'We must not kill them, of a certainty; death will take its own without that. Look at Martin the carpenter; Martin lived, and his life was not long, but he died; his wife now grieves for her husband, for her little children.... Neither for man nor beast is there any charm against death. Death does not hasten, nor is there any escaping it; but we must not aid death.... And I do not kill nightingales--God forbid! I do not catch them to harm them, to spoil their lives, but for the pleasure of men, for their comfort and delight.' 'Do you go to Kursk to catch them?' 'Yes, I go to Kursk, and farther too, at times. I pass nights in the marshes, or at the edge of the forests; I am alone at night in the fields, in the thickets; there the curlews call and the hares squeak and the wild ducks lift up their voices.... I note them at evening; at morning I give ear to them; at daybreak I cast my net over the bushes.... There are nightingales that sing so pitifully sweet ... yea, pitifully.' 'And do you sell them?' 'I give them to good people.' 'And what are you doing now?' 'What am I doing?' 'Yes, how are you employed?' The old man was silent for a little. 'I am not employed at all.... I am a poor workman. But I can read and write.' 'You can read?' 'Yes, I can read and write. I learnt, by the help of God and good people.' 'Have you a family?' 'No, not a family.' 'How so?... Are they dead, then?' 'No, but ... I have never been lucky in life. But all that is in God's hands; we are all in God's hands; and a man should be righteous--that is all! Upright before God, that is it.' 'And you have no kindred?' 'Yes ... well....' The old man was confused. 'Tell me, please,' I began: 'I heard my coachman ask you why you did not cure Martin? You cure disease?' 'Your coachman is a righteous man,' Kassyan answered thoughtfully. 'I too am not without sin. They call me a doctor.... Me a doctor, indeed! And who can heal the sick? That is all a gift from God. But there are ... yes, there are herbs, and there are flowers; they are of use, of a certainty. There is plantain, for instance, a herb good for man; there is bud-marigold too; it is not sinful to speak of them: they are holy herbs of God. Then there are others not so; and they may be of use, but it's a sin; and to speak of them is a sin. Still, with prayer, may be.... And doubtless there are such words.... But who has faith, shall be saved,' he added, dropping his voice. 'You did not give Martin anything?' I asked. 'I heard of it too late,' replied the old man. 'But what of it! Each man's destiny is written from his birth. The carpenter Martin was not to live; he was not to live upon the earth: that was what it was. No, when a man is not to live on the earth, him the sunshine does not warm like another, and him the bread does not nourish and make strong; it is as though something is drawing him away.... Yes: God rest his soul!'