CHAPTER V
Captain Pirsky had received the following instructions from the Bishop of Nishni-Novgorod.
“The haunt of the Raskolniks is to be approached secretly, lest the people set themselves on fire. Should they shut themselves up in their monastery or chapel the soldiers must surround them in close order, and watch their shelter carefully night and day. At all costs prevent a fire. Try and persuade them to surrender, and give them hope that they will all be freely pardoned. And when they surrender make a list of their names, put them into footstocks or chains to make flight impossible, and send them with all their goods under guard to Nijni. But if, unmoved by your persuasions, they refuse to surrender, stubbornly remaining shut in, you must get them out as best you can by siege and famine; catching the ringleaders that their heresy may not spread. Take them prisoners by force or starvation, but avoid bloodshed. Should they set their robbers’ den or chapel on fire, you must flood it with water, and hacking away windows and doors, drag them out alive.”
Captain Pirsky, a brave old retired soldier, who had been wounded at Poltava, considered the destruction of monasteries, a “cunning invention of the army of long-haired popes,” and would have preferred to have encountered the severest fire of the Swedes or Turks, than to meddle with the Raskolniks. They chose to burn themselves and he always received the blame! “The captain and other lay officers should exercise more caution and skill, for it is obvious that the Raskolniks seek death in the flames for fear of the Captain.” Pirsky explained that the Raskolniks were driven to death, not by fear but by their stubborn hate of the world. “They are filled with anger against us, whom they consider apostates, and would rather suffer death than accept the new faith, so inflated and stubborn are they over minutest trifles.” But these explanations were not listened to at the bishop’s palace and the remonstrances continued.
With regard to the “Bank of Mosses,” he made up his mind to act with great caution and prudence. In the evening, ordering his troops to retire into the wood and not to stir, he approached the chapel alone, unarmed, carefully inspected the place and knocked at the window, repeating a prayer after the manner of the Raskolniks.
“Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy upon us!”
No one replied. All was quite as the grave in the chapel, nobody could be seen. The tree tops gently rustled. The fresh night breeze was rising. “If they set themselves on fire we are done for,” thought the captain; he knocked again and repeated:—
“Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy upon us.”
Again silence, troubled only by the marsh crickets and a dog howling in the distance. A falling star flashed across the dark sky in a fiery curve and dispersed in sparks. He felt terrified as though he really were knocking at a grave.
“Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy upon us,” he uttered for a third time.
The shutter at the window moved. A light fell through the chink. At last the window slowly opened and Cornelius’ head peered through it.
“What do you want? Who are you, and why have you come?”
“By his Majesty Tsar Peter’s decree we have come to exhort you to tell us who you are, of what rank, what name, how long you have lived in these woods, what permission you had to leave your houses and by what decree you live here? If you have any doubts as to Holy Church and her sacraments, you should describe them in writing and send your teachers to deliberate with the chiefs of the clergy, without fear or mistrust.”
“We peasants and commoners have assembled here in the name of Jesus Christ, and we will do what is right by our wives and children,” replied the old man in a slow, measured, solemn tone. “We desire to die in the flames for our ancient Faith and we will not give ourselves into your hands; you are persecutors, and your Faith is new. Should any of you desire to be saved let him join us in the flames. We shall be with Christ to-day.”
“Enough, friend,” replied the captain in a kindly voice, “the Lord be with you. Put away this seditious project, disperse to your houses and no one will hurt you. You may return to live happily in your villages. You will pay a double tax; and that’s all.”
“Ah captain, tell that to children in arms; we folks know what we have to expect. Fine talk, and there it ends.”
“I swear, upon my honour, to let every one of you go free without hurt,” exclaimed Pirsky. He spoke the truth; he really had decided to let them off, contrary to the decree, on his own responsibility, if they would only surrender.
“But why should we waste our strength in shouting, our voices might give way.” “I am getting hoarse,” he added with a smile. “The window is so high I can scarcely hear. Look here! Drop a leather line and I will fasten myself to it and you can pull me up through the window, but a wider one than this. I could not get through this one. I am alone, you are many; there is nothing for you to fear. We will talk, and with God’s help we may come to an understanding.”
“To what purpose should we talk? How can we, destitute beggars, vie with such as you,” answered Cornelius, sarcastically revelling in his power and superiority, “between us and you there is a great gulf fixed; none of our people, if he wished, could go to you, none of yours could join us. I would advise you, Captain, to go back. We shall light up directly.”
The window was flung to. Again silence ensued, only the wind rustled in the tree tops, and the crickets chirped from the swamps.
The captain returned to his soldiers and treated each man to a glass of vodka. “We will not fight with them,” he said, “there are but few men among them, mostly women and children. We will break open the door and catch them without any weapons.”
The soldiers prepared ropes, hatchets, ladders, pails and barrels full of water, and long poles each ending with an iron hook, to haul the human beings out of the flames. At last when it was quite dark the men approached the chapel along the border of the wood, then across the glade on all-fours, hiding in the tall grass and behind bushes like sportsmen beating their game.
