HVOR KÆRLIGHED ER – DER ER GUD

Hvor kærlighed er – der er Gud –

Historien om skomageren der så Jesus – Skrevet af Leo Tolstoj

(Oversat af Google Translate - se engelsk tekst nederst på siden. En udgivelse af Gutenberg-projektet). 
Martin 

Martin Skomager

I byen boede skomageren Martin Avdyeitch. Han boede i en kælder, i et lille værelse med ét vindue. Vinduet vendte ud mod gaden.

Gennem vinduet plejede han at se på folkene, der gik forbi;
selvom han kunne se deres støvlerne.

Martin Avdyeitch genkendte folket. Martin Avdyeitch havde levet længe det samme sted, og han havde mange bekendte. Få par støvler i hans distrikt
ikke havde været i hans hænder igen og igen. Nogle ville han halvsåle, nogle han lappede, nogle syede han rundt, og nogle gange gjorde han det
også tage ny overdel på. Og gennem vinduet genkendte han ofte sit arbejde.

En hæderlig skomager

Avdyeitch havde nok at lave, for han var en trofast arbejder, brugt godt materiale, fremsatte ikke ublu anklager og holdt sit ord. Hvis det var
muligt for ham at afslutte en ordre inden for et bestemt tidspunkt, ville han acceptere det; ellers ville han ikke bedrage dig - det ville han fortælle dig
på forhånd. Og alle kendte Avdyeitch, og han var aldrig uden arbejde.

Martins søn

Avdyeitch havde altid været en god mand; men da han blev gammel, begyndte han at tænke mere på sin sjæl og kom nærmere Gud. 
Martins kone døde, da han stadig boede hos sin herre. Hans kone efterlod ham en dreng
tre år gammel. Ingen af ​​deres andre børn havde levet. Alle de ældste
var død i barndommen. Martin havde først til hensigt at sende sin lille søn
til sin søster i landsbyen, men bagefter havde han ondt af ham; han
tænkte for sig selv:--

"Det vil være svært for min Kapitoshka at leve i en fremmed familie. Det skal jeg
hold ham hos mig."

Og Avdyeitch forlod sin herre og gik i logi med sin lille
 søn. Men Gud gav Avdyeitch ingen held med sine børn. Som Kapitoshka
blev ældre, begyndte han at hjælpe sin far, og det ville have været en fornøjelse
til ham, men en sygdom faldt på ham, han gik i seng, led en uge, og
døde. Martuin begravede sin søn og faldt i fortvivlelse. Så dybt var det her
fortvivlet over, at han begyndte at klage over Gud. Martuin faldt i sådan en
melankolsk tilstand, at han mere end én gang bad til Gud om døden, og
bebrejdede Gud, fordi han i stedet ikke havde taget ham, der var en gammel mand
af sin elskede eneste søn. Avdyeitch holdt også op med at gå i kirke.

Og engang kom en lille gammel mand fra samme distrikt fra Troïtsa(1) til
se Avdyeitch; i syv år havde han vandret omkring. Avdyeitch
talte med ham og begyndte at klage over hans sorger.

  (1) Trinity, et berømt kloster, hvortil pilgrimsfærd regnes for en
  dyd. Avdyeitch kalder dette _zemlyak-starichok_, _Bozhi chelovyek_,
  Guds mand.--Red.

"Jeg har ikke lyst til at leve længere," sagde han, "jeg ville kun ønske, at jeg var død.
Det er alt, hvad jeg beder Gud om. Jeg er en mand uden noget at håbe på
nu."

Og den lille gamle mand sagde til ham:--

"Du taler ikke rigtigt, Martuin, vi må ikke dømme Guds gerninger
verden bevæger sig, ikke af vores dygtighed, men af ​​Guds vilje. Gud har bestemt for dig
søn at dø, - for dig - at leve. Så det er til det bedste. Og du er med
fortvivlelse, fordi du ønsker at leve for din egen lykke."

"Men hvad skal man leve for?" spurgte Martuin.

Og den lille gamle mand sagde:--

"Vi skal leve for Gud, Martuin. Han giver dig liv, og for hans skyld dig
skal leve. Når du begynder at leve for ham, vil du ikke sørge over
alt, og alt vil virke nemt for dig."

Martuin tav et øjeblik og sagde så: "Men hvordan kan man leve
for Gud?"

Og den lille gamle mand sagde:--

"Kristus har lært os, hvordan man lever for Gud. Ved du, hvordan man læser? Køb en
Testamente, og læs det; der vil du lære at leve for Gud.
Alt er forklaret der."

Martin læser i Bibelen

Og disse ord tændte en ild i Avdyeitchs hjerte. Og det gik han
samme dag købte jeg et Ny Testamente med stor skrift og begyndte at læse.

Først havde Avdyeitch til hensigt kun at læse på helligdage; men som han begyndte at
læste, det glædede hans sjæl så meget, at han plejede at læse hver dag. Til tider han
ville blive så optaget af læsning, at al petroleum i lampen
ville brænde ud, og stadig kunne han ikke rive sig løs. Også
Avdyeitch plejede at læse hver aften.

Og jo mere han læste, jo klarere forstod han, hvad Gud ville af ham,
og hvordan man skal leve for Gud; og hans hjerte blev ved med at vokse lettere og
nemmere. Tidligere, når han lagde sig til at sove, plejede han at sukke og stønne,
og tænkte altid på sin Kapitoshka; og nu hans eneste udråb
var:--

"Ære være dig! Ære være dig, Herre! Din vilje ske."

Og fra det tidspunkt blev hele Avdyeitchs liv ændret. I andre dage,
også brugt til at falde ind i et offentligt hus(2) som en ferieforlystelse, for at
drik en kop te; og han var heller ikke afvisende for lidt brændevin. Han
ville tage en drink med en bekendt og forlade saloonen, ikke
beruset, præcis, men alligevel i en glad sindstilstand og tilbøjelig til at tale
nonsens, og råbe og bruge et skældsord mod en person. Nu gik han
af den slags. Hans liv blev stille og glædeligt. Om morgenen
han ville sætte sig til at arbejde, afslutte sin tildelte opgave og derefter tage
lille lampe fra krogen, sæt den på bordet, få sin bog fra
hylde, åbn den og sæt dig ned for at læse. Og jo mere han læste, jo mere han
forstod, og jo lysere og gladere blev det i hans hjerte.

