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A RUSSIAN PRIEST 
 
 PSEUDONTM LIBKARY 
 
THE 
 
 pseudonySi library. 
 
 rafer, i/6 ; cloth, 2/-, 
 
 1. MLLE. IXE. By Lanoe 
 
 Falconer. 6th ed. 
 
 2. STORY OF ELEANOR 
 
 LAMBERT. By Magda- 
 len Brooke. 
 
 3. MYSTERY OF THE CAM- 
 
 PAGNA. By Von Degen. 
 2nd ed. 
 
 4. THE SCHOOL OF ART. 
 
 By Isabel Snow. 2nd ed. 
 
 5. AMARYLLIS. By 
 
 rEQPriOS APOSINHS. 
 
 6. THE HOTEL D'ANGLE- 
 
 TERRE, and Other Stories. 
 
 By Lanoe Faixonek. 
 
 7. A RUSSIAN PRIEST. By 
 
 H. nOTAnEHKO. 
 
H. H. nOTAHEHKO ji^^' 
 
 A Russian Priest 
 
 ^ 
 
 LONDON 
 T. FISHER UNWIN 
 
 PATERNOSTER Sj^UARE 
 M DCCC XCI 
 
?v 
 
 7^ 
 
 ^9? y/^ 
 
 • • • * • 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 f^^HIS little story of Russian life 
 which appeared about a year 
 ago in the Vicstiiik Evropi^ 
 the leading Russian literary 
 magazine, may prove inte- 
 resting to those who follow 
 the progress of events in 
 Russia at the present day, throwing as 
 it does, a certain amount of light upon 
 the habits and condition of the peasants, 
 who form the great mass of the nation, 
 and the influence the clergy have on 
 them. Up to this time the clergy may 
 be said to have formed an hereditary 
 profession, having very little in common 
 with other classes of society, and even at 
 the present day it often happens that 
 when a country priest dies or retires, his 
 place is taken by the husband of his 
 eldest daughter. Before the liberation 
 of the serfs in 1861, the clergy looked 
 chiefly to the landowners for assistance 
 and support, but since that time, the 
 whole conditions of life in the country 
 have completely altered, and the clergy 
 now depend for their maintenance on 
 the money which they receive from their 
 parishioners for the various services and 
 
 222415 
 
VI PREFACE. 
 
 ceremonies performed. In addition to 
 this, they always have a small quantity 
 of church land. In some parts of the 
 empire the peasants have fallen into a 
 state bordering on destitution since 
 the liberation, the landowners also are 
 nearly ruined, and in such districts the 
 priest scarcely earns enough to keep 
 alive. The town clergy, on the other 
 hand, speaking generally, may be said 
 to be very prosperous. In a large 
 town parish inhabited by relatively 
 wealthy people, the system of receiv- 
 ing payment from every parishioner 
 for baptisms, marriages, funerals, Sec, 
 besides two or three visits a year 
 to each house (which have to be re- 
 munerated by a sum depending on the 
 social position of the householder), 
 produces a very large income. Several 
 parishes in Moscow and Petersburg 
 yield considerably over a thousand 
 pounds a year in our money. Proposals 
 which have been made from time to 
 time to substitute a regular salary for 
 the system of direct payments by the 
 parishioners, have been strenuously op- 
 posed by the town clergy as prejudicial 
 to their interests ; but there can be little 
 doubt that some such arrangement 
 would much improve the relations 
 between the peasants and their 
 clergy, and it seems probable that the 
 government will shortly introduce some 
 change in this system, being anxious 
 to improve and strengthen the position 
 of the clergy, and to make them take a 
 
PREFACE. Vll 
 
 more important part than hitherto in 
 primary education. 
 
 The Russian clergy are educated at 
 the Seminary, and those who show 
 special ability, afterwards enter the 
 Academy, which occupies in clerical 
 education, the same place as the 
 University in civil education. Among 
 the Academy professors are some of 
 the ablest men in the empire, and to 
 pass out of this institution with the 
 degree of " Magistrant " implies a very 
 high standard of learning. Such a 
 student, from a professional point of 
 view, is a "made man." There are 
 several courses open to him. He may 
 either enter the ranks of the " white " 
 or secular clergy, get married and re- 
 ceive a nomination to some lucrative 
 town living, or else he may remain a 
 layman and become a Seminary pro- 
 fessor ; or, if he is of an ambitious 
 disposition, he may enter the black or 
 monastic clergy, in which case he will re- 
 main celibate, and live in the monastery 
 in the hopes of eventually receiving an 
 appointment as " archierei " or bishop, 
 the latter being always appointed from 
 the monastic clergy. 
 
 The hero of this story, in renoun- 
 cing such brilliant prospects, and pre- 
 ferring the poverty and hardships of 
 the country priest's life, seems to be 
 under the influence of the wide-spread 
 movement of which one reads so 
 much in the Russian literature of to- 
 day, in the writings of Tolstoi and 
 
Vlll PREFACE. 
 
 Others, and the object of which is to 
 enlighten and civilize the peasants. 
 With this motive, many educated people 
 have established so-called " intelligent 
 colonies," that is to say, a certain num- 
 ber of people who have received good 
 education, either from an inability 
 to get government appointments, or 
 perhaps purely from a desire to exer- 
 cise a good influence on the peasants, 
 go to the country and settle down to 
 live as peasants, a la Tolstoi. Judging 
 from recent accounts which have ap- 
 peared of such enterprises, one can 
 scarcely suppose they have been very 
 successful. Young men and women of 
 this class, educated as they have been 
 in big towns, are physically incapable 
 of carrying out their self-imposed task. 
 Their idealistic tendencies only rouse 
 the derision and contempt of the pea- 
 sants, and the enterprise is frequently 
 put an end to by the governor of the 
 province, who gives them notice to 
 leave, as their opinions and their in- 
 fluence on the peasants are not of a 
 nature to please the government authori- 
 ties. 
 
 There are other instances of land- 
 owners voluntarily giving up all their 
 property to the peasants, and living on 
 a few acres of land which they cultivate 
 with their own hands. There have been 
 several cases recently of people in good 
 society in Russia giving up their ap- 
 pointments in the army or civil service 
 and going into the Church with philan- 
 
PREFACE. IX 
 
 thropic objects. Such cases, it is true, 
 are very rare, but it is quite a new 
 thing for people occupying social posi- 
 tions of any importance to enter the 
 Church in Russia. 
 
 The majority of those in Russia who 
 " go to the people," as it is called, are 
 actuated by political tendencies, and are 
 therefore looked upon by the govern- 
 ment with great suspicion. These re- 
 formers see that progress of liberal 
 principles in Russia can never take place 
 until the inertia of the great mass of 
 the people — the peasants — be removed, 
 and they hope by their personal influ- 
 ence to succeed in doing this. The 
 government very naturally looks with 
 distrust and suspicion on the influence 
 which such political idealists, imbued, 
 as they often are, with revolutionary 
 and freethinking notions, have on the 
 absolutely ignorant peasants, who, after 
 hundreds of years of serfdom, obtained 
 their freedom only thirty years ago, and 
 who up to this time, from ignorance of 
 how to use their newly-gained liberty, 
 cannot be said to have improved their 
 material welfare in any way, and in 
 many cases are in a far worse position 
 than in 1861. 
 
 The government of Alexander III., 
 with the view of improving the state of 
 things, has recently abolished the insti- 
 tution of "justice of the peace " in the 
 country districts, which was introduced 
 at the time of the emancipation, by Alex- 
 ander II. They have substituted for this, 
 
X PREFACE. 
 
 the "Zemski Natchdlnik," an official who 
 has far more arbitrary and summary 
 powers. The latter is nominated by the 
 governor of the province and by the 
 marcchal de noblesse^ from the local 
 nobility, with the design of improving 
 the position of the nobles in the country 
 districts, and it is hoped that this mea- 
 sure, in conjunction with the elementary 
 education which is beginning to extend 
 itself among the peasantry, and which 
 is to be far more in the hands of the 
 clergy than has hitherto been the case, 
 will give the development of the pea- 
 santry a more favourable turn. ^^ 
 
 It is scarcely necessary to add that*'.>» 
 Cyril, filled as he is with philanthropic -<- | 
 ideas of a somewhat idealistic nature, is 
 quite free from any political tendencies. 
 He certainly presents a striking contrast 
 to many of his colleagues, who appear 
 to be actuated by motives of a very 
 different nature. 
 
 W. GAUSSEN, 
 
 Editor and'lranslator. 
 
 June, 1 89 1. 
 
A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 
 I. 
 
 ^^WO individuals were promi- 
 
 ^^^ nent among the crowd which 
 filled the barn-like waiting- 
 room of the railway station 
 in a provincial town in 
 Russia. They both belonged 
 to the clerical profession, and 
 were attired in longcassocks. 
 But here the resemblance between them 
 ended, and a more attentive study of 
 them showed clearly that they were 
 people occupying totally different posi- 
 tions. 
 
 One, who stood opposite an adver- 
 tisement boaid, carefully studying the 
 time-table of the South-Western Rail- 
 way, evidently belonged to the elite 
 of the clergy in the government town. 
 He wore a dark-green satin cassock, 
 and on his breast hung a large cross 
 attached to a massive chain. His 
 full, pallid cheeks were fringed by a 
 growth of greyish hair, which grew 
 hicker lower down and formed a broad 
 irefully combed beard. He wore black 
 .loves, and on his head was a dark-grey, 
 soft beaver hat. From time to time he 
 nulled out a large gold watch from 
 
 2 
 
A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 
 
 under his, cassock, and it was evident 
 that he "... bored at being kept waiting 
 so long. 
 
 The other was seated on a bench in a 
 corner of the room, in uncomfortably 
 close proximity to a huge bundle and 
 its fat proprietor. The first thing that 
 struck one about him, was his very long 
 grey beard, which, as his head was bent 
 down, looked even longer than it really 
 was, and seemed to reach almost to his j 
 knees. His hands, which were long- I 
 fingered and showed prominent blue ^ 
 veins, lay on his knees. Underneath his 
 grey, worn-out cassock appeared large 
 boots of coarse Russian leather. The 
 old man was tall and thin and stooped 
 very much. His eyes were closed and , 
 he was dozing, and his pale face had 
 almost a death-like air. Every now and 
 then a noise on the platform aroused 
 him, and he gazed with a perplexed air 
 at the crowed around him, and at the 
 scene, evidently unfamiliar to him, and 
 then, as if suddenly remembering the 
 circumstances which had brought him 
 there, dozed off again. 
 
 The clerical gentleman in the satin 
 cassock, grew tired of studying the time- 
 table, and choosing a moment when the 
 other opened his eyes, went up to him. 
 The latter jumped up immediately and 
 straightened himself up as much as \ 
 possible. 
 
 " Ah ! an acquaintance, I think • • • ] 
 but I can't remember where I had the ' 
 pleasure of seeing you," said the priest 'j 
 in the satin attire, with a pleasant bari- 
 tone voice with somewhat of a drawl. 
 
 " I only just this minute noticed you, . 
 father rector ; allow me to recall to your , 
 
A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 
 
 recollection the deacon of the village of 
 Ustimievka, Ignatii Obnovl! '-ki." 
 
 The rector assumed a mixed expres- 
 sion of pleasure and surprise. -> 
 
 '* Obnovlienski ! . . . Obnovlienski ! 
 Yes, yes, to be sure ! So you are the 
 father of Cyril Obnovlienski ? Very glad 
 to meet you. A first-rate pupil he was ; 
 you know that we received the thanks 
 of the academy for him. . . . What is 
 he doing now ? Has he finished the 
 course at the academy?" 
 
 The deacon Obnovlienski was evi- 
 dently delighted by the praise bestowed 
 on his son by such an important person- 
 age as the rector of the seminary. His 
 large eyes sparkled with satisfaction — 
 indeed he used nearly to weep with 
 transport when his younger son, Cyril, 
 was mentioned in a flattering way by 
 any one. 
 
 "Yes, your Reverence,he has finished; 
 he came out first in the examination for 
 'Magistrant.' "... Yes, first ! " 
 
 " Oh ! I suppose, under those circum- 
 stances, he will stay on at the academy? 
 They always give the first one an 
 appointment there.'' 
 
 " No, he is leaving," and the deacon's 
 voice slightly trembled and became low. 
 The old man was agitated. " Yes, cer- 
 tainly they always keep the first in the 
 examination, but Cyril will not stay on ; 
 he wrote to me, ' I shall come back to 
 you, and not leave you again,' so I sup- 
 pose he will not stay on." 
 
 " H'm ! . . . That's strange ! " said the 
 father rector. " I confess I never heard 
 of such a thing before." 
 
 The deacon's voice trembled slightly : 
 
 ^ M.A. 
 
'4 A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 
 
 his heart shrank with some vague evil 
 presentiment, and confusion before the 
 rector, that his son, for whom the semi- 
 nary had received thanks, had failed to 
 fully justify their expectations. 
 
 " I don't understand it, either ! " said 
 he, almost in a whisper ; something 
 seemed to stick in his throat and pre- 
 vent him from speaking. 
 
 " I am expecting my nephew — also 
 from the academy. He went there at 
 the same time as your Cyril : he has re- 
 ceived an appointment in our seminary," 
 said the father rector, as though wishing 
 to change what was evidently an un- 
 pleasant subject of conversation for the 
 other. But the deacon was no longer 
 listening to him. The sound of the ap- 
 proaching train was heard, and he was 
 hurrying to the door where the public, 
 anxious to meet their friends, were 
 crowding. A minute later he was stand- 
 ing on the platform anxiously following 
 with his eyes the approaching train. He 
 attentively watched it in the hope that 
 he might see in the distance that much- 
 loved face out of one of the windows — 
 but, as can be imagined, he did not see 
 anything. 
 
 The train drew up with a solemn 
 groan under the high glass roof of the 
 station. The deacon stood there with 
 a confused expression watching the 
 passengers getting out of the train. 
 Everything seemed strange and con- 
 fused to him ; it appeared to him as 
 though this bustling scene of passengers, 
 hurrying with parcels and bags, snatches 
 of conversation, greetings and kisses, 
 was nothing more than a dream. A 
 little way off he saw the rector em- 
 
 i 
 
A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 
 
 bracing a young man with a travelling 
 bag slung over his shoulders, and then 
 shake hands with another young man, 
 tall and pale, with longish light hair 
 appearing from under his hat, and small 
 moustaches and a clipped beard. They 
 approached him now, the tall young 
 man almost ran. The deacon's head 
 swam, his legs trembled, and he hardly 
 knew what he was doing. He embraced 
 Cyril as though this was a parting and 
 not an arrival. Cyril drew himself away. 
 
 " That's right, let us have one more 
 kiss," said he, in a strong bass voice. 
 " We must look after the luggage." 
 
 The old man followed him ; at length 
 they found the trunk, and started off in 
 a droshky, 
 
 Cyril asked — "And is Mura ' well ?" 
 
 " Maria Gavrilovna ? Yes, thank 
 God, she is waiting for you." 
 
 " Why didn't she come to meet me ? '* 
 
 " She wanted to, very much. But her 
 mother, Anna Nikolaevna, would not 
 allow her to come— she thought it wasn't 
 proper." 
 
 " Well, and my mother and sister and 
 brother Nazar — are all of them well ? " 
 
 " They send their love. Nazar wants 
 to be made a priest, but the bishop re- 
 fused ; he said he must serve longer." 
 
 The deacon thought to himself that it 
 was not right that his son asked after 
 Mura first and then after his mother. 
 
 " Where do you want to go to } " 
 asked the driver, whom, meanwhile, he 
 had forgotten to tell. 
 
 " To the cathedral house," said the 
 deacon, hastily ; and then, turning to his 
 son, he added, " We will go first to 
 ^ Familiar name for Maria. 
 
A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 
 
 Father Gdvriil ; I left my horses there. 
 . . . We will have something to eat 
 and then go on to Ustimievka, and be 
 home by evening." 
 
 " No, no, that won't do I we must 
 spend the night here. I have got to call 
 on the bishop.'"' 
 
 The old man wanted to ask why, but 
 he refrained, and in the meanwhile un- 
 pleasant thoughts v/ere passing in his 
 head : '' What does he want to go to the 
 bishop for, if he has come out first in the 
 examination ? ordinary individuals go 
 to him with requests to be made priests 
 or even deacons. . . . But the ' first 
 magistrant.' . . . What does it mean?" 
 But a feeling of joy filled him that his 
 beloved son had returned and was 
 sitting by his side in the droshky, and 
 the old man was silent and reserved his 
 questions for another occasion. The 
 son had no idea of these misgivings, he 
 looked around him wondering at the 
 various changes effected in the govern- 
 ment town in the past two years. They 
 were building a new church, and had 
 paved the street leading to the station, 
 and several new houses had sprung up. 
 
 " They are improving our town," said 
 he, aloud, '" and they have redecorated 
 the cathedral house." 
 
 The two-storied cathedral house, at 
 which they had arrived, was painted a 
 dark-brown colour. Nearby,inaspacious 
 square, stood the large but clumsy and 
 angular edifice of the cathedral, sur- 
 rounded by green railings. They paid 
 the driver, entered the house, and 
 ascended to the second story. 
 
 Father Gdvriil Fortificantof lived in 
 a very nice set of rooms in the cathedral 
 
A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 
 
 house. He held the rank of third priest, 
 and as the residents of the govern- 
 ment town were distinguished for their 
 generosity in good works, he enjoyed a 
 very comfortable income. The guests 
 ascended the narrow wooden staircase, 
 passed through a broad glass-covered 
 corridor and entered Father Gavriil's 
 room. As they approached they noticed 
 a certain amount of movement, of a 
 quiet and sedate nature, was going on 
 in the room. Father Gavriil himself 
 met them. He first gave Cyril his 
 benediction, and then embraced him 
 three times. At that moment a solid- 
 looking lady, Anna Nikolaevna, ap- 
 peared from the drawing-room attired 
 in a light blue morning-gown, with a 
 cap on her head. She also kissed 
 Cyril. In this house they called him 
 " thou " and treated him like a son. 
 He had been engaged to IMaria Gavri- 
 lovna ever since he had been a pupil at 
 the seminary. It need hardly be said 
 that such an alliance, with the son of a 
 poor village deacon, was only approved 
 of by the parents in consideration of 
 Cyril s peculiar aptitude for learning, 
 and at -the time it was a certainty that 
 he would be able to pass the examina- 
 tion and enter the academy. 
 
 They sat down. The conversation 
 turned upon the details of the journey 
 and the latest town gossip. It was 
 eleven o'clock ; the lady of the house 
 ordered dejeuner to be served. 
 
 " And Vvhere is Mura ? " asked Cyril ; 
 "Maria Gavrilovna?" he added, cor- 
 recting himself, remembering that be- 
 fore the parents he ought to call her so 
 still. 
 
8 A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 
 
 " She is dressing," answered Anna 
 Nikoldevna. But as a matter of fact 
 Mura was long ago dressed. Her 
 mother had kept her out of the way, 
 considering that a young lady ought not 
 to appear in a hurry to meet the man to 
 to whom she was engaged, although 
 they had not met for two years. 
 
 " When will Father Gavriil begin to 
 cross-question him ?" thought the deacon 
 to himself, with anxiety. He very much 
 feared this interrogation, and had not 
 resolved to open the subject himself. 
 He was a little afraid of his son, and 
 recognized his inferior position of 
 deacon, in comparison with his son's 
 position. 
 
 Mdria Gavrilovna entered the dining- 
 room. She greeted Cyril in a friendly 
 way, but decorously and constrainedly. 
 She had a very commonplace oval face, 
 with full rosy cheeks and lively brown 
 eyes. Thick tresses of black hair care- 
 fully combed out, fell to her waist. 
 Evidently her restrained manner was 
 not natural. She blushed and was 
 silent from emotion. She would have 
 liked to embrace her fanci\ whose 
 arrival she had been awaiting so im- 
 patiently, and with whom she was 
 evidently charmed. 
 
 " Well, Cyril Ignatievitch," said 
 Father Gdvriil, "so you are first 'magis- 
 trant ' in the theological academy, and 
 gold medalist ! I congratulate you." 
 He said this in a solemn tone, but at 
 the same time with a slight shade of 
 levity. 
 
 The deacon's heart failed him. 
 "The explanation is coming," thought 
 he, and, in consequence of his agita- 
 
A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 
 
 tion, he began to eat with increased 
 appetite. 
 
 Mura gazed steadily at her newly- 
 arrived yf^;za', and thought to herself, 
 " How learned he must be now ! " 
 
 " Yes, quite a swell," jokingly 
 answered Cyril. 
 
 " Certainly ! And what a future you 
 have before you." 
 
 " Now it's coming," thought the 
 deacon. 
 
 Cyril was silent at this, but Father 
 Gavriil was determined to clear up the 
 mystery and began — 
 
 " But how is it you have no appoint- 
 ment ? Have you got anything special 
 in view ? " 
 
 *' Nothing whatever, Father Gavriil." 
 
 " It's a very extraordinary thing ! 
 With the gold medal too ! . . . I never 
 heard of such a thing ! . . . Didn't they 
 offer you anything? . . . Extraordinary ! " 
 
 " Yes ; they offered me an appoint- 
 ment in the academy, but I refused it." 
 
 At these words the whole company 
 put down their knives and forks on the 
 table. 
 
 " Ah ! that's it ! " muttered the 
 deacon, and then became afraid, feeling 
 that he ought not to have said this. 
 
 "An appointment in the theological 
 academy, and you refused ? You must 
 have lost your senses ! " exclaimed 
 Father Gavriil. 
 
 "It's madness!" exclaimed Anna 
 Nikolaevna. 
 
 Mura said nothing, but felt a deep 
 pang of regret. To live in a big city 
 was the dream of her life. 
 
 "What could I do .? I love you all ; 
 I love the warm south, the country, 
 
lO A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 
 
 my birthplace, the moujiks," ' said Cyril, 
 seriously and thoughtfully ; " so I have 
 come back to you," added he. 
 
 All lookec 
 Gavriil said- 
 
 '' Love for one's native country and 
 relations is praiseworthy, is sublime. 
 But why refuse that which your talent 
 and labour has gained for you .' You 
 could come to us, see us, and return. 
 But to refuse a professorship ! and in 
 the theological academy I It's simply a 
 crime." 
 
 "Yes, it's wicked!" echoed Anna 
 Nikolaevna, with a solemn expres- 
 sion — *' it's wicked I '" 
 
 " And, besides, in any case you won't 
 live in the country," continued Father 
 Gavriil. 
 
 " Yes, I shall," firmly and slowly said 
 Cyril; "I am going to be a village 
 priest." 
 
 These words had the effect of a 
 trumpet-blast on the audience. For the 
 first minute no one said anything. 
 " He must be joking," thought each of 
 them, and they looked at him. Cyril 
 sat there serious, resolute, and pale. 
 There was a look of firm resolution 
 on his face. All saw at once he was 
 not joking. Father Giivriil reddened, 
 got up froni his seat, pushing the chair 
 away hastily, and said — 
 
 " And have you come here to make 
 sport of us .' " 
 
 " I .-* To make sport of you : ' said 
 Cyril, with a distressed air. 
 
 Anna Nikolaevna quickly got up 
 from her seat, and, with the expression 
 of one who is insulted, said — 
 * Peasants. 
 
A RUSSIAN PRIEST. II 
 
 " My daughter will not marry a 
 country priest ! " and then, turning to 
 Maria Gavrilovna, said — 
 
 *' Mdria, leave the room ! " 
 
 Cyril also got up, and went to the 
 window, and stood there in an evidently 
 agitated frame of mind. He looked at 
 his Jianck furtively, expecting that she 
 would go. Mura obeyed. She felt that 
 she was going to Aveep, and, feeling 
 ashamed of herself, hurriedly turned to 
 the door and quickly went out. Her 
 mother followed her. Father Gavriil 
 sat there with a red face and knitted 
 brows. It seemed as if he wished to 
 burst into abusive language, but 
 instead of this he wiped his mouth 
 with the napkin, got up, crossed him- 
 self, and without even looking at Cyril 
 and the deacon, followed his wife and 
 daughter. 
 
 The deacon sat motionless, his head 
 drooping and his arms hanging down. 
 He could scarcely grasp the reality of 
 the scene which had just passed. De- 
 tached phrases passed through his head. 
 " How angry Father Gavriil got ! — and 
 his wife ! — the first magistrant I — the 
 gold medal ! — a village priest ! . . . O 
 Lord, my Creator ! "' and he feared to 
 lift his head, lest he should meet the 
 glance of his son. 
 
 Cyril stood at the window some 
 minutes, and then energetically paced 
 up and down the room ; at length, 
 stopping behind the chair on which 
 his father was sitting, he said, in a 
 trembling voice — 
 
 "Well, father, we had better pack up 
 our traps and be off." 
 
 The deacon started. 
 
12 A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 
 
 " What ! Does this mean that all is 
 ended ?" 
 
 " I suppose so,"' said Cyril, with a 
 bitter smile. 
 
 "And aren't you sorry, Kiroushka ' ? " 
 asked the deacon, in a soft and timid 
 voice. 
 
 " Of course I am. My heart is broken. 
 They plainly refused me." 
 
 " Refused ! " hoarsely whispered the 
 deacon. 
 
 What disillusion and blasted hopes 
 were expressed in this word ! There 
 were two things which were the pride 
 of his life— the first, his son, who had 
 always come out first in all his examina- 
 tions, and even distinguished himself in 
 the theological academy, and received 
 the medal ; the second, the projected 
 alliance with Father Fortificantofs 
 family. Such a marriage was more 
 than he, a poor obscure village deacon, 
 could have ventured to dream of. How- 
 ever, the dream had nearly been ac- 
 complished ; he would have been re- 
 ceived as a relation in the house of a 
 protopope — and now ! 
 
 He got up hastily, buttoned his 
 cassock round his neck, and said, in a 
 tone of despair — 
 
 '' Come along, my son." 
 
 They went out into the vestibule. 
 Cyril's heart was beating fast, but he 
 walked with a firm step ; he knew that 
 he could not have acted otherwise. All 
 the doors into the various rooms were 
 closed, and no sound of movement or 
 conversation came from them. They 
 had already reached the glass- covered 
 
 ' Familiar name of Cviil. 
 
A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 1 3 
 
 corridor, when the deacon said in a 
 whisper — 
 
 "We haven't even said good-bye." 
 
 " They don't wish to," hoarsely 
 answered Cyril, and taking up his bag 
 began to descend the staircase. 
 
 The deacon hesitated ; he quietly 
 opened the door of the kitchen, beckoned 
 with his finger to the cook and w^his- 
 pered to her — 
 
 " Anewta, if they ask after us, say we 
 are at the jMoscofski inn." 
 
 Anewta looked at him with surprise, 
 and after he had descended the stair- 
 case closed the door again. 
 
 The deacon harnessed his mare to a 
 two- wheeled cart in silence, and gathered 
 up the hay scattered on the ground of 
 the cathedral yard. They got into the 
 cart without saying anything, and turned 
 out into the street. The Moscofski inn 
 was situated on the outskirts of the 
 town. Arriving there, Cyril remembered 
 that fifteen years ago they used to stop 
 there every time when his father came 
 to fetch him from the seminary for the 
 holidays. Their telicga used to stand 
 in the extensive yard. The numbered 
 rooms for the reception of guests — large, 
 dirty, and without any conveniences — 
 remained exactly as they had been then. 
 Cyril entered the room, flung down his 
 portmanteau, and began to pace about 
 from one corner to the other, and at 
 length the deacon went to his old ac- 
 quaintance, the innkeeper, and poured 
 out to him all his troubles. 
 
 "I tell you what, father deacon," 
 said the innkeeper, a man of florid 
 complexion and downright manners. 
 ''You won't be offended with what I 
 
14 A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 
 
 say : but there must be a screw loose in 
 your son's head. You may be sure of 
 it." 
 
 The deacon was offended. 
 
 " Excuse me ; if only your son had 
 such a head, you would be a lucky man/' 
 he said, somewhat maliciously. 
 
 " My son will be an innkeeper, and 
 he has the head for it ; but yours has 
 studied too much, and his mind has 
 got beyond the proper limits. Don't 
 be offended, father deacon ; I say it 
 with all sympathy for you." 
 
 The deacon was completely upset, re- 
 turned to his room, and asked his son — 
 
 "I suppose you will call on the bishop 
 to-morrow ? " 
 
 Cyril was sitting on a worn-out chair, 
 and cast a simple friendly glance at his 
 father. 
 
 " Sit down, bdtoushka, and let's have 
 a talk. I've hardly had a word with you 
 yet," said he, in a calm voice. 
 
 The deacon hastily sat down on the 
 bed, which creaked and groaned under 
 him. 
 
 " What's the good of my going to the 
 bishop now ? " continued Cyril. " To 
 be ordained, I must be married, and 
 I don't know any young lady except 
 Mdria Gavrilovna. We have become 
 friends, and are accustomed to each 
 other. All my plans are upset now." 
 
 " They are, indeed," muttered the 
 deacon. 
 
 Cyril smiled. 
 
 "No, it's not as you imngine ; I know 
 you think I have gone out of my mind." 
 
 " God be with you ! I never thought 
 of such a thing ; " and then, correcting 
 himself, " I never thoucrht it." 
 
A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 1 5 
 
 " I only wish that there should be 
 some sort of sense in my Hfe. You, ba- 
 toushka, although worn out by poverty, 
 are a man of sense. If no one else 
 understands me, you ought to. From 
 my earliest years I have lived in the 
 country in our poor village Ustimievka, 
 I have seen how the moujik lives and 
 dies in utter darkness. His ignorance, 
 father, is caused by poverty, and his 
 poverty, by ignorance. Thus one en- 
 genders the other. I have loved them 
 from my childhood for their very 
 poverty, although I was thoughtless 
 then and my love was not roused. But 
 now I have learnt and read books and 
 conversed with learned people, and my 
 mind is awakened. I have understood 
 that to live thoughtlessly is unworthy of 
 the human mind. I have adopted the 
 maxim that if a man has received en- 
 lightenment, his duty is to enlighten 
 his neighbour. Then only, will his life 
 leave good results behind it. And 
 where is a more worthy object for my 
 labours than the ignorant peasant ? 
 Light is wanted in the darkest places, 
 batoushka, and you know yourself how 
 dark it is there, and therefore I decline 
 the fine offers of a career which have 
 been made to me, and shall devote my 
 life to the labours of a village priest. 
 And now, father, tell me whether you 
 think me mad or not." 
 
 The deacon sat there with his head 
 cast down. At length had come this 
 explanation so long waited for, and 
 every word of this small speech sank 
 into his soul. He did not fully grasp 
 his son's meaning, but felt that in these 
 words was something right and good. 
 
1 6 A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 
 
 And glad he was that his son had such 
 a right judgment ; but sorry that his 
 dreams of future advantage were ended, 
 and that he had for an instant suspected 
 his son of madness. All these various 
 thoughts passed through his mind and 
 he was silent. 
 
 Cyril got up and approached him. 
 
 " Well, batoushka, do you approve or 
 not ? " 
 
 The deacon suddenly seized him with 
 both hands, and said, in a trembling 
 voice — 
 
 " You are a good fellow, your idea is 
 in accordance with the gospel — in ac- 
 cordance with the gospel." 
 
 Cyril kissed his grey head, and his 
 face was lit up with a joyful smile. 
 
 "Well, bdtoushka, at any rate you 
 understand me I It is easier to live, 
 feeling that some one, at least under- 
 stands one. I know that my mother 
 and all my relations will be against me. 
 I had already counted on your ap- 
 proval." 
 
 "Yes, yes ; but how about Mura? . . . 
 If you love her, are accustomed to her, 
 this will be bitter for you." 
 
 Cyril began to walk silently up and 
 down the room, and the deacon, so as 
 not to interfere with his thoughts, went 
 out. He stood some time at the door- 
 way of the inn, and suddenly his face 
 assumed a determined expression. He 
 returned to the vestibule, took his hat, 
 and started oft' furtively across the yard. 
 Then he quickened his pace and almost 
 ran back to the cathedral house. 
 
II. 
 
 RRIVING there, the dea- 
 con found a family council 
 caused by the event related 
 in the last chapter. 
 
 Mura, when she left the 
 dining-room, had retired to 
 her own room and nervously 
 awaited the result. When 
 her mother came in and told her that 
 Cyril and his father had gone and that 
 the affair was at an end, she burst into 
 tears and declared that she would 
 never marry any one but Cyril. 
 
 " What folly," said her mother. "You 
 shall not not go and bury yourself in 
 the country." 
 
 " I don't care, I love him, and will 
 live where he does. . . . It's no use 
 your saying anything . I shall simply run 
 away with him, and then there will be a 
 scandal." 
 
 IMaria Gavrilovna, although usually 
 of a retiring and mild disposition, on 
 certain occasions showed the determi- 
 nation of character, which she probably 
 inherited from her mother. On such 
 occasions Father Gdvriil used to shut 
 himself up in his study, leaving it to 
 the ladies to settle between themselves. 
 And ordinary everyday matters were 
 arranged without his interference. But 
 this incident was of such an exceptional 
 nature, and as Anna Nikolaevna did 
 
1 8 A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 
 
 not feel equal to the occasion, she asked 
 her husband to bring his influence to 
 bear on Mura. 
 
 " Do you know what country hfe 
 means, and how they live there ? " said 
 Father Gavriil. "Without a single living 
 intelligent soul — nothing but moujiks. 
 Deadly oiniii and weariness. The 
 moujiks, in whose company you will 
 have to live, are uncivilized, ignorant, 
 and dirty. During the winter you will 
 be blocked up by snowstorms and bliz- 
 zards, and in the summer you will be 
 scorched." 
 
 " I don't care — I love him ! "' obsti- 
 nately answered Mura. 
 
 Father Gavriil, as though convinced 
 of the uselessness of his eftbrts, was 
 silent for a time, trying to find a more 
 powerful argument. 
 
 " And there's another thing you for- 
 get," said Anna Nikoldevna, in her 
 turn. "You love him, that's right 
 enough ; but does he love you ? I don't 
 think so. Judge for yourself When a 
 man really loves his fiaiiccc he does all 
 in his power to make things pleasant 
 for her. That's my opinion." 
 
 " Quite so,'"' rejoined Father Gavriil, 
 remembering that in his time he had 
 fulfilled his duty in this respect. 
 
 " Yes, and see how he acts. He gets 
 some foolish idea into his head, and in 
 order to carry it out. he is ready to bury 
 you alive. No, he cannot love you." 
 
 "Ah no, m:itoushka,' he does love 
 her — he really does I " exclaimed a fourth 
 voice, with determination, and looking 
 towards the door, they saw the deacon 
 who had entered, lik© a ghost, unob- 
 ' Name given to wives of tlie clergy. 
 
A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 1 9 
 
 served. On this occasion, he was not 
 as usual, timid and retiring, but in his 
 voice there was a tone of determination. 
 He placed his right hand on his heart, 
 and in a firm tone said — 
 
 " Father Gavriil, matoushka, for the 
 Lord's sake listen to me ! My son said 
 to me, ' Why go to the bishop now, 
 when they have refused me ? It's all over 
 with me now, for I cannot marry any one 
 else, for I don't know and don't v.-ish to 
 know anv other woman on earth except 
 Mura.'"' 
 
 The deacon wept. 
 
 IMura, hearing such a pathetic senti- 
 ment from his lips, began to sob again, 
 and Father Gavriil and his wife cast 
 down their heads and were silent. 
 
 " How does he explain this extra- 
 ordinary course of action ? " asked Anna 
 Nikolaevna, after a short silence, with- 
 out looking at him. 
 
 " He wishes to act in accordance 
 with the gospel." 
 
 Anna Nikolaevna assumed a very 
 dissatisfied air. " I am not aware that 
 the gospel teaches that it is absolutely 
 necessary to hve in the country." 
 
 Father Gavriil, without answering this 
 remark, said — 
 
 '■ This is my opinion : Maria is of 
 an age to act for herself. If she loves 
 him so much that she can decide to 
 marry him we will agree, and to teach 
 her husband sense afterwards will be 
 her afi"air ! I suppose that in time he 
 will become sensible, and he can always 
 exchange for a town living. But she 
 must decide for herself" 
 
 The deacon went up to him, kissed his 
 
 ' A candidate for deacon's orders must be 
 married. 
 
20 A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 
 
 hand and forehead, and turned round to 
 his wife and said — 
 
 " Matoushka, will you allow me ? '^ 
 "Very well. But 1 am not responsible 
 for this," said she, holding out her hand, 
 which he kissed with great impetuosity. 
 Mura threw herself into her mother's 
 arms and there was a pathetic scene of 
 mutual embracings. 
 
 The deacon went back to the inn as 
 fast as his legs could carry him, in order 
 to bring Cyril to the Fortiticantofs. But 
 before he was formally recognized as a 
 Mura's fiance^ he underwent an exami- 
 nation at the hands of Father Gavriil and 
 his wife. He even promised that if 
 experience should show him anything 
 better he would listen to reason. After 
 this he was allowed to see Mura. 
 
 " Mura," said he, " I ought to ex- 
 plain . . ." 
 
 "Don't explain, Cyril, I don't want 
 to know anything. ... I love you, and 
 that's enough . . ." 
 
 And she squeezed his hand so con- 
 fidingly that he did not attempt to make 
 any further explanations. In the evening 
 they walked together ; Cyril told her 
 about the magnificent palaces, bridges, 
 museums, and theatres of the capital. 
 
 "It must be very nice there," remarked 
 Mura, timidly, fearing this might be a 
 reproach. \ 
 
 " Yes, but there is no life there — * 
 people don't live there, but pass time. 
 Life is consumed by the flame of excite- 
 ment and amusement ; I would not live 
 there even a year if I had my choice." 
 
 " And I could live there for an age,"" 
 thought Mura to herself. 
 
 The next day Cyril got up early, as 
 
A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 21 
 
 the bishop received at eight o'clock in 
 the morning. He dressed himself in 
 the clumsy suit of clothes provided by 
 the authorities for the students of the 
 academy, drank tea, and left the proto- 
 pope's house before any of its inmates 
 had got up. The deacon, however, was 
 already up, and went with his son to the 
 gates of the bishop's house, and said to 
 him — 
 
 " The bishop will treat you with 
 respect, as you have shown yourself a 
 learned and distinguished man. But 
 be careful to treat him with great re- 
 spect . . . andif you can manage to put 
 in a word foryour brother Nazar, do so." 
 
 Cyril found at the entrance a crowd 
 of people, chiefly country clergy in worn- 
 out cassocks and caftans.' Some of them 
 had a complacent air : as, for instance, 
 two fat popes who had come to get 
 permission for an exchange of livings ; 
 others, with fear and trembling, were 
 awaiting banishment to a monastery for 
 some irregularity. There were also 
 women, evidently the widows of clergy, 
 who had come to petition for pensions 
 or for permission to live on in the parish 
 as caretakers of the church, where their 
 husbands had served, maybe thirty or 
 forty years. Cyril, in his capacity of 
 " magistrant " of the academy, was im- 
 mediately admitted into the presence of 
 the bishop and the rest had to wait. The 
 bishop received him in a friendly way, 
 as the thanks which the seminary had 
 received for Cyril, had reflected more 
 or less credit on the bishop himself. 
 
 " I know — I know all about it. The 
 father rector of the academy wrote to 
 * A long- coat worn by the Russian peasants. 
 
22 A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 
 
 me. They were counting on you, and 
 you refused them on account of illness. 
 H'm ! . . . There doesn't seem much 
 the matter with you." 
 
 The bishop was a very old man, but 
 was very vigorous for his age and fond 
 of talking ; his perfectly grey beard was 
 always wagging. He was short and 
 somewhat stout ; his face was simple 
 and good-natured, but he liked to appear 
 stern, and to have it understood that 
 he kept the diocese in good order. 
 Although he had the reputation of being 
 strict, very strict even, still there were 
 not ten men to be found in the diocese 
 whom he had punished. He would 
 talk and threaten and then send the 
 culprit home in peace. Cyril seated 
 himself in accordance with the bishop's 
 invitation and said — 
 
 " I am perfectly well, your Reverence. 
 My illness was only a formal excuse for 
 refusing the appointment offered to me." 
 
