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diff --git a/old/65157-0.txt b/old/65157-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index fe14655..0000000 --- a/old/65157-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,7913 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Way of Martha and the Way of Mary, by -Stephen Graham - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: The Way of Martha and the Way of Mary - -Author: Stephen Graham - -Release Date: April 25, 2021 [eBook #65157] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -Produced by: David King and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at - http://www.pgdp.net. (This file was produced from images - generously made available by The Internet Archive/Canadian - Libraries.) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WAY OF MARTHA AND THE WAY OF -MARY *** - - - - - THE WAY OF MARTHA AND THE WAY OF MARY - - - - - MACMILLAN AND CO., LIMITED - LONDON · BOMBAY · CALCUTTA - MELBOURNE - - THE MACMILLAN COMPANY - NEW YORK · BOSTON · CHICAGO - DALLAS · SAN FRANCISCO - - THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, LTD. - TORONTO - - - - - THE WAY OF MARTHA AND THE WAY OF MARY - - BY - - STEPHEN GRAHAM - - AUTHOR OF - ‘WITH THE RUSSIAN PILGRIMS TO JERUSALEM,’ ETC. - - - MACMILLAN AND CO., LIMITED - ST. MARTIN’S STREET, LONDON - 1915 - - - - - PREFACE - - -The quotation “Martha, Martha, thou art cumbered about with many things: -but one thing is needful: and Mary hath chosen that good part which -shall not be taken away from her” is as common in Russia as “faith -without works is dead” is common here. Speaking roughly, Eastern -Christianity is associated with Mary’s good part and Western -Christianity with the way of Martha and service. The two aspects seem to -be irreconcilable, but they are not; and I have called my book _The Way -of Martha and the Way of Mary_ because the ways of the sisters are as -touchstones for Christianity, and in their reconciliation is a great -beauty. - -If you would know what a nation is, you must ask what is the religion of -the people. Without a national religion a nation is not a nation but a -collection of people. It is a truism to say that what is best in a -nation springs from its religion, from some central idealism to which -every one in the nation has access—the idea of the nation. There is a -“British idea,” an “American idea,” a “German idea,” a “Russian idea.” -This is profoundly true of Russia; for all that is beautiful in her -life, art, and culture springs from the particular and characteristic -Christian idea in the depths of her. She is essentially a great and -wonderful unity. It is of that essential unity that I write, and in -writing hope to show on the one plane Russia, and on another the -splendour of the true Christian idea. - -This book was written in Russia and in Egypt during 1914 and 1915. In -1913 I was in America and wrote my study of American ideals in contrast -to Russian ideals. I returned to Russia in January 1914 eager to look at -the East afresh and compare it with the West. In setting out for Russia -the fundamental idea in my mind was that of Russia as a religious -country where one found refuge from materialism and worldly cares, and I -hoped to find stories and pictures of life with which to clothe the -beautiful idea of the sanctuary. The book I was going to write I always -called in my mind “the sanctuary book,” and my notion was to make a book -that should also be a sanctuary itself—a book in which the reader could -find sacred refuge. - -Much has intervened. My quest resolved itself first of all into a -seeking for what I call the Russian idea, then into a study of Russian -Christianity. My new volume is necessarily one of seeking and finding, a -making of discoveries. One chapter led me on to another, and the scope -of my study increased till it took in the whole question of what Eastern -Christianity is and how it is in contrast to Western Christianity. - -Athwart this peaceful work came the typhoon of the Great War, and my -hand was claimed by the new friendship between England and Russia, the -friendship of brothers in arms. It was fitting to seize the opportunity -to make that friendship wider and deeper by describing and interpreting -the Russian people to larger audiences. But I carried the purpose of -this book with me, and much of what is written here was first put into -words on public platforms in the winter of 1914-15. Finally, as a -culmination to this personal work, on the 16th April 1915 I gave a -lecture at the Royal Institution on “The Russian Idea,” and therein -collected together and summarised all that I had said during the winter. -That evening I read almost all that is vital in Part I. of this book. - -In May, in order to carry on this study I went to Egypt to visit the -shrines and monasteries of the Desert, some of the sources of -inspiration