  (2) _Traktir._

Engang skete det, at Martuin læste til langt ud på natten. Han var
læser Lukasevangeliet. Han læste over det sjette kapitel; og
han læste versene:--

"_Og til den, der slår dig på den ene kind, byd også den anden;
og den, som tager din kappe af, forbyd ikke også at tage din frakke.
Giv til enhver, der beder dig; og af ham, som borttager din
varer spørger dem ikke igen. Og som I vil, at mennesker skal gøre mod jer, så gør
også I til dem ligeså._"

Han læste videre også de vers, hvor Gud taler:

"_Og hvorfor kalder I mig, Herre, Herre, og gør ikke det, som jeg siger?
Enhver, som kommer til mig og hører mine ord og gør efter dem, det vil jeg
vis dig, hvem han ligner: han er som en mand, der byggede et hus, og
gravede dybt og lagde grundvolden på en klippe, og når syndfloden
rejste sig, strømmen slog voldsomt ind i det hus og kunne ikke ryste
det; thi den var grundlagt paa en Klippe. Men den, der hører og ikke gør,
er som en mand, der uden grund byggede et hus på jorden;
hvorimod Strømmen slog heftigt imod, og straks faldt den;
og ruinen af ​​det hus var stor._"

Avdyeitch læste disse ord, og glæde fyldte hans sjæl. Han tog sit af
briller, læg dem på bogen, lænede albuerne på bordet,
og blev fortabt i tanker. Og han begyndte at måle sit liv efter disse
ord. Og han tænkte ved sig selv:--

"Er mit hus bygget på klippen eller på sandet? 'Det er godt, hvis det er på
klippe. Det er så nemt, når man er alene alene; det virker som om du
havde gjort alt som Gud befaler; men når du glemmer dig selv, du
synd igen. Alligevel vil jeg stadig kæmpe videre. Det er rigtig godt. Hjælp mig,
Herre!"

Sådan løb hans tanker; han ville gå i seng, men han følte sig nødig til at rive
sig væk fra bogen. Og han begyndte at læse længere i den syvende
kapitel. Han læste om centurionen, han læste om enkens søn, han
læste om svaret til Johannes' disciple, og til sidst kom han til
det sted, hvor den rige farisæer ønskede, at Herren skulle sidde til bords med
Hej M; og han læste, hvordan kvinden, der var en synder, salvede hans fødder, og
vaskede dem med hendes tårer, og hvordan han tilgav hende. Han nåede
44 vers og begyndte at læse:--

"_Og han vendte sig mod kvinden og sagde til Simon: "Ser du dette
kvinde? Jeg gik ind i dit hus, du gav mig ikke vand til mine fødder.
men hun har tvættet mine Fødder med Taarer og tørret dem med Haaret
hendes hoved. Du har ikke givet mig et kys, men denne kvinde siden jeg kom
i har ikke holdt op med at kysse mine fødder. Mit hoved med olie gjorde du ikke
salve: men denne kvinde har salvet mine fødder med salve."

Han læste disse vers færdig og tænkte ved sig selv:--

"_Du gav mig intet vand til mine fødder, du gav mig intet kys. Mit hoved
med olie salvede du ikke._"

Og igen tog Avdyeitch sine briller af, satte dem på bogen,
og atter blev han fortabt i tanker.

"Det ser ud til, at farisæeren må have været sådan en mand, som jeg er.
tilsyneladende kun har tænkt på mig selv, - hvordan jeg kunne få min te
varm og behagelig, men aldrig at tænke på min gæst. Han tænkte
om sig selv, men der blev ikke taget mindst hensyn til gæsten. Og
hvem var hans gæst? Herren selv. Hvis han var kommet til mig, skulle jeg have gjort det
gjort på samme måde?"

Avdyeitch hvilede hovedet på begge hans arme og bemærkede ikke, at han
faldt i søvn.

"Martuin!" pludselig syntes at lyde i hans ører.

Martuin startede fra sin søvn:--

"Hvem er her?"

Han vendte sig om, kiggede mod døren - ingen.

Igen faldt han i en døs. Pludselig hørte han tydeligt:--

"Martuin! Åh, Martuin! se på gaden i morgen. Jeg kommer."

Martuin vågnede, rejste sig fra stolen og begyndte at gnide sig i øjnene. Han selv
kunne ikke sige, om han hørte disse ord i sin drøm eller i virkeligheden.
Han slukkede sin lampe og gik i seng.

Ved daggry næste morgen stod Avdyeitch op og bad til Gud,
tændte komfuret, satte shchi(3) og kasha på,(4) kom vandet
i samovaren, tog sit forklæde på og satte sig ved vinduet for at arbejde.

  (3) Kålsuppe.

  (4) Velling.

Og mens han arbejdede, blev han ved med at tænke på alt det, der var sket
dagen før. Det forekom ham i et øjeblik, at det var en drøm, og
nu havde han virkelig hørt en stemme.

"Jamen," sagde han til sig selv, "sådan har det været."

Martuin sad ved vinduet og kiggede mere ud, end han var
arbejder. Når nogen gik forbi i støvler, som han ikke kendte, ville han
bøj dig ned, kig ud af vinduet for at se, ikke kun fødderne,
men også ansigtet.

Dvorniken(5) gik forbi i nye filtstøvler,(6) vandbæreren passerede
ved; så kom der op til vinduet en gammel soldat fra Nicholas' tid,
i et par gamle filtstøvler med snøre, med en skovl i hænderne.
Avdyeitch genkendte ham på hans filtstøvler. Den gamle mand hed
Stepanuitch; og en nabokøbmand gav ham af næstekærlighed et hjem
med ham. Han var forpligtet til at hjælpe dvorniken. Stepanuitch begyndte at
skovl sneen væk foran Avdyeitchs vindue. Avdyeitch
så på ham og tog sit arbejde op igen.

  (5) Husportør.

  (6) _Valenki._

"Pshaw! Jeg må være ved at blive skør i min alderdom," sagde Avdyeitch og
grinede af sig selv. "Stepanuitch rydder sneen væk, og jeg
forestille sig, at Kristus kommer for at se mig. Jeg var helt ude af mit sind,
gammel dotard, som jeg er!"

Avdyeitch syede omkring et dusin sting og følte sig så tvunget til at kigge
gennem vinduet igen. Han så ud igen gennem vinduet, og
så, at Stepanuitch havde lænet sin skovl mod væggen, og var det
varmer sig og hviler sig. Han var en gammel, nedbrudt mand; åbenbart
han havde ikke engang kræfter nok til at skovle sneen. sagde Avdyeitch til
ham selv:--

"Jeg vil give ham noget te; forresten, samovaren er kun lige gået
ud." Avdyeitch lagde sin syl, rejste sig fra sit sæde, satte samovaren
på bordet, hældte teen ud og bankede med fingeren på
glas. Stepanuitch vendte sig om og kom hen til vinduet. Avdyeitch
vinkede til ham og gik hen for at åbne døren.

"Kom ind, varm dig lidt," sagde han. "Du må være kold."

"Må Kristus belønne dig for dette! mine knogler gør ondt," sagde Stepanuitch.

Stepanuitch kom ind og rystede sneen af ​​sig, prøvede at tørre sine fødder, så
for ikke at tilsmudse gulvet, men forskudt.

"Du skal ikke tørre dine fødder. Jeg vil selv rydde op, vi er brugte
til sådanne ting. Kom ind og sæt dig ned," sagde Avdyeitch. "Her, drik en
kop te."

Og Avdyeitch løftede to glas og rakte det ene til sin gæst; mens han
selv hældte sin te i en underkop og begyndte at blæse i den.