 " I don't quite understand ; explain, 
 if you please, my son." 
 
 " Well, your Reverence, this is the 
 cause of my visit to you. I wish to 
 explain my intentions to you. I wish to 
 find a place as a country priest." 
 
 "What do you mean? You have 
 finished at the academy, and received 
 the gold medal, and wish to be a country 
 priest ? ■' 
 
 It was hardly surprising that the 
 bishop was astonished. This was the 
 first time in his life, that he had ever 
 had such a petition made to him. As a 
 rule, the academicians were only satis- 
 fied with the very best places, and 
 wished to go straight to the cathedral, 
 or, in any case, to one of the very best 
 
A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 23 
 
 town churches, and then in the capacity 
 of chief clergyman. 
 
 " I don't understand you ; please ex- 
 plain," added the bishop, looking at 
 him with great curiosity. 
 
 " I wish to serve the lesser brethren 
 — those that live in darkness," thought- 
 fully answered Cyril. 
 
 " Oh, that's it ! " said the bishop ; 
 "only I don't understand why you have 
 thus decided." 
 
 '• I don't care about town life ; a large 
 income has no attractions for me," con- 
 tinued Cyril. " My heart is in the vil- 
 lage, where I was bred and born." 
 
 " This is very sensible ! May God 
 bless you ! " added the bishop, in de- 
 light. "You will be an example to the 
 others." 
 
 He got up, went to Cyril, and kissed 
 him on the forehead. 
 
 "But what living shall I give you ? 
 I have only one or two very poor ones 
 to give now, all the best are occupied. 
 And you deserve the very best." 
 
 "No, no," added Cyril, hastily. "I 
 don't want a good one. Give me a liv^- 
 ing that v.-ill support me with a family." 
 
 " God bless you ! " said the bishop 
 again, affected by the young man's dis- 
 interestedness. 
 
 He wished to do something pleasant 
 for him, to distinguish him in some way. 
 
 " You have a brother — the deacon 
 Nazar — tell him to call on m.e. I will 
 make him a priest, and give him a good 
 place." 
 
 Cyril bowed, and the bishop con- 
 tinued — 
 
 " Go ; and God be with you. Choose 
 a wife, and prepare yourself for the 
 
24 A RUSSIAN PRIEST, 
 
 priesthood. I will appoint you to a 
 living." 
 
 He blessed the young man, embraced 
 him, and said — 
 
 " It is a pity all the same that our 
 town will lose you. You would have 
 been a good preacher. I remember 
 when you were at the seminary here 
 you distinguished yourself in preach- 
 ing. Well, tell your brother to come."' 
 
 Cyril left in a happy frame of mind. 
 In the first place, he rejoiced that the 
 bishop understood him. It was pleasant 
 also, that his father and Nazar would 
 both be gratified with the bishop's kind- 
 ness. 
 
 The people who were waiting in the 
 bishop's ante-room looked at him with 
 respect and envy. All knew that he 
 was a magistrant and the gold medalist, 
 and thought, " Lucky fellow ; he will get 
 the best place in the diocese — and he is 
 quite a boy, too." 
 
 In the episcopal courtyard Cyril met 
 the rector and his nephew, Evgenii 
 Mejof, the latter very smartly dressed. 
 His black frock coat had evidently been 
 made to order ; it fitted well, and was 
 made of good cloth. His hat was new, 
 and he had black gloves. He carried 
 himself very importantly, and was, in 
 fact, quite a swell. The father rector 
 was dressed in a black cassock with the 
 regalia on his breast. At the gate stood 
 the seminary carriage. It was evident 
 that the rector was taking his nephew 
 to present him to the bishop. 
 
 " Been to pay your respects ? '^ asked 
 Mejof, hurrying after his uncle. 
 
 " Yes," answered Cyril, shortly. 
 
 "And I hnvc come with my uncle to 
 
A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 25 
 
 try and get the place of the inspector 
 whom they have removed. 
 
 " He doesn't lose time," thought 
 Cyril to himself, especially as Mejof 
 had finished the academy course with- 
 out any distinction, and it was not even 
 sure whether he would be able to count 
 on the degree of '* magistrant," 
 
 "Yes ; my uncle is using his influence. 
 The salary is a very good one." 
 
 " I suppose so,'' said Cyril, absently. 
 
 " Quarters and even firing included. 
 Not bad." 
 
 " No." 
 
 At this moment the father rector 
 came up. 
 
 " Well, Obnovlienski, what are your 
 plans for the future ? " 
 
 Cyril did not feel inclined to tell him. 
 He had never taken a fancy to the 
 father rector, and detected in his 
 character an uncandid, and even false 
 note. 
 
 " Oh, I really don't know yet. I 
 shall go and talk it over with my 
 family." 
 
 "Ah, that's right. . . . Come along, 
 Evgenii." 
 
 Cyril bowed and parted company 
 with them. 
 
 " How easily a man succeeds who is 
 only keen about his own interests,'^ 
 thought he, remembering the very 
 limited capacities of young Mejof. 
 
III. 
 
 GNATII OBNOVLIEN- 
 SKI started off with his 
 son Cyril in their springless 
 conveyance, the wheels of 
 which gave out a peculiar 
 squeaking sound, which 
 could be heard for a 
 couple of versts around. 
 They had already been on the road 
 five hours, and the travellers were 
 grey with dust. The deacon was 
 half asleep, and was every now and 
 then aroused by an unusual jolt. Cyril 
 was looking around him and reflections 
 were crowding into his mind. On both 
 sides of the wide and tortuous high road, 
 extended fields of ripe barley. Near 
 by, was a farmhouse surrounded by an 
 extensive kitchen-garden. All around 
 was silent. Every living being had 
 sought refuge from the scorching rays 
 of the sun. 
 
 Cyril thought to himself how all this 
 scene was just as he had left it three 
 years before — just as though he had only 
 left his native home yesterday. All was 
 grey, monotonous —no change, no move- 
 ment either backward or forward. 
 
 *' We are almost there now," said 
 ( yril, glancing on the left-hand side 
 v. i ither the road turned. 
 
A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 27 
 
 The village came in view suddenly, 
 with its white church, with the neglected 
 and moss-grown garden of the squire, 
 the pothouse, a stone building with 
 a tile roof at the entrance to the 
 village. On one side stood the 
 squire's house in a half-ruined condi- 
 tion, although there were people who 
 could remember the time when the 
 inmates lived in every possible comfort. 
 
 The impression produced by the vil- 
 lage of Ustimievka was one of poverty, 
 monotony, and utter ennui^ and the 
 traveller felt an instinctive desire to pass 
 by it without stopping. 
 
 '' Here we are at last," said the 
 deacon, shaking himself, and urging on 
 his beasts with the ends of the reins. 
 
 These animals, seeing how near they 
 were to home were going faster of their 
 own accord. They passed the public- 
 house and reached the church. The 
 deacon took off his hat and crossed him- 
 self. 
 
 " We have arrived, thank God ! " said 
 he, expressively. " There is our house. 
 You will find everything as you left it.'" 
 
 Passing down the village street, the 
 moujiks seeing, or rather hearing, Father 
 Ignatii's conveyance, took off their hats, 
 and looked to see who the stranger was 
 sitting with the deacon, and recognizing 
 Cyril, nodded to him. One old woman 
 could not restrain herself, and pointing 
 at Cyril, cried out, "Why, here's our 
 Kiroushka arrived."' Cyril took off his 
 hat and bowed to her. He was glad 
 that they called him by the same name 
 that they called him fifteen years ago. 
 At length they arrived at the deacon's 
 house. This was nothing more than a 
 
28 A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 
 
 common moujik's hut built of clay, the 
 only difference being, that it was a little 
 larger than the rest and better kept. 
 They entered the half-closed gates lead- 
 ing to the plot of ground in front of the 
 house. The green shutters were closed. 
 
 The door into the hut opened with a 
 noise, and Cyril's relations appeared. 
 He kissed a thin, wrinkled, and regular- 
 featured woman, with a face almost as 
 pale as his own. Her expression was 
 stern and even repelling. This was his 
 mother. His sister Motia, a girl of 
 fifteen years old, looked at him with an 
 air of curiosity, but seemed somewhat 
 shy and confused. His young brother 
 Mefodii, still a pupil at the seminary, 
 tried to look grave and self-contained. 
 It seemed to Cyril as though he was 
 scarcely friendly with him. His old 
 aunt, Anna Evgraphona, from some un- 
 known cause, wept. His relations all 
 seemed to greet him in a more or less 
 formal manner. Mefodii occupied him- 
 self in unharnessing the horses, and re- 
 marked that one of them had a sore 
 back. 
 
 " Let's come into the dining-room," 
 said the deacon's wife ; " we shall get a 
 sunstroke if we stand here. Will you 
 be ready soon, father ? " 
 
 " No, no, don't wait for me. I will 
 come soon." 
 
 The deacon had a secret hope that 
 the cross-examination would take place 
 in his absence, and that he would not 
 have to witness the first effects of the 
 disappointment. Cyril followed his 
 mother into the room. Motia and her 
 aunt followed them, and quickly dis- 
 appeared into another room. In the 
 
A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 29 
 
 corner hung a gilt *' eikon " representing 
 the Virgin, before which a hanging lamp 
 was burning. A long sofa with a grey 
 canvas covering, was the chief adorn- 
 ment of this reception-room, used chiefly 
 only when there was company. In the 
 middle of the room stood a round table 
 with a white knitted cover. On it stood 
 a vase with artificial flowers. In a line 
 with the wall were several varnished 
 chairs with high backs, a cupboard with 
 glass doors, containing crockery, and a 
 looking-glass. The deacon's wife de- 
 corously stood in front of the " eikon " 
 and crossed herself, then she kissed the 
 cross which was lying on the table, and 
 gave it to Cyril and his aunt. 
 
 " Now then, Cyril, sit down and tell 
 us all about your plans," said she, her- 
 self sitting on one of the chairs. 
 
 He felt very agitated. His mother 
 had asked him the one question which 
 he least cared to answer. He was 
 silent. 
 
 '' How handsome he is — quite a pic- 
 ture ! " said at length the aunt ; and this 
 evidently calmed her, she stopped cry- 
 ing. Motia stood at the doorway and 
 looked at her brother with a coquettish 
 half smile. Mefodii came into the room, 
 sat down abruptly, and lit a cigarette. 
 
 "Well, you have finished with the 
 academy ? " asked the deacon's wife. 
 
 " Yes," answered Cyril. 
 
 "Well, and what next.^ You will be a 
 professor, I suppose ? " 
 
 " No, mother, I think not." 
 
 " Well, what ? a protopope ? " 
 
 " No, I shall not be a protopope." 
 
 " You don't mean to say you are going 
 to be a monk ? But it would be very 
 
30 A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 
 
 nice to be a bishop. The only thing is, 
 it is so long to wait." 
 
 ** I don't advise you to go to the 
 monastery, to shut yourself up from the 
 world," dolefully said the aunt. 
 
 "I haven'ttheleast idea of going to the 
 monastery. I don't want to be a bishop." 
 
 "Well, what then?" 
 
 " I wish to live in the village, and be 
 a country priest." 
 
 " What are you talking about ? Every 
 seminarist becomes a country priest ! 
 What was the good of your going to the 
 academy ? " 
 
 " In order to learn, mother." 
 
 " And what's the good of your learning 
 if you bury yourself in the country ? 
 Why Father Porphirii's son finished the 
 academy course last year, and they 
 gave him the first place in the church of 
 the district town." 
 
 "Yes, I know. But to tell the truth 
 I hardly know my own plans myself. 
 Well, and how are you all ? " 
 
 Cyril said this, intending to smooth 
 down the effects of his explanation. 
 But it did not produce this result. 
 They answered his questions in a per- 
 functory sort of way. His brother, the 
 seminarist, looked at him suspiciously, 
 and looked as if he would like to ask 
 him some quibbling question, but could 
 not make up his mind to do so. Motia, 
 with an expression of deep disappoint- 
 ment, went into the next room and sat 
 down at the window. For some time 
 they had all of them, including the 
 deacon himself, reckoned on Cyril's 
 being made a professor in the seminary, 
 and perhaps in the course of time rector. 
 No one could understand this sudden 
 
A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 3 1 
 
 change, and they all attributed it to some 
 external circumstances. Cyril began to 
 eat, and having drunk a wineglassful 
 of vodka, remarked — 
 
 " This fish is very good." 
 
 " Yes, it's from the town. It can't be 
 got here," answered the deacon's wife ; 
 and they were all silent again. 
 
 Cyril continued to eat in silence. The 
 joyful frame of mind in which he had 
 entered his native village had soon given 
 way to feelings of a difterent nature. He 
 did not expect such a cold welcome. He 
 knew quite well that this was in conse- 
 quence of what he had told them. If 
 he had only told them that he was going 
 to be a professor or protopope they 
 would have all been perfectly happy. 
 He knew that his mother only restrained 
 herself because this was the first inter- 
 view, but that to-morrow there would 
 be an unpleasant scene, reproaches 
 and tears. Cyril knew it would be 
 utterly vain to try and explain his ideas 
 to her. She was a woman of no culture, 
 barely possessed the rudiments of edu- 
 cation, and she was unable to under- 
 stand such abstract ideas as devoting 
 one's services to one's neighbour from 
 evangelical motives. 
 
 The deacon's wife went out of the 
 room. Cyril continued to eat, and his 
 brother lit another cigarette. At length 
 he said, in a confused tone, looking at 
 the door — 
 
 " Tell me, please, Cyril, you have not 
 passed the examination ? " 
 
 Cyril smiled, and said — 
 
 " bh, yes, I finished right enough, 
 and if you don't believe me, look here." 
 And he pulled out of his waistcoat 
 
32 A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 
 
 pocket a thick document and handed it 
 to his brother, who unfolded it, perused 
 it, and threw it down on the table. 
 
 " I do not understand it I There 
 must be some other reason. He's come 
 out as 'magistrant' and with the gold 
 medal. Look here, mother, and Motia ! 
 Why, even our inspector at the semi- 
 nary never got his degree. No, it beats 
 me ! " 
 
 " I'll explain it to you afterwards," said 
 Cyril, attacking some rice pudding, 
 which he was very fond of. His mother 
 and Motia meanwhile looked at the 
 diploma. 
 
 " We must frame it," said Motia. 
 
 She remembered that their incumbent, 
 Father Agaphon, had all his diplomas 
 of priesthood and the right to wear cer- 
 tain vestments, &c., framed and hung in 
 a row on the wall. 
 
 "And, notwithstanding this, nothing 
 more ! " said the deacon's wife, with a 
 sigh. 
 
 The aunt now appeared and looked at 
 the diploma with surprise. 
 
 " Well ! Fortified yourself.' " said the 
 deacon, coming in. He cast an inquir- 
 ing glance at the faces of all present 
 and saw that it was already out. But 
 he remembered that he had some plea- 
 sant news to impart, and said, turning to 
 his wife, " You know, Arisha, that Cyril 
 called on the bishop, who received him 
 very well, and said, ' You have a brother, 
 Nazar, who wants to be made a priest ; 
 
 tell him ' What do you think he 
 
 said?" The deacon seeing that all were 
 listening with great interest, stopped, so 
 as to tease them. " Supposing I don't 
 tell you what he said." 
 
A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 33 
 
 " Well, tell us— what did he say ? " 
 "Aha! Curiosity! I don't think I 
 shall tell you." 
 
 " Well, why on earth did you begin ! " 
 However, all knew that it would soon 
 come out. 
 
 " He said, ' Tell him to come to me 
 and I will make him a priest.' " 
 " Really ? " 
 
 The dry and stern face of the deacons 
 wife lit up. It had long been the object 
 of her ambition that Nazar should 
 become a priest. In comparison with 
 this, even Cyril's academical career had 
 occupied a second place : Cyril she 
 regarded as a big bird who would get 
 some important appointment, perhaps a 
 thousand versts away, and they would only 
 know him by name for the future. Nazar, 
 however, was a man living very near, 
 and with a heap of children, and always 
 was under her eye. The idea that her 
 second son, a" magistrant," was going to 
 be a country clergyman, very much vexed 
 her, but, on the other hand, it was very 
 good news that her eldest son would be 
 made a priest, although, probably, only 
 a country one. Mefodii joyfully rubbed 
 his hands ; Motia jumped about the 
 room ; and the aunt wept for joy. 
 
 "Is this really true?" said the 
 deacon's wife. 
 
 " Well, I should hardly invent such a 
 story ; but if vou don't believe it, ask 
 Cyril." 
 
 They were all rejoiced at this news, 
 and made various enraptured remarks 
 to one another about Nazar and his 
 wife Lunia : how glad they would be, 
 and how they would now be able to send 
 their eldest daughter to the diocesan 
 
34 A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 
 
 school, which to this time their limited 
 means had prevented them from doing. 
 
 " I tell you what, my dear ! It's time 
 for me to retire,'' said the deacon, with 
 emotion. " It's really time — see how old 
 I am getting." 
 
 " What do you mean .^" said his wife. 
 
 " I shall put myself on the retired list, 
 and we will go and live with my son. 
 Mefodii will have soon finished his time 
 at the seminary." 
 
 His wife assumed a stern expression, 
 looked straight at him, and said — 
 
 " That will never do." 
 
 "Why? Nazar is a kind-hearted 
 fellow." 
 
 " Every one is kind as long as you 
 don't ask them to put their hands in 
 their pockets ; but if you do, they are 
 like wolves." 
 
 Cyril looked at his mother's pale face 
 and thought what a hard life she must 
 have led to be so deeply embittered. 
 Somehow he had never remarked this 
 before. 
 
 "Ah, my dear," said the deacon, 
 good-naturedly, "why do you take 
 such a bad view of people, and not 
 believe in any one, even in your own 
 flesh and blood ?" 
 
 " I don't believe in them," said the 
 deacon's wife, in a decided tone. 
 
 " I believe in every one of God's 
 creatures ; it's only Christian." 
 
 "And that's why every one gets round 
 you." 
 
 " Well, let them ; I still hold my 
 opinion." 
 
 The conversation soon turned on the 
 bishop's kindness again. In the evening 
 they formed a plan for telling Nazar 
 
A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 35 
 
 about it. Nazar was deacon in a neigh- 
 bouring village, about thirty versts off. 
 
 The following day, they harnessed 
 the horses, and Cyril and Mefodii set 
 out together, along the broad road ex- 
 tending over the steppe. The rays of 
 the sun had scarcely dissipated the cold 
 night air. Cyril felt an unusual flow of 
 good spirits. He told his brother what 
 an excellent effect the country air had 
 on him, and how he would not exchange 
 life there, for life in any capital. 
 
 " I can't see anything pleasant in 
 country life : neither people nor amuse- 
 ment — nothing but £";/«////'' exclaimed 
 Mefodii. " I don't understand you a bit.'"' 
 
 *' Well, if any one had said the same 
 thing to me when I was your age I 
 should not have understood them," 
 answered Cyril ; '' I still hankered after 
 town life, like you : it seemed to me then, 
 as if life was only to be found there — 
 and here, in the country, nothing but a 
 vegetating existence. But now I have 
 changed my opinion. Life is really only 
 here. People here live for existence ; 
 but in the town, life is purely conditional. 
 Everything there is done in accordance 
 with convention, and man there, is the 
 slave of convention. People there live 
 for themselves, but here you can share 
 what you have with your neighbour. 
 For instance, town life is expensive. In 
 order to live properly there, all one's 
 attention must be turned to earning the 
 necessary means. Neither time nor 
 strength remains to be devoted to one's 
 neighbours. And life here costs practi- 
 cally nothing ; you have as much time 
 for work as you like. Here, and here 
 only, is one master of one's time, of one's 
 
36 A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 
 
 Strength, of one's capabilities. Here 
 only, can one devote one's whole at- 
 tention to the service of one's fellows." 
 
 " Is this what they taught you at the 
 academy?" asked Mefodii, very much 
 astonished at these sentiments. 
 
 "What?" 
 
 " Why, all that you've just been 
 saying." 
 
 " No, they don't teach these things 
 — each one learns them by himself." 
 
 They arrived at midday ; Nazar was 
 very glad to see them, and embraced 
 Cyril with feeling. He was sorry, how- 
 ever, to remark how thin he had grown. 
 
 " And you are fatter than ever," said 
 Cyril ; " it's really time for you to stop." 
 
 Nazar despairingly waved his arms. 
 This was his great misfortune. He was 
 incredibly fat, and even now and then 
 got seriously alarmed about it. Nothing 
 seemed to be of any use ; he had tried 
 violent exercise, and given up sleeping 
 after dinner ; he used to bathe, and he 
 took every one's advice. Some one had 
 told him that strong tea dries up the 
 system. He began drinking black con- 
 coctions of tea day and night. He tried 
 drinking vinegar, moderate diet, but it 
 was all in vain. He had a fearful 
 appetite, and ate enough for five ordi- 
 nary people, and was not unsusceptible 
 to the charms of vodka. He was over 
 forty years of age ; he had seven child- 
 ren, and his wife, Lukeria Grigorievna, 
 usually called in the family Lunia, gave 
 every hope that in the course of time 
 their number would be doubled. This 
 small, thin, and lively little lady pre- 
 sented a great contrast to Nazar. In 
 all domestic affairs, his wife was the 
 
A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 37 
 
 absolute head. Nazar, however, fulfilled 
 his duties of deacon, for the simple 
 reason, that in this department, his 
 wife could not take over the manage- 
 ment of affairs. But in all other matters, 
 owing to his corpulence, he did not 
 interfere, and Lunia managed the house- 
 hold and education of the children 
 excellently, and even baked ih^^ain be?ii 
 herself. She never complained about 
 want of strength or having too much 
 work to do. She was thoroughly practi- 
 cal. Na^ar worshipped his wife, and was 
 simply in love with her, and thought 
 her beautiful, notwithstanding that there 
 were already wrinkles on her dark face, 
 and her hair was prematurely turning 
 grey. 
 
 Mefodii ran into the cattle-yard, where 
 Lunia was busy looking after a calf, and 
 told her the joyful news. She excitedly 
 ran out to tell her husband, intending^ 
 however, to have some sport with him. 
 
 " Well, Nazar, do you know that Cyril 
 has seen the bishop, and the bishop told 
 him that he wanted to speak to his 
 brother Xazar, and that he would have 
 to put him on the retired list }" 
 
 "Lord have mercy on us 1" exclaimed 
 Nazar, in a fright, crossing himself. 
 "What does this mean.^'' 
 
 "He said that you were so fat you 
 could not serve any longer." 
 
 But seeing the look of despair which 
 her joke caused the credulous Nazar, 
 Lunia burst out laughing, and told him 
 the whole truth, which Cyril confirmed. 
 Nazar was, of course, in indescribable 
 ecstasy, and would have jumped with 
 joy, if only his weight had allowed him 
 to do such a thing. 
 
38 A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 
 
 He at once began to think about the 
 better circumstances in which they would 
 assuredly find themselves after his eleva- 
 tion to the priesthood, about spacious 
 lodgings, about his daughter's education, 
 and, above all things, about getting leave 
 of absence, so as to go to Kief or Khar- 
 koff and be treated by a doctor there to 
 cure his corpulency. 
 
 All these visions would now be 
 realized, thanks to that one word from 
 the bishop. The brothers dined together, 
 and after dinner the young people re- 
 turned to Ustimievka. Motia ran out 
 to meet them, and got into the convey- 
 ance near the church, and told them 
 that an unpleasant scene had occurred 
 at home during their absence : her 
 mother had not slept all night ; two 
 feelings had disturbed her — one of joy 
 for Nazar's promotion, the other grief 
 on account of Cyril's incomprehensible, 
 voluntary abnegation of his brilliant 
 prospects. In the morning her nerves 
 were quite deranged. The deacon, 
 remarking this, said that he would have 
 to spend the morning on business with 
 the incumbent. But she would not let 
 him go. At first there were sighs and 
 reproaches of a general nature. " With 
 other people things went all right," 
 said the deacon's wife. " Their children 
 grew up and attained their various 
 objects. So-and-so's son passed through 
 the seminary and at once got a good 
 place in the town. There was the 
 diocesan subdeacon's son, who had only 
 come out in the third class, had at once 
 been appointed to the cemetery- church in 
 the town ; " and other instances. " But 
 with them, somehow, things were quite 
 
 I 
 
A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 39 
 
 different. Their son had astonished 
 every one by his success, come out first 
 in the academy, and was now going to 
 bury himself as a country priest. Every 
 one would point at them with scorn, and 
 say that all the academy and fine learn- 
 ing was of no use. And Cyril's father, 
 instead of showing him his folly and 
 putting him in the right path, had 
 actually encouraged him. Evidently 
 God was punishing them for their sins," 
 &c. Then her tears began to come. The 
 aunt, of course, also wept in a quiet sort 
 of way, and had hidden herself in the 
 lumber room, and finally the deacon's 
 wife had taken to her bed. 
 
 " See what my children have brought 
 me to I" and then more tears. 
 
 Cyril sat on the bed and took her 
 hand in his, and said, in his kind voice — 
 
 " You are not well, mother. If you 
 would only listen to me quietly T would 
 explain this to you." 
 
 "How can you explain.^" she cried, 
 tragically. 
 
 " I will tell you about my determina- 
 tions, mother. You are vexed with me 
 for having refused a good place, and 
 because I had decided to be a country 
 priest. Judge for yourself, mother. We 
 have always been poor together. You 
 have worked hard all your life, and hard 
 work has worn you out. Poverty and 
 labour, mother, these are our inherit- 
 ance, and these have made us dear to 
 one another. I wish to be of service to 
 those near and dear to me. I don't care 
 to serve the rich, but the poor. I wish 
 to live thus, as you have lived. I feel 
 the greatest respect to you for your 
 hard-working life, and wish to live in a 
 
40 A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 
 
 similar way, I have learned this from 
 you. You planted the seed of this idea 
 in my breast, and I have cultivated it." 
 
 It is hard to say how these words 
 affected the deacon's wife. These argu- 
 ments scarcely had any effect on her 
 discontented mind. But the kind voice 
 of her son, his loving glance, had a 
 soothing effect on her. The hard ex- 
 pression of discontent and bad humour 
 left her face, and she quietly drew Cyril 
 to her and kissed him. 
 
 " Ah I Cyril," said she, in a quiet 
 voice, "how I had counted on you — how 
 I had hoped I I had hoped for the 
 elevation of our family in the world." 
 
 " Oh, that will be ! Only wait. Let 
 me first satisfy the longings of my 
 heart." 
 
 Cyril remained wiih her for half an 
 hour. The deacon, hearing this con- 
 versation from the next room, wondered 
 at his son's art in so quickly calmnng 
 the storm — an art which, after many 
 years of fruitless effort, he had never 
 achieved, notwithstanding his extreme 
 submission to his wife, Cyril's mother 
 soon got up again and went about the 
 ordinary affairs of life. And the subject 
 was not broached again. 
 
 Nazar, on his way to the town, stopped 
 with his relations, and received the 
 solemn benediction of his parents. His 
 mother gave him a lecture as if he was 
 a child, to which the good-natured Nazar 
 listened with all humility and serious- 
 ness. In fact, he was nothing more 
 than a child, and, starting on such a 
 serious business without Lunia, felt the 
 ground under his feet somewhat in- 
 secure. The affair stood thus— that if 
 
A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 4 1 
 
 the bishop had not changed his mind, 
 he would have to live alone in the town 
 at some inn for not less than a week, and 
 this appeared to him quite an exploit. 
 
 In the deacon's house the days follow- 
 ing Nazar's departure, all were in a state 
 of anxiety as to his fate. Cyril alone 
 was perfectly calm, because he knew 
 the bishop had promised this seriously, 
 and would keep his word. The deacon 
 could not believe in such good fortune 
 until it was an accomplished fact. His 
 wife took a pessimist view, and was 
 persuaded the thing would hang fire 
 somehow ; but after two days they began 
 to think, that if it had turned out badly, 
 Nazar would have already returned, and 
 as he was still in the town it must mean 
 that he was preparing for the priest- 
 hood. 
 
 "But maybe that he is doing 
 penance," said the deacon's wife, al- 
 though she was more inclined now to 
 take the general and favourable view of 
 the case. 
 
 Sunday arrived. The deacon arrayed 
 himself in his best cassock, oiled and 
 smoothed his hair, and wore a happy 
 and contented expression. 
 
 "It's a certainty now that the bishop 
 will lay his hands on him to-day," said 
 he, with a triumphant smile, and during 
 mass, he read the liturgy with especial 
 emphasis and pronounced the words in 
 an intoning voice. Every hour his 
 agitation increased. After church, he 
 could not eat anything at dinner. As 
 one who had always been, and would 
 always be, a deacon, he looked upon the 
 priesthood, as an almost unattainable 
 dignity, and suddenly Nazar, who seemed 
 
42 A RUSSIAN PRIES'J 
 
 just such another as himself, one destined 
 to lifelong service as a deacon, had to- 
 day taken this important step up the 
 ladder of life. His wife, too, was much 
 agitated, but she tried to hide her feel- 
 ings, and kept asserting, that she still 
 did not believe in Nazar's preferment. 
 
 At length, in the evening, Nazar him- 
 self arrived. He entered the room with 
 an expression of radiant solemnity, and 
 stopping at the doorway attentively and 
 reverently made the sign of the cross, 
 and bowed towards the sacred image, 
 and then turning to the family, who were 
 sitting drinking tea, he silently blessed 
 them. All understood that his conse- 
 cration to the priesthood had taken 
 place, got up from their seats and also 
 silently crossed themselves. Although 
 their joy was great, they were silent at 
 first. Each in turn received the bene- 
 diction of the new priest. Then they 
 began to ask Nazar all about it. He 
 told his whole story to the minutest 
 details, and when he came to his first 
 interview with the bishop, turning to 
 Cyril, he said — 
 
 " He spoke of you in the most grati- 
 fying terms : he said you were an ex- 
 ample for the whole diocese, and that it 
 was really on account of your Christian 
 humility that he consented to make me 
 a priest ; he also told me to say that he 
 had got a place for you, and that you 
 are to marry quickly, and come to him." 
 
 The whole family except the deacon 
 looked with intense perplexity at Cyril. 
 
 Nazar passed the night at Usti- 
 mi(5vka, and Cyril went to the town on 
 
 the following day, 
 
IV. 
 
 :^_^^HE two weeks which Cyril 
 ^N| passed in the town were un- 
 bearable to him. He asked 
 Father Gavriil and Mura's 
 ir^^ ^7\ ^^other, that the wedding 
 r^ ^p should be as quiet as pos- 
 sible ; but this, they would 
 not hear of. 
 " We have already given in to you 
 00 much. But about this matter, we 
 ire going to have our own way ! " said 
 Mura's mother ; and, at the recollection 
 Df these concessions, she heaved a deep 
 igh. Mura also expressed a wish that 
 3n the evening of the wedding, there 
 hould be a reception in her father's 
 house. She openly admitted to Cyril, 
 that this had long been her dream ; and 
 Father Gavriil said that his position in 
 he town made this a matter of neces- 
 ity, so that further objections were 
 perfectly useless. 
 
 And so, on the appointed evening, the 
 second floor of the cathedral house was 
 brilliantly illuminated, and in the cathe- 
 dral the large chandelier was lit, the 
 episcopal choir sang, and the arch- 
 deacon of the cathedral himself read 
 the Epistle. The whole of the clerical 
 society of the town was present, all the 
 marriageable ladies, also on the lookout 
 for eligible husbands — academicians if 
 
44 A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 
 
 possible — with their fat mammas, semi- 
 nary professors, some of the pupils in 
 the upper classes, all helped to make 
 a substantial congregation in church 
 during the ceremony, and afterwards 
 adjourned to the cathedral house and 
 made merry there till morning. Mura 
 was happy and lively, and looked very . 
 pretty in her snow-white attire with a 
 mass of flowers on her head. Cyril felt 
 uncomfortable in his dress-clothes, but 
 they suited him, in his character of 
 academician — a character which pre- 
 supposes a deal of learning and serious- 
 ness. 
 
 Mefodii and Motia were the only 
 ones of his relations present. The old 
 people were afraid of the brilliancy, and 
 said, "We should be out of place there." 
 Lunia could not leave her children, and 
 Nazar excused himself on account of 
 his fatness ; and besides, at this time 
 he was making a move to the place 
 where he had been appointed incum- 
 bent. 
 
 Two days after the wedding, Cyril 
 called on the bishop. " Ah I " said the 
 bishop, greeting him in a friendly way, 
 "I know all about it; Fath"- Gavriil 
 has told me. Vou have got c^ mce girl 
 for a wife. Well, I have got aii .appoint- 
 ment for you. It will not be far from 
 your parents : Lugovoe. Do you know 
 it? 
 
 " Lugovoe .'"' 
 
 " Well, aren't you satisfied.' " 
 
 " There are two other clergymen 
 there, your Reverence."' 
 
 " Wei), and you will be their chief.'' 
 
 " I am afraid of this. How shall we 
 get on together 1 '' 
 
 
A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 45 
 
 " What nonsense ; and with your good- 
 nature, too ! No, don't make any objec- 
 tions to this ; I have decided it, and it 
 shall be. It's not a bad village— it's got 
 a bazaar, a school, and a post office. 
 It's not like being completely buried. 
 So prepare yourself. Friday is a fete 
 day, and I will ordain you deacon, and 
 on Sunday — a priest. Go, and God be 
 with you." 
 
 Cyril raised no more objections. But 
 still, the appointment did not at all 
 satisfy him. This village Lugovoe 
 extended over a very large space and 
 contained a large number of parish- 
 ioners. He was not afraid of that. 
 But he would not be alone. His 
 colleagues would be sure to oppose his 
 ideas. He did not even reckon on the 
 possibility of finding in them, sym- 
 pathizers or helpers. There would be, 
 he thought, disagreements, quarrels, 
 and all sorts of unpleasantnesses. But 
 still, he could not make up his mind to 
 object to the bishop's decision, after all 
 he had done for him, and the kind 
 sympathy he had shown him in this 
 matter. He said to himself, " I must 
 take my chance. In any case I shall 
 stick to my own line. No one shall 
 induce me to leave the path I have 
 marke'^ "' for myself. And who knows ? 
 — maybe all is for the best." 
 
 Abo't this time he began to experience 
 a constant agitation. All that up to this 
 time had existed in his mind in theory, 
 would now take a practical form. 
 Practical life was apidly approaching, 
 and he would have to be prepared 
 for it. Sometimes when sitting beside 
 Mura, he would take her hand and say, 
 
46 A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 
 
 "Ah, Mura ! it's a difficult problem, lit 
 how to find sufficient strength for the i 5 
 struggle." 
 
 Mura had the very haziest notion of : 
 the nature of these problems, but she : 
 did not at all like his talking in that , 
 strain. These doubts, however, rapidly 
 passed away, and he explained to him- ' 
 self that they were merely caused by a ; 
 deranged state of nerves, and that he , 
 had no grounds for doubting his ■ 
 strength. ' 
 
 " We are still so young, Mura ! 
 When we get old we shall begin to 
 doubt our strength." 
 
 Mura agreed to this also, as she did i 
 to almost ever^'thing he said. She (, 
 loved him for his youth, his wisdom, his i 
 sympathy, his earnestness, but con- : 
 sidered his ideas altogether beyond her i 
 reach. 
 
 On Friday, Cyril came home from 
 church in clerical garb. When Mura : 
 saw him in this costume she almost . 
 fainted, but recovering herself, began to . 
 cry. 
 
 " What's the matter with you ?" asked 
 Cyril, trying in vain to console her. 
 
 Cyril seemed strange to her in this 
 dress. She was accustomed to see him 
 in ordinary clothes, like other young . 
 men, and all of a sudden, these had 
 vanished under a broad, long cassock — ' 
 under that costume which drove away 
 all ideas of love and romance. Of 
 course she had known that this change 
 would come about, but when it actually 
 occurred, and he stood before her — a 
 clergyman, without the least chance of 
 his ever being like any ordinary young 
 man again, as she had loved him, her 
 
A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 47 
 
 heart involuntarily sank within her and 
 she could not resist crying. 
 
 " But look here, Mura ! I am just 
 the same as I was before ; I have not 
 changed because my clothes are 
 different ! " 
 
 "How strange and ridiculous you 
 look ! " exclaimed Mura, almost smiling 
 in spite of her tears. He looked in the 
 glass, and could not help laughing at 
 himself. Certainly he did look strange. 
 His short hair, cut yesterday " for the 
 last time " ; his clean-shaven chin and 
 lips — also "for the last time"; his 
 young face and thin figure : all this gave 
 him the air of a man who had "got 
 himself up " for a joke, the clerical 
 garments being almost invariably ac- 
 companied by long hair and beard, and 
 a corpulent figure. But this was no joke, 
 and Mura knew it. Hence her tears. 
 
 His mother-in-law congratulated him, 
 at the same time looking at his costume 
 in a somewhat sarcastic way. Her 
 tenderest feelings were offended. The 
 secret ambition of all priests' wives is 
 to get their daughters married in the 
 secular world. She had counted on 
 her son-in-law becoming an inspector 
 in the seminary, after his brilliant 
 achievements, or else perhaps a pro- 
 fessor in some academy ; and then, 
 when he reached middle age, that 
 he would be ordained and get some post 
 as protopope straight off. But now she 
 had given her consent she felt she must 
 make the best of a bad job, and hence 
 her dry congratulation on this occasion 
 without a word more. 
 
 Father Gavriil, who had assisted at 
 Cyril's ordination, took things more 
 
48 A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 
 
 calmly ; he knew that the bishop 
 approved of Cyril's action, and secretly 
 hoped that this would help his career 
 afterwards. He would soon get tired of 
 the country, his foolish notions would 
 pass off, and then the bishop would give 
 him the best place in the town at 
 once. 
 
 On Sunday Cyril was ordained priest. 
 Various thoughts and feelings passed 
 through his mind during those few 
 minutes when the ceremony was going 
 on. At length came the moment, when 
 he formally, and publicly took upon 
 himself that duty, the fulfilment of 
 which, constituted for him the whole 
 aims and interests of his life. At this 
 moment he felt a secret self-satisfaction. 
 He knew many people who talked a 
 great deal about the responsibilities of 
 life, but who were lacking in resolution 
 to carry their words into action. And 
 all his life he had talked about this duty, 
 and had as yet, got no further. He was 
 now leaving words behind him, and had 
 marked out for himself his object, and 
 to-day had taken the first step on the 
 road leading to it. He had no wish to 
 judge others harshly, but in this trium- 
 phant moment he could not remain 
 indifferent to these various feelings. 
 
 MAria Gavrilovna was in the church. 
 Her heart beat faster than usual when 
 the ceremony was being performed 
 over Cyril. It seemed to her in an 
 indirect sort of way that the ceremony 
 was being performed over her too, and 
 when Cyril appeared arrayed in priestly 
 vestments, she thought to herself, 
 " Here I am, a 'mdtoushka popadya ' 1 ' 
 But durincr these three davs she had in 
 
A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 49 
 
 some de.^ree reconciled herself to the 
 situation and to Cyril's costume. 
 
 After mass Cyril said to her, in a 
 somewhat solemn and significant tone — 
 " Now, Mura, our real life has begun. 
 Up to this time we have only been pre- 
 paring for it." 
 
 For the rest of the day he was in 
 an excellent frame of mind ; his eyes 
 sparkled with an inspired brilliancy, 
 as though the ceremony in church had 
 actually transformed him. Mura was 
 frightened at this change, which ap- 
 peared in a certain degree to further 
 estrange him from her. At times, he 
 seemed to her strange, with the stern 
 look of a priest, and the tone of a 
 preacher. Could this be the same 
 Cyril whom she so loved 1 At such 
 moments she became melancholy : the 
 future seemed to her uncertain and 
 cold. These passing thoughts kept re- 
 appearing and disappearing again from 
 her mind. 
 
