ADRIAN PUSHKIN.
Except the fact of their having been lodged in the Convent of
Solovetsk in neighboring cells, under the same hard rule, Adrian
Pushkin and Nicolas Ilyin have nothing in common; neither age nor
rank; neither learning nor talent; not an opinion; not a sympathy; not
a purpose. Pushkin is young, Ilyin is old. Pushkin is of burgher,
Ilyin of noble birth. Pushkin is uneducated in the higher sense; Ilyin
is a scholar to whom all systems of philosophy lie open. Pushkin is
not clever; Ilyin is considered, even by his persecutors, as a man of
the highest powers.
Yet Pushkin's story, from the man's obscurity, affords a still more
curious instance of the dark and difficult way through which a
beneficent and reforming government has to pass.
Early in the spring of 1866, a youth of good repute in his class and
district, that of a small burgher, in the town of Perm, began to make
a stir on the Ural slopes, by announcing to the peasant dissenters of
that region the second coming of our Lord, and offering himself as the
reigning Christ!
Such an event is too common to excite remark in the upper ranks, until
it has been seen by trial whether the announcement takes much hold on
the peasant mind. In Pushkin's case, the neighbors knew their prophet
well. From his cradle he had been frail in body and flushed in mind.
When he was twenty years old, the doctors were consulted on his state
of mind; and though they would not then pronounce him crazy, they
reported him as a youth of weak and febrile pulse, afflicted with
disease of the heart; a boy who might, at any moment of his life, go
mad. Easy work, in country air, was recommended. A place was got for
him in the country, on the Countess Strogonof's estate, not far from
Perm. He was made a kind of clerk and overseer; a place of trust, in
which the work was light; but even this light labor proved too great
for him to bear. In doing his duty to his mistress, his mind gave way;
and when the light went out on earth, the poor idiot offered his help
in leading other men up to heaven.
Many of the people near him knew that he was crazed; but his unsettled
wits were rather a help than hindrance to his success in stirring up
the village wine-shop and the workman's shed. In every part of the
East some touch of idiotcy is looked for in a holy man; the wandering
eye, the broken phrase, the distracted mien, being read as signs of
the Holy Spirit. The province of Perm is rich in sectaries; many of
whom watch and pray continually for the second coming of our Lord.
Among these sectaries, Adrian found some listeners to his tale. He
spoke to the poor, and of the poor. Calling the peasants to his side,
he pictured to them a kingdom of heaven in which they would owe no
taxes and pay no rent. The earth, he told them, was the Lord's; a
paradise given by Him as a possession to His saints. What peasant
would not hear such news with joy? A gospel preached in the village
wine-shop and the workman's shed was soon made known by its fruits;
and the Governor of Perm was told that tenants were refusing to pay
their rent and to render service, on the ground that the kingdom of
heaven was come and that Christ had begun to reign.
Adrian was now arrested, and being placed before the Secret
Consultative Committee of Perm, he was found guilty of having preached
false doctrine and advocated unsocial measures; of having taught that
the taxes were heavy, that the peasants should possess the land, that
dues and service ought to be refused. Knowing that the young man was
mad, the Secret Consultative Committee saw that they could never treat
his case like that of a man in perfect health of body and mind. They
thought the Governor of Perm might request the Holy Governing Synod to
consent that Pushkin should be simply lodged in some country convent,
where he might live in peace, and, under gentle treatment, hope to
regain his wandering sense.
But the Holy Governing Synod pays scant heed to lay opinion. Judging
the young man's fault with sharper anger than the Secret Consultative
Committee of Perm had done, they sent him to Solovetsk; not until he
should recover his sense and could resume his duties as a clerk, but
until such time as he should recant his doctrines and publicly return
to the Orthodox fold.
Valouef, Minister of the Interior, received from Perm a copy of this
synodal resolution, which he saw, as a layman, that he could not carry
out, except by flying in the face of Russian law. The man was mad. The
Holy Governing Synod treated him as sane. But how could he, a jurist,
cast a man into prison for being of unsound mind? No code in the world
would sanction such a course; no court in Russia would sustain him in
such an act. Of course, the Holy Governing Synod was a light unto
itself; but here the civil power was asked to take a part which in the
minister's conscience was against the spirit and letter of the
imperial code.
