Part 6
"Bread, daddy, bread!" He looked at his foot, and there was the tiny boy holding him by the leg band, while the master of the hut and the old woman were looking at him through the window.
Elisha awoke, and said to himself in an audible voice: "Tomorrow I will redeem their cornfield, and will buy them a horse, and flour to last till the harvest, and a cow for the little ones; or else while I go to seek the Lord beyond the sea, I may lose Him in myself."
Then Elisha fell asleep, and slept till morning. He awoke early, and going to the rich peasant, redeemed both the cornfield and the meadow land. He bought a scythe (for that also had been sold) and brought it back with him. Then he sent the man to mow, and himself went into the village. He heard that there was a horse and cart for sale at the public house, and he struck a bargain with the owner, and bought them. Then he bought a sack of flour, put it in the cart, and went to see about a cow. As he was going along he over took two women talking as they went. Though they spoke the Little-Russian dialect, he understood what they were saying.
"At first, it seems, they did not know him; they thought he was just an ordi nary man. He came in to ask for a drink of water, and then he remained. Just think of the things he has bought for them! Why they say he bought a horse and cart for them at the publican's, only this morning! There are not many such men in the world. It's worth while going to have a look at him."
Elisha heard and understood that he was being praised, and he did not go to buy the cow, but returned to the inn, paid for the horse, harnessed it, drove up to the hut, and got out. The people in the hut were astonished when they saw the horse. They thought it might be for them, but dared not ask. The man came out to open the gate.
"Where did you get a horse from, grandfather," he asked. "Why, I bought it," said Elisha. "It was going cheap. Go and cut some
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grass and put it in the manger for it to eat during the night. And take in the sack."
The man unharnessed the horse, and carried the sack into the barn. Then he mowed some grass and put it in the manger. Everybody lay down to sleep. Elisha went outside and lay by the roadside. That evening he took his bag out with him. When everyone was asleep, he got up, packed and fastened his bag, wrapped the linen bands round his legs, put on his shoes and coat, and set off to follow Efim.
VII
When Elisha had walked rather more than three miles it began to grow light. He sat down under a tree, opened his bag, counted his money, and found he had only seventeen roubles and twenty kopeks left.
"Well," thought he, "it is no use trying to cross the sea with this. If I beg my way it may be worse than not going at all. Friend Efim will get to Jeru salem without me, and will place a candle at the shrines in my name. As for me, I'm afraid I shall never fulfil my vow in this life. I must be thankful it was made to a merciful Master, and to one who pardons sinners."
Elisha rose, jerked his bag well up on his shoulders, and turned back. Not wishing to be recognized by any one, he made a circuit to avoid the village, and walked briskly homeward. Coming from home the way had seemed difficult to him, and he had found it hard to keep up with Efim, but now on his return journey, God helped him to get over the ground so that he hardly felt fatigue. Walking seemed like child's play. He went along swinging his staff, and did his forty to fifty miles a day.
When Elisha reached home the harvest was over. His family were delighted to see him again, and all wanted to know what had happened: Why and how he had been left behind? And why he had returned without reaching Jerusa lem? But Elisha did not tell them.
"It was not God's will that I should get there," said he. "I lost my money on the way, and lagged behind my companion. Forgive me, for the Lord's sake!"
Elisha gave his old wife what money he had left. Then he questioned them about home affairs. Everything was going on well; all the work had been done, nothing neglected, and all were living in peace and concord.
Efim's family heard of his return the same day, and came for news of their old man; and to them Elisha gave the same answers.
"Efim is a fast walker. We parted three days before St. Peter's day, and
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I meant to catch him up again, but all sorts of things happened. I lost my money, and had no means to get any further, so I turned back."
The folks were astonished that so sensible a man should have acted so foolishly: should have started and not got to his destination, and should have squandered all his money. They wondered at it for a while, and then forgot all about it, and Elisha forgot it too. He set to work again on his homestead. With his son's help he cut wood for fuel for the winter. He and the women threshed the corn. Then he mended the thatch on the outhouses, put the bees under cover, and handed over to his neighbor the ten hives he had sold him in spring, and all the swarms that had come from them. His wife tried not to tell how many swarms there had been from these hives, but Elisha knew well enough from which there had been swarms and from which not. And instead of ten, he handed over seventeen swarms to his neighbor. Having got everything ready for the winter, Elisha sent his son away to find work, while he himself took to platting shoes of bark, and hollowing out logs for hives.
VIII
All that day while Elisha stopped behind in the hut with the sick people, Efim waited for him. He only went on a little way before he sat down. He waited and waited, had a nap, woke up again, and again sat waiting; but his comrade did not come. He gazed till his eyes ached. The sun was already sinking be hind a tree, and still no Elisha was to be seen.
"Perhaps he has passed me," thought Efim, "or perhaps some one gave him a lift and he drove by while I slept, and did not see me. But how could he help seeing me? One can see so far here in the steppe. Shall I go back? Suppose he is on in front, we shall then miss each other completely and it will be still worse. I had better go on, and we shall be sure to meet where we put up for the night."
He came to a village, and told the watchman, if an old man of a certain description came along, to bring him to the hut where Efim stopped. But Eli sha did not turn up that night. Efim went on, asking all he met whether they had not seen a little, bald-headed, old man? No one had seen such a traveller. Efim wondered, but went on alone, saying:
"We shall be sure to meet in Odessa, or on board the ship," and he did not trouble more about it.
On the way, he came across a pilgrim wearing a priest's coat, with long hair and a skullcap such as priests wear. This pilgrim had been to Mount Athos, and was now going to Jerusalem for the second time. They both stopped at
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the same place one night, and, having met, they travelled on together.
They got safely to Odessa, and there had to wait three days for a ship. Many pilgrims from many different parts were in the same case. Again Efim asked about Elisha, but no one had seen him.
Efim got himself a foreign passport, which cost him five roubles. He paid forty roubles for a return ticket to Jerusalem, and bought a supply of bread and herrings for the voyage.
The pilgrim began explaining to Efim how he might get on to the ship without paying his fare; but Efim would not listen. "No, I came prepared to pay, and I shall pay," said he.