 The week of probation began. Cyril 
 performed the service every day in 
 the bishop's church. Coming home 
 afterwards, he was usually in a dis- 
 turbed frame of mind, and expressed 
 his impatience. " How I long to be off 
 to my post ! " he kept repeating several 
 times a day ; " and how long these pre- 
 parations seem to last ! " 
 
 " I cannot understand why you are in 
 such a hurry,"' said his mother-in-law ; 
 "you will soon be bored to death in the 
 country." 
 
 '' I long to plunge into my work, and 
 to give my whole mind and body and 
 soul to it !" said Cyril, without address- 
 ing any one in particular. 
 4 
 
50 A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 
 
 Mura's mother shut her eyes, shrugged 
 her shoulders, and went out of the room. 
 ♦' I made a mistake when I consented to 
 his marrying INIura. I can't see any 
 good in him. He talks nonsense. . . . 
 There must be a screw loose in his 
 head,'' thought she ; but she did not tell 
 Mura her opinion. 
 
 As soon as the week of probation was 
 over, Cyril began to make preparations 
 for the departure. Mura was ready. 
 He had been urging her all the week 
 to be ready to start at once, and she 
 had packed up her trousseau in a big 
 trunk. On this day, CyriTs father 
 arrived from Ustimievka. He arranged 
 to hire a conveyance and take their 
 baggage to Liigovoe ; Cyril and Mura 
 were to follow the next day in the 
 post carriage, so that they would find 
 everything ready for them. Early on 
 Monday morning, the deacon having 
 earnestly prayed, started off, and Cyril 
 went to the bishop for the usual blessing. 
 
 He found the bishop arrayed in a dark 
 green silk cassock, preparing to go out. 
 Cyril was somewhat surprised at the 
 stern way in which he greeted him. 
 He did not smile or joke, and generally 
 behaved more like a "chief" than 
 before. Cyril attributed this to his 
 being now ordained, and subject to the 
 bishop's direct orders. He had re- 
 marked before, that the bishop behaved 
 more freely and simply to laymen ; on 
 this occasion he did not invite him to 
 lake a seat, as he had done before, and 
 himself stood. 
 
 *' Are you starting off to your work.?"' 
 said the bishop, running his fingers 
 over his rosarv. 
 
A RUSSIAN PRIEST. St 
 
 " Yes, I intend to start to-morrow," 
 replied Cyril. 
 
 '' Which means that you have not 
 thought better of it, and changed your 
 mind ? " 
 
 " No, my intentions are unchanged." 
 
 " Because, if you like, I will give you a 
 good place in the merchants' church." 
 
 " Thank you very much, but I prefer 
 the country." 
 
 The bishop knitted his brows, and 
 steadily looked him straight in the eyes. 
 
 " Are you quite sure of this .'' '' he 
 asked, meaningl)'. 
 
 Cyril was surprised at this, and at 
 the change in his tone. 
 
 "Quite sure, your Reverence." 
 
 ^' Remember this, however," said the 
 bishop, with the stern tone of a chief, 
 '• that in your newly-acquired dignity 
 of priesthood there must be no ' ideas.' 
 You must be pastor of your flock and 
 nothing m.ore." 
 
 " I will do my best, your Reverence, 
 to be a good one." 
 
 " I am sure of that ; but don't 
 imagine that all other pastors are not 
 good ones too : it will not do to enter 
 upon service with such proud notions." 
 
 All this seemed very strange to Cyril, 
 and each of the bishop's words aston- 
 ished him more and more. Whence 
 was all this ? Who had instilled these 
 suspicions into his mind ? 
 
 " Look here, my son," added the 
 bishop, in a kinder tone, "you are a 
 riddle to me altogether. There are 
 only two solutions : either you are a 
 good and simple soul, or else you are 
 possessed by the demon of unrest." 
 
 '• Unrest I " exclaimed Cyril. " You 
 
52 A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 
 
 did not think so before, your Reve- 
 rence." 
 
 At this there was a shade of vexation 
 on the bishop's face. It seemed as 
 though he was somewhat ashamed of 
 this lecture he had given to a man 
 who was not guihy of anything. He 
 smiled, lifted his hand, and tapped 
 Cyril on the shoulder. 
 
 ** No, I know that you are an inno- 
 cent soul," said he, in a friendly tone ; 
 "but, however, be careful. I know 
 that at the academy you have been in 
 the society of learned people. I respect 
 learned people, even worldly men of 
 science ; but worldly ideas are not 
 compatible with the priestly dignity. 
 Serve the lesser brother, ' one of these 
 little ones,' that's a good idea, but drive 
 out of your mind all preconceived 
 notions. And be careful that your 
 good intentions are not misunderstood, 
 for those that don't understand fre- 
 quently put a bad construction on good 
 actions. Be careful : this is my paternal 
 advice to you." 
 
 He blessed Cyril with much feeling, 
 and even embraced him, and dismissed 
 him. 
 
 Cyril left him in a state of perplexity. 
 He had no doubt that some one had been 
 talking to the bishop about him. This 
 " some one," must be a person ac- 
 quainted with his life at the academy. 
 Who could it be ? 
 
 He hired a conveyance and returned 
 to the cathedral house. Just as he was 
 starting from the bishop's, his eyes fell 
 on young Mejof, who ran up to him and 
 said — " They have confirmed my ap- 
 pointment, of course at first only as an 
 
A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 53 
 
 assistant, but they will soon appoint me 
 definitely." 
 
 Cyril understood that he was talking 
 about the inspectorship. Mejof looked 
 at him and continued — 
 
 "And so you are ordained already; 
 you haven't lost much time. I can't 
 make you out a bit." 
 
 " How can I help it if you don't under- 
 stand me .'"' hastily answered Cyril. 
 
 "That is to say, I understand. . . . 
 The country . . . influence on the 
 peasants . . . etcetera. . . . Excuse 
 my saying so, but it is very stupid ! " 
 
 " Good-bye, I am in a hurry," an- 
 swered Cyril, turning his head, and 
 hastily disappearing through the gate. 
 He did not care about talking to this 
 young man. No miatter what subject 
 of conversation was started, it always 
 seemed as though their opinions were 
 diametrically opposed to one another. 
 Their views were fundamentally and 
 hopelessly at discord. And besides this, 
 Mejof w^as a talkative person who 
 liked to air his opinions with wordy 
 tirades. 
 
 " He has been gossiping to his uncle 
 the rector, who has handed on the infor- 
 mation to the bishop — that's the history 
 of it," thought Cyril; and this explanation 
 seemed to him to account for everything. 
 
V. 
 
 BOUT two 0X1 ock on Wed- 
 nesday afternoon the post 
 diligence, surrounded by a 
 thick cloud of dust, entered 
 the village of Liigovoe. At 
 the first glance it was diffi- 
 cult to understand why the 
 place had grown to its 
 present dimensions. Perhaps in times 
 past an important trade road had passed 
 through it, which had brought people 
 together at this point ; and that since 
 the improvement of communications, 
 the place had been left on one side. 
 
 The village of Lugovoe was about 
 two vcrsts in length and about a verst 
 broad. The huts were stunted, and 
 thatched with old reeds blackened by 
 time. In the chief street stood the 
 church — a small and low building with a 
 single green cupola and without a 
 tower ; the bells were hung under a 
 wooden shed supported by a couple of 
 posts. Further down the street, on 
 either side were narrow alleys with huts 
 mostly constructed of mud with low 
 mud roofs overgrown with grass ; thus 
 it was plain that the present generation 
 lived in a state of extreme poverty. 
 At the entrance to the village on the 
 
A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 55 
 
 right-hand side was a garden, spacious 
 but much neglected, overgrown with 
 grass and shrubs, and containing a 
 quantity of high trees. In the midst of 
 the garden stood the manor-house, a 
 square, small, and evidently badly con- 
 structed building, with a warped, 
 blackened wooden roof. 
 
 The diligence drove up to the church 
 and stopped at a neat little stone house 
 with a green roof, situated in the church 
 enclosure. On the doorstep stood the 
 deacon of Ustimie'vka, who was satis- 
 fied and pleased with the quarters. 
 
 " But the people here are a regu- 
 lar lot of paupers I I much doubt 
 whether the income will be a good one," 
 added the deacon, when Mura had gone 
 into the house to take off her dusty 
 cloak. He told Cyril that he had 
 already been to see the other priest, 
 Father Rodion Manuscriptof, who had 
 been in the place fifteen years, and knew 
 all about the financial aspects of the 
 parish. At first he had received the 
 deacon coldly. " Who are you ? Your 
 son, a beginner, is shoved in here as 
 chief, and I have been working away 
 here for fifteen years." 
 
 The deacon had explained that Cyril 
 had not asked for the appointment, and 
 that it was merely due to his having 
 come out of the academ^j^so brilliantly. 
 " Oh ! he's a ' magistrant,' is he ? Of 
 course that puts him on altogether a 
 different footing.'"' 
 
 In Father Rodion's eyes the word 
 " magistrant" had a sort of charm, and 
 gave its proprietor a perfect right to the 
 best place. He himself had obtained 
 the rank of priest by means of frequent 
 
56 A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 
 
 petitions, for he had not even finished 
 the seminary course. After receiving 
 this explanation, he had become more 
 communicative with Cyril's father and 
 told him that the incomes here were not 
 bad if only the thing was properly 
 worked. 
 
 " The people are a beggarly lot, cer- 
 tainly, but there are about ten well-to-do 
 families, and besides that, on Sundays 
 some well-to-do farmers come in, and 
 if you ask them in and give them some 
 tea and vodka, they will bring you a 
 regular store of provisions on the follow- 
 ing Sunday. We get our living chietly 
 outofthefarmer5,"added Father Rodion, 
 '' but as for Lugovoe itself ' great is 
 Fedora, but bad.' You can't get much 
 out of it. The people are paupers and 
 uncivilized. There are three " kabaks " ' 
 here, and they are always full of custom- 
 ers, and the church gets emptier every 
 year. There is also the lady of the 
 manor, a strange sort of person ; she 
 never comes to church, and looks with 
 very little favour on the clergy. . . . 
 But take it all round one can live here." 
 
 The deacon confided all this to Cyril, 
 and added — " You will get on all right 
 with Father Rodion ; and mind you 
 call on the lady of the place — perhaps on 
 account of your position she will look 
 upon you more favourably. Anyhow, 
 she will hel^'ou." 
 
 After this he hurried off, having drunk 
 some tea, to return to Ustimie'vka, 
 saying, that his chief would be vexed 
 with him for his prolonged absence. 
 
 Public-house. 
 
A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 57 
 
 Cyril, wearied after his journey, re- 
 solved to undertake nothing that day. 
 He helped Mura to arrange the furni- 
 ture and to unpack the luggage. It 
 was a hot August day. They opened 
 the windows looking on to a little plot 
 of ground in front of the house where 
 nasturtiums, dahlias, and pansies grew, 
 planted probably by their predecessor. 
 From the window could be seen the 
 peasants' huts, and narrow threshing- 
 floors where the people were busy, 
 chains glistened in the air, and the 
 sound of them, striking against the 
 floors, was heard. The women raked 
 up the straw and swept the grain 
 into a heap. Mura watched all this 
 with childish curiosity. It was the 
 first time she had ever seen this opera- 
 tion. It did not occur to her that she 
 was mistress here, among unknown 
 people and in a strange place. It 
 seemed to her as though she was only 
 a visitor, and that all this was nothing 
 more than a travelling episode. 
 
 Evening came on. They were sitting 
 at the open window in the bedroom, 
 resting after their journey, when they 
 heard the front door creak and some 
 one come in. Maria Gavrilovna looked 
 up at the door. 
 
 " Good evening, matoushka I " said a 
 woman, coming in and making a low 
 bow. She was short, stout, and had a 
 red face as though she had been 
 standing all day in front of a hot fire, 
 her features were coarse and solid. 
 Her bushy black brows met and formed 
 one long line. She had a thick, turn-up 
 nose with wide nostrils, coarse dark lips, 
 a prominent square chin, and a short 
 
58 A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 
 
 neck. She wore a handkerchief on her 
 head, which was fastened round her 
 neck, notwithstanding the hot weather. 
 
 " And what do you want ? " asked 
 Mdria Gavrilovna, in perplexity. It 
 seemed strange to her, that any one 
 should walk into another person's house 
 in such an unceremonious manner. She 
 knew that beggars and other suspicious 
 persons do this. 
 
 "Welcome to Lugovoe." said the 
 woman, and again bowed low. Her 
 voice was like a man's. She added, 
 " Can I help ycu in any way?" 
 
 Mura looked at her suspiciously, and 
 did not answer. Cyril came in. 
 
 " Well, who are you ? " asked he. 
 
 The woman bowed to him. 
 
 " Good evening, batoushka.' I am a 
 woman of this place, and my name is 
 Feokla. I am a widow. I have always 
 been in the service of the clergy here. 
 I served the deceased Father Parfentii, 
 and also Father Manuil, who was here 
 before you. I will serve you, too, if 
 this is agreeable to you." 
 
 *'What do you think?" said Cyril, 
 turning round to Mura. " We had 
 better take her on ; we have got no one 
 to help us." 
 
 Mura called him into the bedroom, 
 and said, in an undertone, " Do you 
 think it's quite safe ?— she may have 
 some designs.'"' 
 
 Cyril laughed. 
 
 " What designs can she have? Look 
 at her. It is evident from her face 
 that she is an honest person." 
 
 ^ The people in Russia address the clergy 
 batousl.ka "' = fatlicr. 
 
A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 59 
 
 '' Very well, Feokla ; serve us well 
 and we shall treat you well.'' 
 
 So Feokla entered upon her new 
 service, and busied herself with the 
 kitchen utensils, washed the floor, and 
 by her zeal, won Mura's gratitude. 
 After this she went away to pass the 
 night in her hut, and Mura gave her 
 fifty copecks ^ which caused Feokla 
 indescribable delight. She seized both 
 Mura's hands and kissed them so 
 impetuously that she quite frightened 
 her. Feokla then thought that she 
 would go and impart the latest informa- 
 tion about the new arrivals to her 
 friends. She therefore started off to 
 the sexton's house, as there she would 
 probably find the largest audience. 
 
 Soon after her departure, the door 
 again opened, and the creaking ot 
 heavy boots v/as heard. This, it ap- 
 peared, was the sexton, who was 
 anxious to present himself to the new 
 clergyman, and said that his name 
 was Cyril. 
 
 " And you, sir, what is your name?" 
 
 " Cyril," answered he. 
 
 " Oh, that's easy for me to remember ! 
 One does not forget one's own name," 
 philosophically remarked the sexton, 
 adding — '* You need have no doubts 
 about your safety ; I always sleep at 
 night near the church railings, and in 
 case I wake, I begin to ring the big 
 bell ; but if you wish it, I will not do 
 so, as it might disturb the young 
 matoushka." 
 
 Cyril told him to continue to do what 
 had always been done before. Night 
 
 ^ About a shilling. 
 
60 A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 
 
 came on. Mura, worn out by her 
 journey, fatigue, and new impressions, 
 fell asleep as soon as she was in bed. 
 But Cyril could not sleep. To-day he 
 was as yet a private individual, bound 
 by no actual ties with the new life lying 
 before him ; and to-morrow his service 
 commenced. As yet, he was ignorant 
 what this life would bring him. He had 
 no experience to guide him on this 
 point. The examples of clerical life 
 that he had known, had been of a 
 different nature. 
 
 So far as he was acquainted with the 
 clergy, the life consisted in one long 
 struggle with the parishioners for in- 
 come. The parishioners' interest is to 
 give as little as possible, and the clergy, 
 scarcely secure from actual want, to 
 get as much as possible out of them. 
 To earn more, to live better, to provide 
 for the family : these are the inevitable 
 problems. 
 
 These thoughts disturbed Cyril. How 
 should he manage to conduct himself.^ 
 Would he succeed in winning the esteem 
 of his parishioners ? Would they think 
 him ridiculous ? Tradition is the pro- 
 duct of ages. People get accustomed 
 to the bad, just as they do to the good. 
 Tradition has been established by the 
 united eftbrts of many generations, who 
 have acted at different times, but all 
 unanimously, and in one direction. And 
 he alone was going to draw the sword 
 against this numberless host, against 
 the opinion of ages. 
 
 The pale rays of the moon shone into 
 the room through the open window ; 
 the distant barking of dogs was heard ; 
 the sexton woke up and rang the big 
 
 A 
 
A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 6 1 
 
 bell. Mura woke up for a minute and 
 asked Cyril why he did not go to bed. 
 
 " The night is too beautiful, I cannot 
 sleep,'' answered he ; and his thoughts 
 turned to Mura. There she sleeps, with 
 the carelessness of youth, full of life and 
 health. And she loved him sincerely, 
 and her heart was good. And how 
 could he say he was alone, with such 
 a creature with him ? Would she help 
 him } Would she encourage him } 
 He could not answer these questions 
 which presented themselves so clearly 
 to him for the first time. God only 
 knew what she expected, and what 
 Avould happen. 
 
 "Go to bed, Cyril ! " muttered Maria 
 Gavrilovna, half opening her eyes ; and 
 this seemed to Cyril like an answer to 
 his doubts. No, there was nothing to 
 fear from that quarter. She loved him. 
 All her joy was concentrated in him. 
 And she would go with him, hand in 
 hand, whatever happened. 
 
 At nine o'clock the following morning 
 the churchwarden informed him that the 
 deacon and the clerk were waiting for 
 him in the church. 
 
 " Yes, and the churchwarden has 
 arrived. Only Father Rodion is not 
 there. Perhaps you wish to see them." 
 
 Cyril considered it his duty to call on 
 Father Rodion personally. So he 
 dressed himself in his cassock, and 
 ordered the churchwarden to conduct 
 him to the priest's house. 
 
 Father Rodion lived in a private 
 house which he had built himself, as he 
 explained, in order that after his death, 
 his wife and numerous daughters should 
 have somewhere to lay their heads. 
 
62 A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 
 
 " And in the church-house, you know, 
 a new man comes, and turns them out 
 into the street." 
 
 So he had magnanimously sur- 
 rendered his half of the church-house 
 to his colleague. His house stood near 
 the stream, separated from the peasants' 
 huts, and distinguished by its slate roof 
 and yellow blinds. 
 
 Father Rodion was in an embarrnssed 
 state of mind. According to custom, 
 he ought first to call on his chief. But 
 considering Cyril's youth, and that he, 
 Father Rodion, had served the Lord 
 fifteen years in the capacity of priest, 
 and as many more in the lower ranks, 
 his pride would not allow him to do this. 
 But he knew that if the new priest sent 
 for him, he would have to go. 
 
 Cyril's arrival helped him out of the 
 difficulty. 
 
 " I have comiC to present myself to 
 you, Father Rodion. I am called Cyril 
 Obnovliensky." 
 
 " I ought by rights to have called en 
 you. Father Cyril, as you are the chief.'^ 
 
 " In the country it is not necessary 
 to talk about chiefs," said Cyril, in a 
 simple and sincere tone; "let us con- 
 sider ourselves simply as colleagues, and 
 nothing more." 
 
 " That's certainly as it ought to be." 
 
 "As it shall be !"' added Cyril. "How 
 am I to act as chief, when I amas ye t 
 entirely without experience ? ' 
 
 Father Rodion was reserved, and 
 spoke hesitatingly, weighing every word. 
 Who knows what sort of bird he is? He 
 talks very well, but when it comes to 
 actions, it is impossible to foresee what 
 he will do. 
 
A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 63 
 
 As a precautionary measure, he had 
 put on his old threadbare cassock, al- 
 though he had a new and a good one. 
 Don't let him imagine that he is going 
 to make money here ! 
 
 For a quarter of an hour they talked 
 about general subjects. Father Rodion 
 asked if it was true, that Cyril had 
 passed the examination at the academy, 
 at the head of the list? Cyril answered 
 it was so. 
 
 " And may I ask what induced you 
 to come to the country ? " 
 
 " Health," answered Cyril : '■ my 
 health is bad, and the town is bad for 
 it." " I shall not explain to him, 
 he won't understand," thought Cyril, 
 looking at Father Rodion's puffy face 
 and stupid expression. 
 
 ''Aha ! that's true— the country air 
 soon puts a man right I " said Father 
 Rodion, and thought to himself, "He 
 doesn't look very bad." 
 
 After a short conversation, Father 
 Rodion's scepticism in this companion- 
 ship, of which Cyril had spoken, was 
 softened. " He is a strange fellow, but 
 he seem.s good-natured, and doesn't carry 
 his head too high." 
 
 But he had one question, which he 
 considered would be a touchstone of 
 the new clergyman's qualities. When 
 Cyril got up, to go to the church, he 
 said to him — 
 
 " Look here, Father Cyril, I had 
 better explain to you at once about 
 money matters, so that there shall be 
 no misunderstanding." 
 
 " Well, what is it, Father Rodion? " 
 
 " About business affairs. This is how 
 we have always arranged things : two 
 
64 A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 
 
 copecks go to the priests out of the 
 receipts, and the third to the deacon 
 and clerk." 
 
 " Well, if that is the custom, I shall 
 not change it." 
 
 " That's all right ! And about these 
 two copecks for the priests — how will 
 they be divided ? " 
 
 " Equally between us, of course." 
 
 " Oh, then, he really is a decent sort 
 of fellow ! " thought Father Rodion ; 
 "Father Manuil always used to take the 
 lion's share. He really is a good sort." 
 
 From this moment, Father Rodion's 
 expression lit up, and he became more 
 confiding. 
 
 "You must excuse me. Father Cyril, 
 for not introducing you now to my 
 family ; they are not ready to receive 
 any one at the present moment," said 
 he ; and after that they started off to 
 the church. 
 
 The Lugovoe parish church was an 
 old building. Its low arches were 
 blackened by the combined action of 
 incense smoke and damp, the paintings 
 of the various sacred images had become 
 so worn out, that only the oldest parish- 
 ioners could distinguish the various faces 
 represented on them. Everything in 
 the building required complete restora- 
 tion — the floor, which had not been 
 repaired for twenty years, the chande- 
 lier, with the candlesticks green with 
 verdigris, and even the building itself. 
 The church was very small, and could 
 not hold more than three hundred 
 people. 
 
 " And it's getting emptier," said 
 Father Rodion, with a distressed air. 
 
 On the right-hand side, near the door, 
 
A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 65 
 
 Stood the churchwarden, leaning against 
 a pillar, a short, thick-set peasant, with 
 a short greyish beard and with hair 
 carefully combed and greased with olive 
 oil. He was dressed in an ornamented 
 coloured waistcoat, a cotton shirt, baggy 
 trousers, and he had no coat on. 
 
 " Karpo Michailovitch Kulik, our 
 churchwarden I " said Father Rodion, 
 introducing him to Cyril. " One of our 
 most honoured parishioners. He's a 
 man of property. He has three hundred 
 sheep, &c." 
 
 Kulik bowed and put out the palm of 
 his hand to receive the blessing. Cyril 
 silently blessed him, 
 
 " Trr — yetie trr ..." began Kulik, 
 but could not get to the end of his 
 phrase. 
 
 " Which means he has served as 
 churchwarden for three terms of three 
 years each," explained Father Rodion. 
 "He stammers." Kulik pulled away the 
 cloth covering from a box by which he 
 was standing, and displayed to Cyril a 
 systematically arranged pile of wax 
 candles of various sizes, from the very 
 thinnest, two copeck ones, to the half- 
 rouble ones used at weddings. Kulik 
 evidently had not served his three terms 
 of service as churchwarden in vain, or, 
 at any rate, he had learnt how to keep 
 the candle-box in proper order. 
 
 Cyril had scarcely got to the middle 
 of the church, when from each side of 
 the choir appeared two figures, very 
 slightly resembling each other, but 
 having a common characteristic. The 
 one appearing on the left-hand side was 
 a short man in a grey cassock, with a 
 mass of curly black hair. The sunken 
 
66 A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 
 
 checks, sharp nose, the yellow com- 
 plexion, and the unusually thin growth 
 of hair on his face, all bore witness to 
 the internal complaint from which this 
 man suffered. The man who appeared 
 on the right-hand side, was tall and had 
 an athletic figure. He was dressed in a 
 tight black cloth coat. He walked with 
 a firm gait, and the floor creaked under 
 him. They both walked with their hands 
 hanging down, and the unhealthy face 
 of the one expressed the same humility 
 as the rosy, healthy, hairy face of the 
 other. With the same respectful air they 
 both bowed before the chief, and both 
 put out their hands to receive his 
 blessing. 
 
 " The deacon Simeon Strytchok," 
 announced the short man in the cassock, 
 with a feeble alto voice. 
 
 " The diatchok ' Dementii Glu- 
 shenko,'' said the other, introducing 
 himself, with a deep bass voice. 
 
 Having received the blessing, they 
 stood with their faces towards the gates - 
 through which Cyril and Father Rodion 
 had disappeared. They examined the 
 altar. Cyril saw that the building was 
 scarcely in a safe condition, and that 
 the ornaments required restoration and 
 renewinsr. 
 
 * Diatch6k = clerk, man who reads the 
 psalms, &.C. 
 
 2 In the Russian, as in all Eastern churches, 
 the altar where tlie priest officiates is separated 
 from the rest of the church by a wall or screen 
 on wliich sacred pictures and images are 
 painted. There are double doors in front of 
 the altar which are opened only at certain 
 parts of the service, and only priests are allowed 
 to pass through these doors, and also the Czar. 
 
A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 67 
 
 "We haven't got any money, other- 
 wise we should have done it long ago I " 
 said Father Rodion ; but, as a matter of 
 fact, such an idea had never entered his 
 head till that moment. He was of 
 opinion it was all the same to God, 
 where, and with what details, people 
 worshipped Him. 
 
 The inspection at length came to an 
 end; Cyril invited them all to his house. 
 Although Mura was still asleep, Feokla 
 had got the samovar ready, and so 
 Cyril entertained the whole of the staff 
 of the parish church at tea. 
 
VI. 
 
 f^^-^^0 Father Rodion's surprise, 
 rS SN the church was crammed 
 with parishioners on Sunday. 
 Among the congregation 
 were a certain number of out- 
 lying farmers, but the chief 
 contingent of the worship- 
 pers consisted of regular in- 
 habitants of Lugovoe. But Father 
 Rodion's astonishment reached its fur- 
 thest limit when he saw, while the deacon 
 was reading the gospel, the lady of the 
 manor, Nadieshda Alecsidevna Krou- 
 pieev, walk in, and take up her place 
 on the left-hand side behind the choir. 
 
 There was nothing very extraordinary 
 in this, as all the week a :crt of agita- 
 tion had been kept uf in the place 
 about the new priest, not only by the 
 clerk and the sexton, but especially by 
 Feokla. Every evening she had de- 
 scribed the new clergyman to an admir- 
 ing audience of old women; she had 
 told them also of his wife, how they 
 lived and what they said. She had 
 called Cyril, " the kindest soul," and 
 she had said of Mura, that " it was a 
 job to understand her: she was some- 
 what shy, and had no idea of house- 
 
A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 69 
 
 keeping." From other sources it had 
 become known that Cyril was a tremen- 
 dously learned man. The church- 
 warden Kulik had said that there were 
 only twelve such men in the whole 
 empire. It is probable, therefore^ that 
 Cyril's reputation for learning, had 
 a\vakened the curiosity of the lady of the 
 manor. All expected that the new 
 incumbent would preach an intro- 
 ductory sermon, in which he would 
 display to the Liigovoe parishioners 
 his extraordinary learning. They also 
 expected that the learned chief w^ould 
 organize a specially solemn service. 
 But from the very first step disenchant- 
 ment began. 
 
 "A regular lapwing!" "Disgrace- 
 fully thin 1 ''' said the parishioners, in 
 whose opinion a priest ought to be fat, 
 to have a bushy beard, and a loud and 
 deep voice. The ministry of the new 
 clergyman did not please them. 
 
 " He mutters something under his 
 nose, it is impossible to hear anything. 
 Father Rodion, although he knows 
 nothing, serves better. One can at any 
 rate hear every word he says. What is 
 the use of tins wonderful learning?" 
 
 When mass vvas ended, and the new 
 incumbent had delivered no sermon, the 
 disenchantment was complete. 
 
 "A fine sort of learned fellow ! He 
 was evidently so incapable that they 
 sent him to us. There are only twelve 
 such in Russia, they say : I think one 
 could find twelve thousand — there are 
 too many of them." 
 
 Father Rodion stood all the time 
 during mass with his face to the altar. 
 He afterwards went up to Cyril and 
 
7© A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 
 
 quietly said to him, " Father Cyril, the 
 lady of the manor is in church. This 
 is an unusual event. I think you ought 
 to take \\\^ pain beni to her." 
 
 Cyril knew well from childhood of 
 this custom of taking the bread to the 
 squire, and it was a custom that he did 
 not at all like. 
 
 " No, Father Rodion, it is unneces- 
 sary," said Cyril; '• I know nothing as 
 yet about her worthiness . . . and do 
 you know either, Father Rodion ? " 
 
 " That's nothing to do with it. . . . But 
 she is the lady of the manor, and I 
 always take her the//?/// bhiiy 
 
 " Excuse me. Father Rodion, but I 
 shall not do so," quietly remarked Cyril. 
 
 The more observant parishioners, 
 remarked that he did not carr>' the 
 pain beni to the lady of the manor. 
 They also noticed another incident. 
 When the service was ended, the 
 farmers harnessed their horses into 
 their dilijani ' and set ofif home again. 
 The other various local well-to-do 
 people dispersed. Cyril invited no one 
 to drink tea or take zakouska- with him. 
 This circumstance gave rise to a con- 
 siderable difference of opinion. Some 
 said he was proud, and others thought 
 that this showed that he wished to be 
 impartial to all his parishioners. They 
 watched the expression of the lady of 
 the manor's face, to see if the inatten- 
 tion of the new clergyman had offended 
 her, but there was no trace of such an 
 
 » Dilijan, a conveyance used by the fanners 
 in Little Russia. 
 
 ~ Zakouska, a sort of impromptu meal, con- 
 sisting of vodka, cheese, caviare, and other cold 
 things— .q^cnerally a prelude to a regular meal. 
 
A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 7 I 
 
 expression. She came out of church, 
 spoke for a moment with two women — 
 as it appeared afterwards, to ask their 
 names — got into her carriage and drove 
 home. 
 
 It can easily be imagined that on 
 that day, the conversation centred 
 chiefly on the new priest, and it must 
 be added that criticism was, on the 
 whole, unfavourable. 
 
 But on this day a circumstance 
 occurred which completely dum- 
 foundered the parishioners of Liigo- 
 voe. 
 
 Anton Bondarenko, whose mud hut 
 was situated on the outskirts of the 
 village suddenly wished that his 
 daughter should be married at once. 
 This was somewhat strange, seeing that 
 the season for marriages usually begins 
 at the end of September. But alto- 
 gether unexpected circumstances had 
 made this a matter of immediate neces- 
 sity. When this became evident, 
 I\Iarko Pratzuk, a fine young fellow 
 put aside his business for the mom.ent 
 and sent his relations to Anton, to 
 arrange about the marriage. As the 
 new clergyman's turn for taking the 
 services for that week had begun that 
 Sunday, Anton vrent to Cyril. This 
 was at seven o'clock in the evening. 
 Cyril, who had only just finished the 
 evening service, had returned home and 
 found Mura at the tea-table. 
 
 " Is the batoushka at home.^" asked 
 Anton of Feokla, who now considered 
 herself quite established in the parson- 
 age kitchen. 
 
 '•' He's drinking tea. You must 
 wait ! " 
 
72 A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 
 
 "It will be dark when I go home; 
 you know it is two versts off." 
 
 " I can't disturb him when he is at 
 table. . . . He's only this minute come 
 in from church." 
 
 This conversation took place in the 
 vestibule. Cyril heard every word of it. 
 Heopened thedoor,and turned to Anton. 
 
 " What do you want?'"' 
 
 Anton took off his hat and bowed. 
 "I've a favour to ask of you, batoushka. 
 It's on business." 
 
 " Come into the room," said Cyril. 
 Anton entered and bowed to Maria 
 Gavrilovna. 
 
 "Well, what is it?" 
 
 " My daughter must be married ! . . . 
 So I've come . . ." 
 
 " Very well, we'll marry her, when- 
 ever you like I 
 
 " Would to-morrow do ? " 
 
 " Perfectly. To-morrow it shall be ! 
 Come to church at ten o'clock." 
 
 Anton bowed again, and was silent. 
 
 " Well, go, and God be with you ! " 
 said Cyril. But Anton did not show the 
 least sign of moving. He did not con- 
 sider their business ended, he did not 
 even consider it begun. He had not 
 reached what was, in his opinion, the 
 chief point. He had not the least doubt 
 that the bdtoushka would be willing to 
 marry his daughter. 
 
 " But how much will it cost for the 
 wedding, batoushka.-^ '' asked Anton, at 
 length. 
 
 " Oh, you just give one hundred 
 roubles," said Cyril, looking at him in 
 the most serious way straight in the eyes. 
 Anton smiled sarcastically, and expres- 
 sively shook his head. 
 
A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 73 
 
 "H'ml . . . Such a sum I've never 
 even seen from my birth." 
 
 "Very well, I shall not take less." 
 
 Anton lifted his eyes, trying to gather 
 from Cyril's expression whether he was 
 joking or naturally stupid. " He must 
 be a joker," thought Anton to himself, 
 and said — 
 
 " No, batoushka, let me hear the real 
 price." 
 
 "What's your name?" asked Cyril. 
 
 "Anton Bondarenko." 
 
 " Well, look here, Anton, you ask for 
 the real price when you go to the market; 
 you wish to buy a pig, they tell you the 
 price ; but you've come to me about a 
 church affair, a sacred affair. The 
 church is not a market, and there can 
 be no trading in it." 
 
 Anton looked at him with an uneasy 
 glance. "Well, I shall not hurry," 
 thought Anton to himself. " Is he 
 avaricious ? the Lord only knows him." 
 
 " Well, go, with God ! " added Cyril. 
 But Anton did not move. 
 
 " How is it to be, bd,toushka ? " asked 
 Anton. 
 
 Cyril returned to the table, sat down 
 and took up a glass full of tea. 
 
 " Have you much land?"' asked he. 
 
 "Land.'' — four and a half dessyatines" 
 (twelve acres), "and besides that half a 
 dessyatine where reeds grow." 
 
 " And what sort of crop have you 
 had ? " 
 
 "Well, what shall I say? It was 
 neither one thing nor the other. From 
 two dessyatines of rye I got about 
 ninety-two bushels.^ Half a dessyatine 
 
 * This is about seventeen bushels an acre. 
 
 5 
 
74 A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 
 
 of barley gave me twenty-eight bushels.' 
 Half a dessyatine of water melons — 
 nothing very special, ihey hardly repaid 
 the labour spent upon them. And the 
 dessyatine of wheat which I sowed 
 never even appeared above the ground. 
 But the hay in our parts nearly always 
 turns out well. Tall and thick. . . . 
 God grant that there may be such hay 
 in all the world ! I assure you, bdtoushka, 
 it is not hay ; what should one call it ? — 
 silk." 
 
 " So you are quite a rich man, Anton. 
 Why should I not take one hundred 
 roubles from you? " 
 
 Anton opened his eyes wide. He 
 could not detect the fine tone of banter 
 with which Cyril said these words. 
 Seeing his doubts, Cyril said straight 
 out — " Well, now go, Anton. Give me 
 what you can for the wedding. And 
 even if you cant give anything, I will 
 do it all the same. And tell all your 
 friends not to bargain with me." 
 
 Anton thanked him and went out in 
 a very disturbed frame of mind. He 
 could not make up his mind whether to 
 speak to the others about his conversa- 
 tion with the new priest, or not. But as 
 he went along, he reckoned that he 
 could, without hurting himself, give a 
 silver rouble for the wedding, exclusive 
 of candles, which he would buy sepa- 
 rately. He could not have done it lor 
 less than five roubles with Father 
 Rodion, and with candles i: would have 
 run to seven. This thought was so 
 pleasant to him that he became afraid 
 that something might stop it, or that 
 
 * Nearly twenty-one bu^Jiels per acre. 
 
A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 75 
 
 the clergyman might change his mind. 
 Evidently the new man was simply 
 ignorant of the ordinary methods of 
 procedure in such cases. And if the 
 affair reached Father Rodion's ears, the 
 latter would probably explain to the 
 new priest, and the affair would then 
 end less favourably for him, Anton. 
 He therefore decided to keep the thing 
 secret, at any rate, till after the wedding. 
 And when he was asked what the new 
 batoushka had taken for the wedding, 
 he said, without the least hesitation, 
 " He screwed out six silver roubles." 
 
 " Aha ! evidently he knows his affair." 
 
 " And why not ?" said Anton, finally 
 stifling his conscience. ''You must pay 
 for his reputation of being learned, very 
 learned.'' 
 
 As soon as Anton had gone out and 
 shut the door behind him, Cyril got up 
 and paced about the room in an agitated 
 jnanner. 
 
 " It is simply disgusting how deeply 
 rooted this malady is in their souls ! " 
 said he, turning to Mura. '• He comes 
 straight to me as he would to a shop- 
 keeper : your merchandize, my money ! 
 And I am certain that he is discontented 
 and even agitated. . . . No, look here : 
 I am a clergyman, I have to solemnize 
 the bond between his daughter and her 
 fiance ; he comes to me about this ; he 
 says to me, ' Sell me God's blessing for 
 five roubles ! ' I ought to say to him, 
 ' No, I can't, it costs ten,' and at length, 
 after a lot of bargaining, we should agree 
 for seven roubles, fifty copecks. . . . 
 What sort of opinion must he have of 
 me?" • 
 
 " But still, Cyril, the clergyman has 
 
76 A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 
 
 got to live somehow," replied Mdria 
 Gavrilovna. 
 
 " Certainly, Mura, certainly 1 But it 
 must be arranged somehow differently. 
 Such an arrangement is insulting to me 
 — insulting ! " 
 
 Mura replied nothing to this, but 
 still Cyril had not in the least degree 
 succeeded in convincing her. From her 
 earliest years she had seen how the 
 clergy quietly bargain over the various 
 demands made on them, and had accus- 
 tomed herself to look on this as in the 
 natural order of things, and that it could 
 not be otherwise. 
 
 The next day the marriage of Garpina 
 with Marko Pratzuk took place. There 
 were very few people there, partly on 
 account of the heat of the weather, and 
 partly because the real truth about 
 Garpina was generally known. The 
 young people were in a hurry, as they 
 wished to get to work on the threshing- 
 floor, and intended to assemble again in 
 the evening for a feast. After the 
 wedding Anton went up to Cyril, and, 
 with a very confused look, said — "As 
 you settled it, batoushka, here ... I 
 can pay one rouble." 
 
 Cyril quietly took the rouble note 
 from him, and at once gave it to the 
 deacon, Father Simeon. The latter 
 looked at the note, and, quite uncon- 
 sciously, made such an ugly face that 
 the diatchok Dementii who was at that 
 moment carrying the crowns' to the altar, 
 immediately understood that something 
 had happened which was not usual. 
 
 * In the Orthodox Church crowns are worn by 
 the bride and bridegroom during a wedding. 
 
A RUSSIAN PRIEST. ^^ 
 
 Half a minute later they were whisper- 
 ing together about something in the 
 choir ; the sequence of which was that 
 Dementii crossed the church with rapid 
 steps, caught up Anton at the door as 
 he was going out and seized him by the 
 arm. 
 
 " You ox-headed fellow, have you lost 
 your wits? '^ asked he, in a low, contained 
 tone. 
 
 "What about?" asked Anton, who 
 knew what he meant perfectly well. 
 
 " Come ! don't pretend you don't 
 know what it is about : you've paid a 
 rouble for the wedding, have you ?" 
 
