall be told: What kind of schools will those be with bigots,\ndrunken soldiers, expelled scribes, and sextons? And what control can\nthere be over those formless schools? To this I will reply that, in the\nfirst place, these teachers, bigots, soldiers, and sextons are not so\nbad as they are imagined to be. In my school practice I often had to do\nwith pupils from these schools, and some of them could read fluently and\nwrite beautifully, and soon abandoned the bad habits which they brought\nwith them from those schools. All of us know peasants who have learned\nthe rudiments in such schools, and it cannot be said that this learning\nwas useless or injurious. In the second place, I will say that teachers\nof that calibre are especially bad because they are quite abandoned in\nthe backwoods and teach without any aid or instruction, and that now\nthere is not to be found a single one of the old teachers who would not\ntell you with regret that he does not know the new methods and has\nhimself learned for copper pence, and that many of them, especially the\nyounger church servants, are quite willing to learn the new methods.\nThese teachers ought not to be rejected without further ado as\nabsolutely worthless. There are among them better and worse teachers\n(and I have seen some very capable ones). They ought to be compared; the\nbetter of them ought to be selected, encouraged, brought together with\nother better teachers, and instructed,--which is quite feasible and\nprecisely the thing in which the duty of the school council is to\nconsist.\n\nBut how are they to be controlled, watched, and taught, if they breed by\nthe hundred in each county? In my opinion the work of the County Council\nand school council ought to consist in nothing but watching the\npedagogical side of the business, and that is feasible, if these means\nwill be taken: in every County Council, which has taken upon itself the\nduty of the dissemination of popular education, or the co\u00f6peration with\nit, there ought to be one person--whether it be an unpaid member of the\nschool council, or a man at a salary of not less than one thousand\nroubles, hired by the County Council--who is to attend to the\npedagogical side of the business in the county. That person ought to\nhave a general, fresh education within the limits of a gymnasium course,\nthat is, he must know Russian thoroughly and Church-Slavic partly,\narithmetic and algebra thoroughly, and be a teacher, that is, know the\npractice of pedagogy. This person must be freshly educated, because I\nhave observed that frequently the information of a man who has long ago\nfinished his course even in a university, and who has not refreshed his\neducation, is insufficient, not only for the guidance of teachers, but\neven for the examination of a village school. This person must by all\nmeans be a teacher himself in the same locality, in order that in his\ndemands and instructions he may always have in view that pedagogical\nmaterial with which the other teachers have to deal, and that he may\nsustain in himself that live relation to reality which is the chief\npreservative against error and delusion. If a County Council does not\npossess such a man and does not wish to employ one, it has, in my\nopinion, absolutely nothing to do with the popular education, except to\ngive money, because every interference with the administrative side of\nthe matter, in the way it is done now, can only be injurious.\n\nThis member of the County Council, or the educated person hired by it,\nmust have the best model school, with an assistant, in the county. In\naddition to conducting this school and applying to it all the newest\nmethods of instruction, this head teacher ought to keep an eye on all\nthe other schools. This school is not to be a model in the sense of\nintroducing into it all kinds of cubes and pictures and all kinds of\nnonsense invented by the Germans, but the teacher in this school should\nexperiment on just such peasant children as the other schools consist\nof, in order to determine the simplest methods which may be adopted by\nthe majority of the teachers, sextons, and soldiers, who form the bulk\nof all the schools. Since with the arrangement which I propose there\nwill certainly be formed large complete schools in the larger centres\n(as I think, in the proportion of one to twenty of all the other\nschools), and in these large schools the teachers will be of a grade of\neducation equal to that of the seminarists who have finished a course in\na theological school, the head teacher will visit all these larger\nschools, bring together these teachers on Sundays, point out to them the\ndefects, propose new methods, give counsel and books for their own\neducation, and invite them to his school on Sundays. The library of the\nhead teacher ought to consist of several copies of the Bible, of\nChurch-Slavic and Russian grammars, arithmetic, and algebra. The head\nteacher, whenever he has time, will visit also the small schools and\ninvite their teachers to come to see him; but the duty of watching the\nminor teachers is imposed on the older teachers, who just in the same\nway visit their district and invite those teachers to come to see them\non Sundays and on week-days. The County Council either pays the teachers\nfor travelling, or, in adding its portion to what the Communes levy,\nmakes it a condition that the Communes furnish transportation. The\nmeetings of the teachers and the visits in similar or better schools are\none of the chief conditions for the successful conduct of the business\nof education, and so the County Council ought to direct its main\nattention to the organization of these meetings, and not spare any money\nfor them.\n\nBesides, in the large schools, where there will be more than fifty\npupils, there ought to be chosen, instead of the assistants which they\nnow have, such of the pupils, of either sex, as show marked ability for\na teacher's calling, and they should be made assistants, two or three in\neach school. These assistants should receive a salary of fifty kopeks to\none rouble per month, and the teacher should work with them separately\nin the evenings, so that they may not fall behind the others. These\nassistants, chosen from among the best, are to form the future teachers,\nto take the place of the lowest in the minor schools.\n\nNaturally the organization of these teachers' meetings, both for the\nsmaller and the larger schools, and the head teacher's visits of\ninspection, and the formation of teachers from pupils acting as\nassistants may take place in a large variety of ways; the main point is\nthat the surveillance of any number of schools (even though it may reach\nthe norm of one school to every one hundred souls) is possible in this\nmanner. With such an arrangement the teachers of both the large and the\nsmall schools will feel that their labours are appreciated, that they\nhave not buried themselves in the backwoods without hope of salvation,\nthat they have companions and guides, and that in the matter of\ninstruction, both for their own further education and for the\nimprovement of their situation, they have means for advancement. With\nsuch an arrangement, the devotee and the sexton who are able to learn\nwill learn; while those who are unable or unwilling to do so will be\nreplaced by some one else.\n\nThe time of instruction ought to be, as is the wish of all peasants,\nduring the seven winter months, and so the salary is to be determined by\nthe month. With such an arrangement, leaving out the rapidity and the\nequal distribution of education, the advantage will be this, that the\nschools will be established in those centres where the necessity for\nthem is felt by the masses, where they are established spontaneously\nand, therefore, firmly. Where the character of the population demands\neducation it will be permanent. Just look: in the towns, the children of\nthe innkeepers and well-to-do peasants learn to read in one way or\nanother and never forget what they have learned; but in the backwoods,\nwhere a landed proprietor founds a school, the children learn well, but\nin ten years all is forgotten, and the population is as illiterate as\never. For this reason the centres, large or small, where the schools are\nestablished spontaneously, are particularly precious. Where such a\nschool has germinated, no matter how poor it be, it will throw out\nroots, and sooner or later the population will be able to read and\nwrite. Consequently, these sprouts ought to be deemed precious, and not\nbe treated, as they are everywhere,--they ought not to be forbidden,\nbecause the schools are not according to our taste, that is, the sprouts\nought not to be killed, and branches stuck in the ground where they will\nnot take root.\n\nWith merely such an arrangement, without the establishment of costly and\nartificial seminaries, the chosen ones--those selected from the best of\nthe pupils themselves, and those who are educated in the schools--will\nform that contingent of cheap popular teachers who will take the place\nof the soldiers and sextons and will fully satisfy all the demands of\nthe masses and of the educated classes. The chief advantage of such an\narrangement is that it alone gives the development of popular education\na future, that is, takes us out from that blind alley into which the\nCounty Councils have gone, thanks to the expensive schools and to the\nabsence of new sources for the increase of their numbers. Only when the\nmasses themselves choose the centres for the schools, themselves choose\nteachers, determine the amount of the remuneration, and directly enjoy\nthe advantages of the schools, will they be ready to add means for the\nschools if such should become necessary. I know Communes that paid fifty\nkopeks a soul for a school in each of their villages; but it is\ndifficult to compel the peasants to pay fifteen kopeks for a school in\nthe township, if not all of them can make use of it. For the whole\ncounty, for the County Council, the peasants will not add a single\nkopek, because they feel that they will not enjoy the advantages of\ntheir money. Only with such an arrangement will be found soon the means\nfor the proper maintenance of all schools, of one to each one hundred\nsouls, which seems so impossible in the present state of affairs.\n\nIn addition to this, with the arrangement which I propose, the interests\nof the peasant Communes and of the County Council, as the representative\nof the intelligence of the locality, will indissolubly be connected. Let\nus say that the County Council gives one-third of what the peasants\ngive. In furnishing this amount, it will evidently, in one way or\nanother, see to it that the money is not wasted, and, consequently, will\nalso keep an eye on the two-thirds given by the peasant Communes. The\npeasant Commune sees that the County Council gives its part, and so\nadmits the right of the Council to follow the progress of the\ninstruction. At the same time, it has an object-lesson in the difference\nwhich exists between a school maintained at a smaller and that\nmaintained at a greater expense, and chooses the one which it needs or\nwhich is more accessible to it in accordance with its means.\n\nI will again take Krap\u00edvensk County, with which I am familiar, to show\nwhat difference the proposed arrangement would make. I cannot have the\nslightest doubt that the moment permission is granted to open schools,\nwherever wanted and of any description desired, there will at once\nappear very many schools. I am convinced that in Krap\u00edvensk County, in\nwhich there are fifty parishes, there will always be a school in each\nparish, because the parishes are always centres of population, and\nbecause among the church servants there will always be found one who is\ncapable of teaching, likes to teach, and will find his advantage in it.\nIn addition to the schools maintained by the church servants there will\nbe opened those forty schools that have been closed (more correctly\nthirty, because ten of them were church schools), and there will be\nopened very many new schools, so that in a very short time there will be\nnot far from four hundred instead of the twenty at present.\n\nI may be believed or not, but I will assume that in Krap\u00edvensk County\n380 additional schools will be opened, the moment they are given over to\nthe masses, so that there will be four hundred in all, and I will try to\ndetermine whether the existence of these four hundred schools, that is,\nof twenty times as many as at present, is possible under the conditions\nwhich I have assumed in discussing the existing order.\n\nAssuming that all peasants pay fifteen kopeks per soul, and the County\nCouncil gives three thousand roubles, there will be nine thousand\nroubles, which will suffice only for thirty schools with the former\narrangement. But with the new arrangement:\n\nI assume that ten of the old schools are left intact; in these schools\nthe teachers get twenty roubles per month, which, for the seven winter\nmonths, amounts to fourteen hundred roubles.\n\nI assume that in every parish there will be established a school with\nthe teacher's salary at five roubles per month, which, for fifty\nschools, amounts to 1,750 roubles.\n\nI assume the remaining 340 schools are of the cheap character, at two\nroubles per month; fifteen roubles for each of the 340 schools makes\n5,100 roubles.\n\nThus the four hundred schools will demand an expenditure in salaries\namounting to 8,250 roubles. There are still left 750 roubles for school\nappliances and transportation.\n\nThe figures for the teachers' wages are not chosen arbitrarily by me: on\nthe other hand, the expensive teachers are given a larger salary than\nthey now get by the month for the whole year. Even so, the amount\napportioned to the church servants is what they now receive in the\nmajority of cases. But the cheap schools at two roubles per month are\nassumed by me at a higher rate than what the peasants in reality pay, so\nthat the calculation may boldly be accepted. In this calculation is\nincluded the kernel of ten chief teachers and ten or more church servant\nteachers. It is evident that only with such a calculation will the\nschool business be placed on a serious and possible basis and have a\nclear and definite future.\n\nIf what I have pointed out does not convince anybody that will mean that\nI did not express clearly what I wanted to say, and do not wish to enter\ninto any disputes with anybody. I know that no deaf people are so\nhopeless as those who do not want to hear. I know how it is with\nfarmers. A new threshing-machine has been bought at a great expense, and\nit is put up and started threshing. It threshes miserably, no matter how\nyou set the screw; it threshes badly, and the grain falls into the\nstraw. There is a loss, and it is as clear as can be that the machine\nought to be abandoned and another means be employed for threshing, but\nthe money has been spent and the threshing-machine is put up. \"Let her\nthresh,\" says the master. Precisely the same thing will happen with this\nmatter. I know that for a long time to come there will flourish the\nobject instruction, and cubes, and buttons instead of arithmetic, and\nhissing and sputtering, in teaching the letters, and twenty expensive\nschools of the German pattern, instead of the needed four hundred\npopular, cheap schools. But I know just as surely that the common sense\nof the Russian nation will not permit this false, artificial system of\ninstruction to be foisted upon it.\n\nThe masses are the chief interested person and the judge, and now do not\npay a particle of attention to our more or less ingenious discussions\nabout the manner in which the spiritual food of education is best to be\nprepared for them. They do not care, because they are firmly convinced\nthat in the great business of their mental development they will not\nmake a false step and will not accept what is bad,--and it would be like\nmaking pease stick to the wall to attempt to educate, direct, and teach\nthem in the German fashion.\n\n\n\n\nWHAT MEN LIVE BY\n\n1881\n\n\n\n\nWHAT MEN LIVE BY\n\n We know that we have passed from death unto life, because we love\n the brethren. He that loveth not his brother abideth in death.\n (First Ep. of John, iii. 14.)\n\n But whoso hath this world's good, and seeth his brother have need,\n and shutteth, up his heart from him, how dwelleth the love of God\n in him? (_Ib._ iii. 17.)\n\n My children, let us not love in word, neither in tongue; but in\n deed and in truth. (_Ib._ iii. 18.)\n\n Love is of God; and every one that loveth is born of God, and\n knoweth God. (_Ib._ iv. 7.)\n\n He that loveth not knoweth not God; for God is love. (_Ib._ iv. 8.)\n\n No man hath seen God at any time. If we love one another, God\n dwelleth in us. (_Ib._ iv. 12.)\n\n God is love; and he that dwelleth in love dwelleth in God, and God\n in him. (_Ib._ iv. 16.)\n\n If a man say, I love God, and hateth his brother, he is a liar: for\n he that loveth not his brother whom he hath seen, how can he love\n God whom he hath not seen. (_Ib._ iv. 20.)\n\n\nI.\n\nA shoemaker was lodging with his wife and children at the house of a\npeasant. He had no house, no land of his own, and supported his family\nby his shoemaker's trade. Bread was dear, but work was cheap, and he\nspent everything he made. The shoemaker and his wife had one fur coat\nbetween them, and even that was all worn to tatters; this was the second\nyear that the shoemaker had been meaning to buy a sheepskin for a new\nfur coat.\n\nToward fall the shoemaker had saved some money: three roubles in paper\nlay in his wife's coffer, and five roubles and twenty kopeks were\noutstanding in the village.\n\nIn the morning the shoemaker went to the village to get him that fur\ncoat. He put on his wife's wadded nankeen jacket over his shirt, and\nover it his cloth caftan; he put the three-rouble bill into his pocket,\nbroke off a stick, and started after breakfast. He thought:\n\n\"I shall get the five roubles from the peasant, will add my own three,\nand with that will buy me a sheepskin for the fur coat.\"\n\nThe shoemaker came to the village, and called on the peasant: he was not\nat home, and his wife promised to send her husband with the money, but\ngave him none herself. He went to another peasant, but the peasant swore\nthat he had no money, and gave him only twenty kopeks for mending a pair\nof boots. The shoemaker made up his mind to take the sheepskin on\ncredit, but the furrier would not give it to him.\n\n\"Bring me the money,\" he said, \"and then you can choose any you please;\nwe know what it means to collect debts.\"\n\nThus the shoemaker accomplished nothing. All he got was the twenty\nkopeks for the boots he had mended, and a peasant gave him a pair of\nfelt boots to patch with leather.\n\nThe shoemaker was grieved, spent all the twenty kopeks on v\u00f3dka, and\nstarted home without the fur coat. In the morning it had seemed frosty\nto him, but now that he had drunk a little he felt warm even without the\nfur coat. The shoemaker walked along, with one hand striking the stick\nagainst the frozen mud clumps, and swinging the felt boots in the other,\nand talking to himself.\n\n\"I am warm even without a fur coat,\" he said. \"I have drunk a cup, and\nthe v\u00f3dka is coursing through all my veins. I do not need a sheepskin.\nI have forgotten my woe. That's the kind of a man I am! What do I care!\nI can get along without a fur coat: I do not need it all the time. The\nonly trouble is the old woman will be sorry. It is a shame indeed: I\nwork for him, and he leads me by the nose. Just wait! If you do not\nbring the money, I'll take away your cap, upon my word, I will! How is\nthis? He pays me back two dimes at a time! What can you do with two\ndimes? Take a drink, that is all. He says he suffers want. You suffer\nwant, and am I not suffering? You have a house, and cattle, and\neverything, and here is all I possess; you have your own grain, and I\nhave to buy it. I may do as I please, but I have to spend three roubles\na week on bread. I come home, and the bread is gone: again lay out a\nrouble and a half! So give me what is mine!\"\n\nThus the shoemaker came up to a chapel at the turn of the road, and\nthere he saw something that looked white, right near the chapel. It was\ngrowing dusk, and the shoemaker strained his eyes, but could not make\nout what it was.\n\n\"There was no stone here,\" he thought. \"A cow? It does not look like a\ncow. It looks like the head of a man, and there is something white\nbesides. And what should a man be doing there?\"\n\nHe came nearer, and he could see plainly. What marvel was that? It was\nreally a man, either alive or dead, sitting there all naked, leaning\nagainst the chapel, and not stirring in the least. The shoemaker was\nfrightened, and thought to himself:\n\n\"Somebody must have killed a man, and stripped him of his clothes, and\nthrown him away there. If I go up to him, I shall never clear myself.\"\n\nAnd the shoemaker went past. He walked around the chapel, and the man\nwas no longer to be seen. He went past the chapel, and looked back, and\nsaw the man leaning away from the building and moving, as though\nwatching him. The shoemaker was frightened even more than before, and he\nthought to himself:\n\n\"Shall I go up to him, or not? If I go up, something bad may happen. Who\nknows what kind of a man he is? He did not get there for anything good.\nIf I go up, he will spring at me and choke me, and I shall not get away\nfrom him; and if he does not choke me, I may have trouble with him all\nthe same. What can I do with him, since he is naked? Certainly I cannot\ntake off the last from me and give it to him! May God save me!\"\n\nAnd the shoemaker increased his steps. He was already a distance away\nfrom the chapel, when his conscience began to smite him.\n\nAnd the shoemaker stopped on the road.\n\n\"What are you doing, Sem\u00e9n?\" he said to himself. \"A man is dying in\nmisery, and you go past him and lose your courage. Have you suddenly\ngrown so rich? Are you afraid that they will rob you of your wealth? Oh,\nSem\u00e9n, it is not right!\"\n\nSem\u00e9n turned back, and went up to the man.\n\n\nII.\n\nSem\u00e9n walked over to the man, and looked at him; and saw that it was a\nyoung man, in the prime of his strength, with no bruises on his body,\nbut evidently frozen and frightened: he was leaning back and did not\nlook at Sem\u00e9n, as though he were weakened and could not raise his eyes.\nSem\u00e9n went up close to him, and the man suddenly seemed to wake up. He\nturned his head, opened his eyes, and looked at Sem\u00e9n. And this one\nglance made Sem\u00e9n think well of the man. He threw down the felt boots,\nungirt himself, put his belt on the boots, and took off his caftan.\n\n\"What is the use of talking?\" he said. \"Put it on! Come now!\"\n\nSem\u00e9n took the man by his elbows and began to raise him. The man got up.\nAnd Sem\u00e9n saw that his body was soft and clean, his hands and feet not\ncalloused, and his face gentle. Sem\u00e9n threw his caftan over the man's\nshoulders. He could not find his way into the sleeves. So Sem\u00e9n put them\nin, pulled the caftan on him, wrapped him in it, and girded it with the\nbelt.\n\nSem\u00e9n took off his torn cap, intending to put it on the naked man, but\nhis head grew cold, and so he thought: \"My whole head is bald, while he\nhas long, curly hair.\" He put it on again. \"I had better put the boots\non him.\"\n\nHe seated himself and put the felt boots on him.\n\nThe shoemaker addressed him and said:\n\n\"That's the way, my friend! Now move about and get warmed up. This\nbusiness will be looked into without us. Can you walk?\"\n\nThe man stood, looking meekly at Sem\u00e9n, but could not say a word.\n\n\"Why don't you speak? You can't stay here through the winter. We must\nmake for a living place. Here, take my stick, lean on it, if you are\nweak. Tramp along!\"\n\nAnd the man went. And he walked lightly, and did not fall behind.\n\nAs they were walking along, Sem\u00e9n said to him:\n\n\"Who are you, please?\"\n\n\"I am a stranger.\"\n\n\"I know all the people here about. How did you get near that chapel?\"\n\n\"I cannot tell.\"\n\n\"Have people insulted you?\"\n\n\"No one has. God has punished me.\"\n\n\"Of course, God does everything, but still you must be making for some\nplace. Whither are you bound?\"\n\n\"It makes no difference to me.\"\n\nSem\u00e9n was surprised. He did not resemble an evil-doer, and was gentle of\nspeech, and yet did not say anything about himself. And Sem\u00e9n thought\nthat all kinds of things happen, and so he said to the man:\n\n\"Well, come to my house and warm yourself a little.\"\n\nSem\u00e9n walked up to the farm, and the stranger did not fall behind, but\nwalked beside him. A wind rose and blew into Sem\u00e9n's shirt, and his\nintoxication went away, and he began to feel cold. He walked along,\nsniffling, and wrapping himself in his wife's jacket, and he thought:\n\n\"There is your fur coat: I went to get myself a fur coat, and I am\ncoming back without a caftan, and am even bringing a naked man with me.\nMatr\u00e9na will not praise me for it!\"\n\nAnd as Sem\u00e9n thought of Matr\u00e9na, he felt sorry; and as he looked at the\nstranger and recalled how he had looked at him at the chapel, his blood\nbegan to play in his heart.\n\n[Illustration: \"'Whither are you bound?'\"\n\n_Photogravure from Painting by A. Kivsh\u00e9nko_]\n\n\nIII.\n\nSem\u00e9n's wife got things done early. She chopped the wood, brought the\nwater, fed the children, herself took a bite of something, and fell to\nmusing. She was thinking about when to set the bread, whether to-day or\nto-morrow. There was a big slice of it left.\n\n\"If Sem\u00e9n has his dinner there,\" she thought, \"and does not eat much for\nsupper, the bread will last until to-morrow.\"\n\nMatr\u00e9na turned the slice around and a second time, and thought:\n\n\"I will not set any bread to-day. I have enough meal for just one\nsetting. We shall somehow hold out until Friday.\"\n\nMatr\u00e9na put the bread away, and seated herself at the table to put a\npatch in her husband's shirt. She was sewing and thinking of how he\nwould buy a sheepskin for a fur coat.\n\n\"If only the furrier does not cheat him, for my man is too simple for\nanything. He himself will not cheat a soul, but a little child can\ndeceive him. Eight roubles is no small sum. One can pickup a good fur\ncoat for it. It will not be tanned, still it will be a fur coat. How we\nsuffered last winter without a fur coat! We could not get down to the\nriver, or anywhere. And there he has gone out, putting everything on\nhim, and I have nothing to dress in. He went away early; it is time for\nhim to be back. If only my dear one has not gone on a spree!\"\n\nJust as Matr\u00e9na was thinking this, the steps creaked on the porch, and\nsomebody entered. Matr\u00e9na stuck the needle in the cloth, and went out\ninto the vestibule. She saw two coming in: Sem\u00e9n, and with him a man\nwithout a cap and in felt boots.\n\nMatr\u00e9na at once smelt the liquor in her husband's breath. \"Well,\" she\nthought, \"so it is: he has been on a spree.\" And when she saw that he\nwas without his caftan, in nothing but the jacket, and that he was not\nbringing anything, but only keeping silent and crouching, something\nbroke in Matr\u00e9na's heart. \"He has spent all the money in drinks,\" she\nthought, \"and has been on a spree with some tramp, and has even brought\nhim along.\"\n\nMatr\u00e9na let them pass into the hut, and then stepped in herself. She saw\nthe lean young man, and he had on him their caftan. No shirt was to be\nseen under the caftan, and he had no hat on his head. When he entered,\nhe stood still, and did not stir, and did not raise his eyes. And\nMatr\u00e9na thought: \"He is not a good man,--he is afraid.\"\n\nMatr\u00e9na scowled and went to the oven, waiting to see what would happen.\n\nSem\u00e9n took off his cap and sat down on the bench like a good man.\n\n\"Well, Matr\u00e9na, will you let us have something for supper, will you?\" he\nsaid.\n\nMatr\u00e9na growled something under her breath. She stood at the oven, and\ndid not stir: she looked now at the one, and now at the other, and shook\nher head. Sem\u00e9n saw that his wife was not in a good humour, but there\nwas nothing to be done, and he acted as though he did not see it. He\ntook the stranger by the arm:\n\n\"Sit down, my friend,\" he said, \"we shall have our supper.\"\n\nThe stranger sat down on the bench.\n\n\"Well, have you not cooked anything?\"\n\nThat simply roiled Matr\u00e9na.\n\n\"I have cooked, but not for you. You seem to have drunk away your\nsenses, I see. You went to get a fur coat, and come back without your\ncaftan, and have even brought some kind of a naked tramp with you. I\nhave no supper for you drunkards.\"\n\n\"Stop, Matr\u00e9na! What is the use of wagging your tongue without any\nsense? First ask what kind of a man it is--\"\n\n\"Tell me what you did with the money.\"\n\nSem\u00e9n stuck his hand into the caftan, took out the bill, and opened it\nbefore her.\n\n\"Here is the money. Trif\u00f3nov has not paid me,--he promised to give it to\nme to-morrow.\"\n\nThat enraged Matr\u00e9na even more: he had bought no fur coat, and the only\ncaftan they had he had put on a naked fellow, and had even brought him\nalong.\n\nShe grabbed the bill from the table, and ran to put it away, and said:\n\n\"I have no supper. One cannot feed all the drunkards.\"\n\n\"Oh, Matr\u00e9na, hold your tongue. First hear what I have to say--\"\n\n\"Much sense shall I hear from a drunken fool. With good reason did I\nobject to marrying you, a drunkard. My mother gave me some linen, and\nyou spent it on drinks; you went to buy a fur coat, and spent that,\ntoo.\"\n\nSem\u00e9n wanted to explain to his wife that he had spent twenty kopeks\nonly, and wanted to tell her that he had found the man; but Matr\u00e9na\nbegan to break in with anything she could think of, and to speak two\nwords at once. Even what had happened ten years before, she brought up\nto him now.\n\nMatr\u00e9na talked and talked, and jumped at Sem\u00e9n, and grabbed him by the\nsleeve.\n\n\"Give me my jacket. That is all I have left, and you have taken it from\nme and put it on yourself. Give it to me, you freckled dog,--may the\napoplexy strike you!\"\n\nSem\u00e9n began to take off the bodice; as he turned back his arm, his wife\ngave the bodice a jerk, and it ripped at the seam. Matr\u00e9na grabbed the\njacket, threw it over her head, and made for the door. She wanted to go\nout, but stopped: her heart was doubled, for she wanted to have her\nrevenge, and also to find out what kind of a man he was.\n\n\nIV.\n\nMatr\u00e9na stopped and said:\n\n\"If he were a good man, he would not be naked; but, as it is, he has not\neven a shirt on him. If he meant anything good, you would tell me where\nyou found that dandy.\"\n\n\"I am telling you: as I was walking along, I saw him sitting at the\nchapel, without any clothes, and almost frozen. It is not summer, and he\nwas all naked. God sent me to him, or he would have perished. Well, what\nhad I to do? All kinds of things happen! I picked him up and dressed\nhim, and brought him here. Calm yourself! It is a sin, Matr\u00e9na. We shall\nall die.\"\n\nMatr\u00e9na wanted to go on scolding, but she looked at the stranger and\nkept silence. The stranger sat without moving, just as he had seated\nhimself on the edge of the bench. His hands were folded on his knees,\nhis head drooped on his breast, his eyes were not opened, and he frowned\nas though something were choking him. Matr\u00e9na grew silent. And Sem\u00e9n\nsaid:\n\n\"Matr\u00e9na, have you no God?\"\n\nWhen Matr\u00e9na heard these words, she glanced at the stranger, and\nsuddenly her heart became softened. She went away from the door, walked\nover to the oven corner, and got the supper ready. She placed a bowl on\nthe table, filled it with kvas, and put down the last slice of bread.\nShe handed them a knife and spoons.\n\n\"Eat, if you please,\" she said.\n\nSem\u00e9n touched the stranger.\n\n\"Creep through here, good fellow!\" he said.\n\nSem\u00e9n cut up the bread and crumbled it into the kvas, and they began to\neat. And Matr\u00e9na sat down at the corner of the table, and leaned on her\narm, and kept looking at the stranger.\n\nAnd Matr\u00e9na pitied the stranger, and took a liking for him. And suddenly\nthe stranger grew merry, stopped frowning, raised his eyes on Matr\u00e9na,\nand smiled.\n\nThey got through with their supper. The woman cleared the table, and\nbegan to ask the stranger:\n\n\"Who are you?\"\n\n\"I am a stranger.\"\n\n\"How did you get on the road?\"\n\n\"I cannot tell.\"\n\n\"Has somebody robbed you?\"\n\n\"God has punished me.\"\n\n\"And you were lying there naked?\"\n\n\"Yes, I was lying naked, and freezing. Sem\u00e9n saw me, took pity on me,\npulled off his caftan, put it on me, and told me to come here. And you\nhave given me to eat and to drink, and have pitied me. The Lord will\nsave you!\"\n\nMatr\u00e9na got up, took from the window Sem\u00e9n's old shirt, the same that\nshe had been patching, and gave it to the stranger; and she found a pair\nof trousers, and gave them to him.\n\n\"Here, take it! I see that you have no shirt. Put it on, and lie down\nwherever it pleases you,--on the hanging bed or on the oven.\"\n\nThe stranger took off the caftan, put on the shirt, and lay down on the\nhanging bed. Matr\u00e9na put out the light, took the caftan, and climbed to\nwhere her husband was.\n\nMatr\u00e9na covered herself with the corner of the caftan, and she lay and\ncould not sleep: the stranger would not leave her mind.\n\nAs she thought how he had eaten the last slice of bread and how there\nwould be no bread for the morrow; as she thought how she had given him a\nshirt and a pair of trousers, she felt pretty bad; but when she thought\nof how he smiled, her heart was gladdened.\n\nMatr\u00e9na could not sleep for a long time, and she heard that Sem\u00e9n, too,\nwas not sleeping; he kept pulling the caftan on himself.\n\n\"Sem\u00e9n!\"\n\n\"What is it?\"\n\n\"We have eaten up the last bread, and I have not set any. I do not know\nwhat to do for to-morrow. Maybe I had better ask Gossip Mal\u00e1nya for\nsome.\"\n\n\"If we are alive we shall find something to eat.\"\n\nThe woman lay awhile and kept silence.\n\n\"He must be a good man. But why does he not tell about himself?\"\n\n\"I suppose he cannot.\"\n\n\"Sem\u00e9n!\"\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"We give, but why does nobody give to us?