Part 3 Chapter 21

"JUST A WORTHLESS TRAMP."

Nekhludoff stood on the edge of the raft looking at the broad river. Two pictures kept rising up in his mind. One, that of Kryltzoff, unprepared for death and dying, made a heavy, sorrowful impression on him. The other, that of Katusha, full of energy, having gained the love of such a man as Simonson, and found a true and solid path towards righteousness, should have been pleasant, yet it also created a heavy impression on Nekhludoff's mind, and he could not conquer this impression.

The vibrating sounds of a big brass bell reached them from the town. Nekhludoff's driver, who stood by his side, and the other men on the raft raised their caps and crossed themselves, all except a short, dishevelled old man, who stood close to the railway and whom Nekhludoff had not noticed before. He did not cross himself, but raised his head and looked at Nekhludoff. This old man wore a patched coat, cloth trousers and worn and patched shoes. He had a small wallet on his back, and a high fur cap with the fur much rubbed on his head.

"Why don't you pray, old chap?" asked Nekhludoff's driver as he replaced and straightened his cap. "Are you unbaptized?"

"Who's one to pray to?" asked the old man quickly, in a determinately aggressive tone.

"To whom? To God, of course," said the driver sarcastically.

"And you just show me where he is, that god." There was something so serious and firm in the expression of the old man, that the driver felt that he had to do with a strong-minded man, and was a bit abashed. And trying not to show this, not to be silenced, and not to be put to shame before the crowd that was observing them, he answered quickly.

"Where? In heaven, of course."

"And have you been up there?"

"Whether I've been or not, every one knows that you must pray to God."

"No one has ever seen God at any time. The only begotten Son who is in the bosom of the Father he hath declared him," said the old man in the same rapid manner, and with a severe frown on his brow.

"It's clear you are not a Christian, but a hole worshipper. You pray to a hole," said the driver, shoving the handle of his whip into his girdle, pulling straight the harness on one of the horses.

Some one laughed.

"What is your faith, Dad?" asked a middle-aged man, who stood by his cart on the same side of the raft.

"I have no kind of faith, because I believe no one--no one but myself," said the old man as quickly and decidedly as before.

"How can you believe yourself?" Nekhludoff asked, entering into a conversation with him. "You might make a mistake."

"Never in your life," the old man said decidedly, with a toss of his head.

"Then why are there different faiths?" Nekhludoff asked.

"It's just because men believe others and do not believe themselves that there are different faiths. I also believed others, and lost myself as in a swamp,--lost myself so that I had no hope of finding my way out. Old believers and new believers and Judaisers and Khlysty and Popovitzy, and Bespopovitzy and Avstriaks and Molokans and Skoptzy--every faith praises itself only, and so they all creep about like blind puppies. There are many faiths, but the spirit is one--in me and in you and in him. So that if every one believes himself all will he united. Every one he himself, and all will be as one."

The old man spoke loudly and often looked round, evidently wishing that as many as possible should hear him.

"And have you long held this faith?"

"I? A long time. This is the twenty-third year that they persecute me."

"Persecute you? How?"

"As they persecuted Christ, so they persecute me. They seize me, and take me before the courts and before the priests, the Scribes and the Pharisees. Once they put me into a madhouse; but they can do nothing because I am free. They say, 'What is your name?' thinking I shall name myself. But I do not give myself a name. I have given up everything: I have no name, no place, no country, nor anything. I am just myself. 'What is your name?' 'Man.' 'How old are you?' I say, 'I do not count my years and cannot count them, because I always was, I always shall be.' 'Who are your parents?' 'I have no parents except God and Mother Earth. God is my father.' 'And the Tsar? Do you recognise the Tsar?' they say. I say, 'Why not? He is his own Tsar, and I am my own Tsar.' 'Where's the good of talking to him,' they say, and I say, 'I do not ask you to talk to me.' And so they begin tormenting me."

"And where are you going now?" asked Nekhludoff.

"Where God will lead me. I work when I can find work, and when I can't I beg." The old man noticed that the raft was approaching the bank and stopped, looking round at the bystanders with a look of triumph.

Nekhludoff got out his purse and offered some money to the old man, but he refused, saying:

"I do not accept this sort of thing--bread I do accept."

"Well, then, excuse me."

"There is nothing to excuse, you have not offended me. And it is not possible to offend me." And the old man put the wallet he had taken off again on his back. Meanwhile, the post-cart had been landed and the horses harnessed.

"I wonder you should care to talk to him, sir," said the driver, when Nekhludoff, having tipped the bowing ferryman, got into the cart again. "He is just a worthless tramp."