 " I swear to you, Dementii Ermilitch, 
 it's all I've got." 
 
 " I don't ask you how much you've 
 got, but I want to know what sum the 
 new batoushka asked." 
 
 " The batoushka? . , . the batoushka 
 said, ' Give what you can,' . . . and so 
 . . . I . . ." 
 
 The diatchok was completely taken 
 aback by this. Anton in the meanwhile 
 slipped off. Dementii returned to the 
 choir with more sedate steps, and told 
 the deacon about his interview with 
 Anton. At this moment Cyril, who 
 had taken off his vestments, came out 
 from the altar, and directed his steps 
 towards the entrance. They were silent, 
 but on their faces was plainly written 
 discontent and surprise, although they 
 tried to conceal these feelings. Cyril 
 remarked this, but, looking as if he did 
 not, went out of the church. 
 
 " Now, what does this mean, Father 
 Simeon, I only ask you ? " cried the 
 diatchok Dementii with all his powerful 
 voice. " We shall die of hunger ! If we 
 
78 A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 
 
 don't get money for weddings, where 
 are we to get it? '' 
 
 " This is the new order of things, 
 Dementii Ermilitch," answered the 
 deacon, in a weak little tenor voice, and 
 added — " Take away the ladle with the 
 wine, Dementii Ermilitch." 
 
 The diatchok darted towards a little 
 square table standing in the centre of 
 the church, caught hold of the ladle, 
 and started off to the altar with it, not 
 disguising his feelings of disgust. 
 
 The deacon stood quietly with his 
 head bent down, like a man who is 
 accustomed to humble himself before 
 all the possible misfortunes of life. 
 
 " I tell you what it is," said the 
 diatchok, turning round from the altar ; 
 " let's go to Father Rodion, and tell 
 him." 
 
 " Yes, we really must," answered the 
 deacon, and they both went out and 
 started off to Father Rodion. 
 
VII 
 
 ATHER RODION received 
 
 them without ceremony. 
 
 He was dressed in wide 
 
 nankeen breeches, low 
 
 boots, and a short jacket. 
 
 When they entered the 
 
 room which he called his 
 
 parlour, Father Rodion was 
 
 standing by a cage near the window 
 
 and carefully changing his canary bird's 
 
 water. 
 
 *' Ah ! welcome our forces I " said he, 
 continuing his occupation. " Well, 
 how are affairs?" 
 
 " Bad, Father Rodion ! '^ complained 
 the diatchok Dementii, in whose breast 
 there was still great vexation. 
 "Well, what is it?" 
 " We have this minute married Anton 
 Bondarenko's daughter, and we got a 
 rouble for the wedding ! '' 
 "How did that happen ?" 
 Father Rodion still kept calm, and 
 continued his idyllic operation. 
 
 " Very simply. We finished the wed- 
 ding. Anton comes up to Father 
 Cyril ..." 
 
 The diatchdk began to relate how 
 the affair stood, and told every detail. 
 When he arrived at Anton's explana- 
 
8o A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 
 
 tion and repeated his answer : " ' The 
 bdtoushka,'says he, 'said, Give what you 
 can,' says he," Father Rodion suddenly 
 left the cage, which began to swing from 
 side to side. 
 
 *'Ah, that's it, is it? Well, that is 
 bad," said he. 
 
 " Very bad," mournfully repeated the 
 deacon. 
 
 " It is only necessary for such a thing 
 to happen once, and every one knows 
 about it. This will please ' them ' very 
 much." 
 
 By "them,'' Father Rodion meant the 
 parishioners. He asked his visitors to 
 sit down, and a council of war was 
 held. 
 
 *' I confess I noticed something . . . 
 something . . . suspicious about him 
 from the very first," said Father Rodion. 
 "If he continues in this way we shall 
 have to complain to him about it." 
 
 The council lasted an hour, and it was 
 eventually decided to do nothing in a 
 hurry, but to watch the progress of 
 events and see what turned up. It 
 might be nothing but want of experi- 
 ence — simply a man who did not know 
 business matters. 
 
 Many and various applications were 
 made to Cyril during his first week for 
 taking the services. Pachom, the 
 blacksmith, who shod the whole 
 country around, lost his mother, a very 
 'old woman. The blacksmith was not 
 especially distressed about this, as she 
 had been ill for a long time, and 
 had given him no help, and had merely 
 been another mouth to feed in addition 
 to the seven of his own family. He 
 went straight to the diatchok Dementii. 
 
A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 8 1 
 
 *' What, has Mavra given up her soul 
 to God?" asked Dementii, 
 
 It was well known in the village 
 that Mavra was in a bad way. The 
 blacksmith, moreover, would not have 
 wasted his time with the diatchok 
 at such a busy season, without good 
 reason. 
 
 " It is as yoi'i have guessed, Dementii 
 Ermilitch. She has indeed given up 
 her soul. May hers be the kingdom of 
 heaven l"' 
 
 "Well.?" 
 
 " We must bury her." 
 
 " Very well, go and bury her, and we 
 will come to the cemetery on Sunday 
 and sing. ]\Iaybe by that time the Lord 
 will have taken some one else ; so that 
 we can do them together. ' 
 
 " I want the thing to be done pro- 
 perly, Dementii Ermilitch." 
 
 " Yes, I should like to be a bishop, 
 goodness only knows ! Your Mavra 
 was not a big bird ! You would like, 
 forsooth, to have her buried by the whole 
 staff from the cathedral for four 
 greevens ! "'" ^ 
 
 " But, Dementii Ermilitch, I will pay 
 my utmost. Perhaps some day I may- 
 have to shoe a horse for you." 
 
 " Oh no, you won't get round me that 
 way, Pachom ! I haven't even threshed 
 my corn yet." 
 
 " In that case I must go to the 
 batoushka himself ! " and Pachom 
 started off to Cyril. 
 
 " They have already got wind of what 
 sort of fellow the new batoushka is. 
 They won't go to Father Rodion on any 
 
 ^ Abcut a shilling. 
 
A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 
 
 account," thought Dementii, and deter- 
 mined to await Cyril's decision. 
 
 Pachom explained to Cyril that his 
 mother had died yesterday, and said he 
 had come to make a petition for the 
 funeral. 
 
 " Have you got everything ready ? " 
 said Cyril. 
 
 "Everything as usual." 
 
 " Very well, call the deacon and the 
 diatchok ..." 
 
 Pachom broke in, " The diatchok 
 says, ' You dig,' says he, ' the hole, and 
 we will come and sing on Sunday. I've 
 got my threshing to do,' says he, 'and 
 can't throw it up for four greevens.' " 
 
 Cyril said nothing, but put on his 
 cassock and his hat and went out. 
 From the door could be seen De- 
 mentii's threshing-floor. The diatchok 
 was dressed in a cotton shirt without a 
 coat. On the back of his head he wore 
 a straw hat. He was busily engaged in 
 threshing with a chain, and the sweat 
 was running down his face. Seeing 
 Cyril come out of his house, he re- 
 doubled his exertions. 
 
 Cyril stopped for a minute, and 
 thought, " Reallv, he has a big 
 family." 
 
 He passed his garden, entered the 
 wicket gate, and approached Dementii's 
 threshing-floor. The diatchok stopped 
 and respectfully took off his hat. 
 
 "God be with you," said Cyril. 
 
 " Do you wish me to go to the 
 funeral.''" asked Dementii. 
 
 " No, it's not necessary ; I will per- 
 form the service alone. I think the 
 deacon is also occupied." 
 
 " He is getting water melons.*' 
 
A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 
 
 "Very well, I will do it myself," said 
 Cyril. 
 
 At this moment the sexton brought 
 him a bundle containing vestments. 
 Cyril took the bundle and started off 
 after Pachom. 
 
 Dementii looked at him as he went, 
 and thought, " Well, you are a queer 
 fellow I Either God is in your heart, 
 or you are a humbug ! I can't make 
 you out 1 '' 
 
 Cyril performed the funeral service 
 over Mavra, and at the end of the cere- 
 mony when the blacksmith offered him 
 a pile of coppers, he refused to take 
 them. He had only a few minutes pre- 
 viously seen the wretched circumstances- 
 under which Pachom and his numerous 
 family lived. 
 
 " How can I take money from a 
 beggar ? " thought Cyril to himself; and 
 said — " In the winter I shall have a 
 conveyance, and when the tire comes 
 off the wheel, I shall bring it to you to 
 put right !...'■' 
 
 " I would do anything for you, bd- 
 toushka, in return for your goodness," 
 said Pachom, with great emotion. He 
 was indeed very much touched by the 
 new clergyman's kindness. Things had 
 been hitherto so arranged in Lugovoe 
 that a special funeral service for one 
 person had always been looked upon as 
 a sign of wealth. Cyril's predecessor 
 had said straight out — '.' For less than 
 two roubles I don't m.ove." It was con-' 
 sidered sufficient in the case of paupers 
 that they should be carried to the ceme- 
 tery and interred by their relations, and 
 in course of time, when half a dozen had 
 been buried in this fashion, that the one 
 
84 A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 
 
 service should be read over them all 
 together. This used especially to be 
 done during the summer-time, when the 
 clergy were all busy with their agricul- 
 tural operations. The parishioners had 
 grown accustomed to this plan, which 
 had been practised from time imme- 
 morial, and they did not protest. There 
 Avere, indeed, solitary instances of at- 
 tempts being made to induce the clergy 
 to make exceptions in the cases where a 
 iespected member of a poor family had 
 died, as had happened with the black- 
 smith Pachom. Occasionally, in a happy 
 moment, they had induced the clergy to 
 come out for a rouble by the promise to 
 bring them a measure of wheat when 
 the threshing was over. But generally 
 speaking, the question of payment had 
 hitherto been put in a very plain and 
 unmistakable way. 
 
 This happened on a Friday. On the 
 same day a well-built di/ija?i, har- 
 nessed with a pair of good horses, pulled 
 up at the door of Dementii's hut. On 
 the front part of it sat a boy wearing a 
 white cotton shirt and a straw hat. In 
 the back part of the carriage, which was 
 hung on springs, was seated a heavily- 
 built peasant with a strong, dark face, 
 with small eyes and thick grey brows. 
 This man was dressed in a blue over- 
 coat, a red sash, and a cap of blue cloth, 
 and he had altogether the air of a tov. ns- 
 jiian. When he got down from the car- 
 riage it was seen that he was not tall, 
 and walked heavily and confidently. 
 Dementii, who at that moment was 
 brushing up the grain into a pile on 
 his threshing-floor, when he saw him 
 immediately went to meet him. 
 
A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 85 
 
 " Marko Andreevitch, why has God 
 sent you? Is all well down at your 
 farm ? Come in. ..." 
 
 Dementii both spoke and looked 
 wonderfully polite. Evidently Marko 
 Andreevitch Shibenko, the rich farmer 
 parishioner, was a very welcome visitor. 
 The farmer's moustache slightly moved, 
 which meant a smile, and he stretched 
 out his tawny hand to Dementii. 
 
 "We live, Dementii Ermilitch, thanks 
 to your prayers 1 " ejaculated Marko, 
 abruptly, and stammering slightly. "Ah ! 
 may I come in ? . . . Mitka, bring one 
 of the sacks into the vestibule." 
 
 *' Oh, that's very kind of you ; you 
 don't forget us." 
 
 Mitka began to descend lazily from 
 his high position, and the host and 
 guest went into the hut. In the vesti- 
 bule they met Dementii's wife. Anto- 
 nina Egorovna was still a fairly young 
 woman, and had as good a complexion 
 and healthy a look as her husband. She 
 was busy making up a fire under some 
 pots in which living crabs were moving. 
 She was surrounded by dirty children 
 with naked feet, dressed in long sacks 
 without belts. Antonina excused her- 
 self from shaking hands on the ground 
 that they were covered wuth soot. 
 
 " You will not be offended," added 
 Dementii ; " she always goes about any- 
 how here." 
 
 A few minutes later, Antonina had 
 washed her hands, tidied the room, and. 
 had put the decanter with vodka and 
 some fish on the table. 
 
 " Whose week is it now for taking the 
 services ? " asked Marko Andreevitch 
 first of all. 
 
86 A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 
 
 " The new one — Father Cyril," said 
 Dementi], waving his arm in a some- 
 what deprecatory manner. 
 
 " Aha ! so we shall have a chance of 
 seeing what sort he is. I have con- 
 structed a new barn, and I am going to 
 put the grain in to-morrow ; and as you 
 know yourself, it is impossible to do this 
 without having it blessed, I want him 
 lo come and sprinkle it with holy water 
 to-day." 
 
 "With great pleasure, Marko Andrde- 
 vitch ; you, at any rate, do not use us 
 badly." 
 
 " I have prepared everything before- 
 hand. Allow me, Dementii Ermilitch ; 
 you will hand it over to the batoushka." 
 Marko brought out of his bosom a purse, 
 counted out three notes of three roubles 
 each, and handed them to Dementii, 
 who took them. 
 
 " If only all our parishioners were 
 as open-handed, we should soon grow 
 rich," said he, squeezing the notes in 
 his hand. "It's only thanks to you good 
 people, that we keep alive.'' 
 
 But at this moment a thought came 
 into his mind which darkened his face. 
 " If there is anything good, the new 
 priest is sure to spoil it," thought 
 he; "he will take it and give him 
 change." 
 
 " But why don't you wait till Sunday, 
 Marko Andreevitch ? eh ? " asked he, 
 not without arriere-pensee. " On Sun- 
 day, Father Rodion's week begins. It 
 would be a surer thing, I think." 
 
 " 1 look at it this way : the grain is 
 ready ; to-morrow we put it into the 
 barn. It's impossible to wait. ..." 
 
 *' Yes, yes. . . . You Antonina, enter- 
 
A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 8/ 
 
 tain Marko Andreevitch, and I will go 
 and tell the batoushka." 
 
 '•We might go together, and I could 
 then make his acquaintance. I have 
 brought him two measures of grain as 
 an introduction.'' 
 
 " No, you wait a bit ; I will go first, . . 
 and then you. ..." 
 
 " He'll probably receive you and your 
 com in an unbefitting manner, this queer 
 fellow of a parson," thought Dementii to 
 himself. 
 
 Dementii went to Cyril, and found 
 the latter at his writing-table. Maria 
 Gavrilovna was sitting on the sofa read- 
 ing a book." 
 
 " Oh, sit down, please ; I will attend 
 to you in a moment," said Cyril, con- 
 tinuing to write. " Mura, this is our 
 diatchok, Dementii Ermilitch." 
 
 Mura stretched out her hand. De- 
 mentii took it in his huge fist, squeezed 
 it, and, from nervousness, shook it with 
 unnecessary enthusiasm. But he could 
 not summon up courage to sit down, 
 and remained standing two steps from 
 the sofa. Mura asked him if he had a 
 large family. He answered that thank 
 God, it v/as not a small one, and added 
 that his eldest son had already got into 
 the clergy school." 
 
 " Well, what is it ? " asked Cyril, turn- 
 ing himself round, together v/ith his 
 chair. 
 
 " Marko Shibenko has come from his 
 farm, and wants you to go to him and 
 bless his new barn." 
 
 "Very well; let us go." 
 
 " He is a rich man, the richest of the 
 farmers. He has himself offered ten 
 roubles . . . without my asking. Do 
 
A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 
 
 you wish me to take them ? " explained 
 Dementii, with the air of a guilty man. 
 
 " He offered it himself, did he ? "' asked 
 Cyril, watching his physiognomy. 
 
 "I swear to you, Father Cyril, I never 
 even made a hint to him." 
 
 " If he is rich, and offered the money 
 himself, why not take it ?'' 
 
 " Certainly ; why not .'' Here it is." 
 
 "Put it into the common box . . . and 
 get ready to start." 
 
 " Yes, I see through him." thought 
 Dementii, returning home. " ' If he is 
 a rich man, and proposed to pay him- 
 self ! . . . And isn't it all the same to 
 me whether he is a rich man or not .'* 
 Are there so many of these rich people 
 about? He offered to pay himself, he 
 said. Well, and this Marko Andreevitch 
 is a farmer ; and farmers are quite an- 
 other race. If we were to wait for our 
 Liigovoe parishioners to open their 
 pockets of their own accord, we should 
 have to wait a very long time.' 
 
 Passing through his vestibule, he saw 
 the well-filled, and carefully-tied-up 
 sack of corn. 
 
 " There, you recognize the farmer at 
 once ! He brings it himself, no one 
 bothers him for it. And what a fine 
 sack ! It must weigh six pouds at 
 least" (fifteen stone). "This means, at 
 the rate of sixty copecks a poud, three 
 roubles sixty copecks in money." 
 
 Marko Andreevitch had already man- 
 aged to drink five glasses of vodka^ and 
 only refused another, because he was 
 going to the priest. 
 
 "It wouldn't do, you know, to go 
 there smelling of vodkaP 
 
 They went to Cyril's house, and found 
 
A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 89 
 
 him already attired. Maria Gavrilovna 
 was hunting about the next room trying 
 to find a clean handkerchief for him. 
 Marko Andreevitch entered the vesti- 
 bule, and for the sake of good manners, 
 notwithstanding that it was perfectly 
 dry outside, began wiping his feet on 
 the wooden floor. Noticing that on his 
 left-hand side were large double doors, 
 and on the right, a low single door, he 
 surmised that the right-hand door led to 
 the kitchen, and took the left. He 
 opened the door and entered. He 
 stopped on the threshold, crossed 
 himself three times, and then bowed to 
 the master of the house. 
 
 " I am Marko Shibenko — farmer," 
 said he, blinking his eyes. 
 
 " Aha ! we are just starting off to you. 
 I am quite ready," answered Cyril, 
 thinking that Shibenko had come in 
 order to hurry him up. 
 
 " Oh, yes, I know ; but I have come 
 about another matter." 
 
 " Sit down and tell me." 
 
 " Thank you very much. But first 
 please give me your blessing." 
 
 Cyril suddenly remembered. He 
 could not manage to accustom himself 
 to giving every comer his blessing. He 
 used to put out his hand to shake hands, 
 forgetting that no visit could be paid 
 him without his giving his blessing. 
 Marko came to him, received the bless- 
 ing and kissed his hand. 
 
 " And now for business," said Marko, 
 with an easier air. " We greatly respect 
 our batoushkas, and always try to oblige 
 them." 
 
 " Sit down. Why do you stand? " said 
 Cyril. 
 
90 A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 
 
 " Thank you very much," said Marko, 
 accepting the invitation and sitting 
 down. " That which God gives us in 
 His goodness, we divide with the clergy. 
 Therefore, batoushka, on the occasion 
 of our first making each other's ac- 
 quaintance, allow me to present you 
 with two sacks of corn." 
 
 " For me ? Why ? I have done 
 nothing for you." 
 
 " You pray for us. We keep sinning, 
 and you avert the consequences by your 
 prayers. That's why ! Besides that, 
 we v.ish to show our respect for the 
 clerical dignity. So please don't refuse 
 to accept the two sacks." 
 
 " But really ... I have nothing to 
 say against it ; only it seems strange. 
 . . . Very well, I accept, and thank 
 you very much." 
 
 Cyril was confused. He had never 
 foreseen such proposals. He knew, how- 
 ever, that nothing hurts a peasant's feel- 
 ings more, than to refuse a gift from him. 
 
 "And I thank you for accepting it. 
 The principal thing is to be sincere. If 
 you don't scorn us, we are always ready 
 to help. And will you allow mc to see 
 the matoushka ? " 
 
 " Why, certainly. Mural here's some 
 one who wants to make your acquain- 
 tance." 
 
 Miiria Gavrilovna entered the room 
 with the handkerchief in her hand 
 which she had found, and looked at 
 Marko, who was seated on a chair, in 
 doubt. She could not imagine why he 
 wanted to become acquainted with her. 
 When she appeared, he got up and made 
 a sort of awkward movement resembling 
 a bow. 
 
A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 9 1 
 
 " And so this is the mdtoushka? And 
 how young she is ! Good Lord ! " 
 
 He suddenly went up to Mura, seized 
 her hand and kissed it,' before Mura 
 could take any precautionary measure 
 against such an outburst of feelings. 
 
 *• I am a farmer, matoushka. Come 
 and pay me a visit, and you will be very 
 welcome. You will see how we will 
 receive you! . . . We have a great respect 
 for the clergy. . . . We will collect all 
 the people together, and give you five 
 loads of grain ; only come ! " 
 
 This was all very strange for Mura; 
 she could not understand why he 
 invited her so warmly. Why should she 
 go to his farm? and why should he give 
 her corn ? She was silent, and looked 
 at him with an air of ill-concealed 
 amazement. 
 
 " Thanks, thanks ! " said Cyril, for 
 her, " it's time for us to be off." 
 
 Marko repeated his invitation once 
 more, and started off after Cyril. At 
 the door he stopped, and cried out in 
 the direction of Dementii's hut—'* Hullo, 
 Mitka ! come here and bring the 
 batoushka the two sacks that are in 
 the cart." 
 
 ^litka got down, bridled the horses, 
 and a minute later, the dilijan began 
 creaking in all its various parts. Mitka 
 reached the piece of ground in front of 
 the house and entered the wicket-gate. 
 He carried the sacks into the house, and 
 began arranging the hay in the convey- 
 ance for the convenience of the passen- 
 gers. Dementii appeared in a long 
 
 ^ An almost universal custom in Russia to 
 kiss the hostess's hand. 
 
92 A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 
 
 grey coat, with a bundle under his arm. 
 This bundle contained the vestments. 
 He said that the father deacon was 
 unwell. They took their seats and 
 started off. 
 
 The holdings which formed these 
 farms were called after the name of 
 their former proprietor, Choubatof, and 
 this land had afterwards come into the 
 hands of free peasants. The greater 
 part of it was situated at about ten 
 versts from Liigovoe. 
 
 Almost all these farmers owned their 
 land; some had twelve dessyatines/some 
 two, and there were two men, Gubar and 
 Shibenko, who owned as much as thirty 
 each, and hired thirty or forty more on 
 rent from the Liigovoe lady of the manor. 
 Notwithstanding this, their houses were 
 not very luxurious, and half of them 
 lived in mud huts. The other half had 
 managed to construct peasants' huts, 
 with slate roofs, consisting of two small 
 rooms — one for every day, and the other 
 for state occasions, with an additional 
 room for young fowls, calves, and pigs. 
 When these farmers, who were all rich 
 men, were asked why they did not build 
 themselves good houses, they used to 
 reply — " What's the good of it ? We are 
 accustomed to our mud huts. The 
 family is lost in the various corners of a 
 big house. In a small mud hut, they 
 are all in a pile ; it's warmer and cosier." 
 
 In front of these small huts stood 
 high barns, spacious yards for cattle, 
 and for sheep in the winter, Sec, It 
 might almost be imagined, that these 
 latter were the real proprietors, and 
 
 * Dessyatine =27 acres. 
 
A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 93 
 
 that the people lived there merely in 
 the capacity of humble attendants on 
 them, makincr shift in ill-constructed 
 huts and mud erections. 
 
 Immediately after the dilijan had 
 ascended the hill and gained the elevated 
 plateau over which the high-road ran, 
 the farmers' huts could be seen here and 
 there amidst the endless fields. One 
 might have counted forty farmyards 
 with kitchen-gardens, surrounded by 
 hay and straw stacks. Each yard had 
 its well, and the long, thin poles with 
 buckets at the end lifted in the air, 
 like silent sentinels watching over and 
 defending the farm buildings scattered 
 over the steppes, from external enemies. 
 
 Half an hour later, after passing 
 several mud huts, they arrived at 
 Marko's abode. It was in no way dis- 
 tinguished from the rest, but the yards 
 and outhouses were of more imposing 
 dimensions, and the new barn glittered 
 with a bright yellow colour in the sun. 
 There were about twenty men and 
 women standing about in the yard in 
 their ordinary working clothes. They 
 had evidently come here from their 
 work, and had arranged to make a 
 holiday for the rest of the day. Directly 
 Cyril entered the yard, they each began 
 to come up to him in turn for a 
 blessing. 
 
 " The new batoushka," whispered 
 they, among themselves. '• And isn't he 
 young," added the women, and for some 
 reason loudly sighed. 
 
 Marko then invited him into the hut. 
 In the shady hut, with its low ceiling 
 and small windows, about ten men were 
 seated at a long table, most of them 
 
94 A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 
 
 advanced in years. These were the 
 heads of the families. They got up 
 from the table. Cyril crossed himself 
 in front of the dark image hanging in 
 the corner, and bowed to those 
 present. 
 
 "How do you do.-*'' said he, turning 
 to them all. 
 
 A sort of undefined hum was heard 
 in answer to this. Soon a woman 
 appeared from behind the stove. She 
 had a good figure, red cheeks, and was 
 dressed in a bright coloured skirt, and 
 a silk handkerchief on her head.' 
 
 " Ah ! here is my wife I " said Marko. 
 
 Marko's wife also received the bene- 
 diction. 
 
 "Well, let us go," said Cyril. 
 Dementii unfastened the bag and gave 
 him the vestments. The moujiks 
 looked at him with great interest and 
 thought to themselves, " What young 
 fellows they make ' popes ' nowadays." 
 When Cyril had arrayed himself, they 
 all went out into the yard, and here, 
 under the burning rays of the southern 
 sun, in front of a little table, on which 
 stood a pan filled with water, the con- 
 secration of Shibenko's new barn was 
 performed. 
 
 "And now let us come and eat 
 what God has given us,''- said Marko's 
 wife. 
 
 Cyril accepted the invitation and went 
 into the hut before the others. Here 
 everything was ready. The table was 
 covered with a white cloth, and on it 
 was spread plates and dishes with 
 
 ' Married women among the peasants always 
 have tlieir heads covered. 
 
A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 95 
 
 broiled fish and pies made without 
 meat, as it was fast time. Two heavy, 
 square bottles of vodka overshadowed 
 the eatables. 
 
 " Please sit there, batoushka," said 
 the host, pointing" to a place under the 
 corner where the sacred images hung, 
 the place of honour. Cyril sat down, 
 and next to him Dementii. Fifteen 
 men and two women sat down to table. 
 
 " You must begin with a glass of 
 vodka,'^ said IMarko and his wife to- 
 gether. The latter had not seated her- 
 self at the table, and she poured out a 
 glass for Cyril and afterwards for all 
 the rest. All drank off their glasses at 
 a gulp except Cyril, who sipped a 
 quarter of its contents and then put it 
 down. 
 
 '' I say, batoushka, what does this 
 mean ? You must drink it off ! " said 
 the host, in a decided tone. 
 
 •' No, it is not necessary," said Cyril • 
 '' it is such a fearfully big glass." 
 
 " But you will offend me 1 And my 
 barn won't be full ! This is quite 
 certain I " 
 
 "What have we just been praying 
 God for? Wasn't it that your barn 
 should be full ? " asked Cyril, seriously^ 
 
 " Certainly.'"' 
 
 The moujiks looked up from their 
 plates with serious expressions and 
 were silent, and Marko repeated " Cer- 
 tainly;" but his confusion soon passed 
 away and he said — "And, in the second 
 place, that God will give me grain to 
 fill my barn in the future." Saying this, 
 he began filling the glasses a second 
 time. Dementii stretched out his hand 
 with his glass, but Cyril said — _ 
 
96 A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 
 
 " In my opinion one glass is enough 
 for a man." 
 
 The moujiks looked at each other in 
 blank astonishment. Dementii with- 
 drew his hand from the glass and began 
 to run it through his luxuriant beard. 
 But the host took this speech as a 
 joke, and said — "And now, bdtoushka, 
 drink another glass, for otherwise the 
 rest will not drink." 
 
 " Why should I drink when it is dis- 
 agreeable and harmful to me? Besides 
 that, to drink vodka, is not suitable for a 
 clergyman." 
 
 " Our batoushkas always drink in 
 first-rate style," interrupted one of the 
 guests. Some looked at the speaker in 
 an encouraging way, but o^^hers seemed 
 to feel that he had said a stupid thing 
 and looked confused. 
 
 " I don't consider a man a batoushka 
 at all, who will not drink with us ! " 
 ejaculated another guest. This was 
 followed by a profound silence. 
 
 "What's your name, and where is 
 your hut?" asked Cyril, turning to the 
 author of the latter sentiment. 
 
 " Sidor Tovkatch, and my hut, 
 batoushka, if you will do me the favour 
 to visit it, is the third from Marko's 
 hut," answered the moujik. 
 
 " Well, now I shall know, and keep 
 away from Sidor Tovkatch's hut. I 
 cannot drink vodka, which means, 
 according to his opinion, I am not a 
 biitoushka." 
 
 Sidor reddened to the ears, and was 
 so overwhelmed that he could find 
 nothing to say. Cyril continued — 
 ** But to those who are willing to con- 
 sider me as a bdtoushka, although 
 
A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 97 
 
 I don't drink vodka^ I will give my 
 reasons for not drinking. In the first 
 place I value my health, and wish to 
 remain long on the earth, and besides 
 that I wish to be always a sensible man; 
 and if one drinks more vodka than is 
 good for one, it injures the health and 
 shortens life. You are ordained to live 
 seventy years, if you drink much vodka 
 you will only last fifty. You may be a 
 sensible man, and people may respect 
 you, but vodka blunts your mind and 
 fogs it, and instead of being a man of 
 sense you become a fool, and all laugh 
 at you. Judge, therefore — what do I. 
 gain by drinking vodka ? " 
 
 " Certainly there is not the slightest 
 advantage in it," remarked some one. 
 
 The confused hosts offered no one 
 any more vodka, having made up their 
 minds that the regular festivities must 
 be deferred until after the batoushka's 
 departure. 
 
 After they had eaten tart with cream,' 
 Cyril got up, and all the others after 
 him. When he had gone out of the hut 
 a sort of subdued conversation began : 
 "What awise man — trulylearned! What 
 does it matter about his youth .? And so 
 serious ! And one may say that our 
 Tovkatch put his foot into it, from 
 ignorance ! " When Cyril was getting 
 into the dilijajt, Sidor Tovkatch came 
 up to him and respectfully took off his 
 hat. 
 
 "I ask your pardon, batoushka," said 
 he, in a confused voice. "I said that 
 ignorantly, stupidly . . . and I swear 
 to you I do not really think it.'^ 
 
 And he asked Cyril for his bene- 
 diction. 
 
 6 
 
98 A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 
 
 " Come and see me, Sidor; bring your 
 comrades, and we will have a talk. Few 
 among you can read, you have no 
 schools, and you spend much money on 
 vodka . . . and you are people in good 
 circumstances ! " 
 
 Sidor listened to this invitation in 
 respectful silence. Marko himself did 
 not drive Cyril back, but sent one ol 
 his labourers. 
 
 " They are regular children," said 
 Cyril, turning to Dementii, who was 
 sitting by his side. " Like children 
 they believe everything, both good and 
 bad. Therefore we ought not to lose a 
 single opportunity of telling them wliat 
 is right, ought we, Dementii Ermilitch.'" 
 
 " Certainly not," answered Dementii, 
 flattered on the one hand that the chiel 
 confided this to him, and on the other 
 regretting that he could not stop ir 
 Marko's hut. " They are probably 
 praising the new clergyman now, and 
 into the bargain drinking bottle after 
 bottle of vodka^'' thought he, with 
 vexed feelin<rs. 
 
VIII. 
 
 ND now we shall begin to 
 make money again! 
 Father Rodion's week 
 begins to-day," said the 
 diatchok Dementii to the 
 deacon, after evening ser- 
 vice on Saturday. 
 
 " Yes, Dementii Ermi- 
 litch, we must really put on the screw ! 
 And we have had such an eventful week, 
 if it had only been Father Rodion's week, 
 we should have had nearly forty roubles 
 in the box. A wedding, three funerals, 
 consecrating a barn, and extreme unc- 
 tion for the old woman Miroshnitchich 
 — all important affairs ! . . . And we've 
 got in all, fourteen and a half roubles ! 
 . . . I am ashamed to say it ... I 
 really am ! '" 
 
 In a word, the junior portion of the 
 staff of the parish church were very 
 dissatisfied with the new clergyman's 
 first week. No one as yet knew Father 
 Rodion's opinion on this matter. He 
 received the deacon's report about the 
 contents of the box for the week in 
 silence, and did not even answer 
 Dementii's question, "What do you 
 think of that, Father Rodion ? " Evi- 
 dently, as a man of sense, he had not yet 
 come to any conclusion about the turn 
 affairs had taken. 
 
A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 
 
 On the other hand, in the village, 
 varied and animated reports were cir- 
 culated. Anton having brought the 
 wedding to a happy ending for one 
 rouble, told all his friends the true story. 
 " We sinned in judging him so quickly, 
 and it was your fault, Anton ; and after 
 all he is a good sort," said the moujiks. 
 
 On Sunday when the farmers came 
 in to church they told one of the Lugo- 
 voe natives what had happened at 
 Marko's, and this gave rise to fresh 
 conversations about the new priest. 
 
 But it must be said that the village 
 formed no definite conclusion about his 
 character, they confined themselves 
 chiefly to relating facts about him. 
 
 "Says he to Miroshnitchich, 'Old 
 Avoman, you'll get well, and you'll get up 
 and work and pay me then ; but if you 
 die, why then we will settle it in the other 
 world ! ' " said one of them. 
 
 " Oh, he's that sort ! ... In the 
 other world . . . H'm ! . . . "' remarked 
 the listeners. 
 
 " When they buried Proshka,Avdiehk's 
 boy, she gave Cyril twenty copecks, and 
 when he saw that all the property in 
 Avdiehk's hut amounted to a pot and 
 a broken poker, he said, ' Thank you 
 very much, but I must give you back 
 some change out of this,' and gave her 
 fifty copecks, and said, ' Go and buy 
 some cod-liver oil for your eldest son, 
 and make him drink it, as he has 
 scrofula badly.' " 
 
 " He is a queer fellow I A wise man 
 would not do that." 
 
 " That depends. . . . Whence come 
 the man's ideas.'"' 
 
 " And he told the farmers not to drink 
 
A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 10 5 
 
 more than two glasses of vod^ca —mover 
 he said, is bad for you." 
 
 '• Two glasses is very little for a man 
 — a paltry affair." 
 
 " Absurdly little. How, for instance, 
 can a christening go off properly with 
 only two glasses ? Or, again, a wed- 
 ding ? . . . No, it's nonsense !" . . . 
 
 It was autumn ; the days became 
 gloomy, rain set in. Cyril at the time 
 was busy in the parish. Mdria Gavri- 
 lovna had only just got up, and was 
 beginning to dress. Feokla came into 
 the room and said — 
 
 '"A carriage has come, from the 
 town." Maria Gavrilovna's heart beat 
 cjuickly ; she ran to the door. 
 
 '• Mamotchka ! ■■ 
 
 And three seconds later she was" 
 hugged in the embrace of Anna Niko- 
 laevna Fortificantof. 
 
 "What has made you come so far, 
 and alone?" 
 
 " In the first place it is not far — some 
 fifty versts ; in the second place I have 
 not come alone, but with the coachman.'' 
 
 It appeared that the mother longed 
 to see her daughter, and so had started 
 off to visit Mura, who was inexpressibly 
 delighted at her arrival, and laughed, 
 and jumped, and every now and then 
 embraced her again, and finally cried. 
 " It's from joy, mamotchka ! " she ex- 
 plained. 
 
 Anna Nikolaevna was contented 
 with the quarters. Feokla rather 
 shocked her by immediately entering 
 into conversation with her and 
 telling her that she was " a poor 
 widow," and had served all the clergy 
 here ; when Mura left the room she 
 
102 A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 
 
 came nearer to Anna Nikoldevna and 
 said to her, in a mysterious voice, 
 ' Keep a watch on the young people, 
 mdtoushka, they don't know how to 
 live ; any other batoushka would have 
 had a couple of cows, and ten sheep, 
 and fowls by this time — and he has got 
 nothing. It's a shame to have to say 
 it : we buy flour ! I have never known 
 such a thing before. I have been in 
 the service of three incumbents, and 
 they used to sell flour. No, you must 
 teach them the right way." 
 
 Notwithstanding that this information 
 was very humiliating for Anna Niko- 
 Idevna, she made a note of Feokla's 
 communication. After living two months 
 in a parish, usually considered a good 
 one, they had actually got nothing ! 
 
 " But tell me, how do you live ? " 
 asked Anna Nikoldevna. 
 
 " Oh, all right. I am quite satis- 
 fied ! " answered IVIura. 
 
 "But explain a little. How do you 
 pass your time ? " 
 
 " I read chiefly. Cyril is generally 
 either in church or in the parish, some- 
 times in the school, and sometimes in 
 the country." 
 
 '' And you sit here alone ? " 
 
 " Yes— why ? " 
 
 "And you have no acquaintances.^ 
 Isn't there a lady living in the place? I 
 thought he had called on her." 
 
 *' Who ? Cyril ? not on any account. 
 He said, ' I shall go if I am wanted ; 
 but how am I to know what sort of 
 creature she is .-^ ' I have made the ac- 
 quaintance of the other priest's family — 
 six daughters, absolutely uninteresting 
 people." 
 
A RUSSIAN PRIEST. I03 
 
 " The result is that you are dying of 
 €77 mil/ " 
 
 " Cyril keeps saying- to me, ' Get to 
 know the peasants ; you will find them 
 interesting.' -' 
 
 Anna NikoMevna smiled and 
 thought, " Yes, he really has got a screw 
 loose in his head." 
 
 Cyril arrived, and expressed his plea- 
 sure at seeing his mother-in-law. " You 
 see how pleasant it is here in the 
 country. And you will stay with us ? " 
 said he. 
 
 " No, excuse me ; that I cannot pro- 
 mise ! " answered Anna Nikolaevna, 
 with a haughty air. The place of hving, 
 according to her idea, formed an index 
 to people's social position. The capital 
 in her eyes, meant an exalted position 
 and a good income — the country, abase- 
 ment and poverty. Therefore Cyril's 
 invitation, in a sort of way, was insulting 
 to her. 
 
 In the course of the day Anna 
 Nikolaevna convinced herself, from 
 personal observation, that they bought 
 everything, and that Feokla was right. 
 For every little thing required in the 
 kitchen — meat, onions, potatoes — 
 Feokla had to go to the little shop ; and 
 cream for tea cost nearly as much as in 
 town . 
 
 " Look here, my dear, buying every- 
 thing in this way must be very expen- 
 sive ! Have you such a large income 
 as all that ? " 
 
 " Cyril gives me everything he re- 
 ceives to the last copeck." 
 
 " Well, what does he get a month 1 " 
 
 " Twenty or twenty-five roubles." ^ 
 
 ^ About /-:!. 
 
I04 A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 
 
 *' Is that all his income ? A fine 
 living indeed ! And this after the 
 academy and the examination ! And 
 to live costs you ?" 
 
 "About fifty roubles." 
 
 " Where do you get them from ? " 
 
 Mdria Gavrilovna got confused and 
 reddened. " It's all right, mother. Our 
 income will soon increase . . . we shall 
 soon make it up again. '^ 
 
 Anna NikoLlevna looked at her 
 some time in doubt, and then said, in a 
 sharp tone — " Oh ! I understand ; you 
 are living on your capital." 
 
 " Oh, that's nothing ! We shall soon 
 put that right. Only, mother, please 
 don't say anything about it to Cyril ; he 
 really doesn't know anything about it." 
 
 Anna Nikolaevna answered nothing, 
 but knitted her brows and determined 
 to give her son-in-law a lecture. 
 
 The following day, when Cyril went 
 out into the parish, Anna Nikoldevna 
 received several visitors. The first of 
 these was Father Rodion's wife. She was 
 a woman of considerable height, broad- 
 shouldered, and fat. Notwithstanding 
 her fifty odd years, she appeared in a 
 light rose silk mantle with blue ribbons 
 in her hair which did not show the 
 slightest sign of turning grey. It must 
 be said, however, that there was nothing 
 affected about her ; the mdtoushka 
 merely wished to express her respect 
 for the cathedral dignitary's wife, by 
 this gala costume. 
 
