WE all felt a little uneasy in the thick darkness, so we pressed close
to one another and said nothing. Before long Grisha arrived with his
soft tread, carrying in one hand his staff and in the other a tallow
candle set in a brass candlestick. We scarcely ventured to breathe.
“Our Lord Jesus Christ! Holy Mother of God! Father, Son, and Holy
Ghost!” he kept repeating, with the different intonations and
abbreviations which gradually become peculiar to persons who are
accustomed to pronounce the words with great frequency.
Still praying, he placed his staff in a corner and looked at the bed;
after which he began to undress. Unfastening his old black girdle, he
slowly divested himself of his torn nankeen kaftan, and deposited
it carefully on the back of a chair. His face had now lost its usual
disquietude and idiocy. On the contrary, it had in it something restful,
thoughtful, and even grand, while all his movements were deliberate and
intelligent.
Next, he lay down quietly in his shirt on the bed, made the sign of the
cross towards every side of him, and adjusted his chains beneath his
shirt--an operation which, as we could see from his face, occasioned him
considerable pain. Then he sat up again, looked gravely at his ragged
shirt, and rising and taking the candle, lifted the latter towards the
shrine where the images of the saints stood. That done, he made the sign
of the cross again, and turned the candle upside down, when it went out
with a hissing noise.
Through the window (which overlooked the wood) the moon (nearly full)
was shining in such a way that one side of the tall white figure of the
idiot stood out in the pale, silvery moonlight, while the other side was
lost in the dark shadow which covered the floor, walls, and ceiling. In
the courtyard the watchman was tapping at intervals upon his brass alarm
plate. For a while Grisha stood silently before the images and, with
his large hands pressed to his breast and his head bent forward, gave
occasional sighs. Then with difficulty he knelt down and began to pray.
At first he repeated some well-known prayers, and only accented a word
here and there. Next, he repeated thee same prayers, but louder and
with increased accentuation. Lastly he repeated them again and with even
greater emphasis, as well as with an evident effort to pronounce them in
the old Slavonic Church dialect. Though disconnected, his prayers were
very touching. He prayed for all his benefactors (so he called every one
who had received him hospitably), with, among them, Mamma and ourselves.
Next he prayed for himself, and besought God to forgive him his sins,
at the same time repeating, “God forgive also my enemies!” Then, moaning
with the effort, he rose from his knees--only to fall to the floor again
and repeat his phrases afresh. At last he regained his feet, despite
the weight of the chains, which rattled loudly whenever they struck the
floor.
Woloda pinched me rudely in the leg, but I took no notice of that
(except that I involuntarily touched the place with my hand), as I
observed with a feeling of childish astonishment, pity, and respect
the words and gestures of Grisha. Instead of the laughter and amusement
which I had expected on entering the store-room, I felt my heart beating
and overcome.
Grisha continued for some time in this state of religious ecstasy as he
improvised prayers and repeated again and yet again, “Lord, have mercy
upon me!” Each time that he said, “Pardon me, Lord, and teach me to
do what Thou wouldst have done,” he pronounced the words with added
earnestness and emphasis, as though he expected an immediate answer to
his petition, and then fell to sobbing and moaning once more. Finally,
he went down on his knees again, folded his arms upon his breast, and
remained silent. I ventured to put my head round the door (holding my
breath as I did so), but Grisha still made no movement except for the
heavy sighs which heaved his breast. In the moonlight I could see a tear
glistening on the white patch of his blind eye.
“Yes, Thy will be done!” he exclaimed suddenly, with an expression which
I cannot describe, as, prostrating himself with his forehead on the
floor, he fell to sobbing like a child.
Much sand has run out since then, many recollections of the past have
faded from my memory or become blurred in indistinct visions, and poor
Grisha himself has long since reached the end of his pilgrimage; but the
impression which he produced upon me, and the feelings which he aroused
in my breast, will never leave my mind. O truly Christian Grisha, your
faith was so strong that you could feel the actual presence of God; your
love so great that the words fell of themselves from your lips. You had
no reason to prove them, for you did so with your earnest praises of His
majesty as you fell to the ground speechless and in tears!
Nevertheless the sense of awe with which I had listened to Grisha could
not last for ever. I had now satisfied my curiosity, and, being cramped
with sitting in one position so long, desired to join in the tittering
and fun which I could hear going on in the dark store-room behind me.
Some one took my hand and whispered, “Whose hand is this?” Despite the
darkness, I knew by the touch and the low voice in my ear that it was
Katenka. I took her by the arm, but she withdrew it, and, in doing so,
pushed a cane chair which was standing near. Grisha lifted his head
looked quietly about him, and, muttering a prayer, rose and made the
sign of the cross towards each of the four corners of the room.