Milena drew back appalled.
"When a ship is insured the owners care very little what becomes of the precious lives they have on board. The captains themselves get hardened. They do not light any more tapers to St. Nicholas to send them prosperous gales; the priests offer no more prayers for their safety; and, as for silver ex-votos, why, no one thinks of them any more. The pop is so angry that he says, if he had his own way, he'd excommunicate every captain, even every sailor, embarking on an insured ship."
"Mercy on us!" quoth Milena, crossing herself repeatedly.
"In fact, since all these new-fangled, heathenish inventions, you hear of nothing but fires on land and shipwrecks at sea. People once went to bed as soon as it was dark; at eight o'clock every fire and every light was put out. Now, people will soon be turning night into day, as they do in Francezka and Vnetci (Venice), flying thus in the very face of God Himself. Now all the rotten ships are sent to sea, where they founder at the very first storm. It isn't true, perhaps?"
"Aye, it must be true," sighed Milena, "if the pop says so."
"Once fires and shipwrecks were sent as punishments to the wicked, or as trials to the good; now, with the insurances, God Himself has been deprived of His scourge. The wicked prosper, the rich grow richer, and as for the poor—even the Virgin Mary and all the saints turn a deaf ear to them."
Milena shook her head despondingly.
"For instance," continued Stosija, "would the miser's heart ever have been touched, had his barns been insured."
"What miser?" asked Milena.
"Is it possible that you don't know the story of 'Old Nor and the
Miser'?"