Tolstoy for the Young

indeed!” the maiden said. “One has only to work the more and sleep the less and one can always be clothed and fed.”

“Very well; let us marry, then,” Emelian said. “Where shall we live?”

“In the town.”

Emelian and the maiden went to the town. She took him to a little house on the very edge and they married and set up housekeeping.

One day the King went for a drive beyond the town, and when passing Emelian’s gate, Emelian’s wife came out to look at him. When the King saw her he marveled.

“What a beauty!” he thought. He stopped the carriage and called her to him.

“Who are you?” he asked.

“Emelian the peasant’s wife.”

“How came a beauty like you to marry a peasant?” he asked. “You should have been a queen.”

“Thank you for your kind words,” she said; “a peasant husband is good enough for me.”

The King talked to her a while and went on his way. When he returned to the palace Emelian’s wife did not go out of his head for a moment. The whole night he could not sleep and kept on thinking how he could take her away from Emelian, but no possible way occurred to him. He summoned his servants and asked them to think of a way.

And the servants said to him, “Get Emelian to come and be a laborer in the palace. We will wear him out with work, then his wife will become a widow and you can have her.”

The King followed their advice. He sent a messenger to tell Emelian that he was to come and be a yard-porter in the palace and bring his wife to live with him there.

The messenger came to Emelian and repeated the King’s words. And Emelian’s wife said to her husband, “It can’t be helped; you must go. You can work there in the day and return to me at night.”

Emelian went away. When he came to the palace the King’s steward said to him, “Why have you come without your wife?”

“Why should I drag her about with me? She has a home of her own.”

In the King’s yard Emelian was given enough work for two men. Emelian set about it, not expecting to get it all finished, but behold! before evening came it was all done. The steward, seeing that he had got through the work, gave him four times as much for the morrow.

Emelian went home. The house was scrubbed and cleaned, the fire lighted, the bread baked, the supper cooked. His wife was sitting at the table sewing, waiting for him. She flew to the door to meet him, then laid the supper and fed him well; afterwards she began to ask him about his work.

“It’s rather bad,” he said; “they set me tasks beyond my strength; they wear me out with too much work.”

“Don’t you think about the work,” she said, “don’t look back to see how much you have done, nor look ahead to see how much there is left. Just keep straight on and all will be done in time.”

Emelian went to bed. In the morning he again set out to the palace. He began his work and did not look round once, and behold! by evening it was all finished; he went home when it was still light.

Again they increased Emelian’s work, but Emelian finished it all in time and went home for the night as usual. A week passed. The King’s servants saw that they could not get the better of Emelian by giving him rough work so they gave him difficult work instead, but even that did not help. No matter what they set him to do—carpentering, stone-cutting, thatching—he got everything done in time and went home for the night to his wife. Another week passed.

The King summoned his servants and said, “Is it for nothing that I keep you? Two weeks have passed and still I do not see the fruits of your work. You promised to wear Emelian out with work and each night from my window I see him going home singing to himself. Are you making sport of me, eh?”

The King’s servants began to excuse themselves. “We are doing the best we can. We thought at first to wear him out with rough work, but you can’t get him anyhow. We set him all kinds of tasks, such as sweeping, but he doesn’t know what it means to be tired. Then we gave him difficult work, thinking that he wouldn’t have brains enough to do it, yet still, we couldn’t get the better of him. No matter what the work, he tackles it and gets it all done in time. He must either be extraordinarily strong or his wife must be a witch. We are sick of him ourselves. We want to set him such a task that he cannot possibly do. We thought of asking him to build a temple in a single day. You must send for him and command him to build a temple opposite the palace in a single day, and if he fails to do it, we can cut off his head for disobedience.”

The King sent for Emelian.

“Build me a new temple in the square opposite the palace; by to-morrow evening it must all be finished. If you do it, I will reward you; if not, I will cut off your head.”

Emelian listened to the King’s words; then turned and went his way home. When he got there he said to his wife, “Make yourself ready, wife; we must run away or else we are both lost.”

“Why,” she said, “have you grown so fainthearted that you want to run away?”

“How can I help it when the King commanded me to build a temple to-morrow before nightfall? If I fail to do it, he will have my head cut off. There is only one way out. We must run away while there is yet time.”

The wife did not approve of his words.

“The King has many soldiers; we shall not be able to escape them. And while you have strength enough you must obey the King’s command.”

“But how can I obey if it’s beyond my strength?”

“My dear, don’t get excited. Have your supper and go to bed; get up early in the morning and you’ll manage in good time.”

Emelian went to bed. His wife woke him in the morning.

“Go,” she said; “make haste and finish the temple. Here are nails and a hammer. There is still a day’s work for you left to do.”

Emelian set out. When he came to the square, there in the middle stood a new temple not quite finished. Emelian set to work to finish it and by the evening it was all done.

The King awoke and looking out of the palace window he saw a new temple in the square. Emelian was busy around, knocking a nail in here and there. The King was not pleased with the temple; he was annoyed that he had no pretext for cutting off Emelian’s head and taking his wife for himself.

Again the King summoned his servants.

“Emelian has done this task too,” he said, “and I have no reason for cutting off his head. This was not difficult enough; we must give him something more difficult still. You decide what it shall be, or else I’ll have your heads cut off first.”

And the servants bethought them to set Emelian to make a river that was to wind round the palace and have ships sailing on it.

The King summoned Emelian and set him the new task.

“If you could make a temple in a single night,” he said, “you can do this too. See that it is all finished by to-morrow, or else I shall cut off your head.”

Emelian’s spirits fell lower than ever and he went home to his wife in a sad mood.

“Why so sad?” asked his wife. “Has the King set you a new task?”

Emelian told her what it was.

“We must run away,” he concluded.

