Here is an original translation from the Russian by
Helena Blavatsky, done just three years after the original. Now known as The Imp and the Crust (also translated as Promoting a Devil ), it is a short story
by Leo Tolstoy first published in 1886. It is
a cautionary tale
against the dangers of alcohol. It later appeared in book form in English in
1906, translated by Aylmer and Louise Maude in Twenty-Three Tales. I think
Blavatsky’s version is a little grittier, or crustier, if you will. Blavatsky sent Tolstoy an inscribed copy of her Voice of the Silence, which has survived, and his acknowledgement of her correspondence is on record as well; he even used some passages for his Calendar of Wisdom / Pathway of Life (1912/1919 in English). She also translated Dostoevsky's The Grand Inquisitor from the Brothers Karamazov in the same year it was published, the first English translation of that great work.
“The moral lesson in "The Imp and the Crust"
(1886) is a natural part of the story, in which the devil finally tricks the
kind peasant into drunkenness. If Tolstoy's handling of this gem of a folk tale
is regarded as a plea for temperance, it is a conclusion that must be drawn by
the reader, for it is never explicitly stated in the text. Tolstoy's
dramatization of the story, a comedy entitled 'The First Distiller' (1886),
which will be considered in a later chapter, does turn out to be an amusing
piece of forthright temperance propaganda.” (
from Introduction To Tolstoy's Writings -8. Later Short Stories- Ernest J Simmons (1968))
For this number, however, we have
selected one of a less mystical but more satirical spirit; a cap calculated to
fit the head of any drinking Christian nation ad libitum, and we only hope its
title, translated verbatim et literatim, will not shock still more the
susceptibilities of the opponents of the title of this magazine. Russia is
afflicted with the demon of drink, as much as, though not more than, England or
any other country; yet it is not so much the Karma of the nation, as that of
their respective governments, whose Karmic burden is growing heavier and more
terrible with every year. This curse and universal incubus, drink, is the
direct and legitimate progeny of the Rulers; it is begotten by their greed for
money, and FORCED by them on the unfortunate masses. Why, in Karma’s name,
should the latter be made to suffer here, and hereafter?
HOW A DEVIL’S IMP REDEEMED HIS
LOAF; OR THE FIRST DISTILLER
A poor peasant went out early to
plough; and as he was leaving home without breaking his fast, he carried along
with him a loaf of bread. Once in the field he turned over his plough, adjusted
the ploughtail, put the ropes under a bush, and over them his loaf of black
bread, and covered the whole with his caftan. At last, the horse got tired and
the moojik felt hungry. Then he stopped his plough in the furrow, unhitched his
horse, and leaving it to graze, moved toward his caftan for his meal. But when
he had lifted it up––lo, no loaf was to be seen.
Our moojik searched for it here,
and he searched for it there he shook his garment and turned it hither and
thither—no loaf! He felt surprised. Marvellous doings! No one around, and yet
the loaf is carried away by someone. That someone, in truth, was an Imp, who,
while the peasant was ploughing, had stolen his loaf and was now hiding behind
a bush, preparing to note down the man’s profanity, when he would begin to
swear and take the devil’s name. The peasant felt a little sore. “But, after
all,” said he, “this won’t starve me; and he who carried away my bread,
perchance needed it. Let him eat it then, and good luck to him.”
So, going to the well he
drank some water, rested a bit, then catching his horse, he hitched it again to
the plough and returned quietly to his work. The Imp felt considerably troubled
at such a failure in tempting man to sin and forthwith proceeding home to hell,
he narrated to his Elder—the Chief Devil—how he had robbed the moojik of his
loaf, who instead of cursing, had only said “to his good luck!” Satan felt very
angry at this. “If,” he argued, “the moojik had the best of thee, in this
business, then it must be thine own fault; thou didst not know how to bring the
thing about. It would be a bad job for us,” he added, “if the peasants, and
after them their women, were to take such tricks: no life would become possible
for us after this, and such an event cannot be left disregarded. “Go,”
continued Satan, “and make up for the failure of the loaf. And if at the end of
three years thou shalt not have the best of that man, I will bathe thee in holy
water.”
The Imp got terribly frightened at
this threat, and running up to earth again, he set himself to thinking how to
atone for his guilt. Thus he thought, thought still, and thought more, and went
on thinking until he had found what he had to do. Assuming the appearance of a
good fellow, he offered himself as a labourer to the poor peasant; and as it
happened to be a drought, he advised him to sow his seed in a swamp. Hence,
while the fields of all the other peasants were parched, and their harvests
burnt by the sun, the crop of the poor peasant grew high and thick, full and
grainy. His household had bread to their heart’s content up to the next
harvest, and the surplus proved considerable. The following year, the summer
being wet, the imp taught the peasant to sow his seed on the mountains. While
his neighbours’ corn was blasted, fell down and got rotten, the peasant’s field
on the hills brought forth the richest harvest. The moojik stored still more of
the corn; and did not know what to do with it.
