II

Gentlemen, we must transport ourselves in imagination many years back; it was at the time when I, still a comparatively young man, was appointed as bishop, to a very distant Siberian diocese. I was by nature of an ardent temperament, and loved to have much work to do; I was, therefore, not sorry but actually very pleased to receive this distant appointment. Thank God, I thought, that for the beginning I have not merely been nominated to cut the hair of the candidates for Holy Orders, or to settle the quarrels of drunken deacons, but have been given real live work to do, which can be accomplished with love. I meant by this our not very successful missionary labours, to which the Captain alluded this evening, at the commencement of our conversation. I journeyed to my new diocese with zealous enthusiasm, and with the most extensive plans, but all my ardour was suddenly cooled, and what is more important, my whole mission would have been rendered unsuccessful, if a marvellous event had not given me a salutary lesson.

“A marvellous event!” exclaimed one of his hearers, forgetting the Archbishop’s request not to interrupt the narrative, but our indulgent host was not angered at this, but only answered:

“Yes, gentlemen, the word slipped from my lips, and I need not take it back; the thing that happened to me and which I am about to relate to you, was certainly marvellous, and the marvels began to show themselves to me almost from the first day of my sojourn in my half-savage diocese. The first thing a Russian bishop does on entering on the work of his new bishopric, wherever it may be, is, of course, to inspect the condition of the churches and to see how the services are conducted. I, too, did this. I gave orders that the extra books and crosses should be removed from the altars of all the churches – there are often so many, that the altars in our churches look more like exhibitions of church furniture in shops than altars. I ordered as many round carpets as were needed, and had them laid down in the proper places, so that they should not be whisked about before my nose, and thrown down under my feet when required. With difficulty, and after threatening them with fines and punishments, I at last stopped the deacons from seizing hold of my elbows while I was officiating, and from ascending the altar steps and standing beside me, and above all I made them cease cuffing and pinching the necks of the poor ordinands, who often suffered much pain in those regions, for more than a fortnight after receiving these blessings of the Holy Ghost. None of you will believe how much trouble all this occasioned me, and what an amount of vexation was caused to an impatient man, such as I was then, and to my shame, I must confess, am still. Having accomplished this, I had to begin the second episcopal task, a work of the greatest importance, to assure myself that the clergy knew how to read, if not written characters, at least printed books. This examination took a long time, and often caused me great annoyance, but sometimes also amusement. A deacon or sacristan who is illiterate, or one who could read but not write, is, perhaps, even still to be found in villages or in small provincial towns in the interior of Russia, as was proved some few years ago, when for the first time they had to give a receipt when their salaries were paid out to them; but in those days, especially in Siberia, it was a most common occurrence. I ordered them to be taught. They, of course, complained bitterly and said I was tyrannical; the parishoners complained that there were no lectors, and said the bishop was ruining the Church. What was to be done? I began to send, in place of such deacons, those who were able at least to read ‘by heart’ – and, good Lord! – what people I saw! Lame men, stutterers, men with squints, men who spoke through their noses; some were crazy and some were even possessed. There was one who instead of saying, “Come, let us bow down before the Lord, our God,” shut his eyes like a quail and mumbled, “Co-do-be-lo-go, Co-do-be-lo-go,” and was so engrossed in it, that it was difficult to stop him. Another – and this one was really possessed – became so absorbed by the rapidity of his own reading, that when he came to certain words, which brought to his mind an association of ideas, he seemed forced to succumb to it. Such words were among others, “in heaven.” He would begin to read, “As it was in the beginning, in every hour, in heaven,” and suddenly something would snap in his head and he continued, “hallowed be Thy name, Thy kingdom come.” No matter what trouble I gave myself with this blockhead it was all in vain. I ordered him to read what was in the book – he would read, “As it was in the beginning, in every hour in heaven,” and then, suddenly shutting the book, would continue, “hallowed be Thy name, Thy kingdom come,” and mumble on to the end, till he pronounced in a loud voice, “but deliver us from the evil one.” Only here he was able to stop; it turned out that he could not read at all. After seeing that the deacons were able to read, I had to look into the morals of the seminarists; here again I made marvellous discoveries. The seminary was greatly demoralized; the pupils were addicted to drink, and were so indecorous that, for example: one of the students of the faculty of philosophy finished the evening prayer in the presence of the inspector thus: “My hope is the Father, my refuge the Son, my protection the Holy Ghost: Holy Trinity – my compliments to you.” In the faculty of theology this is what occurred. After dinner the student, who had to say grace, said: “As Thou hast satisfied me with the blessings of this earth, do not deprive me of the Heavenly Kingdom,” and another called to him from among the crowd of students: “You pig, first you overeat yourself and then you ask to be taken into the Heavenly Kingdom.”