And the wife said, “We cannot escape the soldiers. You must obey.”

“But how can I?”

“My dear, don’t worry. Have your supper and go to bed. Get up early in the morning and all will be ready in time.”

Emelian went to bed. In the morning his wife woke him.

“Go to the palace,” she said; “everything is finished. Only by the harbor, opposite the palace, there is a little mound that wants leveling; take the spade and level it.”

Emelian set out. He came to the town and there around the palace a river flowed with ships sailing on it. Emelian went up to the harbor opposite the palace and he saw an uneven place and began to level it.

The King awoke and looking out of his palace window he saw a river where there was not one before and ships were sailing on it and Emelian was leveling a little mound with his spade. And the King was alarmed. He took no pleasure in the river or the ships, he was only annoyed that he could not cut off Emelian’s head. “There is no task he cannot do,” he thought. “What shall we do now?”

And the King summoned his servants and conferred with them.

“Think of a task,” he said, “that will be beyond Emelian’s strength, for so far he has done everything we have thought of and I cannot take away his wife.”

And the courtiers thought for a long time, then came to the King and said, “You must summon Emelian and say to him, ‘Go to—I don’t know where, and bring me—I don’t know what.’ He won’t be able to escape you then, for wherever he goes you can say it was not the right place and whatever he brings was not the right thing. Then you can cut off his head and take away his wife.”

The King was pleased with the idea. He sent for Emelian and said to him, “Go to—I don’t know where, and bring me—I don’t know what. And if you don’t, I’ll cut off your head.”

Emelian went back to his wife and told her what the King had said. The wife reflected.

“Well,” she said. “Be it on the King’s own head what his courtiers have taught him. We must act with cunning now.”

She sat and thought it over for a while; then said to her husband, “You must go a long way to our old grandmother, a peasant soldier’s mother, and ask her to help you. She will give you something which you must take straight to the palace and I will be there already. I cannot escape them now; they will take me by force, but only for a short while. If you do what grandmother tells you, you will soon set me free.”

And the wife prepared Emelian for the journey and gave him a bundle and a spindle.

“Give grandmother this spindle,” she said; “by this she will know that you are my husband.”

And the wife showed him the way. Emelian left the town and saw some soldiers drilling. He stopped and watched them. The soldiers finished their drill and sat down to rest. Emelian approached them and asked, “Can you tell me, mates, how to get to—I don’t know where and bring back—I don’t know what.”

The soldiers were perplexed at his words.

“Who sent you?” they asked.

“The King,” he said.

“We too,” they said, “since the day we became soldiers want to go to—we don’t know where and find—we don’t know what, but we’ve never been able to find it and so cannot help you.”

Emelian sat with the soldiers awhile then went on his way. He wandered and wandered till he came to a wood. In the wood was a cottage and in the cottage sat an old woman, a peasant soldier’s mother, spinning at her wheel, and she wept as she spun and moistened her fingers with the tears that flowed from her eyes.

“Who are you?” she cried in anger when she saw Emelian.

Emelian gave her the spindle and said that his wife had sent him. The old woman instantly softened and began to ask him questions. And Emelian told her his whole story of how he had married the maiden and gone to live in the town, and how he had been taken to the King’s as a yard-porter, and of the work he had done in the palace, and the temple he had built in a night, and the river and ships he had made, and that now the King had sent him to—I don’t know where to bring back—I don’t know what.

The old woman listened to what he had to say and ceased her weeping. She began to mutter to herself, “The time has come, I see. Very well,” she said aloud; “sit down, my son, and have something to eat.”

Emelian had something to eat and the old woman said to him, “Here is a ball of thread; roll it before you and follow wherever it leads. You will have to go a long way, to the very sea. When you come to the sea you will see a large town. Ask to be allowed to stay the night in the outermost house and look for what you want there.”

“But by what signs shall I know it, grandmother?”

“When you see that which men listen to more than to father or mother, that will be the thing you want. Seize it and take it to the King. He will tell you you haven’t brought the right thing, and you must say to him, ‘If it is not the right thing then I must break it.’ Then strike this thing; carry it out to the river; break it and throw it into the water. Then you will get back your wife and dry up my tears.”

Emelian took leave of the grandmother and went where the ball of thread took him to. The ball rolled and rolled till it brought him to the sea, where there was a large town. Emelian knocked at a house and asked to be allowed to stay the night. The people let him in. He went to bed. In the morning he woke early and heard the father of the house trying to wake his son to chop some wood. The son would not listen to him. “It is early yet,” he said, “there’s plenty of time.”

And he heard the mother near the stove say, “Do go, my son. Your father’s bones ache; surely you wouldn’t let him go? Get up.”

The son only smacked his lips and went to sleep again. He had no sooner fallen asleep than there was a banging and a rumbling in the street. The son jumped up, dressed and ran out. Emelian ran out after him to see what it was that a son obeyed more than father or mother.

When Emelian got outside he saw a man coming up the street carrying some round object on his belly that he was beating with sticks. It was this thing that had made the noise and that the son had obeyed. Emelian approached and examined it. The thing was round like a small tub with skin drawn tightly on either side of it.

“What is this thing called?” he asked.

“A drum,” they said.

“Is it empty?”

“Yes,” they said.

Emelian wondered and asked the people to give him the thing, but they would not. Emelian gave up asking and followed the drummer. He walked about the whole day and when the drummer went to bed at night, Emelian seized the drum and ran away with it. He ran and ran until he came to his own town. He wanted to give his wife a surprise, but she was not at home. She had been taken to the King the day after Emelian had left.

Emelian went to the palace and asked to be announced as the man who had gone to—I don’t know where and brought back—I don’t know what. The King was informed of his return and he ordered Emelian to come to him on the morrow. Emelian again demanded to see the King, saying, “I have brought back what I was ordered to; let the King come out to me, or I will go in to him myself.”

