Classic Audiobook Collection - What Men Live By and Other Tales by Leo Tolstoy ~ Full Audiobook [religion]

Episode Date: October 19, 2022

What Men Live By and Other Tales by Leo Tolstoy audiobook. Genre: religion Although Leo Tolstoy (1828-1910) was a wealthy landowner, in his later life he had what was considered a “religious awakening.” This experience went on to inform his writing and his lifestyle in profound ways. His views transcended the specifics of religion, as known in his day - so much so he came to be a helpful guide both to Mohandas Gandhi and to Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. The four stories in this collection ask profound questions and gently supply helpful, non-dogmatic hints to their answerings: What is the most important thing to do? Who is the most important person? When is the most important time? What is worth owning? What is the most profound religion? What rules should men live by? How much land does a man need? Who is God? What should we bother to discuss? How should we act towards one another? How should we respond to cruelty and violence? And many more. Wonderful stories written in a relaxed style. For ad-free listening try our premium subscription Chapters (Approximate) (00:00:00) Chapter 1 (00:58:35) Chapter 2 (01:09:44) Chapter 3 (01:30:19) Chapter 4 Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

What Men Live by, by Leo Tolstoy, from What Men Live by and Other Tales. We know that we have passed out of death into life, because we love the brethren. He that loveth not, abideeth in death. The first epistle of St. John, Chapter 3, verse 14. Whoso hath the world's goods and beholdeth his brother in need, and shutteth up his compassion from him, how doth the love of God abide in him? My little children, let us not love in word,

neither with the tongue, but indeed and truth. Chapter 3, verses 17 to 18. Love is of God, and everyone that loveth is begotten of God, and knoweth God. He that loveth not, knoweth not God, for God is love. Chapter 4 verses 7 to 8, No man hath beheld God at any time. If we love one another, God abideth in us. 4 verse 12. God is love, and he that abideth in love, abideth in God, and God abideth in Him.

Chapter 4, verse 16. If a man say, I love God, and hateth his brother, he is a liar. For he that loveth not his brother whom he hath seen, how can he love God, whom he hath not seen. Chapter 4, verse 20. A shoemaker named Simon, who had neither house nor land of his own, lived with his wife and children in a peasant's hut, and earned his living by his work. Work was cheap, but bread was dear, and what he earned he spent for food. The man and his wife had but one sheepskin coat between them for winter wear, and even that was torn to tatters, and this was the second year he'd been wanting to buy sheepskins for a new coat.

Before winter, Simon saved up a little money, a three-rouble note lay hidden in his wife's box, and five roubles and twenty copecks were owed him by customers in the village. So one morning he prepared to go to the house's box, and five roubles and two co-pics were owed him by customers in the village. one morning he prepared to go to the village to buy the sheepskins. He put on over his shirt his wife's wadded Nankine jacket, and over that he put his own cloth coat. He took the three-rouble note in his pocket, cut himself a stick to serve as a staff, and started off after breakfast. I'll collect the five roubles that are due to me, thought he, add the three I've got, and that will be enough to buy sheepskins for the winter coat.

He came to the village and called at a peasant's hut, but the man was not at home. The peasant's wife promised that the money should be paid next week, but she would not pay it herself. Then Simon called on another peasant, but this one swore he had no money, and would only pay twenty copecks which he owed for a pair of boots Simon had meant to. "'Simon then tried to buy the sheepskins on credit, "'but the dealer would not trust him. "'Bring your money,' said he. "'Then you may have your pick of the skins.

"'We know what debt collecting is like.' "'So all the business the shoemaker did "'was to get the twenty copes for boots he'd mended, "'and to take a pair of felt boots a peasant gave him to soll with leather. Simon felt downhearted. He spent the 20 kopecks on vodka and started homewards without having bought any skins. In the morning he had felt the frost, but now, after drinking the vodka, he felt warm even without a sheepskin coat. He trudged along, striking his stick on the frozen earth with one hand, swinging the felt boots with the other. and talking to himself.

1. I'm quite warm, said he, though I have no sheepskin coat. I've had a drop, and it runs through all my veins. I need no sheepskins. I go along and don't worry about anything. That's the sort of man I am.

What do I care? I can live without sheepskins. I don't need them. My wife will feel. fret to be sure, and true enough, it is a shame. One works all day long, and then does not get paid. Stop a bit. If you don't bring that money along, sure enough I'll skin you, blessed if I don't. How's that? He pays twenty copecks at a time. What can I do with twenty copecks? Drink it. That's all one can do. Hard up, he says he is.

"'So he may be. But what about me? You have a house and cattle and everything. I've only what I stand up in. "'You have corn of your own growing. I have to buy every grain. Do what I will. I must spend three roubles every week for bread alone. I come home and find the bread all used up, and I have to fork out another ruble and a half. So just pay up what you owe and no nonsense about it. By this time he had nearly reached the shrine at the bend of the road.

Looking up, he saw something whitish behind the shrine. The daylight was fading, and the shoemaker appeared at the thing without being able to make out what it was. There was no white stone here before. Can it be an ox?

It's not like an ox. "'It has a head like a man, but it's too white. "'And what could a man be doing there?' "'He came closer, so that it was clearly visible. "'To his surprise, it really was a man, alive or dead, "'sitting naked, leaning motionless against the shrine. "'Terror seized the shoemaker, and he thought, "'Someone has killed him, stripped him, and left him there.

"'If I meddle, I shall. surely get into trouble. So the shoemaker went on. He passed in front of the shrine so that he could not see the man. When he had gone some way, he looked back and saw that the man was no longer leaning against the shrine, but was moving as if looking towards him. The shoemaker felt more frightened than before and thought, shall I go back to him? Or shall I go on? "'If I go near him, something dreadful may happen. "'Who knows who the fellow is? "'He's not come here for any good.

"'If I go near him, he may jump up and throttle me, "'and there will be no getting away. "'Or if not, he'd still be a burden on one's hands. "'What could I do with the naked man? "'I couldn't give him my last clothes. "'Heaven only helped me to get away.' "'So the shoemaker hurried on, leaving the shrine behind him, when suddenly his conscience smote him, and he stopped in the road.

"'What are you doing, Simon?' he said to himself. "'The man may be dying of want, and you slip past afraid. "'Have you grown so rich as to be afraid of robbers? "'Ah, Simon, shame on you!' So he turned back, and went up to. to the man. Two. Simon approached the stranger, looked at him, and saw that he was a young man, fit with no bruises on his body, only evidently freezing and frightened, and he sat there leaning back without looking up at Simon, as if too faint to lift his eyes. Simon went

close to him, and then the man seemed to wake up. Turning his head, he opened his eyes and looked into Simon's face. That one look was enough to make Simon fond of the man. He threw the felt boots on the ground, undid his sash, laid it on the boots, and took off his cloth coat. It's not a time for talking, said he. Come, put this coat on at once. And Simon took the man by the elbows and helped him. He him to rise. As he stood there, Simon saw that his body was clean, and in good condition, his hands and feet shapely, and his face good and kind. He threw his coat over the man's shoulders, but the latter could not find the sleeves. Simon guided his arms into them, and drawing the coat well on, wrapped it closely about him, tying the sash around the man's

waist. Simon even took off his torn cap to put it on the man's head, but then his own head felt cold, and he thought, I'm quite bald, while he has long curly hair. So he put his cap on his own head again. It will be better to give him something for his feet, thought he. And he made the man sit down, and helped him to put on the felt boots, saying, there, friend, now move about, and warm yourself. Other matters can be settled later. Can you walk? The man stood up and looked kindly at Simon, but could not say a word. Why don't you speak? said Simon. It's too cold to stay here. We must be getting home. There now. Take my stick. And if you're feeling weak, lean on that. Now step out. The man started walking and moved easily, not like.

behind. As they went along, Simon asked him, And where do you belong to? I'm not from these parts. I thought as much. I know the folks hereabouts. But how did you come to be there by the shrine? I cannot tell. Has someone been ill-treating you? No one has ill-treated me. God has punished me. Of course God rules all. "'Still, you'll have to find food and shelter somewhere. "'Where do you want to go to?' "'It is all the same to me.' "'Simon was amazed.

"'The man did not look like a rogue, "'and he spoke gently, "'but yet he gave no account of himself. "'Still, Simon, thought, "'Who knows what may have happened?' "'And he said to the stranger, "'Well, then, come home with me, "'and at least warm yourself a while.'

So Simon walked towards his home, and the stranger kept up with him, walking at his side. The wind had risen, and Simon felt it cold under his shirt. He was getting over his tipsiness by now, and began to feel the frost. He went along sniffling, and wrapping his wife's coat around him, and he thought to himself, There now, talk about sheepskins. I went out for sheepskins, and come home without even a coat to my back, and what is more, I'm bringing a naked man along with me. Matriona won't be pleased. And when he thought of his wife he felt sad, but when he looked at the

stranger and remembered how he had looked up at him at the shrine, his heart was glad. Three. Simon's wife had everything ready early that day. She had cut wood, brought water, fed the children, eaten her own meal, and now she sat thinking. She wondered when she ought to make bread, now or tomorrow. There was still a large piece left. If Simon has had some supper in town, thought she, and does not eat much for supper, the bread will last out another day. She weighed the piece of bread in her hand again and again,

and thought, I won't make any more today. We have only enough flour left to bake one batch. We can manage to make this last out till Friday. So Matriona put away the bread and sat down at the table to patch her husband's shirt. While she worked, she thought how her husband was buying skins for a winter coat. If only the dealer does not cheat him. My good man is much too simple.