Stepanuitch færdig med at drikke sit glas te, vendte glasset på hovedet
ned,(7) lagde den halvspiste sukkerklump på den og begyndte at udtrykke
hans tak. Men det var tydeligt, at han ville noget mere.

  (7) For at betyde, at han var tilfreds; en skik blandt russerne.--Red.

"Få noget mere," sagde Avdyeitch og fyldte både sit eget og sit glas
gæstens. Avdyeitch drak sin te, men kiggede fra tid til anden ud i
gaden.

"Venter du nogen?" spurgte hans gæst.

"Venter jeg nogen? Jeg skammer mig selv over at fortælle, hvem jeg forventer. Jeg er,
og jeg forventer ikke nogen; men ét ord har tændt ild i min
hjerte. Om det er en drøm, eller noget andet, ved jeg ikke. Lad være
ser du, bror, jeg læste i går evangeliet om Kristus
Batyushka; hvordan han led, hvordan han vandrede på jorden. Jeg formoder, du
har hørt om det?"

"Det har jeg sandelig," svarede Stepanuitch; "men vi er mennesker i mørke, vi
kan ikke læse."

"Nå, nu læste jeg om netop den ting - hvordan han gik på
jorden; Jeg læste, du ved, hvordan han kom til farisæeren og farisæeren
behandlede ham ikke gæstfrit. Nå, og så, min bror, læste jeg
i går, om netop dette, og tænkte ved mig selv, hvordan han gjorde
ikke modtage Kristus, Batyushkaen, med ære. Antag for eksempel He
skulle komme til mig, eller nogen anden, sagde jeg til mig selv, det skulle jeg ikke engang
vide, hvordan man tager imod ham. Og han modtog ham slet ikke. Godt!
mens jeg saaledes tænkte, faldt jeg i Søvn, Broder, og jeg hørte nogen
kald mig ved navn. Jeg stod op; stemmen, ligesom hvis nogen hviskede,
sagde: 'Vær på vagt; Jeg kommer i morgen.' Og dette skete
to gange. Godt! ville du tro det, kom det ind i mit hoved? jeg skældte ud
mig selv - og alligevel venter jeg ham, Batyushkaen."

Stepanuitch rystede på hovedet og sagde ingenting; han var færdig med at drikke sit
glas te, og læg det på siden; men Avdyeitch tog glasset op
igen, og fyldte den endnu en gang.

"Drik noget mere for dit gode helbred. Ser du, jeg har en idé om, at
da Batyushka gik omkring på denne jord, foragtede han ingen, og
havde mere at gøre med de simple mennesker. Han gik altid for at se det enkle
mennesker. Han udvalgte sine disciple mere blandt sådanne mennesker
syndere som vi er, fra arbejderklassen. Sagde Han, hvem der ophøjer
selv, skal ydmyges, og den, der ydmyges, skal blive ophøjet.
Han sagde, du kalder mig Herre, og, sagde han, jeg vasker dine fødder. Hvem som helst
ønsker, sagde Han, at være den første, den samme skal være en tjener for alle.
Fordi, sagde han, velsignede er de fattige, de ydmyge, de venlige, de
gavmild."

Og Stepanuitch glemte sin te; han var en gammel mand og let
rørt til tårer. Han lyttede, og tårerne trillede ned ad hans ansigt.

"Kom nu, drik noget mere te," sagde Avdyeitch; men Stepanuitch lavet
korsets tegn, takkede ham, vendte hans glas ned og rejste sig.

"Takket være dig," siger han, "Martuin Avdyeitch, fordi du behandlede mig venligt,
og tilfredsstiller mig, sjæl og krop."

"Du er velkommen; kom ind igen; altid glad for at se en ven," sagde
Avdyeitch.

Stepanuitch rejste; og Martuin skænkede resten af ​​teen ud, drak
den op, satte opvasken fra sig og satte sig igen ved vinduet for at arbejde, til
sy på et plaster. Han blev ved med at sy væk og kiggede samtidig
gennem vinduet. Han ventede Kristus og var det hele tiden
tænkte på ham og hans gerninger, og hans hoved var fyldt med
Kristi forskellige taler.

To soldater gik forbi: den ene bar støvler forsynet med kronen, og den
en anden, støvler, som han havde lavet; så herren(8) i det næste hus
gik forbi i skinnende galocher; så gik en bager med en kurv forbi. Alle
forbigået; og nu kom der også ved vinduet en kvinde i uld
strømper og rustikke bashmaks på fødderne. Hun gik forbi vinduet, og
stod stille i nærheden af ​​vindueskarmen.

  (8) _Khozyaïn._

Avdyeitch så op på hende fra vinduet og så, at det var en fremmed, en
kvinde dårligt klædt og med et barn; hun stod ved væggen med
hendes ryg mod vinden og prøvede at pakke barnet ind, og hun havde ingenting
at pakke det ind i. Kvinden var klædt i lurvet sommertøj; og
bag stellet kunne Avdyeitch høre barnet græde, og den
kvinde forsøger at pacificere det; men hun var ikke i stand til at pacificere det.

Avdyeitch rejste sig, gik hen til døren, gik op ad trappen og råbte:--

"Min gode kvinde. Hej! min gode kvinde!"(9)

  (9) _Umnitsa aumnitsa!_ bogstaveligt talt, klog en.

Kvinden hørte ham og vendte sig om.

"Hvorfor står du i kulden med barnet? Kom ind på mit værelse,
hvor det er varmt; du kan styre det bedre. Her, denne vej!"

Kvinden var forbløffet. Hun så en gammel, gammel mand i et forklæde, med
briller på næsen og kaldte hende til sig. Hun fulgte efter ham. De
gik ned af trappen og trådte ind i rummet; den gamle mand førte kvinden til
hans seng.

"Der," siger han, "sæt dig ned, min gode kvinde, tættere på komfuret; det kan du
bliv varm, og amme den lille."

"Jeg har ingen mælk til ham. Jeg har selv ikke spist noget siden
morgen," sagde kvinden, men ikke desto mindre tog hun barnet til sig
bryst.

Avdyeitch rystede på hovedet, gik hen til bordet, tog brødet frem og en
fad, åbnede ovndøren, hældte noget kålsuppe i fadet, tog
ud af gryden med vællingen, men den var endnu ikke kogt; så han fyldte
retten med kun shchi, og sæt den på bordet. Han fik brødet,
tog håndklædet ned fra krogen og spredte det på bordet.

"Sæt dig," siger han, "og spis, min gode kvinde, så vil jeg passe på det lille
en. Ser du, jeg havde engang mine egne børn; Jeg ved, hvordan jeg skal håndtere dem."

