Sister Pelagia and the Black Monk (6 page)

It was only then that the miserable vice-chancellor realized he had fallen victim to a conspiracy. Serafim Vikentievich dashed to the door and began tugging at the handle, but he couldn't open it—the vengeful Alyosha had locked it from the other side. The hooting and shouting brought the hotel corridor staff running in through the service door, followed by a police constable from the street. All in all, it was quite the most abominable scandal one could possibly imagine.

That is to say, in the official sense there was no scandal, because the awkward incident was hushed up, but already on the following day the city of K—— and the whole of K—— province knew about the privy counselor's “benefit performance,” complete with all the shocking details, which, as is the way with these things, had been considerably exaggerated.

Nosachevsky voluntarily submitted his resignation and left K——, for it was quite impossible for him to stay there. In the middle of some highly serious, even scholarly discussion, his interlocutor would suddenly start turning crimson, puffing out his cheeks and clearing his throat loudly in order to suppress his laughter—he was clearly picturing the vice-chancellor without his Order of St. Anne, wearing nothing but a lacy mobcap and a pink bandage.

This business also had other sad consequences for Serafim Vikentievich. Not only did he completely lose all interest in the fair sex from that time on, he also acquired an unattractive tremor of the head and a nervous tic in his eye, and his former scientific brilliance disappeared without a trace.

But the joker did not get away with his prank scot-free. Naturally, everyone immediately learned who had played such a vicious joke on the vice-chancellor (Alexei Stepanovich and his comrades took no great pains to conceal who was the instigator of the prank) and the provincial authorities made it clear to the former student that it would be best for him to change his place of residence.

That was when his inconsolable mother wrote to our reverend bishop, imploring him to take Major Lentochkin's wayward offspring under his pastoral supervision in Zavolzhsk, arrange some kind of work for him, and wean him away from his nonsense and mischief.

Mitrofanii had agreed—initially in memory of his comrade-in-arms; but later, when he had come to know Alexei Stepanovich better, he was truly glad to have such an interesting charge.

Lentochkin junior had captured the stern bishop's affection with his reckless daring and his total disdain for his own position, which depended in every respect on His Grace. In Alexei Stepanovich, things that Mitrofanii would never have suffered from anyone else—including disrespect and even open mockery—not only failed to anger the bishop, but they merely amused him, and perhaps even inspired his admiration.

Let us start with the fact that Alyosha was a nonbeliever—and not just one of those agnostics who are now a penny a dozen among the educated classes, so that almost anyone you ask replies, “I can allow the possible existence of a Supreme Reason, but I cannot entirely vouch for it.” Oh, no, he was an absolutely out-and-out, thoroughgoing atheist. At his very first meeting with His Grace at the episcopal residence, right there in the icon room, under the radiant gaze of the evangelists, the holy saints, and the female martyrs, the young man and Mitrofanii had had an argument about the omniscience and grace of the Lord that had ended with the bishop throwing the blasphemer out on his ear. But when Mitrofanii had cooled off, he had ordered Lentochkin to be sent for again, regaled him with clear broth and pies, and spoken to him in a different manner—one that was cheerful and friendly. He had found the young man an appropriate position as a junior consistorial auditor, lodged him with a good, conscientious landlady, and told him to feel at home in the episcopal chambers, an invitation of which Lentochkin, who had not yet managed to make any acquaintances in Zavolzhsk, had taken full advantage without the slightest ceremony: he dined there, spent hours in the bishop's library, and even chatted with Mitrofanii about all manner of things. Very many people would have regarded it as a great good fortune to listen to what the bishop said, for his speech was always not only instructive, but also highly delightful to the ear, but Lentochkin for the most part held forth himself—and Mitrofanii did not object or interrupt, but listened with evident enjoyment.

There can be no doubt that this friendship took hold because the bishop ranked sharpness of wit and independence of thought more highly than almost all other human qualities, and Lentochkin possessed these particular characteristics in the highest degree. Sister Pelagia, who took a dislike to Alexei Stepanovich from the very beginning (for after all, the feeling of envy is sometimes encountered among individuals of the monastic calling), said that Mitrofanii's partiality to the boy was also motivated by his competitive spirit—he wanted to crack this hard nut, to awaken him to Faith. When the nun accused the bishop of vain pride, he did not argue with her, but he justified himself by saying that it was not a great sin and to some extent it was even excused by Holy Scripture, for it was written: “I say unto you, there shall be greater rejoicing over one sinner who repents than over ninety-nine righteous who are in no need of repentance.”

But it seems to us that in addition to this praiseworthy aspiration, meaning the salvation of a human soul, there was another, psychological reason, of which His Grace himself was probably not even aware. While his vocation as a monk had deprived him of the sweet burden of fatherhood, Mitrofanii had still not entirely overcome the corresponding emotional impulse, and while to a certain extent Pelagia had taken the place of his daughter, the position of son had remained vacant until Alexei Stepanovich appeared. The perceptive Matvei Bentsionovich, himself an experienced father with numerous children, was the first to draw Sister Pelagia's attention to this possible reason for His Graces exceptional partiality for the impertinent youth, and although deep in his heart, of course, he was stung, he was able to summon up enough irony to joke: “The bishop might have been glad to regard me as his son, but then he would have had to accept a dozen grandchildren into the bargain, and not many men are brave enough to attempt such a heroic feat.”

