



Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images available at The Internet Archive)











                         TOLSTOI FOR THE YOUNG

                     [Illustration: IVAN THE FOOL.

                           _Frontispiece._]




                            TOLSTOI FOR THE
                                 YOUNG

                       SELECT TALES FROM TOLSTOI

                      Translated from the Russian
                                  By
                          MRS. R. S. TOWNSEND

               WITH SIX  PLATES BY MICHEL SEVIER

                                LONDON
                KEGAN PAUL, TRENCH, TRUBNER & CO., LTD
                     NEW YORK: E. P. DUTTON & CO.

                                 1916




CONTENTS


                                          PAGE

IVAN THE FOOL                                1

WHERE THERE IS LOVE, THERE IS GOD ALSO      56

A PRISONER                                  82

EMELIAN AND THE EMPTY DRUM                 138

THE GREAT BEAR                             156

THREE QUESTIONS                            158

THE GODSON                                 167




LIST OF  PLATES


Ivan the Fool                                 _Frontispiece_

Where there is Love, there is God also      _To face p._ 57

A Prisoner                                               82

Emelian and the Empty Drum                              138

Three Questions                                         158

The Godson                                              167




IVAN THE FOOL

     THE STORY OF IVAN THE FOOL AND HIS TWO BROTHERS SIMON THE WARRIOR
     AND TARAS THE POT-BELLIED, AND OF HIS DEAF AND DUMB SISTER, AND THE
     OLD DEVIL AND THREE LITTLE DEVILKINS.


Once upon a time there lived a rich peasant, who had three sons--Simon
the Warrior, Taras the Pot-bellied, and Ivan the Fool, and a deaf and
dumb daughter, Malania, an old maid.

Simon the Warrior went off to the wars to serve the King; Taras the
Pot-bellied went to a merchant’s to trade in the town, and Ivan the Fool
and the old maid stayed at home to do the work of the house and the
farm. Simon the Warrior earned a high rank for himself and an estate and
married a nobleman’s daughter. He had a large income and a large estate,
but he could never make both ends meet, for, what he managed to gather
in, his wife managed to squander; thus it was that he never had any
money.

And Simon the Warrior went to his estate one day to collect his income,
and his steward said to him, “There is nothing to squeeze money out of;
we have neither cattle, nor implements, nor horses, nor cows, nor
ploughs, nor harrows; we must get all these things first, then there
will be an income.”

Then Simon the Warrior went to his father and said, “You are rich,
father; and have given me nothing, let me have a third of your
possessions and I will set up my estate.”

And the old man replied, “Why should I? You have brought nothing to the
home. It would be unfair to Ivan and the girl.”

And Simon said, “Ivan is a fool and Malania is deaf and dumb; they do
not need much, surely.”

“Ivan shall decide,” the old man said.

And Ivan said, “I don’t mind; let him take what he wants.”

Simon took a portion of his father’s goods and moved them to his
estate, and once more he set out to serve the King.

Taras the Pot-bellied made a great deal of money and married a
merchant’s widow, but still, it seemed to him that he had not enough, so
he too went to his father and said, “Give me my portion, father.” And
the old man was loath to give Taras his portion, and he said, “You have
brought us nothing; everything in the home has been earned by Ivan; it
would be unfair to him and the girl.”

And Taras said, “Ivan is a fool, what does he need? He cannot marry, for
no one would have him, and the girl is deaf and dumb and does not need
much either.” And turning to Ivan, he said, “Let me have half the corn,
Ivan. I will not take any implements, and as for the cattle, I only want
the grey cob; he is of no use to you for the plough.”

Ivan laughed.

“Very well,” he said, “you shall have what you want.”

And Taras was given his portion, and he carted the corn off to the town
and took away the grey cob, and Ivan was left with only the old mare to
work the farm and support his father and mother.


II

The old Devil was annoyed that the three brothers had not quarrelled
over the matter and had parted in peace. He summoned three little
Devilkins.

