"Take another glass!" said Avdyéich.
But Stepánych made the sign of the cross, thanked him for the tea, pushed the glass away from him, and got up.
"Thank you, Martýn Avdyéich," he said. "You were hospitable to me, and have given food to my body and my soul."
"You are welcome. Come in again,—I shall be glad to see you," said Avdyéich.
Stepánych went away. Martýn poured out the last tea, finished another glass, put away the dishes, and again sat down at the window to work,—to tap a boot. And as he worked, he kept looking out of the window,—waiting for Christ and thinking of Him and His works. And all kinds of Christ's speeches ran through his head.
There passed by two soldiers, one in Crown boots, the other in boots of his own; then the proprietor of a neighbouring house came by in clean galoshes, and then a baker with a basket. All of these went past the window, and then a woman in woollen stockings and peasant shoes came in line with the window. She went by the window and stopped near a wall. Avdyéich looked at her through the window, and saw that she was a strange, poorly dressed woman, with a child: she had stopped with her back to the wind and was trying to wrap the child, though she did not have anything to wrap it in. The woman's clothes were for the summer, and scanty at that. Avdyéich could hear the child cry in the street, and her vain attempt to quiet it. Avdyéich got up and went out of his room and up to the staircase, and called out:
"Clever Woman! Clever woman!"
The woman heard him and turned around.
"Why are you standing there in the cold with the child? Come in here! It will be easier for you to wrap the child in a warm room. Here, this way!"
The woman was surprised. She saw an old man in an apron, with glasses over his nose, calling to her. She followed him in.
They went down the stairs and entered the room, and Martýn took the woman up to the bed.
"Sit down here, clever woman, nearer to the stove, and get warm and feed the child."
"There is no milk in my breasts,—I have not had anything to eat since morning," said the woman, but still she took the child to her breast.
Avdyéich shook his head, went to the table, fetched some bread and a bowl, opened a door in the stove, filled the bowl with beet soup, and took out the pot of porridge, but it was not done yet. He put the soup on the table, put down the bread, and took off a rag from a hook and put it down on the table.
"Sit down, clever woman, and eat, and I will sit with the babe,—I used to have children of my own, and so I know how to take care of them."
The woman made the sign of the cross, sat down at the table, and began to eat, while Avdyéich seated himself on the bed with the child. He smacked his lips at it, but could not smack well, for he had no teeth. The babe kept crying all the time. Avdyéich tried to frighten it with his finger: he quickly carried his finger down toward the babe's mouth and pulled it away again. He did not put his finger into the child's mouth, because it was black,—all smeared with pitch. But the child took a fancy for his finger and grew quiet, and then began even to smile. Avdyéich, too, was happy. The woman was eating in the meantime and telling him who she was and whither she was going.
"I am a soldier's wife," she said. "My husband was driven somewhere far away eight months ago, and I do not know where he is. I had been working as a cook when the baby was born; they would not keep me with the child. This is the third month that I have been without a place. I have spent all I had saved. I wanted to hire out as a wet-nurse, but they will not take me: they say that I am too thin. I went to a merchant woman, where our granny lives, and she promised she would takeme. I thought she wanted me to come at once, but she told me she wanted me next week. She lives a distance away. I am all worn out and have worn out the dear child, too. Luckily our landlady pities us for the sake of Christ, or else I do not know how we should have lived until now."
Avdyéich heaved a sigh, and said:
"And have you no warm clothes?"
"Indeed, it is time now to have warm clothing, dear man! But yesterday I pawned my last kerchief for twenty kopeks."
The woman went up to the bed and took her child, but Avdyéich got up, went to the wall, rummaged there awhile, and brought her an old sleeveless cloak.
"Take this!" he said. "It is an old piece, but you may use it to wrap yourself in."
The woman looked at the cloak and at the old man, and took the cloak, and burst out weeping. Avdyéich turned his face away; he crawled under the bed, pulled out a box, rummaged through it, and again sat down opposite the woman.
And the woman said:
"May Christ save you, grandfather! Evidently He sent me to your window. My child would have frozen to death. When I went out it was warm, but now it has turned dreadfully cold. It was He, our Father, who taught you to look through the window and have pity on me, sorrowful woman."
Avdyéich smiled, and said:
"It is He who has instructed me: clever woman, there was good reason why I looked through the window."
Martýn told the soldier woman about his dream, and how he had heard a voice promising him that the Lord would come to see him on that day.
"Everything is possible," said the woman. She gotup, threw the cloak over her, wrapped the child in it, and began to bow to Avdyéich and to thank him.
"Accept this, for the sake of Christ," said Avdyéich, giving her twenty kopeks, with which to redeem her kerchief.
The woman made the sign of the cross, and so did Avdyéich, and he saw the woman out.
She went away. Avdyéich ate some soup, put the things away, and sat down once more to work. He was working, but at the same time thinking of the window: whenever it grew dark there, he looked up to see who was passing. There went by acquaintances and strangers, and there was nothing peculiar.
Suddenly Avdyéich saw an old woman, a huckstress, stop opposite the very window. She was carrying a basket with apples. There were but few of them left,—evidently she had sold all, and over her shoulder she carried a bag with chips. No doubt, she had picked them up at some new building, and was on her way home. The bag was evidently pulling hard on her shoulder; she wanted to shift it to her other shoulder, so she let the bag down on the flagstones, set the apple-basket on a post, and began to shake down the chips. While she was doing that, a boy in a torn cap leaped out from somewhere, grasped any apple from the basket, and wanted to skip out, but the old woman saw him in time and turned around and grabbed the boy by the sleeve. The boy yanked and tried to get away, but the old woman held on to him with both her hands, knocked down his cap, and took hold of his hair. The boy cried, and the old woman scolded. Avdyéich did not have time to put away the awl. He threw it on the floor, jumped out of the room, stumbled on the staircase, and dropped his glasses. He ran out into the street. The old woman was pulling the boy's hair and scolding him. She wanted to take him to a policeman; the little fellow struggled and tried to deny what he had done:
"I did not take any, so why do you beat me? Let me go!"