The King came out.

“Where have you been?” he asked.

Emelian told him.

“That was not the place,” he said. “And what have you brought?”

Emelian wanted to show him, but the King would not even look.

“That was not the thing,” he said.

“If it is not the thing,” Emelian said, “I must break it and let it go to the devil.”

Emelian came out of the palace and struck the drum. He had no sooner done so than all the King’s troops gathered around him. They saluted Emelian and waited for his commands. From the window of his palace the King called to the troops, forbidding them to follow Emelian, but the troops would not listen to the King and followed Emelian. When the King saw this he ordered Emelian’s wife to be given back to him and he begged Emelian to give him the drum.

“I can’t,” Emelian said. “I was told to break it and throw the bits into the river.”

Emelian took the drum to the river and the soldiers followed him. Emelian struck the drum and broke it into little bits which he threw into the water and the troops all scattered and dispersed. And Emelian took his wife back home.

From that day the King left off worrying him and Emelian and his wife lived happily ever after.

• Part 4 : The Great Bear

A long, long time ago there was a big drought on the earth. All the rivers dried up and the streams and wells, and the trees withered and the bushes and grass, and men and beasts died of thirst.

One night a little girl went out with a pitcher to find some water for her sick mother. She wandered and wandered everywhere, but could find no water, and she grew so tired that she lay down on the grass and fell asleep. When she awoke and took up the pitcher she nearly upset the water it contained. The pitcher was full of clear, fresh water. The little girl was glad and was about to put it to her lips, but she remembered her mother and ran home with the pitcher as fast as she could. She hurried so much that she did not notice a little dog in her path; she stumbled over it and dropped the pitcher. The dog whined pitifully; the little girl seized the pitcher.

She thought the water would have been upset, but the pitcher stood upright and the water was there as before. She poured a little into the palm of her hand and the dog lapped it and was comforted. When the little girl again took up the pitcher, it had turned from common wood to silver. She took the pitcher home and gave it to her mother.

The mother said, “I shall die just the same; you had better drink it,” and she handed the pitcher to the child. In that moment the pitcher turned from silver to gold. The little girl could no longer contain herself and was about to put the pitcher to her lips, when the door opened and a stranger entered who begged for a drink. The little girl swallowed her saliva and gave the pitcher to him. And suddenly seven large diamonds sprang out of the pitcher and a stream of clear, fresh water flowed from it. And the seven diamonds began to rise, and they rose higher and higher till they reached the sky and became the Great Bear.

• Part 5 : Three Questions

It once occurred to a King that if he knew the right moment when to begin on any work and the right kind of people to have or not to have dealings with and the thing to do that was more important than any other thing, he would always be successful.

And he proclaimed throughout his kingdom that he would give a great reward to any one who could tell him what was the right moment for any action, and who were the most essential of all people, and what was the most essential thing of all to do.

Many learned men came to the King and answered his questions in different ways.

In answer to the first question some said that to know the right time for any action, one must draw up a time-table of all the days, months and years and observe it strictly, then one could do everything at the proper time. Others said that it was impossible to decide beforehand the proper time for any action; the only thing one could do was to waste no time in vain amusements, but to pay attention to what was going on around one, and to do the thing that came to hand. A third said that however attentive the King might be to what went on around him, one man alone could not decide the proper time for every action and that he needed a council of wise men to advise him. Still a fourth maintained that as certain action had to be decided at once and could not wait a council the proper thing to do was to find out beforehand what was going to happen so as to be always prepared. But as only magicians knew what was going to happen, then it followed that in order to find out the proper time for any action one must consult the magicians.

The second question, too, was answered in various ways. Some said that the most essential people to the King were his helpers and ministers; others said priests; still others that the most essential people to the King were doctors; a fourth party said that the most essential people to the King were soldiers.

To the third question about the most important occupation, some declared it was science, others, the art of war, and others, divine worship.

The answers being different, the King agreed with none of them and gave no man the promised reward. But still wishing to find out the answers to his questions, he resolved to consult a hermit who was famous throughout the land for his wisdom.

The hermit lived in a wood which he never left, and received none but common folk. For this reason the King put on simple garments, and, dismissing his bodyguard before he reached the hermit’s cell, he climbed down from his horse and went the rest of the way alone and on foot.

He found the hermit digging a bed in front of the hermitage. When the hermit saw the King, he greeted him and went on with his digging. He was frail and thin and each time he dug his spade into the ground and turned over a little soil, he gasped for breath.

The King approached him and said, “I have come, oh, wise hermit, to ask you to give me the answers to these three questions—what hour must one remember and not allow to slip by, so as not to regret it afterwards? What people are the most essential and with whom should one or should one not have dealings? What things are the most essential to do and which of those things must one do first of all?”

The hermit heard what the King had to say, but made no reply. He spat on his hand and went on with his digging.

“You are tired,” the King said; “give me the spade and I will do the digging for you.”

The King took the spade and began to dig, but after a while he stopped and repeated his question. The hermit made no reply, but stretched out his hand for the spade.

“You rest now,” he said, “and I will work.”

But the King would not give up the spade and went on with the digging. One hour passed and another; the sun began to set behind the trees when the King stuck his spade into the ground and said, “I came to you, wise man, to find the answers to my three questions. If you cannot answer them, then tell me and I will go my way home.”

“Some one is running hither,” the hermit said. “Let us see who it is.”

The King turned and saw a bearded man running towards them. The man’s hands were clasped over his stomach and the blood flowed from beneath them. He fell at the King’s feet and lay motionless, rolling his eyes and moaning faintly.

