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Count Tolstoi.
THE LONG EXILE.
BY THE SAME AUTHOR,
UNIFORM WITH THIS SERIES.
A RUSSIAN PROPRIETOR.
THE COSSACKS.
IVAN ILYITCH.
THE INVADERS.
MY RELIGION.
LIFE.
MY CONFESSION.
CHILDHOOD, BOYHOOD, YOUTH.
THE PHYSIOLOGY OF WAR.
ANNA KARENINA. 2 (Vols.)
WHAT TO DO?
WAR AND PEACE. (4 VOLS.)
THE LONG EXILE.
THE LONG EXILE
AND
OTHER STORIES FOR CHILDREN
BY
COUNT LYOF N. TOLSTOï
TRANSLATED FROM THE RUSSIAN BY
NATHAN HASKELL DOLE
LONDON
WALTER SCOTT, 24 WARWICK LANE
PATERNOSTER ROW
TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE.
It is not easy for the translator of this volume to speak
of its contents with due restraint. It was quite by
accident that in looking over the fourth volume of Count
Tolstoï's collected writings, with its repellant title
("Pedagogicheskiya Statyi"), he discovered what has
proved to be a mine of marvellous wealth. They present
the author in a new and vivid light. They show a side
of his character which has never yet appeared, com-
pleting and rounding the circle of his genius.
Principally this volume is meant for children.
stories it contains were written for peasant children-the
children whom we see so picturesquely painted in the
last hundred pages. Many of them reveal the author's
personality in a wholly genial way, as in the stories
of his dogs, his trees, his horse, his silk-worms. He
has a sympathy with nature as truly as Thoreau, and
an altogether lovable sympathy with his fellow-men.
The
vi
TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE.
Some of the stories in the present volume are taken
from Count Tolstoï's "Novaya Azbuka” New Speller
or A-B-C book; two are from the twelfth volume of the
latest edition of his works. The others are from the
fourth volume.
The translator has endeavoured to faithfully reproduce
the simplicity of the original.
THE LONG EXILE.
WHAT MEN LIVE BY.
CONTENTS.
THE REPENTANT SINNER
YERMAK, THE CONQUEROR OF SIBERIA
BEAR-HUNTING WORSE THAN SLAVERY
STORIES OF MY DOGS
EARLY DAYS
SCENES FROM COMMON LIFE.
STORIES FROM PHYSICS.
TALES FROM ZOOLOGY.
STORIES FROM BOTANY.
TIONS
FROM THE NEW SPELLER
C
FABLES PARAPHRASED FROM THE INDIAN, AND IMITA-
SCHOOL SCENES AT YASNAYA POLYANA
•
•
PAGE
1
20
69
75
93
112
139
148
176
187
201
211
244
259
THE LONG EXILE.
"God sees the truth, but bides his time."
ONCE upon a
NCE upon a time there lived in the city
of Vladímir a young merchant named
Aksénof. He had two shops and a house.
Aksenof himself had a ruddy complexion
and curly hair; he was a very jolly fellow
and a good singer. When he was young he
used to drink too much, and when he was
tipsy he was turbulent; but after his mar-
riage he ceased drinking, and only occasion-
ally had a spree.
One time in summer Aksénof was going to
Nízhni* to the great Fair. As he was about
to bid his family good by, his wife said to
him:
"Iván Dmítrievitch, do not go to-day; I
had a dream, and dreamed that some misfor-
tune befell you."
* Nízhni Novgorod: it means Lower New Town.
1
2
THE LONG EXILE.
Aksenof laughed at her, and said: "You
are always afraid that I shall go on a spree
at the Fair."
His wife said: "I myself know not what I
am afraid of, but I had such a strange dream :
you seemed to be coming home from town,
and you took off your hat, and I looked, and
your head was all gray."
Aksénof laughed. "That means good luck.
See, I am going now. I will bring you some
rich remembrances."
And he bade his family farewell and set
off.
When he had gone half his journey, he fell
in with a merchant of his acquaintance, and
the two stopped together at the same tavern
for the night. They took tea together, and
went to sleep in two adjoining rooms.
Aksénof did not care to sleep long; he
awoke in the middle of the night, and in
order that he might get a good start while it
was cool he aroused his driver and bade him
harness up, went down into the smoky hut,
settled his account with the landlord, and
started on his way.
5
THE LONG EXILE.
3
After he had driven forty versts,* he again
stopped to get something to eat; he rested
in the vestibule of the inn, and when it was
noon, he went to the doorstep and ordered
the samovár† to be got ready; then he took out
his guitar and began to play.
Suddenly a troïka‡ with a bell dashed up
to the inn, and from the equipage leaped an
official with two soldiers; he comes directly
up to Aksénof and asks: "Who are you?
Where did you come from?"
Aksénof answers without hesitation, and
asks him if he would not have a glass of tea
with him.
But the official keeps on with his questions:
"Where did you spend last night? Were
you alone or with a merchant?
Have you
seen the merchant this morning? Why did
you leave so early this morning?"
Aksenof wondered why he was questioned
so closely; but he told everything just as it
* Nearly twenty-six and a half miles.
† Water-boiler for making Russian tea.
A team of three horses harnessed abreast: the outside
two gallop; the shaft horse trots.
4
THE LONG EXILE.
was, and he asks: "Why do you ask me so
many questions? I am not a thief or a mur-
derer. I am on my own business; there is
nothing to question me about."
Then the official called up the soldiers, and
said: "I am the police inspector, and I have
made these inquiries of you because the mer-
chant with whom you spent last night has
been stabbed. Show me your things, and you
men search him."
They went into the tavern, brought in the
trunk and bag, and began to open and search
them. Suddenly the police inspector pulled
out from the bag a knife, and demanded,
"Whose knife is this?"
Aksénof looked and saw a knife covered
with blood taken from his bag, and he was
frightened.
"And whose blood is that on the knife?"
Aksénof tried to answer, but he could not
articulate his words:-
“I ... I... don't... know ... I... That
knife... it is... not mine.
Then the police inspector said: "This morn-
ing the merchant was found stabbed to death
""
THE LONG EXILE.
5
in his bed. No one except you could have
done it. The tavern was locked on the inside,
and there was no one in the tavern except
yourself. And here is the bloody knife in
your bag, and your guilt is evident in your
face. Tell me how you killed him and how
much money you took from him.” Aksénof
swore that he had not done it, that he had
not seen the merchant after he had drunk tea
with him, that the only money that he had
with him- eight thousand rubles-was his
own, and that the knife was not his.
But his voice trembled, his face was pale,
and he was all quivering with fright, like a
guilty person.
The police inspector called the soldiers, com-
manded them to bind Aksénof and take him to
the wagon.
When they took him to the wagon with his
feet tied, Aksénof crossed himself and burst
into tears.
They confiscated Aksénof's possessions and
his money, and took him to the next city and
threw him into prison.
They sent to Vladímir to make inquiries
6
THE LONG EXILE.
about Aksénof's character, and all the mer
chants and citizens of Vladímir declared that
Aksénof, when he was young, used to drink
and was wild, but that now he was a worthy
man. Then he was brought up for judgment.
He was sentenced for having killed the mer-
chant and for having robbed him of twenty
thousand rubles.
Aksénof's wife was dumfounded by the
event, and did not know what to think. Her
children were still small, and there was one at
the breast. She took them all with her and
journeyed to the city where her husband was
imprisoned.
At first they would not grant her admit-
tance, but afterwards she got permission from
the chief, and was taken to her husband.
When she saw him in his prison garb, in
chains together with murderers, she fell to the
floor, and it was a long time before she recov-
ered from her swoon. Then she placed her
children around her, sat down amid them, and
began to tell him about their domestic affairs,
and to ask him about everything that had
happened to him.
THE LONG EXILE.
7
He told her the whole story.
She asked, "What is to be the result of
it?"
He said: "We must petition the Tsar. It
is impossible that an innocent man should be
condemned."
The wife said that she had already sent in
a petition to the Tsar, but that the petition
had not been granted. Aksénof said nothing,
but was evidently very much downcast.
Then his wife said: "You see the dream
that I had, when I dreamed that you had
become gray-headed, meant something, after
all. Already your hair has begun to turn
gray with trouble. You ought to have stayed
at home that time."
*
And she began to tear her hair, and she
said: "Ványa, my dearest husband, tell your
wife the truth: Did you commit that crime or
not?"
Aksénof said: "So you, too, have no faith
in me" And he wrung his hands and wept.
Then a soldier came and said that it was
time for the wife and children to go. And
* Diminutive of Iván, John,
8
THE LONG EXILE.
Aksénof for the last time bade farewell to
his family.
When his wife was gone, Aksénof began to
think over all that they had said. When he
remembered that his wife had also distrusted
him, and had asked him if he had murdered
the merchant, he said to himself: "It is evi-
dent that no one but God can know the truth
of the matter, and He is the only one to ask
for mercy, and He is the only one from whom
to expect it."
And from that time Aksénof ceased to send
in petitions, ceased to hope, and only prayed to
God. Aksénof was sentenced to be knouted,
and then to exile with hard labor.
And so it was done.
He was flogged with the knout, and then,
when the wounds from the knout were healed,
he was sent with other exiles to Siberia.
Aksénof lived twenty-six years in the mines.
The hair on his head had become white as
snow, and his beard had grown long, thin, and
gray. All his gaiety had vanished. He was
bent, his gait was slow, he spoke little, he
never laughed, and he spent much of his time
in prayer.
THE LONG EXILE.
9
Aksenof had learned while in prison to make
boots, and with the money that he earned he
bought the "Book of Martyrs,”* and used to
read it when it was light enough in prison, and
on holidays he would go to the prison church,
read the Gospels, and sing in the choir, for
his voice was still strong and good.
The authorities liked Aksénof for his submis-
siveness, and his prison associates respected him
and called him "Grandfather" and the 66 man
of God." Whenever they had petitions to be
presented, Aksénof was always chosen to carry
them to the authorities; and when quarrels arose
among the prisoners, they always came to
Aksénof as umpire.
Aksénof never received any letters from
home, and he knew not whether his wife and
children were alive.
Once some new convicts came to the prison.
In the evening all the old convicts gathered
around the newcomers, and began to ply them
with questions as to the cities or villages
from which this one or that had come, and
what their crimes were.
* Chetyá Minyéï.
10
THE LONG EXILE.
At this time Aksénof was sitting on his bunk,
near the strangers, and, with bowed head, was
listening to what was said.
One of the new convicts was a tall, healthy-
looking old man of sixty years, with a close-
cropped gray beard. He was telling why he
had been arrested. He said :-
K
6
6
"And so, brothers, I was sent here for noth-
ing. I unharnessed a horse from a postboy's
sledge, and they caught me in it, and insisted
that I was stealing it. But,' says I, I only
wanted to go a little faster, so I whipped up
the horse. And besides, the driver was a friend
of mine. It's all right,' says I. 'No,' say
they; 'you were stealing it.' But they did not
know what and where I had stolen. I have
done things which long ago would have sent
me here, but I was not found out; and now
they have sent me here without any justice in
it. But what's the use of grumbling? I have
been in Siberia before. They did not keep me
here very long though..."
"Where did you come from?" asked one of
the convicts.
"Well, we came from the city of Vladimir;
THE LONG EXILE.
11
홍
​we are citizens of that place. My name is
Makár, and my father's name was Semyón."
Aksénof raised his head and asked: -
"Tell me, Semyónitch,* have you ever heard
of the Aksénofs, merchants in Vladímir city?
Are they alive?"
"Indeed, I have heard of them! They are
rich merchants, though their father is in Siberia.
It seems he was just like any of the rest of us
sinners. . . . And now tell me, Grandfather,
what you were sent here for?”
Aksénof did not like to speak of his misfor-
tunes; he sighed, and said:
"Twenty-six years ago I was condemned to
hard labor on account of my sins.”
Makár Semyonof said :-
“But what was your crime?"
Aksénof replied, "I must, therefore, have de-
served this."
But he would not tell or give any further
particulars; the other convicts, however, re-
lated why Aksénof had been sent to Siberia.
They told how on the road some one had killed
a merchant, and put the knife into Aksénof's
* Son of Semyón.
12
THE LONG EXILE.
luggage, and how he had been unjustly pun-
ished for this.
When Makár heard this, he glanced at Aksé-
nof, clasped his hands round his knees and
said:
pop
"Well, now, that's wonderful! You have
been growing old, Grandfather!"
They began to ask him what he thought was
wonderful, and where he had seen Aksénof. But
Makár did not answer; he only repeated:-
"A miracle, boys! how wonderful that we
should meet again!”
And when he said these words, it came over
Aksénof that perhaps this man might know who
it was that had killed the merchant. And he
said:
S
"Did you ever hear of that crime, Semyó-
nitch, or did you ever see me before?"
"Of course I heard of it! The country was
full of it. But it happened a long time ago.
And I have forgotten what I heard," said
Makár.
ACRAMEN
20
"Perhaps you heard who killed the mer-
chant?" asked Aksénof.
Makár laughed, and said:
THE LONG EXILE.
66
13
Why, of course the man who had the knife
in his bag killed him. If any one put the knife
in your things and was not caught doing it-
it would have been impossible. For how could
they have put the knife in your bag? Was it
not standing close by your head? And you
would have heard it, wouldn't you?"
As soon as Aksénof heard these words he
felt convinced that this was the very man who
had killed the merchant.
He stood up and walked away. All that
night he was unable to sleep. Deep melan-
choly came upon him, and he began to call
back the past in his imagination.
He imagined his wife as she had been when
for the last time she had come to see him in the
prison. She seemed to stand before him ex-
actly as though she were alive, and he saw her
face and her eyes, and he seemed to hear her
words and her laugh.
Then his imagination brought up his children
before him; one a little boy in a little fur coat,
and the other on his mother's breast.
And he imagined himself as he was at that
time, young and happy. He remembered how
14
THE LONG EXILE.
he had sat on the steps of the tavern when they
arrested him, and how his soul was full of joy
as he played on his guitar.
And he remembered the place of execution
where they had knouted him, and the knouts-
man, and the people standing around, and the
chains and the convicts, and all his twenty-six
years of prison life, and he remembered his old
age. And such melancholy came upon Aksénof
that he was tempted to put an end to him-
self.
"And all on account of this criminal!" said
Aksénof to himself.
And then he began to feel such anger against
Makár Semyonof that he almost fell upon him,
and was crazy with desire to pay off the load of
vengeance. He repeated prayers all night, but
could not recover his calm. When day came,
he walked by Makár and did not look at him.
Thus passed two weeks. Aksénof was not
able to sleep, and such melancholy had come
over him that he did not know what to do.
One time during the night, as he happened
to be passing through the prison, he saw
that the soil was disturbed under one of the
THE LONG EXILE.
15
bunks. He stopped to examine it. Suddenly
Makár crept from under the bunk and looked
at Aksénof with a startled face.
Aksénof was about to pass on so as not to see
him, but Makár seized his arm, and told him
how he had been digging a passage under the
wall, and how every day he carried the dirt out
in his boot-legs and emptied it in the street
when they went out to work. He said:-
"If you only keep quiet, old man, I will get
you out too. But if you tell on me, they will
flog me; but afterwards I will make it hot for
you. I will kill you.'
""
66
When Aksénof saw his enemy, he trembled
all over with rage, twitched away his arm, and
said: “I have no reason to make my escape,
and to kill me would do no harm; you killed
me long ago. But as to telling on you or not,
I shall do as God sees fit to have me."
On the next day, when they took the convicts
out to work, the soldiers discovered where
Makár had been digging in the ground; they
began to make a search and found the hole.
The chief came into the prison and asked every-
one, “Who was digging that hole?"
16
THE LONG EXILE.
All denied it. Those who knew did not name
Makár, because they were aware that he would
be flogged half to death for such an attempt.
Then the chief came to Aksénof. He knew
that Aksénof was a truthful man, and he said:
"Old man, you are truthful; tell me before God
who did this."
Makár was standing near, in great excite-
ment, and did not dare to look at Aksénof.
Aksénof's hands and lips trembled, and it was
some time before he could speak a word. He
said to himself: "If I shield him But why
should I forgive him when he has been my
ruin? Let him suffer for my sufferings! But
shall I tell on him? They will surely flog
him? But what difference does it make what
I think of him? Will it be any the easier.
for me?"
Once more the chief demanded: "Well, old
man, tell the truth! Who dug the hole?"
Aksénof glanced at Makár, and then said:-
“I cannot tell, your Honor. God does not
bid me tell. I will not tell. Do with me as
you please; I am in your power.'
In spite of all the chief's efforts, Aksénof
""
A J
THE LONG EXILE.
17
would say nothing more. And so they failed
to find out who dug the hole.
On the next night as Aksénof was lying on
his bunk, and almost asleep, he heard some one
come along and sit down at his feet.
He peered through the darkness and saw that
it was Makár. Aksénof asked:
"What do you wish of me? What are you
doing here?"
Makár remained silent. Aksénof arose, and
said:
"What do you want? Go away, or else I
will call the guard.”
Makár went up close to Aksénof, and said in
a whisper :-
K
"Iván Dmítritch,* forgive me!"
Aksénof said: "What have I to forgive
you?"
"It was I who killed the merchant and put
the knife in your bag. And I was going to kill
you too, but there was a noise in the yard; I
thrust the knife in your bag and slipped out of
the window."
Aksénof said nothing, and he did not know
* Son of Dmitry (or Dmítrievitch; see page 1).
2
18
THE LONG EXILE.
what to say.
knelt on the ground, and said:
"Iván Dmítritch, forgive me, forgive me for
Christ's sake. I will confess that I killed the
merchant they will pardon you. You will be
able to go home." Aksénof said : —
"It is easy for you to say that, but how could
I endure it? Where should I go now?... My
wife is dead! my children have forgotten me.
I have nowhere to go.
""
Makár did not rise; he beat his head on the
ground, and said: -
"Iván Dmítritch, forgive me!
flogged me with the knout, it was
than it is now to look at you. And you had
pity on me after all this you did not tell on
me. ... Forgive me for Christ's sake! Forgive
me though I am a cursed villain!"
And the man began to sob.
When Aksenof heard Makár Semyónof sob-
bing, he himself burst into tears, and said:
"God will forgive you; maybe I am a hun-
dred times worse than you are!
""
Mİ
Makár got down from the bunk,
i
•
•
J
When they
easier to bear
And suddenly he felt a wonderful peace in
his soul. And he ceased to mourn for his
THE LONG EXILE,
19
home, and had no desire to leave the prison,
but only thought of his last hour.
Makár would not listen to Aksénof, and con-
fessed his crime.
When they came to let Aksénof go home, he
was dead.
WHAT MEN LIVE BY.
We know that we have passed out of death into life, be-
cause we love the brethren. He that loveth not abideth in
death. (I. Epistle of St. John, iii. 14.)
But whoso hath the world's goods, and beholdeth his
brother in need, and shutteth up his compassion from him,
how doth the love of God abide in him?
My little children, let us not love in word, neither with
the tongue, but in deed and truth. (iii. 17, 18.)
Love is of God; and every one that loveth is begotten of
God and knoweth God.
He that loveth not knoweth not God; for God is love.
(iv. 7, 8.)
No man hath beheld God at any time: if we love one
another, God abideth in us. (iv. 12.)
God is love; and he that abideth in love abideth in God,
and God abideth in him. (iv. 16.)
If a man say, I love God, and hateth his brother, he is a
liar: for he that loveth not his brother whom he hath seen
cannot love God whom he hath not seen. (iv. 20.)
I.
A COBBLER and his wife and children
had lodgings with a peasant. He owned
neither house nor land, and he supported him-
self and his family by shoemaking.
Bread was dear and labor poorly paid, and
whatever he earned went for food.
WHAT MEN LIVE BY.
21
The cobbler and his wife had one shuba*
between them, and this had come to tatters,
and for two years the cobbler had been hoard-
ing in order to buy skeepskins for a new
shuba.
When autumn came, the cobbler's hoard had
grown; three paper rubles† lay in his wife's
box, and five rubles and twenty kopeks more
were due the cobbler from his customers.
One morning the cobbler betook himself to
the village to get his new shuba. He put on
his wife's wadded nankeen jacket over his
shirt, and outside of all a woollen kaftan.
He put the three ruble notes in his pocket,
broke off a staff, and after breakfast he set
forth.
He said to himself, "I will get my five
rubles from the peasant, and that with these
three will buy pelts for my shuba."
The cobbler reached the village and went
to one peasant's; he was not at home, but his
wife promised to send her husband with the
* Fur or sheepskin outside garment.
+ The paper ruble is worth about one-and-ninepence; a ruble
contains 100 kopeks.
22
WHAT MEN LIVE BY.
money the next week, but she could not give
him any money.
He went to another, and
this peasant swore that he had no money at
all; but he paid him twenty kopeks for cob-
bling his boots.
The cobbler made up his mind to get the
pelts on credit. But the fur-dealer refused to
sell on credit. "Bring the money," says he;
"then you can make your choice: but we know
how hard it is to get what is one's due."
And so the cobbler did not do his errand,
but he had the twenty kopeks for cobbling
the boots, and he took from a peasant an old
pair of felt boots to mend with leather.
At first the cobbler was vexed at heart; then
he spent the twenty kopeks for vodka, and
started to go home. In the morning he had
felt cold, but after having drunken the vodka
he was warm enough even without the shuba.
The cobbler was walking along the road,
striking the frozen ground with the staff that
he had in one hand, and swinging the felt
boots in the other, and thus he talked to him-
self:
66
"I," says he, "am warm even without a
WHAT MEN LIVE BY
23
shuba. I drank a glass, and it dances through
all my veins. And so I don't need a sheep-
skin coat. I walk along, and all my vexation
is forgotten. That is just like me! What do
I need? I can get along without the shuba.
I don't need it at all. There's one thing: the
wife will feel bad. Indeed, it is too bad; here
I have been working for it, and now to have
missed it! You just wait now! if you don't
bring the money, I will take your hat, I vow I
will! What a way of doing things! He pays
me twenty kopeks at a time! Now what can
you do with twenty kopeks? Get a drink;
that's all! You say, 'I am poor!' But if
you are poor, how is it with me? You have.
a house and cattle and everything; I have noth-
ing but my own hands. You raise your own
grain, but I have to buy mine, when I can, and
it costs me three rubles a week for food alone.
When I get home now, we shall be out of
bread. Another ruble and a half of out-go!
So you must give me what you owe me.”
By this time the cobbler had reached the
chapel at the cross-roads, and he saw something
white behind the chapel.
24
WHAT MEN LIVE BY.
It was already twilight, and the cobbler
strained his eyes, but he could not make out
what the object was.
"There never was any such stone there," he
said to himself. "A cow? But it does not
look like a cow! The head is like a man's;
but what is that white? And why should
there be any man there?"
He went nearer. Now he could see plainly.
What a strange thing! It is indeed a man,
but is he alive or dead? sitting there stark
naked, leaning against the chapel, and not
moving.
The cobbler was frightened. He thinks to
himself: "Some one has killed that man,
stripped him, and flung him down there. If
I go near, I may get into trouble."
And the cobbler hurried by.
In passing the chapel he could no longer see
the man; but after he was fairly beyond it, he
looked back, and saw that the man was no
longer leaning against the chapel, but was
moving, and apparently looking after him.
The cobbler was still more scared by this,
and he thinks to himself: "Shall I go to him
WHAT MEN LIVE BY.
25
or go on? If I go to him, there might some-
thing unpleasant happen; who knows what
sort of a man he is? He can't have gone there
for any good purpose? If I went to him, he
might spring on me and choke me, and I could
not get away from him; and even if he did not
choke me, why should I try to make his acquaint-
ance? What could be done with him, naked
as he is? I can't take him with me, and give
him my own clothes! That would be absurd."
And the cobbler hastened his steps. He had
already gone some distance beyond the chapel,
when his conscience began to prick him.
He stopped short.
“What is this that you are doing, Semyón?"
he asked himself. "A man is perishing of
cold, and you are frightened, and hurry by!
Are you so very rich? Are you afraid of los-
ing your money? Aï, Sema! That is not
right!'
Semyón turned and went to the man.
II.
Semyon went back to the man, looked at
him, and saw that it was a young man in the
26
WHAT MEN LIVE BY.
prime of life; there are no bruises visible on
him, but he is evidently freezing and afraid;
he is sitting there, leaning back, and does not
look at Semyón; apparently he is so weak that
he cannot lift his eyes.
Semyon went up close to him, and suddenly
the man seemed to revive; he lifted his head
and fastened his eyes on Semyón.
And by this glance the man won Semyón's
heart.
He threw the felt boots down on the ground,
took off his belt and laid it on the boots, and
pulled off his kaftan.
"There's nothing to be said," he exclaimed.
"Put these on! There now!”
Semyon put his hand under the man's elbow,
to help him, and tried to lift him. The man
got up.
And Semyon sees that his body is graceful
and clean, that his hands and feet are comely,
and that his face is agreeable. Semyón threw
the kaftan over his shoulders. He could not
get his arms into the sleeves. Semyón found
the place for him, pulled the coat up, wrapped
it around him, and fastened the belt.
WHAT MEN LIVE BY.
27
Ile took off his tattered cap, and was going
to give it to the stranger, but his head felt
cold, and he thinks: "The whole top of my
head is bald, but he has long curly hair."
So he put his hat on again. "I had better
let him put on my boots."
He made him sit down and put on the felt
boots.
After the cobbler had thus dressed him, he
says: "There now, brother, just stir about,
and you will get warmed up. All these
things are in other hands than ours.
Can you
walk?"
The man stands up, looks affectionately at
Semyón, but is unable to speak a word.
"Why don't you say something? We can't
spend the winter here. We must get to shel-
ter. Now, then, lean on my stick, if you don't
feel strong enough. Bestir yourself!”
And the man started to move. And he
walked easily, and did not lag behind. As
they walked along the road Semyon said:
"Where are you from, if I may ask?"
"I do not belong hereabouts."
"No; I know all the people of this region.
28
WHAT MEN LIVE BY.
How did you happen to come here and get
to that chapel?"
"I cannot tell you."
"Some one must have treated you outra-
geously?"
"No one has treated me outrageously. God
has punished me."
"God does all things, but you must have
been on the road to somewhere? Where do
you want to go?"
"It makes no difference to me."
Semyón was surprised. The man did not
look like a malefactor, and his speech was gen-
tle, but he seemed reticent about himself.
And Semyón says to himself, "Such things
as this do not happen every day." And he says
to the man, "Well, come to my house, though
you will find it very narrow quarters."
As Semyón approached the yard, the stranger
did not lag behind, but walked abreast of him.
The wind had arisen, and searched under Sem-
yón's shirt, and as the effect of the wine had
now passed away, he began to be chilled to the
bone. He walked along, and began to snuffle,
and he muffled his wife's jacket closer around
WHAT MEN LIVE BY
29
him, and he thinks: "That's the way you get
a shuba! You go after a shuba, and you come
home without your kaftan! yes, and you bring
with you a naked man-besides, Matrióna won't
take kindly to it!"
And as soon as the thought of Matrióna oc-
curred to him, he began to feel downhearted.
But as soon as his eyes fell on the stranger,
he remembered what a look he had given him
behind the chapel, and his heart danced with
joy.
III.
Semyon's wife finished her work early. She
had chopped wood, brought water, fed the chil-
dren, taken her own supper, and was now delib-
erating when it would be best to mix some
bread, "to-day or to-morrow?"
A large crust was still left. She thinks: "If
Semyon gets something to eat in town, he won't
care for much supper, and the bread will last
till to-morrow."
Matrióna contemplated the crust for some
time, and said to herself: "I am not going to
mix any bread. There's just enough flour to
30
WHAT MEN LIVE BY.
make one more loaf. We shall get along till
Friday."
Matrióna put away the bread, and sat down
at the table to sew a patch on her husband's
shirt.
She sews, and thinks how her husband will be
buying pelts for the shuba.
Perhaps not
"I hope the fur-dealer will not cheat him.
For he is as simple as he can be. He, himself,
would not cheat anybody, but a baby could lead
him by the nose. Eight rubles is no small sum.
You can get a fine shuba with it.
one tanned, but still a good one. How we suf-
fered last winter without any shuba!-could not
go to the river nor anywhere! And whenever
he went out-doors, he put on all the clothes,
and I hadn't anything to wear. He is late in
getting home. He ought to be here by this
time. I hope my sweetheart has not got
drunk."
Just as these thoughts were passing through
her mind the doorsteps creaked; some one was
at the door. Matrióna stuck in the needle,
went to the entry. There she sees that two
men had come in,-Semyón, and with him a
WHAT MEN LIVE BY.
31
strange peasant, without a cap and in felt
boots.
Matrióna perceived immediately that her hus-
band's breath smelt of wine. "Now," she thinks,
"he has gone and got drunk."
And when she saw that he had not his kaftan
on, and wore only her jacket, and had nothing
in his hands, and said nothing, but only sim-
pered, Matrióna's heart failed within her.
"He has drunk up the money, he has been
on a spree with this miserable beggar; and,
worse than all, he has gone and brought him
home!"
Matrióna let them pass by her into the cot-
tage; then she herself went in: she saw that
the stranger was young, and that he had on
their kaftan. There was no shirt to be seen
under the kaftan; and he wore no cap.
As soon as he went in, he paused, and did not
move and did not raise his eyes.
And Matrióna thinks: "He is not a good
man; his conscience troubles him."
Matrióna scowled, went to the oven, and
watched to see what they would do.
Semyon took off his cap and sat down on the
32
WHAT MEN LIVE BY.
bench good-naturedly. "Well," says he, "Ma-
trióna, can't you get us something to eat?"
Matrióna muttered something under her
breath.
She did not offer to move, but as she stood by
the oven she looked from one to the other and
kept shaking her head.
Semyón saw that his wife was out of sorts
and would not do anything, but he pretended
not to notice it and took the stranger by the
arm.
"Sit down, brother," says he; "we'll have
some supper."
The stranger sat down on the bench.
"Well," says Semyón, "haven't you cooked
anything?"
Matrióna's anger blazed out.
"I cooked,"
says she, "but not for you. You are a fine
man! I see you have been drinking! You
went to get a shuba, and you have come home
without your kaftan. And, then, you have
brought home this naked vagabond with you.
I haven't any supper for such drunkards as
you are!"
"That'll do, Matrióna, what is the use of
WHAT MEN LIVE BY.
33
letting your tongue run on so? If you had
only asked first: What kind of a man. . .'
199
"You just tell me what you have done with
the money!"
Semyón went to his kaftan, took out the bills,
spread them out on the table.
"Here's the money, but Trífonof did not pay
me; he promised it to-morrow."
Matrióna grew still more angry.
"You didn't buy the new shuba, and you
have given away your only kaftan to this naked
vagabond whom you have brought home!"
She snatched the money from the table, and
went off to hide it away, saying:-
"I haven't any supper. I can't feed all your
drunken beggars!"
(6
Hey there! Matrióna, just hold your tongue!
First you listen to what I have to say...
"Much sense should I hear from a drunken
fool! Good reason I had for not wanting to
marry such a drunkard as you are. Mother
gave me linen, and you have wasted it in
drink; you went to get a shuba, and you
spent it for drink."
Semyon was going to assure his wife that he
""
3
34
WHAT MEN LIVE BY.
had spent only twenty kopeks for drink; he
was going to tell her where he had found the
man, but Matrióna would not give him a chance
to speak a word; it was perfectly marvellous,
but she managed to speak two words at once!
Things that had taken place ten years before —
she called them all up.
Matrióna scolded and scolded; then she
sprang at Semyón and seized him by the sleeve.
"Give me back my jacket! It's the only
one I have, and you took it from me and put
it on yourself. Give it here, you miserable
dog! bestir yourself, you villain !”
Semyon began to strip off the jacket. As
he was pulling his arms out of the sleeves,
his wife gave it a twitch and split the jacket
up the seams. Matrióna snatched the garment
away, threw it over her head, and started for
the door. She intended to go out, but she
paused, and her heart was pulled in two
directions, she wanted to vent her spite, and
she wanted to find what kind of a man the
stranger was.
WILAT MEN LIVE BY.
35
IV.
66
Matrióna paused, and said: -
"If he were a good man, then he would not
have been naked; why, even now, he hasn't
any shirt on; if he had been engaged in de-
cent business, you would have told where you
discovered such an elegant fellow!"
I was
Well, I was going to tell you.
walking along, and there behind the chapel,
this man was sitting, stark naked, and half
frozen to death. It is not summer, mind you,
for a naked man! God brought me to him,
else he would have perished. Now what could
I do? Such things don't happen every day.
I took and dressed him, and brought him
home with me. Calm your anger. It's a sin,
Matrióna; we must all die."
Matrióna was about to make a surly reply,
but her eyes fell on the stranger, and she held
her peace.
The stranger was sitting motionless on the
edge of the bench, just as he had sat down.
His hands were folded on his knees, his head
was bent on his breast, his eyes were shut, and
36
WHAT MEN LIVE BY
he kept frowning, as though something stifled
him.
Matrióna made no reply.
Semyón went on to say, "Matrióna, can it
be that God is not in you?"
Matrióna heard his words, and glanced again
at the stranger, and suddenly her anger van-
ished. She turned from the door, went to the
corner where the oven was, and brought the
supper.
She set a bowl on the table, poured out the
kvas,* and put on the last of the crust. She
gave them the knife and the spoons.
Have some food," she said.
Semyon touched the stranger. "Draw up,
young man," says he.
Semyón cut the bread, crumbled it into the
bowl, and they began to eat their supper.
And Matrióna sat at the end of the table,
leaned on her hand, and gazed at the stranger.
And Matrióna began to feel sorry for him, and
she conceived affection for him.
And suddenly the stranger brightened up,
* Fermented drink made of rye meal or soaked bread
crumbs.
WHAT MEN LIVE BY.
37
ceased to frown, lifted his eyes to Matrióna
and smiled.
After they had finished their supper, the
woman cleared off the things, and began to
question the stranger:
"Where are you from?"
"I do not belong hereabouts."
"How did you happen to get into this
road?"
"I cannot tell you."
"Who maltreated you?"
M
"God punished me."
"And you were lying there stripped?"
"Yes; there I was lying all naked, freezing
to death, when Semyón saw me, had compas-
sion on me, took off his kaftan, put it on me,
and bade me come home with him. And here
you have fed me, given me something to eat
and to drink, and have taken pity on me.
May the Lord requite you!"
Matrióna got up, took from the window
Semyon's old shirt which she had been patch-
ing, and gave it to the stranger; then she
found a pair of drawers and gave them also
to him.
38
WHAT MEN LIVE BY.
"There now," says she, "I see that you have
no shirt. Put these things on, and then lie
down wherever you please, in the loft or on
the oven."
The stranger took off the kaftan, put on the
shirt, and went to bed in the loft. Matrióna
put out the light, took the kaftan, and lay
down beside her husband.
Matrióna covered herself up with the skirt
of the kaftan, but she lay without sleeping:
she could not get the thought of the stranger
out of her mind.
When she remembered that he had eaten
her last crust, and that there was no bread
for the morrow, when she remembered that
she had given him the shirt and the drawers,
she felt disturbed; but then came the thought
of how he had smiled at her, and her heart
leaped within her.
Matriona lay long without falling asleep, and
when she heard that Semyón was also awake,
she pulled up the kaftan, and said:
Semyón!"
"Ha?"
"You ate up the last of the bread, and I
66
WHAT MEN LIVE BY.
39
did not mix any more. I don't know how
we shall get along to-morrow. Perhaps I
might borrow some of neighbor Malánya.”
“We shall get along; we shall have enough.”
The wife lay without speaking. Then she
said:
"Well, he seems like a good man; but why
doesn't he tell us about himself?"
"It must be because he can't."
"Sióm!"*
"Ha?"
"We are always giving; why doesn't some
one give to us?”
Semyón did not know what reply to make.
Saying, "You have talked enough!" he turned
over and went to sleep.
V.
In the morning Semyón woke up.
His children were still asleep; his wife had
gone to a neighbor's to get some bread. The
stranger of the evening before, dressed in the
old shirt and drawers, was sitting alone on the
bench, looking up. And his face was brighter
* Diminutive of Semyon, or Simon.
40
WHAT MEN LIVE BY.
than it had been the evening before.
Semyon said:-
(6
And
'Well, my dear, the belly asks for bread,
and the naked body for clothes. You must
earn your own living. What do you know
how to do?"
"There is nothing that I know how to do."
Semyón was amazed, and he said:
"If one has only the mind to, men can learn
anything."
"Men work, and I will work."
"What is your name?"
"Mikháïla."
"Well, Mikháïla, if you aren't willing to tell
about yourself, that is your affair; but you
must earn your own living. If you will work
as I shall show you, I will keep you."
"The Lord requite you! I am willing to
learn; only show me what to do."
Semyon took a thread, drew it through his fin-
gers, and showed him how to make a waxed end.
"It does not take much skill — look . . .”
Mikhaïla looked, also twisted the thread be-
tween his fingers: he instantly imitated him,
and finished the point.
WHAT MEN LIVE BY
41
Semyón showed him how to make the welt.
This also Mikhaïla immediately understood.
The shoemaker likewise showed him how to
twist the bristle into the thread, and how to use
the awl; and these things also Mikháïla imme-
ately learned to do.
Whatever part of the work Semyón showed
him he imitated him in, and in two days he was
able to work as though he had been all his life
a cobbler. He worked without relaxation, he
ate little, and when his work was done he would
sit silent, looking up. He did not go on the
street, he spoke no more than was absolutely
necessary, he never jested, he never laughed.
The only time that he was seen to smile was
on the first evening when the woman got him
his supper.
VI.
Day after day, week after week rolled by for
a whole year.
Mikháïla lived on in the same way, working
for Semyón. And the fame of Semyón's appren-
tice went abroad; no one, it was said, could
make such neat, strong boots as Semyon's ap-
42
WHAT MEN LIVE BY.
prentice Mikháïla. And from all around people
came to Semyón to have boots made, and Sem-
yón began to lay up money.
One winter's day, as Semyón and Mikháïla
were sitting at their work, a sleigh drawn by a
troika drove up to the cottage, with a jingling
of bells.
They looked out of the window: the sleigh
stopped in front of the cottage; a footman
jumped down from the box and opened the
door. A bárin* in a fur coat got out of the
sleigh, walked up to Semyón's cottage, and
mounted the steps. Matrióna hurried to throw
the door wide open.
The bárin bent his head and entered the
cottage; when he drew himself up to his full
height, his head almost touched the ceiling; he
seemed to take up nearly all the room.
Semyón rose and bowed; he was surprised to
see the bárin. He had never before seen such
a man.
Semyón himself was thin, the stranger was
spare, and Matrióna was like a dry twig; but
this man seemed to be from a different world.
* The ordinary title of any landowner or noble.
WHAT MEN LIVE BY.
43
His face was ruddy and full, his neck was like
a bull's; it seemed as though he were made out
of cast iron.
The bárin got his breath, took off his shuba,
sat down on the bench, and said: -
"Which is the master-shoemaker?"
Semyón stepped out. Says he, “I, your
Honor."
The bárin shouted to his footman: "Hey,
Fedka,* bring me the leather."