Kvinden korsede sig, satte sig ved bordet og begyndte at spise;
mens Avdyeitch tog plads på sengen nær spædbarnet. Avdyeitch holdt
smækker og smækker til den med sine læber; men det var en dårlig slags
smadder, for han havde ingen tænder. Den lille blev ved med at græde. Og det
faldt Avdyeitch ind for at true den lille med sin finger; han
vinkede, viftede med fingeren lige foran barnets mund og hastigt
trak den tilbage. Han lagde den ikke til munden, for det var hans finger
sort og tilsmudset med voks. Og den lille kiggede på sin finger, og
blev stille; så begyndte det at smile, og Avdyeitch blev også glad. Mens
kvinden spiste, hun fortalte hvem hun var, og hvor hun skulle hen.

sagde hun:--

"Jeg er en soldats kone. Det er nu syv måneder siden, de sendte min
mand væk, og ingen nyheder. Jeg levede ud som kok; baby var
Født; ingen brød sig om at holde mig med et barn. Det er den tredje måned
Jeg har kæmpet sammen uden et sted. Jeg spiste alt, hvad jeg havde. jeg
ønskede at engagere sig som vådsygeplejerske--ingen ville tage mig--jeg er for tynd,
de siger. Jeg har lige været hos købmandskonen, hvor der bor en ung
kvinde jeg kender, og så de lovede at tage os ind. Jeg troede, det var det
slutningen af ​​det. Men hun bad mig komme i næste uge. Og hun lever langt
af. Jeg blev træt; og det trætte ham også, mit hjerte skat.
Heldigvis forbarmer vores værtinde sig over os for Kristi skyld, og
giver os et værelse, ellers ved jeg ikke, hvordan jeg skal klare mig."

Avdyeitch sukkede og sagde:

"Har du ikke noget varmt tøj?"

"Nu er det tid, ven, at have varmt tøj på, men i går pantsatte jeg
mit sidste sjal for et stykke tyve kopek."(10)

  (10) _Dvagrivennui_, sølv, værd seksten øre.

Kvinden kom til sengen og tog barnet; og Avdyeitch rejste sig, gik
til skillevæggen, rodede rundt, og det lykkedes at finde en gammel frakke.

"Nå!" siger han; "Det er en stakkels ting, men du kan bruge det til noget."

Kvinden så på frakken og så på den gamle mand; hun tog
pels og brast i gråd; og Avdyeitch vendte hovedet bort; kravler
under sengen skubbede han en lille kuffert ud, rodede i den og satte sig
ned igen over for kvinden.

Og kvinden sagde:--

"Må Kristus velsigne dig, lille bedstefar!(11) Han må have sendt mig til
dit vindue. Min lille baby ville have frosset ihjel. Da jeg startede
ude var det varmt, men nu er det blevet koldt. Og han, Batyushkaen, førte
dig at se gennem vinduet og forbarme dig over mig, en uheldig."

  (11) _Diedushka._

Avdyeitch smilede og sagde:--

"Ja, det gjorde han! Jeg har kigget gennem vinduet, min gode
kvinde, af en eller anden kloge grund."

Og Martuin fortalte soldatens kone sin drøm, og hvordan han hørte det
stemme, - hvordan Herren lovede at komme og se ham den dag.

"Alt er muligt," sagde kvinden. Hun rejste sig, tog frakken på,
svøbte sit lille barn deri; og da hun begyndte at tage orlov,
hun takkede Avdyeitch igen.

"Tag dette for Guds skyld," sagde Avdyeitch og gav hende en
tyve-kopek stykke; "indløs dit sjal."

Hun lavede korsets tegn, og Avdyeitch lavede korsets tegn
og gik med hende til døren.

Kvinden gik væk. Avdyeitch spiste noget shchi, vaskede op og
satte sig igen for at arbejde. Mens han arbejdede, huskede han stadig
vindue; da vinduet blev mørkere så han straks ud for at se hvem
var forbi. Bekendte gik forbi og fremmede gik forbi, og
der var intet ud over det sædvanlige.

Men her så Avdyeitch, at en gammel æblekone var stoppet foran
hans vindue. Hun bar en kurv med æbler. Kun få var tilbage, som
hun havde åbenbart solgt dem næsten alle ud; og over skulderen hun
havde en pose fuld af chips. Hun må have samlet dem i nogle nye
bygning, og var på vej hjem. Man kunne se, at tasken var tung
på hendes skulder; hun prøvede at flytte den til den anden skulder. Så hun
sænkede posen på fortovet, stod kurven med æblerne på en
lille post, og begyndte at ryste splinterne i posen ned. Og mens
hun rystede sin taske, en lille dreng med en revet kasket kom med, plukket
op et æble fra kurven og var ved at undslippe; men
gammel kvinde lagde mærke til det, vendte sig om og fangede den unge ved hans
ærme. Den lille dreng begyndte at kæmpe, prøvede at rive sig løs;
men den gamle kone greb ham med begge hænder, slog kasketten af ​​og
fangede ham i håret.

Den lille dreng skreg, den gamle kvinde skældte ud. Avdyeitch tabte
ingen tid til at lægge sin syl væk; han kastede den på gulvet, sprang til
døren,--han snublede endda på trappen og tabte sin
briller, - og styrtede ud på gaden.

Den gamle kvinde trak den unge i håret og skældte ud
og truer med at føre ham til politimanden; den unge var
forsvare sig selv og afvise sigtelsen.

"Jeg tog det ikke," sagde han; "Hvad slikker du mig for? Lad mig gå!"

Avdyeitch forsøgte at adskille dem. Han tog drengen i armen, og
sagde:--

"Slip ham, babushka, tilgiv ham for Guds skyld."

"Jeg vil tilgive ham, så han ikke glemmer det, før den nye kost vokser.
Jeg vil tage den lille skurk til politiet."

Avdyeitch begyndte at bede den gamle kvinde:--

"Slip ham, babushka," sagde han, "han vil aldrig gøre det igen. Lad ham gå,
for Kristi skyld."

Den gamle kone slap ham løs; drengen begyndte at løbe, men Avdyeitch blev ved
ham tilbage.

"Bed babushkaen om tilgivelse," sagde han, "og gør det aldrig
igen; Jeg så dig tage æblet."

Drengen brød ud i gråd og begyndte at bede om tilgivelse.

"Der nu! det er rigtigt; og her er et æble til dig."

Og Avdyeitch tog et æble fra kurven og gav det til drengen.

"Jeg vil betale dig for det, babushka," sagde han til den gamle kvinde.

"Du ødelægger dem på den måde, de gode for ingenting," sagde den gamle kone. "Han
burde behandles, så han kunne huske det i en hel uge."

"Eh, babushka, babushka," sagde Avdyeitch, "det er rigtigt ifølge
vores dom, men ikke efter Guds. Hvis han skal piskes til en
æble, hvad skal der så gøres mod os for vore synder?"

Den gamle kvinde tav.

Og Avdyeitch fortalte hende lignelsen om mesteren, der eftergav en skyldner
alt hvad han skyldte ham, og hvordan skyldneren gik og begyndte at kvæle en, der
skyldte ham.

Den gamle kone lyttede, og drengen stod og lyttede.

"Gud har befalet os at tilgive," sagde Avdyeitch, "ellers kan vi også
ikke blive tilgivet. Alt skal tilgives, og de tankeløse
især."

Den gamle kvinde rystede på hovedet og sukkede.

"Det er sådan," sagde hun; "men problemet er, at de er meget
forkælet."

