Peter and Alexis: The Romance of Peter the Great

by Dmitry Sergeyevich Merezhkovsky

Suddenly a dazzling white light filled the cell, followed by such a deafening peal of thunder that it almost seemed as if the rock, forming the cell, had been shattered.

The two old men ran out and saw the dry pine, which rose by itself above the underwood on the border of the clearing, was burning like a candle, against the black sky. The lightning had struck it.

Father Sergius began to run, crying in a loud voice, “Tichon! Tichon!” Father Hilarion followed him. They found Tichon lying unconscious at the very foot of the burning tree. They lifted him up, and carried him into the cell, where they laid him, there being no other bed, in one of the coffins. At first they thought he had been killed by the lightning. Father Hilarion was getting ready to say the prayers for the dying, but Father Sergius stopped him and began to read the Gospels. When he came to the passage, “Verily, verily I say unto you, the hour is coming and now is, when the dead shall hear the voice of the Son of God: and they that hear shall live,” Tichon opened his eyes. Father Hilarion almost fell to the ground. He thought Father Sergius had raised the dead.

Tichon soon recovered. He got up and sat down on a bench. He recognised Father Sergius and Father Hilarion, understood all they said to him, but unable to speak himself, answered by signs. At last they saw that he was dumb. They surmised that the sudden shock had robbed him of his speech. His face was radiant. There was something awe-inspiring in this radiance, as though he had really risen from the dead.

They sat down to a meal. Tichon ate and drank. After the meal they prayed. For the first time Father Hilarion prayed with Tichon. He seemed to have forgotten he was a heretic and felt towards him a reverence mingled with awe.

Then they went to bed. The old men as usual in their coffins, Tichon in the front room on the stove.

The storm was raging; the wind howled; rain was pouring down. Waves were beating up on the lake; the thunder rolled and the window was illumined by an almost uninterrupted white light, which mingled with the red light of the lamp, burning in the depths of the cave before the image of the “Unhoped-for Joy.” Yet to Tichon that was no lightning but the white radiant light of the old man who was bending over him, talking to him about the Church of the Sons of Storm, caressing and loving him. He fell asleep to the noise of the storm, as a child to the lullaby of its mother.

He woke early, long before the dawn. Hurriedly dressing himself he took up his staff, went up to Father Sergius, who was yet asleep in his coffin, like Father Hilarion, knelt and kissed his forehead very gently, so as not to wake him. Father Sergius opened his eyes for a moment, raised his head, and murmured “Tichon!” Yet the next instant he let it fall back on the stone, which served him as pillow, and fell into a still deeper sleep.

Tichon went forth out of the cell. The storm had abated. Again great silence reigned upon earth. Only from the wet branches of the trees drops were falling. The air was filled with the resinous scent of pines. Above their black tips the pallid semicircle of the moon appeared upon a sky flushed with the breaking dawn.

Tichon went on his way light of heart, vigorous and brisk, as if borne along by an over-great joy. And he knew he would walk thus, eternally dumb, till he had traversed all the ways of the world and entered the Church of John. Then would he cry aloud, “Hosanna to the coming Christ!”