Lady Macbeth of Mtsensk, page 35
The future empress turned around and looked at the boy through her lorgnette; she said, smiling with satisfaction, “He’s a fine boy.”
After that, Brianchaninov was given a generous lunch in the palace and sent back to the college, where the people who were waiting for him immediately subjected him to detailed questioning about his experience.
The youth, modest but truthful, told them everything exactly as it had happened.
The grand duke’s blessing turned out to be of great service to him.
From then on, the college authorities kept a close eye on Brianchaninov. The youth’s character and abilities were studied, identified with precision, and the very first time that the grand duke inquired “How is Brianchaninov?” he received the perfectly just answer, “Exemplary in all respects.”
“I’m extremely glad,” Nicholas remarked with satisfaction: this was a case where he was pleased that his insight had been confirmed. “And what are his inclinations and character like?”
“He’s very religious and his morality is excellent.”
“I’m extremely glad, and I would very much like the others to be the same. Let him be an example to them.”
These remarks by the Emperor were instantly made known to the other students, who in no time formed a circle of youths wanting to imitate Brianchaninov as closely as possible: Brianchaninov took on the role of leader in this circle.
2
Being singled out by the grand duke had an effect on Brianchaninov: he suddenly seemed to mature more quickly and become even more serious. His circle of friends consisted of about ten boys, and Misha Chikhachiov was from the start a particularly close friend of Brianchaninov, who shared with Chikhachiov his innermost feelings and most sacred ideas about his inclinations and goals.
“What’s most important in our situation now,” Brianchaninov urged his friend, “is to guard against pride. I don’t know whether or not I should be grateful for having the grand duke’s favor without earning it, but I never stop thinking about keeping what I treasure most. I have to keep an eye on myself and not allow myself to begin to get too proud. I’m asking you as my friend: watch over me and warn me not to lose my purity of soul.”
Chikhachiov promised to do so. “Excellent,” he said, “I’ll always tell you the truth, but there won’t be any need, because you’ve already found the way to save yourself from temptation.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“You yourself said the important thing is not to begin, and if you are never going to begin, then nothing’s going to begin.”
“You’re right,” Brianchaninov replied after a moment’s thought. “But . . . all the same, watch over me. I’m afraid I may be drawn to the wrong path by those who are supposed to set me an example. After all, we ‘must submit to those in authority over us . . .’ ”
“Yes, that’s true,” Chikhachiov said, and then noticed that Brianchaninov’s face suddenly seemed to be lit up by a joyful thought. He took both of his comrade’s hands, pressed them in his own, and looking upward with grave exaltation, seemed to read something under the cornice of the high-ceilinged room. “I can see just one true way to avoid the danger of temptation which people offer, and you may be able to guess what it is . . .”
“I suspect I can guess what you are thinking of.”
“I think one has to have one’s eyes constantly on God as He was incarnated.”
“You’re right.”
“Believe me, if we never take our mind’s eye off of Him, and if we try in every way to follow His example, then we are in no danger. He will save us from the danger of losing ourselves in any quandary that life presents.”
“That is my belief.”
“He is with us now, and we are in Him, and He is in us. I think I have now grasped a new, amazing sense in these words.”
“So have I.”
The two comrades embraced solemnly and from then on became inseparable friends. Their friendship, however, did have a distinctly ascetic quality about it. It was aimed at mutual support in a common striving to distance themselves from life’s temptations and to focus on the lofty idea that exalted them, the idea of a pure life in the spirit of Christian teachings.
