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diff --git a/old/fsrgs10.txt b/old/fsrgs10.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..7d72748 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/fsrgs10.txt @@ -0,0 +1,2401 @@ +**The Project Gutenberg Etext of Father Sergius by Leo Tolstoy** +Trans. Louise and Aylmer Maude +#3 in our series by Tolstoy/Tolstoi + +Also one by his son, Ilya. + + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world, be sure to check +the copyright laws for your country before posting these files!! + +Please take a look at the important information in this header. +We encourage you to keep this file on your own disk, keeping an +electronic path open for the next readers. Do not remove this. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**Etexts Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*These Etexts Prepared By Hundreds of Volunteers and Donations* + +Information on contacting Project Gutenberg to get Etexts, and +further information is included below. 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An officer of the Cuirassier Life Guards, a handsome +prince who everyone predicted would become aide-de-camp to the +Emperor Nicholas I and have a brilliant career, left the service, +broke off his engagement to a beautiful maid of honour, a +favourite of the Empress's, gave his small estate to his sister, +and retired to a monastery to become a monk. + +This event appeared extraordinary and inexplicable to those who +did not know his inner motives, but for Prince Stepan Kasatsky +himself it all occurred so naturally that he could not imagine +how he could have acted otherwise. + +His father, a retired colonel of the Guards, had died when Stepan +was twelve, and sorry as his mother was to part from her son, she +entered him at the Military College as her deceased husband had +intended. + +The widow herself, with her daughter, Varvara, moved to +Petersburg to be near her son and have him with her for the +holidays. + +The boy was distinguished both by his brilliant ability and by +his immense self-esteem. He was first both in his +studies--especially in mathematics, of which he was particularly +fond--and also in drill and in riding. Though of more than +average height, he was handsome and agile, and he would have been +an altogether exemplary cadet had it not been for his quick +temper. He was remarkably truthful, and was neither dissipated +nor addicted to drink. The only faults that marred his conduct +were fits of fury to which he was subject and during which he +lost control of himself and became like a wild animal. He once +nearly threw out of the window another cadet who had begun to +tease him about his collection of minerals. On another occasion +he came almost completely to grief by flinging a whole dish of +cutlets at an officer who was acting as steward, attacking him +and, it was said, striking him for having broken his word and +told a barefaced lie. He would certainly have been reduced to +the ranks had not the Director of the College hushed up the whole +matter and dismissed the steward. + +By the time he was eighteen he had finished his College course +and received a commission as lieutenant in an aristocratic +regiment of the Guards. + +The Emperor Nicholas Pavlovich (Nicholas I) had noticed him while +he was still at the College, and continued to take notice of him +in the regiment, and it was on this account that people predicted +for him an appointment as aide-de-camp to the Emperor. Kasatsky +himself strongly desired it, not from ambition only but chiefly +because since his cadet days he had been passionately devoted to +Nicholas Pavlovich. The Emperor had often visited the Military +College and every time Kasatsky saw that tall erect figure, with +breast expanded in its military overcoat, entering with brisk +step, saw the cropped side-whiskers, the moustache, the aquiline +nose, and heard the sonorous voice exchanging greetings with the +cadets, he was seized by the same rapture that he experienced +later on when he met the woman he loved. Indeed, his passionate +adoration of the Emperor was even stronger: he wished to +sacrifice something--everything, even himself--to prove his +complete devotion. And the Emperor Nicholas was conscious of +evoking this rapture and deliberately aroused it. He played with +the cadets, surrounded himself with them, treating them sometimes +with childish simplicity, sometimes as a friend, and then again +with majestic solemnity. After that affair with the officer, +Nicholas Pavlovich said nothing to Kasatsky, but when the latter +approached he waved him away theatrically, frowned, shook his +finger at him, and afterwards when leaving, said: 'Remember that +I know everything. There are some things I would rather not +know, but they remain here,' and he pointed to his heart. + +When on leaving College the cadets were received by the Emperor, +he did not again refer to Kasatsky's offence, but told them all, +as was his custom, that they should serve him and the fatherland +loyally, that he would always be their best friend, and that when +necessary they might approach him direct. All the cadets were as +usual greatly moved, and Kasatsky even shed tears, remembering +the past, and vowed that he would serve his beloved Tsar with all +his soul. + +When Kasatsky took up his commission his mother moved with her +daughter first to Moscow and then to their country estate. +Kasatsky gave half his property to his sister and kept only +enough to maintain himself in the expensive regiment he had +joined. + +To all appearance he was just an ordinary, brilliant young +officer of the Guards making a career for himself; but intense +and complex strivings went on within him. From early childhood +his efforts had seemed to be very varied, but essentially they +were all one and the same. He tried in everything he took up to +attain such success and perfection as would evoke praise and +surprise. Whether it was his studies or his military exercises, +he took them up and worked at them till he was praised and held +up as an example to others. Mastering one subject he took up +another, and obtained first place in his studies. For example, +while still at College he noticed in himself an awkwardness in +French conversation, and contrived to master French till he spoke +it as well as Russian, and then he took up chess and became an +excellent player. + +Apart from his main vocation, which was the service of his Tsar +and the fatherland, he always set himself some particular aim, +and however unimportant it was, devoted himself completely to it +and lived for it until it was accomplished. And as soon as it +was attained another aim would immediately present itself, +replacing its predecessor. This passion for distinguishing +himself, or for accomplishing something in order to distinguish +himself, filled his life. On taking up his commission he set +himself to acquire the utmost perfection in knowledge of the +service, and very soon became a model officer, though still with +the same fault of ungovernable irascibility, which here in the +service again led him to commit actions inimical to his success. +Then he took to reading, having once in conversation in society +felt himself deficient in general education--and again achieved +his purpose. Then, wishing to secure a brilliant position in +high society, he learnt to dance excellently and very soon was +invited to all the balls in the best circles, and to some of +their evening gatherings. But this did not satisfy him: he was +accustomed to being first, and in this society was far from being +so. + +The highest society then consisted, and I think always consist, +of four sorts of people: rich people who are received at Court, +people not wealthy but born and brought up in Court circles, rich +people who ingratiate themselves into the Court set, and people +neither rich nor belonging to the Court but who ingratiate +themselves into the first and second sets. + +Kasatsky did not belong to the first two sets, but was readily +welcomed in the others. On entering society he determined to +have relations with some society lady, and to his own surprise +quickly accomplished this purpose. He soon realized, however, +that the circles in which he moved were not the highest, and that +though he was received in the highest spheres he did not belong +to them. They were polite to him, but showed by their whole +manner that they had their own set and that he was not of it. +And Kasatsky wished to belong to that inner circle. To attain +that end it would be necessary to be an aide-de-camp to the +Emperor--which he expected to become--or to marry into that +exclusive set, which he resolved to do. And his choice fell on a +beauty belonging to the Court, who not merely belonged to the +circle into which he wished to be accepted, but whose friendship +was coveted by the very highest people and those most firmly +established in that highest circle. This was Countess Korotkova. +Kasatsky began to pay court to her, and not merely for the sake +of his career. She was extremely attractive and he soon fell in +love with her. At first she was noticeably cool towards him, but +then suddenly changed and became gracious, and her mother gave +him pressing invitations to visit them. Kasatsky proposed and +was accepted. He was surprised at the facility with which he +attained such happiness. But though he noticed something strange +and unusual in the behaviour towards him of both mother and +daughter, he was blinded by being so deeply in love, and did not +realize what almost the whole town knew--namely, that his fiancee +had been the Emperor Nicholas's mistress the previous year. + +Two weeks before the day arranged for the wedding, Kasatsky was +at Tsarskoe Selo at his fiancee's country place. It was a hot +day in May. He and his betrothed had walked about the garden and +were sitting on a bench in a shady linden alley. Mary's white +muslin dress suited her particularly well, and she seemed the +personification of innocence and love as she sat, now bending her +head, now gazing up at the very tall and handsome man who was +speaking to her with particular tenderness and self-restraint, as +if he feared by word or gesture to offend or sully her angelic +purity. + +Kasatsky belonged to those men of the eighteen-forties (they are +now no longer to be found) who while deliberately and without any +conscientious scruples condoning impurity in themselves, required +ideal and angelic purity in their women, regarded all unmarried +women of their circle as possessed of such purity, and treated +them accordingly. There was much that was false and harmful in +this outlook, as concerning the laxity the men permitted +themselves, but in regard to the women that old-fashioned view +(sharply differing from that held by young people to-day who see +in every girl merely a female seeking a mate) was, I think, of +value. The girls, perceiving such adoration, endeavoured with +more or less success to be goddesses. + +Such was the view Kasatsky held of women, and that was how he +regarded his fiancee. He was particularly in love that day, but +did not experience any sensual desire for her. On the contrary +he regarded her with tender adoration as something unattainable. + +He rose to his full height, standing before her with both hands +on his sabre. + +'I have only now realized what happiness a man can experience! +And it is you, my darling, who have given me this happiness,' he +said with a timid smile. + +Endearments had not yet become usual between them, and feeling +himself morally inferior he felt terrified at this stage to use +them to such an angel. + +'It is thanks to you that I have come to know myself. I have +learnt that I am better than I thought.' + +'I have known that for a long time. That was why I began to love +you.' + +Nightingales trilled near by and the fresh leafage rustled, moved +by a passing breeze. + +He took her hand and kissed it, and tears came into his eyes. + +She understood that he was thanking her for having said she loved +him. He silently took a few steps up and down, and then +approached her again and sat down. + +'You know . . . I have to tell you . . . I was not disinterested +when I began to make love to you. I wanted to get into society; +but later . . . how unimportant that became in comparison with +you--when I got to know you. You are not angry with me for that?' + +She did not reply but merely touched his hand. He understood +that this meant: 'No, I am not angry.' + +'You said . . .' He hesitated. It seemed too bold to say. 