“There are three brothers,” he said, “Simon the Warrior, Taras the
Pot-bellied, and Ivan the Fool. I want them all to quarrel and they live
in peace and goodwill. It is the Fool’s fault. Go to these three
brothers, the three of you, and confound them so that they will scratch
out each others’ eyes. Do you think you can do it?”

“We can,” they said.

“How will you do it?”

“We will ruin them first,” they said, “so that they have nothing to eat,
then we will put them all together and they will begin to fight.”

“I see you know your work,” the old Devil said. “Go then, and do not
return to me until you have confounded the whole three, or else I will
skin you alive.”

And the Devilkins set out to a bog to confer on the matter, and they
argued and argued, for each wanted the easiest work, and they decided to
cast lots and each to take the brother that fell to him, and whichever
finished his work first was to help the others. And the Devilkins cast
lots and fixed a day when they should meet again in the bog, in order to
find out who had finished his work and who was in need of help.

The day arrived and the Devilkins gathered together in the bog. They
began to discuss their work. The first to give his account was the one
who had undertaken Simon the Warrior. “My work is progressing well,” he
said. “To-morrow Simon will return to his father.”

“How did you manage it?” the others asked him.

“First of all,” he said, “I gave Simon so much courage that he promised
the King to conquer the whole world. And the King made him the head of
his army and sent him to make war on the King of India. That same night
I damped the powder of Simon’s troops and I went to the King of India
and made him numberless soldiers out of straw. And when Simon saw
himself surrounded by the straw soldiers, a fear came upon him and he
ordered the guns to fire, but the guns and cannon would not go off. And
Simon’s troops were terrified and ran away like sheep, and the King of
India defeated them. Simon was disgraced. He was deprived of his rank
and estate and to-morrow he is to be executed. I have only one day left
in which to get him out of the dungeon and help him to escape home.
To-morrow I shall have finished with him, so I want you to tell me which
of you two is in need of help.”

Then the second Devilkin began to tell of his work with Taras. “I do not
want help,” he said; “my work is also going well. Taras will not live in
the town another week. The first thing I did was to make his belly grow
bigger and fill him with greed. He is now so greedy for other people’s
goods that whatever he sees he must buy. He has bought up everything he
could lay his eyes on, and spent all his money, and is still buying with
borrowed money. He has taken so much upon himself, and become so
entangled that he will never pull himself out. In a week he will have to
repay the borrowed money, and I will turn his wares into manure so that
he cannot repay, then he will go to his father.”

“And how is your work getting on?” they asked the third Devilkin about
Ivan.

“My work is going badly,” he said. “The first thing I did was to spit
into Ivan’s jug of kvas to give him a stomach-ache and then I went into
his fields and made the soil as hard as stones so that he could not move
it. I thought he would not plough it, but the fool came with his plough
and began to pull. His stomach-ache made him groan, yet still he went on
ploughing. I broke one plough for him and he went home and repaired
another, and again persisted in his work. I crawled beneath the ground
and clutched hold of his ploughshares, but I could not hold them--he
pressed upon the plough so hard, and the shares were sharp and cut my
hands. He has finished it all but one strip. You must come and help me,
mates, for singly we shall never get the better of him, and all our
labour will be wasted. If the fool keeps on tilling his land, the other
two brothers will never know what need means, for he will feed them.”

The first Devilkin offered to come and help to-morrow when he had
disposed of Simon the Warrior, and with that the three Devilkins parted.


III

Ivan had ploughed all the fallow but one strip, and he went to finish
that. His stomach ached, yet he had to plough. He undid the harness
ropes, turned over the plough and set out to the fields. He drove one
furrow, but coming back, the ploughshares caught on something that
seemed like a root.

“What a strange thing!” Ivan thought. “There were no roots here, yet
here’s a root!”

He put his hand into the furrow and clutched hold of something soft. He
pulled it out. It was a thing as black as a root and it moved. He looked
closely and saw that it was a live Devilkin.