He cheats nobody, but any child can take him in. Eight roubles is a lot of money. He should get a good coat at that price. Not tan skins, but still a proper winter coat. How difficult it was last winter to get on without a warm coat. I could neither get down to the river nor go out anywhere. When he went out, he put on all we had, and there was nothing left for me. He did not start. He did not start. He did not start. He did not. He did not start. He was. He did not. He was very early today, but still it's time he was back. I only hope he's not gone on the spree. Hardly had Matriona thought this, when steps were heard on the threshold, and someone entered. Matriona stuck her needle into her work and went out into the passage. There she saw two men, Simon, and with him a man without a hat, and wearing felt boots. Matriona noticed at once that her husband smelled to spirits. There now he's been drinking, thought she. And when she saw that he was coatless, had only her jacket on, brought no parcel, stood there

silent and seemed ashamed, her heart was ready to break with disappointment. He has drunk the money, thought she, and has been on the spree with some good-for-nothing-nothing-fell. whom he's brought home with him? Matriona let them pass into the hut, followed them in, and saw that the stranger was a young, slight man wearing her husband's coat. There was no shirt to be seen under it,

and he had no hat. Having entered, he stood, neither moving, nor raising his eyes, and Matriona thought, he must be a bad man, he's afraid. Matriona frowned and stood beside the oven looking to see what they would do. Simon took off his cap and sat down on the bench as if things were all right.

Come Matriona, if supper is ready, let us have some. Matriona muttered something to herself and did not move, but stayed where she was by the oven. She looked first at the one and then at the other of them and only shook her head. said. Simon saw that his wife was annoyed, but tried to pass it off. Pretending not to notice anything, he took the stranger by the arm. Sit down, friend, said he, and let us have some supper. The stranger sat down on the bench. "'Haven't you cooked anything for us?' said Simon. Matriona's anger boiled over.

"'I've cooked, but not for you. "'It seems to me you have drunk your wits away. "'You went to buy a sheepskin coat and come home without so much as the coat you had on, "'and bring a naked vagabond home with you. "'I have no supper for drunkards like you.' "'That's enough, Matriona. "'Don't wag your tongue without reason. "'You had better ask what sort of a man,

"'and you tell me what you've done with the money.' "'Simon found the pocket of the jacket, "'drew out the three-rouble note, and unfolded it. Here is the money. Trifonov did not pay, but promises to pay soon. Matriona got still more angry. He had bought no sheepskins, but had put his only coat on some naked fellow, and had even brought him to their house. She snatched up the note from the table, took it to put away in safety, and said, I have no supper for you. We can't feed all the naked drunkards in the world. There now, Matriona, hold your tongue a bit. First hear what a man has to say. Much wisdom I shall hear from a drunken fool. I was right in not wanting to marry you, a drunkard.

The linen my mother gave me, you drank, and now you've been to buy a coat and have drunk it too. Simon tried to explain to his wife that he'd only spent twenty copecks, tried to tell how he'd found the man. But Matriona would not let him get a word in. in. She talked nineteen to the dozen and dragged in things that had happened ten years before. Matriona talked and talked, and at last she flew at Simon and seized him by the sleeve. Give me my jacket. It is the only one I have, and you must needs take it from me and wear it yourself. Give it here, you mangy dog, and may the devil take you. Simon began to pull off the jacket and turned a sleeve of it inside out.

out. Matriona seized the jacket, and it burst, it seems. She snatched it up, threw it over her head, and went to the door. She meant to go out, but stopped undecided. She wanted to work off her anger, but she also wanted to learn what sort of a man the stranger was. Four. Matriona stopped and said, If he were a good man, he wouldn't be naked. he hasn't even a shirt on him. If he were all right, you would say where you came across the fellow. That is just what I'm trying to tell you, said Simon. As I came to the shrine, I saw him sitting all naked and frozen. It isn't quite the weather to sit about naked. God sent me to him, or he would have perished. What was I to do? How do we know what may have happened to him?

So I took him, clothed him, and brought him along. Don't be so angry, Matriona. It is a sin. Remember, we all must die one day. Angry words rose to Matriona's lips, but she looked at the stranger and was silent. He sat on the edge of the bench, motionless, his hands folded on his knees,

his head drooping on his breast, his eyes closed and his brows knit as if in pain. Matriona was silent and Simon said, Matriona, have you no love of God? Matriona heard these words and as she looked at the stranger, suddenly her heart softened towards him. She came back from the door and going to the oven she got out the supper. setting a cop on the table she poured out some kvass then she brought out the last piece of bread and set out a knife and spoons eat if you want to said she simon drew the stranger to the table take your place young man said he simon caught the bread crumbled it into the broth and they began to eat matriona sat at the corner of the table

table, resting her head on her hand and looking at the stranger. And Matriona was touched with pity for the stranger, and began to feel fond of him. And at once the stranger's face lit up, his brows were no longer bent. He raised his eyes and smiled at Matriona. When they had finished supper, the woman cleared away the things and began questioning the stranger. "'Where are you from?' said she. "'I'm not from these parts.' "'But how did you come to be on the road?' "'I may not tell.

"'Did someone rob you?' "'God punished me.' "'And you were lying there naked?' "'Yes, naked and freezing. "'Simon saw me and had pity on me. "'He took off his coat and put it on me and brought me here, "'and you have fed me, given me drink, and shown pity on me. God will reward you. Matriona rose, took from the window

Simon's old shirt she'd been patching, and gave it to the stranger. She also brought out a pair of trousers for him. There, said she, I see you have no shirt, put this on, and lie down where you please, in the loft or on the oven. The stranger took off the coat, put on, the shirt and lay down in the loft. Matriona put out the candle, took the coat and climbed to where her husband lay. Matriona drew the skirts of the coat over her and lay down, but could not sleep. She could not get the stranger out of her mind. When she remembered that he had eaten their last piece of bread and that there was none for tomorrow, and thought of the shirt and trousers she given away, she felt grieved. But when she remembered how he had smiled, her heart was glad.

Long did Matriona lie awake, and she noticed that Simon also was awake. He drew the coat towards him. Simon! Well, you've had the last of the bread, and I've not put any to rise. I don't know what we shall do tomorrow. Perhaps I can borrow some of neighbour Martha. If we're a alive we shall find something to eat. The woman lay still a while and then said, He seems a good man, but why does he not tell us who he is? I suppose he has his reasons. Simon, well, we give, but why does nobody give us anything? Simon did not know what to say, so he only said, let us stop talking, and turned over and went to sleep.

Five. In the morning, Simon awoke. The children were still asleep. His wife had gone to the neighbours to borrow some bread. The stranger alone was sitting on the bench, dressed in the old shirt and trousers, and looking upwards. His face was brighter than it had been the day before.

Simon said to him, Well, friend, the belly wants bread, and a naked body clothes. One has to work for a living. What work do you know? I do not know any. This surprise, Simon, but he said, men who want to learn can learn anything.

Men work, and I will work also. What is your name? Michael. Well, Michael, if you don't wish to talk about yourself, that is your own affair. But you'll have to earn a living. for yourself. If you will work as I tell you, I will give you food and shelter. May God reward you. I will learn. Show me what to do. Simon took yarn, put it around his thumb

and began to twist it. It's easy enough. See. Michael watched him, put some yarn round his own thumb in the same way, caught the knack and twisted the yarn also. Then Simon showed him. Then Simon showed him how to wax the thread. This also Michael mastered. Next Simon showed him how to twist the bristle in and how to sew, and this too Michael learned at once. Whatever Simon showed him, he understood at once, and after three days he worked as if he had sown boots all his life. He worked without stopping and ate little. When work was over, he sat silently, looking at looking upwards. He hardly went into the street, spoke only when necessary, and neither joked nor laughed. They never saw him smile, except that first evening when Matriona gave

them supper. Six. Day by day, and week by week, the year went round. Michael lived and worked with Simon. His fame spread till people said that no one sewed boots so neatly and strongly as Simon's workmen, Michael, and from all the district around people came to Simon for their boots, and he began to be well off. One winter day, as Simon and Michael sat working, a carriage on sledge runners, with three horses and with bells, drove up to the hut. They looked to out of the window. The carriage stopped at their door. A fine servant jumped down from the box and opened the door. A gentleman in a fur coat got out and walked up to Simon's hut. Up jumped Matriona and opened the door wide. The gentleman stooped to enter the hut, and when he drew himself up again,

his head nearly reached the ceiling, and he seemed quite to fill his end of the room. Simon rose, bowed, and looked at the gentleman with astonishment. He had never seen anyone like him. Simon himself was lean, Michael was thin, and Matriona was dry as a bone, but this man was like someone from another world, red-faced, burly, with a neck like a bulls, and looking altogether as if he were cast in iron. The gentleman puffed, threw off his fur coat, sat down on the bench and said,

Which of you is the master bootmaker? I am your excellency, said Simon coming forward. Then the gentleman shouted to his lad, Hey, Fedka, bring the leather. The servant ran in bringing a parcel. The gentleman took the parcel and put it on the table. Untie it, he said. The lad untied it.

The gentleman pointed to the leather. "'Look here, Shoemaker,' he said. "'Do you see this leather?' "'Yes, Your Honor.' "'But do you know what sort of leather it is?' Simon felt the leather and said, "'It is good leather.' "'Good indeed. Why, you fool, you never saw such leather before in your life.

"'It's German, and cost twenty roubles.' Simon was frightened and said, "'Where should I ever see leather like that?' "'Just so. Now, can you make it into boots for me? Yes, Your Excellency, I can. Then the gentleman shouted at him, You can, can you?

Well, remember whom you are to make them for, and what the leather is. You must make me boots that will wear for a year, neither losing shape nor coming unsewn. If you can do it, take the leather and cut it up. But if you can't say so. I warn you now, if your boots become unsewn, lose shape within a year, I will have you put in prison. If they don't burst or lose shape for a year, I will pay you ten roubles for your work. Simon was frightened and did not know what to say.

