章节正文
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 ardentbeliever 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
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 ardentbeliever 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
- trousers [´trauzəz]
n.裤子，长裤 (初中英语单词) - peasant [´pezənt] n.农民；庄稼人 (初中英语单词)
- assistant [ə´sistənt] n.助手；助理；助教 (初中英语单词)
- waiting [´weitiŋ] n.等候；伺候 (初中英语单词)
- meanwhile [´mi:n´wail] n.&ad.其间；同时 (初中英语单词)
- standing [´stændiŋ] n.持续 a.直立的 (初中英语单词)
- slightly [´slaitli] ad.轻微地；细长的 (初中英语单词)
- drunken [´drʌŋkən] a.喝醉的；常醉的 (初中英语单词)
- arouse [ə´rauz] vt.唤醒，唤起；激起 (初中英语单词)
- emotion [i´məuʃən] n.感情；情绪；激动 (初中英语单词)
- blessing [´blesiŋ] n.祝福 (初中英语单词)
- glimpse [glimps] n.&v.瞥见 (初中英语单词)
- feeble [´fi:bəl] a.虚弱的，无力的 (初中英语单词)
- attendant [ə´tendənt] n.随员 a.伴随的 (初中英语单词)
- driven [´driv(ə)n] drive 的过去分词 (初中英语单词)
- hesitate [´heziteit] vi.犹豫，踌躇 (初中英语单词)
- chiefly [´tʃi:fli] ad.主要地；尤其 (初中英语单词)
- wrought [rɔ:t] work 的过去式(分词) (初中英语单词)
- venture [´ventʃə] n.投机 v.冒险；敢于 (初中英语单词)
- conviction [kən´vikʃən] n.定罪；确信，信服 (初中英语单词)
- nevertheless [,nevəðə´les] conj.&ad.然而；不过 (初中英语单词)
- weakness [´wi:knis] n.虚弱；弱点，缺点 (初中英语单词)
- restore [ri´stɔ:] vt.(使)恢复；修复 (初中英语单词)
- evidently [´evidəntli] ad.明显地 (初中英语单词)
- formerly [´fɔ:məli] ad.从前，以前 (初中英语单词)
- decided [di´saidid] a.明显的；决定的 (高中英语单词)
- ecstasy [´ekstəsi] n.狂喜；出神，入迷 (高中英语单词)
- selection [si´lekʃən] n.选择；选拔；精选物 (高中英语单词)
- hermitage [´hə:mitidʒ] n.隐居生活(的地方) (高中英语单词)
- shrine [ʃrain] n.神龛；神殿；圣地 (高中英语单词)
- monastery [´mɔnəstri] n.修道院；庙宇 (高中英语单词)
- saying [´seiŋ, ´sei-iŋ] n.言语；言论；格言 (高中英语单词)
- gospel [´gɔspəl] n.福音；信条；真理 (高中英语单词)
- recollection [,rekə´lekʃən] n.回忆；追想；记忆力 (高中英语单词)
- revive [ri´vaiv] v.(使)苏醒；(使)振奋 (高中英语单词)
- inferior [in´fiəriə] n.下级的 n.下级；晚辈 (高中英语单词)
- wholesome [´həulsəm] a.有益于健康的 (高中英语单词)
- weariness [wiərinis] n.疲倦；厌烦 (英语四级单词)
- congregation [,kɔŋgri´geiʃən] n.集合；团体 (英语四级单词)
- railing [´reiliŋ] n.栏杆 (英语四级单词)
- blessed [´blesid] a.享福的；神圣的 (英语四级单词)
- invalid [in´vælid] n.病人 a.无效的 (英语四级单词)
- unmarried [,ʌn´mærid] a.未婚的，独身的 (英语四级单词)
- prostrate [´prɔstreit, prɔ´streit] a.俯伏的 vt.弄倒 (英语四级单词)
- tiptoe [´tiptəu] n.脚尖 vi.踮着脚走 (英语四级单词)
- ardent [´ɑ:dənt] a.热心的；热情洋溢的 (英语四级单词)
- believer [bi´li:və] n.信徒 (英语四级单词)
- devoted [di´vəutid] a.献身...的，忠实的 (英语四级单词)
- trying [´traiiŋ] a.难堪的；费劲的 (英语四级单词)
- wanderer [´wɔndərə] n.流浪者 (英语六级单词)
- deacon [´di:kən] n.(教会的)执事 (英语六级单词)
- taking [´teikiŋ] a.迷人的 n.捕获物 (英语六级单词)
- malady [´mælədi] n.疾病；不正之风 (英语六级单词)
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