Alaska (54 page)

And if, as Baranov taught Zhdanko to do, we establish significant holdings on the North American continent, you and I could well be important factors in the new Russia.

My heart beats with excitement at the possibility.

All my love, Arkady

Through a bizarre twist, it was this letter which precipitated the final wrenching crisis in the Voronov family, because when Praskovia's parents received it, they were so struck by that forceful paragraph in which Arkady spoke of his father's accomplishments in Kodiak and Sitka that Kostilevsky senior showed the passage to church authorities in Moscow, who copied the paragraph, adding the one about Father Vasili's wife, Sofia, for circulation among the authorities in St. Petersburg. There Lieutenant Captain Vladimir Ermelov was asked his opinion of the priest Voronov in New Archangel, and Ermelov replied enthusiastically: 'One of the finest,' and 331

he instructed the church fathers as to who else now resident in Moscow had knowledge of the eastern lands, and all who were consulted testified that Vasili Voronov, white priest from the noteworthy family of Voronov in Irkutsk, was about as strong a churchman as the Orthodox Church had produced in a long time. In the discussion thus launched, Arkady's fortunate use of words was often repeated: 'They call him a living saint.'

Improbable as it seemed at the time and unlikely as it seems now, the leaders of the church, spurred on by Tsar Nicholas I, who sought to revive the spiritual force of Russian Orthodoxy, decided that what St. Petersburg needed was a forceful, devout man from the frontier uncontaminated by churchly politics and renowned for his sanctity.

For a host of intricate reasons they focused their attention on Father Vasili Voronov, wonder-worker in the islands, and the more they investigated his credentials the more satisfied they were that he was the solution to their problems. But no sooner had they announced their decision to the tsar, who applauded it, than a knotty problem arose.

'It's understood, of course,' the present metropolitan pointed out, 'if Father Vasili accepts our invitation to come to St. Petersburg as my successor, he will have to surrender his white robes and transfer to black.'

'No difficulty, Holiness. You'll remember that when he took orders in Irkutsk, he did so as a black.'

'Why was it he changed? To marry?'

'Yes, when he had assumed his first office, on that big island they call Kodiak .

. .'

'Now I remember. You told me about this last week, didn't you?'

'On a busy day, Holiness. He fell in love with an Aleut woman, you'll remember.'

'Yes.' He reflected on this for some moments, striving to recall his own youth and to imagine distant frontiers about which he knew nothing: 'Aren't Aleuts . . . well, they're pagan, aren't they?'

'This woman was, but she's proved to be a most unusual type. More Christian than the Christians, they say. Charity among the children.'

'That's always a reassuring sign,' he said, but then, as the longtime spiritual guardian of his church, he jabbed his thumb down on the real problem: 'If she's as saintly as you say, and her husband must renounce his white robes and take on the black, will there not be an outcry against him and us if he leaves her at her advanced age?

How old is she?'

No one knew exactly, but a priest who had visited New 332

Archangel offered a guess: 'We know her husband is sixty-three. She's probably in her mid-fifties. I saw her several times and she seemed to be about that age.' He stopped, but before anyone else could speak, he volunteered: 'A fine-looking woman, you know. On the short side but no savage, not at all.'

The metropolitan, wanting to keep the discussion on the main theme, asked: 'Would Voronov divorce her in order to reassume the black?' and an elderly churchman said: 'To lead Christ's church, a man might do anything.'

The metropolitan looked harshly at the man and said: 'You may not believe it, Hilarion, but there were many things I would not have done to attain these robes.' Then, to the others: 'Well, would he take the black?'

'I think so,' said a cleric who had served in Irkutsk. 'Service in the Lord's cause would be enticing. And the opportunity to accomplish good is not to be lightly bypassed, either.'

'If you mean power, say so,' the metropolitan snapped, and the cleric replied sharply: 'Very well, I do mean power.'

'Does this Voronov seek power?' the old man asked, and one of his younger helpers said firmly: 'He has neither sought nor avoided it. The man's a real saint, I assure you.'

'Goodness, goodness,' the metropolitan muttered. 'In one family on a remote island I never heard of, we have a male saint and a female saint. Remarkable.' But when others started to assure him that this was the case, he looked at his advisers and asked the most difficult question of all: 'If we lure him to St. Petersburg with our dazzling prize, will she let him go?' and the priest who had seen her at work said: 'She would understand if he were called to glory. He broke his vows to marry her. She would, I'm sure, advise him to do the same if he now seeks to marry the church.'