The young fellow ran out and brought back
a parcel. The bárin took the parcel and laid
it on the table.
"Open it," said he. The footman opened it.
The bárin touched the leather with his finger,
and said to Semyón: -
"Now listen, shoemaker. Do you see this
leather?"
"I see it, your Honor," says he.
66
Well, do you appreciate what kind of leather
it is?"
Semyon felt of the leather, and said, "Fine
leather."
"Indeed it's fine! Fool that you are! you
* Diminutive of Feódor, Theodore.
44
WHAT MEN LIVE BY.
never in your life saw such before! German
leather. It cost twenty rubles."
Semyon was startled. He said :-
Where, indeed, could we have seen any-
thing like it?"
CC
"Well, that's all right.
Can you make from
this leather a pair of boots that will fit me?"
"I can, your Honor."
The bárin shouted at him:
A
"Can' is a good word. Now just realize
whom you are making those boots for, and out of
what kind of leather. You must make a pair of
boots, so that when the year is gone they won't
have got out of shape, or ripped. If you can,
then take the job and cut the leather; but if
you can't, then don't take it and don't cut the
leather. I will tell you beforehand, if the
boots rip or wear out of shape before the year
is out, I will have you locked up; but if they
don't rip or get out of shape before the end of
the year, then I will give you ten rubles for
your work.”
Semyon was frightened, and was at a loss
what to say.
He glanced at Mikháïla. He nudged him
WHAT MEN LIVE BY.
45
with his elbow, and whispered, “Had I better
take it?"
Mikhaïla nodded his head, meaning, "You
had better take the job."
Semyón took Mikháïla's advice: he agreed
to make a pair of boots that would not rip or
wear out of shape before the year was over.
The bárin shouted to his footman, ordered
him to take the boot from his left foot, then
he stretched out his leg.
"Take the measure!"
Semyón cut off a piece of paper seventeen
inches long, smoothed it out, knelt down,
wiped his hands nicely on his apron so as not
to soil the bárin's stockings, and began to take
the measure.
Semyón took the measure of the sole, he took
the measure of the instep; then he started to
measure the calf of the leg, but the paper was
not long enough. The leg at the calf was as
thick as a beam.
"Look out; don't make it too tight around
the calf!"
Semyon was going to cut another piece of
* Ten vershóks, equivalent to 17.50 inches.
46
WHAT MEN LIVE BY.
paper. The bárin sat there, rubbing his toes
together in his stockings, and looking at the
inmates of the cottage: he caught sight of
Mikháïla.
"Who is that yonder?" he demanded; "does
he belong to you?"
"He is my workman. He will make the
boots."
"Look here," says the bárin to Mikhaila,
"remember that they are to be made so as to
last a whole year."
Semyón also looked at Mikhaïla; he saw
that Mikhaïla was paying no attention, but was
standing in the corner, as though he saw some
one there behind the bárin. Mikhaïla gazed
and gazed, and suddenly smiled, and his whole
face lighted up.
"What a fool you are, showing your teeth
that way! You had better see to it that the
boots are ready in time."
And Mikhaïla replied, "They will be ready
as soon as they are needed."
Very well."
66
The bárin drew on his boot, buttoned up
his shuba, and went to the door. But he for-
WHAT MEN LIVE BY.
47
got to stoop, and so struck his head against
the lintel.
The bárin stormed and rubbed his head;
then he climbed into his sleigh and drove off.
After the bárin was gone Semyón said: -
"Well, he's as solid as a rock! You could
not kill him with a mallet. His head almost
broke the door-post, but it did not seem to
hurt him much."
And Matrióna said: "How can they help get-
ting fat, living as they do? Even death does
not carry off such a nail as he is."
And Semyon says to Mikháïla: "Now, you
see, we have taken this work, and we must
do it as well as we can.
The leather is costly,
and the bárin gruff. We must not make any
blunder. Now, your eye has become quicker,
and your hand is more skilful than mine;
there's the measure. Cut out the leather, and
I will be finishing up those vamps."
Mikhaïla did not fail to do as he was told;
he took the bárin's leather, stretched it out on
the table, doubled it over, took the knife, and
began to cut.
Matrióna came and watched Mikháïla as he
48
WHAT MEN LIVE BY.
cut, and she was amazed to see what he was
doing. For she was used to cobbler's work,
and she looks and sees that Mikháïla is not cut-
ting the leather for boots, but in rounded
fashion.
Matrióna wanted to speak, but she thought
in her own mind: “Of course I can't be ex-
pected to understand how to make boots for
gentlemen; Mikháïla must understand it better
than I do; I will not interfere."
After he had cut out the work, he took his
waxed ends and began to sew, not as one does.
in making boots, with double threads, but with
one thread, just as slippers are made.
Matrióna wondered at this also, but still she
did not like to interfere. And Mikháïla kept
on steadily with his work.
It came time for the nooning; Semyón got
up, looked, and saw that Mikháïla had been
making slippers out of the bárin's leather.
Semyón groaned.
"How is this?" he asks himself. "Mikhaïla
has lived with me a whole year, and never
made a mistake, and now he has made such a
blunder! The bárin ordered thick-soled boots,
WHAT MEN LIVE BY.
49
and he has been making slippers without soles!
He has ruined the leather. How can I make
it right with the bárin? You can't find such
leather."
And he said to Mikháïla : —
"What is this you have been doing? . .
My dear fellow, you have ruined me! You
know the bárin ordered boots, and what have
you made?"
He was right in the midst of his talk with
Mikhaïla when a knock came at the rapper;
some one was at the door. They looked out of
the window; some one had come on horseback,
and was fastening the horse. They opened the
door. The same bárin's footman came walk-
ing in.
"Good day."
"Good day to you; what is it?"
(6
My mistress sent me in regard to a pair of
boots."
"What about the boots?"
"It is this. My bárin does not need the
boots; he isn't alive any more."
"What is that you say
"He did not live to get home from your
?
""
4
50
WHAT MEN LIVE BY,
house; he died in the sleigh. When the sleigh
reached home, we went to help him out, but
there he had fallen over like a bag, and there
he lay stone-dead, and it took all our strength
to lift him out of the sleigh. And his lady has
sent me, saying: Tell the shoemaker of whom
your bárin just ordered boots from leather
which he left with him tell him that the
Judg
boots are not needed, and that he is to make.
a pair of slippers for the corpse out of that
leather just as quick as possible.' And I was
to wait till they were made, and take them
home with me. And so I have come."
Mikhaïla took the rest of the leather from
the table and rolled it up; he also took the
slippers, which were all done, slapped them
together, wiped them with his apron, and gave
them to the young man. The young man took
them.
"Good by, friends! Good luck to you!"
VII.
Still another year, and then two more passed
by, and Mikhaila had now been living five
years with Semyón. He lived in just the
WHAT MEN LIVE BY.
51
same way as before. He never went any-
where, he kept his own counsels, and in all
that time he smiled only twice, once when
Matrióna gave him something to eat; and the
other time when he smiled on the bárin.
G
Semyón was more than contented with his
apprentice, and he no longer asked him where
he came from; his only fear was lest he should
leave him.
One time they were all at home. The
mother was putting the iron kettles on the
oven, and the children were playing on the
benches and looking out of the window. Sem-
yón was pegging away at one window, and Mi-
kháïla at the other was putting lifts on a heel.
One of the boys ran along the bench toward
Mikháïla, leaned over his shoulder, and looked
out of the window.
"Uncle Mikhaïla, just look! a merchant's
wife is coming to our house with some little
girls. And one of the little girls is a cripple."
The words were scarcely out of the boy's
mouth before Mikhaïla threw down his work,
leaned over toward the window, and looked
out of doors. And Semyon was surprised.
52
WHAT MEN LIVE BY.
Never before had Mikháïla cared to look out,
but now his face seemed fastened to the win-
dow; he was looking at something very in-
tently.
Semyón also looked out of the window: he
sees a woman coming straight through his yard;
she is neatly dressed; she has two little girls
by the hand; they wear shubkas,* and ker-
chiefs over their heads. The little girls looked
so much alike that it was hard to tell them
apart, except that one of the little girls was
lame in her foot: she limped as she walked.
The woman came into the entry, felt about
in the dark, lifted the latch, and opened the
door. She let the two little girls go before her
into the cottage, and then she followed.
"How do you do, friends?"
"Welcome! What can we do for you?"
The woman sat down by the table; the two
little girls clung to her knee: they were bash-
ful.
"These little girls need to have some goat-
skin shoes made for the spring."
Well, it can be done. We don't generally
*Little fur garments.
66
WHAT MEN LIVE BY.
53
make such small ones; but it's perfectly easy,
either with welts or lined with linen. This
here is Mikháïla; he's my workman."
Semyón glanced at Mikháïla, and sees that
he has thrown down his work, and is sitting
with his eyes fastened on the little girls.
And Semyon was amazed at Mikháïla. To
be sure the little girls were pretty: they had
dark eyes, they were plump and rosy, and they
wore handsome shubkas and kerchiefs; but
still Semyón cannot understand why he gazes
so intently at them, as though they were
friends of his.
Semyón was amazed, and got up, and began to
talk with the woman, and to make his bargain.
After he had made his bargain, he began to take
the measures. The woman lifted on her lap the
little cripple, and said: "Take two measures
from this one; make one little shoe from the
twisted foot, and three from the well one.
Their feet are alike; they are twins."
Semyon took his tape, and said in reference
to the little cripple: "How did this happen to
her? She is such a pretty little girl. Was
she born so?"
54
WHAT MEN LIVE BY.
"No; her mother crushed it."
Matrióna joined the conversation; she was
anxious to learn who the woman and children
were, and so she said:
"Then you aren't their mother?"
"No; I am not their mother; I am no rela-
tion to them, good wife, and they are no rela-
tion to me at all: I adopted them."
"If they are not your children, you take good
care of them.”
"Why shouldn't I take good care of them?
I nursed them both at my own breast. I had a
baby of my own, but God took him. I did not
take such good care of him as I do of these."
"Whose children are they?"
VIII.
The woman became confidential, and began
to tell them about it.
"Six years ago," said she, "these little ones.
were left orphans in one week: the father was
buried on Tuesday, and the mother died on
Friday. Three days these little ones remained
without their father, and then their mother
followed him. At that time I was living with
WHAT MEN LIVE BY.
55
my husband in the country: we were neigh-
bors; we lived on adjoining farms. Their
father was a peasant, and worked in the forest
at wood-cutting. And they were felling a tree,
and it caught him across the body. It hurt
him all inside. As soon as they got him out,
he gave his soul to God, and that same week
his wife gave birth to twins these are the
little girls here. There they were, poor and
alone, no one to take care of them, either
grandmother or sister.
M
"She must have died soon after the children
were born. For when I went in the morning
to look after my neighbor, as soon as I entered
the cottage, I found the poor thing dead and
cold. And when she died she must have rolled.
over on this little girl . . . That's the way she
crushed it, and spoiled this foot.
"The people got together, they washed and
laid out the body, they had a coffin made, and
buried her. The people were always kind.
But the two little ones were left alone. What
was to be done with them? Now I was the
only one of the women who had a baby. For
eight weeks I had been nursing my first-born,
56
WHAT MEN LIVE BY.
a boy. So I took them for the time being.
The peasants got together; they planned and
planned what to do with them, and they said
to me:
“You, Márya, just keep the little girls for a
while, and give us a chance to decide.""
"So I nursed the well one, but did not think
it worth while to nurse the deformed one. I
did not expect that she was going to live.
And, then, I thought to myself, why should
the little angel's soul pass away? and I felt
sorry for it.
I tried to nurse her, and so I
had my own and these two besides; yes, I had
three children at the breast. But I was young
and strong, and I had good food! And God
gave me so much milk in my breasts that I had
enough and to spare. I used to nurse two at
once and let the third one wait. When one was
through, I would take up the third. And so
God let me nurse all three; but when my boy
was in his third year, I lost him. And God
never gave me any more children. But we
began to make money. And now we are liy-
ing with the merchant at the mill. We get
good wages and live well. But no children.
WHAT MEN LIVE BY.
57
And how lonely it would be, if it were not for
these two little girls! How could I help loving
them? They are to me like the wax in the
candle!"
And the woman pressed the little lame girl
to her with one arm, and with the other hand
she tried to wipe the tears from her cheeks.
And Matrióna sighed, and said: "The old
saying isn't far wrong, 'Men can live without
father and mother, but without God one can-
not live.'
> }}
IX.
A
While they were thus talking together sud-
denly a flash of lightning seemed to irradiate
from that corner of the cottage where Mi-
kháïla was sitting. All look at him; and be-
hold! Mikhaïla is sitting there with his hands
folded in his lap, and looking up and smiling.
The woman went away with the children,
and Mikháïla arose from the bench and laid
down his work; he took off his apron, made
a low bow to the shoemaker and his wife, and
said:
58
WHAT MEN LIVE BY.
"Farewell, friends; God has forgiven me. Do
you also forgive me?"
And Semyon and Matrióna perceived that it
was from Mikhaïla that the light had flashed.
And Semyón arose, bowed low before Mikháïla,
and said to him:
"I see, Mikháïla, that you are not a mere
man, and I have no right to detain you nor to
ask questions of you. But tell me one thing:
when I had found you and brought you home,
you were sad; but when my wife gave you
something to eat, you smiled upon her, and
after that you became more cheerful. And
then when the bárin ordered the boots, why
did you smile a second time, and after that
become still more cheerful; and now when this
woman brought these two little girls, why did
you sinile for the third time and become radiant?
Tell me, Mikhaïla, why was it that such a light
streamed from you, and why you smiled three
times?"
And Mikháïla said:
"The light blazed from me because I had
been punished, but now God has forgiven me.
And I smiled the three times because it was
WHAT MEN LIVE BY.
59
required of me to learn three of God's truths,
and I have now learned the three truths of
God. One truth I learned when your wife
had pity on me, and so I smiled; the second
truth I learned when the rich man ordered the
boots, and I smiled for the second time; and
now that I have seen the little girls, I have
learned the third and last truth, and I smiled
for the third time."
And Semyon said:-
“Tell me, Mikhaïla, why God punished you,
and what were the truths of God, that I, too,
may know them."
:
And Mikhaïla said: -
"God punished me because I disobeyed Him.
I was an angel in heaven, and I was disobedient
to God. I was an angel in heaven, and the
Lord sent me to require a woman's soul. I
flew down to earth; I see the woman lying
alone she is sick-she has just borne twins,
two little girls. The little ones are sprawling
about near their mother, but their mother is
unable to lift them to her breast. The mother
saw me; she perceived that God had sent me
after her soul; she burst into tears, and said:
60
WHAT MEN LIVE BY.
"Angel of God, I have just buried my hus-
band; a tree fell on him in the forest and killed
him. I have no sister, nor aunt, nor mother to
take care of my little ones; do not carry off
my soul *; let me bring up my children myself,
and nurse them and put them on their feet. It
is impossible for children to live without father
or mother.'
"And I heeded what the mother said; I put
one child to her breast, and laid the other in
its mother's arms, and I returned to the Lord
in heaven. I flew back to the Lord, and I
said:
P
"I cannot take the mother's soul. The father
has been killed by a tree, the mother has given
birth to twins, and begs me not to take her
soul; she says:-
""Let me bring up my little ones; let me
nurse them and put them on their feet. It is
impossible for children to live without father
and mother." I did not take the mother's
soul.'
"And the Lord said:
"Go and take the mother's soul, and thou
* Dushenka, little soul, in the original.
WHAT MEN LIVE BY
61
shalt learn three lessons: Thou shalt learn
what is in men, and what is not given unto men,
and what men live by. When thou shalt have
learned these three lessons, then return to
heaven.'
"And I flew down to earth and took the
mother's soul. The little ones fell from her
bosom. The dead body rolled over on the bed,
fell upon one of the little girls and crushed her
foot. I rose above the village and was going
to give the soul to God, when a wind seized me,
my wings ceased to move and fell off, and the
soul arose alone to God, and I fell back to
earth."
X.
And Semyon and Matrióna now knew whom
they had clothed and fed, and who it was that
had been living with them, and they burst into
tears of dismay and joy; and the angel said:-
"I was there in the field naked, and alone.
Hitherto I had never known what human pov-
erty was; I had known neither cold nor hunger,
and now I was a man. I was famished, I was
freezing, and I knew not what to do. And I
62
WHAT MEN LIVE BY.
saw across the field a chapel made for God's
service. I went to God's chapel, thinking to
get shelter in it. But the chapel was locked,
and I could not enter. And I crouched down
behind the chapel, so as to get shelter from the
wind. Evening came; I was hungry and chill,
and ached all over. Suddenly I hear a man.
walking along the road, with a pair of boots in
his hand, and talking to himself. I now saw
for the first time since I had become a man the
face of a human being, and this man's face
was deathly, and it filled me with dismay, and
I tried to hide from him. And I heard this
man asking himself how he should protect
himself from cold during the winter, and how
get food for his wife and children. And I
thought: --
"I am perishing with cold and hunger, and
here is a man whose sole thought is to get a
shuba for himself and his wife and to furnish
bread for their sustenance. It is impossible for
him to help me.'
"The man saw me and scowled; he seemed
even more terrible than before; then he passed
on. And I was in despair. Suddenly I heard
WHAT MEN LIVE BY.
63
the man coming back. I looked up, and did
not recognize that it was the same man as
before then there was death in his face, but
now it had suddenly become alive, and I saw
that God was in his face. He came to me, put
clothes upon me, and took me home with him.
“When I reached his house, a woman came
out to meet us, and she began to scold. The
woman was even more terrible to me than
the man: a dead soul seemed to proceed forth
from her mouth, and I was suffocated by the
breath of death. She wanted to drive me out
into the cold, and I knew that she would die
if she drove me out. And suddenly her hus-
band reminded her of God. And instantly a
change came over the woman. And when she
had prepared something for me to eat, and
looked kindly upon me, I looked at her, and
there was no longer anything like death about
her; she was now alive, and in her also I rec-
ognized God.
"And I remembered God's first lesson: Thou
shalt learn what is in men.'
"And I perceived that LOVE was in men.
And I was glad because God had begun to
C
64
WHAT MEN LIVE BY.
fulfil His promise to me, and I smiled for the
first time. But I was not yet ready to know
the whole. I could not understand what was
not given to men, and what men live by.
"I began to live in your house, and after I
had lived with you a year the man came to
order the boots which should be strong enough
to last him a year without ripping or wearing
out of shape. And I looked at him, and sud-
denly perceived behind his back my comrade,
the Angel of Death. No one besides myself
saw this angel; but I knew him, and I knew
that before the sun should go down, he would
take the rich man's soul. And I said to my-
self: This man is laying his plans to live
another year, and he knoweth not that ere
evening comes he will be dead."
"And I realized suddenly the second saying
of God: Thou shalt know what is not given unto
men.'
"And now I knew what was in men. And
now I knew also what was not given unto men.
It is not given unto men to know what is
needed for their bodies. And I smiled for
the second time. I was glad because I saw
WHAT MEN LIVE BY
65
my comrade, the angel, and because God had
revealed unto me the second truth.
"But I could not yet understand all. I
could not understand what men live by, and
so I lived on, and waited until God should
reveal to me the third truth also.
And now
in the sixth year the little twin girls have
come with the woman, and I recognized the
little ones, and I remembered how they had
been left. And after I had recognized them,
I thought:
"The mother besought me in behalf of her
children, because she thought that it would be
impossible for children to live without father
and mother, but a stranger nursed them and
brought them up.'
"And when the woman caressed the chil-
dren that were not her own, and wept over
them, then I saw in her THE LIVING GOD,
and knew what people live by. And I knew
that God had revealed to me the last truth,
and had pardoned me, and I smiled for the
last time."
5
10
66
WHAT MEN LIVE BY.
XI.
And the angel's body became manifest, and
he was clad with light so bright that the eyes
could not endure to look upon him, and he
spoke in clearer accents, as though the voice
proceeded not from him, but came from heaven.
And the angel said:-
"I have learned that every man lives not
through care of himself, but by love.
C
"It was not given to the mother to know
what her children needed to keep them alive.
It was not given the rich man to know what
he himself needed, and it is not given to any
man to know whether he will need boots for
daily living, or slippers for his burial.
"When I became a man, I was kept alive, not
by what thought I took for myself, but because
a stranger and his wife had love in their hearts,
and pitied and loved me. The orphans were
kept alive, not because other people deliberated
about what was to be done with them, but be-
cause a strange woman had love for them in
her heart, and pitied them and loved them.
And all men are kept alive, not by their own
WHAT MEN LIVE BY
67
forethought, but because there is LOVE IN
MEN.
"I knew before that God gave life to men,
and desired them to live; but now I know
something above and beyond that.
“I have learned that God does not wish men
to live each for himself, and therefore He has
not revealed to them what they each need for
themselves, but He wishes them to live in
union, and therefore He has revealed to them
what is necessary for each and for all together.
"I have now learned that it is only in ap-
pearance that they are kept alive through care
for themselves, but that in reality they are
kept alive through love. He who dwelleth in
love dwelleth in God, and God in him, for God
is love."
And the angel sang a hymn of praise to God,
and the cottage shook with the sound of his
voice.
And the ceiling parted, and a column of fire
reached from earth to heaven. And Semyón
and his wife and children fell prostrate on the
ground. And pinions appeared upon the angel's
shoulders, and he soared away to heaven.
68
WHAT MEN LIVE BY.
And when Semyón opened his eyes, the cot-
tage was the same as it had ever been, and
there was no one in it save himself and his
family.
THE REPENTANT SINNER.
And he said, Jesus, remember me when thou comest into
thy kingdom. And he said unto him, Verily, I say unto
thee, To-day shalt thou be with me in Paradise. (St. Luke
XXI. 42, 43.)
ONCE
NCE there lived in the world a man of
three score years and ten, and he had
spent all his life in sin.
And this man fell sick, and was not re-
pentant.
And when death came, at the last hour, he
wept, and cried: "Lord, forgive me as Thou
didst the thief on the cross."
These words had no sooner left his lips than
he passed away.
And the soul of the sinner was filled with
love to God, and had faith in his mercy, and
it went to the gates of paradise.
And the sinner began to knock and demand
admittance into the kingdom of heaven.
And he heard a voice from the other side of
the gates: "What manner of man knocketh at
70
THE REPENTANT SINNER.
✔
the gates of paradise? And what manner of
deeds hath this man done in his life?"
And the voice of the Accuser replied, and re-
counted all the sinful deeds of this man. But
of good deeds he named not one.
And the voice from the other side of the gate
made answer :
"Sinners cannot enter into the
kingdom of heaven. Get thee hence."
And the man said, "Lord, thy voice I hear,
but I see no one, and I know not thy name!"
And the voice made answer, "I am Peter
the Apostle."
And the sinner said: "Have mercy upon me,
Apostle Peter; remember the weakness of man
and God's mercy. Wert thou not Christ's dis-
ciple? Didst thou not with thy own ears hear
his teaching, and didst thou not have the ex-
ample of his life? But remember, when he was
sorrowful and sore troubled, and thrice he
prayed thee not to sleep but watch with him,
and thou didst fall asleep because thy eyes
were heavy, and thrice he found thee sleeping.
It was the same with me.
"And remember, also, how thou didst prom-
ise Christ himself that thou wouldst not forsake
THE REPENTANT SINNER.
71
him until death, and how thrice thou didst deny
him when he was taken to the house of Caia-
phas. It was the same with me.
"And remember, also, how the cock crew,
and thou didst go out and didst weep bitterly.
It was the same with me. It is impossible for
thee not to have mercy upon me.
And the voice within the gates of paradise
was hushed.
""
And after waiting a little space, once more
the sinner began to knock and demand admit-
tance into the kingdom of heaven.
And a second voice was heard on the other
side of the gates, and it said, "Who is this
man? and how did he live his life?"
And the voice of the Accuser made answer,
and once more recounted all the sinner's evil
deeds, and of good deeds he named not one.
And the voice from the other side of the
gates replied, "Get thee hence; such sinners
cannot live with us in paradise."
And the sinner cried, "Lord, I hear thy
voice, but I see not thy face, and I know not
thy name!"
And the voice said to him, "I am David the
King and Prophet."
72
THE REPENTANT SINNER.
And still the sinner did not despair, nor did
he depart from the gates of paradise; and he
began to speak:
"Have mercy upon me, King David, and re-
member the weakness of man and God's mercy.
God loved thee and magnified thee before men.
Thou didst possess all things, a kingdom and
glory and wealth, and wives and children; but
when from thy housetop thou didst chance to
see the wife of another man, sin entered into
thy heart, and thou didst take Uriah's wife, and
him thou didst kill by the sword of the Ammo-
nites. Thou who wert rich didst take the poor
man's only lamb, and didst kill the man him-
self. I have done the same thing.
"And then remember how thou didst repent,
and say, I acknowledged my sin unto thee, and
my iniquities have I not hid. So also I. It
cannot be that thou wilt not let me enter."
And the voice from the other side of the
gates was hushed.
And after waiting a little space, once more
the sinner began to knock and to demand ad-
mittance into the kingdom of heaven.
And a third voice was heard from the other
THE REPENTANT SINNER.
73
side of the gates, saying, "Who is this man?
and how did he live on earth?"
And the Accuser made answer, and for the
third time recounted the man's evil deeds, and
made mention of nought that was good.
And the voice replied from the other side of
the gates: "Get thee gone! Sinners cannot
enter the kingdom of heaven."
And the sinner cried: "Thy voice I hear, but
thy face I cannot see, and I know not thy
name."
And the voice replied: "I am John the The-
ologian, the beloved disciple of Christ."
And the sinner rejoiced, and said: "Now it
will be impossible to send me away; Peter and
David might permit me to enter because they
know man's infirmity and God's mercy; but
thou wilt let me come in because thou hast
much LOVE. Was it not thou, John the Theo-
logian, who didst write in thy book that GOD
IS LOVE, and that he who loves not knows not
God? And didst thou not of old say one
word, Little children, love one another? How,
then, canst thou hate me now and turn me
away? Either deny that which thou thyself
74
THE REPENTANT SINNER.
didst say, or show me thy love and let me into
the kingdom of heaven."
And the gates of paradise were opened, and
John received the repentant sinner, and let him
into the kingdom of heaven.
YERMAK, THE CONQUEROR OF
SIBERIA.
AT the time of the Tsar Iván the Terrible,*
the Strogonofs were rich merchants, and
lived in Perm, on the river Kama.
They had heard that on the river Kama, for
a hundred and forty versts around there was
rich land; the soil had not been ploughed for a
century; the black forest for a century had not
been felled. In the forests were many wild ani-
mals, and along the river were lakes full of fish,
and no one lived in this land except wandering
Tatars.
So the Strogonofs wrote a letter to the Tsar:
"Grant us this land, and we ourselves will
found cities, and we will gather men together
and establish them, and we will not allow the
Tatars to pass through it."
The Tsar consented, and granted them the
land. The Strogonofs sent out agents to col-
* Ioann Vasilyevitch Groznui, 1530–1584.
76 YERMAK, THE CONQUEROR OF SIBERIA.
lect people. And there came to them many
people who were out of work. The Strogonofs
assigned lands and forest to all who came, gave
cattle to each, and agreed not to tax them dur-
ing their lives, and only required of them that
if it were necessary they should go to fight the
Tatars.
Thus this land was settled with a Russian
population.
Twenty years passed. The Strogonof mer-
chants grew richer and richer, and this terri-
tory of one hundred and forty versts became
too small for them. They wanted still more
land. Now there were lofty mountains a hun-
dred versts distant, the Urals, and they heard
that beyond these Urals was excellent land.
The ruler of this land, which was boundless, was
a Siberian princelet named Kuchum.
In former times Kuchum had given his alle-
giance to the Russian Tsar, but since then he
had revolted, and he was threatening to destroy
the Strogonof colonies.
And again the Strogonofs wrote to the
Tsar:
"Thou didst grant us land, and we have
YERMAK, THE CONQUEROR OF SIBERIA. 77
brought it under thy sway; now the thievish
little Tsar* Kuchum has revolted from thee,
and he wants to take this land away and de-
stroy us. Bid us take the territory that lies
beyond the Ural Mountains: we will conquer
Kuchum and bring all his land under thy
sway."
The Tsar consented, and replied: "If you
have the power, get possession of Kuchum's
land. But take not many men away from
Russia."
As soon as the Strogonofs received this mis-
sive from the Tsar they sent their agents to
collect still more people. And they gave them
orders above all to get Cossacks from the Volga
and the Don.
Now at this time there were many Cossacks
wandering along the Volga and the Don. They
formed bands numbering two hundred, three
hundred, or six hundred men, elected their
atamáns or leaders, and sailed up and down
in bateaux, seizing and plundering merchant
boats and wintering in strongholds on the
banks.
* Tsárek.
78 YERMAK, THE CONQUEROR OF SIBERIA.
The Strogonofs' agents came to the Volga
and began to make inquiries, "Who are the
most famous Cossacks here?"
And they were told: "There are many
Cossacks. And they make life unendurable.
There is Mishka the Circassian,* there is
Sarui-Azman; but there is no one uglier than
Yermak Timófeitch, the atamán. He has an
army of a thousand men, and not only the
people and the merchants fear him, but even
the Tsar's army dare not engage with him."
And the agents went to the atamán Yermak
and tried to persuade him to take service
with the Strogonofs, and Yermak received the
agents, listened to their words, and agreed to
come with his army about the time of the
Assumption.
At the time of the Feast of the Assumption
six hundred Cossacks, with their atamán Yer-
mak, the son of Timófei, came to the Strogo-
nofs. At first they were sent out against the
neighboring Tatars. The Cossacks defeated
them. Then, when there was nothing further
to do, the Cossacks began to wander about
* Cherkáshenin.
YERMAK, THE CONQUEROR OF SIBERIA. 79
Strogonof summoned Yermak,
and pillage.
and said, "I am not going to keep you any
longer, if you act so lawlessly."
And Yermak replied: "I myself am sorry.
But it is not so easy to manage my men: they
are wild fellows. Give us something to do.”
And Strogonof said: "Go beyond the Urals,
and fight with Kuchum and master his land.
Even the Tsar will reward you."
And he read to Yermak the Tsar's missive,
and Yermak was delighted: he called together
his Cossacks, and said: -
You scandalize me before the master here.
You are always after some lawlessness. If
you don't behave, he will dismiss you, and
then where will you go? On the Volga the
Tsar has a great army; they will take you
prisoners, and it will go hard with you on
account of the deeds that you have done. But
if
you find it tiresome here, we must find you
some work to do."
And he showed them the Tsar's missive per-
mitting Strogonof to conquer the land beyond
the Urals. The Cossacks talked it over and
decided to go.
((
80 YERMAK, The conqueror OF SIBERIA.
Yermak returned to Strogonof, and the two
began to consult together how best to make
the expedition.
They decided how many bateaux would be
needed, how much grain, powder, lead, how
many cattle, firearms, how many Tatar pris-
oners for interpreters, how many German gun-
smiths.
Strogonof said to himself: "Though this is
going to cost me dear, still I must give him all
he asks, or otherwise they will settle down
here and ruin me."
So Strogonof agreed, got everything together,
and fitted out Yermak and his Cossacks.
On the tenth of September, Yermak and his
Cossacks embarked on the river Chusóvaya
in thirty-two bateaux, each bateau carrying
a score of men.
For four days they rowed down stream and
entered the Silver River.* This was as far as
they could go by boat.
They made inquiries of the interpreters, and
learned that they would be obliged to go from
that point over the mountains, two hundred
* The Serébrannaya.
YERMAK, THE CONQUEROR OF SIBERIA.
81
versts by land, and then they would come to
other rivers.
The Cossacks disembarked here; they built
a city and unloaded all their belongings, and
they threw aside their bateaux, and constructed
carts, loaded them up, and set out on their
journey across the mountains. The whole
region was forest, and no one lived there.
For ten days they went across the country,
and reached the Zharóvnya River. There
again they halted, and set to work to build
bateaux. After they were built they started
on their voyage down the river. They sailed
down for five days, and reached regions still
more delightful, fields, forests, lakes. And
there was abundance of fish and game; and
the game was not afraid of them.
g
They sailed down one day more, and sailed
into the Tura River.
There on the Tura River they began to fall in
with inhabitants, and saw Tatar towns.
Yermak sent some Cossacks to investigate
one town. Said he, "Find out what kind of a
town it is, and whether it has many defend-
ers."
6
82 YERMAK, THE CONQUEROR OF SIBERIA.
Twenty men went on this expedition; they
threw all the Tatars into a panic, and captured
the whole town, and captured all their cattle.
Some of the Tatars they killed, and some they
took prisoner.
Yermak, through an interpreter, asked the
Tatars what people they were, and under whose
sway they lived.
The Tatars replied that they belonged to
the Kingdom of Siberia, and their Tsar was
Kuchum.
Yermak let the Tatars go, except three of
the most intelligent, whom he retained to act
as guides.
They sailed farther. The farther they sailed,
the bigger grew the river all the time, and the
country grew better and better.
And they constantly encountered more and
more people. But the population was not pow-
erful, and the Cossacks captured all the towns
along the river.
In one town they made a great number of
Tatars prisoners, and one person of authority,
an old Tatar.
They began to ask the Tatar who he was.
YERMAK, THE CONQUEROR OF SIBERIA. 83
And he said: "I am Tauzik, and I am a ser-
vant of my Tsar Kuchum, and I am his head
man in this city."
Yermak
6
went on to ask Tauzik about his
Tsar. Was his city of Sibir far distant? Had
Kuchum a large army? had he great wealth?'
Tauzik answered all his questions.
"Kuchum is the very first Tsar in all the
world. His city of Sibir is the biggest city in
the world. In this city," said he, "there are
as many men and cattle as there are stars in
the sky. The Tsar Kuchum's army is beyond
number; all the other Tsars could not van-
quish him."
And Yermak said:
"We Russians have come here to vanquish
your Tsar Kuchum, and to take his city, and to
bring him under the sway of the Russian Tsar.
And we have a great army. Those who have
come with me are only the vanguard, but those
who follow us in bateaux are beyond number,
and they all have guns. And our guns will
shoot through a tree, and are not like your
bows and arrows.
Just look here!"
And Yermak shot at a tree and split it, and
84
YERMAK, THE CONQUEROR OF SIBERIA.
the Cossacks from all sides began to fire off
their guns.
Tauzik fell on his knees with fright, and
Yermak said to him: "Now do you hasten to
your Tsar Kuchum and tell him what you have
Let him submit to us: but if he does
not submit, then we will bring him to destruc-
tion.
seen.
And he sent Tauzik away.
The Cossacks sailed farther. They entered
into the great river Tobol, and all the time they
were drawing nearer and nearer to the city of
Sibir. They came to the mouth of the little
river Babasan, and behold! on the bank stands
a town, and around the town are many Tatars.
An interpreter is sent to the Tatars to in-
quire who these men are. The interpreter
comes back with the answer: "This army has
been collected by Kuchum. And the general
who commands the army is Kuchum's own
son-in-law, Mametkul. He sent me, and com-
manded me to say to you, 'Go back, or else he
will cut you in pieces.""
Yermak collected his Cossacks, went on shore,
and began to fire at the Tatars. As soon as
YERMAK, THE CONQUEROR OF SIBERIA. 85
the Tatars heard the noise of the firing they
fled. The Cossacks set out in pursuit of them,
and some they killed, and some they captured.
Mametkul himself barely escaped.
The Cossacks sailed farther. They came out
upon a broad, swift river, the Irtuish. They
sailed down this river a whole day; and they
arrived at a handsome town, and there they
stopped.
The Cossacks marched against the town. As
soon as they reached it, the Tatars began to
shoot arrows at them, and they wounded three
Cossacks.
Yermak sent his interpreter to say to the
Tatars, "Give up your city, or else we will cut
you in pieces." The interpreter returned, say-
ing: "Here lives Kuchum's servant, Atik
Murza Kachara. He has a great army, and
he declares that he will not surrender the
town."
Yermak gathered his Cossacks, and said :-
"Now, if we do not take this town, the
Tatars will exult. And they will not let us
pass. And, therefore, the more speedily we in-
spire them with fear, the better it will be for us.
86
YERMAK, THE CONQUEROR OF SIBERIA.
All of you come on! Fling yourselves upon
them all at once!"
And thus they did.
There were many Tatars there, and bad
ones! As the Cossacks rushed forward, the
Tatars began to shoot with their bows. They
overwhelmed the Cossacks with their arrows.
Some of them they killed, and others they
wounded. And the Cossacks were filled with
fury, and rushed against the Tatars, and all
whom they fell upon they killed.
In this town the Cossacks found many treas-
ures, cattle, rugs, many furs, and much mead.
After they had buried the dead and rested, they
took their plunder and went on.
They had not sailed very far when, behold!
on the bank stands something like a city; and
there is an army that seems to stretch as far
as the eye can see; and the whole army is sur-
rounded by a ditch, and the ditch is protected
by a palisade.
The Cossacks come to a pause. They begin
to feel dubious. Yermak calls a counsel: "Well,
what shall be done?"
The Cossacks were disheartened. Some said,
YERMAK, THE CONQUEROR OF SIBERIA. 87
"We must sail by." Others said, "We must
go back."
And they grew desperate, and blamed Yer-
mak, saying: "Why did you bring us hither?
Already they have killed so many of us, and
wounded still more, and here we shall all per-
ish."
And they began to shed tears.
And Yermak said to his sub-atamán, Iván
Koltso, "Well now, Ványa, what do you think
about it?"
And Koltso replied: "What do I think about
it? If we are not killed to-day, then we shall
be to-morrow; and if not to-morrow, then we
shall die ingloriously in our beds. My advice
is, leap on shore and make straight for the Tatars
- and God will decide."
And Yermak exclaimed: "Aï! brave fellow,
Ványa! That is what we must do! Ek! you
soldiers! You aren't Cossacks, but old women *!
Of course it was to catch sturgeon and to scare
Tatar women *; simply for that that I brought
you hither. Don't you yourselves see? If we
go back, we shall be killed! If we row by, we
* Babas.
88
YERMAK, THE CONQUEROR OF SIBERIA.
shall be killed! If we stay here, we shall be
killed! Where, then, shall we betake ourselves?
First labor, then rest! Soldiers, you are like a
healthy mare that my father had. When she
was going down hill she would draw, and on
level ground she would draw; but when it
came to going up hill, she would balk and back
and try to find something easier. Then my
father took a stake, beat her and beat her with
the stake. And the mare jumped around, and
kicked and tipped over the cart. Then father
took her out of the thills and put her through
the mill. Now if she had pulled, she would
not have got the thrashing. So it is with you,
my men. There's only one thing left for us,-to
go straight on the Tatars . . ."
در
The Cossacks laughed, and said: "It is plain
that you are wiser than we are, Timófeïtch.
We fools have no right to give advice. Take
us wherever you wish. We can't die twice, but
we must die once.” *
And Yermak said: " Now, you listen. This
is the way that we must do it. They haven't
yet seen the whole of us. We will divide our
* Russian proverb.