\"\n\nSem\u00e9n did not know what to say. He only said, \"Stop talking!\" and turned\nover, and fell asleep.\n\n\nV.\n\nIn the morning Sem\u00e9n awoke. The children were asleep; his wife had gone\nto the neighbours to borrow some bread. The stranger of last night, in\nthe old trousers and shirt, was alone, sitting on the bench and looking\nupward. And his face was brighter than on the day before.\n\nAnd Sem\u00e9n said:\n\n\"Well, dear man, the belly begs for bread, and the naked body for\nclothes. We must earn our living. Can you work?\"\n\n\"I do not know anything.\"\n\nSem\u00e9n wondered at him, and said:\n\n\"If only you are willing: people can learn anything.\"\n\n\"People work, and I, too, will work.\"\n\n\"What is your name?\"\n\n\"Michael.\"\n\n\"Well, Mikh\u00e1yla, you do not want to talk about yourself,--that is your\nbusiness; but a man has to live. If you work as I order you, I will feed\nyou.\"\n\n\"God save you, and I will learn. Show me what to do!\"\n\nSem\u00e9n took the flax, put it on his fingers and began to make an end.\n\n\"It is not a hard thing to do, you see.\"\n\nMikh\u00e1yla watched him, himself put the flax on his fingers, and made a\nthread end, as Sem\u00e9n had taught him.\n\nSem\u00e9n showed him how to wax it. Mikh\u00e1yla again learned the way at once.\nThe master showed him how to weld the bristle, and how to whet, and\nMikh\u00e1yla learned it all at once.\n\nNo matter what work Sem\u00e9n showed to him, he grasped it at once, and on\nthe third day he began to sew as though he had done nothing else in all\nhis life. He worked without unbending himself, ate little, between the\nperiods of work kept silence, and all the time looked toward the sky. He\ndid not go into the street, spoke no superfluous word, and did not jest\nor laugh.\n\nOnly once was he seen to smile, and that was the first evening, when the\nwoman gave him a supper.\n\n\nVI.\n\nDay was added to day, week to week, and the circle of a year went by.\nMikh\u00e1yla was living as before with Sem\u00e9n, and working. And the report\nspread about Sem\u00e9n's workman that nobody sewed a boot so neatly and so\nstrongly as he. And people from all the surrounding country began to\ncome to Sem\u00e9n for boots, and Sem\u00e9n's income began to grow.\n\nOne time, in the winter, Sem\u00e9n was sitting with Mikh\u00e1yla and working,\nwhen a tr\u00f3yka with bells stopped at the door. They looked through the\nwindow: the carriage had stopped opposite the hut, and a fine lad jumped\ndown from the box and opened the carriage door. Out of the carriage\nstepped a gentleman in a fur coat. He came out of the carriage, walked\ntoward Sem\u00e9n's house, and went on the porch. Up jumped Matr\u00e9na and\nopened the door wide. The gentleman bent his head and entered the hut;\nhe straightened himself up, almost struck the ceiling with his head, and\ntook up a whole corner.\n\nSem\u00e9n got up, bowed to the gentleman, and wondered what he wanted. He\nhad not seen such men. Sem\u00e9n himself was spare-ribbed, and Mikh\u00e1yla was\nlean, and Matr\u00e9na was as dry as a chip, while this one was like a man\nfrom another world: his face was red and blood-filled, his neck like a\nbull's, and altogether he looked as though cast in iron.\n\nThe gentleman puffed, took off his fur coat, seated himself on a bench,\nand said:\n\n\"Who is the master shoemaker?\"\n\nSem\u00e9n stepped forward, and said:\n\n\"I, your Excellency.\"\n\nThe gentleman shouted to his lad:\n\n\"Oh, F\u00e9dka, let me have the material!\"\n\nThe lad came running in and brought a bundle. The gentleman took it and\nput it on the table.\n\n\"Open it!\" he said.\n\nThe lad opened it. The gentleman pointed to the material, and said to\nSem\u00e9n:\n\n\"Listen now, shoemaker! Do you see the material?\"\n\n\"I do,\" he said, \"your Honour.\"\n\n\"Do you understand what kind of material this is?\"\n\nSem\u00e9n felt of it, and said:\n\n\"It is good material.\"\n\n\"I should say it is! You, fool, have never seen such before. It is\nGerman material: it costs twenty roubles.\"\n\nSem\u00e9n was frightened, and he said:\n\n\"How could we have seen such?\"\n\n\"That's it. Can you make me boots to fit my feet from this material?\"\n\n\"I can, your Honour.\"\n\nThe gentleman shouted at him:\n\n\"That's it: you can. You must understand for whom you are working, and\nwhat material you have to work on. Make me a pair of boots that will\nwear a year without running down or ripping. If you can, undertake it\nand cut the material; if you cannot, do not undertake it and do not cut\nthe material. I tell you in advance: if the boots wear off or rip before\nthe year is over, I will put you into jail; if they do not wear off or\nrip for a year, I will give you ten roubles for the work.\"\n\nSem\u00e9n was frightened and did not know what to say. He looked at\nMikh\u00e1yla. He nudged him with his elbow, and said:\n\n\"Friend, what do you say?\"\n\nMikh\u00e1yla nodded to him: \"Take the work!\"\n\nSem\u00e9n took Mikh\u00e1yla's advice and undertook to make a pair of boots that\nwould not wear down or rip.\n\nThe gentleman shouted at his lad, told him to pull off the boot from his\nleft foot, and stretched out his leg.\n\n\"Take the measure!\"\n\nSem\u00e9n sewed together a piece of paper, ten inches in length, smoothed it\nout, knelt down, carefully wiped his hand on his apron so as not to soil\nthe gentleman's stocking, and began to measure. He measured the sole,\nthen the instep, and then the calf, but there the paper was not long\nenough. His leg at the calf was as thick as a log.\n\n\"Be sure and do not make them too tight in the boot-leg!\"\n\nSem\u00e9n sewed up another piece to the strip. The gentleman sat and moved\nhis toes in his stocking, and watched the people in the room. He caught\nsight of Mikh\u00e1yla.\n\n\"Who is that man there?\" he asked.\n\n\"That is my master workman,--he will make those boots.\"\n\n\"Remember,\" said the gentleman to Mikh\u00e1yla, \"remember! Make them so that\nthey will wear a year.\"\n\nSem\u00e9n, too, looked at Mikh\u00e1yla, and he saw that Mikh\u00e1yla was not looking\nat the gentleman, but gazed at the corner, as though he saw some one\nthere. Mikh\u00e1yla looked and looked, suddenly smiled and shone bright.\n\n\"What makes you show your teeth, fool? You had better be sure and get\nthe boots in time.\"\n\nAnd Mikh\u00e1yla said:\n\n\"They will be done in time.\"\n\n\"Exactly.\"\n\nThe gentleman put on his boot and his fur coat, and wrapped himself up,\nand went to the door. He forgot to bow down, and hit his head against\nthe lintel.\n\nThe gentleman cursed awhile, and rubbed his head, and seated himself in\nthe carriage, and drove away.\n\nWhen the gentleman was gone, Sem\u00e9n said:\n\n\"He is mighty flinty! You can't kill him with a club. He has knocked out\nthe lintel, but he himself took little harm.\"\n\nAnd Matr\u00e9na said:\n\n\"How can he help being smooth, with the life he leads? Even death will\nnot touch such a sledge-hammer!\"\n\n\nVII.\n\nAnd Sem\u00e9n said to Mikh\u00e1yla:\n\n\"To be sure, we have undertaken to do the work, if only we do not get\ninto trouble! The material is costly, and the gentleman is cross. I hope\nwe shall not make a blunder. Your eyes are sharper, and your hands are\nnimbler than mine, so take this measure! Cut the material, and I will\nput on the last stitches.\"\n\nMikh\u00e1yla did not disobey him, but took the gentleman's material, spread\nit out on the table, doubled it, took the scissors, and began to cut.\n\nMatr\u00e9na came up and saw Mikh\u00e1yla cutting, and was wondering at what he\nwas doing. Matr\u00e9na had become used to the shoemaker's trade, and she\nlooked, and saw that Mikh\u00e1yla was not cutting the material in shoemaker\nfashion, but in a round shape.\n\nMatr\u00e9na wanted to say something, but thought: \"Perhaps I do not\nunderstand how boots have to be made for a gentleman; no doubt Mikh\u00e1yla\nknows better, and I will not interfere.\"\n\nMikh\u00e1yla cut the pair, and picked up the end, and began to sew, not in\nshoemaker fashion, with the two ends meeting, but with one end, like\nsoft shoes.\n\nAgain Matr\u00e9na marvelled, but did not interfere. And Mikh\u00e1yla kept sewing\nand sewing. They began to eat their dinner, and Sem\u00e9n saw that Mikh\u00e1yla\nhad made a pair of soft shoes from the gentleman's material.\n\nSem\u00e9n heaved a sigh. \"How is this?\" he thought. \"Mikh\u00e1yla has lived with\nme a whole year, and has never made a mistake, and now he has made such\ntrouble for me. The gentleman ordered boots with long boot-legs, and he\nhas made soft shoes, without soles, and has spoiled the material. How\nshall I now straighten it out with the master? No such material can be\nfound.\"\n\nAnd he said to Mikh\u00e1yla:\n\n\"What is this, dear man, that you have done? You have ruined me. The\nmaster has ordered boots, and see what you have made!\"\n\nHe had just begun to scold Mikh\u00e1yla, when there was a rattle at the door\nring,--some one was knocking. They looked through the window: there was\nthere a man on horseback, and he was tying up his horse. They opened the\ndoor: in came the same lad of that gentleman.\n\n\"Good day!\"\n\n\"Good day, what do you wish?\"\n\n\"The lady has sent me about the boots.\"\n\n\"What about the boots?\"\n\n\"What about the boots? Our master does not need them. Our master has bid\nus live long.\"\n\n\"You don't say!\"\n\n\"He had not yet reached home, when he died in his carriage. The carriage\ndrove up to the house, and the servants came to help him out, but he lay\nas heavy as a bag, and was stiff and dead, and they had a hard time\ntaking him out from the carriage. So the lady has sent me, saying: 'Tell\nthe shoemaker that a gentleman came to see him, and ordered a pair of\nboots, and left the material for them; well, tell him that the boots are\nnot wanted, but that he should use the leather at once for a pair of\nsoft shoes. Wait until they make them, and bring them with you.' And so\nthat is why I have come.\"\n\nMikh\u00e1yla took the remnants of the material from the table, rolled them\nup, and took the soft shoes which he had made, and clapped them against\neach other, and wiped them off with his apron, and gave them to the lad.\nThe lad took the soft shoes.\n\n\"Good-bye, masters, good luck to you!\"\n\n\nVIII.\n\nThere passed another year, and a third, and Mikh\u00e1yla was now living the\nsixth year with Sem\u00e9n. He was living as before. He went nowhere, did not\nspeak an unnecessary word, and all that time had smiled but twice: once,\nwhen they gave him the supper, and the second time when the gentleman\ncame. Sem\u00e9n did not get tired admiring his workman. He no longer asked\nhim where he came from; he was only afraid that Mikh\u00e1yla might leave\nhim.\n\nOne day they were sitting at home. The housewife was putting the iron\npots into the oven, and the children were running on the benches, and\nlooking out of the window. Sem\u00e9n was sharpening his knives at one\nwindow, and Mikh\u00e1yla was heeling a shoe at the other.\n\nOne of the little boys ran up to Mikh\u00e1yla on the bench, leaned against\nhis shoulder, and looked out of the window.\n\n\"Uncle Mikh\u00e1yla, look there: a merchant woman is coming to us with some\nlittle girls. One of the girls is lame.\"\n\nWhen the boy said that, Mikh\u00e1yla threw down his work, turned to the\nwindow, and looked out into the street.\n\nAnd Sem\u00e9n marvelled. Mikh\u00e1yla had never before looked into the street,\nand now he had rushed to the window, and was gazing at something. Sem\u00e9n,\ntoo, looked out of the window: he saw, indeed, a woman who was walking\nover to his yard. She was well dressed, and led two little girls in fur\ncoats and shawls. The girls looked one like the other, so that it was\nhard to tell them apart, only one had a maimed left leg,--she walked\nwith a limp.\n\nThe woman walked up the porch to the vestibule, felt for the entrance,\npulled at the latch, and opened the door. First she let the two girls\nin, and then entered herself.\n\n\"Good day, people!\"\n\n\"You are welcome! What do you wish?\"\n\nThe woman seated herself at the table. The girls pressed close to her\nknees: they were timid before the people.\n\n\"I want you to make some leather boots for the girls for the spring.\"\n\n\"Well, that can be done. We have not made such small shoes, but we can\ndo it. We can make sharp-edged shoes, or turnover shoes on linen.\nMikh\u00e1yla is my master.\"\n\nSem\u00e9n looked around at Mikh\u00e1yla, and he saw that Mikh\u00e1yla had put away\nhis work and was sitting and gazing at the girls.\n\nAnd Sem\u00e9n marvelled at Mikh\u00e1yla. Indeed, the girls were pretty:\nblack-eyed, chubby, ruddy-faced, and the fur coats and shawls which they\nhad on were fine; but still Sem\u00e9n could not make out why he was gazing\nat them as though they were friends of his.\n\nSem\u00e9n marvelled, and began to talk with the woman and to bargain. They\ncame to an agreement, and he took the measures. The woman took the lame\ngirl on her knees, and said:\n\n\"For this girl take two measures: make one shoe for the lame foot, and\nthree for the sound foot. They have the same size of feet, exactly\nalike. They are twins.\"\n\nSem\u00e9n took the measure, and he said about the lame girl:\n\n\"What has made her lame? She is such a pretty girl. Was she born this\nway?\"\n\n\"No, her mother crushed her.\"\n\nMatr\u00e9na broke in,--she wanted to know who the woman was, and whose the\nchildren were, and so she said:\n\n\"Are you not their mother?\"\n\n\"I am not their mother, nor their kin, housewife! I am a stranger to\nthem: I have adopted them.\"\n\n\"Not your children! How you care for them!\"\n\n\"Why should I not care for them? I nursed them with my own breast. I had\na child of my own, but God took him away. I did not care for him so much\nas I have cared for them.\"\n\n\"Whose are they, then?\"\n\n\nIX.\n\nThe woman began to talk, and said:\n\n\"It was six years ago that these orphans lost their parents in one week:\ntheir father was buried on a Tuesday, and their mother died on Friday.\nThese orphans were born three days after their father's death, and their\nmother did not live a day. At that time I was living with my husband in\nthe village. We were their neighbours, our yard joining theirs. Their\nfather was a lonely man; he worked in the forest. They dropped a tree on\nhim, and it fell across his body and squeezed out his entrails. They had\nbarely brought him home, when he gave up his soul to God, and that same\nweek his wife bore twins,--these girls. The woman was poor and alone;\nshe had neither old woman nor girl with her.\n\n\"Alone she bore them, and alone she died.\n\n\"I went in the morning to see my neighbour, but she, the dear woman, was\nalready cold. As she died she fell on the girl, and wrenched her leg.\nThe people came, and they washed and dressed her, and made a coffin, and\nburied her. All of them were good people. The girls were left alone.\nWhat was to be done with them? Of all the women I alone had a baby. I\nhad been nursing my first-born boy for eight weeks. I took them for the\ntime being to my house. The peasants gathered and thought and thought\nwhat to do with them, and they said to me: 'M\u00e1rya, keep the girls\nawhile, and we will try and think what to do with them.' And I nursed\nthe straight girl once, but the lame girl I would not nurse. I did not\nwant her to live. But, I thought, why should the angelic soul go out,\nand so I pitied her, too. I began to nurse her, and so I raised my own\nand the two girls, all three of them with my own breasts. I was young\nand strong, and I had good food. And God gave me so much milk in my\nbreasts that at times they overflowed. I would feed two of them, while\nthe third would be waiting. When one rolled away, I took the third. And\nGod granted that I should raise the three, but my own child I lost in\nthe second year. And God has given me no other children. We began to\nearn more and more, and now we are living here with the merchant at the\nmill. The wages are big, and our living is good. I have no children, and\nhow should I live if it were not for these girls? How can I help loving\nthem? They are all the wax of my tapers that I have.\"\n\nWith one hand the woman pressed the lame girl to her side, and with the\nother she began to wipe off her tears.\n\nAnd Matr\u00e9na sighed, and said:\n\n\"Not in vain is the proverb: 'You can live without parents, but not\nwithout God.'\"\n\nAnd so they were talking among themselves, when suddenly the room was\nlighted as though by sheet lightning from the corner where sat Mikh\u00e1yla.\nAll looked at him, and they saw Mikh\u00e1yla sitting with folded hands on\nhis knees, and looking up, and smiling.\n\n\nX.\n\nThe woman went away with the girls, and Mikh\u00e1yla got up from his bench.\nHe lay down his work, took off his apron, bowed to the master and to the\nhousewife, and said:\n\n\"Forgive me, people! God has forgiven me. You, too, should forgive me.\"\n\nAnd the master and his wife saw a light coming from Mikh\u00e1yla. And Sem\u00e9n\ngot up, and bowed to Mikh\u00e1yla, and said:\n\n\"I see, Mikh\u00e1yla, you are not a simple man, and I cannot keep you, and\nmust not beg you to remain. But tell me this: Why, when I found you and\nbrought you home, were you gloomy, and when my wife gave you a supper,\nwhy did you smile at her and after that grow brighter? Later, when the\ngentleman ordered the boots, you smiled for the second time, and after\nthat grew brighter, and now, when the woman brought her girls, you\nsmiled for the third time, and grew entirely bright. Tell me, Mikh\u00e1yla,\nwhy does such light come from you, and why did you smile three times?\"\n\nAnd Mikh\u00e1yla said:\n\n\"The light comes from me, because I had been punished, and now God has\nforgiven me. And I smiled three times because I had to learn three words\nof God. And I have learned the three words: one word I learned when your\nwife took pity on me, and so I smiled for the first time. The second\nword I learned when the rich man ordered the boots, and then I smiled\nfor the second time. And now, when I saw the girls, I learned the last,\nthe third word, and I smiled for the third time.\"\n\nAnd Sem\u00e9n said:\n\n\"Tell me, Mikh\u00e1yla, for what did God punish you, and what are those\nwords of God, that I may know them.\"\n\nAnd Mikh\u00e1yla said:\n\n\"God punished me for having disobeyed him. I was an angel in heaven, and\nI disobeyed God. I was an angel in heaven, and God sent me down to take\nthe soul out of a woman. I flew down to the earth, and I saw the woman\nlying sick, and she had borne twins,--two girls. The girls were\nsquirming near their mother, and she could not take them to her breasts.\nThe woman saw me, and she knew that God had sent me for her soul. She\nwept, and said: 'Angel of God! My husband has just been buried,--he was\nkilled by a tree in the forest. I have neither sister, nor aunt, nor\ngranny,--there is no one to bring up my orphans, so do not take my soul!\nLet me raise my own children, and put them on their feet. Children\ncannot live without a father, without a mother.' And I listened to the\nmother, and placed one girl to her breast, and gave the other one into\nher hands, and rose up to the Lord in heaven. And I came before the\nLord, and said: 'I cannot take the soul out of the mother in childbirth.\nThe father was killed by a tree, the mother bore twins, and she begged\nme not to take the soul out of her, saying, Let me rear and bring up my\nchildren, and put them on their feet. Children cannot live without a\nfather or mother. I did not take the soul out of the woman in\nchildbirth.' And the Lord said: 'Go and take the soul out of the woman\nin childbirth! And you will learn three words: you will learn what there\nis in men, and what is not given to men, and what men live by. When you\nlearn them, you will return to heaven.' I flew back to earth and took\nthe soul out of the woman.\n\n\"The little ones fell away from the breasts. The dead body rolled over\non the bed and crushed one of the girls, and wrenched her leg. I rose\nabove the village and wanted to take the soul to God; but the wind\ncaught me, and my wings fell flat; and dropped off, and the soul went by\nitself before God, and I fell near the road on the earth.\"\n\n\nXI.\n\nAnd Sem\u00e9n and Matr\u00e9na understood whom they had clothed and fed, and who\nhad lived with them, and they wept for terror and for joy, and said the\nangel:\n\n\"I was left all alone in the field, and naked. I had not known before of\nhuman wants, neither of cold, nor of hunger, and I became a man. I was\nstarved and chilled and did not know what to do. I saw in the field a\nchapel made for the Lord, and I went to God's chapel and wanted to hide\nmyself in it. The chapel was locked, and I could not get in. And I\nseated myself behind the chapel, to protect myself against the wind. The\nevening came, I was hungry and chilled, and I ached all over. Suddenly I\nheard a man walking on the road; he was carrying a pair of boots and\ntalking to himself. And I saw a mortal face, for the first time since I\nhad become a man, and that face was terrible to me, and I turned away\nfrom it. And I heard the man talking to himself about how he might cover\nhis body in the winter from the cold, and how he might feed his wife and\nchildren. And I thought: 'I am dying from hunger and cold, and here\ncomes a man, who is thinking only of how to cover himself and his wife\nwith a fur coat, and of how to feed his family. He cannot help me.' The\nman saw me; he frowned, and looked gloomier still, and passed by me. And\nI was in despair. Suddenly I heard the man coming back. I looked at him\nand did not recognize him: before that death had been in his face, and\nnow he was revived, and in his face I saw God. He came up to me, and\nclothed me, and took me with him, and led me to his house. I came to\nhis house, and a woman came out of the house and began to talk. The\nwoman was more terrible yet than the man; the dead spirit was coming out\nof her mouth, and I could not breathe from the stench of death. She\nwanted to send me out into the cold, and I knew that she would die if\nshe drove me out. And suddenly her husband reminded her of God. And the\nwoman suddenly changed. And when she gave us to eat, and looked at us, I\nglanced at her: there was no longer death in her,--she was alive, and I\nrecognized God in her.\n\n\"And I recalled God's first word: 'You will know what there is in men.'\nAnd I learned that there was love in men. And I rejoiced at it, because\nGod had begun to reveal to me what He had promised, and I smiled for the\nfirst time. But I could not yet learn everything. I could not understand\nwhat was not given to men, and what men lived by.\n\n\"I began to live with you, and lived a year, and there came a man, to\norder a pair of boots, such as would wear a year, without ripping or\nturning. I looked at him, and suddenly I saw behind his shoulder my\ncompanion, the angel of death. None but me saw that angel; but I knew\nhim, and I knew that the sun would not go down before the rich man's\nsoul would be taken away. And I thought: 'The man is providing for a\nyear, and does not know that he will not live until evening.' And I\nthought of God's second word: 'You will learn what is not given to men.'\n\n\"I knew already what there was in men. Now I learned what was not given\nto men. It is not given men to know what they need for their bodies. And\nI smiled for the second time. I was glad because I had seen my comrade\nthe angel, and because God had revealed the second word to me.\n\n\"But I could not understand everything. I could not understand what men\nlived by. And I lived and waited for God to reveal to me the last word.\nAnd in the sixth year came the twin girls with the woman, and I\nrecognized the girls and knew how they were kept alive. I recognized\nthem, and I thought: 'The mother begged me for the sake of the children,\nand I believed the mother and thought that the children could not live\nwithout father and mother, and yet a strange woman has fed them and\nreared them.' And when the woman was touched as she looked at the\nchildren and wept, I saw in her the living God, and I understood what\nmen lived by. And I learned that God had revealed the third word to me\nand forgave me. And I smiled for the third time.\"\n\n\nXII.\n\nAnd the angel's body was bared and clothed in light, so that the eye\ncould not behold him, and he spoke louder, as though the voice were\ncoming not from him but from heaven. And the angel said:\n\n\"I have learned that every man lives not by the care for himself, but by\nlove.\n\n\"It was not given to the mother to know what her children needed for\nlife. It was not given to the rich man to know what he needed for\nhimself. And it is not given to any man to know whether before evening\nhe will need boots for his life, or soft shoes for his death.\n\n\"I was kept alive when I was a man not by what I did for myself, but\nbecause there was love in a passer-by and in his wife, and because they\npitied and loved me. The orphans were left alive not by what was done\nfor them, but because there was love in the heart of a strange woman,\nand she pitied and loved them. And all men live not by what they do for\nthemselves, but because there is love in men.\n\n\"I knew before that God gave life to men and that He wanted them to\nlive; now I understand even something else.\n\n\"I understand that God does not want men to live apart, and so He has\nnot revealed to them what each needs for himself, but wants them to live\ntogether, and so He has revealed to them what they all need for\nthemselves and for all.\n\n\"I understand now that it only seems to men that they live by the care\nfor themselves, and that they live only by love. He who has love, is in\nGod, and God is in him, because God is love.\"\n\nAnd the angel began to sing the praise of God, and from his voice the\nwhole hut shook. And the ceiling expanded, and a fiery column rose from\nearth to heaven. And Sem\u00e9n and his wife and children fell to the ground.\nAnd the wings were unfolded on the angel's shoulders, and he rose to\nheaven.\n\nAnd when Sem\u00e9n awoke, the hut was as before, and in the room were only\nhis family.\n\n\n\n\nTHE THREE HERMITS\n\n1884\n\n\n\n\nTHE THREE HERMITS\n\n But when ye pray, use not vain repetitions, as the heathen do: for\n they think that they shall be heard for their much speaking. Be not\n ye therefore like unto them: for your Father knoweth what things ye\n have need of, before ye ask him. (Matt. vi. 7-8.)\n\n\nA bishop was sailing in a ship from Arkh\u00e1ngelsk to Sol\u00f3vki. On this ship\nthere were pilgrims on their way to visit the saints. The wind was\nfavourable, the weather clear, and the vessel did not roll. Of the\npilgrims some were lying down, some eating, some sitting in groups, and\nsome talking with each other. The bishop, too, came out on deck, and\nbegan to walk up and down on the bridge. He walked up to the prow and\nsaw there several men sitting together. A peasant was pointing to\nsomething in the sea and talking, while the people listened to him. The\nbishop stopped to see what the peasant was pointing at: he could see\nnothing except that the sun was glistening on the water. The bishop came\nnearer and began to listen. When the peasant saw the bishop, he took off\nhis cap and grew silent. And the people, too, when they saw the bishop,\ntook off their caps and saluted him.\n\n\"Do not trouble yourselves, friends,\" said the bishop. \"I have just come\nto hear what you, good man, are telling about.\"\n\n\"The fisherman is telling us about the hermits,\" said a merchant, who\nwas a little bolder than the rest.\n\n\"What about those hermits?\" asked the bishop. He walked over to the\ngunwale and sat down on a box. \"Tell me, too, and I will listen. What\nwere you pointing at?\"\n\n\"There is an island glinting there,\" said the peasant, pointing forward\nand to the right. \"On that island the hermits are living and saving\ntheir souls.\"\n\n\"Where is that island?\" asked the bishop.\n\n\"Please to follow my hand! There is a small cloud; below it and a little\nto the left of it the island appears like a streak.\"\n\nThe bishop looked and looked, but only the water was rippling in the\nsun, and he could not make out anything with his unaccustomed eye.\n\n\"I do not see it,\" he said. \"What kind of hermits are living on that\nisland?\"\n\n\"God's people,\" replied the peasant. \"I had heard about them for a long\ntime, and never had any chance to see them; but two summers ago I saw\nthem myself.\"\n\nThe fisherman went on to tell how he went out to catch fish and was\ndriven to that island, and did not know where he was. In the morning he\nwalked out and came to an earth hut, and there he saw one hermit, and\nthen two more came out. They fed him and dried him and helped him to\nmend his boat.\n\n\"What kind of people are they?\" asked the bishop.\n\n\"One is small and stooping, a very old man, in an old cassock; he must\nbe more than a hundred years old, the gray of his beard is turning\ngreen, and he smiles all the time, and is as bright as an angel of\nheaven. The second is taller; he, too, is old, and wears a ragged\ncaftan; his broad gray beard is streaked yellow, and he is a powerful\nman: he turned my boat around as though it were a vat, before I had a\nchance to help him; he also is a cheerful man. The third man is tall;\nhis beard falls down to his knees and is as white as snow; he is a\ngloomy man, and his brows hang over his eyes; he is all naked, and\ngirded only with a piece of matting.\"\n\n\"What did they tell you?\" asked the bishop.\n\n\"They did everything mostly in silence, and spoke little to one another.\nWhen one looked up, the others understood him. I asked the tall man how\nlong they had been living there. He frowned and muttered something, as\nthough he were angry, but the little hermit took his arm and smiled, and\nthe tall one grew silent. All the little hermit said was: 'Have mercy on\nus,' and smiled.\"\n\nWhile the peasant spoke, the ship came nearer to the island.\n\n\"Now you can see it plainly,\" said the merchant. \"Please to look there,\nyour Reverence!\" he said, pointing to the island.\n\nThe bishop looked up and really saw a black strip, which was the island.\nThe bishop looked at it for quite awhile, then he went away from the\nprow to the stern, and walked over to the helmsman.\n\n\"What island is this that we see there?\"\n\n\"That is a nameless island. There are so many of them here.\"\n\n\"Is it true what they say, that some hermits are saving their souls\nthere?\"\n\n\"They say so, your Reverence, but I do not know whether it is so.\nFishermen say that they have seen them. But they frequently speak to no\npurpose.\"\n\n\"I should like to land on that island and see the hermits,\" said the\nbishop. \"How can I do it?\"\n\n\"The ship cannot land there,\" said the helmsman. \"You can get there by a\nboat, but you must ask the captain.\"\n\nThe captain was called out.\n\n\"I should like to see those hermits,\" said the bishop. \"Can I not be\ntaken there?\"\n\nThe captain began to dissuade him.\n\n\"It can be done, but it will take much time, and, I take the liberty of\ninforming your Reverence, it is not worth while to look at them. I have\nheard people say that they were foolish old men: they understand nothing\nand cannot speak, just like the fishes of the sea.\"\n\n\"I wish it,\" said the bishop. \"I will pay you for the trouble, so take\nme there.\"\n\nIt could not be helped. The sailors shifted the sails and the helmsman\nturned the ship, and they sailed toward the island. A chair was brought\nout for the bishop and put at the prow. He sat down and looked. All the\npeople gathered at the prow, and all kept looking at the island. Those\nwho had sharper eyes saw the rocks on the island, and they pointed to\nthe earth hut. And one man could make out the three hermits. The captain\nbrought out his spy-glass and looked through it and gave it to the\nbishop.\n\n\"That's so,\" he said, \"there, on the shore, a little to the right from\nthat big rock, stand three men.\"\n\nThe bishop looked through the glass and turned it to the right spot.\nThere were three men there: one tall, a second smaller, and a third a\nvery small man. They were standing on the shore and holding each other's\nhands.\n\nThe captain walked over to the bishop, and said:\n\n\"Here, your Reverence, the ship has to stop. If you wish to go there by\nall means, you will please go from here in a boat, and we will wait here\nat anchor.\"\n\nThe hawsers were let out, the anchor dropped, the sails furled, and the\nvessel jerked and shook. A boat was lowered, the oarsmen jumped into it,\nand the bishop went down a ladder. He sat down on a bench in the boat,\nand the oarsmen pulled at the oars and rowed toward the island. They\ncame near to the shore and could see clearly three men standing there: a\ntall man, all naked, with a mat about his loins; the next in size, in a\ntattered caftan; and the stooping old man, in an old cassock. There they\nstood holding each other's hands.\n\nThe oarsmen rowed up to the shore and caught their hook in it. The\nbishop stepped ashore.\n\nThe old men bowed to him. He blessed them, and they bowed lower still.\nThen the bishop began to talk to them:\n\n\"I have heard,\" he said, \"that you are here, hermits of God, saving your\nsouls and praying to Christ our God for men. I, an unworthy servant of\nChrist, have been called here by the mercy of God to tend His flock, and\nso I wanted to see you, the servants of God, and to give you some\ninstruction, if I can do so.\"\n\nThe hermits kept silence, and smiled, and looked at one another.\n\n\"Tell me, how do you save yourselves and serve God?\" asked the bishop.\n\nThe middle-sized hermit heaved a sigh and looked at the older, the\nstooping hermit. And the stooping hermit smiled, and said:\n\n\"We do not know, O servant of God, how to serve God. We only support\nourselves.\"\n\n\"How, then, do you pray to God?\"\n\nAnd the stooping hermit said:\n\n\"We pray as follows: There are three of you and three of us,--have mercy\non us!\"\n\nAnd the moment the stooping hermit had said that, all three of them\nraised their eyes to heaven, and all three said:\n\n\"There are three of you and three of us,--have mercy on us!\"\n\nThe bishop smiled, and said:\n\n\"You have heard that about the Holy Trinity, but you do not pray the\nproper way. I like you, hermits of God, and I see that you want to\nplease God, but do not know how to serve Him. I will teach you, not\naccording to my way, but from the Gospel will I teach you as God has\ncommanded all men to pray to Him.