THE CLERGY
The Russian Church is a daughter of the Byzantine Church--the youngest
daughter--and only dates from the close of the tenth century, when monks
came to Kieff from Constantinople during the reign of Vladimir. There
would be little "preaching of the Cross of CHRIST," I should fancy, as
the great means of conversion for that great mass of servile population.
We are told, indeed, that Vladimir gave the word and they were baptized
by hundreds at a time in the River Dnieper, and that no opposition was
offered to the new religion as the old Nature worship had only very
lightly held them, and had no definite priesthood.
The new religion, however, soon acquired a very strong hold upon the
people of all classes, and the power and influence of the Church grew
just as the State gained ever-new importance; the power of the Patriarch
increasing as that of the Tsar increased, until in a comparatively short
time the Orthodox Church stood alone, and owned no Eastern supremacy on
the one hand, nor yielded to the approaches of the Roman Papacy on the
other. By the end of the sixteenth century the other Eastern Patriarchs
recognized and accepted the Patriarchate of Moscow as being an
independent one, and fifth of the Patriarchates of the East.
This absolute independence only lasted about a hundred years, and the
masterful Peter the Great laid his hands upon the Church as upon other
parts of the national life, for he certainly had little cause to love
the clergy, and appointed no successor to the Patriarch of Moscow when
he died in 1700. It was very interesting to hear, from the Procurator of
the Holy Synod himself, M. Sabloff, when I first went to Petrograd, what
great importance Peter attached to this office when he constituted the
Holy Synod in 1721 to take the place of the Patriarchate.
"He used to say," he mused, looking down upon the ground, "that the
Procurator of the Holy Synod was the _oculus imperatoris_ (the Emperor's
right hand, literally 'the Emperor's eye')," and as he said so one could
not but remember how his predecessor, M. Pobonodonietzeff had upheld
that tradition, and, next to the Emperor, had himself been the most
prominent and autocratic figure in the whole empire.
The Procurator, however, is not the President of the Holy Synod, as the
Metropolitan of Petrograd fills that office, but he is present as the
Emperor's representative, and though all the other members of the Synod
are the highest ecclesiastical dignitaries of the Russian Church, yet as
they are summoned by the Emperor, and his special lay representative is
there always to represent and state his opinion and wishes, the Emperor
himself must have an infinitely greater influence than our own
sovereigns possess, though theoretically they fill the same office of
"Defender of the Faith." He is described in one of the fundamental laws
as "the supreme defender and preserver of the dogmas of the dominant
faith," while immediately afterwards it is added "the autocratic power
acts in the ecclesiastical administration of the most Holy Governing
Synod created by it." The Emperor must have unlimited power, typified by
his crowning himself at his coronation, in ecclesiastical
administration, and the bishops and other clergy, who are intensely
loyal, would probably not wish it otherwise; but he could not affect or
change, even by a hair's breadth, any of the doctrines of the Church nor
one of the ceremonies of its Liturgy.
Should the reader wish to know more about Church and State in Russia he
will find a most admirable chapter (XIX) with that heading in Sir
Donald M. Wallace's book. Interesting and important as the position of
the Russian Church--in many ways so like our own--is for us to-day, it
is only possible now to glance briefly at its constitution.
The clergy are divided into two classes, the black and the white, the
black being the monastic and the white the secular and married clergy.
All the patriarchs or archbishops, bishops, abbots, and higher
dignitaries are taken from the ranks of the celibate and monastic clergy
and have attained a high standard of education. All the parochial
clergy, on the other hand, are educated in seminaries, or training
colleges, but only those who show special ability go on to the academy,
an institution which occupies the same position for the clergy as the
university fills in civil education. They do not reach a very high
standard as a rule, and before being appointed to a parish must be
married. No unmarried priest can be in charge of a parish, and should he
become a widower he must resign his parish, and either enter a monastery
or retire into private life; but, in either case, he must not marry
again.