The ship was freighted, and the pilgrims went on board, Efim and his new comrade among them. The anchors were weighed, and the ship put out to sea.
All day they sailed smoothly, but towards night a wind arose, rain came on, and the vessel tossed about and shipped water. The people were frightened: the women wailed and screamed, and some of the weaker men ran about the ship looking for shelter. Efim too was frightened, but he would not show it, and remained at the place on deck where he had settled down when first he came on board, beside some old men from Tambof. There they sat silent, all night and all next day, holding on to their sacks. On the third day it grew calm, and on the fifth day they anchored at Constantinople. Some of the pilgrims went on shore to visit the Church of St. Sophia, now held by the Turks. Efim remained on the ship, and only bought some white bread. They lay there for twenty-four hours, and then put to sea again. At Smyrna they stopped again; and at Alexandria; but at last they arrived safely at Jaffa, where all the pilgrims had to disembark. From there still it was more than forty miles by road to Jerusalem. When disembarking the people were again much frightened. The ship was high, and the people were dropped into boats, which rocked so much that it was easy to miss them and fall into the water. A couple of men did get a wetting, but at last all were safely landed.
They went on on foot, and at noon on the third day reached Jerusalem. They stopped outside the town, at the Russian inn, where their passports were endorsed. Then, after dinner, Efim visited the Holy Places with his companion, the pilgrim. It was not the time when they could be admitted to the Holy Sepulchre, but they went to the Patriarchate. All the pilgrims as sembled there. The women were separated from the men, who were all told to sit in a circle, barefoot. Then a monk came in with a towel to wash their feet. He washed, wiped, and then kissed their feet, and did this to every one
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in the circle. Efim's feet were washed and kissed, with the rest. He stood through vespers and matins, prayed, placed candles at the shrines, handed in booklets inscribed with his parents names, that they might be mentioned in the church prayers. Here at the Patriarchate food and wine were given them. Next morning they went to the cell of Mary of Egypt, where she had lived doing penance. Here too they placed candles and had prayers read. From there they went to Abraham's Monastery, and saw the place where Abraham intended to slay his son as an offering to God. Then they visited the spot where Christ appeared to Mary Magdalene, and the Church of James, the Lord's brother. The pilgrim showed Efim all these places, and told him how much money to give at each place. At midday they returned to the inn and had dinner. As they were preparing to lie down and rest, the pilgrim cried out, and began to search his clothes, feeling them all over.
"My purse has been stolen, there were twenty-three roubles in it," said he, "two ten-rouble notes and the rest in change."
He sighed and lamented a great deal, but as there was no help for it, they lay down to sleep.
As Efim lay there, he was assailed by temptation.
"No one has stolen any money from this pilgrim," thought he, "I do not believe he had any. He gave none away anywhere, though he made me give, and even borrowed a rouble of me."
This thought had no sooner crossed his mind, than Efim rebuked himself, saying: "What right have I to judge a man? It is a sin. I will think no more about it." But as soon as his thoughts began to wander, they turned again to the pilgrim: how interested he seemed to be in money, and how unlikely it sounded when he declared that his purse had been stolen.
"He never had any money," thought Efim. "It's an invention." Towards evening they got up, and went to midnight Mass at the great Church of the Resurrection, where the Lord's Sepulchre is. The pilgrim kept close to Efim and went with him everywhere. They came to the Church; a great many pilgrims were there; some Russians and some of other nation alities: Greeks, Armenians, Turks, and Syrians. Efim entered the Holy Gates with the crowd. A monk led them past the Turkish sentinels, to the place where the Savior was taken down from the cross and anointed, and where candles were burning in nine great candlesticks. The monk showed and ex plained everything. Efim offered a candle there. Then the monk led Efim to
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the right, up the steps to Golgotha, to the place where the cross had stood. Efim prayed there. Then they showed him the cleft where the ground had been rent asunder to its nethermost depths; then the place where Christ's hands and feet were nailed to the cross; then Adam's tomb, where the blood of Christ had dripped on to Adam's bones. Then they showed him the stone on which Christ sat when the crown of thorns was placed on His head; then the post to which Christ was bound when He was scourged. Then Efim saw the stone with two holes for Christ's feet. They were going to show him some thing else, but there was a stir in the crowd, and the people all hurried to the church of the Lord's Sepulchre itself. The Latin Mass had just finished there, and the Russian Mass was beginning. And Efim went with the crowd to the tomb cut in the rock.
He tried to get rid of the pilgrim, against whom he was still sinning in his mind, but the pilgrim would not leave him, but went with him to the Mass at the Holy Sepulchre. They tried to get to the front, but were too late. There was such a crowd that it was impossible to move either backwards or forwards. Efim stood looking in front of him, praying, and every now and then feeling for his purse. He was in two minds: sometimes he thought that the pilgrim was deceiving him, and then again he thought that if the pilgrim spoke the truth and his purse had really been stolen, the same thing might happen to himself.
Efim stood there gazing into the little chapel in which was the Holy Sepulchre itself with thirty-six lamps burning above it. As he stood looking over the people's heads, he saw something that surprised him. Just beneath the lamps in which the sacred fire burns and in front of every one, Efim saw an old man in a gray coat, whose bald, shining head was just like Elisha Bodrof.
"It is like him," thought Efim, "but it cannot be Elisha. He could not have got ahead of me. The ship before ours started a week sooner. He could not have caught that; and he was not on ours, for I saw every pilgrim on board."
Hardly had Efim thought this, when the little old man began to pray, and bowed three times: once forwards to God, then once on each side –to the brethren. And as he turned his head to the right, Efim recognized him. It was Elisha Bodrof himself with his dark, curly beard turning gray at the cheeks, with his brows, his eyes and nose, and his expression of face. Yes, it was he!
Efim was very pleased to have found his comrade again, and wondered how Elisha had got ahead of him.
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"Well done, Elisha!" thought he. "See how he has pushed ahead. He must have come across someone who showed him the way. When we get out, I will find him, get rid of this fellow in the skullcap, and keep to Elisha. Perhaps he will show me how to get to the front also."