He glanced at Michael, and nudging him with his elbow, whispered, Shall I take the work? Michael nodded his head as if to say, yes, take it. Simon did as Michael advised, and undertook to make boots that would not lose shape or split for a whole year. Calling his servant, the gentleman told him to pull the boot off his left leg, which he stretched out. Take my measure, said he. Simon stitched a paper measure 17 inches long, smoothed it out, knelt down, wiped his hand well on his apron so as not to soil the gentleman's sock and began to measure.

He measured the sole and around the instep, and began to measure the calf of the leg. But the paper was too short. The calf of the leg was as thick as a beam. Mind you don't make it too tight in the leg. Simon stitched on another strip of paper. The gentleman twitched his toes about in his sock, looking around at those in the hut, and as he did so he noticed Michael.

"'Whom have you there?' asked he. "'That is my workman. He will sew the boots.' "'Mind,' said the gentleman to Michael, "'Remember to make them so that they will last me a year.' Simon also looked at Michael and saw that Michael was not looking at the gentleman, but was gazing into the corner behind the gentleman, as if he saw someone there. Michael looked and looked,

and suddenly he smiled, and his face became brighter. "'What are you grinning at, you fool?' "'Thundered the gentleman. "'You'd better look to it that the boots are ready in time.' "'They shall be ready in good time,' said Michael. "'Mind it so,' said the gentleman, "'and he put on his boots and his fur coat,

"'wrapped the latter round him, and went to the door. "'But he forgot to stoop, and struck his head against the lintel. He swore and rubbed his head. Then he took his seat in the carriage and drove away. When he had gone, Simon said, there's a figure of a man for you. You could not kill him with a mallet. He almost knocked out the lintel, but little harm it did him. And Matriona said, Living as he does, how should he not grow strong? Death itself cannot touch such a rock as that? Seven. Then Simon said to Michael, "'Well, we've taken the work, but we must see we don't get into trouble over it. The leather is

dear, and the gentleman, hot-tempered, we must make no mistakes. Come, your eye is truer, and your hands have become nimbleer than mine, so you take this measure and cut out the boots. I will finish off the sewing of the vamps.' Michael did as he was told. He took the leather, spread it out on the table, folded it in two, took a knife, and began to cut out. Matriona came and watched him cutting, and was surprised to see how he was doing it. Matriona was accustomed to seeing boots made, and she looked and saw that Michael was not cutting the leather for boots, but was cutting it round. She wished to say something, but she thought to herself, Perhaps I do not understand how gentleman's boots should be made. I suppose Michael knows more about it, and I won't interfere. When Michael had cut up the leather, he took a thread

and began to sew not with two ends as boots are sewn, but with a single end as for soft slippers. Again, Matriona wondered, But again she did not interfere. Michael sewed on steadily till noon. Then Simon rose for dinner, looked around, and saw that Michael had made slippers out of the gentleman's leather. Ah, groaned Simon, and he thought,

How is it that Michael, who's been with me a whole year and never made a mistake before, should do such a dreadful thing? The gentleman ordered high boots, welted, with whole fronts, and Michael has made soft slippers with single souls, and has wasted the leather. What am I to say to the gentleman? I can never replace leather such as this. And he said to Michael, What are you doing, friend? You have ruined me. You know the gentleman ordered high boots, but see what you've made. Hardly had he begun to rebuke Michael when,

Rat-tat, went the iron ring that hung at the door. someone was knocking. They looked out of the window. A man had come on horseback and was fastening his horse. He opened the door, and the servant, who'd been with the gentleman, came in. Good day, said he.

Good day, replied Simon. What can we do for you? My mistress has sent me about the boots. What about the boots? Why, my master no longer. needs them. He's dead. Is it possible? He did not live to get home after leaving you, but died in the carriage. When we reached home and the servants came to help him alight, he rolled over like a sack. He was dead already, and so stiff that he could hardly be got out of the carriage. My mistress

sent me here, saying, tell the bootmaker that the gentleman who ordered boots of him and left the Leather for them no longer needs the boots, but that he must quickly make soft slippers for the corpse. Wait till they're ready and bring them back with you. That is why I've come. Michael gathered up the remnants of the leather, rolled them up, took the soft slippers he had made, slapped them together, wiped them down with his apron, and handed them and the roll of leather to the servant, who took them and said, "'Good-bye, Masters, and good day to you.

"'Eight. "'Another year passed, and another, "'and Michael was now living his sixth year with Simon. "'He lived as before. "'He went nowhere, only spoke when necessary, "'and had only smiled twice in all those years, "'once when Matriona gave him food, "'and a second time when the gentleman was in their hut.

Simon was more than pleased with his workmen. He never now asked him where he'd come from, and only feared lest Michael should go away. They were all at home one day. Matriona was putting iron pots in the oven. The children were running along the benches and looking out of the window. Simon was sewing at one window, and Michael was fastening on a heel at the other. One of the boys ran along the bench to Michael, lent on his shoulder, and looked out of the window. Look, Uncle Michael, there is a lady with little girls. She seems to be coming here, and one of the girls is lame.

When the boy said that, Michael dropped his work, turned to the window, and looked out into the street. Simon was surprised. Michael never used to look out into the street, but now he pressed against the window, staring at something. Simon also looked out and saw that a well-dressed woman was really coming to his hut, leading by the hand two little girls in fur coats and woolen shawls. The girls could hardly be told one from the other, except that one of them was crippled in her left leg and walked with a limp. The woman stepped into the porch and entered the passage.

Feeling about for the entrance, she found the latch, which she lifted, and opened the door. She let the two girls go in first and followed them into the hut. Good day, good folk. Pray come in, said Simon. What can we do for you? The woman sat down by the table.

The two little girls pressed close to her knees, afraid of the people in the hut. I want leather shoes made for these two little girls for spring. We can do that. We never have made such small. shoes, but we can make them, either welted or turnover shoes. Linen lined. My man, Michael, is a master at the work. Simon glanced at Michael and saw that he had left his work and was sitting with his eyes fixed on the little girls. Simon was surprised. It was true the girls were

pretty, with black eyes, plump and rosy-cheeked, and they wore nice kerchiefs and fur coats. But Still, Simon could not understand why Michael should look at them like that, just as if he had known them before. He was puzzled, but went on talking with the woman and arranging the price. Having fixed it, he prepared the measure. The woman lifted the lame girl onto her lap and said, Take two measures from this little girl. Make one shoe for the lame foot, and three for the sound one. They both have the same size feet.

They're twins. Simon took the measure, and, speaking of the lame girl, said, How did it happen to her? She's such a pretty girl. Was she born so? No. Her mother crushed her leg. Then Matriona joined in.

She wondered who this woman was, and whose the children were. So she said, Are you not their mother, then? No, my good woman, I am neither their mother nor any relation to them. They were quite. strangers to me, but I adopted them. They are not your children, and yet you are so fond of them. How can I help being fond of them? I fed them both at my own breasts. I had a child of my own, but God took him. I was not so fond of him as I now am of them. Then whose children are they?

Nine. The woman, having begun talking, told them the whole story. It is about six years since their parents died, both in one week. Their father was buried on the Tuesday, and their mother died on the Friday. These orphans were born three days after their father's death, and their mother did not live another day. My husband and I were then living as peasants in the village. We were neighbours of theirs, our yard being next to theirs. their father was a lonely man, a woodcutter in the forest.

When felling trees one day, they let one fall on him. It fell across his body and crushed his bowels out. They hardly got him home before his soul went to God. And that same week his wife gave birth to twins, these little girls. She was poor and alone. She had no one, young or old, with her. Alone she gave them birth, and alone she met her death. The next morning I went to see her, but when I entered the hut, she, poor thing, was already stark and cold.

In dying she had rolled on to this child and crushed her leg. The village folk came to the hut, washed the body, laid her out, made a coffin and buried her. They were good folk. The babies were left alone. What was to be done with them? I was the only woman there who had a baby at the time. I was nursing my firstborn, eight weeks old, so I took them for a time.

The peasants came together and thought and thought what to do with them, and at last they said to me, For the present, Mary, you had better keep the girls, and later on we will arrange what to do for them. So I nursed the sound one at the sound one my breast, but at first I did not feed this crippled one. I did not suppose she would live. But then I thought to myself, why should the poor innocence suffer? I pitied her, and began to feed her. And so I fed my own boy and these two, the three of them, at my own breast.

I was young and strong and had good food, and God gave me so much milk that at times it even overflowed. I used sometimes to feed two at a time while the third was waiting. When one had enough, I nursed the third, and God so ordered it that these grew up, while my own was buried before he was two years old. And I had no more children, though we prospered. Now my husband is working for the corn merchant at the mill. The pay is good, and we are well off.

But I have no children of my own, and how lonely I should be without these little girls. How can I help loving them? They are the joy of my life. She pressed the lame little girl to her with one hand, while with the other she wiped the tears from her cheeks. And Matriona sighed and said, The proverb is true that says,

One may live without father or mother, but one cannot live without God. So they taught together, when suddenly the whole hut was lighted up as though by summer lightning from the corner where Michael sat. They all looked towards him and saw him sitting, his hands folded on his knees, gazing up and smiling. Ten. The woman went away with the girls.

Michael rose from the bench, put down his work and took off his apron. Then, bowing low to Simon and his wife, he said, Farewell, masters, God has forgiven me. I ask your forgiveness too for anything done amiss. And they saw the delight shone from Michael. And Simon rose, bowed down to Michael and said, I see, Michael, that you are no common man, and I can neither keep you nor question.

you. Only tell me this. How is it that when I found you and brought you home, you were gloomy? And when my wife gave you food, you smiled at her and became brighter. Then when the gentleman came to order the boots, you smiled again and became brighter still. And now, when this woman brought the little girls, you smiled a third time and have become as bright as day. Tell me, Michael, why does your face shine so and why did you smile those three times and michael answered light shines from me because i have been punished but now god has pardoned me and i smiled three times because god sent me to learn three truths and i have learnt them one i learnt when your wife pitied me and that is why i smiled the first time. The second I learnt when the rich man ordered the boots, and then I smiled again. And now, when I saw those little girls, I learned the third and last truth, and I smiled the third time.

