Tales from Tolstoi/Two Old Men

by Leo Tolstoi

TWO OLD MEN.^[1]

 

"The woman said, Sir, I see Thou art a prophet . . . . But the hour cometh, and now is, when the true worshippers shall worship the Father in spirit and in truth: for the Father seeketh such to worship Him."—John iv. 19, 23.

 

I.

Two old men agreed once upon a time to go and pray to God in old Jerusalem. One was a rich muzhik, called Efim Tarasuich, the other a poor man, called Elisyei Bodrov.

Efim was an austere muzhik; he drank no vodka, and smoked and snuffed no tobacco, never had he chided with vile black words, he was a man severe and stern. Two whole terms had Efim served as starosta, and at the end of his terms his accounts were clear and clean. His family was large. Two sons and a grandson were married, and they all lived together. He was a healthy, well-bearded, and stalwart muzhik, and in his seventh decade there was but a stripe of grey in his beard. The old man Elisyei was neither very rich nor very poor. Formerly he had been an itinerant carpenter, but since old age had come upon him he had settled down at home. He had one son out at work, and another at home. Elisyei was a good-humoured, cheerful man. He drank vodka and took snuff, and loved to sing songs; but he was a man of peace, and lived amicably with those at home, and with his neighbours. In person Elisyei was a somewhat short muzhik, somewhat dark, with a curly beard and a bald head.

The old men had for a long time decided and agreed to go together, but Tarasuich could never find time, his affairs stood in the way. When one was finished, another turned up; at one time he had to get his grandson married, at another time he had to await the return of his youngest son from the wars, and at another he had undertaken the building of a new hut.

One day the old men met together on a festival, and sat down on a bench.

"Well," said Elisyei, "when, gossip, shall we go and fulfil our vow?"

Efim began wrinkling his brow. "We must wait," said he; "this year has turned out a hard one for me. I shall have to build up this hut of mine. I had thought to have laid by a hundred roubles, and have only a third of that. That is not enough. 'Tis plain we must postpone it till the spring. In a year, if God lets us live to see another, we will go without fail."

"In my opinion," said Elisyei, "'tis no good putting off, we should go now. It is the very time—spring."

"The time may be the right time, but business is business, one cannot neglect it."

"Hast thou, then, none of thine own people by thee? Cannot thy son see to thy business?"

"How can he do it? My eldest I can't depend upon—he's no good."

"Bear with him, gossip! He will manage to live without our help. One must teach one's son a little."

"No doubt, but everyone likes to see to one's own affairs one's self."

"Ah, but my dear man, thou wilt never be able to superintend everything. Look now! A few days ago the women with us were washing and making ready against the feast. And this was wanted and that was wanted, and there was so much to do that they did not know where to buckle to first. Now my eldest daughter is a canny body, and she said, 'Thanks for nothing,' said she, 'the festival is coming on, and it won't wait for you, and work as you will you won't get through all your work.'"

Tarasuich fell a-thinking. "I shall spend a bit of money on this building," said he, "and I must not go on this trip empty-handed either. 'Tis a good bit of money—a hundred roubles."

Elisyei laughed. "Sin not, gossip," said he. "Thy means are tenfold more than mine. And thou talkest about money! Say, when shall we be off? I have nothing, and yet I'll find some."

Even Tarasuich smiled at this. "Now thou revealest thyself, thou man of wealth!" said he. "Whence then wilt thou draw thy money?"

"Oh, I'll scrape together something at home, and if that doesn't suffice I'll sell ten of my prize bee-hives to my neighbour, he has been bidding for them for a long time."

"The bee-swarms will be good this year; thou wilt repent it."

"Repent it! Nay, gossip, in this life I repent of nothing but my sins. There is nothing dearer than one's soul."

"That's right enough, but for all that disorder at home is no good thing."

"But if there be disorder in our souls, that is worse. But we have vowed—we must go; it is only right to go."

 

II.

And Elisyei persuaded his comrade.

Efim turned the matter over and over in his mind, and in the morning he went to Elisyei.

"Come, let us go," said he, "thou art right. God's will be done in life and death. We ought to go while we are strong and hale."

In a week the old men got them ready.

Tarasuich had money at home. He took 190 roubles (£19) for his journey, and left 200 roubles (£20) with his old woman. Elisyei also got ready. He sold his neighbour ten prize bee-hives, with all the swarms that they might produce, and got 70 roubles (£7) for the lot. The remaining 30 roubles (£3) he scraped together at home by hook and by crook; his old woman gave up her savings, which she had saved up against her burial, to the last penny, and his daughter-in-law gave him her savings also.

Efim Tarasuich gave his eldest son directions as to everything: where he was to mow and how much, what lands he was to manure, and how he was to repair and roof in the hut. He foresaw and gave directions about everything. But Ehsyei only bade his old woman collect, one by one, the swarms of young bees belonging to the ten hives he had sold to his neighbour, and let him have them without deceit; about household matters he did not speak at all; she would know best what to do as things turned up. "Thou art thine own mistress, do as it seems best to thee."