Efim kept looking out, so as not to lose sight of Elisha. But when the Mass was over, the crowd began to sway, pushing forward to kiss the tomb, and pushed Efim aside. He was again seized with fear lest his purse should be sto len. Pressing it with his hand, he began elbowing through the crowd, anxious only to get out. When he reached the open, he went about for a long time searching for Elisha both outside and in the Church itself. In the cells of the Church he saw many people of all kinds, eating, and drinking wine, and read ing and sleeping there. But Elisha was nowhere to be seen. So Efim returned to the inn without having found his comrade. That evening the pilgrim in the skullcap did not turn up. He had gone off without repaying the rouble, and Efim was left alone.
The next day Efim went to the Holy Sepulchre again, with an old man from Tambof, whom he had met on the ship. He tried to get to the front, but was again pressed back; so he stood by a pillar and prayed. He looked before him, and there in the foremost place under the lamps, close to the very Sep ulchre of the Lord, stood Elisha, with his arms spread out like a priest at the altar, and with his bald head all shining.
"Well, now," thought Efim, "I won't lose him!" He pushed forward to the front, but when he got there, there was no Eli sha: he had evidently gone away.
Again on the third day Efim looked, and saw at the Sepulchre, in the holi est place, Elisha standing in the sight of all men, his arms outspread, and his eyes gazing upwards as if he saw something above. And his bald head was all shining.
"Well, this time," thought Efim, "he shall not escape me! I will go and stand at the door, then we can't miss one another!"
Efim went out and stood by the door till past noon. Everyone had passed out, but still Elisha did not appear.
Efim remained six weeks in Jerusalem, and went everywhere: to Bethlehem, and to Bethany, and to the Jordan. He had a new shroud sealed at the Holy Sepulchre for his burial, and he took a bottle of water from the Jordan, and some holy earth, and bought candles that had been lit at the sacred flame. In eight places he inscribed names to be prayed for, and he spent all his money, except just enough to get home with.
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Then he started homeward. He walked to Jaffa, sailed thence to Odessa, and walked home from there on foot.
Efim travelled the same road he had come by; and as he drew nearer home his former anxiety returned as to how affairs were getting on in his absence. "Much water flows away in a year," the proverb says. It takes a lifetime to build up a homestead, but not long to ruin it, thought he. And he wondered how his son had managed without him, what sort of spring they were having, how the cattle had wintered, and whether the cottage was well finished. When Efim came to the district where he had parted from Elisha the summer before, he could hardly believe that the people living there were the same. The year before they had been starving, but now they were living in comfort. The harvest had been good, and the people had recovered and had forgotten their former misery.
One evening Efim reached the very place where Elisha had remained be hind; and as he entered the village, a little girl in a white smock ran out of a hut.
"Daddy, daddy, come to our house!" Efim meant to pass on, but the little girl would not let him. She took hold of his coat, laughing, and pulled him towards the hut, where a woman with a small boy came out into the porch and beckoned to him.
"Come in, grandfather," she said. "Have supper and spend the night with us."
So Efim went in. "I may as well ask about Elisha," he thought. "I fancy this is the very hut he went to for a drink of water."
The woman helped him off with the bag he carried, and gave him water to wash his face. Then she made him sit down to table, and set milk, curd cakes and porridge before him. Efim thanked her, and praised her for her kindness to a pilgrim. The woman shook her head.
"We have good reason to welcome pilgrims," she said. "It was a pilgrim who showed us what life is. We were living forgetful of God, and God pun ished us almost to death. We reached such a pass last summer, that we all lay ill and helpless with nothing to eat. And we should have died, but that God sent an old man to help us –just such a one as you. He came in one day to ask for a drink of water, saw the state we were in, took pity on us, and remained with us. He gave us food and drink, and set us on our feet again; and he redeemed our land, and bought a cart and horse and gave them to us."
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Here the old woman entering the hut, interrupted the younger one and said:
"We don't know whether it was a man, or an angel from God. He loved us all, pitied us all, and went away without telling us his name, so that we don't even know whom to pray for. I can see it all before me now! There I lay waiting for death, when in comes a bald-headed old man. He was not anything much to look at, and he asked for a drink of water. I, sinner that I am, thought to myself: 'What does he come prowling about here for?' And just think what he did! As soon as he saw us, he let down his bag, on this very spot, and untied it."
Here the little girl joined in. "No, Granny," said she, "first he put it down here in the middle of the hut, and then he lifted it on to the bench."
And they began discussing and recalling all he had said and done, where he sat and slept, and what he had said to each of them.
At night the peasant himself came home on his horse, and he too began to tell about Elisha and how he had lived with them.
"Had he not come we should all have died in our sins. We were dying in despair, murmuring against God and man. But he set us on our feet again; and through him we learned to know God, and to believe that there is good in man. May the Lord bless him! We used to live like animals; he made hu man beings of us."
After giving Efim food and drink, they showed him where he was to sleep; and lay down to sleep themselves.
But though Efim lay down, he could not sleep. He could not get Elisha out of his mind, but remembered how he had seen him three times at Jerusalem, standing in the foremost place.
"So that is how he got ahead of me," thought Efim. "God may or may not have accepted my pilgrimage but He has certainly accepted his!"
Next morning Efim bade farewell to the people, who put some patties in his sack before they went to their work, and he continued his journey.
XII
Efim had been away just a year, and it was spring again when he reached home one evening. His son was not at home, but had gone to the public house and when he came back, he had had a drop too much. Efim began questioning him. Everything showed that the young fellow had been unsteady during his father's absence. The money had
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all been wrongly spent, and the work had been neglected. The father began to upbraid the son; and the son answered rudely.
"Why didn't you stay and look after it yourself?" he said. "You go off, taking the money with you and now you demand it of me!"
The old man grew angry, and struck his son. In the morning Efim went to the village Elder to complain of his son's conduct. As he was passing Elisha's house, his friend's wife greeted him from the porch.
"How do you do, neighbor?" she said. "How do you do, dear friend? Did you get to Jerusalem safely?"
Efim stopped. "Yes, thank God," he said. "I have been there. I lost sight of your old man, but I hear he got home safely."
The old woman was fond of talking: "Yes, neighbor, he has come back," said she. "He's been back a long time. Soon after Assumption, I think it was, he returned. And we were glad the Lord had sent him back to us! We were dull without him. We can't expect much work from him any more, his years for work are past; but still he is the head of the household and it's more cheerful when he's at home. And how glad our lad was! He said, 'It's like being without sunlight, when father's away!' It was dull without him, dear friend. We're fond of him, and take good care of him."