And Simon said, Tell me, Michael, what did God punish you for? And what were the three truths, that I too may know them. And Michael answered, God punished me for disobeying him. I was an angel in heaven, and disobeyed God. God sent me to fetch a woman's soul. I flew to earth and saw a sick woman lying alone, who had just given birth to twin girls.

They moved feebly at their mother's side, but she could not lift them to her breast. When she saw me, she understood that God had sent me for her soul, and she wept and said, Angel of God, my husband has just been buried, killed by a fallen tree. I have neither sister nor aunt nor mother, no one to care for my orphans. Do not take my soul, let me nurse my babes, feed them,

and set them on their feet before I die. children cannot live without father or mother and i hearkened to her i placed one child at her breast and gave the other into her arms and i returned to the lord in heaven i flew to the lord and said i could not take the soul of the mother her husband was killed by a tree the woman has twins and praise that her soul may not be taken she says let me nurse and feed my children and set them on the their feet. Children cannot live without father or mother. I have not taken her soul. And God said, Go, take the woman's soul and learn three truths. Learn what dwells in man, what is not given to man, and what men live by. When thou hast learnt these things, thou shalt return to heaven. So I flew again to earth and took the mother's soul. The babes dropped from her breasts. Her body rolled over on the bed and crushed one babe, twisting its leg. I rose above the village, wishing to take her soul to God,

but a wind seized me, and my wings drooped and dropped off. Her soul rose alone to God, while I fell to earth by the roadside. 11. And Simon and Matriona understood who it was that had lived with them, and whom they had clothed and fed. And they wept with awe and with joy. And the angel said, I was alone in the field, naked.

I had never known human needs, cold and hunger, till I became a man. I was famished, frozen, and did not know what to do. I saw, near the field I was in, a shrine built for God, and I went to it hoping to find shelter, but the shrine was locked and I could not enter. So I sat down behind the shrine to shelter myself at least from the wind. Evening drew on.

I was hungry, frozen and in pain. Suddenly I heard a man coming along the road. He carried a pair of boots and was talking to himself. For the first time since I became a man, I saw the mortal face of a man, and his face seemed terrible to me, and I turned from it. And I heard the man talking to himself of how to cover his body from the cold in winter

and how to feed wife and children, and I thought, I am perishing of cold and hunger, and here is a man thinking only of how to clothe himself and his wife and how to get bread for themselves. He cannot help me. When the man saw me, he frowned and became still more terrible and passed me by on the other side. I despaired, but suddenly I heard him coming back.

I looked up and did not recognize the same man, before I had seen death in his face, but now he was alive, and I recognized in him the presence of God. He came up to me, clothed me, took me with him, and brought me to his home. I entered the house. A woman came to meet us and began to speak. The woman was still more terrible than the man had been. The spirit of death came from her mouth. I could not breathe for the stench of death that spread around her. She wished to drive me out into the cold, and I knew that if she did so, she would die. Suddenly, her husband spoke to her of God, and the woman changed at once. And when she brought me food, and looked at me, I glanced at her and saw that

death no longer dwelt in her. She had become alive, and in her too I saw God. Then I remembered the first lesson God had set me, learn what dwells in man, and I understood that in man dwells love. I was glad that God had already begun to show me what he had promised, and I smiled for the first time. But I had not yet learnt all. I did not yet know what is not given to man and what men live by. I lived with you, and a year passed. A man came to order boots that should wear for a year without losing shape or cracking. I looked at him, and suddenly behind his shoulder I saw my comrade, the angel of death. None but me saw that angel, but I knew him, and knew that before the sun set he would take that rich man's soul. And I thought to myself, the man is making preparations for a year, and does not know that he will die before evening.

And I remembered God's second saying, Learn what is not given to man. What dwells in man, I already knew. Now I learnt what is not given him. It is not given to man to know his own needs. And I smiled for the second time. I was glad to have seen my comrade angel, glad also that God had revealed to me the second saying.

But I still did not know all. I did not know what men live by. And I lived on, waiting till God should reveal to me the last lesson. In the sixth year came the girl twins with the woman, and I recognized the girls, and heard how they had been kept alive. Having heard the story, I thought, their mother besought me for the children's sake, and I believed her when she said that children cannot live without father or mother, but a stranger has nursed them and has brought them up. And when the woman showed her love for the children that were not her own, and wept over them. I saw in her the living God, and understood what men live by,

and I knew that God had revealed to me the last lesson, and had forgiven my sin. And then I smiled for the third time. Twelve, and the angel's body was bared, and he was clothed in light so that one could not look on him, and his voice grew louder, as though it came not from him, but from heaven above. And the angel said, I have learnt that all men live not by care for themselves, but by love. It was not given to the mother to know what her children needed for their life, nor was it given to the rich man to know what he himself needed, nor is it given to any man to any man to to know whether when evening comes he will need boots for his body or slippers for his corpse. I remained alive when I was a man, not by care of myself, but because love was present in a passerby,

and because he and his wife pitied and loved me. The orphans remained alive not because of their mother's care, but because there was love in the heart of a woman, a stranger to them. who pitied and loved them. And all men live not by the thought they spend on their own welfare, but because love exists in man. I knew before that God gave life to men and desires that they should live. Now I understood more than that. I understood that God does not wish men to live apart,

and therefore he does not reveal to them what each one needs for himself. but he wishes them to live united and therefore reveals to each of them what is necessary for all. I have now understood that though it seems to men that they live by care for themselves, in truth it is love alone by which they live. He who has love is in God and God is in Him for God is love. And the angel sang praise to God, so that the hut trembled at his voice. The roof opened, and a column of fire rose from earth to heaven. Simon and his wife and children fell to the ground.

Wings appeared upon the angel's shoulders, and he rose into the heavens. And when Simon came to himself, the hut stood as before, And there was no one in it but his own family. End of What Men Live By. This is a Librivox recording. All Librivox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Librivox.org. Three Questions by Leo Tolstoy from the collection What Men Live By and Other Tales.

and A. Maud. It once occurred to a certain king that if he always knew the right time to begin everything, if he knew who were the right people to listen to, and whom to avoid, and above all, if he always knew what was the most important thing to do, he would never fail in anything he might undertake. And this thought having occurred to him, he had it proclaimed throughout his kingdom that he would give a great reward to anyone who would teach him what was the right time for every action, and who were the most necessary people, and how he might know what was the most important thing to do. And learned men came to the king, but they all answered his questions differently. In reply to the first question, some said that to know the right time for every action,

one must draw up in advance a table of days, months and years, and must live strictly according to it. Only thus, said they, could everything be done at its proper time? Others declared that it was impossible to decide beforehand the right time for every action, but that, not letting oneself be absorbed in idle pastimes, one should always attend to all that was going on, and then do what was most needful. Others again said that, however attentive the king might be to what was going on, it was impossible for one man to decide correctly the right time for every action, but that he should have a council of wise men, who would help him to fix the proper time for everything. But then again others said that there were some things which could not wait to be laid before a council,

but about which one had at once to decide whether or not. to undertake them or not. But in order to decide that, one must know beforehand what was going to happen. It is only magicians who know that, and therefore, in order to know the right time for every action, one must consult magicians. Equally various were the answers to the second question. Some said the people the king most needed were his counsellors, others the priests, Others the doctors, while some said the warriors were the most necessary. To the third question as to what was the most important occupation, some replied that the most important thing in the world was science.

Others said it was skill in warfare, and others again that it was religious worship. All the answers being different, the king agreed with none of them, and gave the reward to none. But still wishing to find the right answers to his questions, he decided to consult a hermit, widely renowned for his wisdom. The hermit lived in a wood which he never quitted, and he received none but common folk.

So the king put on simple clothes, and before reaching the hermit's cell, dismounted from his horse, and leaving his bodyguard behind, went on alone. When the king approached, the hermit was digging the ground in front of his hut. Seeing the king, he greeted him and went on digging. The hermit was frail and weak, and each time he stuck his spade into the ground and turned

to little earth, he breathed heavily. The king went up to him and said, I have come to you, wise hermit, to ask you to answer three questions. How can I learn to do the right thing at the right time? Who are the people I most need, and to whom should I therefore pay more attention than to the rest, and what affairs are the most important and need my first attention? The hermit listened to the king, but answered nothing.

He just spat on his hands and recommends digging. You're tired, said the king. let me take the spade and work a while for you. Thanks, said the hermit, and giving the spade to the king he sat down on the ground. When he had dug two beds, the king stopped and repeated his questions. The hermit again gave no answer, but rose stretched out his hand for the spade and said,

Now rest a while, and let me work for a bit. But the king did not give him the spade, and continued to dig. One hour passed and another. The sun began to sink behind the trees, and the king at last stuck the spade into the ground and said, I came to you, wise man, for an answer to my questions. If you can give me none, tell me so, and I'll return home. Here comes someone running, said the hermit. Let us see who it is. The king turned round and saw a bearded man, come running out of the wood. The man held his hands pressed against his stomach and blood was

flowing from under them. When he reached the king he fell fainting on the ground, moaning feebly. The king and the hermit unfastened the man's clothing. There was a large wound in his stomach. The king washed it as best as he could and bandaged it with his handkerchief and with a towel the hermit had. But the blood would not stop flowing, and the king again and again removed the bandage, soaked with warm blood, and washed and re-bandaged the wound. When at last the blood ceased flowing, the man revived and asked for something to drink. The king brought fresh water and gave it to him. Meanwhile, the sun had set, and it had become cool. So the king, with the hermit's help, carried the wounded man into the hut and laid him on the bed.