"Så må vi, der er ældre, lære dem," sagde Avdyeitch.

"Det er bare det, jeg siger," bemærkede den gamle kone. ”Jeg har selv haft
syv af dem - kun en datter er tilbage."

Og den gamle kone begyndte at fortælle, hvor og hvordan hun boede hos hende
datter, og hvor mange børnebørn hun havde. "Her," siger hun, "min
Styrken er kun halvdårlig, og alligevel skal jeg arbejde. jeg har ondt af
unge - mine børnebørn - men sikke dejlige børn de er! Ingen
giver mig sådan en velkomst, som de gør. Aksintka vil ikke gå til andre end mig.
"Babushka, kære babushka, dejligste."

Og den gamle kvinde blev ret sentimental.

"Selvfølgelig er det et barnligt trick. Gud være med ham," sagde hun og pegede
til drengen.

Kvinden skulle lige til at løfte tasken op på skulderen, da den
drengen løb op og sagde:--

"Lad mig bære den, babushka, den er på vej."

Den gamle kone nikkede med hovedet og lagde posen på drengens ryg.

Og side om side gik de langs gaden.

Og den gamle kvinde glemte endda at bede Avdyeitch om at betale for æblet.
Avdyeitch stod ubevægelig og blev ved med at stirre efter dem; og han hørte
de talte hele tiden, mens de gik. Efter at Avdyeitch så dem
forsvinde, vendte han tilbage til sit værelse; han fandt sine briller på
trapper,--de var ikke knækkede; han tog sin syl op og satte sig til
arbejde igen.

Efter at have arbejdet lidt, blev det mørkere, så han ikke kunne se
at sy; han så lygtetænderen gå forbi for at tænde gadelygterne.

"Det må være på tide at lave et lys," sagde han til sig selv; så han fik sin
lille lampe klar, hængte den op, og han tog sig igen til sit arbejde. Han
havde en støvle allerede færdig; han vendte den om, så på den: "Nå
færdig." Han lagde sit værktøj fra sig, fejede stiklinger af, ryddede af
børster og ender, tog lampen, stillede den på bordet og tog den ned
Evangelier fra hylden. Han havde til hensigt at åbne bogen på det samme sted
hvor han i går havde sat et stykke læder som mærke, men det skete
at åbne et andet sted; og i det øjeblik Avdyeitch åbnede Testamentet,
han huskede sin sidste nats drøm. Og så snart han huskede det,
det virkede, som om han hørte nogen træde om bag ham. Avdyeitch
så sig omkring og så - der, i det mørke hjørne, virkede det som om
folk stod; han var i tvivl om, hvem de var. Og en
stemme hviskede i hans øre:--

"Martuin - ah, Martuin! genkendte du mig ikke?"

"WHO?" udbrød Avdyeitch.

"Mig," gentog stemmen. "Det var mig;" og Stepanuitch trådte ud fra
det mørke hjørne; han smilede, og som en lille sky forsvandt, og snart
forsvundet.

"Og det var mig," sagde stemmen.

Fra det mørke hjørne trådte kvinden frem med sit barn; kvinden
smilede, barnet lo, og de forsvandt også,

"Og det var mig," fortsatte stemmen; både den gamle kone og drengen med
æblet trådte frem; både smilede og forsvandt.

Avdyeitchs sjæl frydede sig; han korsede sig, tog sine briller på,
og begyndte at læse evangelisterne, hvor det tilfældigvis åbnede. På den
øverste del af siden læste han:--

"_For jeg var sulten, og I gav mig mad; jeg var tørstig, og I gav
mig drikker; Jeg var fremmed, og I tog imod mig._"

Og på den nederste del af siden læste han dette:--

"_For så vidt som I har gjort det mod en af ​​de mindste af disse mine
Brødre, I har gjort det mod mig._"--St. Matthæus, Kap. xxv.

Og Avdyeitch forstod, at hans drøm ikke havde bedraget ham; at
Frelseren kaldte virkelig på ham den dag, og at han virkelig modtog ham.





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WHERE LOVE IS
  THERE GOD IS ALSO

  BY
  LYOF N. TOLSTOI

 WHERE LOVE IS THERE GOD IS ALSO

In the city lived the shoemaker, Martuin Avdyeitch. He lived in a
basement, in a little room with one window. The window looked out on the
street. Through the window he used to watch the people passing by;
although only their feet could be seen, yet by the boots, Martuin
Avdyeitch recognized the people. Martuin Avdyeitch had lived long in one
place, and had many acquaintances. Few pairs of boots in his district
had not been in his hands once and again. Some he would half-sole, some
he would patch, some he would stitch around, and occasionally he would
also put on new uppers. And through the window he often recognized his
work. 

Avdyeitch had plenty to do, because he was a faithful workman, used good
material, did not make exorbitant charges, and kept his word. If it was
possible for him to finish an order by a certain time, he would accept
it; otherwise, he would not deceive you,--he would tell you so
beforehand. And all knew Avdyeitch, and he was never out of work.

Avdyeitch had always been a good man; but as he grew old, he began to
think more about his soul, and get nearer to God. Martuin's wife had
died when he was still living with his master. His wife left him a boy
three years old. None of their other children had lived. All the eldest
had died in childhood. Martuin at first intended to send his little son
to his sister in the village, but afterward he felt sorry for him; he
thought to himself:--

"It will be hard for my Kapitoshka to live in a strange family. I shall
keep him with me."

And Avdyeitch left his master, and went into lodgings with his little
son. But God gave Avdyeitch no luck with his children. As Kapitoshka
grew older, he began to help his father, and would have been a delight
to him, but a sickness fell on him, he went to bed, suffered a week, and
died. Martuin buried his son, and fell into despair. So deep was this
despair that he began to complain of God. Martuin fell into such a
melancholy state, that more than once he prayed to God for death, and
reproached God because He had not taken him who was an old man, instead
of his beloved only son. Avdyeitch also ceased to go to church.

And once a little old man from the same district came from Troïtsa(1) to
see Avdyeitch; for seven years he had been wandering about. Avdyeitch
talked with him, and began to complain about his sorrows.

  (1) Trinity, a famous monastery, pilgrimage to which is reckoned a
  virtue. Avdyeitch calls this _zemlyak-starichok_, _Bozhi chelovyek_,
  God's man.--Ed.

"I have no desire to live any longer," he said, "I only wish I was dead.
That is all I pray God for. I am a man without anything to hope for
now."

And the little old man said to him:--

"You don't talk right, Martuin, we must not judge God's doings. The
world moves, not by our skill, but by God's will. God decreed for your
son to die,--for you--to live. So it is for the best. And you are in
despair, because you wish to live for your own happiness."

"But what shall one live for?" asked Martuin.

And the little old man said:--

"We must live for God, Martuin. He gives you life, and for His sake you
must live. When you begin to live for Him, you will not grieve over
anything, and all will seem easy to you."

Martuin kept silent for a moment, and then said, "But how can one live
for God?"

And the little old man said:--

"Christ has taught us how to live for God. You know how to read? Buy a
Testament, and read it; there you will learn how to live for God.
Everything is explained there."