"Is he at home now?" "He is, dear friend. He is with his bees. He is hiving the swarms. He says they are swarming well this year. The Lord has given such strength to the bees that my husband doesn't remember the like. 'The Lord is not rewarding us according to our sins,' he says. Come in, dear neighbor, he will be so glad to see you again."
Efim passed through the passage into the yard and to the apiary, to see Eli sha. There was Elisha in his gray coat, without any face-net or gloves, stand ing, under the birch trees, looking upwards, his arms stretched out and his bald head shining, as Efim had seen him at the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem: and above him the sunlight shone through the birches as the flames of fire had done in the holy place, and the golden bees flew round his head like a halo, and did not sting him.
Efim stopped. The old woman called to her husband. "Here's your friend come," she cried. Elisha looked round with a pleased face, and came towards Efim, gently
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picking bees out of his own beard.
"Good day, neighbor, good day, dear friend. Did you get there safely?" "My feet walked there, and I have brought you some water from the river Jordan. You must come to my house for it. But whether the Lord accepted my efforts…"
"Well the Lord be thanked! May Christ bless you!" said Elisha. Efim was silent for a while, and then added: "My feet have been there, but whether my soul, or another's, has been there more truly…"
"That's God's business, neighbor, God's business," interrupted Elisha. "On my return journey I stopped at the hut where you remained be hind…"
Elisha was alarmed, and said hurriedly: "God's business, neighbor, God's business! Come into the cottage, I'll give you some of our honey." And Elisha changed the conversation, and talked of home affairs.
Efim sighed, and did not speak to Elisha of the people in the hut, nor of how he had seen him in Jerusalem. But he now understood that the best way to keep one's vows to God and to do His will, is for each man while he lives to show love and do good to others.
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Where Love Is, God Is
In a certain town there lived a cobbler, Martin Avdeitch by name. He had a tiny room in a basement, the one window of which looked out on to the street. Through it one could only see the feet of those who passed by, but Martin recognized the people by their boots. He had lived long in the place and had many acquaintances. There was hardly a pair of boots in the neigh borhood that had not been once or twice through his hands, so he often saw his own handiwork through the window. Some he had resoled, some patched, some stitched up, and to some he had even put fresh uppers. He had plenty to do, for he worked well, used good material, did not charge too much, and could be relied on. If he could do a job by the day required, he undertook it; if not, he told the truth and gave no false promises; so he was well known and never short of work.
Martin had always been a good man; but in his old age he began to think more about his soul and to draw nearer to God. While he still worked for a master, before he set up on his own account, his wife had died, leaving him with a three-year-old son. None of his elder children had lived, they had all died in infancy. At first Martin thought of sending his little son to his sister's in the country, but then he felt sorry to part with the boy, thinking: "It would be hard for my little Kapiton to have to grow up in a strange family; I will keep him with me."
Martin left his master and went into lodgings with his little son. But he had no luck with his children. No sooner had the boy reached an age when he could help his father and be a support as well as a joy to him, than he fell ill and, after being laid up for a week with a burning fever, died. Martin buried his son, and gave way to despair so great and overwhelming that he murmured against God. In his sorrow he prayed again and again that he too might die, reproaching God for having taken the son he loved, his only son while he, old as he was, remained alive. After that Martin left off going to
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church.
One day an old man from Martin's native village who had been a pilgrim for the last eight years, called in on his way from Troitsa Monastery. Martin opened his heart to him, and told him of his sorrow.
"I no longer even wish to live, holy man," he said. "All I ask of God is that I soon may die. I am now quite without hope in the world."
The old man replied: "You have no right to say such things, Martin. We cannot judge God's ways. Not our reasoning, but God's will, decides. If God willed that your son should die and you should live, it must be best so. As to your despair –that comes because you wish to live for your own happiness."
"What else should one live for?" asked Martin. "For God, Martin," said the old man. "He gives you life, and you must live for Him. When you have learnt to live for Him, you will grieve no more, and all will seem easy to you."
Martin was silent awhile, and then asked: "But how is one to live for God?"
The old man answered: "How one may live for God has been shown us by Christ. Can you read? Then buy the Gospels, and read them: there you will see how God would have you live. You have it all there."
These words sank deep into Martin's heart, and that same day he went and bought himself a Testament in large print, and began to read.
At first he meant only to read on holidays, but having once begun he found it made his heart so light that he read every day. Sometimes he was so absorbed in his reading that the oil in his lamp burnt out before he could tear himself away from the book. He continued to read every night, and the more he read the more clearly he understood what God required of him, and how he might live for God. And his heart grew lighter and lighter. Before, when he went to bed he used to lie with a heavy heart, moaning as he thought of his little Kapiton; but now he only repeated again and again: "Glory to Thee, glory to Thee, O Lord! Thy will be done!"
From that time Martin's whole life changed. Formerly, on holidays he used to go and have tea at the public house, and did not even refuse a glass or two of vodka. Sometimes, after having had a drop with a friend, he left the public house not drunk, but rather merry, and would say foolish things: shout at a man, or abuse him. Now, all that sort of thing passed away from him. His life became peaceful and joyful. He sat down to his work in the morning, and when he had finished his day's work he took the lamp down from the wall, stood it on the table, fetched his book from the shelf, opened it, and sat down
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to read. The more he read the better he understood, and the clearer and hap pier he felt in his mind.
It happened once that Martin sat up late, absorbed in his book. He was reading Luke's Gospel; and in the sixth chapter he came upon the verses:
"To him that smiteth thee on the one cheek offer also the other; and from him that taketh away thy cloak withhold not thy coat also. Give to every man that asketh thee; and of him that taketh away thy goods ask them not again. And as ye would that men should do to you, do ye also to them likewise."
He also read the verses where our Lord says: "And why call ye me, Lord, Lord, and do not the things which I say? Who soever cometh to me, and heareth my sayings, and doeth them, I will shew you to whom he is like: He is like a man which built an house, and digged deep, and laid the foundation on a rock: and when the flood arose, the stream beat vehemently upon that house, and could not shake it: for it was founded upon a rock. But he that heareth and doeth not, is like a man that without a foundation built an house upon the earth, against which the stream did beat vehemently, and immediately it fell; and the ruin of that house was great."