Lying on the bed the man closed his eyes and was quiet, but the king was so tired with his walk and with the work that he'd done that he crouched down on the threshold and also fell asleep, so soundly that he slept all through the short summer night. When he awoke in the morning, it was long before he could remember where he was, or who was the strange bearded man lying on the bed and gazing intently at him with shining eyes. Forgive me, said the bearded man in a weak voice, when he saw that the king was awake and was looking at him.

I do not know you and have nothing to forgive you for, said the king. You do not know me, but I know you. I am that enemy of yours who swore to revenge himself. on you because you executed his brother and seized his property. I knew you had gone alone to see the hermit, and I resolved to kill you on your way back. But the day passed, and you didn't return. So I came out from my ambush to find you, and I came upon your bodyguard, and they recognized me and wounded me. I escaped from them, but should have bled to death had you not dressed my wound. I wished to kill you, and you have saved my life.

Now, if I live, and if you wish it, I will serve you as your most faithful slave, and will bid my sons to do the same. Forgive me. The king was very glad to have made peace with his enemy so easily, and to have gained him for a friend, and he not only forgave him, but said he would send his servants and his own physician to attend him, and promised to restore his property. Having taken leave of the wounded man,

the king went out into the porch and looked round for the hermit. Before going away, he wished once more to beg an answer to the questions he'd put. The hermit was outside, on his knees, sowing seeds in the beds that had been dug the day before. The king approached him and said, For the last time I pray you to answer my questions, wise man, "'You have already been answered,' said the hermit, still crouching on his thin legs, and looking up at the king who stood before him.

"'How answered? What do you mean?' said the king. "'Do you not see?' replied the hermit. "'If you had not pitted my weakness yesterday, and had not dug those beds for me, but had gone your way, that man would have attacked you, and you would have repented of not having stayed with me. So the most important time was when you were digging the beds, and I was the most important man, and to do me good was your most important business.

Afterwards when that man ran to us, the most important time was when you were attending to him, for if you had not bound up his wounds, he would have died without having made peace with you. So he was the most important man, and what you did for him was your most important business. Remember then, there is only one time that is important. Now. It is the most important time because it is the only time when we have any power. The most necessary man is he with whom you are, for no man knows whether he will ever have dealings with anyone else. and the most important affair is to do him good because for that purpose alone was man sent into this life end of three questions by leo

the coffee-house of serrat chapter three of leo tolstoy's what men live by and other stories after bernadine de san pierre Davis Drake. In the town of Surat in India was a coffee house where many travelers and foreigners from all parts of the world met and conversed. One day, a learned Persian theologian visited this coffee house. He was a man who had spent his life studying the nature of the deity and reading and writing books upon the subject. He had thought, read, and written so much about God that eventually he lost his wits, became quite confused, and ceased even to believe in the existence of God. The Shah, hearing of this, had banished him from Persia. After having argued all of his life about the first cause, this unfortunate theologian had ended by quite perplexing himself,

and instead of understanding that he had lost his own reason, he began to think that there was no higher reason controlling the universe. This man had an African slave who followed him everywhere. When the theologian entered the coffee-house, the slave remained outside near the door, sitting on a stone in the glare of the sun, driving away the flies that buzzed about him. The Persian, having settled down on a divan in the coffee-house, ordered himself a cup of opium. When he had drunk it, and the opium had begun to quicken the workings of his brain, he addressed his slave through the open door. Tell me, wretched slave, he said.

Do you think there is a god or not? Of course there is, said the slave, and immediately drew from under his girdle a small idol of wood. There, he said, that is the God who had guarded me from the day of my birth. Everyone in my country worships the fetish tree, from the wood of which this God was made. This conversation between the theologian and his slave was listened to with surprise by the other guests in the coffee-house.

They were astonished at the master's question and yet more so at the slave's reply. One of them, a Brahman, on hearing the words spoken by the slave, turned to him and said, "'Misurable fool. Is it possible you believe that God can be carried under a man's girdle? There is one God, Brahma, and he is greater than the whole world, for he created it. Brahma is the one, the mighty God, and in his honor are built the temples on the Ganges River,

where his true priests the Brahmins worship him. They know the true God, and none but they. A thousand score of years have passed, and yet through revolution after revolution, these priests have held their sway, because Brahma, the one true God, has protected them. So spoke the Brahman, thinking to convince everyone. But a Jewish broker who was present replied to him and said, No, the temple of the true God is not in India. Neither does God protect the Brahman caste.

The true God is not the God of the Brahmins, but of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. None does he protect but his chosen people, the Israelites. From the commencement of the world, our nation has been beloved of him, and ours alone. If we are now scattered over the whole earth, it is but to try us, for God has promised that he will one day gather his people together in Jerusalem. Then, with the Temple of Jerusalem, the wonder of the ancient world, restored to its splendor, shall Israel be established a ruler over all nations. So spoke the Jew, and burst into tears.

He wished to say more, but an Italian missionary who was there interrupted him. What you are saying is untrue, he said to the Jew. You attribute injustice to God. He cannot love your nation above the rest. Nay, rather, even if it be true that of old he favored the Israelites, it is now 1900 years since they angered him and caused him to destroy their nation and scatter them over the earth, so that their faith makes no converts and has died out. except here and there. God shows preference to no nation, but calls all who wish to be saved to the bosom of the Catholic Church of Rome, the one outside whose borders no salvation can be found. So spoke the Italian. But a Protestant minister, who happened to be present, growing pale,

turned to the Catholic missionary and exclaimed, How can you say that salvation belongs to your religion? Those only will be saved who serve God according to the gospel, in spirit and in truth, as bidden by the word of Christ. Then a Turk, an office holder in the custom house at Surratt, who was sitting in the coffee-house smoking a pipe, turned with an air of superiority to both Christians. Your belief in your Roman religion,

in his vein, he said. It was superseded twelve hundred years ago by the true faith, that of Mohammed. You cannot but observe how the true Muhammad faith continues to spread both in Europe and Asia and even in the enlightened country of China. You say yourselves that God has rejected the Jews and, as proof, you quote the fact that the Jews were humiliated and their faith does not spread. Confess then the truth of Mohammedanism, for it is triumphant and spreads far and wide. None will be saved but the followers of Muhammad, God's latest prophet, and of them only the followers of Omar, and not of Ali, for the latter are false to the faith. To this, the Persian theologian, who was of the sect of Ali, wished to reply,

but by this time a great dispute had arisen among all the strangers of different faiths and creeds present. There were Abyssinian Christians, lamas from Tibet, Ismailians, and fire-worshippers. They all argued about the nature of God and how he should be worshipped. Each of them asserted that in his country alone was the true God known and rightly worshipped. Everyone argued and shouted, except a Chinaman, a student of Confucius, who sat quietly in one corner of the coffee-house, not joining in the dispute. He sat there drinking tea and listening to what the others said, but did not speak himself. The Turk noticed him sitting there and appealed to him, saying,

You can confirm what I say, my good Chinaman. You hold your peace, but if you spoke, I know you would uphold my opinion. Traders from your country, who come to me for assistance, tell me that, though many religions have been introduced into China, you Chinese consider Mohammedanism the best of all, and adopt it willingly. "'Confirm then my words, and tell us your opinion of the true God and of his prophet.' "'Yes, yes,' said the rest, turning to the Chinaman.

"'Let us hear what you think of the subject.' The Chinaman, the student of Confucius, closed his eyes and thought a while. Then he opened them again, and drawing his hands out of the wide sleeves of his garment and folding them on his breast, he spoke as follows. in a calm, quiet voice. Sirs, it seems to me that it is chiefly pride that prevents men agreeing with one another on matters of faith. If you care to listen to me, I will tell you a story which explains this by example. I came here from China on an English steamer, which had been round the world.

We stopped for fresh water and landed on the east coast. of the island of Sumatra. It was midday, and some of us, having landed, sat in the shade of some coconut palms by the seashore, not far from a native village. We were a party of men of different nationalities. As we sat there, a blind man approached us. We learned afterwards that he had gone blind from gazing too long and too persistently at the sun, trying to find out what it is, in order to seize its light. He strove a long time to accomplish this, constantly looking at the sun, but the only result was that his eyes were injured by its brightness, and he became blind. Then he said to himself, the light of the sun is not a liquid, for if it were a liquid it would be

possible to pour it from one vessel to another, and it would be moved like water by the wind. Neither is it fire, for if it were fire, water would extinguish it. Neither is light a spirit, for it is seen by the eye, nor is it matter, for it cannot be moved. Therefore, as the light of the sun is neither liquid, nor fire, nor spirit, nor matter, it is nothing. So he argued, and as a result of always looking at the sun and always thinking about it, he lost both his sight and his reason. And when he went quite blind, he became fully convinced that the sun did not exist.

With this blind man came a slave, who after placing his master in the shade of a coconut tree, picked up a coconut from the ground and began making it into a nightlight. He twisted a wick from the fiber of the coconut, squeezed oil from the nut in the shell, and soaked the wick in it. As the slave sat doing this, the blind man sighed and said to him, "'Well, slave, was I not right when I told you there was no sun?

Do you not see how dark it is? Yet people say there is a sun. but if so, what is it? I do not know what the sun is, said the slave. That is no business of mine. But I know what light is. Here I have made a nightlight, by the help of which I shall serve you

and find anything I want in the hut. And the slave picked up the coconut shell, saying, this is my son. A lame man with crutches, who was sitting nearby heard the words and laughed. You have evidently been blind all your life, he said to the blind man, not to know what the sun is.