And these words kindled a fire in Avdyeitch's heart. And he went that
very same day, bought a New Testament in large print, and began to read.

At first Avdyeitch intended to read only on holidays; but as he began to
read, it so cheered his soul that he used to read every day. At times he
would become so absorbed in reading, that all the kerosene in the lamp
would burn out, and still he could not tear himself away. And so
Avdyeitch used to read every evening.

And the more he read, the clearer he understood what God wanted of him,
and how one should live for God; and his heart kept growing easier and
easier. Formerly, when he lay down to sleep, he used to sigh and groan,
and always thought of his Kapitoshka; and now his only exclamation
was:--

"Glory to Thee! glory to Thee, Lord! Thy will be done."

And from that time Avdyeitch's whole life was changed. In other days he,
too, used to drop into a public-house(2) as a holiday amusement, to
drink a cup of tea; and he was not averse to a little brandy, either. He
would take a drink with some acquaintance, and leave the saloon, not
intoxicated, exactly, yet in a happy frame of mind, and inclined to talk
nonsense, and shout, and use abusive language at a person. Now he left
off that sort of thing. His life became quiet and joyful. In the morning
he would sit down to work, finish his allotted task, then take the
little lamp from the hook, put it on the table, get his book from the
shelf, open it, and sit down to read. And the more he read, the more he
understood, and the brighter and happier it grew in his heart.

  (2) _Traktir._

Once it happened that Martuin read till late into the night. He was
reading the Gospel of Luke. He was reading over the sixth chapter; and
he was reading the verses:--

"_And unto him that smiteth thee on the one cheek offer also the other;
and him that taketh away thy cloak forbid not to take thy coat also.
Give to every man that asketh of thee; and of him that taketh away thy
goods ask them not again. And as ye would that men should do to you, do
ye also to them likewise._"

He read farther also those verses, where God speaks:

"_And why call ye me, Lord, Lord, and do not the things which I say?
Whosoever cometh to me, and heareth my sayings, and doeth them, I will
shew you to whom he is like: he is like a man which built an house, and
digged deep, and laid the foundation on a rock: and when the flood
arose, the stream beat vehemently upon that house, and could not shake
it; for it was founded upon a rock. But he that heareth, and doeth not,
is like a man that without a foundation built an house upon the earth;
against which the stream did beat vehemently, and immediately it fell;
and the ruin of that house was great._"

Avdyeitch read these words, and joy filled his soul. He took off his
spectacles, put them down on the book, leaned his elbows on the table,
and became lost in thought. And he began to measure his life by these
words. And he thought to himself:--

"Is my house built on the rock, or on the sand? 'Tis well if on the
rock. It is so easy when you are alone by yourself; it seems as if you
had done everything as God commands; but when you forget yourself, you
sin again. Yet I shall still struggle on. It is very good. Help me,
Lord!"

Thus ran his thoughts; he wanted to go to bed, but he felt loath to tear
himself away from the book. And he began to read farther in the seventh
chapter. He read about the centurion, he read about the widow's son, he
read about the answer given to John's disciples, and finally he came to
that place where the rich Pharisee desired the Lord to sit at meat with
him; and he read how the woman that was a sinner anointed His feet, and
washed them with her tears, and how He forgave her. He reached the
forty-fourth verse, and began to read:--

"_And he turned to the woman, and said unto Simon, Seest thou this
woman? I entered into thine house, thou gavest me no water for my feet:
but she hath washed my feet with tears, and wiped them with the hairs of
her head. Thou gavest me no kiss: but this woman since the time I came
in hath not ceased to kiss my feet. My head with oil thou didst not
anoint: but this woman hath anointed my feet with ointment._"

He finished reading these verses, and thought to himself:--

"_Thou gavest me no water for my feet, thou gavest me no kiss. My head
with oil thou didst not anoint._"

And again Avdyeitch took off his spectacles, put them down on the book,
and again he became lost in thought.

"It seems that Pharisee must have been such a man as I am. I, too,
apparently have thought only of myself,--how I might have my tea, be
warm and comfortable, but never to think about my guest. He thought
about himself, but there was not the least care taken of the guest. And
who was his guest? The Lord Himself. If He had come to me, should I have
done the same way?"

Avdyeitch rested his head upon both his arms, and did not notice that he
fell asleep.

"Martuin!" suddenly seemed to sound in his ears.

Martuin started from his sleep:--

"Who is here?"

He turned around, glanced toward the door--no one.

Again he fell into a doze. Suddenly, he plainly heard:--

"Martuin! Ah, Martuin! look to-morrow on the street. I am coming."

Martuin awoke, rose from the chair, began to rub his eyes. He himself
could not tell whether he heard those words in his dream, or in reality.
He turned down his lamp, and went to bed.

At daybreak next morning, Avdyeitch rose, made his prayer to God,
lighted the stove, put on the shchi(3) and the kasha,(4) put the water
in the samovar, put on his apron, and sat down by the window to work.

  (3) Cabbage-soup.

  (4) Gruel.

And while he was working, he kept thinking about all that had happened
the day before. It seemed to him at one moment that it was a dream, and
now he had really heard a voice.

"Well," he said to himself, "such things have been."

Martuin was sitting by the window, and looking out more than he was
working. When anyone passed by in boots which he did not know, he would
bend down, look out of the window, in order to see, not only the feet,
but also the face.

The dvornik(5) passed by in new felt boots,(6) the water-carrier passed
by; then there came up to the window an old soldier of Nicholas's time,
in an old pair of laced felt boots, with a shovel in his hands.
Avdyeitch recognized him by his felt boots. The old man's name was
Stepanuitch; and a neighboring merchant, out of charity, gave him a home
with him. He was required to assist the dvornik. Stepanuitch began to
shovel away the snow from in front of Avdyeitch's window. Avdyeitch
glanced at him, and took up his work again.

  (5) House-porter.

  (6) _Valenki._

"Pshaw! I must be getting crazy in my old age," said Avdyeitch, and
laughed at himself. "Stepanuitch is clearing away the snow, and I
imagine that Christ is coming to see me. I was entirely out of my mind,
old dotard that I am!"

Avdyeitch sewed about a dozen stitches, and then felt impelled to look
through the window again. He looked out again through the window, and
saw that Stepanuitch had leaned his shovel against the wall, and was
warming himself, and resting. He was an old, broken-down man; evidently
he had not strength enough even to shovel the snow. Avdyeitch said to
himself:--

"I will give him some tea; by the way, the samovar has only just gone
out." Avdyeitch laid down his awl, rose from his seat, put the samovar
on the table, poured out the tea, and tapped with his finger at the
glass. Stepanuitch turned around, and came to the window. Avdyeitch
beckoned to him, and went to open the door.

"Come in, warm yourself a little," he said. "You must be cold."

"May Christ reward you for this! my bones ache," said Stepanuitch.

Stepanuitch came in, and shook off the snow, tried to wipe his feet, so
as not to soil the floor, but staggered.