Avdyéich tried to separate them. He took the boy's arm, and said:
"Let him go, granny, forgive him for Christ's sake!"
"I will forgive him in such a way that he will not forget until the new bath brooms are ripe. I will take the rascal to the police station!"
Avdyéich began to beg the old woman:
"Let him go, granny, he will not do it again. Let him go, for Christ's sake!"
The woman let go of him. The boy wanted to run, but Avdyéich held on to him.
"Beg the grandmother's forgiveness," he said. "Don't do that again,—I saw you take the apple."
The boy began to cry, and he asked her forgiveness.
"That's right. And now, take this apple!" Avdyéich took an apple from the basket and gave it to the boy. "I will pay for it, granny," he said to the old woman.
"You are spoiling these ragamuffins," said the old woman. "He ought to be rewarded in such a way that he should remember it for a week."
"Oh, granny, granny!" said Avdyéich. "That is according to our ways, but how is that according to God's ways? If he is to be whipped for an apple, what ought to be done with us for our sins?"
The old woman grew silent.
And Avdyéich told the old woman the parable of the lord who forgave his servant his whole large debt, after which the servant went and took his fellow servant who was his debtor by the throat. The old woman listened to him, and the boy stood and listened, too.
"God has commanded that we should forgive," said Avdyéich, "or else we, too, shall not be forgiven. All are to be forgiven, but most of all an unthinking person."
The old woman shook her head and sighed.
"That is so," said the old woman, "but they are very much spoiled nowadays."
"Then we old people ought to teach them," said Avdyéich.
"That is what I say," said the old woman. "I myself had seven of them,—but only one daughter is left now." And the old woman began to tell where and how she was living with her daughter, and how many grandchildren she had. "My strength is waning," she said, "but still I work. I am sorry for my grandchildren, and they are such nice children,—nobody else meets me the way they do. Aksyútka will not go to anybody from me. 'Granny, granny dear, darling!'" And the old woman melted with tenderness.
"Of course, he is but a child,—God be with him!" the old woman said about the boy.
She wanted to lift the bag on her shoulders, when the boy jumped up to her, and said:
"Let me carry it, granny! I am going that way."
The old woman shook her head and threw the bag on the boy's shoulders. They walked together down the street. The old woman had forgotten to ask Avdyéich to pay her for the apple. Avdyéich stood awhile, looking at them and hearing them talk as they walked along.
When they disappeared from sight, he returned to his room. He found his glasses on the staircase,—they were not broken,—and he picked up his awl and again sat down to work. He worked for awhile; he could not find the holes with the bristle, when he looked up and saw the lampman lighting the lamps.
"It is evidently time to strike a light," he thought, and he got up and fixed the lamp and hung it on the hook, and sat down again to work. He finished a boot: he turned it around and looked at it, and he saw that it was well done. He put down his tool, swept up the clippings, put away the bristles and the remnants and the awls, tookthe lamp and put it on the table, and fetched the Gospel from the shelf. He wanted to open the book where he had marked it the day before with a morocco clipping, but he opened it in another place. And just as he went to open the Gospel, he thought of his dream of the night before. And just as he thought of it, it appeared to him as though something were moving and stepping behind him. He looked around, and, indeed, it looked as though people were standing in the dark corner, but he could not make out who they were. And a voice whispered to him:
"Martýn, oh, Martýn, have you not recognized me?"
"Whom?" asked Avdyéich.
"Me," said the voice. "It is I."
And out of the dark corner came Stepánych, and he smiled and vanished like a cloud and was no more.
"And it is I," said a voice.
And out of the dark corner came the woman with the babe, and the woman smiled and the child laughed, and they, too, disappeared.
"And it is I," said a voice.
And out came the old woman and the boy with the apple, and both smiled and vanished.
And joy fell on Avdyéich's heart, and he made the sign of the cross, put on his glasses, and began to read the Gospel, there where he had opened it. And at the top of the page he read:
"I was an hungered, and ye gave me meat: I was thirsty, and ye gave me drink: I was a stranger, and ye took me in."
And at the bottom of the page he read:
"Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me." (Matt. xxv.)
And Avdyéich understood that his dream had not deceived him, that the Saviour had really come to him on that day, and that he had received Him.
TEXTS FOR CHAPBOOKILLUSTRATIONS
In ancient times there lived a good master. He had plenty of everything, and many slaves served him. And the slaves prided themselves on their master. They said:
"There is not a better master under heaven. He feeds us and dresses us well, and gives us work to do according to our strength, and never offends us with a word, and bears no grudge against any one; he is not like other masters who torture their slaves worse than cattle, and punish them with cause and without cause, and never say a good word to them. Our master wishes us good, and does us good, and speaks good words to us. We do not want any better life."
Thus the slaves boasted of their master. And the devil was annoyed to see the slaves living well and in love with their master. And the devil took possession of one of the master's slaves, Aleb. He took possession of him and commanded him to seduce other slaves. And when all the slaves were resting and praising their master, Aleb raised his voice and said:
"Brothers, in vain do you pride yourselves on the goodness of your master. Try to do the devil's bidding, and he, too, will be kind to you. We serve our master well,and please him in everything. He needs only to have a thing in mind, and we do it.—we guess his thoughts. Why, then, should he not be good to us? Stop doing his bidding and do him some wrong, and he will be like everybody else, and will repay evil with evil, much worse than the worst of masters."