'You +said that you began to love me. I believe it--but there is +something that troubles you and checks your feeling. What is +it?' + +'Yes--now or never!' thought she. 'He is bound to know of it +anyway. But now he will not forsake me. Ah, if he should, it +would be terrible!' And she threw a loving glance at his tall, +noble, powerful figure. She loved him now more than she had +loved the Tsar, and apart from the Imperial dignity would not +have preferred the Emperor to him. + +'Listen! I cannot deceive you. I have to tell you. You ask +what it is? It is that I have loved before.' + +She again laid her hand on his with an imploring gesture. He was +silent. + +'You want to know who it was? It was--the Emperor.' + +'We all love him. I can imagine you, a schoolgirl at the +Institute . . .' + +'No, it was later. I was infatuated, but it passed . . . I must +tell you . . .' + +'Well, what of it?' + +'No, it was not simply--' She covered her face with her hands. + +'What? You gave yourself to him?' + +She was silent. + +'His mistress?' + +She did not answer. + +He sprang up and stood before her with trembling jaws, pale as +death. He now remembered how the Emperor, meeting him on the +Nevsky, had amiably congratulated him. + +'O God, what have I done! Stiva!' + +'Don't touch me! Don't touch me! Oh, how it pains!' + +He turned away and went to the house. There he met her mother. + +'What is the matter, Prince? I . . .' She became silent on +seeing his face. The blood had suddenly rushed to his head. + +'You knew it, and used me to shield them! If you weren't a woman +. . . !' he cried, lifting his enormous fist, and turning aside +he ran away. + +Had his fiancee's lover been a private person he would have +killed him, but it was his beloved Tsar. + +Next day he applied both for furlough and his discharge, and +professing to be ill, so as to see no one, he went away to the +country. + +He spent the summer at his village arranging his affairs. When +summer was over he did not return to Petersburg, but entered a +monastery and there became a monk. + +His mother wrote to try to dissuade him from this decisive step, +but he replied that he felt God's call which transcended all +other considerations. Only his sister, who was as proud and +ambitious as he, understood him. + +She understood that he had become a monk in order to be above +those who considered themselves his superiors. And she understood +him correctly. By becoming a monk he showed contempt for all +that seemed most important to others and had seemed so to him +while he was in the service, and he now ascended a height from +which he could look down on those he had formerly envied. . . . +But it was not this alone, as his sister Varvara supposed, that +influenced him. There was also in him something else--a sincere +religious feeling which Varvara did not know, which intertwined +itself with the feeling of pride and the desire for pre-eminence, +and guided him. His disillusionment with Mary, whom he had +thought of angelic purity, and his sense of injury, were so +strong that they brought him to despair, and the despair led +him--to what? To God, to his childhood's faith which had never +been destroyed in him. + + + +II + +Kasatsky entered the monastery on the feast of the Intercession +of the Blessed Virgin. The Abbot of that monastery was a +gentleman by birth, a learned writer and a starets, that is, he +belonged to that succession of monks originating in Walachia who +each choose a director and teacher whom they implicitly obey. +This Superior had been a disciple of the starets Ambrose, who was +a disciple of Makarius, who was a disciple of the starets Leonid, +who was a disciple of Paussy Velichkovsky. + +To this Abbot Kasatsky submitted himself as to his chosen +director. Here in the monastery, besides the feeling of +ascendency over others that such a life gave him, he felt much as +he had done in the world: he found satisfaction in attaining the +greatest possible perfection outwardly as well as inwardly. As +in the regiment he had been not merely an irreproachable officer +but had even exceeded his duties and widened the borders of +perfection, so also as a monk he tried to be perfect, and was +always industrious, abstemious, submissive, and meek, as well as +pure both in deed and in thought, and obedient. This last +quality in particular made life far easier for him. If many of +the demands of life in the monastery, which was near the capital +and much frequented, did not please him and were temptations to +him, they were all nullified by obedience: 'It is not for me to +reason; my business is to do the task set me, whether it be +standing beside the relics, singing in the choir, or making up +accounts in the monastery guest-house.' All possibility of doubt +about anything was silenced by obedience to the starets. Had it +not been for this, he would have been oppressed by the length and +monotony of the church services, the bustle of the many visitors, +and the bad qualities of the other monks. As it was, he not only +bore it all joyfully but found in it solace and support. 'I +don't know why it is necessary to hear the same prayers several +times a day, but I know that it is necessary; and knowing this I +find joy in them.' His director told him that as material food +is necessary for the maintenance of the life of the body, so +spiritual food--the church prayers--is necessary for the +maintenance of the spiritual life. He believed this, and though +the church services, for which he had to get up early in the +morning, were a difficulty, they certainly calmed him and gave +him joy. This was the result of his consciousness of humility, +and the certainty that whatever he had to do, being fixed by the +starets, was right. + +The interest of his life consisted not only in an ever greater +and greater subjugation of his will, but in the attainment of all +the Christian virtues, which at first seemed to him easily +attainable. He had given his whole estate to his sister and did +not regret it, he had no personal claims, humility towards his +inferiors was not merely easy for him but afforded him pleasure. +Even victory over the sins of the flesh, greed and lust, was +easily attained. His director had specially warned him against +the latter sin, but Kasatsky felt free from it and was glad. + +One thing only tormented him--the remembrance of his fiancee; and +not merely the remembrance but the vivid image of what might have +been. Involuntarily he recalled a lady he knew who had been a +favourite of the Emperor's, but had afterwards married and become +an admirable wife and mother. The husband had a high position, +influence and honour, and a good and penitent wife. + +In his better hours Kasatsky was not disturbed by such thoughts, +and when he recalled them at such times he was merely glad to +feel that the temptation was past. But there were moments when +all that made up his present life suddenly grew dim before him, +moments when, if he did not cease to believe in the aims he had +set himself, he ceased to see them and could evoke no confidence +in them but was seized by a remembrance of, and--terrible to +say--a regret for, the change of life he had made. + +The only thing that saved him in that state of mind was obedience +and work, and the fact that the whole day was occupied by prayer. +He went through the usual forms of prayer, he bowed in prayer, he +even prayed more than usual, but it was lip-service only and his +soul was not in it. This condition would continue for a day, or +sometimes for two days, and would then pass of itself. But those +days were dreadful. Kasatsky felt that he was neither in his own +hands nor in God's, but was subject to something else. All he +could do then was to obey the starets, to restrain himself, to +undertake nothing, and simply to wait. In general all this time +he lived not by his own will but by that of the starets, and in +this obedience he found a special tranquillity. + +So he lived in his first monastery for seven years. At the end +of the third year he received the tonsure and was ordained to the +priesthood by the name of Sergius. The profession was an +important event in his inner life. He had previously experienced +a great consolation and spiritual exaltation when receiving +communion, and now when he himself officiated, the performance of +the preparation filled him with ecstatic and deep emotion. But +subsequently that feeling became more and more deadened, and once +when he was officiating in a depressed state of mind he felt that +the influence produced on him by the service would not endure. +And it did in fact weaken till only the habit remained. + +In general in the seventh year of his life in the monastery +Sergius grew weary. He had learnt all there was to learn and had +attained all there was to attain, there was nothing more to do +and his spiritual drowsiness increased. During this time he +heard of his mother's death and his sister Varvara's marriage, +but both events were matters of indifference to him. His whole +attention and his whole interest were concentrated on his inner +life. + +In the fourth year of his priesthood, during which the Bishop had +been particularly kind to him, the starets told him that he ought +not to decline it if he were offered an appointment to higher +duties. Then monastic ambition, the very thing he had found so +repulsive in other monks, arose within him. He was assigned to a +monastery near the metropolis. He wished to refuse but the +starets ordered him to accept the appointment. He did so, and +took leave of the starets and moved to the other monastery. + +The exchange into the metropolitan monastery was an important +event in Sergius's life. There he encountered many temptations, +and his whole will-power was concentrated on meeting them. + +In the first monastery, women had not been a temptation to him, +but here that temptation arose with terrible strength and even +took definite shape. There was a lady known for her frivolous +behaviour who began to seek his favour. She talked to him and +asked him to visit her. Sergius sternly declined, but was +horrified by the definiteness of his desire. He was so alarmed +that he wrote about it to the starets. And in addition, to keep +himself in hand, he spoke to a young novice and, conquering his +sense of shame, confessed his weakness to him, asking him to keep +watch on him and not let him go anywhere except to service and to +fulfil his duties. + +Besides this, a great pitfall for Sergius lay in the fact of his +extreme antipathy to his new Abbot, a cunning worldly man who was +making a career for himself in the Church. Struggle with himself +as he might, he could not master that feeling. He was submissive +to the Abbot, but in the depths of his soul he never ceased to +condemn him. And in the second year of his residence at the new +monastery that ill-feeling broke out. + +The Vigil service was being performed in the large church on the +eve of the feast of the Intercession of the Blessed Virgin, and +there were many visitors. The Abbot himself was conducting the +service. Father Sergius was standing in his usual place and +praying: that is, he was in that condition of struggle which +always occupied him during the service, especially in the large +church when he was not himself conducting the service. This +conflict was occasioned by his irritation at the presence of fine +folk, especially ladies. He tried not to see them or to notice +all that went on: how a soldier conducted them, pushing the +common people aside, how the ladies pointed out the monks to one +another--especially himself and a monk noted for his good looks. +He tried as it were to keep his mind in blinkers, to see nothing +but the light of the candles on the altar-screen, the icons, and +those conducting the service. He tried to hear nothing but the +prayers that were being chanted or read, to feel nothing but +self-oblivion in consciousness of the fulfilment of duty--a +feeling he always experienced when hearing or reciting in advance +the prayers he had so often heard. + +So he stood, crossing and prostrating himself when necessary, and +struggled