3
There were at the time several paths that educated Russians with such inclinations chose in order to attain their Christian ideal: the paths most people preferred were biblical pietism or a gravitation toward Catholicism. But Brianchaninov and Chikhachiov followed neither of these; they chose a third path, which was only then becoming known but would later become established in society: Orthodoxy in the spirit of Metropolitan Bishop Mikhail. At that time, many people with pious and virtuous aims and educated tastes were quite unable, for various reasons, to “accept everything as set out in the catechism,” but neither did they wish to listen to “alien voices” outside the church. Only in Mikhail’s expositions and teachings could they find any resolution of their agonizing contradictions. What person of conscience does not value the discovery of how to reconcile religion with his conscience? As a result, Mikhail had a great number of followers who remained faithful to him even after it was recognized that not everything in his works was “acceptable.”
Brianchaninov and Chikhachiov were the most fervent followers of the Most Reverend Mikhail.2 They were receptive to his religious opinions and followed his direction, a way of avoiding the influence of Catholicism, so alien to Russian nature, without divesting believers of all ecclesiastical warmth, a fate to which those who followed strictly pietistic traditions were doomed.
Both young men began from an early age to lead lives of extreme self-denial, not just in their diets but above all in their renunciation of anger, lies, irritability, vindictiveness, and flattery. This gave their characters a tone not only of nobility but of pious virtue, which was soon noticed, first by their fellow students and then by the authorities. Brianchaninov was granted a degree of respect among pupils such as no other student of the College of Engineering had ever before attained or ever would attain. Everyone trusted him, and nobody ever had reason to regret being frank with him, but this frankness also had a peculiar quality of setting boundaries, something that fit the character of this virtuous youth who was at an early stage nicknamed “the monk” by his comrades. You could never talk to Brianchaninov about any schoolboy obscenities, since he was always serious and disliked the sort of bad schoolboy behavior so current in the elite Russian colleges. Nor did Brianchaninov or Chikhachiov ever take part in any pranks or dares. They said outright that they didn’t want to know about them because they didn’t want to be asked about such things: they couldn’t tell lies, but they did not want to inform on anyone. This firmness and frankness put them in a position that was special and excellent, for they never found themselves forced to protect anyone by lying or to inform on anybody. The teachers, too, knew about Brianchaninov’s and Chikhachiov’s “spirit” and never asked them anything whenever it seemed necessary to investigate misbehavior by the cadets. Brianchaninov and Chikhachiov were never offered such revelations by their comrades, but when it was a question of anything else, for instance a serious misunderstanding or someone’s affliction or suffering, then the other cadets did not hesitate to turn to the “pious comrade monks” for the very warm, friendly sympathy they always received. Brianchaninov was their resort in cases when pupils had disagreements, and his opinion was decisive for them, even though he personally always distanced himself from judgment over others, saying, “Nobody has appointed me to judge people and apportion blame.” But he himself shared anything that could be shared with those who were in need.
Although Chikhachiov shared his friend Brianchaninov’s spirit, he was of secondary importance: on the one hand, this was because Brianchaninov had more pronounced abilities and a fine gift for words; on the other hand, because Chikhachiov was younger and deliberately effaced himself, preferring in every case to let his friend take the lead.
Their influence on the other cadets was strong: both of them were fine students, and the institution’s administration hoped that they would turn into excellent engineers. The grand duke was also convinced of this: he “very much wanted to see decent people in the engineering department.”
Both friends completed their courses in 1826, holding on to their prestigious positions until the last day of their studies in the college, which retained the best memories of them. They also left a number of followers, among whom a certain Nikolai Fermor, of whom we shall tell more, was particularly outstanding for his directness and unbending will.
4
After completing their cadet courses at the College of Engineering, Brianchaninov and Chikhachiov were free to find an apartment, and they settled in the Lopatin House, a big and uncomely building on Nevsky Prospect. This house no longer exists: it was pulled down and today’s Pushkin Street now crosses its extensive courtyard.
