III

When I became acquainted with all the accounts of the missionaries work, I was even more dissatisfied with their activity than I was with the work of my diocesan clergy; the converts to Christianity were extraordinarily few, and it was clear that the greater number of these were only paper converts. In reality most of those converted to Christianity had returned to their former faith – Lamaism or Shamanism, while others formed from all these faiths the strangest and most absurd mixture: they prayed to Christ and His Apostles; to Buddha and his Bodhisattvas; to warm boots, and felt bags containing Shamanistic charms. This double faith was not only practised by the nomad tribes, but was to be found almost everywhere in my flock, which was composed not of any single branch of one nationality but of scraps and fragments of different tribes. God only knows from whence and how they had been brought together. They were poor of speech and still poorer of understanding and imagination. Seeing that everything concerning the missionaries was in such a chaotic state, I conceived the very lowest opinion of my fellow workers, and treated them with harshness and impatience. Altogether I had become very irritable, and the title of “tyrant” that had been given me began to be appropriate. The poor monastery, which I had chosen for my abode, and where I wished to found a school for the natives, suffered most from my anger and impatience. When I made enquiries of the monks, I learned, that in the town almost everyone spoke Yakutsk, but of the monks there was only one who could speak the native dialect; he was a very old monk and priest, Father Kiriak, but he too was of no use for the work of preaching, and even if he had been of any good, “you might kill him, but he would not go to preach to the savages.”

“What is the meaning of this disobedience?” I asked. “How dare he? He must be told that I do not like this, and will not allow it.”

The Ecclesiarch answered me that he would convey him my message, but it was useless to expect obedience from Kiriak, because this was not the first time; two of my predecessors, who had succeeded each other quickly, had tried severity with him, but he was obstinate and only answered:

“I will willingly give my soul for my Saviour, but I will not go to baptize there (that is in the desert).” He even asked, they said, that he might be deprived of his office rather than be sent there. And for this disobedience for many years he had been forbidden to officiate in church, but even that did not trouble him; on the contrary he would do the most menial work with pleasure: sometimes he acted as watchman, at others as bell-ringer. He was beloved by all: by the brothers, by the laymen, and even by the heathen.

“What? I am astonished. Is it possible even by the heathen?”

“Yes, Vladyko, even some of the heathen come to see him.”

“What about?”

“They respect him from the old days when he used to go and preach to them.”

“What was he like then, in those old days?”

“He used to be the most successful missionary, and converted numbers of people.”

“What has happened to him then? Why has he given up the work?”

“It is impossible to understand, Vladyko. Suddenly something happened to him; he returned from the desert, brought the chrismatory and the pyx, placed them on the altar and said: ‘I place them here and will not take them again until the hour arrives.’”

“What hour is he awaiting? What does he mean by this?”

“I don’t know, Vladyko.”

“Is it possible that none of you have been able to find it out from him? O, faithless and perverse generation, how long shall I be with you? How long shall I suffer you? How is it that this thing that concerns all does not interest you? Remember the Lord said He would spew out of His mouth those that were neither cold nor hot; then what do you deserve who are absolutely cold?”

But my Ecclesiarch tried to justify himself:

“We tried to find out in every way, Vladyko, but he always only answered: ‘No, my dear children, this work is no joke – it is terrible… I can’t look on it.’”

“But when I asked what was ‘terrible,’ the Ecclesiarch was unable to answer me; he could only say they thought Father Kiriak had had a revelation while he was preaching. That provoked me. I must confess I am not fond of these ‘hearers of voices,’ who perform miracles while still alive and boast of having direct revelations, and I have my reasons for not liking them. I therefore ordered this refractory monk Kiriak to come to me at once, and not satisfied with being already considered stern and tyrannical, I frowned terribly and was prepared to wreak my anger upon him as soon as he appeared. But when I saw before my eyes a quiet little monk, there seemed nothing for my angry glances to crush. He was clad in a faded cotton cassock, with a coarse cloth cowl; he was dark and sharp featured, but he entered boldly, without any appearance of fear, and he was the first to greet me:

“Good morning, Vladyko!”

I did not reply to his greeting, but said sternly:

“What are these tricks you are playing here, friend?”

“What, Vladyko?” he answered. “Forgive me, be gracious. I am a little hard of hearing – I did not hear all.”

I repeated my words still louder:

“Now then you understand?”

“No,” he answered, “I can understand nothing.”

“Why do you not want to go to preach, and refuse to baptize the natives?”

“I went and baptized, Vladyko, until I had experience.”