with himself, now giving way to cold condemnation and +now to a consciously evoked obliteration of thought and feeling. +Then the sacristan, Father Nicodemus--also a great +stumbling-block to Sergius who involuntarily reproached him for +flattering and fawning on the Abbot--approached him and, bowing +low, requested his presence behind the holy gates. Father +Sergius straightened his mantle, put on his biretta, and went +circumspectly through the crowd. + +'Lise, regarde a droite, c'est lui!' he heard a woman's voice +say. + +'Ou, ou? Il n'est pas tellement beau.' + +He knew that they were speaking of him. He heard them and, as +always at moments of temptation, he repeated the words, 'Lead us +not into temptation,' and bowing his head and lowering his eyes +went past the ambo and in by the north door, avoiding the canons +in their cassocks who were just then passing the altar-screen. On +entering the sanctuary he bowed, crossing himself as usual and +bending double before the icons. Then, raising his head but +without turning, he glanced out of the corner of his eye at the +Abbot, whom he saw standing beside another glittering figure. + +The Abbot was standing by the wall in his vestments. Having freed +his short plump hands from beneath his chasuble he had folded +them over his fat body and protruding stomach, and fingering the +cords of his vestments was smilingly saying something to a +military man in the uniform of a general of the Imperial suite, +with its insignia and shoulder-knots which Father Sergius's +experienced eye at once recognized. This general had been the +commander of the regiment in which Sergius had served. He now +evidently occupied an important position, and Father Sergius at +once noticed that the Abbot was aware of this and that his red +face and bald head beamed with satisfaction and pleasure. This +vexed and disgusted Father Sergius, the more so when he heard +that the Abbot had only sent for him to satisfy the general's +curiosity to see a man who had formerly served with him, as he +expressed it. + +'Very pleased to see you in your angelic guise,' said the +general, holding out his hand. 'I hope you have not forgotten an +old comrade.' + +The whole thing--the Abbot's red, smiling face amid its fringe of +grey, the general's words, his well-cared-for face with its +self-satisfied smile and the smell of wine from his breath and of +cigars from his whiskers--revolted Father Sergius. He bowed +again to the Abbot and said: + +'Your reverence deigned to send for me?'--and stopped, the whole +expression of his face and eyes asking why. + +'Yes, to meet the General,' replied the Abbot. + +'Your reverence, I left the world to save myself from +temptation,' said Father Sergius, turning pale and with quivering +lips. 'Why do you expose me to it during prayers and in God's +house?' + +'You may go! Go!' said the Abbot, flaring up and frowning. + +Next day Father Sergius asked pardon of the Abbot and of the +brethren for his pride, but at the same time, after a night spent +in prayer, he decided that he must leave this monastery, and he +wrote to the starets begging permission to return to him. He +wrote that he felt his weakness and incapacity to struggle +against temptation without his help and penitently confessed his +sin of pride. By return of post came a letter from the starets, +who wrote that Sergius's pride was the cause of all that had +happened. The old man pointed out that his fits of anger were +due to the fact that in refusing all clerical honours he +humiliated himself not for the sake of God but for the sake of +his pride. 'There now, am I not a splendid man not to want +anything?' That was why he could not tolerate the Abbot's +action. 'I have renounced everything for the glory of God, and +here I am exhibited like a wild beast!' 'Had you renounced +vanity for God's sake you would have borne it. Worldly pride is +not yet dead in you. I have thought about you, Sergius my son, +and prayed also, and this is what God has suggested to me. At +the Tambov hermitage the anchorite Hilary, a man of saintly life, +has died. He had lived there eighteen years. The Tambov Abbot +is asking whether there is not a brother who would take his +place. And here comes your letter. Go to Father Paissy of the +Tambov Monastery. I will write to him about you, and you must +ask for Hilary's cell. Not that you can replace Hilary, but you +need solitude to quell your pride. May God bless you!' + +Sergius obeyed the starets, showed his letter to the Abbot, and +having obtained his permission, gave up his cell, handed all his +possessions over to the monastery, and set out for the Tambov +hermitage. + +There the Abbot, an excellent manager of merchant origin, +received Sergius simply and quietly and placed him in Hilary's +cell, at first assigning to him a lay brother but afterwards +leaving him alone, at Sergius's own request. The cell was a dual +cave, dug into the hillside, and in it Hilary had been buried. +In the back part was Hilary's grave, while in the front was a +niche for sleeping, with a straw mattress, a small table, and a +shelf with icons and books. Outside the outer door, which +fastened with a hook, was another shelf on which, once a day, a +monk placed food from the monastery. + +And so Sergius became a hermit. + +III + +At Carnival time, in the sixth year of Sergius's life at the +hermitage, a merry company of rich people, men and women from a +neighbouring town, made up a troyka-party, after a meal of +carnival-pancakes and wine. The company consisted of two +lawyers, a wealthy landowner, an officer, and four ladies. One +lady was the officer's wife, another the wife of the landowner, +the third his sister--a young girl--and the fourth a divorcee, +beautiful, rich, and eccentric, who amazed and shocked the town +by her escapades. + +The weather was excellent and the snow-covered road smooth as a +floor. They drove some seven miles out of town, and then stopped +and consulted as to whether they should turn back or drive +farther. + +'But where does this road lead to?' asked Makovkina, the +beautiful divorcee. + +'To Tambov, eight miles from here,' replied one of the lawyers, +who was having a flirtation with her. + +'And then where?' + +'Then on to L----, past the Monastery.' + +'Where that Father Sergius lives?' + +'Yes.' + +'Kasatsky, the handsome hermit?' + +'Yes.' + +'Mesdames et messieurs, let us drive on and see Kasatsky! We can +stop at Tambov and have something to eat.' + +'But we shouldn't get home to-night!' + +'Never mind, we will stay at Kasatsky's.' + +'Well, there is a very good hostelry at the Monastery. I stayed +there when I was defending Makhin.' + +'No, I shall spend the night at Kasatsky's!' + +'Impossible! Even your omnipotence could not accomplish that!' + +'Impossible? Will you bet?' + +'All right! If you spend the night with him, the stake shall be +whatever you like.' + +'A DISCRETION!' + +'But on your side too!' + +'Yes, of course. Let us drive on.' + +Vodka was handed to the drivers, and the party got out a box of +pies, wine, and sweets for themselves. The ladies wrapped up in +their white dogskins. The drivers disputed as to whose troyka +should go ahead, and the youngest, seating himself sideways with +a dashing air, swung his long knout and shouted to the horses. +The troyka-bells tinkled and the sledge-runners squeaked over the +snow. + +The sledge swayed hardly at all. The shaft-horse, with his +tightly bound tail under his decorated breechband, galloped +smoothly and briskly; the smooth road seemed to run rapidly +backwards, while the driver dashingly shook the reins. One of +the lawyers and the officer sitting opposite talked nonsense to +Makovkina's neighbour, but Makovkina herself sat motionless and +in thought, tightly wrapped in her fur. 'Always the same and +always nasty! The same red shiny faces smelling of wine and +cigars! The same talk, the same thoughts, and always about the +same things! And they are all satisfied and confident that it +should be so, and will go on living like that till they die. But +I can't. It bores me. I want something that would upset it all +and turn it upside down. Suppose it happened to us as to those +people--at Saratov was it?--who kept on driving and froze to +death. . . . What would our people do? How would they behave? +Basely, for certain. Each for himself. And I too should act +badly. But I at any rate have beauty. They all know it. And +how about that monk? Is it possible that he has become +indifferent to it? No! That is the one thing they all care +for--like that cadet last autumn. What a fool he was!' + +'Ivan Nikolaevich!' she said aloud. + +'What are your commands?' + +'How old is he?' + +'Who?' + +'Kasatsky.' + +'Over forty, I should think.' + +'And does he receive all visitors?' + +'Yes, everybody, but not always.' + +'Cover up my feet. Not like that--how clumsy you are! No! More, +more--like that! But you need not squeeze them!' + +So they came to the forest where the cell was. + +Makovkina got out of the sledge, and told them to drive on. They +tried to dissuade her, but she grew irritable and ordered them to +go on. + +When the sledges had gone she went up the path in her white +dogskin coat. The lawyer got out and stopped to watch her. + +It was Father Sergius's sixth year as a recluse, and he was now +forty-nine. His life in solitude was hard--not on account of the +fasts and the prayers (they were no hardship to him) but on +account of an inner conflict he had not at all anticipated. The +sources of that conflict were two: doubts, and the lust of the +flesh. And these two enemies always appeared together. It +seemed to him that they were two foes, but in reality they were +one and the same. As soon as doubt was gone so was the lustful +desire. But thinking them to be two different fiends he fought +them separately. + +'O my God, my God!' thought he. 'Why dost thou not grant me +faith? There is lust, of course: even the saints had to fight +that--Saint Anthony and others. But they had faith, while I have +moments, hours, and days, when it is absent. Why does the whole +world, with all its delights, exist if it is sinful and must be +renounced? Why hast Thou created this temptation? Temptation? +Is it not rather a temptation that I wish to abandon all the joys +of earth and prepare something for myself there where perhaps +there is nothing?' And he became horrified and filled with +disgust at himself. 'Vile creature! And it is you who wish to +become a saint!' he upbraided himself, and he began to pray. But +as soon as he started to pray he saw himself vividly as he had +been at the Monastery, in a majestic post in biretta and mantle, +and he shook his head. 'No, that is not right. It is deception. +I may deceive others, but not myself or God. I am not a majestic +man, but a pitiable and ridiculous one!' And he threw back the +folds of his cassock and smiled as he looked at his thin legs in +their underclothing. + +Then he dropped the folds of the cassock again and began reading +the prayers, making the sign of the cross and prostrating +himself. 'Can it be that this couch will be my bier?' he read. +And it seemed as if a devil whispered to him: 'A solitary couch +is itself a bier. Falsehood!' And in imagination he saw the +shoulders of a widow with whom he had lived. He shook himself, +and went on reading. Having read the precepts he took up the +Gospels, opened the book, and happened on a passage he often +repeated and knew by heart: 'Lord, I believe. Help thou my +unbelief!'--and he put away all the doubts that had arisen. As +one replaces an object of insecure equilibrium, so he carefully +replaced his belief on its shaky pedestal and carefully stepped +back from it so as not to shake or upset it. The blinkers were +adjusted again and he felt tranquillized, and repeating his +childhood's prayer: 'Lord, receive me, receive me!' he felt not +merely at ease, but thrilled and joyful. He crossed himself and +lay down on the bedding on his narrow bench, tucking his summer +cassock under his head. He fell asleep at once, and in his light +slumber he seemed to hear the tinkling of sledge bells. He did +not know whether he was dreaming or awake, but a knock at the +door aroused him. He sat up, distrusting his senses, but the +knock was repeated. Yes, it was a knock close at hand, at his +door, and with it the sound of a woman's voice. + +'My God! Can it be true, as I have read in the Lives of the +Saints, that the devil takes on the form of a woman? Yes--it is +a woman's voice. And a tender, timid, pleasant voice. Phui!' +And he spat to exorcise the devil. 