YERMAK, THE CONQUEROR OF SIBERIA. 89
selves into three bands. Those in the middle
will march straight at them, and the other two
divisions will make a flank movement to the
right and left. Now when the middle division
begins to engage them, they will think that we
are all there—they will come out. And then
it is that we will give it to them from the
flanks. That's the way, men. And if we beat
these, there will be nothing left to fear. We
shall be Tsars ourselves."
That was the way that they did.
As soon as the middle division went forward
under Yermak, the Tatars began to yell and
rushed out. Then the wings joined battle; the
right under Iván Koltso, the left under the
atamán Meshcheryak.
The Tatars were panic-stricken, and took to
their heels. The Cossacks slaughtered them.
And no one at all dared to oppose Yermak any
longer. And thus they made their entrance
into the very city of Sibir. And there Yermak
took up his abode exactly as though he were
Tsar.
The neighboring princes began to come to
Yermak with salutations, and the Tatars came
90 YERMAK, THE CONQUEROR OF SIBERIA.
back and began to settle down in Sibir. Ku-
chum and his son-in-law, however, dared not
make a direct attack on Yermak, but wandered
round and round, and laid their plans to cap-
ture him.
In the spring, at the time for the freshets,
some Tatars came to Yermak, saying, “Mamet-
kul is coming against you again, and he has
collected a great army, and is now on the
Vagaya River."
Yermak hastened over rivers,
rivers, swamps,
streams, and forests, crept up with his Cos-
sacks, fell on Mametkul, and killed many of
the Tatars, and took Mametkul himself pris-
oner and brought him back to Sibir. And now
there remained few Tatars that were not
subdued, and that summer Yermak marched
against those who would not submit, and on
the Irtuish and on the Obi rivers Yermak
brought so much land under subjection that
you could not go around it in two months.
After he had conquered all this land, he sent
a messenger to the Strogonofs with a letter.
66
I," says he, "have taken Kuchum's city,
and have Mametkul in captivity, and I have
YERMAK, THE CONQUEROR OF SIBERIA. 91
brought all the people round about under my
sway. But it has cost me many Cossacks.
Send us people, so that we may be more safe.
And there is great wealth in this land, and it
is limitless in extent."
And he sent also costly furs, fox-skins, and
martens, and sable.
After this two years passed. Yermak still
held Sibir, but no reinforcements arrived from
Russia, and Yermak's Russian forces began to
dwindle.
Addre
One time the Tatar Kachara sent a messen-
ger to Yermak, saying: "We have submitted to
your sway, but the Nogaï are harassing us;
let some of your brave men come to our aid.
We will conquer the Nogaï together. And we
give you our oath that we will do no manner of
harm to your brave men."
Yermak had faith in their oath, and he sent
to them Iván Koltso with forty men. As soon
as these forty men came to them, the Tatars
fell on them and killed them; and this still fur-
ther reduced the Cossacks.
Another time some Bukhara merchants sent
* A tribe of Tatars.
92
YERMAK, THE CONQUEROR OF SIBERIA,
word to Yermak that they were on their way
with merchandise which they wished to give
him in his city of Sibir, but that Kuchum and
his army were there and would not let them
pass.
Yermak took fifty men and went out to clear
the road for the Bukharians. But when he
reached the Irtuish River, he did not find any
merchants. So they prepared to bivouac there.
The night was dark and rainy. No sooner
had the Cossacks laid down for the night, than
the Tatars rushed from every side, threw
themselves on the sleeping Cossacks, and be-
gan to hew them down. Yermak leaped up
and began to fight. He was wounded in the
arm by a knife. Then he ran to the river and
threw himself into it-the Tatars after him.
He was already in the water. But he was
never seen again, and his body was never
found, and no one knows how he died.*
* One of the most brilliant scenes in Count Aleksei K.
Tolstoi's great historical novel, "Prince Serébrannui," is de-
voted to the description of the embassy that brought to the
Tsar Iván the Terrible the news of the conquest of Siberia
by the former rebel Yermak.
BEAR-HUNTING WORSE THAN
SLAVERY.
WE
E were on a bear-hunt. My comrade had
succeeded in shooting a bear; he had
wounded him in some tender spot. There was
much blood on the snow, but the bear had
escaped.
We went into the forest and began to plan
what to do, whether we should make a search
for the bear, or wait two or three days until he
came out.
We began to ask the peasant bear-drivers
whether it were possible now to get on the
track of this bear. An old bear-driver said:
"It is impossible! you must give the bear a
chance to recover: in five days you can get
round him; but now if you follow him, it will
only frighten him, and he won't go to his lair."
But a young bear-driver disagreed with the old
peasant, and said that now was the time to get
round the bear. "In such deep snow as this
94
BEAR-HUNTING WORSE THAN SLAVERY.
the bear can't go a great distance- he is a fat
bear. He won't go into his lair to-day. And
if he does not go into his lair, I can track him
on my snow-shoes."
My comrade also was disinclined to track the
bear, and advised waiting till another time.
But I said: "What is the use of discussing
it? You do as you please, but I am going with
Demyán after the bear. If we track him; all
right; if we don't track him, it's all the same
whether we do anything more to-day or not: it
is still early."
That was what we did.
The others got into the sledge and returned
to the village; and I and Demyán took the
bread and remained in the woods.
As soon as the rest were gone from us,
Demyán and I inspected our arms, belted our
shubas and started after the bear.
The weather was fine,-frosty, and still. But
it was laborious travelling on snow-shoes, for the
snow was deep and mealy. The snow had not
yet settled in the forest, and the evening before
there had been a fresh fall, so that the snow-
shoes sank over the edge, and in some places
BEAR-HUNTING WORSE THAN SLAVERY. 95
even deeper. The bear's tracks were visible
for a long distance. We could see how the
bear had made off; how in some places he had
sunk up to his belly, and had scratched away
the snow.
snow.
At first we followed the tracks over the deep
snow, but at last they turned into a fir thicket.
Demyán halted. "Now," says he, "we must
abandon the trail. He must have his lair here.
Here he stopped to rest; you can see by the
We will turn away from the trail, and
make a circuit. Only we must go quietly, and
not shout or cough, else we shall scare him."
We turned away from the trail abruptly to
the left. After going five hundred paces, be-
hold! there are the bear's tracks again, right in
front of us. Again we followed the trail, and
this trail led us toward the road. We stopped
on the road and tried to decide what direction
the bear had taken.
In one place on the road we could see where
the bear's whole paw, with its toes, was im-
printed; and here in another place a peasant
had walked along the road in his bast shoes.*
*
*Lapti,
96
BEAR-HUNTING WORSE THAN SLAVERY.
Apparently he had turned back toward the vil
lage.
We went along the road, and Demyán said:
"It is no use to follow his trail on the road; but
if he has turned off anywhere to the right or
the left, then we can see it in the snow. He
will turn off somewhere; he won't go to the
village."
*
Thus we walked along the road for a verst,*
and then the trail turned from the road. We
examine it, and wonder of wonders, the bear's
tracks do not run from the road to the forest,
but from the forest to the road, as we could see
by the claws turned toward the road.
Said I, "This is another bear."
Demyán scrutinized it carefully, and thought
for a moment.
46
"No," said he, "it is the same one, but he
has been playing us a trick. He backed off the
road."
We followed this trail, and it proved to be
the case. The bear had evidently walked back-
wards ten steps from the road, then gone behind
a fir-tree, turned about, and made straight off.
* 3500 feet,
BEAR-HUNTING WORSE THAN SLAVERY. 97
Demyán paused, saying: "Now we have really
caught him. He probably would not make his
lair anywhere else than in this marsh. We will
encircle him.”
We started on our circuit through thick fir
forest. I was already weary, and the going
became harder and harder. Sometimes I would
stumble over a juniper bush, or a young fir
would get between my legs, or my snow-shoes
would slide away from me without any reason,
and sometimes I would trip over a stump or a
log hidden under the snow. And I began to be
tired out. I took off my shuba, for the sweat
was pouring off from me. But Demyán glided
along as though he were in a boat. His snow-
shoes seemed of their own accord to bear him.
along. He never stumbled or slipped. He
took my shuba also, and threw it over his
shoulders, and kept encouraging me to come
on.
We made a circuit of three versts, entirely
enclosing the swamp. I had already begun to
lag behind. I lost control of my snow-shoes;
my legs gave way under me. Suddenly Dem-
yún stopped in front of me and waved his arm.
7
98
BEAR-HUNTING WORSE THAN SLAVERY,
I caught up with him. Demyán bent over,
and said in a whisper, pointing with his hand:
"Hear the magpie screaming on yonder stump;
the bird scents the bear from a long distance.
He is there."
We set out again, and after going another
verst, we came upon our old track. Thus we
had made a complete circuit around the bear,
and the bear remained in the middle of our ring.
We paused.
I took off my cap also, and unbuttoned my
coat. I was as hot as though I were in a Rus-
sian bath, and my clothes were just as wet as a
drowned rat. Even Demyán was red with ex-
ertion, and wiped his face with his sleeve.
"Well," says he, "Bárin, we have finished the
job; now we can rest.”
The twilight was already beginning to throw
its purple glow across the trees. We crouched
down on our snow-shoes to get breath.
We took out the bread and salt from our
bag; first I ate a little snow, and then my
bread. And that bread had a more exquisite
flavor than anything I had eaten before in my
life.
BEAR-HUNTING WORSE THAN SLAVERY.
63
Thus we rested, and the nightfall was already
beginning. I asked Demyán if it were far to
the village.
"It will be about a dozen versts. We can
get there to-night; but now we must rest.
l'ut on your shuba, Bárin, or you will get
cold."
Demyán broke off some fir boughs, brushed
away the snow, made a bed, and he and I lay
down together, side by side, with our arms for
pillows. I don't remember how I fell off to
sleep. But I woke up about two hours later.
Something snapped.
what
I was
I had been so sound asleep that I had forgot-
ten where I was. I looked about me
a marvellous spectacle! Where was I?
in a strange white palace; there were white
columns, and above all spangles were spar-
kling. I gazed up, and saw white arabesques,
and beyond the arabesques an inky black vault,
and variegated fires flashing.
As I gazed around I remembered that we
were in the forest and that what had seemed
to me a palace was the trees in the snow,
covered with snow and frost, and the fires were
100 BEAR-HUNTING WORSE THAN SLAVERY.
the stars, beyond the branches, twinkling in the
sky.
During the night the hoar-frost had fallen;
there was frost on the branches, and frost on
my shuba, and Demyán was all covered by
frost, and the air was full of falling hoar-frost.
I awakened Demyán. We got upon our
snow-shoes and started on our way.
It was
silent in the forest. The only sound was what
we made gliding over the soft snow, and the
occasional cracking of a tree under the frost,
and the echo of it dying away through the
aisles.
Once only some living creature rustled out
from under our feet, and scurried away. I
immediately thought it might be the bear. We
went to the spot which the animal had left, and
found the trail of a hare. The aspens were
girdled. Hares had been nibbling there.
When we reached the road, we took off our
snow-shoes and fastened them behind, and
marched along the road. It was easy going.
The snow-shoes behind us slipped along, clatter-
ing over the smooth road; the snow creaked
under our boots, and the cold hoar-frost clung
BEAR-HUNTING WORSE THAN SLAVERY. 101
to our faces like down. And the stars above
the tree-tops ran along as though to race with
us, flashing and disappearing, just as though
the whole heaven were in motion.
My comrade was asleep; I awakened him.
We told him how we had surrounded the
bear, and we told the landlord to collect the
peasant whippers-in early in the morning. We
got some lunch and turned in.
I was so weary that I should have been glad
to sleep till dinner time, but my comrade
roused me.
I leaped out of bed, and lo! my
comrade was already dressed, and doing some-
thing to his gun.
"Where is Demyáu?"
"He went long ago into the woods. He has
already verified the circuit, and came running
back, and now he has gone out to show the
whippers-in the way.”
After washing and dressing, I loaded my gun.
We climbed into the sledge and set off.
The temperature still continued low; the air
was motionless; the sun had not yet risen. A
fog had settled down, and the hoar-frost was
falling.
102 BEAR-HUNTING WORSE THAN SLAVERY.
We drove three versts along the road, and
reached the forest. We see in the valley
blue columns of smoke, and people standing
around peasant men and women,* with cud-
gels.
We dismounted, and joined the throng. The
peasants are sitting around, roasting potatoes,
and jesting with the women.
Demyán also is among them. The people
get up; Demyán posts them on the circular
trail that we had made the evening before.
The men and women form the line, thirty of
them in all, buried in snow up to the belt,
and make their way into the woods. Then my
comrade and I follow after them.
M
Mgang
Although the path was somewhat trodden,
it was hard walking; still there is no possibility
of falling: you walk as it were between two
walls.
Thus we proceeded half a verst, and lo!
there is Demyán on the other side, hurrying on
snow-shoes to meet us, beckoning us to come
to him.
We join him; shows us our places. As
* Muzhiks and bábas.
BEAR-HUNTING WORSE THAN SLAVERY. 103
soon as I have reached my station, I look
around me.
On my left there is a high fir-tree; beyond it
there is a wide view, and behind the trees a
peasant whipper-in makes a black spot. Oppo-
site me there is a growth of young fir-trees as
tall as a man. The branches of the little firs
are weighed down and stuck together by the
snow. Through the clump leads a foot-path
trodden through the snow. This path leads
straight to me. On my right is another clump
of firs, and then begins a clearing. And I see
that Demyán has posted my comrade on this
clearing.
I examine my two muskets, cocking them,
and try to decide where will be the best place
for me to take my position. Just behind me,
three paces distant, is a tall pine-tree.
"Let me stand by this pine and rest my sec-
and musket against it."
I make my way over to the pine, through
snow that reaches above my knees, and then I
trample down a little space under the pine, of
an arshin and a half, and establish myself in
*
* About five square feet.
104 BEAR-HUNTING WORSE THAN SLAVERY.
it. I hold one musket across my arm; the
other I lean against the tree, ready cocked. I
take out my dagger and put it in its sheath
again, so as to see if in case of necessity it
would come out easily.
I had just finished my preparations when I
hear Demyán shouting in the woods: "He has
started!* he has started! He has come out!
he has started!"
And in reply to Demyán's call, the peasants
on all sides began to shout in various voices.
"Pashól! u-u-u-u-u!" shouted the peasants.
"Aï, i-i-ikh!" screamed the women, in their
sharp voices.
The bear was now in the circle. Demyán
was driving him. On all sides the people were
shouting; only I and my comrade were stand-
ing silent and motionless, awaiting the bear. I
stand and listen, and my heart within me beats
like a sledge hammer. I have my musket in
position; I tremble a little.
"Now, now," I think to myself, "he will
come leaping by; I will aim, I will fire my gun
at him, and down he will go
""
* Pashol.
BEAR-HUNTING WORSE THAN SLAVERY. 105
Suddenly, on my left, I hear something rush-
ing through the snow; it is at some distance.
I gaze at the tall fir; fifty paces away, behind
the trees, stands something black and big. I
raise my gun and wait. I ask myself, "Won't
it come any nearer?"
As I look, it moves its ears and starts to re-
treat. As he turned around, I could get a
better view of him. The tremendous beast!
I take aim in hot haste.
Bang! I can hear my bullet bury itself in a
tree. I gaze through the smoke; my bear is
galloping back under cover, and has disap-
peared in the forest.
"Well," I think, "I have spoiled my game,
now there's no hope of his coming back to me
either my comrade will hit him, or he will make
his escape through the peasants; but I shall
not have another chance at him."
I reload my musket, and stand there, listen-
ing. The peasants are shouting on all sides;
but on my right, not far from where my com-
rade stands, I hear a woman screaming at the
top of her voice: "Here he is! here he is! here
he is! This way! this way! oi! oï! aï! aï!
""
aï!'
106 BEAR-HUNTING WORSE THAN SLAVERY.
Evidently she sees the bear. Well, anyway,
the bear will not come to me, so I fix my eyes
on my comrade. I see Demyán, with a cudgel,
and not wearing his snow-shoes, run over the
path toward my comrade, crouch down behind
him, and call his attention to something, as
though urging him to fire. I see my comrade
lift his musket, aim in the direction indicated
by Demyán with his stick.
Bang! The gun went off.
to myself, "he has killed him!"
"Well," I say
But I see that my comrade does not hurry to
the bear. "Missed, evidently; he could not
have got a good aim," I say to myself. "Now
he's gone. The bear will retreat, and there's
no hope of his coming in my direction."
But what is this? Suddenly I hear, directly
in front of me some one rushing along like a
tornado, scattering the snow and puffing close
to me. I look up the path, and there he is com-
ing straight down upon me, over the little path
between the fir-bushes, galloping along with
head down, and evidently frightened out of his
wits. He is now only five paces away from
me. I can see his black breast, and his huge
BEAR-HUNTING WORSE THAN SLAVERY. 107
head covered with red hair. He is rushing
directly upon me, scattering the snow on every
side. I can see by his eyes that the bear does
not perceive me; but he is so terrified that he
dashes off full tilt, no matter where. But his
course brings him directly toward the tree near
which I am standing. I raise my musket-I
fire he is directly upon me. I perceive that
I have missed; the bullet has glanced off, but
the bear does not mind it; he dashes at me,
and yet does not see me.
I lowered my gun; it almost touched him.
Bang! I see that I have hit him, but not
killed him.
He lifted his head, put back his ears, and
thrust his snout straight into my face.
I tried to snatch my second musket; but no
sooner had I put out my hand, than he dashed
over me, kicked me into the snow, and sprang
"Well," I say to myself, "lucky for me
that he left me."
away.
I was just picking myself up, when I discov-
ered that something was pressing me down,
keeping me from rising. His momentum had
carried him along, he had fallen beyond me;
108 BEAR-HUNTING WORSE THAN SLAVERY.
and then coming back to me, he had fallen
upon me with his full weight. I am conscious
of something heavy resting upon me, I am con-
scious of something warm on my face, and I am
conscious that he has taken my whole face into
his jaws. My nose is already in his mouth, and
I smell the warm odor of his blood. He has
clasped me around the shoulders with his paws,
and it is impossible for me to move.
I manage, however, to extricate my head
from his jaws, and I rescue my eyes and nose.
But a second time he succeeds in setting his
tusks into my face and eyes. I am conscious
that he is setting the tusk of his upper jaw into
my forehead, under the hair, and those of his
lower jaw in the flesh under my eyes: the teeth
shut together; they begin to cut. Like knives
they cut into my head. I struggle, I pull my-
self out of his clutches; but he makes hasic,
and snapping like a dog, hugs me closer and
closer.
I get away from him, and again he clutches
me. 'Well," I say to myself, "my end has
(6
come."
Suddenly I perceived that his pressure on me
BEAR-HUNTING WORSE THAN SLAVERY. 109
became less. I look, and behold! he has left
me; he has bounded away from me, and is
making off.
When my comrade and Demyán saw that the
bear had knocked me down into the snow, and
was gnawing me, they rushed toward me. My
comrade, in his eagerness to get to me as speed-
ily as possible, made a mistake; instead of run-
ning along the beaten path, he tried to cut across,
and fell. While he was struggling out of the
deep snow, the bear was all the time biting me.
But Demyán, though he was not armed with a
musket, and had only a dry branch, ran along
the path, and kept shouting: "He is killing the
bárin! he is eating up the bárin!” And then
as he approached the bear, he cried: "O you
beast! what are you doing? Off with you!
Off with you!"*
The bear heard, let me go, and made off.
When I picked myself up, there was as much
blood on the snow as though they had been
killing a wild boar, and the flesh under my eyes
hung in shreds; but I was so excited that I felt
no pain.
* The one word, bros, in Russian.
110 BEAR-HUNTING WORSE THAN SLAVERT.
My comrade came to me; the people gath-
ered together; they examined my wounds;
they wet them with snow. But as for me I
forget all about my wounds; I ask: "Where
is the bear? Where has he gone?"
Suddenly we hear them shouting, "Here he
is! here he is!" And we see the bear rushing
back in our direction. We seize our muskets;
but before any one had time to fire, he had
already dashed by. The bear was full of rage;
he wanted to finish devouring me: but when
he saw that a crowd had collected, he was
afraid. By the trail we could see that the
blood came from the bear's head; they wanted
to go in pursuit of him; but my head began to
pain me, and we returned to the village, to the
doctor.
The doctor sewed up my wounds with silk,
and they began to heal.
At the end of a month we again went out in
pursuit of this bear; but he did not give us the
chance to finish him. The bear did not come
out of his lair, but kept moving around and
around, and roaring in a terrible voice.
Demyán put an end to him. The lower jaw
BEAR-HUNTING WORSE THAN SLAVERY. 111
of this bear had been broken by my shot, and a
tooth knocked out.
This bear was huge, and he had a splendid.
black skin.
I had him stuffed, and he lies in my sleeping-
room. The wounds in my face got well, so that
there is scarcely any scar where they were made.
STORIES OF MY DOGS.
I.
BULKA.
I
HAD a bull dog, and his name was Bulka.
He was perfectly black, except for the paws
of his fore-legs, which were white. All bull
dogs have the lower jaw longer than the upper,
and the upper tooth set into the lower; but in
the case of Bulka the lower jaw was pushed so
far forward that the finger could be inserted
between the upper and lower teeth.
Bulka had a broad face, big eyes, black and
brilliant. And his teeth and white tusks were
always uncovered. He was like a negro.
Bulka was not ugly, and he would not bite;
but he was very powerful and tenacious.
Whenever he took hold of anything, he set his
teeth together and hung on like a rag, and it
was impossible to make him let go: he was like
a pair of pinchers.
STORIES OF MY DOGS.
113
One time he was set on a bear, and he seized
the bear by the ear, and hung on like a blood-
sucker. The bear pounded him with his paws,
hugged him, shook him from side to side, but
he could not get rid of him; then he stood
on his head in his attempts to crush him, but
Bulka hung on until they dashed cold water
over him.
I took him when he was a puppy, and reared
him myself. When I went to the Caucasus, I
did not care to take him with me, and I went
away noiselessly, and gave orders to keep him
chained up.
At the first post station I was just going to
start off with a fresh team, when suddenly I saw
something black and bright dashing along the
road.
It was Bulka in his brass collar. He flew
with all his might toward the station. He
leaped upon me, licked my hand, and then
stretched himself out in the shadow of the
telyéga. His tongue lolled out as big as one's
palm. He kept drawing it back, swallowing
the spittle, and then thrusting it out again.
He was all panting; he could not get his breath;
8
114
STORIES OF MY DOGS.
his sides actually shook. He twisted from side
to side, and pounded the ground with his tail.
And afterwards I learned that when he found.
that I had gone, he broke his chain, and jumped
out of the window, and dashed over the road
after my trail, and had thus run twenty versts
in the heat of the day.
II.
BULKA AND THE WILD BOAR.
One time in the Caucasus we went boar
hunting, and Bulka ran to go with me. As
soon as the boar-hounds got to work, Bulka
dashed off in the direction of their music and
disappeared in the woods.
This was in the month of November: at that
time the wild boars and pigs are usually very
fat. In the forests of the Caucasus, frequented
by wild boars, grow all manner of fruits, wild
grapes, cones, apples, pears, blackberries, acorns,
and rose-apples. And when all these fruits get
ripe, and the frost loosens them, the wild swine
feed on them and fatten.
At this time of the year the wild boar be-
STORIES OF MY DOGS.
115
comes so fat that he cannot run far when pur-
sued by the dogs. When they have chased him
for two hours, he strikes into a thicket and
comes to bay there.
Then the hunters run to the place where he
is at bay and shoot him. By the barking of the
dogs one can tell whether the boar has taken to
cover or is still running. If he is running, then
the dogs bark with a yelp, as though some one
were beating them; but if he has taken to cov-
ert, then they bay with a long howl, as though
at a man.
In this expedition I had been running a long
time through the forest, but without once com-
ing across the track of a boar. At last I heard
the protracted howl and whine of the hounds,
and I turned my steps in that direction.
I was already near the boar. I could hear
a crashing in the thicket. This was made by
the boar pursued by the dogs. But I could tell
by their barking that they had not yet brought
him to bay, but were only chasing around
him.
Suddenly I heard something rushing behind
me, and looking around, I saw Bulka. He had
116
STORIES OF MY DOGS.
evidently lost track of the boar-hounds in the
forest, and had become confused; but now he
had heard their baying, and also, like myself,
was in full tilt in their direction.
He was running across a clearing through
the tall grass, and all I could see of him was his
black head, and his tongue lolling out between
his white teeth.
I called him, but he did not look around; ho
passed by me, and dashed into the thicket. I
hurried after him, but the farther I went, the
denser became the underbrush. The branches
knocked off my hat and whipped my face; the
thorns of the sloe-tree clutched my coat. By
this time I was very near the barking dogs, but
I could not see anything.
Suddenly I heard the dogs barking louder;
there was a loud crash, and the boar, which was
trying to break his way through, began to
squeal. And this made me think that now
Bulka had reached the scene and was attack-
ing him.
I put forth all my strength, and made my
way through the underbrush to the spot.
Here, in the very thickest of the woods, I
STORIES OF MY DOGS.
117
caught a glimpse of a spotted boar-hound. He
was barking and howling without stirring from
one spot. Three paces from him I saw some-
thing black struggling.
When I came nearer I perceived that it was
the boar, and I heard Bulka whining piteously.
The boar was grunting and charging the hound,
which, with his tail between his legs, was back-
ing away from him. I had a fair shot at the
side and the head of the boar. I aimed at his
side and fired: I could see that my shot took
effect. The boar uttered a squeal, and turning
from me dashed into the thicket. The dog ran
barking and yelping on his trail. I broke my
way through the thicket after them.
Suddenly I heard and saw something under
my very feet. It was Bulka. He was lying on
his side and whining. Under him was a pool
of blood. I said to myself, "My dog is ruined";
but now I had something else to attend to, and
I rushed on.
Soon I saw the boar. The dogs were attack-
ing him from behind, and he was snapping first
to one side, then to the other. When the boar
saw me, he made a dash at me. I fired for the
118
STORIES OF MY DOGS.
4
second time, with the gun almost touching him,
so that his bristles were actually singed. The
boar gave one last grunt, stumbled, and fell
with all his weight upon the ground.
When I reached him, he was already dead ;
only here and there his body twitched, or puffed
up a little.
But the dogs, with bristling hair, were tearing
at his belly and his legs, and others were lick-
ing the blood from where he was wounded.
That reminded me of Bulka, and I hastened
back to find him. He crawled to meet me, and
groaned. I went to him, knelt down, and ex-
amined his wound. His belly was torn open,
and a whole mass of his bowels protruded and
lay upon the dry leaves.
When my comrades joined me, we replaced
Bulka's intestines, and sewed up his belly.
While we were sewing up his belly and punc-
turing the skin, he kept licking my hand.
They fastened the boar to a horse's tail, so as
to bring it from the woods, and we put Bulka
on a horse's back, and thus we brought him
home. Bulka was an invalid for six weeks, but
he got well at last.
STORIES OF MY DOGS.
119
III.
PHEASANTS.
In the Caucasus woodcock are called fazánui,
or pheasants. They are so abundant that they
are cheaper than domestic fowl. Pheasants are
hunted with the kobilka,* with the podsáda, or
by means of the dog.
This is the method of hunting with the ko-
bílka: You take canvas and stretch it over a
frame; in the middle of the frame you put a
joist, and make a hole in the canvas. This can-
vas-covered frame is called a kobílka. With
this kobílka and a gun you go out into the
forest just after sunrise. You carry the kobílka
in front of you, and through the hole you
keep a lookout for pheasants. The pheasants in
the early morning go out in search of food.
Sometimes you come across a whole family;
sometimes the hen with the chicks; sometimes
the cock with his hen; sometimes several cocks
together.
The pheasants see no man, and they are not
afraid of the canvas, and they let any one ap-
* Literally, little mare.
120
STORIES OF MY DOGS.
proach very near.
Then the hunter sets down
his kobílka, puts the muzzle of his musket out
through the hole, and shoots at his leisure.
The following is the method of hunting with
the podsáda: You let loose in the woods a
little common house-dog, and follow after him.
When the dog starts up a pheasant, he chases
it. The pheasant flies into a tree, and then
the whelp begins to yelp. The hunter goes in
the direction of the barking, and shoots the
pheasant on the tree.
This mode of hunting would be easy if the
pheasant would fly into an isolated tree, or
would sit on an exposed branch so as to be in
full sight. But the pheasants always choose a
tree in the densest part of the thicket, and when
they see the huntsman, they hide behind the
branches.
It is not only hard to make your way through
the thicket to the tree where the pheasant is
perched, but it is hard, also, to get sight of him.
When it is only a dog barking under the tree,
the pheasant is not afraid; he sits on the limb,
and cocks * his head at him, and flaps his wings.
* The same pun in the original.
STORIES OF MY DOGS.
121
But the instant it sees a man, it stretches itself
out along the limb, so that only an experienced
sportsman would be likely to perceive it, while
an inexperienced man would stand underneath
and see nothing.
When the Cossacks steal out against pheas-
ants, they always hide their faces behind their
caps, and don't look up, because the pheasant
is afraid of a man with a musket, but is most
of all afraid of his eyes.
Pheasants are hunted by means of the dog,*
in this manner: They take a setter and follow
him into the woods. The setter catches the
scent where early in the morning the pheasants
have been out feeding, and he begins to follow
the trail. No matter how many times the
pheasants have crossed their tracks, a good
setter will always pick out the last one, leading
from the place where they had been feeding.
The farther the dog gets on the track, the
stronger the scent becomes, and thus he reaches
the very place where the pheasant has stopped
for the day to rest or walk in the grass. When
he comes near, his scent tells him that the
* Iz pod sobáki.
122
STORIES OF MY DOGS.
pheasant is directly in front of him, and he now
begins to go more cautiously, so as not to scare
the bird, and then he stops to make the leap
and seize it. When the dog is very near to the
bird, then the pheasant flies up, and the sports-
man shoots him.
IV.
MILTON AND BULKA.
I got a setter for pheasants. This dog's
name was Milton. He was tall, thin, gray, with
spots, and with long lips and ears, and very
strong and intelligent.
He and Bulka never quarrelled. Never did
dog dare to pick a quarrel with Bulka. All he
had to do was once to show his teeth, and other
dogs would put their tails between their legs
and flee.
One time I was going with Milton out after
pheasants. Suddenly Bulka came bounding
along to overtake me, after I had reached the
woods. I tried to drive him back, but in vain.
And it was a long way to go home for the sake
of getting rid of him.
I came to the conclusion that he would not
STORIES OF MY DOGS.
123
interfere, and went on my way; but as soon as
Milton scented a pheasant in the grass and
started on the trail, Bulka would dash ahead,
and begin to hunt about on all sides.
He was anxious to get the pheasant before
Milton. If he heard anything in the grass, he
would leap and jump about; but his scent was
not keen, and he could not keep to the trail,
and so he would watch Milton, and follow
wherever Milton went. As soon as Milton
found a trail, Bulka would dash ahead.
I tried to call Bulka back, I whipped him;
but I could do nothing with him.
As soon as Milton found a trail, he would dash
ahead and spoil all.
I began to think seriously of going home,
because I felt that my hunting was spoiled;
but Milton knew better than I did how to
throw Bulka off the track. This was the way
he did it: As soon as Bulka ran ahead of him,
Milton would quit the scent, turn to one side,
and pretend that he was hunting for it. Bulka
would then run back where Milton was point-
ing, and Milton, glancing at me, would wag
his tail, and again set out on the right track.
124
STORIES OF MY DOGS.
Then once more Bulka would dash ahead of
Milton, and once more the setter Milton would
purposely run ten feet aside from the right trail
for the purpose of deceiving Bulka, and then
lead me straight on again, so that throughout
the whole hunt he kept deceiving Bulka, and
did not let him spoil my sport.
V.
THE TURTLE.
One time I went out hunting with Milton.
Before we reached the forest he began to get a
scent. He stretched out his tail, pricked up
his ears, and began to sniff.
I got my musket ready and started after him.
I supposed that he was on the track of a par-
tridge, or a pheasant, or a hare. But Milton
did not turn off into the woods, but into a field.
I followed him and looked ahead.
Suddenly I caught sight of what he was
after. In front of him a little turtle was mak-
ing its way it was of the size of a hat. Its
bald, dark gray head and long neck were thrust
out like a pistil. The turtle was moving along
STORIES OF MY DOGS.
125
by the aid of its bare feet, and its back was
wholly covered by its shell.
As soon as it saw the dog, it drew in its legs
and head and flattened itself down into the
grass, so that only its shell was visible.
Milton grabbed it and tried to bite it; but
he could not set his teeth through it, because
the turtle has over its belly the same sort of
crust as over its back, with mere openings in
front, on the side, and at the back for putting
out its head, legs, and tail.
I rescued the turtle from Milton, and exam-
ined how its back was marked, and how its
shell was constructed, and how it managed to
hide itself away. When you hold one in your
hands and look under the shell, then, only, can
you see something within black and living.
I laid the turtle down on the grass and went
on, but Milton was loath to leave it: he seized
it in his teeth and followed me.
Suddenly Milton whined and dropped it.
The turtle in his mouth had extended a claw
and scratched him. He was so indignant
against it on account of this that he began
to bark, and again picked it up and trotted
after me.
126
STORIES OF MY DOGS.
I told him to drop it again, but Milton would
not heed me. Then I took the turtle from him.
and threw it away.
But he would not give it up. He began in
all haste to scratch up a hole with his paws,
and then with his paws he pushed the turtle
into the hole and covered it up with earth.
Turtles live both on land and in the water,
like adders and frogs. They produce their
young from eggs, and they lay the eggs in the
ground; they do not sit on them, however, but
the eggs themselves hatch out like fishes' spawn
and become turtles.
Turtles are often small-not larger than a
saucer; and then, again, they are big, reaching
a length of seven feet and a weight of seven
hundred and twenty pounds. The great turtles
inhabit the sea.
The female turtle in the spring lays hun-
dreds of eggs.
The shell of the turtle is its ribs. In men
and other animals the ribs are each separate,
but in the case of the turtle the ribs form the
shell. It is also a peculiarity that in all animals
the ribs are underneath the flesh, but in the
STORIES OF MY DOGS.
127
case of the turtle, the ribs are outside, and the
flesh is underneath them.
VI.
BULKA AND THE WOLF.
At the time when I was about to leave the
Caucasus, war was still in progress, and it was
hazardous travelling by night without an escort.
I was anxious to start as early as possible
in the morning, and therefore I did not go to
bed at all.
A friend of mine came to keep me company,
and we spent the whole evening and night sit-
ting in front of my khata, or hut, on the street
of the stánitsa, or Cossack outpost.
It was a misty, moonlight night, and so light
that one could see to read, though the moon
itself was invisible.
At midnight we suddenly heard a little pig
squealing in a yard on the other side of the
street. One of us cried,
“There's a wolf throttling a young pig.”
I ran into my khata, seized my loaded musket,
and hastened out into the street. All were
128
STORIES OF MY DOGS.
standing at the gates of the yard where the
young pig was squealing, and they shouted to
me, "Here! here!"
Milton came leaping after me, evidently
thinking that as I had my gun I was going
hunting; and Bulka pricked up his short ears
and bounded from side to side, as though in-
quiring what it was that he should grip.
As I was running toward the wattled hedge,
I saw a wild animal coming directly for me
from the other side of the yard.
It was the wolf.
He was running toward the hedge, and gave
a leap at it. I retreated before him and got
my musket ready.
As soon as the wolf leaped down from the
hedge on my side, I levelled the gun at him,
almost touching him, and pulled the trigger;
but the gun only gave a "chik" and missed fire.
The wolf did not stop, but darted down the
street. Milton and Bulka set out in pursuit.
Milton was near the wolf, but evidently did
not dare to seize him; but Bulka, though he
put forth all the strength of his short legs,
could not catch up with him.
STORIES OF MY DOGS.
129
We ran as fast as we could after the wolf,
but wolf and dogs were now out of sight.
But we soon heard near the ditch at the
corner of the stánitsa a barking and whining,
and we could make out through the moonlit
mist that something was kicking up a dust, and
that the dogs had tackled the wolf.
When we reached the ditch, the wolf was
gone, and both the dogs returned to us with
tails erect and excited faces. Bulka growled
and rubbed his head against me: he evi-
dently wanted to tell me about it, but was
not able.
We examined the dogs and discovered that
there was a small bite on Bulka's head. He
had probably overtaken the wolf in front of
the ditch but had not dared to tackle him, and
the wolf had snapped at him and made off.
The wound was small, so that we had no appre-
hension in regard to it.
We returned to the khata, sat down, and
talked over what had happened. I was vexed
enough that my musket had missed fire, and
I could not help thinking that if it had gone
off, the wolf would have fallen on the spot.
9
130
STORIES OF MY DOGS.
My friend was surprised that a wolf had ven-
tured to make its way into the yard.
An old Cossack declared that there was noth-
ing wonderful about it; that it was not a wolf,
but a witch, and that she had cast a spell over
my gun!
Thus we sat and talked.
Suddenly the dogs sprang up, and we saw
in the middle of the street, right in front of
us, the very same wolf; but this time he made
off so swiftly at the sound of our voices that
the dogs could not overtake him.
The old Cossack after this was entirely con-
vinced that it was no wolf, but a witch; but
it occurred to me whether it were not a mad
wolf, because I had never heard or known of
a wolf returning among men after once he had
been chased.
At all events, I scattered gunpowder over
Bulka's wound and set it on fire. The powder
blazed up and cauterized the sore place.
I cauterized the wound with powder so as
to consume the mad virus, in case it had not
yet had time to reach the blood.
If the spittle were poisonous and had reached
STORIES OF MY DOGS.
131
the blood, I knew that it would spread all
over his body, and then there would be no
means of curing him.
VII.
WHAT HAPPENED TO BULKA AT PYETIGORSK.
From the stánitsa, I did not return directly to
Russia, but stopped at Pyetigorsk, and there
I spent two months. I gave Milton to the
old Cossack hunter, but Bulka I took with
me to Pyetigorsk.
Pyetigorsk, or Five Mountain, is so called
because it is built on Mount Besh-Tau. Besh
in the Tatar language means five: and Tau,
mountain.
From this mountain flows a sulphur hot
spring. The water boils like a kettle, and over
the spot where the waters spring from the
mountain steam always rises, just as it does
from a samovár.*
The whole region where the city is built is
very charming. The hot springs flow down from
the mountains; at their feet flows the little
* Tea-boiler.
132
STORIES OF MY DOGS.
river Podkumók. The hillsides are clothed
with forests; in all directions are fields, and
on the horizon rise the mighty mountains of the
Caucasus. The snow on these mountains never
melts, and they are always white as sugar.
One mighty mountain is Elbrus, like a white
sugar-loaf, and it can be seen from every point
when the weather is clear.
People come to these hot springs for medical
treatment, and over the springs summer-houses
and canopies are built, and all around gardens
and paths are laid out. In the morning the
band plays, and the people drink the water,
and take the baths, and promenade.
The city itself stands on the mountain, and
below the city is the suburb.
I lodged in a little house in this suburb.
The house stood in a yard,* and there was a
little garden in front of the windows, and in
the garden were arranged my landlord's bees,
not in hollow tree-trunks as in Russia, but
in round basket-hives. The bees there were so
peaceable that Bulka and I always used to sit
out in the garden, among the hives. Bulka
* Dvor.
