The gold mine proprietors at Irkutsk and—to finish with these instances of the flaunting of stupendous riches—the tea merchants of Kiachta, gratify their passion for exciting envy and wonder, in a way by no means displeasing to themselves nor to the recipients of their roubles, by considerable donations to the churches.
At Irkutsk, the convent of St. Innocent is the principal object of their attention. It is quite haut ton among these millionaires never to set out on a journey before having made a gift to the monastery. Therefore, in a few years, a stupendous church rose over the tomb of the old Siberian metropolitan, where immense wealth is now heaped together. The rivalry between this convent of St. Innocent and the cathedral of the village of Kiachta is not at all inactive, and is certainly to the advantage of both.
At the time of my visit, the latter bore the palm. It is singular to find, in the midst of a group of houses which in France would be considered a mere hamlet, a church where the altar is of massive silver and gold, and where the iconostasis, hiding the sanctuary from the eyes of the congregation, is sustained by fourteen columns in rock crystal. These columns, each three feet high, are formed with three blocks of crystal a foot high and a foot in diameter, and are very remarkable.
I will not enter on the subject of the orthodox religion, inasmuch as it is not a question exclusively Siberian. Certain writers in France have given a deplorable aspect to the manners of the Russian clergy. I am far from assuming that the conduct of all the Greek popes is irreproachable, for I have myself seen several of them tippling and committing even greater faults, but it would be rash to deduce from so limited a number of isolated facts general conclusions. In what hierarchy shall we not find lamentable exceptions? The Russian clergy are distinctly divided into two classes: the secular priests, who may marry, but to whom are closed the high ecclesiastical honours; and the regular priests, who live at first in the convents, to rise afterwards to bishops, archimandrites, and metropolitans. The first live retired in their villages, bringing up their children in their homes in the fear of God and with a taste for the ministry. The second are restrained in their youth by a severe rule, and later by the respect for their high dignity.
The most striking feature at the first view of the orthodox religion is its organization as a political power. In this empire of supreme despotism, the Church stands out, imperium in imperio, an actual republic. This republic, it is true, is subject to the authority of the Emperor. It is his will and pleasure to ratify or not the decisions arrived at, but all the questions are nevertheless discussed by a synod, held at St. Petersburg, composed of all the metropolitans. What could be more ingenious than this system of complete dependence, enjoying the appearance of liberty? It would be interesting to conjecture what would have been the state of Europe if the Catholic Church had been thus subjected either to the emperors of Germany or to the kings of France. Frederick Barbarossa would probably have made himself master of the world; he would, in any case, have driven the infidels, not only out of Europe, but from Western Asia. It is also equally probable that, without the authority and wise foresight of the popes, the great revolution of the Crusades would never have occurred, and that Europe, then subject to civil authorities more bellicose than warlike, more chivalrous than politic, would have been swamped with the flood of Islamism, against which the popes alone were able to raise a barrier.
If the Russians, in adopting the religion of the Greek Church, had not inherited its inconsiderate hatred of the Roman, they would certainly recognise this great work of the popes. Unfortunately, human motives of action absolutely prevent every Russian from embracing the Catholic or any other religion. Intolerant laws punish with the severest penalties the converted, and especially those who attempt to convert others.[12]
The Czar, invested in the eyes of his people with an imposing sacred character, profits by the inviolability it confers to dominate over the revolution whilst accomplishing the reforms he deems efficient. Liberty of conscience is therefore a long way from the advent of its enjoyment in Russia. May the Emperor, in preserving the respect of the masses, suffer no derogation in the eyes of his enlightened subjects, who are already, as I have seen everywhere, breaking loose from all ties of religious faith, and who may well one day claim by force, and before all other rights, the liberty to embrace a new faith.
This religious intolerance is painful to all, and especially to the peoples recently subjected to the authority of the Czar, to the Polish exiles for example, who, although sincerely Catholic, are compelled to bring up their children in the orthodox faith. Alas! since the insurrection this grievance is only a part of the sufferings these poor wretches have had to endure.
They have, at first, been led on foot, with their hands bound behind their backs, to the spot of exile that has been assigned to them in Eastern Siberia: some to Irkutsk, and these were the most favoured; others to Yakutsk, or the island of Tarakai, known to the Russians by the name of Saghalien, or to Kamtchatka. Many perished on the way, as may easily be supposed, and those who were strong enough to brave exhausting fatigues were, on their arrival, thrown into the gaol, to keep company with thieves and assassins.