CHAPTER IX

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.