聂赫留朵夫站在渡船边上，眼睛望着宽阔湍急的河水。两个形象在他的头脑里一交一替出现着：一个是垂死的克雷里卓夫。他满脸怒容，脑袋被大车颠得直摇晃；一个是一精一神抖擞地同西蒙松一起在路边走着的卡秋莎。一个形象使他沉重而悲伤，那就是濒临死亡而不愿死去的克雷里卓夫。另一个形象是生气勃勃的卡秋莎，她获得西蒙松这样好人的一爱一，走上了稳当可靠的善的道路，这本是件喜事，但聂赫留朵夫却觉得难受，而且无法克服这样的感觉。

城里教堂的大铜钟敲响了，颤一动的钟声荡漾在水面上。站在聂赫留朵夫身旁的马车夫和所有赶大车的一个个脱一下帽子，在胸前画了十字。只有站在栏杆旁的一个个儿不高、头发蓬乱的老头儿没有画十字，只是抬起头来，眼睛直盯着聂赫留朵夫，而聂赫留朵夫起初并没有注意到他。这老头儿身穿一件打过补钉的短褂和一条粗呢裤，脚登一双补过的长统靴。他的肩上背着一个不大的口袋，头上戴着一顶一破皮帽。

“老头子，你怎么不做祷告？”聂赫留朵夫的马车夫戴上帽子，拉拉正，问他说。“莫非你不是基督徒吗？”

“叫我向谁祷告？”头发蓬乱的老头儿生硬地还嘴说。他说得很快，但每个字都说得很清楚。

“当然是向上帝罗，”马车夫含嘲带讽地说。

“那你倒指给我看看，他在哪儿？上帝在哪儿？”

老头儿的神气那么严肃坚决，马车夫觉得他是在同一个刚强的人打一交一道，有点心慌，但表面上不动声色，竭力不让老人的话堵住自己的嘴，在那么多人面前丢脸，就连忙回答说：

“在哪儿？当然是在天上。”

“那你去过那儿吗？”

“去过也罢，没去过也罢，反正大家都知道该向上帝祷告。”

“谁也没在什么地方见过上帝。那是活在上帝心里的独生子宣告的，”老头儿恶狠狠地皱起眉头，急急地说。

“看样子你不是基督徒，你是个洞一穴一教徒。你就向洞一穴一祷告吧，”马车夫说，把马鞭一柄一插到腰里，扶正骖马的皮套。

有人笑起来。

“那么，老大爷，你信什么教呢？”站在船边大车旁一个上了年纪的人问。

“我什么教也不信。除了自己，我谁也不信，谁也不信，”

老头儿还是又快又果断地回答。

“一个人怎么可以相信自己呢？”聂赫留朵夫插嘴说。“这样会做错事的。”

“我这辈子从没做过错事，”老头儿把头一扬，断然地回答。

“世界上怎么会有各种宗教呢？”聂赫留朵夫问。

“世界上有各种宗教，就因为人都相信别人，不相信自己。我以前也相信过人，结果象走进原始森林一样迷了路。我完全迷失方向，再也找不到出路。有人信旧教，有人信新教，有人信安息会，有人信鞭身教，有人信教堂派，有人信非教堂派，有人信奥地利教派，有人信莫罗勘教，有人信Yan割派。各种教派都夸自己好。其实他们都象瞎眼的狗崽子一样，在地上乱爬。信仰很多，可是灵魂只有一个。你也有，我也有，他也有。大家只要相信自己的灵魂，就能同舟共济。只要人人保持本色，就能齐心协力。”

老头儿说得很响，不住往四下里打量，显然希望有更多的人听他说话。

“哦，您这样说教有好久了吗？”聂赫留朵夫问他。

“我吗？好久了。我已受了二十三年的迫害。”

“怎么个迫害法？”

“他们迫害我，就象当年迫害基督那样。他们把我抓去吃官司，又送到教士那儿，送到读书人那儿，送到法利赛人那儿。他们还把我送到疯人院。可是他们拿我毫无办法，因为我是个自一由人。他们问我：‘你叫什么名字？’他们以为我会给自己取个名字，可我什么名字也不要。我放弃一切，我没有名字，没有居留地，没有祖国，什么也没有。我就是我。我叫什么名字？我叫人。人家问我：‘你多大岁数？’我说我从来不数，也无法数，因为我过去、现在、将来永远存在。人家问我：‘那么你的父母是谁？’我说，我没有父母，只有上帝和大地。上帝是我父亲，大地是我母亲。人家问我：‘你承认不承认皇上？’我为什么不承认。他是他自己的皇上，我是我自己的皇上。他们说：‘简直没法跟你说话。’我说，我又没求你跟我说话。他们就是这样折磨人。”

“那么您现在到哪儿去？”聂赫留朵夫问。

“听天由命。有活我就干活，没有活我就要饭，”老头儿发现渡船就要靠岸，得意扬扬地扫了一眼所有听他讲话的人，结束说。

渡船在对岸停住了。聂赫留朵夫掏出钱包，给老头儿一点钱。老头儿拒绝了。

“这我不拿。面包我拿的，”他说。

“哦，对不起。”

“没什么对不起的。你又没有得罪我。其实，要得罪我也办不到，”老头儿说着，动手把放下的口袋背到肩上。这时聂赫留朵夫的驿车已套一上马，上了岸。

“老爷，您还有胃口跟他费话，”马车夫等聂赫留朵夫给了身强力壮的船夫酒钱，坐上车，就对他说。“哼，这个流一浪一汉不正派。”