Escaping from the supervision to which they had been subjected in a closed institution, the friends enjoyed great freedom and could now dispose of their time according to their wishes and tastes. They did so. They led an extremely severe and purely monastic way of life: they observed fast days, never went to any entertainments or on any outings, avoided frivolous acquaintances, and went every day to church. In the mornings they rose at first light and walked to the Neva monastery where they attended early matins, and then they had tea there with Viktor, a vociferous deacon monk.3 This Viktor is reported to have been a very inadequate monk: he led a rather drunken life and was rude to everybody, but all his faults were forgiven because of his fine voice and exceptional skill in conducting the choir at solemn church services. As a person, he was very kind, straightforward, and frank: he was quite incapable of anything underhanded or insincere. It was his directness that enabled him to inspire permanent fear in the notorious Andrei Nikolaevich Muraviov,4 whom Viktor thought to be “loathsome” and whose young “Saint-Cyrs” he called “guttersnipes” and simply chased away.
After praying at early matins and taking tea with Viktor, the friends went to officers’ classes at their College of Engineering. They stayed for the prescribed time, then went home to a modest meal and spent the rest of the day studying. After that, they read theological and religious books, here too singling out among many works those of Metropolitan Bishop Mikhail.5
This writer’s gentle, peace-loving Christian philosophy had a strong effect on both young men; it altered the paths of their lives and activities. The first harm Mikhail caused them was their refusal to serve in the armed forces, and they would not undertake any duties imposed on them by their service, for which they had been prepared by their special military education. Now they were out of step with the general mood then prevailing at the College of Engineering, which was supervised by General Lamnovsky, whose name is historically linked with supplying the state with marble, so that he is known as “marble Lamnovsky.” Many people at the College of Engineering were preoccupied with making money and did what they could to set up the process “in a proper and brotherly way” by elaborating a profiteering system they called self-reward.
The “monks” refused to kill people or to defraud the state: for that reason, and possibly out of inexperience, they considered it out of the question to pursue careers as engineers or military men. They decided to distance themselves from such a career, even though it offered them very good prospects, given their useful relations and Emperor Nicholas’s special interest in Brianchaninov. Although the Emperor inquired after him less often than before, nevertheless Brianchaninov, had he wanted to, given his personal ties, could easily have reminded the Emperor of his existence and the latter would doubtless have offered his almighty assistance. But Brianchaninov was not interested; moreover, he deterred his relatives from making any interventions of this kind on his behalf. He was trying to stay unnoticed and modest and seemed to have something else on his mind.
Chikhachiov behaved in exactly the same way. Provisionally, however, they both graduated from their officer classes to serve in the army: Brianchaninov graduated from the senior class for Dinaburg, and Chikhachiov left the junior class for a sappers’ training battalion. Thus they were parted for a while, but in 1827 Brianchaninov successfully asked to be released and left for the Svir monastery, where he stayed as a novice monk. Other sources give different information: interestingly, an apocryphal version gives us a more detailed and fuller account of the poetic struggle of the young ascetics than do the stories told in society.
According to their contemporaries, Brianchaninov and Chikhachiov were of two minds about leaving the lay world for a monastery and decided to do so only when they were faced with the necessity of taking up arms for actual military action.
As soon as war broke out between Russia and Turkey, Chikhachiov and Brianchaninov simultaneously put in requests for early retirement. This was as illegal as it was strange, even shameful, since it made them look like cowards; nevertheless they ignored the consequences and asked to be released from military service.
The true reason for their refusal of military service was not specified in their petitions, and only their families and friends knew they found military action incompatible with Christian convictions. Being consistent and sincere, they not only refused to take up arms but decided they could not even do preparatory work for warfare. Even erecting defenses seemed to them something that could not be done with a clear conscience. They felt they had either to accept a system of self-reward or resist those whose orders they would be asked to carry out.
There may have been, of course, a considerable exaggeration by the young men of the danger of their careers, but at the time bribery was rampant and even Emperor Nicholas, as shown by many stories printed later, found himself unable to prevent graft, the most terrible evil of his time.
