LITTLE CLAVA
THE short spring-tide was almost spent when news came. The men were
all sentenced to exile in Eastern Siberia for various periods; Alexis,
whose term was the longest, for ten years. As usual, the wives who
chose to go into exile with their husbands might do so, and take their
children. Not one of the women, warned by Paraska's experience, chose
to remain behind. There were only a few days for disposing of all
their possessions, and they were forced to sell their goods for what
their neighbours would give. Yarina, the richest woman in Knishi,
bought a good deal of the stock; and it was noticed that the sellers
looked satisfied and grateful, whilst Okhrim went about swearing at his
daughter-in-law. Father Cyril seemed much pleased, and very friendly
with her.
"You are not fifteen yet?" Father Cyril inquired of Michael.
The boy was so manly in his bearing and so well-grown it was difficult
to believe him still under the age at which he could be entered in the
convoy-list as a child.
"I shall be fifteen next Michaelmas," he replied.
"A good thing!" said Father Cyril. "But you will have to go as a child,
my boy."
"I'd go as a baby," he answered, laughing, "rather than not go with
my father. But there is Velia," he said, his face growing grave and
anxious.
"She cannot go," said Father Cyril; "the children already separated
from their parents are not to be restored to them. And it is best!
Think of such a journey, month after month, through the bitter winter
and the scorching summer, for little children. My heart aches whenever
I think of it."
"But our poor little Velia!" exclaimed Michael, suddenly realising what
his departure would be to her. How would the tender-hearted little soul
bear the separation? He recollected her cry, "Never go away again,
brother! Never leave little Velia again!"
"Michael," said Father Cyril, "trust me. Velia and little Clava shall
be as my own children. They must observe the rites of our Church, but
I will teach them the truths that lie underneath the symbols. Do not
be afraid. They shall not cross themselves except when they do so in
remembrance of our crucified Lord. They shall not pray to the icons,
but to the saints whom the icons recall to our minds. I will take care
no superstition is mixed up with their religion."
"But we pray straight to God," objected Michael, "neither to the icons
nor the saints. Our Lord said, 'When ye pray, say, Our Father which art
in heaven.' He did not speak of saints."
"They shall say the Lord's Prayer night and morning," answered Father
Cyril gently; "my boy, you have no voice in this matter. Only trust in
me. As far as mortal man can guide them into truth, I will do so. Trust
Velia to God also. He loves her more than you can."
Tatiania, like the other women, had sold her few possessions, and made
all the necessary preparations for joining her husband at Kovylsk with
her children. But when she heard that little Clava would not be given
back to her, she declared she would not stir without her. There were
other almost broken-hearted mothers, who were leaving their little ones
behind in far less happy circumstances than little Clava. But their
remonstrances and entreaties were in vain. Tatiania sat down in her
empty house, and refused to listen to anyone.
"She is going mad," said Sergius to Michael.
Michael, like the rest, had sold the cattle and sheep, and the store
of grain left from last year's harvest, for a small sum indeed. But he
was rich in comparison with the others, though he had given half the
money to Paraska, who must now leave Knishi. She would be homeless and
friendless, hardly able to earn a living, as no Stundist could be taken
as a servant into an Orthodox family.
"Your mother is going mad!" she said to Sergius. "Tell her to think of
me! I had the chance of going with Demyan, and I gave it up to stay
with my children. They were torn away from me, my two little boys, and
I never set eyes on them again, and never knew what became of them.
That's enough to make a mother mad! But she knows good Father Cyril has
adopted little Clava. I'll go and reason with her," she added, running
off to Tatiania's house.
The poor mother was sitting on the side of the bed which was no longer
her own, rocking herself to and fro.
"They were all born here," she cried; "and two of them died here before
my little Clava was born. She is the dearest of them all! I'd rather
see her lying dead here than leave her behind, and never know what was
happening to her. She'd fret so after her mother if she didn't see me
at mass in the church. No, I cannot go! I will not go without her."
"But you have sold all your goods," urged Paraska; "you have nothing
left but a few roubles. After to-morrow, you'll not have even this roof
over your head. Think of your husband! If you won't go, of course Serge
and Marfa cannot go. Because it is you who choose whether you'll go or
stay. They only count as children. You'll all be beggars together."
"Serge and Marfa are big and strong; they can work," said Tatiania.