"Don't trouble to wipe your feet. I will clean it up myself; we are used
to such things. Come in and sit down," said Avdyeitch. "Here, drink a
cup of tea."

And Avdyeitch lifted two glasses, and handed one to his guest; while he
himself poured his tea into a saucer, and began to blow it.

Stepanuitch finished drinking his glass of tea, turned the glass upside
down,(7) put the half-eaten lump of sugar on it, and began to express
his thanks. But it was evident he wanted some more.

  (7) To signify he was satisfied; a custom among the Russians.--Ed.

"Have some more," said Avdyeitch, filling both his own glass and his
guest's. Avdyeitch drank his tea, but from time to time glanced out into
the street.

"Are you expecting anyone?" asked his guest.

"Am I expecting anyone? I am ashamed even to tell whom I expect. I am,
and I am not, expecting someone; but one word has kindled a fire in my
heart. Whether it is a dream, or something else, I do not know. Don't
you see, brother, I was reading yesterday the Gospel about Christ the
Batyushka; how He suffered, how He walked on the earth. I suppose you
have heard about it?"

"Indeed I have," replied Stepanuitch; "but we are people in darkness, we
can't read."

"Well, now, I was reading about that very thing,--how He walked on the
earth; I read, you know, how He came to the Pharisee, and the Pharisee
did not treat Him hospitably. Well, and so, my brother, I was reading
yesterday, about this very thing, and was thinking to myself how he did
not receive Christ, the Batyushka, with honor. Suppose, for example, He
should come to me, or anyone else, I said to myself, I should not even
know how to receive Him. And he gave Him no reception at all. Well!
while I was thus thinking, I fell asleep, brother, and I heard someone
call me by name. I got up; the voice, just as if someone whispered,
said, 'Be on the watch; I shall come to-morrow.' And this happened
twice. Well! would you believe it, it got into my head? I scolded
myself--and yet I am expecting Him, the Batyushka."

Stepanuitch shook his head, and said nothing; he finished drinking his
glass of tea, and put it on the side; but Avdyeitch picked up the glass
again, and filled it once more.

"Drink some more for your good health. You see, I have an idea that,
when the Batyushka went about on this earth, He disdained no one, and
had more to do with the simple people. He always went to see the simple
people. He picked out His disciples more from among folk like such
sinners as we are, from the working class. Said He, whoever exalts
himself, shall be humbled, and he who is humbled shall become exalted.
Said He, you call me Lord, and, said He, I wash your feet. Whoever
wishes, said He, to be the first, the same shall be a servant to all.
Because, said He, blessed are the poor, the humble, the kind, the
generous."

And Stepanuitch forgot about his tea; he was an old man, and easily
moved to tears. He was listening, and the tears rolled down his face.

"Come, now, have some more tea," said Avdyeitch; but Stepanuitch made
the sign of the cross, thanked him, turned down his glass, and arose.

"Thanks to you," he says, "Martuin Avdyeitch, for treating me kindly,
and satisfying me, soul and body."

"You are welcome; come in again; always glad to see a friend," said
Avdyeitch.

Stepanuitch departed; and Martuin poured out the rest of the tea, drank
it up, put away the dishes, and sat down again by the window to work, to
stitch on a patch. He kept stitching away, and at the same time looking
through the window. He was expecting Christ, and was all the while
thinking of Him and His deeds, and his head was filled with the
different speeches of Christ.

Two soldiers passed by: one wore boots furnished by the crown, and the
other one, boots that he had made; then the master(8) of the next house
passed by in shining galoshes; then a baker with a basket passed by. All
passed by; and now there came also by the window a woman in woolen
stockings and rustic bashmaks on her feet. She passed by the window, and
stood still near the window-case.

  (8) _Khozyaïn._

Avdyeitch looked up at her from the window, and saw it was a stranger, a
woman poorly clad, and with a child; she was standing by the wall with
her back to the wind, trying to wrap up the child, and she had nothing
to wrap it up in. The woman was dressed in shabby summer clothes; and
from behind the frame, Avdyeitch could hear the child crying, and the
woman trying to pacify it; but she was not able to pacify it.

Avdyeitch got up, went to the door, ascended the steps, and cried:--

"My good woman. Hey! my good woman!"(9)

  (9) _Umnitsa aumnitsa!_ literally, clever one.

The woman heard him and turned around.

"Why are you standing in the cold with the child? Come into my room,
where it is warm; you can manage it better. Here, this way!"

The woman was astonished. She saw an old, old man in an apron, with
spectacles on his nose, calling her to him. She followed him. They
descended the steps and entered the room; the old man led the woman to
his bed.

"There," says he, "sit down, my good woman, nearer to the stove; you can
get warm, and nurse the little one."

"I have no milk for him. I myself have not eaten anything since
morning," said the woman; but, nevertheless, she took the baby to her
breast.

Avdyeitch shook his head, went to the table, brought out the bread and a
dish, opened the oven door, poured into the dish some cabbage soup, took
out the pot with the gruel, but it was not cooked as yet; so he filled
the dish with shchi only, and put it on the table. He got the bread,
took the towel down from the hook, and spread it upon the table.

"Sit down," he says, "and eat, my good woman; and I will mind the little
one. You see, I once had children of my own; I know how to handle them."

The woman crossed herself, sat down at the table, and began to eat;
while Avdyeitch took a seat on the bed near the infant. Avdyeitch kept
smacking and smacking to it with his lips; but it was a poor kind of
smacking, for he had no teeth. The little one kept on crying. And it
occured to Avdyeitch to threaten the little one with his finger; he
waved, waved his finger right before the child's mouth, and hastily
withdrew it. He did not put it to its mouth, because his finger was
black, and soiled with wax. And the little one looked at his finger, and
became quiet; then it began to smile, and Avdyeitch also was glad. While
the woman was eating, she told who she was, and whither she was going.

Said she:--

"I am a soldier's wife. It is now seven months since they sent my
husband away off, and no tidings. I lived out as cook; the baby was
born; no one cared to keep me with a child. This is the third month that
I have been struggling along without a place. I ate up all I had. I
wanted to engage as a wet-nurse--no one would take me--I am too thin,
they say. I have just been to the merchant's wife, where lives a young
woman I know, and so they promised to take us in. I thought that was the
end of it. But she told me to come next week. And she lives a long way
off. I got tired out; and it tired him, too, my heart's darling.
Fortunately, our landlady takes pity on us for the sake of Christ, and
gives us a room, else I don't know how I should manage to get along."

Avdyeitch sighed, and said:

"Haven't you any warm clothes?"

"Now is the time, friend, to wear warm clothes; but yesterday I pawned
my last shawl for a twenty-kopek piece."(10)

  (10) _Dvagrivennui_, silver, worth sixteen cents.

The woman came to the bed, and took the child; and Avdyeitch rose, went
to the partition, rummaged round, and succeeded in finding an old coat.

"Na!" says he; "It is a poor thing, yet you may turn it to some use."

The woman looked at the coat and looked at the old man; she took the
coat, and burst into tears; and Avdyeitch turned away his head; crawling
under the bed, he pushed out a little trunk, rummaged in it, and sat
down again opposite the woman.