\"\n\nAnd the bishop began to explain to the hermits how God had revealed\nHimself to men: he explained to them about God the Father, and God the\nSon, and God the Holy Ghost, and said:\n\n\"God the Son came down upon earth to save men and taught them to pray as\nfollows. Listen, and repeat after me.\"\n\nAnd the bishop began to say, \"Our Father.\" And one of the hermits\nrepeated, \"Our Father,\" and the second repeated, \"Our Father,\" and the\nthird repeated, \"Our Father.\"\n\n\"Which art in heaven.\" The hermit repeated, \"Which art in heaven.\" But\nthe middle hermit got mixed in his words, and did not say it right; and\nthe tall, naked hermit did not say it right: his moustache was all over\nhis mouth, and he could not speak clearly; and the stooping, toothless\nhermit, too, lisped it indistinctly.\n\nThe bishop repeated it a second time, and the hermits repeated it after\nhim. And the bishop sat down on a stone, and the hermits stood around\nhim and looked into his mouth and repeated after him so long as he\nspoke. And the bishop worked with them all day; he repeated one word\nten, and twenty, and a hundred times, and the hermits repeated after\nhim. They blundered, and he corrected them, and made them repeat from\nthe beginning.\n\nThe bishop did not leave the hermits until he taught them the whole\nLord's prayer. They said it with him and by themselves. The middle-sized\nhermit was the first to learn it, and he repeated it all by himself. The\nbishop made him say it over and over again, and both the others said the\nprayer, too.\n\nIt was beginning to grow dark, and the moon rose from the sea, when the\nbishop got up to go back to the ship. The bishop bade the hermits\ngood-bye, and they bowed to the ground before him. He raised each of\nthem, and kissed them, and told them to pray as he had taught them, and\nentered the boat, and was rowed back to the ship.\n\nAnd as the boat was rowed toward the ship, the bishop heard the hermits\nloudly repeating the Lord's prayer in three voices. The boat came nearer\nto the ship, and the voices of the hermits could no longer be heard, but\nin the moonlight they could be seen standing on the shore, in the spot\nwhere they had been left: the smallest of them was in the middle, the\ntallest on the right, and the middle-sized man on the left. The bishop\nreached the ship and climbed up to the deck. The anchors were weighed,\nthe sails unfurled, and the wind blew and drove the ship, and on they\nsailed. The bishop went to the prow and sat down there and looked at the\nisland. At first the hermits could be seen, then they disappeared from\nview, and only the island could be seen; then the island, too,\ndisappeared, and only the sea glittered in the moonlight.\n\nThe pilgrims lay down to sleep, and everything grew quiet on the deck.\nBut the bishop did not feel like sleeping. He sat by himself at the prow\nand looked out to sea to where the island had disappeared, and thought\nof the good hermits. He thought of how glad they had been to learn the\nprayer, and thanked God for having taken him there to help the God's\npeople,--to teach them the word of God.\n\nThe bishop was sitting and thinking and looking out to sea to where the\nisland had disappeared. There was something unsteady in his eyes: now a\nlight quivered in one place on the waves, and now in another. Suddenly\nhe saw something white and shining in the moonlight,--either a bird, a\ngull, or a white sail on a boat. The bishop watched it closely.\n\n\"A sailboat is following after us,\" he thought. \"It will soon overtake\nus. It was far, far away, but now it is very near. It is evidently not a\nboat, for there seems to be no sail. Still it is flying behind us and\ncoming up close to us.\"\n\nThe bishop could not make out what it was: a boat, no, it was not a\nboat; a bird, no, not a bird; a fish, no, not a fish! It was like a man,\nbut too large for that, and then, how was a man to be in the middle of\nthe ocean? The bishop got up and walked over to the helmsman.\n\n\"See there, what is it?\"\n\n\"What is it, my friend? What is it?\" asked the bishop, but he saw\nhimself that those were the hermits running over the sea. Their beards\nshone white, and, as though the ship were standing still, they came up\nto it.\n\nThe helmsman looked around and was frightened. He dropped the helm, and\ncalled out in a loud voice:\n\n\"O Lord! The hermits are running after us on the sea as though it were\ndry land!\"\n\nThe people heard him, and rushed to the helm. All saw the hermits\nrunning and holding each other's hands. Those at the ends waved their\nhands, asking the ship to be stopped. All three were running over the\nwater as though it were dry land, without moving their feet.\n\nBefore the ship could be stopped, the hermits came abreast with the\nship. They came up to the gunwale, raised their heads, and spoke in one\nvoice:\n\n\"O servant of God, we have forgotten your lesson. So long as we repeated\nit, we remembered it; but when we stopped for an hour, one word leaped\nout, and then the rest scattered. We do not remember a thing, so teach\nus again.\"\n\nThe bishop made the sign of the cross, bent down to the hermits, and\nsaid:\n\n\"Even your prayer, hermits of God, reaches the Lord. It is not for me to\nteach you. Pray for us sinful men!\"\n\nAnd the bishop made a low obeisance to the hermits. And the hermits\nstopped, turned around, and walked back over the sea. And up to morning\na light could be seen on the side where the hermits had departed.\n\n\n\n\nNEGLECT THE FIRE\n\nAnd You Cannot Put It Out\n\n1885\n\n\n\n\nNEGLECT THE FIRE\n\nAnd You Cannot Put It Out\n\n Then came Peter to him, and said, Lord, how oft shall my brother\n sin against me, and I forgive him? till seven times?\n\n Jesus saith unto him, I say not unto thee, Until seven times: but,\n Until seventy times seven.\n\n Therefore is the kingdom of heaven likened unto a certain king,\n which would take account of his servants.\n\n And when he had begun to reckon, one was brought unto him, which\n owed him ten thousand talents.\n\n But forasmuch as he had not to pay, his lord commanded him to be\n sold, and his wife, and children, and all that he had, and payment\n to be made.\n\n The servant therefore fell down, and worshipped him, saying, Lord,\n have patience with me, and I will pay thee all.\n\n Then the lord of that servant was moved with compassion, and loosed\n him, and forgave him the debt.\n\n But the same servant went out, and found one of his fellowservants,\n which owed him an hundred pence: and he laid hands on him, and took\n him by the throat, saying, Pay me that thou owest.\n\n And his fellowservant fell down at his feet, and besought him,\n saying, Have patience with me, and I will pay thee all.\n\n And he would not: but went and cast him into prison, till he should\n pay the debt.\n\n So when his fellowservants saw what was done, they were very sorry,\n and came and told unto their lord all that was done.\n\n Then his lord, after that he had called him, said unto him, O thou\n wicked servant, I forgave thee all that debt, because thou\n desiredst me:\n\n Shouldest not thou also have had compassion on thy fellowservant,\n even as I had pity on thee?\n\n And his lord was wroth, and delivered him to the tormentors, till\n he should pay all that was due unto him.\n\n So likewise shall my heavenly Father do also unto you, if ye from\n your hearts forgive not every one his brother their trespasses.\n (Matt. xviii. 21-35.)\n\n\nThere lived in a village a peasant, by the name of Iv\u00e1n Shcherbak\u00f3v. He\nlived well; he was himself in full strength, the first worker in the\nvillage, and he had three sons,--all of them on their legs: one was\nmarried, the second about to marry, and the third a grown-up lad who\ndrove horses and was beginning to plough. Iv\u00e1n's wife was a clever woman\nand a good housekeeper, and his daughter-in-law turned out to be a quiet\nperson and a good worker. There was no reason why Iv\u00e1n should not have\nled a good life with his family. The only idle mouth on the farm was his\nold, ailing father (he had been lying on the oven for seven years, sick\nwith the asthma).\n\nIv\u00e1n had plenty of everything, three horses and a colt, a cow and a\nyearling calf, and fifteen sheep. The women made the shoes and the\nclothes for the men and worked in the field; the men worked on their\nfarms.\n\nThey had enough grain until the next crop. From the oats they paid their\ntaxes and met all their obligations. An easy life, indeed, might Iv\u00e1n\nhave led with his children. But next door to him he had a neighbour,\nGavr\u00edlo the Lame, Gordy\u00e9y Iv\u00e1nov's son. And there was an enmity between\nhim and Iv\u00e1n.\n\nSo long as old man Gordy\u00e9y was alive, and Iv\u00e1n's father ran the farm,\nthe peasants lived in neighbourly fashion. If the women needed a sieve\nor a vat, or the men had to get another axle or wheel for a time, they\nsent from one farm to another, and helped each other out in a\nneighbourly way. If a calf ran into the yard of the threshing-floor,\nthey drove it out and only said: \"Don't let it out, for the heap has not\nyet been put away.\" And it was not their custom to put it away and lock\nit up in the threshing-floor or in a shed, or to revile each other.\n\nThus they lived so long as the old men were alive. But when the young\npeople began to farm, things went quite differently.\n\nThe whole thing began from a mere nothing. A hen of Iv\u00e1n's\ndaughter-in-law started laying early. The young woman gathered the eggs\nfor Passion week. Every day she went to the shed to pick up an egg from\nthe wagon-box. But, it seems, the boys scared away the hen, and she flew\nacross the wicker fence to the neighbour's yard, and laid an egg there.\nThe young woman heard the hen cackle, so she thought:\n\n\"I have no time now, I must get the hut in order for the holiday; I will\ngo there later to get it.\"\n\nIn the evening she went to the wagon-box under the shed, to fetch the\negg, but it was not there. The young woman asked her mother-in-law and\nher brother-in-law if they had taken it; but Tar\u00e1ska, her youngest\nbrother-in-law, said:\n\n\"Your hen laid an egg in the neighbour's yard, for she cackled there and\nflew out from that yard.\"\n\nThe young woman went to look at her hen, and found her sitting with the\ncock on the perch; she had closed her eyes and was getting ready to\nsleep. The woman would have liked to ask her where she laid the egg, but\nshe would not have given her any answer. Then the young woman went to\nher neighbour. The old woman met her.\n\n\"What do you want, young woman?\"\n\n\"Granny, my hen has been in your yard to-day,--did she not lay an egg\nthere?\"\n\n\"I have not set eyes on her. We have hens of our own, thank God, and\nthey have been laying for quite awhile. We have gathered our own eggs,\nand we do not need other people's eggs. Young woman, we do not go to\nother people's yards to gather eggs.\"\n\nThe young woman was offended. She said a word too much, the neighbour\nanswered with two, and the women began to scold. Iv\u00e1n's wife was\ncarrying water, and she, too, took a hand in it. Gavr\u00edlo's wife jumped\nout, and began to rebuke her neighbour. She reminded her of things that\nhad happened, and mentioned things that had not happened at all. And the\ntongue-lashing began. All yelled together, trying to say two words at\nthe same time. And they used bad words.\n\n\"You are such and such a one; you are a thief, a sneak; you are simply\nstarving your father-in-law; you are a tramp.\"\n\n\"And you are a beggar: you have torn my sieve; and you have our\nshoulder-yoke. Give me back the yoke!\"\n\nThey grabbed the yoke, spilled the water, tore off their kerchiefs, and\nbegan to fight. Gavr\u00edlo drove up from the field, and he took his wife's\npart. Iv\u00e1n jumped out with his son, and they all fell in a heap. Iv\u00e1n\nwas a sturdy peasant, and he scattered them all. He yanked out a piece\nof Gavr\u00edlo's beard. People ran up to them, and they were with difficulty\npulled apart.\n\nThat's the way it began.\n\nGavr\u00edlo wrapped the piece of his beard in a petition and went to the\ntownship court to enter a complaint.\n\n\"I did not raise a beard for freckled Iv\u00e1n to pull it out.\"\n\nIn the meantime his wife bragged to the neighbours that they would now\nget Iv\u00e1n sentenced and would have him sent to Siberia, and the feud\nbegan.\n\nThe old man on the oven tried to persuade them to stop the first day\nthey started to quarrel, but the young people paid no attention to him.\nHe said to them:\n\n\"Children, you are doing a foolish thing, and for a foolish thing have\nyou started a feud. Think of it,--the whole affair began from an egg.\nThe children picked up the egg,--well, God be with them! There is no\nprofit in one egg. With God's aid there will be enough for everybody.\nWell, you have said a bad word, so correct it, show her how to use\nbetter words! Well, you have had a fight,--you are sinful people. That,\ntoo, happens. Well, go and make peace, and let there be an end to it! If\nyou keep it up, it will only be worse.\"\n\nThe young people did not obey the old man; they thought that he was not\nusing sense, but just babbling in old man's fashion.\n\nIv\u00e1n did not give in to his neighbour.\n\n\"I did not pull his beard,\" he said. \"He jerked it out himself; but his\nson has yanked off my shirt-button and has torn my whole shirt. Here it\nis.\"\n\nAnd Iv\u00e1n, too, took the matter to court. The case was heard before a\njustice of the peace, and in the township court. While they were suing\neach other, Gavr\u00edlo lost a coupling-pin out of his cart. The women in\nGavr\u00edlo's house accused Iv\u00e1n's son of having taken it.\n\n\"We saw him in the night,\" they said, \"making his way under the window\nto the cart, and the gossip says that he went to the dram-shop and asked\nthe dram-shopkeeper to take the pin from him.\"\n\nAgain they started a suit. But at home not a day passed but that they\nquarrelled, nay, even fought. The children cursed one another,--they\nlearned this from their elders,--and when the women met at the brook,\nthey did not so much strike the beetles as let loose their tongues, and\nto no good.\n\nAt first the men just accused each other, but later they began to snatch\nup things that lay about loose. And they taught the women and children\nto do the same. Their life grew worse and worse. Iv\u00e1n Shcherbak\u00f3v and\nGavr\u00edlo the Lame kept suing one another at the meetings of the Commune,\nand in the township court, and before the justices of the peace, and all\nthe judges were tired of them. Now Gavr\u00edlo got Iv\u00e1n to pay a fine, or he\nsent him to the lockup, and now Iv\u00e1n did the same to Gavr\u00edlo. And the\nmore they did each other harm, the more furious they grew. When dogs\nmake for each other, they get more enraged the more they fight. You\nstrike a dog from behind, and he thinks that the other dog is biting\nhim, and gets only madder than ever. Just so it was with these peasants:\nwhen they went to court, one or the other was punished, either by being\nmade to pay a fine, or by being thrown into prison, and that only made\ntheir rage flame up more and more toward one another.\n\n\"Just wait, I will pay you back for it!\"\n\nAnd thus it went on for six years. The old man on the oven kept\nrepeating the same advice. He would say to them:\n\n\"What are you doing, my children? Drop all your accounts, stick to your\nwork, don't show such malice toward others, and it will be better. The\nmore you rage, the worse will it be.\"\n\nThey paid no attention to the old man.\n\nIn the seventh year the matter went so far that Iv\u00e1n's daughter-in-law\nat a wedding accused Gavr\u00edlo before people of having been caught with\nhorses. Gavr\u00edlo was drunk, and he did not hold back his anger, but\nstruck the woman and hurt her so that she lay sick for a week, for she\nwas heavy with child. Iv\u00e1n rejoiced, and went with a petition to the\nprosecuting magistrate.\n\n\"Now,\" he thought, \"I will get even with my neighbour: he shall not\nescape the penitentiary or Siberia.\"\n\nAgain Iv\u00e1n was not successful. The magistrate did not accept the\npetition: they examined the woman, but she was up and there were no\nmarks upon her. Iv\u00e1n went to the justice of the peace; but the justice\nsent the case to the township court. Iv\u00e1n bestirred himself in the\ntownship office, filled the elder and the scribe with half a bucket of\nsweet liquor, and got them to sentence Gavr\u00edlo to having his back\nflogged. The sentence was read to Gavr\u00edlo in the court.\n\nThe scribe read:\n\n\"The court has decreed that the peasant Gavr\u00edlo Gordy\u00e9y receive twenty\nblows with rods in the township office.\"\n\nIv\u00e1n listened to the decree and looked at Gavr\u00edlo, wondering what he\nwould do. Gavr\u00edlo, too, heard the decree, and he became as pale as a\nsheet, and turned away and walked out into the vestibule. Iv\u00e1n followed\nhim out and wanted to go to his horse, when he heard Gavr\u00edlo say:\n\n\"Very well, he will beat my back, and it will burn, but something of his\nmay burn worse than that.\"\n\nWhen Iv\u00e1n heard these words, he returned to the judges.\n\n\"Righteous judges! He threatens to set fire to my house. Listen, he said\nit in the presence of witnesses.\"\n\nGavr\u00edlo was called in.\n\n\"Is it true that you said so?\"\n\n\"I said nothing. Flog me, if you please. Evidently I must suffer for my\ntruth, while he may do anything he wishes.\"\n\nGavr\u00edlo wanted to say something more, but his lips and cheeks trembled.\nHe turned away toward the wall. Even the judges were frightened as they\nlooked at him.\n\n\"It would not be surprising,\" they thought, \"if he actually did some\nharm to his neighbour or to himself.\"\n\nAnd an old judge said to them:\n\n\"Listen, friends! You had better make peace with each other. Did you do\nright, brother Gavr\u00edlo, to strike a pregnant woman? Luckily God was\nmerciful to you, but think what crime you might have committed! Is that\ngood? Confess your guilt and beg his pardon! And he will pardon you.\nThen we shall change the decree.\"\n\nThe scribe heard that, and said:\n\n\"That is impossible, because on the basis of Article 117 there has taken\nplace no reconciliation, but the decree of the court has been handed\ndown, and the decree has to be executed.\"\n\nBut the judge paid no attention to the scribe.\n\n\"Stop currycombing your tongue. The first article, my friend, is to\nremember God, and God has commanded me to make peace.\"\n\nAnd the judge began once more to talk to the peasants, but he could not\npersuade them. Gavr\u00edlo would not listen to him.\n\n\"I am fifty years old less one,\" he said, \"and I have a married son. I\nhave not been beaten in all my life, and now freckled Iv\u00e1n has brought\nme to being beaten with rods, and am I to beg his forgiveness? Well, he\nwill--Iv\u00e1n will remember me!\"\n\nGavr\u00edlo's voice trembled again. He could not talk. He turned around and\nwent out.\n\nFrom the township office to the village was a distance of ten versts,\nand Iv\u00e1n returned home late. The women had already gone out to meet the\ncattle. He unhitched his horse, put it away, and entered the hut. The\nroom was empty. The children had not yet returned from the field, and\nthe women were out to meet the cattle. Iv\u00e1n went in, sat down on a\nbench, and began to think. He recalled how the decision was announced to\nGavr\u00edlo, and how he grew pale, and turned to the wall. And his heart was\npinched. He thought of how he should feel if he were condemned to be\nflogged. He felt sorry for Gavr\u00edlo. He heard the old man coughing on the\noven. The old man turned around, let down his legs, and sat up. He\npulled himself with difficulty up to the bench, and coughed and coughed,\nuntil he cleared his throat, and leaned against the table, and said:\n\n\"Well, have they condemned him?\"\n\nIv\u00e1n said:\n\n\"He has been sentenced to twenty strokes with the rods.\"\n\nThe old man shook his head.\n\n\"Iv\u00e1n, you are not doing right. It's wrong, not wrong to him, but to\nyourself. Well, will it make you feel easier, if they flog him?\"\n\n\"He will never do it again,\" said Iv\u00e1n.\n\n\"Why not? In what way is he doing worse than you?\"\n\n\"What, he has not harmed me?\" exclaimed Iv\u00e1n. \"He might have killed the\nwoman; and he even now threatens to set fire to my house. Well, shall I\nbow to him for it?\"\n\nThe old man heaved a sigh, and said:\n\n\"You, Iv\u00e1n, walk and drive wherever you please in the free world, and I\nhave passed many years on the oven, and so you think that you see\neverything, while I see nothing. No, my son, you see nothing,--malice\nhas dimmed your eyes. Another man's sins are in front of you, but your\nown are behind your back. You say that he has done wrong. If he alone\nhad done wrong, there would be no harm. Does evil between people arise\nfrom one man only? Evil arises between two. You see his badness, but you\ndo not see your own. If he himself were bad, and you good, there would\nbe no evil. Who pulled out his beard? Who blasted the rick which was at\nhalves? Who is dragging him to the courts? And yet you put it always on\nhim. You yourself live badly, that's why it is bad. Not thus did I live,\nand no such thing, my dear, did I teach you. Did I and the old man, his\nfather, live this way? How did we live? In neighbourly fashion. If his\nflour gave out, and the woman came: 'Uncle Frol, I need some\nflour.'--'Go, young woman, into the granary, and take as much as you\nneed.' If he had nobody to send out with the horses,--'Go, Iv\u00e1n, and\nlook after his horses!' And if I was short of anything, I used to go to\nhim. 'Uncle Gordy\u00e9y, I need this and that.' And how is it now? The other\nday a soldier was talking about Pl\u00e9vna. Why, your war is worse than what\nthey did at Pl\u00e9vna. Do you call this living? It is a sin! You are a\npeasant, a head of a house. You will be responsible. What are you\nteaching your women and your children? To curse. The other day Tar\u00e1ska,\nthat dirty nose, cursed Aunt Ar\u00edna, and his mother only laughed at him.\nIs that good? You will be responsible for it. Think of your soul. Is\nthat right? You say a word to me, and I answer with two; you box my\nears, and I box you twice. No, my son, Christ walked over the earth and\ntaught us fools something quite different. If a word is said to\nyou,--keep quiet, and let conscience smite him. That's what he, my son,\nhas taught us. If they box your ears, you turn the other cheek to them:\n'Here, strike it if I deserve it.' His own conscience will prick him. He\nwill be pacified and will do as you wish. That's what he has commanded\nus to do, and not to crow. Why are you silent? Do I tell you right?\"\n\nIv\u00e1n was silent, and he listened.\n\nThe old man coughed again, and with difficulty coughed up the phlegm,\nand began to speak again:\n\n\"Do you think Christ has taught us anything bad? He has taught us for\nour own good. Think of your earthly life: are you better off, or worse,\nsince that Pl\u00e9vna of yours was started? Figure out how much you have\nspent on these courts, how much you have spent in travelling and in\nfeeding yourself on the way? See what eagles of sons you have! You ought\nto live, and live well, and go up, but your property is growing less.\nWhy? For the same reason. From your pride. You ought to be ploughing\nwith the boys in the field and attend to your sowing, but the fiend\ncarries you to court or to some pettifogger. You do not plough in time\nand do not sow in time, and mother earth does not bring forth anything.\nWhy did the oats not do well this year? When did you sow them? When you\ncame back from the city. And what did you gain from the court? Only\ntrouble for yourself. Oh, son, stick to your business, and attend to\nyour field and your house, and if any one has offended you, forgive him\nin godly fashion, and things will go better with you, and you will feel\neasier at heart.\"\n\nIv\u00e1n kept silence.\n\n\"Listen, Iv\u00e1n! Pay attention to me, an old man. Go and hitch the gray\nhorse, and drive straight back to the office: squash there the whole\nbusiness, and in the morning go to Gavr\u00edlo, make peace with him in godly\nfashion, and invite him to the holiday\" (it was before Lady-day), \"have\nthe samov\u00e1r prepared, get a half bottle, and make an end to all sins, so\nthat may never happen again, and command the women and children to live\nin peace.\"\n\nIv\u00e1n heaved a sigh, and thought: \"The old man is speaking the truth,\"\nand his heart melted. The only thing he did not know was how to manage\nthings so as to make peace with his neighbour.\n\nAnd the old man, as though guessing what he had in mind, began once\nmore:\n\n\"Go, Iv\u00e1n, do not put it off! Put out the fire at the start, for when it\nburns up, you can't control it.\"\n\nThe old man wanted to say something else, but did not finish, for the\nwomen entered the room and began to prattle like magpies. The news had\nalready reached them about how Gavr\u00edlo had been sentenced to be flogged,\nand how he had threatened to set fire to the house. They had found out\neverything, and had had time in the pasture to exchange words with the\nwomen of Gavr\u00edlo's house. They said that Gavr\u00edlo's daughter-in-law had\nthreatened them with the examining magistrate. The magistrate, they\nsaid, was receiving gifts from Gavr\u00edlo. He would now upset the whole\ncase, and the teacher had already written another petition to the Tsar\nabout Iv\u00e1n, and that petition mentioned all the affairs, about the\ncoupling-pin, and about the garden,--and half of the estate would go\nback to him. Iv\u00e1n listened to their talk, and his heart was chilled\nagain, and he changed his mind about making peace with Gavr\u00edlo.\n\nIn a farmer's yard there is always much to do. Iv\u00e1n did not stop to talk\nwith the women, but got up and went out of the house, and walked over to\nthe threshing-floor and the shed. Before he fixed everything and started\nback again, the sun went down, and the boys returned from the field.\nThey had been ploughing up the field for the winter crop. Iv\u00e1n met them,\nand asked them about their work and helped them to put up the horses. He\nlaid aside the torn collar and was about to put some poles under the\nshed, when it grew quite dark. Iv\u00e1n left the poles until the morrow;\ninstead he threw some fodder down to the cattle, opened the gate, let\nTar\u00e1ska out with the horses into the street, to go to the night pasture,\nand again closed the gate and put down the gate board.\n\n\"Now to supper and to bed,\" thought Iv\u00e1n. He took the torn collar and\nwent into the house. He had entirely forgotten about Gavr\u00edlo, and about\nwhat his father had told him. As he took hold of the ring and was about\nto enter the vestibule, he heard his neighbour on the other side of the\nwicker fence scolding some one in a hoarse voice.\n\n\"The devil take him!\" Gavr\u00edlo was crying to some one. \"He ought to be\nkilled.\"\n\nThese words made all the old anger toward his neighbour burst forth in\nIv\u00e1n. He stood awhile and listened to Gavr\u00edlo's scolding. Then Gavr\u00edlo\ngrew quiet, and Iv\u00e1n went into the house.\n\nHe entered the room. Fire was burning within. The young woman was\nsitting in the corner behind the spinning-wheel; the old woman was\ngetting supper ready; the eldest son was making laces for the bast\nshoes, the second was at the table with a book, and Tar\u00e1ska was getting\nready to go to the night pasture.\n\nIn the house everything was good and merry, if it were not for that\ncurse,--a bad neighbour.\n\nIv\u00e1n was angry when he entered the room. He knocked the cat down from\nthe bench and scolded the women because the vat was not in the right\nplace. Iv\u00e1n felt out of humour. He sat down, frowning, and began to mend\nthe collar. He could not forget Gavr\u00edlo's words, with which he had\nthreatened him in court, and how he had said about somebody, speaking in\na hoarse voice: \"He ought to be killed.\"\n\nThe old woman got Tar\u00e1ska something to eat. When he was through with his\nsupper, he put on a fur coat and a caftan, girded himself, took a piece\nof bread, and went out to the horses. The eldest brother wanted to see\nhim off, but Iv\u00e1n himself got up and went out on the porch. It was\npitch-dark outside, the sky was clouded, and a wind had risen. Iv\u00e1n\nstepped down from the porch, helped his little son to get on a horse,\nfrightened a colt behind him, and stood looking and listening while\nTar\u00e1ska rode down the village, where he met other children, and until\nthey all rode out of hearing. Iv\u00e1n stood and stood at the gate, and\ncould not get Gavr\u00edlo's words out of his head, \"Something of yours may\nburn worse.\"\n\n\"He will not consider himself,\" thought Iv\u00e1n. \"It is dry, and a wind is\nblowing. He will enter somewhere from behind, the scoundrel, and will\nset the house on fire, and he will go free. If I could catch him, he\nwould not get away from me.\"\n\nThis thought troubled Iv\u00e1n so much that he did not go back to the porch,\nbut walked straight into the street and through the gate, around the\ncorner of the house.\n\n\"I will examine the yard,--who knows?\"\n\nAnd Iv\u00e1n walked softly down along the gate. He had just turned around\nthe corner and looked up the fence, when it seemed to him that something\nstirred at the other end, as though it got up and sat down again. Iv\u00e1n\nstopped and stood still,--he listened and looked: everything was quiet,\nonly the wind rustled the leaves in the willow-tree and crackled through\nthe straw. It was pitch-dark, but his eyes got used to the darkness:\nIv\u00e1n could see the whole corner and the plough and the penthouse. He\nstood and looked, but there was no one there.\n\n\"It must have only seemed so to me,\" thought Iv\u00e1n, \"but I will,\nnevertheless, go and see,\" and he stole up along the shed. Iv\u00e1n stepped\nsoftly in his bast shoes, so that he did not hear his own steps. He came\nto the corner, when, behold, something flashed by near the plough, and\ndisappeared again. Iv\u00e1n felt as though something hit him in the heart,\nand he stopped. As he stopped he could see something flashing up, and he\ncould see clearly some one in a cap squatting down with his back toward\nhim, and setting fire to a bunch of straw in his hands. He stood\nstock-still.\n\n\"Now,\" he thought, \"he will not get away from me. I will catch him on\nthe spot.\"\n\nBefore Iv\u00e1n had walked two lengths of the fence it grew quite bright,\nand no longer in the former place, nor was it a small fire, but the\nflame licked up in the straw of the penthouse and was going toward the\nroof, and there stood Gavr\u00edlo so that the whole of him could be seen.\n\nAs a hawk swoops down on a lark, so Iv\u00e1n rushed up against Gavr\u00edlo the\nLame.\n\n\"I will twist him up,\" he thought, \"and he will not get away from me.\"\n\nBut Gavr\u00edlo the Lame evidently heard his steps and ran along the shed\nwith as much speed as a hare.\n\n\"You will not get away,\" shouted Iv\u00e1n, swooping down on him.\n\nHe wanted to grab him by the collar, but Gavr\u00edlo got away from him, and\nIv\u00e1n caught him by the skirt of his coat. The skirt tore off, and Iv\u00e1n\nfell down.\n\nIv\u00e1n jumped up.\n\n\"Help! Hold him!\" and again he ran.\n\nAs he was getting up, Gavr\u00edlo was already near his yard, but Iv\u00e1n caught\nup with him. He was just going to take hold of him, when something\nstunned him, as though a stone had come down on his head. Gavr\u00edlo had\npicked up an oak post near his house and hit Iv\u00e1n with all his might on\nthe head, when he ran up to him.\n\nIv\u00e1n staggered, sparks flew from his eyes, then all grew dark, and he\nfell down. When he came to his senses, Gavr\u00edlo was gone. It was as light\nas day, and from his yard came a sound as though an engine were working,\nand it roared and crackled there. Iv\u00e1n turned around and saw that his\nback shed was all on fire and the side shed was beginning to burn; the\nfire, and the smoke, and the burning straw were being carried toward the\nhouse.\n\n\"What is this? Friend!\" cried Iv\u00e1n. He raised his hands and brought them\ndown on his calves. \"If I could only pull it out from the penthouse, and\nput it out! What is this? Friends!\" he repeated. He wanted to shout, but\nhe nearly strangled,--he had no voice. He wanted to run, but his feet\nwould not move,--they tripped each other up. He tried to walk slowly,\nbut he staggered, and he nearly strangled. He stood still again and drew\nbreath, and started to walk. Before he came to the shed and reached the\nfire, the side shed was all on fire, and he could not get into the yard.\nPeople came running up, but nothing could be done. The neighbours\ndragged their own things out of their houses, and drove the cattle out.\nAfter Iv\u00e1n's house, Gavr\u00edlo's caught fire; a wind rose and carried the\nfire across the street. Half the village burned down.\n\nAll they saved from Iv\u00e1n's house was the old man, who was pulled out,\nand everybody jumped out in just what they had on. Everything else was\nburned, except the horses in the pasture: the cattle were burned, the\nchickens on their roosts, the carts, the ploughs, the harrows, the\nwomen's chests, the grain in the granary,--everything was burned.\n\nGavr\u00edlo's cattle were saved, and they dragged a few things out of his\nhouse.\n\nIt burned for a long time, all night long. Iv\u00e1n stood near his yard, and\nkept looking at it, and saying:\n\n\"What is this? Friends! If I could just pull it out and put it out!\"\n\nBut when the ceiling in the hut fell down, he jumped into the hottest\nplace, took hold of a brand, and wanted to pull it out. The women saw\nhim and began to call him back, but he pulled out one log and started\nfor another: he staggered and fell on the fire. Then his son rushed\nafter him and dragged him out. Iv\u00e1n had his hair and beard singed and\nhis garments burnt and his hands blistered, but he did not feel\nanything.\n\n\"His sorrow has bereft him of his senses,\" people said.\n\nThe fire died down, but Iv\u00e1n was still standing there, and saying:\n\n\"Friends, what is this? If I could only pull it out.\"\n\nIn the morning the elder sent his son to Iv\u00e1n.\n\n\"Uncle Iv\u00e1n, your father is dying: he has sent for you, to bid you\ngood-bye.