When Martin read these words his soul was glad within him. He took off his spectacles and laid them on the book, and leaning his elbows on the table pondered over what he had read. He tried his own life by the standard of those words, asking himself:
"Is my house built on the rock, or on sand? If it stands on the rock, it is well. It seems easy enough while one sits here alone, and one thinks one has done all that God commands; but as soon as I cease to be on my guard, I sin again. Still I will persevere. It brings such joy. Help me, O Lord!"
He thought all this, and was about to go to bed, but was loth to leave his book. So he went on reading the seventh chapter–about the centurion, the widow's son, and the answer to John's disciples – and he came to the part where a rich Pharisee invited the Lord to his house; and he read how the woman who was a sinner, anointed his feet and washed them with her tears, and how he justified her. Coming to the forty-fourth verse, he read:
"And turning to the woman, he said unto Simon, Seest thou this woman? I entered into thine house, thou gavest me no water for my feet: but she hath wetted my feet with her tears, and wiped them with her hair. Thou gavest me no kiss; but she, since the time I came in, hath not ceased to kiss my feet. My head with oil thou didst not anoint: but she hath anointed my feet with ointment."
He read these verses and thought: "He gave no water for his feet, gave no
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kiss, his head with oil he did not anoint…" And Martin took off his spectacles once more, laid them on his book, and pondered.
"He must have been like me, that Pharisee. He too thought only of himself – how to get a cup of tea, how to keep warm and comfortable; never a thought of his guest. He took care of himself, but for his guest he cared nothing at all. Yet who was the guest? The Lord himself! If he came to me, should I behave like that?"
Then Martin laid his head upon both his arms and, before he was aware of it, he fell asleep.
"Martin!" he suddenly heard a voice, as if some one had breathed the word above his ear.
He started from his sleep. "Who's there?" he asked. He turned round and looked at the door; no one was there. He called again. Then he heard quite distinctly: "Martin, Martin! Look out into the street tomorrow, for I shall come."
Martin roused himself, rose from his chair and rubbed his eyes, but did not know whether he had heard these words in a dream or awake. He put out the lamp and lay down to sleep.
Next morning he rose before daylight, and after saying his prayers he lit the fire and prepared his cabbage soup and buckwheat porridge. Then he lit the samovar, put on his apron, and sat down by the window to his work. As he sat working Martin thought over what had happened the night before. At times it seemed to him like a dream, and at times he thought that he had really heard the voice. "Such things have happened before now," thought he.
So he sat by the window, looking out into the street more than he worked, and whenever any one passed in unfamiliar boots he would stoop and look up, so as to see not the feet only but the face of the pass erby as well. A house porter passed in new felt boots; then a water carrier. Presently an old soldier of Nicholas' reign came near the window, spade in hand. Martin knew him by his boots, which were shabby old felt ones, goloshed with leather. The old man was called Stepanitch: a neighboring tradesman kept him in his house for charity, and his duty was to help the house porter. He began to clear away the snow before Martin's window. Mar tin glanced at him and then went on with his work.
"I must be growing crazy with age," said Martin, laughing at his fancy. "Stepanitch comes to clear away the snow, and I must needs imagine it's Christ coming to visit me. Old dotard that I am!"
Yet after he had made a dozen stitches he felt drawn to look out of the win-
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dow again. He saw that Stepanitch had leaned his spade against the wall, and was either resting himself or trying to get warm. The man was old and broken down, and had evidently not enough strength even to clear away the snow.
"What if I called him in and gave him some tea?" thought Martin. "The samovar is just on the boil."
He stuck his awl in its place, and rose; and putting the samovar on the table, made tea. Then he tapped the window with his fingers. Stepanitch turned and came to the window. Martin beckoned to him to come in, and went himself to open the door.
"Come in," he said, "and warm yourself a bit. I'm sure you must be cold."
"May God bless you!" Stepanitch answered. "My bones do ache to be sure." He came in, first shaking off the snow, and lest he should leave marks on the floor he began wiping his feet; but as he did so he tottered and nearly fell.
"Don't trouble to wipe your feet," said Martin "I'll wipe up the floor –it's all in the day's work. Come, friend, sit down and have some tea."
Filling two tumblers, he passed one to his visitor, and pouring his own out into the saucer, began to blow on it.
Stepanitch emptied his glass, and, turning it upside down, put the remains of his piece of sugar on the top. He began to express his thanks, but it was plain that he would be glad of some more.
"Have another glass," said Martin, refilling the visitor's tumbler and his own. But while he drank his tea Martin kept looking out into the street.
"Are you expecting any one?" asked the visitor. "Am I expecting any one? Well, now, I'm ashamed to tell you. It isn't that I really expect any one; but I heard something last night which I can't get out of my mind. Whether it was a vision, or only a fancy, I can't tell. You see, friend, last night I was reading the Gospel, about Christ the Lord, how he suffered, and how he walked on earth. You have heard tell of it, I dare say."
"I have heard tell of it," answered Stepanitch; "but I'm an ignorant man and not able to read."
"Well, you see, I was reading of how he walked on earth. I came to that part, you know, where he went to a Pharisee who did not receive him well. Well, friend, as I read about it, I thought now that man did not receive Christ the Lord with proper honor. Suppose such a thing could happen to such a man as myself, I thought, what would I not do to receive him! But that man gave him no reception at all. Well, friend, as I was thinking of this, I began to doze, and as I dozed I heard some one call me by name. I got up, and thought
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I heard someone whispering, 'Expect me; I will come tomorrow.' This hap pened twice over. And to tell you the truth, it sank so into my mind that, though I am ashamed of it myself, I keep on expecting him, the dear Lord!"
Stepanitch shook his head in silence, finished his tumbler and laid it on its side; but Martin stood it up again and refilled it for him.