When they were in each other's company, Mitrofanii and Alyosha resembled most of all (we beg the reader's forgiveness for such a disrespectful comparison) a big old dog with a frisky puppy who gambols around his parent, sometimes grabbing him by the ear, sometimes trying to clamber up on him, sometimes snapping at his nose with his sharp little teeth; for a certain time the giant bears this pestering uncomplainingly, but when the puppy gets too carried away, he will growl at him quietly or press him to the floor with his mighty paw—but gently, so as not to crush him.

On the day following the portentous tea party, Mitrofanii had to leave for one of his outlying deaneries on urgent business, but the bishop did not forget his decision, and on his return he summoned Alexei Stepanovich Lentochkin; but even before that he sent for Berdichevsky and Pelagia to explain his reasoning to them, this time without any shade of paradox.

“There is a double logic to sending Lentochkin,” the bishop told his advisers. “First, it is best for the matter at hand if these chimeras are dealt with not by a person who has leanings toward mysticism”—at this point His Grace cast a sideways glance at his spiritual daughter—“but by someone who holds a thoroughly unabashed skeptical and even material view of the world. Alexei Stepanovich's character is such that his natural inclination is to get straight to the bottom of any strange phenomenon, and he takes nothing on trust. He is intelligent, resourceful, and also extremely impudent, which may prove useful in the present case. And second,” said Mitrofanii, raising one finger in the air, “I believe that this mission will not be without benefit to the envoy himself. Let him see that there are people—and many of them—to whom spiritual things are dearer than those of the flesh. Let him breathe the fresh air of a holy monastery for a while. I have heard that the air there in Ararat has a special quality: it sets your whole chest vibrating deliciously, as if you are breathing everything bad out of yourself and breathing in heavenly ambrosia.”

The bishop lowered his eyes and added in a quieter voice, as if he were speaking reluctantly: “He is a lively boy, full of curiosity, but he lacks the strong core that only Faith gives to a man. Someone less talented, with less lively feelings, might perhaps get by anyway, but without God, Alyosha is doomed for certain.”

Berdichevsky and Pelagia exchanged furtive glances, instantly concluding an unspoken agreement not to contradict the bishop—it would have been disrespectful, not to mention cruel.

Soon after this Alexei Stepanovich arrived, still not suspecting what far-reaching plans the bishop had in mind for him.

After greeting everyone present, Lentochkin tossed his head of chestnut curls, which reached almost down to his shoulders, and inquired jocularly, “Why have you convened your entire inquisition, Torque-mada? What torment have you devised for the heretic now?”

As we have already said, the youths wit was exceptionally keen—he had realized immediately that there was some special purpose to this meeting, and he had also spotted the special expressions on their faces. And as for “Torquemada,” that was Alexei Stepanovich's little joke— calling Father Mitrofanii by the name of some figure from church history: either Cardinal Richelieu or Archpriest Avvakum or someone else, depending on the way the conversation turned and the bishop's mood, which on occasion did indeed seem to express the stern
raison d'etat
of the French duke or the passionate fury of the schismatic martyr or the menace of the Castilian exterminator of spiritual pollution.

Mitrofanii did not smile at the joke. Speaking with emphatic coolness, he told Lentochkin about the alarming manifestations at New Ararat and explained the meaning of the young man's mission to him tersely, concluding as follows: “According to his job description, a con-sistorial auditor is not only responsible for the accounts, but also for other diocesan business that requires special verification. So go and verify this. I am counting on you.”

At first Alexei Stepanovich listened to the story of the Black Monk wandering across the waves with incredulous amazement, as if he were afraid that some joke was being played on him. Twice he even made caustic remarks, but then he realized that the conversation was serious and stopped playing the comic, although he occasionally raised one eyebrow with a certain playfulness.

When he had heard everything, Alexei Stepanovich nodded and seemed to have understood the “double logic” underlying his patron's decision. He smiled with his plump lips, making wonderful dimples appear on his ruddy cheeks, and spread his hands wide in admiration.

“Well, you are a cunning one, Bishop of Autun. Killing two birds with one stone, are we? Do you wish to know my opinion about these mysteries? What /think is that—”

“/is a very short word,” His Grace interrupted the boy—being compared to Talleyrand was even less to his taste than being likened to the Great Inquisitor.

“But one used by the Lord Himself,” Lentochkin retorted spryly.

Mitrofanii frowned to let the joker know that he was going too far. He blessed the youth with the sign of the cross and said quietly, “Go. And may the Lord watch over you.”

PART ONE

The First Expedition

THE ADVENTURES OF THE COMIC

ALEXEI STEPANOVICH'S PREPARATIONS did not take long and he left on his secret expedition two days after the conversation with His Grace, after having received strict instructions to send reports on his progress at least once every three days.

Taking into account the wait for the steamer in Sineozersk and the subsequent voyage across the lake, the journey to New Ararat took four days, and the first letter arrived after exactly one week; in other words it appeared that for all his nihilistic attitude, Alyosha was a reliable envoy who carried out his instructions to the letter.

His Grace was very pleased with the report's punctual arrival and the report itself, but pleased most of all because he had not been mistaken in the boy. He summoned Berdichevsky and Sister Pelagia and read out the report to them, although he occasionally frowned at the insufferably rollicking freedom of the style.