 " Excuse me, but I have got to find 
 fault with your son-in-law," began she, 
 almost straight off. " He is introducing 
 new customs ; he never asks the parish- 
 ioners, ' How much will you pay ? ' The 
 
A RUSSIAN PRIEST. I05 
 
 result is, they give a few copecks. 
 Would you believe it ?— formerly my 
 husband never received less than 60 
 roubles a month, and sometimes So, 100, 
 and even 120 — and now 20, 25. How 
 is one to live? I have got half a dozen 
 daughters ! . . . This is of course only 
 inexperience. He is a young man — but 
 why doesn't he come and consult Father 
 Rodion and take his advice ? Although 
 your son-in-law is the chief, my husband 
 is a man of experience." 
 
 Afterwards the deacon's wife and 
 diatchok's wife called. They were so 
 shy in the presence of the dignitary's 
 wife that they could not make up their 
 minds to sit down ; they, however, ex- 
 plained that with the miserable incomes 
 they had received since the new priest's 
 arrival, it was impossible to live. 
 
 *' I understand it perfectly," said Anna 
 Nikolaevna, getting agitated by these 
 various communications ; ''but you may 
 be assured that all will be put right. 1 
 shall speak to him : for my daughter's 
 sake I shall speak." 
 
 The women who were, of course, act- 
 ing in the interests of their meek hus- 
 bands, went out with hope in their hearts. 
 
 " I want to have a talk with you, my 
 dear son-in-law," said^ Anna Niko- 
 laevna, sternly, to Cyril. It was getting 
 dark. Mura was sitting near the stair- 
 case at the tea-table reading a novel. 
 Anna Nikolaevna took advantage of 
 her absence to get this disagreeable 
 conversation over. 
 
 '• I am at your service, my dear Anna 
 Nikolaevna," said Cyril, good-naturedly. 
 He had a sort of idea of what was 
 going to follow. 
 
I06 A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 
 
 '* I cannot understand the way you 
 arc acting ; I don't understand it. 
 You have only been here two months and 
 all are already dissatisfied with you I " 
 
 *' Not all, Anna Nikolaevna — not all."' 
 
 "All. Father Rodion is very dis- 
 pleased. The deacon and diatchok both 
 complain that they can't live. What do 
 you mean by ' not all ' .'' " 
 
 " But the parishioners ? I don't think 
 they have complained to you." 
 
 " Do you think I am going to talk with 
 your parishioners ? It's all the same to 
 me whether they are satisfied or not ! 
 You have demoralized them ! They pay 
 what they like now, and the clergy's in- 
 come is diminished to one-third of its 
 former sum. I can't make it out ! It's 
 simple madness ! " 
 
 " But we get on very well. Thank 
 God, we have enough to eat and drink, 
 and we do not dress in wild beasts' 
 skins." 
 
 Anna Nikoldevna looked at him 
 fixedly for a moment, as though to 
 try and make out whether he really was 
 a simpleton or whether he was acting a 
 part. 
 
 " Look here, Cyril," said she, lower- 
 ing her voice, " is it possible that you 
 can live without knowing what goes on 
 under your very nose ? Your income is 
 twenty-five roubles a month, and you 
 are living at the rate of fifty. Do you 
 understand ? " 
 
 Cyril looked at her, reddened, shrunk 
 back, and squeezed the skirt of his 
 cassock, which up to that time he 
 had been fidgeting with between his 
 fingers. 
 
 "This is :Mura's fault. ... I did not 
 
A RUSSIAN PRIEST. I07 
 
 know," said he ; and, getting up, added— 
 "Thank you very much for the infor- 
 mation, Anna Nikolaevna : we will 
 change this." 
 
 " I should hope so, indeed ! . . . And 
 I need hardly tell you, Cyril, how painful 
 all this is to me. It is absolutely neces- 
 sary to make provision for a rainy day. 
 I only advise you." 
 
 Cyril looked at the window and was 
 silent. Anna Nikolaevna, satisfied that 
 she had made a strong impression, went 
 out on to the staircase to tea. 
 
 " What a long time you've been," 
 said Mura. 
 
 " ]My shoes are so tight, it takes a 
 long time to get them on." 
 
 Cyril remained long alone in the 
 room. When at length he came out it 
 was quite dark, and Anna Nikolaevna 
 could not distinguish the expression of 
 his face. The following morning she 
 returned to the town, taking with her the 
 " capital," so as to put it in the bank, 
 where she considered it would be safer. 
 However, she left four hundred roubles 
 in case they were required. Before 
 starting she did not say another word to 
 Cyril, supposing that she had already 
 said enough. But she called jNlura on 
 •one side and whispered to her — 
 
 " I wish you good luck, Mura, and 
 hope that all will go well. But if any- 
 thing goes wrong, come to me at once. 
 Everything that we have belongs to 
 you ! " 
 
 " I want nothing. Whatever happens, 
 I shall stick to Cyril," thought Mura ; » 
 and when her mother had gone, she went 
 up to Cyril, took his hand, and quietly 
 said — 
 
io8 
 
 A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 
 
 " You know, Cyril, . . . I . . ." She 
 did not get any further, and turned 
 red. Cyril tenderly kissed her hand 
 and said — 
 
 •' My poor, dear Mura." 
 
IX. 
 
 L'RA, I should like to know 
 what it costs us to live/' 
 said Cyril, one day. 
 
 Mura guessed that this 
 was '•mamma's doing," but 
 as he had resorted to diplo- 
 matic methods she re- 
 solved to meet him in a 
 similar way. 
 
 " Very well, '' said she, taking a pencil 
 and paper and beginning to make cal- 
 culations aloud. Taking advantage of 
 Cyril's ignorance, she put down each 
 item at half its real price, and the result 
 of this calculation showed that they were 
 living at the rate of about twenty-five 
 roubles a month, that is, about the sum 
 they were receiving. There even re- 
 mained a surplus of a rouble or so. 
 
 '•Aha I I suppose Anna Nikolaevna 
 said that by way of frightening me,'"' 
 thought Cyril, and he told Mura about 
 his conversation with her mother. 
 
 "Well, you. see the figures,"' said 
 j\Iaria Gavrilovna, v.-ith a perfectly calm 
 air. 
 
 The result of this conversation was, 
 that Feokla continued to manage 
 domestic affairs, and things went on 
 in the priest's house just as before. 
 
 Cyril had already been four months 
 at Luq-Qvoe. His relations with his col- 
 
no A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 
 
 leagues had reached the point when 
 Father Rodion,\vho all the time had been 
 hoping that " the young man will come 
 to his senses," said to Father Simeon 
 and to Dementii — 
 
 " No, this is not inexperience, but he 
 is not right in the head ! That's what it 
 is." 
 
 "That's it, Father Rodion," said they ; 
 *' and besides that, he is cjuarrelsome." 
 
 " We must put a stop to this I ''' ob- 
 served Father Rodion. 
 
 *' Certainly we must," answered the 
 deacon. 
 
 It was, in fact, necessary to do some- 
 thing. The parishioners had not only 
 taken advantage of the new order of 
 things, but they had abused it. Those 
 who were by no means poor, had given 
 a mere tritie for the most important 
 services. Some of them had even given 
 ten copecks for a funeral. At first this 
 had been compensated for, as far as the 
 deacon and diatchok were concerned, 
 because during Father Rodion's weeks 
 they had extorted twice the usual price. 
 But the parishioners had soon found this 
 out, and managed to defer their de- 
 mands, with the exception of those 
 matters which could not be put off, 
 till Cyril's week. Out of twenty 
 weddings during the whole autumn, 
 only six or seven had fallen to Father 
 Rodion's share, and Cyril had per- 
 formed the rest. The custom of paying 
 " as much as you can " was very agree- 
 able to the Lugovoti parishioners. 
 
 When Father Rodion had come to 
 the above-mentioned decision about 
 Cyril, he put on his best cassock and 
 calotte and started off to the chief's 
 
A RUSSIAN PRIEST. Ill 
 
 house. The first person who saw him was 
 Feokla. His smart appearance, and the 
 very fact of his coming, so astonished 
 her that she ran into the room and 
 informed Cyril. 
 
 " Father Rodion is coming to see you ; 
 he has got on his new cassock." 
 
 '•' Well, I am very glad to see 
 him." 
 
 Father Rodion, walking heavily and 
 waving the broad sleeves of his cassock, 
 approached the doorway. Cyril came 
 out to meet him, and conducted him 
 into the room. He shook hands with 
 Mnra who was sitting there. Father 
 Rodion sat down and said — 
 
 " I haven't been to see you for a long 
 time, Father Cyril.'' 
 
 "No, you've only been once altogether, 
 Father Rodion." 
 
 " And you haven't called on me more 
 than once ; when people live in the same 
 place and often see each other ..." 
 
 It seemed at first as if Father Rodion 
 had simply come to pay a visit. But 
 after he had made two or three remarks, 
 he suddenly coughed very loud and 
 said — 
 
 " I have come to see you on business 
 Father Cyril." 
 
 "Well, what is it, Father Rodion .?" 
 
 " It's . . . it's an important affair." 
 
 Having said this, he took his beard 
 in his left hand, and turned it upwards. 
 Mura understood that her presence 
 was not required, got up and went into 
 the next room. 
 
 " Father Cyril, this cannot go on — it 
 really cannot ! " said Father Rodion, with- 
 out further prelude. "Judgefor yourself: 
 I have got six grown-up daughters, and 
 
112 A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 
 
 no one seems to want to marry them. . . . 
 I have got to provide for them, to feed 
 them, to dress them. . . . And besides 
 that, I ought to put by a marriage 
 portion for them. . . . Six 1 Just think 
 of it :— six! . . ." 
 
 " Well, Father Rodion ? " 
 
 " Look at Demenlii, again. He's got 
 a heap of children all requiring educa- 
 tion. But I say nothing about that. I 
 merely ask you how he is to keep 
 them alive." 
 
 " Father Rodion . . ." 
 
 " Xo, allow me to have my say, 
 Father Cyril. You know I am not of a 
 talkative disposition, and it is hard for 
 me, but now I have begun, allow me to 
 finish. I have waited four months in 
 the hope that you would yourself under- 
 stand; and now it's time for me to 
 speak. Don't be angry with me for 
 this, Father Cyril, but I tell you that 
 this state of things cannot go on 1 It 
 really cannot, Father Cyril !" 
 
 '* What are you talking about, Father 
 Rodion ? It seems you complain about 
 something . . ." 
 
 " I do. . . . About whom ? . . . 
 About you. Father Cyril ! You have 
 made up your mind that we shall all be 
 paupers. . . . Up to the time of your 
 arrival we not only made enough to live 
 on, but even managed to put a little by 
 for a rainy day. But now I It's awful ! 
 Not even enough to keep alive. In four 
 months, Father Cyril, excuse me . . . 
 you have demoralized the parishioners 
 and ruined the parish." 
 
 "What.?" 
 
 *• Yes, ruined it I Lugovoe was formerly 
 considered the best country parish in 
 
A RUSSIAN PRIEST. II3 
 
 the whole district . . . and now ; . . 
 now it is a beggarly living." 
 
 Father Rodion had entered the house 
 with a firm determination to be perfectly 
 calm and composed during the interview, 
 but he could not restrain his feelings when 
 the subject of the parish was being dis- 
 cussed. For fifteen years all the clergy 
 in the district had looked with envy on 
 the living of Lugovoe, and suddenly 
 some youngster, only just ordained, 
 comes, filled with new notions and brings 
 it to such a condition, that it is worth 
 nothing. Father Rodion raised his 
 voice — 
 
 " No, Father Cyril, you must give 
 this up ! Of course, I know you are 
 young and inexperienced, but as others 
 suffer from your inexperience, I am 
 bound to give you advice." 
 
 " Do you blame me for not fixing a 
 tariff for the various demands made 
 upon us, and for allowing each to pay 
 what he can ? " asked Cyril, when Father 
 Rodion had at length finished. 
 
 " I do — I do !" hastily answered Father 
 Rodion ; " therein lies the whole root of 
 the evil." 
 
 "I cannot act otherwise, Father 
 Rodion — I cannot. It's contrary to my 
 nature and to my principles ... I 
 cannot." 
 
 " Excuse me, Father Cyril. This is not 
 right. You are without children, and 
 we three others have each a family. So 
 far we have lived, thank God, without 
 harming any one. Suddenly you come 
 and say, ' No, this is wrong ; you have 
 no right to live, you must be cleared 
 out.' We, Father Cyril, are old residents 
 here, and you are, excuse my saying it, 
 
114 A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 
 
 you are a new-comer. We live like 
 others, and you wish to make us live 
 according to your ideas. I ask you, is 
 this fair ? " 
 
 Cyril did not answer for a minute or 
 two. The thought occurred to him what 
 an immense gulf there was between his 
 and Father Rodion's ideas. Certainly, 
 he had never even attempted to explain 
 his principles to Father Rodion. Let 
 them think this a mere 'caprice, inexperi- 
 ence, or anything else they like. He 
 knew, that to explain the whole system 
 of his views of priesthood and of the 
 calling of a pastor, would be impossible. 
 This would simply mean to declare open 
 warfare with them. 
 
 *' It may be unjust, Father Rodion, 
 but otherwise I cannot act," said he, 
 thoughtfully, and with pauses. 
 
 " What ! you allow the injustice of the 
 thing, and refuse to act otherwise ? '' 
 
 "Yes — yes— yes! . . . I shall continue 
 to act as before, Father Rodion, because 
 I cannot do otherwise." 
 
 "But you are not alone. Our fate 
 depends upon you." 
 
 Cyril got up, somewhat disturbed, 
 and paced about the room. 
 
 " Look here, most honoured Father 
 Rodion, I had foreseen that all this would 
 happen, and therefore I asked the bishop 
 to appoint me to a living in the very 
 depths of the country, somewhere where 
 I should have been alone ; but he 
 appointed me to this place. It is not 
 my fault, it is not my doing. But so it 
 is, and so it must be. ... I tell you 
 straight, Father Rodion, and wish you 
 to understand that I have not come here 
 for the sake of income. I could have 
 
A RUSSIAN PRIEST. II5 
 
 had a better income in the town than 
 all your incomes at Liigovoe put to- 
 gether if I had wished it. Just consider, 
 Father Rodion. A man who has finished 
 the course at the academy, who can 
 have any place he likes in the town, 
 comes to the country. Do you suppose 
 that such a man has not thought well 
 about what he is doing ? And do you 
 imagine that after this, you will influence 
 me with your arguments ? " 
 
 " In fact there is no chance for us. 
 Is that so ? ■' 
 
 " No, not altogether. Go to the 
 bishop and ask him to transfer me to 
 another place, to some small parish. 
 You may hint to him that I should not 
 be sorry for this."' 
 
 Father Rodion got up, took his hat 
 and stick, and gloomily said — "Good- 
 bye." 
 
 Going out, he thought to himself, 
 " One can only suppose from this that 
 the young man is mad.*' On arriving 
 home he found the diatchok and deacon 
 Simeon. They were sitting in the 
 vestibule. So great was their mental 
 agitation that they had not succeeded 
 in getting up a conversation, and were 
 both sitting silently gazing at the wall. 
 When Father Rodion came in they 
 got up, and at once guessed that the 
 negotiations had ended unfavourably. 
 If this had not been the case, Father 
 Rodion would have said, " Oh, you are 
 here, are you ? I am very glad to see 
 you ; " but now he walked past them 
 looking as if his mouth was fuH of 
 water. Three minutes later he re- 
 appeared, having taken off his calotte, 
 and said, " Dementii, my friend, go and 
 
Il6 A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 
 
 harness the bay mare to my trap . . . 
 my man is out. I am going to the lady 
 of the manor." 
 
 '' Aha ! " thought the diatchok and 
 deacon to themselves at the same 
 moment, " affairs have not been satis- 
 factorily arranged." Denientii went 
 out and harnessed the mare, and Father 
 Simeon helped him. Five minutes after, 
 Father Rodion started oft" in his best 
 get-up, with the paiii bcni in his hand. 
 Dementii drove the britchka ' in the 
 direction of the park. 
 
 Father Simeon returned home. But 
 after an hour or so, he repeated his visit 
 to Father Rodion, as the vehicle had 
 returned. 
 
 This was on Tuesday, a day when 
 there were no services. At six o'clock 
 in the evening a horseman rode up to 
 Father Cyril's gate, evidently a mes- 
 senger ; he bowed to Father Cyril, who 
 was sitting at the entrance to his house, 
 and gave him a small, sealed envelope, 
 on which was written — "To the Rev. 
 Father Cyril Obnovlienski.'^ Cyril 
 opened the envelope, and pulled out a 
 visiting card, on which was engraved, 
 " Nadieshda Alecsieevna Kroupieev," 
 and under which was written in ink, in a 
 small but firm handwriting — " earnestly 
 begs the Rev. Father Cyril to visit 
 her on very important business. If 
 necessary, a carriage shall be sent 
 for him at once." 
 
 " Yes, I have no horses," said Cyril, 
 mechanically. 
 
 "Do you wish the carriage to be sent 
 at once, batoushka .-^ " asked the horse- 
 man. 
 
 * A half-covered vehicle. 
 
A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 
 
 " Certainly, if it is an important 
 affair." 
 
 '' Very well." 
 
 The rider returned. Cyril could not 
 make out what this "very important 
 aftair"' could be. It could not be a 
 request to perform some religious func- 
 tion '; in that case she would have said 
 so, and he would have to take the 
 diatchdk and the vestments. 
 
 "What do you think it can mean, 
 Mura ?"' 
 
 " I know what it is. Father Rodion 
 has been complaining about you, and 
 she wants to give you a lecture." 
 
 Cyril smiled. " What ! a lecture ? Is 
 she a diocesan superintendent ? I tell 
 you what, Mura — I don't think I shall 
 go. . . ." 
 
 "I think you ought to go. Besides 
 that, you have promised, they v.-ill send 
 the carriage. . . . She might think that 
 you were afraid of her. And besides, 
 it's only a request. . . . It may be some- 
 thing important, after all. And you 
 know . . . Cyril ... I have long wished 
 to tell you ..." 
 
 "Well, what?" 
 
 "You will make her acquaintance, 
 and make me known to her ; anyhow, 
 then, there will be some one to whom I 
 can say a few words. . . . You see I am 
 quite alone here." 
 
 The carriage very soon arrived. Cyril 
 smartened himself up, put on his cas- 
 sock and went out. The manor-house 
 was about two miles from the church, 
 and stood apart from the village. Near 
 
 ^ The priests in Russia visit every house two 
 or three times a year, and sprinkle holy water in 
 each of the rooms. 
 
Il8 A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 
 
 it were buildings and outhouses for 
 labourers, cattle, for grain, and a smith's 
 forge, &c. The house itself could be 
 just distinguished through the trees, 
 with its roof blackened by time. The 
 garden was enormous, but in bad order 
 and overgrown with grass. 
 
 The carriage passed the gates, drove 
 through the park, and stopped at the 
 front door of the manor-house. A neatly- 
 attired woman, whom Cyril had never 
 seen in church, stood on the doorstep, 
 and bowed to him and said — "■ If you 
 please, batoushka, the lady is expecting 
 you.'' Cyril gave her his blessing, 
 standing on the steps leading to the 
 door. She then led him into the house. 
 Passing through several spacious rooms, 
 he reached the dining-room and stopped 
 at the doorway. A small round table 
 covered with a table-cloth, with cups 
 and saucers, stood in the middle of the 
 room. On it stood a steaming samovar. 
 A boy about six years old with dark 
 eyes was seated at the table, and near 
 him Nadieshda Alecsieevna Kroupieev, 
 whom Cyril had seen in church on the 
 first Sunday of his ministry. She at 
 once put down the cream-jug, got up 
 quickly and went to meet him. 
 
 *' I am very glad that you have con- 
 sented to come," said she, with a 
 pleasant, sonorous voice. Her dark 
 complexion had an attractive appear- 
 ance, and her eyes helped this impres- 
 sion. She was tall and well-built, held 
 herself very upright, and she seemed to 
 Cyril to be of a somev.hat impetuous 
 nature. Her general appearance pro- 
 duced a pleasant impression on him. 
 She seemed to be about thirty years ofage. 
 
A RUSSIAN PRIEST. II9 
 
 " You told me that you wished to see 
 me on important business." 
 
 " Yes. ... Sit down, please. . . . May 
 I give you some tea ? . . . This is my 
 little son." 
 
 Cyril bowed and sat down. The little 
 boy put down his cup and gazed with 
 astonishment at the visitor in the flow- 
 ing cassock and long hair, for Cyril's 
 hair had by this time attained a 
 respectable length. 
 
 '•This is the clerg}'man, my dear." 
 " This is the first time he has seen a 
 clergyman so near," explained the lady, 
 and continued — '"Yes, this is an impor- 
 tant affair. Father Rodion, your assis- 
 tant, v.as here a few hours ago."' 
 
 " And complained about me," said 
 Cyril, smiling. 
 
 "And complained about you. He 
 said you had demoralized the parish- 
 ioners, and that since your arrival the 
 clergy had fallen into a state of desti- 
 tution.'' 
 
 '• And you have summioned nie here 
 to give me a befitting lecture.'"' 
 
 '•God forbid. . . quite the contrary I" 
 answered ?-.Iadame Kroupiecv, empha- 
 sizing each word. 
 
 Cyril looked at her attentively. 
 
 " Does that mean that you approve of 
 my conduct ? " 
 
 " Not altogether. . . . But about that 
 afterwards. I promised Father Rodion 
 to talk to you about this. He was very, 
 very much upset about it. Of course, 
 you know, he won't stop at this, but will 
 go to the bishop. You must bear that 
 in mind." 
 
 "I?" 
 
 '■' Yes, certainly." 
 
I20 A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 
 
 " I have done nothing illegal, and 
 have nothing to fear." 
 
 '•Oh ! that's your idea, is it? Tell 
 me, is it true that you have passed 
 through the academy and are very 
 learned ?" 
 
 '' I finished the course at the aca- 
 demy it's true, but that I am very 
 learned is certainly not true." 
 
 iMadame Kroupieev placed a glass of 
 tea before him, and pointed to the 
 cream and bread, and said — " If you 
 please, help yourself." 
 
 "Thank you, I generally drink tea 
 with my wife." 
 
 "Oh, you must make me known to 
 her ! ]\Iay I call on her ? " 
 
 Cyril bowed, and added — " I am sure 
 she will be very pleased — she is quite 
 alone here." 
 
 "Very well; I shall call to-morrow. 
 . . . Well now, what is to be done 
 about the clergy ? Do you think that 
 their grievance is a serious one ? " 
 
 "No, I don't. But of course they 
 earn very little now. Maybe that with 
 such families as they have, it is not 
 enough to live on. But I cannot allow 
 such commercial transactions to go on." 
 
 " I tell you what. The evil might be 
 remedied. . . . If, for instance, they had 
 regular salaries appointed to them." 
 
 '•' Where is the money to come from?" 
 
 "Well, I might pay it out of my 
 means." 
 
 "You pay ?" 
 
 " Why do you look at me with such 
 an air of astonishment ? " 
 
 " But why should you pay for a thing 
 in which you take no interest ? You 
 astonish me ! " 
 
A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 121 
 
 " Ah ! the first time you come into 
 my house you offend me." She said 
 this with an air of pretended severity, as 
 though she was speaking to a person 
 she knew very well. Cyril became con- 
 fused. He had not a very high opinion 
 of his powers of conversing with ladies, 
 and always imagined that a construction 
 might be put on his simplest words 
 which he had not intended to give 
 them. 
 
 " Pardon me ; perhaps I did not 
 express myself clearly." 
 
 "No, no — I was only joking," hastily 
 answered the hostess, remarking his 
 confusion, " I only wished to ask you 
 why you will not recognize my earnest 
 desire to help a good work? — if it's only 
 because I've nothing better to do." 
 She laughed slightly. 
 
 Cyril said, seriously — " No, it's not 
 that ; I only thought that this was an 
 affair which did not interest you." 
 
 They agreed to make an exact esti- 
 mate of the expense at a future inter- 
 view, and decided for the present, in 
 principle, that Madame Kroupieev 
 should appoint a fixed salary to the 
 deacon and diatchok, on the under- 
 standing that they took no money from 
 other sources. Nadieshda Alecsieevna 
 also promised to call on Cyril's wife the 
 following day. 
 
 Cyril returned honie in high spirits. 
 He had come to this place with the 
 intention to work for the good of his 
 neighbours, and it had been a source 
 of great grief to him that the result 
 of this labour, so far, had been to create 
 discontent in the minds of his colleagues. 
 Now the cause of their discontent would 
 
 7 
 
A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 
 
 be removed. " I have always believe 
 that there are plenty of good people i 
 the world,'"' thought he, and when h 
 got home, he sang Madame Kroupieev 
 praises to Mura. Mura was very please 
 to hear that she would make the ac 
 quaintance of a civilized person th 
 next day. 
 
X. 
 
 ADIESHDA ALECSIE- 
 EVNA KROUPIEEV had 
 lived five years uninterrupted- 
 ly at Lugovoe. Formerly the 
 huge, uncared-for garden, in 
 the midst of which, stood the 
 time-worn walls of the manor- 
 house, had been considered 
 a model garden. In it were thick 
 alleys grown over with lilac ; many 
 shady nooks, carefully-kept grass lawns, 
 picturesque summer-houses covered 
 Avith ivy and wild vine. The garden 
 was famous for its Spanish cherries, 
 w-hich were known in the government 
 town under the name of " Kroupieevski 
 cherries " and eagerly bought up. There 
 were also plenty of apples and pears, 
 and they used to grow grapes and rasp- 
 berries. But all this had been before 
 the emancipation of the serfs, when 
 IMadame Kroupieev's father was alive 
 and in possession of the place — a man 
 who knew how to get the greatest 
 possible yield out of the land and out 
 of the people. The garden had been 
 his great hobby, and the head gardener 
 was a German. As much care was given 
 to the garden as to " a living man." 
 The garden was divided into several 
 portions, each attended to by a gardener 
 
124 ^ RUSSIAN PRIEST. 
 
 who answered for the well-being of every 
 tree, for tidiness, order, and fruitfulness 
 of the soil in his portion, with his skin, 
 The old squire died five years after the 
 emancipation. One sorrow after anothei 
 had driven him to the grave. The 
 property passed into the hands of his 
 son Andrei, who, in accordance with the 
 new order of things, took part in the 
 zcmsko'e sobrd?ne,'- and was also jugi 
 de paix of his district. During his 
 life the property went from bad tc 
 worse. He was an invalid of a nervouf 
 disposition, an ardent lover of nature 
 of grass-grown fields, of the shad) 
 garden ; but he loved all this as an artisi 
 —a man who could gaze for whole houn 
 at the landscape, but was utterly in 
 capable of taking any trouble abou 
 them. The huge property continued t( 
 yield a fair income, but not half of wha 
 could have been made out of it. Andre 
 did not trouble about this, and was quit( 
 satisfied so long as he got enough fo; 
 his requirements. Half his income h( 
 wasted in an utterly useless manner botl 
 for himself and for others ; the othei 
 half went to his sister, Nadieshda Alec 
 sieevna, who lived in Moscow with ar 
 impoverished aunt on her father's side 
 and supported her and a numerou: 
 family. 
 
 Nadieshda Alecsieevna was twenty 
 two years old when her brother died 
 Andrei died at the age of thirty-six un 
 married, so that Nadieshda Alecsiecvm 
 
 ' A local council, somewhat on the principh 
 of the French conseil gt'/ii!ral, or our count] 
 council, established at tlie time of the emanci 
 pation (1861). The institution of yV/^t- dc /(?/j 
 was also introduced at this tin^.e. 
 
A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 
 
 became sole proprietress of the property 
 This chanf:;e was not ahogether pleasant 
 for her. Up to this time, she had re- 
 ceived ready money from her brother ; 
 and she now had to think about the 
 management of the property'. There 
 was no one there whom she could trust. 
 The young girl knew nothing about 
 business aftairs. She did not feel in 
 any way attracted to Liigovoe. She had 
 lived in the large, noisy town since she 
 was eight years of age, as the old people 
 after the emancipation had always lived 
 in Moscow, Here she had received her 
 education, at first under the strict super- 
 vision of her father, and later on with 
 perfect freedom, because her aunt, who 
 depended for her income on her niece, 
 did not dare to interfere and indulged 
 all her caprices. Her development took 
 place in a capricious manner, and de- 
 pended entirely on her nervous and 
 peculiar nature. During her parents' 
 life she used to prepare her lessons 
 carefully, conducted herself quietly and 
 modestly, rose from class to class, and 
 was considered one of the best pupils. 
 After their death however, she got tired 
 of working, for a whole year never 
 opened a book, and in the following 
 year was still in the same class. At the 
 age of fourteen she seemed to wake up 
 suddenly, and to her aunt's surprise she 
 became quite lively and even wild. Her 
 faculties appeared to sharpen : an almost 
 unnatural love of knowledge came over 
 her. She energetically occupied her- 
 self with learning, and eagerly read all 
 books that came into her hands. She 
 made her aunt subscribe to a circu- 
 lating library, and devoured book after 
 
126 A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 
 
 book. In her aunt's family, notwith- 
 standing the number of children of all 
 ages, she felt perfectly lonely. This 
 arose from the fact that she was looked 
 on as the source of income for the whole 
 family, and distinguished from the rest 
 in every sort of way: she was given more 
 expensive clothes, a better room, a softer 
 bed., and, moreover, all the family con- 
 stantly tried to express their love and 
 affection for her. The impressionable 
 child remarked all this, and by degrees 
 came to look upon her existence as some- 
 thing special, or at any rate to consider 
 herself more important than her cousins. 
 In course of time this feeling developed 
 into almost open contempt for her 
 relatives. The greater part of her 
 spare time she spent alone in her room 
 with her books, for which she had 
 developed an immoderate passion. Her 
 aunt's circle of friends did not interest 
 her at all, and she hardly took any 
 notice of them, but she had no oppor- 
 tunity of forming friendships of her own. 
 At seventeen years of age, when she left 
 school, she was quite alone in the world, 
 and her shy nature prevented her from 
 having intercourse with other people. 
 She had a curious sort of knowledge of 
 the world, which comprised almost every- 
 thing except what was useful in practical 
 life, and a feeling of contempt for those 
 who surrounded her and were nearest to 
 her. After she had left school she found 
 life very dull. Up to that time she had 
 spent the greater portion of her days at 
 school, and now she found time hang 
 heavily on her hands. She made two 
 or three chance acquaintances, and 
 attended courses of lectures, which just 
 
A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 127 
 
 then were being organized for the first 
 time. But she got no further with her 
 acquaintances. The opinion of people 
 which she had formed in her aunt's 
 family, she continued, involuntarily, to 
 hold ; she looked on every one with dis- 
 trust and did not get on with anybody. 
 The lectures, too, disappointed her. 
 Accustomed as she was to reading 
 books which can be finished at a sit- 
 ting, she got impatient with the solid 
 regularity and slowness with which 
 they taught science, and the limitation 
 of each lecture to exactly an hour. 
 System and ' regularity bored her ex- 
 cessively. She could not bear the 
 stereotyped phrase with which the 
 lecturer began : " In the last lecture 
 we stopped at so-and-so." Why stop ? 
 She hated these stoppages. Beginning 
 with the elements of a subject in the 
 first lecture, she would have liked to 
 drain it right oft* to the very end. At 
 length she got hold of books treating of 
 the subjects lectured about, and got 
 tired of the '"course." 
 
 At the time that she received news of 
 her brother's death she was in a state 
 of profound discontent with herself and 
 with her surroundings. Her nerves 
 were in a deranged state. She had no 
 one in whom she could confide her 
 thoughts, or with whom she could 
 become intimate. She longed for some 
 change in her manner of living. The 
 news of her brother's death made such 
 a change imperative, as she was forced 
 now to think about the management of 
 the property. 
 
 At this time her aunt's eldest son 
 resigned his commission as lieutenant, 
 
128 A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 
 
 involuntarily, and suddenly being seized 
 with a desire to devote himself to 
 agricultural pursuits, started off to the 
 south, to Liigovoe, Her aunt's other 
 children had, by this time, become 
 scattered : some had married and 
 others were at school, so that the house 
 became duller than ever. Little as she 
 had cared about her relations, she had 
 become accustomed to the noise of the 
 children. At this time the idea came 
 into her head that she was perfectly 
 ignorant of the wide world, and that, 
 maybe, this world would be more to 
 her taste than the one which had sur- 
 rounded her up to this time. Unaccus- 
 tomed to asking any one's advice, she 
 considered every caprice that came into 
 her head as a thing decided upon. She 
 resolved at once to go abroad ; and a 
 fortnight afterwards she was in Germany 
 in the company of her aunt, whom she 
 had almost commanded to come. Her 
 aunt could hardly disobey her, because 
 this would mean leaving not only her 
 niece to the mercy of fate, but her 
 income as well. 
 
 For about a couple of years Nadie'shda 
 Alecsiecvna dragged the old lady about 
 from place to place, staying a fortnight 
 in Berlin, Hamburg, \'ienna, then going 
 straight to ^Madrid, and thence return- 
 ing to Athens. All this was new and 
 interesting for the young girl, but she 
 nowhere received a sufficiently deep 
 impression to feel attracted specially to 
 any particular place. She still felt a 
 sense of deep discontent with her lonely 
 position in the world. Her aunt was 
 worn out by this rushing from one corner 
 of Europe to another, but feared to 
 
A RUSSIAN PRIEST. I29 
 
 remonstrate with her niece, lest she 
 should say to her, " Very well, go back 
 to Moscow, and I will travel alone." 
 She was therefore very glad when they 
 stopped for a whole six months in Rome. 
 Nadie'shda Alecsieevna,in a passing fit of 
 enthusiasm, visited all the museums and 
 neighbouring localities of the Eternal 
 City, and studied them with the assis- 
 tance of guide-books. The interest of 
 studying antiquities completely absorbed 
 her. But this passion lasted only six 
 months, and she again fell into a state 
 of apathy and discontent. So the old 
 aunt had to pack up her traps again. 
 They then went to Paris. Here the 
 wanderings of Nadieshda Alecsieevna 
 ended. Her history in Paris may be 
 told in a few words. Up to the age of 
 twenty-two, she had never thought about 
 love ; the idea that she might belong to 
 some man had never crossed her mind. 
 She had a very cold-blooded disposition. 
 Chance admirers in ^Moscow and abroad 
 had always been snubbed by her. But 
 this feeling, just like all her other 
 caprices, was aroused suddenly, and 
 when aroused, took complete posses- 
 sion of her nervous and almost wild 
 nature. This was caused by her 
 acquaintance with a certain M. Tenard, 
 who was two years younger than herself, 
 and whose exterior appearance was such 
 as to arouse tender feelings in the mind 
 of a young lady of twenty-four, who had 
 never been in love before. He was tall, 
 elegant, with an open and very hand- 
 some face, the swarthy pallor of which, 
 seemed to tell of the mental struggles 
 which he had experienced ; and, more- 
 over, the cheery and frank nature of the 
 
130 A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 
 
 young engineer helped on his cause. 
 The old aunt could not understand how 
 it happened, but after three weeks or so 
 Nadieshda Alecsidevna Kroupiecv be- 
 came ^Madame Tenard,and took up her 
 residence in a small house in one of the 
 outlying streets of Paris. M. Tenard, 
 too, did not understand the affair 
 properly. The handsome Russian giri 
 had taken his fancy, and he had, 
 perfectly sincerely, begun to pay his 
 court to her. He soon found out her 
 passion for him, and proposed to her as 
 she was very rich. His parents fully 
 approved of the alliance. They belonged 
 to a middle-class bourgeois famih', living 
 on an income of four or five thousand 
 francs a year. Therefore ihey received 
 the rich Russian heiress into their family 
 with great joy. As soon as they had 
 settled down to live together — that is, 
 Kadieshda Alecsieevna, her husband, 
 and her aunt— they were invaded by 
 various members of the Tenard family. 
 The old aunt was in despair, and 
 remonstrated with her niece, who 
 was inflexible. Nadieshda Alecsic'evna 
 seemed not to notice anything. She was 
 entirely engrossed with her new passion, 
 passed all her time with her husband, 
 and never let him out of her sight. They 
 visited all the sights of Paris together, 
 and for her, everything seemed to be 
 concentrated in love for this man. At 
 the theatre, driving, or walking, she saw 
 the whole of the world of Paris reflected 
 in his eyes. She tolerated her new 
 relations, and took very little notice of 
 them. This lasted about a year. She 
 gave birth to a son, and from that time 
 her disposition was entirely altered. 
 
 1 
 
A RUSSIAN PRIEST. I3I 
 
 This event seemed to have put an end 
 to the cycle of her love. She became 
 sober, cold, and gloomy, and suddenly 
 showed an inexpressible contempt for 
 the Tenard family, who invaded her 
 house. What business had they there ? 
 What was she to them — these foreigners 
 with whom she had nothing in common 
 except her fortune, which they shared 
 so freely with her, to her aunt's inex- 
 pressible disgust ? Her husband seemed 
 more estranged from her even than the 
 others. Now that her eyes were opened, 
 she only saw in him an ordinary calcu- 
 lating bourgeois of very limited capaci- 
 ties, and she ceased to have the slightest 
 sympathy for him. The result of this 
 discovery was very unfortunate. She 
 asked the Tenards to leave her in peace, 
 took the child, and started oft to Russia 
 without saying a word to any one. She 
 went with her aunt straight to Lugovoe, 
 where she found her cousin, who was 
 managing the property, dying oidelij^iuin 
 tremens^ and sent him otl together with 
 his aunt io [Moscow, promising to help 
 them, and she settled down in the old 
 house, amidst the neglected garden. She 
 devoted her whole attention to the child's 
 education, made no one's acquaintance, 
 and did not receive visitors. Six months 
 after her return from Paris, Tenard 
 appeared at Lugovoe. She received him 
 politely, allowed him to live in a separate 
 wing of the house for a week, then 
 supplied him with money, and begged 
 him not to come any more. She then 
 opened business negotiations vvith a 
 lawyer in IMoscow, and at the time of 
 her acquaintance with Cyril, was expect- 
 ing to obtain a divorce from day to day. 
 
132 A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 
 
 A week after Cyril had made the 
 acquaintance of the lady of the manor, 
 Father Rodion received a message from 
 her, asking him to come and see her. 
 He started off for the manor-house in 
 full hopes that Madame Kroupi^ev 
 had managed to alter Cyril's views. 
 The deacon and diatchok impatiently 
 awaited his return, buoyed up by similar 
 hopes. An hour afterwards he returned 
 home in a very agitated frame of mind. 
 
 Dementii did not even dare to ask 
 what had happened, but helped the 
 driver to unharness the horse. The 
 deacon, Father Simeon, made the 
 sign of the cross on his narrow 
 chest and gazed quietly at Dementii 
 and the driver. One of Father Rodion's 
 daughters brought out a chair and 
 placed it in the yard near the door. 
 A few minutes later, Father Rodion 
 appeared, dressed in his indoor costume, 
 which consisted of a jacket and checked 
 trousers. He sat down and looked at 
 the deacon and Dementii, who came up 
 to him. 
 
 " Rejoice, O servants of the church 
 militant ! You will have great riches ! " 
 said Father Rodion, without looking 
 at them, and in such a tone that 
 they guessed there was no particular 
 cause for rejoicing. 
 
 "Yes. . . . It's about time!'' said 
 the diatchok, in a tone of bitter 
 irony. 
 
 "What? Do you doubt it? Look 
 here : the lady of the manor is going to 
 give each of us a regular salary out of 
 her private means. I and the chief are 
 to receive fifty roubles a month each, 
 Father Simeon thirty, and you, De- 
 
A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 133- 
 
 mentii will have twenty-five. Are you' 
 contented ? ... Eh?" 
 
