ORTHODOX REASONING
AS they drove across the steppe, in the two-wheeled cart without
springs, at the slow, monotonous trot of the old mare, Father Cyril
had a better opportunity than he had ever had before of a prolonged
discussion with Alexis Ivanoff on the tenets and history of their
young sect. He was filled with surprise and admiration. The absolute
simplicity and truthfulness of the farmer, united as it was with mental
strength and a close grasp of his subject, astonished the Batoushka.
Alexis was not logical; he had had no training in a theological
seminary, like Father Cyril. He argued as the fishermen of Galilee
would have argued. But his convictions were as strong as theirs, who
had seen the Lord with their eyes, and heard Him with their ears.
Father Cyril could not help admitting that the worship of the Stundists
was far more in accordance with that of the apostolic age than the
ornate, multitudinous, and magnificent ceremonies of the Orthodox
Church. He owned that the peasants, in their ignorance, did worship
the icons with idolatry. Yet in fundamental Christian doctrines, he
and Alexis were one. They prayed to the same Father in heaven; they
believed in the same Lord; they studied the same Holy Scriptures. There
was real spiritual communion between them, as they slowly crossed the
brown autumnal steppe, now lying under a thin veil of mist, which hid
the horizon, and enclosed them in a soft circle of mellowed light.
They reached Kovylsk too late to go to the consistory that night. But
quite early in the morning Father Cyril presented himself at the gate,
and inquired for Father Paissy, who was known throughout the diocese as
the archbishop's right hand. They had been at the theological seminary
together, where they had been on friendly terms, but they had seen
nothing of one another since Father Paissy had elected to enter the
order of the monastical clergy, who take vows of celibacy, and who
alone can be raised to the higher ranks of the Russian priesthood. He
was already a powerful personage. He was a small, sharp-featured man,
with a soft voice, and a perpetual smile on his thin lips.
"Father Cyril, parish priest of Knishi?" he said interrogatively,
without condescending to recognise him as his former comrade. "Ah! You
have a troublesome flock. Heresy runs like an infectious disease among
them. We must stamp it out—stamp it out effectually."
"I come in the hope of seeing the archbishop," said Father Cyril.
"He is in Moscow," interrupted Father Paissy, "but I can act in his
stead."
It was a great blow to Father Cyril; for the archbishop never refused
him an interview, and he had placed great hopes on his indulgence. It
is easier to prevent a thing being done than to get it undone. There
was no sign of indulgence in the hard face opposite him.
"I came to intercede for my poor parishioners," he said gently, "those
unhappy parents who are to be deprived of their young children. Some
of them are scarcely out of their mothers' arms, and still require a
mother's care in childish maladies. Only a mother's patience is strong
enough to bear them through the first seven years. A child's heart is
capable of great sorrows, and its spirit is quickly broken if it is
sent among strangers, and separated from all it has known from its
birth."
"Ah!" said Father Paissy, with a deep breath, which sounded almost like
a sigh.
Father Cyril went on, encouraged.
"The unfortunate people who have left our holy Church," he continued,
"are most affectionate parents. It is their universal practice to
treat their little ones with the utmost tenderness. They look upon
their children as entrusted to their care by God Himself. True, that
may be an error, but it is their belief. The children never hear
uncivil words; they never see a drunken person in their homes. Think,
your reverence, what it must be to children so carefully reared to be
distributed among the houses of peasants who are ignorant and degraded
by vodka-drinking. There would be great difficulty in finding suitable
homes for them with our Orthodox peasants."
"You seem to think very highly of your heretics," said Father Paissy in
a scoffing tone.
Father Cyril felt that he had forgotten himself.
"I grieve over their heresy night and day," he answered earnestly; "it
makes my life in Knishi a burden to me. I never had this trouble to
encounter before. But oh, believe me, harsh measures will never bring
them back to us, above all, not such a measure as this! Every father,
every mother worthy of the name, will cry out against it. I assure your
reverence, I was gaining some influence over them; I have seen two or
three steal in at the church door to listen to my sermons. Let me plead
their cause to you. Do you, with your powerful influence, get this
terrible order rescinded. The Stundists will bless you, and it will add
greatly to my influence in the parish."