I will tell you what it is. The sun is a ball of fire, which rises every morning, out of the sea, and goes down again among the mountains of our island each evening. We have all seen this, and if you had had your eyesight, you too would have seen it. A fisherman, who had been listening to the conversation, said,

It is plain enough that you have never been beyond your own island. If you were not lame, and if you had been out as I have in a fishing boat, you would know that the sun does not set among the mountains of our island, but it rises from the ocean every morning, so it sets again in the sea every night. What I am telling you is true, for I see it every day with my own eyes. Then an Indian, who was of our party, interrupted him by saying, I am astonished that a reasonable man should talk such nonsense.

How can a ball of fire possibly descend into the water and not be extinguished? The sun is not a ball of fire at all. It is the deity named Deva, who rides forever in a chariot round the golden mountain Meru. Sometimes the evil serpents Raghu and Ketu attack Deva and swallow him, and then the earth is dark. But our priests pray that the deity may be released, and then he is set free. Only such ignorant men as you, who have never. never been beyond their own island, can imagine that the sun shines for their country alone. Then the master of an Egyptian vessel, who was present, spoke in his turn.

No, he said, you also are wrong. The sun is not a deity and does not move only around India and its golden mountain. I have sailed much on the Black Sea and along the coasts of Arabia, and have been to Madagascar and the Philippines. The sun lights the whole earth and not India alone. It does not circle round one mountain, but rises far in the east, beyond the aisles of Japan, and sets far, far away in the west, beyond the islands of England. That is why the Japanese call their country Nipon, that is, the birth of the sun. I know this well, for I have a lot.

myself seen much and heard more from my grandfather who sailed to the very ends of the sea he would have gone on but an english sailor from our ship interrupted him there is no country he said where people know so much about the sun's movements as in england the sun as everyone in england knows rises nowhere and sets nowhere it is always moving round the earth earth. We can be sure of this, for we have just been round the world ourselves, and nowhere knocked up against the sun. Wherever we went, the sun showed itself in the morning, and hit itself at night, just as it does here. And the Englishman took a stick, and drawing circles in the sand, tried to explain how the sun moves in the heavens, and goes round the world. But he was unable to explain it clearly, and pointing to the ship's pilot said,

This man knows more about it than I do. He can explain it properly. The pilot, who was an intelligent man, had listened in silence to the talk till he was asked to speak. Now everyone turned to him, and he said, You are all misleading one another, and you yourselves are deceived.

The sun does not go round the earth, but the earth goes round the sun, revolving as it goes and turning towards the sun in the course of each 24 hours. Not only Japan and the Philippines and Sumatra, where we now are, but Africa and Europe and America and many lands besides. The sun does not shine for some one mountain or for some one island or for some one sea, not even for one earth alone, but for other planets as well as our Earth. if you could only look up at the heavens instead of at the ground beneath your own feet you might all understand this and would then no longer suppose that the sun shines for you or for your country alone

thus spoke the wise pilot who had voyaged much of the world and had gazed much upon the heavens above so on matters of faith continued the chinaman the student of Confucius, it is pride that causes error and discord among men. As with the sun, so it is with God. Each man wants to have a special God of his own, or at least a special God for his native land. Each nation wishes to confine in his own temples, him whom the world cannot contain. Can any temple compare with that which God himself

has built to unite all men in one faith and one religion. All human temples are built in the model of this temple, which is God's own world. Every temple has its fronts, its vaulted roof, its lamps, its pictures or sculptures, its inscriptions, its books of law, its offerings, its altars, and its priests. But in what temple is there such a font as the ocean, such a vault as that of the heavens, such lamps as the sun, moon, the stars, or any figures to be compared with living, loving, mutually helpful men?

Where are there any records of God's goodness so easy to understand as the blessings which God has strewn abroad for man's happiness? Where is there any book of the law so clear to each man as that written in his heart? What sacrifice is equal to the self-denials which loving men and women make for one another? And what altar can be compared with the heart of a good man, on which God himself accepts the sacrifice? The higher a man's conception of God, the better will he know him. And the better he knows God, the new God,

nearer will he draw to him, imitating his goodness, his mercy, and his love of man. Therefore, let him who sees the sun's whole light filling the world refrain from blaming or despising the superstitious man, who in his own idol sees one ray of that same light. Let him not despise even the unbeliever, who is blind, and cannot see him, see the sun at all. So spoke the Chinaman, the student of Confucius, and all who were present at the coffee-house were silent and disputed no more as to whose faith was the best. End of the Coffee House of Surat by Leo Tolstoy, from what men live by in other stories. This is a Libravox recording. All Libravox recordings are in the public

domain. For more information and to find out how you can volunteer, please visit Libravox.org. How much land does a man need? By Leo Tolstoy. Read for Libravox.org by Alan Davis-Strake of Long Branch, New Jersey. One. An elder's sister came to visit her younger sister in the country. The elder was married to a tradesman in town, the younger to a

peasant in the village. As the sister sat over their tea talking, the elder began to boast of the advantages of town life, saying how comfortable they live there, how well they dressed, what fine clothes their children wore, what good things they ate and drank, and how she went to the theatre, promenades, and entertainments. The younger sister was piqued, and in turn disparaged the life of a tradesman, and stood up for that of a peasant. I would not have to beckyced. I would not change my way of life for yours, she said. We may live roughly, but at least we are free from anxiety. You live in better style than we do. But though you often earn more than you need, you are very likely to lose all you have. You know the proverb, loss and gain are brothers twain.

It often happens that people who are wealthy one day are begging their bread the next. Our way is safer. Though a peasant's life is not a fat one, it is a long one. We shall never grow rich, but we shall always have enough to eat. The elder's sister said sneeringly, Enough? Yes, if you like to share with the pigs and the calves, what do you know of elegance or manners? However much your good man may slave, you will die as you are living. on a dung-heap and your children the same well what of that replied the younger of course our work is rough and coarse but on the other hand it is sure and we need not bow to any one but you in your towns are surrounded by temptations to-day all may be right but to-morrow the evil one may tempt your husband with cards wine or women and all will go to ruin. Don't such things happen often enough?

Payham, the master of the house, was lying on the top of the stove, and he listened to the women's chatter. It is perfectly true, he thought. Busy as we are from childhood tilling Mother Earth, we peasants have no time to let any nonsense settle in our heads. Our only trouble is that we haven't land enough. If I have plenty of land, I shouldn't fear the devil himself. The women finished their tea, chatted a while about dress, and then cleared away the tea things and laid down to sleep. But the devil had been sitting behind the oven, and had heard all that was said. He was pleased that the peasant's wife had led their husband

into boasting, and that he had said that if he had plenty of land, he would not fear the devil himself. All right, thought the devil. We will have a tussle. I'll give you land enough, and by means of that land I will get you into my power. Two, close to the village there lived a lady, a small landowner, who had in a state of about 300 acres. She had always lived on good terms with the peasants, until she engaged as her steward, an old soldier, who took to the burdening of the people with fines. However careful Pehom tried to be, it happened again and again, had now a horse of his got the lady's oats, now a cow straight into her garden, now his calves found their way into her meadows, and he always had to pay a fine. Pehom paid but grumbled.

and going home in a temper was rough on his family. All through that summer, Paham had much trouble because of this steward, and he wasn't even glad when winter came and the cattle had to be stable. Though he grudged the fodder when they could no longer graze on the pasture land, at least he was free from anxiety about them. In the winter the news got about that the lady was going to sell her land, and that the keeper of the inn on the high road was bargain. for it. When the peasants heard this, they were very much alarmed.

Well, they thought, if the innkeeper gets the land, he will worry us with fines worse than the Lady Stuart. We all depend on that estate. So the peasants went on behalf of their commune, and asked the lady not to sell the land to the innkeeper, offering her a better price for it themselves. The lady agreed to let them have it. Then the peasants tried to arrange for the commune to buy the whole estate, so that it might be held by all in common. They met twice to discuss it, but could not settle on the matter. The evil one sowed discord among them, and they could not agree. So they decided to buy the land individually, each according to his means,

and the lady agreed to this plan as she had to the other. presently Pehom heard that a neighbor of his was buying 50 acres and that the lady had considered to accept one half in cash and to wait a year for the other half. Payham felt envious. Look at that, he thought. The land is all being sold, and I shall get none of it. So he spoke to his wife. Other people are buying, said he. And we must also buy twenty acres or so.

Life is becoming impossible. That steward is simply crushing us with his fines. So they put their heads together and considered how they could manage to buy it. They had 100 ruples laid by. They sold a colt and won half of their bees, hired out one of their sons as a laborer, and took his wages in advance, borrowed the rest from a brother-in-law, and so scraped together half the purchase price. Having done this, Payham chose out a farm of 40 acres, some of it wooded, and went to the lady to bargain for it. They came to an agreement, and he shook hands with her upon it, and paid her a deposit in advance. Then they went to town and signed the deeds, he paying half the price down, and undertaking to pay the remainder within two years. So now Pehom had land of his own. He borrowed seed, and so did on the land he had

bought. The harvest was a good one, and within a year he had managed to pay off his debts, both to the lady and to his brother-in-law. So he became a landowner, plowing and sewing his own land, making hay on his own land, cutting his own trees, and feeding his cattle on his own pasture. When he went out to plow his fields or to look at his growing corn or at his grassy meadows, his heart would fill with joy. The grass that grew and the flowers that bloom there seemed to him unlike any that grew elsewhere. Formerly, when he had passed by the land, it had appeared the same as any other land. But now it seemed quite different. Three. So Pehom was well contented, and everything would have been right if the neighboring peasants would not have trespassed on his

cornfields and meadows. He appealed to them most civilly, but they still went on. Now the communal herdsman would let the village cows stray into his meadows, then the horses from the night pasture would get among his corn. Pehom turned them out again and again, and forgave their owners, and for a long time he forbore from prosecuting anyone. But at last he lost patience and complained to the district court. He knew it was the peasants' want of land and no evil intent on their part that caused the trouble. But he thought, I cannot go on overlooking it, or they will destroy all I have. They must be taught a lesson. So he had them up, gave them one lesson, and then another, and two or three of the peasants were fine. After a time, Paham's neighbors began to bear him a grudge for this, and would now and then

and let their cattle on his land on purpose. One peasant even got into Payham's wood at night and cut down five young lime trees for their bark. Payham passed through the wood one day, noticing something white. He came nearer and saw the stripped trees lying on the ground. And close by stood the stumps where the trees had been. Payham was furious. If he had only cut one here and there,

it would have been bad enough, thought Payham. But the rascal has actually cut down a whole clump. If I could only find out who did this, I would pay him out. He racked his brains as to who it could be. Finally he decided, It must be Simon. No one else could have done it. So he went to Simon's homestead to have a look around.