And the other slaves began to dispute with Aleb. They disputed and made a wager. Aleb undertook to anger the good master. He undertook to do so on condition that if he did not succeed in making him angry, he should lose his holiday garment, but if he did, each should give him his own holiday garment, and, besides, they promised to defend him against the master and to free him if the master should put him in irons or throw him into prison. They made this wager, and Aleb promised to anger the master on the following morning.
Aleb was serving in the master's sheepfold and tended on costly thoroughbred rams. And so, when the good master came the next morning with his guests to the sheepfold to show them his favourite expensive rams, the devil's labourer winked to his companions: "Watch me now! I am going to anger the master." All the slaves gathered and looked through the door and over the enclosure, and the devil climbed a tree and looked from there into the yard, to see how his labourer was going to serve him. The master walked through the yard, showing his guests the sheep and lambs, and he wanted to show them his best ram.
"The other rams are nice, too, but the one with the twisted horns is priceless, and I think more of him than of the pupil of my eye."
The sheep and the lambs were shying from the people in the yard, and the guests could not get a good look at the expensive ram. The moment the ram stopped, the labourer of the devil, as though by accident, frightened the sheep, and they got all mixed. The guests could notmake out which was the expensive ram. The master got tired of it, so he said:
"Aleb, my dear friend, take the trouble carefully to catch the best ram with the twisted horns and to hold him awhile."
The moment the master had said that, Aleb rushed forward, like a lion, into the midst of the rams and caught the priceless ram by his fleece. He got hold of the wool, and with one hand he seized the left hind leg and raised it and in the eyes of the master jerked it in such a way that it snapped like a linden post. Aleb had broken the ram's leg beneath the knee. The ram began to bleat and fell down on his fore legs. Aleb grasped the right leg while the left hung loose like a whip-cord. The guests and all the slaves groaned, and the devil rejoiced, when he saw how cleverly Aleb had done his work. The master looked blacker than night. He frowned, lowered his head, and did not say a word. The guests and the slaves were silent. They waited to see what would happen.
The master was silent, then shook himself, as though he wanted to throw something off, and raised his head and lifted it to the sky. He looked at it for a short time, and the wrinkles on his face disappeared, and he smiled and lowered his eyes on Aleb. He looked at Aleb, and smiled, and said:
"O Aleb, Aleb! Your master has commanded you to anger me. But my master is stronger than yours: you have not angered me, but I will anger your master. You were afraid that I would punish you, and you wanted to be free, Aleb. Know, then, that you will receive no punishment from me, and, since you wanted to be free, I free you in the presence of these my guests. Go in all four directions and take your holiday garment with you!"
And the good master went with his guests to the house. But the devil ground his teeth and fell down from the tree and sank through the earth.
It was an early Easter. They had just quit using sleighs. In the yards lay snow, and rills ran down the village. A large puddle had run down from a manure pile into a lane between two farms. And at this puddle two girls, one older than the other, had met. Both of them had been dressed by their mothers in new bodices. The little girl had a blue bodice, and the elder a yellow one with a design. Both had their heads wrapped in red kerchiefs. After mass the two girls went to the puddle, where they showed their new garments to each other, and began to play. They wanted to plash in the water. The little girl started to go into the puddle with her shoes on, but the older girl said to her:
"Don't go, Malásha, your mother will scold you. I will take off my shoes, and you do the same."
The girls took off their shoes, raised their skirts, and walked through the puddle toward each other. Malásha stepped in up to her ankles, and said:
"It is deep, Akúlka, I am afraid."
"Never mind," she replied, "it will not be any deeper. Come straight toward me!" They came closer to each other. Akúlka said:
"Malásha, look out, and do not splash it up, but walk softly."
She had barely said that when Malásha plumped her foot into the water and bespattered Akúlka's bodice, and not only her bodice, but also her nose and eyes. When Akúlka saw the spots on her bodice, she grew angry at Malásha, and scolded her, and ran after her, and wantedto strike her. Malásha was frightened and, seeing what trouble she had caused, jumped out of the puddle and ran home.
Akúlka's mother passed by; she saw her daughter's bodice bespattered and her shirt soiled.
"Where, accursed one, did you get yourself so dirty?"
"Malásha has purposely splashed it on me."
Akúlka's mother grasped Malásha and gave her a knock on the nape of her neck. Malásha began to howl, and her mother ran out of the house.
"Why do you strike my daughter?" she began to scold her neighbour.
One word brought back another, and the women began to quarrel. The men, too, ran out, and a big crowd gathered in the street. All were crying, and nobody could hear his neighbour. They scolded and cursed each other; one man gave another man a push, and a fight had begun, when Akúlka's grandmother came out. She stepped in the midst of the peasants, and began to talk to them:
"What are you doing, dear ones? Consider the holiday. This is a time for rejoicing. And see what sin you are doing!"
They paid no attention to the old woman, and almost knocked her off her feet. She would never have stopped them, if it had not been for Akúlka and Malásha. While the women exchanged words, Akúlka wiped off her bodice, and went back to the puddle in the lane. She picked up a pebble and began to scratch the ground so as to let the water off into the street. While she was scratching, Malásha came up and began to help her: she picked up a chip and widened the rill. The peasants had begun to fight, just as the water went down the rill toward the place where the old woman was trying to separate the men. The girls ran, one from one side of the rill, the other from the other side.
"Look out, Malásha, look out!" shouted Akúlka.
Malásha wanted to say something herself, but could not speak for laughter.
The girls were running and laughing at a chip which was bobbing up and down the rill. They ran straight into the crowd of the peasants. The old woman saw them and said to the peasants:
"Shame on you before God, men! You have started fighting on account of these two girls, and they have long ago forgotten it: the dear children have been playing nicely together. They are wiser than you."
The men looked at the girls, and they felt ashamed. Then they laughed at themselves, and scattered to their farms.
"Except ye become as little children, ye shall not enter into the kingdom of heaven."