The old men made them ready. They fried them home-made fritters, mended their knapsacks, cut them out fresh sandals, sewed them new Bakhilki,^[2] took provision of bast-shoes with them, and set out. They of their households accompanied them to the bounds of the parish and there took leave of them, and the old men went on their way.

Elisyei departed with a light heart, and the moment he left the village forgot ail about his affairs. His only thought was how to please his comrade on the road, how to avoid saying any sort of rude word, how to go in peace and love from place to place, and then return home. So Elisyei went on his way, and all the while he would never cease quietly murmuring prayers to himself, or calling to memory all the deeds of his life so far as he could recollect them. And if he fell in with any man by the way, or put up with anyone for the night, he would demean himself right courteously to all, doing his best to please them, rejoicing always. One thing Elisyei could not do. He would have liked to leave off snuffing, and had left his snuff-box at home, but time hung heavily on his hands. On the way he now and then met a man who gave him snuff. And now and then he fell behind his comrade so as not to lead him into temptation, and snuffed on the sly.

Efim Tarasuich went along, firm in his good resolve to do no wrong, and speak no evil word. But care for things at home would not get out of his head. He kept thinking of everything that was going on at home. Had he forgotten to tell his son something, and had his son done what he had told him? If on his journey he saw them sowing potatoes or carrying loads, he would think: I wonder whether my son is doing such things as I told him He would very much have liked to return home, and directed and done everything himself.

 

III.

The old men went on for five weeks. Their homemade bast-shoes were worn out, they wanted to buy new ones; and so they came to the khokli.^[3] They were far from home, and had to pay for their food and night-lodging; but when they came to the khokli, the people vied with each other in inviting them into their houses. They made them come in, and gave them meat and drink and took no money for it; nay, they gave them also provisions of bread in their knapsacks, and even brought them bast-shoes. So the old men went on for 700 versts, then they passed through yet another government, and then they came to waste places. The people let them pass through, and gave them night-lodging, but ceased to provide food. Even bread was not to be had everywhere, not even for money sometimes. Last year, the people said, nothing grew. The rich were ruined, and sold off everything; those who were moderately well off had nothing; but the poor either perished altogether, or wandered into the wide world, or eked out a miserable existence at home. In the winter they ate weeds and chaff.

Once the old men passed the night at a little place where they bought 50 lbs. of bread. They slept there, and were up and away again by dawn in order to avoid the heat as long as possible. They went for ten versts and came to a little stream, sat down, scooped up water in their cups, moistened their bread, ate of it, and changed their shoes and stockings. Then they sat them down again and rested awhile. Elisyei took out his horn snuff-box. Efim Tarasuich shook his head at him. "Why dost not throw away such rubbish?"

Elisyei waved his hand in deprecation. "My sin hath gained the upper hand," said he, "what can I do?"

They rose and went on further. They went ten versts further. They came to a large village and went right through it. It began to be hot already. Elisyei grew weary; he wanted to rest and have a drink, but Tarasuich didn't stop. Tarasuich was a stronger walker, and it became a little difficult for Elisyei to keep up with him.

"Shall we have a drink, eh?" he asked.

"Drink if you like, but I don't want any."

Elisyei stopped.

"Don't wait," said he. "I'll just skip into that hut and have a mouthful. I'll catch you up in a twinkling."

"All right," said the other, and so Efim went on. Tarasuich continued his way alone, but Elisyei turned into the hut.

The hut was small, and painted black below and white above, but the coat of paint was already peeling off—'twas plain it had not had a fresh coat of paint for a long time, and part of the roof was open to the sky. The way into the hut was by way of a courtyard. Elysei went through this courtyard, and saw lying in the trench a haggard-looking, beardless man, with his shirt inside his hose, after the manner of the khokli.^[4] The man was plainly lying there for the sake of coolness, yet the sun was shining right upon him. There he lay, but he was not asleep. Elisyei called to him and asked for a drink; the man did not answer. Is it sickness or rudeness? thought Elisyei, and he approached the door. He heard in the hut the voices of two children crying. Elisyei knocked with the door-ring—"Master!" But there was no answer. He knocked again at the door with his little staff—"Christian men!" Nobody stirred. "Servants of God!" There was no answer. Elisyei made up his mind to go away again, when he heard from behind the door a sound as of someone groaning.

What if there were something wrong with the people? One ought to see. So Elisyei entered the hut.

 

IV.

Elisyei turned the door-ring; the door was not shut to. He shoved open the door, he went through the little front shed. The door leading into the dwelling-room was open. On the left was a stove; straight before him was the chief corner-seat; in the corner was an ikon and a table; behind the table was a bench, and on the bench, in nothing but a shift, sat an old woman without a head-dress,^[5] who was resting her head upon the table, and by her side lay a wretched-looking little child, as pale as wax, and with a big swollen stomach. It held the old woman by the sleeve, and was wailing loudly—asking for something. Elisyei stepped into the hut. In the hut the atmosphere was oppressive. He looked about him. Behind the stove lay a woman on the bare stones. She lay on her back and looked at nothing, but only made a gurgling sound, and twitched convulsively with her legs. … It was plain there was none to attend to her. The old woman raised her head and saw the strange man.