And the woman said:--

"May Christ bless you, little grandfather!(11) He must have sent me to
your window. My little baby would have frozen to death. When I started
out it was warm, but now it has grown cold. And He, the Batyushka, led
you to look through the window and take pity on me, an unfortunate."

  (11) _Diedushka._

Avdyeitch smiled, and said:--

"Indeed, He did that! I have been looking through the window, my good
woman, for some wise reason."

And Martuin told the soldier's wife his dream, and how he heard the
voice,--how the Lord promised to come and see him that day.

"All things are possible," said the woman. She rose, put on the coat,
wrapped up her little child in it; and, as she started to take leave,
she thanked Avdyeitch again.

"Take this, for Christ's sake," said Avdyeitch, giving her a
twenty-kopek piece; "redeem your shawl."

She made the sign of the cross, and Avdyeitch made the sign of the cross
and went with her to the door.

The woman went away. Avdyeitch ate some shchi, washed the dishes, and
sat down again to work. While he was working he still remembered the
window; when the window grew darker he immediately looked out to see who
was passing by. Acquaintances passed by and strangers passed by, and
there was nothing out of the ordinary.

But here Avdyeitch saw that an old apple woman had stopped in front of
his window. She carried a basket with apples. Only a few were left, as
she had evidently sold them nearly all out; and over her shoulder she
had a bag full of chips. She must have gathered them up in some new
building, and was on her way home. One could see that the bag was heavy
on her shoulder; she tried to shift it to the other shoulder. So she
lowered the bag on the sidewalk, stood the basket with the apples on a
little post, and began to shake down the splinters in the bag. And while
she was shaking her bag, a little boy in a torn cap came along, picked
up an apple from the basket, and was about to make his escape; but the
old woman noticed it, turned around, and caught the youngster by his
sleeve. The little boy began to struggle, tried to tear himself away;
but the old woman grasped him with both hands, knocked off his cap, and
caught him by the hair.

The little boy was screaming, the old woman was scolding. Avdyeitch lost
no time in putting away his awl; he threw it upon the floor, sprang to
the door,--he even stumbled on the stairs, and dropped his
spectacles,--and rushed out into the street.

The old woman was pulling the youngster by his hair, and was scolding
and threatening to take him to the policeman; the youngster was
defending himself, and denying the charge.

"I did not take it," he said; "What are you licking me for? Let me go!"

Avdyeitch tried to separate them. He took the boy by his arm, and
said:--

"Let him go, babushka; forgive him, for Christ's sake."

"I will forgive him so that he won't forget it till the new broom grows.
I am going to take the little villain to the police."

Avdyeitch began to entreat the old woman:--

"Let him go, babushka," he said, "he will never do it again. Let him go,
for Christ's sake."

The old woman let him loose; the boy started to run, but Avdyeitch kept
him back.

"Ask the babushka's forgiveness," he said, "and don't you ever do it
again; I saw you take the apple."

The boy burst into tears, and began to ask forgiveness.

"There now! that's right; and here's an apple for you."

And Avdyeitch took an apple from the basket, and gave it to the boy.

"I will pay you for it, babushka," he said to the old woman.

"You ruin them that way, the good-for-nothings," said the old woman. "He
ought to be treated so that he would remember it for a whole week."

"Eh, babushka, babushka," said Avdyeitch, "that is right according to
our judgment, but not according to God's. If he is to be whipped for an
apple, then what ought to be done to us for our sins?"

The old woman was silent.

And Avdyeitch told her the parable of the master who forgave a debtor
all that he owed him, and how the debtor went and began to choke one who
owed him.

The old woman listened, and the boy stood listening.

"God has commanded us to forgive," said Avdyeitch, "else we, too, may
not be forgiven. All should be forgiven, and the thoughtless
especially."

The old woman shook her head, and sighed.

"That's so," said she; "but the trouble is that they are very much
spoiled."

"Then we who are older must teach them," said Avdyeitch.

"That's just what I say," remarked the old woman. "I myself have had
seven of them,--only one daughter is left."

And the old woman began to relate where and how she lived with her
daughter, and how many grandchildren she had. "Here," she says, "my
strength is only so-so, and yet I have to work. I pity the
youngsters--my grandchildren--but what nice children they are! No one
gives me such a welcome as they do. Aksintka won't go to anyone but me.
'Babushka, dear babushka, lovliest.'"

And the old woman grew quite sentimental.

"Of course, it is a childish trick. God be with him," said she, pointing
to the boy.

The woman was just about to lift the bag up on her shoulder, when the
boy ran up, and said:--

"Let me carry it, babushka; it is on my way."

The old woman nodded her head, and put the bag on the boy's back.

And side by side they passed along the street.

And the old woman even forgot to ask Avdyeitch to pay for the apple.
Avdyeitch stood motionless, and kept gazing after them; and he heard
them talking all the time as they walked away. After Avdyeitch saw them
disappear, he returned to his room; he found his eye-glasses on the
stairs,--they were not broken; he picked up his awl, and sat down to
work again.

After working a little while, it grew darker, so that he could not see
to sew; he saw the lamplighter passing by to light the street-lamps.

"It must be time to make a light," he said to himself; so he got his
little lamp ready, hung it up, and he took himself again to his work. He
had one boot already finished; he turned it around, looked at it: "Well
done." He put away his tools, swept off the cuttings, cleared off the
bristles and ends, took the lamp, set it on the table, and took down the
Gospels from the shelf. He intended to open the book at the very place
where he had yesterday put a piece of leather as a mark, but it happened
to open at another place; and the moment Avdyeitch opened the Testament,
he recollected his last night's dream. And as soon as he remembered it,
it seemed as if he heard someone stepping about behind him. Avdyeitch
looked around, and saw--there, in the dark corner, it seemed as if
people were standing; he was at a loss to know who they were. And a
voice whispered in his ear:--

"Martuin--ah, Martuin! did you not recognize me?"

"Who?" exclaimed Avdyeitch.

"Me," repeated the voice. "It was I;" and Stepanuitch stepped forth from
the dark corner; he smiled, and like a little cloud faded away, and soon
vanished.

"And it was I," said the voice.

From the dark corner stepped forth the woman with her child; the woman
smiled, the child laughed, and they also vanished,

"And it was I," continued the voice; both the old woman and the boy with
the apple stepped forward; both smiled and vanished.

Avdyeitch's soul rejoiced; he crossed himself, put on his spectacles,
and began to read the Evangelists where it happened to open. On the
upper part of the page he read:--

"_For I was an hungered, and ye gave me meat; I was thirsty, and ye gave
me drink; I was a stranger, and ye took me in._"

And on the lower part of the page he read this:--

"_Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my
brethren, ye have done it unto me._"--St. Matthew, Chap. xxv.

And Avdyeitch understood that his dream had not deceived him; that the
Saviour really called on him that day, and that he really received Him.





End of Project Gutenberg's Where Love Is There God Is Also, by Lyof N. Tolstoi