The Man Who Was Afraid [137]
come an end to the long forbearance of the Lord, and then His wrath will burst forth upon men. We are like worms before Him, and how are we then to ward off His wrath, with what wailing shall we appeal to His mercy?"
Oppressed by his gloominess, Foma had come down on the deck from his cabin, and, for some time, had been standing in the shadow of some wares covered with tarpaulin, and listened to the admonitive and gentle voice of the preacher. Pacing the deck he had chanced upon this group, and attracted by the figure of the pilgrim, had paused near it. There was something familiar to him in that large, strong body, in that stern, dark face, in those large, calm eyes. The curly, grayish hair, falling from under the skull- cap, the unkempt bushy beard, which fell apart in thick locks, the long, hooked nose, the sharp-pointed ears, the thick lips-- Foma had seen all these before, but could not recall when and where.
"Yes, we are very much in arrears before the Lord!" remarked one of the peasants, heaving a deep sigh.
"We must pray," whispered the peasant who lay on the bench, in a scarcely audible voice.
"Can you scrape your sinful wretchedness off your soul with words of prayer?" exclaimed someone loudly, almost with despair in his voice.
No one of those that formed the group around the pilgrim turned at this voice, only their heads sank lower on their breasts, and for a long time these people sat motionless and speechless:
The pilgrim measured his audience with a serious and meditative glance of his blue eyes, and said softly:
"Ephraim the Syrian said: 'Make thy soul the central point of thy thoughts and strengthen thyself with thy desire to be free from sin.
And again he lowered his head, slowly fingering the beads of the rosary.
"That means we must think," said one of the peasants; "but when has a man time to think during his life on earth?"
"Confusion is all around us."
"We must flee to the desert," said the peasant who lay on the bench.
"Not everybody can afford it."
The peasants spoke, and became silent again. A shrill whistle resounded, a little bell began to jingle at the machine. Someone's loud exclamation rang out:
"Eh, there! To the water-measuring poles."
"0h Lord! 0h Queen of Heaven!"--a deep sigh was heard.
And a dull, half-choked voice shouted:
"Nine! nine!"
Fragments of the fog burst forth upon the deck and floated over it like cold, gray smoke.
"Here, kind people, give ear unto the words of King David," said the pilgrim, and shaking his head, began to read distinctly: "'Lead me, Oh Lord, in thy righteousness because of mine enemies; make thy way straight before my face. For there is no faithfulness in their mouths; their inward part is very wickedness; their throat is an open sepulchre; they flatter with their tongue. Destroy thou them, 0h God; let them fall by their own counsels.'"
"Eight! seven!" Like moans these exclamations resounded in the distance.
The steamer began to hiss angrily, and slackened its speed. The noise of the hissing of the steam deafened the pilgrim's words, and Foma saw only the movement of his lips.
"Get off!" a loud, angry shout was heard. "It's my place!"
"Yours?"
"Here you have yours!"
"I'll rap you on the jaw; then you'll find your place. What a lord!"
"Get away!"
An uproar ensued. The peasants who were listening to the pilgrim turned their heads toward the direction where the row was going on, and the pilgrim heaved a sigh and became silent. Near the machine a loud and lively dispute blazed up as though dry branches, thrown upon a dying bonfire, had caught the flame.
"I'll give it to you, devils! Get away, both of you."
"Take them away to the captain."
"Ha! ha! ha! That's a fine settlement for you!"
"That was a good rap he gave him on the neck!"
"The sailors are a clever lot."
"Eight! nine!" shouted the man with the measuring pole.
"Yes, increase speed!" came the loud exclamation of the engineer.
Swaying because of the motion of the steamer, Foma stood leaning against the tarpaulin,
Oppressed by his gloominess, Foma had come down on the deck from his cabin, and, for some time, had been standing in the shadow of some wares covered with tarpaulin, and listened to the admonitive and gentle voice of the preacher. Pacing the deck he had chanced upon this group, and attracted by the figure of the pilgrim, had paused near it. There was something familiar to him in that large, strong body, in that stern, dark face, in those large, calm eyes. The curly, grayish hair, falling from under the skull- cap, the unkempt bushy beard, which fell apart in thick locks, the long, hooked nose, the sharp-pointed ears, the thick lips-- Foma had seen all these before, but could not recall when and where.
"Yes, we are very much in arrears before the Lord!" remarked one of the peasants, heaving a deep sigh.
"We must pray," whispered the peasant who lay on the bench, in a scarcely audible voice.
"Can you scrape your sinful wretchedness off your soul with words of prayer?" exclaimed someone loudly, almost with despair in his voice.
No one of those that formed the group around the pilgrim turned at this voice, only their heads sank lower on their breasts, and for a long time these people sat motionless and speechless:
The pilgrim measured his audience with a serious and meditative glance of his blue eyes, and said softly:
"Ephraim the Syrian said: 'Make thy soul the central point of thy thoughts and strengthen thyself with thy desire to be free from sin.
And again he lowered his head, slowly fingering the beads of the rosary.
"That means we must think," said one of the peasants; "but when has a man time to think during his life on earth?"
"Confusion is all around us."
"We must flee to the desert," said the peasant who lay on the bench.
"Not everybody can afford it."
The peasants spoke, and became silent again. A shrill whistle resounded, a little bell began to jingle at the machine. Someone's loud exclamation rang out:
"Eh, there! To the water-measuring poles."
"0h Lord! 0h Queen of Heaven!"--a deep sigh was heard.
And a dull, half-choked voice shouted:
"Nine! nine!"
Fragments of the fog burst forth upon the deck and floated over it like cold, gray smoke.
"Here, kind people, give ear unto the words of King David," said the pilgrim, and shaking his head, began to read distinctly: "'Lead me, Oh Lord, in thy righteousness because of mine enemies; make thy way straight before my face. For there is no faithfulness in their mouths; their inward part is very wickedness; their throat is an open sepulchre; they flatter with their tongue. Destroy thou them, 0h God; let them fall by their own counsels.'"
"Eight! seven!" Like moans these exclamations resounded in the distance.
The steamer began to hiss angrily, and slackened its speed. The noise of the hissing of the steam deafened the pilgrim's words, and Foma saw only the movement of his lips.
"Get off!" a loud, angry shout was heard. "It's my place!"
"Yours?"
"Here you have yours!"
"I'll rap you on the jaw; then you'll find your place. What a lord!"
"Get away!"
An uproar ensued. The peasants who were listening to the pilgrim turned their heads toward the direction where the row was going on, and the pilgrim heaved a sigh and became silent. Near the machine a loud and lively dispute blazed up as though dry branches, thrown upon a dying bonfire, had caught the flame.
"I'll give it to you, devils! Get away, both of you."
"Take them away to the captain."
"Ha! ha! ha! That's a fine settlement for you!"
"That was a good rap he gave him on the neck!"
"The sailors are a clever lot."
"Eight! nine!" shouted the man with the measuring pole.
"Yes, increase speed!" came the loud exclamation of the engineer.
Swaying because of the motion of the steamer, Foma stood leaning against the tarpaulin,