"What is it?" she said "What dost want? We have nothing here, good sir!"

Elisyei understood what she said (though she spoke in Ruthenian), and went up to her.

"I am God's slave," said he. "I come for something to drink."

"There's no one to send for it. There's no one to fetch it. Go and take it thyself!"

And Ehsyei fell to asking her questions. "Is there no one hale enough among you to look after that woman there?"

"There's nobody; the man is dying in the courtyard out there, and we are all alone here."

The little boy had suddenly grown dumb when he saw a stranger, but when the old woman began to speak he fell to twitching her sleeve again. "Bread, granny,^[6] give me bread," and again he burst out crying.

Just as Elisyei was about to ask the old woman all about it, a man staggered into the room, made his way towards the wall, and would have sat down on the bench, but fell down and rolled upon the floor. He did not even pick himself up, but tried to speak. He stopped short at the first word, tried again, panted for breath, and then uttered stray words broken by panting.

"Illness," he said, "has come upon us, and hunger. He's dying of hunger," and the muzhik nodded his head towards the little boy, and burst into tears.

Elisyei shook his shoulders loose from his knapsack, unfastened it with his hand, put his knapsack on the bench, and began to undo it. He undid it, got out a loaf, a knife, cut off a big slice and gave it to the muzhik. The muzhik would not take it, but pointed at the little boy and at a little girl.

"Give to them, please," said he.

Elisyei gave of it to the lad. The little boy caught sight of the bread, stretched himself out, seized the morsel with both his poor little hands, and regularly buried his nose in it. From behind the stove the young girl crept out and asked for bread. Elisyei gave her some too. Then he cut off another piece and gave it to the old woman. The old woman took it and began to chew.

"Bring some water," said she, "our mouths have quite dried up. I would have fetched some yesterday," said she, "or was it the day before yesterday, I don't quite remember which, but I wanted to fetch water. I dragged myself out with an effort, but could not manage it; I drew up the water and then spilt it all, and fell down myself. It was as much as I could do to crawl back to the house, and there the bucket still stands if nobody has taken it away."

Elisyei asked them where their well was. The old woman explained. Elisyei went, found the bucket, and gave the people to drink. The children ate some more bread with their water, and the old woman ate some too, but the muzhik did not eat. He had not the heart for it, he said; the wife, however, did not get up at all, and did not even come to herself, but writhed about upon her bed. Ehsyei went to the village shop, and bought millet, salt, meal, butter; searched till he found an old axe, chopped wood, and set the stove a-burning. The girl helped him a bit. Elisyei boiled some soup and water-gruel, and fed the people.

 

V.

The muzhik ate a little, but not much, and the old woman ate some; the little boy and the little girl licked out the whole basin, and, embracing each other, went to sleep.

And the muzhik and the old woman began to tell how all this had befallen them.

"Up to this time we have managed to live," said they, "though poorly, but then the crops failed, and since autumn we have eaten up all there was. We ate up everything, and we began to beg of our neighbours and of all good people. At first they gave, but afterwards they refused to give. Those who were willing to give had nothing themselves. Then, too, we grew ashamed of asking any more, we owed everyone something—money, or grain, or bread. I sought for work," said the muzhik, "and no work was to be had. The people were fighting for work everywhere. One day you would have a little job to do perhaps, and then you would be wandering about two days more in search of another job. The old woman and the little girl went long distances a-begging. The alms they got were wretched enough, not everyone had even bread. We all fed ourselves as best we could, thinking to struggle on till the spring crops came up. But by spring-time everyone had ceased to give, and sickness had fallen upon us here. A miserable time it was for us all. For every day we had a morsel we starved for two more. We began to eat grass. Whether 'twas the grass, or something else, I know not, but my wife now fell ill. My wife took to her bed, and I too had no more strength left in me," said the muzhik. "Nohow could we help ourselves."

"Only I struggled on," said the old woman, "and for want of food my strength ebbed away, and I grew weaker and weaker. The little girl also grew weaker, and began to be frightened. We wanted to send her to our neighbour's, and she would not go. She crouched down in a corner, and went not. Our dear neighbour came towards evening, and saw that we were sick and starving, she turned and went away. Her own husband had gone away, and there was nothing to feed the little children with. There they lay and waited for death."

Elisyei listened to their words, and he doubted whether he ought to try and overtake his comrade that day, so he passed the night there. In the morning Elisyei got up and put his hand to all sorts of work about the house, just as if he had been the master there. He helped the old woman to knead the bread, he heated the oven. He went with the little girl to the neighbour's to get what was necessary. There was nothing to be had, nothing at all, everything was eaten up; there was no food and no clothes. So Elisyei had to supply what was necessary; he gave them something of his own store and something he bought. So Elisyei stayed there one day—he stayed there a second, he stayed there a third The little boy got well again; he began to move along the bench, and came and fondled Elisyei. But the little girl got quite merry, and was able to turn her hand to anything. They all quite haunted Elisyei, and cried "Grandfather, dear old grandfather!" The old woman too was now on her feet again, and was able to go to the neighbour's. The muzhik too was able to grope along by the wall. Only the wife still kept her bed, but she too, on the third day, suddenly awoke and asked for something to eat.