It was a case of peril on either side. Such things had been done so
often in former years, that the Church expected them to go on forever;
and the monks were certain to resist, to slander, and destroy the man
who should come between them and their prey. Valouef, acting with
prudence, brought the report before a council of ministers, and after
much debate, not only of the special facts but of the guiding rules,
the council of ministers agreed upon these two points: first, that
such a man as Pushkin could not be safely left at large in Perm;
second, that it would be against the whole spirit of Russian law to
punish a man for being out of his mind.
On these two principles being adopted, Valouef was recommended by the
Council of Ministers to procure the Emperor's leave for Adrian Pushkin
to be brought from Perm to St. Petersburg, for the purpose of
undergoing other and more searching medical tests. Carrying his
minute-book to the Emperor, Valouef explained the facts, together with
the rules laid down, and his majesty, adopting the suggestion, wrote
with his own hand these words across the page: "Let this be done
according to the Minister of the Interior's advice, Oct. 21, 1866."
On this humane order, Pushkin was brought from Perm to St. Petersburg,
where he was placed before a board of medical men. After much care and
thought had been given to the subject, this medical board declared
that Pushkin was unsound of brain, and could not be held responsible
for his words and acts.
So far then as Emperor and ministers could go, the course of justice
was smooth and straight; but then came up the question of what the
Church would say. A board of monks had ordered Pushkin to be lodged in
the dungeons of Solovetsk until he repented of his sins. A board of
medical men had found him out of his mind; and a council of ministers,
acting on their report, had come to the conclusion that, according to
law, he could not be lodged in jail. His majesty was become a party to
the course of secular justice by having signed, with his own hand, the
order for Adrian to be fetched from Perm and subjected to a higher
class of medical tests. Emperor, ministers, physicians, stood on one
side; on the other side stood a board of monks. Which was to have
their way?
The Holy Governing Synod held their ground; and in a question of false
teaching it was impossible to oppose their vote. They knew, as well as
the doctors, that Adrian was insane; but then, they said, all heretics
are more or less insane. The malady of unbelief is not a thing for men
of science to understand. They, and not a medical board, could purge a
sufferer like Pushkin of his evil spirit. They said he must be sent,
as ordered, to the Frozen Sea.
No minister could sign the warrant for his removal after what had
passed; and, powerful as they are, the Holy Governing Synod have to
use the civil arm. The dead-lock was complete. But here came into play
the silent and inscrutable agency of the secret police. These secret
police have a life apart from that of every other body in the State.
They think for every one; they act for every one. So long as law is
clear and justice prompt, they may be silent--looking on; but when the
hour of conflict comes, when great tribunals are at feud, when no one
else can see their way, these officers step to the front, set aside
codes and rules, precedents and decisions, as so much idle stuff,
assume a right to judge the judges, to replace the ministers, and, in
the name of public safety, do what they consider, in their wisdom,
best for all.
The men who form this secret body are not called police, but "members
of the third section of his imperial majesty's chancellery." They are
highly conservative, not to say despotic, in their views; and said to
feel a particular joy when thwarting men of science and overruling
judgments given in the courts of law. One general rule defines the
power which they can bring to bear in such a case as that of Adrian
Pushkin. If justice seems to them to have failed, and they are firmly
persuaded--they must be "firmly persuaded"--that the public service
requires "exclusive measures" to be adopted, they are free to act.
On the whole, these secret agents side with power against law, with
usage against reform, with all that is old against every thing that is
new. In Pushkin's case they sided with the monks. Overriding Emperor,
minister, council, medical board, they carried Pushkin to the White
Sea, where he was placed by the Archimandrite, not in a monastic cell,
but in the dismal corridor in which I found him. He is perfectly
submissive, and clearly mad. He goes to mass without ado, says his
prayers, confesses his sins, and seems to have returned into the arms
of the official Church. The monks in charge of him have told their
chiefs that he is now of right mind with regard to the true faith; and
the Governor of Archangel has written to advise that he should be
allowed to go back to his friends in Perm.
It is hard, however, for a man to get away from Solovetsk. A year ago,
General Timashef, who has now replaced Valouef in the Ministry of the
Interior, wrote to ask whether the Holy Governing Synod had not heard
from the Archimandrite of Solovetsk in favor of the prisoner; and
whether the time had not come for him to be given up to his friends.
No answer to that letter has been received to the present day (Dec.,
1869). The board of monks are slow to undo their work; the dissidents
in Perm are gaining ground; and this poor madman remains a prisoner in
the pigeons' yard!