But he found nothing, and only had an angry scene. However, he now felt more certain than ever that Simon had done it, and he lodged a complaint. Simon was summoned. The case was tried and retried, and at the end of it all, Simon was acquitted, there being no evidence against him. Payham felt still more aggrieved, and let his anger loose upon the elder and the judges. "'You let thieves grease your palms,' he said.

"'If you were honest folk yourselves, you would not have a lot of you would not have let a thief go free. So Pehom quarreled with the judges and with his neighbors. Threats to burn his building began to be uttered, so though Payham had much more land, his place in the commune was much worse than before. About this time, a rumor got around that many people were moving to new parts. There's no need for me to leave my land, thought Pehom. But some of the others might leave our village, and then there would be more room for us. I would take over their land myself and make my estate a little bigger.

I could then live more at ease. As it is, I am still too cramped to be comfortable. One day, Paham was sitting at home when a peasant passing through the village happened to call in. He was allowed to stay the night and supper was given him. Payham had a talk with this peasant and asked him where he had come from. The stranger answered that he came from beyond the Volga where he had been working. One word led to another, and the man went on to say that many people were settling in those parts.

He told how some people from his village had settled there. They had joined the commune, and had 25 acres per man granted them. The land was so good, he said, that the rye sewn on it grew as high as a horse, and so thick that five cuts of a sickle made a sheaf. One peasant, he said, had brought nothing with him but his bare hands, and now he had six horses and two cows of his own. Payham's heart kindled with desire, he thought,

Why should I suffer in this narrow hole if one can live so well elsewhere? I will sell my land of my homestead here, and with the money I will start afresh over there and get everything new. In this crowded place one is always having trouble. But I must first go and find out all about it myself. Towards summer he got ready and started.

He went down the Volga on a steamer to Samara. They walked another 300 miles on foot, and at last reached the place. It was just as the stranger had said. The peasant had plenty of land. Every man had 25 acres of communal land. given him for his use, and anyone who had money could buy besides, at fifty cents an acre, as much good freehold land as he wanted. Having found out all he wished to know, Paham returned home as Autumn came, and began selling

off his belongings. He sold his land at a profit, sold his homestead in all his cattle, and withdrew from membership in the commune. He only waited till the spring, and then started with this family for the new settlement. 4. As soon as Payam and his family arrived at their new abode, he applied for admission to the commune of a large village. He stood treat to the elders, and obtained the necessary documents. Five shares of communal land were given him for his own and his son's use, that is to say, 125 acres, not altogether, but in different fields, besides the use of the communal pattern. pasture. Payham put up the buildings he needed and bought cattle. Of the communal land alone, he had three

times as much as his former home, and the land was good corn land. He was ten times better off than he had been. He had plenty of arable land and pasturage, and could keep as many head of cattle as he liked. At first, in the bustle of building and settling down, Payham was pleased with it all, But when he got used to it, he began to think that even here he had not land enough. The first year he sowed wheat on his share of the communal land and had a good crop. He wanted to go on sewing wheat, but he had not enough communal land for the purpose, and what he had already used was not available. For in those parts, wheat has only sown on virgin soil or on fallow land.

It is sewn for one or two years, and then the land lies far. balo till it is again overgrown with prairie grass. There were many who wanted such land, and there was not enough for all, so that the people quarreled about it. Those who were better off wanted it for growing wheat, and those who were poor wanted to let to dealers, so that they might raise money to pay their taxes. Payham wanted to sow more wheat, so he rented land from a dealer for a year. He sowed much wheat and had a fine, but the land was too far from the village, and wheat had to be carted more than ten miles. After a time, Pehom noticed that some peasant dealers were living on separate farms,

and were growing wealthy, and he thought, If I were to buy some freehold land and have a homestead on it, it would be a different thing altogether. Then it would all be nice and compact. The question of buying freehold land reoccurred to him again and again. He went on in the same way for three years, renting land and sowing wheat. The seasons turned out well and the crops were good, so that he began to lay money by. He might have gone on living contentedly, but he grew tired of having to rent other people's land every year,

and having to scramble for it. wherever there was good land to be had the peasants would rush for it and it was taken up at once so that unless you were sharp about it you got none it happened in the third year that he and a dealer together rented a piece of pasture land from some peasants and they had already plowed it up when there was some dispute and the peasants went to law about it and things fell out so that the labor was all lost if it were my own land thought peham i should be independent and there would not be all this unpleasantness so peham began looking out for land which he could buy and he came across a peasant who had bought thirteen hundred acres but having got into difficulty was willing to sell again cheap peham bargained and haggled with him and at last they settled on the price of fifteen hundred roubles pardoned in cash and part to be paid later. They had all but clinched the matter when a passing dealer happened to stop at Payham's one day to get a feed for his horse. He drank tea with Payham, and they had a talk. The dealer said that he was just returning from the land of the Baschkirs,

far away, where he had bought 13,000 acres of land for 1,000 roubles. Payham questioned him further, and the tradesman said, All one needs is to make friends with the chiefs. I gave away about one hundred ruples worth of dressing gowns in carpets, besides a case of tea, and I gave wine to those who would drink it, and I got the land for less than two cents an acre, and he showed Payham the title deed, saying,

The land lies near a river, and the whole prairie is virgin soil. Payham plied him, with questions, and the tradesman said, There is more land there than you could cover if you walked a year, and it all belongs to the Bashkirs. They are as simple as sheep, and land can be got almost for nothing.

There now, thought Payham. With my one thousand roubles, why should I get only thirteen hundred acres, and saddle myself with debt besides? If I take it out there, I can get more than ten times as much for the money. Five. Payham inquired how to get to the place. And as soon as the tradesman had left him, he prepared to go there himself.

He left his wife to look after the homestead and started on his journey, taking his man with him. They stopped at a town on the way and bought a case of tea, some wine, and other presents, as the tradesmen had advised. On and on they went until they had gone more than 300 miles, and on the seventh day they came to a place where the Bashkirs had pitched their tents. It was all just as the tradesman had said. The people lived on the steps by a river, in felt-covered tents. They neither tilled the ground nor ate bread.

Their cattle and horses grazed in herds on the step. The colts were tethered behind the tents, and the mares were driven to them twice a day. The mares were milk, and from the milk, kumas was made. It was the women who prepared kumis, and they also made cheese. As far as the men were concerned, drinking kumas and tea, eating mutton, and playing on their pipes was all they cared about. They were all stout and merry,

and all the summer long they never thought of doing any work. They were quite ignorant and knew no Russian. but were good-natured enough. As soon as they saw Pehom, they came out of their tents and gathered round their visitor. An interpreter was found, and Pehom told them that he had come about some land. The Bashkirs seemed very glad. They took Pehom and led him into one of their best tents, where they made him sit on some down cushions placed on a carpet,

while they sat around him. They gave him tea and Kumis, and had a sheep killed, and gave him mutton to eat. Pehom took presents out of his cart and distributed them among the Bashkirs and divided amongst them the tea. The Bashkirs were delighted. They talked a great deal among themselves, and they told the interpreter to translate. They wish to tell you, said the interpreter, that they like you, and that it is our custom to do all we can to please a guest and to repay him for his gifts. You have given us presents.

Now tell us which of the things we possess pleases you. you best, that we may present them to you. What pleases me best here is your land, answered Pehom. Our land is crowded and the soil is exhausted, but you have plenty of land and it is good land. I never saw a like of it. The interpreter translated. The Bashkirs talked among themselves for a while. Payham could not understand what they were saying, but he saw that they were much amused

and that they shouted and laughed. Then they were silent and looked at Paham, while the interpreter said, They wish me to tell you that in return for your presence, they will gladly give you as much land as you want. You have only to point it out with your hand, and it is yours. The Bashkirs talked again for a while and began to dispute. Payham asked what they were disputing about,

and the interpreter told him that some of them thought they ought to ask their chief about the land and not act in his absence, while others thought that there was no need to wait for his return. 6. While the Bashkirs were disputing, a man in a large fox fur cap appeared on the scene. They all became silent and rose to their feet. The interpreter said, This is our chief himself. Pehom immediately fetched the best dressing gown and five pounds of tea and offered them to the chief.

The chief accepted them and seated himself in the place of honor. The Bashkirs at once began telling him something. The chief listened for a while and then made a sign with his head for them to be silent, and addressing himself to Payham, said in Russian, Well, let it be so. Choose whatever piece of land you like. We have plenty of it. How can I take as much as I like?

Thought, Payham. I must get a deed to make it secure, or else they may say, it is yours, and afterwards, take it away again. Thank you for your kind words, he said aloud. You have much land, and I only want a little, but I should like to be sure which bit is mine. Could it be measured and made over to me? Life and death are in God's hands. You good people give it to me, but you good people give it to me, but you, you should,

your children might wish to take it away again. You are quite right, said the chief. We will make it over to you. I heard that a dealer had been here. Continued Payham. And that you gave him a little land too, and signed title deeds to that effect. I should like to have it done in the same way.

