HERE WE SEE THE idea of the Antichrist, who, for a great part of the people, especially among the innumerable sects of “the Raskol,” is inseparably connected with the Temporal Power.
The scene of the “Old Saint” deserves being quoted in full, for it explains the writer’s method and enables us to understand the country we are studying.
“He was small, white, emaciated, sixty years of age. I was struck with him the first time we met. He was in every way different from the other convicts, his look so calm and peaceful! I remember the pleasure it gave me to look at his clear, bright eyes surrounded by fine wrinkles. I often conversed with him. In all my life I seldom came across such a good creature, or a soul so frank…. He was sent to Siberia for an unpardonable crime. Following some conversions to Orthodoxy, due to a religious movement amongst the ‘Primitive Saints’ of Starodub, the Government, desirous of furthering the good work there, erected a church of the Orthodox faith. This old man, in company with other fanatics, had decided to ‘resist in the name of “The Truth,”’ as they said, and set fire to the building. The instigators were all sentenced to transportation for life, the old man one of the first. He had been a well-to-do tradesman directing a flourishing concern. He left behind him at home a wife and children, but went into exile unflinchingly. In his blindness he considered his trials as ‘witnessing to the Faith.’ After spending some time in his company, one could not help asking oneself the question, ‘How is it possible for a man as gentle as an infant thus to rebel?’ I frequently discussed matters of ‘faith’ with him, but he never once wavered in his convictions. His arguments never contained the least trace of rancour or resentment. It gave me pleasure to study him, for he never showed the least sign of pride of boastfulness.
“The old man was respected by everybody in the settlement without its making him at all vain. The convicts named him ‘Our little uncle,’ and never annoyed him, and I can well understand what ascendancy this gave him over his fellow-religionists. Notwithstanding the appearance of firmness with which he met his lot, his heart seemed to contain some secret, incurable sorrow, which he was determined to keep hidden from all eyes.
“We both slept in the same dormitory. One night, lying awake at four in the morning, I heard a muffled, timid sob. The old man was seated on the stove reading his Greek Church formulary manuscript. He was weeping and, from time to time, praying in a low voice, ‘Lord, do not forsake me! Lord, strengthen me! My poor children, my dear little ones, I shall never see you again!’ I cannot tell you how sad I felt.”
In connection with this, I will give a translation of the death of Michailoff, a piece of terrible realism:
“I knew little of this Michailoff. He was a young man, barely twenty-five; tall, thin, and with a remarkably good figure. He was a convict in the special division (reserved only for great criminals), extremely silent, and the whole time plunged in mournful abstraction. He had literally ‘dried up’ whilst in prison. So, at least, the other convicts, who always spoke well of him, described it. I only remember that he had beautiful eyes, and, for the life of me, I do not know why he so persistently comes into my mind….
“He died one afternoon at three o’clock, on a fine, bright day when it was freezing hard outside. I remember that the sun was shining and sending its oblique rays through the greenish frosted window-panes into the hospital ward, straight on to this poor wretch. He was unconscious, and took a long time to die. The death agonies lasted several hours. Since the morning he had not been able to recognize any one of those about him. Efforts were made to alleviate his pain, for it was evident that he was suffering a good deal. He breathed with difficulty, taking deep breaths, each accompanied with rattling noises. His chest heaved as if in want of air. He threw off the bed-coverings, then his clothes, and finally tore up his shirt as if it were an insupportable burden. It was frightful to see his long, attenuated body, with the skin of the arms and legs clinging to the bones, a cave-like stomach and a raised chest, with ribs sticking out – like those of a skeleton. The only thing to be seen on that body was a small wooden cross and the convict’s chains. Certainly it looked as if his emaciated feet could easily have slipped the irons. For half an hour before his death all noise ceased in the room, and all conversation was in whispers. Those who had to move walked softly. The convicts spoke little and of nothing in particular; now and then they glanced towards the dying man, who was slowly passing away. Finally his unsteady hand searched for, and at least found, the wooden cross, and tried to tear it away as if even that was too heavy for him and stifled him. The cross was removed; ten minutes later he was dead.
“We knocked at the door to call the orderly on duty and informed him of what had happened. A warder entered the room and looked at the dead man in a stupid manner, and went to call the medical officer, who came at once. He was a good young fellow, rather a fop, with quite a pleasing exterior. His footfalls rang through the silent room as he quickly stepped up to the corpse. With an air of indifference, no doubt assumed for the occasion, he felt the pulse, tapped the chest, indicated by a gesture that all was over, and left the room. The Commandant was at once notified, for the criminal was of importance, he belonged to the special division, and special formalities were required for identifying the deceased. Whilst waiting for the guard, one of the convicts in a low voice suggested that it might be as well to close the dead man’s eyes. Another, who heard him, noiselessly approached the dead man and lowered the eyelids. Seeing the glittering cross on the pillow, the man picked it up, looked at it, and then placed it around Michailoff’s neck, and crossed himself. Meanwhile the face stiffened; a ray of light touched the surface; the mouth was half opened, showing two rows of good white teeth shining between the thin lips that clung to the gums.
“At last the sergeant of the guard appeared, fully equipped, helmet on head, followed by two hospital orderlies. He came forward with noisy step, looked suspiciously at the convicts, who, now in a circle round him, glared at him.
“When close to the body he stopped abruptly as if glued to the spot. It seemed as if he were frightened. This skeleton, stark and naked, with nothing on but the irons, seemed to overawe him. The sergeant loosened his chin-strap, took off his helmet – a thing no one present would have thought possible – and crossed himself slowly and ostentatiously. He was a fine-looking, grizzled old veteran. I recall that at that moment old Chekunoff’ss white head was close to that of the Sergeant. Chekunoff kept his fixed on the man, looking straight into the whites of his eyes and taking in every fleeting expression. Their eyes met. All of a sudden Chekunoff’s lower lip was seen to tremble, it then contracted, showing the teeth, and the convict, pointing with a quick movement to the dead man, murmured as he turned away: ‘After all, he also had a mother!’“I remember how those words pierced me like an arrow. Why did he say that?… The corpse was removed on the camp bed on which it lay. The crumpled straw mattress creaked and the chains rattled on the floor amidst the general silence. They were taken up, and the corpse was removed. Forthwith the convicts began to talk noisily. The sergeant was overheard ordering some one to fetch the armourer. The dead had to be unchained….”
Here we see his method laid bare, with all its merits and its defects, its insistence, and the minuteness of the details of every action.