The King and the hermit unfastened the man’s clothes. He had a large wound in his stomach. The King bathed it as well as he could with his handkerchief and bandaged it with the hermit’s towel. The blood did not cease to flow, and several times the King had to remove the bandages, soaked with warm blood, and rebathe and rebandage the wound.

When the blood ceased to flow, the wounded man came to himself and asked for some water. The King brought some fresh water and raised it to the wounded man’s lips.

The sun had quite set meanwhile and it began to get cold. The King, with the hermit’s help, carried the wounded man into the cell and put him on the bed. The wounded man shut his eyes and went to sleep. The King was so tired with the walk and the work that he curled up by the door and fell into a sound sleep. He slept through the whole mild summer night, and when he awoke in the morning he could not make out where he was and who was the strange bearded man staring at him from the bed with glistening eyes.

“Forgive me,” the bearded man said in a faint voice, when he saw that the King was awake and observing him.

“I don’t know you and have nothing to forgive you for,” the King said.

“You don’t know me, but I know you. I am your enemy who vowed to be revenged on you for having executed my brother and taken away my property: I knew that you went alone to the hermit and resolved to kill you on your way back. But the day passed and you did not come. I lost patience and came out to find you, when I stumbled upon your bodyguard. They recognized me and wounded me. I escaped from them, but would have died from loss of blood had you not bound my wound. I wanted to kill you and you saved my life. If I continue to live I will serve you as your most faithful slave should you desire it, and I will order my sons to do likewise. Forgive me.”

The King was very glad that he had been able to make peace with his enemy so easily, and not only forgave him but promised to return his property and to send him his own servants and physician.

Taking leave of the wounded man the King came out of the cell and sought for the hermit with his eyes. Before going away he wanted to ask him for the last time to answer his three questions. The hermit was on his knees by the beds they had dug yesterday, sowing vegetable seeds.

The King approached him and said, “For the last time, wise man, I ask you to answer my questions.”

“But they are answered already,” the hermit said, squatting on his emaciated legs and looking at up the King, who stood before him.

“How?” the King asked.

“Don’t you see?” the hermit began; “had you not pitied my weakness yesterday and dug these beds for me and gone back alone, the man would have attacked you and you would have regretted that you had not stayed with me. The important hour at the time was when you dug these beds, and I was the most essential person to you, and the most essential act was to do me a kindness. And later, when the man ran up, the most important hour was when you looked after him, for, had you not bandaged his wound, he would have died without making his peace with you. He was the most essential man to you at that time, and what you did for him was the most essential thing to be done. Always bear in mind that the most important time is now, for it is the only time we have any power over ourselves; the most essential man is the one with whom you happen to be at the moment, because you can never be sure whether you will ever have relations with any one else, and the most essential thing to do is a kindness to that man, for it was for this purpose we were sent into the world.”

• Part 6 : The Godson

I

A son was born to a poor peasant. He rejoiced and went to a neighbor to ask him to stand as godfather to the boy. The neighbor refused. He did not want to be godfather to a poor man’s son. So the peasant went to another neighbor and he, too, refused. He walked from house to house, but could find no one who would be godfather to his son, so he set out to another village. On his way he met a stranger, who stopped him and said, “Good day, peasant; where are you going to?”

“God has given me a child,” the peasant said, “to gladden my sight in my youth, to comfort me in my old age and to pray for my soul when I die. No one in our village will be godfather to him, so I am going to seek one elsewhere.”

“Let me be his godfather,” the stranger said.

The peasant rejoiced. He thanked the stranger and said, “But whom shall I ask to be his godmother?”

“Go into the town,” the stranger said; “in the square you will see a stone house with shop windows; go in and ask the merchant to let his daughter stand as godmother to your son.”

The peasant was doubtful.

“But how can I ask a rich merchant? He will be too proud to let his daughter come to a poor man like me.”

“That won’t be your fault; go and ask him. Have everything ready by the morning and I’ll come to the christening.”

The peasant went home, then drove into the town to the merchant. He had no sooner stopped in the yard than the merchant came out.

“What do you want?” he asked.

“God has given me a child,” the peasant said, “to gladden my sight in my youth, to comfort me in my old age and to pray for my soul when I die. Will you be kind enough to let your daughter come and be godmother to the child?”

“When is the christening?”

“To-morrow morning.”

“Very well; go, in God’s name. To-morrow my daughter will be at the church.”

The next day the godmother and godfather came; the child was christened, but directly after the christening the godfather disappeared. No one knew who he was and no one saw him from that day.

II

The child grew up to the parents’ great joy; and he was strong and industrious and clever and humble. When he was ten years old the parents sent him to school, and what it took others five years to learn the boy learned in one. And there was no one in the village who could teach him more.

Easter came round and the boy went to his godmother to give her the Easter greeting. When he returned home he said, “Father and mother, where does my godfather live? I should like to give him the Easter greeting, too.”

And the father said, “We don’t know where your godfather lives, dear son. We, too, have worried over that. We have not seen him since you were christened. We have not heard of him and don’t know where he lives, nor whether he is alive at all.”

The boy bowed to his father and mother.

“Let me go,” he said, “to seek my godfather. I want to find him and give him the Easter greeting.”

The father and mother gave their consent and the boy set out to find his godfather.

III

The boy left the house and set out on his way. About midday he met a stranger and the stranger stopped and said, “Good day to you, boy. Where are you going?”

And the boy said, “I went to my godmother to give her the Easter greeting and when I returned home I asked my parents where my godfather lived, because I wanted to give him the greeting too, but my parents said, ‘We don’t know where your godfather lives, dear son. We have not heard of him since you were christened and we don’t know anything about him, or whether he is alive at all.’ And I wanted to see my godfather, so I am going to find him.”

“I am your godfather,” the stranger said.

The boy rejoiced and gave him the Easter greeting.