“Yes, but when you had experience you stopped.”

“I stopped.”

“What was the reason?”

He sighed and answered:

“The reason thereof is in my heart, Vladyko, and He to whom all hearts are opened sees that it is too hard and above my feeble strength… I can’t.”

And with these words he fell at my feet.

I raised him and said:

“Do not bow down to me but explain. Have you received a revelation? Is that it? Or have you conversed with God Himself?”

He answered with meek reproach:

“Do not laugh at me, Vladyko, I am not Moses, the chosen servant of God, that I should converse with the Almighty. It is a sin for you to think that.”

I was ashamed of my anger, and relenting towards him said:

“What is it then? What is the matter?”

“The matter is evidently that I am not Moses, Vladyko, that I am timid and know the measure of my strength. Out of heathen Egypt I can lead them – but I will not be able to cleave the Red Sea, or lead them out of the wilderness and will only cause simple hearts to murmur to the great offence of the Holy Ghost.”

Noticing the imagery of his animated speech, I began to think that he was himself one of the sectaries and asked him:

“What miracle has brought you into the bosom of the Church?”

“I have been in Her bosom from my infancy,” he answered, “and will remain there till I die.”

He then related to me the very simple and strange story of his life. His father had been a priest, who had early become a widower and was deprived of his post for having married a couple in an illegal manner, so that during the whole of his remaining life he was unable to find another, but became the chaplain of an old lady of high position, who passed her life in travelling from place to place and fearing to die without receiving the sacrament of penitence, kept this priest always with her. Whenever she drove out he sat on the back seat of her carriage; if she entered a house to pay a visit he had to wait for her in the antechamber with the lackeys. Can you imagine a man having to pass his whole life in that way? At the same time, as he had no church of his own, he was entirely dependent on the pyx, which he carried about with him in his breast pocket, and he was even able to beg some crumbs from this lady so as to send his boy to school. In this way they arrived in Siberia. The lady came to visit her daughter, who was the wife of the governor of some place in Siberia, and the priest with the pyx in his pocket travelled with her sitting on the front seat of her carriage. But as the way was long and the lady intended to remain some time with her daughter, the priest, who loved his little son, had refused to accompany her unless his boy could come too. The old lady reflected and hesitated long, but seeing that she could not overcome his affection for his son, at last consented to take the boy with her. So he had made the journey from Europe to Asia, having as his duty on the way to guard, by his presence, a portmanteau, that was attached to the foot-board behind the carriage, to which he himself was tied to prevent him from falling off if he dozed. It was there in Siberia that his mistress and his father had both died, and he, left alone, and unable, owing to his poverty, to finish his schooling, became a soldier and had to escort prisoners from one halting place to another. Having a good eye, he was ordered one day to fire at an escaped convict, and though he did not even take proper aim, he sent a bullet into him, and without intending to do so, to his great grief killed him. From that day he never ceased suffering, and was so tormented that he was unfit for military service and became a monk. His excellent behaviour was noticed, and his knowledge of the native language and his religious fervour caused him to be persuaded to become a missionary.

I listened to the old man’s simple but touching story, and I became dreadfully sorry for him, so in order to change my tone towards him I said:

“So what you are suspected of is not true, You have not seen any miracles?”

But he answered:

“Why should it not be true, Vladyko?”

“How so? Then you have seen miracles?”

“Who has not seen miracles, Vladyko?”

“Yet…”

“Why ‘yet’? Wherever you look there are miracles – there is water in the clouds, the earth is borne up by the air like a feather; here we are, you and I – dust and ashes – but we move about and think; that is also a miracle to me; we shall die and turn to dust, but our soul will go to Him who has placed it in us. It is a miracle to me that it will go naked, without anything? Who will give it wings to fly away like a dove and rest there?”

“Well, we will leave that for others to discuss; but answer me quite plainly. Have you ever in your life had any unusual manifestations or anything else of that nature?”

“In a measure, I have.”

“Well, what were they?”

“Vladyko,” he replied, “from my childhood I have been greatly favoured by the grace of God and though unworthy, I was twice the object of wonderful interventions.”

“H’m! Tell me about it.”