Many years ago (1890) there appeared an interesting story of Russian
life in the chief Russian literary magazine, and it was translated for
the "Pseudonym Library" in a cheap form under the title of _A Russian
Priest_.[6] It is still to be obtained, and it is most refreshing to
read again this brief story of a brilliant young seminarist going on to
the academy and attaining such distinctions, that he might have aspired
to any high office in the Church, yet impelled by his ideals, and full
of the CHRIST-like spirit, choosing the lowest grade of humble and
village life, and "touching bottom," so as to speak, in his Church's
work. As far as I can judge it describes still quite faithfully and
clearly the relations of clergy and people in Russian villages and
hamlets.
Let me now, however, speak briefly of some of the clergy I have met,
taking such as I consider fairly representative of the different
classes. I have felt myself that I have learnt a great deal more about
the spirit and aims of the Russian Church, and what we may regard as its
present and future attitude to ourselves, from knowing its clergy and
devout laity than ever I could have hoped to do by reading books about
them, or from lectures, addresses, or letters written by them.
I will speak first of the Archbishop of Warsaw, who received me at
Petrograd on my first visit, in place of the Metropolitan Antonius who
had sent a very brotherly message of welcome from his sick-room, where
shortly afterwards he died. The Archbishop Nicolai--Russians speak of
their bishops and archbishops in this way, using the Christian name and
not that of the See--is a most imposing and fatherly figure, and
received me attired, just as his portrait shows him, wearing a very
rich-looking satin robe, decorated with orders, and with a large cross
of magnificent diamonds in the centre of his black cap or mitre. He had
been in the United States, in charge of the Russian work there, and also
in England, and spoke a little English, but it was so little that I was
glad to have Mr. Feild, a churchwarden of the English Church, who has
lived in Russia all his life, to be my interpreter.
His Grace was full of interest, sympathetic and intelligent, in all that
I could tell him about our own Church at home, in Russia, and on the
Continent generally, very keen to know of my impressions, and of my
reception by the Procurator of the Holy Synod, and by the official at
the Ministry of the Interior, who is responsible for religious
administration. I shall have to speak later of the status of our
Anglican Church in Russia, and so here I will only say that it led me to
speak of the work of our Anglican Chaplain (the Rev. H. C. Zimmerman)
at Warsaw, whereupon the archbishop said at once, "Ask him to come and
see me when I am at Warsaw three months from now." I did so, and Mr.
Zimmerman wrote to tell me afterwards that he had had the kindest
reception, with quite a long conversation, had been presented with
souvenirs, and dismissed with a blessing, his Grace saying to him as he
left:--
"Now, regard me as your bishop, when your own is not here, and come to
me whenever you are in need of advice or information."
The archbishop loves to think of his pleasant recollections of England
and its Church life.
"Ah," he said, "your English Sunday! How beautiful it is to walk along
Piccadilly on Sunday morning, with all the shops closed, and no one in
the streets except quiet-looking people, all on their way to Church!"
London _is_ very different in that respect on Sunday mornings, whatever
it is later in the day, from every capital in the world. All is quiet,
and Church and worship are in the air. Then the archbishop told me of
his going to S. Paul's Cathedral, sitting in the congregation, and
enjoying it all, until it had gradually come home to him during the
Second Lesson that something was being read from one of the Gospels. On
finding by inquiry that this was so, he rose at once to his feet, and
looked with amazement upon the people _sitting_ all round him while the
Holy Gospel was being read. I'm afraid my telling him that we always
stand for it in the Liturgy only added to his surprise, for he murmured
to himself in a puzzled way, "Why in one place and not in another?"
Dear old man, he presented me with his portrait, here given, and all his
published works, and hoped, as I do, that it would not be long before I
went to see him again.
When at length the Metropolitan Antonius, after a long illness, passed
away, he was succeeded by the Archbishop of Moscow who, in his turn, was
succeeded by Archbishop Macarius, and it is of the last-named that I
will next give briefly my experience. It was on January 10, 1914,
according to our calendar, and on December 28, 1913, according to the
Russian, when I had the feeling of being in two years at the same time,
and of spending the same Christmas first in London and then in Russia,
that he received me in his palace at Moscow. Palace it certainly is in
the character and spaciousness of its rooms, but the furniture is what
we should consider, in our own country, simple and rather conventional.
