Theodosius looked as if he would reply, but said nothing; a sarcastic smile distorted his little face, which resembled the snout of a bat, and he shrank back into himself, green with rage, as if he had taken poison. Well he understood what “exhortation” meant. Pitirime, the bishop sent to Kerjenetz to convert the Raskolniks, had only recently reported to the Emperor: “They have been tortured with exceeding cruelty; even their entrails came out.” And the Tsar in his ukase forbade that father Pitirime should be blamed for his “apostolic work.” It is easy to speak about love, but in reality, as the Raskolniks complained, “Dumb teachers stand in the torture chambers, in their hands they hold the knout instead of the Gospels, and fire takes the place of Apostles to instruct them.”
This was, however, the same ecclesiastical policy of dissimulation Theodosius himself had been preaching; but Feofan had out-run him and he felt his reign was over.
“There is nothing to be astonished at,” continued the prelate in a loud voice, “if uncultured peasants, in their extreme ignorance, err from the right way and commit mad acts. What is astonishing is that among the great nobles, among the Tsar’s servants, some are to be found, who in their wisdom and feigned humility are worse than Raskolniks. It has come so far that even the most worthless insolently take part in vile actions. Already the scum of the people, unprincipled men, born for nothing else than to be fed by the labour of others, rise up against their Tsar, against the Lord’s Christ. When they receive their daily bread, they ought to wonder and say, ‘Whence cometh this to us?’ The story of King David is repeating itself; David, against whom the blind and lame rebelled. Our pious monarch who has done so much for Russia, by whose providence all have received security and honour, has only earned himself a bad name, and his life is full of sorrows. Having prematurely aged himself by hard toil, and when unmindful of his health, thinking only of the country’s welfare, he is rushing, as it were, on to his death, there are yet those who say, ‘He lives too long.’ O sorrow, shame on thee, thee, O Russia! let us beware lest the whole world say of us: ‘The Tsar is worthy of such an empire, but the people are unworthy of such a Tsar.’”
When Feofan had finished, Peter said:—
“God, who sees my heart and conscience, knows how dear to me is my country’s welfare. But the diabolic work against me. Never has a ruler been confronted with so many attacks and calamities as I have. Foreigners say I govern slaves. But English freedom is out of place here. It would do as much good as peas thrown against a fortress wall. You must first know a people before you can decide how to govern them. It is difficult for any one to judge me who does not know everything. God alone knows the truth. He is my judge——”
Nobody listened to the Tsar. All were drunk. He stopped without having said all he meant to say, made a sign, and the priests resumed the hymn to Bacchus, the fools began shouting. The “Spring Chorus,” imitating the different birds, from the nightingale to the warbler, was so piercing that the walls re-echoed with its shrill noise.
Everything went on as usual. The guests drank and ate till they lost their senses. The dignitaries fought, pulled one another’s hair, and then making peace rolled together under the table. Prince Shakhovskoi, knight of the burlesque order of Judas, received for money, boxes on the ear. An old boyar, who refused to drink, had brandy poured down his throat through a funnel. The Kniaz-Pope vomited, from the height of his throne, over the wigs and coats of those sitting under him. The drunken fool, the princess-abbess Rjévskaya, danced skittishly, catching hold of the bottom of her skirts, and sang in a husky voice:—
Shin, shen shivargen!
Once, once, again!
Speed, speed, speed, round,