"Here drink another glass, bless you! And I was thinking too, how he walked on earth and despised no one, but went most ly among common folk. He went with plain people, and chose his disciples from among the likes of us, from workmen like us, sinners that we are. 'He who raises himself,' he said, 'shall be humbled and he who humbles himself shall be raised.' 'You call me Lord,' he said, 'and I will wash your feet.' 'He who would be first,' he said, 'let him be the servant of all; because,' he said, 'blessed are the poor, the humble, the meek, and the merciful.'"
Stepanitch forgot his tea. He was an old man easily moved to tears, and as he sat and listened the tears ran down his cheeks.
"Come, drink some more," said Martin. But Stepanitch crossed himself, thanked him, moved away his tumbler, and rose.
"Thank you, Martin Avdeitch," he said, "you have given me food and comfort both for soul and body."
"You're very welcome. Come again another time. I am glad to have a guest," said Martin.
Stepanitch went away; and Martin poured out the last of the tea and drank it up. Then he put away the tea things and sat down to his work, stitching the back seam of a boot. And as he stitched he kept looking out of the window, waiting for Christ, and thinking about him and his doings. And his head was full of Christ's sayings.
Two soldiers went by: one in Government boots the other in boots of his own; then the master of a neighboring house, in shining goloshes; then a baker carrying a basket. All these passed on. Then a woman came up in wor sted stockings and peasant-made shoes. She passed the window, but stopped by the wall. Martin glanced up at her through the window, and saw that she was a stranger, poorly dressed, and with a baby in her arms. She stopped by the wall with her back to the wind, trying to wrap the baby up though she had hardly anything to wrap it in. The woman had only summer clothes on, and even they were shabby and worn. Through the window Martin heard the baby crying, and the woman trying to soothe it, but unable to do so. Martin rose and going out of the door and up the steps he called to her.
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"My dear, I say, my dear!" The woman heard, and turned round. "Why do you stand out there with the baby in the cold? Come inside. You can wrap him up better in a warm place. Come this way!"
The woman was surprised to see an old man in an apron, with spectacles on his nose, calling to her, but she followed him in.
They went down the steps, entered the little room, and the old man led her to the bed.
"There, sit down, my dear, near the stove. Warm yourself, and feed the baby."
"Haven't any milk. I have eaten nothing myself since early morning," said the woman, but still she took the baby to her breast.
Martin shook his head. He brought out a basin and some bread. Then he opened the oven door and poured some cabbage soup into the basin. He took out the porridge pot also but the porridge was not yet ready, so he spread a cloth on the table and served only the soup and bread.
"Sit down and eat, my dear, and I'll mind the baby. Why, bless me, I've had children of my own; I know how to manage them."
The woman crossed herself, and sitting down at the table began to eat, while Martin put the baby on the bed and sat down by it. He chucked and chucked, but having no teeth he could not do it well and the baby continued to cry. Then Martin tried poking at him with his finger; he drove his finger straight at the baby's mouth and then quickly drew it back, and did this again and again. He did not let the baby take his finger in its mouth, because it was all black with cobbler's wax. But the baby first grew quiet watching the finger, and then began to laugh. And Martin felt quite pleased.
The woman sat eating and talking, and told him who she was, and where she had been.
"I'm a soldier's wife," said she. "They sent my husband somewhere, far away, eight months ago, and I have heard nothing of him since. I had a place as cook till my baby was born, but then they would not keep me with a child. For three months now I have been struggling, unable to find a place, and I've had to sell all I had for food. I tried to go as a wet-nurse, but no one would have me; they said I was too starved-looking and thin. Now I have just been to see a tradesman's wife (a woman from our village is in service with her) and she has promised to take me. I thought it was all settled at last, but she tells me not to come till next week. It is far to her place, and I am fagged out, and baby is quite starved, poor mite. Fortunately our landlady has pity on us, and
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lets us lodge free, else I don't know what we should do."
Martin sighed. "Haven't you any warmer clothing?" he asked. "How could I get warm clothing?" said she. "Why I pawned my last shawl for sixpence yesterday."
Then the woman came and took the child, and Martin got up. He went and looked among some things that were hanging on the wall, and brought back an old cloak.
"Here," he said, "though it's a worn-out old thing, it will do to wrap him up in."
The woman looked at the cloak, then at the old man, and taking it, burst into tears. Martin turned away, and groping under the bed brought out a small trunk. He fumbled about in it, and again sat down opposite the woman. And the woman said:
"The Lord bless you, friend. Surely Christ must have sent me to your win dow, else the child would have frozen. It was mild when I started, but now see how cold it has turned. Surely it must have been Christ who made you look out of your window and take pity on me, poor wretch!"
Martin smiled and said, "It is quite true; it was he made me do it. It was no mere chance made me look out."
And he told the woman his dream, and how he had heard the Lord's voice promising to visit him that day.
"Who knows? All things are possible," said the woman. And she got up and threw the cloak over her shoulders, wrapping it round herself and round the baby. Then she bowed, and thanked Martin once more.
"Take this for Christ's sake," said Martin, and gave her sixpence to get her shawl out of pawn. The woman crossed herself, and Martin did the same, and then he saw her out.
After the woman had gone, Martin ate some cabbage soup, cleared the things away, and sat down to work again. He sat and worked, but did not forget the window, and every time a shadow fell on it he looked up at once to see who was passing. People he knew and strangers passed by, but no one remarkable.
After a while Martin saw an apple-woman stop just in front of his window. She had a large basket, but there did not seem to be many apples left in it; she had evidently sold most of her stock. On her back she had a sack full of chips, which she was taking home. No doubt she had gathered them at some place where building was going on. The sack evidently hurt her, and she wanted to shift it from one shoulder to the other, so she put it down on the footpath
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and, placing her basket on a post, began to shake down the chips in the sack. While she was doing this a boy in a tattered cap ran up, snatched an apple out of the basket, and tried to slip away; but the old woman noticed it, and turn ing, caught the boy by his sleeve. He began to struggle, trying to free himself, but the old woman held on with both hands, knocked his cap off his head, and seized hold of his hair. The boy screamed and the old woman scolded. Martin dropped his awl, not waiting to stick it in its place, and rushed out of the door. Stumbling up the steps, and dropping his spectacles in his hurry, he ran out into the street. The old woman was pulling the boy's hair and scolding him, and threatening to take him to the police. The lad was struggling and pro testing, saying, "I did not take it. What are you beating me for? Let me go!"
