# Tales from Tolstoi/Three Old Men

​THREE OLD MEN.
"And when ye pray, make not vain repetitions as the heathen do: for they think they shall be heard for their much asking. Be not like unto them, for your Heavenly Father knows what ye have need of before ye ask Him."—Matt. vi. 7, 8.
The Archbishop was sailing in a ship from the City of Archangel to Solovka. And on the same ship were sailing sundry pilgrims. The wind was fair, the weather bright, there was no rocking. As for the pilgrims, some had laid them down, some were taking a little to eat, others sat in groups talking one with another. The Archbishop, too, came out upon the deck, and walked backwards and forwards along the bridge. The Archbishop went to the prow of the boat; he perceived that a group of people had collected together there. A little muzhik was pointing to something in the sea with his hand, and speaking, and the people stood and listened. The Archbishop stood still too. He also looked in the direction pointed out by the little muzhik, but nothing was to be seen save the sea, on which the sun was shining. The Archbishop drew nearer still and began to listen, ​but the little muzhik, when he saw the Archbishop, doffed his cap and was silent. Then the people also saw the Archbishop, and they too doffed their caps and did obeisance.
"Do not let me disturb you, my brethren," said the Archbishop. "My good man," he added, "I also have come hither to listen to what thou wert talking about."
"The little fisherman was telling us about the old men," said a merchant, taking courage.
"The old men! What meanest thou?" and he came to the ship's side and sat down among them on a box. "Tell me, too; I am listening," said he. "What wert thou pointing out just now?"
"That little island yonder," said the little muzhik, and pointed to the right, straight in front of him. "On that same little island live the three old men and save their souls."
"But where is the island?" asked the Archbishop.
"There!—look, I prythee, straight along my arm. Over there is a little cloudy and below it, more to the left, like a little strip, thou canst see it."
The Archbishop gazed and gazed. The water sparkled in the sunlight, but he could not see anything more than usual.
"I see it not," said he. "But what manner of men are these three that dwell on this little island?"
"They are God's people," replied the peasant. "I have heard tell of them this long time, but to see them—I never could get so far as that; and lo! this last year I myself did see them!"
And the fisherman began to tell all over again how ​he had gone a-fishing, and how he had come to this very island, not knowing where he was. In the morning he took a walk about and came upon a hut made of earth, and by this hut of earth he saw ah old man, and afterwards two others came out, and they gave him to eat, and dried his clothes, and helped him to mend his boat.
"And what are they like in themselves?" asked the Archbishop.
"One of them is very little, and bent double, and old—very old; he wears a ragged little hood: he must needs be over a hundred, for the grey in his beard is already beginning to show green. But he himself is always smiling, and he is as bright as a heavenly angel. The second of the three is taller. He also is old and wears a torn kaftan; his beard is broad and grey, with a yellowish tinge, but the man himself is strong. He turned my boat about like a tub; I was unable to help him, so quick and lusty was he. But the third of them was very tall, his beard was long, reaching to his knee, and as white as the mouse-hawk's wing, but he himself was dark-looking, his brows hung over his eyes; all naked, too, was he, save for the leather girdle about his loins."
"And what said they to thee?" asked the Archbishop.
"They did everything rather in silence, and spoke but little one to another. One had but to give a look and the others understood him. I asked the tall one if they had lived there long. Then he frowned, began to say something, and got so angry, that the ancient caught him by the arm and smiled​—and there was a great silence. Then the ancient said: 'Excuse us!' and smiled again."
While the peasant was speaking the ship had drawn nearer to the island.
"Look, now it is quite plain!" said the merchant. "Would it please your Grace to look?" he added, and pointed it out.
The Archbishop looked steadily again, and sure enough there was a black streak—it was the island. The Archbishop gazed and gazed, whereupon he went from the prow to the stern of the vessel, and approaching the steersman, he said:
"What is that island visible over there?"
"It has no name. There are many of them here."
"Is it true what they say, that there live three old men who would save their souls?"
"They say so, your Grace; but I know not whether it be true. The fishermen say they have seen them. So it is, and they talk a lot of nonsense about it!"
"I should like to go to the island to see the old men," said the Archbishop. "How can it be done?"
"To go thither in a ship is impossible," said the steersman; "but one might get there in a small boat, but we must ask the master first."
