A prayer was offered, in which Ivan was far too bewildered to join; he scarcely even observed that it was unlike any prayer he had ever heard before, being extempore. Then the young pastor opened his Bible, read a passage, and began to expound it. But Ivan heard little; for he could not withdraw his eyes from the Czar, who was listening intently to every word, and who found and read every passage of Scripture referred to, making constant use of the little eye-glass he always carried in his sleeve.[61]
After some time, however, it occurred to Ivan that what interested the Czar so deeply ought to interest him too. Surely some mysterious power must dwell in the words which could thus enchain a soul already filled with weighty cares, tremendous responsibilities, soaring projects. Of what was the pastor speaking?
A sentence reached his ear that caught and held his thoughts, making him also an absorbed and eager listener. It would not be true to say that he forgot thenceforward the presence of the Czar—that would have been impossible—but he felt it only as an influence which added a conclusive weight of evidence and a potent undefinable charm to all that was said.
The pastor’s theme was the forgiveness of sins, a subject now full of interest for Ivan. He had long outgrown the stage of spiritual life in which he said that he felt no “abyss” within him. Prayer, study of the Scriptures, and intercourse with Clémence had by this time taught him much of the hidden evil of his own heart. Of his sins he could say now in uttermost sincerity, “The remembrance of them is grievous unto me; the burden of them is intolerable.” How he was to be relieved of that burden had never been very clear to him. He knew that pardon had come to mankind through Christ, and that it was connected in some way with his death upon the cross; but how it was to reach his own need, to avail for his own sin, he scarcely knew. He supposed that he ought to read his Bible and to pray, to repent truly, to obey God in all things, and to put his whole trust in him; and this was what for some time past he had been earnestly endeavouring to do.
But this new teacher, to whose voice his Czar was listening with such reverence, spoke of the death of Christ as an atonement not merely for the sins of the world, but for the special transgressions of each and every believer in him. “I can say,” he added, “to each one present here, ‘Thy sin was laid upon him.’ Whoso believes in him, accepts the grace he offers, is forgiven and justified through him. Such has, even now, everlasting life, and cannot come into condemnation, but has passed from death unto life.”
Ivan listened, wondering. Could this indeed be true? Might it be possible for him to leave that room, not as he had entered it, hoping, praying, longing to be one day forgiven and accepted of God, but in actual present possession of that priceless boon? This “glad evangel” would have seemed to him far too glad to be anything more than a beautiful dream, had not the radiant countenance of the Czar given the clearest evidence that he believed it. When the lecture was concluded—and to Ivan it seemed far too short—he hastened home to search his well-worn Testament, and to find out, if he could, from its pages whether these things were so.
After some hours of reading and prayer he reached the conclusion that it was he himself who had hitherto been blind and stupid. He marvelled that he had not earlier discovered what now seemed to shine upon him from every page of the Book he loved—the glorious truth of present forgiveness and acceptance through faith in Christ. And thus that night one who had hitherto only “believed” dimly and afar off “on the name of the Son of God” came to “know that he had eternal life,” and to “believe” consciously and fully “on the name of the Son of God.”[62]
A strange new joy burst upon his soul, flooding it with sunshine. He knelt down and thanked God for teaching him this truth. He could say now “my God” and “my Saviour.” He knew now what was meant by those words of the apostle, “Therefore being justified by faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ.”
At length he rose from his knees, went to the window of his apartment and looked out. The town clock had just struck the second hour after midnight. The scene without was calm and still, sleeping in the soft summer moonlight. It seemed to Ivan a beautiful world, over which God was watching, and which he had so loved as to send his Son to die for it. “To die for me!” he said in his heart. “What can I do to show my love and gratitude to him?”
As he stood looking out, a solitary figure passed down the silent empty street. Ivan saw it was the Czar, who was only then returning from the cottage on the hill. His attendants were well accustomed to their master’s habit of taking long and lonely walks, and his absence, even for many hours, would occasion neither question nor remark. If, instead of communing with nature, he chose to spend the midnight hours in prayer and study of the Scriptures, none need know it.