'No, it was only my +imagination,' he assured himself, and he went to the corner where +his lectern stood, falling on his knees in the regular and +habitual manner which of itself gave him consolation and +satisfaction. He sank down, his hair hanging over his face, and +pressed his head, already going bald in front, to the cold damp +strip of drugget on the draughty floor. He read the psalm old +Father Pimon had told him warded off temptation. He easily +raised his light and emaciated body on his strong sinewy legs and +tried to continue saying his prayers, but instead of doing so he +involuntarily strained his hearing. He wished to hear more. All +was quiet. From the corner of the roof regular drops continued +to fall into the tub below. Outside was a mist and fog eating +into the snow that lay on the ground. It was still, very still. +And suddenly there was a rustling at the window and a voice--that +same tender, timid voice, which could only belong to an +attractive woman--said: + +'Let me in, for Christ's sake!' + +It seemed as though his blood had all rushed to his heart and +settled there. He could hardly breathe. 'Let God arise and let +his enemies be scattered . . .' + +'But I am not a devil!' It was obvious that the lips that +uttered this were smiling. 'I am not a devil, but only a sinful +woman who has lost her way, not figuratively but literally!' She +laughed. 'I am frozen and beg for shelter.' + +He pressed his face to the window, but the little icon-lamp was +reflected by it and shone on the whole pane. He put his hands to +both sides of his face and peered between them. Fog, mist, a +tree, and--just opposite him--she herself. Yes, there, a few +inches from him, was the sweet, kindly frightened face of a woman +in a cap and a coat of long white fur, leaning towards him. +Their eyes met with instant recognition: not that they had ever +known one another, they had never met before, but by the look +they exchanged they--and he particularly--felt that they knew and +understood one another. After that glance to imagine her to be a +devil and not a simple, kindly, sweet, timid woman, was +impossible. + +'Who are you? Why have you come?' he asked. + +'Do please open the door!' she replied, with capricious +authority. 'I am frozen. I tell you I have lost my way.' + +'But I am a monk--a hermit.' + +'Oh, do please open the door--or do you wish me to freeze under +your window while you say your prayers?' + +'But how have you . . .' + +'I shan't eat you. For God's sake let me in! I am quite +frozen.' + +She really did feel afraid, and said this in an almost tearful +voice. + +He stepped back from the window and looked at an icon of the +Saviour in His crown of thorns. 'Lord, help me! Lord, help me!' +he exclaimed, crossing himself and bowing low. Then he went to +the door, and opening it into the tiny porch, felt for the hook +that fastened the outer door and began to lift it. He heard +steps outside. She was coming from the window to the door. +'Ah!' she suddenly exclaimed, and he understood that she had +stepped into the puddle that the dripping from the roof had +formed at the threshold. His hands trembled, and he could not +raise the hook of the tightly closed door. + +'Oh, what are you doing? Let me in! I am all wet. I am frozen! +You are thinking about saving your soul and are letting me freeze +to death . . .' + +He jerked the door towards him, raised the hook, and without +considering what he was doing, pushed it open with such force +that it struck her. + +'Oh--PARDON!' he suddenly exclaimed, reverting completely to his +old manner with ladies. + +She smiled on hearing that PARDON. 'He is not quite so terrible, +after all,' she thought. 'It's all right. It is you who must +pardon me,' she said, stepping past him. 'I should never have +ventured, but such an extraordinary circumstance . . .' + +'If you please!' he uttered, and stood aside to let her pass him. +A strong smell of fine scent, which he had long not encountered, +struck him. She went through the little porch into the cell +where he lived. He closed the outer door without fastening the +hook, and stepped in after her. + +'Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me a sinner! Lord, +have mercy on me a sinner!' he prayed unceasingly, not merely to +himself but involuntarily moving his lips. 'If you please!' he +said to her again. She stood in the middle of the room, moisture +dripping from her to the floor as she looked him over. Her eyes +were laughing. + +'Forgive me for having disturbed your solitude. But you see what +a position I am in. It all came about from our starting from +town for a sledge-drive, and my making a bet that I would walk +back by myself from the Vorobevka to the town. But then I lost +my way, and if I had not happened to come upon your cell . . .' +She began lying, but his face confused her so that she could not +continue, but became silent. She had not expected him to be at +all such as he was. He was not as handsome as she had imagined, +but was nevertheless beautiful in her eyes: his greyish hair and +beard, slightly curling, his fine, regular nose, and his eyes +like glowing coal when he looked at her, made a strong impression +on her. + +He saw that she was lying. + +'Yes . . . so,' said he, looking at her and again lowering his +eyes. 'I will go in there, and this place is at your disposal.' + +And taking down the little lamp, he lit a candle, and bowing low +to her went into the small cell beyond the partition, and she +heard him begin to move something about there. 'Probably he is +barricading himself in from me!' she thought with a smile, and +throwing off her white dogskin cloak she tried to take off her +cap, which had become entangled in her hair and in the woven +kerchief she was wearing under it. She had not got at all wet +when standing under the window, and had said so only as a pretext +to get him to let her in. But she really had stepped into the +puddle at the door, and her left foot was wet up to the ankle and +her overshoe full of water. She sat down on his bed--a bench +only covered by a bit of carpet--and began to take off her boots. +The little cell seemed to her charming. The narrow little room, +some seven feet by nine, was as clean as glass. There was +nothing in it but the bench on which she was sitting, the +book-shelf above it, and a lectern in the corner. A sheepskin +coat and a cassock hung on nails by the door. Above the lectern +was the little lamp and an icon of Christ in His crown of thorns. +The room smelt strangely of perspiration and of earth. It all +pleased her--even that smell. Her wet feet, especially one of +them, were uncomfortable, and she quickly began to take off her +boots and stockings without ceasing to smile, pleased not so much +at having achieved her object as because she perceived that she +had abashed that charming, strange, striking, and attractive man. +'He did not respond, but what of that?' she said to herself. + +'Father Sergius! Father Sergius! Or how does one call you?' + +'What do you want?' replied a quiet voice. + +'Please forgive me for disturbing your solitude, but really I +could not help it. I should simply have fallen ill. And I don't +know that I shan't now. I am all wet and my feet are like ice.' + +'Pardon me,' replied the quiet voice. 'I cannot be of any +assistance to you.' + +'I would not have disturbed you if I could have helped it. I am +only here till daybreak.' + +He did not reply and she heard him muttering something, probably +his prayers. + +'You will not be coming in here?' she asked, smiling. 'For I must +undress to dry myself.' + +He did not reply, but continued to read his prayers. + +'Yes, that is a man!' thought she, getting her dripping boot off +with difficulty. She tugged at it, but could not get it off. +The absurdity of it struck her and she began to laugh almost +inaudibly. But knowing that he would hear her laughter and would +be moved by it just as she wished him to be, she laughed louder, +and her laughter--gay, natural, and kindly--really acted on him +just in the way she wished. + +'Yes, I could love a man like that--such eyes and such a simple +noble face, and passionate too despite all the prayers he +mutters!' thought she. 'You can't deceive a woman in these +things. As soon as he put his face to the window and saw me, he +understood and knew. The glimmer of it was in his eyes and +remained there. He began to love me and desired me. +Yes--desired!' said she, getting her overshoe and her boot off at +last and starting to take off her stockings. To remove those +long stockings fastened with elastic it was necessary to raise +her skirts. She felt embarrassed and said: + +'Don't come in!' + +But there was no reply from the other side of the wall. The +steady muttering continued and also a sound of moving. + +'He is prostrating himself to the ground, no doubt,' thought she. +'But he won't bow himself out of it. He is thinking of me just +as I am thinking of him. He is thinking of these feet of mine +with the same feeling that I have!' And she pulled off her wet +stockings and put her feet up on the bench, pressing them under +her. She sat a while like that with her arms round her knees and +looking pensively before her. 'But it is a desert, here in this +silence. No one would ever know. . . .' + +She rose, took her stockings over to the stove, and hung them on +the damper. It was a queer damper, and she turned it about, and +then, stepping lightly on her bare feet, returned to the bench +and sat down there again with her feet up. + +There was complete silence on the other side of the partition. +She looked at the tiny watch that hung round her neck. It was +two o'clock. 'Our party should return about three!' She had not +more than an hour before her. 'Well, am I to sit like this all +alone? What nonsense! I don't want to. I will call him at +once.' + +'Father Sergius, Father Sergius! Sergey Dmitrich! Prince +Kasatsky!' + +Beyond the partition all was silent. + +'Listen! This is cruel. I would not call you if it were not +necessary. I am ill. I don't know what is the matter with me!' +she exclaimed in a tone of suffering. 'Oh! Oh!' she groaned, +falling back on the bench. And strange to say she really felt +that her strength was failing, that she was becoming faint, that +everything in her ached, and that she was shivering with fever. + +'Listen! Help me! I don't know what is the matter with me. Oh! +Oh!' She unfastened her dress, exposing her breast, and lifted +her arms, bare to the elbow. 'Oh! Oh!' + +All this time he stood on the other side of the partition and +prayed. Having finished all the evening prayers, he now stood +motionless, his eyes looking at the end of his nose, and mentally +repeated with all his soul: 'Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have +mercy upon me!' + +But he had heard everything. He had heard how the silk rustled +when she took off her dress, how she stepped with bare feet on +the floor, and had heard how she rubbed her feet with her hand. +He felt his own weakness, and that he might be lost at any +moment. That was why he prayed unceasingly. He felt rather as +the hero in the fairy-tale must have felt when he had to go on +and on without looking round. So Sergius heard and felt that +danger and destruction were there, hovering above and around him, +and that he could only save himself by not looking in that +direction for an instant. But suddenly the desire to look seized +him. At the same instant she said: + +'This is inhuman. I may die. . . .' + +'Yes, I will go to her, but like the Saint who laid one hand on +the adulteress and thrust his other into the brazier. But there +is no brazier here.' He looked round. The lamp! He put his +finger over the flame and frowned, preparing himself to suffer. +And for a rather long time, as it seemed to him, there was no +sensation, but suddenly--he had not yet decided whether it was +painful enough--he writhed all over, jerked his hand away, and +waved it in the air. 