by Leo Tolstoy
The people heard that the old hermit was dead, and that he had given the godson his blessing, and left him in his place. So they buried the old man, gave the bread they had brought to the godson, and promising to bring him some more, they went away.
The godson remained in the old man’s place. There he lived, eating the food people brought him, and doing as he had been told: carrying water from the river in his mouth and watering the charred stumps.
He lived thus for a year, and many people visited him. His fame spread abroad, as a holy man who lived in the forest and brought water from the bottom of a hill in his mouth to water charred stumps for the salvation of his soul. People flocked to see him. Rich merchants drove up bringing him presents, but he kept only the barest necessaries for himself, and gave the rest away to the poor.
And so the godson lived: carrying water in his mouth and watering the stumps half the day, and resting and receiving people the other half. And he began to think that this was the way he had been told to live, in order to destroy evil and atone for his sins.
He spent two years in this manner, not omitting for a single day to water the stumps. But still not one of them sprouted.
One day, as he sat in his cell, he heard a man ride past, singing as he went. The godson came out to see what sort of a man it was. He saw a strong young fellow, well dressed, and mounted on a handsome, well-saddled horse.
The godson stopped him, and asked him who he was, and where he was going.
‘I am a robber,’ the man answered, drawing rein. ‘I ride about the highways killing people; and the more I kill, the merrier are the songs I sing.’
The godson was horror-struck, and thought:
‘How can the evil be destroyed in such a man as this? It is easy to speak to those who come to me of their own accord and confess their sins. But this one boasts of the evil he does.’
So he said nothing, and turned away, thinking: ‘What am I to do now? This robber may take to riding about here, and he will frighten away the people. They will leave off coming to me. It will be a loss to them, and I shall not know how to live.’
So the godson turned back, and said to the robber:
‘People come to me here, not to boast of their sins, but to repent, and to pray for forgiveness. Repent of your sins, if you fear God; but if there is no repentance in your heart, then go away and never come here again. Do not trouble me, and do not frighten people away from me. If you do not hearken, God will punish you.’
The robber laughed:
‘I am not afraid of God, and I will not listen to you. You are not my master,’ said he. ‘You live by your piety, and I by my robbery. We all must live. You may teach the old women who come to you, but you have nothing to teach me. And because you have reminded me of God, I will kill two more men tomorrow. I would kill you, but I do not want to soil my hands just now. See that in future you keep out of my way!’
Having uttered this threat, the robber rode away. He did not come again, and the godson lived in peace, as before, for eight more years.
XI
ONE night the godson watered his stumps, and, after returning to his cell, he sat down to rest, and watched the footpath, wondering if someone would soon come. But no one came at all that day. He sat alone till evening, feeling lonely and dull, and he thought about his past life. He remembered how the robber had reproached him for living by his piety; and he reflected on his way of life. ‘I am not living as the hermit commanded me to,’ thought he. ‘The hermit laid a penance upon me, and I have made both a living and fame out of it; and have been so tempted by it, that now I feel dull when people do not come to me; and when they do come, I only rejoice because they praise my holiness. That is not how one should live. I have been led astray by love of praise. I have not atoned for my past sins, but have added fresh ones. I will go to another part of the forest where people will not find me; and I will live so as to atone for my old sins and commit no fresh ones.’
Having come to this conclusion the godson filled a bag with dried bread and, taking a spade, left the cell and started for a ravine he knew of in a lonely spot, where he could dig himself a cave and hide from the people.
As he was going along with his bag and his spade he saw the robber riding towards him. The godson was frightened, and started to run away, but the robber overtook him.
‘Where are you going?’ asked the robber.
The godson told him he wished to get away from the people and live somewhere where no one would come to him. This surprised the robber.
‘What will you live on, if people do not come to see you?’ asked he.
The godson had not even thought of this, but the robber’s question reminded him that food would be necessary.
‘On what God pleases to give me,’ he replied.
The robber said nothing, and rode away.
‘Why did I not say anything to him about his way of life?’ thought the godson. ‘He might repent now. To-day he seems in a gentler mood, and has not threatened to kill me.’ And he shouted to the robber:
‘You have still to repent of your sins. You cannot escape from God.’
The robber turned his horse, and drawing a knife from his girdle threatened the hermit with it. The latter was alarmed, and ran away further into the forest.
The robber did not follow him, but only shouted:
‘Twice I have let you off, old man, but next time you come in my way I will kill you!’
Having said this, he rode away. In the evening when the godson went to water his stumps – one of them was sprouting! A little apple-tree was growing out of it.
XII
AFTER hiding himself from everybody, the godson lived all alone. When his supply of bread was exhausted, he thought: ‘Now I must go and look for some roots to eat.’ He had not gone far, however, before he saw a bag of dried bread hanging on a branch. He took it down, and as long as it lasted he lived upon that.
When he had eaten it all, he found another bagful on the same branch. So he lived on, his only trouble being his fear of the robber. Whenever he heard the robber passing, he hid, thinking:
‘He may kill me before I have had time to atone for my sins.’
