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Updated: May 25, 2025
Write shortly, but sternly and circumstantially, without softening or smoothing away his guilt. It is your parental duty; if you write, you will have done your duty and will be at peace." "That's true. But what am I to write to him, to what effect? If I write to him, he will answer, 'Why? what for? Why is it a sin?" Father Anastasy laughed hoarsely again, and brandished his fingers.
When he had finished writing it the deacon read it aloud, beamed all over and jumped up. "It's a gift, it's really a gift!" he said, clasping his hands and looking enthusiastically at his Reverence. "To think of the Lord's bestowing a gift like that! Eh? Holy Mother! I do believe I couldn't write a letter like that in a hundred years. Lord save you!" Father Anastasy was enthusiastic too.
And remember, too, it's not the righteous but sinners we must forgive. Why should you forgive your old woman if she is not sinful? No, you must forgive a man when he is a sad sight to look at . . . yes!" Anastasy leaned his head on his fist and sank into thought. "It's a terrible thing, deacon," he sighed, evidently struggling with the desire to take another glass "a terrible thing!
The visitor, Father Anastasy, the priest of one of the villages near the town, had come to him three hours before on some very unpleasant and dreary business of his own, had stayed on and on, was now sitting in the corner at a little round table with his elbow on a thick account book, and apparently had no thought of going, though it was getting on for nine o'clock in the evening.
He-he-he! . . ." Anastasy went on coughing till he choked. "Don't interfere, Father Anastasy," said his Reverence sternly. "Nikolay Matveyitch asked him, 'What madame is this helping the soup at your table?" the deacon went on, gloomily scanning Anastasy's bent figure. "'That is my wife, said he.
"Anastasy," said the old woman aside, "let Hannah go!" "Hannah's a-going to keep to hum Well, about Lucy," she said, as Fleda rose to go "I can't just say suppos'n you come here to-morrow afternoon there's a few coming to quilt and Lucy 'll be to hum then. I should admire to have you, and then you and Lucy can agree what you'll fix upon. You can get somebody to bring you, can't you?"
He beamed with pleasure and wagged his head, as though he had been tasting something very sweet. "A-ah, what a letter!" he said. "Petrushka has never dreamt of such a letter. It's just what he wants, something to throw him into a fever. . ." "Do you know, deacon, don't send it!" said Anastasy, pouring himself out a second glass of vodka as though unconsciously. "Forgive him, let him alone!
"Why? what for? why is it a sin?" he began shrilly. "I was once confessing a gentleman, and I told him that excessive confidence in the Divine Mercy is a sin; and he asked, 'Why? I tried to answer him, but " Anastasy slapped himself on the forehead. "I had nothing here. He-he-he-he! . . ."
My godfather was a certain Anastasy Anastasyevitch Putchkov, or more exactly Nastasey Nastasyeitch, for that was what everyone called him.
Father Anastasy laughed huskily, cleared his throat and waved his fingers in the air as though preparing to say something. His Reverence glanced at him and said sternly: "Don't interfere, Father Anastasy." The old man laughed, beamed, and evidently listened with pleasure to the deacon as though he were glad there were other sinful persons in this world besides himself.
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