father sergius-第10部分

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'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　liveI　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。　　Andwell；　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？'



'Neurastheniait　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　girlthe　butcher's

daughtersuch　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　thisas　you

see。'



'Yes；　yes；'　said　Kasatsky；　lowering　his　head。　　'And　how　is　it；

Pashenkado　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　deeda　cup　of　water　given　without

thought　of　rewardis　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　me