Note 1 — The Tale of the Peasant Demyan.

In a certain kingdom in a certain empire, there lived, once upon a time, an old man and an old woman, and they had a son called little Martin. Time went on, the old man fell ill and died, and though he had worked hard all his days, the only inheritance he left behind him was two hundred rubles.1 The old woman did not want to waste this money, but what was to be done? There was nothing to eat, so she had to have recourse to the pot containing the patrimony. The old woman counted out a hundred rubles, and sent her son to town to buy provision of bread for a whole year. So Martin the widow’s son went to town. He went past the meat market, and saw crowds of people gathered together, and his ears were deafened by the din and noise and racket. Little Martin went into the midst of the throng and saw that the butchers had caught a terrier, and had fastened it to a post, and were beating it unmercifully. Little Martin was sorry for the poor dog, and said to the butchers, “My brothers! why do you beat the poor dog so unmercifully?”—“Why should we not beat him, when he has spoiled a whole quarter of beef?”—“Yet, beat him not, my brothers! ’Twere better to sell him to me!”—“Buy him if you like then!” said the butchers, mockingly, “but for such a treasure as that we could not take less than a hundred rubles.”—“Well, one hundred rubles is only one hundred rubles after all!” replied little Martin, and he drew out the money and gave it for the dog. But the dog’s name was Jurka.2 Martin then went home, and his mother asked him, “What hast thou bought?”—“Why look, I have bought Jurka!” replied her son. His mother fell a-scolding him, and reproached him bitterly: “Art thou not ashamed? Soon we shall not have a morsel to eat, and thou hast gone and thrown away so much money on a pagan dog.” The next day the old woman sent her son into the town again, and said to him, “Now there is our last one hundred rubles, buy with it provision of bread. To-day I will collect together the scrapings of the meal-tub and bake us fritters, but to-morrow there will not even be that!” Little Martin got to town and walked along the streets and looked about him, and he saw a boy who had fastened a cord round a cat’s neck and was dragging it off to drown it. “Stop!” shrieked Martin, “whither art thou dragging Vaska?”3—“I am dragging him off to be drowned!”—“Why, what has he done?”—“He is a great rascal. He has stolen a whole goose.”—“Don’t drown him, far better sell him to me!”—“I’ll take nothing less than one hundred rubles!”—“Well, one hundred rubles is only one hundred rubles after all; here! take the money!” And he took Vaska from the boy. “What hast thou bought, my son?” asked his mother when he got home.—“Why the cat Vaska!”—“And what besides?”—“Well, perhaps there’s some money still left, and then we can buy something else.”—“Oh, oh, oh! what a fool thou art!” screeched the old woman. “Go out of the house this instant and beg thy bread from the stranger!”