The salon, or drawing-room, was very large, with the usual polished
floor and rugs laid upon it. At one side two rows of chairs, facing each
other, stood out from the wall, against which a sofa was placed, and in
front of that a table. It was exactly the same at the Archiepiscopal
Palace at Riga, where I had been a few months before, and the same
procedure was followed on both occasions.
[Illustration: _The Convent at Ekaterinburg, Siberia._]
First the archbishop warmly embraced me, kissing me on either cheek and
then upon the lips, and then courteously waved me to the seat of honour
upon the sofa. At Riga when the archbishop took his seat upon the sofa
he indicated the place beside him which I did not notice, and took the
chair. But just as I was about to sit down, Madame Alexaieff, who had
most kindly come to interpret, said hurriedly and in rather a shocked
tone, "Take the seat beside him, he wishes it," and, remembering the
etiquette of the sofa as observed still by old-fashioned people in
Germany, I did as I was told.
At Moscow, however, I was more observant, and when the archbishop
courteously waved his hand to the sofa I bowed to him and at once sat
down, but only to find that he himself took a chair next me and left me
alone in the place of dignity. It was quite in keeping with his whole
bearing and conversation throughout, for he is evidently one of the most
humble and unassuming of men. Yet he has covered himself with
distinction in the course of his long life spent chiefly far away in the
Altai country in Siberia, below Omsk, engaged in work of a missionary
character. No one is more respected in the whole of Russia. He is just
as shown in the portrait he gave me, slight and not tall, and his whole
face lights up with keen interest as he talks and enforces his words
with appropriate gestures. He was very caustic upon the subject of the
non-attendance at church of educated and wealthy people in a certain
place, which perhaps it will be kinder not to mention.
"No," he said, "they are never to be seen at any service, however
important and solemn it may be. There are none there but the same common
people who are always crowding into their churches. At least," he added
more deliberately, "if the others are there, they adopt the common
people's dress for the occasion!"
His expression and gesture as he said this were inimitable and
indescribable, and the little touch of humour made one's heart warm
towards him. He was much interested in hearing anything I could tell
him of our own Church, and delighted, in a wistful sort of way, to hear
the many details I gave him of its progress, especially in the extension
of its missionary activities and ever-deepening interest in social
questions and economic problems, as they affect the labouring classes
and the very poor. His eyes sparkled as he too spoke of the poor, and
told me what I should hear from the Grand Duchess Elizabeth, whom I was
to see that afternoon, about the work to which she has given her life
since the assassination of her husband, the Grand Duke Serge.
Like all his brethren of the episcopate he was greatly interested in
anything I could tell him of the Archbishop of Canterbury and of his
views and hopes about our own and the Russian Churches, and the
Christian Church as a whole. He looked thoughtfully down as I spoke to
him about unity and inter-communion under special circumstances, and
said rather sadly:--
"How one would love more unity! But how much ground there is to be
covered, how many difficulties to be cleared away before that can come!"
I smiled a little, at which he looked at me questioningly, and so I
said:--
"I smiled because I thought of the brotherly and loving way in which
you have received me to-day, and in which you are speaking so much and
so freely of what is in your heart, and if these kind and friendly
relations go on increasing between our Churches it will be progress such
as He must love to see Who said 'By this shall all men know that ye are
My disciples if ye have love one to another.' That will be progress of
the best kind, and, even if it is slow, I for one shall greatly rejoice
that we are moving at all in the right direction. Let us only keep
moving, and we shall arrive in time."
We talked on about my own experiences the year before just to the south
of where he had lived so long, and when I told him that I hoped this
year to go to the Altai, his own actual country, he looked as though he
envied me the journey. After embracing me again he accompanied me into
the ante-room, where a poor peasant woman was waiting to see him with an
_ikon_ to be blessed. There was a great pile of quite cheap _ikons_ for
the poor, towards which he waved his hand and said, "And I have all
these to bless also."
