Read Online My Childhood by Maxim Gorky - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Maxim Gorky
Tags: Autobiography
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it was very interesting to listen to them. Grandmother gave to God a circumstantial account of all that had happened in the house. Bowed down, looking like a great mound, she knelt, at first whispering rapidly and indistinctly, then hoarsely muttering:
"O Lord, Thou knowest that all of us wish to do better. Michael, the elder, ought to have been set up in the town--it will do him harm to be on the river; and the other is a new neighborhood and not overdone. I don't know what will come of it all! There's father now. Jaakov is his favorite. Can't it be right to love one child more than the others? He is an obstinate old man; do Thou, O Lord, teach him!"
Gazing at the dark-featured icon, with her large, brilliant eyes, she thus counseled God:
"Send him a good dream, O Lord, to make him understand how he ought to treat his children!"
After prostrating herself and striking her broad forehead on the floor, she again straightened herself, and said coaxingly:
"And send Varvara some happiness! How has she displeased Thee? Is she more sinful than the others? Why should a healthy young woman be so afflicted? And remember Gregory, O Lord! His eyes are getting worse and worse. If he goes blind he will be sent adrift. That will be terrible! He has used up all his strength for grandfather, but do you think it likely that grandfather will help him? O Lord! Lord!"
She remained silent for a long time, with her head bowed meekly, and her hands hanging by her sides, as still as if she had fallen asleep, or had been suddenly frozen.
"What else is there?" she asked herself aloud, wrinkling her brows.
"O Lord, save all the faithful! Pardon me--accursed fool as I am!--Thou knowest that I do not sin out of malice but out of stupidity." And drawing a deep breath she would say lovingly and contentedly: "Son of God, Thou knowest all! Father, Thou seest all things."
I was very fond of grandmother's God Who seemed so near to her, and I often said:
"Tell me something about God."
She used to speak about Him in a peculiar manner --very quietly, strangely drawing out her words, closing her eyes; and she made a point of always sitting down and arranging her head-handkerchief very deliberately before she began.
"God's seat is on the hills, amidst the meadows of Paradise; it is an altar of sapphires under silver linden trees which flower all the year round, for in Paradise there is no winter, nor even autumn, and the flowers never wither, for joy is the divine favor. And round about God many angels fly like flakes of snow; and it may be even that bees hum there, and white doves fly between Heaven and earth, telling God all about us and everybody. And here on earth you and I and grandfather each has been given an angel. God treats us all equally. For instance, your angel will go and tell God: 'Lexei put his tongue out at grandfather.' And God says: 'All right, let the old man whip him.' And so it is with all of us; God gives to all what they deserve--to some grief, to others joy. And so all is right that He does, and the angels rejoice, and spread their wings and sing to Him without ceasing: 'Glory be unto Thee, O God; Glory be unto Thee.' And He just smiles on them, and it is enough for them--and more." And she would smile herself, shaking her head from side to side.
"Have you seen that?"
"No, I have not seen it, but I know."
When she spoke about God, or Heaven, or the angels, she seemed to shrink in size; her face grew younger, and her liquid eyes emitted a curious warm radiance. I used to take her heavy, satiny plait in my hands, and wind it round my neck as I sat quite still and listened to the endless but never tedious story.
"It is not given to men to see God--their sight is dim! Only the saints may look upon Him face to face. But I have seen angels myself; they reveal themselves sometimes to souls in a state of grace. I was standing in church at an early Mass, and I saw two moving about the altar like clouds. One could see everything,
"O Lord, Thou knowest that all of us wish to do better. Michael, the elder, ought to have been set up in the town--it will do him harm to be on the river; and the other is a new neighborhood and not overdone. I don't know what will come of it all! There's father now. Jaakov is his favorite. Can't it be right to love one child more than the others? He is an obstinate old man; do Thou, O Lord, teach him!"
Gazing at the dark-featured icon, with her large, brilliant eyes, she thus counseled God:
"Send him a good dream, O Lord, to make him understand how he ought to treat his children!"
After prostrating herself and striking her broad forehead on the floor, she again straightened herself, and said coaxingly:
"And send Varvara some happiness! How has she displeased Thee? Is she more sinful than the others? Why should a healthy young woman be so afflicted? And remember Gregory, O Lord! His eyes are getting worse and worse. If he goes blind he will be sent adrift. That will be terrible! He has used up all his strength for grandfather, but do you think it likely that grandfather will help him? O Lord! Lord!"
She remained silent for a long time, with her head bowed meekly, and her hands hanging by her sides, as still as if she had fallen asleep, or had been suddenly frozen.
"What else is there?" she asked herself aloud, wrinkling her brows.
"O Lord, save all the faithful! Pardon me--accursed fool as I am!--Thou knowest that I do not sin out of malice but out of stupidity." And drawing a deep breath she would say lovingly and contentedly: "Son of God, Thou knowest all! Father, Thou seest all things."
I was very fond of grandmother's God Who seemed so near to her, and I often said:
"Tell me something about God."
She used to speak about Him in a peculiar manner --very quietly, strangely drawing out her words, closing her eyes; and she made a point of always sitting down and arranging her head-handkerchief very deliberately before she began.
"God's seat is on the hills, amidst the meadows of Paradise; it is an altar of sapphires under silver linden trees which flower all the year round, for in Paradise there is no winter, nor even autumn, and the flowers never wither, for joy is the divine favor. And round about God many angels fly like flakes of snow; and it may be even that bees hum there, and white doves fly between Heaven and earth, telling God all about us and everybody. And here on earth you and I and grandfather each has been given an angel. God treats us all equally. For instance, your angel will go and tell God: 'Lexei put his tongue out at grandfather.' And God says: 'All right, let the old man whip him.' And so it is with all of us; God gives to all what they deserve--to some grief, to others joy. And so all is right that He does, and the angels rejoice, and spread their wings and sing to Him without ceasing: 'Glory be unto Thee, O God; Glory be unto Thee.' And He just smiles on them, and it is enough for them--and more." And she would smile herself, shaking her head from side to side.
"Have you seen that?"
"No, I have not seen it, but I know."
When she spoke about God, or Heaven, or the angels, she seemed to shrink in size; her face grew younger, and her liquid eyes emitted a curious warm radiance. I used to take her heavy, satiny plait in my hands, and wind it round my neck as I sat quite still and listened to the endless but never tedious story.
"It is not given to men to see God--their sight is dim! Only the saints may look upon Him face to face. But I have seen angels myself; they reveal themselves sometimes to souls in a state of grace. I was standing in church at an early Mass, and I saw two moving about the altar like clouds. One could see everything,
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