“You horrid little wretch, you!”

Ivan raised his hand to dash its head against the plough, but the
Devilkin squealed, “Don’t kill me, and I’ll do whatever you want me to.”

“What can you do?”

“Tell me what you want.”

Ivan scratched his head.

“My stomach aches,” he said; “can you make it well?”

“I can.”

“Do it, then.”

The Devilkin bent down, rummaged about with his nails in the furrow and
pulled out three little roots, grown together.

“There,” he said; “if any one swallows a single one of these roots all
pain will pass away from him.”

Ivan took the three roots, separated them and swallowed one. His
stomach-ache instantly left him.

“Let me go now,” the Devilkin begged once more. “I will dive through the
earth and never bother you again.”

“Very well,” Ivan said; “go, in God’s name.”

At the mention of God the Devilkin plunged into the ground like a stone
thrown into water, and there was nothing but the hole left. Ivan thrust
the two remaining little roots into his cap and went on with his
ploughing. He finished the strip, turned over his plough and set off
home. He unharnessed and went into the house, and there was his brother,
Simon the Warrior, sitting at table with his wife, having supper. His
estate had been taken from him; he had escaped from prison and come back
to live with his father.

As soon as Simon the Warrior saw Ivan, he said to him, “I have come with
my wife to live with you; will you keep us both until I find another
place?”

“Very well,” Ivan said, “you can live here.”

When Ivan sat down by the table, the smell of him was displeasing to the
lady and she said to her husband, “I cannot sup together with a
stinking peasant.”

And Simon the Warrior said, “My lady says you do not smell sweet; you
had better eat in the passage.”

“Very well,” Ivan said. “It is time for bed anyway, and I must feed the
mare.”

Ivan took some bread and his coat and went out for the night.


IV

That night, having freed himself of Simon the Warrior, the first little
Devilkin set out to seek Ivan’s Devilkin, to help him plague the Fool as
they had agreed. He came to the fields, looked all round for his mate,
but he was nowhere to be seen; he only found a hole. “I see some
misfortune has happened to my mate; I must take his place. The ploughing
is all finished; I must upset the Fool at the mowing.”

And the Devilkin went to the meadow and flooded it and trampled the hay
in the mud.

Ivan awoke at daybreak, put his scythe in order and set out to the
meadow to mow the hay. Ivan swung the scythe once, he swung it twice,
but the scythe grew blunt and would not cut; he had to sharpen it. Ivan
struggled and struggled and struggled.

“This won’t do,” he said; “I must go home and bring a whetstone and a
hunk of bread. If it takes me a week I’ll not give up until I’ve mowed
it every bit.”

And the Devilkin grew pensive when he heard these words.

“The Fool has a temper,” he said; “I can’t catch him this way; I must
think of something else.”

Ivan returned, sharpened his scythe and began to mow. The Devilkin crept
into the grass, caught hold of the scythe by the heel and pushed the
point into the ground. It was hard for Ivan, but he mowed all the grass,
except a little piece in the swamp.

The Devilkin crept into the swamp, thinking, “Even if I have to cut my
hands I won’t let him mow that!”

Ivan came to the swamp. The grass was not thick, but the scythe could
not cut through it. Ivan grew angry and began to mow with all his might.
The Devilkin began to lose hold, seeing that he was in a bad plight,
but he had no time to get away and took refuge in a bush. Ivan swung the
scythe near the bush and cut off half the Devilkin’s tail. He finished
mowing the grass, told the old maid to rake it up and went away to mow
the rye.

He came to the field with his sickle, but the Devilkin with the clipped
tail was there before him. He had entangled the rye, so that the sickle
could not take it. Ivan went back for his reaping-hook and reaped the
whole field of rye. “Now,” he said, “I must tackle the oats.”

At these words the Devilkin with the clipped tail thought, “I did not
trip him up with the rye, but I’ll do so with the oats. If only the
morrow would come!”