Martin separated them. He took the boy by the hand and said, "Let him go, Granny. Forgive him for Christ's sake."
"I'll pay him out, so that he won't forget it for a year! I'll take the rascal to the police!"
Martin began entreating the old woman. "Let him go, Granny. He won't do it again. Let him go for Christ's sake!" The old woman let go, and the boy wished to run away, but Martin stopped him.
"Ask the Granny's forgiveness!" said he. "And don't do it another time. I saw you take the apple."
The boy began to cry and to beg pardon. "That's right. And now here's an apple for you," and Martin took an apple from the basket and gave it to the boy, saying, "I will pay you, Granny."
"You will spoil them that way, the young rascals," said the old woman. "He ought to be whipped so that he should remember it for a week."
"Oh, Granny, Granny," said Martin, "that's our way – but it's not God's way. If he should be whipped for stealing an apple, what should be done to us for our sins?"
The old woman was silent. And Martin told her the parable of the lord who forgave his servant a large debt, and how the servant went out and seized his debtor by the throat. The old woman listened to it all, and the boy, too, stood by and listened.
"God bids us forgive," said Martin, "or else we shall not be forgiven. For give every one; and a thoughtless youngster most of all."
The old woman wagged her head and sighed. "It's true enough," said she, "but they are getting terribly spoilt." "Then we old ones must show them better ways," Martin replied.
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"That's just what I say," said the old woman. "I have had seven of them myself, and only one daughter is left." And the old woman began to tell how and where she was living with her daughter, and how many grandchildren she had. "There now," she said, "I have but little strength left, yet I work hard for the sake of my grandchildren; and nice children they are, too. No one comes out to meet me but the children. Little Annie, now, won't leave me for any one. 'It's grandmother, dear grandmother, darling grandmother.'" And the old woman completely softened at the thought.
"Of course, it was only his childishness, God help him," said she, referring to the boy.
As the old woman was about to hoist her sack on her back, the lad sprang forward to her, saying, "Let me carry it for you, Granny. I'm going that way."
The old woman nodded her head, and put the sack on the boy's back, and they went down the street together, the old woman quite forgetting to ask Martin to pay for the apple. Martin stood and watched them as they went along talking to each other.
When they were out of sight Martin went back to the house. Having found his spectacles unbroken on the steps, he picked up his awl and sat down again to work. He worked a little, but could soon not see to pass the bristle through the holes in the leather; and presently he noticed the lamplighter passing on his way to light the street lamps.
"Seems it's time to light up," thought he. So he trimmed his lamp, hung it up, and sat down again to work. He finished off one boot and, turning it about, examined it. It was all right. Then he gathered his tools together, swept up the cuttings, put away the bristles and the thread and the awls, and, taking down the lamp, placed it on the table. Then he took the Gospels from the shelf. He meant to open them at the place he had marked the day before with a bit of morocco, but the book opened at another place. As Martin opened it, his yesterday's dream came back to his mind, and no sooner had he thought of it than he seemed to hear footsteps, as though some one were moving behind him. Martin turned round, and it seemed to him as if people were standing in the dark corner, but he could not make out who they were. And a voice whispered in his ear: "Martin, Martin, don't you know me?"
"Who is it?" muttered Martin. "It is I," said the voice. And out of the dark corner stepped Stepanitch, who smiled and vanishing like a cloud was seen no more.
"It is I," said the voice again. And out of the darkness stepped the woman
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with the baby in her arms and the woman smiled and the baby laughed, and they too vanished.
"It is I," said the voice once more. And the old woman and the boy with the apple stepped out and both smiled, and then they too vanished.
And Martin's soul grew glad. He crossed himself, put on his spectacles, and began reading the Gospel just where it had opened; and at the top of the page he read
"I was a hungered, and ye gave me meat: I was thirsty, and ye gave me drink: I was a stranger, and ye took me in."
And at the bottom of the page he read: "Inasmuch as ye did it unto one of these my brethren even these least, ye did it unto me."
And Martin understood that his dream had come true; and that the Savior had really come to him that day, and he had welcomed him.
pa rt i i i
A Fa iry Tale
The Story of Ivan the Fool
I Once upon a time, in a certain province of a certain country, there lived a rich peasant, who had three sons: Simon the Soldier, Taras the Stout, and Ivan the Fool, besides an unmarried daughter, Martha, who was deaf and dumb. Simon the Soldier went to the wars to serve the king; Taras the Stout went to a merchant's in town to trade, and Ivan the Fool stayed at home with the lass, to till the ground till his back bent.
Simon the Soldier obtained high rank and an estate, and married a noble man's daughter. His pay was large and his estate was large, but yet he could not make ends meet. What the husband earned his lady wife squandered, and they never had money enough.
So Simon the Soldier went to his estate to collect the income, but his steward said, "where is any income to come from? We have neither cattle, nor tools, nor horse, nor plow, nor harrow. We must first get all these, and then the money will come."
Then Simon the Soldier went to his father and said: "You, father, are rich, but have given me nothing. Divide what you have, and give me a third part, that I may improve my estate."
But the old man said: "You brought nothing into my house; why should I give you a third part? It would be unfair to Ivan and to the girl."
But Simon answered, "He is a fool; and she is an old maid, and deaf and dumb besides; what's the good of property to them?"
The old man said, "We will see what Ivan says about it." And Ivan said, "Let him take what he wants." So Simon the Soldier took his share of his father's goods and removed them to his estate, and went off again to serve the king.
Taras the Stout also gathered much money, and married into a merchant's family, but still he wanted more. So he, also, came to his father and said, "Give
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me my portion."
But the old man did not wish to give Taras a share either, and said, "You brought nothing here. Ivan has earned all we have in the house, and why should we wrong him and the girl?"
But Taras said, "What does he need? He is a fool! He cannot marry, no one would have him; and the dumb lass does not need anything either. Look here, Ivan!" said he, "give me half the corn; I don't want the tools, and of the live stock I will take only the gray stallion, which is of no use to you for the plow."
Ivan laughed and said, "Take what you want. I will work to earn some more."