"Do you forget the children's immortal souls?" asked Father Paissy. "Is
their salvation of no moment?"
"Alas!" cried Father Cyril. "If salvation means to be saved from sin,
I must confess that these poor straying heretics have advanced farther
along the path of salvation than our superstitious, half-pagan Orthodox
peasants. I am striving my utmost to teach and raise them, but only
a parish priest can know how deeply they are sunk in degradation and
drunkenness."
"I can do nothing for you," said Father Paissy in a chilling voice;
"the consistory has issued the order, and it must remain as it is. It
must also be obeyed promptly, Father Cyril."
The Batoushka felt his heart sink within him, as he looked at the set
and stubborn face before him, with its cruel smile still playing about
its lips. Neither this man nor the archbishop could understand what a
father's love was, and they had no knowledge of a child's nature. His
chief hope was gone, but another was left to him.
"I may place the children as I please," he asked, "provided I settle
them in Orthodox families? Some houses are much better than others."
"Just as you like—just as you like," said Father Paissy impatiently;
"only let me warn you, Father Cyril, no indulgence to the heretics! We
intend to weed them out, root and branch. Our long-suffering is at an
end. Church or Siberia! Church or Caucasus! They must choose between
them."
Alexis was waiting at the entrance to the consistory when Father Cyril
came out. He had been to see two or three friends in Kovylsk, who had
sympathised with him deeply, but gave him no hope that the order would
be rescinded. It had been sent to many other villages besides Knishi,
and there was lamentation and bitter weeping in them all: "Rachel
weeping for her children refused to be comforted."
"Yet, 'Thus saith the Lord,'" said Alexis, "'Refrain thy voice from
weeping, and thine eyes from tears: for thy work shall be rewarded,
saith the Lord; and they shall come again from the land of the enemy.
And there is hope in thine end, saith the Lord, that thy children shall
come again to their own border.' Send that message to the churches, and
bid them trust the Lord to keep His promises."
He knew the moment he caught sight of Father Cyril's downcast face that
he had failed in his mission. But Alexis had regained his habitual
courage and resignation. He said to himself, "'He that loveth son or
daughter more than Me is not worthy of Me.'" Hard words! But they were
the words of his crucified Lord.
They scarcely spoke to one another until they were some distance out of
Kovylsk, and could no longer see the glittering domes of its numerous
churches. Then Father Cyril owned his bitter disappointment. "It will
break my heart," he said.
"The soul is stronger than the heart," replied Alexis. "Now I submit
myself to God's will, and leave my little child in His hands. He
loves her better than I can; yes, He loves her with an infinite and
everlasting love."
"Velia and little Clava shall come to me," said Father Cyril.
Alexis dropped the reins and turned to him, as if he had not heard
clearly what was said.
"My wife and I have settled that," Father Cyril went on, with tears in
his eyes; "they shall be to us the same as our own children."
"Oh, you good man!" interrupted Alexis. "Oh, how can I thank you? What
can I do for you? Oh, if all Batoushkas were like you!"
"I would take them all if I could," said Father Cyril, "but I will
find the best houses I can for every one of them. Yarina will take
two, I am sure. Then there are seven or eight more. The worst part of
the order is that the parents are to have no intercourse whatever with
the children, and not in any way to interfere with their training. But
they will live in the same village, and see them from time to time,
though at a distance. They will know they are all under my protection,
and they can always come to the church-house and hear from me, or the
Matoushka, of their welfare. Oh, I will do my best for them."
"You will teach them no false religion," said Alexis.
"Oh, as for religion," replied Father Cyril, "they must come to church,
and be brought up to observe the Orthodox rites and accept the Orthodox
doctrines. There is no way to escape that, but, Alexis Ivanoff, there
is salvation to be found in every Church."
The telega stopped at the church-house after nightfall. Father Cyril
called to Alexis to come to look through the uncurtained window. There,
on a rug near the stove, sat Velia, with Father Cyril's two little
daughters, one on each side of her. The children's heads were close
together, and their faces shone in the lamplight. They were laughing
merrily, and the Matoushka was laughing too.
"God bless them!" cried Father Cyril, as he grasped Alexis Ivanoff's
hand.
"God bless you!" replied Alexis.