As I left I could only murmur to myself, "The dear old saint." He made
me feel some sense of being back at Troas or Miletum or Ephesus, or
coming out from the presence of Barnabas or Silas or St. Paul. It was
truly apostolic!
Of course the interpreter makes a tremendous difference, but again, as
at Petrograd and Riga, I had an excellent friend and helper in Mr.
Birse, one of the churchwardens of our church in Moscow, who had spoken
Russian all his life. I may add also that, as in Mr. Feild's case at
Petrograd, he enjoyed the interview as much as I did, and would probably
catch little subtleties of expression and self-revelation that would be
lost to me by the hurried kind of interpretation that was necessary.
The next great dignitary I will try and describe, though I know I cannot
possibly do justice to the dignity and nobility of character evident in
all she says and does, is the Abbess Magdalena of the great Convent at
Ekaterinburg in Siberia. The Convent is a most imposing group of
buildings, stretching along an extended front, with cupolas, spires, and
pinnacles, and is much frequented by pilgrims from far and near who come
to pray in its chapel before a famous _ikon_. The Abbess and all her
nuns wear the same kind of black dress, with cap and veil, quite black
and unredeemed by any trace of white linen or cambric. The first thing
that impressed me, even before I entered the gate, was the beauty of
their singing. The choir were practising for a service on the Emperor's
name-day on the morrow, and their hymn was the most beautiful thing I
had ever heard from women's voices. It seemed to me that all the four
parts were there. The bass certainly was, and I was told that the nuns
with deep voices submitted them to careful training until they were able
to reach very low notes indeed. There was, of course, no accompanying
music, the conductor just waving her open hand to and fro to beat time,
and the precision and crispness of the whole hymn were wonderful.
The chapel is a fine building beautifully painted by the nuns
themselves, and its services are conducted by a priest and deacon. The
deacon is a special feature in the ranks of the Russian clergy, and is
responsible for all the choral parts of the services, apart from the
actual priest's part in the Liturgy of course, and is chosen for the
beauty of his voice. If a young man has a very fine voice and is
wondering what use he shall make of it, he sees nothing at all
unbecoming or incongruous in saying that he has not made up his mind yet
whether he shall choose the Church or the stage.
[Illustration: _The Abbess Magdalena._]
When I was being introduced to the Ekaterinburg deacon, my friend and
interpreter whispered to me, "He gave up the opera to come here."
I thought, in my ignorance, that he had left the world for religion, and
full of sympathetic interest said:--
"Ask him if he has ever regretted it!" and was rather disconcerted when
he said in an off-hand way:--
"Oh! well of course I missed things at first, but I'm gradually getting
used to it."
The Abbess confided to us that sometimes from the way he offered the
incense she thought he must be thinking he was on the stage still.
He was a remarkably good-looking man with a wonderfully rich voice, and
as none of the clergy ever cut hair or beard after Ordination, and his
was just getting full, he looked a most picturesque and interesting
figure. I should like to meet him again, and put the same question, in
the hope of a somewhat more encouraging answer.
The Abbess, as well as managing and inspiring her sisters, superintends
a really remarkable work. Her revenue is a very large one, and she gives
a portion of it to the Bishop of Ekaterinburg for the work of his
diocese--he is a young and energetic prelate whom I greatly liked when I
knew him later--and out of the remainder she supports an Orphanage for
six hundred girls in the Convent. The remarkable thing, however, about
her management is its essentially practical, sensible, and considerate
character. The girls do not wear a uniform, but can consult and improve
their own taste in dress. They are carefully studied individually, and,
while all are educated in school in the same way, special preparation is
given for different callings in life according to the inclination and
aptitude shown by the girls. Many, of course, prefer domestic service as
being simpler and perhaps more in keeping with what they have known
before coming there; but the more enterprising and competent can be, and
are, taught all sorts of things which these very modern nuns do with
such great ability themselves. They play, sing, do all sorts of "white
work" for Russian and French purchasers, and are well up in modern
photography. They carve, paint, make _ikons_, illuminate pictures, and
do wonderful embroidery. There is a wide choice, therefore, for the
girls under their charge, and they avail themselves of it to the full.
