Just as when he was a child the thought had some-times occurred to him during service to crow like a cock, so now all sorts of ridiculous notions went through his brain; but here he was, an old man, reverently bowing, resting the aged bones of his hand on the flagging of the floor, and here was Father Vasili showing evident signs of timidity in performing the service before him, and “thus by our zeal we encourage his!”
“But if they only knew what notions were flying through my head. But it is sin, it is sin, I must con-quer it by prayer,” said he to himself as the service began; and as he listened to the significance of the Ek-tenia, 1 he tried to pray, and in fact his emotions speedily carried him over into the spirit of prayer, and he began to realize his sins, and all that he had confessed.
A pleasant old man, walking evenly in bark shoes which had lost their shape, with a bald spot in the midst of his thick gray hair, wearing a shuba with a patch half way down the back, came up to the altar, bowed to the ground, shook back his hair, and went behind the altar to place the candles.
This was the church starosta, or elder, Ivan Feodotof, one of the best muzhiks of the village of Izlegoshchi. Ivan Petrovitch knew him. The sight of this grave, firm face led Ivan Petrovitch into a new trend of thought. He was one of the muzhiks that wanted to get his land away from him, and one of the best and richest of the married farmers who needed land, who knew how to till it, and with good reason.
His grave face, his reverent obeisance, his dignified walk, the neatness of his attire, his leg-wrappers clung round his calves like stockings, and the fasten-ings were symmetrically crossed so that they were the same on both, his whole appearance, seemed to express reproach and animosity to all that was of the earth.
“Now I have asked forgiveness of my wife and of my daughter Mani, and of my servant Volodya, and now I must ask also this man’s forgiveness and for-give him,” said Ivan Petrovitch, and he determined to go and ask forgiveness of Ivan Feodotof after the service.
And so he did.
There were few people in the church. The majority made their devotions in the first or the fourth week of Lent. So that now there were only about forty men and women who had not been able to attend the ser-vices earlier, besides a few old men devoted church attendants from among Apuikhtin’s house servants and those of his rich neighbors, the Chernuishefs. There were among them an old .lady, a relative of the Chernui-shefs, who lived with them, and the widow of a sacris-tan, whose son the Chernuishefs, out of sheer kindness, had educated and made a man of, and who was now serving as a. functionary in the senate.
Between matins and mass comparatively few remained in the church. The peasant men and women stayed outside. There remained two beggar women, sitting in one corner, whispering together and occasionally glanc-ing at Ivan Petrovitch with an evident desire to wish his health and talk with him, and two lackeys, his own lackey, in livery, and the Chernuishefs’, who had come with the old lady. These two were also whispering to-gether with great animation when Ivan Petrovitch came out from behind the altar, and as soon as they saw him they stopped talking.
There was still another woman in the high head-dress decorated with glass beads, and a white shuba, which she wrapped round a sick infant, trying to keep it from screaming. Then there was still another, a hunch-backed old woman also in a peasant head-dress, but dec-orated with woolen tags, and in a white kerchief tied in old woman’s fashion, and wearing a gray chuprun, or sack, with cocks embroidered down the back, and she knelt in the middle of the church, bowing toward an ancient image which was placed between the grated windows, and covered with a new towel with red ends, and she prayed so fervently, solemnly, and passionately, that it was impossible to avoid noticing her.
Before going to speak to the church elder, who was standing at the closet, kneading the candle-ends into a ball of wax, Ivan Petrovitch paused to glance at this old woman praying. She prayed very fluently. She knelt as straight as one could when addressing an image; all of her limbs were composed with mathematical sym-metry, the toes of her bark shoes touched the stone flag-ging in exactly the same spot, her body was bent back as far as the hump on her back permitted, her arms were folded with absolute regularity across her stomach, her head was thrown back, and her wrinkled face, with an expression of modest entreaty, with dim eyes was turn-ing directly toward the towel-covered ikon.
After she had remained motionless in such a position for a minute or less, but still a definitely determined time, she drew a long sigh, and, withdrawing her right hand, with a wide swing she raised it higher than her head-dress, touched the crown of her head with her closed fingers, and thus widely made the sign of the cross on her abdomen and on her shoulders, and then bringing it back again she bowed her head down to her hands, spread according to rule on the ground, and once more she lifted herself and once more repeated the whole operation.
“There is true prayer,” said Ivan Petrovitch to him-self, as he looked at her; “not such as us sinners offer; here is faith, though I know that she addresses her image or her towel or the jewels on the image, as they all do. But it is all right. Why not? Each person has his own creed,” said he to himself; “she prays to an image, and here I consider it necessary to beg pardon of a muzhik!”
And he started to find the starosta, involuntarily look-ing about the church to see if any one was watching his proposed action, which was both pleasing and humiliat-ing to him. It was disagreeable to him to have the old women beggars, he called them, see him, but most disagreeable of all was it to have Mishka, his lackey, see him; in Mishka’s presence he knew his keen, shrewd wit he felt that he had not the power to seek Ivan Feodotof. And he beckoned Mishka to come to him.
“What do you wish?”
“Please go, brother, and get me the rug from the calash, it is so damp here for one’s legs.”
“I will do so.”
And as soon as Mishka had left the church, Ivan Petrovitch immediately went to Ivan Feodotof.
Ivan Feodotof was abashed, just as if he had been detected in some misdemeanor, as soon as his barin drew near. His bashfulness and nervous movements made a strange contrast with his grave face and his curly steel-gray hair and beard. “Do you wish a ten-kopek candle,” he asked, lifting the cover of his desk, and only occasionally raising his large handsome eyes to his barin.
“No, I need no candle. Ivan, I ask you to pardon me for Christ’s sake, if I have in any way offended you. …. Pardon me, for Christ’s sake,” he repeated, bowing low.
Ivan Feodotof was wholly dumfounded, and at a loss what to say, but at last he said, with a gentle smirk, col-lecting his wits :
“God pardons. As far as I know I have nothing to complain of from you. God pardons, there is no offense,” he hastily repeated.
“Still….”
“God pardons, Ivan Petrovitch. Then you will have two ten-kopek candles?”
“Yes, two.”
“He ‘s an angel, just an angel; he begs pardon of a mean peasant. O Lord, he is truly an angel! “exclaimed the deacon’s wife, who wore an old black capote and a black kerchief. “And just what we ought to ex-pect.”
“Ah, Paramonovna,” exclaimed Ivan Petrovitch, turn-ing to her. “Are you preparing for the sacrament? I ask your pardon also, for Christ’s sake.”
“God pardons, oh, you angel, 1 my kind benefactor, let me kiss your hand.”
“There, that will do, that will do! You know I don’t like that sort of thing,” said Ivan Petrovitch, smiling, and he went to the altar.
The mass, as it was ordinarily performed in the Izlegoshchi parish, was of short duration, the more so because there were few participants. When the “holy gates” were opened after “Our Father” had been said, Ivan Petrovitch glanced at the northern door to summon Mishka to take his shuba. When the priest noticed this movement, he sternly beckoned to the deacon; the deacon almost ran and summoned the lackey Mikhaifl. Ivan Petrovitch was in a self-satisfied and happy frame of mind, but this obsequiousness and the expression of deference shown by the priest who was officiating at mass, again