STORIES OF MY DOGS.
133
used to run among the hives, and wonder at
the bees, and smell, and listen to their buzzing;
but he moved among them so carefully that
the bees did not interfere with him and did
not touch him.
One morning I came home from the spa and
sat drinking my coffee in the lattice-garden.
Bulka began to scratch himself behind the ears
and to rattle his collar. This noise seemed to
disturb the bees, and I removed the collar from
Bulka's neck.
After a little while I heard in the direction
of the city on the mountain a strange and
terrible uproar. Dogs were barking, yelping,
and howling, men were yelling, and this tumult
came down from the mountain and seemed to
come nearer and nearer to our suburb.
Bulka had ceased scratching himself, and
had laid his broad head between his white fore-
paws, and with his white teeth exposed and his
tongue lolling out, as his wont was, was lying
peaceably beside me. When he heard the up-
roar, he seemed to understand what it was all
about; he pricked up his ears, showed his
teeth, jumped up, and began to growl.
134
STORIES OF MY DOGS.
The tumult came nearer. It seemed as if
all the dogs from the whole city were yelping,
whining, and barking. I went out to the gate
to look, and my landlady joined me there.
I asked, "What is that?"
She replied: "Prisoners from the jail coming
to kill dogs. Many dogs are running loose,
and the city authorities have ordered all dogs
in the city to be killed."
"What! would they kill Bulka if they saw
him?"
"No; they are ordered to kill only those
without collars."
Just as I was speaking, the prisoners were
already on their way toward our yard.
In front marched soldiers followed by four
convicts in chains. Two of the convicts had
long iron hooks in their hands, and the other
two had clubs. When they came in front of
our gate, one of the prisoners with a hook
caught a cur of low degree, dragged him into
the middle of the street, and the other prisoner
began to maul him with his club. The whelp
yelped horribly, and the convicts shouted some-
thing and roared with laughter. The convict
STORIES OF MY DOGS.
135
with the hook turned the little dog over, and
when he saw that he was dead, he pulled back
his crook and began to look about for other
victims.
At this moment Bulka leaped headlong at
the convict, just as he had at the bear. I
remembered that he was without a collar, and
I cried, "Back, Bulka," and I shouted to the
convicts not to kill my dog.
But the convict saw Bulka, guffawed, and
skilfully speared at him with his hook, and
caught him under the thigh.
Bulka tried to break away, but the convict
pulled him toward him, and shouted to the
other, "Kill him!"
The other was already swinging his club,
and Bulka would have been surely killed, but
he struggled, the skin on his haunch gave way,
and putting his tail between his legs, and with
a frightful wound in his thigh, he dashed at
full speed through the gate, into the house, and
hid under my bed.
What saved him was the fact that the skin
on the place where the hook seized him tore
cut entirely.
136
STORIES OF MY DOGS.
VIII.
THE END OF BULKA AND MILTON.
Bulka and Milton met their death about the
same time. The old Cossack did not under-
stand how to treat Milton. Instead of taking
him with him only when he went after birds,
he tried to make a boar-hunter of him.
That same autumn a sekátch* boar gored
him. No one knew how to sew up the wound,
and Milton died.
Bulka also did not live long after his rescue
from the convicts. Soon after his rescue from
the convicts, he began to mope and to lick
everything that came in his way. He would
lick my hand, but not as in former days when
he meant to caress me. He licked long, and
energetically thrust out his tongue, and then
he began to seize things with his teeth.
Evidently he felt the impulse to bite the
hand, but tried to refrain. I did not like to
let him have my hand. Then he began to lick
my boot and the table leg, and then to bite the
boot or the table leg.
* Sekátch is a two-year-old wild boar, with sharp, straight
tusks. Author's note.
STORIES OF MY DOGS.
137
This lasted two days, and on the third day
he disappeared, and no one ever saw him or
heard of him again.
It was impossible for him to have been stolen,
and he could not have run away from me.
Now this happened to be about six weeks
after the wolf had bitten him. It must have
been that the wolf was quite rabid. Bulka
also became rabid and went off.
He was
afflicted with what hunters call stétchka-the
first stage of madness. It is said that mad-
ness is first shown by spasms in the throat.
Rabid animals desire to drink, but are unable,
because water makes the spasms more violent.
Then they get beside themselves with pain and
thirst, and begin to bite.
Probably these spasms were just beginning
with Bulka, when he showed such a disposition
to lick everything, and then to bite my boot
and the table leg.
I travelled over the whole region and made
inquiries about Bulka, but I could learn noth-
ing about where he had gone or how he died.
If he had run mad and bitten any one, I
should have heard from him. But probably he
138
STORIES OF MY DOGS.
went out somewhere into the thick woods, and
died there alone.
Huntsmen declare that when an intelligent
dog is attacked by madness, he runs off into the
field or woods, and there finds the herb which
he needs, rolls over in the dew, and cures him-
self.
Evidently Bulka did not get well. He never
returned, and he disappeared forever.
EARLY DAYS.
I.
THE OLD HORSE.
WE
E had an old, old man, Pímen Timófeïtch.
He was ninety years of age. He lived
at his grandson's house, but did no work. His
back was bent double; he walked with a stick,
and found it hard to drag one leg after the
other. All of his teeth were gone; his face
was wrinkled; his lower lip trembled. When
he walked and when he talked, he had no con-
trol over his lips, so that it was impossible to
make out what he was saying.
There were four brothers of us, and we all
liked to ride horseback; but we had no gentle
horses fit for us to ride. We were permitted to
ride only on one old horse whose name was
Voronók.*
One time our little mother gave us permission
to have a ride, and we all ran with our dyadka†
* Blackie.
† Pedagogue.
140
EARLY DAYS,
to the stables. The coachman saddled Voronók
for us, and the first to ride was our eldest
brother.
He took a long ride; he rode over to the
threshing-floor and around the garden, and
when he came back, we shouted:
"Now start him up!"
Our eldest brother began to kick Voronók,
and to strike him with his whip, and Voronók
galloped past us.
After our eldest brother had ridden, the next
oldest took his turn. He also had a long ride,
and whipped Voronók till he galloped at break-
neck speed. He wanted to ride even longer,
but the third brother begged him to give him a
chance as soon as possible.
The third brother rode over to the threshing-
floor and around the garden, and then along
through the village, and then he came galloping
down the hill toward the stable.
When he rode up to us, Voronók was
winded, and his neck and flanks were black
with sweat.
When my turn came, I wanted to surprise
my brothers, and show them how well I could
EARLY DAYS.
141
ride, and I began to spur him on to his utmost
speed; but Voronók would not stir from the
stable.
In spite of my redoubled blows he would not
gallop, but only shied and backed. I grew
angry with the horse, and pounded him with all
my might with my whip and legs. I tried lash-
ing him in the places where he was tenderest;
I broke the whip, and with the broken handle
I began to pound him on the head. But still
Voronók would not budge.
Then I turned around, rode up to our dyadka,
and asked him for a heavier whip. But the
dyadka said to me: "You have ridden him
enough, sir; come down. Why torture the
horse?"
I was vexed, and said:-
66
Why? I have not ridden him at all! Look
how I will make him gallop! Please give me a
stronger whip! I will warm him up!"
Then the dyadka shook his head, and said: -
“Ah, sir! you have no mercy. Why warm
him up? Just think! He is twenty years old.
The horse is tired out; he is all winded; yes,
and he is so old! Just think how old he is!
142
EARLY DAYS.
The same as though it were Pímen Timófeïtch.
If you should mount on Timófeïtch, and should
whip him with all your might, say, now, would
not that be a pity?"
I knew well about Pímen, and I obeyed the
dyadka. I dismounted from the horse, and
when I saw how he was laboring with his
sweaty sides, and was puffing with his nostrils,
and was switching his thin tail, then I realized
how cruel we had been to the horse. But till
that time I had supposed that the horse enjoyed
it as much as I did.
I became so sorry for Voronók that I began
to caress his sweaty neck, and to ask his for-
giveness for the beating that I had given him.
Since that time I have grown older, and I
still always pity horses, and I always remember
Voronók and Pímen Timófeïtch when I see
any one abusing a horse.
II.
HOW I WAS TAUGHT TO RIDE HORSEBACK.
When I was a little boy, we four brothers
had our lessons every day except Sundays and
EARLY DAYS.
143
holidays, when we were free and could play
together.
One time our father said:
"You older children must learn to ride horse-
back; you must be sent to riding-school."
I was the youngest, and I asked: -
"Can't I learn too?"
My father said: —
"You would tumble off."
I began to tease him to let me learn too, and
I almost cried.
My father said: "Very well, then, you shall
take lessons too. Only see here: don't you
cry if you fall. One who never falls from a
horse will never learn to ride."
When Wednesday came, three of us were
taken to the riding-school. We went up a
great staircase, and from the great staircase we
went up a narrow staircase. And the narrow
staircase opened into a very large room. In
this room there was sand instead of a floor;
and gentlemen and ladies, as well as lads like
ourselves, were riding on horseback.
This was the riding-school.
It was rather dark, and there was an odor of
144
EARLY DAYS.
磨い
​horses, and we could hear people cracking
whips, and shouting to horses, and the tram-
pling of horses' hoofs against the wooden parti-
tions. At first I was afraid and did not dare
to look around. But afterwards our dyadka
called the riding-master, and said: "See here!
give these lads some horses; they want to
learn to ride."
66
Very well," replied the riding-master.
Then he looked at me, and said, "This one
is very small."
But our dyadka said, "He has promised not
to cry if he falls."
The riding-master laughed and went away.
Then three saddled horses were brought; we
took off our cloaks and descended the staircase
into the riding-room. The riding-master held
the horse by the thong,* and my brothers rode
around him. At first they walked; then they
trotted.
At last a little pony was brought out. He
was a chestnut, and his tail had been cropped.
His name was Chervonchik. The riding-master
* Kord, a rope for making the horse go in a circle.-
Author's note.
EARLY DAYS.
145
99
laughed, and said to me, "Well, cavalier,
mount!
I was both glad and sad, but I tried to hide
it so that no one would notice it. I made sev-
eral attempts to set my foot into the stirrup,
but it was in vain, for I was too small. Then
the riding-master lifted me in his arms and set
me on, saying, "The bárin is not heavy; he
can't weigh more than a couple of pounds."
At first he held me by the arm; but when I
saw that they did not hold my brothers, I
asked him to let go of me.
He asked me,
"Aren't you afraid, then?"
I was very much afraid, but I said that I
was not.
I was all the more afraid because Chervon-
chik kept pricking back his ears, and I made
up my mind that he was angry with me. The
riding-master said, "Well, only mind that you
don't fall off!'
""
And he let go of me.
At first Chervonchik walked around, and
I sat up straight. But the saddle was slip-
pery, and I was afraid that I should slide
off.
10
146
EARLY DAYS.
"Well, now," asked my riding-master, "are
you on firm?”
"Yes," said I.
"Well, then, now trot!" and the riding-
master clucked with his tongue. Chervonchik
started off in a gentle trot, and I began to slip.
But still I said nothing, and tried not to tip
over sidewise. The riding-master praised me,
"Aï da, cavalier! Splendid!" and this made me
very glad.
At this moment my riding-master was joined
by one of his associates, and began to talk with
him, and his attention was distracted from me.
Then suddenly I became conscious that I was
slipping a little toward one side of the saddle.
I tried to regain my seat, but all in vain. I
wanted to cry to the riding-master to stop the
horse, but I felt that it would be shameful to
do that, and I kept quiet.
The riding-master was not looking at me.
Chervonchik kept on the trot all the time, and
I kept slipping and slipping to one side.
I looked at the riding-master and thought
that he would help me; but he was busily talk-
ing with his associate, and without looking at
EARLY DAYS.
147
""
me, said something about his "brave young
cavalier! By this time I was far over on one
side and very much frightened. I felt certain
that I was going to tumble. But still I was
ashamed to cry out.
Chervonchik gave me one more little shake,
and down I went to the ground. Then Cher-
vonchik stopped of his own accord; the riding-
master looked around and saw that I was no
longer on Chervonchik's back. Saying, "Hullo
there! my cavalier has fallen off!" he hastened
to me.
When I told him that I was not hurt, he
laughed, and said: -
"A child's body is like a cushion!"
But I felt like crying.
I asked him to seat me again, and he did so.
And this time I did not fall again.
In this way we went to the riding-school
twice a week, and I soon learned to ride well,
and was afraid of nothing.
SCENES FROM COMMON LIFE.
I.
THE WILLOW.
ONE
NE Easter a peasant went to see whether
the frost was out of the ground.
He went to his vegetable garden and poked
into the ground with a stake. The soil was
soft.
The peasant went into the forest. In the
woods the catkins on a young willow were
already beginning to swell. And the peasant
said to himself, "Let me plant young willows
around my garden; they will grow and make
a hedge."
He took his axe, cut down a dozen young
sprouts, trimmed down the butts into points,
and planted them in the ground.
All the willow sticks put forth sprouts and
green foliage above; and below, under ground,
they sent out similar sprouts in place of roots,
and some of them took hold of the earth and
SCENES FROM COMMON LIFE.
149
strengthened themselves; but others did not
take hold of the earth with their roots, and
these died and toppled over.
When autumn came, the peasant was de-
lighted with his willows: six of them had
taken root. The next spring some sheep gir-
dled four of them, and thus only two were left.
The following spring, sheep girdled these
also. One died away entirely, but the other
took new lease of life, sent down deeper roots,
and became a tree. Every spring the bees
hummed on in the branches. Oftentimes they
would swarm there, and the peasants would
gather them into hives.
Peasants and their wives often came to lunch
and nap under the tree, and their children
climbed up its trunk and broke off its twigs.
the one who had set out the
The peasant
slip — had died long ago, and still the willow
grew.
His eldest son twice trimmed off its branches
and burned them.
And still the willow grew. They cut the
branches all round and made a cone of it, and
when spring came, it still again put forth new
150
SCENES FROM COMMON LIFE.
branches, though they were small, but twice as
many as before, like the mane of a colt.
And the eldest son ceased to be master of
the house, and the village was removed to
another place, but still the willow grew in the
bare field.
Other peasants came and cut it down and
still it grew. The lightning struck the tree;
it sent out fresh branches from the sides, and
still it grew and bloomed.
One peasant wanted to cut it down to a
block, and actually felled it; but it was badly
rotted. The tree fell over and held only by
one side, but still it kept growing, and every
year the bees flew to it to gather pollen from
its flowers.
Once, early in the spring, the children gath-
ered together to tend the horses under the tree.
They thought that it was rather cold, and
they began to make a fire, and they collected
stubble, mugwort, and twigs. One boy climbed
the willow and broke off branches. They piled
all their tinder in the hollow of the willow and
set it on fire.
The willow began to hiss; the sap in its wood
SCENES FROM COMMON LIFE.
151
boiled, the smoke poured forth, and then it
began to blaze; all the inside turned black.
The young sprouts crumpled up; the blossoms
wilted.
The children drove their horses home. The
burned willow remained alone in the field. A
black crow flew up to it, perched on it, and
cried, "So the old poker is dead; it was time
long ago!"
II.
THE GRAY HARE.
A gray hare lived during the winter near a
village. When night came, he would prick up
one ear and listen, then he would prick up the
other, jerk his whiskers, snuff, and sit up on his
hind legs.
Then he would give one leap, two leaps,
through the deep snow, and sit up again on his
hind legs and look all around.
On all sides nothing was to be seen except
The snow lay in billows and shone
snow.
white as sugar.
All around the hare was
frosty vapor, and through this vapor glistened
the big, bright stars.
152
SCENES FROM COMMON LIFE.
The hare was obliged to make a long detour
to reach his favorite granary. On the highway
he could hear the creaking of sledges, the
whinnying of horses, the groaning of seats in
the sledges.
Once more the hare paused near the road.
The peasants were walking alongside of their
sledges, with their kaftan collars turned up.
Their faces were scarcely visible. Their beards,
their mustaches, their eyebrows, were white.
Steam came from their mouths and noses.
Their horses were covered with sweat, which
turned to hoar-frost on their legs. The horses
shook their collars, plunged, and came up out
of the hollows. The peasants urged them
along and lashed them with their knouts.
Two old men were walking side by side, and
one was telling the other how a horse had been
stolen from him.
As soon as the teams had passed, the hare
crossed the road, and leaped unconcernedly
toward the threshing-floor. The little dog be-
longing to the teams caught sight of the hare.
He began to bark, and darted after him.
The hare made for the threshing-floor, across
SCENES FROM COMMON LIFE.
153
the snow-drifts; but the depth of the snow
impeded the hare, and even the dog, after a
dozen leaps, sunk deep in the snow, and gave
up the chase.
The hare also stopped, sat up on his hind
legs, and then proceeded easily toward the
threshing-floor.
On the way he fell in with two young hares.
They were nibbling and playing. The gray
hare joined his mates, helped them clear away
the icy snow, ate a few seeds, and then went
on his way.
At the farm it was all quiet; the fires were
out; the only sound on the street was an infant
crying in a cottage, and the framework of the
houses creaking under the cold.
The hare hastened to the threshing-floor, and
there he found his mates. He played with
them on the well-swept floor, ate some oats
from the tub on which they had already begun,
mounted the snow-covered roof into the granary,
and then went through the hedge back to his
hole.
In the east the dawn was already beginning
to redden, the stars dwindled, and the frosty
154
SCENES FROM COMMON LIFE.
vapor grew thicker over the face of the earth.
In the neighboring village the women woke up
and went out after water; the peasants were
carrying fodder from the granaries; children
were shouting and crying; along the highway
more and more teams passed by, and the peas-
ants talked in louder tones.
The hare leaped across the road, went to his
old hole, selected a newer place, dug away the
snow, curled up in the depths of his new hole,
stretched his ears along his back, and went to
sleep with eyes wide open.
III.
THE FOUNDLING.
A poor woman had a daughter, Masha. Masha
one morning, in going after water, saw some-
thing lying on the door-step, wrapped up in rags.
Masha set down her pail and undid the rags.
When she had opened the bundle, there came
forth a cry from out the rags, ya! ya! ya!
Masha bent over and saw that it was a pretty
little baby. He was crying lustily, ya! ya!
ya! Masha took him up in her arms
and
SCENES FROM COMMON LIFE.
155
carried him into the house, and tried to give
him some milk with a spoon.
The mother said, "What have you brought
in?"
Masha said, "A baby; I found it at our
door."
The mother said, "We are so poor, how can
we get food for another child? I am going to
the police and tell them to take it away.'
99
Masha wept, and said: "Mamma, he will not
eat much; do keep him! Just see what pretty
little dimpled hands and fingers he has."
The mother looked, and she had compassion
on the child. She decided to keep him. Masha
fed him and swaddled him, and she sang cradle
songs to him when she put him to sleep.
IV.
THE PEASANT AND THE CUCUMBERS.
Once upon a time a peasant went to steal
some cucumbers of a gardener. He crept
down among the cucumbers, and said to him-
self: "Let me just get away with a bag of cu-
cumbers; then I will sell them. With the money
156
SCENES FROM COMMON LIFE.
I will buy me a hen. The hen will lay some
eggs, and will hatch them out, and I shall have
a lot of chickens. I will feed up the chickens,
and sell them, and buy a shoat-a nice little
pig. In time she will farrow, and I shall have
a litter of pigs. I will sell the little pigs and
buy a mare; the mare will foal, and I shall have
a colt. I will raise the colt and sell it; then I
will buy a house and start a garden. I will
have a garden and raise cucumbers; but I
won't let them be stolen, I will keep a strict
watch. I will hire watchmen, and will station.
them among the cucumbers, and often I, myself,
will come unexpectedly among them, and I will
shout, ‘Hollo, there! keep a closer watch.""
As these words came into his head he
shouted them at the top of his voice. The
guards heard him, ran out, and belabored him.
with their sticks.
V.
THE FIRE.
It was harvest-time, and the men and women*
had gone out to work.
*Muzhiks and bábas.
SCENES FROM COMMON LIFE.
157
Only the very old and the very young stayed
in the village.
A grandmother and three of her grandchil-
dren were left in one cottage.* The grand-
mother kindled a fire in the oven, and lay
down for a nap. The flies lighted on her and
annoyed her with their biting. She covered
up her head with a towel and went to sleep.
One of the grandchildren, Masha, — she was
three years old, -opened the oven, shovelled
out some of the coals into a dish, and ran out
into the entry. Now in the entry lay some
sheaves. The women had been preparing these
sheaves for bands.
Masha brought the coals, emptied them under
the sheaves, and began to blow. When the
straw took fire, she was delighted; she ran into
the sitting-room, and seized her little brother,
Kiriushka, he was eighteen months old, and
was only just beginning to walk, and she
said, "Look, Kiriushka! see what a nice fire
I have started!"
The sheaves were already flaming and crack-
ing.
W
W
*The Russian peasant's cottage is called an izbá.
158
SCENES FROM COMMON LIFE.
When Masha saw the entry full of smoke,
she was frightened and hastened back into the
hut. Kiriushka stumbled on the threshold and
bumped his nose, and set up a cry. His sister
dragged him into the room, and both of them
hid under the bench. The grandmother heard
nothing, as she was asleep.
The oldest brother, Ványa, — he was eight,
was in the street. When he saw that smoke
was pouring from the entry, he ran indoors,
bounded through the smoke into the hut, and
tried to waken the grandmother; but the grand-
mother, who was only half awake, was dazed,
and, forgetting all about the children, leaped
up and ran about the village after help.
Meantime Masha was crouching under the
bench; but the little one cried because he had
hurt his nose so badly. Ványa heard him
crying, looked under the bench, and called
to Masha, "Run quick! you will be burnt
up!"
Masha ran to the entry; but it was impossible
for her to pass, on account of the smoke and
fire.
She came back. Then Ványa opened the
SCENES FROM COMMON LIFE.
159
window and told her to crawl out. When she
had crawled out, Ványa seized his little brother
and tried to drag him along.
But the little fellow was heavy and strug-
gled. He screamed and struck Ványa. Twice
Ványa fell after dragging him as far as the win-
dow; and by this time the door of the hut was
on fire.
Ványa thrust the baby boy's head up to the
window, and tried to push him through, but the
little fellow, who was very much frightened,
clung with his hands, and would not let go.
Then Ványa cried to Masha, "Pull him by the
head!" and he himself pushed from behind.
And thus they dragged him through the win-
dow, out of doors.
VI.
THE TREASURE TROVE.
An old woman and her granddaughter lived
in a village. They were very poor and had
nothing to eat. Easter Sunday came. The
people were full of rejoicing. All made their
purchases for the great feast, but the old woman
160
SCENES FROM COMMON LIFE.
and her granddaughter had nothing to make
merry with. They shed tears, and began to
pray God to help them.
Then the old woman remembered that long
ago, in the time of the Frenchman,* the peas-
ants used to hide their money in the ground.
And the old woman said to her granddaughter:
"Granddaughter, take your shovel and go over
to the site of the old village, ask God's help,
and dig into the ground; perhaps God will
send us something."
And the granddaughter said to herself: "It
is impossible that I should find anything. Still
I will do as grandma † bade me."
She took the shovel and went. After she
had dug a hole, she began to think, "I have
dug long enough; I am going home now.'
She was just going to take out the shovel
when she heard it knock against something.
She leaned over, and saw a large jug. She
shook it; something jingled. She threw down
her shovel, and ran to her grandma, crying,
"Babushka, I have found a treasure!"
""
* The French invasion of Russia, under Napoleon, 1812.
† Babushka.
SCENES FROM COMMON LIFE.
161
They opened the jug and found it full of
silver coins. And the grandmother and grand-
daughter were able to have an Easter feast,
and they bought a cow, and thanked God be-
cause he had heard their prayer.
VII.
THE BIRD.
It was Serozha's birthday, and he received
many different gifts, peg-tops, and hobby-
horses, and pictures. But Serozha's uncle gave
him a gift which he prized above all the rest;
it was a trap for snaring birds. The trap was
constructed in such a way that a board was
fitted on the frame and shut down upon the
top. If seed was scattered on the board, and
it was put out in the yard, the little bird would
fly down, hop upon the board, the board would
give way, and the trap would shut with a clap.
Serozha was delighted, and he ran to his
mother to show her the trap.
His mother said: "It is not a good play-
thing. What do you want to do with birds?
Why do you want to torture them?"
Mag
11
162
SCENES FROM COMMON LIFE.
"I am going to put them in a cage. They
will sing, and I will feed them."
Serozha got some seed, scattered it on the
board, and set the trap in the garden. And
he stood by and expected the birds to fly down.
But the birds were afraid of him, and did not
come near the cage. Serozha ran in to get
something to eat, and left the cage.
After dinner he went to look at it: the cage
had shut, and in it a little bird was beating
against the bars.
Serozha was delighted, took up the bird, and
carried it into the house.
"Mamma, I have caught a bird; I think
it is a nightingale; and how its heart beats!"
His mother said it was a canary: "Be care-
ful! don't hurt him; you would better let
him go."
66
No; I am going to give him something
to eat and drink."
Serozha put the canary in a cage, and for
two days gave him seed and water and cleaned
the cage.
But on the third day he forgot
all about the canary, and did not change the
water,
SCENES FROM COMMON LIFE.
163
And his mother said, "See here; you have
forgotten your bird; you would better let him
go."
"No, I will not forget him again; I will
immediately give him fresh water and clean
his cage."
Serozha thrust his hand into the cage and
began to clean it, but the little bird was fright-
ened and fluttered. After Serozha had cleaned
the cage, he went to get some water. His
mother perceived that he had forgotten to
shut the cage door, and she called after him,
Serozha, shut up your cage, else your bird
will fly out and hurt himself."
66
She had hardly spoken these words, when
the bird found the door, was delighted, spread
his wings, and flew around the room toward
the window. But he did not see the glass,
and struck against it and fell back on the
window-sill. Serozha came running in, picked
up the bird and put it back in the cage. The
bird was still alive, but it lay on its breast,
with its wings spread out, and breathed heavily.
Serozha looked and looked, and began to cry:--
Mamma, what can I do now?”
I
164
SCENES FROM COMMON LIFE.
"You can do nothing now."
Serozha did not leave the cage all day, but
gazed at the canary, and all the time the bird
lay on its breast and breathed hard and fast.
When Serozha went to bed, the bird was
dead. Serozha could not get to sleep for a
long time; every time that he shut his eyes he
seemed to see the bird still lying and sighing.
In the morning when Serozha went to his
cage he saw the bird lying on his back, with his
legs crossed, and all stiff.
After that Serozha never again tried to snare
birds.
VIII.
HOW UNCLE SEMYÓN TOLD ABOUT HIS ADVEN-
TURE IN THE WOODS.
Once in winter I had gone into the woods
after timber. I had cut down three trees, and
cut off the limbs, and was hewing them, when
I look up and see that it is getting late: time
to go home. But the weather was bad; it
snowed and blowed. I say to myself, "The
night is coming on, and you don't know the
way."
SCENES FROM COMMON LIFE.
165
I whipped up the horse and drove on: still
no sign of outlet. Forest all around.
I think how thin my shuba is: I may freeze
to death.
I still pushed on; it grew dark, and I was
entirely off the road.
I was just going to unyoke the sled and pro-
tect myself under it, when I heard not far away
the jingle of bells. I went in the direction of
the bells, and saw a tróïka of roan horses, their
manes tied with ribbons! their bells were jin-
gling, and two young men were in the sleigh.
"Good evening, brothers."
"Good evening, peasant."
"Where is the road, brothers?"
“Here we are right on the road.”
I went to them, and I see that strangely
enough the road is unbroken, all drifted over.
“Follow us,” said they, and they whipped up
their horses.
My wretched mare could not keep up with
them. I began to shout, “Hold on, brothers!"
They waited for me, laughing. "Get in with
us," said they; "it will be easier for your horse
without a load."
166
SCENES FROM COMMON LIFE.
"Thanks," said I.
I climbed into their sledge. It was hand-
some - well lined. As soon as I sat down, how
they spurred on the horses! "now then, my dar-
lings!"
The roan horses dashed away, making the
snow fly in clouds.
What a wonderful thing! It grew lighter and
lighter, and the road became as glare as ice, and
we flew so fast that it took away my breath,
and the twigs lashed my face. It began to be
painful.
I look ahead: there is a steep mountain, a
very steep mountain, and at the foot of the
mountain a ravine. The roans were flying
straight for the ravine.
I was frightened, and cried: “Heavens and
earth! slow up, you, slow up; you will kill us!"
But the men only laughed, and urged on the
horses the more. I see there is no saving us:
the ravine is under our very runners. But I
see a bough right over my head.
"Well,” I think, "you may go over alone." I
stood up, I seized the bough, and there I hung!
As I caught it I shouted, "Hold on!" And
Kada
SCENES FROM COMMON LIFE.
167
then I hear women shouting: "Uncle Semyón!
what is the matter? Start up the fire, you
women! Something is wrong with Uncle Sem-
yón! he is screaming! Stir up the fire!`
I woke up, and there I was in my cottage,
clinging to the loft, and screaming at the top of
my voice. And all that I had seen had been a
dream!
IX.
THE COW.
The widow Márya lived with her mother and
six children. Their means of life were small.
But they used their last money in the purchase
of a red cow, so as to have milk for the chil-
dren. The eldest children pastured Brownie *
in the field, and gave her slops at home.
One time while the mother was away from
home, the oldest son, Misha, in climbing on the
shelf after bread, knocked over a tumbler and
broke it.
Misha was afraid that his mother would chide
him. So he gathered up the large pieces of
broken glass, carried them into the yard, and
* Burenushka.
168
SCENES FROM COMMON LIFE.
buried them in the dung-heap, but the little
pieces he threw into the basin. The mother
missed the glass, and made inquiries; but Misha
said nothing, and so the matter rested.
On the next day, after dinner, when the
mother went to give Brownie the swill from
the basin, she found that Brownie was ailing
and would not eat her food. They tried to
give her medicine, and they called the babka.*
The babka said that the cow would not live;
it was best to slaughter her for beef.
They called a peasant and proceeded to
slaughter the cow. The children heard Brownie
lowing in the yard; they all climbed upon the
oven and began to weep.
After they had slaughtered Brownie, they
took off the hide and cut the carcass in pieces,
and there, in the throat, they found a piece of
glass. And so they knew that her death was
caused by her swallowing the glass in the slops.
When Misha heard this he began to weep
bitterly, and confessed to his mother that he
broke the glass. The mother said nothing, but
also wept. Then she said: "We have killed
* Midwife supposed to know something about ailments.
*
SCENES FROM COMMON LIFE.
169
our Brownie, and have nothing to get another
How will the little ones live with-
cow with.
out milk?"
Misha kept howling louder and louder, and
would not come down from the oven when
they ate the jelly made from the cow's head.
Every time when he went to sleep, he saw in
his dreams how Uncle Vasíli brought the red
cow by the horns, -Brownie, with her wide
eyes and beautiful neck.
From that time the children had no more
milk. Only on holidays they had milk, for
then Márya asked her neighbor for a mug
of it.
It happened that the lady of that estate
needed a child's nurse. And the grandmother
said to the daughter: "Let me go; I will take
the place as nurse, and maybe God will let
you get along with the children alone. And if
God spares me, I can earn enough in a year to
buy a cow.
Thus they did. The grandmother went to
the lady; but it grew still more hard for Márya
and the children. The children lived a whole
year without having milk. They had nothing
170
SCENES FROM COMMON LIFE.
but kisel jelly and tiúria * to eat, and they
grew thin and pale.
After the year was over, the grandmother
came home, bringing twenty rubles.
"Well, daughter," says she, "now we will
buy a cow."
Márya was delighted; all the children were
delighted. Márya and the grandmother went
to market to buy their cow. They asked a
neighbor to stay with the children, and they
asked another neighbor, Uncle Zakhár, to go
with them and help them to select the cow.
After saying their prayers they went to
town. In the afternoon the children kept run-
ning into the street to see if they could see the
cow. They amused themselves guessing what
kind of a cow she would be- red or black.
They began to tell how they would feed her.
All day long they waited and waited. They
walked a verst to meet the cow, but as it was
already growing dark, they turned back.
Suddenly they see coming along the road a
telyéga, and in it sits their grandmother, and
by the hind wheel walks a brindled cow tied
* Bread soaked in kvas.
SCENES FROM COMMON LIFE.
171
by the horn, and their mother is walking be-
hind urging her on with a dry stick.
The children ran to them, and began to ex-
amine the cow. They brought bread and grass
and tried to feed her. The mother went into
the cottage, changed her clothes, and went out
with her towel and milk-pail. She sat down
under the cow and began to wipe the udder.
The Lord be praised! The cow gave milk, and
the children stood around and watched the
milk straining into the pail, and listened to its
sound under the mother's fingers. When the
mother had milked the pail half full, she car-
ried it down cellar, and each of the children
had a mug
for supper.
X.
FILIPOK.
Once there was a little boy whose name was
Filipp. All the children were going to school.
Filipp took his hat and wanted to go too.
But his mother said to him, "Where are you
going, Filipok?"
"To school."
172
SCENES FROM COMMON LIFE.
"You are too small; you can't go," and his
mother kept him at home.
The children went off to school. Their
father had gone early in the morning to the
woods; the mother was engaged in her daily
work.
Filipok and his grandmother were left in the
cottage, on the oven. Filipok began to feel
lonesome; his grandmother was asleep, and he
began to search for his hat. When he could
not find his own, he took an old one, made of
sheepskin, and started for school.
School was kept at the village church. When
Filipp walked along his own street,* the dogs
did not meddle with him, for they knew him;
but when he reached the street in the next
estate, a black dog † came bounding out, and
barking, and behind this dog came another still
bigger, named Wolfie, and Filipp started to
run, the dogs after him.
Filipok began to cry; then he stubbed his
toe and fell. A peasant came out and called off
* Slobodá.
† Named Zhutchka, diminution of Zhuka, a beetle.
‡ Volchok,
SCENES FROM COMMON LIFE.
173
the dogs, and asked, "Where are you going all
sole alone, you little rascal?"
Filipok make no answer, pulled up his skirt,
and started to run with all his might. He ran
to the school. There was no one on the steps,
but in school the voices of the children could
be heard in a confused murmur.
Filipp began to be filled with fear, "Suppose
the teacher should drive me away?"
And he began to ponder what he should do.
If he should go back, the dogs might bite him ;
but if he went into school, he was afraid of the
teacher.
A peasant woman passed the school, with a
pail, and she said, "All are studying, and what
are you standing there for?"
So Filipok went into school.
In the entry
he took off his cap and opened the door. The
room was all full of children. All were talking
at once, and the teacher, in a red scarf, was
walking up and down in the midst of them.
"Who are you?" he demanded of Filipok.
Filipok clutched his cap and said nothing.
"Who are you?"
Filipok said never a word.
174
SCENES FROM COMMON LIFE.
"Are you dumb?"
Filipok was so scared that he could not
speak.
"Well, then, go home if you can't speak."
Now Filipok would have been glad to say
something, but his throat was all parched with
terror.
He looked at the teacher and burst into tears.
Then the teacher felt sorry for him. He
caressed his head, and inquired of the children
who the little fellow was.
"This is Filipok, Kostiushka's brother; he has
been wanting for a long time to go to school,
but his mother would not let him, and he must
have run away to school."
Well, sit down on the bench next your
brother, and I will ask your mother to let you
come to school.”
The teacher began to teach Filipok his let-
ters; but Filipok already knew them, and could
even read a little.
66
Very well; spell your name, then.”
Filipok said, "Khve-i, khvi- le-i li— peok-
pok."
Everybody laughed.
SCENES FROM COMMON LIFE.
175
"Bravo!" said the teacher; "who taught you
to read?"
Filipok summoned courage, and said: "Kos-
tiushka. I am mischievous. I learned them all
at once. I am terribly smart!
The teacher laughed, and asked, "And do
you know your prayer?"
Filipok said yes, and began to repeat the Ave
Maria; but he did not get every word quite
correct.
">
The teacher interrupted him, and said, "You
must not boast. I will teach you."
After this Filipok began to go to school reg-
ularly with the children.
STORIES FROM PHYSICS.
I.
went astray.
search for it.
THE MAGNET.
1.
IN days of old there was a shepherd whose
name was Magnes. One of Magnes' sheep
He went to the mountains to
He reached a spot where there were only
bare rocks. As he walked over these rocks he
began to be conscious that his boots were ad-
hering to them. He felt of them with his
hand: the rocks were dry, and did not stick
to his hands. He started to walk on again ;
still his boots stuck fast.
He sat down, took off one of his boots, and
holding it in his hands, began to touch the
rocks with it.
When he touched them with the leather or
the sole, it did not adhere; but when he touched
them with the nails, then it adhered.
STORIES FROM PHYSICS.
177
Magnes had a crook with an iron point.
He touched the stones with the wood; it did
not adhere but when he touched it with the
iron, it clung so powerfully that he had to pull
it away by main force.
Magnes examined the stone, saw that it was
like iron, and he carried some of the pieces of
rock home with him. From that time they
understood this stone, and called it touchstone,
or magnet.
2.
Magnets are found in the ground, together
The best iron is found when
with iron ore.
the ore contains magnets.
If a piece of iron is put on the magnet, then
the iron also begins to attract other pieces of
iron. And if a steel needle is laid on a magnet
and kept there for some time, then the needle
itself becomes a magnet, and is able to attract
iron to itself.
If two magnets are laid side by side, two of
the ends will repel each other; the other two
will attract each other. If a magnetic needle
be broken in two, then again each half will
19
178
STORIES FROM PHYSICS.
attract at one end and repel at the other. And
if it be broken again, the same thing will hap-
pen; and no matter how many times it is
broken, it will be always the same-like ends
repelling, odd ends attracting; just as though
the magnet pushed with one end and pulled
with the other.
And however often you break it, one end
will always push, and the other draw.
It is exactly like a pine cone: no matter
where it is broken off, one end is always con-
vex, the other hollow. And if they are put
end to end, the convex fits into the hollow;
but the convex will not fit the convex, nor the
cup the cup.
3.
If a needle is magnetized by being left some
time in contact with a magnet, and is balanced
on a point in such a way that it will move freely
on the point, then no matter in which direction
the magnetic needle is turned, as soon as it is
set free, it will come to rest with one end point-
ing to the south, the other pointing to the
north.
STORIES FROM PHYSICS.
179
Before the magnet was discovered men did
not dare to sail very far out on the sea.
Whenever they sailed out of sight of land,
then they could judge only by the sun and the
stars where they were going. But if it were
stormy, and the sun and stars were hid, then
they had no way of telling where their course
lay; and the vessel would drift before the
wind, and be dashed on the rocks and go to
pieces.
Until the discovery of the magnet they did
not sail on the ocean far from land; but after it
was discovered, then they made use of the mag-
netic needle balanced on the point so as to turn
freely. By means of this needle they could tell
in which direction they were sailing. With the
magnetic needle they began to make long voy-
ages far from land, and afterwards they discov
ered many new countries.
There is always on board ship a magnetic
needle, called the compass, and they have
a measuring-line with knots, at the stern of
the ship. And the cord is so constructed that
it uncoils and tells how fast the vessel is
sailing.