of Eastern Christianity, and to make a journey to Russia the -way Christianity came to her. In these journeyings and doings lie the -chronological and geographical scheme of this new volume. - -I feel that this book, the hardest of all my books to write, is not in -any sense a collection or a medley of impressions and stories, but has -one and the same object and quest running through the whole of it; and -that in order to understand it even in a small way it is necessary to -read the whole of it, and perhaps re-read it. It is an organic unity, -and reflects in its form something of the Russian idea and of Sancta -Sophia itself. - -_The Way of Martha and The Way of Mary_ is an interpretation and a -survey of Eastern Christianity, and a consideration of the ideas at -present to the fore in Christianity generally. - -Christianity is not yet a system: it is chaotic in its tenets and the -manner of its profession. This _young_ religion of Christianity! Perhaps -6000 years hence it will have crystallised out, but as yet it is in the -confused grandeur of youth. It has all possibilities. A young man or -young woman of to-day can live by Christianity because it is young with -them. Probably any true book on Christianity must reflect this fact. As -yet Christianity is running germs: it is in being’s flood, in action’s -storm. It is not all logical, symmetrical, like a thesis demonstrated -and proved to a class in moral philosophy. - -Christianity is a great live religion still absorbing all that is true -in other religions. It is _the word_. It is part of our language, and by -means of it we express what is deepest in ourselves. There has not been -in history such a powerful medium of self-expression. Words are our -means of inter-communication, of understanding one another and telling -one another what is in the heart, that is—of communion with one another. -That communion is deep and tender, and the knowledge of it, like the -knowledge of God, passeth understanding; all that we know is that love -kindles from it. I make this affirmation as one whose special medium is -the written and the spoken word. - -STEPHEN GRAHAM. - -MOSCOW, _September 1915_. - - - - - CONTENTS - - - I. THE RUSSIAN IDEA— - - 1. TO RUSSIA 1 - - 2. MODERN RUSSIA AND HOLY RUSSIA 12 - - 3. PEREPLOTCHIKOF AGAIN 29 - - 4. AT THE THEATRE 37 - - 5. THE MOVEMENTS OF THE PEOPLES 48 - - 6. LET US GO INTO THE TAVERN 58 - - 7. IN THE CHURCH 73 - - 8. IN THE MARKET-PLACE 86 - - 9. THE RUSSIAN IDEA 90 - - 10. THE LABYRINTH 105 - - - II. MARTHA AND MARY— - - 1. THE _PODVIG_ 111 - - 2. THE HERMITAGE OF FATHER SERAPHIM 121 - - 3. TOLSTOY’S FLIGHT FROM HOME 130 - - 4. BACK TO MOSCOW 136 - - 5. THE RELIGION OF SUFFERING 143 - - 6. THE TWO HERMITS 155 - - 7. AT THE CONVENT OF MARTHA AND MARY 161 - - 8. THE WAY OF MARTHA 168 - - 9. MARTHA’S TRUE WAY 178 - - 10. MAKING WEST EAST 182 - - 11. THE ECCLESIASTICAL CHURCH AND THE LIVING CHURCH 190 - - 12. WITNESS UNTO THE TRUTH 200 - - 13. THE FESTIVAL OF THE DEAD 206 - - - III. THE DESERT AND THE WORLD— - - 1. A CHAIN OF HAPPENINGS 217 - - 2. THE HERMITS 221 - - 3. IN THE DESERT 235 - - 4. THE WORLD 246 - - 5. ST. SOPHIA 256 - - 6. FROM EGYPT TO RUSSIA 263 - - - APPENDICES— - - 1. WAR AND CHRISTIANITY 273 - - 2. THE CHOICE OF EAST AND WEST 280 - - _Frontispiece_—MARTHA AND MARY. - - - - - I - THE RUSSIAN IDEA - - - - - I - TO RUSSIA - - - KIEF, _January 1914_. - - -All night long from Paris to Cologne the train speeds like a bird, -joyously screaming. I am in the carriage next the engine, and as I lie -full length in the darkened empty carriage I look out on snow-patched -fields and hills, now partly obscured by wild volumes of vapour, now -fierily illumined by the glow of the furnace, the black sky raining -showers of red sparks on to the vague night landscape, the engine racing -forward past signal-boxes and stations, clattering along the changing -points of the rails of junctions, knowing apparently that all signals -are _for_, never anticipating any hindrance, skirling and leaping in the -exuberance of accomplishment. - -We pass the Belgian frontier at three in the morning near Namur, and the -German at Herbesthal in the dim glimmering before dawn. The world that -becomes visible as the sun rises is the ordered world of the Germans. -Everything is prim, everything is as it should be; the fields are -symmetrical, the palings are vertical and in good repair, the manure -heaps are compact; where houses are being pulled down or set up there is -no disorder whatever; nothing is scattered about, everything is -collected and numbered. At the little stations we pass through, the -station-master in brilliant red and blue is standing erect at that point -on the platform that it is his duty to occupy. On the train a woman in -uniform has appeared. She has put thirty or forty little tablets of soap -and two dozen hand-towels into the lavatory; she has picked up the bits -of paper that lay scattered in the corridor all night; she has washed -everything in the lavatory; put water in the cistern and boiled water in -the carafe. The conductor, a well-groomed military man, has come and -allotted us definitely numbered seats in the carriages and has seen that -our respective hand-luggage occupies just that space in the rack which -is above our numbered seats. - -At Cologne there are just four minutes to cross the subway and get into -the Berlin express. My porter—luggage-dragger, as the precise Germans -call him—takes me across at a run and puts me in the train, and my -registered box of books and papers and what-not is not allowed to miss -the connexion. I hardly sit down in the speckless third-class carriage -of the real German train before the whistle goes and we slip past the -great black piles of Cologne Cathedral in the background. All day long -we tear over Germany at sixty miles an hour to Berlin. - -At Paris I had registered my box to the Charlottenburg Station of -Berlin, but to my dismay the train did not stop there. I had only ten -minutes in which to change francs to marks, get my ticket to the Russian -frontier, have my luggage weighed and registered, and get into the -train. And I do not speak German, but the Germans understood. I was put -down at Zoological Gardens Station. My porter understood the situation -at once, ran me along to some stairs, and pointed down them. I went -down; he went “to expedite my baggage,” so I understood. I took my -ticket, and in doing so offered the girl in the booking-office about six -more marks than was necessary. She pushed back the superfluous silver -without a smile. Turning round, I saw my trunk reposing on the weighing -machine. My porter pointed to the registration window. I paid two marks -and obtained my receipt and went up the stairs to the platform for the -Russian train, and had two minutes to spare. - -How efficient the Germans are! They have a great excellence in their -way. They permit no one to lose himself, they permit no disorder, -everything is done by the chronometer rather than by the watch. They -have a genius for orderliness, neatness, and precision. They have our -English ideal of thoroughness and smartness, but they seem to have -consummated it whilst we have paused in the ways of Destiny and changed -our mind in favour of something different. If we could see Germans in a -friendly spirit there are many English who would bow down in admiration -to their civilisation. For the Saxon part of English nature has a -similar instinct for order, for living one’s life like a neatly-worked -mathematics paper. It is the aboriginal Celtic base in us which with -much that came over with the Normans has frustrated the Saxon element in -our race. The British earth itself has formed us, inspired us: hence our -kindliness, verve, and imaginativeness, human tenderness. Thanks to the -ancient Briton in us, we are more like the Russians than the Germans. -_There_ is a people who are the antipodes of the Germans—wild in their -emotions, anarchic in their spirits, amused by laws and regulations, -lacking in the instincts that make “progress” possible. Naturally the -Russians can’t stand the Germans. As a Russian said to me when I -recounted how once I left a Kodak behind in the waiting-room at Cologne -station, wired from Dusseldorf my Russian address, and eventually -received the apparatus in good condition at Rostof-on-the-Don, “The -Germans are an accurate people. O Lord, how accurate they are!” - -We reached the Russian frontier at one in the morning, and, passing in -single file, gave up our passports to the sentry. At the Custom-house -the baggage was submitted to a vigorous examination. An armed Customs -officer in a heavy overcoat with black astrakhan collar directed the -operations; three or four porters and inspectors fumbled in the trunks, -turning things almost upside down, and a slim girl of twenty-five, a -female expert, scrutinised all the clothes for the things that men were -not likely to see of themselves—embroidery, lace, silk underwear, neatly -packed away Paris blouses, feathers, new costumes with artificial -creases and tacked-in dirty linings. But I am not smuggling anything -through, and no one takes the trouble even to look at the contents of my -books. - -I take my ticket to Kief and a supplement to Warsaw. At half-past three -we are allowed to board the Russian train and spread out our bedding and -make ourselves comfortable. The station is dark and gloomy, the -dreariest station in western Russia. As we stand at the windows of the -train and look out a strange procession comes up out of the -darkness—threescore of men in irons, following a soldier who carries on -a pole high above his head a flaming naphtha torch. The faces of the men -are pale, furtive, hairy, their shoulders awkward; some are in old -blouses, some in collars, some in sheepskins; they