In ancient times there lived not far from Jerusalem two brothers, the elder named Athanasius, and the younger John. They lived in a mountain, not far from the city, and supported themselves on what people offered them. The brothers passed all their days at work. They worked not for themselves, but for the poor. Wherever were those who were oppressed by labour, or sick people, or orphans, or widows, thither the brothers went, and there they worked, and received no pay. Thus the two brothers passed the whole week away from each other, and met only on Saturday evening in their abode. On Sunday alone did they stay at home, and then they prayed and talked with each other. And an angel of the Lord came down to them and blessed them. On Monday they separated each in his own direction. Thus they lived for many years, and each week the angel of the Lord came down to them and blessed them.
One Monday, when the brothers had already gone out to work and had gone each in his direction, the elder brother, Athanasius, was loath to part from his brother, and he stopped and looked back. John was walking with lowered head, in his direction, without looking back. But suddenly John, too, stopped and, as though he had suddenly noticed something, gazed at something, while shielding his eyes. Then he approached what he was gazing at, suddenly jumped to one side, and, without looking back, ran down-hill and up-hill again, away from the place, as though a wolf were after him. Athanasius was surprised. He went back to that spot, to see what it wasthat had so frightened his brother. He went up to it and saw something shining in the sun. He came nearer, and there lay a heap of gold on the ground, as though poured out from a measure. And Athanasius was still more surprised, both at the gold and at his brother's leap.
"Why was he frightened, and why did he run away?" thought Athanasius. "There is no sin in gold. The sin is in man. With gold one may do wrong, but also some good. How many orphans and widows may be fed, how many naked people dressed, and the poor and sick aided with this gold! We now serve people, but our service is small, though it is to the best of our strength. With this gold, however, we can serve people better."
Thus Athanasius thought, and he wanted to tell it all to his brother; but John was out of the range of hearing, and could be seen only as a speck the size of a beetle on another mountain.
Athanasius took off his cloak, scooped up as much gold as he was able to carry away, threw it on his shoulder, and carried it into the city. He came to a hostelry and left the gold with the keeper, and went back for the rest. When he had brought all the gold, he went to the merchants, bought some land in the city, and stones and timber, and hired labourers, and began to build three houses.
Athanasius lived for three months in the city, and built three houses there: one—an asylum for widows and orphans, another—a hospital for the sick and the lame, and a third—for pilgrims and for the needy. And Athanasius found three God-fearing old men, and one of them he placed in charge of the asylum, the second—of the hospital, and the third—of the hostelry. And Athanasius had still three thousand gold coins left. He gave each old man one thousand coins to distribute them to the poor.
The three houses began to fill up with people, and thepeople began to praise Athanasius for everything he had done. And Athanasius was glad of that and did not feel like leaving the city. But he loved his brother and so he bade the people farewell and, without keeping a single coin, went back to his abode, wearing the same old garment in which he had come.
As Athanasius was approaching his mountain, he thought:
"My brother did not judge rightly when he jumped from the gold and ran away from it. Have I not done better?"
And no sooner had Athanasius thought so than he saw the angel who used to bless him standing in the road and looking threateningly at him. And Athanasius was frightened and only said:
"For what, O Lord?"
And the angel opened his lips, and said:
"Go hence! You are not worthy of living with your brother. One leap of your brother is worth all the deeds which you have done with your gold."
And Athanasius began to speak of how many poor people and pilgrims he had fed, and how many orphans he had housed. And the angel said:
"The devil who placed the gold there has also taught you these words."
Then only did his conscience trouble him, and he saw that he had done his deeds not for God, and he wept and began to repent.
The angel stepped out of the road and opened the path on which his brother, John, was already standing and waiting for him. After that Athanasius no longer submitted to the temptation of the devil who had scattered the gold, and he understood that not with gold, but only with words can we serve God and men.
And the brothers began to live as before.
In the Government of Ufá there lived a Bashkir, Ilyás. His father had left him no wealth. His father had died a year after he had got his son married. At that time Ilyás had seven mares, two cows, and a score of sheep; but Ilyás was a good master and began to increase his possessions; he worked with his wife from morning until night, got up earlier than anybody, and went to bed later, and grew richer from year to year. Thus Ilyás passed thirty-five years at work, and came to have a vast fortune.
Ilyás finally had two hundred head of horses, 150 head of cattle, and twelve hundred sheep. Men herded Ilyás's herds and flocks, and women milked the mares and cows, and made kumys, butter, and cheese. Ilyás had plenty of everything, and in the district everybody envied him his life. People said:
"Ilyás is a lucky fellow. He has plenty of everything,—he does not need to die."
Good people made Ilyás's friendship and became his friends. And guests came to him from a distance. He received them all, and fed them, and gave them to drink. No matter who came, he received kumys, and tea, and sherbet, and mutton. If guests came to see him, a sheep or two were killed, and if many guests arrived, he had them kill a mare.
Ilyás had two sons and a daughter. He had got all of them married. When Ilyás had been poor, his sons had worked with him and had herded the horses and the cattle and the sheep; but when they grew rich, the sonsbecame spoiled, and one of them even began to drink. One of them, the eldest, was killed in a fight, and the other, the younger, had a proud wife, and did not obey his father, and his father had to give him a separate maintenance.
Ilyás gave him a house and cattle, and his own wealth was diminished. Soon after a plague fell on Ilyás's sheep, and many of them died. Then there was a famine year, the hay crop was a failure, and in the winter many head of cattle died. Then the Kirgizes drove off the best herd of horses. And thus Ilyás's estate grew less, and he fell lower and lower, and his strength began to wane.
When he was seventy years old, he began to sell off his furs, rugs, saddles, and tents, and soon had to sell his last head of cattle, so that he was left without anything. Before he knew it, all was gone, and in his old age he had to go with his wife to live among strangers. All that Ilyás had left of his fortune was what garments he had on his body, a fur coat, a cap, and his morocco slippers and shoes, and his wife, Sham-shemagi, who was now an old woman. The son to whom he had given the property had left for a distant country, and his daughter had died. And so there was nobody to help the old people.