The chief understood. Yes, that can be done quite easily. We have a scribe, and we will go to town with you, and have the deed properly sealed. And what will be the price? asked Payham. Our price is always the same. One thousand roubles a day.

Payham did not understand. A day? What measure is that? How many acres would that make? We do not know how to reckon it out. We sell it by the day, as much as you can go round. in your feet in a day is yours, and the price is one thousand roubles a day.

Payham was surprised. But in a day you can get a large tract of land, he said. Ha ha ha ha ha, ha, ha, the chief laugh. It will be all yours. But there is one condition. If you don't return on the same day to the spot whence you started, your money is lost. But how am I going to mark the way that I've gone? Why, we shall go to any spot you like and stay there.

You must start from that spot and make your round, taking a spade with you. Whenever you think necessary, make a mark. At every turning, dig a hole and pile up the turf. Then afterwards we will go round with a plough from hole to hold. you may make as large a circuit as you please. But before the sun sets, you must return to the place you started from. All the land you cover will be yours. Payham was delighted.

It was decided to start early next morning. They talked a while, and after drinking some more kummus and eating some more mutton, they had tea again, and then the night came on. They gave Pehom a feather bed to sleep on, and the Bashkirs dispersed for the night, promising to assemble the next morning at daybreak and ride out before sunrise to the appointed spot. 7. Payham lay on the feather bed, but could not sleep. He kept thinking about the land.

What a large tract I will mark off, he thought. I can easily go thirty-five. miles a day. The days are long now, and with a circuit of 35 miles, what a lot of land there will be. I will sell the poorer land or let it to peasants, but I'll pick out the best and farm it, and I will buy two ox teams and hire two more laborers. About 150 acres shall be plowland, and I will pasture cattle on the rest. Paham lay awake all night, and dozed off only just before dawn. Hardly were his eyes closed when he had a dream. He thought he was lying in the same tent and heard somebody chuckling outside. He wondered who it could be and rose and went out.

He saw the Bashkir chief sitting in front of the tent holding his side and rolling about with laughter. Going near the chief, Pehom asked. But he saw that it was no longer the chief, but the dealer who had recently stopped at his house and had told him about the land. Just as Peham was about to ask, Have you been here long? He saw that it was not the dealer, but the peasant who had come up from the Volga long ago to Payam's old home. Then he saw that it was not the peasant either,

but the devil himself with hoofs and horns sitting there and chival, shuckling. And before him lay a man barefoot prostrate on the ground with only trousers and a shirt on. And Peham dreamt that he looked more attentively to see what sort of man it was lying there. And he saw that the man was dead, and that it was himself. He awoke, horror-struck. What things one does dream, he thought. Looking round, he saw through the open door that the dawn was breaking. It's time to wake them up, thought he. We ought to be starting.

He got up, roused his man, who was sleeping in his cart, bade him harness, and went to call the Baskirs. It's time to go to the steps, to measure land, he said. The Bashkirs rose and assembled, and the chief came to. Then they began drinking Kumis again, and offered Paham some tea. But he would not wait. If we are to go, let us go.

It is high time, he said. 8. The Bashkirs got ready, and they all started. Some mounted on horses and some in carts. Payham drove in his own small cart with his servant and took a spade with him. When they reached the step, the morning red was beginning to kindle. They ascended a hillock, called by the Bashkirs a chican, and dismounted from their carts and their horses gathered in one spot. The chief came up to Pehom, stretched out his arm towards the plain. "'See?' said he. "'All this, as far as your eyes, can reach, is ours.

You may have any part of it that you like.' Payam's eyes glistened. It was all virgin soil, as flat as the palm of your hand, as black as the seed of a poppy, and in the hollows, different kinds of grasses grew breast-high. The chief took off his fox-fur cap, placed it on the ground and said, This will be the mark.

Start from here, and return here again. All the land you go round shall be yours. Payham took out his money and put it in the cap. And then he took off his outer coat. He unfastened his girdle and tied it tight below his stomach. Put a little bag of bread into the breast of his coat and tying a flask of water into his girdle, he drew up the tops of his boots, took the spade from his man, and stood ready to start.

He considered for some moments which way he had better go. It was tempting everywhere. No matter, he concluded, I will go towards the rising sun. He turned his face to the east, stretched himself, and waited for the sun to appear above the rim. I must lose no time, he thought. And it is easier walking while it is still. cool. The sun's rays had hardly flashed above the horizon before Pehom, carrying the spade over his shoulder, went down into the step. Payham started walking neither slowly nor quickly. After having gone a thousand yards he stopped, dug a hole and placed pieces of turf one on another to make it more visible. Then he went on, and now that he had walked off his stiffness, he quickened his pace, and after a while

he dug another hole. Payham looked back. The hillock could be seen distinctly in the sunlight with people on it, and the glittering tires of the cartwheels. At a rough guess, Peham concluded that he had walked three miles. It was growing warmer. He took off his undercoat, flung it across his shoulder, and went on again. It had grown quite warm now. He looked at the sun. It was time to think of breakfast. Her shift is done. But there are four in a day, and it's too soon yet to turn. I will just have to take off my boots. He sat down, took off his boots, stuck them into his girdle, and went on. It was easy walking now. I will go on for another three miles, he thought, and then turn to the left. The spot is so fine. That would be a pity to lose it. The further one goes, the better the land seems. He went straight on for a while, and when he looked round, the hillock was scarcely visible,

and the people on it looked like black ants, and he could just see something listening there in the sun. Ah! thought Peham. I have gone far enough in this direction. It is time to turn. Besides, I am in a regular sweat, and very thirsty. He stopped, dug a large hole, and heaped up pieces of turf. Next he untied his own. his flask, had a drink, and then turned sharply to the left. He went on and on. The grass was high, and it was very hot. Payhan began to grow tired. He looked at the sun and saw that it was noon.

Well, I must have a rest. He sat down and ate some bread and drank some water, but he did not lie down, thinking that if he did, he might fall asleep. After sitting a little while, he went on again. At first he walked easily. The food had strengthened him, but it had become terribly hot and he felt sleepy. Still, he went on, thinking, An hour to suffer, a lifetime to live. He went a long way in his direction also, and was about to turn to the left again when he perceived a damp hollow. It would be a pity to leave that out, he thought. Flax would do well there.

So he went on past the high. hollow, and dug a hole on the other side of it before he turned the corner. Pehom looked towards the hillock. The heat had made the air hazy. It seemed to be quivering, and through the haze the people on the hillock could scarcely be seen. Ah, thought Pehom. I have made the sides too long. I must take this one shorter. And he went along the third side, stepping faster. He looked at the sun. It was nearly halfway to the horizon. and he had not yet done two miles on the third side of the square. He was still ten miles from the goal.

No, he thought. Though it will make my land lopsided, I must hurry back in a straight line now. I might go too far, and as it is I have a great deal of land. So Pehom hurriedly dug a hole and turned straight towards the hillock. Nine Pehom went straight towards the hillock, but now he walked with difficulty. He was done up with the heat.

His bare feet were cut and bruised, and his legs began to fail. He longed to rest, but it was impossible if he meant to get back before sunset. The sun waits for no man, and it was sinking lower and lower. Oh, dear, I thought. If only I have not blundered trying for too much.

What if I am too late? He looked towards the hillock and at the sun. He was still far from his goal, and the sun was already near the rim. Payham walked on and on. It was very hard walking, and he went quicker and quicker. He pressed on, but he was still far from the place. He began running, threw away his coat, his boots, his flask, and his cap, and kept only the spade, which he used as a support.

What shall I do? He thought again. I have grasped too much, and ruined it. the whole affair. I can't get back there before the sun sets. And this fear made him still more breathless. Payham went on running. His soaking shirt and trousers stuck to him and his mouth was parched. His breast was working like a blacksmith's bellows. His heart was beating like a hammer, and his legs were giving way as if they did not belong to him. Payham was seized with terror or lest he should die of the strain.

Though afraid of death, he could not stop. After having run all that way, they will call me a fool if I stop now, thought he, and he ran on and on, and drew near and heard the Bashkirs yelling and shouting at him, and their cries inflamed his heart still more. He gathered his last strength, and ran on. The sun was close to the rim,

and cloaked in mist, looked large, and as red as blood. Now, yes, now, it was about to set. The sun was quite low, but he was also quite near his aim. Payham could already see the people on the hillock waving their arms to hurry him up. He could see the fox fur cap on the ground and the money on it, and the chief sitting on the ground holding his sides, and Payham remembering his dream.

There is plenty of land, thought he. But will God be God? let me live on it? I have lost my life. I have lost my life. I shall never reach that spot. Payham looked at the sun, which had reached the earth. One side of it had already disappeared. With all his remaining strength he rushed on, bending his body forward so that his legs could hardly follow fast enough to keep him from falling. Just as he had reached the hillock, it suddenly grew dark. He looked up. The sun had already set. He gave a cry. Oh, my labor has been in vain, thought he, and was about to stop,

but he heard the Bashkir still shouting and remembering that though to him from below the sun seemed to have set, they on the hillock could still see it. He took a long breath and ran up the hillock. It was still light there. He reached the top and saw the cap, and before it sat the chief, laughing and holding his sides. Again Pehom remembered his dream, and he uttered a cry. His legs gave way beneath him. He fell forward and reached the cap with his hand. Oh, what a fine fellow, exclaimed the chief. He has gained much land. Pehom's servant came running up and tried to raise him, but he saw that blood was flowing from his mouth.

Payham was dead. The Bashkirs clicked their tongues to show their pity. His servant picked up the spade and dug a grave long enough for Payham to lie in, and buried him in it. Six feet from his head to his heels was all he needed. End of how much land does a man need by Leo Tolstoy.