Then his labouring man taught him
to press the corn and distill it into spirit. Having distilled plenty of it,
the moojik took to drinking and making others drink thereof. One day the Imp
returned to the Elder boasting that he had redeemed his loaf. The Chief went up
to see for himself. Then came the Elder to the moojik, and found that having
invited the richest and wealthiest of his neighbours, he was entertaining them
with whiskey. There was the mistress carrying the glasses to her guests. Hardly
had she begun her round when stumbling over the table, she upset the drink. Out
at her flew the moojik abusing his wife to his fill.“Behold,” he cried, “the
devil’s fool. Takest thou good drink for slops? Thou, heavy-handed stupid, to
spill on the earth such treasure!” Here the Imp poked the Elder in the
ribs, “Observe,” said he, “and see, if he won’t grudge a loaf now.”
Having abused his wife, the moojik
began offering the drink himself. Just then a poor labourer returning from work
happened to drop in, unasked, and wishing a merry day to all, he took a seat.
Seeing the company drinking, he too, craved to have a drop after his hard day’s
work. There he sat, smacking his lips time after time, but the host would offer
him nought, only keeping on grumbling: “Who can afford to furnish with whiskey
all of you!”This pleased the chief Devil immensely; as to the Imp, he boasted
more than ever: “You wait and see what will come next!” he whispered.
Thus drank the rich peasants, thus
drank the host, pandering to each other, and flattering each other, with sweet
words, making honeyed and false speeches. Listened the Elder to these, and
praised the Imp for this, also. “Without all peradventure,” said he, “this
drink making them turn into such foxes, they will take to cheating each other
next; and at this rate they will soon fall, everyone of them, into our hands.”“Wait
and see,” said the Imp, “what will come next, when each has one glass more. Now
they are only like unto cunning foxes; given time, and they will get
transformed into ferocious wolves.”
The peasants had each one glass
more, and forthwith their talk became louder and more brutal. Instead of honeyed
speeches, they proceeded to abuse each other, and turning gradually fiercer,
they ended by getting into a free fight and damaging each other’s noses badly.
Then the host took also a turn and got soundly thrashed. As the Elder looked
on, he felt much pleased with this too. “ ‘Tis good,” saith he, “very, very
good.” “Wait and see,” said the Imp, “something still better is in store, as
soon as they will have emptied their third glass. Now they are fighting like
hungry wolves, at the third glass they will have become like swine.”
The peasants had their third round,
and quite lost their reason. Grumbling and hiccupping, shouting at each other,
and knowing not what they said, they rushed out, some alone, some in couples,
and some in triplets, and scattered in the streets. The host trying to see his
guests off, fell with his nose in a mud-puddle, rolled in it and unable to
rise, lay there grunting like a hog . . . . This pleased the Elder Devil most
of all. “Well,” saith he, “thou hast invented a fine drink, indeed, and
redeemed thy loaf! Tell me,” he added, “how hast thou managed to compound it?
Surely thou must have fermented it first, with the blood of the fox;
thence the craft of the drunken peasant, who becomes forthwith a fox himself.
Then thou hast distilled it with wolf’s blood, which makes him as wicked as a
wolf? Finally, thou hast mixed the whole with the blood of the swine; therefore
has the peasant become like a hog.”
“Not so,” quoth the Imp. “I only
helped him to get some extra cereals. The wild beast’s blood is ever present in
man, but it remains latent and finds no issue so long as he has no more bread
then he needs for his food, and then it is that he does not grudge to another
his last morsel of bread. But no sooner did man get more corn than he needed,
than he took to inventing things wherewith to gratify his passions. Then it was
that I taught him the enjoyment—of intoxicating drink. And no sooner had he
commenced to distill the gift of God into spirit, for his gratification, than
his original foxish, wolfish and swinish blood arose in him. Let him now only
go on drinking wine and liquor, and he will remain for ever a beast.” For which
invention the Elder Devil freely praised his Devil’s Imp, forgave him his
failure with the stolen loaf, and promoted him in Hell.
Lucifer, Vol. V, No. 27, November,
1889. pp. 195-98
see also:
(Blavatsky's review of Tolstoi's lecture transcripts)
(Blavatsky's footnotes to an essay on Tolstoi's spiritual writings)
(Blavatsky's review of Tolstoy's Kreutzer Sonata)