Their neighbour, Muhamedshah, took pity on them. Muhamedshah was neither rich nor poor, and he lived an even life, and was a good man. He remembered Ilyás's hospitality, and so pitied him, and said to Ilyás:
"Come to live with me, Ilyás, and bring your wife with you! In the summer work according to your strength in my truck-garden, and in the winter feed the cattle, and let Sham-shemagi milk the mares and make kumys. I will feed and clothe you and will let you have whatever you may need."
Ilyás thanked his neighbour, and went to live with his wife as Muhamedshah's labourers. At first it was hardfor them, but soon they got used to the work, and the old people worked according to their strength.
It was profitable for the master to keep these people, for they had been masters themselves and knew all the order and were not lazy, but worked according to their strength; but it pained Muhamedshah to see the well-to-do people brought down so low.
One day distant guests, match-makers, happened to call on Muhamedshah; and the mulla, too, came. Muhamedshah ordered his men to catch a sheep and kill it. Ilyás flayed the sheep and cooked it and sent it in to the guests. They ate the mutton, drank tea, and then started to drink kumys. The guests and the master were sitting on down cushions on the rugs, drinking kumys out of bowls, and talking; but Ilyás got through with his work and walked past the door. When Muhamedshah saw him, he said to a guest:
"Did you see the old man who just went past the door?"
"I did," said the guest; "but what is there remarkable about him?"
"What is remarkable is that he used to be our richest man. Ilyás is his name; maybe you have heard of him?"
"Of course I have," said the guest. "I have never seen him, but his fame has gone far abroad."
"Now he has nothing left, and he lives with me as a labourer, and his wife is with him,—she milks the cows."
The guest was surprised. He clicked with his tongue, shook his head, and said:
"Evidently fortune flies around like a wheel: one it lifts up, another it takes down. Well, does the old man pine?"
"Who knows? He lives quietly and peaceably, and works well."
Then the guest said:
"May I speak with him? I should like to ask him about his life."
"Of course you may," said the master, and he called out of the tent: "Babay!" (This means "grandfather" in the Bashkia language.) "Come in and drink some kumys, and bring your wife with you!"
Ilyás came in with his wife. He exchanged greetings with the guests and with the master, said a prayer, and knelt down at the door; but his wife went back of a curtain and sat down with the mistress.
A bowl of kumys was handed to Ilyás. Ilyás saluted the guests and the master, made a bow, drank a little, and put down the bowl.
"Grandfather," the guest said to him, "I suppose it makes you feel bad to look at us and think of your former life, considering what fortune you had and how hard your life is now."
But Ilyás smiled and said:
"If I should tell you about my happiness and unhappiness, you would not believe me,—you had better ask my wife. She is a woman, and what is in her heart is on her tongue: she will tell you all the truth about this matter."
And the guest spoke to her behind the curtain:
"Well, granny, tell us how you judge about your former happiness and present sorrow."
And Sham-shemagi spoke from behind the curtain:
"I judge like this: My husband and I lived for fifty years trying to find happiness, and we did not find it; but now it is the second year that we have nothing left and that we live as labourers, and we have found that happiness and need no other."
The guests were surprised and the master marvelled, and he even got up to throw aside the curtain and to look at the old woman. But the old woman was standing with folded hands, smiling and looking at her husband,and the old man was smiling, too. The old woman said once more:
"I am telling you the truth, without any jest: for half a century we tried to find happiness, and so long as we were rich, we did not find it; now nothing is left, and we are working out,—and we have come to have such happiness that we wish for no other.".
"Wherein does your happiness lie?"
"In this: when we were rich, my husband and I did not have an hour's rest: we had no time to talk together, to think of our souls, or to pray. We had so many cares! Now guests called on us,—and there were the cares about what to treat them to and what presents to make so that they should not misjudge us. When the guests left, we had to look after the labourers: they thought only of resting and having something good to eat, but we cared only about having our property attended to,—and so sinned. Now we were afraid that a wolf would kill a colt or a calf, and now that thieves might drive off a herd. When we lay down to sleep, we could not fall asleep, fearing lest the sheep might crush the lambs. We would get up in the night and walk around; no sooner would we be quieted than we would have a new care,—how to get fodder for the winter. And, worse than that, there was not much agreement between my husband and me. He would say that this had to be done so and so, and I would say differently, and so we began to quarrel, and sin. Thus we lived from one care to another, from one sin to another, and saw no happy life."
"Well, and now?"
"Now my husband and I get up, speak together peaceably, in agreement, for we have nothing to quarrel about, nothing to worry about,—all the care we have is to serve our master. We work according to our strength, and we work willingly so that our master shall have no loss, but profit. When we come back, dinner is ready, and supper,and kumys. If it is cold, there are dung chips to make a fire with and a fur coat to warm ourselves. For fifty years we looked for happiness, but only now have we found it."
The guests laughed.
And Ilyás said:
"Do not laugh, brothers! This is not a joke, but a matter of human life. My wife and I were foolish and wept because we had lost our fortune, but now God has revealed the truth to us, and we reveal this to you, not for our amusement but for your good."
And the mulla said:
"That was a wise speech, and Ilyás has told the precise truth,—it says so, too, in Holy Writ."
And the guests stopped laughing and fell to musing.