So they called out the master of the ship.
"I should like to see these old men," repeated the Archbishop; "couldst thou take me over to them?"
The master fell a-thinking. "'Tis possible, no doubt; but we should lose much time about it, and I ​venture to represent to your Grace that they are not worth a visit. People have told me that they are the most stupid old men that ever lived. They understand nothing, and they have not a word to say; the very fish in the sea are not more stupid."
"Nevertheless, I will go," said the Archbishop; "and I will pay you for your trouble in taking me."
There was nothing more to be said. Orders were given to the sailors, the sails were spread, the steersman altered the ship's course, and they sailed towards the island. The Archbishop brought a chair on to the prow. He sat down and gazed, and all the people gathered together on the prow and stared at the island. And those whose eyes were keenest could already make out the stones on the shore of the island, and the little hut of earth. And there was one who could even see the three old men. Then the master drew forth his telescope, looked through it, and gave it to the Archbishop. "Yes," said he; "there on the shore, on the right of a large stone, stand three men."
The Archbishop also looked through the telescope, found the right focus, and there, sure enough, stood the three; one was tall, the second was not so tall, and the third was very small. They were standing on the shore holding each other by the hand.
The master of the ship approached the Archbishop.
"Here your Grace," said he, "the ship must stop. If it please you, take a seat in the skiff, and we will remain here at anchor."
And immediately they lowered the anchor, let down the sails, and the vessel swung to and fro till ​she steadied herself. Then they let loose the skiff, the sailors leaped in, and they began to let the Archbishop down by the ladder. They let the Archbishop down, he sat in the skiff on a little box, the sailors set to work pulling, and they drew towards the island. They sped onwards as steadily as a stone falls, and lo! there on the island stood the three old men—the tall one all naked save for his leather girdle the middling-sized one in a ragged kaftan; and the old, old bent-back in the little old hood—there they stood, all three holding each other by the hands.
The rowers rowed the boat ashore, moored her with a rope, and the Archbishop landed.
The old men bowed low before him, he blessed them, and they bowed still lower. Then the Archbishop began to speak to them.
"I have heard," said he, "that ye were here, ye ancients of God, to save your souls and pray for Christ's people, and I am here, by the mercy of God, Christ's unworthy servant, called to feed His flock. I desired therefore to see you also, O ye servants of God, if so be I might give you some instruction."
The old men were silent. They smiled and looked at one another.
"Tell me how ye save your souls, and how you serve God," said the Archbishop.
The middling-sized old man sighed and looked at the eldest of the three, the ancient; the tall old man frowned and looked at the eldest of the three, the ancient. And the old, old man, the ancient one, smiled, and said:
​"O servant of God, we know not how to serve God, we only serve ourselves, and find ourselves food."
"Then how do ye pray to God?" asked the Archbishop.
And the very ancient elder said, "We pray thus: 'You Three, you Three, have mercy upon us!'"
And no sooner had the ancient elder said this, than all three old men raised their eyes to heaven, and cried: "You Three, you Three, have mercy upon us!"
The Archbishop smiled, and said: "Ye have heard, meseems, of the Holy Trinity, but not thus should ye pray. I have taken a liking for you, ye ancients of God; I perceive that ye have the will to please God, but know not how to serve Him. Not thus should ye pray, but listen to me and I will teach you. I will not teach you of mine own self, but out of God's word will I teach you how He would have men pray to Him."
And the Archbishop began to explain to the old men how God revealed Himself to people; he explained to them about God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Ghost ; and he said, "God the Son came into the world to save people, and thus He taught all men to pray—listen, and repeat after me."
And the Archbishop began to say, "Our Father," and the first old man repeated "Our Father," and the second old man repeated "Our Father," and the third old man repeated "Our Father." "Which art in Heaven." "Which art in Heaven," repeated the three old men.
​But the middling-sized old man made a jumble of the words, he said them not as they should be; nor did the tall naked old man bring them out as they ought to have been spoken—his hair grew so thickly round his mouth that he could not speak the words plainly; the toothless old ancient also stammered forth sounds without meaning.
The Archbishop repeated his words once again, the old men repeated them once again also. And the Archbishop sat down on a little stone, and the old men stood around him and looked him in the mouth, and imitated him all the time he was speaking to them. And the Archbishop took pains with them the whole day till the evening; ten, twenty, a hundred times would he repeat one word, and the old men repeated it after him. And whenever they went astray he put them right again, and made them repeat it all over from the beginning.
