Kitobni o'qish: «Tolstoi for the young. Select tales from Tolstoi»

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, forbidding any one to follow. He turned the soldiers into a sheaf again and threw it on a pile of straw, then he went home and lay down to sleep in the stables.