Just before I was there a girl with a wonderful voice, after having been
trained, had been launched, at the age of twenty-six, upon her career as
a member of the Russian Imperial Opera.
I described this very modern work as carried out by the nuns of a very
ancient convent, on my return, to the Archbishop of Canterbury, who
remarked significantly, as I daresay many of my readers will, "And
_that_ is in Siberia!"
From Abbess let me pass to Abbot, but to a very different community. At
Tiumen, the farthest point I reached in North Siberia, and where I had
been to give services to a family living alone there, and from Scotland
originally, I went out in the afternoon to see an old church outside the
town where there had formerly been a fairly large monastery. It is very
small and humble now, I am sure, from the few we saw there, and their
neglected appearance as they went about their work in old and well-worn
habits. The church was locked, but one of their number fetched the keys
and showed us over the church, explaining their oldest _ikons_. As we
walked towards the gate and our little carriage, he was full of
curiosity about ourselves and our Church, and at last, as he questioned
me rather closely, my friend could keep it in no longer, and
explained:--
"He's a bishop, an English bishop, and he has come from London to give
us lonely folk a service!"
The effect was extraordinary.
"An English bishop! Do you say it? Only to think of it! And I in my
dirty clothes like any common labourer! And I am the Abbot! I beg of
you! Oh! yes, I must insist. Do not deny me. Enter my humble house, and
let me feel, even if you only take a seat upon a chair for a moment,
that I have entertained you!"
Such hospitable intent was not to be withstood, and willingly enough we
went with him into his small and, as he said, very humble abode, feeling
how very touching and appealing it all was. We entered, our host saying
cheerfully, "Be good enough to walk on," and found ourselves in a very
bare and cheerless-looking parlour with stiff chairs, with black
horsehair seats, round the walls, and a bare table in the centre, upon
which stood a conventional and faded little basket of wax-flowers and
fruit under a glass shade. On looking round we saw the good Abbot had
disappeared, so we sat down and looked about us, hoping he had not gone
off to order food; but in an incredibly short time, as if he had been a
"lightning-change artist," he was back again. And what a transformation!
The dirty and faded brown cassock was gone, and a flowing rich black
robe had taken its place, a black mitre with dependent veil was upon his
head, a magnificent chain and cross hung from his neck, and,
thoroughly satisfied with his change, he looked as though he were
saying "Now we meet upon equal terms!" His boyish delight was good to
see as he said:--
"Now let me welcome you and greet you!" and he kissed me as other
bishops had done.
These embraces are no light ordeal, as the good clergy never shave or
cut their hair, and are very heavily bearded. But what of that, if one
can feel as I did that day, when driving off and waving our adieux, that
one had been breathing apostolic air, and had been very near in the
spirit to "Peter and John"?
It only remains to give my experience of a typical parish priest, and
then I shall feel that the Russian clergy have been fairly described.
Upon my arrival at the Spassky Mine, during my first journey in Siberia,
in the very heart of the Kirghese Steppes, the manager told me what had
passed between himself and the parish priest, kept there by his company
to minister to the labourers in the smelting works. These were all
Russians, though the labourers in the mine itself were chiefly Kirghese
and Mohammedans.
"You will be interested to hear that our bishop is coming to see us," he
had said by way of beginning.
"Your bishop! Where from and what for?"
"He is coming across the steppes, and from London, to give us services."
"You don't mean to say so!" was the startled exclamation. "I never heard
of such a thing! Your bishop, all the way from London, driving night and
day for five days across the steppes, to give you twenty English folk
your services! Why, our bishop is only two or three days down the river
at Omsk, but we could not expect him to come here for us."
"Well, you see," observed my friend, "our English Church does not forget
her children, even if they are scattered far and wide. And we shall be
glad to see him and receive Holy Communion and have sermons from him
about our faith and highest duties."
After a moment's silence the priest looked up suddenly and said:--
"I wonder if your bishop will come to our service on Sunday and join
with us in worship? If he will address us how glad we shall be to hear
him!"