Arrived at the chapel, which was still as the grave, they began to put up their ladders.
Suddenly, the window opened and Cornelius cried:—
“Back! When the powder and saltpetre take fire the falling beams will kill you!”
“Surrender,” cried the captain; “we will take you somehow, see we have muskets and pistols—”
“You have pistols, we have the club of Christ,” replied a voice from within.
Behind the soldiers a priest appeared with a cross and began to read the bishop’s missive.
“He who kills himself unlawfully is a lost man, he loses his temporal life, and draws upon himself everlasting torment.”
The muzzle of an old cannon appeared in the window, a blank cartridge was fired, not to kill but to intimidate the persecutors.
The priest hid himself behind the soldiers, while old Cornelius brandishing his fist yelled:—
“Hell’s torches! Ashes of Sodom! Sands of the ruined tower of Babylon! give me only time, dogs, you won’t escape me. I will treat you better yet. The Lord Jesus Christ will soon come and fight you, all will be fulfilled, thrones will crumble, and your bones will be thrown to the dogs like Jezebel’s! We shall burn in earthly fire, you will burn in the flames everlasting! Forge then innumerable blades, prepare then the most cruel torments, invent terrible deaths, our joy will only be the keener! Kindle, friends! the Lord is with us!”
Women’s sarafans and garments, coats, skirts, shirts, men’s tunics were thrown out of the window:—
“Here, persecutors, take them, cast lots, we need nothing. Naked we came into the world; naked we will return to the Lord!”
“Spare at least your children, you damnable crew!” cried the captain in despair.
A funeral chant, soft and low, arose within the chapel.
“Force the door!” ordered the captain.
All was ready within. The firing was prepared. The hemp, flax, pitch, straw and bark were piled in large heaps. The wax candles before the icons were so slightly fixed that the least vibration would cause them to drop into the troughs of gunpowder. This was purposely arranged to make self-burning look less like suicide. The children were seated on benches, to which their garments had been nailed so that they could not run away, their hands and feet were bound to prevent their struggling, their mouths were tied round with handkerchiefs to stifle their cries. On the floor a quantity of frankincense in clay vessels had been lit, so that the children should be suffocated before their elders and not see the real terror of the conflagration.
A woman had just been delivered of a baby girl. She was laid on the bench to be baptized with fire.
Then having taken off their clothes they all put on new white shrouds, and on their heads crowns adorned with eight-branched crosses in red ink, they knelt in rows, tapers in hand, to meet the Bridegroom.
Old Cornelius lifting up his hands prayed in a loud voice:—
“Lord God accept us, Thy unworthy servants! We are weak and powerless, and dare not fall into the hands of our enemies. Protect this chosen flock, which follows Thee, the good Shepherd, fleeing the cruel wolf—Antichrist. Save and be gracious unto us. Thou knowest the destinies of all, make us firm and steadfast to bear the suffering. Have mercy upon us O Lord, have mercy upon us. Holy Virgin, we implore thee, have pity upon us; we die for Thy pure love’s sake!”
All repeated after him.
“We die for Thy pure love’s sake!”
Most pathetic was this human cry to God!
At this moment the soldiers, having surrounded the church, and climbed the ladders, began to demolish with their axes the thick log walls, the windows frames and doors.
The walls shook. The tapers fell, but every time chanced to miss the gunpowder troughs. Then at a sign from the old monk, Kirucha seized a bundle of tapers, burning before the icon of the Virgin, threw them into the gunpowder and jumped aside. The powder exploded, the fuel blazed up, streams of fire spread along the floor and walls. Thick smoke, first white, then black, filled the chapel, it choked the flames. Then fiery tongues alone pierced the smoke and hissing, like darts of serpents, approached the people, licked them and retreated as in play.
Terrible screams burst out. And through the groans of the sufferers, through the noise of the flame, continued the song of triumphant joy:—
“The Bridegroom cometh at midnight.”
Only two or three minutes passed between the kindling of the fire and Tichon losing his consciousness, yet what he saw, nothing could erase from his memory.
The old monk seized the newly-born infant, blessed it in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, and threw her into the flames—the first victim.
John the Simpleton stretched his hands out towards the fire, as if to meet the coming Lord, whom he had been expecting all his life long.
Kilikeya’s shroud had caught fire, her hair was ablaze, surrounding her head like a crown of flames, she felt no pain and remained immovable; her eyes wide open; in the fire no doubt she saw the holy city, the New Jerusalem, descending from the heavens.
Petka Jisla stooped and running forward threw himself into the fire head foremost, like a gay swimmer diving.
Tichon also beheld something joyous and intoxicating in the terrible glare and noise. He remembered the song.
Green grass is growing at her feet,
Starred with florets blue and sweet.
He seemed to recognise these flowers in the transparent blue heart of the flames. Their celestial colour promised ineffable bliss, but the way to it lay through the Red Death.