are Jews, Poles, -Russians, chained together in fours, marching along the railway track to -a barred convict-train waiting at a siding. Foot soldiers accompany them -with drawn swords in their uplifted hands. They come out of the darkness -like living shadows and disappear into the darkness again. - -“_Soloveiki_,” says the conductor disparagingly. - -“Well,” says a Russian, “I don’t suppose they’re heroes. Poland swarms -with thieves and smugglers, and people smuggling themselves across the -frontier in order to get to America.” - -“They are human beings,” says another. “They are in chains and we free. -It is a heavy sight.” - -But the second bell and the third bell sound, and the train moves -gradually out of the station and nearly every one lies down to sleep. -Even when we arrive at Warsaw many of the passengers are snoring and -have to be awakened up by acquaintances or porters. - -Across the two miles of the slush-covered cobbles of Warsaw, through -driving rain and sleet, in an open _droshky_ at dawn, from the Vienna to -the Brest station. - -“_A vam ne skoro!_” says the Russian porter who greets me. “Your train -is not soon. The next for Kief is at four o’clock in the afternoon.” - -I have breakfast. I stroll into the rainy city and back, have a plate of -hot soup, read the papers, write letters. - -Opposite me in the Kief train was a little girl in simple but antique -national attire, in soiled clothes, but having a fresh and delicate -classical face and black hair in two plaits, one about each little ear—a -rare beauty: it was a piquant pleasure just to look at her. - -“When do we get to Kharkof?” she asked. - -“Seven, to-morrow night.” - -“Oh, what a long time! It’s a long way: it’s the first time I’ve been -away from home.” - -As the guard blew his whistle she stood up, looked towards the city, and -crossed herself. - -“Are you a little Russian?” I asked. - -“No; a Pole. I was once a Jewess, but have just been baptized. See....” - -She showed me a little crucifix, and the figure of the Virgin on a -little medallion hanging from her neck. - -“You’re a Catholic now?” - -“Yes; and I don’t like the Jews.” - -I wondered whether in view of the ill odour in which the Jews were at -that time, she had been told by her mother to announce her conversion -very distinctly. - -“Such a mama I have!” said she, turning out a basket of provisions—two -bags of nuts, several pots of jam, biscuits, a Polish Christmas pudding. - -There were in the carriage besides myself and the girl opposite me a -Russian student, a young Polish _flaneur_, and a middle-aged, grizzly, -smelly, Polish peasant. The young convert offered us all nuts. She was -very engaging. She took out a long bottle, put it to her lips and drank -from it. She told me it was cold tea with sugar at the bottom of the -bottle, but to the Pole announced that it was vodka. - -He was fool enough to believe her, and at once cast about in his mind -some means of doing her an ill turn. He came over and made love to her -in excited whispers, and was so rude and urgent that at last the girl -refused to have anything more to do with him, and turned sullen and -angry. He for his part sneaked off to another compartment, and we saw no -more of him. After a while the girl relaxed and smiled, took out a large -but cracked hand-mirror, looked at her pretty face, and patted the curls -to her temples. I got a kettleful of boiling water and made tea for the -grizzly peasant and her and myself. Then the peasant climbed on to the -shelf above and spread out his big overcoat and slept on it, and the -little girl, after explaining that she was going to live with Poles in -Kharkof, and that her father played the violin and she the mandoline, -and that she was going to take a part in a “troop” and earn her living, -undid her black locks, put down a quilt and a pillow, and curled herself -up and slept. The conductor came round and searched under the seats for -“hares,” the flickering candle burned low, and I was about to turn in -and sleep when the Russian student, who had been trying to read a -newspaper by the aid of a dip of his own, finally gave up the task and -set himself to talk to me. - -“How far are you going? Where from? What for? How long have you been -away from Russia? What interest can Russia have for you? I should have -thought the West more interesting....” and so on, the usual flood of -questions. - -Then my questions. “Has much happened in Russia during the year? What -are people talking about? What are they doing? What is in the air?” - -“Oh,” said he, “the Futurists are walking about with gilded noses and -dyed faces. The Jew-haters of the Black Hundred want to raise a temple -in memory of the Christian boy Yushinsky. Everyone has been discussing a -play of Artsibashef called _Jealousy_. Literary Russia has been giving a -welcome to the Belgian poet Verhaeren, such as you in England have been -giving