“Where are you going to, godfather? If you are going in our direction come in to us, or if you are going home, may I come with you?”

And the stranger said, “I have no time to come to you now, because I have some business in the villages. I shall not be home until to-morrow, then you can come to me if you like.”

“But how shall I find you, godfather?”

“Walk straight towards the east until you come to a wood in the midst of which you will find a clearing. Sit down to rest in that clearing and look about you to see what is happening. When you come out of the wood you will see a garden and in the garden is a house with a golden roof. That is my house. Go in at the gate; I will meet you there myself.”

Saying these words the godfather vanished from the godson’s sight.

IV

The boy followed the godfather’s directions. He wandered and wandered till he came to a wood and found the clearing, and in the midst of the clearing stood a pine tree to a branch of which a heavy block of oak was attached with string, and beneath the block was a trough of honey. As the boy was wondering why the honey and the block were there, a crackling was heard among the trees and out came a family of bears. The mother came in front and a yearling and some cubs followed behind. The mother, sniffing the air, went straight to the trough, the cubs following. She thrust her muzzle into the honey and called to the cubs to do the same. They scampered up and thrust in their muzzles. The block swung back a little and returning, hit against the cubs. When the mother saw this, she shoved the block away with her paw. The block swung back further, and returning more forcibly struck one cub on the back, another on the head. The cubs jumped away, howling with pain. The mother bear growled, and seizing the block in her fore-paws, flung it away from her violently. The block flew up high. The yearling ran up to the trough, thrust his muzzle into the honey, the other cubs followed him, but no sooner had they got there than the block swung back, struck the yearling on the head and killed him. The mother-bear growled more angrily as she seized the block and flung it away with all her might. The block flew higher than the branch, the string it was tied to even slackened; the mother-bear and the cubs came up to the trough; the block flew higher and higher, then stopped and began to descend; the lower it got the swifter became its course. It crashed down on the mother-bear’s head. She fell over; her legs twitched and she died. The cubs ran away into the wood.

V

The boy wondered and went on further. He came to a large garden and in the garden was a high house with a golden roof. At the gate stood his godfather, smiling. He greeted his godson, made him come inside the gate and took him round the garden. He had never even dreamed of such beauty and joy as there was in that garden.

The godfather took the boy into the house and he found that more wonderful still. The godfather showed him all the rooms—one more beautiful than the other—then he brought him to a sealed door. “Do you see this door?” he asked. “It is not locked, only sealed. It can be opened, but I forbid you to do it. You can live here and go where you like and do what you like; taste of every pleasure; I forbid you only one thing—to pass that door. But if it should happen that you do go in, remember what you saw in the wood.” With these words the godfather went away, and the godson was left alone. His life was so full of pleasure and such a happy one that when he had been there thirty years it seemed to him no more than three hours. Thus the thirty years passed and the godson came to the sealed door, thinking, “I wonder why my godfather forbade me to go into this room? I will go in and see what is there.”

He pushed the door; the seal gave way and the door opened. The godson went in and saw that the room was large and more beautiful than all the others, and in the middle of it stood a golden throne. The godson wandered and wandered over the room; then he stopped by the throne, mounted the steps and sat down. He saw a scepter by the throne and he took it up in his hand. He had no sooner touched the scepter than the walls of the room rolled asunder. The godson looked about and saw the whole world and everything people were doing in it. Straight before him was the sea and ships sailing on it. To the right were foreign lands, where heathens lived. To the left were Christians, but not Russians. On the fourth side were our own Russian people.

“I will look and see what is happening at home,” he said. “I wonder if the corn is good this year?”

He looked at his father’s fields and saw the sheaves standing in them. He began to count the sheaves to see if the harvest had been good, when he saw a cart coming over the field with a peasant sitting in it. He looked closer and saw that it was Vasily, a thief. Vasily stopped by the sheaves and began putting them into the cart. The godson could not endure this and cried aloud, “Father, they are stealing your sheaves!”

The father awoke in the night. “I dreamed that some one was stealing my sheaves,” he said; “I will go and see.” He got upon his horse and rode out.

When he got to the fields he saw Vasily and called aloud for help. Some peasants came up. Vasily was beaten, bound and taken to prison.

The godson then looked towards the town where his godmother lived and saw that she had married a merchant. She was lying in bed and her husband got up to leave her to go to another woman. And the godson cried aloud to his godmother, “Get up! Your husband is going to do something wicked!”

The godmother jumped up, dressed and set out to find her husband. She brought him to shame, beat the other woman and would not take her husband back again.

The godson looked again towards his home and saw his mother lying in the house and that a robber had stolen in and was breaking open a trunk. The mother awoke and cried out in terror. The robber raised his ax, and was about to kill her, but the godson could endure no more; he thrust the scepter straight into the robber’s temple and killed him on the spot.

VI

He had no sooner slain the robber than the walls rose up again and the room became as before.

The door opened and the godfather entered. He approached the godson, took him by the hand, led him from the throne and said, “You did not obey my commands. You did one wrong thing in opening the forbidden door, another when you mounted the throne and took my scepter into your hand, and a third wrong, which has added to the evil in the world. Had you sat on the throne an hour longer, you would have ruined half mankind.”

And the godfather once more led the godson up to the throne and he took the scepter in his hand and the walls rolled asunder.

And the godfather said, “See what you have done to your father. Vasily sat in prison for a year and learned every kind of wickedness and came out completely corrupted. See, he has driven off two of your father’s horses and is now setting fire to his barns. This is what you have done to your father.”

As soon as the godson saw his father’s barns burst into flame the godfather hid the view from his sight and bade him look in another direction.

“See,” he said; “it is now a year since your godmother’s husband left her, and he goes after other women and his wife has taken to drink and his former mistress has fallen to still lower depths. This is what you have done to your godmother.”