\"\n\nIv\u00e1n had forgotten about his father, and did not understand what they\nwere saying to him.\n\n\"What father?\" he said. \"Send for whom?\"\n\n\"He has sent for you, to bid you good-bye. He is dying in our house.\nCome, Uncle Iv\u00e1n!\" said the elder's son, pulling him by his arm.\n\nIv\u00e1n followed the elder's son.\n\nWhen the old man, was carried out, burning straw fell on him and\nscorched him. He was taken to the elder's house in a distant part of the\nvillage. This part did not burn.\n\nWhen Iv\u00e1n came to his father, only the elder's wife was there, and the\nchildren on the oven. The rest were all at the fire. The old man was\nlying on a bench, with a taper in his hand, and looking toward the door.\nWhen his son entered, he stirred a little. The old woman went up to him\nand said that his son had come. He told her to have him come closer to\nhim. Iv\u00e1n went up, and then the old man said:\n\n\"What have I told you, Iv\u00e1n? Who has burned the village?\"\n\n\"He, father,\" said Iv\u00e1n, \"he,--I caught him at it. He put the fire to\nthe roof while I was standing near. If I could only have caught the\nburning bunch of straw and put it out, there would not have been\nanything.\"\n\n\"Iv\u00e1n,\" said the old man, \"my death has come, and you, too, will die.\nWhose sin is it?\"\n\nIv\u00e1n stared at his father and kept silence; he could not say a word.\n\n\"Speak before God: whose sin is it? What have I told you?\"\n\nIt was only then that Iv\u00e1n came to his senses, and understood\neverything. And he snuffled, and said:\n\n\"Mine, father.\" And he knelt before his father, and wept, and said:\n\"Forgive me, father! I am guilty toward you and toward God.\"\n\nThe old man moved his hands, took the taper in his left hand, and was\nmoving his right hand toward his brow, to make the sign of the cross,\nbut he did not get it so far, and he stopped.\n\n\"Glory be to thee, O Lord! Glory be to thee, O Lord!\" he said, and his\neyes were again turned toward his son.\n\n\"Iv\u00e1n! Oh, Iv\u00e1n!\"\n\n\"What is it, father?\"\n\n\"What is to be done now?\"\n\nIv\u00e1n was weeping.\n\n\"I do not know, father,\" he said. \"How am I to live now, father?\"\n\nThe old man closed his eyes and lisped something, as though gathering\nall his strength, and he once more opened his eyes and said:\n\n\"You will get along. With God's aid will you get along.\" The old man was\nsilent awhile, and he smiled and said:\n\n\"Remember, Iv\u00e1n, you must not tell who started the fire. Cover up\nanother man's sin! God will forgive two sins.\"\n\nAnd the old man took the taper into both hands, folded them over his\nheart, heaved a sigh, stretched himself, and died.\n\n * * * * *\n\nIv\u00e1n did not tell on Gavr\u00edlo, and nobody found out how the fire had been\nstarted.\n\nAnd Iv\u00e1n's heart was softened toward Gavr\u00edlo, and Gavr\u00edlo marvelled at\nIv\u00e1n, because he did not tell anybody. At first Gavr\u00edlo was afraid of\nhim, but later he got used to him. The peasants stopped quarrelling, and\nso did their families. While they rebuilt their homes, the two families\nlived in one house, and when the village was built again, and the\nfarmhouses were built farther apart, Iv\u00e1n and Gavr\u00edlo again were\nneighbours, living in the same block.\n\nAnd Iv\u00e1n and Gavr\u00edlo lived neighbourly together, just as their fathers\nhad lived. Iv\u00e1n Shcherbak\u00f3v remembered his father's injunction and God's\ncommand to put out the fire in the beginning. And if a person did him\nsome harm, he did not try to have his revenge on the man, but to mend\nmatters; and if a person called him a bad name, he did not try to answer\nwith worse words still, but to teach him not to speak badly. And thus he\ntaught, also the women folk and the children. And Iv\u00e1n Shcherbak\u00f3v\nimproved and began to live better than ever.\n\n\n\n\nTHE CANDLE\n\n1885\n\n\n\n\nTHE CANDLE\n\n Ye have heard that it hath been said, An eye for an eye, and a\n tooth for a tooth: but I say unto you, That ye resist not evil.\n (Matt. v. 38, 39.)\n\n\nThis happened in the days of slavery. There were then all kinds of\nmasters. There were such as remembered their hour of death and God, and\ntook pity on their people, and there were dogs,--not by that may their\nmemory live! But there were no meaner masters than those who from\nserfdom rose, as though out of the mud, to be lords! With them life was\nhardest of all.\n\nThere happened to be such a clerk in a manorial estate. The peasants\nwere doing manorial labour. There was much land, and the land was good,\nand there was water, and meadows, and forests. There would have been\nenough for everybody, both for the master and for the peasants, but the\nmaster had placed over them a clerk, a manorial servant of his from\nanother estate.\n\nThe clerk took the power into his own hand, and sat down on the\npeasants' necks. He was a married man,--he had a wife and two married\ndaughters,--and had saved some money: he might have lived gloriously\nwithout sin, but he was envious, and stuck fast in sin. He began by\ndriving the peasants to manorial labour more than the usual number of\ndays. He started a brick-kiln, and he drove all the men and women to\nwork in it above their strength, and sold the brick. The peasants went\nto the proprietor in Moscow to complain against him, but they were not\nsuccessful. When the clerk learned that the peasants had entered a\ncomplaint against him, he took his revenge out of them. The peasants led\na harder life still. There were found faithless people among the\npeasants: they began to denounce their own brothers to the clerk, and to\nslander one another. And all the people became involved, and the clerk\nwas furious.\n\nThe further it went, the worse it got, and the clerk carried on so\nterribly that the people became afraid of him as of a wolf. When he\ndrove through the village, everybody ran away from him as from a wolf,\nso as not to be seen by him. The clerk saw that and raved more than ever\nbecause people were afraid of him. He tortured the peasants with beating\nand with work, and they suffered very much from him.\n\nIt used to happen that such evil-doers were put out of the way, and the\npeasants began to talk that way about him. They would meet somewhere\nsecretly, and such as were bolder would say:\n\n\"How long are we going to endure this evil-doer? We are perishing\nanyway,--and it is no sin to kill a man like him.\"\n\nOne day the peasants met in the forest, before Easter week: the clerk\nhad sent them to clean up the manorial woods. They came together at\ndinner-time, and began to talk:\n\n\"How can we live now?\" they said. \"He will root us up. He has worn us\nout with work: neither in the daytime nor at night does he give any rest\nto us or to the women. And the moment a thing does not go the way he\nwants it to, he nags at us and has us flogged. Sem\u00e9n died from that\nflogging; An\u00edsim he wore out in the stocks. What are we waiting for? He\nwill come here in the evening and will again start to torment us. We\nought just to pull him down from his horse, whack him with an axe, and\nthat will be the end of it. We will bury him somewhere like a dog, and\nmum is the word. Let us agree to stand by each other and not give\nourselves away.\"\n\nThus spoke Vas\u00edli Min\u00e1ev. He was more furious at the clerk than anybody\nelse. The clerk had him flogged every week, and had taken his wife from\nhim and made her a cook at his house.\n\nThus the peasants talked, and in the evening the clerk came. He came on\nhorseback, and immediately began to nag them because they were not\ncutting right. He found a linden-tree in the heap.\n\n\"I have commanded you not to cut any lindens down,\" he said. \"Who cut it\ndown? Tell me, or I will have every one of you flogged!\"\n\nHe tried to find out in whose row the linden was. They pointed to S\u00eddor.\nThe clerk beat S\u00eddor's face until the blood came, and struck Vas\u00edli with\na whip because his pile was small. He rode home.\n\nIn the evening the peasants met again, and Vas\u00edli began to speak.\n\n\"Oh, people, you are not men, but sparrows! 'We will stand up, we will\nstand up!' but when the time for action came, they all flew under the\nroof. Even thus the sparrows made a stand against the hawk: 'We will not\ngive away, we will not give away! We will make a stand, we will make a\nstand!' But when he swooped down on them, they made for the nettles. And\nthe hawk seized one of the sparrows, the one he wanted, and flew away\nwith him. Out leaped the sparrows: 'Chivik, chivik!' one of them was\nlacking. 'Who is gone? V\u00e1nka. Well, served him right!' Just so you did.\n'We will not give each other away, we will not give each other away!'\nWhen he took hold of S\u00eddor, you ought to have come together and made an\nend of him. But there you say, We will not give away, we will not give\naway! We will make a stand, we will make a stand!' and when he swooped\ndown on you, you made for the bushes.\"\n\nThe peasants began to talk that way oftener and oftener, and they\ndecided fully to make away with the clerk. During Passion week the clerk\ntold the peasants to get ready to plough the manorial land for oats\nduring Easter week. That seemed offensive to the peasants, and they\ngathered during Passion week in Vas\u00edli's back yard, and began to talk.\n\n\"If he has forgotten God,\" they said, \"and wants to do such things, we\nmust certainly kill him. We shall be ruined anyway.\"\n\nPeter Mikhy\u00e9ev came to them. He was a peaceable man, and did not take\ncounsel with the peasants. He came, and listened to their speeches, and\nsaid:\n\n\"Brothers, you are planning a great crime. It is a serious matter to\nruin a soul. It is easy to ruin somebody else's soul, but how about our\nown souls? He is doing wrong, and the wrong is at his door. We must\nsuffer, brothers.\"\n\nVas\u00edli grew angry at these words.\n\n\"He has got it into his head that it is a sin to kill a man. Of course\nit is, but what kind of a man is he? It is a sin to kill a good man, but\nsuch a dog even God has commanded us to kill. A mad dog has to be\nkilled, if we are to pity men. If we do not kill him, there will be a\ngreater sin. What a lot of people he will ruin! Though we shall suffer,\nit will at least be for other people. Men will thank us for it. If we\nstand gaping he will ruin us all. You are speaking nonsense, Mikhy\u00e9ev.\nWill it be a lesser sin if we go to work on Christ's holiday? You\nyourself will not go.\"\n\nAnd Mikhy\u00e9ev said:\n\n\"Why should I not go? If they send me, I will go to plough. It is not\nfor me. God will find out whose sin it is, so long as we do not forget\nhim. Brothers, I am not speaking for myself. If we were enjoined to\nrepay evil with evil, there would be a commandment of that kind, but we\nare taught just the opposite. You start to do away with evil, and it\nwill only pass into you. It is not a hard thing to kill a man. But the\nblood sticks to your soul. To kill a man means to soil your soul with\nblood. You imagine that when you kill a bad man you have got rid of the\nevil, but, behold, you have reared a worse evil within you. Submit to\nmisfortune, and misfortune will be vanquished.\"\n\nThe peasants could not come to any agreement: their thoughts were\nscattered. Some of them believed with Vas\u00edli, and others agreed with\nPeter's speech that they ought not commit a crime, but endure.\n\nThe peasants celebrated the first day, the Sunday. In the evening the\nelder came with the deputies from the manor, and said:\n\n\"Mikha\u00edl Sem\u00e9novich, the clerk, has commanded me to get all the peasants\nready for the morrow, to plough the field for the oats.\" The elder made\nthe round of the village with the deputies and ordered all to go out on\nthe morrow to plough, some beyond the river, and some from the highway.\nThe peasants wept, but did not dare to disobey, and on the morrow went\nout with their ploughs and began to plough.\n\nMikha\u00edl Sem\u00e9novich, the clerk, awoke late, and went out to look after\nthe farm. His home folk--his wife and his widowed daughter (she had come\nfor the holidays)--were all dressed up. A labourer hitched a cart for\nthem, and they went to mass, and returned home again. A servant made the\nsamov\u00e1r, and when Mikha\u00edl Sem\u00e9novich came, they sat down to drink tea.\nMikha\u00edl Sem\u00e9novich drank his tea, lighted a pipe, and sent for the\nelder.\n\n\"Well,\" he said, \"have you sent out the peasants to plough?\"\n\n\"Yes, Mikha\u00edl Sem\u00e9novich.\"\n\n\"Well, did all of them go?\"\n\n\"All. I placed them myself.\"\n\n\"Of course, you have placed them,--but are they ploughing? Go and see,\nand tell them that I will be there in the afternoon, and by that time\nthey are to plough a desyat\u00edna to each two ploughs, and plough it well.\nIf I find any unploughed strips, I will pay no attention to the\nholiday.\"\n\n\"Yes, sir.\"\n\nThe elder started to go out, but Mikha\u00edl Sem\u00e9novich called him back. He\ncalled him back, but he hesitated, for he wanted to say something and\ndid not know how to say it. He hesitated awhile, and then he said:\n\n\"Listen to what those robbers are saying about me. Tell me\neverything,--who is scolding me, or whatever they may be saying. I know\nthose robbers: they do not like to work; all they want to do is to lie\non their sides and loaf. To eat and be idle, that is what they like;\nthey do not consider that if the time of ploughing is missed it will be\ntoo late. So listen to what they have to say, and let me know everything\nyou may hear! Go, but be sure you tell me everything and keep nothing\nfrom me!\"\n\nThe elder turned around and left the room. He mounted his horse and rode\ninto the field to the peasants.\n\nThe clerk's wife had heard her husband's talk with the elder, and she\ncame in and began to implore him. The wife of the clerk was a peaceable\nwoman, and she had a good heart. Whenever she could, she calmed her\nhusband and took the peasants' part.\n\nShe came to her husband, and began to beg him: \"My dear M\u00edshenka, do not\nsin, for the Lord's holiday! For Christ's sake, send the peasants home!\"\n\nMikha\u00edl Sem\u00e9novich did not accept his wife's words, but only laughed at\nher:\n\n\"Is it too long a time since the whip danced over you that you have\nbecome so bold, and meddle in what is not your concern?\"\n\n\"M\u00edshenka, my dear, I have had a bad dream about you. Listen to my words\nand send the peasants home!\"\n\n\"Precisely, that's what I say. Evidently you have gathered so much fat\nthat you think the whip will not hurt you. Look out!\"\n\nSem\u00e9novich grew angry, knocked the burning pipe into her teeth, sent her\naway, and told her to get the dinner ready.\n\nMikha\u00edl Sem\u00e9novich ate cold gelatine, dumplings, beet soup with pork,\nroast pig, and milk noodles, and drank cherry cordial, and ate pastry\nfor dessert; he called in the cook and made her sit down and sing songs\nto him, while he himself took the guitar and accompanied her.\n\nMikha\u00edl Sem\u00e9novich was sitting in a happy mood and belching, and\nstrumming the guitar, and laughing with the cook. The elder came in,\nmade a bow, and began to report what he had seen in the field.\n\n\"Well, are they ploughing? Will they finish the task?\"\n\n\"They have already ploughed more than half.\"\n\n\"No strips left?\"\n\n\"I have not seen any. They are afraid, and are working well.\"\n\n\"And are they breaking up the dirt well?\"\n\n\"The earth is soft and falls to pieces like a poppy.\"\n\nThe clerk was silent for awhile.\n\n\"What do they say about me? Are they cursing me?\"\n\nThe elder hesitated, but Mikha\u00edl Sem\u00e9novich commanded him to tell the\nwhole truth.\n\n\"Tell everything! You are not going to tell me your words, but theirs.\nIf you tell me the truth, I will reward you; and if you shield them,\nlook out, I will have you flogged. O K\u00e1tyusha, give him a glass of v\u00f3dka\nto brace him up!\"\n\nThe cook went and brought the elder the v\u00f3dka. The elder saluted, drank\nthe v\u00f3dka, wiped his mouth, and began to speak. \"I cannot help it,\" he\nthought, \"it is not my fault if they do not praise him; I will tell him\nthe truth, if he wants it.\" And the elder took courage and said:\n\n\"They murmur, Mikha\u00edl Sem\u00e9novich, they murmur.\"\n\n\"What do they say? Speak!\"\n\n\"They keep saying that you do not believe in God.\"\n\nThe clerk laughed.\n\n\"Who said that?\"\n\n\"All say so. They say that you are submitting to the devil.\"\n\nThe clerk laughed.\n\n\"That is all very well,\" he said, \"but tell me in particular what each\nsays. What does Vas\u00edli say?\"\n\nThe elder did not wish to tell on his people, but with Vas\u00edli he had\nlong been in a feud.\n\n\"Vas\u00edli,\" he said, \"curses more than the rest.\"\n\n\"What does he say? Tell me!\"\n\n\"It is too terrible to tell. He says that you will die an unrepenting\ndeath.\"\n\n\"What a brave fellow!\" he said. \"Why, then, is he gaping? Why does he\nnot kill me? Evidently his arms are too short. All right,\" he said,\n\"Vas\u00edli, we will square up accounts. And T\u00edshka, that dog, I suppose he\nsays so, too?\"\n\n\"All speak ill of you.\"\n\n\"But what do they say?\"\n\n\"I loathe to tell.\"\n\n\"Never mind! Take courage and speak!\"\n\n\"They say: 'May his belly burst, and his guts run out!'\"\n\nMikha\u00edl Sem\u00e9novich was delighted, and he even laughed.\n\n\"We will see whose will run out first. Who said that? T\u00edshka?\"\n\n[Illustration: \"But the candle was still burning\"\n\n_Photogravure from Painting by A. Kivsh\u00e9nko_]\n\n\"Nobody said a good word. All of them curse you and threaten you.\"\n\n\"Well, and Peter Mikhy\u00e9ev? What does he say? He, too, I suppose, is\ncursing me?\"\n\n\"No, Mikha\u00edl Sem\u00e9novich, Peter is not cursing.\"\n\n\"What does he say?\"\n\n\"He is the only one of all the peasants who is not saying anything. He\nis a wise peasant. I wondered at him, Mikha\u00edl Sem\u00e9novich.\"\n\n\"How so?\"\n\n\"All the peasants were wondering at what he was doing.\"\n\n\"What was he doing?\"\n\n\"It is wonderful. I rode up to him. He is ploughing the slanting\ndesyat\u00edna at T\u00farkin Height. As I rode up to him, I heard some one\nsinging such nice, high tones, and on the plough-staff something was\nshining.\"\n\n\"Well?\"\n\n\"It was shining like a light. I rode up to him, and there I saw a\nfive-kopek wax candle was stuck on the cross-bar and burning, and the\nwind did not blow it out. He had on a clean shirt, and was ploughing and\nsinging Sunday hymns. And he would turn over and shake off the dirt, but\nthe candle did not go out. He shook the plough in my presence, changed\nthe peg, and started the plough, but the candle was still burning and\ndid not go out.\"\n\n\"And what did he say?\"\n\n\"He said nothing. When he saw me, he greeted me and at once began to\nsing again.\"\n\n\"What did you say to him?\"\n\n\"I did not say anything to him, but the peasants came up and laughed at\nhim: 'Mikhy\u00e9ev will not get rid of his sin of ploughing during Easter\nweek even if he should pray all his life.'\"\n\n\"What did he say to that?\"\n\n\"All he said was: 'Peace on earth and good-will to men.' He took his\nplough, started his horses, and sang out in a thin voice, but the candle\nkept burning and did not go out.\"\n\nThe clerk stopped laughing. He put down the guitar, lowered his head,\nand fell to musing.\n\nHe sat awhile; then he sent away the cook and the elder, went behind the\ncurtain, lay down on the bed, and began to sigh and to sob, just as\nthough a cart were driving past with sheaves. His wife came and began to\nspeak to him; he gave her no answer. All he said was:\n\n\"He has vanquished me. My turn has come.\"\n\nHis wife tried to calm him.\n\n\"Go and send them home! Maybe it will be all right. See what deeds you\nhave done, and now you lose your courage.\"\n\n\"I am lost,\" he said. \"He has vanquished me.\"\n\nHis wife cried to him:\n\n\"You just have it on your brain, 'He has vanquished me, he has\nvanquished me.' Go and send the peasants home, and all will be well. Go,\nand I will have your horse saddled.\"\n\nThe horse was brought up, and the clerk's wife persuaded him to ride\ninto the field to send the peasants home.\n\nMikha\u00edl Sem\u00e9novich mounted his horse and rode into the field. He drove\nthrough the yard, and a woman opened the gate for him, and he passed\ninto the village. The moment the people saw the clerk, they hid\nthemselves from him, one in the yard, another around a corner, a third\nin the garden.\n\nThe clerk rode through the whole village and reached the outer gate. The\ngate was shut, and he could not open it while sitting on his horse. He\ncalled and called for somebody to open the gate, but no one would come.\nHe got down from his horse, opened the gate, and in the gateway started\nto mount again. He put his foot into the stirrup, rose in it, and was on\nthe point of vaulting over the saddle, when his horse shied at a pig and\nbacked up toward the picket fence; he was a heavy man and did not get\ninto his saddle, but fell over, with his belly on picket. There was but\none sharp post in the picket fence, and it was higher than the rest. It\nwas this post that he struck with his belly. He was ripped open and fell\nto the ground.\n\nWhen the peasants drove home from their work, the horses snorted and\nwould not go through the gate. The peasants went to look, and saw\nMikha\u00edl lying on his back. His arms were stretched out, his eyes stood\nopen, and all his inside had run out and the blood stood in a pool,--the\nearth had not sucked it in.\n\nThe peasants were frightened. They took their horses in by back roads,\nbut Mikhy\u00e9ev alone got down and walked over to the clerk. He saw that he\nwas dead, so he closed his eyes, hitched his cart, with the aid of his\nson put the dead man in the bed of the cart, and took him to the manor.\n\nThe master heard about all these things, and to save himself from sin\nsubstituted tenant pay for the manorial labour.\n\nAnd the peasants saw that the power of God was not in sin, but in\ngoodness.\n\n\n\n\nTHE TWO OLD MEN\n\n1885\n\n\n\n\nTHE TWO OLD MEN\n\n\n Therefore, being wearied with his journey, sat thus on the well:\n and it was about the sixth hour. There cometh a woman of Samaria to\n draw water: Jesus saith unto her, Give me to drink. (For his\n disciples were gone away unto the city to buy meat.) Then saith the\n woman of Samaria unto him, How is it that thou, being a Jew, askest\n drink of me, which am a woman of Samaria? for the Jews have no\n dealings with the Samaritans. Jesus answered and said unto her, If\n thou knewest the gift of God, and who it is that saith to thee,\n Give me to drink; thou wouldest have asked of him, for the Father\n seeketh such to worship him. (John iv. 19-23.)\n\n\nI.\n\nTwo old men got ready to go to old Jerusalem to pray to God. One of them\nwas a rich peasant; his name was Ef\u00edm Tar\u00e1sych Shevel\u00e9v. The other was\nnot a well-to-do man, and his name was Elis\u00e9y Bodr\u00f3v.\n\nEf\u00edm was a steady man: he did not drink liquor, nor smoke tobacco, nor\ntake snuff, had never cursed in his life, and was a stern, firm old man.\nHe had served two terms as an elder, and had gone out of his office\nwithout a deficit. He had a large family,--two sons and a married\ngrandson,--and all lived together. As to looks he was a sound, bearded,\nerect man, and only in his seventh decade did a gray streak appear in\nhis beard.\n\nElis\u00e9y was neither wealthy nor poor; in former days he used to work out\nas a carpenter, but in his old age he stayed at home and kept bees. One\nson was away earning money, and another was living at home. Elis\u00e9y was a\ngood-natured and merry man. He liked to drink liquor and take snuff, and\nsing songs; but he was a peaceable man, and lived in friendship with his\nhome folk and with the neighbours. In appearance he was an undersized,\nswarthy man, with a curly beard and, like his saint, Prophet Elisha, his\nwhole head was bald.\n\nThe old men had long ago made the vow and agreed to go together, but\nTar\u00e1sych had had no time before: he had so much business on hand. The\nmoment one thing came to an end, another began; now he had to get his\ngrandson married, now he was expecting his younger son back from the\narmy, and now he had to build him a new hut.\n\nOn a holiday the two old men once met, and they sat down on logs.\n\n\"Well,\" said Elis\u00e9y, \"when are we going to carry out our vow?\"\n\nEf\u00edm frowned.\n\n\"We shall have to wait,\" he said, \"for this is a hard year for me. I\nhave started to build a house,--I thought I could do it with one\nhundred, but it is going on now in the third. And still it is not done.\nWe shall have to let it go till summer. In the summer, God willing, we\nshall go by all means.\"\n\n\"According to my understanding,\" said Elis\u00e9y, \"there is no sense in\ndelaying. We ought to go at once. Spring is the best time.\"\n\n\"The time is all right, but the work is begun, so how can I drop it?\"\n\n\"Have you nobody to attend to it? Your son will do it.\"\n\n\"Do it? My eldest is not reliable,--he drinks.\"\n\n\"When we die, friend, they will get along without us. Let your son learn\nit!\"\n\n\"That is so, but still I want to see things done under my eyes.\"\n\n\"Oh, dear man! You can never attend to everything. The other day the\nwomen in my house were washing and cleaning up for the holidays. This\nand that had to be done, and everything could not be looked after. My\neldest daughter-in-law, a clever woman, said: 'It is a lucky thing the\nholidays come without waiting for us, for else, no matter how much we\nmight work, we should never get done.'\"\n\nTar\u00e1sych fell to musing.\n\n\"I have spent a great deal of money on this building,\" he said, \"and I\ncan't start out on the pilgrimage with empty hands. One hundred roubles\nare not a trifling matter.\"\n\nElis\u00e9y laughed.\n\n\"Don't sin, friend!\" he said. \"You have ten times as much as I, and yet\nyou talk about money. Only say when we shall start. I have no money, but\nthat will be all right.\"\n\nTar\u00e1sych smiled.\n\n\"What a rich man you are!\" he said. \"Where shall you get the money\nfrom?\"\n\n\"I will scratch around in the house and will get together some there;\nand if that is not enough, I will let my neighbour have ten hives. He\nhas been asking me for them.\"\n\n\"You will have a fine swarm! You will be worrying about it.\"\n\n\"Worrying? No, my friend! I have never worried about anything in life\nbut sins. There is nothing more precious than the soul.\"\n\n\"That is so; but still, it is not good if things do not run right at\nhome.\"\n\n\"If things do not run right in our soul, it is worse. We have made a\nvow, so let us go! Truly, let us go!\"\n\n\nII.\n\nElis\u00e9y persuaded his friend to go. Ef\u00edm thought and thought about it,\nand on the following morning he came to Elis\u00e9y.\n\n\"Well, let us go,\" he said, \"you have spoken rightly. God controls life\nand death. We must go while we are alive and have strength.\"\n\nA week later the old men started.\n\nTar\u00e1sych had money at home. He took one hundred roubles with him and\nleft two hundred with his wife.\n\nElis\u00e9y, too, got ready. He sold his neighbour ten hives and the increase\nof ten other hives. For the whole he received seventy roubles. The\nremaining thirty roubles he swept up from everybody in the house. His\nwife gave him the last she had,--she had put it away for her funeral;\nhis daughter-in-law gave him what she had.\n\nEf\u00edm Tar\u00e1sych left all his affairs in the hands of his eldest son: he\ntold him where to mow, and how many fields to mow, and where to haul the\nmanure, and how to finish the hut and thatch it. He considered\neverything, and gave his orders. But all the order that Elis\u00e9y gave was\nthat his wife should set out the young brood separately from the hives\nsold and give the neighbour what belonged to him without cheating him,\nbut about domestic affairs he did not even speak: \"The needs\nthemselves,\" he thought, \"will show you what to do and how to do it. You\nhave been farming yourselves, so you will do as seems best to you.\"\n\nThe old men got ready. The home folk baked a lot of flat cakes for them,\nand they made wallets for themselves, cut out new leg-rags, put on new\nshort boots, took reserve bast shoes, and started. The home folk saw\nthem off beyond the enclosure and bade them good-bye, and the old men\nwere off for their pilgrimage.\n\nElis\u00e9y left in a happy mood, and as soon as he left his village he\nforgot all his affairs. All the care he had was how to please his\ncompanion, how to keep from saying an unseemly word to anybody, how to\nreach the goal in peace and love, and how to get home again. As Elis\u00e9y\nwalked along the road he either muttered some prayer or repeated such of\nthe lives of the saints as he knew. Whenever he met a person on the\nroad, or when he came to a hostelry, he tried to be as kind to everybody\nas he could, and to say to them God-fearing words. He walked along and\nwas happy. There was only one thing Elis\u00e9y could not do: he wanted to\nstop taking snuff and had left his snuff-box at home, but he hankered\nfor it. On the road a man offered him some. He wrangled with himself and\nstepped away from his companion so as not to lead him into sin, and took\na pinch.\n\nEf\u00edm Tar\u00e1sych walked firmly and well; he did no wrong and spoke no vain\nwords, but there was no lightness in his heart. The cares about his home\ndid not leave his mind. He was thinking all the time about what was\ngoing on at home,--whether he had not forgotten to give his son some\norder, and whether his son was doing things in the right way. When he\nsaw along the road that they were setting out potatoes or hauling\nmanure, he wondered whether his son was doing as he had been ordered. He\njust felt like returning, and showing him what to do, and doing it\nhimself.\n\n\nIII.\n\nThe old men walked for live weeks. They wore out their home-made bast\nshoes and began to buy new ones. They reached the country of the\nLittle-Russians. Heretofore they had been paying for their night's\nlodging and for their dinner, but when they came to the Little-Russians,\npeople vied with each other in inviting them to their houses. They let\nthem come in, and fed them, and took no money from them, but even filled\ntheir wallets with bread, and now and then with flat cakes. Thus the old\nmen walked without expense some seven hundred versts. They crossed\nanother Government and came to a place where there had been a failure of\ncrops. There they let them into the houses and did not take any money\nfor their night's lodging, but would not feed them. And they did not\ngive them bread everywhere,--not even for money could the old men get\nany in some places. The previous year, so the people said, nothing had\ngrown. Those who had been rich were ruined,--they sold everything; those\nwho had lived in comfort came down to nothing; and the poor people\neither entirely left the country, or turned beggars, or just managed to\nexist at home. In the winter they lived on chaff and orach.\n\nOne night the two old men stayed in a borough. There they bought about\nfifteen pounds of bread. In the morning they left before daybreak, so\nthat they might walk a good distance before the heat. They marched some\nten versts and reached a brook. They sat down, filled their cups with\nwater, softened the bread with it and ate it, and changed their\nleg-rags. They sat awhile and rested themselves. Elis\u00e9y took out his\nsnuff-horn. Ef\u00edm Tar\u00e1sych shook his head at him.\n\n\"Why don't you throw away that nasty thing?\" he asked.\n\nElis\u00e9y waved his hand.\n\n\"Sin has overpowered me,\" he said. \"What shall I do?\"\n\nThey got up and marched on. They walked another ten versts. They came to\na large village, and passed through it. It was quite warm then. Elis\u00e9y\nwas tired, and wanted to stop and get a drink, but Tar\u00e1sych would not\nstop. Tar\u00e1sych was a better walker, and Elis\u00e9y had a hard time keeping\nup with him.\n\n\"I should like to get a drink,\" he said.\n\n\"Well, drink! I do not want any.\"\n\nElis\u00e9y stopped.\n\n\"Do not wait for me,\" he said. \"I will just run into a hut and get a\ndrink of water. I will catch up with you at once.\"\n\n\"All right,\" he said. And Ef\u00edm Tar\u00e1sych proceeded by himself along the\nroad, while Elis\u00e9y turned to go into a hut.\n\nElis\u00e9y came up to the hut. It was a small clay cabin; the lower part was\nblack, the upper white, and the clay had long ago crumbled\noff,--evidently it had not been plastered for a long time,--and the roof\nwas open at one end. The entrance was from the yard. Elis\u00e9y stepped into\nthe yard, and there saw that a lean, beardless man with his shirt stuck\nin his trousers in Little-Russian fashion was lying near the earth\nmound. The man had evidently lain down in a cool spot, but now the sun\nwas burning down upon him. He was lying there awake. Elis\u00e9y called out\nto him, asking him to give him a drink, but the man made no reply. \"He\nis either sick, or an unkind man,\" thought Elis\u00e9y, going up to the door.\nInside he heard a child crying. He knocked with the door-ring. \"Good\npeople!\" No answer. He struck with his staff against the door.\n\"Christian people!\" No stir. \"Servants of the Lord!\" No reply. Elis\u00e9y\nwas on the point of going away, when he heard somebody groaning within.\n\"I wonder whether some misfortune has happened there to the people. I\nmust see.\" And Elis\u00e9y went into the hut.\n\n\nIV.\n\nElis\u00e9y turned the ring,--the door was not locked. He pushed the door\nopen and walked through the vestibule. The door into the living-room was\nopen. On the left there was an oven; straight ahead was the front\ncorner; in the corner stood a shrine and a table; beyond the table was a\nbench, and on it sat a bareheaded old woman, in nothing but a shirt; her\nhead was leaning on the table, and near her stood a lean little boy, his\nface as yellow as wax and his belly swollen, and he was pulling the old\nwoman's sleeve, and crying at the top of his voice and begging for\nsomething.\n\nElis\u00e9y entered the room. There was a stifling air in the house. He saw a\nwoman lying behind the oven, on the floor. She was lying on her face\nwithout looking at anything, and snoring, and now stretching out a leg\nand again drawing it up. And she tossed from side to side,--and from her\ncame that oppressive smell: evidently she was very sick, and there was\nnobody to take her away. The old woman raised her head, when she saw the\nman.\n\n\"What do you want?\" she said, in Little-Russian. \"What do you want? We\nhave nothing, my dear man.\"\n\nElis\u00e9y understood what she was saying: he walked over to her.\n\n\"Servant of the Lord,\" he said, \"I have come in to get a drink of\nwater.\"\n\n\"There is none, I say, there is none. There is nothing here for you to\ntake. Go!\"\n\nElis\u00e9y asked her:\n\n\"Is there no well man here to take this woman away?\"\n\n\"There is nobody here: the man is dying in the yard, and we here.\"\n\nThe boy grew quiet when he saw the stranger, but when the old woman\nbegan to speak, he again took hold of her sleeve.\n\n\"Bread, granny, bread!\" and he burst out weeping.\n\nJust as Elis\u00e9y was going to ask the old woman another question, the man\ntumbled into the hut; he walked along the wall and wanted to sit down on\nthe bench, but before reaching it he fell down in the corner, near the\nthreshold. He did not try to get up, but began to speak. He would say\none word at a time, then draw his breath, then say something again.\n\n\"We are sick,\" he said, \"and--hungry. The boy is starving.\" He indicated\nthe boy with his head and began to weep.\n\nElis\u00e9y shifted his wallet on his back, freed his arms, let the wallet\ndown on the ground, lifted it on the bench, and untied it. When it was\nopen, he took out the bread and the knife, out off a slice, and gave it\nto the man. The man did not take it, but pointed to the boy and the\ngirl, to have it given to them. Elis\u00e9y gave it to the boy. When the boy\nsaw the bread, he made for it, grabbed the slice with both his hands,\nand stuck his nose into the bread. A girl crawled out from behind the\noven and gazed at the bread. Elis\u00e9y gave her, too, a piece. He cut off\nanother slice and gave it to the old woman. She took it and began to\nchew at it.\n\n\"If you would just bring us some water,\" she said. \"Their lips are\nparched. I wanted to bring some yesterday or to-day,--I do not remember\nwhen,--but I fell down and left the pail there, if nobody took it away.\"\n\nElis\u00e9y asked where their well was. The old woman told him where. Elis\u00e9y\nwent out. He found the pail, brought some water, and gave the people to\ndrink. The children ate some more bread with water, and the old woman\nate some, but the man would not eat.\n\n\"My stomach will not hold it,\" he said.\n\nThe woman did not get up or come to: she was just tossing on the bed\nplace. Elis\u00e9y went to the shop, and bought millet, salt, flour, and\nbutter. He found an axe, chopped some wood, and made a fire in the oven.\nThe girl helped him. Elis\u00e9y cooked a soup and porridge, and fed the\npeople.\n\n\nV.\n\nThe man ate a little, and so did the old woman, and the girl and the\nlittle boy licked the bowl clean and embraced each other and fell\nasleep.\n\nThe man and the old woman told Elis\u00e9y how it had all happened.\n\n\"We lived heretofore poorly,\" they said, \"but when the crop failed us,\nwe ate up in the fall everything we had. When we had nothing left, we\nbegan to beg from our neighbours and from good people. At first they\ngave us some, but later they refused. Some of them would have been\nwilling to give us to eat, but they had nothing themselves. Besides we\nfelt ashamed to beg: we owed everybody money and flour and bread. I\nlooked for work,\" said the man, \"but could find none. People were\neverywhere looking for work to get something to eat. One day I would\nwork, and two I would go around looking for more work. The old woman and\nthe girl went a distance away to beg, but the alms were poor,--nobody\nhad any bread. Still, we managed to get something to eat: we thought we\nmight squeeze through until the new crop; but in the spring they quit\ngiving us alms altogether, and sickness fell upon us. It grew pretty\nbad: one day we would have something to eat, and two we went without it.\nWe began to eat grass. And from the grass, or from some other reason,\nthe woman grew sick. She lay down, and I had no strength, and we had\nnothing with which to improve matters.\"\n\n\"I was the only one,\" the old woman said, \"who worked: but I gave out\nand grew weak, as I had nothing to eat. The girl, too, grew weak and\nlost her courage. I sent her to the neighbours, but she did not go. She\nhid herself in a corner and would not go. A neighbour came in two days\nago, but when she saw that we were hungry and sick, she turned around\nand went out. Her husband has left, and she has nothing with which to\nfeed her young children. So we were lying here and waiting for death.\"\n\nWhen Elis\u00e9y heard what they said, he changed his mind about catching up\nwith his companion, and remained there overnight. In the morning Elis\u00e9y\ngot up and began to work about the house as though he were the master.\nHe set bread with the old woman and made a fire in the oven. He went\nwith the girl to the neighbours to fetch what was necessary. Everything\nhe wanted to pick up was gone: there was nothing left for farming, and\nthe clothes were used up. Elis\u00e9y got everything which was needed: some\nthings he made himself, and some he bought. Elis\u00e9y stayed with them one\nday, and a second, and a third. The little boy regained his strength,\nand he began to walk on the bench and to make friends with Elis\u00e9y. The\ngirl, too, became quite cheerful and helped him in everything. She kept\nrunning after Elis\u00e9y: \"Grandfather, grandfather!\"\n\nThe old woman got up and went to her neighbour. The man began to walk by\nholding on to the wall. Only the woman was lying down. On the third day\nshe came to and asked for something to eat.\n\n\"Well,\" thought Elis\u00e9y, \"I had not expected to lose so much time. Now I\nmust go.\"\n\n\nVI.\n\nThe fourth day was the last of a fast, and Elis\u00e9y said to himself:\n\n\"I will break fast with them. I will buy something for them for the\nholidays, and in the evening I must leave.\"\n\nElis\u00e9y went once more to the village and bought milk, white flour, and\nlard. He and the old woman cooked and baked a lot of things, and in the\nmorning Elis\u00e9y went to mass and came back and broke fast with the\npeople. On that day the woman got up and began to move about. The man\nshaved himself, put on a clean shirt,--the old woman had washed it for\nhim,--and went to a rich peasant to ask a favour of him. His mowing and\nfield were mortgaged to the rich man, so he went to ask him to let him\nhave the mowing and the field until the new crop. He came back gloomy in\nthe evening, and burst out weeping. The rich man would not show him the\nfavour; he had asked him to bring the money.\n\nElis\u00e9y fell to musing.\n\n\"How are they going to live now? People will be going out to mow, but\nthey cannot go, for it is all mortgaged. The rye will ripen and people\nwill begin to harvest it (and there is such a fine stand of it!), but\nthey have nothing to look forward to,--their desyat\u00edna is sold to the\nrich peasant. If I go away, they will fall back into poverty.\"\n\nAnd Elis\u00e9y was in doubt, and did not go away in the evening, but put it\noff until morning. He went into the yard to sleep. He said his prayers\nand lay down, but could not fall asleep.\n\n\"I ought to go,--as it is I have spent much time and money; but I am\nsorry for the people. You can't help everybody. I meant to bring them\nsome water and give each a slice of bread, but see how far I have gone.\nNow I shall have to buy out his mowing and field. And if I buy out the\nfield, I might as well buy a cow for the children, and a horse for the\nman to haul his sheaves with. Brother Elis\u00e9y Kuzm\u00edch, you are in for it!\nYou have let yourself loose, and now you will not straighten out\nthings.\"\n\nElis\u00e9y got up, took the caftan from under his head, and unrolled it; he\ndrew out his snuff-horn and took a pinch, thinking that he would clear\nhis thoughts, but no,--he thought and thought and could not come to any\nconclusion. He ought to get up and go, but he was sorry for the people.\nHe did not know what to do. He rolled the caftan up under his head and\nlay down to sleep. He lay there for a long time, and the cocks crowed,\nand then only did he fall asleep. Suddenly he felt as though some one\nhad wakened him. He saw himself all dressed, with his wallet and staff,\nand he had to pass through a gate, but it was just open enough to let a\nman squeeze through. He went to the gate and his wallet caught on one\nside, and as he was about to free it, one of his leg-rags got caught on\nthe other side and came open. He tried to free the leg-rag, but it was\nnot caught in the wicker fence: it was the girl who was holding on to\nit, and crying, \"Grandfather, grandfather, bread!\" He looked at his\nfoot, and there was the little boy holding on to it, and the old woman\nand the man were looking out of the window. Elis\u00e9y awoke, and he began\nto speak to himself in an audible voice:\n\n\"I will buy out the field and the mowing to-morrow, and will buy a\nhorse, and flour to last until harvest-time, and a cow for the children.\nFor how would it be to go beyond the sea to seek Christ and lose him\nwithin me? I must get the people started.\"\n\nAnd Elis\u00e9y fell asleep until morning. He awoke early. He went to the\nrich merchant, bought out the rye and gave him money for the mowing. He\nbought a scythe,--for that had been sold, too,--and brought it home. He\nsent the man out to mow, and himself went to see the peasants: he found\na horse and a cart for sale at the innkeeper's. He bargained with him\nfor it, and bought it; then he bought a bag of flour, which he put in\nthe cart, and went out to buy a cow. As he was walking, he came across\ntwo Little-Russian women, and they were talking to one another. Though\nthey were talking in their dialect, he could make out what they were\nsaying about him:\n\n\"You see, at first they did not recognize him; they thought that he was\njust a simple kind of a man. They say, he went in to get a drink, and he\nhas just stopped there. What a lot of things he has bought them! I\nmyself saw him buy a horse and cart to-day of the innkeeper. Evidently\nthere are such people in the world. I must go and take a look at him.\"\n\nWhen Elis\u00e9y heard that, he understood that they were praising him, and\nso he did not go to buy the cow. He returned to the innkeeper and gave\nhim the money for the horse. He hitched it up and drove with the flour\nto the house. When he drove up to the gate, he stopped and climbed down\nfrom the cart. When the people of the house saw the horse, they were\nsurprised. They thought that he had bought the horse for them, but did\nnot dare say so. The master came out to open the gates.\n\n\"Grandfather, where did you get that horse?\"\n\n\"I bought it,\" he said. \"I got it cheap. Mow some grass and put it in\nthe cart, so that the horse may have some for the night. And take off\nthe bag!\"\n\nThe master unhitched the horse, carried the bag to the granary, mowed a\nlot of grass, and put it into the cart. They lay down to sleep. Elis\u00e9y\nslept in the street, and thither he had carried his wallet in the\nevening. All the people fell asleep. Elis\u00e9y got up, tied his wallet, put\non his shoes and his caftan, and started down the road to catch up with\nEf\u00edm.\n\n\nVII.\n\nElis\u00e9y had walked about five versts, when day began to break. He sat\ndown under a tree, untied his wallet, and began to count his money. He\nfound that he had seventeen roubles twenty kopeks left.\n\n\"Well,\" he thought, \"with this sum I cannot travel beyond the sea, but\nif I beg in Christ's name, I shall only increase my sin. Friend Ef\u00edm\nwill reach the place by himself, and will put up a candle for me. But I\nshall evidently never fulfil my vow. The master is merciful, and he will\nforgive me.\"\n\nElis\u00e9y got up, slung his wallet over his shoulders, and turned back. He\nmade a circle around the village so that people might not see him. And\nsoon he reached home. On his way out he had found it hard: it was hard\nkeeping up with Ef\u00edm; but on his way home God made it easy for him, for\nhe did not know what weariness was. Walking was just play to him, and he\nswayed his staff, and made as much as seventy versts a day.\n\nElis\u00e9y came back home. The harvest was all in. The home folk were glad\nto see the old man. They asked all about him, why he had left his\ncompanion and why he had not gone to Jerusalem, but had returned home.\nElis\u00e9y did not tell them anything.\n\n\"God did not grant me that I should,\" he said. \"I spent my money on the\nway, and got separated from my companion. And so I did not go. Forgive\nme for Christ's sake.\"\n\nHe gave the old woman what money he had left. He asked all about the\nhome matters: everything was right; everything had been attended to and\nnothing missed, and all were living in peace and agreement.\n\nEf\u00edm's people heard that very day that Elis\u00e9y had come back, and so they\ncame to inquire about their old man. And Elis\u00e9y told them the same\nstory.\n\n\"You see,\" he said, \"the old man started to walk briskly, and three days\nbefore St. Peter's day we lost each other. I wanted to catch up with\nhim, but it happened that I spent all my money and could not go on, so I\nreturned home.\"\n\nThe people marvelled how it was that such a clever man had acted so\nfoolishly as to start and not reach the place and merely spend his\nmoney. They wondered awhile, and forgot about it. Elis\u00e9y, too, forgot\nabout it. He began to work about the house: he got the wood ready for\nthe winter with his son, threshed the grain with the women, thatched the\nsheds, gathered in the bees, and gave ten hives with the young brood to\nhis neighbour. When he got all the work done, he sent his son out to\nearn money, and himself sat down in the winter to plait bast shoes and\nhollow out blocks for the hives.\n\n\nVIII.\n\nAll that day that Elis\u00e9y passed with the sick people, Ef\u00edm waited for\nhis companion. He walked but a short distance and sat down. He waited\nand waited, and fell asleep; when he awoke, he sat awhile,--but his\ncompanion did not turn up. He kept a sharp lookout for him, but the sun\nwas going down behind a tree, and still Elis\u00e9y was not there.\n\n\"I wonder whether he has not passed by me,\" he thought. \"Maybe somebody\ndrove him past, and he did not see me while I was asleep. But how could\nhe help seeing me? In the steppe you can see a long distance off. If I\ngo back, he may be marching on, and we shall only get farther separated\nfrom each other. I will walk on,--we shall meet at the resting-place for\nthe night.\"\n\nWhen he came to a village, he asked the village officer to look out for\nan old man and bring him to the house where he stayed. Elis\u00e9y did not\ncome there for the night. Ef\u00edm marched on, and asked everybody whether\nthey had seen a bald-headed old man. No one had seen him. Ef\u00edm was\nsurprised and walked on.\n\n\"We shall meet somewhere in Odessa,\" he thought, \"or on the boat,\" and\nthen he stopped thinking about it.\n\nOn the road he fell in with a pilgrim. The pilgrim, in calotte, cassock,\nand long hair, had been to Mount Athos, and was now going for the second\ntime to Jerusalem. They met at a hostelry, and they had a chat and\nstarted off together.\n\nThey reached Odessa without any accident. They waited for three days for\na ship. There were many pilgrims there, and they had come together from\nall directions. Again Ef\u00edm asked about Elis\u00e9y, but nobody had seen him.\n\nEf\u00edm provided himself with a passport,--that cost five roubles. He had\nforty roubles left for his round trip, and he bought bread and herring\nfor the voyage. The ship was loaded, then the pilgrims were admitted,\nand Tar\u00e1sych sat down beside the pilgrim he had met. The anchors were\nweighed, they pushed off from the shore, and the ship sailed across the\nsea.\n\nDuring the day they had good sailing; in the evening a wind arose, rain\nfell, and the ship began to rock and to be washed by the waves. The\npeople grew excited; the women began to shriek, and such men as were\nweak ran up and down the ship, trying to find a safe place. Ef\u00edm, too,\nwas frightened, but he did not show it: where he had sat down on the\nfloor on boarding the ship by the side of Tamb\u00f3v peasants, he sat\nthrough the night and the following day; all of them held on to their\nwallets and did not speak. On the third day it grew calmer. On the fifth\nday they landed at Constantinople.\n\nSome of the pilgrims went ashore there, to visit the Cathedral of St.\nSophia, which now the Turks hold; Tar\u00e1sych did not go, but remained on\nboard the ship. All he did was to buy some white bread. They remained\nthere a day, and then again sailed through the sea. They stopped at\nSmyrna town, and at another city by the name of Alexandria, and safely\nreached the city of Jaffa. In Jaffa all pilgrims go ashore: from there\nit is seventy versts on foot to Jerusalem. At the landing the people had\nquite a scare: the ship was high, and the people were let down into\nboats below; but the boats were rocking all the time, and two people\nwere let down past the boat and got a ducking, but otherwise all went\nsafely.\n\nWhen all were ashore, they went on afoot; on the third day they reached\nJerusalem at dinner-time. They stopped in a suburb, in a Russian\nhostelry; there they had their passports stamped and ate their dinner,\nand then they followed a pilgrim to the holy places. It was too early\nyet to be admitted to the Sepulchre of the Lord, so they went to the\nMonastery of the Patriarch. There all the worshippers were gathered, and\nthe female sex was put apart from the male. They were all ordered to\ntake off their shoes and sit in a circle. A monk came out with a towel,\nand began to wash everybody's feet. He would wash, and rub them clean,\nand kiss them, and thus he went around the whole circle. He washed\nEf\u00edm's feet and kissed them. They celebrated vigils and matins, and\nplaced a candle, and served a mass for the parents. There they were fed,\nand received wine to drink.\n\nOn the following morning they went to the cell of Mary of Egypt, where\nshe took refuge. There they placed candles, and a mass was celebrated.\nFrom there they went to Abraham's Monastery. They saw the Sebak garden,\nthe place where Abraham wanted to sacrifice his son to God. Then they\nwent to the place where Christ appeared to Mary Magdalene, and to the\nChurch of Jacob, the brother of the Lord. The pilgrim showed them all\nthe places, and in every place he told how much money they ought to\ngive. At dinner they returned to the hostelry. They ate, and were just\ngetting ready to lie down to sleep, when the pilgrim, who was rummaging\nthrough his clothes, began to sigh.\n\n\"They have pulled out my pocketbook with money in it,\" he said. \"I had\ntwenty-three roubles,--two ten-rouble bills, and three in change.\"\n\nThe pilgrim felt badly about it, but nothing could be done, and all went\nto sleep.\n\n\nIX.\n\nAs Ef\u00edm went to sleep, a temptation came over him.\n\n\"They have not taken the pilgrim's money,\" he thought, \"he did not have\nany. Nowhere did he offer anything. He told me to give, but he himself\ndid not offer any. He took a rouble from me.\"\n\nAs Ef\u00edm was thinking so, he began to rebuke himself:\n\n\"How dare I judge the man, and commit a sin. I will not sin.\" The moment\nhe forgot himself, he again thought that the pilgrim had a sharp eye on\nmoney, and that it was unlikely that they had taken the money from him.\n\"He never had any money,\" he thought. \"It's only an excuse.\"\n\nThey got up before evening and went to an early mass at the Church of\nthe Resurrection,--to the Sepulchre of the Lord. The pilgrim did not\nleave Ef\u00edm's side, but walked with him all the time.\n\nThey came to the church. There was there collected a large crowd of\nworshippers, Greeks, and Armenians, and Turks, and Syrians. Ef\u00edm came\nwith the people to the Holy Gate. A monk led them. He took them past the\nTurkish guard to the place where the Saviour was taken from the cross\nand anointed, and where candles were burning in nine large candlesticks.\nHe showed and explained everything to them. Ef\u00edm placed a candle there.\nThen the monks led Ef\u00edm to the right over steps to Golgotha, where the\ncross stood; there Ef\u00edm prayed; then Ef\u00edm was shown the cleft where the\nearth was rent to the lowermost regions; then he was shown the place\nwhere Christ's hands and feet had been nailed to the cross, and then he\nwas shown Adam's grave, where Christ's blood dropped on his bones. Then\nthey came to the rock on which Christ sat when they put the wreath of\nthorns on his head; then to the post to which Christ was tied when he\nwas beaten. Then Ef\u00edm saw the stone with the two holes, for Christ's\nfeet. They wanted to show him other things, but the people hastened\naway: all hurried to the grotto of the Lord's Sepulchre. Some foreign\nmass was just ended, and the Russian began. Ef\u00edm followed the people to\nthe grotto.\n\nHe wanted to get away from the pilgrim, for in thought he still sinned\nagainst him, but the pilgrim stuck to him, and went with him to mass at\nthe Sepulchre of the Lord. They wanted to stand close to it, but were\ntoo late. There was such a crowd there that it was not possible to move\nforward or back. Ef\u00edm stood there and looked straight ahead and prayed,\nbut every once in awhile he felt his purse, to see whether it was in his\npocket. His thoughts were divided; now he thought that the pilgrim had\ndeceived him; and then he thought, if he had not deceived him, and the\npocketbook had really been stolen, the same might happen to him.\n\n\nX.\n\nEf\u00edm stood there and prayed and looked ahead into the chapel where the\nSepulchre itself was, and where over the Sepulchre thirty-six lamps were\nburning. Ef\u00edm looked over the heads to see the marvellous thing: under\nthe very lamps, where the blessed fire was burning, in front of all, he\nsaw an old man in a coarse caftan, with a bald spot shining on his whole\nhead, and he looked very much like Elis\u00e9y Bodr\u00f3v.\n\n\"He resembles Elis\u00e9y,\" he thought. \"But how can it be he? He could not\nhave got here before me. The previous ship started a week ahead of us.\nHe could not have been on that ship. On our ship he was not, for I saw\nall the pilgrims.\"\n\nJust as Ef\u00edm was thinking this, the old man began to pray, and made\nthree bows: once in front of him, to God, and twice to either side, to\nall the Orthodox people. And as the old man turned his head to the\nright, Ef\u00edm recognized him. Sure enough, it was Bodr\u00f3v: it was his\nblackish, curly beard, and the gray streak on his cheeks, and his brows,\nhis eyes, his nose, and full face,--all his. Certainly it was he, Elis\u00e9y\nBodr\u00f3v.\n\nEf\u00edm was glad that he had found his companion, and he marvelled how\nElis\u00e9y could have got there ahead of him.\n\n\"How in the world did Bodr\u00f3v get to that place in front?\" he thought.\n\"No doubt he met a man who knew how to get him there. When all go out, I\nwill hunt him up, and I will drop the pilgrim in the colette, and will\nwalk with him. Maybe he will take me to the front place.\"\n\nEf\u00edm kept an eye on Elis\u00e9y, so as not to lose him. When the masses were\nover, the people began to stir. As they went up to kiss the Sepulchre,\nthey crowded and pushed Ef\u00edm to one side. He was frightened lest his\npurse should be stolen. He put his hand to his purse and tried to make\nhis way out into the open. When he got out, he walked and walked, trying\nto find Elis\u00e9y, both on the outside and in the church. In the church he\nsaw many people in the cells: some ate, and drank wine, and slept there,\nand read their prayers. But Elis\u00e9y was not to be found. Ef\u00edm returned to\nthe hostelry, but he did not find his companion there either. On that\nevening the pilgrim, too, did not come back. He was gone, and had not\nreturned the rouble to Ef\u00edm. So Ef\u00edm was left alone.\n\nOn the following day Ef\u00edm went again to the Sepulchre of the Lord with a\nTamb\u00f3v peasant, with whom he had journeyed on the ship. He wanted to\nmake his way to the front, but he was again pushed back, and so he stood\nat a column and prayed. He looked ahead of him, and there in front,\nunder the lamps, at the very Sepulchre of the Lord, stood Elis\u00e9y. He had\nextended his hands, like a priest at the altar, and his bald spot shone\nover his whole head.\n\n\"Now,\" thought Ef\u00edm, \"I will not miss him.\"\n\nHe made his way to the front, but Elis\u00e9y was not there. Evidently he had\nleft. On the third day he again went to the Sepulchre of the Lord, and\nthere he saw Elis\u00e9y standing in the holiest place, in sight of\neverybody, and his hands were stretched out, and he looked up, as though\nhe saw something above him. And his bald spot shone over his whole head.\n\n\"Now,\" thought Ef\u00edm, \"I will certainly not miss him; I will go and stand\nat the entrance, and then he cannot escape me.\"\n\nEf\u00edm went out and stood there for a long time. He stood until after\nnoon: all the people had passed out, but Elis\u00e9y was not among them.\n\nEf\u00edm passed six weeks in Jerusalem, and visited all the places,\nBethlehem, and Bethany, and the Jordan, and had a stamp put on a new\nshirt at the Lord's Sepulchre, to be buried in it, and filled a bottle\nof Jordan water, and got some earth, and candles with blessed fire, and\nin eight places inscribed names for the mass of the dead. He spent all\nhis money and had just enough left to get home on, and so he started for\nhome. He reached Jaffa, boarded a ship, landed at Odessa, and walked\ntoward his home.\n\n\nXI.\n\nEf\u00edm walked by himself the same way he had come out. As he was getting\nclose to his village, he began to worry again about how things were\ngoing at his house without him. In a year, he thought, much water runs\nby. It takes a lifetime to get together a home, but it does not take\nlong to ruin it. He wondered how his son had done without him, how the\nspring had opened, how the cattle had wintered, and whether the hut was\nwell built. Ef\u00edm reached the spot where the year before he had parted\nfrom Elis\u00e9y. It was not possible to recognize the people. Where the year\nbefore they had suffered want, now there was plenty. Everything grew\nwell in the field. The people picked up again and forgot their former\nmisery. In the evening Ef\u00edm reached the very village where the year\nbefore Elis\u00e9y had fallen behind. He had just entered the village, when a\nlittle girl in a white shirt came running out of a hut.\n\n\"Grandfather, grandfather! Come to our house!\"\n\nEf\u00edm wanted to go on, but the girl would not let him. She took hold of\nhis coat and laughed and pulled him to the hut. A woman with a boy came\nout on the porch, and she, too, beckoned to him:\n\n\"Come in, grandfather, and eat supper with us and stay overnight!\"\n\nEf\u00edm stepped in.\n\n\"I can, at least, ask about Elis\u00e9y,\" he thought. \"This is the very hut\ninto which he went to get a drink.\"\n\nEf\u00edm went inside. The woman took off his wallet, gave him water to wash\nhimself, and seated him at the table. She fetched milk, cheese, cakes,\nand porridge, and placed it all on the table. Tar\u00e1sych thanked her and\npraised the people for being hospitable to pilgrims. The woman shook her\nhead.\n\n\"We cannot help receiving pilgrims,\" she said. \"We received life from a\npilgrim. We lived forgetting God, and God punished us in such a way that\nall of us were waiting for death. Last summer we came to such a point\nthat we were all lying down sick and starved. We should certainly have\ndied, but God sent us an old man like you. He stepped in during the\ndaytime to get a drink; when he saw us, he took pity on us and remained\nat our house. He gave us to eat and to drink, and put us on our feet\nagain. He cleared our land from debt, and bought a horse and cart and\nleft it with us.\"\n\nThe old woman entered the room, and interrupted her speech:\n\n\"We do not know,\" she said, \"whether he was a man or an angel of the\nLord. He was good to us all, and pitied us, and then went away without\ngiving his name, so that we do not know for whom to pray to God. I see\nit as though it happened just now: I was lying down and waiting for\ndeath to come; I looked up and saw a man come in,--just a simple,\nbald-headed man,--and ask for a drink. I, sinful woman, thought that he\nwas a tramp, but see what he did! When he saw us he put down his wallet,\nright in this spot, and opened it.\"\n\nThe girl broke in.\n\n\"No, granny,\" she said, \"first he put his wallet in the middle of the\nroom, and only later did he put it on the bench.\"\n\nAnd they began to dispute and to recall his words and deeds: where he\nhad sat down, and where he had slept, and what he had done, and what he\nhad said to each.\n\nToward evening the master of the house came home on a horse, and he,\ntoo, began to tell about Elis\u00e9y, and how he had stayed at their house.\n\n\"If he had not come to us,\" he said, \"we should all of us have died in\nsin. We were dying in despair, and we murmured against God and men. But\nhe put us on our feet, and through him we found out God, and began to\nbelieve in good people. May Christ save him! Before that we lived like\nbeasts, and he has made men of us.\"\n\nThey gave Ef\u00edm to eat and to drink, and gave him a place to sleep, and\nthemselves went to bed.\n\nAs Ef\u00edm lay down, he could not sleep, and Elis\u00e9y did not leave his mind,\nbut he thought of how he had seen him three times in Jerusalem in the\nforemost place.\n\n\"So this is the way he got ahead of me,\" he thought. \"My work may be\naccepted or not, but his the Lord has accepted.\"\n\nIn the morning Ef\u00edm bade the people good-bye: they filled his wallet\nwith cakes and went to work, while Ef\u00edm started out on the road.\n\n\nXII.\n\nEf\u00edm was away precisely a year. In the spring he returned home.\n\nHe reached his house in the evening. His son was not at home,--he was in\nthe dram-shop. He returned intoxicated, and Ef\u00edm began to ask him about\nthe house. He saw by everything that the lad had got into bad ways\nwithout him. He had spent all the money, and the business he had\nneglected. His father scolded him, and he answered his father with rude\nwords.\n\n\"You ought to have come back yourself,\" he said. \"Instead, you went away\nand took all the money with you, and now you make me responsible.\"\n\nThe old man became angry and beat his son.\n\nThe next morning Ef\u00edm Tar\u00e1sych went to the elder to talk to him about\nhis son. As he passed Elis\u00e9y's farm, Elis\u00e9y's wife was standing on the\nporch and greeting him:\n\n\"Welcome, friend!\" she said. \"Did you, dear man, have a successful\njourney?\"\n\nEf\u00edm Tar\u00e1sych stopped.\n\n\"Thank God,\" he said, \"I have been at Jerusalem, but I lost your husband\non the way. I hear that he is back.\"\n\nAnd the old woman started to talk to him, for she was fond of babbling.\n\n\"He is back, my dear; he has been back for quite awhile. He returned\nsoon after Assumption day. We were so glad to see him back. It was\nlonely without him. Not that we mean his work,--for he is getting old.\nBut he is the head, and it is jollier for us. How happy our lad was!\nWithout him, he said, it was as without light for the eyes. It was\nlonely without him, my dear. We love him so much!\"\n\n\"Well, is he at home now?\"\n\n\"At home he is, neighbour, in the apiary, brushing in the swarms. He\nsays it was a fine swarming season. The old man does not remember when\nthere has been such a lot of bees. God gives us not according to our\nsins, he says. Come in, dear one! He will be so glad to see you.\"\n\nEf\u00edm walked through the vestibule and through the yard to the apiary, to\nsee Elis\u00e9y. When he came inside the apiary, he saw Elis\u00e9y standing\nwithout a net, without gloves, in a gray caftan, under a birch-tree,\nextending his arms and looking up, and his bald spot shone over his\nwhole head, just as he had stood in Jerusalem at the Lord's Sepulchre,\nand above him, through the birch-tree, the sun glowed, and above his\nhead the golden bees circled in the form of a wreath, and did not sting\nhim. Ef\u00edm stopped.\n\nElis\u00e9y's wife called out to her husband:\n\n\"Your friend is here.\"\n\nElis\u00e9y looked around. He was happy, and walked over toward his friend,\nsoftly brushing the bees out of his beard.\n\n\"Welcome, friend, welcome, dear man! Did you have a successful journey?\"\n\n\"My feet took me there, and I have brought you some water from the river\nJordan. Come and get it! But whether the Lord has received my work--\"\n\n\"Thank God! Christ save you!\"\n\nEf\u00edm was silent.\n\n\"I was there with my feet, but in spirit you were there, or somebody\nelse--\"\n\n\"It is God's work, my friend, God's work.\"\n\n\"On my way home I stopped at the hut where I lost you.\"\n\nElis\u00e9y was frightened, and he hastened to say:\n\n\"It is God's work, my friend, God's work. Well, won't you step in? I\nwill bring some honey.\"\n\nAnd Elis\u00e9y changed the subject, and began to speak of home matters.\n\nEf\u00edm heaved a sigh. He did not mention the people of the hut to Elis\u00e9y,\nnor what he had seen in Jerusalem. And he understood that God has\nenjoined that each man shall before his death carry out his vow--with\nlove and good deeds.\n\n\n\n\nWHERE LOVE IS, THERE GOD IS ALSO\n\n1885\n\n\n\n\nWHERE LOVE IS, THERE GOD IS ALSO\n\n\nShoemaker Mart\u00fdn Avdy\u00e9ich lived in the city. He lived in a basement, in\na room with one window. The window looked out on the street. Through it\nthe people could be seen as they passed by: though only the feet were\nvisible, Mart\u00fdn Avdy\u00e9ich could tell the men by their boots. He had lived\nfor a long time in one place and had many acquaintances. It was a rare\npair of boots in the neighbourhood that had not gone once or twice\nthrough his hands. Some he had resoled; on others he had put patches, or\nfixed the seams, or even put on new uppers. Frequently he saw his own\nwork through the window. He had much to do, for he did honest work, put\nin strong material, took no more than was fair, and kept his word. If he\ncould get a piece of work done by a certain time he undertook to do it,\nand if not, he would not cheat, but said so in advance. Everybody knew\nAvdy\u00e9ich, and his work never stopped.\n\nAvdy\u00e9ich had always been a good man, but in his old age he thought more\nof his soul and came near unto God. Even while Mart\u00fdn had been living\nwith a master, his wife had died, and he had been left with a boy three\nyears of age. Their children did not live long. All the elder children\nhad died before. At first Mart\u00fdn had intended sending his son to his\nsister in a village, but then he felt sorry for the little lad, and\nthought: \"It will be hard for my Kapit\u00f3shka to grow up in somebody\nelse's family, and so I will keep him.\"\n\nAvdy\u00e9ich left his master, and took up quarters with his son. But God did\nnot grant Avdy\u00e9ich any luck with his children. No sooner had the boy\ngrown up so as to be a help to his father and a joy to him, than a\ndisease fell upon him and he lay down and had a fever for a week and\ndied. Mart\u00fdn buried his son, and was in despair. He despaired so much\nthat he began to murmur against God. He was so downhearted that more\nthan once he asked God to let him die, and rebuked God for having taken\nhis beloved only son, and not him. He even stopped going to church.\n\nOne day an old man, a countryman of Avdy\u00e9ich's, returning from\nTr\u00f3itsa,--he had been a pilgrim for eight years,--came to see him.\nAvdy\u00e9ich talked with him and began to complain of his sorrow:\n\n\"I have even no desire to live any longer, godly man. If I could only\ndie. That is all I am praying God for. I am a man without any hope.\"\n\nAnd the old man said to him:\n\n\"You do not say well, Mart\u00fdn. We cannot judge God's works. Not by our\nreason, but by God's judgment do we live. God has determined that your\nson should die, and you live. Evidently it is better so. The reason you\nare in despair is that you want to live for your own enjoyment.\"\n\n\"What else shall we live for?\" asked Mart\u00fdn.\n\nAnd the old man said:\n\n\"We must live for God, Mart\u00fdn. He gives us life, and for Him must we\nlive. When you shall live for Him and shall not worry about anything,\nlife will be lighter for you.\"\n\nMart\u00fdn was silent, and he said:\n\n\"How shall we live for God?\"\n\nAnd the old man said:\n\n\"Christ has shown us how to live for God. Do you know how to read? If\nso, buy yourself a Gospel and read it, and you will learn from it how to\nlive for God. It tells all about it.\"\n\nThese words fell deep into Avdy\u00e9ich's heart. And he went that very day\nand bought himself a New Testament in large letters, and began to read.\n\nAvdy\u00e9ich had meant to read it on holidays only, but when he began to\nread it, his heart was so rejoiced that he read it every day. Many a\ntime he buried himself so much in reading that all the kerosene would be\nspent in the lamp, but he could not tear himself away from the book. And\nAvdy\u00e9ich read in it every evening, and the more he read, the clearer it\nbecame to him what God wanted of him, and how he should live for God;\nand his heart grew lighter and lighter. Formerly, when he lay down to\nsleep, he used to groan and sob and think of his Kapit\u00f3shka, but now he\nonly muttered:\n\n\"Glory be to Thee, glory to Thee, O Lord! Thy will be done!\"\n\nSince then Avdy\u00e9ich's life had been changed. Formerly, he used on a\nholiday to frequent the tavern, to drink tea, and would not decline a\ndrink of v\u00f3dka. He would drink a glass with an acquaintance and, though\nhe would not be drunk, he would come out of the tavern in a happier\nmood, and then he would speak foolish things, and would scold, or\nslander a man. Now all that passed away from him. His life came to be\ncalm and happy. In the morning he sat down to work, and when he got\nthrough, he took the lamp from the hook, put it down on the table,\nfetched the book from the shelf, opened it, and began to read it. And\nthe more he read, the better he understood it, and his mind was clearer\nand his heart lighter.\n\nOne evening Mart\u00fdn read late into the night. He had before him the\nGospel of St. Luke. He read the sixth chapter and the verses: \"And unto\nhim that smiteth thee on the one cheek offer also the other; and him\nthat taketh away thy cloke forbid not to take thy coat also. Give to\nevery man that asketh of thee; and of him that taketh away thy goods ask\nthem not again. And as ye would that men should do to you, do ye also to\nthem likewise.\"\n\nAnd he read also the other verses, where the Lord says: \"And why call ye\nme, Lord, Lord, and do not the things which I say? Whosoever cometh to\nme, and heareth my sayings, and doeth them, I will shew you to whom he\nis like: he is like a man which built an house, and digged deep, and\nlaid the foundation on a rock: and when the flood arose, the stream beat\nvehemently upon that house, and could not shake it: for it was founded\nupon a rock. But he that heareth, and doeth not, is like a man that\nwithout a foundation built an house upon the earth; against which the\nstream did beat vehemently, and immediately it fell; and the ruin of\nthat house was great.\"\n\nWhen Avdy\u00e9ich read these words, there was joy in his heart. He took off\nhis glasses, put them on the book, leaned his arms on the table, and\nfell to musing. And he began to apply these words to his life, and he\nthought:\n\n\"Is my house on a rock, or on the sand? It is well if it is founded on a\nrock: it is so easy to sit alone,--it seems to me that I am doing\neverything which God has commanded; but if I dissipate, I shall sin\nagain. I will just proceed as at present. It is so nice! Help me, God!\"\n\nThis he thought, and he wanted to go to sleep, but he was loath to tear\nhimself away from the book. And he began to read the seventh chapter. He\nread about the centurion, about the widow's son, about the answer to\nJohn's disciples, and he reached the passage where the rich Pharisee\ninvited the Lord to be his guest, and where the sinning woman anointed\nHis feet and washed them with her tears, and he justified her. And he\nreached the 44th verse, and read: \"And he turned to the woman, and said\nunto Simon, Seest thou this woman? I entered into thine house, thou\ngavest me no water for my feet: but she hath washed my feet with tears,\nand wiped them with the hairs of her head. Thou gavest me no kiss: but\nthis woman since the time I came in hath not ceased to kiss my feet. My\nhead with oil thou didst not anoint: but this woman hath anointed my\nfeet with ointment.\"\n\nWhen he had read these verses, he thought:\n\n\"He gave no water for His feet; he gave no kiss; he did not anoint His\nhead with oil.\"\n\nAnd again Avdy\u00e9ich took off his glasses and placed them on the book, and\nfell to musing.\n\n\"Evidently he was just such a Pharisee as I am. He, no doubt, thought\nonly of himself: how to drink tea, and be warm, and in comfort, but he\ndid not think of the guest. About himself he thought, but no care did he\nhave for the guest. And who was the guest?--The Lord Himself. Would I\nhave done so, if He had come to me?\"\n\nAnd Avdy\u00e9ich leaned his head on both his arms and did not notice how he\nfell asleep.\n\n\"Mart\u00fdn!\" suddenly something seemed to breathe over his very ear.\n\nMart\u00fdn shuddered in his sleep: \"Who is that?\"\n\nHe turned around and looked at the door, but there was nobody there. He\nbent down again, to go to sleep. Suddenly he heard distinctly:\n\n\"Mart\u00fdn, oh, Mart\u00fdn, remember, to-morrow I will come to the street.\"\n\nMart\u00fdn awoke, rose from his chair, and began to rub his eyes. He did\nnot know himself whether he had heard these words in his dream or in\nwaking. He put out the light and went to sleep.\n\nAvdy\u00e9ich got up in the morning before daybreak, said his prayers, made a\nfire, put the beet soup and porridge on the stove, started the samov\u00e1r,\ntied on his apron, and sat down at the window to work. And, as he sat\nthere at work, he kept thinking of what had happened the night before.\nHis thoughts were divided: now he thought that it had only seemed so to\nhim, and now again he thought he had actually heard the voice.\n\n\"Well,\" he thought, \"such things happen.\"\n\nMart\u00fdn was sitting at the window and not so much working as looking out\ninto the street, and if somebody passed in unfamiliar boots, he bent\nover to look out of the window, in order to see not merely the boots,\nbut also the face. A janitor passed by in new felt boots; then a\nwater-carrier went past; then an old soldier of the days of Nicholas, in\npatched old felt boots, holding a shovel in his hands, came in a line\nwith the window. Avdy\u00e9ich recognized him by his felt boots. The old\nman's name was Step\u00e1nych, and he was living with a neighbouring merchant\nfor charity's sake. It was his duty to help the janitor. Step\u00e1nych began\nto clear away the snow opposite Avdy\u00e9ich's window. Avdy\u00e9ich cast a\nglance at him and went back to his work.\n\n\"Evidently I am losing my senses in my old age,\" Avdy\u00e9ich laughed to\nhimself. \"Step\u00e1nych is clearing away the snow, and I thought that Christ\nwas coming to see me. I, old fool, am losing my senses.\" But before he\nhad made a dozen stitches, something drew him again toward the window.\nHe looked out, and there he saw Step\u00e1nych leaning his shovel against the\nwall and either warming or resting himself.\n\nHe was an old, broken-down man, and evidently shovelling snow was above\nhis strength. Avdy\u00e9ich thought: \"I ought to give him some tea;\nfortunately the samov\u00e1r is just boiling.\" He stuck the awl into the\nwood, got up, placed the samov\u00e1r on the table, put some tea in the\nteapot, and tapped with his finger at the window. Step\u00e1nych turned\naround and walked over to the window. Avdy\u00e9ich beckoned to him and went\nto open the door.\n\n\"Come in and get warmed up!\" he said. \"I suppose you are feeling cold.\"\n\n\"Christ save you! I have a breaking in my bones,\" said Step\u00e1nych.\n\nHe came in, shook off the snow and wiped his boots so as not to track\nthe floor, but he was tottering all the time.\n\n\"Don't take the trouble to rub your boots. I will clean up,--that is my\nbusiness. Come and sit down!\" said Avdy\u00e9ich. \"Here, drink a glass of\ntea!\"\n\nAvdy\u00e9ich filled two glasses and moved one of them up to his guest, and\nhimself poured his glass into the saucer and began to blow at it.\n\nStep\u00e1nych drank his glass; then he turned it upside down, put the lump\nof sugar on top of it, and began to express his thanks; but it was\nevident that he wanted another glass.\n\n\"Have some more,\" said Avdy\u00e9ich; and he poured out a glass for his guest\nand one for himself. Avdy\u00e9ich drank his tea, but something kept drawing\nhis attention to the window.\n\n\"Are you waiting for anybody?\" asked the guest.\n\n\"Am I waiting for anybody? It is really a shame to say for whom I am\nwaiting: no, I am not exactly waiting, but a certain word has fallen\ndeep into my heart: I do not know myself whether it is a vision, or\nwhat. You see, my friend, I read the Gospel yesterday about Father\nChrist and how He suffered and walked the earth. I suppose you have\nheard of it?\"\n\n\"Yes, I have,\" replied Step\u00e1nych, \"but we are ignorant people,--we do\nnot know how to read.\"\n\n\"Well, so I read about how He walked the earth. I read, you know, about\nhow He came to the Pharisee, and the Pharisee did not give Him a good\nreception. Well, my friend, as I was reading last night about that very\nthing, I wondered how he could have failed to honour Father Christ. If\nHe should have happened to come to me, for example, I should have done\neverything to receive Him. But he did not receive Him well. As I was\nthinking of it, I fell asleep. And as I dozed off I heard some one\ncalling me by name: I got up and it was as though somebody were\nwhispering to me: 'Wait,' he said: 'I will come to-morrow.' This he\nrepeated twice. Would you believe it,--it has been running through my\nhead,--I blame myself for it,--and I am, as it were, waiting for Father\nChrist.\"\n\nStep\u00e1nych shook his head and said nothing. He finished his glass and put\nit sidewise, but Avdy\u00e9ich took it again and filled it with tea.\n\n\"Drink, and may it do you good! I suppose when He, the Father, walked\nthe earth, He did not neglect anybody, and kept the company mostly of\nsimple folk. He visited mostly simple folk, and chose His disciples\nmostly from people of our class, labouring men, like ourselves the\nsinners. He who raises himself up, He said, shall be humbled, and he who\nhumbles himself shall be raised. You call me Lord, He said, but I will\nwash your feet. He who wants to be the first, He said, let him be\neverybody's servant; because, He said, blessed are the poor, the meek\nthe humble, and the merciful.\"\n\nStep\u00e1nych forgot his tea. He was an old man and easily moved to tears.\nHe sat there and listened, and tears flowed down his cheeks.\n\n\"Take another glass!\" said Avdy\u00e9ich.\n\nBut Step\u00e1nych made the sign of the cross, thanked him for the tea,\npushed the glass away from him, and got up.\n\n\"Thank you, Mart\u00fdn Avdy\u00e9ich,\" he said. \"You were hospitable to me, and\nhave given food to my body and my soul.\"\n\n\"You are welcome. Come in again,--I shall be glad to see you,\" said\nAvdy\u00e9ich.\n\nStep\u00e1nych went away. Mart\u00fdn poured out the last tea, finished another\nglass, put away the dishes, and again sat down at the window to\nwork,--to tap a boot. And as he worked, he kept looking out of the\nwindow,--waiting for Christ and thinking of Him and His works. And all\nkinds of Christ's speeches ran through his head.\n\nThere passed by two soldiers, one in Crown boots, the other in boots of\nhis own; then the proprietor of a neighbouring house came by in clean\ngaloshes, and then a baker with a basket. All of these went past the\nwindow, and then a woman in woollen stockings and peasant shoes came in\nline with the window. She went by the window and stopped near a wall.\nAvdy\u00e9ich looked at her through the window, and saw that she was a\nstrange, poorly dressed woman, with a child: she had stopped with her\nback to the wind and was trying to wrap the child, though she did not\nhave anything to wrap it in. The woman's clothes were for the summer,\nand scanty at that. Avdy\u00e9ich could hear the child cry in the street, and\nher vain attempt to quiet it. Avdy\u00e9ich got up and went out of his room\nand up to the staircase, and called out:\n\n\"Clever Woman! Clever woman!\"\n\nThe woman heard him and turned around.\n\n\"Why are you standing there in the cold with the child? Come in here! It\nwill be easier for you to wrap the child in a warm room. Here, this\nway!\"\n\nThe woman was surprised. She saw an old man in an apron, with glasses\nover his nose, calling to her. She followed him in.\n\nThey went down the stairs and entered the room, and Mart\u00fdn took the\nwoman up to the bed.\n\n\"Sit down here, clever woman, nearer to the stove, and get warm and feed\nthe child.\"\n\n\"There is no milk in my breasts,--I have not had anything to eat since\nmorning,\" said the woman, but still she took the child to her breast.\n\nAvdy\u00e9ich shook his head, went to the table, fetched some bread and a\nbowl, opened a door in the stove, filled the bowl with beet soup, and\ntook out the pot of porridge, but it was not done yet. He put the soup\non the table, put down the bread, and took off a rag from a hook and put\nit down on the table.\n\n\"Sit down, clever woman, and eat, and I will sit with the babe,--I used\nto have children of my own, and so I know how to take care of them.\"\n\nThe woman made the sign of the cross, sat down at the table, and began\nto eat, while Avdy\u00e9ich seated himself on the bed with the child. He\nsmacked his lips at it, but could not smack well, for he had no teeth.\nThe babe kept crying all the time. Avdy\u00e9ich tried to frighten it with\nhis finger: he quickly carried his finger down toward the babe's mouth\nand pulled it away again. He did not put his finger into the child's\nmouth, because it was black,--all smeared with pitch. But the child took\na fancy for his finger and grew quiet, and then began even to smile.\nAvdy\u00e9ich, too, was happy. The woman was eating in the meantime and\ntelling him who she was and whither she was going.\n\n\"I am a soldier's wife,\" she said. \"My husband was driven somewhere far\naway eight months ago, and I do not know where he is. I had been working\nas a cook when the baby was born; they would not keep me with the child.\nThis is the third month that I have been without a place. I have spent\nall I had saved. I wanted to hire out as a wet-nurse, but they will not\ntake me: they say that I am too thin. I went to a merchant woman, where\nour granny lives, and she promised she would take me. I thought she\nwanted me to come at once, but she told me she wanted me next week. She\nlives a distance away. I am all worn out and have worn out the dear\nchild, too. Luckily our landlady pities us for the sake of Christ, or\nelse I do not know how we should have lived until now.\"\n\nAvdy\u00e9ich heaved a sigh, and said:\n\n\"And have you no warm clothes?\"\n\n\"Indeed, it is time now to have warm clothing, dear man! But yesterday I\npawned my last kerchief for twenty kopeks.\"\n\nThe woman went up to the bed and took her child, but Avdy\u00e9ich got up,\nwent to the wall, rummaged there awhile, and brought her an old\nsleeveless cloak.\n\n\"Take this!\" he said. \"It is an old piece, but you may use it to wrap\nyourself in.\"\n\nThe woman looked at the cloak and at the old man, and took the cloak,\nand burst out weeping. Avdy\u00e9ich turned his face away; he crawled under\nthe bed, pulled out a box, rummaged through it, and again sat down\nopposite the woman.\n\nAnd the woman said:\n\n\"May Christ save you, grandfather! Evidently He sent me to your window.\nMy child would have frozen to death. When I went out it was warm, but\nnow it has turned dreadfully cold. It was He, our Father, who taught you\nto look through the window and have pity on me, sorrowful woman.\"\n\nAvdy\u00e9ich smiled, and said:\n\n\"It is He who has instructed me: clever woman, there was good reason why\nI looked through the window.\"\n\nMart\u00fdn told the soldier woman about his dream, and how he had heard a\nvoice promising him that the Lord would come to see him on that day.\n\n\"Everything is possible,\" said the woman. She got up, threw the cloak\nover her, wrapped the child in it, and began to bow to Avdy\u00e9ich and to\nthank him.\n\n\"Accept this, for the sake of Christ,\" said Avdy\u00e9ich, giving her twenty\nkopeks, with which to redeem her kerchief.\n\nThe woman made the sign of the cross, and so did Avdy\u00e9ich, and he saw\nthe woman out.\n\nShe went away. Avdy\u00e9ich ate some soup, put the things away, and sat down\nonce more to work. He was working, but at the same time thinking of the\nwindow: whenever it grew dark there, he looked up to see who was\npassing. There went by acquaintances and strangers, and there was\nnothing peculiar.\n\nSuddenly Avdy\u00e9ich saw an old woman, a huckstress, stop opposite the very\nwindow. She was carrying a basket with apples. There were but few of\nthem left,--evidently she had sold all, and over her shoulder she\ncarried a bag with chips. No doubt, she had picked them up at some new\nbuilding, and was on her way home. The bag was evidently pulling hard on\nher shoulder; she wanted to shift it to her other shoulder, so she let\nthe bag down on the flagstones, set the apple-basket on a post, and\nbegan to shake down the chips. While she was doing that, a boy in a torn\ncap leaped out from somewhere, grasped any apple from the basket, and\nwanted to skip out, but the old woman saw him in time and turned around\nand grabbed the boy by the sleeve. The boy yanked and tried to get away,\nbut the old woman held on to him with both her hands, knocked down his\ncap, and took hold of his hair. The boy cried, and the old woman\nscolded. Avdy\u00e9ich did not have time to put away the awl. He threw it on\nthe floor, jumped out of the room, stumbled on the staircase, and\ndropped his glasses. He ran out into the street. The old woman was\npulling the boy's hair and scolding him. She wanted to take him to a\npoliceman; the little fellow struggled and tried to deny what he had\ndone:\n\n\"I did not take any, so why do you beat me? Let me go!\"\n\nAvdy\u00e9ich tried to separate them. He took the boy's arm, and said:\n\n\"Let him go, granny, forgive him for Christ's sake!\"\n\n\"I will forgive him in such a way that he will not forget until the new\nbath brooms are ripe. I will take the rascal to the police station!\"\n\nAvdy\u00e9ich began to beg the old woman:\n\n\"Let him go, granny, he will not do it again. Let him go, for Christ's\nsake!\"\n\nThe woman let go of him. The boy wanted to run, but Avdy\u00e9ich held on to\nhim.\n\n\"Beg the grandmother's forgiveness,\" he said. \"Don't do that again,--I\nsaw you take the apple.\"\n\nThe boy began to cry, and he asked her forgiveness.\n\n\"That's right. And now, take this apple!\" Avdy\u00e9ich took an apple from\nthe basket and gave it to the boy. \"I will pay for it, granny,\" he said\nto the old woman.\n\n\"You are spoiling these ragamuffins,\" said the old woman. \"He ought to\nbe rewarded in such a way that he should remember it for a week.\"\n\n\"Oh, granny, granny!\" said Avdy\u00e9ich. \"That is according to our ways, but\nhow is that according to God's ways? If he is to be whipped for an\napple, what ought to be done with us for our sins?\"\n\nThe old woman grew silent.\n\nAnd Avdy\u00e9ich told the old woman the parable of the lord who forgave his\nservant his whole large debt, after which the servant went and took his\nfellow servant who was his debtor by the throat. The old woman listened\nto him, and the boy stood and listened, too.\n\n\"God has commanded that we should forgive,\" said Avdy\u00e9ich, \"or else we,\ntoo, shall not be forgiven. All are to be forgiven, but most of all an\nunthinking person.\"\n\nThe old woman shook her head and sighed.\n\n\"That is so,\" said the old woman, \"but they are very much spoiled\nnowadays.\"\n\n\"Then we old people ought to teach them,\" said Avdy\u00e9ich.\n\n\"That is what I say,\" said the old woman. \"I myself had seven of\nthem,--but only one daughter is left now.\" And the old woman began to\ntell where and how she was living with her daughter, and how many\ngrandchildren she had. \"My strength is waning,\" she said, \"but still I\nwork. I am sorry for my grandchildren, and they are such nice\nchildren,--nobody else meets me the way they do. Aksy\u00fatka will not go to\nanybody from me. 'Granny, granny dear, darling!'\" And the old woman\nmelted with tenderness.\n\n\"Of course, he is but a child,--God be with him!\" the old woman said\nabout the boy.\n\nShe wanted to lift the bag on her shoulders, when the boy jumped up to\nher, and said:\n\n\"Let me carry it, granny! I am going that way.\"\n\nThe old woman shook her head and threw the bag on the boy's shoulders.\nThey walked together down the street. The old woman had forgotten to ask\nAvdy\u00e9ich to pay her for the apple. Avdy\u00e9ich stood awhile, looking at\nthem and hearing them talk as they walked along.\n\nWhen they disappeared from sight, he returned to his room. He found his\nglasses on the staircase,--they were not broken,--and he picked up his\nawl and again sat down to work. He worked for awhile; he could not find\nthe holes with the bristle, when he looked up and saw the lampman\nlighting the lamps.\n\n\"It is evidently time to strike a light,\" he thought, and he got up and\nfixed the lamp and hung it on the hook, and sat down again to work. He\nfinished a boot: he turned it around and looked at it, and he saw that\nit was well done. He put down his tool, swept up the clippings, put away\nthe bristles and the remnants and the awls, took the lamp and put it on\nthe table, and fetched the Gospel from the shelf. He wanted to open the\nbook where he had marked it the day before with a morocco clipping, but\nhe opened it in another place. And just as he went to open the Gospel,\nhe thought of his dream of the night before. And just as he thought of\nit, it appeared to him as though something were moving and stepping\nbehind him. He looked around, and, indeed, it looked as though people\nwere standing in the dark corner, but he could not make out who they\nwere. And a voice whispered to him:\n\n\"Mart\u00fdn, oh, Mart\u00fdn, have you not recognized me?\"\n\n\"Whom?\" asked Avdy\u00e9ich.\n\n\"Me,\" said the voice. \"It is I.\"\n\nAnd out of the dark corner came Step\u00e1nych, and he smiled and vanished\nlike a cloud and was no more.\n\n\"And it is I,\" said a voice.\n\nAnd out of the dark corner came the woman with the babe, and the woman\nsmiled and the child laughed, and they, too, disappeared.\n\n\"And it is I,\" said a voice.\n\nAnd out came the old woman and the boy with the apple, and both smiled\nand vanished.\n\nAnd joy fell on Avdy\u00e9ich's heart, and he made the sign of the cross, put\non his glasses, and began to read the Gospel, there where he had opened\nit. And at the top of the page he read:\n\n\"I was an hungered, and ye gave me meat: I was thirsty, and ye gave me\ndrink: I was a stranger, and ye took me in.\"\n\nAnd at the bottom of the page he read:\n\n\"Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren,\nye have done it unto me.\" (Matt. xxv.)\n\nAnd Avdy\u00e9ich understood that his dream had not deceived him, that the\nSaviour had really come to him on that day, and that he had received\nHim.\n\n\n\n\nTEXTS FOR CHAPBOOK\n\nILLUSTRATIONS\n\n1885\n\n\n\n\nTEXTS FOR CHAPBOOK\n\nILLUSTRATIONS\n\n\n\n\nTHE FIEND PERSISTS, BUT GOD RESISTS\n\n\nIn ancient times there lived a good master. He had plenty of everything,\nand many slaves served him. And the slaves prided themselves on their\nmaster. They said:\n\n\"There is not a better master under heaven. He feeds us and dresses us\nwell, and gives us work to do according to our strength, and never\noffends us with a word, and bears no grudge against any one; he is not\nlike other masters who torture their slaves worse than cattle, and\npunish them with cause and without cause, and never say a good word to\nthem. Our master wishes us good, and does us good, and speaks good words\nto us. We do not want any better life.\"\n\nThus the slaves boasted of their master. And the devil was annoyed to\nsee the slaves living well and in love with their master. And the devil\ntook possession of one of the master's slaves, Aleb. He took possession\nof him and commanded him to seduce other slaves. And when all the slaves\nwere resting and praising their master, Aleb raised his voice and said:\n\n\"Brothers, in vain do you pride yourselves on the goodness of your\nmaster. Try to do the devil's bidding, and he, too, will be kind to you.\nWe serve our master well, and please him in everything. He needs only\nto have a thing in mind, and we do it.--we guess his thoughts. Why,\nthen, should he not be good to us? Stop doing his bidding and do him\nsome wrong, and he will be like everybody else, and will repay evil with\nevil, much worse than the worst of masters.\"\n\nAnd the other slaves began to dispute with Aleb. They disputed and made\na wager. Aleb undertook to anger the good master. He undertook to do so\non condition that if he did not succeed in making him angry, he should\nlose his holiday garment, but if he did, each should give him his own\nholiday garment, and, besides, they promised to defend him against the\nmaster and to free him if the master should put him in irons or throw\nhim into prison. They made this wager, and Aleb promised to anger the\nmaster on the following morning.\n\nAleb was serving in the master's sheepfold and tended on costly\nthoroughbred rams. And so, when the good master came the next morning\nwith his guests to the sheepfold to show them his favourite expensive\nrams, the devil's labourer winked to his companions: \"Watch me now! I am\ngoing to anger the master.\" All the slaves gathered and looked through\nthe door and over the enclosure, and the devil climbed a tree and looked\nfrom there into the yard, to see how his labourer was going to serve\nhim. The master walked through the yard, showing his guests the sheep\nand lambs, and he wanted to show them his best ram.\n\n\"The other rams are nice, too, but the one with the twisted horns is\npriceless, and I think more of him than of the pupil of my eye.\"\n\nThe sheep and the lambs were shying from the people in the yard, and the\nguests could not get a good look at the expensive ram. The moment the\nram stopped, the labourer of the devil, as though by accident,\nfrightened the sheep, and they got all mixed. The guests could not make\nout which was the expensive ram. The master got tired of it, so he said:\n\n\"Aleb, my dear friend, take the trouble carefully to catch the best ram\nwith the twisted horns and to hold him awhile.\"\n\nThe moment the master had said that, Aleb rushed forward, like a lion,\ninto the midst of the rams and caught the priceless ram by his fleece.\nHe got hold of the wool, and with one hand he seized the left hind leg\nand raised it and in the eyes of the master jerked it in such a way that\nit snapped like a linden post. Aleb had broken the ram's leg beneath the\nknee. The ram began to bleat and fell down on his fore legs. Aleb\ngrasped the right leg while the left hung loose like a whip-cord. The\nguests and all the slaves groaned, and the devil rejoiced, when he saw\nhow cleverly Aleb had done his work. The master looked blacker than\nnight. He frowned, lowered his head, and did not say a word. The guests\nand the slaves were silent. They waited to see what would happen.\n\nThe master was silent, then shook himself, as though he wanted to throw\nsomething off, and raised his head and lifted it to the sky. He looked\nat it for a short time, and the wrinkles on his face disappeared, and he\nsmiled and lowered his eyes on Aleb. He looked at Aleb, and smiled, and\nsaid:\n\n\"O Aleb, Aleb! Your master has commanded you to anger me. But my master\nis stronger than yours: you have not angered me, but I will anger your\nmaster. You were afraid that I would punish you, and you wanted to be\nfree, Aleb. Know, then, that you will receive no punishment from me,\nand, since you wanted to be free, I free you in the presence of these my\nguests. Go in all four directions and take your holiday garment with\nyou!\"\n\nAnd the good master went with his guests to the house. But the devil\nground his teeth and fell down from the tree and sank through the\nearth.\n\n\n\n\nLITTLE GIRLS WISER THAN OLD PEOPLE\n\n\nIt was an early Easter. They had just quit using sleighs. In the yards\nlay snow, and rills ran down the village. A large puddle had run down\nfrom a manure pile into a lane between two farms. And at this puddle two\ngirls, one older than the other, had met. Both of them had been dressed\nby their mothers in new bodices. The little girl had a blue bodice, and\nthe elder a yellow one with a design. Both had their heads wrapped in\nred kerchiefs. After mass the two girls went to the puddle, where they\nshowed their new garments to each other, and began to play. They wanted\nto plash in the water. The little girl started to go into the puddle\nwith her shoes on, but the older girl said to her:\n\n\"Don't go, Mal\u00e1sha, your mother will scold you. I will take off my\nshoes, and you do the same.\"\n\nThe girls took off their shoes, raised their skirts, and walked through\nthe puddle toward each other. Mal\u00e1sha stepped in up to her ankles, and\nsaid:\n\n\"It is deep, Ak\u00falka, I am afraid.\"\n\n\"Never mind,\" she replied, \"it will not be any deeper. Come straight\ntoward me!\" They came closer to each other. Ak\u00falka said:\n\n\"Mal\u00e1sha, look out, and do not splash it up, but walk softly.\"\n\nShe had barely said that when Mal\u00e1sha plumped her foot into the water\nand bespattered Ak\u00falka's bodice, and not only her bodice, but also her\nnose and eyes. When Ak\u00falka saw the spots on her bodice, she grew angry\nat Mal\u00e1sha, and scolded her, and ran after her, and wanted to strike\nher. Mal\u00e1sha was frightened and, seeing what trouble she had caused,\njumped out of the puddle and ran home.\n\nAk\u00falka's mother passed by; she saw her daughter's bodice bespattered and\nher shirt soiled.\n\n\"Where, accursed one, did you get yourself so dirty?\"\n\n\"Mal\u00e1sha has purposely splashed it on me.\"\n\nAk\u00falka's mother grasped Mal\u00e1sha and gave her a knock on the nape of her\nneck. Mal\u00e1sha began to howl, and her mother ran out of the house.\n\n\"Why do you strike my daughter?\" she began to scold her neighbour.\n\nOne word brought back another, and the women began to quarrel. The men,\ntoo, ran out, and a big crowd gathered in the street. All were crying,\nand nobody could hear his neighbour. They scolded and cursed each other;\none man gave another man a push, and a fight had begun, when Ak\u00falka's\ngrandmother came out. She stepped in the midst of the peasants, and\nbegan to talk to them:\n\n\"What are you doing, dear ones? Consider the holiday. This is a time for\nrejoicing. And see what sin you are doing!\"\n\nThey paid no attention to the old woman, and almost knocked her off her\nfeet. She would never have stopped them, if it had not been for Ak\u00falka\nand Mal\u00e1sha. While the women exchanged words, Ak\u00falka wiped off her\nbodice, and went back to the puddle in the lane. She picked up a pebble\nand began to scratch the ground so as to let the water off into the\nstreet. While she was scratching, Mal\u00e1sha came up and began to help her:\nshe picked up a chip and widened the rill. The peasants had begun to\nfight, just as the water went down the rill toward the place where the\nold woman was trying to separate the men. The girls ran, one from one\nside of the rill, the other from the other side.\n\n\"Look out, Mal\u00e1sha, look out!\" shouted Ak\u00falka.\n\nMal\u00e1sha wanted to say something herself, but could not speak for\nlaughter.\n\nThe girls were running and laughing at a chip which was bobbing up and\ndown the rill. They ran straight into the crowd of the peasants. The old\nwoman saw them and said to the peasants:\n\n\"Shame on you before God, men! You have started fighting on account of\nthese two girls, and they have long ago forgotten it: the dear children\nhave been playing nicely together. They are wiser than you.\"\n\nThe men looked at the girls, and they felt ashamed. Then they laughed at\nthemselves, and scattered to their farms.\n\n\"Except ye become as little children, ye shall not enter into the\nkingdom of heaven.