Our monks thought that serving honestly would involve constantly obstructing all those who wished to make money, which would necessarily give rise to disputes and disagreements without any hope of restoring truth and justice or of preventing the abuses that were prevalent everywhere. They realized that they would be taking a heroic step that demanded enormous strength, which they didn’t feel they possessed, so they decided to run away from it.
The man who would fight more boldly was still growing up.
5
When the Emperor was informed that Brianchaninov and Chikhachiov had petitioned for retirement, he lost his temper, said, “This is nonsense!” and refused to release them. They had to submit; but for those who had good connections at the time, much could be achieved that was impossible for people in ordinary positions. After a while, when Russian troops began moving into Turkey, Brianchaninov and Chikhachiov petitioned again for retirement. This time they resorted to using the connections of kinship they had earlier refused to exploit for other goals. These connections were so powerful that their petitions were somehow granted without the knowledge of the Emperor. Brianchaninov and Chikhachiov were discreetly allowed to retire.
This retirement apparently happened when the army was already on the move, and the young friends had to let their units continue without them, enduring their comrades’ conjectures and grumbling. Some envious comrades derided them as young lords avoiding service at a time of danger, while others despised them as cowards.
The friends had foreseen that their actions would be interpreted in this way: they bore the unpleasantness with a calmness they had long cultivated. They consoled themselves with the knowledge that they were not cowards, that they were not avoiding war because they feared death, and, as a result, they felt no resentment. They were anxious to “run from the army” as fast and as discreetly as possible.
In actual fact their withdrawal looked like desertion. Any mention of their being released from their units was avoided—they were apparently being “sent” somewhere. They simply vanished, thus avoiding many other disagreeable moments to come.6
At first they seem to have set off northward together, but their paths separated. Brianchaninov went to Petersburg, where it seemed very dangerous for him to stay, because he was constantly at risk of being seen by the Emperor; Chikhachiov went to stay with his sister, Olga Vasilievna, who was married to a Kutuzov.7 Chikhachiov spoke little about his return, and only vaguely, and said nothing at all about his future plans. He struck people as “strange,” as if he were lost or alienated from the world and incapable of experiencing any joys or griefs. In a young man this was a very depressing spectacle, and Chikhachiov’s family joined forces in trying to find out “what was going on in his mind.” Some thought he was in love, others suspected he was involved in something; one relative with a freethinking bent asserted that his nephew was “crazy.”
“Crazy about what?”
“Too proud. He wants to be better than anyone else. He’s a sanctimonious snob. The world can sink in stinking sin, and he’ll just sit there, like a thrush in a birch tree, grooming its feathers with its beak. Sanctimonious snob!”
Nobody paid attention to the freethinker. One day Chikhachiov disappeared from the house.
His mother and sister were in despair, especially his mother, whose anxiety was deepened by a whole mass of presumptions and guesses, each more alarming than the last. The situation was horrible. The family was trying to find the runaway, and at the same time feared that rumors of his disappearance might spread far and wide. It was essential that the news did not reach the Emperor in Petersburg. They were terribly afraid of everything, and with good reason. A major search had begun and would continue for a long time. Members of the missing man’s family as well as their serfs, especially devoted and trustworthy servants, were involved in the search. Letters, cautious but fervent, were exchanged with whoever could be involved, but nothing led to any results. Even the freethinker was asked; instead of replying, the freethinker advised a reading of The Life of Aleksei, Man of God, since, in his opinion, Chikhachiov was most likely to be envious of the example of that particular saint. People nodded at the “unfeeling cynic’s” hints, but still no trace of the missing runaway was found anywhere. The family, especially the mother, endured great suffering and, worse, was forced to stay silent and pretend that the young man was not missing. So it went on until he himself finally announced that he was in the Nikolo-Babaevsky monastery at Babayki on the Volga. The freethinker had come closer than anyone else to the truth: both friends, Chikhachiov and Brianchaninov, turned up together at Babayki, where they both began monastic careers,8 something that they were born for and which at their school they had been predicted to do.