This sight, too, he hid from the godson’s gaze and bade him look towards his own home. His mother was weeping and saying, “It would have been better if the robber had killed me than that I should have so many sins on my soul.”

“This is what you have done to your mother.”

This sight, too, the godfather shut out and bade the godson look below. And he saw two keepers guarding the robber in a dungeon.

And the godfather said, “This man has killed nine people. He should have atoned for his sins himself, but in killing him you have taken them upon your own soul. Now you must answer for all his sins. This is what you have done to yourself. When the mother-bear first pushed the block aside she merely disturbed her cubs; when she pushed it a second time, she killed her yearling; when she pushed it a third time, she was killed herself. You have done exactly the same. I give you a term of thirty years. Go into the world and atone for the robber’s sins; if you fail to do so, you will have to take his place.”

“But how shall I atone for his sins?” the godson asked.

And the godfather said, “When you have rid the world of as much evil as you brought into it, then you will have atoned for your own and the robber’s sins.”

And the godson asked, “How can I rid the world of evil?”

And the godfather said, “Walk straight towards the east until you come to some fields on which you will find some people. Take note of what they are doing and teach them what you know, then go on further, observing everything on the way. On the fourth day you will come to a wood in which you will find a cell, and in this cell a hermit lives. Tell this hermit all that has happened and he will instruct you in what you are to do. When you have done all that the hermit has told you, you will have atoned for your own and the robber’s sins.”

With these words the godfather put the godson out at the gate.

VII

And the godson set out, thinking as he walked, “How can I rid the world of evil? People rid the world of evil by banishing evil men or putting them in prison or executing them. But how can I rid the world of evil without taking other men’s sins upon myself?” And the godson wondered and wondered, but could come to no decision.

He wandered and wandered till he came to a field on which tall rich corn was growing, ready to be harvested. And the godson saw a calf that had strayed in among the corn and he saw men on horseback chasing the calf this way and that and trampling down the corn. Each time the calf was about to come out of the corn some one rode up and the calf got frightened and ran back again, the men after it. In the road stood a woman, crying, “They will chase my calf to death!”

And the godson said to the men, “What are you doing? Come out of the corn and let the woman call to her calf.”

The men did so. The woman came up to the edge of the field and called to the calf, who pricked up its ears, listening awhile, then it ran towards her and buried its nose in her skirts, nearly knocking her down. The men were glad, and the woman was glad, and the calf, too, was glad.

The godson went on his way thinking, “I see that evil breeds evil. The more people try to drive away evil, the more the evil grows, which shows that it is impossible to drive out evil by evil. But how can one drive it out? I don’t know. It is well that the calf obeyed its mistress; if it had not done so, how should we have got it out of the corn?”

And the godson wondered and wondered, but could come to no decision and went on further.

VIII

He wandered and wandered till he came to a village where he asked to be allowed to stay the night at the first house. The mistress let him in. Besides herself no one was in the house. The mistress was busy cleaning.

When the godson came in he climbed on to the stove and began watching to see what the mistress was doing. She had finished cleaning the floor and was scrubbing the table. She scrubbed it and wiped it with a dirty cloth. She rubbed the cloth one way, but the table would not come clean. The cloth left streaks of dirt. She rubbed it the other way—the first streaks came out, new ones were made. She rubbed it lengthwise again and the same thing happened. The dirty cloth rubbed out one streak of dirt and left another. The godson watched for some time and then said, “What are you doing, mistress?”

“Don’t you see that I’m cleaning the house for the festival? I can’t get the table clean, anyhow. The dirt will not come off and I’m quite worn out.”

“You should rinse out the cloth, then wipe the table.”

The mistress did as he told her and the table came clean. “Thank you,” she said, “for your lesson.”

In the morning the godson took leave of the mistress and went on further. He wandered and wandered till he came to a wood where he saw some peasants making hoops. He approached them and saw them struggling and struggling, but they could not bend the wood. He looked closer and saw that the block on which they were working was not firmly fixed. And the godson said, “What are you doing, brothers?”

“Making hoops, as you see. We have steamed the wood twice, yet cannot bend it. We are quite worn out.”

“You should fix the block more firmly, mates. It moves round with you as it is.”

The peasants did so and their work went smoothly afterwards.

The godson stayed the night with them, then went on his way. He walked the whole of that day and the night and just before daybreak he came upon some shepherds encamped for the night, and joined them. They had settled their cattle and were trying to light a fire. They took some dry twigs and lighted them, and not giving them time to burn up, they put some damp brushwood on top and smothered the fire. The shepherds took some more dry twigs and lighted them, and again they smothered the fire with damp brushwood. For a long time they struggled, but could get no fire.

And the godson said, “Don’t be in such a hurry to put on the brushwood, but wait until the twigs have caught well. When the fire gets hot then you can put on the brushwood.”

The shepherds did as he told them. When the twigs had caught well, they put on the brushwood, and in a few minutes they had a blazing fire.

The godson stayed with them for a while then went on further. He wondered what these three things he had seen might mean, but could not understand, nor see the reason of them.

IX

The godson wandered and wandered until nightfall, when he came to a wood, and in the wood was a cell. He went up to the cell and knocked at the door.

A voice from within asked, “Who is that?”

“A great sinner. I have come to atone for the sins of another.”

And the hermit asked, “What are these sins you have taken upon yourself?”

And the godson told him everything about his godfather and the mother-bear and the cubs and about the throne in the sealed room, and about his godfather’s commands, and about the peasants who had trampled the corn in the field, and the calf that had come to its mistress at her call.

“I know now,” he said, “that you cannot drive out evil by evil, but I don’t know how it can be driven out and I want you to tell me.”

