Short Fiction, Leo Tolstoy [general ebook reader .txt] 📗

will see⁠— Nicholas Very well⁠—I will go. I am not afraid of whatever comes, and I don’t want anything from you. Dashes out of the room and bangs the door. Mother To herself. How unhappy he makes me. I know exactly how it has all come about. It is all because he does not think about the things he ought to do, and his head is full of nothing but his own stupid interests, his dogs, and his hens. Katia But, mother, you remember the tale you told me: how impossible it is not to think about the white polar bear when you are told not to. Mother I am not speaking of that; I say a boy has to learn when he is told to. Katia But he says he cannot. Mother That’s nonsense. Katia But he does not say he is not willing to do any work whatever. He only objects to learning geography. He wants to work, to be a coachman, a yard-porter. Mother If he had been a yard-porter’s son he might become one himself. But being your father’s son he must learn. Katia But he does not want to. Mother Whether he wants to or not he must obey. Katia And if he simply cannot learn? Mother Take care that you are not like him yourself. Katia That’s just what I want to be. I shall not, on any condition, learn what I do not wish to. Mother Then you will grow up a fool. Katia And when I am grown up, and have children, I will never compel them to learn. If they want to they may learn, if not, let them do without learning. Mother When you are grown up, you will be sure to have changed your mind. Katia I shall certainly not. Mother You will. Katia No, I shall not, I shall not. Mother Then you will be a fool. Katia Nurse says God wants fools also. Two Wayfarers

Two men with bundles over their shoulders were walking along the dusty highroad that lies between Moscow and Toula. The younger man wore a short coat and velveteen trousers. Spectacles gleamed out from under the brim of his new peasant’s hat. The other was a man of about fifty, remarkably handsome, dressed in a monk’s frock, with a leather belt round his waist and a high round black cap, such as novices wear in monasteries. His long dark beard and dark hair were turning grey.

The younger man was pale and sallow, was covered with dust, and seemed scarcely able to drag one foot after the other. The old man walked cheerfully along, swinging his arms, his shoulders well thrown back. It seemed as though dust dared not settle on his handsome face nor his body feel fatigue.

The young man, Serge Vasilievich Borzin, was a doctor of science of Moscow University. The old man, Nicholas Petrovich Serpov, had been a sublieutenant in an infantry regiment during the reign of Alexander, then he had become a monk, but was expelled from the monastery for bad conduct. He had, however, retained the monastic garb. The men had come together in this wise. Borzin, after taking his doctor’s degree, and after writing several articles for the Moscow reviews, went to stay in the country, to plunge into the current of peasant life and to refresh himself in the waves of the popular stream, as he put it. After a month spent in the country in complete solitude, he wrote the following letter to a literary friend of his, who was editor of a journal:⁠—

“My Master and Friend Ivan Finogeich⁠—It is not for us to predict⁠—indeed we cannot⁠—the ultimate solution of those problems which are solving themselves in the secrecy of the village life of the Russian people. Various phases of the Russian mind and its phenomena must be carefully taken into consideration⁠—the seclusion of their lives; the revolutionary reforms introduced by Peter; etc., etc.”

The long and the short of it was that Borzin, having been deeply impressed by the everyday life of the people, had become convinced that the problem of determining the destiny of the Russian nation was more difficult and complex than he had been wont to imagine, and that in order to find its solution he must traverse Russia on foot; so he asked his friend not to discuss the question in his journal pending his return, promising to set forth all that he discovered in a series of articles.

Having written this letter, Borzin set about making preparations for his journey. Though it annoyed him, he had to consider such details as what he should wear. He bought a coat, nailed boots, and a hat such as the peasants wear, and, shutting out his servants, studied himself for a long time in his glass. He could not get rid of his spectacles, as he was too nearsighted. After this, the most essential thing was to get some money. He needed at least 300 roubles. There was no money in his cashbox, so Borzin summoned his bailiff and accountant and went through his books. Finding that he had 180 quarters of oats, he ordered them to be sold, but the bailiff remarked that the oats had been kept for seed. In another column he found an entry of 160 quarters of rye, and asked if that would suffice for seed. The bailiff replied by asking if he wanted them to sow last year’s rye. The conversation ended shortly after, the bailiff recognising that Borzin knew as little about farming as a babe, and Borzin realising that the rye had been sown already, that new seed was usually used, and that after deducting enough for daily needs from the 180 quarters of corn, the rest might be sold.

The money having been obtained, Borzin made up his mind one evening to start next day, when he heard an unknown voice in the hall, and his father’s old valet Stephen entered and announced Nicholas Petrovich Serpov.

“Who is he?”

“Don’t you remember the monk who used to visit your father?”

“No, not at