"Well," thought Elisyei, "I never meant to idle about so long, now I'll be off."

 

VI.

On the fourth day the rozgovyeni^[7] began, and Elisyei thought to himself, "Well, I'll keep the rozgovyeni with these people. I'll buy them something or other for the feast, and in the evening I'll be off."

Elisyei went again to the village, and bought milk, white flour, and salt. Then there was a great baking and boiling, and in the morning Elisyei went to mass, and then he came and ate flesh with the good people. On that day the wife also got up and began to roam about. The muzhik shaved himself, put on a clean shirt (the old woman had washed it), and went to the village to a rich muzhik to beg mercy of him. His meadow land and the corn land had been mortgaged to this rich muzhik, and he went to beg him to give back the land before the crops were ripe. Towards evening the man returned, vexed and tearful. The rich muzhik would have no mercy; he said, "Bring the money!"

Elisyei fell a-thinking: "How will they be able to live now? People are going out to reap now, but they have nothing, for their crops are mortgaged. The rye is ripening, people are preparing to gather it in (and our mother earth has given bountifully), but these have nothing to gather, their desyatin^[8] is sold to the rich muzhik. When I go away they'll be just as wretched as ever." And Elisyei cudgelled his brains about it, and did not go away that evening, but put it off till the morrow. He went to sleep in the barn. He said his prayers, laid down, and could not close an eye. He ought to have gone, he had already spent a lot of time and money there, but he was sorry for the people. "You've not done all you might," he thought, "you would give them a drop of water and some crumbs of bread, but what's the good of that? Now you should redeem their field and crop. Redeem their field, buy a cow for the children, and a cart to carry the muzhik's sheaves. Verily, brother Elisyei Kuz'mich, thou art all at sea with thyself, and thy anchor is drifting, and thou canst find no bottom."

Elisyei arose, took up his kaftan from beneath his head, turned it round, got out his snuff-horn, took a pinch, and tried to think more clearly, but no—he thought and thought, and nothing at all came of it. He had to go, and he was sorry for the people. But what to do he had no idea. He wrapped up his kaftan, put it beneath his head, and lay down again. There he lay and lay. The cocks already began to crow, and he went right off to sleep. Suddenly it was as though someone aroused him. He saw that he was quite dressed, and with his knapsack and his staff, and he had to go out of the door, but the door was so disposed that a single person could scarcely pass through it. He tried to go through, and the door on one side hooked his knapsack. He would have unhooked it, but then it laid hold of his rag buskins on the other side, and the buskins all came undone. He tried to tear himself loose, but then he got entangled in the fence, and yet it was not the fence but the little girl who held on to him and cried, "Grandad, dear grandad, bread!" He looked down at his other foot, and there was the little boy holding on to his other buskin, and the muzhik and his wife were looking out of the window all the time. Elisyei awoke, and found himself saying, "Yes, I'll redeem it all, both field and crop, to-morrow. I'll buy a horse and I'll buy a cow for the children. Thou wouldst seek the Christ across the sea, and yet thou losest sight of the Christ that is within thee all the time. One must put these people right." And Elisyei slept on till morning. Elisyei awoke early. He went to the rich muzhik and bought the crops from him, and gave him money for the meadow as well. He bought back the scythe (for that had been sold too), and brought it home. He sent the muzhik to reap, and he himself went about among the other muzhiks. He found out a horse and cart at the innkeeper's for sale; after some haggling he bought them, and went to buy a cow. Elisyei went along the street and overtook two ragged-haired peasant women. The women were chattering together, and Elisyei heard what they said. One of the women was speaking about him.

"First of all," said she, "they don't know what manner of man he is; they think he is a simple pilgrim. He went there, they say, for a drink, and has lived there ever since. He buys everything for them, they say. I myself saw him to-day at the innkeeper's buying a horse and cart. To think that there really should be such people in the world; let us go and see him."

Elisyei heard this, and understood that they were praising him, and he did not go and buy the cow. He turned in to the innkeeper and gave him the money for the horse. He inspanned it, and went on to the hut. He drove up to the door, stopped there, and dismounted. The people of the hut saw the horse, and were astonished. They thought indeed that he had bought the horse for them, but they dared not say so. The master went out to open the door.

"So you've brought a nag along with you, grandad. Whence didst get it?"

"I've bought it," said he. "I've got it cheap. Chop up a little grass for him in the trough for the night," said he.

The master unyoked the horse, chopped up a little grass, and put it in the trough. They lay down to sleep. Elisyei laid him down in the courtyard whither he had already taken his knapsack. All the people were asleep. Then Elisyei arose, tied on his knapsack, tied on his boots, threw his kaftan over him, and went on his way after Efim.