With that assurance, the powers in St. Petersburg reached the extraordinary decision, applauded by the tsar, to bring into the highest office of the Orthodox Church the saintly priest from the parish farthest from the capital, Father Vasili Voronov of St. Michael's Cathedral in New Archangel. But the metropolitan, eager to know that a successor had been selected but not eager to have the man appear in St. Petersburg too soon, suggested: 'Let us appoint him Bishop of Irkutsk this year and Metropolitan next year, when I shall be too old to continue in the office.' And even those energetic churchmen who wanted a new leader now had to agree that promoting Father Vasili by easy steps was the preferred route, and even though the tsar wanted a new man quickly, he too capitulated to this strategy, but to protect himself, 333

announced publicly that early next year the grand old man of the Orthodox Church would be retiring.

In this strange and devious way, Vasili Voronov received secret notice that if he resumed the black, which he had abandoned thirty-six years before, he would be appointed Bishop of Irkutsk, the town from which his family had come, with every likelihood of further preferment later on. The naval officer who delivered this exciting information added, as he had been directed by the tsar himself: 'But of course this would necessitate a divorce. And if your wife, as a member of a people Russia is endeavoring to win over to Christianity, objected . . .' He shrugged his shoulders.

When Father Vasili studied the confidential papers which verified this extraordinary proposal he had two reactions, which he could voice only to himself: I am not worthy, but if the church in its wisdom calls me, how could I refuse? and then immediately: But what would Sofia's role be in this? And without even discussing the profound problem with his son, he left his cathedral and walked from one corner of the palisaded area to the most distant, back and forth past the warehouses he had helped build, then past the stores that Kyril Zhdanko had helped start, out to where the Tlingits gathered on the other side of the palisade, and back to the church which would never have come into being without his hard work and that of his wife. And when her name or her image came up, he realized the cruel choice that was being offered him.

For three days he was unable to broach the subject with her, and he refrained for a good reason: he felt sure that if she knew of his chances in Irkutsk and later perhaps in the capital, she would encourage him to change robes and accept the opportunity, even though it would mean leaving her behind. And he did not wish in decency to place her in a position in which she must do the choosing. He alone would decide what was right, and he would then place his thinking before her and encourage her to oppose it if she felt she must.

Satisfied that neither of them would act selfishly or in haste, he spent a fourth day largely in prayer, which he uttered with that simplicity which had always characterized him:

'Heavenly Father, from the time I was a child I knew that I wanted to live my life in Thy service. Humbly I have striven to do so, and as a young man I took my vows without even considering any alternative. But inside three years I was altering those vows in order to marry a native girl.

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'As Thou knowest, so well, she brought me a new vision of what Thy church and its mission can be. She has been the saint and I the servitor, and I could do nothing to injure her. But now I am called to a higher service in Thy church, but to accept it, I must once again revise my vows and commit a grave wrong against my wife.

'What am I to do?'

That night was the fifth in which he carried this extraordinary problem to his bed, and as before, he tossed fitfully, unable to close his eyes, but toward dawn he fell into a deep, replenishing sleep from which he did not break till nearly ten. His wife, aware that he had been under some kind of pressure brought by the most recent ship from Russia, allowed him to sleep on, and when he woke she stood waiting with a tall glass of tea and the comforting words: 'Vasili, you've been worried about some perplexing problem, but I see in your face that God has solved it during your sleep.'

Accepting the tea gently from her hands, he swung his feet onto the floor, took a long, thoughtful drink, and said: 'Sofia, the tsar and the church want me to move to Irkutsk as bishop, and from there in due course perhaps to head the church from St. Petersburg.' Without hesitation, for he was speaking from a vast reserve of faith, he started to say: 'And this would mean . . .' But she ended the sentence for him: 'It would mean that you would have to take the black robes again.'

'It would,' he said, 'and after consulting God, I've decided . . .'

'Vasili, you started life in the black robes. Would this be so great a change that you should be sleepless?'

'But it would mean ...”

The two lovers, each of whom had molded his or her life to the other's, crossing bridges that lesser persons might have been afraid even to test, let alone leap upon, looked across the brief space which separated them, she a little Aleut woman less than five feet tall, dark of skin and with a whalebone labret in her lip, he a tall Russian in a nightshirt, white-haired and bearded and troubled. For a painful moment neither knew what to say, but then she took the tea glass from his hands and placed her hands in his, and with the strange and lovely pronunciation of Russian words which her Aleut upbringing and the presence of the labret produced, she said: 'Vasili, with Arkady here to protect me, and perhaps soon with a wife to help, I have no fear, no claim. Do as God directs,' and he said: 'Last night, after the midnight bell from 335

the castle, I knew that I must go to Irkutsk.' He uttered the words softly, then pressed her hands and added: 'And may God forgive me for the wrong I commit against you.'

Once the decision was made, neither of the Voronovs reviewed it, and neither subjected it to harsh reconsideration or recrimination. Before noon that eventful day they asked their son to accompany them to the castle, where they sought a meeting with Zhdanko, and when the four were settled in porch chairs overlooking the bay and the mountains, Father Vasili said unemotionally: 'I have been selected Bishop of Irkutsk.