About Iván the Fool and His Two Brothers, Semén the Warrior and Tarás the Paunch, and His Dumb Sister Malánya, and About the Old Devil and the Three Young Devils
About Iván the Fool and His Two Brothers, Semén the Warrior and Tarás the Paunch, and His Dumb Sister Malánya, and About the Old Devil and the Three Young Devils
1885
A FAIRY-TALE
About Iván the Fool and His Two Brothers, Semén the Warrior and Tarás the Paunch, and His Dumb Sister Malánya, and About the Old Devil and the Three Young Devils
About Iván the Fool and His Two Brothers, Semén the Warrior and Tarás the Paunch, and His Dumb Sister Malánya, and About the Old Devil and the Three Young Devils
In a certain kingdom, in a certain realm, there lived a rich peasant. He had three sons, Semén the Warrior, Tarás the Paunch, and Iván the Fool, and a daughter Malánya, the dumb old maid.
Semén the Warrior went to war, to serve the king; Tarás the Paunch went to a merchant in the city, to sell wares; but Iván the Fool and the girl remained at home, to work and hump their backs.
Semén the Warrior earned a high rank and an estate, and married a lord's daughter. His salary was big, and his estate was large, but still he could not make both ends meet: whatever he collected, his wife scattered as though from a sleeve, and they had no money.
Semén the Warrior came to his estate, to collect the revenue. His clerk said to him:
"Where shall it come from? We have neither cattle, nor tools: neither horses, nor cows, nor plough, nor harrow.Everything has to be provided, then there will be an income."
And Semén the Warrior went to his father:
"You are rich, father," he said, "and you have not given me anything. Cut off a third and I will transfer it to my estate."
And the old man said:
"You have brought nothing to my house, why should I give you a third? It will be unfair to Iván and to the girl."
But Semén said:
"But he is a fool, and she is a dumb old maid. What do they need?"
And the old man said:
"As Iván says so it shall be!"
But Iván said:
"All right, let him have it!"
So Semén the Warrior took his third from the house, transferred it to his estate, and again went away to serve the king.
Tarás the Paunch, too, earned much money,—and married a merchant woman. Still he did not have enough, and he came to his father, and said:
"Give me my part!"
The old man did not want to give Tarás his part:
"You," he said, "have brought nothing to the house, and everything in the house has been earned by Iván. I cannot be unfair to him and to the girl."
But Tarás said:
"What does he want it for? He is a fool. He cannot marry, for no one will have him; and the dumb girl does not need anything, either. Give me," he said, "half of the grain, Iván! I will not take your tools, and of your animals I want only the gray stallion,—you cannot plough with him."
Iván laughed.
"All right," he said, "I will earn it again."
So Tarás, too, received his part. Tarás took the grain to town, and drove off the gray stallion, and Iván was left with one old mare, and he went on farming and supporting his father and his mother.
The old devil was vexed because the brothers had not quarrelled in dividing up, but had parted in love. And so he called up three young devils.
"You see," he said, "there are three brothers, Semén the Warrior, Tarás the Paunch, and Iván the Fool. They ought to be quarrelling, but, instead, they live peacefully; they exchange with each other bread and salt. The fool has spoiled all my business. Go all three of you.—get hold of them, and mix them up in such a way that they shall tear out one another's eyes. Can you do it?"
"We can," they said.
"How are you going to do it?"
"We will do it like this," they said: "First we will ruin them, so that they will have nothing to eat; then we will throw them all in a heap, so that they will quarrel together."
"Very well," he said. "I see that you know your business. Go, and do not return to me before you have muddled all three, or else I will flay all three of you."
The three devils all went to a swamp, and considered how to take hold of the matter: they quarrelled and quarrelled, for they wanted each of them to get the easiest job, and finally they decided to cast lots for each man. If one of them got through first, he was to come and help the others. The devils cast lots, and set a time when they were to meet again in the swamp, in order to find out who was through, and who needed help.
When the time came, the devils gathered in the swamp.They began to talk about their affairs. The first devil, Semén the Warrior's, began to speak.
"My affair," he said, "is progressing. To-morrow my Semén will go to his father."
His comrades asked him how he did it.
"In the first place," he said, "I brought such bravery over Semén that he promised his king to conquer the whole world, and the king made him a commander and sent him out to fight the King of India. They came together for a fight. But that very night I wet all his powder, and I went over to the King of India and made an endless number of soldiers for him out of straw. When Semén's soldiers saw the straw soldiers walking upon them on all sides, they lost their courage. Semén commanded them to fire their cannon and their guns, but they could not fire them. Semén's soldiers were frightened and ran away like sheep. And the King of India vanquished them. Semén is disgraced,—they have taken his estate from him, and to-morrow he is to be beheaded. I have only one day's work left to do: to let him out of the prison, so that he can run home. To-morrow I shall be through with him, so tell me which of you I am to aid!"
Then the other devil, Tarás's, began to speak:
"I do not need any help," he said, "for my affair is also progressing nicely,—Tarás will not live another week. In the first place, I have raised a belly on him, and made him envious. He is so envious of other people's property that, no matter what he sees, he wants to buy it. He has bought up an endless lot of things and spent all his money on them and is still buying. He now buys on other people's money. He has quite a lot on his shoulders, and is so entangled that he will never free himself. In a week the time will come for him to pay, and I will change all his wares into manure,—and he will not be able to pay his debts, and will go to his father's."
They began to ask the third devil, Iván's.
"How is your business?"
"I must say, my business is not progressing at all. The first thing I did was to spit into his kvas jug, so as to give him a belly-ache, and I went to his field and made the soil so hard that he should not be able to overcome it. I thought that he would never plough it up, but he, the fool, came with his plough and began to tear up the soil. His belly-ache made him groan, but he stuck to his ploughing. I broke one plough of his, but he went home, fixed another plough, wrapped new leg-rags on him, and started once more to plough. I crept under the earth, and tried to hold the ploughshare, but I could not do it,—he pressed so hard on the plough; the ploughshares are sharp, and he has cut up my hands. He has ploughed up nearly the whole of it,—only a small strip is left. Come and help me, brothers, or else, if we do not overpower him, all our labours will be lost. If the fool is left and continues to farm, they will have no want, for he will feed them all."