\"\n\n\n\n\nTHE TWO BROTHERS AND THE GOLD\n\n\nIn ancient times there lived not far from Jerusalem two brothers, the\nelder named Athanasius, and the younger John. They lived in a mountain,\nnot far from the city, and supported themselves on what people offered\nthem. The brothers passed all their days at work. They worked not for\nthemselves, but for the poor. Wherever were those who were oppressed by\nlabour, or sick people, or orphans, or widows, thither the brothers\nwent, and there they worked, and received no pay. Thus the two brothers\npassed the whole week away from each other, and met only on Saturday\nevening in their abode. On Sunday alone did they stay at home, and then\nthey prayed and talked with each other. And an angel of the Lord came\ndown to them and blessed them. On Monday they separated each in his own\ndirection. Thus they lived for many years, and each week the angel of\nthe Lord came down to them and blessed them.\n\nOne Monday, when the brothers had already gone out to work and had gone\neach in his direction, the elder brother, Athanasius, was loath to part\nfrom his brother, and he stopped and looked back. John was walking with\nlowered head, in his direction, without looking back. But suddenly John,\ntoo, stopped and, as though he had suddenly noticed something, gazed at\nsomething, while shielding his eyes. Then he approached what he was\ngazing at, suddenly jumped to one side, and, without looking back, ran\ndown-hill and up-hill again, away from the place, as though a wolf were\nafter him. Athanasius was surprised. He went back to that spot, to see\nwhat it was that had so frightened his brother. He went up to it and\nsaw something shining in the sun. He came nearer, and there lay a heap\nof gold on the ground, as though poured out from a measure. And\nAthanasius was still more surprised, both at the gold and at his\nbrother's leap.\n\n\"Why was he frightened, and why did he run away?\" thought Athanasius.\n\"There is no sin in gold. The sin is in man. With gold one may do wrong,\nbut also some good. How many orphans and widows may be fed, how many\nnaked people dressed, and the poor and sick aided with this gold! We now\nserve people, but our service is small, though it is to the best of our\nstrength. With this gold, however, we can serve people better.\"\n\nThus Athanasius thought, and he wanted to tell it all to his brother;\nbut John was out of the range of hearing, and could be seen only as a\nspeck the size of a beetle on another mountain.\n\nAthanasius took off his cloak, scooped up as much gold as he was able to\ncarry away, threw it on his shoulder, and carried it into the city. He\ncame to a hostelry and left the gold with the keeper, and went back for\nthe rest. When he had brought all the gold, he went to the merchants,\nbought some land in the city, and stones and timber, and hired\nlabourers, and began to build three houses.\n\nAthanasius lived for three months in the city, and built three houses\nthere: one--an asylum for widows and orphans, another--a hospital for\nthe sick and the lame, and a third--for pilgrims and for the needy. And\nAthanasius found three God-fearing old men, and one of them he placed in\ncharge of the asylum, the second--of the hospital, and the third--of the\nhostelry. And Athanasius had still three thousand gold coins left. He\ngave each old man one thousand coins to distribute them to the poor.\n\nThe three houses began to fill up with people, and the people began to\npraise Athanasius for everything he had done. And Athanasius was glad of\nthat and did not feel like leaving the city. But he loved his brother\nand so he bade the people farewell and, without keeping a single coin,\nwent back to his abode, wearing the same old garment in which he had\ncome.\n\nAs Athanasius was approaching his mountain, he thought:\n\n\"My brother did not judge rightly when he jumped from the gold and ran\naway from it. Have I not done better?\"\n\nAnd no sooner had Athanasius thought so than he saw the angel who used\nto bless him standing in the road and looking threateningly at him. And\nAthanasius was frightened and only said:\n\n\"For what, O Lord?\"\n\nAnd the angel opened his lips, and said:\n\n\"Go hence! You are not worthy of living with your brother. One leap of\nyour brother is worth all the deeds which you have done with your gold.\"\n\nAnd Athanasius began to speak of how many poor people and pilgrims he\nhad fed, and how many orphans he had housed. And the angel said:\n\n\"The devil who placed the gold there has also taught you these words.\"\n\nThen only did his conscience trouble him, and he saw that he had done\nhis deeds not for God, and he wept and began to repent.\n\nThe angel stepped out of the road and opened the path on which his\nbrother, John, was already standing and waiting for him. After that\nAthanasius no longer submitted to the temptation of the devil who had\nscattered the gold, and he understood that not with gold, but only with\nwords can we serve God and men.\n\nAnd the brothers began to live as before.\n\n\n\n\nILY\u00c1S\n\n\nIn the Government of Uf\u00e1 there lived a Bashkir, Ily\u00e1s. His father had\nleft him no wealth. His father had died a year after he had got his son\nmarried. At that time Ily\u00e1s had seven mares, two cows, and a score of\nsheep; but Ily\u00e1s was a good master and began to increase his\npossessions; he worked with his wife from morning until night, got up\nearlier than anybody, and went to bed later, and grew richer from year\nto year. Thus Ily\u00e1s passed thirty-five years at work, and came to have a\nvast fortune.\n\nIly\u00e1s finally had two hundred head of horses, 150 head of cattle, and\ntwelve hundred sheep. Men herded Ily\u00e1s's herds and flocks, and women\nmilked the mares and cows, and made kumys, butter, and cheese. Ily\u00e1s had\nplenty of everything, and in the district everybody envied him his life.\nPeople said:\n\n\"Ily\u00e1s is a lucky fellow. He has plenty of everything,--he does not need\nto die.\"\n\nGood people made Ily\u00e1s's friendship and became his friends. And guests\ncame to him from a distance. He received them all, and fed them, and\ngave them to drink. No matter who came, he received kumys, and tea, and\nsherbet, and mutton. If guests came to see him, a sheep or two were\nkilled, and if many guests arrived, he had them kill a mare.\n\nIly\u00e1s had two sons and a daughter. He had got all of them married. When\nIly\u00e1s had been poor, his sons had worked with him and had herded the\nhorses and the cattle and the sheep; but when they grew rich, the sons\nbecame spoiled, and one of them even began to drink. One of them, the\neldest, was killed in a fight, and the other, the younger, had a proud\nwife, and did not obey his father, and his father had to give him a\nseparate maintenance.\n\nIly\u00e1s gave him a house and cattle, and his own wealth was diminished.\nSoon after a plague fell on Ily\u00e1s's sheep, and many of them died. Then\nthere was a famine year, the hay crop was a failure, and in the winter\nmany head of cattle died. Then the Kirgizes drove off the best herd of\nhorses. And thus Ily\u00e1s's estate grew less, and he fell lower and lower,\nand his strength began to wane.\n\nWhen he was seventy years old, he began to sell off his furs, rugs,\nsaddles, and tents, and soon had to sell his last head of cattle, so\nthat he was left without anything. Before he knew it, all was gone, and\nin his old age he had to go with his wife to live among strangers. All\nthat Ily\u00e1s had left of his fortune was what garments he had on his body,\na fur coat, a cap, and his morocco slippers and shoes, and his wife,\nSham-shemagi, who was now an old woman. The son to whom he had given the\nproperty had left for a distant country, and his daughter had died. And\nso there was nobody to help the old people.\n\nTheir neighbour, Muhamedshah, took pity on them. Muhamedshah was neither\nrich nor poor, and he lived an even life, and was a good man. He\nremembered Ily\u00e1s's hospitality, and so pitied him, and said to Ily\u00e1s:\n\n\"Come to live with me, Ily\u00e1s, and bring your wife with you! In the\nsummer work according to your strength in my truck-garden, and in the\nwinter feed the cattle, and let Sham-shemagi milk the mares and make\nkumys. I will feed and clothe you and will let you have whatever you may\nneed.\"\n\nIly\u00e1s thanked his neighbour, and went to live with his wife as\nMuhamedshah's labourers. At first it was hard for them, but soon they\ngot used to the work, and the old people worked according to their\nstrength.\n\nIt was profitable for the master to keep these people, for they had been\nmasters themselves and knew all the order and were not lazy, but worked\naccording to their strength; but it pained Muhamedshah to see the\nwell-to-do people brought down so low.\n\nOne day distant guests, match-makers, happened to call on Muhamedshah;\nand the mulla, too, came. Muhamedshah ordered his men to catch a sheep\nand kill it. Ily\u00e1s flayed the sheep and cooked it and sent it in to the\nguests. They ate the mutton, drank tea, and then started to drink kumys.\nThe guests and the master were sitting on down cushions on the rugs,\ndrinking kumys out of bowls, and talking; but Ily\u00e1s got through with his\nwork and walked past the door. When Muhamedshah saw him, he said to a\nguest:\n\n\"Did you see the old man who just went past the door?\"\n\n\"I did,\" said the guest; \"but what is there remarkable about him?\"\n\n\"What is remarkable is that he used to be our richest man. Ily\u00e1s is his\nname; maybe you have heard of him?\"\n\n\"Of course I have,\" said the guest. \"I have never seen him, but his fame\nhas gone far abroad.\"\n\n\"Now he has nothing left, and he lives with me as a labourer, and his\nwife is with him,--she milks the cows.\"\n\nThe guest was surprised. He clicked with his tongue, shook his head, and\nsaid:\n\n\"Evidently fortune flies around like a wheel: one it lifts up, another\nit takes down. Well, does the old man pine?\"\n\n\"Who knows? He lives quietly and peaceably, and works well.\"\n\nThen the guest said:\n\n\"May I speak with him? I should like to ask him about his life.\"\n\n\"Of course you may,\" said the master, and he called out of the tent:\n\"Babay!\" (This means \"grandfather\" in the Bashkia language.) \"Come in\nand drink some kumys, and bring your wife with you!\"\n\nIly\u00e1s came in with his wife. He exchanged greetings with the guests and\nwith the master, said a prayer, and knelt down at the door; but his wife\nwent back of a curtain and sat down with the mistress.\n\nA bowl of kumys was handed to Ily\u00e1s. Ily\u00e1s saluted the guests and the\nmaster, made a bow, drank a little, and put down the bowl.\n\n\"Grandfather,\" the guest said to him, \"I suppose it makes you feel bad\nto look at us and think of your former life, considering what fortune\nyou had and how hard your life is now.\"\n\nBut Ily\u00e1s smiled and said:\n\n\"If I should tell you about my happiness and unhappiness, you would not\nbelieve me,--you had better ask my wife. She is a woman, and what is in\nher heart is on her tongue: she will tell you all the truth about this\nmatter.\"\n\nAnd the guest spoke to her behind the curtain:\n\n\"Well, granny, tell us how you judge about your former happiness and\npresent sorrow.\"\n\nAnd Sham-shemagi spoke from behind the curtain:\n\n\"I judge like this: My husband and I lived for fifty years trying to\nfind happiness, and we did not find it; but now it is the second year\nthat we have nothing left and that we live as labourers, and we have\nfound that happiness and need no other.\"\n\nThe guests were surprised and the master marvelled, and he even got up\nto throw aside the curtain and to look at the old woman. But the old\nwoman was standing with folded hands, smiling and looking at her\nhusband, and the old man was smiling, too. The old woman said once\nmore:\n\n\"I am telling you the truth, without any jest: for half a century we\ntried to find happiness, and so long as we were rich, we did not find\nit; now nothing is left, and we are working out,--and we have come to\nhave such happiness that we wish for no other.\".\n\n\"Wherein does your happiness lie?\"\n\n\"In this: when we were rich, my husband and I did not have an hour's\nrest: we had no time to talk together, to think of our souls, or to\npray. We had so many cares! Now guests called on us,--and there were the\ncares about what to treat them to and what presents to make so that they\nshould not misjudge us. When the guests left, we had to look after the\nlabourers: they thought only of resting and having something good to\neat, but we cared only about having our property attended to,--and so\nsinned. Now we were afraid that a wolf would kill a colt or a calf, and\nnow that thieves might drive off a herd. When we lay down to sleep, we\ncould not fall asleep, fearing lest the sheep might crush the lambs. We\nwould get up in the night and walk around; no sooner would we be quieted\nthan we would have a new care,--how to get fodder for the winter. And,\nworse than that, there was not much agreement between my husband and me.\nHe would say that this had to be done so and so, and I would say\ndifferently, and so we began to quarrel, and sin. Thus we lived from one\ncare to another, from one sin to another, and saw no happy life.\"\n\n\"Well, and now?\"\n\n\"Now my husband and I get up, speak together peaceably, in agreement,\nfor we have nothing to quarrel about, nothing to worry about,--all the\ncare we have is to serve our master. We work according to our strength,\nand we work willingly so that our master shall have no loss, but profit.\nWhen we come back, dinner is ready, and supper, and kumys. If it is\ncold, there are dung chips to make a fire with and a fur coat to warm\nourselves. For fifty years we looked for happiness, but only now have we\nfound it.\"\n\nThe guests laughed.\n\nAnd Ily\u00e1s said:\n\n\"Do not laugh, brothers! This is not a joke, but a matter of human life.\nMy wife and I were foolish and wept because we had lost our fortune, but\nnow God has revealed the truth to us, and we reveal this to you, not for\nour amusement but for your good.\"\n\nAnd the mulla said:\n\n\"That was a wise speech, and Ily\u00e1s has told the precise truth,--it says\nso, too, in Holy Writ.\"\n\nAnd the guests stopped laughing and fell to musing.\n\n\n\n\nA FAIRY-TALE\n\n About Iv\u00e1n the Fool and His Two Brothers, Sem\u00e9n the Warrior and\n Tar\u00e1s the Paunch, and His Dumb Sister Mal\u00e1nya, and About the Old\n Devil and the Three Young Devils\n\n 1885\n\n\n\n\nA FAIRY-TALE\n\n About Iv\u00e1n the Fool and His Two Brothers, Sem\u00e9n the Warrior and\n Tar\u00e1s the Paunch, and His Dumb Sister Mal\u00e1nya, and About the Old\n Devil and the Three Young Devils\n\n\nI.\n\nIn a certain kingdom, in a certain realm, there lived a rich peasant. He\nhad three sons, Sem\u00e9n the Warrior, Tar\u00e1s the Paunch, and Iv\u00e1n the Fool,\nand a daughter Mal\u00e1nya, the dumb old maid.\n\nSem\u00e9n the Warrior went to war, to serve the king; Tar\u00e1s the Paunch went\nto a merchant in the city, to sell wares; but Iv\u00e1n the Fool and the girl\nremained at home, to work and hump their backs.\n\nSem\u00e9n the Warrior earned a high rank and an estate, and married a lord's\ndaughter. His salary was big, and his estate was large, but still he\ncould not make both ends meet: whatever he collected, his wife scattered\nas though from a sleeve, and they had no money.\n\nSem\u00e9n the Warrior came to his estate, to collect the revenue. His clerk\nsaid to him:\n\n\"Where shall it come from? We have neither cattle, nor tools: neither\nhorses, nor cows, nor plough, nor harrow. Everything has to be\nprovided, then there will be an income.\"\n\nAnd Sem\u00e9n the Warrior went to his father:\n\n\"You are rich, father,\" he said, \"and you have not given me anything.\nCut off a third and I will transfer it to my estate.\"\n\nAnd the old man said:\n\n\"You have brought nothing to my house, why should I give you a third? It\nwill be unfair to Iv\u00e1n and to the girl.\"\n\nBut Sem\u00e9n said:\n\n\"But he is a fool, and she is a dumb old maid. What do they need?\"\n\nAnd the old man said:\n\n\"As Iv\u00e1n says so it shall be!\"\n\nBut Iv\u00e1n said:\n\n\"All right, let him have it!\"\n\nSo Sem\u00e9n the Warrior took his third from the house, transferred it to\nhis estate, and again went away to serve the king.\n\nTar\u00e1s the Paunch, too, earned much money,--and married a merchant woman.\nStill he did not have enough, and he came to his father, and said:\n\n\"Give me my part!\"\n\nThe old man did not want to give Tar\u00e1s his part:\n\n\"You,\" he said, \"have brought nothing to the house, and everything in\nthe house has been earned by Iv\u00e1n. I cannot be unfair to him and to the\ngirl.\"\n\nBut Tar\u00e1s said:\n\n\"What does he want it for? He is a fool. He cannot marry, for no one\nwill have him; and the dumb girl does not need anything, either. Give\nme,\" he said, \"half of the grain, Iv\u00e1n! I will not take your tools, and\nof your animals I want only the gray stallion,--you cannot plough with\nhim.\"\n\nIv\u00e1n laughed.\n\n\"All right,\" he said, \"I will earn it again.\"\n\nSo Tar\u00e1s, too, received his part. Tar\u00e1s took the grain to town, and\ndrove off the gray stallion, and Iv\u00e1n was left with one old mare, and he\nwent on farming and supporting his father and his mother.\n\n\nII.\n\nThe old devil was vexed because the brothers had not quarrelled in\ndividing up, but had parted in love. And so he called up three young\ndevils.\n\n\"You see,\" he said, \"there are three brothers, Sem\u00e9n the Warrior, Tar\u00e1s\nthe Paunch, and Iv\u00e1n the Fool. They ought to be quarrelling, but,\ninstead, they live peacefully; they exchange with each other bread and\nsalt. The fool has spoiled all my business. Go all three of you.--get\nhold of them, and mix them up in such a way that they shall tear out one\nanother's eyes. Can you do it?\"\n\n\"We can,\" they said.\n\n\"How are you going to do it?\"\n\n\"We will do it like this,\" they said: \"First we will ruin them, so that\nthey will have nothing to eat; then we will throw them all in a heap, so\nthat they will quarrel together.\"\n\n\"Very well,\" he said. \"I see that you know your business. Go, and do not\nreturn to me before you have muddled all three, or else I will flay all\nthree of you.\"\n\nThe three devils all went to a swamp, and considered how to take hold of\nthe matter: they quarrelled and quarrelled, for they wanted each of them\nto get the easiest job, and finally they decided to cast lots for each\nman. If one of them got through first, he was to come and help the\nothers. The devils cast lots, and set a time when they were to meet\nagain in the swamp, in order to find out who was through, and who needed\nhelp.\n\nWhen the time came, the devils gathered in the swamp. They began to\ntalk about their affairs. The first devil, Sem\u00e9n the Warrior's, began to\nspeak.\n\n\"My affair,\" he said, \"is progressing. To-morrow my Sem\u00e9n will go to his\nfather.\"\n\nHis comrades asked him how he did it.\n\n\"In the first place,\" he said, \"I brought such bravery over Sem\u00e9n that\nhe promised his king to conquer the whole world, and the king made him a\ncommander and sent him out to fight the King of India. They came\ntogether for a fight. But that very night I wet all his powder, and I\nwent over to the King of India and made an endless number of soldiers\nfor him out of straw. When Sem\u00e9n's soldiers saw the straw soldiers\nwalking upon them on all sides, they lost their courage. Sem\u00e9n commanded\nthem to fire their cannon and their guns, but they could not fire them.\nSem\u00e9n's soldiers were frightened and ran away like sheep. And the King\nof India vanquished them. Sem\u00e9n is disgraced,--they have taken his\nestate from him, and to-morrow he is to be beheaded. I have only one\nday's work left to do: to let him out of the prison, so that he can run\nhome. To-morrow I shall be through with him, so tell me which of you I\nam to aid!\"\n\nThen the other devil, Tar\u00e1s's, began to speak:\n\n\"I do not need any help,\" he said, \"for my affair is also progressing\nnicely,--Tar\u00e1s will not live another week. In the first place, I have\nraised a belly on him, and made him envious. He is so envious of other\npeople's property that, no matter what he sees, he wants to buy it. He\nhas bought up an endless lot of things and spent all his money on them\nand is still buying. He now buys on other people's money. He has quite a\nlot on his shoulders, and is so entangled that he will never free\nhimself. In a week the time will come for him to pay, and I will change\nall his wares into manure,--and he will not be able to pay his debts,\nand will go to his father's.\"\n\nThey began to ask the third devil, Iv\u00e1n's.\n\n\"How is your business?\"\n\n\"I must say, my business is not progressing at all. The first thing I\ndid was to spit into his kvas jug, so as to give him a belly-ache, and I\nwent to his field and made the soil so hard that he should not be able\nto overcome it. I thought that he would never plough it up, but he, the\nfool, came with his plough and began to tear up the soil. His belly-ache\nmade him groan, but he stuck to his ploughing. I broke one plough of\nhis, but he went home, fixed another plough, wrapped new leg-rags on\nhim, and started once more to plough. I crept under the earth, and tried\nto hold the ploughshare, but I could not do it,--he pressed so hard on\nthe plough; the ploughshares are sharp, and he has cut up my hands. He\nhas ploughed up nearly the whole of it,--only a small strip is left.\nCome and help me, brothers, or else, if we do not overpower him, all our\nlabours will be lost. If the fool is left and continues to farm, they\nwill have no want, for he will feed them all.\"\n\nSem\u00e9n's devil promised to come on the morrow to help him, and thereupon\nthe devils departed.\n\n\nIII.\n\nIv\u00e1n ploughed up all the fallow field, and only one strip was left. His\nbelly ached, and yet he had to plough. He straightened out the lines,\nturned over the plough, and went to the field. He had just made one\nfurrow, and was coming back, when something pulled at the plough as\nthough it had caught in a root. It was the devil that had twined his\nlegs about the plough-head and was holding it fast.\n\n\"What in the world is that?\" thought Iv\u00e1n. \"There were no roots here\nbefore, but now there are.\"\n\nIv\u00e1n stuck his hand down in the furrow, and felt something soft. He\ngrabbed it and pulled it out. It was as black as a root, but something\nwas moving on it. He took a glance at it, and, behold, it was a live\ndevil.\n\n\"I declare,\" he said, \"it is a nasty thing!\" And Iv\u00e1n swung him and was\nabout to strike him against the plough-handle; but the devil began to\nscream.\n\n\"Do not beat me,\" he said, \"and I will do for you anything you wish.\"\n\n\"What will you do for me?\"\n\n\"Say what you want!\"\n\nIv\u00e1n scratched himself.\n\n\"My belly aches,--can you cure me?\"\n\n\"I can,\" he said.\n\n\"Very well, cure me!\"\n\nThe devil bent down to the furrow, scratched awhile in it, pulled out a\nfew roots,--three of them in a bunch,--and gave them to Iv\u00e1n.\n\n\"Here,\" he said, \"is a root, which, if you swallow, will make your ache\ngo away at once.\"\n\nIv\u00e1n took the roots, tore them up, and swallowed one. His belly-ache\nstopped at once.\n\nThen the devil began to beg again:\n\n\"Let me go, now, and I will slip through the earth, and will not come up\nagain.\"\n\n\"All right,\" he said, \"God be with you!\"\n\nAnd the moment Iv\u00e1n mentioned God's name, the devil bolted through the\nearth, as a stone plumps into the water, and only a hole was left. Iv\u00e1n\nput the remaining two roots in his cap, and started to finish his work.\nHe ploughed up the strip, turned over the plough, and went home. He\nunhitched the horse, came to the house, and there found his eldest\nbrother, Sem\u00e9n the Warrior, with his wife, eating supper. His estate had\nbeen taken from him, and he had with difficulty escaped from prison and\ncome to his father's to live.\n\nSem\u00e9n saw Iv\u00e1n, and, \"I have come to live with you,\" he said. \"Feed me\nand my wife until I find a new place!\"\n\n\"All right,\" he said, \"stay here!\"\n\nIv\u00e1n wanted to sit down on a bench, but the lady did not like the smell\nof Iv\u00e1n. So she said to her husband:\n\n\"I cannot eat supper with a stinking peasant.\"\n\n\"All right,\" he said, \"I have to go anyway to pasture the mare for the\nnight.\"\n\nIv\u00e1n took some bread and his caftan, and went out to herd his mare.\n\n\nIV.\n\nThat night Sem\u00e9n's devil got through with his work and by agreement went\nto find Iv\u00e1n's devil, to help to make an end of the fool. He came to the\nfield and looked for him everywhere, but found only the hole.\n\n\"Something has evidently gone wrong with my comrade,\" he thought,--\"I\nmust take his place. The ploughing is done,--I shall have to catch him\nin the mowing time.\"\n\nThe devil went to the meadows and sent a flood on the mowing so that it\nwas all covered with mud. Iv\u00e1n returned in the morning from the night\nwatch, whetted his scythe, and went out to mow the meadows. He came, and\nbegan to mow: he swung the scythe once, and a second time, and it grew\ndull and would not cut,--it was necessary to grind it. Iv\u00e1n worked hard\nand in vain.\n\n\"No,\" he said, \"I will go home, and will bring the grindstone with me,\nand a round loaf. If I have to stay here for a week, I will not give up\nuntil I mow it all.\"\n\nWhen the devil heard it he thought:\n\n\"This fool is stiff-necked,--I cannot get at him. I must try something\nelse.\"\n\nIv\u00e1n came back, ground his scythe, and began to mow. The devil crept\ninto the grass and began to catch the scythe by the snath-end and to\nstick the point into the ground. It went hard with Iv\u00e1n, but he finished\nthe mowing, and there was left only one scrubby place in the swamp. The\ndevil crawled into the swamp and thought:\n\n\"If I get both my paws cut, I will not let him mow it.\"\n\nIv\u00e1n went into the swamp; the grass was not dense, but he found it hard\nto move the scythe. Iv\u00e1n grew angry and began to swing the scythe with\nall his might. The devil gave in; he had hardly time to get away,--he\nsaw that matters were in bad shape, so he hid in a bush. Iv\u00e1n swung the\nscythe with all his might and struck the bush, and cut off half of the\ndevil's tail. Iv\u00e1n finished the mowing, told the girl to rake it up, and\nhimself went to cut the rye.\n\nHe went out with a round knife, but the bobtailed devil had been there\nbefore him and had so mixed up the rye that he could not cut it with the\nround knife. Iv\u00e1n went back, took the sickle, and began to cut it; he\ncut all the rye.\n\n\"Now I must go to the oats,\" he said.\n\nThe bobtailed devil heard it, and thought:\n\n\"I could not cope with him on the rye, but I will get the better of him\nin the oats,--just let the morning come.\"\n\nThe devil ran in the morning to the oats-field, but the oats were all\ncut down. Iv\u00e1n had cut them in the night, to keep them from dropping the\nseed.\n\nThe devil grew angry:\n\n\"The fool has cut me all up, and has worn me out. I have not seen such\ntrouble even in war-time. The accursed one does not sleep,--I cannot\nkeep up with him. I will go now to the ricks, and will rot them all.\"\n\nAnd the devil went to the rye-rick, climbed between the sheaves, and\nbegan to rot them: he warmed them up, and himself grew warm and fell\nasleep.\n\nIv\u00e1n hitched his mare, and went with the girl to haul away the ricks. He\ndrove up to one and began to throw the sheaves into the cart. He had\njust put two sheaves in when he stuck his fork straight into the devil's\nback; he raised it, and, behold, on the prongs was a live devil, and a\nbobtailed one at that, and he was writhing and twisting, and trying to\nget off.\n\n\"I declare,\" he said, \"it is a nasty thing! Are you here again?\"\n\n\"I am a different devil,\" he said. \"My brother was here before. I was\nwith your brother Sem\u00e9n.\"\n\n\"I do not care who you are,\" he replied, \"you will catch it, too.\"\n\nHe wanted to strike him against the ground, but the devil began to beg\nhim:\n\n\"Let me go, and I will not do it again, and I will do for you anything\nyou please.\"\n\n\"What can you do?\"\n\n\"I can make soldiers for you from anything.\"\n\n\"What good are they?\"\n\n\"You can turn them to any use you please: they will do anything.\"\n\n\"Can they play music?\"\n\n\"They can.\"\n\n\"All right, make them for me!\"\n\nAnd the devil said:\n\n\"Take a sheaf of rye, strike the lower end against the ground, and say:\n'By my master's command not a sheaf shall you stand, but as many straws\nas there are so many soldiers there be.'\"\n\nIv\u00e1n took the sheaf, shook it against the ground, and spoke as the devil\ntold him to. And the sheaf fell to pieces, and the straws were changed\ninto soldiers, and in front a drummer was drumming, and a trumpeter\nblowing the trumpet. Iv\u00e1n laughed.\n\n\"I declare,\" he said, \"it is clever. This is nice to amuse the girls\nwith.\"\n\n\"Let me go now,\" said the devil.\n\n\"No,\" he said, \"I will do that with threshed straw, and I will not let\nfull ears waste for nothing. I will thresh them first.\"\n\nSo the devil said:\n\n\"Say, 'As many soldiers, so many straws there be! With my master's\ncommand again a sheaf it shall stand.'\"\n\nIv\u00e1n said this, and the sheaf was as before. And the devil begged him\nagain:\n\n\"Let me go now!\"\n\n\"All right!\" Iv\u00e1n caught him on the cart-hurdle, held him down with his\nhand, and pulled him off the fork. \"God be with you!\" he said.\n\nThe moment he said, \"God be with you,\" the devil bolted through the\nearth, as a stone plumps into the water, and only a hole was left.\n\nIv\u00e1n went home, and there he found his second brother. Tar\u00e1s and his\nwife were sitting and eating supper. Tar\u00e1s the Paunch had not calculated\nright, and so he ran away from his debts and came to his father's. When\nhe saw Iv\u00e1n, he said:\n\n\"Iv\u00e1n, feed me and my wife until I go back to trading!\"\n\n\"All right,\" he said, \"stay with us!\"\n\nIv\u00e1n took off his caftan, and seated himself at the table.\n\nBut the merchant's wife said:\n\n\"I cannot eat with a fool. He stinks of sweat.\"\n\nSo Tar\u00e1s the Paunch said:\n\n\"Iv\u00e1n, you do not smell right, so go and eat in the vestibule!\"\n\n\"All right,\" he said, and, taking bread, he went out. \"It is just\nright,\" he said, \"for it is time for me to go and pasture the mare for\nthe night.\"\n\n\nV.\n\nThat night Tar\u00e1s's devil got through with his job, and he went by\nagreement to help out his comrades,--to get the best of Iv\u00e1n the Fool.\nHe came to the field and tried to find his comrades, but all he saw was\na hole in the ground; he went to the meadows, and found a tail in the\nswamp, and in the rye stubbles he found another hole.\n\n\"Well,\" he thought, \"evidently some misfortune has befallen my comrades;\nI must take their place, and go for the fool.\"\n\nThe devil went forth to find Iv\u00e1n. But Iv\u00e1n was through with the field,\nand was chopping wood in the forest.\n\nThe brothers were not comfortable living together, and they had ordered\nthe fool to cut timber with which to build them new huts.\n\nThe devil ran to the woods, climbed into the branches, and did not let\nIv\u00e1n fell the trees. Iv\u00e1n chopped the tree in the right way, so that it\nmight fall in a clear place; he tried to make it fall, but it came down\nthe wrong way, and fell where it had no business to fall, and got caught\nin the branches. Iv\u00e1n made himself a lever with his axe, began to turn\nthe tree, and barely brought it down. Iv\u00e1n went to chop a second tree,\nand the same thing happened. He worked and worked at it, and brought it\ndown. He started on a third tree, and again the same happened.\n\nIv\u00e1n had expected to cut half a hundred trunks, and before he had\nchopped ten it was getting dark. Iv\u00e1n was worn out. Vapours rose from\nhim as though a mist were going through the woods, but he would not give\nup. He chopped down another tree, and his back began to ache so much\nthat he could not work: he stuck the axe in the wood, and sat down to\nrest himself.\n\nThe devil saw that Iv\u00e1n had stopped, and was glad:\n\n\"Well,\" he thought, \"he has worn himself out, and he will stop soon. I\nwill myself take a rest,\" and he sat astride a bough, and was happy.\n\nBut Iv\u00e1n got up, pulled out his axe, swung with all his might, and hit\nthe tree so hard from the other side that it cracked and came down with\na crash. The devil had not expected it and had no time to straighten out\nhis legs. The bough broke and caught the devil's hand. Iv\u00e1n began to\ntrim, and behold, there was a live devil. Iv\u00e1n was surprised.\n\n\"I declare,\" he said, \"you are a nasty thing! Are you here again?\"\n\n\"I am not the same,\" he said. \"I was with your brother Tar\u00e1s.\"\n\n\"I do not care who you are,--you will fare the same way.\" Iv\u00e1n swung his\naxe, and wanted to crush him with the back of the axe.\n\nThe devil began to beg him:\n\n\"Do not kill me,--I will do anything you please for you.\"\n\n\"What can you do?\"\n\n\"I can make as much money for you as you wish.\"\n\n\"All right, make it for me!\"\n\nAnd the devil taught him how to do it.\n\n\"Take some oak leaves from this tree,\" he said, \"and rub them in your\nhands. The gold will fall to the ground.\"\n\nIv\u00e1n took some leaves and rubbed them,--and the gold began to fall.\n\n\"This is nice to have,\" he said, \"when you are out celebrating with the\nboys.\"\n\n\"Let me go now!\" said the devil.\n\n\"All right!\" Iv\u00e1n took his lever, and freed the devil. \"God be with\nyou,\" he said, and the moment he mentioned God's name, the devil bolted\nthrough the earth, as a stone plumps into the water, and only a hole was\nleft.\n\n\nVI.\n\nThe brothers built themselves houses, and began to live each by himself.\nBut Iv\u00e1n got through with his field work, and brewed some beer and\ninvited his brothers to celebrate with him. They would not be Iv\u00e1n's\nguests:\n\n\"We have never seen a peasant celebration,\" they said.\n\nIv\u00e1n treated the peasants and their wives, and himself drank until he\nwas drunk, and he went out into the street to the khorov\u00f3d. He went up\nto the women, and told them to praise him.