Short Fiction, Fyodor Sologub [most popular novels of all time .txt] 📗

is rather a worry to keep a watch on her. Perhaps it would be better to destroy her altogether.”

But the Knight was a very just man⁠—he could not kill her without judgment.

He went to the cell, and, pausing before the small window, he said:

“Death, I want to cut your head off⁠—you’ve done a lot of harm upon the earth.”

But Death was silent.

The Knight continued:

“I’ll give you a chance⁠—defend yourself if you can. What have you to say for yourself?”

And Death answered:

“I’ll say nothing just yet; let Life put in a word for me.”

And the Knight suddenly saw Life standing beside him; she was a robust and red-checked but expressionless woman.

And she began to say such brazen and ungodly things that the brave, invincible Knight trembled, and made haste to open the cell.

Death went out⁠—and men began to die once more. The Knight himself died when his time came⁠—and he told no one upon the earth what that expressionless, brazen woman, Life, had said to him.

The Man Who Became Smaller

There was a man who bought some land and a house. The land was so small that if you took one step, then another you ran into the fence. The house was so small that you had to bend down to enter it.

It made the man feel unhappy.

An old sparrow said to him:

“It would be a good thing if you became smaller.”

The man replied in a very reasonable way:

“I should be indeed glad to do so, but unfortunately I was born such a giant.”

“You had better go to the German apothecary,” said the old sparrow, “whisper to him on the quiet, and stick a nice bit of money into his hand⁠—he will give you some reducing drops from under his microscope, and you will become a very tiny fellow.”

The man was overjoyed, he did everything as the old sparrow told him to do, and became as small as a tin soldier.

He arrived at his house, and on his land⁠—and everything fitted him splendidly.

The house became large, ever so large⁠—in every room you might dance a quadrille in seven thousand pairs. He divided up the house into sections, and let them out to other little men in order to gain a large profit out of his small fortune.

The land too became so large that when the little man went for a stroll and attempted to walk round his property he got into a terrible perspiration from fatigue. The little man then divided up the land, and built on it little kennel-cottages, let them out and made good money out of them. He made money and took it to the bank. The little man began to get fat and rich.

But a huge crow happened to fly by, caught the little man by his collar, and took him off to its nest, to feed its tots with. The little man repented for having obeyed the old sparrow, but it was too late.

Perhaps the old sparrow had purposely prearranged the whole thing.

Dotard and Dotardess

There once lived an old dotard and old dotardess.

The dotard had lived five hundred years, the dotardess four hundred.

The dotard received a big pension, and gave it to the dotardess for expenses.

The dotard wore an under-waistcoat close to his body, the dotardess used to dye her hair.

The dotard took snuff, and went to take steam baths⁠—the dotardess ate sweets, and went to the Russian opera.

Once the dotard went to the bath, steamed himself, steamed himself, and oversteamed himself, and died on the bench.

The dotardess went to the opera, called encore to the singer, shouted and shouted, and overshouted herself, and died in the gallery.

The old dotard and dotardess were buried.

There is nothing to grieve about: there will always be dotards and dotardesses.

Little Songs

He was quite a rake in appearance⁠—he loafed about in the streets and in the roads, sat for hours in the taverns and looked on at the jolly wenches; nothing was sacred to him, and because of that he received very little respect.

Only sometimes he walked out to the crossroads, and began to sing; he knew such words that everything answered him at that moment⁠—the birds in the woods, and the wind in the fields, and the waves in the sea.

The little dog, Sillybark, said:

“It’s bad, bad! It’s all nonsense.”

And the cunning fox said:

“Bad, bad! He sings only earthly songs, he has forgotten God.”

What did it matter? Everything living answered him: the birds of the woods, the waves of the sea, and the roving winds.

The Little Ray in the Little Cell

The rays came to the Sun, and began to choose their ways for the day. One ray said:

“I will now go into the court yard.”

Said another:

“I will take a stroll on Nevsky Prospect.”

Said a third:

“I will take a walk in the fields.”

Said a fourth:

“I will take a swim in the river.”

All of them had chosen good places, and were about to run off, when the Sun called them back with a shout:

“Wait a minute, children, there is still a little place left⁠—a dark little prison cell, where sits a poor prisoner.”

All the rays said plaintively:

“It is damp in the dark little cell, it is dirty in the dark little cell, it smells badly in the dark little cell⁠—we do not want to go into the dark little cell.”

The Sun caught hold of one little ray by the hair, and said:

“You were up to all sorts of mischief yesterday, you looked into all sorts of forbidden places, now you must stay in the dark little cell if only for five minutes.”

The poor little ray began to cry, but there was nothing left to do but to follow the Sun’s command. All sour, bad-tempered, shrunken, he remained for five minutes with the poor prisoner in the dark little prison cell. But to the poor prisoner even this was a great holiday.

The Affectionate Boy

Sasha loved sweets.

But his mother did