The Two Old Men

"The Two Old Men" is a short moral tale by Leo Tolstoy that explores themes of friendship, generosity, and the human capacity for kindness. The story revolves around two elderly men who, despite their different approaches to life, embark on a journey together. As they encounter various challenges and situations, they reflect on their past decisions and life lessons. Ultimately, the narrative highlights the importance of compassion and understanding in nurturing meaningful relationships and the value of selflessness in human interactions. Through its simple yet profound storytelling, Tolstoy invites readers to contemplate their own values and behaviors in the context of friendship and community.

• Short story

								
Therefore, being wearied with his journey, sat thus on the well:
     and it was about the sixth hour. There cometh a woman of Samaria to
     draw water: Jesus saith unto her, Give me to drink. (For his
     disciples were gone away unto the city to buy meat.) Then saith the
     woman of Samaria unto him, How is it that thou, being a Jew, askest
     drink of me, which am a woman of Samaria? for the Jews have no
     dealings with the Samaritans. Jesus answered and said unto her, If
     thou knewest the gift of God, and who it is that saith to thee,
     Give me to drink; thou wouldest have asked of him, for the Father
     seeketh such to worship him. (John iv. 19-23.)


I.

Two old men got ready to go to old Jerusalem to pray to God. One of them
was a rich peasant; his name was Efím Tarásych Shevelév. The other was
not a well-to-do man, and his name was Eliséy Bodróv.

Efím was a steady man: he did not drink liquor, nor smoke tobacco, nor
take snuff, had never cursed in his life, and was a stern, firm old man.
He had served two terms as an elder, and had gone out of his office
without a deficit. He had a large family,--two sons and a married
grandson,--and all lived together. As to looks he was a sound, bearded,
erect man, and only in his seventh decade did a gray streak appear in
his beard.

Eliséy was neither wealthy nor poor; in former days he used to work out
as a carpenter, but in his old age he stayed at home and kept bees. One
son was away earning money, and another was living at home. Eliséy was a
good-natured and merry man. He liked to drink liquor and take snuff, and
sing songs; but he was a peaceable man, and lived in friendship with his
home folk and with the neighbours. In appearance he was an undersized,
swarthy man, with a curly beard and, like his saint, Prophet Elisha, his
whole head was bald.

The old men had long ago made the vow and agreed to go together, but
Tarásych had had no time before: he had so much business on hand. The
moment one thing came to an end, another began; now he had to get his
grandson married, now he was expecting his younger son back from the
army, and now he had to build him a new hut.

On a holiday the two old men once met, and they sat down on logs.

"Well," said Eliséy, "when are we going to carry out our vow?"

Efím frowned.

"We shall have to wait," he said, "for this is a hard year for me. I
have started to build a house,--I thought I could do it with one
hundred, but it is going on now in the third. And still it is not done.
We shall have to let it go till summer. In the summer, God willing, we
shall go by all means."

"According to my understanding," said Eliséy, "there is no sense in
delaying. We ought to go at once. Spring is the best time."

"The time is all right, but the work is begun, so how can I drop it?"

"Have you nobody to attend to it? Your son will do it."

"Do it? My eldest is not reliable,--he drinks."

"When we die, friend, they will get along without us. Let your son learn
it!"

"That is so, but still I want to see things done under my eyes."

"Oh, dear man! You can never attend to everything. The other day the
women in my house were washing and cleaning up for the holidays. This
and that had to be done, and everything could not be looked after. My
eldest daughter-in-law, a clever woman, said: 'It is a lucky thing the
holidays come without waiting for us, for else, no matter how much we
might work, we should never get done.'"

Tarásych fell to musing.

"I have spent a great deal of money on this building," he said, "and I
can't start out on the pilgrimage with empty hands. One hundred roubles
are not a trifling matter."

Eliséy laughed.

"Don't sin, friend!" he said. "You have ten times as much as I, and yet
you talk about money. Only say when we shall start. I have no money, but
that will be all right."

Tarásych smiled.

"What a rich man you are!" he said. "Where shall you get the money
from?"

"I will scratch around in the house and will get together some there;
and if that is not enough, I will let my neighbour have ten hives. He
has been asking me for them."

"You will have a fine swarm! You will be worrying about it."

"Worrying? No, my friend! I have never worried about anything in life
but sins. There is nothing more precious than the soul."

"That is so; but still, it is not good if things do not run right at
home."

"If things do not run right in our soul, it is worse. We have made a
vow, so let us go! Truly, let us go!"


II.

Eliséy persuaded his friend to go. Efím thought and thought about it,
and on the following morning he came to Eliséy.

"Well, let us go," he said, "you have spoken rightly. God controls life
and death. We must go while we are alive and have strength."

A week later the old men started.

Tarásych had money at home. He took one hundred roubles with him and
left two hundred with his wife.

Eliséy, too, got ready. He sold his neighbour ten hives and the increase
of ten other hives. For the whole he received seventy roubles. The
remaining thirty roubles he swept up from everybody in the house. His
wife gave him the last she had,--she had put it away for her funeral;
his daughter-in-law gave him what she had.

Efím Tarásych left all his affairs in the hands of his eldest son: he
told him where to mow, and how many fields to mow, and where to haul the
manure, and how to finish the hut and thatch it. He considered
everything, and gave his orders. But all the order that Eliséy gave was
that his wife should set out the young brood separately from the hives
sold and give the neighbour what belonged to him without cheating him,
but about domestic affairs he did not even speak: "The needs
themselves," he thought, "will show you what to do and how to do it. You
have been farming yourselves, so you will do as seems best to you."

The old men got ready. The home folk baked a lot of flat cakes for them,
and they made wallets for themselves, cut out new leg-rags, put on new
short boots, took reserve bast shoes, and started. The home folk saw
them off beyond the enclosure and bade them good-bye, and the old men
were off for their pilgrimage.

Eliséy left in a happy mood, and as soon as he left his village he
forgot all his affairs. All the care he had was how to please his
companion, how to keep from saying an unseemly word to anybody, how to
reach the goal in peace and love, and how to get home again. As Eliséy
walked along the road he either muttered some prayer or repeated such of
the lives of the saints as he knew. Whenever he met a person on the
road, or when he came to a hostelry, he tried to be as kind to everybody
as he could, and to say to them God-fearing words. He walked along and
was happy. There was only one thing Eliséy could not do: he wanted to
stop taking snuff and had left his snuff-box at home, but he hankered
for it. On the road a man offered him some. He wrangled with himself and

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