“The first time, Vladyko, was in my early childhood. I was still in the third class at school, and I was longing to go for a walk in the fields. Three of us boys went to the games master to ask for permission but were unable to obtain it, and decided to tell a lie; I was the ringleader. ‘Let us cheat them all,’ I said. ‘Come along and shout: They have let us off, they have let us off.’ We did so, and at our word all the boys ran out of the class rooms, and rushed into the fields to bathe and fish. In the evening I became afraid and thought ‘what will happen to me when we return home. The head master will flog us.’ We got back and saw the rods were already prepared in a bowl. I ran away quickly and hid myself in the bath-house under a bench, and began to pray: ‘Good Lord, though I know I must be flogged, please cause me not to be flogged.’ In the ardour of my faith, I prayed so earnestly for it that I even perspired and grew weak; but suddenly a wonderful fresh coolness blew over me and something moved in my heart like a warm little dove, and I began to believe that the impossibility of being saved was possible, and felt calm and so daring that I was afraid of nothing; all seemed at an end. Then I fell asleep. When I awoke, I heard my school-fellows shouting gaily, Kiryusha, Kiryusha! Where are you? Come out quickly; they won’t flog you. The inspector has come and we have been allowed to go out for a walk.’”

“Your miracle,” I said, “is a very simple one.”

“It is simple, Vladyko, as simple as the Trinity in Unity – a simple entity,” he answered, and added with indiscribable joy in his eyes: “But, Vladyko, how I felt Him! How He came to me, O, my Father, the little Comforter! How He surprised and rejoiced me! You can judge for yourself. He who enfolds the whole universe, seeing the childish grief of a small boy, under the bench in the bath-house, crept up, bringing fresh coolness to his soul, and came to dwell in his little bosom.”

I must confess to you, that above all the representations of the Deity, I love most this Russian God of ours Who creates for Himself a dwelling “in the little bosom.” Yes – whatever those Greeks may say, and however much they may try to prove that it is to them we owe our knowledge of God, yet it was not they who revealed them to us, it was not in their magnificent Byzantinism or in the smoke of incense-burners that we discovered Him. But He is verily our own and He walks about everywhere quite simply in our own way, even under the benches of the bath-house; without frankincense He comes, entering into the soul with cool simplicity, and like a little dove takes refuge in the warm bosom.”

“Continue, Father Kiriak,” I said, “I am waiting for the story of the other miracle.”

“I will tell you about the other at once, Vladyko. It happened when I was further from Him – of little faith – when I was on the way here, sitting at the back of the carriage. It had been necessary to take me out of the Russian school and bring me here just before the examinations. I did not mind this as I was always first in my class, and would have been accepted in the seminary even without an examination; but the head-master gave me a certificate in which he wrote: ‘in every subject moderately good.’ ‘I give you this,’ he said, ‘on purpose; for our reputation, so that you should have to pass an examination there, and they might see what scholars we look upon as moderately good.’ Both my father and I were terribly unhappy about it; and to add to this, though my father had ordered me to continue learning all the way, one day while sitting on the foot-board behind the carriage I had the misfortune to fall asleep and in crossing a river, at the ford, lost all my books. I cried bitterly at the loss, and my father gave me a severe flogging for it at the wayside inn; nevertheless before we reached Siberia I had forgotten all this and began again to pray like a little child: ‘Lord, help me! Let me be accepted without an examination.’ It was no good, however much I prayed to Him; they looked at my certificate and ordered me to go up for examination. I came up sad of heart, all the other boys were jolly, playing leap-frog, and jumping over each other – I alone was sad – I and another thin and miserable-looking boy who was sitting but not learning and told me it was from weakness – a fever had attacked him. I sat there looking into a book, and began in my mind to bid defiance to the Lord: well, what now, I thought, have I not prayed to Thee with all my might, and Thou hast done nothing for me. Then I rose in order to get a drink of water, when suddenly, somewhere in the middle of the room, something hit me on the back of my head and threw me to the ground… I thought this is probably my punishment! God has not helped me in any way, and now He has given me a blow. Then I looked round; no; it was only that sick boy, who had tried to jump over me, but had not the strength and had fallen, and knocked me down too. The other boys said to me: ‘Look, you new boy, your arm is hanging loose.’ I felt it; the arm was broken. I was taken to the hospital and put to bed. My father came to see me there, and said: ‘Don’t grieve, Kiryusha, because of this you have been accepted without an examination.’ Then I understood how God had settled all these things and began to cry. The examination was quite an easy one, so easy that it would have been child’s play for me. It meant that I, little fool, did not know what I asked for but it had been nevertheless accomplished to make me wiser.

“Ah, Father Kiriak, Father Kiriak,” said I, “you are an extraordinarily consoling man.” I embraced him several times, dismissed him without asking him anything further, and ordered him to come to me from the next day to instruct me in in the Tangus and Yakut languages.