This means that I must return to the black robes I wore as a young man. And that means that my marriage to Sofia Kuchovskaya must be dissolved.' Allowing time for this dramatic news to take effect, he reached out for the hands of Zhdanko and Arkady, saying as he did so: 'I must leave the care of this wonderful woman to you two men.'

And during the next half-hour he did not speak again.

The others discussed a chain of obvious topics: Who would replace him at the cathedral?

Where would Sofia live? What would be the responsibility of both Zhdanko and Arkady?

And for that matter: What was Zhdanko going to do when his provisional term as chief administrator ended? And even: Is the palisade strong enough to withstand an attack by the Tlingits, an ever-constant threat? By these practical steps, which reminded everyone that life in New Archangel must go on, even if the spiritual head of the community was moved to-a higher obligation, the three participants chose among the various options available to them, and they did so in highly sensible ways, as if acknowledging that Father Vasili was no longer a part of their lives. But when they were finished, with the course of Sofia's future life determined within reason, Father Vasili broke down, covered his face with his hands, and wept. He was leaving a paradise which he had helped create and whose spiritual values he had both defined and protected.

He had helped build a world, and was now surrendering it.

He was a white-haired old man, somewhat stooped, somewhat slowed in his movements.

He spoke with greater caution and was prone to reflect on his defeats rather than his triumphs. He had seen much of the world's folly, and although he had been forgiving, he did wish that he'd had more time to combat those aspects of life which were wrong.

He was, to put it simply, closer to God than he had ever been before, and he believed that he was prepared because he had learned to do God's work in whatever position he finally found himself.

The ship which had brought the news of his elevation to 336

bishop required eleven days to finish its duties in Sitka Sound, and during the latter stages of the stay Father Vasili completed all details relevant to his departure.

But on the last day, when everyone knew that the ship would be sailing at eight the next morning, he had to face the fact that within a few hours he must say farewell to his wife forever, and this became increasingly painful as the sun set and the long hours of night loomed. Sitting with Sofia in the main room of the modest house next to the cathedral, he began by saying: 'I can't remember when I first saw you.

I know it was at Three Saints and I know it involved the old shaman in some way.'

He hesitated, then chuckled as he recalled his long duel with that frenzied man: 'All that really mattered between us, I can see now, was that my parents had introduced me to God and Jesus and his had not had an opportunity to do so.' She nodded: 'He was an obstinate one. I hope I can defend my beliefs as valiantly as he did his.'

They spoke of the tragic manner in which so many Aleuts had perished during the Russian occupation, and he said truthfully: 'Months go by, Sofia, without my ever thinking of you as an Aleut,' and she said quickly: 'I think of it every day. I mourn the world we lost, and sometimes at night I see the forsaken women on Lapak, too old and weak to venture out for their last whale. My heart breaks.'

Then they spoke of the good days they had known, the birth of Arkady and the dedication of the cathedral, and this set Vasili to laughing: 'It seems I'm to have a real cathedral, maybe even a scintillating one, but whatever form it takes, it can never be a more dedicated House of God than the one you and I built here in New Archangel.'

At the mention of this place, they thought of Baranov and of how it was his will power which had built the thriving little town. 'He thought of it as the Paris of the East,' Vasili said, and the darkened room grew silent. A saintly man was deserting his even more saintly wife, leaving her for the rest of their lives for no reason with which she was associated, and there was no more to say.

WHEN PRASKOVIA KOSTILEVSKAYA, DAUGHTER OF THE notable Kostilevsky family in Moscow, arrived in New Archangel, men working along the waterfront stopped to stare at her, for a young woman of her striking elegance and beauty was rarely seen in this frontier town. She was much taller than either the Aleut women or the average Creole, and her skin was markedly whiter, for she was one of those Russians with a strong admixture of German blood, in her case Saxon, 337

which accounted for her blue eyes and lovely flaxen hair. She had a warm smile but also an unmistakable patrician manner, as if she knew how to be congenial toward superiors and haughty toward inferiors, but the general impression she created was one of competence and self-assurance.

When it became known that she was the young woman who had come this great distance to marry Arkady Voronov, cynics said: 'He's a Creole and he'll never be able to hold a woman like that.'

To give her time to comply with religious law, her marriage to Arkady had to be delayed for three weeks, and during that time she began to have doubts about New Archangel, for the weather was typical of this part of Alaska. The warm Japanese current which swept clear across the North Pacific came so close to shore that it produced heavy moist clouds which clung to the mountains, completely obscuring them for days at a time. After the nineteenth rainy day in a row Praskovia lost patience, and wrote to her family, using, as cultivated Russian women did, a host of French words to describe her emotions: