Vladimir Korolenko

“ Its belfry-tower, dark with age, thrusts its tall top into the bluish dusk.
The steps of the belfry staircase squeak, as the old bell-ringer, Mikheich, ascends the tower. Soon his little lantern hangs in the air like a star that has suddenly flown upward.
It is hard for the old man to climb those stairs. His old legs scarcely obey him, his eyes see very badly. It is time for the old man to rest from life's labors, but God does not send him death. He has buried his sons, and his grandsons, has followed old and young to the grave-yard, but he himself is still alive. The climbing is so hard . ”

“ The far-away past springs into life again. He remembers how he climbed this tower for the first time, when he was still a child and his father brought him there. He sees himself as a little, blond-haired boy; his eyes are burning with excitement; the wind—not the wind that whirls the dust through the village street, but a different one, one that shakes its invisible wings high above the ground—raises his soft hair, making it flutter in the air . ”

“ 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 . ”