Semén's devil promised to come on the morrow to help him, and thereupon the devils departed.
Iván ploughed up all the fallow field, and only one strip was left. His belly ached, and yet he had to plough. He straightened out the lines, turned over the plough, and went to the field. He had just made one furrow, and was coming back, when something pulled at the plough as though it had caught in a root. It was the devil that had twined his legs about the plough-head and was holding it fast.
"What in the world is that?" thought Iván. "There were no roots here before, but now there are."
Iván stuck his hand down in the furrow, and felt something soft. He grabbed it and pulled it out. It was as black as a root, but something was moving on it. He took a glance at it, and, behold, it was a live devil.
"I declare," he said, "it is a nasty thing!" And Iván swung him and was about to strike him against the plough-handle; but the devil began to scream.
"Do not beat me," he said, "and I will do for you anything you wish."
"What will you do for me?"
"Say what you want!"
Iván scratched himself.
"My belly aches,—can you cure me?"
"I can," he said.
"Very well, cure me!"
The devil bent down to the furrow, scratched awhile in it, pulled out a few roots,—three of them in a bunch,—and gave them to Iván.
"Here," he said, "is a root, which, if you swallow, will make your ache go away at once."
Iván took the roots, tore them up, and swallowed one. His belly-ache stopped at once.
Then the devil began to beg again:
"Let me go, now, and I will slip through the earth, and will not come up again."
"All right," he said, "God be with you!"
And the moment Iván mentioned God's name, the devil bolted through the earth, as a stone plumps into the water, and only a hole was left. Iván put the remaining two roots in his cap, and started to finish his work. He ploughed up the strip, turned over the plough, and went home. He unhitched the horse, came to the house, and there found his eldest brother, Semén the Warrior, with his wife, eating supper. His estate had been taken from him, and he had with difficulty escaped from prison and come to his father's to live.
Semén saw Iván, and, "I have come to live with you," he said. "Feed me and my wife until I find a new place!"
"All right," he said, "stay here!"
Iván wanted to sit down on a bench, but the lady did not like the smell of Iván. So she said to her husband:
"I cannot eat supper with a stinking peasant."
"All right," he said, "I have to go anyway to pasture the mare for the night."
Iván took some bread and his caftan, and went out to herd his mare.
That night Semén's devil got through with his work and by agreement went to find Iván's devil, to help to make an end of the fool. He came to the field and looked for him everywhere, but found only the hole.
"Something has evidently gone wrong with my comrade," he thought,—"I must take his place. The ploughing is done,—I shall have to catch him in the mowing time."
The devil went to the meadows and sent a flood on the mowing so that it was all covered with mud. Iván returned in the morning from the night watch, whetted his scythe, and went out to mow the meadows. He came, and began to mow: he swung the scythe once, and a second time, and it grew dull and would not cut,—it was necessary to grind it. Iván worked hard and in vain.
"No," he said, "I will go home, and will bring the grindstone with me, and a round loaf. If I have to stay here for a week, I will not give up until I mow it all."
When the devil heard it he thought:
"This fool is stiff-necked,—I cannot get at him. I must try something else."
Iván came back, ground his scythe, and began to mow. The devil crept into the grass and began to catch the scythe by the snath-end and to stick the point into the ground. It went hard with Iván, but he finished the mowing, and there was left only one scrubby place in the swamp. The devil crawled into the swamp and thought:
"If I get both my paws cut, I will not let him mow it."
Iván went into the swamp; the grass was not dense, but he found it hard to move the scythe. Iván grew angry and began to swing the scythe with all his might. The devil gave in; he had hardly time to get away,—he saw that matters were in bad shape, so he hid in a bush. Iván swung the scythe with all his might and struck the bush, and cut off half of the devil's tail. Iván finished the mowing, told the girl to rake it up, and himself went to cut the rye.
He went out with a round knife, but the bobtailed devil had been there before him and had so mixed up the rye that he could not cut it with the round knife. Iván went back, took the sickle, and began to cut it; he cut all the rye.
"Now I must go to the oats," he said.
The bobtailed devil heard it, and thought:
"I could not cope with him on the rye, but I will get the better of him in the oats,—just let the morning come."
The devil ran in the morning to the oats-field, but the oats were all cut down. Iván had cut them in the night, to keep them from dropping the seed.
The devil grew angry:
"The fool has cut me all up, and has worn me out. I have not seen such trouble even in war-time. The accursed one does not sleep,—I cannot keep up with him. I will go now to the ricks, and will rot them all."
And the devil went to the rye-rick, climbed between the sheaves, and began to rot them: he warmed them up, and himself grew warm and fell asleep.
Iván hitched his mare, and went with the girl to haul away the ricks. He drove up to one and began to throw the sheaves into the cart. He had just put two sheaves in when he stuck his fork straight into the devil's back; he raised it, and, behold, on the prongs was a live devil, and a bobtailed one at that, and he was writhing and twisting, and trying to get off.
"I declare," he said, "it is a nasty thing! Are you here again?"
"I am a different devil," he said. "My brother was here before. I was with your brother Semén."
"I do not care who you are," he replied, "you will catch it, too."
He wanted to strike him against the ground, but the devil began to beg him:
"Let me go, and I will not do it again, and I will do for you anything you please."
"What can you do?"
"I can make soldiers for you from anything."
"What good are they?"
"You can turn them to any use you please: they will do anything."
"Can they play music?"
"They can."
"All right, make them for me!"
And the devil said:
"Take a sheaf of rye, strike the lower end against the ground, and say: 'By my master's command not a sheaf shall you stand, but as many straws as there are so many soldiers there be.'"
Iván took the sheaf, shook it against the ground, and spoke as the devil told him to. And the sheaf fell to pieces, and the straws were changed into soldiers, and in front a drummer was drumming, and a trumpeter blowing the trumpet. Iván laughed.