'No, I can't stand that!' + +'For God's sake come to me! I am dying! Oh!' + +'Well--shall I perish? No, not so!' + +'I will come to you directly,' he said, and having opened his +door, he went without looking at her through the cell into the +porch where he used to chop wood. There he felt for the block +and for an axe which leant against the wall. + +'Immediately!' he said, and taking up the axe with his right hand +he laid the forefinger of his left hand on the block, swung the +axe, and struck with it below the second joint. The finger flew +off more lightly than a stick of similar thickness, and bounding +up, turned over on the edge of the block and then fell to the +floor. + +He heard it fall before he felt any pain, but before he had time +to be surprised he felt a burning pain and the warmth of flowing +blood. He hastily wrapped the stump in the skirt of his cassock, +and pressing it to his hip went back into the room, and standing +in front of the woman, lowered his eyes and asked in a low voice: +'What do you want?' + +She looked at his pale face and his quivering left cheek, and +suddenly felt ashamed. She jumped up, seized her fur cloak, and +throwing it round her shoulders, wrapped herself up in it. + +'I was in pain . . . I have caught cold . . . I . . . Father +Sergius . . . I . . .' + +He let his eyes, shining with a quiet light of joy, rest upon +her, and said: + +'Dear sister, why did you wish to ruin your immortal soul? +Temptations must come into the world, but woe to him by whom +temptation comes. Pray that God may forgive us!' + +She listened and looked at him. Suddenly she heard the sound of +something dripping. She looked down and saw that blood was +flowing from his hand and down his cassock. + +'What have you done to your hand?' She remembered the sound she +had heard, and seizing the little lamp ran out into the porch. +There on the floor she saw the bloody finger. She returned with +her face paler than his and was about to speak to him, but he +silently passed into the back cell and fastened the door. + +'Forgive me!' she said. 'How can I atone for my sin?' + +'Go away.' + +'Let me tie up your hand.' + +'Go away from here.' + +She dressed hurriedly and silently, and when ready sat waiting in +her furs. The sledge-bells were heard outside. + +'Father Sergius, forgive me!' + +'Go away. God will forgive.' + +'Father Sergius! I will change my life. Do not forsake me!' + +'Go away.' + +'Forgive me--and give me your blessing!' + +'In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy +Ghost!'--she heard his voice from behind the partition. 'Go!' + +She burst into sobs and left the cell. The lawyer came forward +to meet her. + +'Well, I see I have lost the bet. It can't be helped. Where will +you sit?' + +'It is all the same to me.' + +She took a seat in the sledge, and did not utter a word all the +way home. + +A year later she entered a convent as a novice, and lived a +strict life under the direction of the hermit Arseny, who wrote +letters to her at long intervals. + + + +IV + +Father Sergius lived as a recluse for another seven years. + +At first he accepted much of what people brought him--tea, sugar, +white bread, milk, clothing, and fire-wood. But as time went on +he led a more and more austere life, refusing everything +superfluous, and finally he accepted nothing but rye-bread once a +week. Everything else that was brought to him he gave to the +poor who came to him. He spent his entire time in his cell, in +prayer or in conversation with callers, who became more and more +numerous as time went on. Only three times a year did he go out +to church, and when necessary he went out to fetch water and +wood. + +The episode with Makovkina had occurred after five years of his +hermit life. That occurrence soon became generally known--her +nocturnal visit, the change she underwent, and her entry into a +convent. From that time Father Sergius's fame increased. More +and more visitors came to see him, other monks settled down near +his cell, and a church was erected there and also a hostelry. +His fame, as usual exaggerating his feats, spread ever more and +more widely. People began to come to him from a distance, and +began bringing invalids to him whom they declared he cured. + +His first cure occurred in the eighth year of his life as a +hermit. It was the healing of a fourteen-year-old boy, whose +mother brought him to Father Sergius insisting that he should lay +his hand on the child's head. It had never occurred to Father +Sergius that he could cure the sick. He would have regarded such +a thought as a great sin of pride; but the mother who brought the +boy implored him insistently, falling at his feet and saying: +'Why do you, who heal others, refuse to help my son?' She +besought him in Christ's name. When Father Sergius assured her +that only God could heal the sick, she replied that she only +wanted him to lay his hands on the boy and pray for him. Father +Sergius refused and returned to his cell. But next day (it was +in autumn and the nights were already cold) on going out for +water he saw the same mother with her son, a pale boy of +fourteen, and was met by the same petition. + +He remembered the parable of the unjust judge, and though he had +previously felt sure that he ought to refuse, he now began to +hesitate and, having hesitated, took to prayer and prayed until a +decision formed itself in his soul. This decision was, that he +ought to accede to the woman's request and that her faith might +save her son. As for himself, he would in this case be but an +insignificant instrument chosen by God. + +And going out to the mother he did what she asked--laid his hand +on the boy's head and prayed. + +The mother left with her son, and a month later the boy +recovered, and the fame of the holy healing power of the starets +Sergius (as they now called him) spread throughout the whole +district. After that, not a week passed without sick people +coming, riding or on foot, to Father Sergius; and having acceded +to one petition he could not refuse others, and he laid his hands +on many and prayed. Many recovered, and his fame spread more and +more. + +So seven years passed in the Monastery and thirteen in his +hermit's cell. He now had the appearance of an old man: his +beard was long and grey, but his hair, though thin, was still +black and curly. + + + +V + +For some weeks Father Sergius had been living with one persistent +thought: whether he was right in accepting the position in which +he had not so much placed himself as been placed by the +Archimandrite and the Abbot. That position had begun after the +recovery of the fourteen-year-old boy. From that time, with each +month, week, and day that passed, Sergius felt his own inner life +wasting away and being replaced by external life. It was as if +he had been turned inside out. + +Sergius saw that he was a means of attracting visitors and +contributions to the monastery, and that therefore the +authorities arranged matters in such a way as to make as much use +of him as possible. For instance, they rendered it impossible +for him to do any manual work. He was supplied with everything +he could want, and they only demanded of him that he should not +refuse his blessing to those who came to seek it. For his +convenience they appointed days when he would receive. They +arranged a reception-room for men, and a place was railed in so +that he should not be pushed over by the crowds of women +visitors, and so that he could conveniently bless those who came. + +They told him that people needed him, and that fulfilling +Christ's law of love he could not refuse their demand to see him, +and that to avoid them would be cruel. He could not but agree +with this, but the more he gave himself up to such a life the +more he felt that what was internal became external, and that the +fount of living water within him dried up, and that what he did +now was done more and more for men and less and less for God. + +Whether he admonished people, or simply blessed them, or prayed +for the sick, or advised people about their lives, or listened to +expressions of gratitude from those he had helped by precepts, or +alms, or healing (as they assured him)--he could not help being +pleased at it, and could not be indifferent to the results of his +activity and to the influence he exerted. He thought himself a +shining light, and the more he felt this the more was he +conscious of a weakening, a dying down of the divine light of +truth that shone within him. + +'In how far is what I do for God and in how far is it for men?' +That was the question that insistently tormented him and to which +he was not so much unable to give himself an answer as unable to +face the answer. + +In the depth of his soul he felt that the devil had substituted +an activity for men in place of his former activity for God. He +felt this because, just as it had formerly been hard for him to +be torn from his solitude so now that solitude itself was hard +for him. He was oppressed and wearied by visitors, but at the +bottom of his heart he was glad of their presence and glad of the +praise they heaped upon him. + +There was a time when he decided to go away and hide. He even +planned all that was necessary for that purpose. He prepared for +himself a peasant's shirt, trousers, coat, and cap. He explained +that he wanted these to give to those who asked. And he kept +these clothes in his cell, planning how he would put them on, cut +his hair short, and go away. First he would go some three +hundred versts by train, then he would leave the train and walk +from village to village. He asked an old man who had been a +soldier how he tramped: what people gave him, and what shelter +they allowed him. The soldier told him where people were most +charitable, and where they would take a wanderer in for the +night, and Father Sergius intended to avail himself of this +information. He even put on those clothes one night in his +desire to go, but he could not decide what was best--to remain or +to escape. At first he was in doubt, but afterwards this +indecision passed. He submitted to custom and yielded to the +devil, and only the peasant garb reminded him of the thought and +feeling he had had. + +Every day more and more people flocked to him and less and less +time was left him for prayer and for renewing his spiritual +strength. Sometimes in lucid moments he thought he was like a +place where there had once been a spring. 'There used to be a +feeble spring of living water which flowed quietly from me and +through me. That was true life, the time when she tempted me!' +(He always thought with ecstasy of that night and of her who was +now Mother Agnes.) She had tasted of that pure water, but since +then there had not been time for it to collect before thirsty +people came crowding in and pushing one another aside. And they +had trampled everything down and nothing was left but mud. + +So he thought in rare moments of lucidity, but his usual state of +mind was one of weariness and a tender pity for himself because +of that weariness. + +It was in spring, on the eve of the mid-Pentecostal feast. +Father Sergius was officiating at the Vigil Service in his +hermitage church, where the congregation was as large as the +little church could hold--about twenty people. They were all +well-to-do proprietors or merchants. Father Sergius admitted +anyone, but a selection was made by the monk in attendance and by +an assistant who was sent to the hermitage every day from the +monastery. A crowd of some eighty people--pilgrims and peasants, +and especially peasant-women--stood outside waiting for Father +Sergius to come out and bless them. Meanwhile he conducted the +service, but at the point at which he went out to the tomb of his +predecessor, he staggered and would have fallen had he not been +caught by a merchant standing behind him and by the monk acting +as deacon. + +'What is the matter, Father Sergius? Dear man! O Lord!' +exclaimed the women. 