It was necessary as soon as possible to find a suitable principal, who would act according to my ideas, who was also a tyrant like myself; the time was short, and the choice limited, but I found one at last: he proved to be tyrannical enough, but beyond that you could ask for nothing of him.

“I will take the whole matter up in a military manner, most reverend Father,” said he, “so as at once…”

“Very well,” I answered,” take the matter up in a military way.”

And he did so. The first order he gave was: that the prayers were not to be read but sung in chorus, so as to avoid all mischievous tricks, and that the singing should be led by him. When he entered, all were silent and remained without uttering a sound until he gave the order, “prayer!” and began to sing. But all this he did in a manner that was almost too military. He would give the order, “pray-er!” Then the seminarists began singing: “Our eyes, O Lord, are turned to Thee.” In the middle of a word he would shout “Stop,” and call one of them to him.

“Frolov, come here!”

He approached.

“You are Bagréev?”

“No, sir, I am Frolov.”

“Ah, ah! so you are Frolov? Why did I think that you were Bagréev?”

Then there was again laughter, and again complaints were made to me. No, I saw – this military system did not answer, and at last after much difficulty I found a civilian who, though not so tyrannical, acted with more wisdom: before the scholars he pretended to be the weakest of good-natured fellows, but always calumniated me, and related everywhere the horrors of my tyranny. I knew this, but noticing that this measure proved efficacious, did not object to his system.

I had hardly, by my tyranny, brought the seminary into subjection when miracles began to occur among the adults. One day I was informed that a load of hay had been driven into the inside of the Arch-presbyter of the Cathedral, and could not get out again. I sent to find out what had really happened. They said it was quite true. The Arch-priest was very corpulent; after the liturgy, he had gone to christen a child in a merchant’s house, where he had filled himself plentifully with the good viands set before him, from which cause, or owing to another fruit – a wild one – he had found there, and partaken of not less plenteously; deep and stupid intoxication had resulted. This was not enough. He went home, lay down and slept for four hours, rose and drank a mug of kvass, and lay down again with his breast to the window, to talk to somebody standing below – when suddenly a cart-load of hay drove into him. All this was so stupid that one could not help being disgusted, but when I heard the end of the story, I was, perhaps, even more disgusted. The next morning the lay-brother brought me my boots and said, “Thank God, the cart of hay has already been driven out of the Father Arch-presbyter.”

“I am very pleased,” I said, “to hear such good news, but tell me the story more fully.”

It appeared that the Arch-priest, who owned a two-storeyed house, had lain down, when he came home at a window under which there was a gate-way, and at that very moment a cartload of hay had driven into it, and he, in his fuzzled sleepy state, imagined that it had driven into his inside. It is incredible, nevertheless it was so; “credo, quia absurdum.”

How was this miracle-worker saved?

Also by a miracle – he would not consent to rise on any account, because he had a cartload of hay in his inside. The physician could find no remedy for this malady. Then a sorceress was called in. She twisted and turned about, tapped him here and there, and ordered a cart to be loaded with hay and driven out of the yard; the sick man imagined it had emerged from his inside, and recovered.

Well, after this you could do what you liked for him; but he had done for himself: he had amused the good people, he had summoned a sorceress and had profited by her idolatrous enchantments. Here such things could not be hidden under a bushel, but were proclaimed on the highways: “Those are fine priests – they are no good. They themselves send for our sorcerers to drive away shaytan.’” There was no end to the nonsensical talk. For a time long I trimmed these smoking icon lamps, as well as I could, and my parochial duties were rendered unbearably wearisome to me by them, but at last the long awaited and long desired moment arrived, when I could devote myself entirely to the work of enlightening the wild sheep of my flock, that were grazing without a shepherd.

I collected all the documents relating to this question, and began to study them so diligently that I scarcely ever left my writing-table.