In this way he lived for ten more years. The one apple-tree continued to grow, but the other two stumps remained exactly as they were.
One morning the godson rose early and went to his work. By the time he had thoroughly moistened the ground round the stumps, he was tired out and sat down to rest. As he sat there he thought to himself:
‘I have sinned, and have become afraid of death. It may be God’s will that I should redeem my sins by death.’
Hardly had this thought crossed his mind when he heard the robber riding up, swearing at something. When the godson heard this, he thought:
‘No evil and no good can befall me from anyone but from God.’
And he went to meet the robber. He saw the robber was not alone, but behind him on the saddle sat another man, gagged, and bound hand and foot. The man was doing nothing, but the robber was abusing him violently. The godson went up and stood in front of the horse.
‘Where are you taking this man?’ he asked.
‘Into the forest,’ replied the robber. ‘He is a merchant’s son, and will not tell me where his father’s money is hidden. I am going to flog him till he tells me.’
And the robber spurred on his horse, but the godson caught hold of his bridle, and would not let him pass.
‘Let this man go!’ he said.
The robber grew angry, and raised his arm to strike.
‘Would you like a taste of what I am going to give this man? Have I not promised to kill you? Let go!’
The godson was not afraid.
‘You shall not go,’ said he. ‘I do not fear you. I fear no one but God, and He wills that I should not let you pass. Set this man free!’
The robber frowned, and snatching out his knife, cut the ropes with which the merchant’s son was bound, and set him free.
&nbs
p; ‘Get away both of you,’ he said, ‘and beware how you cross my path again.’
The merchant’s son jumped down and ran away. The robber was about to ride on, but the godson stopped him again, and again spoke to him about giving up his evil life. The robber heard him to the end in silence, and then rode away without a word.
The next morning the godson went to water his stumps and lo! the second stump was sprouting. A second young apple-tree had begun to grow.
XIII
ANOTHER ten years had gone by. The godson was sitting quietly one day, desiring nothing, fearing nothing, and with a heart full of joy.
‘What blessings God showers on men!’ thought he. ‘Yet how needlessly they torment themselves. What prevents them from living happily?’
And remembering all the evil in men, and the troubles they bring upon themselves, his heart filled with pity.
‘It is wrong of me to live as I do,’ he said to himself. ‘I must go and teach others what I have myself learnt.’
Hardly had he thought this, when he heard the robber approaching. He let him pass, thinking:
‘It is no good talking to him, he will not understand.’
That was his first thought, but he changed his mind and went out into the road. He saw that the robber was gloomy, and was riding with downcast eyes. The godson looked at him, pitied him, and running up to him laid his hand upon his knee.
‘Brother, dear,’ said he, ‘have some pity on your own soul! In you lives the spirit of God. You suffer, and torment others, and lay up more and more suffering for the future. Yet God loves you, and has prepared such blessings for you. Do not ruin yourself utterly. Change your life!’
The robber frowned and turned away.
‘Leave me alone!’ said he.
But the godson held the robber still faster, and began to weep.
Then the robber lifted his eyes and looked at the godson. He looked at him for a long time, and alighting from his horse, fell on his knees at the godson’s feet.
‘You have overcome me, old man,’ said he. ‘For twenty years I have resisted you, but now you have conquered me. Do what you will with me, for I have no more power over myself. When you first tried to persuade me, it only angered me more. Only when you hid yourself from men did I begin to consider your words: for I saw then that you asked nothing of them for yourself. Since that day I have brought food for you, hanging it upon the tree.’
Then the godson remembered that the woman got her table clean only after she had rinsed her cloth. In the same way, it was only when he ceased caring about himself, and cleansed his own heart, that he was able to cleanse the hearts of others.
The robber went on.
‘When I saw that you did not fear death, my heart turned.’
Then the godson remembered that the wheelwrights could not bend the rims until they had fixed their block. So, not till he had cast away the fear of death, and made his life fast in God, could he subdue this man’s unruly heart.
‘But my heart did not quite melt,’ continued the robber, ‘until you pitied me and wept for me.’
The godson, full of joy, led the robber to the place where the stumps were. And when they got there, they saw that from the third stump an apple-tree had begun to sprout. And the godson remembered that the drovers had not been able to light the damp wood until the fire had burnt up well. So it was only when his own heart burnt warmly, that another’s heart had been kindled by it.
And the godson was full of joy that he had at last atoned for his sins.
He told all this to the robber, and died. The robber buried him, and lived as the godson had commanded him, teaching to others what the godson had taught him.
THE REPENTANT
SINNER
‘And he said unto Jesus, Lord, remember me when thou comest into thy Kingdom. And Jesus said unto him, Verily I say unto thee, Today shalt thou be with me in paradise.’ – Luke xxiii. 42, 43.
THERE was once a man who lived for seventy years in the world, and lived in sin all that time. He fell ill, but even then did not repent. Only at the last moment, as he was dying, he wept and said:
‘Lord! forgive me, as Thou forgavest the thief upon the cross.’