And the hermit said, “Tell me what else you have seen on the way?”

The godson told him about the woman and how she had tried to clean the table, and of the peasants who had tried to make the hoops, and the shepherds who had tried to light a fire.

The hermit waited until he had finished, then he went into his cell and brought out a jagged ax.

“Come,” he said.

The hermit walked away from the cell and pointed to a tree. “Cut it down,” he said.

The godson felled it.

“Chop it into three parts.”

The godson chopped it into three parts. The hermit again went into his cell and brought out a light.

“Set fire to those three logs,” he said.

The godson made a fire and burnt the three logs till only three pieces of charcoal were left.

“Now plant them half into the ground, like this.”

The godson planted them.

“Do you see a river there by that hill? Fetch some water in your mouth and water them. Water this one in the way you taught the woman to clean, this one in the way you taught the hoopers, and this one in the way you taught the shepherds. When the three pieces of charcoal grow into apple-trees you will know how to rid the world of evil, and will then have atoned for your sins.”

With these words the hermit went into his cell. The godson pondered and pondered and could not understand what the hermit had said, but he did what the hermit had told him.

X

The godson went to the river, filled his mouth with water and watered one piece of charcoal; then he went again and again, until he had watered the other two. The godson was tired and hungry. He went to the hermit’s cell to ask for some food. When he opened the door there was the hermit lying dead on a bench. The godson looked about the cell and found some rusks, which he ate; then he discovered a spade and went out to dig a grave for the old man. By night he carried water to water the pieces of charcoal, and by day he dug the grave. He had no sooner finished it and was about to bury the hermit, when some people came from the village to bring the hermit food.

When the people heard that the hermit was dead they asked the godson to take his place. They buried the hermit, left the bread with the godson and went away, promising to bring him more food later on.

And the godson fell into the hermit’s place and he lived and nourished himself with the food people brought him, and went on watering the pieces of charcoal as the hermit had bidden him do.

The godson lived thus for a year and many people began to visit him. He grew famous throughout the country as a saint who saved his soul by carrying water in his mouth from beneath a hill, and watering stumps of charcoal. People flocked to him. Rich merchants brought him gifts, but the godson used nothing but what he needed, giving the rest to the poor.

And the godson began to live thus—for half the day he carried water in his mouth to water the pieces of charcoal, for the other half he rested and received people.

And the godson came to think that he had been told to live thus and that in this way he would atone for his sins.

The godson lived thus for another year, not missing a single day for watering the charcoal, yet not a single piece had begun to sprout.

One day when he was sitting in his cell he heard a horseman gallop past, singing to himself. The hermit came out to see what manner of man he was. And he saw that the man was young and strong and was dressed in fine clothes and seated on a spirited horse.

The godson stopped him and asked him who he was and where he was going. The man pulled up.

“I am a robber,” he said; “I roam the highway and kill whomever I have a mind to. The more men I kill the merrier are my songs.”

The godson was horrified and thought, “How can one destroy evil in such a man? It is well to talk to the people who come to me; they repent of their own accord, but this man glories in the evil he does.” The godson said nothing to him and turned away, thinking, “What shall I do? If this robber makes up his mind to stay here, he will scare away my people and no one will come to see me. They will lose some good thereby, and I shall have nothing to live on.”

And the godson stopped and said to the robber, “People come to me not to boast of the evil they do, but to repent and pray for their sins to be forgiven them. You repent likewise, if you have the fear of God in your heart, and if you do not seek repentance, go away from this place and do not come back again, so as not to hinder me or scare away my people. If you fail to listen to my words God will punish you.”

The robber laughed.

“I am not afraid of your God and I won’t listen to you. You are not my master to order me about. You live by your piety, I by my robbery. We must all live. Teach the women who come to you, but let me alone. Since you have dared to mention the name of God to me I will kill two extra people to-morrow. I would kill you now, only I don’t want to soil my hands, but take care never to cross my path again.”

The robber threatened him thus and rode away. He did not come again and the godson lived in the hermitage as before for another eight years.

XI

One night the godson set out to water his pieces of charcoal and when he had finished he sat down in his cell to rest. He peered along the path now and again to see if any visitor was coming, but no one came that day. The godson sat alone until evening and he grew lonesome and weary and began to think about his life. He recollected how the robber had reproached him for living by his piety. He began to look back upon his life. “I am not living as the hermit told me,” he thought. “The hermit imposed a penance on me and I have used it as a means of earning my bread and even gaining fame thereby. I have been so led astray over it that I am even dull when people do not come to see me, and when they do come, I rejoice when they praise my saintliness. This is not the way one must live. I have been blinded by fame. Not only have I not atoned for past sins but have taken new ones upon myself. I will go away to another place far into the wood, where the people will not find me, and I will live alone there and atone for my past sins, taking care not to commit new ones.”

Thinking thus the godson took a bag of rusks and a spade, and he left the cell and set out down a ravine to build himself a mud hut in the thicket and disappear from people’s sight.

The godson was walking along with his bag and spade when the robber jumped out upon him. The godson was afraid and would have run away, but the robber stopped him.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

The godson told him that he wanted to go away from people and bury himself in a wild part of the wood where no one would come to him.

The robber wondered.

“But what will you live on if no one comes to see you?”

The godson had not thought of that, but now the robber had mentioned it he remembered that he had to eat.

“On what God gives,” he said.

The robber made no reply and went his way.

“Why didn’t I say anything to him about his life?” the godson thought. “He may be repentant now. He seemed softer of manner and did not threaten to kill me to-day.” And he called to the robber saying, “It is time you repented. You cannot get away from God.”

The robber turned his horse round, seized a knife from his girdle and brandished it aloft. The godson took fright and ran away into the wood.

