The Fool and the Birch Tree

In a certain kingdom, in a certain state, there once lived an old man who had three sons: two were clever, and the third was a fool. The old man passed away. The sons divided the estate by drawing lots. The clever brothers received plenty of goods, while the fool got only one bull—and a skinny one at that! A fair came around, and the clever brothers prepared to go trading.

The fool saw them and said:

"Brothers, I’ll take my bull to sell too."

He tied a rope around the bull’s horns and led it to town. Along the way, he passed through a forest where there stood an old, dry birch tree. When the wind blew, the birch tree creaked.

"Why is the birch tree creaking?" thought the fool. "Is it trying to trade for my bull?"

"Well," he said, "if you want to buy it, go ahead and buy it; I don’t mind selling! The bull is worth twenty rubles; I can’t take less... Hand over the money!"

The birch tree didn’t answer him, only creaked, but the fool imagined it was asking to buy the bull on credit.

"Alright, I’ll wait until tomorrow!" He tied the bull to the birch tree, bid it farewell, and went home.

When the clever brothers returned, they asked:

"Well, fool, did you sell the bull?"

"I did."

"For a good price?"

"For twenty rubles."

"And where’s the money?"

"I haven’t received it yet; they said to come back tomorrow."

"Oh, you simpleton!"

The next morning, the fool got up, got ready, and went back to the birch tree for the money.

He arrived in the forest—the birch tree stood there, swaying in the wind, but the bull was gone: wolves had eaten it during the night.

"Well, neighbor, hand over the money; you promised to pay today."

The wind blew, the birch tree creaked, and the fool said:

"Look at you, so unreliable! Yesterday you said, ‘I’ll pay tomorrow,’ and today you’re making the same promise. Fine, I’ll wait one more day, but no longer—I need the money myself."

He returned home. The brothers pestered him again:

"So, did you get the money?"

"No, brothers! I had to wait some more."

"Who did you sell it to?"

"To a dry birch tree in the forest."

"What a fool!"

On the third day, the fool took an axe and went back to the forest. He arrived and demanded the money. The birch tree creaked and creaked.

"No, neighbor! If you keep putting me off with promises, I’ll never get my money. I don’t like jokes; I’ll settle this with you right now."

He swung the axe at the tree—and splinters flew in all directions.

Inside the birch tree was a hollow... and in that hollow, robbers had hidden a pot full of gold. The tree split in two, and the fool saw pure gold; he scooped up a heap and dragged it home. He brought it back and showed his brothers.

"Fool, where did you get so much?"

"The neighbor paid for the bull; and this isn’t even all of it—I probably didn’t bring half of it home. Come on, brothers, let’s go get the rest."

They went to the forest, collected the money, and carried it home.

The tale is done, and I’ll have a mug of mead.

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The Fool and the Birch Tree

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