 

VII.

Elisyei went along for five versts—it began to dawn. He sat down under a tree, undid his knapsack, and began to count up his money. He counted it all over and found that he had seventeen roubles and twenty kopecks left.^[9] "Well," thought he, "I shall never make my way across the sea with this, and to beg the money in Christ's Name would be a sin. Efim must go on his way alone, and light a candle for me, and I can work off my vow before I die. Yet, thank God, the Master is merciful, and will bear with me."

Elisyei arose, fastened his knapsack to his shoulder, and turned back, only he went a long circuit round the village so that the people might not see him, and so Elisyei soon got on his way. From home he had found it hard, nay, oftentimes beyond his strength, and it had been as much as he could do to drag himself after Efim; but towards home, with God's help, it was so easy that he felt no weariness at all. On he went right heartily, swinging his staff, and he went at the rate of seventy versts a day.

Elisyei got home. They gathered about him in the fields. Those at home rejoiced to see their old man. They began to ask him questions, they asked him this and that, why he had quitted his comrade, why he had not gone the whole way, why he had returned home. Elisyei did not satisfy them.

"It was not God's will," said he, "I lost my money on the road, and parted from my comrade. That's how I did not go. Forgive me, for Christ's sake."

And he gave his old woman the remainder of the money. Elisyei asked about household affairs. Everything was well, they had done all it behoved them to do, there was no waste in the housekeeping, and they had all lived in peace and harmony.

The same day those of Efim's household heard of Elisyei's return, and they came to ask about their old man. And to them also Elisyei said the same thing.

"Your old man," said he, "fared a-field in good health. We parted," said he, "three days before the Feast of Peter, then I wanted to catch him up again, but all sorts of things came in the way. Then I lost my money and had nothing to go on with, so I turned back."

The people were amazed. Such a wise man, and to do such a stupid thing. He set out and never arrived, but only lost his money! They wondered, and forgot all about it. And Elisyei forgot about it too. He set to work at home, helped his son to get in a store of winter fuel, helped the women to thresh the corn, thatched the barn, saw to the bees, gave ten hives of bees, with the increment, to his neighbour. His old woman would have concealed from him how many swarms had flown out of the hives that had been sold, but Elisyei himself knew which had swarmed and which had not, and gave the neighbour seventeen instead of ten hives. So Elisyei set his house in order, and sent his son to seek work, but he himself settled down for the winter to plait bast-shoes and carve out lasts for the cobblers.

 

VIII.

The whole of that day, when Elisyei remained in the hut with the sick people, Efim waited for his companion. He went a little way on, and sat down. He waited and waited, nodded a bit, woke again, waited a little longer—and his comrade never came. He looked around him with all his eyes. The sun had already gone behind the wood, and there was no Elisyei.

"I wonder if he has passed me by," thought he, "or ridden by on some wagon, and I never observed it while I slept? But it was impossible not to have seen him. In the steppe we can see for a long distance. What's the good of going back," he thought, "when he's coming forward. We might miss each other, that would be worst of all. I'll go on, and we shall meet at our night-quarters."

He came to the village, asked for the Desyatnik^[10] and bade him if such and such an old man came along that way, to bring him to the same hut. Elisyei did not come to the night-quarters. Efim went on further, and asked everyone if they had noticed a bald-headed pilgrim. No one had seen him. Efim was surprised, and went on alone.

"We shall meet somewhere or other," thought he, "at Odessa, or in the ship," and he thought no more about it.

He went on his road with a pilgrim. This traveller was in a cape with a long cassock beneath it, and long locks; he had been at Athos, and was going to Jerusalem for the second time. They met at their night-quarters, struck up an acquaintance, and went on together.

They got to Odessa all right. They waited for a ship thrice twenty-four hours. Many pilgrims were waiting: they came from various quarters. Again Efim asked about Elisyei, but there was no word of him.

The pilgrim told Efim how he might cross in the ship without paying any money, but Efim Tarasuich would not listen to him.

"I would rather give money," said he, "and I've laid by for it too."