"And who can they work for?" asked Paraska. "They mustn't work for the
Orthodox folks, and there 'll not be a Stundist left in all Knishi.
There's Vania has to leave three children."
"I'll never leave little Clava," interrupted Tatiania.
Paraska went back to Ostron, where Sergius was awaiting her return.
Oh, how mournful the old familiar place looked, now the barns and
the stables were empty! There was only the old mare left; and the
telega, already holding her luggage and the small bundle of clothes
which Michael was taking for his long journey to Siberia. There was
no pleasant cackle of poultry in the deserted fold-yard, no bleating
of young lambs and calves, as was usual at this time of the year.
The broken-hearted woman all at once realised how peaceful had been
her days of sorrow, protected and comforted by Alexis and Catherine
Ivanoff. She was losing a second home and a second family.
"Paraska!" shouted Michael, as she lingered at the gate.
She hastened on to the desolate house, already stripped of furniture,
and the two boys asked her eagerly what Tatiania said.
"She will go mad to-night, if she is not mad now this moment," answered
Paraska. "She won't go; and of course nobody can make her. She is not a
prisoner."
"But what can we do?" cried Sergius.
It was a cruel dilemma. He and Marfa could not accompany their father
into exile if their mother persisted in her refusal. Now all their
possessions were sold, the small sum realised by the sale would barely
keep them through the summer. Unless they became Orthodox, they could
not maintain themselves by labour; and both of them were old enough to
know and understand the religion for which their father had suffered
a long imprisonment, and was about to encounter exile. They could
not renounce their faith, though the most miserable poverty, if not
starvation, awaited them in the near future.
But the inmost heart of their distress was the thought of their father
going alone, forsaken by his own wife and children, to his distant
place of exile. He had never beaten them, as most other fathers did,
had never even spoken an unkind word to them. Their mother had been
fretful, and unreasonably angry at times, especially with Marfa, but
their father never.
Then they would lose Michael; and what would Knishi be without him? He
would go with his father, march by his side, share his lot all through
the long journey by rail and river and on foot, till they reached their
place of exile; and there he would make a new home in that far-off
country. Sergius had looked forward to this fresh experience with
profound interest. He had only once been out of Knishi, and that was
when Michael and he had driven in the sledge to Kovylsk. He was longing
to travel. He did not care how or where, but a passion for roving had
taken possession of him.
"Let us go and tell Father Cyril," said Michael.
Never had Father Cyril been so unhappy as since the order had come to
Knishi for a clean sweeping out of heresy from his parish. He could
not bring himself to acquiesce in the stern decree; though rather than
leave the victims of it to the cruel measures of the Starosta Okhrim,
he had carried the tidings to the unfortunate women whose husbands had
been in prison all the winter. Heartrending scenes he had witnessed,
and harrowing petitions he had listened to, but he could do nothing.
Those few days aged him by years.
"I cannot bear it!" he sometimes cried when he was alone.
But still he went about, comforting the sorrowful women, and as far as
possible seeing that no very great injustice was done to them. It was
through him that Yarina bought at fair prices many of the cattle. He
had done all he could to soften the severity of the sentence.
"I will go and see Tatiania," he said to Michael.
But his persuasions were useless.
"Will you give me my child?" she asked.
"I cannot," he replied sorrowfully; "it is against the order. But she
shall be as one of my own. My poor woman, you must submit to the will
of God."
"It's not God's will I should be robbed of my child," she replied; "if
He had been pleased to take her to Himself, I would say, 'Thy will be
done!' They are cruel men who have torn her from my arms; and I'll stay
here and die rather than forsake her."
"Think of your husband and Marfa and Sergius," said Father Cyril.
"I love her better than all the world," cried Tatiania
passionately—"better than our Lord Himself. God forgive me!" she added,
frightened at the sound of the words she had uttered.
Marfa shuddered, and Sergius stood aghast.
Father Cyril spoke softly, with tears in his eyes.
"Amen! God forgive you, poor mother!" he said. "She does not know what
she is saying."
He went homewards, pondering in his heart the strange and terrible
problem of how Christians could persecute their fellow-Christians. How
was it possible they could think they were doing God service? To-morrow
nine homesteads would be left desolate, and the hapless women and
children would start on a journey of which many would never reach the
end. And this was done in the name of the Lord, whom both oppressor and
oppressed worshipped.