 The deacon and diatchok evidently 
 did not quite take it in, and stood for 
 some time in silent perplexity. What 
 could they say, considering that at the- 
 very slackest time of the year they had 
 received twice the respective sums 
 allotted to them, and that during the 
 winter, when there were weddings and 
 Te Deinns, the diatchok, Dementii, had 
 even earned as much as seventy roubles-- 
 in a month. This was nothing less than 
 a mockery and an insult to them, and 
 it could not be a serious proposal. To 
 agree to take no money from the 
 people, not to bargain, simply meant ta 
 give themselves into the hands of the 
 parishioners, and to fulfil all their de- 
 mands without questioning. As they 
 did not reply to Father Rodion's 
 question, their answer was clear, so that 
 Father Rodion took it for granted, and 
 said — "I shall go to the bishop to-morrow 
 . . . to-morrow ! He wants to ruin us 
 . . . to turn us adrift in the wide world. 
 . . . His little game must be stopped!" 
 
 But another difficulty arose here. In 
 order to go to the town, it was necessary 
 not merely to ask leave of the chief, but 
 to explain the object. Father Rodion 
 was in such an evil frame of mind that 
 he did not wish to go to Cyril, or even 
 to meet him. He decided to write to 
 him. So paper and ink were brought 
 out into the yard, and on the spot, in 
 the presence of his subordinates and 
 his wife, who had become red in the face 
 with anger, he wrote — " Most Honoured 
 and Reverend Father Cyril, — On ac- 
 count of urgent domestic affairs I have 
 
134 A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 
 
 to go to the government town. I con- 
 sider it my duty to inform your Reve- 
 rence of this. — With all respect, I remain, 
 the priest, RoDiON IManuscriptof." 
 
 The letter was sealed up in an 
 envelope and addressed to Cyril with 
 his full titles and sent to him by the 
 sexton. Cyril read the missive and 
 considered it simply in the light of a 
 notice of Father Rodion's absence : the 
 hidden meaning of these simple words 
 never came into his head. He was 
 heartily glad of the assistance given by 
 Madame Kroupiciiv, and to him, per- 
 sonally, fifty roubles a month seemed an 
 ample income ; and then he rejoiced at 
 the thought that there ^\•ould be no 
 more commercial transactions in the 
 parish — and, besides that, that his 
 subordinates would have no further 
 cause for grievance. He had decided to 
 tell Father Rodion about this first, and 
 then on the next Sunday to give notice 
 in church of the new arrangement. 
 
 The day following Father Rodion set 
 out at dawn. The morning was cold 
 and a fresh breeze was blowing from 
 the north. Father Rodion was attired 
 in a warm cassock of beaver skin, with 
 his collar turned up, a worsted scarf, 
 a fur hat, goloshes stuft'ed with some 
 warm material — in fact, in quite a winter 
 get-up. He had two horses, intending 
 to reach town by dinner-time, so as to 
 rest and collect his thoughts, and to go 
 to the bishop the next day. From 
 behind the high turned-up collar were 
 seen his round eyes and thick frowning 
 eyebrows, which were steadily fixed on 
 the driver's back. The whole of that 
 niiiht Father Rodion was in a disturbed 
 
A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 135 
 
 frame of mind, for he kept thinking of 
 the speech which he should make to the 
 bishop. " I admit I am not learned," 
 thought he, "but I am old, and they have 
 never had cause to tind fault with me.- 
 So he must listen to me." 
 
 He stopped in the town with his old 
 companion at the seminary, Avxent 
 Lutchkof, the deacon of the merchants' 
 church. They had both been distin- 
 guished by their idleness, which even- 
 tually procured their expulsion after 
 they had remained for four years in the 
 philosophy class. Father Rodion had- 
 however,^ managed to become an or- 
 dained priest, but Lutchkof lost his 
 wife very early, and in consequence of 
 this, he had to remain a deacon for life. 
 He was a very thin, tall man, with a red 
 face, with very little hair on it. To 
 drown his griefs, he drank a great deal, 
 but had the good sense to confine his 
 excesses to the fortnight in the month 
 when he was off duty. 
 
 Father Rodion chanced to arrive 
 during his slack time ; and although he 
 tried to explain his grievances to his 
 friend, the latter could not understand 
 anything, and kept repeating every five 
 minutes, stretching out his hand for the 
 vodka bottle — "What, Rodia, do you 
 m.ean to say you are going to the 
 bishop?'"' and then he added — "Why 
 are you going ? I have been a deacon 
 ever so long, and have never been to 
 him. . . . Why ? Because no one notices 
 me now, and once I go there I shall 
 make myself conspicuous, and they will 
 say, ' Ah, you red face ! you had better 
 retire.' My opinion is, that it is best never 
 to bring oneself under notice . . ." 
 
136 A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 
 
 But Father Rodion did not share thi« 
 opinion, and the following morning ai 
 eight o'clock was waiting in the bishop's 
 ante-room with a crowd of other visitors 
 He wore his grey, worn-out cassock ir 
 order to call attention to his poverty 
 His old legs trembled from nervousness 
 and his heart beat faster than usual. A; 
 the hour approached for the interviev 
 with the bishop, his thoughts becam( 
 more and more cloudy. At times h( 
 seemed to lose all idea of the nature o 
 his business, and he thought he woulc 
 not be able to answer a single word 
 when the bishop asked, "Well, father 
 what do you want .'' " 
 
 At length the sound of the bishop'' 
 slippers was heard in the adjoining 
 room, partitioned oft* by a dark browi 
 silk curtain, and the bishop entered 
 dressed in a light silk coat, with a smal 
 calotte and the rosary in his hands. H( 
 at once began his business with som< 
 churchwarden who had come about i 
 testimonial. Father Rodion's turnwa: 
 third on the list. From the minute tha 
 the bishop entered, his fears vanished 
 as always happens at the most critica 
 moments. His previous agitation wa: 
 cjuite calmed, and instead of the fog tha 
 had been in his mind, he now had i 
 perfectly clear idea of all that he wa: 
 going to say to the bishop. At lengtl 
 his turn came. The bishop looked a 
 him steadily and then said in a jokinj 
 tone — " You are not familiar to me 
 father. It is evident that you conduc 
 yourself well, and don't have occasioi 
 to come to me often." 
 
 " I would never trouble your Reve 
 rence without necessity,'' said Fathe: 
 
A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 137 
 
 Rodion, firmly ; and added, " I am 
 Rodion Manuscriptof. priest.'' 
 
 *' Where do you live ?" 
 
 " At Lugovo8." 
 
 " Lugovoe . . . Lugovoe. . . . That's 
 familiar to me, but I forget. What 
 do you want, Father Rodion Manu- 
 scriptof? You've got a fine, sonorous 
 surname." 
 
 "It's the place where your Reverence 
 was pleased to appoint the priest, 
 Obnovliensky, from the academy as 
 incumbent,'' explained Father Rodion. 
 
 "Obnovliensky! . . . Cyril, Cyril? " 
 Exclaimed the bishop, and his face lit 
 up with a pleasant smile. " Oh, yes ; 
 I remember. He's a ' magistrant,' very 
 earned, and a good Christian too." 
 
 This observation of the bishop's dis- 
 ippointed Father Rodion. He had no 
 dea that Cyril was on such good terms 
 vith the bishop. On the contrary, he 
 lad imagined that Cyril had been sent 
 .0 the country for some shortcoming, 
 IS other " magistrants " always received 
 ^ood places in the town. How was he 
 o state his grievance now ? And the 
 Dishop, as if to finally extinguish him, 
 idded, turning round to the other 
 'isitors — " I set up this young priest 
 is an example to all. Although he is a 
 magistrant ' he chooses a country liv- 
 ng of his own accord, in order to serve 
 he lesser brethren.'' 
 
 The visitors all assumed a sympa- 
 hetic air, and each one hoped that 
 his would increase the chance of his 
 )articular petition being successful. 
 But Father Rodion, who did not take 
 lis eyes off the bishop, observed that 
 lis face suddenly assumed a stern look ; 
 
138 A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 
 
 and the bishop asked him in an alarmed 
 voice — " Does your business with me 
 concern him ?" 
 
 " It does, your Reverence.' 
 
 " Come along, come along : this inte- 
 rests me I " 
 
 And the bishop made a sign, ordering 
 Father Rodion to follow him. 
 
 Father Rodion was very pleased. In 
 the other room, where there would be 
 no one to overhear, he would not hesi- 
 tate to tell him everything. They 
 passed into the next room, and then 
 turned to the left and went into the 
 drawing-room, which was decorated 
 with soft, luxurious furniture and ele- 
 gant carved tables, and pictures on the 
 wall, all of which struck Father Rodion 
 as being of a worldly nature. Here 
 the bishop stopped, sat down and made 
 a sign to P^ather Rodion to take a 
 seat, and the latter, not daring to dis- 
 obey, sat down also, trying, however, 
 to occupy as little space as possible. 
 
 *' Well, father, let me hear all about 
 it. This young pastor interests me 
 very much,'' said the bishop, and his 
 fat fingers as usual, fidgeted mechani- 
 cally with the rosary. 
 
 '• I cannot tell your Reverence any 
 news of a consoling nature about him," 
 began Father Rodion, hesitatingly, as if 
 he regretted that he had to disenchant 
 the bishop. And then he gave a de- 
 tailed account of all that had happened, 
 without, however, adding or detracting- 
 anything. 
 
 The bishop listened with profound 
 interest. But his face expressed neither 
 sympathy nor reproach. When, how- 
 ever. Father Rodion, in a woeful tone, 
 
A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 1 39 
 
 described the last incident about the 
 salaries, the bishop got up and thought- 
 fully walked about the room. Father 
 Rodion also stood up. At length the 
 bishop said — 
 
 "And tell me, conscientiously, as a 
 priest — tell me, does he instil anything 
 of a dangerous nature into the minds 
 of his parishioners : for example, against 
 the powers that be ? " 
 
 " No, your Reverence ; no," hastily 
 and with warmth answered Father 
 Rodion, " I cannot say that he does. 
 In fact I can answer straight and say 
 no." 
 
 The bishop's face lit up again ; he 
 went up to Father Rodion and put his 
 hand on his shoulder, and said in a 
 simple, almost friendly tone — 
 
 " I understand you, Father INIanu- 
 scriptof, I understand you, for I am a 
 sinner myself. But you must try and 
 understand him. It is you and I who 
 have departed from the apostolic life, 
 and he, this young pastor, is trying to 
 live nearer to it. Now look at the 
 thing from a spiritual point of view — 
 is he wrong? No, he is right. The 
 lady of the manor has behaved nobly 
 too, and we must send her our thanks. 
 From the worldly point of view, you of 
 course, have a grievance — I admit it, 
 I admit it. Have you a large family ? " 
 " Six daughters, your Reverence." 
 " Six daughters ! " exclaimed the 
 bishop in amazement, and with a shade 
 of horror. " God has blessed you ! 
 there's nothing for it 1 " 
 
 And he again walked about the room. 
 
 "Yes, yes ! " said he, as though to 
 
 himself, "the antagonism between llesh 
 
^4o A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 
 
 and spirit has begun ! He ought to 
 have gone into the monastery ! But 
 then there is his love for activity, his 
 wish to Hve among people. He would 
 make a splendid missionary. Well, 
 well ! and what do you want, exactly ? 
 Eh ?" asked he, at length, suddenly re- 
 membering Father Rodion's presence. 
 
 " I place myself in your Reverence's 
 hands," answered Father Rodion. 
 
 " Ah ! you cunning fellow, what can 
 I do for you ? I cannot write to him 
 and tell him to give up his good works, 
 and do evil I Because this is an evil, a 
 real evil, that the clergy traffic in sacred 
 things ; but I have to pretend not 
 to notice it, because our means are 
 small, and, besides that, the flesh is 
 weak." 
 
 "Your Reverence I He, that is Father 
 Cyril, said, if it suited you, he would 
 be ready to go to another parish." 
 
 " No, I cannot do that. It would 
 look like punishing him, and I have no 
 cause for punishing him. I tell you 
 what : I will transfer you." 
 
 At this proposal, Father Rodion's 
 face fell, and he answered in a de- 
 jected voice — *' I do not dare to make 
 any suggestions to your Reverence." 
 
 The bishop then looked at his watch 
 and said—" I have been gossipping 
 too much." 
 
 Father Rodion went out, having re- 
 ceived an order to return home and 
 await his transfer. He wanted to put 
 in a word for Father Simeon and 
 Dementii, but thought it better not to 
 mix himself up in their affairs. 
 
 Father Rodion Manuscriptof returned 
 that day to Lugovoc in low spirits. He 
 
A RUSSIAN PRIEST. I4I 
 
 had set out fpr the town in the hope 
 of regaining his former prosperous con- 
 dition, and now God only knew what 
 would come of the affair. For fifteen 
 years he had flourished peacefully at 
 Liigovocjhe had started agricultural pur- 
 suits, and built himself a private house, 
 now he would have to throw it all up 
 and go to some new and unknown place, 
 and instal himself afresh in his old age. 
 And all this because of a mad " magis- 
 trant,"'" who had somehow managed 
 to get into the bishop's good books into 
 the bargain. He did not understand, 
 and did not approve of the favourable 
 view taken by the bishop of Cyril. He 
 had lived many years in the world with- 
 out hearing of these novelties, without 
 which, all would be well. At home he 
 found his subordinates awaiting him. 
 
 "All I have gained is that I am to 
 be transferred to a new and unknown 
 place ! ■' explained he, shortly and 
 sorrowfully to them. 
 
 "And what's to happen to us ?" asked 
 Dementii. 
 
 "You? oh, nothing, I suppose." 
 
 The deacon and diatchdk went out. 
 As they walked along they came to the 
 conclusion that their interests were the 
 most important of all. 
 
XL 
 
 ^^HE winter at Liigovoe was 
 ^N long and wearisome. At the 
 end of November snow fell 
 and covered the whole 
 country with a white shroud. 
 The low peasants' huts were 
 buried nearly to the roofs 
 with snow. Butin December 
 it suddenlybecame warm again ; the snow 
 melted, and gave place to a layer of mud 
 on the roads and fields, in which people, 
 animals, and conveyances struggled. 
 Towards Christmas a sharp and dry 
 frost set in, and the regular southern 
 Russian winter began— snov.less and 
 windy, not so severe in itself, but ap- 
 pearing so to the southerners accus- 
 tomed to a long, hot summer. The 
 frost, with short intervals, lasted till 
 February, and then warmer weather set 
 in and the green grass peeped out from 
 the earth. 
 
 The church-house was warm. The 
 building was solidly constructed, and 
 the reeds which they used for fuel were 
 cheap ; besides which Feolcla brought 
 bundle after bundle into the room, and 
 the stove swallowed them up very 
 rapidly. Maria Gavrilovna tried her 
 best to kill time, but was terribly bored. 
 She had made Madame Kroupieev's 
 
A RUSSIAN PRIEST. I43 
 
 acquaintance, but somehow had not got 
 on with her. She seemed to Nadieshda 
 Alecsieevna too simple. After two or 
 three evenings passed together, all they 
 had to say to one another had been 
 said. Nadieshda Alecsieevna from the 
 first, had treated her with formal kind- 
 ness, which dashed Mura's hopes of 
 becoming intimate with a " living edu- 
 cated being "' to the ground. The 
 cathedral dignitary's naive daughter 
 divided people into two classes, the 
 cultivated and the ignorant, and was 
 persuaded that it was sufficient for two 
 people to belong to the former class, in 
 order to get on well together. But the 
 culture of these two women was so 
 utterly difierent in nature, that they 
 scarcely understood each other. ]Mura 
 had finished the course at school, and 
 had read some dozen books which 
 people had told her were good books 
 and ought to be read. All her life she 
 had been under the care of her parents, 
 and marriage had been her first inde- 
 pendent step. Nadieshda Alecsieevna 
 had lived an original sort of life, full of 
 various impressions, had learned much, 
 not only out of books, but from life, 
 and, besides this, had formed definite 
 opinions of life and of people. Thus 
 it was that she could only behave to 
 Mura with cold courtesy, and j\Iura 
 looked on her with a certain amount of 
 astonishment and even shyness. 
 
 However, once a week — generally on 
 Saturdays — Nadieshda Alecsieevna and 
 her boy drove up to the church-house. 
 With a smiling face, and without getting 
 out of the carriage, she called Mura to 
 her, who took her place in the carriage, 
 
144 ^ RUSSIAN PRIEST. 
 
 and they returned together to the manor- 
 house. They dined together, and after 
 evening service ' Cyril came in, and they 
 generally talked till midnight. Mura 
 took but little part in these conversa- 
 tions, and sat silently listening and very 
 much bored. 
 
 In January Mdria Gavrilovna began 
 to prepare clothes for their expected 
 child. This filled up her days. Her 
 mother sent her a sewing-machine, at 
 which she worked indefatigably. 
 
 Cyril was well occupied. In the first 
 place, he was glad that he was alone in 
 the parish. Father Rodion had been 
 transferred to another place a month 
 after his visit to the bishop, who evi- 
 dently was not in a hurry to appoint 
 any one else to his place. Cyril managed 
 to get through the mass of work he had 
 to do successfully, and fulfilled all the 
 parishioners' demands. Each of these 
 afforded him an opportunity of becom- 
 ing more closely acquainted with the 
 moujik's existence. He never refused 
 an invitation to stop for dinner after a 
 funeral, or to take something to eat in 
 the peasants' houses, Szc. He looked 
 upon these as valuable opportunities for 
 explaining his views on various subjects 
 to them. The peasants got accustomed 
 to this, and listened to him, without that 
 air of formal attentiveness which means 
 that it will all be forgotten at once. He 
 did not preach in church : he con- 
 sidered this kind of converse with the 
 people as fruitless. A sermon is heard 
 
 ' The principal evening service in Russia is 
 on Saturday evening, and not on Sunday 
 evening, as with us. 
 
A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 1 45 
 
 under exceptional conditions. The con- 
 gregation are apt to look upon the 
 sermon, not as a simple conversation 
 with their pastor, but as a regular part 
 of the mass, which must be listened to 
 in a more or less formal manner. He 
 aimed at having conversations with the 
 people in their homes, amidst their 
 everyday surroundings. 
 
 It seemed to Cyril as though his 
 labours were bringing forth fruit. The 
 fact that bargaining for various services 
 from the clergy, had been abolished, 
 was a great consolation to him. The 
 parishioners simply informed him that 
 there was a death, or a birth, or a 
 marriage in their houses, and without 
 any further ado the ceremonies of the 
 church were performed. Cyril also 
 remarked that when the peasants enter- 
 tained him, the host never offered the 
 company more than two glasses oi vodka, 
 and that the guests drank the second 
 with a certain air of compunction. 
 
 Of course he was well aware that in 
 his absence their libations were on the 
 former scale, and that the public-houses 
 in Lugovoe did a splendid business. 
 But this moderation in his presence was 
 a promising sign, and he counted on the 
 force of habit helping by degrees to 
 lessen the evil. 
 
 Besides his regular work with the 
 church services, Cyril devoted a deal 
 of attention to the school. He visited 
 it nearly every day, and was ver)^ indig- 
 nant with the schoolmaster for not being 
 sufficiently enthusiastic about his busi- 
 ness. 
 
 " Why did you ever become a school- 
 master if you don't care for the work— 
 
146 A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 
 
 if you have no mission for it ? " asked 
 Cyril, when the latter had for the hun- 
 dredth time expressed his dissatisfaction 
 with his position. 
 
 "The mission of each man,batoushka, 
 is to earn his bread ! '' 
 
 Cyril strongly argued against such a 
 view. He excitedly explained that it 
 was impossible to live thus, that such 
 an opinion might do very well for a 
 shoemaker perhaps, but not for one 
 who made it his business to instruct the 
 ignorant. He even considered it dis- 
 honourable to take such a view of so 
 vital a matter. 
 
 " Ah, batoushka ! " answered the 
 teacher, " these are the very words I 
 myself used eight years ago, but now 
 I have lived and seen that it is all 
 nonsense. Life alone, is wearisome. 
 There is only one remedy — to marry, 
 take a couple of hundred dessyatines of 
 land, and to farm." 
 
 This schoolmaster, Andrei Feodoro- 
 witch Kalujnev, was about thirty years 
 old. He came of a middle- class town 
 family, and his father had occupied 
 some small official position ; he had 
 been educated at the gymnasium/ but 
 had failed to pass the examination from 
 the sixth to the seventh class, and had 
 thrown it up. Three years he kept 
 preparing himself, first for military ser- 
 vice, then for the university, and finally 
 entered a factory as a workman. At 
 length he became a country school- 
 master, as that appeared to him the 
 simplest and easiest occupation. About 
 country life he had no knowledge, but he 
 
 * School. 
 
A RUSSIAN PRIEST. I47 
 
 assumed his new duties not without 
 certain ideal opinions. He had heard 
 a certain amount about the peasants, 
 about disinterested service, about the 
 enlightenment of the masses, and these 
 ideas came into his head when he was 
 still very young. But the actuality ap- 
 peared to him wearisome. His ideas 
 were like straw blown about by the 
 wind, and Kalujnev in course of time 
 became a mere worker for bread and 
 butter, not understanding his business, 
 bored with his occupation, and longing 
 for a change. 
 
 Cyril often visited Madame Krou- 
 pieev. She always received him gra- 
 ciously, and even with pleasure. All 
 her life she had sought after original 
 people, and this country priest was so 
 cultivated that she could carry on 
 theoretical arguments with him. A 
 clergyman waging war against those 
 very vices which had always made her 
 turn with repugnance from the clergy, 
 a man trying to incorporate into real 
 life, ideas which had always been sym- 
 pathetic to her, was for her a regular 
 find. At first she merely looked on him 
 with curiosity as an interesting specimen 
 of humanity, and was always expecting 
 that he would ask her for keep for the 
 winter for his cows, or hay from a 
 dessyatine of grass land, or else for 
 some other favour which Father Rodion 
 and his colleagues used to beg for. But 
 Cyril asked for nothing. She once 
 inquired if he did not want any- 
 thing in the v/ay of help in his farming 
 affairs. 
 
 " I don't carry on any farming opera- 
 tions," answered Cyril ; " and if I 
 
148 A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 
 
 wanted anything, I certainly should not 
 ask you for it. . . .'' 
 
 "Oh, really ! Why?" 
 
 " Why, you see, thank God, the rela- 
 tions between us are excellent, but 
 directly I take any material assistance 
 from you, I become dependent on you, 
 and you would respect me less." 
 
 Nadidshda Alecsieevna was quite de- 
 lighted with this original priest. On 
 those evenings which they passed to- 
 gether, when Mura was merely a listener 
 to their conversations, she drew him out 
 and made him explain all his opinions 
 about life, and by degrees acquainted 
 him with her whole history. 
 
 *' I tell you what," said Cyril, 
 openly, after hearing all her adventures 
 in Moscow and abroad ; " you have 
 not lived yet— you have only played at 
 living." 
 
 He then explained his theory. Life 
 is only possible in the country, where 
 nature is real, where people are real, 
 and where wants are real. To live 
 without being of use to others is 
 thoughtless and stupid. Each man has 
 some little corner in his nature which 
 he can turn to the profit of others. It 
 is unnecessary to strive after some 
 grand work ; do something useful, and 
 then, in the sum of human afiairs, your 
 existence will stand on the plus side. 
 
 "Tell mc, Father Cyril, how it is that 
 I sometimes think that you are the first 
 really sincere man I have met with in 
 my life ? '' asked Nadieshda Alecsiciivna 
 once. 
 
 " Pardon me, please. There are sin- 
 cere people in the world ; I have myself 
 met not a few ! " eagerly answered 
 
A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 149 
 
 Cyril. '• You simply have not noticed 
 them because you look down upon them. 
 IVIaybe I am the first man you have 
 done the honour to look at in the proper 
 manner.'" 
 
 Spring began. In April Mura ceased 
 to visit Madame Kroupieev. They wrote 
 to the town for her mother ; she arrived, 
 bringing with her a nurse. As soon as 
 she crossed the threshold, her face 
 became darker than night. Her expe- 
 rienced eyes at once detected that the 
 material position of the young couple 
 had in no way improved. Signs of 
 poverty were evident everywhere. Ac- 
 customed as she was to notice trifles, 
 she at once remarked a large hole in 
 the knitted tablecloth, covering the 
 table. Nothing was changed in their 
 furniture, but nothing had been added. 
 There were only objects of absolute 
 necessity — tables, a sofa, beds, a chest 
 of drawers, a few chairs, a looking-glass 
 on the chest of drawers, a clock, and an 
 eikon in the corner, and the general ap- 
 pearance of the room reminded one 
 of a provincial inn. Anna Nikolaevna 
 went into the yard, looked at the 
 store-room, at the two outhouses — they 
 were all empty. A few bundles of reeds 
 lay in the kitchen-garden, which had 
 remained over from their winter supply 
 of fuel ; there was no sign of a con- 
 veyance in the sheds, not even an ill- 
 constructed britchka ; and in the other 
 shed, intended for a stable, there were 
 no horses. The . lumber-room was 
 also empty. She looked into the 
 cellar, and there was no sign of 
 any bottles — not even empty ones. 
 " They have got nothing, and have 
 
150 A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 
 
 earned nothing," thought M Lira's mother; 
 "my daughter isabeggar/' But this time 
 she herself resorted to Feokla for infor- 
 mation about their mode of living. It 
 was impossible, too, to argue with Mura, 
 on account of her position. Feokla's 
 report gave her the final blow : " Good 
 Lord ! good Lord 1 " said she, with 
 the sincerest compassion, "you've no 
 idea of the state of things with us now — 
 no words can describe it ! \Ye have to 
 buy everything : we buy milk by the 
 glass, butter, cream, everything comes 
 from the shop ! . . . We have no 
 means to buy cows with ! The lady of 
 the manor offered to give a couple of 
 cows — this I know from her head man 
 — but they would not take them. ' I 
 can't accept presents,' said he. If he 
 goes anywhere, he has to take post 
 horses. . . . Would you believe it, the 
 poor matoushka grudges every egg she 
 eats ? . . . No income I In the other 
 clergyman's time the walls of the barns 
 were nearly broken down by the grain 
 in them. There was nowhere to stow 
 it all, to say nothing of fowls, and pigs, 
 and calves. But now they get no money. 
 . . . That's what we've come to 1 . . . 
 The deacon andthediatchok are simply 
 dying of hunger. I am only telling 
 you the truth." 
 
 " Oh dear ! oh dear I "' thought Anna 
 Nikolaevna, in despair; "this is what 
 my daughter has come to I " She 
 thought of talking to Cyril, but decided 
 it would be useless. " I shall simply go 
 to the bishop, and get Father Gavriil 
 to go with me. Perhaps he may be able 
 to bring him to his senses. No, I shall 
 take Mura home with me. . . . What 
 
A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 151 
 
 does it mean? If he wanted to be a 
 saint, why did he not go to the monas- 
 tery ? Why did he marry ? My poor 
 Miira ! " 
 
 Anna Nikolaevna scarcely spoke to 
 Cyril, and tried to take no notice of 
 him, and looked at Mura with an air of 
 grief and pity. Mura gave birth to a 
 son, and her mother stayed for nine days 
 with them. As soon as Mura had 
 recovered, her mother went away. She 
 would not even stay for the christening, 
 but made ^lura promise to call the 
 child Gavriil, after his grandfather. She 
 went av.-ay, firmly resolved to take deci- 
 sive action. 
 
 Mura and her son both got on very 
 well. Madame Kroupidev and Dementii, 
 the diatchok, were the godparents, and 
 at the christening Dementii, who had 
 to stand next to the lady of the manor, 
 became very much confused ; but after 
 the ceremony was over, he determined 
 to profit by the occasion, and asked 
 Madame Kroupieev, as she was leaving 
 the church, for an acre of kitchen- 
 garden. Nadieshda Alecsieevna at once 
 agreed to grant this, and Dementii was 
 greatly pleased. 
 
 Soon after this an event, long ex- 
 pected in Lugovoe, occurred. One 
 day, on a Saturday, before evening 
 service, the sexton saw a cart approach- 
 ing the church ; it was one of those 
 old-fashioned vehicles on high wheels 
 covered with tarpaulin, something 
 in the style of so-called "fours" in 
 which the Jews drive, sometimes as 
 many as twenty of them in one cart. 
 This kibitka was drawn by a pair of 
 horses, and jolted terribly, as it was 
 
152 A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 
 
 built without springs. The tarpaulin was 
 turned up on one side, and from behind 
 it, was seen a woman's face with an 
 agreeable expression, with a hat, from 
 under which peeped out hair of a light 
 flaxen colour. 
 
 " Where is Father Rodion Manu- 
 scriptof's house ? " asked the young 
 woman. 
 
 "Father Rodion's house?" asked 
 the sexton in his turn. " Why do you 
 want to know? His house is empty, and 
 he has been gone these six months." 
 
 The woman's head disappeared, and 
 in its place was seen a man's head 
 covered with a soft felt hat. His face 
 was swarthy and sunburnt. The sexton 
 remarked that his beard and moustache 
 and hair were of recent growth. 
 
 " Good day, my friend ! " said he, 
 in a pleasant voice. " You are the 
 sexton, I suppose ? " 
 
 " I am. I'm the sexton." 
 
 " And I am the clergyman in Father 
 Rodion's place. Show me where his 
 house is. We are going to live there 
 — I have bought it from him." 
 
 The sexton hastily took off his hat, 
 and said, " Very well I " He conducted 
 them to the house, and noticed on the 
 high-road, three carts with furniture 
 and various farming implements. After 
 this he set out for Father Cyril's house, 
 to inform him of the new arrival. 
 
 "Oh, he's arrived has he?— that's a 
 good job," said Cyril ; and thought to 
 himself, " It will not be so bad this 
 time. J/j' system has taken root now." 
 
 " They are as young as you, b:l- 
 toushka," added the sexton. 
 
 Cyril replied nothing, but thought 
 
A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 1 53 
 
 that this was all for the best, as a young 
 man would understand him better than 
 an old man. 
 
 The next day, at the time for the 
 Sunday service, the astonished parish- 
 ioners made way for the new priest as 
 he walked up the church to the altar. 
 He was short but of strong build ; on 
 his face was written health and self- 
 satisfaction. His dark lilac-coloured 
 cassock suited him very well. He 
 walked with a slow, pious gait. 
 
 Ascending the steps in front of the 
 screen, he made a deep bow and kissed 
 the eikon on the eikonostasis.^ He 
 looked as if he was going to turn round 
 to the congregation and preach a short 
 sermon, or at least say, " I am the priest, 
 Makarii Siloamski. appointed in the 
 place of Father Rodion."' But he did not 
 do this, and disappeared behind the 
 eikonostasis by a side-door. He there 
 bowed three times to the ground, and 
 then bowed to Cyril, who was standing 
 at the altar in his vestments, and stood 
 some way off. During the whole of the 
 mass he stood in the same place, and 
 evinced genuine piety, whispered the 
 prayers, and at suitable moments made 
 profound bows, while at others, he only 
 bowed his head ; and his face the whole 
 time had a look of concentration in 
 prayer. After the mass he came up to 
 Cyril at the altar and respectfully re- 
 ceived his blessing. 
 
 " Allow me to make myself known to 
 you — I am Makarii Siloamski," said he. 
 
 Cyril introduced himself and invited 
 
 ^ The screen which divides off the place 
 where the altar stands, from the rest of the 
 church. 
 
154 A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 
 
 the new-comer to his house after 
 church. 
 
 " Yes, yes, of course we must have 
 a conversation about business." said 
 Siioamski. 
 
 After mass he drank tea at Cyril's 
 house. He appeared to be a cheery 
 and talkative man, spoke about the 
 seminary, about the teachers, the rector, 
 and the inspector. He had only finished 
 the course last summer, and had been 
 the psalm-reader there for a whole year. 
 Cyril remembered him as a small boy 
 in the first class at the time that he left 
 the seminary. 
 
 '' I went to pay my respects to the 
 bishop before I started, and h.e said 
 many pleasant things about you. He 
 said that you were very learned and 
 that all ought to take example from 
 you," said Siioamski, among other 
 things. 
 
 " I am very much obliged to the 
 bishop," replied Cyril. 
 
 "Well, I hope that we shall live in 
 peace and concord," said the young 
 priest, getting up to go. 
 
 " I hope so too." Cyril purposely re- 
 frained from all explanations — things 
 V. ould explain themselves. 
 
 That evening the Obnovlie'nskis paid 
 a visit to the lady of the manor. This 
 was ]\Iura's first visit to her since the 
 birth of her child. They were sitting 
 in the dining-room drinking tea. The 
 windows looking on to the garden were 
 open. The lilac-trees were in flower 
 and the room was filled with their 
 aroma. Cyril related how he had made 
 the new priest's acquaintance, and said 
 he was glad the bishop had sent a 
 
A RUSSIAN PRIEST. I 55 
 
 young man, and that this was his first 
 appointment, " He has never been 
 corroded by routine, and love of gain. 
 A young mind is easier won over to the 
 right side, and you will see he will be 
 an excellent colleague for me." 
 
 Nadieshda Alecsieevna listened with 
 a sceptical look. Her eyes, fixed on 
 Cyril, seemed to say, " What a naive 
 and innocent child you are ! Don't you 
 trouble to look for a companion, because 
 you won't find another like your- 
 self! " 
 
 The servant at this moment informed 
 Madanic^ Kroupieev that the new 
 clergyman had come ; she decided to 
 receive him in the next room, and went 
 out. 
 
 The doer was half-open, so that the 
 conversation was audible in the room 
 where the Obnovlienskis were sitting. 
 
 Siloamski entered sedately, and began 
 to look for the holy image. Finding a 
 small eikon in the corner near the ceil- 
 ing, he crossed himself three times and 
 bowed in front of it. He then bov/ed 
 to his hostess. 
 
 '• Allow me to make myself known to 
 you : the newly-appointed priest, Makarii 
 Siloamski.'"' 
 
 Nadieshda Alecsieevna bowed, and 
 asked him to sit down. " Have you 
 been here long?" said she, by way of 
 opening a conversation. 
 
 " I only arrived yesterday, but I 
 attended mass nevertheless this morn- 
 ing and made the acquaintance ot my 
 colleague, Father Cyril, I have lost no 
 time in calling on you. Allow me most 
 highly respected Nadieshda Alecsiejvna 
 to count on your good favour."' 
 
156 A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 
 
 " I am at your service." 
 
 " I am not going to trouble you with 
 any requests now, but in the future I 
 may want something : for example, if I 
 get another cow, where am I to keep 
 it ? Or again, if I have not enough hay, 
 where am I to get it, if not from the 
 generous proprietress ? " 
 
 " I am at your service," repeated 
 Nadieshda Alecsieevna, and got up with 
 a colder look on her face than when 
 they met. 
 
 " I will not trouble you any further 
 now," said Father IMakdrii, also getting 
 up and bowing his head, and putting 
 his right hand on his breast. 
 
 Nadieshda Alecsieevna inclined her 
 head and said—" This way, if you please. 
 This door leads into the garden. . . . 
 You have got your own horses, I sup- 
 pose?" 
 
 " Yes, I have a pair ... I got them 
 for my wife . . . they are very fair 
 horses. . . . My respects to you ! " 
 
 Nadieshda Alecsieevna returned to 
 the dining-room and began to talk about 
 the gardener, who had been drunk for 
 three days and had not appeared in the 
 garden. She generally avoided speak- 
 ing badly of people, considering this to 
 be the business of gossips. 
 
 "Why don't you tell us anything 
 about your visitor.'"' asked Mura. 
 
 "He produced an unfavourable im- 
 pression on me," said Nadieshda 
 Alecsieevna, and returned to the subject 
 of the gardener. Cyril sorrowfully bent 
 down his head, and thought, " He has 
 liardly shown himself before he begins 
 to give notice, ' I am a person who will 
 ask for all I want, bear that in mind ! " 
 
 J 
 
A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 157 
 
 He wants nothing at present, but he 
 does not wish it to be thought that he is 
 an independent sort of person. What 
 a strange thing it is ! Where does this 
 come from ? They don't teach such 
 things in the seminary, and he had had 
 ver}' little other experience besides the 
 seminary. It must be in the blood, and 
 descend from one generation to another. 
 It is very, very melancholy." 
 
 The evening passed slowly. Na- 
 dieshda Alecsieevna was under the 
 influence of the bad impression created 
 by her visitor. She tried in vain to 
 entertain her guests. Cyril listened 
 inattentively and answered without 
 interest. He kept thinking about the 
 peculiar inherited weaknesses of his 
 brethren. 
 
 They returned home early, shortly 
 after nine o'clock. IMura hurried to the 
 child. As soon as they arrived they 
 were astonished to find two visitors 
 waiting for them at the front door. 
 These were the deacon, Simeon, and 
 the diatchok, Dementii. They were 
 sitting on stools specially placed there 
 for them by Fedkla. At Cyril's arrival 
 they both respectfully got up, holding 
 their hats in their hands. 
 
 " Why are you sitting here, gentle- 
 men .'' Why did you not wait in the 
 room ? Did you not ask them to come 
 in, Feokla ? " 
 
 "Yes, batoushka, I asked them to 
 come into the room, but they declined," 
 answered Fedkla. 
 
 " Oh, it's nothing ! . . . It's so plea- 
 sant in the open air now," mildly ob- 
 served the deacon. 
 
 Cyril invited them into the sitting- 
 
158 A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 
 
 room. i\Iaria Gavrilovna hurried into 
 the bedroom to look after her son. 
 
 " Well, gentlemen, what is it ? " said 
 Cyril, as soon as his subordinates were 
 seated. 
 
 The deacon coughed, and said, some- 
 what hesitatingly — " We have come to 
 you, Father Cyril, about our business. I 
 and Dementii Ermilitch have long de- 
 termined to call your attention . . ."' 
 
 The diatchok at this moment, evi- 
 dently thinking that Father Simeon was 
 making a mess of it, coughed loudly 
 and interrupted — 
 
 " We are perishing. Father Cyril— we 
 are simply perishing ! " 
 
 Cyril glanced up at him. "V/hat do 
 you mean ? '' said he. 
 
 " We are dving of hunger." 
 
 "Of hunger.'" 
 
 " Yes, Father Cyril. \Ve hesitated a 
 long while, and were afraid of disturbing 
 you. . . . But at last there is nothing 
 for it. . . . We have large families, and 
 nothing to give them to eat. We may 
 say that we ourselves are weak from 
 hunger. . . . The lady of the manor's 
 salary is perfectly inadequate ; we have 
 very little land ; we arc not allowed to 
 take money from the people." 
 
 "Quite true, quite true," added the 
 deacon. 
 
 " W'e don't ask for any superfluities, 
 Father Cyril, but simply for bread to 
 eat — for existence. Our children are 
 crying ; they want food." 
 
 Cyril walked about the room with his 
 head bent down and his hands behind 
 his back. It seemed to him now quite 
 clear that the deacon and diatchok 
 could not possibly live on their salaries. 
 
 J 
 
A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 159 
 
 His own salary was only just adequate 
 to support life ; and, besides, they had 
 heaps of children, while he had only one, 
 who as yet had cost him nothing. The 
 position was complicated. He was the 
 cause of their poverty and was power- 
 less to help them. If he had anything 
 left, he would gladly have ofiered it to 
 them, but he had nothing. He could 
 not possibly depart now from his newly- 
 introduced principles. This had been 
 his first victory, and he valued it highly. 
 
 '•Father Cyril Incautiously interrupted 
 the deacon. Cyril stopped and looked 
 at him. ''We have come to you to 
 make a request."' 
 
 "\yell, well?" hastily said Cyril. He 
 heartily wished that this petition would 
 be something which would satisfy their 
 wants, and which he could grant. 
 
 " We have very little land, Father 
 Cyril, but you have a good deal, and 
 very good church land. You are doing- 
 nothing with it, so why not give it to 
 us in return for a fourth part of its 
 yield?-"' 
 
 '' How much land have I got ? " eagerly 
 asked Cyril. 
 
 " Fifty dessyatines altogether, six of 
 M-hich is grass land." 
 