And the Archbishop never left the old men till they had learnt the whole of the Lord's Prayer. They recited it after him, and they recited it by themselves. First of all the middling-sized old man grasped it and repeated it all. And the Archbishop commanded them to say it again and again, and repeat it yet again, and at last the others recited the whole prayer.
It had already begun to grow dark, and the moon began to rise out of the sea, when the Archbishop arose to go to the ship. The Archbishop took leave of the old men, and they prostrated themselves on the ground before him. He raised them up, kissed each one of them on the forehead, bade them pray ​as he had taught them to pray, and then he sat him down in the skiff and they rowed him to the ship.
So the Archbishop was rowed to the ship, and all the time he kept on listening to the voices of the three old men sonorously repeating the Lord's Prayer. They were now drawing nigh to the ship, the voices of the old men could no longer be heard, they themselves were only visible by the light of the moon: there on the shore in the same place stood the three old men—one of them, the smallest of all, in the middle, the tall one on the right, and the middling-sized one on the left hand. The Archbishop got to the ship, he ascended to the deck, they raised the anchor, unfurled the sails, the sails bulged out in the wind, the ship began to move, and they went on further. The Archbishop returned to the stern, sat down there, and kept gazing at the island. At first the old men were visible, presently they were lost to sight, and only the island was visible, and the lonely sea played in the moonlight.
The pilgrims had laid them down to sleep, and on the deck all was silent. But sleep would not come to the Archbishop; he sat all alone in the stern, looked out upon the sea at the point where the island had disappeared, and fell a-thinking of the good old men. He thought of how joyful they had been when he had taught them to pray, and he thanked God for sending him to the help of these godly old men to teach them the Words of the Lord.
So the Archbishop sat there thinking and gazing out upon the sea in the direction where the island had disappeared. Something flickered before his ​eyes—there, yonder, a long way off, a light played upon the waters! And suddenly he saw something white and glistening in the midst of the columns of moonlight on the waves—a bird, perhaps, a gull; or was it the tiny sail of a fishing-bark that glittered so? The Archbishop continued to gaze. "'Tis a little boat," thought he, "coming after us with full sail. And how quickly it is chasing us! Just now it was far, far away; and look now! it is quite close. A boat? No, 'tis no boat, and that is not at all like a sail! But something white is coming after us, and it will soon catch us up too!" And the Archbishop could not make up his mind what it could be. A boat? No, not a boat. A bird? No, not a bird. A fish? No, not a fish. It was like a man, a very huge man; but how could a man speed across the sea? The Archbishop arose and went to the steersman. "Look! what is that? What is that, my brother?" asked the Archbishop; "what is that?" But the selfsame instant he perceived what it was—the old men were running upon the sea! and as they ran their beards shone dazzling bright, and they drew nigh to the ship as though it was standing still.
The steersman looked, was terrified, quitted his rudder, and cried with a loud voice: "O Lord, have mercy upon us! The three old men are after us upon the sea, and they run as if they were on dry land!" All the people on board heard this cry, arose, and rushed towards the stern. They all looked, and behold! the three old men were running hand in hand, and the two outsiders were waving their hands and beckoning the people to stop. All ​three were walking upon the water as if it were dry ground; they ran, and yet their feet moved not up and down.
They had not yet succeeded in stopping the ship, when lo! the old men came alongside of it and came on board, and raised their heads, and cried with one voice, "We have forgotten, O servant of God, we have forgotten thy teaching! So long as we repeated it we remembered it; we left off repeating it for a moment, and lo! one word leaped out of it, and we forgot it all—it all oozed away. We remember nothing of it; teach us over again."
The Archbishop crossed himself, turned to the old men, and said, "Betake you to God and your own prayer, ye godly elders; 'tis not for me to teach you. Pray ye for us sinners!" And the Archbishop did obeisance to the old men.
And the old men stood still, and presently they turned them about and went back upon the sea. And the bright light that shone in the direction whither the old men had gone was visible till morning.
* ↑ Translated from the Moscow (Fifth) Edition of 1889 of Tolstoi's collected works (vol. xx., pp. 212–221).
* ↑ i.e., be hermits.