'He is as white as a sheet!' + +But Father Sergius recovered immediately, and though very pale, +he waved the merchant and the deacon aside and continued to chant +the service. + +Father Seraphim, the deacon, the acolytes, and Sofya Ivanovna, a +lady who always lived near the hermitage and tended Father +Sergius, begged him to bring the service to an end. + +'No, there's nothing the matter,' said Father Sergius, slightly +smiling from beneath his moustache and continuing the service. +'Yes, that is the way the Saints behave!' thought he. + +'A holy man--an angel of God!' he heard just then the voice of +Sofya Ivanovna behind him, and also of the merchant who had +supported him. He did not heed their entreaties, but went on +with the service. Again crowding together they all made their +way by the narrow passages back into the little church, and +there, though abbreviating it slightly, Father Sergius completed +vespers. + +Immediately after the service Father Sergius, having pronounced +the benediction on those present, went over to the bench under +the elm tree at the entrance to the cave. He wished to rest and +breathe the fresh air--he felt in need of it. But as soon as he +left the church the crowd of people rushed to him soliciting his +blessing, his advice, and his help. There were pilgrims who +constantly tramped from one holy place to another and from one +starets to another, and were always entranced by every shrine and +every starets. Father Sergius knew this common, cold, +conventional, and most irreligious type. There were pilgrims, +for the most part discharged soldiers, unaccustomed to a settled +life, poverty-stricken, and many of them drunken old men, who +tramped from monastery to monastery merely to be fed. And there +were rough peasants and peasant-women who had come with their +selfish requirements, seeking cures or to have doubts about quite +practical affairs solved for them: about marrying off a daughter, +or hiring a shop, or buying a bit of land, or how to atone for +having overlaid a child or having an illegitimate one. + +All this was an old story and not in the least interesting to +him. He knew he would hear nothing new from these folk, that +they would arouse no religious emotion in him; but he liked to +see the crowd to which his blessing and advice was necessary and +precious, so while that crowd oppressed him it also pleased him. +Father Seraphim began to drive them away, saying that Father +Sergius was tired. + +But Father Sergius, remembering the words of the Gospel: 'Forbid +them' (children) 'not to come unto me,' and feeling tenderly +towards himself at this recollection, said they should be allowed +to approach. + +He rose, went to the railing beyond which the crowd had gathered, +and began blessing them and answering their questions, but in a +voice so weak that he was touched with pity for himself. Yet +despite his wish to receive them all he could not do it. Things +again grew dark before his eyes, and he staggered and grasped the +railings. He felt a rush of blood to his head and first went +pale and then suddenly flushed. + +'I must leave the rest till to-morrow. I cannot do more to-day,' +and, pronouncing a general benediction, he returned to the bench. +The merchant again supported him, and leading him by the arm +helped him to be seated. + +'Father!' came voices from the crowd. 'Dear Father! Do not +forsake us. Without you we are lost!' + +The merchant, having seated Father Sergius on the bench under the +elm, took on himself police duties and drove the people off very +resolutely. It is true that he spoke in a low voice so that +Father Sergius might not hear him, but his words were incisive +and angry. + +'Be off, be off! He has blessed you, and what more do you want? +Get along with you, or I'll wring your necks! Move on there! Get +along, you old woman with your dirty leg-bands! Go, go! Where +are you shoving to? You've been told that it is finished. +To-morrow will be as God wills, but for to-day he has finished!' + +'Father! Only let my eyes have a glimpse of his dear face!' said +an old woman. + +'I'll glimpse you! Where are you shoving to?' + +Father Sergius noticed that the merchant seemed to be acting +roughly, and in a feeble voice told the attendant that the people +should not be driven away. He knew that they would be driven +away all the same, and he much desired to be left alone and to +rest, but he sent the attendant with that message to produce an +impression. + +'All right, all right! I am not driving them away. I am only +remonstrating with them,' replied the merchant. 'You know they +wouldn't hesitate to drive a man to death. They have no pity, +they only consider themselves. . . . You've been told you cannot +see him. Go away! To-morrow!' And he got rid of them all. + +He took all these pains because he liked order and liked to +domineer and drive the people away, but chiefly because he wanted +to have Father Sergius to himself. He was a widower with an only +daughter who was an invalid and unmarried, and whom he had +brought fourteen hundred versts to Father Sergius to be healed. +For two years past he had been taking her to different places to +be cured: first to the university clinic in the chief town of the +province, but that did no good; then to a peasant in the province +of Samara, where she got a little better; then to a doctor in +Moscow to whom he paid much money, but this did no good at all. +Now he had been told that Father Sergius wrought cures, and had +brought her to him. So when all the people had been driven away +he approached Father Sergius, and suddenly falling on his knees +loudly exclaimed: + +'Holy Father! Bless my afflicted offspring that she may be +healed of her malady. I venture to prostrate myself at your holy +feet.' + +And he placed one hand on the other, cup-wise. He said and did +all this as if he were doing something clearly and firmly +appointed by law and usage--as if one must and should ask for a +daughter to be cured in just this way and no other. He did it +with such conviction that it seemed even to Father Sergius that +it should be said and done in just that way, but nevertheless he +bade him rise and tell him what the trouble was. The merchant +said that his daughter, a girl of twenty-two, had fallen ill two +years ago, after her mother's sudden death. She had moaned (as +he expressed it) and since then had not been herself. And now he +had brought her fourteen hundred versts and she was waiting in +the hostelry till Father Sergius should give orders to bring her. +She did not go out during the day, being afraid of the light, and +could only come after sunset. + +'Is she very weak?' asked Father Sergius. + +'No, she has no particular weakness. She is quite plump, and is +only "nerastenic" the doctors say. If you will only let me bring +her this evening, Father Sergius, I'll fly like a spirit to fetch +her. Holy Father! Revive a parent's heart, restore his line, +save his afflicted daughter by your prayers!' And the merchant +again threw himself on his knees and bending sideways, with his +head resting on his clenched fists, remained stock still. Father +Sergius again told him to get up, and thinking how heavy his +activities were and how he went through with them patiently +notwithstanding, he sighed heavily and after a few seconds of +silence, said: + +'Well, bring her this evening. I will pray for her, but now I am +tired . . .' and he closed his eyes. 'I will send for you.' + +The merchant went away, stepping on tiptoe, which only made his +boots creak the louder, and Father Sergius remained alone. + +His whole life was filled by Church services and by people who +came to see him, but to-day had been a particularly difficult +one. In the morning an important official had arrived and had +had a long conversation with him; after that a lady had come with +her son. This son was a sceptical young professor whom the +mother, an ardent believer and devoted to Father Sergius, had +brought that he might talk to him. The conversation had been +very trying. The young man, evidently not wishing to have a +controversy with a monk, had agreed with him in everything as +with someone who was mentally inferior. Father Sergius saw that +the young man did not believe but yet was satisfied, tranquil, +and at ease, and the memory of that conversation now disquieted +him. + +'Have something to eat, Father,' said the attendant. + +'All right, bring me something.' + +The attendant went to a hut that had been arranged some ten paces +from the cave, and Father Sergius remained alone. + +The time was long past when he had lived alone doing everything +for himself and eating only rye-bread, or rolls prepared for the +Church. He had been advised long since that he had no right to +neglect his health, and he was given wholesome, though Lenten, +food. He ate sparingly, though much more than he had done, and +often he ate with much pleasure, and not as formerly with +aversion and a sense of guilt. So it was now. He had some +gruel, drank a cup of tea, and ate half a white roll. + +The attendant went away, and Father Sergius remained alone under +the elm tree. + +It was a wonderful May evening, when the birches, aspens, elms, +wild cherries, and oaks, had just burst into foliage. + +The bush of wild cherries behind the elm tree was in full bloom +and had not yet begun to shed its blossoms, and the +nightingales--one quite near at hand and two or three others in +the bushes down by the river--burst into full song after some +preliminary twitters. From the river came the far-off songs of +peasants returning, no doubt, from their work. The sun was +setting behind the forest, its last rays glowing through the +leaves. All that side was brilliant green, the other side with +the elm tree was dark. The cockchafers flew clumsily about, +falling to the ground when they collided with anything. + +After supper Father Sergius began to repeat a silent prayer: 'O +Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy upon us!' and then he +read a psalm, and suddenly in the middle of the psalm a sparrow +flew out from the bush, alighted on the ground, and hopped +towards him chirping as it came, but then it took fright at +something and flew away. He said a prayer which referred to his +abandonment of the world, and hastened to finish it in order to +send for the merchant with the sick daughter. She interested him +in that she presented a distraction, and because both she and her +father considered him a saint whose prayers were efficacious. +Outwardly he disavowed that idea, but in the depths of his soul +he considered it to be true. + +He was often amazed that this had happened, that he, Stepan +Kasatsky, had come to be such an extraordinary saint and even a +worker of miracles, but of the fact that he was such there could +not be the least doubt. He could not fail to believe in the +miracles he himself witnessed, beginning with the sick boy and +ending with the old woman who had recovered her sight when he had +prayed for her. + +Strange as it might be, it was so. Accordingly the merchant's +daughter interested him as a new individual who had faith in him, +and also as a fresh opportunity to confirm his healing powers and +enhance his fame. 'They bring people a thousand versts and write +about it in the papers. The Emperor knows of it, and they know of +it in Europe, in unbelieving Europe'--thought he. And suddenly +he felt ashamed of his vanity and again began to pray. 'Lord, +King of Heaven, Comforter, Soul of Truth! Come and enter into me +and cleanse me from all sin and save and bless my soul. Cleanse +me from the sin of worldly vanity that troubles me!' he repeated, +and he remembered how often he had prayed about this and how vain +till now his prayers had been in that respect. His prayers +worked miracles for others, but in his own case God had not +granted him liberation from this petty passion. + +He remembered his prayers at the commencement of his life at the +hermitage, when he prayed for purity, humility, and love, and how +it seemed to him then that God heard his prayers. He had +retained his purity and had chopped off his finger. And he +lifted the shrivelled stump of that finger to his lips and kissed +it. It seemed to him now that he had been humble then when he +had always seemed loathsome to himself on account of his +sinfulness; and when he remembered the tender feelings with which +he had then met an old man who was bringing a drunken soldier to +him to ask alms; and how he had received HER, it seemed to him +that he had then possessed love also. But now? And he asked +himself whether he loved anyone, whether he loved Sofya Ivanovna, +or Father Seraphim, whether he had any feeling of love for all +who had come to him that day--for that learned young man with +whom he had had that instructive discussion in which he was +concerned only to show off his own intelligence and that he had +not lagged behind the times in knowledge. He wanted and needed +their love, but felt none towards them. He now had neither love +nor humility nor purity. + +He was pleased to know that the merchant's daughter was +twenty-two, and he wondered whether she was good-looking. When +he inquired whether she was weak, he really wanted to know if she +had feminine charm. + +'Can I have fallen so low?' he thought. 