 "Well, that's first-rate I first-rate I " 
 joyfully exclaimed Cyril. "You work it. 
 I don't want anything for it. I don't 
 understand these affairs, and besides, 
 Fve got enough. . . . Yes, yes, you take 
 it."' 
 
 Cyril's subordinates looked at each 
 other in astonishment. " What does 
 this mean?" Dementii began, but 
 thought it better not to continue. 
 
 Cyril thought for a minute, and then 
 
l6o A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 
 
 said — ''Well, tell me, will this satisfy 
 you?" 
 
 ''We are very grateful — sincerely 
 grateful," said they, bowing low. 
 
 *' Well, now go, God be with you, and 
 work the land, only don't be angry with 
 me." 
 
 The deacon and diatchok again 
 bowed and hastily went out. 
 
 ' ' He is really a good fellow I "' said the 
 deacon, almost in Dementii's ear, when 
 they had reached the church. 
 
 " We must begin work to-morrow at 
 dawn. But what's the good of it.^ — he will 
 probably change his mind. . . . Either 
 the lady of the manor or Father 
 Makarii will persuade him to alter his 
 decision." 
 
 " It seems that Makarii is not one of 
 his sort ; he is a crafty fellow. . . . One 
 can see that already. He appeared in 
 church to show off his piety, and then 
 flew straight off to the manor-house. 
 He has already begun to beg for some 
 favour." 
 
 " Well, anyhow TcV shall be all right 
 now," said Dementii, with a joyful face, 
 patting the deacon on the back, who 
 bent like a twig under his heavy hand. 
 " It's at the rate of twenty-five dessyatines 
 apiece, and if we add our own fifteen, 
 that makes forty dessyatines each ! 
 What ? We are regular squires now, 
 father deacon ! He /s a good fellow ! 
 It's a pity he's got something wrong 
 in his head." 
 
 When Cyril entered the bedroom 
 Mura asked him — 
 
 " Why did you do that, Cyril ? " 
 
 "They are in a state of destitution, 
 Mura," answered he. 
 
A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 
 
 l6l 
 
 *' But 3'ou might have got six hundred 
 roubles for the land." 
 
 "Oh! have you made this calcula- 
 tion ? " asked Cyril, in a tone of genuine 
 surprise. 
 
 " Feokia told me," mournfully 
 answered Mura, and did not say any 
 more about it. Feokia also, who had 
 overheard the conversation, rattled the 
 kitchen poker to express her dissatisfac- 
 tion. 
 
XII. 
 
 ^^f^ATHER .MAKARII SILO- 
 AMSKI was one of those 
 pupils at the seminary who, 
 from childhood, devote their 
 whole energies to the attain- 
 ment of one fixed object — 
 that is, to obtain a living. 
 The living presents itself to 
 their minds exclusively in the form of 
 income, sacks of corn, measures of rye, 
 willing offerings from the richer parish- 
 ioners of fowls and chickens— both living 
 and roasted, of fresh piquant aromatic 
 *' knish,'" of grain, with all possible kinds 
 of exemptions and privileges, which it is 
 every one's duty to confer on the pastor, 
 and, generally speaking, a full measure 
 of material comfort, with ever)-thing cut 
 and dried for them. The services of 
 the church— the mass, morning and 
 evening service, <and various ceremonies 
 — form a sort of accessory to all this. But 
 it never enters their head to think about 
 the people that they are thrown amongst, 
 or about their influence in the parish. 
 When they have attained their wished- 
 for aim, they become merely fulfillers of 
 ceremonies. The parishioners demand 
 their services, they go ; and the parish- 
 ioners fulfil their part of the contract and 
 supply income. Their flocks look on 
 them iu the light of performers of the 
 
A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 1 63 
 
 church services, and expect no spiritual 
 instruction from them, except such as 
 is conveyed through the services and 
 ceremonies of the church. 
 
 Such seminary students as these 
 confine their love of knowledge to 
 elementary text-books. Their reading- 
 does not get beyond selections from 
 classical authors in school manuals. In 
 the department of theological studythey, 
 as a rule, get no further. Thus it is, that 
 no external influence prevents them from 
 carrying out their object in life, which is 
 to prepare themselves for a living, for 
 the sake of their own material welfare. 
 When, therefore, they find themselves 
 in the company of intelligent people 
 they sometimes venture on such short 
 and authoritative remarks as that "Gogol 
 was a very clever writer," or that 
 Tourgenief wrote " Biejin loug," and that 
 Poushkin wrote " Teli^gajizni." When 
 they settle down in their parishes, they 
 subscribe to the A'cva^ and the Diocesan 
 Nc'cL's^ which form their only bonds of 
 communication with the intelligent 
 world ; and looking at them without 
 prejudice, one is painfully impressed 
 with their lack of intelligence, and one 
 wonders what can they teach the unen- 
 lightened masses } With what light 
 can they enlighten them ? As years go 
 on, they forget even the little that they 
 learned from the school-books, and 
 instead of raising their flocks to their 
 own level, they gradually become like 
 them, and imbibe all their prejudices 
 and errors. 
 
 Father Maliarii, during his time at the 
 
 ^ One of the Russian illustrated papers. 
 
164 A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 
 
 seminary, had taken part in the episcopal ; 
 choir. He had a high tenor voice, and ' 
 at onetime, his worldly acquaintances had 
 even advised him to take up the musical 
 profession and become an opera singer. , 
 But he looked at things from a practical 
 point of view, and did not pine for fame, ; 
 and considered that a bird in the hand — 
 that is the parish — was worth two in the 
 bush. In recognition of his services in i 
 the choir, the bishop appointed him to ; 
 Lugovoe, as Lugovoe had the reputation ' 
 of being an excellent parish. So he 
 bought Father Rodion's house through 
 an agent, and started oft' for Lugovoe 
 with his head full of dreams of the wealth . 
 of the parish. After he had conducted ', 
 his first funeral, he was very much dis- ; 
 turbed at receiving nothing. It seemed 
 to him awkward at the very outset of 
 his career, to demand money straight 
 from the moujik. So he turned round ; 
 to Dementii — 
 
 " What about payment ? How do you 
 generally arrange it — before or after ?" 
 
 " They give nothing," said Dementii, 
 looking at the deacon with a very sly air, 
 as much as to say, " See what an ugly 
 face he will make in a minute ! " 
 
 But Silo^mski made no face, and 
 simply stared, almost angrily, at 
 Dementii. 
 
 "I did not ask as a joke," said he ; "I 
 want to know what the custom is here." 
 
 Dementii again looked expressively 
 at the deacon, and seemed to say, 
 *' Watch him well, father deacon, 
 watch him well." 
 
 "The custom here is not to take a 
 single copeck for services performed. 
 Everything is done gratis. We only 
 
A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 1 65 
 
 take the pai?i baii after the requiem 
 mass, »S:c." 
 
 "It seems you arc trying to make a 
 fool of me ! " said Siloamski, with his 
 former angry tone, which, at the same 
 time, betrayed a shade of anxiety. 
 
 '' How could I do such a thing? I 
 would not dare to joke with you ; the 
 father deacon will confirm all I say." 
 
 "It is perfectly true," rejoined the 
 latter. " Up to Father Cyril's time 
 there were incomes, and very good ones 
 too, but Father Cyril abolished them." 
 
 *' What do you mean, abolished them? 
 One has got to live somehow ! I . . . 
 simply don't understand it." 
 
 " Wait a bit, my friend, you'll under- 
 stand soon enough," thought Dementii, 
 and added — 
 
 " Certainly you must live, and you 
 must live on your salary ! The lady of 
 the manor has appointed a salary to 
 each one of us : the priests receive fifty 
 roubles a month each, and we get con- 
 siderably less ! " 
 
 Siloamski mechanically lifted a 
 coloured handkerchief to his brow to 
 wipe off the perspiration. He felt just as 
 if he had suddenly tumbled into a trap. 
 
 "Oh ! that's the arrangement, is it? 
 A parish without income ! Ha, ha I 
 We wull see, we will see ! ... It is 
 necessary to find out by what right the 
 chief arranges matters thus ! We will 
 see 1 '■' 
 
 He said this in undisguised anger, 
 and, forgetting about the propriety of 
 preserving a pious air, pulled off his 
 vestments with such energy, that it 
 might have been imagined he wanted 
 to tear them to pieces. 
 
1 66 A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 
 
 Dementii and the deacon were 
 mightily pleased. They did not like 
 Silodmski, and they took pleasure in 
 referring to the former incomes, to 
 ■add to the anguish of his heart. They 
 themselves were perfectly happy novs-. 
 On Cyril's land, which they had 
 •divided between them, the first green 
 blades of the hoped-for crops were 
 appearing, and they considered them- 
 selves regular squires. 
 
 Silodmski v.ent home first, but then 
 rushed out of the room, and flew oft" to 
 Cyril. Entering the chief's house, he 
 even forgot to say " How do you do? ' 
 and at once began about business in 
 his high tenor voice. 
 
 "Excuse me. Father Cyril ! What is 
 the meaning of this ? By what right 
 have you altered the customs here? 
 By what right have you introduced such 
 arrangements ?" 
 
 "What's it all about ? What are you 
 talking about?'"' asked Cyril, getting 
 up from the dinner-table and wiping 
 his mouth with his napkin. Maria 
 Gavrilovna looked at him in alarm. 
 
 " I simply ask you by what right y. 
 do such things ? Where is such a la\ 
 Show me this law ! " continued Siloai.i- 
 ski, perfectly maddened by his dis- 
 illusionment with regard to the " best 
 parish for income."' "Although you are 
 chief, you have no such rights ! Excuse 
 me, you have no such rights ! " 
 
 " Please explain yourself, Father 
 ]\Iakarii, I understand nothing." 
 
 '• Why you have abolished the legal 
 incomes, and have introduced some 
 sort of salaries . . . some fifty roubles 
 a month, I believe. . . . I am very much 
 
A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 167 
 
 obliged to you, but all the same I have 
 a right to my legal income.'' 
 
 '• Yes," said Cyril, firmly, "that is our 
 custom, and you must make the best of 
 it." 
 
 "Not if I know it ! What !— acquiesce 
 in these customs which you have intro- 
 duced ? Never I I refuse your salary, 
 and shall demand my rights. What 
 right have you ? You exceed your 
 rights ! I shall complain, and you . . 
 you will be sent to the monastery. . . . 
 Don't imagine that because you are a 
 'magistrant,' you can do just as you 
 like ! The bishop is my friend, I was in 
 his choir. ... So take care ! "' 
 
 " Although I was never a singer, I 
 must beg you to leave my house, as you 
 do not knov/ how to behave properly ! " 
 said Cyril, hiding his vexation with 
 di.^.culty. Here was a young pastor, 
 who had scarcely entered on his duties, 
 who already demanded money so per- 
 sistently and angrily — who demanded 
 the right to turn his vocation into a 
 trade 1 This maddened him, and vexed 
 and grieved him most profoundly. And 
 he had counted on his youth, which, as 
 he had imagined, could not have been 
 hardened by custom. Father Rodion 
 was an old man and infused with old 
 ideas, and even he had not insisted so 
 determinedly on his right to income. 
 
 When Siloamski heard this request to 
 leave the chief's house, made in a very 
 stern way, his wrath suddenly cooled 
 down. He had not wished to insult the 
 chief, and did not even wish to quarrel 
 with him. Such a course of action was 
 contrary to his principles. But in his 
 outburst of indignation he forscot that 
 
X68 A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 
 
 he was speaking too loud and generally 
 misbehaving himself. 
 
 " Pardon me," said he to Miria 
 Gavrilovna, and bowed to her ; " in my 
 impulse I really . . . went too far, and 
 perhaps said something insulting. Allow 
 me to explain." 
 
 But Cyril was no longer listening to 
 him. He was walking about the room 
 in great agitation. His peace was 
 again disturbed. For more than six 
 months he had been alone in the parish, 
 and he had begun to think that the new 
 institutions founded by him had taken 
 permanent root, and had become a law 
 about which there could be no question. 
 But he was chiefly vexed that this young 
 man understood him as little and even 
 less than Father Rodion. Did this mean 
 that he was ever to wage war, alone in 
 the field.'' Was it possible that this 
 traditional atmosphere, amidst which 
 the new generation of pastors was 
 educated, had so entirely invaded and 
 permeated them, that their minds were 
 perfectly inaccessible to more enlight- 
 ened ideas, and that they were absolutely 
 incapable of grasping the nature of the 
 problems before them .'' What were 
 their problems ? Merely those that 
 were common to all mankind — namely, 
 to live for their pleasure, and to provide 
 for their old age. 
 
 Cyril stopped and looked sadly at 
 Siloiimski. He said in a low and weary 
 tone, " W^hat is the use of explanations, 
 Father Makarii .'^ It is perfectly clear 
 that we cannot understand one another. 
 You and I are absolutely difierent — the 
 gulf between us is too great ! We have 
 different ideas, different objects, and 
 
A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 1 69 
 
 different tendencies. You want income, 
 and I do not : to you income is a 
 pleasure, to me it is an insult ! You 
 have come here to provide for yourself, 
 and I to serve the poor and ignorant. 
 How are we ever to understand each 
 other ? I will tell you this : you may 
 do what you like, but the customs which 
 I have introduced I will never give up. 
 That is all I have to tell you." 
 
 Cyril sat down on the sofa, pale, and 
 thoroughly unnerved. Siloamski looked 
 at him from under his eyebrows, then 
 looked at Maria Gavrilovna in the same 
 way, took up his hat, turned to the door 
 and went out. 
 
 For a week Siloamski remained in a 
 sulky state and undertook no business. 
 After Cyril's tirade, he felt that the 
 decision expressed by him to claim his 
 rights at all hazards was considerably 
 weakened. He understood that this 
 was not mere obstinacy on Cyril's part, 
 and, strangely enough, he attributed it, 
 just as Father Rodion had done, to 
 madness. 
 
 Aweek passed. One evening Siloamski 
 invited the deacon Simeon to come and 
 drink tea with him and the matoushka. 
 The latter was a very young and pretty 
 blonde ; she had a sonorous voice. 
 " You know, father deacon, this is 
 dreadful — simply dreadful I " said she to 
 the deacon, in a lisping tone, and her 
 bright eyes looking as though they were 
 just going to cry. " We have spent 
 money, bought this house, and suddenly 
 . . . i can hardly believe that the 
 authorities will allow such arbitrary pro- 
 ceedings." 
 
 " Yes, we must make the best of it ! 
 
lyo A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 
 
 I and Dementii Ermilitch have sufiered 
 for a whole year!" said the deacon, with 
 false sympathy, forgetting of course 
 about Cyril's land. 
 
 " But tell me, if you please, father 
 deacon, what sort of person is the 
 lady of the manor ? " asked Silodmski. 
 
 " The lady of the manor ? The Lord 
 only knows what sort of person she is. 
 We never see her. She sits in her 
 garden like a bear in a hole. She mixes 
 with no one, and avoids the clergy.' 
 
 " H'm ! That's suspicious. "^ 
 
 " She is on very good terms with 
 Father Cyril ; they often visit one 
 another.'' 
 
 " Oh ! . . . that's very suspicious . . . 
 very ! I shall go to the bishop and 
 inform him of this." 
 
 "To the bishop? I wouldn't advise 
 you to." 
 
 " Why ? The bishop is very fond of 
 me. I used to sing in his choir."' 
 
 " Yes, it's perfectly true. He even used 
 to render the solos sometimes,'" said the 
 niatoushka, not without a certain amount 
 of pride. 
 
 "All the same I v.-ould not advise 
 you to go to him," said the deacon. 
 
 " But why ? tell me, please. He is 
 acting in a perfectly illegal manner." 
 
 " I allow it. But Father Rodion said 
 the same thing, and went to the bishop, 
 but the affair turned out badly. The 
 bishop said to him, ' I set up this priest, 
 that is Father Cyril, as an example to 
 the whole diocese, and approve of all 
 his doings ! ' That is the bishop's 
 opinion. And when Father Rodion 
 hinted about his being transferred to 
 another place, the bishop said, * I have 
 
A RUSSIAN PRIEST. I71 
 
 no cause for punishing him, but if you 
 like it I will transfer you ' — that is Father 
 Rodion — and he transferred him. Such 
 are the opinions of the lord bishop ! " 
 
 " Perhaps so,"' replied Siloamski, 
 with assurance. " But Father Rodion 
 and I are quite different people." 
 
 " Certainly ! •'" interrupted the ma- 
 toushka. " I have already told you that 
 he even sang the solos. It's not every 
 one that can do that ! " 
 
 To put matters shortly, Siloamski re- 
 solved to follow Father Rodion's example 
 and go to the bishop. He started off 
 in company with his wife, who was a 
 native of the town. 
 
 After Father Rodion's trip to the 
 government town, reports about the 
 young priest had become current, as to 
 how the young " magistrant" Obnovlien- 
 ski had taken a country parish, and had 
 established a new order of things, and 
 declined to take money from the people. 
 But these reports had not made much 
 impression. No one thoroughly be- 
 lieved them. Father Rodion had told 
 two or three of his friends in his out- 
 burst of dissatisfaction, but after his 
 conversation with the bishop he had 
 said no more about it. 
 
 Siloamski looked up all his numerous 
 acquaintances in the town. Father 
 Makarii visited the batoushkas and his 
 spouse called on their wives. Siloamski 
 even went to the rector of the seminary, 
 Father ]Mejof, and told him about Cyril. 
 
 " Yes, yes, ii's just as I foresaw, and I 
 warned the bishop of it. Even when he 
 left here for the academy, there was 
 something strange and presumptuous in 
 his character." 
 
172 A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 
 
 "He was always a bit cracked, but 
 now he is quite mad : " remarked young 
 Mejof, who was present at this interview, j 
 and who at the present time was very 
 successfully fulfilling the post of inspec- 
 tor of the seminary. "What right has 
 a ' magistrant ' to bury himself in the 
 country ? There is not an atom of sense 
 in it ! " 
 
 " I tell you what, Siloamski," pro- 
 posed the rector — " don't you rush off to 
 the bishop. I will go to him first and talk 
 to him seriously. We must put all our 
 forces together to bring this young man 
 to his senses ! Or, better still, you be at 
 the bishop's at ten o'clock to-morrow 
 morning, and I will meet you there." 
 
 Reports of Cyril's eccentricities soon 
 reached the houses of the clergy in the 
 government town, and towards evening 
 Father Gavriil Fortificantof and his wife 
 heard of them. 
 
 " Whatever are we to do ? " exclaimed 
 Nikoldevna. " He has succeeded in 
 getting himself talked about in the town 
 and in the whole government. And this 
 is my son-in-law, the husband of my 
 daughter ! This cannot go on ! Father 
 Gdvriil, ^ ju must take steps to remedy 
 this ; you must go to the bishop's, and 
 beg, demand, I don't know what 1 . . . 
 You must save my daughter 1 '' 
 
 Father Gdvriil was a man of a calm 
 disposition, and always acted on the 
 maxim that every evil rights itself in 
 the end ; nevertheless, in consequence of 
 his wife's persistent demands, he started 
 off to the rector to consult him. They 
 arranged to go together to the bishop. 
 
 Arriving at the episcopal palace the 
 following day, they found his lordship's 
 
A RUSSIAN PRIEST. I 73 
 
 carriage Standing at the door, harnessed 
 with four black horses. They hastened 
 upstairs. The rector took the lead, 
 walking with an air of great importance, 
 Siloamski followed him, ascending the 
 stairs very briskly, and at some distance 
 followed Father Gavriil, with his head 
 bent down and moving slowly. The 
 bishop came to them at once. He was 
 dressed in a dark green cassock, and in 
 a long mantle with a hood to it. In his 
 right hand he held a thick walking-stick 
 with a handsome top, and in the left 
 hand the rosary, but not the black ones 
 hung on a silk thread, which he usually 
 had in his hands, but one used on state 
 occasions made of rare and beautiful 
 stones. He was evidently starting off 
 somewhere. 
 
 " Ah ! what an honourable triumvi- 
 rate ! " said he, in a joking tone. *' I can 
 guess already what you have come about ! 
 You, singer, have come to complain of 
 Cyril Obnovlienski, haven't you .'' I can 
 see it by your eyes. And the father 
 rector wants to support you with his 
 authority ! and as for you. Father Gav- 
 riil, I can only suppose th.r you have 
 come for the sake of good company ! 
 Well, what is it ? Speak ! Who is going 
 to speak ?" 
 
 " Your lordship has guessed aright," 
 ventured Siloamski. 
 
 " I thought so — I thought as much ! I 
 guessed it at once ! And what's your 
 complaint? No income? Eh?" 
 
 " I consider it my duty to say that for 
 my part ..." began the rector, with 
 importance ; but the bishop would not 
 let him go on. 
 
 " You should be ashamed of your- 
 
174 A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 
 
 selves, my friends, you should ?' said he, 
 decisively. " We ought to rejoice at 
 such an apparition as this young priest 
 — and you come with a complaint I He 
 has refused the advantages of a town 
 living, he has declined honours, and 
 disinterestedly serves those around him. 
 What is there bad in that ? You, father 
 rector, you are a famous dogmatist : tell 
 me, is there anything essentially bad in 
 his action ? '' 
 
 "But, your Reverence, his relations 
 with the lady of the place, Madame 
 Kroupicev are suspicuous ! '' hastily said 
 Siloamski, as though fearing that the 
 bishop would interrupt him at the first 
 word. 
 
 At this statement the rector's face 
 assumed an expression of surprise, and 
 Father Gavriil got red from vexation. 
 
 '* You foolish fellow ! ■' sternly said 
 the bishop ; " for such a lie I ought to 
 send you to the monastery for a month ! 
 There is nothing suspicious in his 
 doings — his mind is as pure as a child's.'" 
 With these words the bishop went out. 
 The triumvirate stood where they were, 
 distressed by the unexpected turn affairs 
 had taken. When they descended to 
 the courtyard the carriage had gone ; 
 they all three went away in difterent 
 directions, and Silodmski disappeared in 
 an unknown direction very quickly : he 
 had an unpleasant impression that the 
 effect of his exclamation about the lady 
 of the manor had been to spoil the whole 
 affair. 
 
 After this episode the relations be- 
 tween the clergy at Liigovoc became 
 more peaceful. Siloamski returned from 
 the town and pretended that nothing 
 
A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 1 75 
 
 special had occurred. Neither he nor 
 his wife said a word to any one about 
 the interview with the bishop. When 
 the deacon, who took a keen interest in 
 the progress of events, asked Siloamski 
 one day what the bishop had said, the 
 latter answered in a calm and innocent 
 sort of way, " Oh, you know, I changed 
 my mind, and did not go to him after 
 all. It is awkward, you know, to 
 speak ill of one's companions — it would 
 be almost like slander. No, I have de- 
 cided to stay on here a little and then 
 simply ask to be transferred somewhere 
 else, without explaining the reason." 
 
 Siloamski was wonderfully polite and 
 respectful to Cyril : he never raised his 
 voice, and by way of extra courtesy sent 
 his wife to call on Mura. They talked 
 together for a quarter of an hour, and 
 Madame Siloamski carefully observed 
 the most perfect politeness. Mura re- 
 turned the visit, and here their acquain- 
 tance ended. 
 
 At length Siloamski could stand it no 
 longer. He received no income, and 
 neither managed to cultivate or let his 
 church land ; he looked upon a further 
 stay in Liigovoe as so much loss of time. 
 So he again visited the town, brought all 
 his influence to bear among his musical 
 friends, and got transferred to another 
 place. In July Father Rodion's house 
 was empty, and Cyril, to his great de- 
 Hght, again found himself alone in the 
 parish. 
 
XIII. 
 
 N the meanwhile the inhabi- 
 tants of Lugovoe, and of the 
 whole district, were being 
 threatened with a famine. 
 y '^Al^ \ Scarcely a drop of rain had 
 V Qj fallen during the whole of 
 ^'^^^ May and June. The rye, 
 which had attained about 
 half its growth, turned prematurely 
 yellow and produced a miserable ear 
 without any grain in it. The rye failed 
 everywhere in the district, and they 
 mowed it for the sake of the straw. 
 There was still a hope that rain would 
 fall towards St. John the Baptist's Day, 
 and that the wheat might be saved ; but 
 this hope v/as not fulfilled, and the half- 
 grown wheat crop faded away, without 
 even shovying signs of an ear. The 
 steppe for ten versts around, presented 
 the sad spectacle of yellow pasture land 
 and black fields. The cattle wandered 
 sadly over the dried-up pasture, and, 
 exhausted by hunger and by the insup- 
 portable scorching heat, stood in the 
 bare fields looking for whole hours at the 
 blue sky, which showed no sign of the 
 smallest cloud. At times the whole 
 herd seemed to be seized with a sort of 
 sudden impulse, and, trampling with 
 their hoofs on the dried-up earth, they 
 
A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 1 77 
 
 rushed down to the meadow streamlet, 
 but instead of water they saw the 
 winding narrow bed, long since dried 
 up, and expressed their grief with heart- 
 rending lowing. The water from the 
 wells was preserved as carefully as gold. 
 They gave the cattle water in handfuls, 
 fearing that the supply would dry up 
 and that they would die from thirst. 
 The villagers had a supply of grain from 
 last year which they dealt out very care- 
 fully. However, their hopes were not 
 yet quite exhausted. The rye had 
 failed — they had placed their hopes on 
 the wheat ; the wheat began to turn 
 yellow — then they relied on the millet. 
 But at length July drew to an end, and 
 St. Elijah's Day passed without rain, 
 and when August arrived all hopes were 
 at an end. 
 
 Cyril found gloomy faces everywhere, 
 both in church and on his visits among 
 the people, and he himself became 
 gloomier every day. Going past the 
 public-house he heard shouting, singing, 
 and abusive language, and the thought 
 struck him that, during better times, 
 this shouting was not so often heard, 
 and was less noisy. It seemed to him 
 strange that these unenlightened country 
 people, even in the days of famine, 
 managed to find something to spend on 
 drink. He stopped, admonished, and 
 tried to bring them to reason. 
 
 " What difference does it make, 
 b^toushka ? " answered one of them, 
 considerably under the influence of 
 vodka. " We have got to die of hunger, 
 and it's better to die in a jovial frame of 
 mind." 
 
 " It's not necessary to die ; you must 
 
1 78 A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 
 
 Struggle against the famine," said Cyril ; 
 but he seemed to feel himself that 
 these were mere empty words because 
 the struggle was an impossible one. 
 He thought to himself, '" It's not a case 
 of struggling, but of bearing the evil 
 patiently in the hope of things taking a 
 turn for the better." 
 
 Cases of cattle plague occurred in the 
 middle of August. The cattle died from 
 exhaustion and thirst, and fell down 
 dead in the fields. Lamentations were 
 heard in various parts of the village. 
 
 " It will soon be with us as with the 
 cattle !" said the moujiks, looking at a 
 dead cow and weeping as if they had 
 lost their nearest relation. 
 
 Cyril returned home exhausted and 
 gloomy. Unpleasant thoughts crowded 
 into his head. He saw before him per- 
 fectly helpless people threatened by 
 famine. He had spoken consoling 
 W'Ords, but recognized with a heavy 
 heart that words in such a case are of 
 no use, and that help was required in 
 the form of bread. A sort of indecision 
 seized him. There were moments when 
 all his practical work, on which he had 
 laid so great a stress, seemed a mere 
 empty amusement, and nothing more. 
 What had he really done ? He had 
 taught, he had enlightened, and perhaps 
 he had made a feyv people wiser, or 
 instructed some erring soul, but now, 
 when it was a question of preserving the 
 health and even the life of the people, 
 he was powerless. He had put a stop to 
 taking money from the people, but that 
 was no advantage to them now, as they 
 had none to give. 
 
 One day, when he was dining with 
 
A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 1 79 
 
 Mura, a boy, in a dirty, worn-out shirt, 
 with bare feet, with a pale face, spotted 
 with patches, came to inform Cyril that 
 his mother had died. 
 
 "What did she die of.?" asked Cyril, 
 in a tone betraying emotion. Three 
 days before, he had seen the boy's 
 mother tottering under the weight of 
 pails of water which she was carrying 
 from the well. 
 
 " The Lord knows ! " said the boy, 
 stupidly gazing into space. " From food, 
 I suppose." 
 
 " What do you mean, ' from food ' ? " 
 continued Cyril, with still greater 
 anxiety, and with a presentiment of 
 evil in his mind. 
 
 " She made some porridge out of the 
 siftings, and it finished her off." 
 
 " The siftings — that means bran !" ex- 
 plained Cyril to Mura, in a very low 
 voice. " It has come to this, that they 
 have to eat bran."^ 
 
 He walked about the room almost 
 deliriously. A terrible storm awoke in 
 his breast. He felt as though some 
 unknown force drove and urged him on 
 to action, and that he had ceased to 
 belong to himself. Mura looked at him 
 with alarm and wonder. She quietly 
 said to the boy — " Go, the bdtoushka 
 will follow ! "' and when the boy had 
 gone out, she asked — " Cyril, what is 
 the matter with you ? " She got up and 
 went to him. His face was pale ; his 
 large eyes sparkled as though he had a 
 fever. She took his hand ; he stopped. 
 " What is the matter with you, Cyril ? " 
 repeated Mura, in a trembling tone. 
 
 "Ah, Mura ! '' and his head sank on 
 her breast. 
 
l8o A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 
 
 Mura felt that he was weeping, and 
 tried to cahn him, although she could 
 not understand the cause of his 
 grief. 
 
 "What! you don't understand? A 
 famine is beginning ; this is the first 
 death from hunger. A mortal famine, 
 Mura, is beginning, not far from busy 
 towns where commerce goes on in its 
 usual way and people amuse themselves 
 and provide themselves with super- 
 fluities ! This is terrible, INIura ! One 
 cannot stand by and look on with one's 
 arms folded. How can we eat our 
 dinner when a poor woman dies from 
 eating bran. . , . It's impossible ! . . . 
 We must do something active." 
 
 This he said in a halting voice, and 
 looking out of the window at the village. 
 He imagined to himself that death had 
 already begun to visit every hut, and that 
 he was too late with his help. Anyhow, 
 he was too late to help this woman who 
 had died from eating bran. 
 
 " But what can we do, Cyril .'' We are 
 in a slate of destitution ourselves," 
 said Mura. Cyril did not answer her. 
 He hastily put on his cassock, seized his 
 hat and ran out of the room. He almost 
 ran along the road to the manor-house. 
 The wind blew around the skirts of his 
 cassock and filled the long sleeves, and 
 as he strode along waving his arms, he 
 resembled some huge bird flying very 
 low over the land. 
 
 " Where is our batoushka rushing off 
 to ? " asked the moujiks, among them- 
 selves, in surprise ; " something must 
 have happened. See how pale he is, 
 *ind how his eyes glitter ! " 
 
 Cyril scarcely noticed how he got 
 
A RUSSIAN PRIEST. l8l 
 
 over the three versts. He impulsively 
 opened the garden gate, and walked up 
 to the house without taking any notice 
 of the furious barking of a chained dog, 
 who, although he frequently saw Cyril, 
 could never get accustomed to his 
 cassock. He ascended the steps leading 
 to the front door and went into the ves- 
 tibule. There he met a housemaid. 
 
 " Where is Nadieshda Alecsieevna ?" 
 asked he ; and not waiting for an answer, 
 entered the dining-room. 
 
 Nadieshda Alecsieevna had only just 
 sat down to dinner. The small boy sat 
 next . to her on a high chair with a 
 napkin tied round his neck. Seeing 
 Cyril, she put down the soup-ladle and 
 got up. His expression was so extra- 
 ordinary that she did not even think of 
 asking him if he would dine with her, 
 but said — 
 
 *' What has happened? Tell me, 
 quickly ! Is anything the matter with 
 Maria Gavrilovna or the child ? " 
 
 " No, no I It's the famine — people are 
 dying of hunger ! "' answered he, with an 
 increasingly loud voice, and pointing in 
 the direction of the village—" There I " 
 added he. 
 
 The tone of his voice and his move- 
 ments were majestic. As though in- 
 spired with a command, he could not 
 speak in an ordinary way at that 
 moment, he could only summon, arouse, 
 and preach. Those words which he 
 had just uttered would have seemed to 
 him half an hour before bombastic, and 
 that grandiose gesture, theatrical. 
 
 '^ Where ? " asked Nadidshda Alec- 
 sie'evna. She knew that the crops had 
 failed, and that her own farming opera- 
 
1 82 A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 
 
 tions had suffered, although not in the 
 same degree, because she had a great 
 deal of land and on some parts of her 
 property things had turned out better. 
 But she had no idea that it was a case 
 of famine. 
 
 " In the village," answered Cyril, in 
 the same tone as before. "They are 
 beginning to come to me to bury the 
 dead ; a woman has already died from 
 eating bran. That means that there is 
 absolutely nothing to eat. And you and 
 I eat plentiful dinners and have all the 
 comforts of life. Listen, Xadieshda Alec- 
 sieevna — I will give up everything I 
 possess, to the very last crumb. Sub- 
 stantial help is required ! You can 
 help— you ought to help— you ought 
 to — and you will ! I know you have a 
 kind heart." 
 
 In ordinary moments he would 
 never have brought himself to say this 
 to her. He would have considered it 
 importunate and meddlesome on his 
 part, and, although the request was for 
 others, he would have thought it quite 
 inexcusable. But at such a time he 
 could not trouble himself with the 
 exigencies of politeness. He looked 
 straight at the matter and saw one fact 
 — a terrible death from hunger. His 
 pale face expressed stern command, and 
 his ardent look penetrated Nadieshda 
 Alecsieevna's spirit. She now saw 
 before her, not the meek and mild 
 clergyman, who at times hesitated 
 even to utter his opinions, and when he 
 became excited, evidently tried to stifle 
 his feelings and speak quietly. Before 
 her now stood an inspired prophet, in 
 long biblical attire, with the pale face of 
 
A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 1 83 
 
 an ascetic, with the expression of a 
 deeply suffering martyr." 
 
 She was greatly agitated by his 
 speech, looks, and manners. She, too, 
 felt as though carried away by impulse, 
 and as though seized by a desire to aid 
 him in the work of charity. 
 
 In such a frame of mind she warmly 
 grasped his hand, and then quickly dis- 
 appeared into another room. 
 
 In a couple of minutes she returned 
 went up to Cyril, and handed him a 
 small bundle of bank-notes. 
 
 " Here is a small sum," said she, in a 
 trembling voice ; " about three hundred 
 roubles. But I have more in the town. 
 ... I can get it ! . . . Excuse me," 
 added she, putting her hand to her 
 forehead, as though she had a sudden 
 idea, " I must speak to the bailiff. Call 
 the bailiff!-"' 
 
 He was an old man with a long 
 beard, and intelligent, penetrating eyes, 
 who had served during Madame Krou- 
 pieev's father's lifetime, and had begun 
 life as a serf. He had held this post 
 both under young Kroupidev, and also 
 under the disorderly, drunken regime of 
 Madame Kroupieev's cousin, and now 
 had the management of the whole 
 property. 
 
 "How much corn have we got?" 
 asked Nadieshda Alecsieevna, when he 
 came in. 
 
 " Only what remains over from last 
 year,'' answered the latter. " If you want 
 to sell it, it is not worth the trouble of 
 scraping up : about one hundred pouds ' 
 of wheat and about forty quarters of 
 
 ' Poud^thirty-six pounds. 
 
184 A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 
 
 Other grain. There are about thirty 
 pouds of barley, but we shall want it 
 ourselves ; and considering that the 
 crops have failed this summer it will 
 not even be sufficient. 
 
 " Ver}' well, you can go."' 
 
 But the bailiff hesitated, evidently 
 wishing to say something. 
 
 " If you please, there are four moujiks 
 who want a measure of corn each ; they 
 say that if you don't give it, they will 
 die of hunger." 
 
 "Give it to them at once — this 
 minute." 
 
 "Very well." 
 
 The bailiff went out. 
 
 " Now let us come along," said Cyril. 
 
 " I am quite ready," answered she, 
 and having hastily made arrangements 
 for her son being looked after, they 
 started off. They both thought that 
 they ought to go on foot, because to 
 drive in a carriage at a moment when 
 hunger and death were about, would be 
 almost insulting to the people. The 
 parishioners again gazed with astonish- 
 ment when they saw Madame Kroupieev 
 and Cyril hurrying into the village with 
 agitated and alarmed expressions on 
 their faces. They walked in silence, 
 and Nadieshda Alecsieevna hardly 
 managed to keep pace with Cyril. 
 
 This poor woman's death was only a 
 prelude to the misfortunes which were 
 threatening Lugovoe. She had died more 
 or less accidentally, because, overcome 
 by hunger, she had eaten too much of 
 this chaffy food. But famine was now 
 torturing the inhabitants of half the 
 huts in the large village. Their in- 
 mates had absolutelv no bread, and 
 
 
 I 
 
A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 1 85 
 
 there remained only a small quantity of 
 bran from last year's crops which had 
 not been eaten by the pigs. In some 
 of the huts the inhabitants had killed 
 their cattle, but these unfortunate crea- 
 tures were so thin and enervated that 
 they hardly supplied any food to their 
 owners. The children were playing 
 listlessly in the yards, they w^ere pale, 
 and their stomachs protruded. Cyril 
 and Nadieshda Alecsi^evna began their 
 visits at the first hut, and at every step 
 their despair increased. They found 
 suffering people in almost every hut 
 who laid on couches near the stoves, 
 and their friends were too feeble to help 
 them. The moujiks tried to go to work, 
 but as the whole district was in a state 
 of famine they had not sufficient 
 strength to walk to places where they 
 might have found employment. Besides 
 this, the price of labour had fallen so 
 low that it would not have been worth 
 it. It was clear that they must have 
 been suffering from hunger some weeks 
 already, and that the effects of it were 
 now beginning to be felt. 
 
 "Why did you not tell me ? Why did 
 not one come to me for help ? " asked 
 Nadieshda Alecsieevna. 
 
 To this they answered nothing, and 
 it seemed to her that even now they 
 accepted her help unwillingly and 
 suspiciously. " I suppose if I had not 
 been with the clergyman, they would 
 not even have admitted me into their 
 huts," thought she ; and it seemed to her 
 perfectly natural and comprehensible. 
 How many years had she lived here 
 side by side with these people without 
 interesting herself about their thoughts 
 
1 86 A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 
 
 or lives ! She had shut herself up, and 
 devoted herself entirely to her son, 
 feeling a sort of contempt for all people. 
 It was not these people who had 
 awakened contempt in her, but others, 
 and so it had happened that she had 
 avoided these also, and they only used 
 to see her on rare occasions in church, 
 and then she used to hurry home and 
 shut herself up again in her half-ruined 
 manor-house, surrounded by the garden. 
 She was now paying for her neglect of 
 the people by incurring their distrust. 
 
 They continued their visits till late at 
 night, and then returned, tired out, to 
 the church-house. Mura was in a great 
 state of alarm. She could not think 
 what had become of Cyril, and had 
 imagined all sorts of dreadful things to 
 herself. 
 
 " Ah ! if only you could see what a 
 terrible state they are in," exclaimed he, 
 "you would have left everything, and 
 come with us! They are hungry and 
 ill, and have no one to help them. What 
 a terrible thing it is to be far from help ! 
 So long as things go on well, they 
 manage to make shift from day to day 
 without requiring anything, but the 
 moment misfortune comes, they are as 
 helpless as if they were on an island in 
 the middle of the ocean ? Good Lord ! 
 How many people in the cities and 
 towns there are who are full of intellect, 
 intelligence, and heart, but without 
 occupation — without even senseless 
 occupation ! Why don't they come here 
 to this dark corner .'' Here living work 
 is awaiting them eagerly ! How cruel it 
 is ! Truly — Jiomo homini lupus est. 
 These grasping shopkeepers at once 
 
 I 
 
A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 1 87 
 
 profit by the famine to put up the price 
 of provisions to absurd prices. It is 
 just the same in the time of war! It 
 is terrible ! " 
 
 " It is very sad,'' said Mura, with real 
 sympathy ; '' but what can we do .'* — we 
 have nothing ourselves.'' 
 