The robber did not trouble to go after him, he merely said, “I have let you off twice, old man; take care not to come my way a third time, or I’ll kill you.”

With these words the robber rode away.

That evening the godson went to water his pieces of charcoal and behold! one of the pieces had sprouted! A young apple-tree had shot forth.

XII

The godson hid himself from the eyes of men and began to live alone. His rusks were all gone. “I must hunt for some roots,” he thought, but he had no sooner gone out than he saw a bag of rusks hanging on the branch of a tree. He took the bag and began to eat.

When that was all gone he found another bag in the very same place. Thus the godson lived. He had only one care—his fear of the robber. When he heard him coming he hid himself, thinking, “If he kills me I shall not be able to atone for my sins.”

Another ten years passed. One apple-tree grew up, the other pieces of charcoal remained as they were before.

One day the godson went out early to do his watering. He moistened the soil around the stumps until he was tired and sat down to rest. As he rested he thought, “I have sinned greatly in fearing death. If it be God’s will I will atone for my sins by death even.”

The thought had no sooner occurred to him than he heard the robber come along cursing at some one. And the godson thought, “Besides God no one can do me either good or evil.” And he went to meet the robber. He saw that the robber was not alone. On the saddle, behind him, was another man, and this man’s hands were bound and his mouth was gagged. The man made no sound and the robber kept on abusing him. The godson approached the robber and stopped before his horse.

“Where are you taking this man to?” he asked.

“Into the wood. He is a merchant’s son and won’t tell me where his father’s money is hidden. I will keep him prisoner until he tells me.”

The robber was about to go on, but the godson would not let him, seizing the horse by the bridle.

“Let the man go,” he said.

The robber grew angry and raised his arm to strike him.

“Do you want to share his fate? I told you I would kill you. Let go!”

The godson was not afraid.

“I won’t let go,” he said. “I’m not afraid of you; I only fear God. He tells me not to let go. Set the man free.”

The robber frowned; he seized the knife from his girdle, cut the cords and released the merchant’s son.

“Be gone, the two of you!” he said, “and don’t come across my path a second time!”

The merchant’s son fled. The robber was about to go, but the godson stopped him and once more beseeched him to abandon his wicked life. The robber stood and listened without saying a word, then turned and rode away.

In the morning the godson went to water his pieces of charcoal. Behold! another one had burst forth, another apple-tree had grown!

XIII

Ten more years passed. The godson lived desiring nothing, afraid of nothing, and a feeling of gladness always at his heart. And he thought one day, “What blessings the good Lord gives us! And we torment ourselves for nothing. People should live in joy and happiness.” And he remembered the evil men suffered and how they tormented themselves and he grew to pity them. “It is in vain that I live as I do,” he thought; “I must go among people and tell them what I know.”

The thought had no sooner occurred to him than he heard the robber come along, but he took no notice of him, thinking, “What is the use of talking to that man? He will not understand.”

This was his first thought, but in a little while he repented of it and went out in the road. The robber sat on his horse, frowning and looking at the ground. When the godson saw him, a feeling of pity came over him; he rushed up and seized the robber’s knee.

“My dear brother,” he said, “take pity on your soul! Don’t you know that the spirit of God is in you? You torment yourself and others, and as time goes on your torments will grow worse, and God loves you and wants to heap His blessings upon you. Don’t destroy yourself, brother; change your way of life.”

The robber frowned and turned away. “Leave me alone,” he said.

The godson clutched the robber’s knee still firmer and the tears stood in his eyes. The robber raised his eyes to his, gazed into them for a long time, then climbed down from his horse and fell on his knees before the godson.

“You have subdued me, old man,” he said. “For twenty years I struggled against you, but you have won. I am powerless before you. Do what you want with me. When you spoke to me the first time, I grew more hardened still. I only began to take your words to heart when you went away from people and I knew that you needed nothing from them. It was then I began to supply you with rusks.”

And the godson recollected that the woman had only managed to clean the table after she had washed the cloth. When he ceased to care for himself and cleansed his heart, he was able to cleanse the hearts of others.

And the robber continued, “And my heart turned when I saw that you had no fear of death.”

And the godson remembered that the hoopers began to bend the hoops only when they had made the block firm. When he ceased to fear death and established his life firmly in God he had been able to subdue this man’s wild heart.

And the robber said, “And the heart in me melted altogether when I saw that you pitied me and wept before me.”

The godson rejoiced. He led the robber to the place where his pieces of charcoal were planted and behold! a third apple-tree had grown. And the godson remembered that when the shepherds had allowed their dry twigs to catch well, a big fire blazed up. It was only when his heart grew warm that he had been able to kindle the heart of another.

And the godson rejoiced that he had now atoned for all his sins.

He told the robber everything and died. The robber buried him and began to live as the godson had told him, and to teach other men what he knew.

• Notes

Printed in England
by Butler & Tanner Selwood Printing Works Frome, Somerset

e-text transcriber note:

Information was cropped off when the book used as a scan
source was rebound. Emailed University of Southern Mississippi
Libraries, and received confirmation from a librarian there
concerning missing page references on plates:

1: The frontispiece has the word "Frontispiece.", in italics,
   no bracket, lower left.
2: The plate which faces page 56 in the TIA copy should face
   page 57 (was probably positioned incorrectly when rebound).
3: For plate facing page 82, bottom right reference reads,
   "[To face page 82."
4: For plate facing page 158, bottom right reference reads,
   "[To face page 158."
5: For the plate facing page 166, the plate actually says
   "[To face page 166."--but it faces 167 instead.

--srjfoo, 2016-02-15

Chronology :

November 30, 1915 : Tolstoy for the Young -- Publication.

June 08, 2021 : Tolstoy for the Young -- Added.

January 09, 2022 : Tolstoy for the Young -- Updated.

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