180
STORIES FROM PHYSICS.
Thus it is, that when they sail a ship, they
always know where they are at any given time,
and whether they are far from land, and in what
direction they are going.
II.
BAD AIR.
1.
One festival day, at the village of Nikolskoyé,
the people had gone to mass. On the estate*
were left the cattle woman, the village elder,†
and the hostler.
The cattle woman went to the well after
water. The well was in the yard itself. She
was drawing up the bucket, but failed to hold
it. The bucket slipped from her, struck against
the side of the well, and broke the rope.
The cattle woman returned to her cottage,
and said to the elder, “Aleksandr, come, little
father, to the well; I have dropped the bucket."
* At the bársky dvor; that is, the establishment of the
bárin.
† The stárosta, the elected head of the village mir, or
commune.
STORIES FROM PHYSICS.
181
Aleksandr replied, "You dropped it, and you
must get it out."
The cattle woman replied that she was going
to climb down into the well, only she wanted
him to hold her.
The elder said, "Very well, then; let us go:
you have been fasting lately, so I can hold you;
but if you had had dinner, it would be im-
possible."
The elder fastened a stake to the rope, and
the woman sat astride of it, clinging to the rope,
and she began to descend into the well, and the
elder unwound the rope by means of the wind-
lass. The well was about fourteen feet deep,
and there was a third of a fathom of water in it.
*
The elder kept turning back the windlass
slowly, and shouting to the woman, "Is that
enough?" And the cattle woman kept crying,
"Just a little more."
Suddenly the elder felt the rope slacken; he
shouted to the woman, but she gave no answer.
The elder looked down into the well, and saw
that the woman was lying with her head in the
water and her feet in the air.
* Six arshín, 13.98 feet,
182
STORIES FROM PHYSICS.
The elder began to shout and call the people,
but there was no one to come. Only the hostler
came running.
The elder bade him hold the windlass, and
he himself pulled up the rope, got astride of the
stake, and descended into the well.
As soon as the hostler let the elder down to
the water's edge, the same thing happened. He
let go of the rope, and fell head-first upon the
cattle woman.
The hostler began to cry for help; then he
ran to the church for the people. Mass was
over, and the people were returning from
church. All the peasant men and women has-
tened to the well. They all stood around the
curb, and each offered advice, but no one knew
what to do.
A young carpenter forced his way through
the throng, up to the well, seized the rope, sat
on the stake, and told them to let him down.
But Iván took the precaution to fasten the
rope to his waist. Two men let him down,
and all the rest looked into the well to see
what would happen to Iván.
As soon as he reached the level of the water,
STORIES FROM PHYSICS.
183
he let go of the rope with his hands, and would
have fallen in head-first, but for the fact of the
girdle holding him.
All cried, "Pull him back!"
And they lifted Iván to the top.
He hung on the rope like a dead weight.
His head hung down and thumped against the
edge of the well.
His face was bluish purple. They seized
him, unfastened the rope, and laid him on the
ground. They thought that he was dead; but
he suddenly drew a deep sigh, began to clear
his throat, and came to.
Then still others proposed to go down; but
an old peasant said that it was impossible to
go down into the well, for there was bad air
in it, and this bad air was death to men.
Then the men ran to get gaffs, and they
attempted to hook up the elder and the woman.
The elder's wife and mother were shrieking
near the well; the others were trying to calm
them.
Then the peasants brought the gaffs to the
well, and began to grapple for the two victims.
Twice they lifted the elder, by means of his
184
STORIES FROM PHYSICS.
clothes, half-way up the well, to the well-curb ,;
but he was heavy, his clothes tore, and he fell
back. At last they hooked him with two gaffs
and brought him to the surface. Then they
brought up the cattle woman in the same way.
Both were stone-dead, and could not be
brought to life.
Then, when an investigation of the well was
made, they learned that the bottom of the well
was full of bad air.
This sort of air is so heavy, that no man can
live in it nor any living thing exist in it.
They let a cat down into the well, and as
soon as it reached the place where the bad
air was, it immediately died.
Not only can no living thing live in it, but
a candle cannot burn in it.
They let down a candle, and as soon as it
reached the same place, it was immediately
extinguished.
2.
There are places under the earth where this
bad air accumulates; and if you should go into
them, you would immediately perish. Hence
STORIES FROM PHYSICS.
185
in mines they have lamps, and before a man
goes into such a place they let a lamp down
first.
If the lamp goes out, then it is impossible
for a man to enter. So they send down a
supply of fresh air until the lamp will burn.
Near the city of Naples there is such a grotto.
In it the bad air always stands to a height
of an arshín* above the ground, and above
that the air is pure. A man can walk through
this grotto and receive no harm; but as soon
as a dog enters, he chokes to death.
Whence comes this bad air?
It is made out of the same good air which
we breathe. If many people are collected in
one room, and all the doors and windows are
shut so that no fresh air can get in, then the
atmosphere becomes the same as in the well,
and the people perish.
A hundred years ago the Hindoos shut
one hundred and forty-six Englishmen into
a dungeon, and locked them up in an under-
ground hole, where the air could not get to
them.
* 2.33 feet.
186
STORIES FROM PHYSICS.
The imprisoned Englishmen, after they had
been there a few hours, began to choke, and at
the end of the night one hundred and twenty-
three of them were dead, and the rest were
taken out barely alive and ailing.
At first the air had been pure in the dun-
geon; but when the prisoners had breathed up
all the good air, and it was impossible to get
any fresh supply, it became bad, like that in
the well, and they died.
How is it that bad air is made out of good
air, when many people are together?
Because when people breathe, the good air
is taken into the lungs, and breathed out as
bad air.
TALES FROM ZOOLOGY.
I.
THE OWL AND THE HARE.
IT
T was growing dark. The owls began to fly
from the forest, over the ravine, in search
of their prey.
A big gray hare was bounding over the field,
and began to plume his thick coat of fur.
An old owl, as she sat on the bough, was
watching the gray hare; and a young owl said,
"Why don't you pounce down on the hare?"
The old one replied: "I am not strong
enough. The hare is large. If you should
clutch him, he would carry you off into the
thicket."
But the young owl said, "Why, I could
carry him off with one claw, and with the other
I could cling to the tree."
And the young owl swooped down on the
hare, clutched his back with his claw in such
a way that all the nails sank into the fur, and
188
TALES FROM ZOÖLOGY.
he was going to cling to the tree with the
other claw; and he said to himself, "He will
not escape."
But the hare darted himself away, and pulled
the owl in two. One claw remained in the
tree; the other, in the hare's back.
The next day a sportsman killed this hare,
and was surprised to find on his back the talons
of a full-grown owl.
II.
HOW WOLVES TEACH THEIR CUBS.
I was riding along the road, when I heard
some one shouting behind me. It was a young
shepherd. He was crossing a field, and point-
ing at something.
I looked, and saw two wolves running across
the field. One was the mother; the other was
a cub. The cub had on his back a lamb which
had just been killed, and he had the leg in
his mouth.
The mother-wolf was running behind.
As soon as I saw the wolves, I joined the
shepherd, and we started in pursuit, setting up
a shout.
TALES FROM ZOÜLOGY.
189
When they heard our shout, some peasants
started out also in pursuit, with their dogs.
As soon as the old wolf caught sight of the
dogs and the people, she ran to the young one,
snatched the lamb from him, jerked it over
her own back, and both wolves increased their
pace and were soon lost from view.
Then the lad began to relate how it had
happened. The big wolf had sprung out from
the ravine, seized the lamb, killed it, and carried
it off. The cub came to meet her, and threw
himself on the lamb. The mother-wolf allowed
the young wolf to carry the lamb, but kept
running a short distance behind.
But as soon as there was danger, the old
one ceased giving the lesson, and herself seized
the lamb.
III.
HARES AND WOLVES.
Hares feed in the night, on the bark of
trees; field-hares, on seeds and grass; barn-
hares, on grains of wheat on the threshing-
floors.
In the night-time hares leave on the snow
190
TALES FROM ZOÜLOGY.
a deep, noticeable trail. Men and dogs and
foxes and crows and eagles delight in hunting
hares.
If a hare went directly back without doub-
ling, then in the morning there would be no
trouble in following his trail; but God has
endowed the hare with timidity, and this timid-
ity is his salvation.
At night the hare runs over the fields and
woods without fear and leaves a straight track;
but as soon as morning comes, and his foes
awake, then the hare begins to listen now for
the barking of dogs, now for the creaking of
sledges, now for the voices of peasants, now
for the noise of wolves in the woods, and so he
leaps first to one side and then to the other.
He darts ahead, and something frightens him,
and so he doubles on his track. Then he hears
something else, and with all his might he leaps
to one side and makes away from his former
track. Again something startles him, and the
hare turns back and again jumps to one side.
When it is daylight, he is in his hole.
In the morning, when the sportsmen begin
to track the hare, they become confused in this
TALES FROM ZOOLOGY.
191
maze of double tracks and long leaps, and they
marvel at the hare's shrewdness.
But the hare had no thought of being
shrewd: he was merely afraid of everything.
IV.
THE SILK-WORM.
In my garden there were some old mulberry-
trees. They had been set out as long ago as
my grandfather's time.
Once I was given a quantity* of silk-worm
eggs, and advised to raise the worms and make
silk.
These eggs were dark gray and so small that
in my two drams and a half I counted five thou-
sand eight hundred and thirty-five. They were
smaller than the heads of the smallest pins.
They were perfectly inert: only, when they were
crushed, they made a crackling sound.
I heaped them up on my table and had for-
gotten all about them.
* A zolotník, equal to two and forty hundredths drams,
one ninety-sixth of the Russian pound, which is nine-tenths
of ours.
192
TALES FROM ZOOLOGY.
But when spring came, I went one day out
into my garden and noticed that the mulberry
buds were swelling, and were even in leaf
where the sun got to them. Then I remem-
bered about my silk-worm eggs, and as soon
as I went into the house I began to examine
them and scatter them over a wider surface.
The larger part of them were no longer of a
dark gray as before, but some had turned into
a light gray color, while others were still
brighter, with milky shades. The next morn-
ing I went early to look at the eggs, and saw
that the worms had already crept out of some
of them, and that others were swollen and
filled up. They had evidently become con-
scious in their shells that their nutriment was
ready for them.
The little worms were black and hairy, and
so small that it was difficult to see them. I
examined them with a magnifying-glass, and
could see that in the egg they lay curled up in
little rings, and when they emerged they
straightened themselves out.
I went out into the garden to my mulberry-
tree, gathered three handfuls of leaves and
TALES FROM ZOÖLOGY.
193
laid them by themselves on the table, and went
to make a place for them as I had been told to
do.
While I was getting ready the paper, the
worms perceived the presence of the leaves on
the table, and crawled over to them. I moved
the leaves away and tried to attract the worms
along, and they, just like dogs attracted by a
piece of meat, crept in pursuit of the leaves
over the table-cloth, across the pencils, pen-
knives, and papers.
Then I cut out a sheet of paper and riddled
it with holes made with a knife. I spread the
leaves on the paper and laid the paper with
the leaves over the worms.
The worms crept
through the holes; they all mounted on the
leaves and immediately set to work feeding.
In the same way I laid a paper covered with
leaves over the other worms, and they likewise,
as soon as they were hatched, immediately
crept through the holes and began to feed.
All the worms on each sheet of paper gath-
ered together and ate the leaves, beginning at
the edge. Then, when they had stripped them
clean, they began to crawl over the paper in
13
194
TALES FROM ZOÖLOGY.
search of new food. Then I would spread over
them fresh sheets of perforated paper covered
with mulberry leaves, and they would crawl
through to the new food.
They lay in my room on a shelf, and when
there were no leaves, they would crawl over
the shelf, reaching the very edge; but they
never fell to the floor, although they were
blind.
As soon as a worm would come to the abyss,
before letting himself down, he would put out
of his mouth a little thread and fasten it to the
edge, then let himself down, hang suspended,
make investigations, and if it pleased him to
let himself down, he would let himself down;
but if he wanted to return, then he would pull
himself back by means of his web.
During all the twenty-four hours of the day
the worms did nothing else but feed; and it
was necessary to give them mulberry leaves in
greater and greater quantities. When fresh
leaves were brought, and they were crawling
over them, then there would be a rustling sound,
like the noise of rain on foliage. This was
made by them as they began to eat.
TALES FROM ZOÖLOGY.
195
In this way the old worms lived five days.
By this time they had grown enormously, and
would eat ten times as much as they had done
at first.
I knew that on the fifth day it was time for
them to roll themselves up, and I was on the
watch for this to begin. In the evening of the
fifth day one of the old worms stretched him-
self out on the paper and ceased to eat or to
move.
The next day I watched him for a long time.
I knew that the worms shed their skins a
number of times, when they have grown so
large that their shells are too small for them,
and then they put on new ones.
One of my companions took turns with me
in watching the process. In the evening he
cried, "Hurry up; he is beginning to un-
dress!"
I went over to the shelf, and was just in time
to see that this worm had fastened his old shell
to the paper, and had made a rent near his
mouth, was thrusting out his head, and was
struggling and twisting so as to get out; but
his old shirt would not let him go.
196
TALES FROM ZOÖLOGY.
I looked at him for a long time struggling
there and unable to extricate himself, and I felt
a desire to help him.
I tried to pick him out by means of my finger-
nail, but instantly saw that I had done a foolish
thing. A sort of liquid gushed over my finger-
nail, and the worm died.
I thought that it was his blood; but then I
saw that the worm had under his skin a watery
juice for the purpose of facilitating the process
of slipping out of the shirt. My finger-nail had
evidently disturbed the formation of the new
shirt, for the worm, though he was loosened,
speedily perished.
The others I did not touch any more, and in
the same way they all came out of their shirts.
A few of them, however, died; but all of them,
after a long and painful struggle, at last emerged
from their old shirts.
After they had moulted, the worms began to
eat more voraciously then ever, and I had to
bring them still more mulberry leaves. In
the course of four days they went to sleep
again, and again went through the change of
skin.
TALES FROM ZOOLOGY.
197
Then they ate still more leaves, and they
measured as much as the eighth of a vershók *
in length.
Then at the end of six days they again went
to sleep, and once more the transformation from
old shells into new ones took place, and they
began to be very large and fat, and we had
really considerable trouble to keep them sup-
plied with leaves.
On the ninth day the old worms entirely
ceased to feed, and they went crawling up on
the shelf and the supports. I caught some of
them and gave them fresh leaves, but they
turned their heads away from the leaves, and
crawled off again.
I then recollected that the silk-worms, when
they are about to spin their cocoons,† abso-
lutely cease to feed, and go to climbing.
I put them back, and began to watch what
they would do.
Some of the old ones crawled upon the ceil-
ing, took up positions apart, each by himself,
* A vershók is 1.75 inch. There are sixteen vershóks in
an arshín.
† In Russian the word kukla means both doll and chrysalis.
198
TALES FROM ZOÜLOGY.
crawled around a little, and then began to fasten
a web in various directions.
I watched one in particular. He went into a
corner, extended a half-dozen threads at a dis-
tance of a vershók from him in every direction;
then he hung himself to it, doubled himself
almost in two, like a horseshoe, and began to
move his head round and round, and to send
out a silken web in such a way that the web
began to whip itself around him.
By evening he was, as it were, in a mist of his
own weaving. He could be scarcely seen, and
on the next day he was entirely invisible in his
cocoon. He was entirely enwrapped in silk,
and yet he still kept spinning. At the end of
three days he ceased to spin and died.
Afterwards I learned how long a thread he
had spun in those three days. If the whole
cocoon be unwound, it will sometimes give a
thread more than a verst* in length, and rarely
less; and it is easy to reckon how many times
the worm has to turn his head during these
three days to spin such a thread: it will be
not less than three hundred thousand times.
*Thirty-five hundred feet.
TALES FROM ZOOLOGY.
199
In other words, he turns his head round
without ceasing once every second for seventy-
two hours. We noticed also after this labor
was finished, when we took a few of the cocoons
and cut them open, that the worms were per-
fectly dry and white as wax.
I was aware that from these cocoons, with
their dry, white, wax-like insides, butterflies
would come forth; but as I looked at them, I
could not believe it. Still, on the twentieth
day, I began to watch what would happen to
those that I had left.
I knew that on the twentieth day the change
would take place. As yet nothing was to be
seen, and I even began to think that there was
some mistake about it, when suddenly I noticed
that the end of one of the cocoons had grown
dark and moist. I was even inclined to believe
that it was spoiled, and was inclined to throw
it away.
But then I thought, "May it not be the
beginning of the change?" And so I kept
watching it to see what would happen.
And in fact, from the moist spot something
moved. For a long time I could not make out
200
TALES FROM ZOÖLOGY.
But then something appeared like
what it was.
a head with feelers.
The feelers moved. Then I perceived that a
leg was thrust through the hole, then another,
and the leg was clinging hold and trying to get
loose from the cocoon. Something came out
farther and farther, and at last I perceived a
moist butterfly.
When all its six legs were freed, the tail fol
lowed; when it was entirely out, it sat there.
When the butterfly became dry, it was white;
it spread its wings, flew up, circled around, and
lighted on the window-pane.
At the end of two days the butterfly laid its
eggs on the window-sill, and fastened them to-
gether. The eggs were yellowish in color.
Twenty-five butterflies laid their eggs: I col-
lected five thousand of them.
The next year I raised still more silk-worms,
and spun off still more silk.
STORIES FROM BOTANY.
I.
MY APPLE-TREES.
I
SET out two hundred young apple-trees,
and for three years, spring and autumn, I
dug around them, and when winter came, I
wrapped them around with straw as a protec-
tion against rabbits.
On the fourth year, when the snow had gone,
I went out to examine my apple-trees. They
had grown during the winter, their bark was
smooth and full of sap, the branches were all
perfect, and on all the extremities of the twigs
were the buds of flowers, as round as little
peas.
Here and there, where the buds had already
burst, the edges of the petals could be seen.
I knew that all the buds would become
flowers and fruit, and I was full of gladness
as I watched my apple-trees.
202
STORIES FROM BOTANY.
But when I came to strip off the straw from
the first tree, I noticed that at its foot, just be-
low the level of the soil, the bark of the tree
had been nibbled around, down to the rind,--
just like a white ring.
The mice had done it.
I stripped the next tree, and on the next tree
it was just the same. Out of two hundred
apple-trees not one was untouched. I smeared
the injured places with pitch and wax; but as
soon as the apple-trees bloomed, the flowers
immediately fell to the ground. Little leaves
came out, but they faded and dried up. The
bark grew rough and black.
Out of my two hundred trees only nine were
saved.
The bark of these nine apple-trees had not
been entirely girdled, but in the white rings
there was left a band of bark. At the junc-
ture of these bands with the bark warts grew;
but though the trees were badly injured, still
they survived. All the rest were lost, save that
below the girdled place little sprouts came up;
but they were wild.
The bark on trees is the same as the veins in
STORIES FROM BOTANY.
203
man; the blood flows through a man's veins,
and through the bark the sap flows over the
tree and provides it with branches, leaves, and
flowers. The whole inside of a tree may be
removed, as often happens with old willows,
and if only the bark is alive, the tree will live;
but if the bark is destroyed, the tree is de-
stroyed. If a man's veins are cut, the man dies;
in the first place, because the blood runs out of
them; and in the second place, because then
the blood could not be distributed over the
body.
And in the same way the birch-tree perishes
when children make a hole in it to drink the
sap: all the sap runs out.
And in the same way my apple-trees perished
because the mice entirely girdled the bark so
that there was no way for the sap from the
roots to reach the branches, the leaves, and the
blossoms.
II.
THE OLD POPLAR.
Our garden had been neglected for five years.
engaged workmen with axes and shovels, and
I
204
STORIES FROM BOTANY.
I myself began to work with them in my gar-
den. We cut down and lopped off dead and
wild growths and superfluous thickets and
trees.
More abundantly and luxuriantly than any-
thing else had grown the poplar and bird
cherry. The poplar starts from roots, and it
is impossible to pull it up; but you have to cut
the roots out of the ground.
Behind the pond stood a monstrous poplar,
two spans in circumference. On all sides of it
was a field, and this field was overgrown with
young poplar shoots. I ordered the men to
cut them down: I wanted to make the place
more cheerful; but above all, I wanted to make
it easier for the old poplar, because I thought
that all these young trees came from it and
robbed it of sap.
As we were cutting down the young poplars,
I sometimes felt a pang of regret to see the
roots full of sap hacked in pieces under ground.
Sometimes four of us tried to pull up the roots
of some young poplar that had been cut down,
and found it impossible. It would resist with
all its might, and would not die. I said to my-
STORIES FROM BOTANY.
205
A
self, "Evidently it ought to live, if it clings so
stoutly to life."
But it was essential to cut them down; and
I persisted in having them destroyed. But
afterwards, when it was too late, I learned
that I ought not to have destroyed them.
I supposed that the saplings drew the sap
from the old poplar, but it proved to be quite
the reverse. After I had cut them down, the old
poplar also died. When it put forth leaves, I
saw that one of its halves-it grew in two great
branches was bare, and that same summer it
dried up. It had been long dying, and was
conscious of it, and had been giving its life to
its shoots.
That was the reason that they had grown so
rapidly, and I, who had wished to help it, had
killed all its children.
III.
THE BIRD CHERRY-TREE.
A bird cherry* had taken root on the path
through the hazel-nut grove, and was beginning
to choke off the hazel-bushes.
*Cheryómukha (Prunus padus).
206
STORIES FROM BOTANY.
For some time I queried whether to cut
it or not to cut it; I felt sorry to do so.
This bird cherry did not grow in a clump,
but in a tree more than five inches * in
diameter, and twenty-eight feet high, full of
branches, bushy, and wholly covered with
bright white, fragrant blossoms.
The per-
fume from it was wafted a long distance.
I certainly should not have cut it down, but
one of the workmen I had given him orders
before to cut down every bird cherry-began
to fell it in my absence. When I came, he had
already cut half-way into it, and the sap was
dripping down under the axe as he let it fall
into the gash.
"There's no help for it," I said to myself;
evidently it is its fate.”
So I myself took the axe, and began to help
the peasant cut it down.
It is delightful to work at all sorts of work; it
is delightful even to cut wood. It is delightful
to sink the axe deep in the wood, with a slant-
and
ing stroke, and then to cut it in straight,
thus to advance deeper and deeper into the tree.
* Three vershoks, 5.25 inches.
66
S
STORIES FROM BOTANY.
207
I entirely forgot about the bird cherry-tree,
and thought only about getting it cut down as
quickly as possible.
When I got out of breath, I laid down the
axe, and the peasant and I leaned against
the tree, and tried to push it over. We
pushed hard; the tree shook its foliage and
sprinkled us with drops of dew, and strewed
all around the white, fragrant petals of its
blossoms.
At this instant something shrieked; there
was a sharp crackling sound in the centre of
the tree, and the tree began to fall.
It broke off near the gash, and slowly waver
ing, toppled over on the grass, with all its leaves
and blossoms. The branches and blossoms
trembled for a moment after it fell, and then
grew motionless.
"Ekh! what a splendid piece!" said the peas-
ant; "it's a real shame!"
As for me, I felt so sorry that I hastened off
to the other workmen.
208
STORIES FROM BOTANY.
IV.
HOW TREES WALK.
Once we were clearing an overgrown path on
the hillside, near the pond. We had cut down
many briars, willows, and poplars, and at last
we came to a bird cherry.
It was growing on the path itself, and it was
so old and thick that it seemed as if it must
have been there at least ten years. And yet I
knew that only five years before the garden had
been cleared.
I could not understand how such a mature.
cherry-tree could have sprung up there.
We cut it down and went on. A little far-
ther away, in another thicket, there was another
bird cherry-tree like the first, only even more
dense.
I examined its root, and found that it sprang
from under an old linden. The linden had been
smothering it with its shade, and the cherry had
run under the ground for a distance of a dozen
feet,* with a straight stem; and when it came
* Five arshín, 11.65 feet.
STORIES FROM BOTANY.
209
out into the light, it had raised its head and
begun to flourish.
I cut it up by the root, and was amazed to
see how light-colored and rotten the root was.
After I had cut it off, the peasants and I tried
to pull up the tree; but in spite of all our best
efforts we could not stir it: it seemed to be fas-
tened to the ground.
I said, "Look and see if we have not failed
to cut it entirely off."
One of the workmen crawled down under it,
and cried:
"Yes, there's another root; there it is under
the path."
I went to him, and found that this was the case.
The cherry-tree, in order not to be choked off
by the linden, had crept from under the linden
to the path, seven feet from its original root.
Then the root which I had cut off was rotten
and dried up, but the new one was alive. It
had evidently felt that it would not live under
the linden, had stretched itself out, had taken
hold of the soil with its branch, had made a
root out of the branch, and then abandoned the
old root.
14
210
STORIES FROM BOTANY,
Then I began to understand how the first
bird cherry had grown up in the path. It had
evidently done the same thing, but had suc-
ceeded in so thoroughly ridding itself of its old
root, that I could not find it.
FABLES PARAPHRASED FROM THE
INDIAN, AND IMITATIONS.
I.
THE HEAD AND TAIL OF THE SERPENT.
THE serpent's
HE serpent's Tail was disputing with the
serpent's Head as to which should go first.
The Head said, "You cannot go first; you
have no eyes or ears."
""
The Tail replied: “But at all events I have
the strength to make you go. If I wanted, I could
twine around a tree, and you could not stir.”
The Head said, “Let us part company."
And the Tail tore itself away from the Head,
and crawled away its own direction.
But as soon as it had left the Head, it came
upon a crack, and fell into it.
II.
FINE THREADS.
A man bade a spinner to spin fine threads.
The spinner spun fine threads; but the mar de-
212
FABLES.
clared that the threads were not good, and that
he wished the very finest of fine threads.
The spinner said, "If these are not fine
enough for you, then here are some others that
will suit you.
""
And she pointed to a bare spot. The man
declared that he could not see them.
The spinner replied, "The fact that you can-
not see them proves that they are very fine; I
can't see them myself."
The fool was rejoiced, and ordered some more
of the same thread, and paid down the money
for it.
III.
THE DIVISION OF THE INHERITANCE.
A father had two sons. He said to them, "I
am dying; divide everything equally."
When the father was dead, the sons could
not make the division without quarrelling.
They went to a neighbor to help them to decide.
The neighbor asked them what their father
had commanded them to do.
They replied, "He commanded us to make
equal shares of everything.'
""
FABLES.
213
Then said the neighbor, "Tear all the rai-
ment in two; break all the utensils in two; cut
all the live stock in two."
The brothers took the neighbor's advice, and
at the end neither had anything.
IV.
THE MONKEY.
A man went into the woods. He felled a
tree, and began to cut it in pieces. He lifted
the end of the tree on the stump, sat astride
upon it, and began to saw. Then he drove a
wedge into the cleft, and began to saw farther
along; then he removed the wedge, and put it
in the new place.
A monkey was sitting on a tree, watching
him.
When the man lay down to sleep, the monkey
got astride of the tree and began to saw, but
when he took out the wedge, the tree closed
together again, and nipped his tail.
He began to struggle and squeal.
The man awoke, knocked the monkey down,
and tied him with a rope.
214
FABLES.
V.
THE MONKEY AND THE PEAS.
A monkey was carrying two handfuls of peas.
One little pea dropped out. He tried to pick it
up, and spilt twenty. He tried to pick up the
twenty, and spilt them all. Then he lost his
temper, scattered the peas in all directions, and
ran away.
VI.
THE MILCH COW.
A man had a cow; every day she gave a pail
of milk. The man invited some guests. In
order to get more milk he did not milk the cow
for ten days.
He thought that on the tenth day the cow
would give him ten pails of milk.
But the cow's milk had dried up, and she
gave less milk than ever before.
VII.
THE DUCK AND THE MOON.
A duck was floating down the river; she had
been hunting for a fish, and all day long she
had not found one,
FABLES.
215
When night came, she saw the moon in the
water, and thought that it was a fish, and she
dived down to catch the moon.
The other ducks saw this, and began to make
sport of her.
From that time forth the duck began
to be ashamed and lose courage, so
that
whenever she saw a fish under the water
she would not seize it, and so she died of
starvation.
VIII.
THE OLD WOLF IN THE DUST.
A Wolf was anxious to steal a sheep from
the flock; and went to the leeward, so that
the dust from the flock might cover him. The
Shepherd Dog saw him, and said, "It's no use,
Wolf, for you to go in the dust, it will spoil
your eyes."
But the Wolf replied, "It is very unfor-
tunate, Doggy, my eyes were spoiled long
ago; but they say that the dust from a
flock of sheep is an excellent remedy for the
eyes."
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FABLES.
IX.
THE MOUSE UNDER THE GRANARY.
A Mouse lived under a granary. In the
granary floor was a little hole. The Mouse's
life was happy, but she became desirous to
make a spread.
She gnawed a larger hole, and invited other
Mice.
"Come," says she, "and have a feast; there
will be food enough for all."
But after she had brought the Mice, she
discovered that there was no hole at all. The
farmer had noticed the big hole in the floor,
and closed it up.
X.
THE VERY BEST PEAR.
A rich man sent his servant to buy the
very best pears.
The servant went to the shop, and asked
for pears.
The merchant gave them to him; but the
servant said:
"No; give me your best pears."
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217
The merchant said, "Taste one; you will
find that they are delicious.'
"How can I know," exclaimed the servant,
"that they are all delicious, if I taste only
one?" So he bit a little out of each pear, and
took them to his master.
Then his master dismissed him.
XI.
""
THE FALCON AND THE COCK.
A Falcon became tame, and would fly to
his master's hand whenever he called. The
Cock was afraid of the master, and screamed
when he came near him.
And the Falcon said to the Cock: "You
Cocks have no sense of gratitude! What a
race of slaves you are! As soon as you are
hungry, you go to your master. It is a very
different thing with us wild birds: we are
strong, and we can fly faster than all others,
and we are not afraid of men; but we go of
our own accord and perch on their hands when
they call us.
We remember that they have
given us food."
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And the Cock said, "You are not afraid of
men, because you never saw a Falcon roasted,
but many a time have we seen Cocks roasted!'
XII.
THE JACKALS AND THE ELEPHANT.
""
The Jackals had eaten all the carrion in
the forest, and there was nothing left for them
to devour. Now there was an aged Jackal,
and he devised a plan to get food. He went
to the Elephant, and said:
"We used to have a Tsar, but he became
spoiled; he would lay such tasks on us that
it was impossible to do them: we wish to elect
another Tsar; and my people have sent me to
beg you to become our Tsar. We live well;
whatever you wish, that we will do; and we
will honor you in all respects. Come, let us
go to our empire."
The Elephant consented, and followed the
Jackal. The Jackal led him into a bog. When
the Elephant began to sink, the Jackal said:-
"Now order whatever you desire, and we
will do it."
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219
The Elephant said:-
"I command you to pull me out of here."
The Jackal laughed, and said, "Seize my
tail with your proboscis, and I will instantly
pull you out."
The Elephant replied:-
"Can you pull me out with your tail?"
But the Jackal demanded:
66
Why, then, did you order anything that
was impossible to do? We drove away our
first Tsar for the very reason that he laid
impossible commands on us! "
When the Elephant had perished in the
swamp, the Jackals came and feasted on him.
XIII.
THE HERON, THE FISHES, AND THE CRAB.
A Heron lived by a pond, and was beginning
to grow old. She was no longer strong enough
to catch fish. So she began to plan how she
might contrive to get a living. And she said
to the Fishes :
"Fishes, you have not the least idea what a
misfortune is threatening you. I have heard
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some men say that they are going to drain the
pond, and catch all of you. I happen to know
that beyond this mountain is a nice little pond.
I would help you to get there; but I am now
in years; it is hard for me to fly."
The Fishes began to beseech the Heron to
help them.
The Heron replied, "I will do my best for
you, I will carry you over; but I cannot do
it all at once, only one at a time."
And so the Fishes were delighted: they all
said, "Carry me! carry me!"
And the Heron began to carry them: she
would take up one at a time, carry him off
to a field, and feast on him. In this way she
ate up many fishes.
Now there lived in the pond an aged Crab.
When the Heron began to carry off the Fishes,
he suspected the true state of affairs; and he
said, "Well now, Heron, take me also to your
new settlement."
The Heron seized the Crab, and flew off with
him. As soon as she reached the field, she was
going to drop the Crab. But the Crab, seeing
the bones of the Fishes on the field, clasped
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221
his claws around the Heron's neck, and strangled
her; and then he crawled back to the pond
and told the Fishes.
XIV.
66
THE WATER-SPRITE AND THE PEARL.
A man was sailing in a boat, and dropped
a precious pearl into the sea. The man returned
to land, and took a pail, and began to scoop
up the water and pour it on the shore.
For three days unweariedly he scooped and
poured.
On the fourth day a Water-sprite came up
out of the water, and asked:
A
Why art thou scooping?
The man replied, "I am scooping because
I have lost a pearl."
The Water-sprite asked:-
"Are you going to stop before long?'
The man replied: -
"When I have scooped the sea dry, then
I shall stop."
,,
Then the Water-sprite returned into the
depths, and brought up the very same pearl,
and gave it to the man.
222
FABLES.
XV.
THE BLIND MAN AND THE MILK.
One blind from birth asked a man who could
see: "What color is milk?”
The man who could see replied, "The color
of milk is like white paper."
The blind man asked, "This color, then,
rustles in the hands like paper?"
The man who could see replied, "No; it
is white, like white flour."
The blind man asked, "Then it is soft and
friable like flour, is it?"
The man who could see replied, "No; it
is simply white, like a rabbit.”
The blind man asked, "Then it is downy
and soft, like a rabbit, is it?"
The man who could see replied, "No; white
is a color exactly like snow."
The blind man asked, "Then it is cold, like
snow, is it?"
And in spite of all the comparisons which
the man who could see made, still the blind
man was wholly unable to comprehend what
the color of milk really was.
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223
XVI.
THE WOLF AND THE BOW.
A hunter with his bow and arrows went out
to hunt; he killed a goat, flung it over his
shoulders, and was carrying it home.
On the way he saw a wild boar.
The hunter dropped the goat, shot the boar,
and wounded him.
The boar rushed upon the huntsman, gored
him to death with his tusks, and then himself
died.
A Wolf smelled the blood, and came to the
place where were lying the goat, the boar, the
man and his bow.
The Wolf was overjoyed, and said to himself,
"Now I shall have enough to eat for a long
time; but I am not going to eat it all up at
once; I will eat a little at a time, so that none
of it may be wasted. First I will eat the hard-
est part, and then I will feast on the softest and
daintiest."
The Wolf sniffed the goat, the boar, and the
man, and he said, "This food is soft, I will eat
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this afterwards; but first of all I will eat the
tendon on this bow."
And he began to gnaw at the tendon on the
bow. When he had bitten through the bow-
string, the bow sprang and hit the Wolf in the
belly. And the Wolf also perished, and the
other wolves came and ate up the man, and the
goat, and the boar, and the Wolf.
XVII.
THE BIRDS IN THE SNARE.
A huntsman set a snare by a lake. Many
birds were caught in it. The birds were large:
they seized the snare, and flew off with it.
The huntsman began to run after the birds.
A peasant saw him running after them, and he
says: "Where are you going? Can you catch
birds on foot?"
The huntsman replied, "If there were only
one bird, I should not catch him; but as it is,
I shall bag my game."
And so it proved.
""
When evening came, the birds each tried to
fly off in his own direction: one to the forest,
FABLES.
225
another to the swamp, a third to the field, and
all fell with the net to the ground, and the
huntsman captured them.
XVIII.
THE TSAR AND THE FALCON.
A Tsar, while out hunting, unleashed his
favorite falcon at a hare, and galloped after it.
The falcon caught the hare. The Tsar took
away the hare, and started to seek for some
water to quench his thirst. The Tsar found
the water on a hillside. But it trickled out, a
drop at a time. So the Tsar drew his cup from
the holster, and placed it under the water.
The water trickled into the cup, and when
the cup was full, the Tsar put it to his mouth,
and was about to drink. Suddenly the falcon
fluttered down upon the Tsar's hand, flapped
his wings, and spilled the water.
Again the Tsar placed the cup under the
spring. He waited long, until it was filled
brimming full, and again, when he lifted it to
his lips, the falcon flew upon his wrist and
spilled the water.
15
226
FABLES.
4!
When for the third time the Tsar managed
to get his cup filled, and was lifting it to his
lips, the falcon again spilled it.
The Tsar grew wroth, and struck the falcon
with all his might with a stone, and killed
him.
Then came the Tsar's servants, and one of
them ran up to the spring in order to find a
more plentiful supply of water, and come back
quickly with a full cup.
But the servant brought no water back: he
returned with an empty cup, and said: "The
water is not fit to drink; there is a serpent in
the spring, and it has poisoned all the water.
It is a good thing that the falcon spilt it. If
you had drank of the water, you would have
perished."
The Tsar said, "Foully have I requited the
falcon he saved my life, and I killed him for
it."
XIX.
THE TSAR AND THE ELEPHANTS.
An Indian Tsar commanded to gather to-
gether all the blind men, and when they were
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227
collected, he commanded to show them his ele-
phants. The blind men went to the stables,
and began to feel of the elephants.
One felt of the leg; another, of the tail; a
third, of the rump; a fourth, of the belly; a
fifth, of the back; a sixth, of the ears; a seventh,
of the tusks; an eighth, of the proboscis.
Then the Tsar called the blind men to him,
and asked them, "What are my elephants
like?"
And one blind man said, "Thy elephants are
like a pillar."
This blind man had felt of the legs.
The second blind man said, "They are like a
switch."
This one had felt of the tail.
The third said, "They are like wood."
This one had felt of the rump.
The one who had felt of the belly said, "Ele-
phants are like lumps of earth." The one who
had felt of the side said, "They are a wall."
The one who had felt of the back said, "They
are like a hill." The one who had felt of the
ears said, “They are like a handkerchief." The
one who had felt of the head said, "They are
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FABLES.
like a mortar." The one who had felt of the
tusks said, "They are like horns." The one
who had felt of the proboscis said, "They are
like a stout rope.
And all the blind men began to dispute and
quarrel.
XX.
WHY THERE IS EVIL IN THE WORLD.
A hermit lived in the forest, and the animals
were not afraid of him. He and the wild ani-
mals used to talk together, and they understood
one another.
Once the hermit lay down under a tree, and
a Raven, a Dove, a Stag, and a Snake came to
the same place to sleep.
The animals began to reason why evil should
exist in the world.
The Raven said: "It is all owing to hunger
that there is evil in the world. When you have
as much as you wish to eat, you sit by yourself
on the bough and caw, and everything is good
and gay, and you are in every respect well off;
but some other day you are famished, and
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229
everything is quite the opposite, so that you
would not see any brightness in God's world,
and you feel full of unrest; you fly about from
place to place, and there is no rest for you.
And even if you see some meat afar off, then it
becomes still worse; for if you fly down to get
it, either sticks and stones are thrown at you, or
wolves and dogs chase you, and you are abso-
lutely destroyed.
How much trouble comes
upon us from hunger! All evil is caused by
it."
The Dove said: "In my opinion, evil does not
arise from hunger, but it all comes from love.