So they gave a share to Taras also, and he carted the corn away to town, and took the gray stallion. And Ivan was left with one old mare, to lead his peasant life as before, and to support his father and mother.
Now the old Devil was vexed that the brothers had not quarrelled over the divi sion, but had parted peacefully; and he summoned three imps.
"Look here," said he, "there are three brothers: Simon the Soldier, Taras the Stout, and Ivan the Fool. They should have quarrelled, but are living peaceably and meet on friendly terms. The fool Ivan has spoilt the whole business for me. Now you three go and tackle those three brothers, and worry them till they scratch each other's eyes out! Do you think you can do it?"
"Yes, we'll do it," said they. "How will you set about it?" "Why," said they, "first we'll ruin them. And when they haven't a crust to eat we'll tie them up together, and then they'll fight each other, sure enough!"
"That's capital; I see you understand your business. Go, and don't come back till you've set them by the ears, or I'll skin you alive!"
The imps went off into a swamp, and began to consider how they should set to work. They disputed and disputed, each wanting the lightest job; but at last they decided to cast lots which of the brothers each imp should tackle. If one imp finished his task before the others, he was to come and help them. So the imps cast lots, and appointed a time to meet again in the swamp to learn who had succeeded and who needed help.
The appointed time came round, and the imps met again in the swamp as agreed. And each began to tell how matters stood. The first, who had un-
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dertaken Simon the Soldier, began: "My business is going on well. Tomorrow Simon will return to his father's house."
His comrades asked, "How did you manage it?" "First," says he, "I made Simon so bold that he offered to conquer the whole world for his king; and the king made him his general and sent him to fight the King of India. They met for battle, but the night before, I dampened all the powder in Simon's camp, and made more straw soldiers for the Indian King than you could count. And when Simon's soldiers saw the straw soldiers surrounding them, they grew frightened. Simon ordered them to fire; but their cannons and guns would not go off. Then Simon's soldiers were quite frightened, and ran like sheep, and the Indian King slaughtered them. Simon was disgraced. He has been deprived of his estate, and tomorrow they intend to execute him. There is only one day's work left for me to do; I have just to let him out of prison that he may escape home. Tomorrow I shall be ready to help whichever of you needs me."
Then the second imp, who had Taras in hand, began to tell how he had fared. "I don't want any help," said he, "my job is going all right. Taras can't hold out for more than a week. First I caused him to grow greedy and fat. His covetousness became so great that whatever he saw he wanted to buy. He has spent all his money in buying immense lots of goods, and still continues to buy. Already he has begun to use borrowed money. His debts hang like a weight round his neck, and he is so involved that he can never get clear. In a week his bills come due, and before then I will spoil all his stock. He will be unable to pay and will have to go home to his father."
Then they asked the third imp (Ivan's), "And how are you getting on?" "Well," said he, "my affair goes badly. First I spat into his drink to make his stomach ache, and then I went into his field and hammered the ground hard as a stone that he should not be able to till it. I thought he wouldn't plow it, but like the fool that he is, he came with his plow and began to make a furrow. He groaned with the pain in his stomach, but went on plowing. I broke his plow for him, but he went home, got out another, and again started plowing. I crept under the earth and caught hold of the plowshares, but there was no holding them; he leant heavily upon the plow, and the plowshare was sharp and cut my hands. He has all but finished plowing the field, only one little strip is left. Come brothers, and help me; for if we don't get the better of him, all our labor is lost. If the fool holds out and keeps on working the land, his brothers will never know want, for he will feed them both."
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Simon the Soldier's imp promised to come next day to help, and so they parted.
III
Ivan had plowed up the whole fallow, all but one little strip. He came to fin ish it. Though his stomach ached, the plowing must be done. He freed the harness ropes, turned the plow, and began to work. He drove one furrow, but coming back the plow began to drag as if it had caught in a root. It was the imp, who had twisted his legs round the plowshare and was holding it back.
"What a strange thing!" thought Ivan. "There were no roots here at all, and yet here's a root."
Ivan pushed his hand deep into the furrow, groped about, and, feeling something soft, seized hold of it and pulled it out. It was black like a root, but it wriggled. Why, it was a live imp!
"What a nasty thing!" said Ivan, and he lifted his hand to dash it against the plow, but the imp squealed out:
"Don't hurt me, and I'll do anything you tell me to." "What can you do?" "Anything you tell me to." Ivan scratched his head. "My stomach aches," said he; "can you cure that?" "Certainly I can." "Well then, do so." The imp went down into the furrow, searched about, scratched with his claws, and pulled out a bunch of three little roots, which he handed to Ivan.
"Here," says he, "whoever swallows one of these will be cured of any ill ness."
Ivan took the roots, separated them, and swallowed one. The pain in his stomach was cured at once. The imp again begged to be let off; "I will jump right into the earth, and never come back," said he.
"All right," said Ivan; "begone, and God be with you!" And as soon as Ivan mentioned God, the imp plunged into the earth like a stone thrown into the water. Only a hole was left.
Ivan put the other two pieces of root into his cap and went on with his plowing. He plowed the strip to the end, turned his plow over, and went home. He unharnessed the horse, entered the hut, and there he saw his elder brother, Simon the Soldier and his wife, sitting at supper. Simon's estate had been confiscated, he himself had barely managed to escape from prison, and
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he had come back to live in his father's house.
Simon saw Ivan, and said: "I have come to live with you. Feed me and my wife till I get another appointment."
"All right," said Ivan, "you can stay with us." But when Ivan was about to sit down on the bench the lady disliked the smell, and said to her husband. "I cannot sup with a dirty peasant."
So Simon the Soldier said, "My lady says you don't smell nice. You'd better go and eat outside."
"All right," said Ivan; "anyway I must spend the night outside, for I have to pasture the mare."
So he took some bread, and his coat, and went with the mare into the fields.
Having finished his work that night, Simon's imp came, as agreed, to find Ivan's imp and help him to subdue the fool. He came to the field and searched and searched; but instead of his comrade he found only a hole.
"Clearly," thought he, "some evil has befallen my comrade. I must take his place. The field is plowed up, so the fool must be tackled in the meadow."
So the imp went to the meadows and flooded Ivan's hayfield with water, which left the grass all covered with mud.