Anatole France. Every one is either hearing or giving lectures -about Verhaeren. But I suppose most clamour of all has been raised about -Gorky and Dostoieffsky and the Theatre of Art at Moscow. They propose to -perform Dostoieffsky’s _Demons_ at the Theatre of Art, and Gorky has -raised a great protest. He holds that Dostoieffsky is so reactionary in -tendency that he ought not to be played at the great democratic theatre. -Not only that, but he holds that Tolstoy, and indeed all Russian -literature, is on the wrong side in the struggle for the liberation of -the people. He is almost ready to say, ‘Burn the works of Tolstoy and -Dostoieffsky; burn them, and let us be free!’” - -“How does Russia take it?” I asked. “It is indeed true that -Dostoieffsky’s work is not on the side of progress and freedom. He -believed in suffering; he believed in the Russian Church, and was a -Christian.” - -“Russia is mostly against Gorky,” said the student. “Merezhkovsky, for -instance, has written a brilliant article against him in the _Russian -Word_, and he says, ‘Yes, Gorky is keenly sensitive, but in Italy or -Greece, where he lives,[1] he is too far away to feel what Russia is -now. Russia has changed much in the last eight years. Her wounds have -healed up, many of them; she has the great hope of the convalescent. If -Gorky breathed Russian air he would understand that there was now in -Russia a strong religious movement.’” - -“And what do you think?” I asked. “Do you possibly agree with Gorky?” - -“No. I don’t think it is right to steal an instrument from the other -side’s box of tricks. The Censorship is one of their weapons, not one of -ours. The people have loved Dostoieffsky more than they have loved any -other Russian author; he is still beloved. We Russians are a religious -and loving people. We will never sacrifice humanity for ideas....” - -We talked a long time. When I lay down on my shelf to sleep I felt only -gladness that I was coming back to Russia, coming to live with her and -for her once more, after a year in England and America. It seemed to me -a pity that Gorky had not come back the year before when so many exiles -took advantage of the Tsar’s manifesto, and returned to the open arms of -a loving, astonishingly patriotic people! - -Next morning at dawn I arrived at Kief, said “Good-bye” to the little -girl who was sleepily stretching herself, and to the student who was -chatting with a new acquaintance in the gangway and smoking a cigarette. -The grizzly peasant I let snore on.... - -A fine crowd this of the Kief streets: stalwart, diverse, interested in -one another, attractive-faced, they are a refreshment, such a -refreshment, after Paris and New York. - -But I do not reckon that I have achieved the first stage of my journey -back till I enter the Cathedral of St. Vladimir and light candles before -Queen Olga, King Vladimir, and the Mother and Child, baring my head in -the presence of Russia and accepting her sanctuary from the West. - -Footnote 1: - - He had not then returned to Russia. - - - - - II - MODERN RUSSIA AND HOLY RUSSIA - - - KIEF, _January 1914_. - - -One of the first friends I visited in Kief was Little-Russian Katia, a -typical Russian of to-day, with the problems and prospects of the -new-formed middle class. - -At the time of the Boer War Katia ran away from school and set off on -foot for South Africa as a Russian pilgrim would set out for Jerusalem, -with a bundle on her back and a stick in her hand. She would beg her way -to the Transvaal and collect money to help the Boers! At the same -school, in the time of the riots in Kief, the first class presented an -ultimatum to the masters and directors, demanding among other things the -right to hold meetings, the right to get books from the public -libraries, and equal justice for all pupils irrespective of race, be -they Russians, Poles, or Jews! A go-ahead school as far as the scholars -were concerned. If a mistress in a fit of anger strikes one of her -class, straight away a boycott of her lessons is arranged, and no one -answers her questions, no one does any homework for her. - -Katia learnt at school to adore above all things the works of Oscar -Wilde. She professes to know his works almost by heart; she sleeps with -_The Happy Prince_ under her pillow. On a wall in her bedroom hangs a -large portrait of Oscar Wilde; in a corner is the sacred ikon, before -which on festival nights and for holy days she lights a little lamp. She -was the last Russian I had seen when I left Kief some fifteen months -before. She was then engaged to Sasha, a thinly-clad, stern, -poverty-stricken student, who in order to travel thirty versts on the -railway free would take a conductor’s job and examine the tickets in the -second class. If she married Sasha he would get drunk and beat her; they -would live dogs’ lives—so every one said. The father, a rich -manufacturer, was opposed to Sasha, but