He gave forty tsyelkoviki^[11] for his passage there and back, and bought bread and dried herring for the journey. They loaded the vessel, took on board all the pilgrims, and Tarasuich and the pilgrim went on board too. They weighed anchor, left port, and sailed forth upon the sea. All day they sailed prosperously, but in the evening the wind arose and the rain came; the vessel began to rock and ship water. The people were pitched to and fro, the women began to wail, and the leader of the muzhiks began to run about the ship to seek a place to lie upon. Fear overcame Efim also, but he did not show it. As he had sat on his arrival from the steppe, side by side with a pilgrim from Tambov, so he continued to sit all night and the whole of the next day; all they did was to guard their knapsacks in silence. On the third day it was calm. On the fifth day they came to Tsar'grad.^[12] Those of the pilgrims who had landed went to see the temple of the Divine Wisdom,^[13] where the Turks now held sway; Tarasuich did not land, but remained on the ship. They remained there twenty-four hours, and then they again put to sea. They stopped again at the town of Smyrna; the next city they stopped at was Alexandria, and so they arrived safely at the town of Jaffa. At Jaffa all the pilgrims landed, and they had seventy versts to go on foot to Jerusalem. And fear again seized the people as they landed, for the ship was lofty, and they threw the people down into the little boat, and the boat rocked to and fro, and didn't bear even looking at, but they had to go; one or two of the men got a ducking, but they were all safely landed. They were landed, and continued their journey on foot, and on the fourth day they came to Jerusalem. They remained outside the town in the Russian quarter, showed their passports, had a little breakfast, and went with the pilgrims about the holy places. To the very Sepulchre of the Lord Himself they were not yet admitted. First of all, they went to early morning mass to the Monastery of the Patriarch, and prayed there and offered their votive candles. They looked from the outside on the Church of the Resurrection, where was the very tomb of the Lord.

On the first day they were only admitted into the cell of St. Mary of Egypt, where she had fled for refuge. They placed their votive candles and recited their prayers. They wished to come to early mass to the Sepulchre of the Lord, but came too late. They went to the Monastery of Abraham; they saw the garden of Savek, the place where Abraham would have sacrificed his son to God. Then they went to the place where Christ appeared to St. Mary Magdalene, and to the church of St. James, the Lord's brother. The pilgrim showed them all these places, and told them everywhere how much money they had to pay, and where to place their candles. Again they returned to the resting-place, and they had only just laid them down to sleep when the pilgrim raised a wail, and began to search all about his clothes.

"They have filched my purse," cried he, "with all my money, twenty-three roubles—two ten-rouble notes, and three in small money."

The pilgrim fretted and fumed, but there was no help for it, and they all laid them down to sleep.

 

IX.

Efim lay down to sleep, and a temptation fell upon him. "They did not filch any money from the pilgrim," thought he, "for surely he has none. He never gave anything anywhere. He told me to offer things, but gave nothing himself, and even borrowed a rouble or two from me."

Thus thought Efim, and then he began to reproach himself: "What," said he, "I judge this man! 'tis a sin. I won't think so."

But no sooner did he try to forget than it again occurred to him how the pilgrim was always eager after money, and how improbable it was that anyone could have filched his purse. And he never had any money, he thought. 'Twas a mere excuse.

In the morning they got up and went to early mass in the great Church of the Resurrection, to the Sepulchre of the Lord. The pilgrim never quitted Efim, but went with him everywhere. They came to the church. There was no end of people there—pious foreign pilgrims, and Russians, and all nations—Greeks and Armenians, and Turks and Syrians. Efim went to the holy gate with the people, passed by the Turkish guard in the place where the Saviour had been taken down from the cross and anointed, and where the great nine-branched candlestick was burning. Here Efim offered a. candle. Then the stranger-pilgrim took Efim by the right hand and led him up the steps to Golgotha, to the place where the cross had stood, and here Efim prayed. Then they showed Efim the hole where the earth had yawned open, right down to the abyss, and after that they showed him the place where they had nailed the hands and feet of Christ to the cross; then they showed him the grave of Adam, where the blood of Christ had trickled down upon his bones. After that they went to the stone where Christ had sat down when they put upon His head the crown of thorns; and then to the pillar to which they had tied Christ when they scourged Him. Then Efim saw the stone with the two holes for the feet of Christ. They wanted to show some other things also, but the crowd was in too much of a hurry to look at them, and they all hastened away to the cave of the Sepulchre of the Lord. The pilgrim hastened thither. The foreign mass was just over, and the orthodox mass began. Efim went with the people to the cave.

He wanted to get away from the pilgrim; in thought he kept on sinning against the pilgrim all along, but the pilgrim would not leave him, but went along with him to the mass and to the Sepulchre of the Lord. They wanted to get nearer, but they could not get nearer. There was such a crush of people that they could move neither backwards nor forwards. Efim stood looking in front of him and praying, but it was of no use. Again he felt himself to see if he still had his purse. Two thoughts constantly worried him: "Had the pilgrim deceived him, or had he not deceived him? And if his (the pilgrim's) money had been stolen from him, mightn't the same thing happen to Efim himself too?"

 

X.

There stood Efim, praying and looking straight in front of him into the chapel where was the very Sepulchre, and above the Sepulchre burned thirty-six lamps. There stood and looked Efim, when through his head flashed the thought, "What wonder is this?" Beneath the very lamps, in front of them all, stood an old pilgrim in a coarse cotton kaftan, and he had a shining baldness all over his head, just like Ehsyei Bodrov. "'Tis much like Elisyei," he thought; "but it cannot be he. He could not have arrived here before me. Another ship does not follow us for a whole week. He could not have come on so quickly, and he was not in our ship. I saw all the pilgrims."

While Efim was thinking thus the old pilgrim began to pray, and he bowed low three times; first he bowed before God, and then he bowed to the orthodox worshippers on both sides of him. And when the old man turned his head to the right, Efim recognised him at once.