\n\n\"I will give you what you have not seen in all your lives.\"\n\nThe women laughed, and praised him. When they got through, they said:\n\n\"Well, let us have it!\"\n\n\"I will bring it to you at once,\" he said.\n\nHe picked up the seed-basket and ran into the woods. The women laughed:\n\"What a fool he is!\" And they forgot about him, when, behold, he was\nrunning toward them, and carrying the basket full of something.\n\n\"Shall I let you have it?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\nIv\u00e1n picked up a handful of gold and threw it to the women. O Lord, how\nthey darted for the money! The peasants rushed out and began to tear it\nout of the hands of the women. They almost crushed an old woman to\ndeath. Iv\u00e1n laughed.\n\n\"Oh, you fools,\" he said, \"why did you crush that old woman? Be more\ngentle, and I will give you some more.\" He began to scatter more gold.\nPeople ran up, and Iv\u00e1n scattered the whole basketful. They began to ask\nfor more. But Iv\u00e1n said:\n\n\"That is all. I will give you more some other time. Now let us have\nmusic! Sing songs!\"\n\nThe women started a song.\n\n\"I do not like your kind of songs,\" he said.\n\n\"What kind is better?\"\n\n\"I will show you in a minute,\" he said. He went to the threshing-floor,\npulled out a sheaf, straightened it up, placed it on end, and struck it\nagainst the ground.\n\n\"At your master's command not a sheaf shall you stand, each straw a\nsoldier shall be.\"\n\nThe sheaf flew to pieces, and out came the soldiers, and the drums began\nto beat and the trumpets to sound. Iv\u00e1n told the soldiers to play songs,\nand went into the street with them. The people were surprised. The\nsoldiers played songs, and then Iv\u00e1n took them back to the\nthreshing-floor, and told nobody to follow him. He changed the soldiers\nback into a sheaf, and threw it on the loft. He went home and went to\nsleep behind the partition.\n\n\nVII.\n\nOn the next morning his eldest brother, Sem\u00e9n the Warrior, heard of it,\nand he went to see Iv\u00e1n.\n\n\"Reveal to me,\" he said, \"where did you find those soldiers, and where\ndid you take them to?\"\n\n\"What is that to you?\" he said.\n\n\"What a question! With soldiers anything may be done. You can get a\nkingdom for yourself.\"\n\nIv\u00e1n was surprised.\n\n\"Indeed? Why did you not tell me so long ago?\" he said. \"I will make as\nmany for you as you please. Luckily the girl and I have threshed a lot\nof straw.\"\n\nIv\u00e1n took his brother to the threshing-floor, and said:\n\n\"Look here! I will make them for you, but you take them away, or else,\nif we have to feed them, they will ruin the village in one day.\"\n\nSem\u00e9n the Warrior promised that he would take the soldiers away, and\nIv\u00e1n began to make them. He struck a sheaf against the floor, there was\na company; he struck another, there was a second, and he made such a lot\nof them that they took up the whole field.\n\n\"Well, will that do?\"\n\nSem\u00e9n was happy, and said:\n\n\"It will do. Thank you, Iv\u00e1n.\"\n\n\"All right,\" he said. \"If you need more, come to me, and I will make you\nmore. There is plenty of straw to-day.\"\n\nSem\u00e9n the Warrior at once attended to the army, collected it as was\nproper, and went forth to fight.\n\nNo sooner had Sem\u00e9n the Warrior left, than Tar\u00e1s the Paunch came. He,\ntoo, had heard of the evening's affair, and he began to beg his brother:\n\n\"Reveal to me, where do you get the gold money from? If I had such free\nmoney, I would with it gather in all the money of the whole world.\"\n\nIv\u00e1n was surprised.\n\n\"Indeed? You ought to have told me so long ago,\" he said. \"I will rub up\nfor you as much as you want.\"\n\nHis brother was glad:\n\n\"Give me at least three seed-baskets full!\"\n\n\"All right,\" he said, \"let us go to the woods! But hitch up the horse,\nor you will not be able to carry it away.\"\n\nThey went to the woods, and Iv\u00e1n began to rub the oak leaves. He rubbed\nup a large heap.\n\n\"Will that do, eh?\"\n\nTar\u00e1s was happy.\n\n\"It will do for awhile,\" he said. \"Thank you, Iv\u00e1n.\"\n\n\"You are welcome. If you need more, come to me, and I will rub up some\nmore,--there are plenty of leaves left.\"\n\nTar\u00e1s the Paunch gathered a whole wagon-load of money, and went away to\ntrade with it.\n\nBoth brothers left the home. And Sem\u00e9n went out to fight, and Tar\u00e1s to\ntrade. And Sem\u00e9n the Warrior conquered a whole kingdom for himself,\nwhile Tar\u00e1s the Paunch made a big heap of money by trading.\n\nThe brothers met, and they revealed to one another where Sem\u00e9n got the\nsoldiers, and Tar\u00e1s the money.\n\nSem\u00e9n the Warrior said to his brother:\n\n\"I have conquered a kingdom for myself, and I lead a good life, only I\nhave not enough money to feed my soldiers with.\"\n\nAnd Tar\u00e1s the Paunch said:\n\n\"And I have earned a whole mound of money, but here is the trouble: I\nhave nobody to guard the money.\"\n\nSo Sem\u00e9n the Warrior said:\n\n\"Let us go to our brother! I will tell him to make me more soldiers, and\nI will give them to you to guard your money; and you tell him to rub me\nmore money with which to feed the soldiers.\"\n\nAnd they went to Iv\u00e1n. When they came to him, Sem\u00e9n said:\n\n\"I have not enough soldiers, brother. Make me some more soldiers,--if\nyou have to work over two stacks.\"\n\nIv\u00e1n shook his head.\n\n\"I will not make you any soldiers, for nothing in the world.\"\n\n\"But you promised you would.\"\n\n\"So I did, but I will not make them for you.\"\n\n\"Why, you fool, won't you make them?\"\n\n\"Because your soldiers have killed a man. The other day I was ploughing\nin the field, when I saw a woman driving with a coffin in the road, and\nweeping all the time. I asked her who had died, and she said, 'Sem\u00e9n's\nsoldiers have killed my husband in a war.' I thought that the soldiers\nwould make music, and there they have killed a man. I will give you no\nmore.\"\n\nAnd he stuck to it, and made no soldiers for him.\n\nThen Tar\u00e1s the Paunch began to beg Iv\u00e1n to make him more gold money. But\nIv\u00e1n shook his head.\n\n\"I will not rub any, for nothing in the world.\"\n\n\"But you promised you would.\"\n\n\"So I did, but I will not do it.\"\n\n\"Why, you fool, will you not do it?\"\n\n\"Because your gold coins have taken away Mikh\u00e1ylovna's cow.\"\n\n\"How so?\"\n\n\"They just did. Mikh\u00e1ylovna had a cow, whose milk the children sipped,\nbut the other day the children came to me to ask for some milk. I said\nto them: 'Where is your cow?' And they answered: 'Tar\u00e1s the Paunch's\nclerk came, and he gave mother three gold pieces, and she gave him the\ncow, and now we have no milk to sip.' I thought you wanted to play with\nthe gold pieces, and you take the cow away from the children. I will not\ngive you any more.\"\n\nAnd the fool stuck to it, and did not give him any. So the brothers went\naway.\n\nThey went away, and they wondered how they might mend matters. Then\nSem\u00e9n said:\n\n\"This is what we shall do. You give me money to feed the soldiers with,\nand I will give you half my kingdom with the soldiers to guard your\nmoney.\" Tar\u00e1s agreed to it. The brothers divided up, and both became\nkings, and rich men.\n\n\nVIII.\n\nBut Iv\u00e1n remained at home, supporting father and mother, and working the\nfield with the dumb girl.\n\nOne day Iv\u00e1n's watch-dog grew sick: he had the mange and was dying. Iv\u00e1n\nwas sorry for him, and he took some bread from the dumb girl, put it in\nhis hat, and took it out and threw it to the dog. But the cap was torn,\nand with the bread one of the roots fell out. The old dog swallowed it\nwith the bread. And no sooner had he swallowed it than he jumped up,\nbegan to play and to bark, and wagged his tail,--he was well again.\n\nWhen his father and his mother saw that, they were surprised.\n\n\"With what did you cure the dog?\"\n\nAnd Iv\u00e1n said to them:\n\n\"I had two roots with which to cure all diseases, and he swallowed one.\"\n\nIt happened that at that time the king's daughter grew ill, and the king\nproclaimed in all the towns and villages that he would reward him who\nshould cure her, and that if it should be an unmarried man, he should\nhave his daughter for a wife. The same was also proclaimed in Iv\u00e1n's\nvillage.\n\nFather and mother called Iv\u00e1n, and said to him:\n\n\"Have you heard what the king has proclaimed? You said that you had a\nroot, so go and cure the king's daughter. You will get a fortune for the\nrest of your life.\"\n\n\"All right,\" he said. And he got ready to go. He was dressed up, and\nwent out on the porch, and saw a beggar woman with a twisted arm.\n\n\"I have heard that you can cure,\" she said. \"Cure my arm, for I cannot\ndress myself.\"\n\nAnd Iv\u00e1n said:\n\n\"All right!\" He took the root, gave it to the beggar woman, and told her\nto swallow it.\n\nShe swallowed it, and was cured at once and could wave her arm. Iv\u00e1n's\nparents came out to see him off on his way to the king, and when they\nheard that he had given away the last root and had nothing left with\nwhich to cure the king's daughter, they began to upbraid him.\n\n\"You have taken pity on the beggar woman, but you have no pity on the\nking's daughter.\"\n\nBut he hitched his horse, threw a little straw into the hamper, and was\ngetting ready to drive away.\n\n\"Where are you going, fool?\"\n\n\"To cure the king's daughter.\"\n\n\"But you have nothing to cure her with!\"\n\n\"All right,\" he said, and drove away.\n\nHe came to the king's palace, and the moment he stepped on the porch,\nthe king's daughter was cured.\n\nThe king rejoiced, and sent for Iv\u00e1n. He had him all dressed up:\n\n\"Be my son-in-law!\" he said.\n\n\"All right,\" he said.\n\nAnd Iv\u00e1n married the king's daughter. The king died soon after, and Iv\u00e1n\nbecame king. Thus all three brothers were kings.\n\n\nIX.\n\nThe three brothers were reigning.\n\nThe elder brother, Sem\u00e9n the Warrior, lived well. With his straw\nsoldiers he got him real soldiers. He commanded his people to furnish a\nsoldier to each ten homes, and every such soldier had to be tall of\nstature, and white of body, and clean of face. And he gathered a great\nmany such soldiers and taught them all what to do. And if any one acted\ncontrary to his will, he at once sent his soldiers against that person,\nand did as he pleased. And all began to be afraid of him.\n\nHe had an easy life. Whatever he wished for, or his eyes fell upon, was\nhis. He would send out his soldiers, and they would take away and bring\nto him whatever he needed.\n\nTar\u00e1s the Paunch, too, lived well. The money which he had received from\nIv\u00e1n he had not spent, but he had increased it greatly. He, too, had\ngood order in his kingdom. The money he kept in coffers, and exacted\nmore money from the people. He exacted money from each soul for walking\npast, and driving past, and for bast shoes, and leg-rags, and\nshoe-laces. And no matter what he wished, he had; for money they brought\nhim everything, and they went to work for him, because everybody needs\nmoney.\n\nNor did Iv\u00e1n the Fool live badly. As soon as he had buried his\nfather-in-law, he took off his royal garments and gave them to his wife\nto put away in the coffer. He put on his old hempen shirt and trousers,\nand his bast shoes, and began to work.\n\n\"I do not feel well,\" he said. \"My belly is growing larger, and I cannot\neat, nor sleep.\"\n\nHe brought his parents and the dumb girl, and began to work again.\n\nPeople said to him:\n\n\"But you are a king!\"\n\n\"All right,\" he said, \"but a king, too, has to eat.\"\n\nThe minister came to him, and said:\n\n\"We have no money with which to pay salaries.\"\n\n\"All right,\" he said, \"if you have none, pay no salaries!\"\n\n\"But they will stop serving you.\"\n\n\"All right,\" he said, \"Let them stop serving! They will have more time\nfor work. Let them haul manure. They have not hauled any for a long\ntime.\"\n\nPeople came to Iv\u00e1n to have a case tried. One said:\n\n\"He stole money from me.\"\n\nBut Iv\u00e1n replied:\n\n\"All right, evidently he needed it.\"\n\nAll saw that Iv\u00e1n was a fool. His wife said to him:\n\n\"They say about you that you are a fool.\"\n\n\"All right,\" he said.\n\nIv\u00e1n's wife, too, was a fool, and she thought and thought.\n\n\"Why should I go against my husband?\" she said. \"The thread belongs\nwhere the needle is.\"\n\nShe took off her regal garments, put them in a coffer, and went to the\ndumb girl to learn to work. She learned, and began to help her husband.\n\nAll the wise men left Iv\u00e1n's kingdom, and only the fools were left.\nNobody had any money. They lived and worked and fed themselves and all\ngood people.\n\n\nX.\n\nThe old devil waited and waited for some news from the young devils\nabout how they had destroyed the three brothers, but none came. He went\nto find out for himself: he looked everywhere for the three, but found\nonly three holes.\n\n\"Well,\" he thought, \"evidently they did not get the best of them. I\nshall have to try it myself.\"\n\nHe went to find the brothers, but they were no longer in their old\nplaces. He found them in different kingdoms. All three were living and\nreigning there. That vexed the old devil.\n\n\"I shall have to do the work myself,\" he said.\n\nFirst of all he went to King Sem\u00e9n. He did not go to him in his own\nform, but in the shape of a general. He went to him, and said:\n\n\"I have heard that you, King Sem\u00e9n, are a great warrior. I have had good\ninstruction in this business, and I want to serve you.\"\n\nKing Sem\u00e9n began to ask him questions, and he saw that he was a clever\nman, and so received him into his service.\n\nThe old general began to teach King Sem\u00e9n how to gather a great army.\n\n\"In the first place,\" he said, \"you must collect more soldiers, for too\nmany people in your kingdom are walking about idly. You must shave the\nheads of all the young men without exception, and then you will have an\narmy which will be five times as large as it is now. In the second\nplace, you must introduce new guns and cannon. I will get you the kind\nof guns that fire one hundred bullets at once, as though pouring out\npease. And I will get you cannon that burn with their fire: whether a\nman, or a horse, or a wall,--they burn everything.\"\n\nKing Sem\u00e9n listened to his new general, and ordered all the young men\nwithout exception to be drafted as soldiers, and started new factories.\nHe had a lot of new guns and cannon made, and at once started a war\nagainst a neighbouring king. The moment the enemy's army came out\nagainst him, he ordered his soldiers to fire at them with bullets and to\nburn them with the cannon fire. He at once maimed and burnt one-half the\narmy. The neighbouring king became frightened, and he surrendered and\ngave up his kingdom to him. King Sem\u00e9n was happy.\n\n\"Now I will vanquish the King of India,\" he said.\n\nBut the King of India heard of King Sem\u00e9n, and adopted all his\ninventions and added a few of his own. The King of India drafted not\nonly all the young men, but he also made all the unmarried women serve\nas soldiers, and so he had even more soldiers than King Sem\u00e9n. He\nadopted all of King Sem\u00e9n's guns and cannon, and introduced flying in\nthe air and throwing explosive bombs from above.\n\nKing Sem\u00e9n went out to make war on the King of India. He thought that he\nwould conquer him as he had conquered before; but the scythe was cutting\ntoo fine,--the King of India did not give Sem\u00e9n's army a chance to fire\na single shot, for he sent his women into the air, to throw explosive\nbombs on Sem\u00e9n's army. The women began to pour the bombs on Sem\u00e9n's\narmy, like borax on cockroaches, and the whole army ran away, and King\nSem\u00e9n was left alone. The King of India took possession of the whole of\nSem\u00e9n's kingdom, and Sem\u00e9n the Warrior ran whither his eyes took him.\n\nThe old devil had done up this brother, and he made for King Tar\u00e1s. He\ntook the shape of a merchant and settled in Tar\u00e1s's kingdom. He started\nan establishment, and began to issue money. The merchant paid high\nprices for everything, and the whole nation rushed to the merchant to\nget his money. And the people had so much money that they paid all their\nback taxes and paid on time all the taxes as they fell due. King Tar\u00e1s\nwas happy.\n\n\"Thanks to the merchant,\" he thought, \"I shall now have more money than\never, and my life will improve.\"\n\nAnd King Tar\u00e1s fell on new plans. He began to build himself a new\npalace: he commanded the people to haul lumber and stone, and to come to\nwork, and offered high prices for everything. King Tar\u00e1s thought that as\nbefore the people would rush to work for him. But, behold, all the\nlumber and stone was being hauled to the merchant, and only the\nlabourers were rushing to the king.\n\nKing Tar\u00e1s offered higher prices, but the merchant went higher still.\nKing Tar\u00e1s had much money, but the merchant had more still, and the\nmerchant could offer better pay than the king. The royal palace came to\na standstill,--it could not be built.\n\nKing Tar\u00e1s wanted to get a garden laid out. When the fall came, King\nTar\u00e1s proclaimed that he wanted people to come and set out trees for\nhim; but nobody came, as they were all digging a pond for the merchant.\n\nWinter came. King Tar\u00e1s wanted to buy sable furs for a new coat, and he\nsent out men to buy them. The messenger came back, and said that there\nwere no sables,--that all the furs were in the merchant's possession, as\nhe had offered a higher price, and that he had made himself a sable rug.\n\nKing Tar\u00e1s wanted to have some stallions. He sent messengers to buy them\nfor him; but they came back, and said that the merchant had all the good\nstallions, and they were hauling water and filling up the pond.\n\nAll the business of the king came to a stop. Men would not do anything\nfor him, but worked only for the merchant; all he received was the\nmerchant's money, for taxes.\n\nAnd the king collected such a mass of money that he did not know what to\ndo with it, and his life grew bad. The king stopped planning things, and\nonly thought of how he might pass his life peacefully, but he could not\ndo so. He was oppressed in everything. His cooks, and his coachmen, and\nhis servants began to leave him for the merchant. And he began to suffer\nfor lack of food. He would send the women to market to buy provisions,\nbut there was nothing there, for the merchant bought up everything, and\nall he received was money for taxes.\n\nKing Tar\u00e1s grew angry and sent the merchant abroad; but the merchant\nsettled at the border and continued to do his work: as before, people\ndragged for the merchant's money all the things from the king to him.\nThe king was in a bad plight: he did not eat for days at a time, and the\nrumour was spread that the merchant was boasting that he was going to\nbuy the king himself with his money. King Tar\u00e1s lost his courage, and\ndid not know what to do.\n\nSem\u00e9n the Warrior came to him, and said:\n\n\"Support me, for the King of India has vanquished me.\"\n\nBut Tar\u00e1s himself was pinched.\n\n\"I have not eaten myself for two days,\" he said.\n\n\nXI.\n\nThe old devil had done up the two brothers, and now went to Iv\u00e1n. The\nold devil took the shape of a general, and he came to Iv\u00e1n and tried to\npersuade him to provide himself with an army.\n\n\"It will not do for a king to live without an army,\" he said. \"Just\ncommand me, and I will gather soldiers from among your people, and will\nget you up an army.\"\n\nIv\u00e1n took his advice.\n\n\"All right,\" he said, \"get me up an army: teach them to play good\nmusic,--I like that.\"\n\nThe old devil started to go over the kingdom, to gather volunteers. He\nsaid that they should go and get their crowns shaved, for which they\nwould get a bottle of v\u00f3dka each, and a red cap.\n\nThe fools laughed at him.\n\n\"We have all the liquor we want,\" they said, \"for we distil it\nourselves, and as for caps, our women will make us any we want, even\nmotley ones, with tassels at that.\"\n\nNot one of them would go. The old devil went to Iv\u00e1n and said:\n\n\"Your fools will not go of their own will; you will have to force them.\"\n\n\"All right,\" he said, \"drive them by force!\"\n\nAnd so the old devil announced that all the fools were to inscribe\nthemselves as soldiers, and that Iv\u00e1n would execute those who would not\ngo.\n\nThe fools came to the general and said:\n\n\"You say that the king will have us killed if we do not become soldiers,\nbut you do not tell us what we shall have to do as soldiers. They say\nthat soldiers, too, are killed.\"\n\n\"Yes, that cannot be helped.\"\n\nWhen the fools heard that, they became stubborn.\n\n\"We will not go,\" they said. \"If so, let us be killed at home! Death\ncannot be escaped anyway.\"\n\n\"Fools that you are!\" said the old devil. \"A soldier may be killed or\nnot, but if you do not go, King Iv\u00e1n will certainly have you killed.\"\n\nThe fools considered the matter, and went to see Iv\u00e1n the Fool.\n\n\"Your general has come,\" they said, \"and tells us all to turn soldiers.\n'If you become soldiers,' he says, 'you may be killed, or not, but if\nyou do not become soldiers King Iv\u00e1n will certainly put you to death.'\nIs that true?\"\n\nIv\u00e1n began to laugh.\n\n\"How can I, one man, have you all put to death? If I were not a fool, I\nshould explain that to you, but as it is, I do not understand it\nmyself.\"\n\n\"If so,\" they said, \"we shall not become soldiers.\"\n\n\"All right,\" he said, \"don't.\"\n\nThe fools went to the general and refused to become soldiers.\n\nThe old devil saw that his business did not work, so he went to the King\nof Cockroachland, and got into his favour.\n\n\"Let us go,\" he said, \"and wage war on King Iv\u00e1n, and vanquish him. He\nhas no money, but he has plenty of grain, and cattle, and all kinds of\nthings.\"\n\nThe King of Cockroachland went out to make war: he had gathered a large\narmy, and collected guns and cannon, and left his borders, to enter\nIv\u00e1n's kingdom.\n\nPeople came to Iv\u00e1n and said:\n\n\"The King of Cockroachland is coming against us.\"\n\n\"All right,\" he said, \"let him come.\"\n\nThe King of Cockroachland crossed the border, and sent the\nadvance-guard to find Iv\u00e1n's army. They looked and looked for it, and\ncould not find it. They thought that they might wait for it to show up.\nBut they heard nothing about it,--there was no army to fight.\n\nThe King of Cockroachland sent out his men to take possession of the\nvillages. The soldiers came to one village,--and there the fools jumped\nout to look at the soldiers and to marvel at them. The soldiers began to\ntake away the grain and the cattle: the fools gave it all up, and did\nnot resist. The soldiers went to the next village, and the same\nhappened. The soldiers walked for a day or two, and everywhere the same\nhappened. They gave up all they had, and nobody resisted, and they\ninvited the soldiers to come and live with them:\n\n\"If you, dear people,\" they said, \"have not enough to live on in your\ncountry, come and settle among us.\"\n\nThe soldiers walked and walked, but no army was to be found; everywhere\npeople were living, and feeding themselves and other people, and they\ndid not resist, but invited them to come and live with them.\n\nThe soldiers felt bad, and they came back to the King of Cockroachland.\n\n\"We cannot fight here,\" they said, \"so take us to some other place: war\nwould be a good thing, but this is as though we were to cut soup. We\ncannot fight here.\"\n\nThe King of Cockroachland grew wroth, and commanded his soldiers to\nmarch through the whole kingdom, and destroy villages and houses, and\nburn the grain and kill the cattle.\n\n\"If you do not obey my command,\" he said, \"I shall have you all\nexecuted.\"\n\nThe soldiers became frightened, and began to carry out the king's\ncommand. They started to burn the houses and the grain, and to kill the\ncattle. And still the fools did not resist, but only wept. The old men\nwept, and the old women wept, and the children wept.\n\n\"Why do you offend us? Why do you destroy the property? If you need it,\ntake it along!\"\n\nThe soldiers felt ashamed. They did not go any farther, and the whole\narmy ran away.\n\n\nXII.\n\nThe old devil went away,--he could not get at Iv\u00e1n by means of the\nsoldiers. The old devil changed into a clean-looking gentleman, and went\nto live in Iv\u00e1n's kingdom: he wished to get at him by means of money, as\nhe had done with Tar\u00e1s the Paunch.\n\n\"I want to do you good,\" he said, \"and to teach you what is good and\nproper. I will build a house in your country, and will start an\nestablishment.\"\n\n\"All right,\" he said, \"stay here!\"\n\nThe clean-looking gentleman stayed overnight, and the following morning\nhe took a large bag of gold to the market-square, and a sheet of paper,\nand said:\n\n\"You are all of you living like pigs. I will teach you how to live.\nBuild me a house according to this plan! You work, and I will show you\nhow, and will pay gold money to you.\"\n\nAnd he showed them the gold. The fools were astounded: they had no such\na thing as money, and only exchanged things among themselves, or paid\nwith work. They marvelled at the gold and said:\n\n\"They are nice things.\"\n\nAnd for these gold things they began to give him what they had and to\nwork for him. The old devil rejoiced and thought:\n\n\"My affair is proceeding favourably. I will now ruin Iv\u00e1n completely, as\nI have ruined Tar\u00e1s, and will buy him up, guts and all.\"\n\nAs soon as the fools had any gold, they gave it all away to their women\nfor necklaces, and their girls wove it into their braids, and the\nchildren began to play in the streets with those pretty things. When all\nhad enough of it, they refused to get any more. The clean-looking\ngentleman's palace was not half done, and the grain and the cattle were\nnot yet attended to for the year. And the gentleman demanded that they\nshould go and work for him, and haul his grain, and drive his cattle; he\npromised them much gold for everything and for all work.\n\nBut no one came to work, and they brought nothing to him. Only now and\nthen a boy or girl would run in to exchange an egg for a gold coin;\notherwise nobody came, and he had nothing to eat. The clean-looking\ngentleman was starved, and he went to the village to buy something to\neat: he went into one yard, and offered a gold coin for a chicken, but\nthe woman would not take it.\n\n\"I have too many of them as it is,\" she said.\n\nHe went to a homeless woman, to buy a herring of her, and offered her a\ngold coin.\n\n\"I do not want it, dear man,\" she said. \"I have no children, and so\nthere is nobody to play with it; I myself have three of these for show.\"\n\nHe went to a peasant to buy bread of him, but the peasant, too, would\nnot take the money.\n\n\"I do not want it,\" he said. \"If you want bread, for Christ's sake,\nwait, and I will have my wife cut you off a piece.\"\n\nThe devil just spit out and ran away from the peasant. Not only would he\nnot take anything for Christ's sake, but it was worse than cutting him\neven to hear that word.\n\nAnd so he did not get any bread. Everywhere it was the same; no matter\nwhere the devil went, they gave him nothing for money, but said:\n\n\"Bring us something else, or come and work for it, or take it for\nChrist's sake!\"\n\nBut the devil had nothing but money. He did not like to work, and for\nChrist's sake he could not take anything. The old devil grew angry.\n\n\"What else do you want, if I give you money? You can buy anything for\nmoney, or hire a labourer.\"\n\nThe fools paid no attention to him.\n\n\"No,\" they said, \"we do not want it. We have no taxes and no wages to\npay, so what do we want with the money?\"\n\nThe old devil went to bed without eating supper.\n\nThis affair reached the ears of Iv\u00e1n the Fool. They went to ask him:\n\n\"What shall we do? A clean-looking gentleman has appeared among us: he\nis fond of eating and drinking, and does not like to work, and does not\nbeg for Christ's sake, but only offers us gold pieces. So long as we did\nnot have enough of them, we gave him everything, but now we do not give\nhim any more. What shall we do with him? We are afraid that he will\nstarve.\"\n\nIv\u00e1n listened to what they had to say.\n\n\"All right,\" he said, \"we shall have to feed him. Let him go from farm\nto farm as a shepherd!\"\n\nThe old devil could not help himself, and he began to go from farm to\nfarm. The turn came to Iv\u00e1n's farm. The old devil came to dinner, and\nthe dumb girl was just fixing it. Those who were lazy used to deceive\nher. Without having worked they came to dinner earlier and ate up all\nthe porridge. And so the dumb girl contrived to tell the\ngood-for-nothing by their hands: if one had calluses, she seated him at\nthe table, but if not, she gave him what was left of the dinner. The old\ndevil climbed behind the table; but the dumb girl took hold of his\nhands, and there were no calluses; the hands were clean and smooth, and\nthe nails long.\n\nThe dumb girl bawled, and pulled the devil out from behind the table.\n\nIv\u00e1n's wife said to him:\n\n\"Don't take it amiss, clean gentleman! My sister-in-law will not let a\nman without calluses sit down at the table. Wait awhile! Let the people\neat first, and then you will get what is left.\"\n\nThe old devil was insulted, because at the king's house they would feed\nhim with the swine. He said to Iv\u00e1n:\n\n\"What a fool's law you have in your country to let all men work with\ntheir hands! You have invented that in your stupidity. Do men work with\ntheir hands only? How do you suppose clever people work?\"\n\nBut Iv\u00e1n said:\n\n\"How can we fools know? We labour mostly with our hands and with our\nbacks.\"\n\n\"That is so, because you are fools. I will teach you,\" he said, \"how to\nwork with your heads. You will see that with your heads you can work\nfaster than with your hands.\"\n\nIv\u00e1n marvelled.\n\n\"Indeed,\" he said, \"we are called fools for good reason.\"\n\nAnd the old devil said:\n\n\"But it is not easy to work with the head. You do not give me anything\nto eat because I have no calluses on my hands, and you do not know that\nit is a hundred times harder to work with the head. At times it just\nmakes the head burst.\"\n\nIv\u00e1n fell to musing.\n\n\"But why do you torture yourself so much, my dear? It is no small matter\nto have your head burst. You had better do some easy work,--with your\nhands and back.\"\n\nAnd the devil said:\n\n\"The reason I torture myself is because I pity you fools. If I did not\ntorture myself, you would remain fools to the end of your days. I have\nworked with my head, and now I will teach you, too.\"\n\nIv\u00e1n marvelled.\n\n\"Teach us,\" he said, \"for now and then the hands get tired, and it would\nbe nice to use the head instead.\"\n\nThe devil promised to teach him.\n\nAnd Iv\u00e1n proclaimed throughout his kingdom that a clean-looking man had\nappeared who would teach people how to work with their heads, that they\ncould work more with their heads than with their hands, and that they\nshould come and learn.\n\nIn Iv\u00e1n's kingdom there was a high tower, and a straight staircase led\nup to it, and at the top there was a spy-room. Iv\u00e1n took the gentleman\nthere so that he might see better.\n\nThe gentleman stood up on the tower and began to speak from it. The\nfools gathered around to look at him. The fools thought that he would\nshow them in fact how to work with the head instead of the hands. But\nthe old devil taught them only in words how to live without working.\n\nThe fools did not understand a word. They looked and looked and went\naway, each to his work.\n\nThe old devil stood on the tower a day, and a second day, and kept\ntalking. He wanted to eat; but the fools did not have enough sense to\nsend some bread up to the tower. They thought that if he could work\nbetter with his head than with his hands, he would somehow earn bread\nfor himself with his head. The old devil stood another day in the\ntower-room, and kept talking all the time. And the people came up and\nlooked, and looked and went away.\n\nThen Iv\u00e1n asked:\n\n\"Well, has the gentleman begun to work with his head?\"\n\n\"Not yet,\" people said, \"he is still babbling.\"\n\nThe old devil stood another day on the tower and began to weaken; he\ntottered and struck his head against a post. One of the fools saw that,\nand told Iv\u00e1n's wife about it, and she ran to her husband in the field.\n\n\"Come, let us go and see,\" she said. \"The gentleman is beginning to work\nwith his head.\"\n\nIv\u00e1n was surprised.\n\n\"Indeed?\" he said. He turned in the horse, and went to the tower. When\nhe came up to it, the old devil was weakened from hunger and tottering\nfrom side to side and knocking his head against the posts. Just as Iv\u00e1n\ncame up, the devil stumbled and fell and rattled down the stairs, head\nforemost: he counted all the steps.\n\n\"Well,\" said Iv\u00e1n, \"the clean-looking gentleman told the truth when he\nsaid that at times the head bursts. This is worse than calluses: such\nworks will leave bumps on the head.\"\n\nThe old devil came down the whole staircase and struck his head against\nthe ground. Iv\u00e1n wanted to go and see how much work he had done, but\nsuddenly the earth gave way, and the old devil went through the earth,\nand nothing but a hole was left.\n\nIv\u00e1n scratched himself.\n\n\"I declare,\" he said, \"it is a nasty thing! It is again he. He must be\nthe father of those others. What a big fellow he is!\"\n\nIv\u00e1n is still living, and people are all the time rushing to his\nkingdom, and his brothers, too, came to him, and he is feeding them all.\nIf any one comes and says: \"Feed me!\" he replies:\n\n\"All right, stay here, we have plenty of everything.\"\n\nThey have but one custom in his country, and that is, if one has\ncalluses on his hands, he may sit down at the table, and if he has not,\nhe gets the remnants.\n\n\n\n\n * * * * *\n\n\n\n\nTranscriber's note:\n\n On page 133, the original read: \"The Tartars after him. He into the\n river.\"\n\n This has been changed to \"The Tartars after him. He threw himself into\n the river.\"","title":"Fables for Children, Stories for Children, Natural Science Stories, Popular Education, Decembrists, Moral Tales","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":141505}