mighty, commanding tones that resounded in heaven and on the earth with the words, "Christ is arisen!"
The two tenors, constantly startled by periodic strokes of their iron hearts, sang out joyously, "Christ is arisen!"
And the two little bells, hastening after the larger ones, sang out like children, outstripping each other in their joy, "Christ is arisen!"
It seemed that the whole tower was trembling and swaying, and that the wind, too, fluttered its mighty wings, and joined the chorus, "Christ is arisen!"
And the old heart forgot the past life, so full of cares and injustice . . . The old bell-ringer has forgotten that life has become contracted for him merely to the dimensions of that gloomy belfry-tower; that he is alone in the world, standing there as lonely as an old tree stump broken by lightning . . . He listens to these sounds, as they sing and cry, flying up to the sky, and falling back to the poor earth, and it seems to him that he is surrounded by his sons and grandsons, that it is their gladsome voices, the voices of the young and the old, that blend into this chorus and sing to him of happiness and joy, which he has not found in his life . . . And the old bell-ringer pulls the ropes, and tears run down his cheeks, and his heart beats joyfully with the illusion of happiness . . .
And below, men listened and said to each other that Mikheich had never rung as he did that night . . .
But suddenly, the great bell wavered and became silent . . . The startled smaller bells rang out the unfinished melody, and became silent, too, as if intently listening to the mournful prolonged note, that trembled and moaned and cried, slowly dying away in the air . . .
The old bell-ringer fell on the little bench, exhausted, and the last two tears were flowing down his cheeks.
Send someone now to replace him! The old bell-ringer has rung his last . . .