If we only lived alone, we should have little
trouble. Wretchedness shared makes one
doubly wretched. And so we always live in
pairs. And you love your mate, so that there
is no peace for you at all. You are always
thinking, 'Has she had enough to eat? is she
warm?' And when
And when your mate is away from you
anywhere, then you are wholly lost; you can-
not help worrying all the time, 'If only the
hawk does not carry her off, or men make way
with her'; and you yourself fly off in pursuit
of her, and perhaps find the poor thing either
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FABLES.
in the hawk's claws or in the snare. And if
your mate is lost, then there is no more comfort
for you. You cannot eat, you cannot drink;
you can only fly about and mourn. How many
of us have perished in this way! No; evil
comes not from hunger, but from love."
The Snake said: "No; evil arises neither from
hunger nor from love, but from ill-temper. If
we live peacefully, we should not do so much
harm; everything would be delightful for us.
But now if anything is done to you, you fall
into a rage, and then there is nothing gentle
about you; you only think how you can avenge
the wrong on some one. You lose control of
yourself, and hiss, and try to bite some one. You
would not have pity on any one; you would
bite your own father and mother!
if you could eat your own self.
you begin to lose your temper you are un-
done. All the evil in the world arises from
ill-temper."
It seems as
The moment
The Stag said: "No; not from ill-temper, and
not from love, and not from hunger arises all the
evil that is in the world, but evil arises from fear.
If it were possible for us to live without fear, all
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231
would be well with us. We are swift-footed, and
have great strength. With our antlers we can
defend ourselves from little animals; and we
can run from the large ones. But it is impossible
to escape fear. If it is only the twigs creaking
in the forest, or the leaves rustling, we are all
of a tremble with fear, our heart beats, we in-
stinctively start to run, and fly with all our
might. Another time a hare runs by, or a bird
flutters, or a dry twig crackles, and we think it
is a wild beast, and in running away we really
run into danger. And again, we are running
from a dog, and we come upon a man. Often-
times we are frightened and start to flee, we
don't know whither, and we roll over a preci-
pice and perish. And we have to sleep with
one eye open, with one ear alert, and we are
always in alarm. There is no peace.
There is no peace. All evil
comes from fear."
Then the hermit said:
"Not from hunger, nor from love, nor from
ill-temper, nor from fear come all our troubles;
but all the evil that is in the world is due to
our different natures. Hence come hunger and
love, ill-temper and fear."
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FABLES.
XXI.
THE WOLF AND THE HUNTSMEN.
A Wolf was eating up a sheep. The Hunts-
men discovered him, and began to beat him.
The Wolf said: "It is not right for you to
beat me. It is not my fault that I am a wild
beast; God made me so."
But the Huntsmen replied, "We do not beat
wolves because they are wild beasts, but be-
cause they eat the sheep.*
XXII.
TWO PEASANTS.*
Once upon a time two peasants attempted to
pass each other, and their sledges became en-
tangled. One cried, "Give me room; I must
get to town as quickly as possible": and the
other said, "You give me room; I must get
home as quickly as possible."
Thus for a long time they disputed. A third
*This appears in a slightly different form in Count Tol-
stoï's "Novaya Azbuka." There the one who is in the
greatest haste is advised to give in.
FABLES.
233
peasant saw it, and said, "If you are in such a
hurry, then each of you give way a little."
XXIII.
THE PEASANT AND THE HORSE.
A peasant went to town to get oats for his
horse. As soon as he got out of the village, the
horse wanted to return home. The peasant
lashed the horse with his whip.
The horse started up, and thinks in regard to
the peasant, "The fool! Where is he driving
me? We should be better off at home." Before
they reached the city the peasant noticed that
the mud made the going hard for the horse, so
he turned him upon the wood-block pavement;
but the horse refused to go upon the pavement.
The peasant lashed the horse again, and
twitched at the reins. The animal turned off
upon the pavement, and says to himself, "Why
did he turn me off upon the pavement; it only
breaks my hoofs. It is hard here under my
feet."
The peasant drove up to the shop, bought
his oats, and went home. When he reached
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FABLES.
home, he gave the horse the oats. The horse
began to eat, and thinks, "What stupid things
men are! They only love to show their mastery
over us, but their intelligence is less than ours.
Why did he take so much trouble to-day?
Where did he go and drive me? We had no
sooner got there than we returned home. It
would have been better for both of us if we had
stayed at home in the first place. He would have
sat on the oven,* and I should have been eating
oats."
XXIV.
THE TWO HORSES.
Two horses were carrying two loads. The
front horse went well, but the rear horse was
lazy. The men began to pile the rear horse's
load on the front horse; when they had trans-
ferred it all, the rear horse found it easy going,
and he said to the front horse:
"Toil and sweat! The more you try, the
more you have to suffer."
When they reached the tavern, the owner
* In Russian huts the oven is made of earth; and, as it is
never very hot, the peasants use it for bed and lounge.
FABLES.
235
said, "Why should I fodder two horses when
I can carry all on one? I had better give the
one all the food it wants, and cut the throat of
the other; at least I shall have the hide."
And so he did.
XXV.
THE AXE AND THE SAW.
Two peasants were going to the forest after
wood. One had an axe, and the other a saw.
After they had selected a tree they began to
dispute.
One said it was better to chop down the tree,
and the other said it ought to be sawed.
A third peasant said, "I will settle the ques-
tion for you in a moment: if the axe is sharp,
then it is better to chop; but if the saw is
sharper, then it is better to saw."
He took the axe and began to chop the tree.
But the axe was dull, so that it was impossible
for him to cut.
He took the saw; the saw was wretched, and
would not cut at all. Then he said: "Don't be
in haste to quarrel; the axe does not chop, and
the saw does not cut. Sharpen your axe and
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FABLES.
file your saw, and then quarrel as much as
you wish."
The two peasants, however, became even
more angry with each other than before, be-
cause the one had a blunted axe, the other
an ill-set saw, and they fell to blows.
XXVI.
THE DOGS AND THE COOK.
A cook was preparing dinner; some dogs
were lying at the kitchen door. The cook
killed a calf, and threw the insides into the
yard.
The dogs seized them, ate them up, and
said, "The cook is good; he knows how to
cook well."
After a little while, the cook began to clean
pease, turnips, and onions, and he threw away
the outsides. The dogs ran up to them, turned
up their noses, and said, "Our cook is spoiled;
he used to make good things, but now he is
worthless."
But the cook did not hear the dogs, and
cooked the dinner in his usual way. The peo-
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237
ple of the house, however, ate up the dinner
and praised it, if the dogs did not.
XXVII.
THE HARE AND THE HOUND.
A Hare once asked a Hound: "Why do
you bark when you chase us? You would
be much more likely to catch us, if you ran
without barking. But when you bark, you
only drive us into the huntsman's hands: he
hears where we are running, and he hastens
up, shoots us with his gun, kills us, and does
not give you anything.'
""
of
The Dog replied: "That is not the reason
that I bark: I bark simply because I get scent
you; I become excited, or else glad because
I am going to catch you immediately; and
I myself know not why, but I cannot help
barking."
XXVIII.
THE OAK AND THE HAZEL-BUSH.
An ancient Oak let drop an acorn on a Hazel-
bush. The Hazel-bush said to the Oak: "Have
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you, then, so little room under your branches?
You might drop your acorns on a clear space.
Here I myself have scarcely room for
for my
branches; I don't throw my nuts away, though,
but I give them to men."
"I live two hundred years," replied the Oak;
"and the little oak that will come up from
that acorn will live as many more."
Then the Hazel-bush grew angry, and said,
"Then I will choke off your little oak, and
it will not live three days."
The Oak made no reply to this, but told
his little son to come forth from the acorn.
The acorn grew moist, burst open, and the
rootlet caught hold of the earth with its
little hooks, and another sprout was sent up
above.
The Hazel-bush tried to choke it, and would
not give it the sun. But the little Oak stretched
up into the air, and waxed strong in the Hazel-
bush's shadow.
A hundred years passed away. The Hazel-
bush had long ago died away; and the Oak
had grown from the acorn as high as heaven,
and spread its tent on every side.
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239
XXIX.
THE SETTING HEN AND THE CHICKENS.
A Brood Hen hatched out some Chickens,
and did not know how to take care of them.
And so she said to them: "Creep into the
shell again; when you are in the shell, I will
sit on you, as I used to sit on you, and I will
take care of you."
The Chickens obeyed their mother, tried to
creep into the shell; but they found it perfectly
impossible to get into it again, for they only
broke their wings.
Then one of the Chickens said to his mother,
"If we were to remain always in the shell,
it would have been better if you had not let
us out of it."
XXX.
THE QUAIL AND HIS MATE.
A Quail had been late in building his nest
in a meadow; and when haying-time came,
his Mate was still sitting on her eggs.
240
FABLES.
Early in the morning the peasants came to
the meadow, took off their kaftans, whetted
their scythes, and went, one after the other,
cutting the grass and laying it in windrows.
The Quail flew up to see what the mowers
were doing. When he saw that one peasant
was swinging his scythe and had just cut a
snake in two, he was rejoiced, flew back to
his Mate, and said:
"Don't be afraid of the peasants: they have
come out to kill snakes; for a long time there
has been no living on account of them."
But his Mate said: "The peasants are cut-
ting grass; and with the grass they cut every-
thing that comes in their way, either a snake
or a quail's nest. I am sick at heart, for I
cannot either carry away my eggs, or leave
my nest lest they get cold."
When the mowers reached the quail's nest,
one peasant swung his scythe and cut off the
mother-bird's head; but he put the eggs in
his pocket, and gave them to his children to
play with.
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241
XXXI.
THE COW AND THE GOAT.
An old woman had a Cow and a Goat. The
Cow and the Goat went to pasture together.
The Cow always turned around when they
came after her. The old woman brought bread
and salt, gave it to the Cow, and said, "Now
stand still, little mother, na, na, I will bring
you some more; only stand still."
On the next evening the Goat returned from
the pasture before the cow, spread his legs and
stood before the old woman. The old woman
waved her handkerchief at him, but the Goat
stood without moving.
He thought that the old woman gave bread
to the Cow because she stood still.
The old woman perceives that the Goat does
not move away; she took her stick and beat
him.
When the Goat went away, the old woman
began to feed the Cow again with grain, and
to coax her.
"There is no justice in men," thought the
16
242
FABLES.
Goat; "I stood stiller than the Cow does, but
she beat me." He ran to one side, hurried
back, kicked over the milk-pail, spilled the
milk, and knocked over the old woman.
XXXII.
THE FOX'S BRUSH.
A man met a Fox, and asked her, "Who
taught you Foxes to deceive dogs with your
tails?"
The Fox demanded, "How do you mean.
deceive? We do not deceive the dogs, but
merely run from them with all our might."
The man said: "No; you deceive them with
your brushes. When the dogs chase
When the dogs chase you, and
are about to seize you, you throw your brushes
to one side; the dog makes a sharp turn after
it, and then you dash off in another direc
tion."
The Fox laughed, and said: "We do this,
not to deceive the dogs, but we only do it so
as to dodge: when the dogs chase us, and
we see that we cannot run straight, we dodge
to one side; and in order that we may dodge to
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243
that side, we have to fling our brushes to the
other, just as you do the same thing with your
hands when you try to turn round when you
are running. This is not reason on our part.
God himself thought it out when he made us
for this reason, that the dogs might not catch
all the foxes."
FROM THE NEW SPELLER.*
I.
THE WOLF AND THE KIDS.
A
GOAT was going to the field after proven-
der, and she shut up her Kids in the barn,
with injunctions not to let any one in. Said she,
"But when you hear my voice then open the
door."
A Wolf overheard, crept up to the barn, and
sang after the manner of the Goat, "Little chil-
dren, open the door; your mother has come with
some food for you.'
The Kids peered out of the window, and
said, "The voice is our mamma's, but the legs
are those of a wolf. We cannot let you in."
99
II.
THE FARMER'S WIFE AND THE CAT.
A farmer's wife was annoyed by mice eating
up the tallow in her cellar. She shut the cat
* Nóvaya Ázbuka.
FROM THE NEW SPELLER.
245
into the cellar, so that the cat might catch the
mice.
But the cat ate up, not only the tallow,
but the milk and the meat also.
III.
THE CROW AND THE EAGLE.
The sheep went out to pasture.
Suddenly an Eagle appeared, swooped down
from the sky, caught a little lamb with his
claws, and bore him away.
A Crow saw it, and felt also an inclination to
dine on meat. She said:
"That was not a very bright performance.
Now I am going to do it, but in better style.
The Eagle was stupid; he carried off a little
lamb, but I am going to take that fat ram
yonder."
The Crow buried her claws deep in the
ram's fleece, and tried to fly off with him;
but all in vain. And she was not able to ex-
tricate her claws from the wool.
The shepherd came along, freed the ram
246
FROM THE NEW SPELLER.
from the Crow's claws, and killed the Crow,
and flung it away.
IV.
66
THE MOUSE AND THE FROG.
A Mouse went to visit a Frog. The Frog
met the Mouse on the bank, and urged him to
visit his chamber under the water.
The Mouse climbed down to the water's edge,
took a taste of it, and then climbed back again.
'Never," said he, "will I make visits to people
of alien race."
V.
THE VAIN-GLORIOUS COCKEREL.
Two Cockerels fought on a dung-heap.
One Cockerel was the stronger; he van-
quished the other, and drove him from the
dung-heap.
All the Hens gathered around the Cockerel,
and began to laud him. The Cockerel wanted
his strength and glory to be known in the next
yard. He flew on top of the barn, flapped his
wings, and crowed in a loud voice :
FROM THE NEW SPELLER.
247
"Look at me all of you. I am a victorious
No other Cockerel in the world has
such strength as I."
Cockerel.
He had not finished his pæan, when an Eagle
killed the Cockerel, seized him in his claws,
and carried him to his nest.
VI.
THE ASS AND THE LION.
Once upon a time a Lion went out to hunt,
and he took with him an Ass. And he said to
him :
"Ass, now you go into the woods, and roar
as loud as you can; you have a capacious
throat. The prey that run away from your
roaring will fall into my clutches."
And so he did. The Ass brayed, and the
timid creatures of the wood fled in all direc-
tions, and the Lion caught them.
After the hunting was over, the Lion said to
the Ass: "Now I will praise you. You roared
splendidly."
And since that time the Ass is always bray-
ing, and always expects to be praised.
248
FROM THE NEW SPELLER.
VII.
THE FOOL AND HIS KNIFE.
A fool had an excellent knife.
With this knife the fool tried to cut a nail.
The knife would not cut the nail.
Then the fool said, "My knife is bad," and
he tried to cut some soft jelly with his knife.
Wherever the knife went through the jelly the
liquid closed together again.
The fool said, "Miserable knife! it won't
cut jelly, either," and he threw away his good
knife.
VIII.
THE BOY DRIVER.
A peasant was returning from market with
his son Vanka. The peasant went to sleep in
his cart, and Vanka held the reins and cracked
the whip. They happened to meet another
team. Vanka shouted,
Vanka shouted, "Turn out to the right!
I shall run over you!"
And the peasant with the team said, “It is
not a big cricket, but it chirps so as to be
heard!"
FROM THE NEW SPELLER.
249
IX.
LIFE DULL WITHOUT SONG.
In the upper part of a house lived a rich
bárin, and on the floor below lived a poor tailor.
The tailor was always singing songs at his work,
and prevented the bárin from sleeping.
The bárin gave the tailor a purse full of
money not to sing. The tailor became rich,
and took good care of his money, and refrained
from singing.
But it grew tiresome to him; he took the
money and returned it to the bárin, saying,
"Take back your money and let me sing my
songs again, or I shall die of melancholy."
X.
THE SQUIRREL AND THE WOLF.
A Squirrel was leaping from limb to limb,
and fell right upon a sleeping Wolf. The Wolf
jumped up, and was going to devour him. But
the Squirrel begged the Wolf to let him go.
The Wolf said, “All right; I will let you go
on condition that you tell me why it is that you
250
FROM THE NEW SPELLER.
squirrels are always so happy. I am always
melancholy; but I see you playing and leaping
all the time in the trees."
The Squirrel said, "Let me go first, and then
I will tell you; but now I am afraid of you."
The Wolf let him go, and the Squirrel leaped
up into a tree, and from there it said: "You
are melancholy because you are bad. Wicked-
ness consumes your heart. But we are happy
because we are good, and do no one any harm."
XI.
UNCLE MITYA'S HORSE.
Uncle Mitya had a very fine bay horse.
Some thieves heard about the bay horse, and
laid their plans to steal it. They came after it
was dark, and crept into the yard.
Now it happened that a peasant who had a
bear with him came to spend the night at Uncle
Mitya's. Uncle Mitya took the peasant into the
cottage, let out the bay horse into the yard, and
put the bear into the enclosure where the bay
horse was.
The thieves came in the dark into the enclos-
FROM THE NEW SPELLER.
251
ure, and began to grope around. The bear got
on his hind legs, and seized one of the thieves,
who was so frightened that he bawled with all
his might.
Uncle Mitya came out and caught the thieves.
XII.
THE BOOK.
Two men together found a book in the street,
and began to dispute as to the ownership of it.
A third happened along, and asked, "Which
of you can read?"
"Neither of us."
"Then why do you want the book? Your
quarrel reminds me of two bald men who
fought for possession of a comb, when neither
had any hair on his head."
XIII.
THE WOLF AND THE FOX.
A Wolf was running from the dogs, and
wanted to hide in a cleft. But a Fox was lying
in the cleft; she showed her teeth at the Wolf,
252
FROM THE NEW SPELLER.
and said, "You cannot come in here: this is
my place.
The Wolf did not stop to dispute the matter,
but merely said, "If the dogs were not so near,
I would teach you whose place it is; but now
the right is on your side."
XIV.
THE PEASANT AND HIS HORSE.
Some soldiers made a foray into hostile terri-
tory. A peasant ran out into the field where
his horse was, and tried to catch it. But the
horse would not come to the peasant.
And the peasant said to him: "Stupid, if
you don't let me catch you, the enemy will
carry you off."
do
The Horse asked, "What would the enemy
with me?"
The peasant replied, "Of course they would
make you carry burdens."
And the Horse rejoined,
"Well, don't I
carry burdens for you? So then it is all
the same to me whether I work for you or
your enemies."
FROM THE NEW SPELLER.
253
XV.
THE EAGLE AND THE SOW.
An Eagle built a nest on a tree, and hatched
out some eaglets. And a wild Sow brought her
litter under the tree.
S
The Eagle used to fly off after her prey, and
bring it back to her young. And the Sow
rooted around the tree and hunted in the woods,
and when night came she would bring her young
something to eat.
And the Eagle and the Sow lived in neigh-
borly fashion.
And a Grimalkin laid his plans to destroy the
eaglets and the little sucking pigs. He went
to the Eagle, and said:
66
Eagle, you had better not fly very far
away. Beware of the Sow: she is planning
an evil design. She is going to undermine
the roots of the tree. You see she is rooting
all the time."
Then the Grimalkin went to the Sow and
said:
"Sow, you have not a good neighbor. Last
254
FROM THE NEW SPELLER.
evening I heard the Eagle saying to her eaglets:
'My dear little eaglets, I am going to treat you
to a nice little pig. Just as soon as the Sow is
gone, I will bring you a little young sucking
pig."
From that time the Eagle ceased to fly out
after prey, and the Sow did not go any more
into the forest. The eaglets and the young pigs
perished of starvation, and Grimalkin feasted on
them.
XVI.
THE LOAD.
After the French had left Moscow, two peas-
ants went out to search for treasures. One
was wise; the other, stupid.
They went together to the burnt part of the
city, and found some scorched wool. They
said, "That will be useful at home."
They gathered up as much as they could
carry, and started home with it.
On the way they saw lying in the street
a lot of cloth. The wise peasant threw down
the wool, seized as much of the cloth as he
FROM THE NEW SPELLER.
255
(6
could carry, and put it on his shoulders.
The stupid one said:-
'Why throw away the wool?
tied up, and nicely fastened on."
did not take any of the cloth.
They went farther, and saw lying in the
street some ready-made clothes that had been
thrown away. The wise peasant unloaded the
cloth, picked up the clothes, and put them
on his shoulders. The stupid one said: "Why
should I throw away the wool: it is nicely
tied up and securely fastened on my back?"
They went on their way, and saw silver plate
scattered about. The wise peasant threw down
the clothes, and gathered up as much of the
silver as he could, and started off with it; but
the stupid one did not give up his wool, be-
cause it was nicely tied up and securely tied
on.
It is nicely
And so he
Going still farther they saw gold lying on
the road. The wise peasant threw down his
silver and picked up the gold; but the stupid
one said: "What is the good of taking off
the wool: it is nicely tied up and securely
fastened to my back?"
256
FROM THE NEW SPELLER.
And they went home. On the way a rain
set in, and the wool became water-soaked so
that the stupid man had to throw it away,
and thus reached home empty-handed; but the
wise peasant kept his gold and became rich.
XVII.
THE BIG OVEN.
Once upon a time a man had a big house,
and in the house there was a big oven; but
this man's family was small, only himself and
his wife.
When winter came, the man tried to keep
his oven going; and in one month he burnt
up all his firewood. He had nothing to feed
the fire, and it was cold.
Then the man began to break up his fences
and use the boards for fuel. When he had
burnt up all of his fences, the house, now
without any protection against the wind, was
colder than ever, and still they had no fire-
wood.
Then the man began to tear down the ceiling
of his house, and burn that in the oven.
FROM THE NEW SPELLER.
257
A neighbor noticed that he was tearing down
his ceiling, and said to him: "Why, neighbor,
have you lost your mind?- pulling down your
ceiling in winter. You and your wife will
freeze to death!"
But the man said:
"No, brother; you see I am pulling down
my ceiling so as to have something to heat
my oven with. We have such a curious one:
the more I heat it up, the colder we are!"
The neighbor laughed, and said: "Well,
then, after you have burnt up your ceiling,
then you will be tearing down your house.
You won't have anywhere to live; only the
oven will be left, and even that will be
cold!"
"Well, that is my misfortune," said the man.
"All my neighbors have firewood enough for
all winter; but I have already burnt up my
fences and the ceiling of my house, and have
nothing left."
The neighbor replied: "All you need is to
have your oven rebuilt.”
But the man said: "I know well that you
are jealous of my house and my oven because
17
258
FROM THE NEW SPELLER.
they are larger than yours, and so you advise
me to rebuild it."
And he turned a deaf ear to his neighbor's
advice, and burnt up his ceiling, and burnt
up his whole house, and had to go and live
with strangers.
SCHOOL SCENES AT YASNAYA
POLYANA.*
I.
GENERAL SKETCH OF THE SCHOOL.
We have no beginners. The youngest class
reads, writes, solves problems in the first three
rules of arithmetic, and repeats sacred history,
so that our order of exercises is arranged ac-
cording to the following roster:-
Mechanical and Graded Reading.
Compositions.
Penmanship.
* Extracts from articles in Vol. IV. of Count Tolstoï's col-
lected works. Yasnaya Polyana, or Fairfield, is the name of
the count's estate a few miles out from the city of Tula. It
is also the name of a journal of education published at his
own expense. A complete file of this journal is in the library
of Cornell University, the gift of Mr. Eugene Schuyler, to
whom Count Tolstoï presented it.
The articles here condensed are entitled, “Yasno-Polyan-
skaya School in November and December," and "Shall Peas-
ant Children learn Story-writing of Us, or We of Them?"
260 SCHOOL SCENES AT YASNAYA POLYANA.
Grammar.
Sacred History.
Russian History.
Drawing.
Sketching.
Singing.
Mathematics.
Conversations about the Natural Sciences.
Religious Instruction.
Before I speak of the methods of instruction,
I must give a short description of the Yasnaya
Polyana school and its present condition.
Like every living body the school not only
changes every year, day, and hour, but also
has been subjected to temporal crises, misfor-
tunes, ailments, and ill-chances.
The Yasno-Polyanskaya school passed through
one such painful crisis this very summer. There
were many reasons for this: in the first place,
as is always the case in the summer, all the
best scholars were away; only occasionally we
would meet them in the fields at their work or
tending the cattle. In the second place, there
were some new scholars present, and new influ-
SCHOOL SCENES AT YASNAYA POLYANA. 261
In the
ences began to be brought upon it.
third place, each day teachers from other places,
taking advantage of their summer vacation, came
to visit the school. And nothing is more
demoralizing to the regular conduct of a school
than to have visitors, even though the visitor
be a teacher himself.
We have four instructors. Two are veterans,
having already taught two years in the school;
they are accustomed to the pupils, to their
work, and to the freedom and apparent lawless-
ness of the school.
Two of the teachers are new; both of them
are recent graduates and lovers of outward pro-
priety, of rules and bells and regulations and
programmes and the like, and not wonted to the
life of the school as the first two are. What to
the first seems reasonable, necessary, impossible
to be otherwise, like the features on the face of
a beloved though homely child who has grown
up under your very eyes, seems to the new
teachers sheer disorder.
The school is installed in a two-storied stone
house. Two rooms are devoted to the institu-
tion; the library has one, the teachers have
262 SCHOOL SCENES AT YASNAYA POLYANA.
two. At the porch, under the eaves, hangs
the little bell with a cord tied to its tongue; in
the entry down stairs are bars and other gym-
nastic apparatus; in the upper entry is a work-
bench.
The stairs and entries are apt to be tracked
over with snow or mud.
The order of exercises is as follows:-
At eight o'clock the teacher who lives in the
building, who is a lover of outward order and
is the director of the school, sends one of the
lads, who almost always spends the night in the
building, to ring the bell. In the village the
lamps are lighted. Already in the schoolhouse
window lights have long been visible, and
within half an hour after the bell-ringing,
whether it be misty or rainy, or under the
slanting rays of the autumn sun, there will be
seen crossing the rolling country — the village
is separated from the school by a ravine — dark
little figures in twos or threes, or separately.
They bring nothing with them-no books and
no copy-books. They are not required to study
their lessons at home. Not only do they bring
nothing in their hands, but nothing in their
SCHOOL SCENES AT YASNAYA POLYANA. 263
heads either. The scholar is not obliged to
remember to-day anything that he may have
learned the evening before. The thought
about his approaching lesson does not disturb
him. He brings only himself, his receptive
nature, and the conviction that school to-day
will be just as gay as it was the evening before.
He does not think about his class until his
class begins. No one is ever held to account
for being late, and hence they are not tardy,
unless indeed one of the older ones who is de-
tained by his parents on account of some work
occasionally. And then this big lad comes run-
ning to school at break-neck speed.
If it happen that the teacher has not yet
come, they gather around the entrance, pound-
ing their heels upon the steps, or sliding on the
icy path, or some of them remain in the school-
rooms.
If it be cold they spend their time while wait-
ing for the teacher in reading, writing, or romp-
ing.
The girls do not interfere with the boys.
When the boys have anything to do with the
girls, they always make common cause together.
264 SCHOOL SCENES AT YASNAYA POLYANA.
Hey, girls, don't you want to go sliding?"
or, "Hey, girls, isn't it cold?" or, "Now, girls,
all of you chase me!"
Only one of the little girls, ten years old, a
domestic of great and many-sided talents, per-
haps ventures to leave the herd of damsels.
And with her the boys comport themselves as
with an equal-as with a boy, only showing a
delicate shade of politeness, modesty, and self-
restraint.
66
II.
THE OPENING OF SCHOOL.
According to the roster, we begin, in the first
place, with mechanical reading for the youngest
class; in the second place, with graded reading;
and in the third, with mathematics.
The teacher goes into the room, and finds the
children rolling or scuffling on the floor, and
crying at the top of their voices: "You're chok-
ing me!" "You stop pulling my hair!" or
"Let up; that'll do!"
"Piotr Mikháïlovitch," cried a voice from un-
der the heap, as the teacher comes in, "make
him stop."
SCHOOL SCENES AT YASNAYA POLYANA, 265
"Good evening, Piótr Mikháïlovitch," shout
the others, adding their share to the tumult.
The teacher takes the books, and distributes
them to those who have come to the bureau.
First those on top of the heap on the floor, then
those lying underneath, want a book.
The pile gradually diminishes.
As soon as
the majority have their books, all the rest run
to the bureau, and cry, "Me one! me one!"
"Give me the one I had last evening!"
"Give me the Koltsof* book!" And so on.
If there happen to be any two scufflers left
struggling on the floor, then those who have
taken their places with their books shout:
"What are you so slow for? You make so
much noise that we can't hear anything!
Hush!"
The enthusiastic fellows come to
order; and, breathing hard, run after their
books, and only for the first moment or two
does the cooling agitation betray itself in an
occasional motion of a leg.
The spirit of war takes its flight, and the
spirit of learning holds sway in the room.
* Alekseï Vasilyévitch Koltsof (1809-1842), a distin-
guished Russian poet.
266 SCHOOL SCENES AT YASNAYA POLYANA.
With the same enthusiasm with which the lad
had been pulling Mitka's hair, he now reads
his Koltsof book, thus the works of Koltsof
are called among us, with teeth almost shut
together, with shining eyes, and total oblivion
of all around him except his book. To tear
him from his reading requires fully as much
strength as it required before to get him away
from his wrestling.
M
M
III.
THE APPEARANCE OF THE ROOM.
The pupils sit wherever they please, —on
benches, chairs, on the window-sill, on the
floor, or in the arm-chair.
The girls always sit by themselves. Friends,
those from the same village, and especially the
little ones, are always together, for there is more
comradeship among them.
As soon as one of them decides to sit in a
certain corner, all his playmates, pushing and
diving under the benches, manage to get to
the same place, sit in a row, and as they glance
around they show such an expression of perfect
SCHOOL SCENES AT YASNAYA POLYANA, 267
bliss and satisfaction in their faces, as though
nothing in all the rest of their lives could ever
give them so much happiness as to sit in those
places.
The big arm-chair, the moment they come
into the room, presents itself as an object of
envy for all the most independent personalities,
for the little domestic and others. As soon as
one makes a motion to occupy the arm-chair,
another recognizes by the expression of his face
that such a plan is developing, and the two
make for it, race for it.
One presses the other hard, and the one who
is distanced hangs his head; but as soon as he
begins to read, he, like all the rest, is wholly
carried away by his work.
During class time I have never seen any
whispering, any pinching, any giggling, any
uncouth sounds, any bearing of tales to the
teacher. When a pupil educated by a church
official* or at the district school goes with any
complaint, he will be asked, "Are you sure that
you did not pinch yourself?
""
*The ponomar or paramonar, a word derived from modern
Greek, and signifying door-keeper.
268 SCHOOL SCENES AT YASNAYA POLYANA.
IV.
THE CLASSES.
The two smaller classes are put by them-
selves in one room; the older scholars are in
another. When the teacher goes to the first
class, all gather around him at the blackboard,
or on the benches, or they climb on the table, or
sit down around him or one of the instructors.
If it happen to be for writing, they take more
comfortable positions, but they keep standing
up, so as to look at each other's copy-books and
show them to the teacher. It is calculated that
the time till dinner will be occupied by four
lessons; but often only three or two are intro-
duced, and sometimes the roster is entirely
changed. If the teacher begins with arithme-
tic, he may go over to geometry; or if he
begins with sacred history, he may end with
grammar.
Sometimes the teacher and the pupils get
carried away, and instead of one hour the class
lasts three hours. There have been cases where
the pupils themselves cried, "More! more!"
and they exclaim against those things which
SCHOOL SCENES AT YASNAYA POLYANA, 269
bore them, “That is stupid! Go to the little
ones," they cry contemptuously.
In the class for religious instruction, which
is the only one that is held with any approach
to regularity, because the teacher lives two
versts away and comes only twice a week,
and in the drawing class, all the pupils are
gathered together. In these classes liveliness,
racket, and external disorder are the rule of
the day; one drags benches from one room
into the other, another scuffles, another goes
home to the mansion after bread, another
heats his bread in the oven, another borrows
something, another goes through gymnastic ex-
ercises; but just the same as in the tumult of
the morning, it is far more easy to bring order
out of chaos by leaving them to their natural
impulses than by sitting them down by main
force.
K
P
In the present spirit of the school, to restrict
them would be a physical impossibility. The
louder the teacher shouts, this has been tried,
the louder shout the scholars; his voice only
excites them. If you try to quiet them, or to
start them in another direction, this sea of
A
270 SCHOOL SCENES AT YASNAYA POLYANA,
youths will begin to rage more and more vio-
lently, then come to rest. But for the most
part, it is not necessary to say anything.
The class in design, which is the most popu-
lar with all the school, takes place at noon, after
lunch; and when they have been sitting three
hours, and here again it is necessary to lug
benches and tables from one room into another,
and the racket is terrible! But still, as soon as
the teacher is ready, the scholars are ready also,
and any one who delays the beginning of the
class is disciplined by the scholars themselves.
KAN
(Here follows an argument in favor of the freedom or
lawlessness of the Yasnaya Polyana School, based on the
theory that scholars, even the smallest, are human beings,
with the same wants as the older, all anxious to learn,
since they come to school for no other purpose, and
moreover are a society of human beings united by one
thought. And therefore, if they are interested, they will
not let their lawlessness run into excess.)
V.
A SCHOOL-BOY FIGHT.
As they are subjected to laws that are simply
natural and based upon common sense, the
scholars do not rebel nor grumble; if they
SCHOOL SCENES AT YASNAYA POLYANA. 271
were subjected to our old system of interfer-
ence, they would have no belief in the legal-
ity of our rules, regulations, and ordinances.
How many times, when children were fight-
ing, have I chanced to see the teacher hasten to
separate them; and the disparted foes glare at
each other, and even in the presence of a stern
teacher did not fail to look even more fiercely
than before, or even falling to blows; how many
times every day have I seen some Kiriushka
set his teeth together, and fly at Taraska, and
pull his hair, and throw him to the ground, and
apparently try to maim his enemy or to annihi-
late him; and then in a moment's time this same
Taraska would be laughing at Kiriushka, — for
always one manages to turn the tables upon the
other, and then in the course of five minutes.
they would have made friends and gone off to
sit down together.
Not long ago, between classes, two lads grap-
pled in a corner. One was a remarkable mathe-
matician ten years old, a member of the second
class; the other, a shingled dvorovui,* clever but
*One of the domestic servants, formerly serfs, like the
little girl mentioned.
272 SCHOOL SCENES AT YASNAYA POLYANA.
quick-tempered, very small in stature, a black-
eyed lad, named Kuiska.
Kuiska had caught the mathematician's long
hair, and was holding him with his head against
the wall. The mathematician was vainly clutch-
ing at Kuiska's shorn bristles. Kuiska's black
eyes were full of triumph. The mathematician
could barely refrain from tears, and he cried,
"Now! now! what! what!" but he was evi-
dently having a hard time of it, and was only
trying to be heroic. This had been going on
for some time, and I was undecided what to
do.
"A fight! a fight!" cried the boys, and they
crowded round the corner. The little ones
laughed; but the big boys, though they did
not attempt to separate the contestants, looked
at them rather seriously, and their looks and
silence did not fail to have an effect upon
Kuiska.
He was conscious that he was doing wrong,
and a smile began gradually to creep over
his face, and by degrees he let go of the
mathematician's hair. The mathematician sud-
denly twitched himself away, and gave Kuiska
SCHOOL SCENES AT YASNAYA POLYANA. 273
such a knock that he hit his head against the
wall, and then, being entirely quit of him, he
ran away.
Kuiska burst into tears, darted in pursuit of
his enemy, and hit him with all his might and
main on the shuba, but did not hurt him. The
mathematician was going to pay him back, but
at that instant various dissuasive voices were
heard. "See, he strikes a smaller boy!" cried
the lookers-on; "off with you, Kuiska!"
And so the affair ended, as though it had not
been at all, except, I may add, for the disagree-
able consciousness that each had of having
fought unfairly, because both had been hurt.
And here I cannot refrain from calling atten-
tion to the sentiment of justice which prevailed
in the crowd. How many times such affairs
are settled in such a way that you cannot make
out the principles on which the settlement is
made, and yet satisfaction is given to both
sides! How arbitrary and unjust in comparison
with this are all "educational" efforts in such
circumstances!
"You
are both to blame! down on your
knees!" says the disciplinarian; and the disci-
18
274 SCHOOL SCENES AT YASNAYA POLYANA.
plinarian is wrong, because one is to blame,
and this one is triumphant as he stands on his
knees and chews the cud of his not wholly
evaporated passion, and the innocent is doubly
punished.
Or, "You are to blame for doing such and
such or such and such a thing, and you shall
be punished," says the disciplinarian; and the
one punished hates his enemy more than ever,
because he has despotic power arrayed on his
side, the fairness of which is beyond his com-
prehension.
Or, "Forgive him as God commands you,
and you will be better than he," says the disci-
plinarian. You say to him, "Be better than
he!" but all that he wants is to be stronger,
and he does not comprehend, and cannot com-
prehend, the idea of being better.
Or, "You both are to blame; ask each other's
pardon, and kiss each other, children."
This is worse than anything, both on account
of the insincerity of the kiss, and because the
evil passion once calmed in this way is sure to
burst forth again. But leave them alone, un-
less you are either father or mother, who would
SCHOOL SCENES AT YASNAYA POLYANA. 275
feel some pitiful sympathy with your children,
and therefore have a certain right always,-leave
them alone, I say, and watch how everything
explains itself and comes out all right as simply
and naturally, and at the same time with just
as much variety and complication as all the
unconscious relations of life.
But perhaps the teachers who have not had
experience of such disorder or free order, will
think that without disciplinary interference this
disorder may take on physically injurious con-
sequences; that they will break each other's
limbs or kill each other.
In the Yasnaya Polyána School last spring,
there were only two cases of serious damage
being done. One boy was pushed down stairs,
and cut his leg to the bone: the wound was
healed in two weeks. The other had his cheek
burned with blazing pitch, and he carried a scar
for a fortnight.
Nothing ever happened, unless perhaps once
a week some one cried, and that not from pain,
but vexation or shame. Of blows, bruises,
bumps, except in the case of the two boys just
mentioned, we cannot recall a single one during
276 SCHOOL SCENES AT YASNAYA POLYANA,
all the summer among thirty or forty pupils,
though they were left entirely to their own
guidance.
VI.
DISCIPLINE.
I believe that a school ought not to interfere
in affairs of discipline that belong only to the
family; that a school ought not to have, and
does not have, the right to grant rewards and
punishments; that the best police and discipline
of a school is gained by entrusting the pupils
with full powers to learn and to behave as they
please. I believe this, notwithstanding the fact
that the old customs of disciplinary schools are
so strong that even in the Yasnaya Polyana
School we occasionally departed from this princi-
ple. During the last term, in November, there
were two instances of punishments.
During the drawing class, a teacher who had
not been long with us noticed that a small boy
was crying without heeding the teacher, and
was angrily hitting his neighbors contrary to
all reason.
Not realizing the possibility of soothing him
SCHOOL SCENES AT YASNAYA POLYANA. 277
with words, the teacher dragged him from his
seat, and took him to his table. That was a
punishment for him. The little lad sobbed
during all the time of the recitation.
This was the very lad whom, at the begin-
ning of the school, I refused to take, because I
considered him to be a hopeless idiot.
