(1877)
Twenty years ago I was obliged—in my capacity
of private inspector—to make the circuit
of all my aunt’s rather numerous estates.
The parish priests, with whom I regarded it as my
duty to make acquaintance, proved to be individuals
of pretty much one pattern, and made after one model,
as it were. At length, in about the last of the
estates which I was inspecting, I hit upon a priest
who did not resemble his brethren. He was a very
aged man, almost decrepit; and had it not been for
the urgent entreaties of his parishioners, who loved
and respected him, he would long before have petitioned
to be retired that he might rest. Two peculiarities
impressed me in Father Alexyei (that was the priest’s
name). In the first place, he not only asked nothing
for himself but announced plainly that he required
nothing; and, in the second place, I have never beheld
in any human face a more sorrowful, thoroughly indifferent—what
is called an “overwhelmed”—expression.
The features of that face were of the ordinary rustic
type: a wrinkled forehead, small grey eyes, a
large nose, a wedge-shaped beard, a swarthy, sunburned
skin.... But the expression! ... the expression!...
In that dim gaze life barely burned, and sadly at
that; and his voice also was, somehow, lifeless and
dim.
I fell ill and kept my bed for several days.
Father Alexyei dropped in to see me in the evenings,
not to chat, but to play “fool."[16] The game
of cards seemed to divert him more than it did me.
One day, after having been left “the fool”
several times in succession (which delighted Father
Alexyei not a little), I turned the conversation on
his past life, on the afflictions which had left on
him such manifest traces. Father Alexyei remained
obdurate for a long time at first, but ended by relating
to me his story. He must have taken a liking to
me for some reason or other. Otherwise he would
not have been so frank with me.
I shall endeavour to transmit his story in his own
words. Father Alexyei talked very simply and
intelligently, without any seminary or provincial
tricks and turns of speech. It was not the first
time I had noticed that Russians, of all classes and
callings, who have been violently shattered and humbled
express themselves precisely in such language.
... I had a good and sedate wife [thus he began],
I loved her heartily, and we begat eight children.
One of my sons became a bishop, and died not so very
long ago, in his diocese. I shall now tell you
about my other son,—Yakoff was his name.
I sent him to the seminary in the town of T——,
and soon began to receive the most comforting reports
about him. He was the best pupil in all the branches!
Even at home, in his boyhood, he had been distinguished
for his diligence and discretion; a whole day would
sometimes pass without one’s hearing him ...
he would be sitting all the time over his book, reading.
He never caused me and my wife[17] the slightest displeasure;
he was a meek lad. Only sometimes he was thoughtful
beyond his years, and his health was rather weak.
Once something remarkable happened to him. He
left the house at daybreak, on St. Peter’s day,[18]
and was gone almost all the morning. At last he
returned. My wife and I ask him: “Where
hast thou been?”