"'Tis he, indeed, Bodrov; his beard is blackish and curly, and a little greyish on the tips of the whiskers. And the brows, and the eyes, and the nose—all the features are his. It is Elisyei Bodrov's very self."

Efim rejoiced that his comrade had come, and marvelled how Elisyei could have got there before him.

"Ah, Bodrov must have crept through somehow: he must have fallen in with some man who showed him the way. When we get out I'll meet him. I'll throw over my pilgrim, and will go with him, although he did slip on before me."

And Efim kept good watch lest Elisyei should escape him. And now the mass was over, and the people began to move; they went forward to kiss the cross, there was a press and a throng, they came in the direction of Efim. Again a terror fell upon him lest they should filch his purse. Efim clasped his purse tightly in his hand, and began to force his way through the crowd so that he might get outside. He got outside, and went and went, and sought and sought for Elisyei, and he went right out of the church, and yet he did not meet him. After service Efim went also to seek Elisyei in the lodging-places of the town; he went everywhere, and found him nowhere! That evening the pilgrim also did not appear. He vanished without paying his rouble. Efim remained quite alone.

Next day Efim again went to the Sepulchre of the Lord with the old pilgrim from Tambov by whom he had sat on the ship. He wanted to get well in front, but again he was jostled aside, so he stood beside a pillar and prayed. Again he looked in front of him—and again, under the lamps, at the very Sepulchre of the Lord, stood Elisyei in his former place, with his hands folded like a priest at the altar, and his baldness shone over his whole head. "Now," thought Efim, "now I'll not lose him." He began to push his way to the front. He pushed his way right up; and there was no Elisyei. He had evidently gone.

And on the third day Efim again went to the mass to look out again: in the selfsame place stands Elisyei, in the same shape, with hands folded and uplifted glance, as if he were looking at something above him. And his baldness lighted up his whole head.

"Well," thought Efim, "now I really will not lose sight of him. I will go and stand at the entrance. There he cannot escape me."

So Efim went out, and stood and stood, and all the people passed out; and there was no Elisyei.

Efim remained six weeks in Jerusalem, and went everywhere—to Bethlehem, to Bethany, to Jordan; and on a new shirt he bought he had a seal impressed at the Sepulchre of the Lord, and in that shirt he meant to be buried; and he took water from the Jordan in a flask, and he took earth, and a candle from the holy place, and spent all his money, save only so much as might take him home; and Efim went back home. He came to Jaffa, went on board ship, sailed to Odessa, and set off home on foot.

 

XI.

Efim went all alone on that journey. He began to draw near to home, and again doubt befell him how they had been living without him.

"In a year," thought he, "a lot of water flows away. It takes a whole age to make a home, but to destroy a home does not take very long. How had his son managed things during his absence, how had the spring sowing been managed, how had the cattle weathered the winter: had they repaired the hut?"

Efim arrived at the place where he had parted from Elisyei the year before. He could scarcely recognise the people. Where last year the people had been poor and needy, they now lived in plenty. The fruits of the earth had prospered. The people had righted themselves, and forgot their former distress. 'Twas eventide when Efim thus got to the place where, the year before, Elisyei had stopped. No sooner had he entered the village than out of a hut sprang a little girl in a white chemise.

"Grandad, little grandad, come in to us."

Efim would have gone on, but the little girl wouldn't let him, but took him by the lappet of his coat and drew him into the hut, laughing all the while.

Out upon the balcony came a woman with a little child, she too beckoned with her hand, "Come in, pray, dear little grandad, and have a little supper with us—aye, and pass the night."

Efim followed her. "A good opportunity to ask about Elisyei," thought he: "was it not to this selfsame hut he went to ask for a drink of water?"

Efim went in, the woman took his knapsack from him, gave him water to wash with, and a chair to sit upon. She brought him milk, dumplings, meal broth, and placed them on the table. Tarasuich thanked her, and praised the people for showing hospitality to pilgrims.

The woman shook her head. "How can we help receiving pilgrims?" said she. "We owe our life to a pilgrim. We lived once and forgot God, and God chastened us with dire need, even unto starvation. By the summer things had come to such a pass that here we all lay on our backs—ill, and with naught to eat. And we should have died had not God sent unto us a pilgrim like unto thee. He came amongst us for a drink of water, and he saw us, had compassion upon us, and stayed among us. And he gave us meat and drink, and set us on our feet, and redeemed our land, and bought us a horse and a cart, and threw away his money upon us."

An old woman came into the hut and interrupted the discourse of the other woman.

"And we don't know," said she, "whether he was a man or an angel of God's. He loved us all, he had compassion on us all, and he went away without saying a word, and we know not for whom to pray God. I can see it all before me now. There I lie and await death. I look up, and in comes the old pilgrim, so plain and simple-like, and baldish too, to ask for a drink of water. And I, sinful woman, fell a-thinking: 'What vagabond is this then?' And look now what he did for us. No sooner did he see us than down came his knapsack, and he goes and puts it down there, and unties it."