'Lord, help me! Restore +me, my Lord and God!' And he clasped his hands and began to +pray. + +The nightingales burst into song, a cockchafer knocked against +him and crept up the back of his neck. He brushed it off. 'But +does He exist? What if I am knocking at a door fastened from +outside? The bar is on the door for all to see. Nature--the +nightingales and the cockchafers--is that bar. Perhaps the young +man was right.' And he began to pray aloud. He prayed for a +long time till these thoughts vanished and he again felt calm and +confident. He rang the bell and told the attendant to say that +the merchant might bring his daughter to him now. + +The merchant came, leading his daughter by the arm. He led her +into the cell and immediately left her. + +She was a very fair girl, plump and very short, with a pale, +frightened, childish face and a much developed feminine figure. +Father Sergius remained seated on the bench at the entrance and +when she was passing and stopped beside him for his blessing he +was aghast at himself for the way he looked at her figure. As +she passed by him he was acutely conscious of her femininity, +though he saw by her face that she was sensual and feeble-minded. +He rose and went into the cell. She was sitting on a stool +waiting for him, and when he entered she rose. + +'I want to go back to Papa,' she said. + +'Don't be afraid,' he replied. 'What are you suffering from?' + +'I am in pain all over,' she said, and suddenly her face lit up +with a smile. + +'You will be well,' said he. 'Pray!' + +'What is the use of praying? I have prayed and it does no +good'--and she continued to smile. 'I want you to pray for me +and lay your hands on me. I saw you in a dream.' + +'How did you see me?' + +'I saw you put your hands on my breast like that.' She took his +hand and pressed it to her breast. 'Just here.' + +He yielded his right hand to her. + +'What is your name?' he asked, trembling all over and feeling +that he was overcome and that his desire had already passed +beyond control. + +'Marie. Why?' + +She took his hand and kissed it, and then put her arm round his +waist and pressed him to herself. + +'What are you doing?' he said. 'Marie, you are a devil!' + +'Oh, perhaps. What does it matter?' + +And embracing him she sat down with him on the bed. + +At dawn he went out into the porch. + +'Can this all have happened? Her father will come and she will +tell him everything. She is a devil! What am I to do? Here is +the axe with which I chopped off my finger.' He snatched up the +axe and moved back towards the cell. + +The attendant came up. + +'Do you want some wood chopped? Let me have the axe.' + +Sergius yielded up the axe and entered the cell. She was lying +there asleep. He looked at her with horror, and passed on beyond +the partition, where he took down the peasant clothes and put +them on. Then he seized a pair of scissors, cut off his long +hair, and went out along the path down the hill to the river, +where he had not been for more than three years. + +A road ran beside the river and he went along it and walked till +noon. Then he went into a field of rye and lay down there. +Towards evening he approached a village, but without entering it +went towards the cliff that overhung the river. There he again +lay down to rest. + +It was early morning, half an hour before sunrise. All was damp +and gloomy and a cold early wind was blowing from the west. +'Yes, I must end it all. There is no God. But how am I to end +it? Throw myself into the river? I can swim and should not +drown. Hang myself? Yes, just throw this sash over a branch.' +This seemed so feasible and so easy that he felt horrified. As +usual at moments of despair he felt the need of prayer. But +there was no one to pray to. There was no God. He lay down +resting on his arm, and suddenly such a longing for sleep +overcame him that he could no longer support his head on his +hand, but stretched out his arm, laid his head upon it, and fell +asleep. But that sleep lasted only for a moment. He woke up +immediately and began not to dream but to remember. + +He saw himself as a child in his mother's home in the country. A +carriage drives up, and out of it steps Uncle Nicholas +Sergeevich, with his long, spade-shaped, black beard, and with +him Pashenka, a thin little girl with large mild eyes and a timid +pathetic face. And into their company of boys Pashenka is +brought and they have to play with her, but it is dull. She is +silly, and it ends by their making fun of her and forcing her to +show how she can swim. She lies down on the floor and shows +them, and they all laugh and make a fool of her. She sees this +and blushes red in patches and becomes more pitiable than before, +so pitiable that he feels ashamed and can never forget that +crooked, kindly, submissive smile. And Sergius remembered having +seen her since then. Long after, just before he became a monk, +she had married a landowner who squandered all her fortune and +was in the habit of beating her. She had had two children, a son +and a daughter, but the son had died while still young. And +Sergius remembered having seen her very wretched. Then again he +had seen her in the monastery when she was a widow. She had been +still the same, not exactly stupid, but insipid, insignificant, +and pitiable. She had come with her daughter and her daughter's +fiance. They were already poor at that time and later on he had +heard that she was living in a small provincial town and was very +poor. + +'Why am I thinking about her?' he asked himself, but he could not +cease doing so. 'Where is she? How is she getting on? Is she +still as unhappy as she was then when she had to show us how to +swim on the floor? But why should I think about her? What am I +doing? I must put an end to myself.' + +And again he felt afraid, and again, to escape from that thought, +he went on thinking about Pashenka. + +So he lay for a long time, thinking now of his unavoidable end +and now of Pashenka. She presented herself to him as a means of +salvation. At last he fell asleep, and in his sleep he saw an +angel who came to him and said: 'Go to Pashenka and learn from +her what you have to do, what your sin is, and wherein lies your +salvation.' + +He awoke, and having decided that this was a vision sent by God, +he felt glad, and resolved to do what had been told him in the +vision. He knew the town where she lived. It was some three +hundred versts (two hundred miles) away, and he set out to walk +there. + + + +VI + +Pashenka had already long ceased to be Pashenka and had become +old, withered, wrinkled Praskovya Mikhaylovna, mother-in-law of +that failure, the drunken official Mavrikyev. She was living in +the country town where he had had his last appointment, and there +she was supporting the family: her daughter, her ailing +neurasthenic son-in-law, and her five grandchildren. She did +this by giving music lessons to tradesmen's daughters, giving +four and sometimes five lessons a day of an hour each, and +earning in this way some sixty rubles (6 pounds) a month. So +they lived for the present, in expectation of another +appointment. She had sent letters to all her relations and +acquaintances asking them to obtain a post for her son-in-law, +and among the rest she had written to Sergius, but that letter +had not reached him. + +It was a Saturday, and Praskovya Mikhaylovna was herself mixing +dough for currant bread such as the serf-cook on her father's +estate used to make so well. She wished to give her +grandchildren a treat on the Sunday. + +Masha, her daughter, was nursing her youngest child, the eldest +boy and girl were at school, and her son-in-law was asleep, not +having slept during the night. Praskovya Mikhaylovna had +remained awake too for a great part of the night, trying to +soften her daughter's anger against her husband. + +She saw that it was impossible for her son-in-law, a weak +creature, to be other than he was, and realized that his wife's +reproaches could do no good--so she used all her efforts to +soften those reproaches and to avoid recrimination and anger. +Unkindly relations between people caused her actual physical +suffering. It was so clear to her that bitter feelings do not +make anything better, but only make everything worse. She did +not in fact think about this: she simply suffered at the sight of +anger as she would from a bad smell, a harsh noise, or from blows +on her body. + +She had--with a feeling of self-satisfaction--just taught Lukerya +how to mix the dough, when her six-year-old grandson Misha, +wearing an apron and with darned stockings on his crooked little +legs, ran into the kitchen with a frightened face. + +'Grandma, a dreadful old man wants to see you.' + +Lukerya looked out at the door. + +'There is a pilgrim of some kind, a man . . .' + +Praskovya Mikhaylovna rubbed her thin elbows against one another, +wiped her hands on her apron and went upstairs to get a +five-kopek piece [about a penny] out of her purse for him, but +remembering that she had nothing less than a ten-kopek piece she +decided to give him some bread instead. She returned to the +cupboard, but suddenly blushed at the thought of having grudged +the ten-kopek piece, and telling Lukerya to cut a slice of bread, +went upstairs again to fetch it. 'It serves you right,' she said +to herself. 'You must now give twice over.' + +She gave both the bread and the money to the pilgrim, and when +doing so--far from being proud of her generosity--she excused +herself for giving so little. The man had such an imposing +appearance. + +Though he had tramped two hundred versts as a beggar, though he +was tattered and had grown thin and weatherbeaten, though he had +cropped his long hair and was wearing a peasant's cap and boots, +and though he bowed very humbly, Sergius still had the impressive +appearance that made him so attractive. But Praskovya +Mikhaylovna did not recognize him. She could hardly do so, not +having seen him for almost twenty years. + +'Don't think ill of me, Father. Perhaps you want something to +eat?' + +He took the bread and the money, and Praskovya Mikhaylovna was +surprised that he did not go, but stood looking at her. + +'Pashenka, I have come to you! Take me in . . .' + +His beautiful black eyes, shining with the tears that started in +them, were fixed on her with imploring insistence. And under his +greyish moustache his lips quivered piteously. + +Praskovya Mikhaylovna pressed her hands to her withered breast, +opened her mouth, and stood petrified, staring at the pilgrim +with dilated eyes. + +'It can't be! Stepa! Sergey! Father Sergius!' + +'Yes, it is I,' said Sergius in a low voice. 'Only not Sergius, +or Father Sergius, but a great sinner, Stepan Kasatsky--a great +and lost sinner. Take me in and help me!' + +'It's impossible! How have you so humbled yourself? But come +in.' + +She reached out her hand, but he did not take it and only +followed her in. + +But where was she to take him? The lodging was a small one. +Formerly she had had a tiny room, almost a closet, for herself, +but later she had given it up to her daughter, and Masha was now +sitting there rocking the baby. + +'Sit here for the present,' she said to Sergius, pointing to a +bench in the kitchen. + +He sat down at once, and with an evidently accustomed movement +slipped the straps of his wallet first off one shoulder and then +off the other. + +'My God, my God! How you have humbled yourself, Father! Such +great fame, and now like this . . .' + +Sergius did not reply, but only smiled meekly, placing his wallet +under the bench on which he sat. + +'Masha, do you know who this is?'