And as he said these words, his soul left his body. And the soul of the sinner, feeling love towards God and faith in His mercy, went to the gates of heaven, and knocked, praying to be let into the heavenly kingdom.
Then a voice spoke from within the gate:
‘What man is it that knocks at the gates of Paradise, and what deeds did he do during his life?’
And the voice of the Accuser replied, recounting all the man’s evil deeds, and not a single good one.
And the voice from within the gates answered:
‘Sinners cannot enter into the kingdom of heaven. Go hence!’
Then the man said:
‘Lord, I hear thy voice, but cannot see thy face, nor do I know thy name.’
The voice answered:
‘I am Peter, the Apostle.’
And the sinner replied.
‘Have pity on me, Apostle Peter! Remember man’s weakness, and God’s mercy. Wert not thou a disciple of Christ? Didst not thou hear his teaching from his own lips, and hadst thou not his example before thee? Remember then how, when he sorrowed and was grieved in spirit, and three times asked thee to keep awake and pray, thou didst sleep, because thine eyes were heavy, and three times he found thee sleeping. So it was with me. Remember, also, how thou didst promise to be faithful unto death, and yet didst thrice deny him, when he was taken before Caiaphas. So it was with me. And remember, too, how when the cock crowed thou didst go out and didst weep bitterly. So it is with me. Thou canst not refuse to let me in.’
And the voice behind the gates was silent.
Then the sinner stood a little while, and again began to knock, and to ask to be let into the kingdom of heaven.
And he heard another voice behind the gates, which said:
‘Who is this man, and how did he live on earth?’
And the voice of the Accuser again repeated all the sinner’s evil deeds, and not a single good one.
And the voice from behind the gates replied:
‘Go hence! Such sinners cannot live with us in Paradise.’ Then the sinner said:
‘Lord, I hear thy voice, but I see thee not, nor do I know thy name.’
And the voice answered:
‘I am David; king and prophet.’
The sinner did not despair, nor did he leave the gates of Paradise, but said:
‘Have pity on me, King David! Remember man’s weakness, and God’s mercy. God loved thee and exalted thee among men. Thou hadst all: a kingdom, and honour, and riches, and wives, and children; but thou sawest from thy house-top the wife of a poor man, and sin entered into thee, and thou tookest the wife of Uriah, and didst slay him with the sword of the Ammonites. Thou, a rich man, didst take from the poor man his one ewe lamb, and didst kill him. I have done likewise. Remember, then, how thou didst repent, and how thou saidst, “I acknowledge my transgressions: my sin is ever before me?” I have done the same. Thou canst not refuse to let me in.’
And the voice from within the gates was silent.
The sinner having stood a little while, began knocking again, and asking to be let into the kingdom of heaven. And a third voice was heard within the gates, saying:
‘Who is this man, and how has he spent his life on earth?’
And the voice of the Accuser replied for the third time, recounting the sinner’s evil deeds, and not mentioning one good deed.
And the voice within the gates said:
‘Depart hence! Sinners cannot enter into the kingdom of heaven.’
And the sinner said:
‘Thy voice I hear, but thy face I see not, neither do I know thy name.’
Then the voice replied:
‘I am John the Divine, the beloved disciple of Christ.’
And the sinner rejoiced and said:
‘Now surely I s
hall be allowed to enter. Peter and David must let me in, because they know man’s weakness and God’s mercy; and thou wilt let me in, because thou lovest much. Was it not thou, John the Divine, who wrote that God is Love, and that he who loves not, knows not God? And in thine old age didst thou not say unto men: “Brethren, love one another.” How, then, canst thou look on me with hatred, and drive me away? Either thou must renounce what thou hast said, or loving me, must let me enter the kingdom of heaven.’
And the gates of Paradise opened, and John embraced the repentant sinner and took him into the kingdom of heaven.
THE KREUTZER
SONATA
But I say unto you, that every one that looketh on a woman to lust after her hath committed adultery with her already in his heart. Matt. v. 28.
The disciples say unto him, If the case of the man is so with his wife, it is not expedient to marry. But he said unto them, All men cannot receive this saying, but they to whom it is given. Ibid. xix. 10, 11.
The figures in text refer to the Appendix of readings contained in the lithographed version circulated subterraneously in Russia (see this page-this page) during the time that the book was banned by the censor.
I
IT was early spring, and the second day of our journey. Passengers going short distances entered and left our carriage, but three others, like myself, had come all the way with the train. One was a lady, plain and no longer young, who smoked, had a harassed look, and wore a mannish coat and cap; another was an acquaintance of hers, a talkative man of about forty, whose things looked neat and new; the third was a rather short man1 who kept himself apart. He was not old, but his curly hair had gone prematurely grey. His movements were abrupt and his unusually glittering eyes moved rapidly from one object to another. He wore an old overcoat, evidently from a first-rate tailor, with an astrakhan collar, and a tall astrakhan cap. When he unbuttoned his overcoat a sleeveless Russian coat and embroidered shirt showed beneath it. A peculiarity of this man was a strange sound he emitted, something like a clearing of his throat, or a laugh begun and sharply broken off.