"I declare," he said, "it is clever. This is nice to amuse the girls with."
"Let me go now," said the devil.
"No," he said, "I will do that with threshed straw, and I will not let full ears waste for nothing. I will thresh them first."
So the devil said:
"Say, 'As many soldiers, so many straws there be!With my master's command again a sheaf it shall stand.'"
Iván said this, and the sheaf was as before. And the devil begged him again:
"Let me go now!"
"All right!" Iván caught him on the cart-hurdle, held him down with his hand, and pulled him off the fork. "God be with you!" he said.
The moment he said, "God be with you," the devil bolted through the earth, as a stone plumps into the water, and only a hole was left.
Iván went home, and there he found his second brother. Tarás and his wife were sitting and eating supper. Tarás the Paunch had not calculated right, and so he ran away from his debts and came to his father's. When he saw Iván, he said:
"Iván, feed me and my wife until I go back to trading!"
"All right," he said, "stay with us!"
Iván took off his caftan, and seated himself at the table.
But the merchant's wife said:
"I cannot eat with a fool. He stinks of sweat."
So Tarás the Paunch said:
"Iván, you do not smell right, so go and eat in the vestibule!"
"All right," he said, and, taking bread, he went out. "It is just right," he said, "for it is time for me to go and pasture the mare for the night."
That night Tarás's devil got through with his job, and he went by agreement to help out his comrades,—to get the best of Iván the Fool. He came to the field and tried to find his comrades, but all he saw was a hole in the ground; he went to the meadows, and found a tail in the swamp, and in the rye stubbles he found another hole.
"Well," he thought, "evidently some misfortune has befallen my comrades; I must take their place, and go for the fool."
The devil went forth to find Iván. But Iván was through with the field, and was chopping wood in the forest.
The brothers were not comfortable living together, and they had ordered the fool to cut timber with which to build them new huts.
The devil ran to the woods, climbed into the branches, and did not let Iván fell the trees. Iván chopped the tree in the right way, so that it might fall in a clear place; he tried to make it fall, but it came down the wrong way, and fell where it had no business to fall, and got caught in the branches. Iván made himself a lever with his axe, began to turn the tree, and barely brought it down. Iván went to chop a second tree, and the same thing happened. He worked and worked at it, and brought it down. He started on a third tree, and again the same happened.
Iván had expected to cut half a hundred trunks, and before he had chopped ten it was getting dark. Ivánwas worn out. Vapours rose from him as though a mist were going through the woods, but he would not give up. He chopped down another tree, and his back began to ache so much that he could not work: he stuck the axe in the wood, and sat down to rest himself.
The devil saw that Iván had stopped, and was glad:
"Well," he thought, "he has worn himself out, and he will stop soon. I will myself take a rest," and he sat astride a bough, and was happy.
But Iván got up, pulled out his axe, swung with all his might, and hit the tree so hard from the other side that it cracked and came down with a crash. The devil had not expected it and had no time to straighten out his legs. The bough broke and caught the devil's hand. Iván began to trim, and behold, there was a live devil. Iván was surprised.
"I declare," he said, "you are a nasty thing! Are you here again?"
"I am not the same," he said. "I was with your brother Tarás."
"I do not care who you are,—you will fare the same way." Iván swung his axe, and wanted to crush him with the back of the axe.
The devil began to beg him:
"Do not kill me,—I will do anything you please for you."
"What can you do?"
"I can make as much money for you as you wish."
"All right, make it for me!"
And the devil taught him how to do it.
"Take some oak leaves from this tree," he said, "and rub them in your hands. The gold will fall to the ground."
Iván took some leaves and rubbed them,—and the gold began to fall.
"This is nice to have," he said, "when you are out celebrating with the boys."
"Let me go now!" said the devil.
"All right!" Iván took his lever, and freed the devil. "God be with you," he said, and the moment he mentioned God's name, the devil bolted through the earth, as a stone plumps into the water, and only a hole was left.
The brothers built themselves houses, and began to live each by himself. But Iván got through with his field work, and brewed some beer and invited his brothers to celebrate with him. They would not be Iván's guests:
"We have never seen a peasant celebration," they said.
Iván treated the peasants and their wives, and himself drank until he was drunk, and he went out into the street to the khorovód. He went up to the women, and told them to praise him.
"I will give you what you have not seen in all your lives."
The women laughed, and praised him. When they got through, they said:
"Well, let us have it!"
"I will bring it to you at once," he said.
He picked up the seed-basket and ran into the woods. The women laughed: "What a fool he is!" And they forgot about him, when, behold, he was running toward them, and carrying the basket full of something.
"Shall I let you have it?"
"Yes."
Iván picked up a handful of gold and threw it to the women. O Lord, how they darted for the money! The peasants rushed out and began to tear it out of the hands of the women. They almost crushed an old woman to death. Iván laughed.
"Oh, you fools," he said, "why did you crush that old woman? Be more gentle, and I will give you somemore." He began to scatter more gold. People ran up, and Iván scattered the whole basketful. They began to ask for more. But Iván said:
"That is all. I will give you more some other time. Now let us have music! Sing songs!"
The women started a song.
"I do not like your kind of songs," he said.
"What kind is better?"
"I will show you in a minute," he said. He went to the threshing-floor, pulled out a sheaf, straightened it up, placed it on end, and struck it against the ground.
"At your master's command not a sheaf shall you stand, each straw a soldier shall be."
The sheaf flew to pieces, and out came the soldiers, and the drums began to beat and the trumpets to sound. Iván told the soldiers to play songs, and went into the street with them. The people were surprised. The soldiers played songs, and then Iván took them back to the threshing-floor, and told nobody to follow him. He changed the soldiers back into a sheaf, and threw it on the loft. He went home and went to sleep behind the partition.