His principal characteristics were dulness
and sweetness of disposition. His comrades.
would never let him join their games; they
made sport of him, turned him into ridicule,
and at the same time they would be surprised,
and say, "What a strange fellow Petka is! If
you strike him, and even the little fellows
sometimes pick on him, he shakes himself
loose, and runs away!
"He has no courage at all," one boy said to
me, in regard to him. If this boy had been
brought to such a state of passion that the
teacher felt it necessary to punish him for it,
it was evident that some one not punished was
to blame.
278 SCHOOL SCENES AT YASNAYA POLYANA.
VII.
THE THIEF.
The other case. In the summer, while repairs
were making in the building, a Leyden jar was
taken from the physical laboratory, pencils sev-
eral times were missing, and books also were
missing at a time when no carpenter or painter
was at work in the building.
We questioned the boys. The best scholars,
the first scholars at that time, old friends of
ours, reddened and grew so confused that any
magistrate would have been convinced that
their confusion was proof positive of their
guilt. But I knew them, and could depend
upon them as upon myself.
I comprehended that the mere thought of
suspicion deeply and painfully wounded them.
One lad, whom I will call Feódor, a gifted and
opulent nature, turned quite white and burst
into tears. They declared that they would tell
if they knew, but they refused to search.
After a few days the thief was detected
N
a
SCHOOL SCENES AT YASNAYA POLYANA. 279
lad * belonging to a distant village. He made
an accomplice of a peasant lad who came with
him from the same village, and they together
secreted the stolen articles in a box.
This discovery brought a strange feeling of
relief and even pleasure among the scholars,
and at the same time of contempt and pity for
the thieves. We imposed upon the boys the
task of naming the punishment. Some wanted
to have the thieves whipped, but, of course, by
themselves; others proposed that they should
wear a label ticketed THIEF.
This punishment, I am ashamed to say, had
been proposed by ourselves once before, and the
very lad, who a year before had worn a label
inscribed LIAR, now of all others was the one
to propose the label for the thief.
2.
We decided upon the label, and when one of
the girls had embroidered it, all the scholars
looked on with angry pleasure, and ridiculed
the offenders. They proposed a still more
severe punishment: "To take them to the vil-
* Dvorovin, or domestic servant.
280 SCHOOL SCENES AT YASNAYA POLYANA.
lage, and make an exhibition of them with
the labels on during the holiday," was their
proposal.
The offenders wept.
The peasant lad, who had been led away by
the other, was a talented story-teller and humor-
ist, a fat, white-haired little snipper-snapper,
and he cried as though his heart would break,
-as hard as a child could cry. The other, the
principal criminal, a boy with a hawk nose, with
dry features, and an intelligent face, grew pale,
his lips trembled, his eyes glared wildly and
angrily at his gay companions, and he occasion-
ally hid his face on account of tears that were
unnatural to him. His cap, with torn visor, was
pulled down to the nape of his neck; his hair
was in disorder; his clothes soiled with chalk.
His whole appearance struck me and all of us
with the same surprise, as though we had seen
it for the first time.
The contemptuous looks of all rested on him.
And this stung him to the quick. When, with-
out looking round, but hanging his head, and
with that mien peculiar to criminals, as it
seemed to me, he went off home, with the
SCHOOL SCENES AT YASNAYA POLYANA. 281
pack of boys chasing him, and nagging him
in an unnatural and strangely pitiless fashion,
as though some evil spirit influenced them
against their will, something told me that it
was all wrong.
But things went on as before, and the thief
came for several days with his label. But it
seemed to me that from that time he began to
degenerate in his studies, and he was no longer
seen to take part in the games and converse of
his companions in the second class.
3.
When one day I went into class, all the
scholars told me with horror that he had
stolen twenty copper kopeks, and they had
caught him as he was hiding the money un-
der the stairs.
Again we decorated him with the tag; again
began the same ugly scene. I gave him a
lecture, as all disciplinarians are accustomed
to do.
Now as I was, when compared to him, merely
a grown-up boy, a chatterer, I began to lec-
ture him, repeating words such as he had with-
282 SCHOOL SCENES AT YASNAYA POLYANA,
out any question heard from his father, the
farmer.*
"I have stolen once, I have stolen twice,"
he said, in a clear and deliberate voice. "It
has become a habit; it won't do any good."
I began to grow vexed. I felt almost angry
against the thief.
But as I looked into the culprit's face, which
was more pale, wretched, passionate, and hard
than ever, I seemed to see the face of a convict,
and it suddenly appeared to me so wrong and
odious, that I took off the stupid tag; I told
him to go wherever he pleased, and I suddenly
felt the conviction-felt it, not through my
intellect, but in my whole being — that I had
no right to punish this innocent lad, and that
it was not in my power to make of him what
I should like. I felt a conviction that there
are soul-secrets hidden from us by which life,
and not regulations and punishments, may be
formed.
And what was the crime? A boy stole a
book, by what a long, complicated process
* Dvornik, generally one who serves in a duor; also porter.
Here, one who occupies a dvor, including house and land.
SCHOOL SCENES AT YASNAYA POLYANA. 283
of feelings, thoughts, mistaken judgments he
was induced to take a book that did not belong
to him!- and hide it in his box, and I fasten
to him a tag with the word "THIEF" on it,
which means something entirely different.
Why?
To punish him by making him ashamed, some
one will say.
Why? What is shame? And have I any
proof that that shame will put an end to his
inclination to steal? Perhaps it will strengthen
it. What was expressed in his face was very
likely not shame at all; but something entirely
different that might have been always latent in
his face, and would better have not been brought
out.
VIII.
MARKS.
At two o'clock the hungry children run home.
But notwithstanding their hunger, they always
wait a few moments to learn what their marks
are. Marks, though at the present time they
give no rank, are still regarded by them with
the keenest interest.
284 SCHOOL SCENES AT YASNAYA POLYANA,
"I have five, with the cross." "They have
given Olgushka* a cipher! - and I have four,"
they cry.
They take the marks as a gauge of their work,
and discontent at marks is shown only when
there is any unfairness in making the returns.
Too bad if he has been trying, and the teacher,
through an error, has given less than his de-
serts! He will give the teacher no peace, and
will weep bitter tears unless he can have the
record changed. Bad marks, if they have been
deserved, go without protest.
Marks, however, remain only as the relic of
a past system, and of their own accord are
beginning to have the go-by.
IX.
AFTERNOON SESSION.
The scholars after dinner gather for the first
lesson of the second session just as they did for
the morning, and wait for the teacher in the
same way.
As a general rule this lesson is devoted to
* Little Olga.
SCHOOL SCENES AT YASNAYA POLYANA. 285
sacred or Russian history, and all the classes
take part in it. By the time this lesson be-
gins, generally the twilight is coming on. The
teacher stands or sits in the middle of the room,
and the scholars gather around him as in an
amphitheatre; some on benches, some on chairs,
some on the window seats. All these evening
lessons, and especially this first one, have an
absolutely different character from those of the
morning, a character of calm dreaminess and
poetry.
Come into the school at dusk; no lights are
visible at the windows, it is almost quiet; only
the snow newly tracked in on the stairs, a sub-
dued murmur, and a slight motion behind the
door, and perhaps some little lad seizing the
balustrade and running up stairs two steps at
a time, give proof that school is in session.
Come into the room.
It is almost dark behind the frosted win-
dows; the older and better scholars pressing
together, and crowding close to the teacher,
look him straight in the face. The self-de-
pendent little waiting maid, with preoccupied
face, always sits on the high-chair, and seems
286 SCHOOL SCENES AT YASNAYA POLYANA.
to swallow every word. The more mischiev-
ous and younger the children are, the farther
away they manage to get. But they all listen
attentively, even seriously; they behave them-
selves as well as the older ones; but, notwith-
standing their attention, we cannot help being
conscious that they will not be able to repeat
anything of what they hear, although they re-
member much of it. One leans on another's
shoulder; another stands by the table. Oc-
casionally one of them, stretching over to the
very middle of the throng, across the back of
some one else, scratches some figure with his
finger-nail on some boy's back. It is rare that
any one will look at you.
When a new story begins, all are motionless,
listening. If it happen to be one that they
have heard before then, here and there con-
ceited voices are heard from those who can
not refrain from reminding the teacher. How-
ever, if the old story is one which they like,
they will urge the teacher to repeat it in full,
and they will not let him be interrupted.
"Can't you be patient! hush!" they will cry
to the mischievous urchin.
SCHOOL SCENES AT YASNAYA POLYANA. 287
It hurts them to have the character and
artistic quality of the teacher's tale inter-
rupted. During the last weeks it has been
the story of the life of Christ. Each time they
have insisted on hearing the whole of it. If
any part were omitted, then they themselves
added their favorite ending the story of
Peter's denial and the Saviour's sufferings.
It would seem as though there were no one
alive in the room, not a motion can it be
that they are asleep?
If we go round in the twilight and look into
the faces of any youngster whatever, we shall
find him sitting with his eyes fastened on his
teacher's face, his brow drawn into a frown of
attention, and ten times he will shake off his
mate's hand thrown over his shoulder. If you
should tickle him in the neck, he would not
even smile, but would shake his head as though
to drive away a fly, and again give all his atten-
tion to the mysterious and poetic tale, — how
the veil of the temple was rent, and darkness
covered the face of the earth, and it seems
to him both painful and delightful.
288 SCHOOL SCENES AT YASNAYA POLYANA.
X.
THE END OF THE HOUR.
The teacher brings his story to a close, and
all arise from their places, and, gathering around
the teacher, trying to outshout each other, they
begin to tell all that they can remember.
The noise of their voices becomes terrible.
The teacher does his best to bring them to
quiet. Those who are forbidden to tell what
they know so perfectly, are not to be restrained
in that way; they hasten to another teacher, or
if one is not present, to one of their mates, or
to any stranger, even to the stove-tender; they
go in twos and threes, rushing from one corner
to another, in search of some one to hear them.
Sometimes one will tell it all by himself.
Others form groups of various numbers, and
rehearse it, prompting, making additions, and
correcting each other.
"Now let me say it to you!
says one to
another; but the one addressed knows that the
other has not the ability, and sends him on to
some one else. As soon as they have all said
it, they gradually come to order; the candles
""
SCHOOL SCENES AT YASNAYA POLYANA. 289
are lighted, and by this time the boys have
come into a different state of mind.
In the evening, as a general rule, and in the
succeeding classes, there is less disturbance, less
shouting, more amenity and obedience to the
teacher.
There is noticeable a general distaste of math-
ematics and analysis, and a taste for singing and
reading, and especially stories. "What is the
good of mathematics and writing? tell us about
geography, or even history, and we will listen!"
they say.
By eight o'clock eyes begin to grow weary;
yawns become frequent; the lights burn more
dimly they don't snuff the candles so fre-
quently as before; the older scholars hold out,
but the younger ones fall to sleep, leaning their
elbows on the table, lulled by the pleasant sound
of the teacher's voice.
Sometimes when the classes have been inter-
esting, and there have been many of them,
for
oftentimes the school lasts seven long hours,
and the children have become tired, or it is just
before a holiday, when at home the oven has
been heated for the bath, suddenly, without
W
19
290 SCHOOL SCENES AT YASNAYA POLYANA.
saying a word, two or three boys, during the
second or third class after dinner, will come.
running into the room, and hastily remove
their hats.
"What is it that you want?'
Going home."
"But how about the singing?
"But the boys say it's time to go home," says
the lad, twisting his cap.
"But who says so?"
"The children have gone."
"How is that! how is that!" exclaims the
teacher, dumfounded (he is all ready for his
other lessons). "Hold on!"
But into the room rushes another lad, with
eager, important face.
66
"What are you waiting for?" he asks angrily
of the one who has been detained, and is irreso-
lutely picking the wool from his sheepskin cap.
"The boys have all started on! they are as far
as the blacksmith's."
"Gone?"
Yes, gone!" and both start off on the run,
shouting as they reach the door, "Good by,
Iván Ivánovitch."
SCHOOL SCENES AT YASNAYA POLYANA. 291
And who are those boys who have taken it
upon themselves to go home as they have?
God only knows. You would never find out
who advised the step. They held no consulta-
tion, made no harangue, but still they decided
to go home.
"The boys are going!" and they pound their
heels on the steps; another leaps like a cat down.
the porch, and sliding and tumbling through the
snow, and chasing each other along the narrow
path, the children run home with merry shouts.
Such things happen once or twice a week.*
XI.
THE EVENING SESSION.
In the evening we have singing, graded read-
ing, dialogues, physical experiments, and the
writing of compositions. The most popular of
these subjects are reading and the experiments.
* Count Tolstoi goes on to say, that though this state of
things is rather humiliating to the teacher, still it is in per-
fect harmony with the principle on which the school was
founded, that each child should have perfect liberty to come
and go as he pleased. He is firmly convinced that children
have an intense desire to learn, and that no detrimental
advantage is ever taken of their liberty,
292 SCHOOL SCENES AT YASNAYA POLYANA.
During the reading the older ones collect
around the great centre-table, with their heads
together, their legs at every angle: one reads,
and the others all repeat what has been read.
The younger ones have a book for each two; and
if they understand it, they read it just as well as
we grown people. They hold the book to the
light, and support themselves on their elbows
so as to make it easier, and evidently take great
comfort in it. Some try to enjoy two com-
forts at once, and stand by the stove warming
themselves and reading at the same time.
Not all the scholars are allowed to see the ex-
periments in physics, only the oldest and best
scholars selected from the second class. This
class, by the character which it has acquired
among us, is very fanciful, very western, and
generally reaches its peculiar frame of mind by
the assiduous reading of tales.
Here all that they read is transformed into
reality; everything is personified for them: the
juniper pith-balls, repelled by the sealing-wax,
the varying magnetic needle, the iron-filings on
the sheet of paper which run about according
to the dictates of a magnet, all these things
SCHOOL SCENES AT YASNAYA POLYANA. 293
are to them alive. Even the brightest of them.
who understand the meaning of these phe-
nomena address the needle, or the pith-ball,
or the filings as though they could understand
what they say.
Generally the classes are over by eight or
nine o'clock, though often the carpenter's bench
will detain some of the older boys a little
longer.
The whole crowd, with a shout, run to-
gether out of doors, and then divide into
groups, crying to each other as their paths
diverge toward different parts of the village.
Sometimes they arrange to slide on big sleds,
from the very door down into the valley where
the village lies; they fasten up the thills, have
some one in the middle to steer, and then rais-
ing a snowy dust, they disappear from sight
with a rush. Once in a while you catch sight
of a black speck on the road: it is the chil-
dren on their long slide.
The whole school, in spite of the freedom
that reigns within doors, immediately, on com-
ing into the open air, form new relations, not
only with themselves, but with the teacher:
294 SCHOOL SCENES AT YASNAYA POLYANA.
there is greater freedom, greater simplicity, and
greater confidence the very relations which
present themselves to us as the ideal of what
a school should be!
XII.
A WALK THROUGH THE WOODS.
1.
Not long ago the first class were reading
Gogol's "Vii"*; the last scenes had a power-
ful effect upon them, and excited their imagi-
nations; some of them seemed to see the witch
before their very eyes, and could not keep her
out of their thoughts all that night.
Out of doors it was not cold; a moonless
winter's night, with clouds floating across the
sky. We stopped at the cross-roads; the older
scholars, who had been with me three years,
stood near me, begging me to tell them some
more; the younger ones cast sheep's-eyes at me,
and then started down the hill.
The younger ones usually began their studies
*The fantastic story of a beautiful and wealthy maiden
who is in reality a witch, and causes the destruction of the
groom who falls in love with her.
SCHOOL SCENES AT YASNAYA POLYANA. 295
with the new teacher, and between me and
them there was not as yet any of that con-
fidence which I shared with the older ones.
Now," said one of them, "we are going into
the Zákas." (This was a small grove about two
hundred feet from the house.)
Most strenuous of all was Fedka, a lad of ten
years old, an affectionate, impressible, poetic,
and mischievous nature. His principal danger,
apparently, lay in his pleasure-loving tendency.
In summer it was always terrible to see how he
with two other boys would swim out into the
very middle of the pond, which was three hun-
dred and fifty feet wide, and occasionally
come out into the hot rays of the summer
sun, and then dive into the depths, and float
on his back, and squirt up streams of water,
and shout in a clear, shrill voice to his comrades
on the shore to see how courageous he was.
Now he knew that there were wolves in the
forest, and he wanted to go into the Zákas.
Four of us took up with the idea, and we went
into the woods.
Another lad, I will call him Semka, -
*Fifty sázhen.
66
296 SCHOOL SCENES AT YASNAYA POLYANA.
healthy both in body and soul, and another
small lad of twelve, named Vavilo, went on
ahead, and kept shouting and howling in his
abundant voice.
Pronka, a sickly, sweet-tempered, and very
gifted lad, the son of a poor family, — sickly he
was, apparently more for want of food than any
other cause, walked by my side. Fedka was
between me and Semka, and kept talking all
the time in his peculiarly soft voice, now telling
how when summer came he should bring the
horses here to watch them, then declaring that
he was not afraid of anything, then asking,
'Suppose some one should spring out at us,"
and all the time urging me to tell them some
story.
66
M
We were by this time in the middle of the
forest, and it would have been quite terrifying
in the woods anyway, but now it was con-
stantly growing darker and darker; the path
was scarcely visible; the lights in the village
were hidden from view.
Semka stopped, and began to listen.
"Hold on, boys! what is that?" he cried
suddenly.
SCHOOL SCENES AT YASNAYA POLYANA. 297
We held our breath, but there was nothing
to be heard; nevertheless there was a vestige of
terror.
"Now what should we do," asked Fedka,
"supposing he were to leap out at us?"
We had been talking about brigands in the
Caucasus. They remembered a story of the
Caucasus which I had told them some time
before, and I began to relate again about
the Abreks, about the Cossacks, about Kadji
Murat.
Semka still went in advance of us, taking
long strides in his big boots, and rhythmically
bending his strong back. Pronka was trying
to keep up with me, but Fedka pushed him
from the path, and Pronka, who, probably owing
to his weakness, was always giving in to every-
body else, managed only in the most interesting
places to keep along-side of us, although the
snow reached to his knees.
2.
Every one who has seen anything whatever
peasant children cannot have helped notic-
ing that they are not accustomed to any sort
of
•
298 SCHOOL SCENES AT YASNAYA POLYANA.
of caresses, and cannot endure them affec-
tionate words, kisses, touching of hands, and
other such things. I happened once to see a
lady in a peasant school desiring to caress a
lad, and saying, "Now I am going to kiss you,
darling," and kissed him; and how the lad
who received the kiss was covered with shame,
felt insulted, and was perfectly at a loss to
know why he was treated so. A lad of five
years feels himself above such things as ca-
resses, even though he be small.
Therefore it astonished me beyond measure
when Fedka, who was walking at my side, sud-
denly, in the most moving part of my story,
touched me gently by the sleeve, and then
grasped with his whole hand two of my fin-
gers, and did not let go of them.
As soon as I stopped talking, Fedka began to
urge me to tell some more, and in such a be-
seeching and anxious tone, that it was impossi-
ble not to yield to his request.
"Now get out from under my feet, you,”
said he sternly to Pronka, who was trying to
get ahead. He was carried even to cruelty-
* Milashka.
SCHOOL SCENES AT YASNAYA POLYANA. 299
it was so unusual and so pleasant to hold my
finger, and no one should presume to dare to
disturb his content!
“Now, more, more!" he said; "here is a good
place!"
We had passed through the woods, and had
entered the village at the other end.
"Let us
go back," said they all as soon as the lights
began to appear. "Let us go back once
more!"
We walked without speaking, occasionally
slumping through the soft, untrodden path;
the white darkness was so dense as to seem
to shake before the eyes; the clouds hung low
as though something dragged them down upon
us; there was no end to that peculiar whiteness
in which we alone crunched over the snow; the
wind soughed in the bare tops of the poplars,
and silence reigned in the woods. I finished
telling how Abrek, when surrounded, sings
his songs, and then throws himself upon his
dagger.
All were silent.
"Why does he sing his songs when he is sur-
rounded?" asked Semka.
300 SCHOOL SCENES AT YASNAYA POLYANA.
"Haven't you just been told?" exclaimed
Fedka, scornfully. "So as to get courage to
die!"
“I should think that he would sing a prayer,
then," added Pronka.
The rest agreed with him.
Fedka suddenly stopped: "But how did you
say that your aunt was killed?" he asked,-
he still felt a little afraid. "Tell us! tell us!"
M
And I told them again that terrible story
of the murder of the Countess Tolstoï; and
they silently stood around me, looking into
my face.
“And the brave young fellow was captured,"
exclaimed Fedka. "It must have been terrible
to go by night when she lay there murdered!
I should have run away!"
And he took a renewed and firmer grip of
my two fingers. We had halted in the thicket,
behind the threshing-floors, at the very end of
the village. Semka picked up a dry branch
from out of the snow, and began to strike the
frost-covered bole of a linden. The hoar-frost
fell from the branches, on his cap, and the echo
rang through the forest.
SCHOOL SCENES AT YASNAYA POLYANA. 301
Lyof Nikolayevitch," said Fedka (I sup-
posed that he was going to speak of the
countess again), "what is the good of learn-
ing to sing? I often wonder, I really do, why
we sing."
(6
C
XIII.
God knows why he leaped from the terrible
murder of the countess to that question; but
everything the sound of his voice, the seri-
ousness with which he asked the question,
the silent interest of the other two— made it
evident that there was a real and vivid con-
nection between this question and the con-
versation that had preceded. Whether this
connection lay in the fact that he replied to
my explanation of the possibility of crime in a
state of barbarism, I had spoken to them of
that, or because he believed in himself, as he
transferred himself into the mind of the mur-
derer, and remembered his favorite occupation
(he had a wonderful voice, and a tremendous
talent for music), or whether the connection
Ü
-
UTILITY AND BEAUTY.
302 SCHOOL SCENES AT YASNAYA POLYANA,
consisted in the fact that he felt that now
was the time for perfect honesty of expres-
sion, and all the questions that demanded
elucidation arose in his mind; at all events,
his question did not surprise any of us.
"But why have drawing? why learn to write
well?" I asked, actually not knowing how to
explain to him the advantage of art.
(6
Yes, why have drawing?" he repeated,
thoughtfully.
He had actually brought up the question,
"What is the good of art?" and I did not dare
to answer even if I knew.
"What is the good of drawing?" exclaimed
Semka. "You learn to make sketches, you can
do anything with it!'
""
"I don't mean that kind of sketching; but
why draw figures?"
Semka's healthy nature had no difficulty in
replying. "Why this stick? Why a linden?"
he asked, still thrusting at the linden.
"Well, then, why the linden?" I asked.
"To make rafters of!" exclaimed Semka.
"Well, then, why don't we have it cut down
next summer?"
SCHOOL SCENES AT YASNAYA POLYANA. 303
"Yes; why not?"
"No; but in reality," continued Fedka, obsti-
nately, "why do we let the linden grow?"
And we went on to talk about the fact that
not everything is for use, but that there is such
a thing as beauty, and that art is beauty, and
we understood each other; and Fedka under-
stood perfectly why the linden is allowed to
grow, and why we sing.
Pronka agreed with us, but he understood
better what moral beauty was, goodness, in
other words. Semka understood by means of
his quicker intellect, but he could not see how
there could be beauty without use; he doubted,
as often is the case with people of large intellect,
who feel that beauty is strength, but who do
not feel in their soul need of this strength: like
them, he wanted to get at art by means of the
intellect, and he was striving to kindle in him-
self this fire.
When we sing to-morrow, I shall hear his
voice; he has the correct ear, but no taste, no
feeling for music.
Fedka, however, perfectly understood that
the linden was beautiful for its foliage in sum-
304 SCHOOL SCENES AT YASNAYA POLYANA.
mer, and good to look at, and that was all that
was needed.
Pronka understood that it was a shame to cut
it down, because it was also a live thing: "You
see it is just the same as blood when we drink
the sap from the birch!
""
Semka, though he did not say anything, was
apparently thinking that there was not much
use in it when it was rotten. It seems strange
to me to be repeating what we said then, but I
remember that we had a great deal of discussion
about use and beauty, both plastic and moral.
XIV.
PROSHCHAÏ AND PROSCHAÏTE.
We returned to the village. Fedka had not
once let go of my hand.
hand. It seemed to me that
he held it now out of gratefulness. We were
brought so close together that night! - as we
had not been for a long time. Pronka walked
abreast with us, along the wide street of the
village.
"See, there's a light at the Mazanofs' yet!"
said he. "As I was going to school to-day,
SCHOOL SCENES AT YASNAYA POLYANA. 305
Gavriukha* was coming out of the tavern-
dr-u-u-unk!" he added, -"blind drunk; his
horse was all of a lather, and he was beating her
like everything. I was so sorry! Indeed I was!
Why should he beat her? And lately, father,"†
said Semka, "he drove his horse from Tula, and
she ran him into a snow-drift, and he went to
sleep, he was so drunk!"
"But Gavriukha was beating her right across
the eyes, and I was so sorry to see him," said
Pronka for the second time. "Why did he beat
her? And even when he got down he beat her!"
Semka suddenly stopped. "Our folks are all
asleep,” said he, looking at the windows of his
crooked black cottage. "Won't you come in?"
"No."
"Goo-oo-d by, ‡ Lyof Nikolayevitch,” he
cried suddenly; and as though using all the
force of his will he tore himself away from us,
and trotted off to the house, lifted the latch,
and disappeared.
"That is the way you will get rid of us; first
Contemptuous diminutive of Gavriil, Gabriel.
† Bátya, shortened form of batenka, little father.
‡ Pra-a-a-shcháïte for proshcháïte.
20
306 SCHOOL SCENES AT YASNAYA POLYANA.
one, and then the other, isn't it?" suggested
Fedka.
We went farther.
In Pronka's house there was a light; we
peered through the window: his mother, a tall,
handsome, but careworn woman, with black
brows and eyes, was sitting at the table peeling
potatoes; in the middle a cradle was hung; the
mathematician of the second class, Pronka's
other brother, was standing by the table, eating
potatoes and salt. The cottage was black, nar-
row, and dirty.
"Don't you bring a crowd in with you!" cried
Pronka's mother. "Where have you been?"
Pronka smiled a sweet and sickly smile, as he
looked in at the window. His mother discov-
ered that he was not alone, and immediately her
expression changed and became ugly and cross.
Fedka was now the only one left.
"The tailors are at our house, so we have a
light," said he, in his gentle voice; and this
evening he added, "Good by,* Lyof Nikoláye-
vitch," gently and affectionately, as he began to
rap with the knocker on the closed door. "Let
* Proshcháï, a more familiar form than proshcháïte.
SCHOOL SCENES AT YASNAYA POLYANA. 307
me in!" rang his clear voice through the win-
try quiet of the village street. It was long
before there was any answer.
I looked through the window: the cottage
was large; legs were seen hanging down from
the oven and benches; the father was playing
cards with the tailors; a few copper coins were
lying on the table. A peasant woman, Fedka's
step-mother, was sitting by the light, and look-
ing eagerly at the money. The tailor, a dissi-
pated-looking young peasant, was holding the
cards on the table, and was looking trium-
phantly at his partner. Fedka's father, with
his collar thrown open, his face drawn into a
scowl of mental excitement and vexation, was
shuffling his cards, and irresolutely waving his
toil-hardened hand above them.
"Let me in!
The woman got up and opened the door.
"Good by!" said Fedka once more; "let us
always walk that way!"*
*Here Count Tolstoi stops to answer eloquently the ob-
jections of good and liberal people, who, he says, will find
no sense in such a system of treating the lower classes, but
will think that the education of the masses will unfit them
for their life-work.
308 SCHOOL SCENES AT YASNAYA POLYANA.
XV.
HOW PARENTS REGARD THE SCHOOL.
The views of the people have changed since
the first in regard to the school. . . . Some rich
householders * send their children, out of vanity,
to go through the whole course, so that they
may learn "division"- division being for them.
the highest concept of scholastic wisdom. Other
fathers consider that learning is very advanta-
geous; but the majority send their children
without reasoning about it, yielding merely to
the spirit of the times. Of these children, who
form the larger number, the most gratifying re-
sult to us is shown in the fact, that these thus
sent have come to be so fond of study that their
fathers yield to their children's desires, and
begin themselves unconsciously to feel that
something good is doing for their children, and
so cannot make up their minds to take them
away.
One father was telling me how he once burned
out a whole candle, holding it above his son's
*Dvorniki.
SCHOOL SCENES AT YASNAYA POLYANA. 309
book, and he was loud in his praises both of his
son and of the book. It was the Testament.
66
My pa, also," said one of the boys to me,
"the other day listened as I was telling one of
my stories: he laughed at first, but when he
found that it was religious, he sat up till mid-
night to listen, and he himself held the light!"
I went with one of the new teachers to visit
one of the pupils, and in order to have the boy
make a good showing before the teacher, I
made him do an algebra example. The mother
climbed upon the oven, and we forgot all about
her as we listened to her son carefully and
boldly forming his equation, and saying, "2 ab
minus c, equals d." She all the time was cover-
ing her face with her hands, and trying to re-
strain herself, but at last she nearly died with
laughter, and could not explain to us what she
was laughing at.
Another father, a soldier, who came after his
son, found him in the drawing class; and when
he saw his son's skill, he began to address him.
with the respectful You instead of Thou, and
could not make up his mind during the class to
give him the present which he had brought him.
310 SCHOOL SCENES AT YASNAYA POLYANA.
Another soldier wanted to send his son; but
after questioning the best of our boys, and find
ing that he could read the Psalter without
stumbling, he made up his mind that study was
useless, and only glory was good.
There was some discontent because we did
not punish by whipping, and because we had
no rank-list; and I often had occasion to notice
the perplexity of some parent who came to
school after his son, and found the running, con-
fusion, and scuffling going on before his very
eyes. He is persuaded that such indulgence is
harmful, and he believes that education is a good
thing, but how the two are united he cannot
comprehend.
Gymnastics used to give rise to still more
comment, and the conviction that it would be
the death of the children is not to be over-
come. As soon as Lent begins, or in the
autumn when vegetables are ripe, gymnas-
tic exercises seem the most harmful; and old
grandmothers, as they heap up the pots, will
explain that over-indulgence and breaking is
the cause of everything.
For some of the parents, though the number
SCHOOL SCENES AT YASNAYA POLYANA. 311
is small, the two accidents that happened in the
school serve as excuses for grumbling.
In November there were two girls, daughters
of a rich householder, who came in cloaks and
caps, who at first held themselves quite aloof
from the others; but afterwards, becoming ac-
customed to things, began to study excellently,
and did not mind the tea and the cleaning
of their teeth with tobacco. Their father,
who drove up in his Crimean cloak tightly
buttoned, came into school, and surprised
them in the midst of a throng of dirty clog-
wearing children, who, leaning their hands on
the girls' caps, were listening to the teacher.
The father was affronted, and took his girls
from school, though he did not confess the
cause of his grievance.
(Here follows a long description of the class in me-
chanical reading; but as it is filled with references to
Russian authors and to peculiarities of Russian spelling
and pronunciation, I omit it entirely, though some of the
details seem too interesting not to find a place here. -
N. II. D.)
312 SCHOOL SCENES AT YASNAYA POLYANA.
XVI.
AN EXPERIMENT.
After definitely abandoning the attempt to
make the scholars enjoy Pushkin, whose tales,
I presumed, would, by their beauty of construc-
tion and simplicity, appeal to the people, I
made the experiment with Gogol's "Night be-
fore Christmas."
As I read it to them, it pleased them at first
very much, especially the older ones; but as
soon as they were left to read it themselves,
they could not understand it, and it bored
them. Even when I read it, they did not care
for the sequel. The wealth of beauties, the
fancy, and the capricious method of construc-
tion were opposed to their habit of thought.
Then I tried them with a Russian transla
tion* of the Iliad, and the reading of this
caused a curious perplexity among them; they
supposed that the original was written in
French, and they could not at all understand
why I did not tell them its subject-matter in
my own words; and moreover, the fable of the
* Gnéditch's.
SCHOOL SCENES AT YASNAYA POLYANA. 313
poem did not make itself intelligible to their
minds.
The sceptic Semka, a healthy, logical nature,
was struck by the picture of Phoebus with the
arrows rattling on his back, as he flew down
from Olympus; but evidently he was at a loss
what to make of this picture.
"How did he fly down from the mountain,
and not dash himself to pieces?" he kept ask-
ing me.
Why you see, they supposed that he was a
god," I replied.
"How a god?"
"They had many of them."
"Then he must have been a false god, or else
he flew down lightly from that mountain; other-
wise he would have been dashed in pieces," he
exclaimed, spreading his hands.
66
(The Count goes on to characterize in this vivid way
a number of books of various sorts which his pupils read
or try to read. Books written in what he calls the "lit-
erary language" are generally incomprehensible, and do
not find readers among them; books written studiously
for the people by those who stand above them are alike
unmeaning. The books which are truly appreciated are
those written not for the people, but born of the people:
314 SCHOOL SCENES AT YASNAYA POLYANA.
for example, tales [skazki], proverbs, collections of songs,
legends, enigmas, and other folk-lore." He goes on to
show their manner of procedure, in having the scholars
repeat in their own language what they have read.)
XVII.
HOW THE PUPILS LEARNED TO WRITE WELL.
The scholars were very poor penmen, and
one of the new teachers tried to have them
write from a copy always a regular and easy
method for the teacher. The scholars detested
this; we were compelled to abandon callig
raphy, and we could not devise any way of
correcting bad writing.
But the oldest class themselves found a way
out of it. After they had finished writing their
sacred history, the older scholars wanted us to
let them carry their copy-books home. The
copy-books were soiled, torn, badly written.
The careful mathematician, R-, asked for a
new book, and began to copy his exercise.
This idea pleased them all. "I want a book,"
and "I want a copy-book"; and calligraphy
became the fashion from that time on, at least
so far as the upper class was concerned.
Ju
SCHOOL SCENES AT YASNAYA POLYANA. 315
They would take their copy-books, lay be-
fore them the written alphabet-copy, practise
on each letter, and try to excel each other;
and in two weeks they had made great prog-
ress.
Almost all of us, when we were children, were
obliged to eat bread at the table, and for this
very reason, that we did not like it; but we
come to like it at last. Almost all of us have
learned to hold the pen with straight fingers,
and we all began by holding the pen with
crooked fingers, because they were short; but
now we hold it with straight fingers. It may
well be asked: Why are we so tortured when
all this comes of itself as soon as it is neces-
sary? Will not the love and the demand for
knowledge come to all in the same way?
XVIII.
THE WRITING OF COMPOSITIONS.
In the first and second classes the choice of
compositions is granted the scholars. The
favorite subject for these boys are the Old
Testament stories, which they will write two
316 SCHOOL SCENES AT YASNAYA POLYANA.
months after they have been related by the
teacher.
The first class not long ago began to write
on New Testament history, but this was not
nearly so successful as the Old; they even
made more mistakes in spelling in it. They
did not understand it so well. In the first
class we tried compositions written on some
given theme. The early themes, which natu-
rally enough first came into our heads, were
descriptions of simple objects, such as corn,
a cottage, a tree, etc.; but to our extreme
amazement their labors on these subjects al-
most brought the tears into the pupils' eyes,
and in spite of the help of the teacher, who
divided the description of corn into the descrip-
tion of its growth, or of its manufacture, or
about its use, they strenuously refused to write
on themes of such a nature; and if they wrote,
they made incomprehensible and most ridicu
lous mistakes in spelling, in language, and in
idea.
We tried the experiment of giving up con-
positions on such subjects, and all were as de-
lighted as though we had bestowed a gift upon
SCHOOL SCENES AT YASNAYA POLYANA. 317
them. Compositions on so-called simple sub-
jects, so much affected in schools, such as a pig,
a kettle, a table, seemed immeasurably more
difficult than the writing of stories based on
their own experiences.
One and the same mistake is always repeated
as in all other matters of instruction the sim-
plest and most common seems to the teacher to
be easiest, while to the pupil only the compli-
cated and vivid seems easy.
T
Wy
All the text-books of natural sciences begin
with general principles, text-books of language
with definitions, history with divisions into peri-
ods, even geometry with definitions of such ab-
stract concepts as space and the mathematical
point.
Almost all teachers, guiding themselves along
such a path of thought, give out for their first
subjects of composition the definition of a table
or a bench, and cannot persuade themselves that
for the description of a table or a bench one
needs to stand on the very highest plane of
philosophical and dialectical development, and
that the same lad who is shedding tears over
his composition about tables or benches will
318 SCHOOL SCENES AT YASNAYA POLYANA.
describe admirably the sentiment of love or
hate, the meeting of Joseph and his brethren,
or a squabble among his companions.
The subjects which they best like to write
about are the description of events which have
taken place under their own eyes, or the repeti-
tion of stories which they have heard.
XIX.
THE IDEAS OF THE SCHOLARS.
The writing of compositions has come to be
their favorite exercise. As soon as the older
scholars have distributed paper and pencils to
the whole school, they write down the heading
of their composition.
At first I was troubled by the irregularity
and sense of disproportion in the form of the
compositions. I gave them such directions as
I thought were necessary, but they absolutely
mistook my meaning, and the affair went badly.
They seemed unwilling to recognize any other
necessity upon them than that there should be
no mistakes. Now, however, they themselves
often complain when a composition is stretched
SCHOOL SCENES AT YASNAYA POLYANA. 319
out, or when there are frequent repetitions or
jumps from one subject to another. It would
be hard to decide wherein their demands are
founded, but their demands are law.
"Nonsense!" some of them cry, when they
hear their mates' compositions; some are un-
willing to read their own after hearing the
reading of a composition that has struck them.
as good; some will tear their copy-books from
the teacher's hand, dissatisfied that they did
not sound as they expected, and will read them
themselves.
Different natures are so sharply expressed
that we used to try the experiment of having
the scholars guess who wrote such and such a
composition, and in the first class they rarely
made a mistake in their selection.
XX.
A VISIT TO TULA.
B— 9
a very poor scholar, but a lad of keen
and original mind, wrote a composition about
Tula, and about his studies. The one about
his studies had the greater success among the
320 SCHOOL SCENES AT YASNAYA POLYANA.
scholars.
B
was eleven years old.
This
was written during the third winter that he was
at school at Yasnaya Polyana; but he had
studied before.
"About Tula.
"The other Sunday I went to Tula again.
When we got there Vladímir Aleksandrovitch
told me and Vaska Zhdanof to go to Sunday-
school. We went and went and went, and at
last, after a great deal of trouble, we found it.
We went in and found all the scholars sit-
ting down; and I saw our teacher in botany.
And so I say, 'How do you do, sir?' and he
said, 'How do you do.' Then I went into the
class, stood near the table, and I felt so confused
that I took and went out into Tula. I went and
I went, and I saw a peasant woman baking
cakes. I began to take my money out of my
pocket; when I had got it out, I bought the
cakes. After I had bought them I went on.
And I saw a man coming along the sidewalk,
*
* Baba.
↑ Kalátchi, small loaves of white bread; kalátchi is one of
the few Tatar words that have survived in Russian.
