From Sunrise to Sunset: Listening for Character Traits and Change, and Role-Playing a Moral Conflict

Pahom was a peasant who farmed a small plot of land in a Russian village. He worked hard, his family never went hungry, and on the whole he was content. One evening, lying on the warm stove while his wife and her sister argued about whether life was better in the town or the country, he said to himself: "Our only trouble is that we haven't land enough. If I had plenty of land, I shouldn't fear the Devil himself!" In Tolstoy's story, the Devil was listening.

Soon afterwards, a landowner nearby decided to sell her estate, and Pahom scraped together money, sold a colt and half his bees, borrowed from his brother-in-law, and bought forty acres. At first he was delighted. Every time he walked over his own fields, his heart filled with joy. But before long his neighbours' cattle strayed onto his meadows, and Pahom, who had once been easy-going, took them to court. He quarrelled with everyone. He had more land, but he had less peace.

Then a traveller told him about a region beyond the river Volga where the land was so rich and so cheap that a man could have as much as he wanted. Pahom sold his farm, moved his family and soon had three times as much land as before. But soon even that land seemed too small; he rented more, and more, and still it was not enough. A merchant passing through told him of the Bashkirs, a people far to the east who would sell land almost for nothing.

Pahom travelled for a week to reach them. Their chief welcomed him and named a strange price: one thousand roubles a day. "As much land as you can walk round in a day is yours," the chief explained. "But if you do not return to the place where you started before the sun goes down, your money is lost."

Pahom could hardly sleep that night. At sunrise he set off across the open steppe with a spade, digging holes to mark his corners. The land was beautiful, and every time he planned to turn, he saw a better piece ahead: a damp hollow good for flax, a stretch of rich grass. "It would be a pity to leave that out," he thought, and walked on. By midday he was far from the starting point. By afternoon he was exhausted, his feet were cut, and the sun was sinking.

He began to run. He threw away his coat, his boots, his flask. His heart was beating like a hammer and his mouth was dry, but he could see the Bashkirs on the hill, waving and shouting. With his last strength he reached the chief's cap, which marked the starting place, just as the last of the sun was disappearing. "He has gained much land!" cried the chief. But Pahom did not rise. His servant ran to lift him and found him dead.

The servant picked up the spade and dug a grave. "Six feet from his head to his heels was all he needed."