"He will certainly come, and, what is more, we will all come with him,
and we will all be at divine service together for once. Suppose we have
our Celebration at 7.30, and you arrange yours for 8.30 instead of 8.15,
and we will all come over together? We shall fill our little room,
and can't invite others; but we will all accompany the bishop to the
church."
[Illustration: _The Russian Priest at Spassky._]
Next day (Sunday), after our Communion--all the staff received it--we
went over, I in my robes, to the church, and were received by the
wardens, the choir leading off with a hymn as we entered. The wardens at
once conducted me behind the screen where the priest stood before the
altar in his vestments, with a boy server on either side beautifully
vested, the one in gold and the other in silver tissue.
After bowing to me gravely and reverently, he began the service. Nothing
is _seen_ of it by the congregation, and they hear only the voice of the
priest, and are told from the other side of the screen what is passing
within. The Russian Liturgy is full of traditional ceremonies, and
rather bewildering, I should think, to an English Churchman; but there
is no question as to the great reverence which distinguishes it. The
priest confided to his manager afterwards how nervous he felt at
celebrating with a bishop at his side, and how anxious he felt to make
no mistake. He did not show it, however, and was as reverent and
absorbed as any priest ought to be when back again in thought and word
and deed in the Upper Room, where, on the same night on which He was
betrayed, our LORD left us the memorial of His Passion and the
Sacrament of His love and grace.
It was touching also to see the little servers struggling between
curiosity and the claims of the service, but the latter triumphed; and
not till they had taken off their little vestments and stood forth in
their ordinary clothes did they permit themselves a good look at their
strange visitor, and show themselves ready to have a word or two from
him.
The priest, when he had taken an extra little service which some old men
had asked for, came over to the manager's house and told me of his work,
asked questions, and received little gifts, and told me how inspiring it
was to all the Russians to know that their English staff were religious,
as well as clever and able men, and glad to have their services when
they could.
In one way this priest was not typical, for he was paid his stipend by
the company, and not dependent upon his people. In all ordinary parishes
this is not the case. The parish priest receives a nominal stipend from
public sources, but depends upon his people for the rest. They give
small contributions on their name days--a very substantial sum is
received on S. John's Day, as a favourite Russian name is Ivan, or
John--when the priest comes to bless their house or workshop, or for a
marriage, christening, or funeral, or to give the Sacrament in illness.
There is often, usually, indeed, bargaining on all these occasions. A
portion of their fruits and crops is claimed. All sorts of contributions
are made throughout the year, and, except in town parishes where able
clergy have large incomes, given ungrudgingly by their people, the
priest and his wife are always trying to get as much as they can for
their services, and the people, who are very poor, to give as little.
This cannot lead to good relations between clergy and people, and, as
the clergy in the country seldom if ever preach, there is no personal
teaching to bring them together. Officially, therefore, it is true to
say that the Russians value and reverence the ministry of their parish
clergy, while, personally, they do not feel any great interest in them
or their families, nor see any reason why they should. And certainly, as
a rule--the fault of the system no doubt--they do not love them.
Let me now describe the service which I have mentioned upon a previous
page, conducted after the Liturgy was over and the people had been
dismissed. The priest told me four old men had asked to have a few
special prayers and a reading from the Gospels, and I stayed to share
it. The prayers were said, petition and response, by all five standing
before the screen, after which the four old men, with rough and rugged
faces, shaggy hair, and wide flowing beards, closed up together, and, as
they stood back to back, the priest placed the beautifully-bound copy of
the Gospels upon their heads and began to read. The rough faces seemed
at once to change their whole expression: their blue eyes sparkled, and
there appeared that light upon every countenance which "never was on sea
or land," or anywhere else except upon the face of one who is in
communion with God. My thoughts went back to the story of Moses as he
came down from Sinai, and veiled his face as he spoke to the people,
lest they should find there that which they could neither bear to see or
understand. One's thoughts are always going back to scriptural scenes
and descriptions when amongst the Russian peasantry.
[Illustration: _S. Isaac's Cathedral, Petrograd._]
FOOTNOTES:
[6] Published by T. Fisher Unwin, Paternoster Square.