The little girl then came in. "No, granny," said she, "first of all he placed his knapsack right in the middle of the room here, and then he put it on the bench."

And they all began to dispute among themselves, and everyone remembered all about his words and deeds and movements, and where he sat, and where he slept, and what he did, and what he said to each.

At nightfall the peasant-proprietor arrived behind his horses, and he too began to speak about Elisyei, and how he had lived with them.

"If he had not come to us," said he, "we should all have died in our sins. We should have died in despair, cursing God and all men. And he put us on our legs again, and through him we learnt to know God, and believe in good people. Christ save him! We lived like cattle before, he made us men."

The people gave Efim to eat and to drink, then gave him a bed, and laid down to sleep themselves.

Efim lay down, but he did not sleep; he could not get Elisyei out of his head: Elisyei, just as he had seen him thrice at Jerusalem in the foremost place.

"There he was," thought he, "and he got there before me. I took no end of trouble upon myself, but God took him."

In the morning the people bade Efim God-speed! loaded him with pasties for his journey, and went to work; and Efim went on his way.

 

XII.

After exactly a year Efim arrived. He returned home in the spring.

He got home in the evening. His son was not at home, he was in the pot-house. The son came home a little tipsy, and Efim began to question him. Efim saw that in his absence his son had made a mess of everything. He had spent all the money like a fool, and had neglected all business. The father began to reproach him. The son began to be rude and saucy.

"You went to kick up your heels," said he, "and went off for your pleasure, and took all the money with you, and now you begin to cross-question me!"

The old man was angry. He struck his son.

Next morning Efim Tarasuich went to the starosta to report himself; he passed by Elisyei's farm. Elisyei's old woman was standing on the balcony—they exchanged greetings.

"Is it well with thee, cousin?" said she, "hast thou returned in health, dear house-swallow?"

Efim Tarasuich stopped. "Thank God," said he, "I have returned in safety. I lost thy old man on the way, but they tell me he has returned home."

The old woman began to talk, she dearly loved a gossip.

"Our bread-winner has returned," she said, "he returned long ago. Soon after the Assumption he returned, and glad were we that God brought him back. We were so anxious about him. Work indeed, he can do no more; his working days are over, but he has always got a head upon his shoulders, and it is ever so much merrier at home when he is there. And our lad there, how glad he was! 'Without him,' said he, 'it is as though there was no light in one's eyes.' It is dull with us without him, and miserable. How we missed the darling!"

"Say, is he at home now?"

"He is at home amongst his hives. He is hiving his bees. He has got some fine swarms, I can tell you. God has given such vigour to his bees that the old man does not remember the like of it. God gives us more than our merits deserve, he says. Go and see him, and right glad will he be."

Efim went through the barn, through the gate, to the hives of Elisyei. He went up to the bee-hives to see, and there stood Elisyei, without a net, without gloves, in a grey kaftan, beneath a young birch-tree. He was extending his hands and looking upwards, and his baldness shone over his whole head, just as he had stood in Jerusalem at the Sepulchre of the Lord; and above him, as at Jerusalem, through the birch-trees, like fire that burns, played the sun, and around his head the golden bees circled in swarms like an aureola, and lit upon him without hurting him. Efim stood still.

Elisyei's old woman called to her husband: "Our cousin has come," said she.

Elisyei looked around, and was glad, went to meet his neighbour, and gently stroked a bee out of his beard.

"Health to thee, neighbour; health, dear soul. Didst thou reach thy goal?"

"My feet did indeed get thither, and I have brought thee a little water from the Jordan—but whether God has accepted my offering——"

"Now glory to God! Lord and Christ be praised that we have thee back!"

Then Efim was silent for a time.

"My feet were indeed there," he resumed, "but whether my spirit was there, or rather the spirit of another——"

"That's God's business, neighbour, God's business."

"On my return journey I looked in at the hut where you stayed."

Elisyei was frightened and embarrassed. "God's work, neighbour, God's work. Come into my hut for a bit, and I'll give you a little honey."

And Elisyei changed the conversation, and spoke of home affairs.

Efim sighed, and no longer reminded Elisyei of the people in that hut, and told him not how he had seen him at Jerusalem. But this one thing he now understood: it is the will of God that everyone here below should work off his debt of sin by love and good works.

1. Translated from the Moscow popular edition of 1887.
2. The half-boots to cover the top of the foot, worn by the Russian peasantry.
3. The men with big tufts of hair, a nickname given to the little Russians or Ruthenians.
4. The Russian peasant on the other hand wears his shirt over his hose.
5. An unheard-of thing among the Ruthenians, with whom only young girls go bareheaded.
6. The child speaks to the old woman in little Russian or Ruthenian, the effect of which is lost in any English version.
7. The first days after a fast, when flesh might be eaten.
8. A piece of land of about 2,400 square fathoms.
9. Nearly £3.
10. The chief man in a hamlet of ten families.
11. £10.
12. Constantinople.
13. Saint Sophia.