--And in a whisper Praskovya +Mikhaylovna told her daughter who he was, and together they then +carried the bed and the cradle out of the tiny room and cleared +it for Sergius. + +Praskovya Mikhaylovna led him into it. + +'Here you can rest. Don't take offence . . . but I must go out.' + +'Where to?' + +'I have to go to a lesson. I am ashamed to tell you, but I teach +music!' + +'Music? But that is good. Only just one thing, Praskovya +Mikhaylovna, I have come to you with a definite object. When can +I have a talk with you?' + +'I shall be very glad. Will this evening do?' + +'Yes. But one thing more. Don't speak about me, or say who I +am. I have revealed myself only to you. No one knows where I +have gone to. It must be so.' + +'Oh, but I have told my daughter.' + +'Well, ask her not to mention it.' + +And Sergius took off his boots, lay down, and at once fell asleep +after a sleepless night and a walk of nearly thirty miles. + +When Praskovya Mikhaylovna returned, Sergius was sitting in the +little room waiting for her. He did not come out for dinner, but +had some soup and gruel which Lukerya brought him. + +'How is it that you have come back earlier than you said?' asked +Sergius. 'Can I speak to you now?' + +'How is it that I have the happiness to receive such a guest? I +have missed one of my lessons. That can wait . . . I had always +been planning to go to see you. I wrote to you, and now this +good fortune has come.' + +'Pashenka, please listen to what I am going to tell you as to a +confession made to God at my last hour. Pashenka, I am not a +holy man, I am not even as good as a simple ordinary man; I am a +loathsome, vile, and proud sinner who has gone astray, and who, +if not worse than everyone else, is at least worse than most very +bad people.' + +Pashenka looked at him at first with staring eyes. But she +believed what he said, and when she had quite grasped it she +touched his hand, smiling pityingly, and said: + +'Perhaps you exaggerate, Stiva?' + +'No, Pashenka. I am an adulterer, a murderer, a blasphemer, and +a deceiver.' + +'My God! How is that?' exclaimed Praskovya Mikhaylovna. + +'But I must go on living. And I, who thought I knew everything, +who taught others how to live--I know nothing and ask you to +teach me.' + +'What are you saying, Stiva? You are laughing at me. Why do you +always make fun of me?' + +'Well, if you think I am jesting you must have it as you please. +But tell me all the same how you live, and how you have lived +your life.' + +'I? I have lived a very nasty, horrible life, and now God is +punishing me as I deserve. I live so wretchedly, so wretchedly . +. .' + +'How was it with your marriage? How did you live with your +husband?' + +'It was all bad. I married because I fell in love in the +nastiest way. Papa did not approve. But I would not listen to +anything and just got married. Then instead of helping my +husband I tormented him by my jealousy, which I could not +restrain.' + +'I heard that he drank . . .' + +'Yes, but I did not give him any peace. I always reproached him, +though you know it is a disease! He could not refrain from it. +I now remember how I tried to prevent his having it, and the +frightful scenes we had!' + +And she looked at Kasatsky with beautiful eyes, suffering from +the remembrance. + +Kasatsky remembered how he had been told that Pashenka's husband +used to beat her, and now, looking at her thin withered neck with +prominent veins behind her ears, and her scanty coil of hair, +half grey half auburn, he seemed to see just how it had occurred. + +'Then I was left with two children and no means at all.' + +'But you had an estate!' + +'Oh, we sold that while Vasya was still alive, and the money was +all spent. We had to live, and like all our young ladies I did +not know how to earn anything. I was particularly useless and +helpless. So we spent all we had. I taught the children and +improved my own education a little. And then Mitya fell ill when +he was already in the fourth form, and God took him. Masha fell +in love with Vanya, my son-in-law. And--well, he is well-meaning +but unfortunate. He is ill.' + +'Mamma!'--her daughter's voice interrupted her--'Take Mitya! I +can't be in two places at once.' + +Praskovya Mikhaylovna shuddered, but rose and went out of the +room, stepping quickly in her patched shoes. She soon came back +with a boy of two in her arms, who threw himself backwards and +grabbed at her shawl with his little hands. + +'Where was I? Oh yes, he had a good appointment here, and his +chief was a kind man too. But Vanya could not go on, and had to +give up his position.' + +'What is the matter with him?' + +'Neurasthenia--it is a dreadful complaint. We consulted a +doctor, who told us he ought to go away, but we had no means. . . +. I always hope it will pass of itself. He has no particular +pain, but . . .' + +'Lukerya!' cried an angry and feeble voice. 'She is always sent +away when I want her. Mamma . . .' + +'I'm coming!' Praskovya Mikhaylovna again interrupted herself. +'He has not had his dinner yet. He can't eat with us.' + +She went out and arranged something, and came back wiping her +thin dark hands. + +'So that is how I live. I always complain and am always +dissatisfied, but thank God the grandchildren are all nice and +healthy, and we can still live. But why talk about me?' + +'But what do you live on?' + +'Well, I earn a little. How I used to dislike music, but how +useful it is to me now!' Her small hand lay on the chest of +drawers beside which she was sitting, and she drummed an exercise +with her thin fingers. + +'How much do you get for a lesson?' + +'Sometimes a ruble, sometimes fifty kopeks, or sometimes thirty. +They are all so kind to me.' + +'And do your pupils get on well?' asked Kasatsky with a slight +smile. + +Praskovya Mikhaylovna did not at first believe that he was asking +seriously, and looked inquiringly into his eyes. + +'Some of them do. One of them is a splendid girl--the butcher's +daughter--such a good kind girl! If I were a clever woman I +ought, of course, with the connexions Papa had, to be able to get +an appointment for my son-in-law. But as it is I have not been +able to do anything, and have brought them all to this--as you +see.' + +'Yes, yes,' said Kasatsky, lowering his head. 'And how is it, +Pashenka--do you take part in Church life?' + +'Oh, don't speak of it. I am so bad that way, and have neglected +it so! I keep the fasts with the children and sometimes go to +church, and then again sometimes I don't go for months. I only +send the children.' + +'But why don't you go yourself?' + +'To tell the truth' (she blushed) 'I am ashamed, for my +daughter's sake and the children's, to go there in tattered +clothes, and I haven't anything else. Besides, I am just lazy.' + +'And do you pray at home?' + +'I do. But what sort of prayer is it? Only mechanical. I know +it should not be like that, but I lack real religious feeling. +The only thing is that I know how bad I am . . .' + +'Yes, yes, that's right!' said Kasatsky, as if approvingly. + +'I'm coming! I'm coming!' she replied to a call from her +son-in-law, and tidying her scanty plait she left the room. + +But this time it was long before she returned. When she came +back, Kasatsky was sitting in the same position, his elbows +resting on his knees and his head bowed. But his wallet was +strapped on his back. + +When she came in, carrying a small tin lamp without a shade, he +raised his fine weary eyes and sighed very deeply. + +'I did not tell them who you are,' she began timidly. 'I only +said that you are a pilgrim, a nobleman, and that I used to know +you. Come into the dining-room for tea.' + +'No . . .' + +'Well then, I'll bring some to you here.' + +'No, I don't want anything. God bless you, Pashenka! I am going +now. If you pity me, don't tell anyone that you have seen me. +For the love of God don't tell anyone. Thank you. I would bow to +your feet but I know it would make you feel awkward. Thank you, +and forgive me for Christ's sake!' + +'Give me your blessing.' + +'God bless you! Forgive me for Christ's sake!' + +He rose, but she would not let him go until she had given him +bread and butter and rusks. He took it all and went away. + +It was dark, and before he had passed the second house he was +lost to sight. She only knew he was there because the dog at the +priest's house was barking. + +'So that is what my dream meant! Pashenka is what I ought to +have been but failed to be. I lived for men on the pretext of +living for God, while she lived for God imagining that she lives +for men. Yes, one good deed--a cup of water given without +thought of reward--is worth more than any benefit I imagined I +was bestowing on people. But after all was there not some share +of sincere desire to serve God?' he asked himself, and the answer +was: 'Yes, there was, but it was all soiled and overgrown by +desire for human praise. Yes, there is no God for the man who +lives, as I did, for human praise. I will now seek Him!' + +And he walked from village to village as he had done on his way +to Pashenka, meeting and parting from other pilgrims, men and +women, and asking for bread and a night's rest in Christ's name. +Occasionally some angry housewife scolded him, or a drunken +peasant reviled him, but for the most part he was given food and +drink and even something to take with him. His noble bearing +disposed some people in his favour, while others on the contrary +seemed pleased at the sight of a gentleman who had come to +beggary. + +But his gentleness prevailed with everyone. + +Often, finding a copy of the Gospels in a hut he would read it +aloud, and when they heard him the people were always touched and +surprised, as at something new yet familiar. + +When he succeeded in helping people, either by advice, or by his +knowledge of reading and writing, or by settling some quarrel, he +did not wait to see their gratitude but went away directly +afterwards. And little by little God began to reveal Himself +within him. + +Once he was walking along with two old women and a soldier. They +were stopped by a party consisting of a lady and gentleman in a +gig and another lady and gentleman on horseback. The husband was +on horseback with his daughter, while in the gig his wife was +driving with a Frenchman, evidently a traveller. + +The party stopped to let the Frenchman see the pilgrims who, in +accord with a popular Russian superstition, tramped about from +place to place instead of working. + +They spoke French, thinking that the others would not understand +them. + +'Demandez-leur,' said the Frenchman, 's'ils sont bien sur de ce +que leur pelerinage est agreable a Dieu.' + +The question was asked, and one old woman replied: + +'As God takes it. Our feet have reached the holy places, but our +hearts may not have done so.' + +They asked the soldier. He said that he was alone in the world +and had nowhere else to go. + +They asked Kasatsky who he was. + +'A servant of God.' + +'Qu'est-ce qu'il dit? Il ne repond pas.' + +'Il dit qu'il est un serviteur de Dieu. Cela doit etre un fils +de preetre. Il a de la race. Avez-vous de la petite monnaie?' + +The Frenchman found some small change and gave twenty kopeks to +each of the pilgrims. + +'Mais dites-leur que ce n'est pas pour les cierges que je leur +donne, mais pour qu'ils se regalent de the. Chay, chay pour +vous, mon vieux!' he said with a smile. And he patted Kasatsky +on the shoulder with his gloved hand. + +'May Christ bless you,' replied Kasatsky without replacing his +cap and bowing his bald head. + +He rejoiced particularly at this meeting, because he had +disregarded the opinion of men and had done the simplest, easiest +thing--humbly accepted twenty kopeks and given them to his +comrade, a blind beggar. The less importance he attached to the +opinion of men the more did he feel the presence of God within +him. + +For eight months Kasatsky tramped on in this manner, and in the +ninth month he was arrested for not having a passport. This +happened at a night-refuge in a provincial town where he had +passed the night with some pilgrims. He was taken to the +police-station, and when asked who he was and where was his +passport, he replied that he had no passport and that he was a +servant of God. He was classed as a tramp, sentenced, and sent +to live in Siberia. + +In Siberia he has settled down as the hired man of a well-to-do +peasant, in which capacity he works in the kitchen-garden, +teaches children, and attends to the sick. + + + + + +End of The Project Gutenberg Etext of Father Sergius by Leo Tolstoy + diff --git a/old/fsrgs10.zip b/old/fsrgs10.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..b5b6461 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/fsrgs10.zip |