In the morning the Devilkin hurried off to the field of oats, but the
oats were all harvested. Ivan had reaped them overnight so that less of
the grain should be wasted. The Devilkin lost his temper at that.

“He has mutilated and exhausted me, the fool! I’ve never had such
trouble on the battlefield even. The wretch doesn’t sleep and you can’t
get ahead of him. I’ll creep into the stacks of sheaves and rot the
grain.”

And the Devilkin crept into a stack of sheaves, and began to rot them.
He heated them, grew warm himself and fell asleep.

Ivan harnessed the mare and set out with his sister to gather in the
sheaves. He stopped by the stack and began to throw the sheaves into the
cart. He had thrown up two sheaves and was going to take up a third,
when the fork dug into the Devilkin’s back. He looked at the prongs and
saw a live Devilkin with his tail clipped, wriggling and writhing and
trying to get away.

“You horrid little wretch! You here again!”

“I’m not the same one,” the Devilkin pleaded. “The other was my brother.
I belong to your brother Simon.”

“Whoever you are you shall share the same fate.”

Ivan was about to dash it against the cart, when the Devilkin cried out,
“Spare me! I’ll not worry you again, and I’ll do whatever you want me
to.”

“What can you do?”

“I can make soldiers out of anything you choose.”

“What good are they?”

“You can make them do anything you like. Soldiers can do everything.”

“Can they play songs?”

“They can.”

“Very well; make some, then.”

And the Devilkin said, “Take a sheaf of rye and bump it upright on the
ground, saying,--

    My slave bids you be a sheaf no more.
    Every straw contained in you,
    Must turn into a soldier true.”

Ivan took the sheaf and banged it on the ground and repeated the
Devilkin’s words. And the sheaf burst asunder and every straw turned
into a soldier and at their head the drummer and bugler were playing.
Ivan laughed aloud.

“That was clever of you,” he said. “It will amuse Malania.”

“Let me go now,” the Devilkin begged.

“Not yet,” Ivan said. “I shall want to make the soldiers out of chaff so
as not to waste the grain. Show me first how to turn the soldiers into a
sheaf again, so that I can thrash it.”

And the Devilkin said, “Repeat the words--

    My slave bids every soldier be a straw
    And turn into a sheaf once more.”

Ivan repeated the Devilkin’s words, and the soldiers turned into a sheaf
again.

And again the Devilkin pleaded, “Let me go.”

“Very well,” Ivan said, taking him off the prongs. “Go, in God’s name.”

At the mention of God the Devilkin plunged into the ground like a stone
thrown into water, and there was nothing but the hole left.

When Ivan reached home, his other brother, Taras, and his wife were
sitting at table and having supper. Taras could not pay his debts; he
fled from his creditors and came home to his father. As soon as he saw
Ivan he said, “Until I can make some more money, will you keep me and my
wife?”

“Very well,” Ivan said. “You can live here.”

Ivan took off his coat and sat down to table.

And Taras’ wife said, “I cannot sup with a fool; he smells of sweat.”

Taras the Pot-bellied said, “You do not smell sweet, Ivan; go and eat in
the passage.”

“Very well,” Ivan said; “it’s time for bed, anyhow, and I must feed the
mare.”

He took his coat and a piece of bread, and went out.


V

That night, having disposed of Taras, the third little Devilkin came to
help his mates plague Ivan, as they had agreed. He came to the ploughed
field and looked and looked, but could see no one; he only found the
hole. Then he went to the meadow and found a piece of tail in the swamp,
and in the rye-stubble field he found another hole.

“I see some misfortune has happened to my mates. I must take their
places and tackle the Fool.”

The Devilkin set out to find Ivan.

Ivan had finished his work in the fields and had gone into the copse to
cut wood.

The brothers found it too crowded to live together in their father’s
house and they ordered Ivan to fell timber to build themselves new
houses.

The Devilkin rushed into the wood and crept into the knots of the trees
to prevent Ivan from felling them.