 Cyril remained silent, with his brows 
 knitted. Nadieshda Alecsieevna was 
 thoughtfully looking out of the window. 
 The thought struck her, what a strange 
 couple these two were, and how little 
 they had in common. He, a passionate 
 enthusiast, idealist, who carried his ideas 
 almost to fanaticism, and ready to forget 
 everything else on earth for the sake ot 
 them ; she, an ordinary sort of creature, 
 who looked with astonishment on any 
 new idea or any action out of the ordi- 
 nary course of things. She did not 
 understand him in the least, and he paid 
 so little attention to his domestic sur- 
 roundings that clearly, up to this time, 
 he had not noticed this. 
 
 Cyril sat down at the writing-table. 
 He wrote to all the authorities in the 
 government town, drawing a gloomy 
 picture of the state of affairs at Lugovoe 
 in the most energetic language : he 
 asked for doctors, medicines, and food. 
 . . . He then composed an appeal to be 
 put in the newspapers,asking the citizens 
 for help. Having done all this, he 
 dispatched the sexton to the town on 
 one of Madame Kroupieev's best horses. 
 He then went out again into the village. 
 It was now three o'clock in the morning. 
 All were asleep. Nadieshda Alecsieevna 
 sent for her carriage, returned to the 
 manor-house, and having ascertained 
 that her son was all right, came back 
 
1 88 A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 
 
 again to the village. For two days they 
 worked hard. They distributed, where 
 necessary, both money and food, but 
 devoted most of their attention to the 
 numerous sick. They tried in vain to 
 gauge the nature of the prevalent illness. 
 The symptoms were fever and delirium, 
 and Cyril thought it must be typhus 
 fever, but, as he did not know th( 
 symptoms, had no real ground for his 
 supposition. There were four funerals 
 during these two days. On the third 
 day the wife of a clerk living in the 
 neighbourhood volunteered her services. 
 She was about forty years old and pitted 
 with small-pox, but a good-natured 
 person. She had acted as a sister of 
 mercy in the Turkish campaign, and was 
 therefore acquainted more or less with 
 medical matters. She set to work to 
 rub the patients, to give them poultices, 
 and even administered medicine. How- 
 ever, on the same day a doctor arrived 
 from the town, and this was the whole 
 extent of the help received from that 
 quarter. 
 
XIV. 
 
 ARIA GAVRILOVNA 
 passed whole days in tears. 
 Cyril had deserted her. He 
 only returned home two or 
 three times a day, spoke a 
 few words to her, and went 
 out again. A dozen times 
 Mura had wished to speak 
 to him, but without success. One day, 
 however, she compelled him to listen to 
 her. 
 
 " Cyrilj what are you doing ? what are 
 you doing .'' " asked she, with a handker- 
 chief in her hands, as tears were appear- 
 ing every minute in her eyes. 
 
 Cyril looked at her vaguely, as though 
 not understanding her question. 
 
 " Look at yourself in the glass. See 
 what you are coming to. All your looks 
 have gone. You will get ill and die." 
 
 " Nonsense, Mura I one ought not to 
 think about such things. This is my 
 duty, and I am only fulfilling it." 
 
 " You consider this your duty ! You 
 forget that you have a wife and child ! " 
 " Yes, Mura, you are right. There 
 are moments, and even hours, when I 
 forget it. And how can I remember it 
 when I see before me so much grief and 
 suffering?" thoughtfully added Cyril. 
 
 "You cannot alleviate all the sufferings 
 or console all the grief." 
 
1 90 A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 
 
 " Do not speak in that way, Tvlura, I 
 beg you ; this is the way people speak 
 who do not wish to alleviate any sufter- 
 ing or console any grief. If you cannot 
 alleviate all the suffering, you can at 
 any rate do your best to alleviate that 
 which we see before us. But whence 
 did you get these cursed ideas of 
 w^orldly prudence which stifle the voice 
 of your heart ? If you but knew, Mura, 
 how painful it is for me to hear such 
 sentiments from you. . . . Remember 
 you are my wife, and that we are bound 
 together inseparably. What I you seize 
 me by the coat and wish to keep me at 
 home when I should be busy with the 
 sacred work of compassion and sym- 
 pathy ? I am young now ; it is now onl)-, 
 during these years, tlvat a man willingly 
 gives himself up to noble impulses, and 
 is ready to sacrifice his own material 
 comfort. The ripe years of quiet rest 
 will come, when we shall get to look 
 indifferently at everything, except our 
 own little nest. Why hurry on that day, 
 INIura?" 
 
 "I don't understand you, Cyril; the 
 only thing that is clear to me is that you 
 no longer love me. You love all the 
 world more than me and my son." 
 
 " Nonsense, Mura ! It is true that I 
 love all men, but you and Gavrousha I 
 love specially. I cannot act otherwise 
 than I am doing now. . . . No, Mura," 
 said he, with an outburst of heartiness 
 and almost joyfully, going up to her, 
 taking her hand, and kissing her fore- 
 head ; "do not ask me not to le.aveyou. 
 You are well and our son is well, and 
 do not require my special care at this 
 moment ; whereas, there, if only you 
 
A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 191 
 
 knew, if only you could see, how much 
 I am wanted ! "' 
 
 He went out, and ?\Iura again began 
 to cry. And then Feokla came in to 
 console her. 
 
 " I cannot understand what he is 
 about !" exclaimed she, wiping her tears. 
 " Every time I look at you, matoushka, 
 I think to myself how unfortunate you 
 are. You have not even enough money 
 to buy proper food . . . eggs or cream, 
 just as though you were a nun." 
 
 rvlura, in fact, at this time had a very 
 scanty diet. Cyril had divided his last 
 month's salary among the parishioners, 
 and they had made shift on such food as 
 Fedkia had procured on credit from the 
 shop. Feokla continued — 
 
 " Day and night, all alone with the 
 baby, as though you were a widow ; and 
 he, your dear husband, our batoushka, 
 is with that ' panna.' ^ . . . The Lord 
 alone knows him." 
 
 Mura looked out of the window to 
 hide her face from Feokla. These last 
 words tore her heart, and she sobbed 
 loudly. From the window she saw 
 Cyril walking down the village road to 
 meet a small fat man, whom she recog- 
 nized as the doctor sent from the town, 
 and a few minutes later a carriage over- 
 took them, in which Nadieshda Alecsie- 
 evna was seated. Cyril and the doctor 
 got into the carriage, and they started 
 off to the other end of the village. 
 Mura turned away from the window. 
 Whether this was mere derangement of 
 
 ^ " Pan," the Polish word for lord, seigneur, 
 squire ; " panna "=lady. The word is also used 
 in Little Russia and in the western provinces. 
 
192 A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 
 
 the nerves, or the effect of Feokla's 
 hints, she could not tell, but at that 
 moment she felt a dislike for Nadieshda 
 Alecsidevna. 
 
 An indistinct noise near the church 
 railings at that moment made her 
 tremble. She wiped her tears and ran 
 down to the entrance. When she saw 
 a carriage driving up to the house her 
 breath failed her, and her heart beat 
 fast. A minute later she was lyin^- 
 senseless in the arms of her mother, 
 Anna Nikolaevna, and the old deacon 
 Obnovlienski was supporting her with 
 his arms. 
 
 They carried Mura into the room anc 
 laid her down on the sofa, where sht 
 remained unconscious. While they were 
 preparing means to bring her round, 
 Feokla, in a whisper, explained to them 
 the position of affairs. 
 
 " You wouldn't believe it, my dear 
 mdtoushka ! It's impossible to understand 
 how she suffers ! Day after day she is 
 left alone with the baby ; she has not 
 even enough to eat ; and all the time 
 Father Cyril is in the peasants' huts with 
 the panna." 
 
 She related everything down to the 
 smallest details. The old deacon lis- 
 tened with his head bent down, as though 
 guilty of his son"s shortcomings. They 
 had summoned him from Ustimievka 
 and brought him to Liigovoe, in order 
 that he should bring his parental in- 
 fluence to bear on his son. Although 
 he perfectly well knew that his remon- 
 strances would be in vain, he neverthe- 
 less dared not disobey the commands of 
 the dignitary's wife, and had started off 
 with her. 
 
A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 193 
 
 " I did not expect to find anything 
 good here," said Mura's mother, with 
 tears in her eyes, " but such things from 
 your son I could never have beheved 
 possible." 
 
 The deacon continued to sit there 
 with his head cast down and his hands 
 on his knees. He knew quite well what 
 his son would say to him. He would 
 
 :^say, " This, batoushka, is only what the 
 
 /'gospel commands me to do ; I am the 
 Samaritan who takes the sick under his 
 care and heals their wounds," and the 
 old man would have nothing to answer 
 
 y to such an argument. 
 
 ; . Mura regained consciousness and got 
 up from the sofa. She was at first silent 
 when her mother questioned her, but 
 then told her all. Anna Nikolaevna 
 told her straight that she would stand 
 his nonsense no longer, but would 
 teach him a lesson which he would 
 remember. She ordered Mura to pack 
 up her baggage at once. Feokla 
 thoroughly approved of this measure 
 and helped her to pack, 
 
 " That's it, my dear matoushka ; you 
 may be sure that this will bring him to 
 his senses," said she. 
 
 Mura was frightened by such a deci- 
 sive step, and was for putting it off a bit, 
 but her mother was inflexible. 
 
 " If he really loves you and your son, 
 you may be sure that he will soon come 
 after you ; and if he does not love you — 
 thedeviltakehim !''addedshe, decisively, 
 and the deacon who heard this, could not 
 stand such an expression, and went out 
 of the room. He went into the village 
 to look for his son, to warn him of the 
 impending evil. In the meanwhile 
 10 
 
194 A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 
 
 Mura's traps were all packed up, and 
 she started off, weeping copious tears, 
 with her mother and son, for the town. 
 
 The doctor had defined the prevalent 
 illness in Liigovoc as typhus fever. He 
 was a short, jovial man, fat and broad- 
 shouldered. He walked about with 
 short but very resolute steps, and at 
 each step moved forward one of his 
 shoulders. His face was red, and he 
 wore a short, square-cut, light-coloured 
 beard with a reddish tinge. He had a 
 turned-up nose, large grey eyes, and the 
 thick hair on his head was close-cropped 
 and stood on end. He was dressed in 
 a grey canvas suit with a canvas cap. 
 
 He set to work energetically, and at 
 once treated Cyril and Madame Krou- 
 pi^ev as though they were old friends. 
 His name was Arkadii Andreevitch 
 Saposhkof. 
 
 " You should rest a bit, madam, other- 
 wise you will be pouring the medicine 
 into their ears instead of their mouths," 
 said he, to Nadieshda Alecsiecvna. 
 
 This was rather an exaggeration. 
 Nadieshda Alecsieevna had fulfilled the 
 duties of sister of mercy very zealously, 
 but on the day when the doctor arrived 
 she was terribly worn out with sleepless- 
 ness and had not closed her eyes for two 
 days. 
 
 He told Cyril that she would make a 
 splendid nurse, and praised the clerk's 
 wife for her skill, but earnestly requested 
 her not to apply mustard plasters. 
 There was one great disndvantage about 
 him : at every moment he employed the 
 most violent and abusive language. 
 
 " Why do you do that ? " shortly asked 
 Cyril, "can't you get on without it .^" 
 
A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 195 
 
 " 1 know it is a senseless habit, 
 batoushka — " perfectly senseless I " an- 
 swered he. " For instance, I am a 
 fairly skilful physician ; you see people 
 are getting better. But take away from 
 me the right to express my feelings, and 
 I swear to you on my honour all my 
 skill would go to the devil ! It helps, 
 you know, it helps wonderfully. I must 
 tell you, batoushka, that ten years ago, 
 when I was a youngster in the military 
 hospital during the war, I picked up the 
 habit." He added that the presence of 
 women always deterred him from this, 
 and that he then had to content himself 
 with biting his tongue. " But you, 
 batoushka, surprise me,'' said he to 
 Cyril. " I've seen a good few batoushkas 
 in my life, old and young, important 
 and modest. But under such circum- 
 stances they all shut themselves up in 
 their cages — they are fearfully afraid of 
 infection. But you, you are a brave 
 batoushka I " 
 
 Saposhkof worked indefatigably, and 
 succeeded in visibly diminishing the epi- 
 demic. This was easier as now in 
 every hut they had bread to eat instead 
 of bran. When Saposhkof heard that the 
 dealers had put up the price of bread, he 
 ran off to the bazaar, in which were 
 several shops kept by Jews/ Arrived 
 here he assumed the tone of an impor- 
 tant functionary, and made a tremendous 
 commotion. 
 
 " Ah, you animals I "cried he, stamping 
 about with his feet. -" Do you know 
 what I can do with you ? I can have you 
 
 ^ The scene of this story being laid in Little 
 Russia, it comes within the pale of Jewish 
 settlement. 
 
196 A RUSSIAN PRIEST, 
 
 all locked up if you don't sell your bread 
 at a reasonable price. I can order a 
 detachment of soldiers at once from the 
 town ! Do you understand ? " 
 
 To further impress them with his 
 powers, he added several very forcible 
 words. The dealers got frightened and 
 brought their prices down to the normal 
 figure. This young doctor acted gene- 
 rally in a very determined manner. He 
 saw that he had not enough volunteers, 
 and that they were not strong enough to 
 get through all that there was to be done. 
 They were only three in all, and his 
 regular patients amounted to thirty. So 
 he collected some old women, brought 
 them to the patients, and made them act 
 as sick nurses, and if they showed fear, 
 or unwillingness, he said — 
 
 " It doesn't matter, you are not 
 worth the air you breathe. What I are 
 you afraid of infection ? Are you afraid of 
 dying? How very sad ! It's all right ; 
 you will die, you will be buried, the 
 worms will eat you — that's all ! Hurry 
 up ! Don't lose time." 
 
 The moujiks were delighted with him, 
 and were especially pleased by his choice 
 selection of language. 
 
 " I assure you many of them recovered 
 from that alone ! " said he to Cyril ; 
 " they hear a familiar word, and their 
 spirits rejoice and revive." 
 
 The deacon Obnovlidnski found Cyril, 
 with the help of a peasant, at the other 
 end of the village. When he entered 
 the hut it was quite dark there. He at 
 once detected a sort of smell which re- 
 called a hospital. He distinguished two 
 groups of people. One of these com- 
 prised the doctor and Nadieshda Alec- 
 
 I 
 
A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 1 97 
 
 sie'evna, who were standing near a high 
 bed. Under the sheepskin cover lay an 
 elderly woman with her head thrown 
 back and her eNes closed. The doctor 
 was looking at a thermometer. The 
 deacon screwed up his eyes trying to 
 distinguish Cyril, but did not find him. 
 He then looked at the other group. On 
 a low bed near the stove lay a boy about 
 ten years old covered with a woman's 
 jacket. Cyril was holding him by the 
 hand. The deacon went up to him. 
 He was frightened when he looked at 
 his son and saw how thin and pale his 
 face had become. Cyril looked as if he 
 ought to be numbered among the 
 patients. 
 
 '' Cyril I " quietly said the old man 
 to his son, almost into his ear ; and when 
 Cyril lifted up his eyes the deacon shook 
 his head. Cyril dropped the sick boy's 
 hand and got up. He kissed his father. 
 " You see, batoushka, what a state we 
 are in ! — terrible ! " said he, turning round 
 to the doctor and to Madame Kroupieev ; 
 and added—" This is my father ; a 
 most excellent old man." 
 
 The doctor got up and shook hands 
 with the deacon. Nadieshda Alecsi^evna, 
 lifted up her head and looked steadily 
 at him, as though trying to distinguish 
 his character. 
 
 " Let us come outside for a moment," 
 said the deacon to Cyril. 
 
 Cyril took up his hat and they went 
 together into the courtyard. 
 
 "You see I have not come alone. Your 
 
 mother-in-law is also here ; . . . she is 
 
 very angry, and your wife is also vexed." 
 
 "And you?" asked Cyril — "are you 
 
 vexed ? " 
 
198 A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 
 
 *' That's not exactly the question. 
 Anna NikoL^evna wishes to take away 
 your wife and child." 
 
 Cyril thought for a moment, as though 
 reflecting whether this was a good thing 
 or not. He then said — 
 
 " It will be well for them to go. They 
 will find things better there. Every- 
 thing here is upset and uncomfortable. 
 When it is ended, Mura will come back." 
 
 *' And won't you be dull, Cyril ? " 
 
 " No," firmly answered he, " I shall 
 not." 
 
 The deacon sat down on an earth 
 mound, and Cyril returned into the hut. 
 The old man gave up all thoughts of 
 influencing his son. The tone in which 
 Cyril spoke quite put a stop to all hopes. 
 It was evident that he was so thoroughly 
 absorbed by his work that no circum- 
 stances, no personal losses of the gravest 
 nature could deter him from the busi- 
 ness to which he had given up his whole 
 existence. Strangely enough, up to that 
 time he had been agitated, but directly 
 he had seen his son he became quite 
 calm, as though convinced by his 
 motionless face and calm speech. 
 
 Absorbed by his thoughts, the deacon 
 suddenly looked up and saw an old man 
 sitting near him on the mound. He 
 looked at his neighbour. He was a very 
 old man, quite grey, with a wrinkled face, 
 with dim and faded eyes. He was weep- 
 ing, and he wiped his eyes with his 
 fists. 
 
 " Eh, old man ! why do you cry ? 
 God is merciful ! " said the deacon, 
 wishing to console him. 
 
 " It's not about that ! it's not about 
 that ! " muttered the old man, in a 
 
A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 1 99 
 
 trembling voice, evidently not noticing 
 who he was addressing. ." It's from joy 
 that I cry — from joy ! '" 
 
 "' And what is there to rejoice about ? " 
 
 " Christ-like people have appeared on 
 the earth —that's it I They are like 
 saints. For example, the batoushka : he 
 is young, but what noble things he has 
 done! . . . Ah! — ah! — ah I I have lived 
 eighty years on the earth, my friend, 
 and never saw the like. Truly he is 
 sent by Divine Providence ! . . . And 
 then the lady and the doctor, how they 
 have worked. . . . They are angels, 
 and not people ! . . . Real angels. 
 And you know, my friend, when we see 
 such people it makes us feel ashamed 
 to sin. . . . Angels I angels I" 
 
 The old man crossed himself and 
 wept. The deacon was much touched 
 and hardly restrained his tears. 
 
 When he and Cyril returned together 
 to the church-house, they found every- 
 thing empty. Cyril went into the bed- 
 room and looked at the chest of drawers: 
 it was empty, and all Mura's belongings 
 had disappeared from it. He looked at 
 the baby's bed, on which lay the bare 
 mattress, and a certain unpleasant feel- 
 ing of loneliness seized him. " To go 
 without even saying good-bye,'' and he 
 mentally reproached ]\Iura ; "how distant 
 we are from one another I " 
 
 He said little to his father. The 
 deacon induced him to go to bed early. 
 He was very anxious about his son's 
 health as he noticed his glowing eyes 
 and parched lips. 
 
 " You are too good to live — too good 1 " 
 sadly thought the old man, sittmg by 
 his son's bedside long after midnight. 
 
200 
 
 A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 
 
 He also wondered to himself whence 
 his son had derived such an enthusiastic 
 spirit. His mother was an irritable 
 woman, and he himself a shy, retiring 
 man. Nazar also was a man of quite a 
 different type, and Mefodii, although 
 only in the third class, was already 
 thinking about how he could secure a 
 good place. 
 
 "Who do you take after?" asked the 
 deacon, not taking his eyes off Cyril. 
 But Cyril was sleeping soundly after 
 forty-eight hours of watching and work. 
 
XV. 
 
 iT was a gloomy day. The 
 chime of the parish church 
 bells echoed through the 
 village with unusual solem- 
 nity. The church was filled 
 to overflowing, and even the 
 space outside the doors was 
 crowded with people. There 
 were as many people there as on the 
 night of Easter eve. After a sorrowful 
 week, Sunday had come. By this time 
 people's minds had already become 
 easier. Dr. Saposhkof's skill, Madame 
 Kroupieev's devotion and liberality, 
 Cyril's energy in urging on an " im- 
 promptu " band of volunteers, had all 
 helped to improve the state of things. 
 Cyril officiated at the mass. Never 
 before had the parishioners seen him 
 as he was now. He had become 
 terribly thin, his cheeks were sunken, 
 and, arrayed in his priestly robes, he 
 seemed to them nobler than he had 
 ever been. Worn out by the fatigues 
 of the past week, he walked slowly, and 
 pronounced the prayers impressively, 
 thoughtfully uttering each word. His 
 voice was low, but the stillness in the 
 church was so great, and the congrega- 
 tion so attentive, that every word was 
 clearly heard. 
 
 Nadi^shda Alecsieevna was in church. 
 She also looked thinner th^n usual, By 
 
202 A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 
 
 her side stood her dark-eyed boy, gazing 
 with astonishment at the church, and 
 all that was going on around him. 
 Madame Kroupieev had never before 
 taken him to church. But she specially 
 wished that he should see on that day 
 how Cyril officiated, and how the people 
 prayed. The deacon Obnovlienski, 
 stood near Dementii in the choir. Not 
 far from the choir stood Dr. Saposhkof, 
 who considered his mission as ended, and 
 was returning the same day to the town. 
 
 The mass ended, and the people went 
 out of church, but they did not disperse 
 as usual, but remained outside the 
 building. The crowd was so dense 
 that it was impossible to move. It was 
 evident that they were awaiting some- 
 thing. After a few minutes the church 
 was quite empty. Only Madame Krou- 
 pieev and the doctor waited for Cyril to 
 come out of the vestry, as she had 
 invited him to the manor-house to 
 dijcitncj-. The clerk's wife had also 
 received an invitation, but as she was a 
 lady of very shy and retiring disposition, 
 she had not joined the others, and had 
 remained standing in an obscure corner 
 of the church. Father Simeon and 
 Dementii bustled about near the altar, 
 and the old deacon waited in the choir. 
 At length Cyril appeared from behind 
 the eikonostasis, and shook hands with 
 Madame Kroupieev and the doctor. 
 Cyril's father joined them, the clerk's 
 v.ife came out from her obscure corner, 
 and they all moved off towards the door. 
 
 Cyril went first. As soon as he ap- 
 peared in the porch, simultaneously, 
 several hundred heads were uncovered, 
 and an indistinct murmur was heard in 
 
 I 
 
A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 20^ 
 
 the crowd, followed by perfect silence. 
 Cyril stopped, surprised by this unex- 
 pected sight, and the others behind him 
 also stood where they were. 
 
 There was a movement in the crowd, 
 and a tall, thin, dried-up old man, with 
 a thin white beard, small eyes, and a 
 small bald head, came out from among 
 the people. He stopped and leant with 
 his hands crossed on a thick stick. 
 
 " Batoushka,'' said he, in a trembling, 
 but in a loud and distinct voice, and 
 with his head shaking — '"'Batoushka, and 
 you ladies and gentlemen ! The Lord 
 has visited us, but on account of our 
 poverty we cannot repay you for your 
 services. But what our feelings are — 
 let the whole village commune say what 
 we feel I I will only say, that such 
 batoushkas and such ladies and gentle- 
 men never were before seen on the earth, 
 and never will be again. That's what 
 we feel I " 
 
 The old man lifted up his arm and 
 wiped his fast- flowing tears with the 
 worn-out sleeve of his coat. 
 
 At this moment a still more unex- 
 pected event occurred. The old man 
 knelt down and made a profound bow 
 to the ground. Many others followed 
 his example. Others re-echoed his 
 words of gratitude, and the mingled 
 sound of their voices made a sort of 
 indistinct murmur. Several women, 
 overcome by emotion, ran up to the 
 porch, seized the end of Cyril's cassock 
 and pressed it to their lips. Tears 
 were in nearly all eyes. Nadieshda 
 Alecsieevna, overcome by this touching 
 scene, leant against a small column, fear- 
 ing that her legs would no longer support 
 
204 A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 
 
 her. This was too much for her unstrung 
 nerves. Cyril, on the other hand, felt 
 a surprising flow of energy and manful- 
 ness. At this moment he felt that a strong, 
 unbreakable bond had been cemented 
 between him and his parishioners, 
 and that now he had a far greater influ- 
 ence than formerly over these people. 
 He felt that all the words he had said to 
 them before, had probably had but little 
 effect, that if he now repeated his advice 
 it would make an irresistible impression 
 on their minds. He had to reply to the 
 old man's speech, so, lifting up his hand 
 with that same majestic motion which 
 he made when appealing for help to 
 Madame Kroupiecv, he said — 
 
 " Listen to me, my friends 1 God has 
 visited you for your sins, but who among 
 us can say that he will not sin again in the 
 future, and thus incur another visitation ? 
 Such a calamity may occur again, and 
 find you unprepared for it. So listen 
 to me, now that your hearts are purified 
 by affliction : swear that you will never 
 drink more than you ought, and that 
 the money which )ou would ha\e spent 
 in ih'is 7'oMa, will be put into a common 
 fund for mutual assistance, against an 
 evil day.'' 
 
 " We will !" answered voices from the 
 crowd. " We will close the public- 
 house, and make an agreement." ' 
 
 •' No, no !" replied Cyrik "An agree- 
 
 ^ The system of local option prevails in 
 Russian villages. The "mir," or village com- 
 mune, has the right to grant a license for a 
 public-house, and to withdraw it. They 
 generally receive a sum of money from the 
 proprietor for the concession. This agreement 
 would be a formal act, closing the public-house. 
 
A RUSSIAN PRIEST. io5 
 
 ment may always be broken. Close the 
 public-house, and you will then have to 
 go thirty versts for vodka j no agree- 
 ments are required. You give me your 
 promise now, on the spot. Do you 
 promise .'' 
 
 " We promise ! '^ thundered the crowd, 
 like one man. 
 
 As soon as Cyril had descended the 
 steps leading to the porch, he found 
 himself in some one's embrace. This 
 proved to be the old man who had made 
 the speech. The embraces went on 
 without end, and extended to the doctor 
 and Madame Kroupieev and the old 
 deacon, who was most affected of all. 
 
 Nadieshda Alecsieevna scarcely man- 
 aged to get into her carriage, the various 
 impressions of the last half hour had 
 quite unnerved her. 
 
 When her guests, who had undergone 
 the process of being hugged by nearly 
 all the villagers, arrived at the manor- 
 house, she was scarcely in a state to 
 receive them. Cyril, on the other hand, 
 was very lively, cheerful, and talked a 
 great deal. He triumphantly reflected 
 that he would in future work among his 
 flock under quite altered circumstances. 
 An indissoluble bond was now estab- 
 lished between him and his parish- 
 ioners, and in one week he had gained 
 an extraordinary influence over them. 
 He spoke about the complete extermina- 
 tion of drunkenness, about establishing 
 a reserve fund, which would enable 
 them to improve their farming opera- 
 tions, about starting schools for grown- 
 up people. 
 
 " Ah, yes, Nadieshda Alecsieevna, we 
 have got Arm" ground under our feet 
 
2o6 A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 
 
 now. We have conquered Liigovoe to- 
 day, and now, with your help, we can do 
 a deal of good work," said he. 
 
 Nadieshda Alecsieevna smiled in a 
 melancholy way, and her eyes looked 
 at him inquiringly and sadly. During 
 dejeuner she hardly ate anything, and 
 took little part in the conversation. 
 Directly after the meal was ended, a 
 taratdika came round for the doctor and 
 for Cyril's father, who had decided to go 
 to the town to find out the state of the 
 situation with regard to the Fortifi- 
 cantofs. 
 
 " Ah ! how sorry I am to say good- 
 bye to you dear, sympathetic people ! 
 Awfully sorry !" said Saposhkof, seating 
 himself on an improvised cushion of 
 hay in the taratdika. " By the way, 
 batoushka, don't forget to look after 
 that woman — what's her name.'* — Pere- 
 pitchka ; you must change her com- 
 press," added he. 
 
 The deacon silently kissed Cyril, and 
 said — " You must think about yourself 
 a bit, my son ; neither (}od nor your 
 conscience forbid this." 
 
 Cyril asked to be remembered to all 
 the family, and to tell Mura that things 
 were now better in Liigovoe, and that 
 she and Gavroushka could return. The 
 clerk's wife also took her leave, perfectly 
 satisfied with her reward for her labours 
 at having been admitted into such 
 brilliant society. 
 
 Nadieshda Alecsieevna and Cyril were 
 left alone. 
 
 " Let us come into the garden," said 
 she ; " I want some fresh air ! " They 
 went out together. The sun was ob- 
 scured by grey, motionless clouds, like 
 
 J 
 
A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 207 
 
 a thickening mist, but without any 
 promise of rain. A faint breeze just 
 stirred the branches of the trees. 
 Here and there on the ground lay dried- 
 up fallen leaves. The air was filled with 
 a pleasant freshness. 
 
 They walked together. The little boy 
 ran on in front. Every nook and 
 corner of the garden was familiar to 
 him as he had passed his whole life 
 in the house and the garden. The boy 
 was a sort of \vell-educated savage who 
 had scarcely seen any people, and 
 looked upon every one besides his 
 mother and the chief bailiff as strangers. 
 The last few weeks, however, he had 
 become accustomed to Cyril and used 
 to call him " my man." 
 ■ Nadieshda Alecsieevna threw a white 
 shawl over her shoulders, and every now 
 and then, shuddering, wrapped it closer 
 round herself. 
 
 " You are not well, Nadieshda Alec- 
 sieevna ! " said Cyril, looking at her 
 pale and exhausted face. 
 
 She smiledbitterly, nervously shrugged 
 her shoulders, and pulled her shawl 
 closer round her body. 
 
 " Yes, I have broken down ; it is time 
 for me to retire from active service," and 
 she gave a short and constrained laugh. 
 Cyril thought, " She is not well,'' and 
 answered nothing. 
 
 " Why don't you answer.'*" continued 
 Madame Kroupieev ; " why don't you 
 say — ' What ! you are such a young 
 hand to retire already : you have 
 scarcely finished one small work, and 
 you want to give up I ' Why don't you 
 say this to me ? Give me your arm — 
 I feel as if I shall fall. 
 
208 A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 
 
 Cyril was not in the habit of givinj^ 
 his arm to ladies, and it seemed to him 
 as if the lon^ sleeves of his cassork 
 would rather interfere with the opera- 
 tion. But Madame Kroupieev, approach- 
 ing him, took his arm herself, and 
 firmly leant on it. 
 
 " You require a rest, Nadieshda Alec- 
 siecvna," said Cyril. Madame Krou- 
 pieev paid no attention to this remark. 
 
 " I have lived a stupid life," said 
 she, in a quiet voice, as though with the 
 intention that he alone should hear her ; 
 "in my whole life there has only been 
 one important fact, and that was the 
 greatest folly which I have committed. 
 . . . The people I have met with have 
 always inspired me with contempt. . . . 
 You are the only man whom I 
 honour ! " 
 
 Cyril felt that she was trembling, and 
 that her quiet voice might at any 
 moment be changed into weeping. 
 
 " We will work together now," said 
 he, quietly. 
 
 " Look here," continued she, in the 
 same quiet voice — "why do you wear 
 that cassock? You don't reallv believe. 
 . . . Take it off!'' 
 
 In her quiet, scarcely audible voice 
 something in the nature of a demand 
 was heard . 
 
 "Who told you that? I believe in 
 God, who has helped me to reach the 
 hearts of these dark people. Without 
 that I should never have done what I 
 have," answered Cyril, in a tone of firm 
 conviction. 
 
 "Very well ! Ikit why do you wear 
 that cassock ? " 
 
 " Why ? Why in order to have the 
 
A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 209 
 
 right to go amongst them in their every- 
 day life." 
 
 "Ah I" murmured she, in a painful 
 tone ; "these are words, mere words I 
 Why are you to give up all for them? 
 Am I not a poor creature, as worthy of 
 compassion as they.'' Have we not 
 also the right to a portion of happiness ? 
 And I want happiness. . . Listen !" 
 
 As though struck by a sudden blow, 
 he suddenly dropped her arm, stepped 
 back a little, and looked at her with an 
 astonished expression. 
 
 " You . . . you ?" said he, feeling that 
 his tongue would not act, luid that he 
 was unable to express himself. 
 
 Nadieshda Alecsieevna approached 
 the trunk of an apple-tree, the branches 
 of which hung over their heads, and put 
 out her arm and leant against it. She 
 did not look at Cyril. Her face looked 
 darker than usual in the grey atmo- 
 sphere, and seemed to express a complete 
 collapse of spirit, and interminable grief 
 She continued speaking in the same 
 low tone which gave the impression that 
 she might burst into tears at any 
 moment. 
 
 " Yes, you are guilty in this matter. 
 Why did you come to me with your 
 uprightness, which I had never met 
 with before in other people, with your 
 deep sincerity, the existence of which I 
 had never before believed in ? You 
 stirred me out of my dreamy listlessness, 
 which at any rate never bred in me any 
 questionings, desires, or demands. I 
 was living as though half asleep, and 
 you aroused me. One inspired look 
 from you electrified me, and I followed 
 you without asking whither or why ; 
 
2IO A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 
 
 and when I have reached such a condi- 
 tion that I cannot do without you, that 
 I am ready to become your humble 
 slave and to follow you everywhere, you 
 look at me with surprise. ^Vhy ? This 
 is not just ; this is the first time you are 
 not sincere with me I You ought to 
 sympathize with me— this is so natural — 
 we have so much in common, and we 
 understand one another so well ! " 
 
 " And all this you say to me, a clergy- 
 man with a wife!" at length rejoined he. 
 
 '* You do not love your wife— you 
 cannot love her. Do not tell me such an 
 untruth I" she answered, sharply. Her 
 voice fell again, and became weaker than 
 before : " Forgive me, and forget all 
 that I have said to you. ... I have 
 made a mistake. ... I shall leave here 
 to-day ! '' 
 
 She quickly walked away down the 
 path, then turned to the left and 
 was lost to sight behind thick bushes. 
 Cyril remained motionless for several 
 seconds. His first impulse was to follow 
 her : it seemed to him that she walked 
 so feebly, that she required support. 
 But then he thought that such assistance 
 would only make matters worse. He 
 turned back. He felt conscious that 
 she was crying, but nevertheless he 
 directed his steps towards the gate. 
 He feared to turn back, and thought 
 with horror of the scene which had 
 just passed, and which was for him 
 perfectly unexpected. 
 
 He returned home with hasty steps, 
 as though he feared pursuit. He now un- 
 derstood that look of liveliness which had 
 appeared on Nadieshda Alecsiecvna's 
 face when he visited her, and the readi- 
 
A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 211 
 
 ness with which she followed him, and at 
 a word from him opened her purse and 
 her granaries to the moujiks who, up to 
 that time, she had never noticed. He 
 recalled also the looks she had cast at 
 him when he was addressing the crowd 
 that day near the church. All this, 
 together with the unexpected conclu- 
 sion which had just taken place, was 
 altogether strange and incomprehensible 
 to him. He was too simple. He could 
 not understand the possibility of talking 
 about love to a man who already had 
 a wife and a child, especially when this 
 man was a priest. It was evening 
 when he reached home. The night air 
 felt damp, and he was anxious to get 
 into his house. Entering and passing 
 through the rooms, he suddenly felt a 
 sense of loneliness. He wanted to see 
 Mura and his son, and a torturing chill 
 crept over his heart. 
 
 For a long time he wandered about 
 the house, the quiet of which was dis- 
 turbed only by the sound of his own 
 steps. This sound, which he had not 
 before noticed, not having been alone, 
 was particularly disagreeable to him. A 
 thousand various thoughts and impres- 
 sions sprang up in his mind, and he 
 thought how hard it was to reconcile 
 the various demands of different people 
 with his life. 
 
 Feokla entered the room, carrying a 
 lighted candle. 
 
 "Ah ! batoushka, there are two letters 
 for you," said she. 
 
 Feokla looked at him furtively. She 
 did not approve of his conduct, and 
 could not forgive him for having let 
 Mura go. 
 
2 12 A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 
 
 " Letters ? " said Cyril, going towards 
 her with sudden animation. 
 
 " Yes, one is lying there on the table. 
 From the town, I suppose ; the vilLige 
 policeman has just brought it. And 
 here is another one, come this moment 
 from the manor-house." 
 
 Cyril stretched out his hand ; Feokla 
 gave him a small note. 
 
 Inside the envelope was a visiting- 
 card, on the back of which was written 
 — " I beg you, as a friend, to forget all 
 that has passed to-day between us, and 
 only to preserve a kindly recollection of 
 me. I am leaving here at once. When 
 / am recovered^ I will return and help 
 you, but now I can be of no use. I have 
 made arrangements that the people 
 shall continue to receive help from me. 
 What a noble and pure soul you 
 have ! " 
 
 Cyril slowly tore up the card and 
 threw the pieces into the waste-paper 
 basket. He saw before him Xadieshda 
 Alecsiccvna's pale face, brilliant eyes, 
 and heaving breast, when she was ad- 
 dressing those strange words to him. 
 And he suddenly felt pity for her, as for 
 a sick person, and regretted that it was 
 not in his power to shake hands with 
 her once more and take leave of her. 
 And after all, she had spent her money, 
 her time, and her strength nobly. 
 
 " Ves, it is merely an illness ; it will 
 pass away, and Xadieshda Alecsiecvna 
 will return, and we shall meet as friends," 
 thought he. 
 
 He then suddenly remembered about 
 the other letter. The envelope was ad- 
 dressed in Anna Nikolaevna's hand- 
 writing. 
 
A RUSSIAN PRIEST. 2 13 
 
 " Ah ! it's not from Mura," thought 
 he, opening- the letter. 
 
 The dignitary's wife wrote laconically, 
 but majestically — "My dear Son-in-law, 
 Cyril Ignatievitch, — Your mad doings 
 have driven us almost out of our wits, 
 and we were compelled to take from 
 you your wife, our daughter, together 
 with our grandson. We imagined, 
 naturally enough, that the following 
 day you would fly to the town to your 
 family, but we were mistaken — the idea 
 even does not seem to have occurred to 
 you. Your wife is weeping, but is too 
 proud to return to you. You will only 
 find yourself again in your family when 
 you have come to your senses. Wishing 
 you and my daughter every happiness, 
 I remain your mother-in-law, Anna 
 FORTIFICANTOF. P.S.— The bishop is 
 willing to appoint you to a place in 
 the merchants' church, if you wish it." 
 
 Cyril folded up the letter and replaced 
 it on the table. He walked twice up 
 and down the room, then stopped oppo- 
 site the window and looked out on the 
 village. In the thickening shades of 
 evening, the peasants' huts looked like 
 indistinct patches ; here and there lights 
 were visible. He felt that for the sake 
 of personal happiness, for the sake of 
 a peaceful and plentiful life, he would 
 abandon this grey village and settle in 
 the town in the rich parish of the mer- 
 chants' church. But immediately this 
 idea seemed to him absurd and un- 
 feasible. 
 
 " To come to one's senses ! That means 
 to enter on the well-trodden path, to live 
 without aims in life, without ideas ! No, 
 I will never come to my senses ! Never I 
 
214 A RUSSIAN PRIEST. ', ; 
 
 Let me then live alone — let them even 
 deprive me of my son I '' 
 
 But then he felt that his son was 
 necessary to him, and that sooner or 
 later he would claim him. He would 
 teach his son how he must live; on this 
 point he would never yield. He would 
 instil his own ardent spirit into him, 
 and make him a man like himself. And, 
 after all, was he alone ? These grey 
 huts, under whose roofs so many im- 
 portant lives were passing — was he not 
 necessary to them ? Had he not con- 
 quered them, and made himself dear 
 to them ? Cyril remembered the sick 
 woman the doctor had spoken to him 
 about. He put on his cassock, took his 
 stick, and with a tirm step descended 
 into the street. 
 
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