When Feofan began to speak of the utility of this new college every feature of his face lighted up and began to twinkle with almost exaggerated merriment: it sometimes seemed as if he himself were laughing at his own words.
“A College will exercise a more liberal spirit than is possible to any single director. The fact also should not be overlooked, that a College presents no spirit of antagonism to the government. For the people do not recognise the difference which exists between the Spiritual and the Temporal powers, and when they behold the glory and honour which surrounds a pontiff, they think that he is a second Tsar, co-equal, or even greater than he. And when a dispute arises between the two, all will range themselves on the side of the Spiritual, rather than worldly lord, flattering themselves that by so doing they are serving God’s cause, and that far from defiling, they are even sanctifying themselves by the shedding of blood. The evils which this error calls forth are indescribable. A survey of the history of Constantinople, prior to the time of Justinian, proves this. The Papacy gained ascendancy by no other means; it divided the Roman Empire, arrogated to itself immense power, and brought about the ruin of several kingdoms. There is no need to recall similar facts in our own history! Such evils are impossible in an ecclesiastical college. The people will become peaceable and will abandon all hope of winning the support of the clergy in their rebellions. Lastly, a spiritual college will be to a certain extent a school of clerical administration, where the members can learn with ease the science of politics. Let us hope that in Russia, with the help of God, the time will soon come when the clergy will lose their uncouthness, and that the future will bring us great goodness as the result of our labour.”
The bishop looking straight at the Tsar with an obsequious smile, in which cunning curiously bordered on impertinence, and concluded with the solemn words:—
“Thou art Peter, and upon this rock will I build My Church!”
Silence followed. Only the fraternity of the “Most Drunken Conclave” continued their uproar; the honest Prince James Dolgorúki murmured, so that no one could hear him:—
“Render to God the things that are God’s, and unto Caesar the things that are Caesar’s.”
“And you, Father, what think you of this business?” said the Tsar to Stephen.
While Prokopovitch was speaking, Stephen had kept his head lowered, his eyes closed, as though asleep; and his old bloodless face seemed dead. Yet Peter thought that he discerned in this face what he most feared and hated: the quiet spirit of the rebel. Hearing the Tsar’s voice the old man started up, as though awaking from a doze, and gently said:—
“How can I, your Majesty, speak on such a subject as this! I am old and foolish. Let the young talk, we old ones will listen.”
He inclined his head lower still and added in a murmur:—