Ivan had cut a tree in the right way so that it should fall on to a
clear space, but the tree seemed to be possessed, and fell over where it
was not wanted, and got entangled among the branches. Ivan lopped them
off with his bill-hook and at last, with great difficulty, brought down
the tree. He began to fell another and the same thing was repeated. He
struggled and struggled and succeeded only after great exertion. He
began on a third and the same thing happened. Ivan had intended to fell
fifty trees at least, and he had not managed more than ten, and night
was coming on. Ivan was exhausted, and the steam rose from him and
floated through the wood like a mist; yet still he would not give up. He
felled another tree and his back began to ache so that he could not go
on. He stuck his axe into the trunk of a tree and sat down to rest.

When the Devilkin realized that Ivan had ceased to work, he rejoiced.
“He is worn out at last,” he thought; “now I can rest too.” And he sat
himself astride on a branch, exulting.

Ivan rose, took out his axe, flourished it aloft, and brought it down so
heavily that the tree came down with a crash. The Devilkin had no time
to disentangle his legs; the branch broke and pinned down his paw.

Ivan began to clear the tree and behold! there was a live Devilkin. Ivan
was amazed.

“You horrid little wretch! You here again!”

“I am not the same one,” the Devilkin said. “I belong to your brother
Taras.”

“Whoever you may be, you shall share the same fate.” And Ivan raised
the axe to bring it down on its head, but the Devilkin began to plead.

“Don’t kill me,” he said, “and I’ll do whatever you want me to.”

“What can you do?”

“I can make as much money as you like.”

“Very well,” Ivan said; “make it, then.”

And the Devilkin taught him what to do.

“Take some leaves from this oak and rub them in your hands and gold will
fall to the ground.”

Ivan took the leaves and rubbed them in his hand and gold rained down.

“This is well,” he said; “on holidays it will amuse the children.”

“Let me go,” the Devilkin begged.

“I don’t mind,” Ivan said, and taking up his axe, he freed the Devilkin
of the branch. “Go, in God’s name.”

At the mention of God the Devilkin plunged into the ground like a stone
thrown into water and there was nothing but the hole left.


VI

The brothers built themselves houses and began to live apart. Ivan
finished his work in the fields, brewed some beer and invited his
brothers to a feast. The brothers did not accept his invitation.

“We do not go to feast with peasants,” they said.

Ivan treated the peasants and the peasant-women and drank himself until
he got tipsy, and he went into the street and joined the dancers and
singers. He approached the women, and bade them sing his praises.

“I will give you something you have never seen in your lives,” he said.

The women laughed and began to sing his praises, and when they had
finished, they said, “Well, give us what you promised.”

“I will bring it in a moment,” Ivan said, and he took his seed-basket
and ran into the wood.

The women laughed. “What a fool!” they said, and forgot all about him,
when behold! Ivan returned, his basket full of something.

“Shall I share it out?”

“Do.”

Ivan took up a handful of gold and threw it to the women. Heavens! The
women rushed to pick it up, the peasants after them, snatching it out of
each others’ hands. One old woman was nearly killed in the fray.

Ivan laughed.

“You fools!” he said. “Why did you hurt Granny? If you are not so rough
I’ll give you some more.”

He scattered more gold. The whole village came up. Ivan emptied his
basket. The people asked for more, but he said, “Not now; another time
I’ll give you more. Now let us dance. You play some songs.”

The women began to play.

“I don’t like your songs,” Ivan said.

“Do you know any better ones?”

“You shall see in a moment.”

Ivan went into a barn, took up a sheaf, thrashed it, stood it up, and
banged it on the floor, and said--

    My slave bids you be a sheaf no more.
    Every straw contained in you
    Must turn into a soldier true.

And the sheaf burst asunder and turned into soldiers, and the drummers
and buglers played at their head. Ivan asked the soldiers to play some
songs, and led them into the street. The people were amazed.

When the soldiers had played their songs Ivan took them back into the
barn