“Listen, hark ye about the Trinity!”
“What is there worth listening to? It is impossible to make out your meaning. It is like mat-weaving when the ends have got lost.”
“I proclaim heavenly mysteries, I am inspired!”
“Stop your rubbishy ravings!”
“Cursed, cursed, Anathema!”
This council of peasants in the forest of the Vetlouga resembled in many respects the Council of the Churches held at the Imperial Court of Byzantium in the time of Julian the Apostate, fourteen centuries before.
Tichon watched and listened. It seemed to him that these were not men who were discussing about God, but beasts who sought to devour one another. The peace of his beloved desert had been destroyed for ever.
Voices were heard from outside the windows. Mother Golendoukha, Mothers Merope and Onleya looked out and saw that a crowd was coming out from the wood beside the monastery. It was then remembered that during a religious dispute at Kerjenetz how some laymen, labourers and boatmen who had been bribed, came to the hut where the meeting was held, and fell upon the monks with pitchforks, clubs and axes.
Fearing lest something similar might happen now, the women rushed into the chapel, and bolted the door with the strong oaken bolts, just as the crowd was already knocking and calling out:—
“Open! open!”