The besiegers succeeded in removing several logs. The smoke escaped through the opening. Soldiers with the help of poles were hauling the victims out and pouring water over them. Mother Theodulia, a centenarian, was dragged out by her legs; Vitalia caught hold of her and was also rescued, but she died the next moment, her body was one wound. Father Spiridon, when pulled out, cut his throat. He lived four hours longer, crossed himself continually after the manner of the Raskolniks, reviled the Niconians and rejoiced, as the captain stated in his report, at having mortally wounded himself.
Others, after the first contact with the flames, of their own accord rushed to the opening, trampling upon one another, and climbing over the pile of bodies, cried to the soldiers:
“Help! help! we burn!”
Animal fear took the place of angelic ecstasy. Those who remained endeavoured to hold back the fleeing. An old man had clutched with both hands the edge of the opening, ready to jump out, but his grandson, a boy of seventeen, knocked a stick across his hands, so hard that he let go and the grandfather fell back into the flames. A woman was escaping with her little boy, but the father caught hold of the child’s legs, swung him in the air and dashed out his brains against a beam. The porter of the monastery, a stout man, who had fallen into a pool of burning pitch, writhed and leapt as in a dance. “Like a fish in a frying pan,” thought Tichon with sinister irony, and closed his eyes so as not to see.
The heat and smoke were stifling him. Purple harebells on a blood-red field were beckoning to him and ringing plaintively. He felt that Sophia was nestling up and embracing him. And under her shroud, her young, innocent body was fresh as some flower, blossoming in the furnace. And still living voices continued to chant amid the groans of the dying.
“Lo, the Bridegroom cometh!”
“My Bridegroom, my beloved Christ!” whispered Sophia into Tichon’s ear. He felt that the fire which consumed him inwardly was more intense than the flames of the Red Death. They dropped together, as in one embrace the bride and bridegroom lie down upon the nuptial couch.
The burning woman, arrayed with the sun and winged with fire, carried him away into the flaming abyss.
The heat was so intense that the soldiers had to stand back; two were scorched, one had fallen in the chapel and perished.
The captain was angry.
“Fools, accursed fools! I’d rather fight the Swede or the Turk than have to do with these beggars!”
The old man’s face was paler than when he lay wounded on the battlefield of Poltava.
Fanned by the wind the flame rose higher and higher with a noise like thunder. Burning brands flew about like fiery birds. The whole chapel was a furnace, and in this furnace as in the fiery pit of hell, writhed a pile of contorted human bodies. Skins were bursting, the blood bubbled, the fat boiled, an atrocious odour filled the air. Suddenly the logs of the roof fell. A column of fire shot into the sky like a gigantic torch.
Earth and sky were lit up by the red glow, as though the last fire which was to consume the world were already blazing.
Tichon recovered consciousness in the wood, on the fresh dewy grass.
He learnt afterwards that at the last moment, when he had swooned, Cornelius and Kirucha had taken him up in their arms and rushed into the sanctuary. Under the altar was a trap-door, which led into a secret chamber and thence, following a subterranean passage, they reached the wood, a thicket where the persecutors could not find them.
Almost all the preachers of “Self-burning” acted in this way: they let the others perish, but they and their closest disciples ran away in order to continue their teaching.
Tichon had taken a long time to recover. The monk and Kirucha sprinkled him repeatedly with water; they thought he would die, though his burns were not severe.
At last he opened his eyes and asked:—
“Where is Sophia?”
The monk looked at him with his lucid, kindly eyes.
“Do not fret, my child, do not sorrow for your bride. Her soul is in heaven, together with the holy martyrs.”
And lifting his eyes to heaven he crossed himself and said with joyful accents:—
“Eternal remembrance be to God’s servants, who of their own accord sought death by flames. Rest, beloved, until the day of Resurrection, and pray for us; we too will drink the cup when our time comes. It has not come yet, we must go on labouring for Christ. You too, my son, have passed through the test of fire,” he continued, turning to Tichon, “you are dead to the world, and have risen in Christ. Endeavour then to live this second life not for yourself, but for God. Put on the armour of light, rise and walk, be a soldier of Christ, a preacher of the Red Death.”
And he added with cheerfulness:—
“We will go to the Ocean, to the border land: there also we will kindle fires, but we will be bold, we will burn innumerable brethren. God will bless our zeal and the whole of Russia will blaze up, and after Russia the whole world.”
Tichon said nothing, he had closed his eyes. The monk thinking he had again fallen asleep, went to the hut to prepare herbs for curing burns. Then Tichon, left to himself, turned away from the still bloody sky, and pressed his face against the ground.
The moist earth eased his pain, and he felt that the Earth had heard his prayer, that she had saved him from the Red Death, and that he was coming forth from her womb anew, like a babe, like a dead man resuscitated. And he flung his arms over her, kissed her as though she were alive, praying:—
Wonderful Queen, Mother of God!
Earth, thou fertile Mother of all.
A few days later, when the monk was preparing to leave, Tichon escaped from him. He now understood that the church of the “Old Believers” was no better than the church of the Orthodox. He had decided to return into the world, there to seek the true faith until he found it.