MARFA'S FUNERAL
DAY after day passed by. The burning sun beat down upon the exiles,
scorching their skin and almost blinding their eyes. The fettered
convicts could hardly drag their feet along the hot dust; and the women
lagged behind in a straggling line. The convoy-guards grew irritable,
and more brutal than in milder weather. They too suffered, but there
was no despair added to their sufferings. They had only certain stages
to travel, and then they would hand over their charge to a fresh
captain and guard.
Every third day there was a respite. After two days' march came a day
of rest. Then the sick people were delivered from the choking dust and
rough jolting of the telegas. Marfa could lie during the day out of
doors under the shadow of the prison walls, with all her friends about
her. They listened to her plaintive wanderings in delirium, now and
then catching a gleam of recognition or a word or two of intelligence.
But the fever was high, and there was no alleviation for it. Anna
Grigorovna, the friendly convict, did her utmost to comfort Tatiania,
and reconcile her to Marfa's death. But she refused all consolation.
Anna had no children, and knew nothing of a mother's heart. If only
she could sit beside her dying girl, she would be satisfied. But
that they all knew it was utterly useless to ask. The telegas were
already overladen, and some of the children were carried on the
baggage-waggons. Tatiania was in fair health, and quite able to walk.
"Even if I could walk," said Anna, "they would not let me give up my
place to you."
She was dying slowly of consumption, and knew she must be left behind
in one of the few prison hospitals along the Great Siberian Road.
Though she dreaded the place, she was longing for the rest she would
find there, if the death she prayed for did not overtake her before
they reached it. She longed to die before she was parted from this
strange little band of Stundists, whose company she had sought because
of their quiet and decent ways. What astonished her was that not one
among them murmured at their hard lot—excepting Tatiania, who only
lamented not being able to ride with her dying girl in the telega. For
that Marfa would die there was no shadow of a doubt.
Khariton prayed in his inmost heart that death would come soon, but
Tatiania could not bring herself even to say, "God's will be done!"
Two or three children had perished already on the route, from the foul
air and from the utter impossibility of cleanliness. None of them
were Stundists' children; and their mothers had grown apathetic with
despair, and were almost glad to be rid of a charge which became every
day more and more burdensome.
But Marfa had been an unfailing, untiring help, not a burden. What
should they do without her? To see her lying in the creaking, jolting
telega, with the fierce sun smiting her, was maddening to her mother.
They came at length to the last stage before they could reach a
hospital. Two days' march would bring them to it, and there they must
leave Marfa and the friendly convict Anna. Every one of the little
band of Stundists dreaded the day when Khariton and Tatiania must bid
farewell for ever to their daughter, and abandon her to a lonely death.
Khariton marched all day with bowed-down head and speechless lips.
Tatiania wept bitter tears. Sergius and Michael walked side by side,
now and then clasping one another's hands, but unable to talk together,
as they usually did. Even little Clava, whom they carried by turns, was
very quiet and languid, as if she understood their sorrow.
Marfa was carried into the overcrowded kamera, unventilated, and
reeking with foul air, and heated with the sultry sun which had beaten
upon the low roof all day. The convoy captain was a humane man, and
allowed some of the exiles to sleep outside on the ground of the
prison-yard. But within the kameras the men and women could hardly
breathe; and the dying girl lay panting on the plank sleeping-platform.
But even that was comfort compared with the jolting telega. Her mother
lay beside her, and little Clava crept close to her on the other side.
Her father and Alexis, Sergius, and Michael stood near; and in that
corner of the kamera a comparative stillness prevailed; for their
fellow-exiles had learned to respect the Stundists. And one of them was
dying.
"The end is coming, thank God!" said Anna, turning away and leaving
Marfa alone with her own people.
She was quite conscious now, but too weak to lift her hand or turn her
head towards her mother, whose sobs filled her dying ear. She could see
them who stood at her feet, and a very peaceful smile came over her
wasted face.
"Father," she said faintly, "tell mother I'm really going home."
"I'm here, my darling!" sobbed Tatiania, putting her arm across her.
"Home you know," she repeated; "not to Knishi—but to be with the Lord.
He says, 'To-day shalt thou be with Me in paradise.' It's better than
living."
She could hardly gasp out the words, but her voice was clear, and they
heard her distinctly amid all the din and racket of the crowded kamera.
Once more she smiled very peacefully upon them, her eyes resting upon
each one with a look of recognition.
"You will all come," she murmured; "I shall be looking out for you."
She closed her tired eyelids, and seemed to fall asleep in her mother's
arms. All night she lay there, breathing softly, but as the first rays
of light dawned, they saw her spirit pass away in peaceful silence.
It was the third day, the day for resting twenty-four hours, and so
they were able to see the body laid decently away in the grave. The
cemetery of the little Siberian village lay near the étape, and all the
free exiles were at liberty to go to it, though none of the men, being
convicts, could attend Marfa's funeral. All the Stundist women and
children went.
The open plain surrounding the cemetery was bright with flowers, and
the hum of bees filled the air. It was too hot for the birds to sing.
Many of the graves had black crosses at the head, and were fenced
in by gaily-coloured rails. The letters I.H.S. were painted on one
of the arms of the crosses, and on some of them there was a rude
representation in white paint of the Lord crucified.
As yet, in this far distant and isolated village, with leagues of
uninhabited country surrounding it, there was no inclination to refuse
burial to a Stundist. The old parish priest was willing, so that he
got his dues, to let them bury their dead as they pleased. In the case
of paupers, such as this dead exile must be, it was usual to let the
relatives dig the grave and lay the body in it; and in course of time,
when a sufficient number were interred, the funeral service was read
over all the graves together. Michael and Sergius dug Marfa's grave.
The women and children stood round the grave in silence, whilst the
boys lowered the rude coffin into it. They were all still alive, those
who had left Knishi, but they were emaciated and broken down, the
shadows of their former selves. Katerina carried her baby in her arms,
but the tiny face that looked up at her was starved and shrivelled,
with dull, solemn eyes, and a tremulous, unsatisfied movement on the
lips that would never learn to speak. Little Clava was thin and wasted,
and every day made her a lighter weight for Michael and Sergius to
carry across Siberia.
There was no man to pray, but Matrona stood at the head of the grave,
and read, in a voice faltering with old age and pity, these words—
"And one of the elders answered, saying unto me, What are these which
are arrayed in white robes? and whence came they?
"And I said unto him, Sir, thou knowest. And he said to me, These are
they which came out of great tribulation, and have washed their robes,
and made them white in the blood of the Lamb.
"Therefore are they before the throne of God, and serve Him day and
night in His temple; and He that sitteth on the throne shall dwell
among them.
"They shall hunger no more, neither thirst any more; neither shall the
sun light on them, nor any heat.
"For the Lamb which is in the midst of the throne shall feed them, and
shall lead them unto living fountains of waters: and God shall wipe
away all tears from their eyes."
So they buried Marfa thousands of miles away from her beloved home.
She who had never been separated from her own people for a single day,
was to lie in a grave that not one of them could visit and weep over.
To-morrow they would be already miles away from this sacred spot, and
the end of their journey would place still more thousands of miles
between them and the lonely grave.