Shoemaker Martýn Avdyéich lived in the city. He lived in a basement, in
a room with one window. The window looked out on the street. Through it
the people could be seen as they passed by: though only the feet were
visible, Martýn Avdyéich could tell the men by their boots. He had lived
for a long time in one place and had many acquaintances. It was a rare
pair of boots in the neighbourhood that had not gone once or twice
through his hands. Some he had resoled; on others he had put patches, or
fixed the seams, or even put on new uppers. Frequently he saw his own
work through the window. He had much to do, for he did honest work, put
in strong material, took no more than was fair, and kept his word. If he
could get a piece of work done by a certain time he undertook to do it,
and if not, he would not cheat, but said so in advance. Everybody knew
Avdyéich, and his work never stopped.
Avdyéich had always been a good man, but in his old age he thought more
of his soul and came near unto God. Even while Martýn had been living
with a master, his wife had died, and he had been left with a boy three
years of age. Their children did not live long. All the elder children
had died before. At first Martýn had intended sending his son to his
sister in a village, but then he felt sorry for the little lad, and
thought: "It will be hard for my Kapitóshka to grow up in somebody
else's family, and so I will keep him."
Avdyéich left his master, and took up quarters with his son. But God did
not grant Avdyéich any luck with his children. No sooner had the boy
grown up so as to be a help to his father and a joy to him, than a
disease fell upon him and he lay down and had a fever for a week and
died. Martýn buried his son, and was in despair. He despaired so much
that he began to murmur against God. He was so downhearted that more
than once he asked God to let him die, and rebuked God for having taken
his beloved only son, and not him. He even stopped going to church.
One day an old man, a countryman of Avdyéich's, returning from
Tróitsa,--he had been a pilgrim for eight years,--came to see him.
Avdyéich talked with him and began to complain of his sorrow:
"I have even no desire to live any longer, godly man. If I could only
die. That is all I am praying God for. I am a man without any hope."
And the old man said to him:
"You do not say well, Martýn. We cannot judge God's works. Not by our
reason, but by God's judgment do we live. God has determined that your
son should die, and you live. Evidently it is better so. The reason you
are in despair is that you want to live for your own enjoyment."
"What else shall we live for?" asked Martýn.
And the old man said:
"We must live for God, Martýn. He gives us life, and for Him must we
live. When you shall live for Him and shall not worry about anything,
life will be lighter for you."
Martýn was silent, and he said:
"How shall we live for God?"
And the old man said:
"Christ has shown us how to live for God. Do you know how to read? If
so, buy yourself a Gospel and read it, and you will learn from it how to
live for God. It tells all about it."
These words fell deep into Avdyéich's heart. And he went that very day
and bought himself a New Testament in large letters, and began to read.
Avdyéich had meant to read it on holidays only, but when he began to
read it, his heart was so rejoiced that he read it every day. Many a
time he buried himself so much in reading that all the kerosene would be
spent in the lamp, but he could not tear himself away from the book. And
Avdyéich read in it every evening, and the more he read, the clearer it
became to him what God wanted of him, and how he should live for God;
and his heart grew lighter and lighter. Formerly, when he lay down to
sleep, he used to groan and sob and think of his Kapitóshka, but now he
only muttered:
"Glory be to Thee, glory to Thee, O Lord! Thy will be done!"
Since then Avdyéich's life had been changed. Formerly, he used on a
holiday to frequent the tavern, to drink tea, and would not decline a
drink of vódka. He would drink a glass with an acquaintance and, though
he would not be drunk, he would come out of the tavern in a happier
mood, and then he would speak foolish things, and would scold, or
slander a man. Now all that passed away from him. His life came to be
calm and happy. In the morning he sat down to work, and when he got
through, he took the lamp from the hook, put it down on the table,
fetched the book from the shelf, opened it, and began to read it. And
the more he read, the better he understood it, and his mind was clearer
and his heart lighter.
One evening Martýn read late into the night. He had before him the
Gospel of St. Luke. He read the sixth chapter and the verses: "And unto
him that smiteth thee on the one cheek offer also the other; and him
that taketh away thy cloke 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."
And he read also the other verses, where the Lord says: "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."
When Avdyéich read these words, there was joy in his heart. He took off
his glasses, put them on the book, leaned his arms on the table, and
fell to musing. And he began to apply these words to his life, and he
thought:
"Is my house on a rock, or on the sand? It is well if it is founded on a
rock: it is so easy to sit alone,--it seems to me that I am doing
everything which God has commanded; but if I dissipate, I shall sin
again. I will just proceed as at present. It is so nice! Help me, God!"
This he thought, and he wanted to go to sleep, but he was loath to tear
himself away from the book. And he began to read the seventh chapter. He
read about the centurion, about the widow's son, about the answer to
John's disciples, and he reached the passage where the rich Pharisee
invited the Lord to be his guest, and where the sinning woman anointed
His feet and washed them with her tears, and he justified her. And he
reached the 44th verse, and 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."
When he had read these verses, he thought:
"He gave no water for His feet; he gave no kiss; he did not anoint His
head with oil."
And again Avdyéich took off his glasses and placed them on the book, and
fell to musing.
"Evidently he was just such a Pharisee as I am. He, no doubt, thought
only of himself: how to drink tea, and be warm, and in comfort, but he
did not think of the guest. About himself he thought, but no care did he
have for the guest. And who was the guest?--The Lord Himself. Would I
have done so, if He had come to me?"
And Avdyéich leaned his head on both his arms and did not notice how he
fell asleep.
"Martýn!" suddenly something seemed to breathe over his very ear.