SCHOOL SCENES AT YASNAYA POLYANA. 321
and he looked as though he was in a hurry.
And that is all I have to say about Tula."
Composition about how I studied.
"When I was eight years old, I was sent to
Gruma to the cattle-woman. There I learned
a good deal. But afterwards I got tired of it,
and began to cry. And the woman took a stick
and began to beat me. But I cried louder than
ever. And after a few days I ran off home, and
told them all about it. And after that they
took and sent me to Dunka's mother. And
there I studied well, and I was never beaten
there, and there I learned the whole alphabet.
Then I was sent to Foka Demidovitch. He
used to beat me very cruelly. Once I ran away
from him, and he sent for me. When they
found me and took me to him, he took me and
laid me over the foot-stool, took a bundle of
rods, and began to beat me. And I screamed
with all my might; and when he lifted me up
he made me read. And as he listened to me he
would say, 'You son of a dog! how abominably
you read! oh, what a pig you are!""
66
21
322 SCHOOL SCENES AT YASNAYA POLYANA.
•
XXI.
FEDKA'S COMPOSITIONS.
Here are two examples of Fedka's composi-
tions: the one on the subject "Corn" given to
him, the other chosen by himself, about a visit.
to Tula. This was Fedka's third winter at
school. He was ten years old.
"About Corn.
"Corn grows in the ground. At first it is
generally green. But when it is full grown
then the ears of corn grow out of it and the
women reap it. There is another kind of corn
just like grass, and the cattle eat it well."
That was all there was of it. He was con-
scious that it was not good, and was sorry for
it. About Tula he wrote as follows: *
"About Tula.
“When I was a very little boy I was five
years old and sometimes I heard of people going
to some place called Tula and I did not know
* Count Tolstoï gives the composition, without correcting
spelling or punctuation.
SCHOOL SCENES AT YASNAYA POLYANA. 323
what Tula was. And so I ask my papa: * 'Papa!
what sort of a place is this Tula where you go?
Is it good?'
<<
Papa says, 'Yes.'
"Then I say: 'Papa! take me with you, I
want to see Tula.'
"Papa says 'All right when Sunday comes I
will take you with me.'
"I was glad and began to run and jump on
the bench.
"After these days came Sunday. I got up
very early in the morning but papa was already
harnessing the horses in the yard. I got on my
shoes and stockings and dressed as quick as I
could.
"By the time I was dressed and ran down
into the yard father had the horses all har-
nessed. I got into the sledge and sat down.
We rode and we rode and we went about four-
teen versts. I saw a tall church and I shouted
'Father see what a tall church!'
“Father said: 'there is a church not so high
* He uses the terms bátiushka, little father (which is also
the respectful address to a priest): bátya and bát, ill repre-
sented by papa.
† About nine and a quarter miles.
324 SCHOOL SCENES AT YASNAYA POLYANA.
and prettier,' and I began to ask him: Father
let us go into it: I want to say my prayers.'
"Father took me in. Just as we were going
in, they suddenly pounded on the bell; I was
frightened and I asked father what that was:
Is it a drum they are playing on?'
"Father said: 'No that is the beginning of
mass.'
Then we went into the church and said our
prayers. Then we went to market. And here
I am going along and going along and I keep
stumbling all the time but I keep looking
around on all sides.
"And then we come to the bazaar; and I
saw some one giving away cakes * and I wanted
to take some without paying for them. And
father says to me: 'don't take them, else they
will take your cap!'
“I ask: 'Why should they take my cap?' and
father says: 'don't take them without money,"
and I say: 'Then give me a grivna † and I will
buy myself some little cakes!'
"Papa gave me one and I bought three cakes
* Kalátchi.
† A ten-kopek piece
SCHOOL SCENES AT YASNAYA POLYANA. 325
and I ate them up and I said: 'father how good
these cakes are!
"When we had done our shopping, we went
back to the horses and watered them and gave
them their hay and when they were fed we har-
nessed them and went home and I went into
the cottage and undressed and began to tell
everybody how I had been to Tula and how
father and I had been to church and said our
prayers. And then I went to sleep and dreamed
that Father and I went to Tula again. I imme-
diately woke up and saw that everybody was
asleep and so I took and went to sleep again
myself."
XXII.
THE CHOICE OF SUBJECTS.
The teacher's chief art in the teaching of
language, and his chief exercise with this end
in view, as he trains children to write composi-
tions, consist in the giving of subjects; and not
so much in the mere naming of them as in find-
ing variety of subjects, in indicating the dimen-
sions of the compositions, and the pointing out
of elementary processes.
326 SCHOOL SCENES AT YASNAYA POLYANA,
Many of the intelligent and talented scholars
wrote trash; for instance, they would write:
"The fire broke out, they began to pull out the
things, and I ran into the street"; and nothing
of any consequence, though the subject of the
composition may have been rich, and the de-
scription of it may have made a deep impres
sion on the scholars.
They would miss the chief thing: the object
and meaning of the writing of compositions.
They did not comprehend the art of expressing
life in words, and the fascination of this art.
And, as I have already said, I tried many differ-
ent experiments in the giving of subjects.
tried to gauge their inclinations, and gave
them explicit, artistic, touching, ludicrous, or
epic themes for compositions; but the thing
did not work. Now I will tell how I acciden-
tally discovered the true method.
I
XXIII.
POPULAR PROVERBS.
For a long time the perusal of Snegiref's col-
lection of proverbs has been one of my favorite,
SCHOOL SCENES AT YASNAYA POLYANA. 327
I will not say occupations, but passions. Every
proverb brings up before me characters from
among the people, and their actions according
to the sense of the proverb. Among my im-
possible dreams I have always thought of writ-
ing a series of either stories or scenes founded
on these proverbs.
Once last winter, after dinner, I was reading
Snegiref's book, and I happened to take the
book with me to school. The class in the Rus-
sian language was in progress. "Now write me
something on a proverb,” said I.
"
The best scholars, Fedka, Semka, and the
others, pricked up their ears.
"What do you
mean, on a proverb"?" "What is that?"
"Tell us!" were the various exclamations. I
happened to open to the proverb: "He eats
with
your spoon and puts your eyes out with
the handle."
"Now imagine," said I, "that a peasant had
taken in some old beggar; and then, after the
kindness that he had received, the beggar had
begun to revile him, it would mean that he
had eaten with your spoon and put out your
eyes with the handle."
328 SCHOOL SCENES AT YASNAYA POLYANA,
"Well, how would you write it?" said Fedka
and all the others, who had pricked up their
ears; but suddenly they gave it up, persuaded
that this task was beyond their strength, and
resumed the work on which they had been en-
gaged before.
"You write it for us," said one of them to
me.
All were busy in their work; I took the pen
and inkstand, and began to write.
Now," said I, "who will write it the best?
and I will try it with you."
I began the story which is printed in the
fourth number of "Yasnaya Polyána," and
wrote the first page. Every unprejudiced man
with any feeling for art and nationality, on
reading this first page written by me, and the
following pages of the story written by the
scholars themselves, will distinguish this page
from all the others, like a fly in milk, it is so
artificial, false, and written in such a wretched
style. It must be noted that in its first form it
was still poorer, and has been improved, thanks
to the suggestions of the scholars.
66
G
Mag
SCHOOL SCENES AT YASNAYA POLYANA. 329
XXIV.
FRIENDLY RIVALRY.
Fedka kept looking up from his copy-book at
me, and when his eyes met mine, he would smile
and wink, and say, "Write, write! I will show
you!"
It evidently interested him to have a grown
person also write a composition. After finishing
his composition, less carefully and more hur-
riedly than usual, he leaned over the back of my
arm-chair, and began to read over my shoulder.
I could not write any longer; others joined
our group, and I read aloud what I had writ-
ten. It did not please them; no one praised
it.
I was mortified; and in order to soothe my
literary vanity, I began to tell them my plan of
what was to follow. As I went on telling them,
was carried away, I felt better in my mind,
and they began to make suggestions.
One said that the old man should be a
wizard.
Another said, “No; that is not necessary; he
must be simply a soldier."
330 SCHOOL SCENES AT YASNAYA POLYANA,
"No; it would be better for him to rob his
benefactor."
"No; that would not be according to the
proverb," said they.
All were thoroughly interested. It was evi-
dently something new and fascinating for them
to watch the process of composition, and to
take part in it. Their opinions were for the
most part similar and just, both in regard to the
construction of the story, the details, and the
traits of the characters.
Nearly all took part in the composition of the
story, but from the very beginning the positive
Semka stood out with especial clearness by the
artistic sharpness of his description, and Fedka
by the truth of his poetic delineations, and
more than all by the vividness and force of
his imagination. Their strictures were to such
a degree given advisedly, and with reason, that
more than once when I argued with them I was
obliged to yield.
It was my idea that accuracy in composition,
and the close fitting of the thought to the prov
erb should enter into the story; they, on the
contrary, cared only for artistic accuracy.
SCHOOL SCENES AT YASNAYA POLYANA. 331
For example, I wanted the peasant who took
the old beggar into his house to regret his
kindly action; they felt that this was an im-
possibility, and they brought into the action a
vixenish woman.
*
I said, "The peasant at first felt sorry for
the beggar, but afterwards felt sorry that he
had given his bread."
Fedka replied that such a thing would be
absurd; "From the very first he did not listen
to his wife, and surely afterwards he would not
yield to her!"
“But what sort of a man is he in your idea?”
I asked.
"He is like Uncle Timoféï," said Fedka, smil-
ing; "his beard is rather thin, he goes to church,
and he keeps bees."
"Good-natured, but obstinate," I suggested.
"Yes," said Fedka; "that's the reason he will
not heed his wife."
From the moment when the old man entered
the cottage, the composition began in lively
earnest. Here for the first time, evidently, they
began to feel the delight of putting artistic
* Baba.
332 SCHOOL SCENES AT YASNAYA POLYANA.
work into words. In this respect Semka was
particularly brilliant; the most lifelike details
followed one another. The solitary fault which
might be charged against him was this: that
these details pictured only the present moment,
and had no relationship to the general idea of
the story. I did not hurry them, but rather
urged them to go slow, and not to forget what
they had said.
XXV.
THE FLOWER OF POESY.
It seemed as though Semka saw and described
what went on before his eyes: the frozen, snow-
covered sabots, and the mud which dripped
down from them as they thawed out, and the
biscuits into which they dried when the woman
put them into the oven.
Fedka, on the other hand, saw only those
particulars which aroused in him such a senti-
ment as he would have experienced at the sight
of real persons. Fedka saw the snow which had
stuck to the old man's leg-wrappers,* and he
* Onúchi, bands of cloth wound around the leg instead of
stockings, and worn under the boots, or lapti,
SCHOOL SCENES AT YASNAYA POLYANA. 333
felt the feeling of pity which inspired the peas-
ant to say:
"Lord! how can he walk!"
Fedka went so far as to express in pantomime
the manner in which the peasant said these
words: he waved his hand and shook his head.
He saw the old man's thin, tattered cloak, and
his torn shirt, under which showed his ema-
ciated body wet with melting snow.
He imag-
ined the woman, as she grumblingly obeyed her
husband's command, and pulled off his sabots,
and the old man's pitiful groan muttered through
his teeth: "Easy, little mother;* my feet are
sore there!
""
Semka wanted objective pictures above all,
the sabots, the thin cloak, the old man, the
peasant woman, without much of any connec-
tion among them; Fedka wanted to express the
feeling of pity with which he himself was filled.
He went on to speak of how the old man
would be given his supper; how he would fall
sick in the night; how afterwards the boy
would teach him his letters. His eyes gleamed
with unshed tears; his dirty, thin hands con-
* Mátiushka.
334 SCHOOL SCENES AT YASNAYA POLYANA.
tracted nervously; he was impatient, and kept
spurring me on: "Have you written it? have
you written it?" he was constantly asking me.
His soul at this time was softened and stirred
by the sentiment of pity, that is, love, and it
pictured every object in an artistic form, and
took exception to everything that did not corre-
spond to his idea of eternal beauty and har-
mony.
If ever Semka suggested incongruous details
about the lambs huddled in the corner of the
cottage, or anything of the sort, Fedka would
become vexed, and say, "Ho, you, you are talk-
ing nonsense."
I needed only to suggest anything,- for exam-
ple, what was the peasant doing while his wife
went off to her neighbor's,*- and Fedka's imagi-
nation would immediately construct a picture of
lambs bleating in the corner, and the old man
sighing, and the lad Serózha delirious; I had
only to suggest some artificial and false detail
in the picture, and he would become angry in-
stantly, and declare with irritation that it was
not necessary.
* Kum, a gossip or god-father.
SCHOOL SCENES AT YASNAYA POLYANA. 335
For instance, I proposed that he describe the
peasant's external appearance; he agreed: but
my proposal that he should describe what the
peasant thought while his wife was gone to her
neighbor's, immediately brought up in his mind
this train of thought, "Ekh! woman! if you
should meet the dead Savoska, he would tear
your hair out."
And he said this so wearily and calmly, and
in such a naturally serious and at the same time
good-natured tone of voice, leaning his head on
his hand, that the children went into a gale of
laughter.
The chief condition of every art the feeling
of proportion was extraordinarily developed
in him. He was wholly upset by any superflu-
ous suggestion suggested by the other scholars.
He took it upon himself to direct the construc-
tion of this story in such a despotic way, and
with such a just claim to be despotic, that very
soon the rest of the boys went home, and he
alone was left with Semka, who did not give
way to him, though he worked in a different
manner.
We worked from seven to eleven o'clock; the
336 SCHOOL SCENES AT YASNAYA POLYANA.
children felt neither hunger nor weariness, and
they were really indignant with me when I
stopped writing; then they tried to take turns
in writing by themselves, but the thing did not
work.
Here for the first time Fedka asked me what
my name was. We laughed at him, because he
did not know.
"I know," said he, "how to address you; but
what do they call your estate name? You know
we have the Fokanuichef family, the Zabrefs,
the Yermilinas."
I told him.
"And are we going to be printed?" he asked.
"Yes."
"Then it must be printed: The work of Ma-
károf, Morózof, and Tolstóï!”"
XXVI.
A NEW WORLD.
He was excited for a long time, and could
not sleep; and, as for myself, I cannot repre-
sent the feeling of excitement, of pleasure, of
pain, and almost of repentance which I experi-
SCHOOL SCENES AT YASNAYA POLYANA. 337
enced that evening. I felt that from this time
a new world of joys and sorrows had been re-
vealed to Fedka, the world of art: it seemed
to me that I was witnessing what no one has
the right to see, the unfolding of the mysteri-
ous flower of poesy.
To me it was both terrible and delightful;
just as if a treasure-seeker should find the lady-
fern in bloom. The pleasure consisted for me
in suddenly, unexpectedly discovering the phi-
losopher's stone for which I had been vainly
seeking for two years, the art of expressing
thought.
It was terrible, because it would bring new
demands and a whole world of desires incom-
patible with the sphere in which the pupils live
or so it seemed to me at the first moment.
There could be no mistake. This was not
chance, but conscious, creative genius. I beg
the reader to peruse the first chapter of the
story, and notice the abundant touches of true
creative talent scattered through it. For ex-
ample, the scene where the woman complains
angrily of her husband to her neighbor, and
yet this woman, for whom the author feels a
M
22
338 SCHOOL SCENES AT YASNAYA POLYANA.
lively antipathy, bursts into tears when the
neighbor reminds her of the breaking up of
her home.
For the author who writes with the intellect
and memory alone a quarrelsome woman would
be created only as a foil for the peasant; from
simple desire to torment her husband she
would have necessarily called in the neigh-
bor. But in Fedka the artistic feeling was
expressed in the woman also, and so she weeps,
and fears, and suffers; in his eyes she is not
to blame.
Afterwards there is a little side-play, when
the neighbor puts on the woman's dilapidated
cloak *; I remember that I was so extremely
struck by it, that I asked him, "
Why the
woman's cloak?"
Not one of us had suggested to Fedka
the idea of having the neighbor put on the
woman's cloak.
He replied, "Why, it's more lifelike."
When I asked him, "Might we not say that
he put on the husband's cloak?" he replied,
"No; it is better to have the wife's."
* Shubyónka.
SCHOOL SCENES AT YASNAYA POLYANA. 339
And in very fact this touch is extraordinary.
At first you would not see why it should be the
woman's cloak, but at the same time you can-
not help feeling that it is admirable that it
could not be otherwise.
Every artistic phrase, whether the outcome
of a Goethe or a Fedka, is distinguished from
one that is not artistic by the simple fact that
the one calls up an innumerable throng of
thoughts, representations, and illustrations.
The neighbor, in the woman's cloak, irresis-
tably suggests the picture of a feeble, narrow-
chested peasant, just as, in all probability, he
was. The woman's cloak, thrown down on
the bench, and therefore coming first to hand,
brings up before you a perfect picture of a
peasant's establishment on a winter's evening.
At the mere mention of the cloak there arise
involuntarily before your eyes the late hour,
at the time when the peasant, undressed for
the night, is sitting before his fire of chips, and
the women, coming and going in their house-
work, getting water and feeding the cattle,-
and all that external disorder in the peasant's
mode of life, where not a single person has a
340 SCHOOL SCENES AT YASNAYA POLYANA,
garment that is particularly his, and not a
single thing has its proper place.
This one expression, "He put on the woman's
cloak," defines the whole scene in which the
action passes, and this phrase was not discov-
ered accidentally, but chosen deliberately.
I still remember vividly how his imagination
conjured up the words spoken by the peasant
when he found the paper and could not read it:
"If my Serózha here knew how to read, he
would jump up, tear the paper out of my
hands, read it all through, and tell me who
this old man is."
In this way we can see the relation between
the laboring man and the book which he holds
in his sunburned hands; this worthy man, with
his patriarchal, pious inclinations, seems to stand
before you. You feel that the author has a deep
love for him, and has therefore completely un-
derstood him.
The idea of the dream was mine, but the in-
troduction of the goat with wounded legs was
Fedka's, and he was particularly delighted with
it. And the peasant's meditations at the time
when his back was beginning to itch, and the
SCHOOL SCENES AT YASNAYA POLYANA. 341
picture of the quiet night,—all of this was the
farthest removed from accidental: in all these
touches can be felt such a conscious, artistic
power.
XXVII.
MY REPENTANCE.
I put an end to the lesson because I was
too much excited. "What is the matter?
what makes you so pale? You aren't going
to be sick, I hope?" my companion asked of
me.
In fact, only two or three times in my life
had I ever experienced such a powerful emo-
tion as I had that evening, and it was long
before I could give a rational account to myself
of what I had experienced. I was uneasy, and
felt as though I had been criminally spying
through a glass, into a hive, at the labors of the
bees, hidden from mortal gaze. It seemed to
me that I had done a wrong to the peasant
lad's pure, innocent soul. I had an uneasy
feeling as though I had been engaged in a
sacrilege.
At the same time I felt a keen delight, such
342 SCHOOL SCENES AT YASNAYA POLYANA.
as a man must feel who has witnessed some.
thing that no one had ever seen before.
It was long before I could explain the im-
pression which I had received, though I was
conscious that it was one of those which in
nature life lift a man to a higher stage of ex-
istence, and compel him to renounce the old,
and give himself unreservedly to the future.
K
The next day I could not believe in the
reality of the experience through which I had
passed that evening. It seemed to me quite too
strange that a half-educated peasant lad had sud-
denly developed a conscious, artistic power, such
as Goethe, with all his measureless height of de-
velopment, was unable to attain. It seemed to
me too strange that I, the author of "Child-
hood,"* who have now a certain success and
reputation for artistic talent in the literary
circles of Russia, that I, in the matter of art,
was not only unable to guide or aid this eleven-
year-old Fedka, and Semka, but that barely, -
and that only in a happy moment of excite-
ment, — could I follow them and comprehend
* "Childhood, Boyhood, and Youth." London: Walter
Scott.
SCHOOL SCENES AT YASNAYA POLYANA. 343
them. It seemed to me so strange, that I could
not believe in what had happened the evening
before.
XXVIII.
THE FATE OF THE STORY.
Although I did not believe what passed
under my very eyes, my doubts were com-
pletely dissipated by what seemed like an
extraordinary misfortune.
I had to be away for several days, and the
story remained unfinished. The manuscript -
three large sheets fully written over-was left
in the room of the teacher to whom I had been
showing it.
Just before my departure, while I was engaged
with the composition, a new pupil who had come
had been showing our children the art of mak-
ing fly-flappers out of paper, and throughout the
whole school, as is apt to be the case, had come
a time of fly-flappers, taking the place of snow-
ball time, which in its turn had taken the place
of carved sticks.
The fly-flapper time lasted during my absence.
Semka and Fedka, who belonged to the choir,
344 SCHOOL SCENES AT YASNAYA POLYANA.
used to go to the teacher's room to sing, and
they would spend whole evenings and some-
times whole nights there.
In the intervals and during the time of sing-
ing, of course, the fly-flappers were in full swing,
and every available piece of paper which fell
into their hands was turned into a fly-flapper.
The teacher went to supper and forgot to cau-
tion the children not to touch the papers on his
table, and so the manuscript containing the
work of Makárof, Morózof and Tolstoï was
turned into fly-flappers.
On the next day, before school, the slapping
had become such a nuisance to the children,
that they themselves declared a general perse-
cution upon fly-flappers; with a shout and a
rush the fly-flappers were all collected, and
with general enthusiasm flung into the lighted
stove.
The time of fly-flappers was over, but with it
our manuscript had also gone to ruin.
Never was any loss more severe for me to
bear than that of those three written sheets. I
was in despair.
Wringing my hands, I went to work to rewrite
SCHOOL SCENES AT YASNAYA POLYANA. 345
the story, but I could not forget the loss of it,
and involuntarily I kept heaping reproaches on
the teacher, and the manufacturers of the fly-
flappers. Here I cannot resist observing in this
connection that as the result of this external
disorder and perfect freedom among the scholars,
which have furnished decorous amusement for
several gentlemen in the Russian periodicals,'
without the slightest trouble, and without hav-
ing to use threats or cunning, I learned all the
details of the complicated history of the manu-
script turned into fly-flappers and of its crema-
tion.
*
XXIX.
THE NEW MANUSCRIPT.
Semka and Fedka saw that I was disturbed,
and though, evidently, they did not know the
reason, they seemed to be very sympathetic;
Fedka at last timidly proposed to me to rewrite
the story.
66
'By yourselves?" I asked; "I cannot help
any in it."
* Mr. Markof, in the Russian Messenger; Mr. Glyébof, in
Education.
346 SCHOOL SCENES AT YASNAYA POLYANA.
"Semka and I will come and spend the night
at your house,” replied Fedka.
And indeed, after the lessons, they came to
my house about nine o'clock and locked them-
selves in my library. I was not a little delighted
that after some giggling, they became quiet, and
at twelve o'clock when I went to the door, I
heard merely their low conversation and the
scratching of the pen. Only once they asked
me about something that had been in the former
copy, and wanted my opinion on the question,-
Had the peasant hunted for his wallet before or
after his wife went to the neighbor's?
I told him it made no difference.
At twelve o'clock I tapped at the door and
went in.
S
Fedka, in a new white shubka with black
fur trimming, was sitting buried in the easy-
chair, with his legs crossed and his bushy head
resting on one white hand, while his other
played with the scissors. His big black eyes,
gleaming with an unnatural, but serious and
mature light, had a far-away look; his irregular
lips, puckered up as though to whistle, were
evidently waiting for the phrase, which, though
SCHOOL SCENES AT YASNAYA POLYANA. 347
ready-made in his imagination, he was trying to
articulate.
Semka, standing in front of the great writing-
table, with a big white patch of sheepskin on
his back (the tailors had just been through the
village), with his girdle unloosed, and his hair
tumbled, was writing very crooked lines and
constantly dipping the pen in the ink.
When Semka, with his fat face, and its pro-
jecting cheek-bones, and his dishevelled hair,
turned to look at me, with his thoughtful and
sleepy eyes, it struck me as so ludicrous that
I laughed aloud; but the children did not
laugh.
Fedka, not altering the expression of his face,
pulled Semka by the sleeve to make him go on
with his writing.
"Wait," said he to me; "done in a minute!"
(Fedka used the familiar thou to me when he
was excited and eager), and he went on dictat-
ing something more.
I took their copy from them and at the end of
five minutes, when they were installed near the
cupboard eating potatoes and kvas, and looking
at the silver spoons, to which they were so unac-
348 SCHOOL SCENES AT YASNAYA POLYANA.
customed, they broke out, without themselves.
knowing why, into ringing, boyish laughter.
The old woman in the room above hearing
them laugh, laughed too, without knowing
why.
"What are you filling up so for?" said Semka.
"Sit straight, or you will eat yourself one-
sided."
And while they were taking off their shubas
and bestowing themselves under the writing-
table for the night, they did not cease to bubble
over with the charming, healthy laughter of the
peasant child. I read through what they had
written. It was a new variation of the former
story. Some things were left out, some new
artistic beauties were added. And once more
there was the same feeling for beauty, truth, and
proportion.
Afterwards one sheet of the lost manuscript
was found. In the story as it was printed I
welded the two variants together by the aid of the
sheet that was found, and by bringing my recol-
lection to bear upon it. The composition of
this story took place in the early spring, before
the end of our school year.
SCHOOL SCENES AT YASNAYA POLYANA. 349
XXX.
A LESSON IN DEFINITIONS.
(The last eighteen pages of the article in which Count
Tolstoï makes the great discovery that the child is master
of the man, describes the genesis of another story entitled
"Soldatkino Zhítye" (The Life of a Soldier's Wife), writ-
ten by this same marvellous little Fedka, a work which
he declares to be "so beautiful that there is nothing like
it in the Russian language." This discovery confirms
him in his theory that our unusual systems of education
are wholly false. "Man," he says with Rousseau, "is
born perfect," and therefore we must look back and not
forward for the ideal. The more a child is artificially
educated the more his nature is perverted.
"A healthy
child," he
says, "when it is born into the world, perfectly
realizes the demands of absolute harmony in respect to
the true, the beautiful, and the good, which we have in us.
He is close to all inanimate objects to the plant, the
animal, nature, which constantly expresses for us the
ideal which we seek for and desire." And again he
reiterates his belief that the child should be allowed per-
fect liberty.
M
The description of the school still further pictures the
children engaged in their lessons, and he quotes their
transcriptions of sacred and Russian history, their recita-
tions in geography, and their exercises in drawing and
music. To reproduce all these interesting and character-
istic
passages would be to swell the dimensions of the
book beyond reason. A dramatic little dialogue and a
still more dramatic scene must therefore suffice.)
350 SCHOOL SCENES AT YASNAYA POLYANA.
Teacher: "Where do we live? in what land?
First Pupil: "At Yasnaya Polyana."
Second Pupil: "In the country."
Teacher: "No; in what land are both Yas-
naya Polyana and the Government of Tula?"
Pupil: "The Government of Tula is seven-
teen versts from us. Where is it? Govern-
ment—it is a government."
Teacher: "No; Tula is a government capi-
tal, but a government is another thing.* Now
what land is it?"
""
Pupil (who had been in the geography class):
"The land † is round like a ball.”
By means of such questions as "What is the
land where a German whom they knew, lived,"
and "Where would you come to, if you should
keep going in one direction," the pupils were at
last brought to answer that they lived in Russia.
Some, however, answered this latter question
by saying, "We should not get anywhere."
Others said that "you would come to the end
of the world."
* Russia is divided into governments, which are subdivided
into districts, somewhat like states and counties.
† In Russian the same word zemlya (as in Nóvaya Zémlya)
means estate, land or country, and the earth,
SCHOOL SCENES AT YASNAYA POLYANA. 351
Teacher (repeating the pupil's reply): "You
said that you would reach other countries.
Where does Russia end and where do the other
countries begin?"
Pupil: "Where you find the Germans."
Teacher: "Now then, Gustaf and Karl live
in Tula; would you say that this was the land
of the Germans, and therefore it must be
another country?"
Pupil: "No; it's where there are a whole.
lot of Germans.”
Teacher: "Not necessarily; for in Russia there
is a land where there are a whole lot of Ger-
mans. Johann here, comes from there, and
yet this land is Russia. How is that?"
Silence.
Teacher: "It is because they obey the same
laws as the Russians."
Pupil: "How do they have the same law?
The Germans do not attend our church, and
they eat meat in Lent!"
Teacher: "Not the same law, perhaps, but
they obey the same Tsar.”
Pupil (the sceptic Semka): "Strange! Why
do they have a different law and yet obey our
Tsar?"
352 SCHOOL SCENES AT YASNAYA POLYANA.
The teacher is conscious of the necessity of
explaining what a law is, and he asks what it
means to obey a law, to be under one law.
A Pupil (the self-confident little domestic,
hastily and timidly): "I have heard say a law
means to get married!
The pupils look questioningly at the teacher:
-"Is that right?"
The teacher begins to explain that a law
means that if any one steals or kills, then he is
shut up in prison and is punished.
The Sceptic Semka: "But don't the Germans
have this?"
Teacher: "Law also means this, that we have
nobles, peasants, merchants, clergy." (The word
clergy gave rise to perplexity.)
The Sceptic Semka: "And don't the Ger-
mans have the same?"
Teacher: "They have them in their country,
but they don't have them among themselves.
We have the Russian Tsar, and in German coun-
tries there is another - the German Tsar."
This answer satisfied all the pupils, even the
sceptic Semka.
The teacher seeing the necessity of explain-
SCHOOL SCENES AT YASNAYA POLYANA. 353
ing class distinctions, asks what classes they
know.
The pupils try to enumerate them, the
nobility, the peasantry, popes, or priests,
soldiers.
66
Any others?" asks the teacher.
"Domestics, koziúki,* samovár makers." †
The teacher asks the meaning of these differ-
ent classes.
M
The Pupils: "The peasants plow; domestics
serve; merchants trade; samovárschiki make
samovárs; popes perform masses; nobles do
not do anything."
The teacher explains the actual differences.
between the classes, but finds it perfectly idle
to make them see the necessity of soldiers when
there is no war, that it is merely to serve as
a security against the dissolution of the empire,
-and the part taken by the nobles in the civil
service. The teacher tried in the same way to
explain the difference between Russia and
other countries geographically; he said that the
M
* Koziúki means with us the class of the meshchánin (or
burgess).
† Tula is one of the centres of the samovár manufacture.
23
354 SCHOOL SCENES AT YASNAYA POLYANA.
whole world was divided into various realms.
The Russians, the French, the Germans, divided
the whole earth, and said to themselves: "Up
to these limits is ours, up to those is yours";
and thus Russia and all other nations have
their boundaries.
Teacher: "Do you understand what a boun-
dary is? Give an example of one."
A Pupil (a bright, intelligent lad): "Here,
just beyond the Turkin Hill, is a boundary."
This boundary is a stone post standing
on the road between Tula and Yasnaya Poly-
ana, indicating the beginning of the Tula
district.
All the pupils acquiesced in this definition.
The teacher sees the necessity of pointing out.
the boundaries on some well-known place. He
draws the plan of the two rooms and indicates
the line that separates them; then he brings
the plan of the village, and the scholars them-
selves point out several well-known boundaries.
The teacher explains that is, he thinks that
he explains that just as Yasnaya Polyana has
its boundaries, so Russia has its boundaries.
He flatters himself with the hope that they have
Gadg
M
SCHOOL SCENES AT YASNAYA POLYANA. 355
all understood him; but when he asks, "Is it
possible to know how far it is from our place to
the Russian boundary?" then the pupils, in no
little perplexity, reply that it is very easy; all
it requires is to take a yardstick and measure
to the Russian boundary.
Teacher: "In which direction?"
Pupils: "Go straight from here to the boun-
dary, and put down how far you have gone."
Again we made use of sketches, plans, and
maps. Here came up the need of giving them
an idea of the meaning of a “scale.” The
teacher proposed to draw the plan of the village,
disposed out in streets. We began the sketch
on the blackboard, but we could not get the
whole village in because the scale was too large.
We rubbed it out, and began anew on the slate-
board. The scale, the plan, the boundaries
gradually became clear. The teacher repeated
all that he had said, and then asked what Russia
was, and where it ended.
Pupil: "It's the land in which we live, and
where the Germans and Tatars live."
Another Pupil: "The land that is under the
Russian Tsar."
356 SCHOOL SCENES AT YASNAYA POLÝANA.
A Girl: "Where the heathen * Germans
live."
Teacher: "The Germans are not heathen.
The Germans also believe in Christ." (Here he
gives an explanation of religion and faiths.)
Pupil (with alacrity, evidently taking delight
in his good memory): "In Russia the law is,
whoever kills gets put in prison; and there's
all sorts of people, — clergymen, soldiers, and
nobles."
Semka: "Who supports the soldiers?"
Teacher: "The Tsar. But with money that
is collected from everybody, because everybody
is benefited by their serving."
The teacher furthermore explained what the
revenue was, and finally, with only tolerable
success, we got them to repeat what had been
said about boundaries. The lesson lasted two
hours. The teacher was persuaded that the
children had retained a good deal of what had
been said, but in the sequel he was forced to
the conclusion that his methods were unsatis-
factory, and that all that he had done was wasted
labor.
* Nekhristi.
SCHOOL SCENES AT YASNAYA POLYANA. 357
XXXI.
AN EXPERIMENT IN RUSSIAN HISTORY,
I made still other experiments in teaching the
history of our own time, and these experiments
were thoroughly successful. I told them the
story of the Crimean campaign; I described the
reign of the Emperor Nicholas, and I related
the story of the year 1812. All this was in an
almost narrative tone, for the larger part, with
no attempt at historical accuracy, but grouping
the events around some single individual. I
obtained the greatest success, as I might have
expected, from my story of the war with Napo-
leon.
This lesson made a memorable hour in our
lives. I shall never forget it. My evening
scholars were beginning to yawn; I went to the
class of Russian history; the account of Sevas-
tópol was in progress: they were bored. On
the high bench three peasant girls wrapped
up in shawls were sitting together, as always.
One was asleep. Mishka nudged me, "Look-
a-there! see those cuckoos sitting there, and
one of them has gone to sleep."
358 SCHOOL SCENES AT YASNAYA POLYANA.
And she was just like a cuckoo.
I sat down and began my story. As was
always the case, the confusion, groans, and hub-
bub lasted several minutes. One climbed on
the table; another, on a chair; another, on a
bench; another leaned on his mate's shoulder;
another sat in her friend's lap. But at last all
became quiet.
I began with Alexander I. I told them about
the French Revolution, about Napoleon's tri-
umphs, about the power given to him, and
about the war which ended with the peace of
Tilsit.
As soon as Russia began to come into the
story, then from all sides were heard sounds
and words expressive of lively sympathy.
Why did he go to war with us?"
"Never mind; Alexander will give it to him!"
said some one who knew about Alexander I.;
but I was obliged to dash their hopes: the time
of triumph had not yet come, and they were
very much aggrieved, because they wanted Na-
poleon to marry the Tsar's sister, and because
Alexander spoke with him at the interview on
the raft as an equal.
66
SCHOOL SCENES AT YASNAYA POLYANA. 359
"You just wait!" said Petka, with a threat-
ening gesture.
"Well, well, tell on!"
When Alexander did not give in to Napoleon,
that is, did not declare war, all expressed their
assent. When Napoleon, with his "twelve lan-
guages," marched against us, and aroused the
Germans and Poland against us, all died with
grief.
A German friend of mine was present in the
room. "Ah! and you, too, were against us!"
cried Petka, our best story-teller, to him.
"Hush now!" cried the others.
The retreat of our armies was a cruel disap-
pointment to my listeners, and on all sides were
heard exclamations and objurgations on Kutúzof
and Barklay: "Why! and what a coward Kutú-
zof was!"
"You wait!" said another.
"Well, did he surrender?" asked a third.
When we came to the battle of Borodíno,
and when at the end I was obliged to tell them
that after all we did not conquer, I could not
help pitying them: it was evident that I was
giving them all such a terrible shock.
360 SCHOOL SCENES AT YASNAYA POLYANA.
Still, it was neither ours nor theirs who
beat."
When Napoleon came to Moscow and de-
manded the keys and the salutations, there was
a perfect storm expressing their disgust.
The burning of Moscow, of course, was hailed
with satisfaction. Finally, there came the tri-
umph-the retreat.
"As soon as he left Moscow, then Kutúzof
began to follow him, and began to attack him,"
said I.
(C
He got astride of him," suggested Petka,
who, all of a glow, was sitting in front of me,
and in his excitement was twisting his little
dirty fingers. That was a habit of his.
When he made use of that verb, the whole
room seemed to groan with proud enthusiasm.
They crowded one little fellow in the rear, and
no one noticed it.
66
"Ah! that's the way to do it! That's how
he got the keys!" and so on.
Then I went on to tell how we drove out the
Frenchmen. It was painful for the scholars to
hear about the delay at the Berezína River, and
that we let him escape.
SCHOOL SCENES AT YASNAYA POLYANA. 361
Petka even shouted, "I would have shot
him dead when he stopped there!"
Then we began to feel a little compunction
for the frozen Frenchmen. Then, when we had
crossed the border, and the Germans who had
been opposed to us before threw themselves at
our feet, some one remembered the German
present in the room. "Ah! and were you
there? first you were against us, and then you
found that you weren't so strong as we were!"
and suddenly all got up and began to oh! oh!
and ah! ah! at the German, and the noise
spread from one end of the room to the other.
When they came to order, I went on to tell
them how we escorted Napoleon to Paris; how
we set the rightful king on the throne; how we
enjoyed our triumphs and feasted; but then the
memory of the Crimean War spoiled for us all
this glory.
"Just wait!" cried Petka again, shaking his
curls. "Wait till I grow up, and I will pay 'em
back!"
If now the allied armies had attacked the
Shevardinsky redoubt or the Malakof Tower, we
should have driven them back.
362 SCHOOL SCENES AT YASNAYA POLYANA.
It was already late when I brought my story
to an end. As a general thing the children are
abed and asleep by this time. But no one was
sleepy; even the eyes of the cuckoos were
aglow. The moment I stood up, Taraska, to
my great amazement, crept out from under my
arm-chair, and looked at me with eager, but at
the same time serious, face.
"How came you under there?"
"He has been there from the very first," said
some one.
There was no need of asking if he had under-
stood: it was evident by his face.
"What can you tell us about it?" I asked.
"I?" he repeated; "I can tell it all. I am
going to tell about it when I get home."
“And I."
And I too."
"Won't it be too long?'
"No indeed!"
And all slipped down stairs, one promising to
give it to the Frenchman, another upbraiding the
German, and another repeating how Kutúzof
had got astride Napoleon.
“You have given it to them wholly from the
99
SCHOOL SCENES AT YASNAYA POLYANA. 363
Russian standpoint" (Sie haben ganz Russisch
erzählt), said my German friend, who had been
almost mobbed by the boys that evening. "You
ought to hear how that story is told among us
Germans. You have told them nothing about
the German battle for liberty" (Sie haben nichts
gesagt von den Deutschen Freiheitskämpfen).
I entirely agreed with him that my narrative
was not history, but a tale kindling the national
sentiment.
Printed by WALTER SCOTT, Felling, Newcastle-on-Tyne.
J
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UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN
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