Man-woman relationships -- Fiction; Marriage -- Fiction; Russia -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction
At the conclusion of the service, at the moment when the priest
pronounced the words: "May the blessing of the Lord our God be upon
you," I seemed to feel within me, instantaneously communicated to all my
being, a sense of even, as it were, physical comfort, as if a current of
light and warmth had suddenly poured into my very heart.
When the service was over, if the priest approached me to ask if he
should come to our house to celebrate vespers, and what hour would suit
me, I thanked him with emotion for his offer, but told him that I would
come myself to the church either on foot or in the carriage.
"So you will yourself take that trouble?" he asked.
I could not answer, for fear of sinning from pride. Unless Macha was
with me, I sent the carriage home from the church, and returned on foot,
alone, saluting humbly all whom I met, seeking occasion to assist them,
to advise them, to sacrifice myself for them in some way; helping to
lift a load or carry a child, or stepping aside into the mud to yield a
passage.
One evening I heard our intendant, in making his report to Macha, say
that a peasant, Simon, had come to beg for some wood to make a coffin
for his daughter, and for a silver rouble to pay for the mortuary
service, and that his request had been complied with.
"Are they so poor?" I enquired.
"Very poor, my lady; they live without salt,"[F] replied the intendant.
I was distressed, yet, at the same time, in a manner rejoiced to hear
this. Making Macha believe that I was going for a walk, I ran upstairs,
took all my money (it was very little, but it was all I had,) and,
having made the sign of the cross, hurried off, across the terrace and
garden, to Simon's cottage in the village. It was at the end of the
little cluster of houses, and, unseen by anyone, I approached the
window, laid the money upon the sill and tapped gently. The door opened,
some one came out of the cottage and called to me; but I, cold and
trembling with fear like a criminal, ran away home. Macha asked where I
had been, what was the matter with me? But I did not even understand
what she was saying, and made no reply.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account