then the father was a tyrant; -the mother, not on speaking terms with the father, gave countenance to -the engagement. Sasha was able to come to all meals and stay as long as -he liked with Katia. When Katia was indisposed and thought fit to lie in -bed, he might spend whole evenings sitting by her. That was all _comme -il faut_, for in Russia a betrothed couple are already called bride and -bridegroom and have such freedom. - -The father, however, cut short Katia’s pocket-money and cut short his -wife’s housekeeping money, and made coarse jokes at the expense of the -house-hold. Though Katia was twenty-two years of age she had no passport -of her own. Her father simply kept her name written on his own passport, -and in that way cut off the chance of his daughter’s running away from -home. You cannot get far in Russia without a passport of your own. You -certainly cannot get married without a passport and without many -documents. - -Katia’s sweetheart was not at all abashed by his own poverty or by the -rudeness of the father. He came to all parties and functions in his -shabby clothes. He lectured the father and mother on their behaviour. He -was even hard and brusque to Katia herself upon occasion. But he stood -up for her dignity, and would have fought any one who insulted her. - - * * * * * - -Returning to Kief this month I rather wondered how far Katia’s romance -had got. Perhaps she and Sasha were now man and wife. But I could not -imagine it. One of the felicities of travelling is to pay surprise -visits. I had heard nothing from Katia in the interim. So I rang at the -door and gave my name to a strange servant and went in and.... - -Exclamations! “Oh, how fine! on the twenty-fifth of January is my -wedding,” says the same beautiful Katia. - -“I congratulate you. I did not know whom to visit first,” said I, “you -or Sasha.” - -“Sasha is in Moscow,” says Katia with a troubled expression. - -“Will you live in Kief?” I ask. - -“_I_ in Kief,” says she with meaning emphasis. - -So it is not Sasha that she is marrying. - -Presently in comes a bright-looking soldier of rather charming manners, -and he is introduced as the bridegroom. He is a guest in the house and -has been living there some weeks—Fedor Leonidovitch Smirnoff—who has -completed his university course in law, and is now serving his term in -the army. - -“The date is absolutely settled?” I suppose. - -“If papa will take out the papers in time,” says Katia. - -But the new young man is on good terms with the father. He has evidently -plenty of money of his own, and he is a _persona grata_. - -“What of Sasha?” I ask Katia aside. - -“We quarrelled,” says she. “God, how we quarrelled! We were rowing in a -boat on the Dnieper, and when I told him it was no good, we could never -be married, he shot at me with a revolver. I had to save myself by -jumping into the water.” - -“You’ve chosen a nice young man this time. Perhaps you are more likely -to be happy with him.” - -“Yes. Everybody likes him.” - -Fedor is certainly a relief after the sternness of Sasha. He is affable, -he is interested in the prices of all things, and is bourgeois, but he -says that success and money and luxury do not tempt him. He would like -to give up everything and try and find out what life means. He would -like to be a wanderer as I am, or to go into a monastery. - -All the same, the career assigned to him seems to be that of a lawyer, -and as a lawyer, not as a vagabond, will he win the hand of Katia. He -will live with her as a wealthy bourgeois European, and not as a -Russian. - -This modern Kief is a mill where purely Russian types go in and -Europeans come out. - -“Once a European, always a European,” says some one. - -“A European may become an American,” I hazard. - -“But he can never become a Russian again.” - -“What am I?” asks Katia of me, “a Russian or a European?” - -“I don’t know. You are changing perhaps. But keep a Russian!” - -One evening, on Katia’s advice, I took a sledge across the snow-covered -city to Solovtsof’s theatre and saw _Jealousy_ performed, a story that -has had a vast vulgar success in Russia. It is by Artsibashef, the -author of the most notorious books of the last ten years. He is the -voice of the bourgeois, of the new commercial middle-class Europeans -being turned out at such an astonishing rate by the modern industrialism -of Russia. He concerns himself almost entirely with sexual problems, and -the relation of woman to man. His outlook in life is something like that -of Bernard Shaw, but his criterion in life is not racial progress so -much as physical happiness. He mirrors the life of those whose aim is -money, whose relaxation is feasting and flirtation. He reflects the -growing non-Christian Russia, the increasing mass of Parisian types of -men and women obscuring the real Russia. - -A crowded theatre, nobody in evening dress, many women pretentiously -dressed, many rich town-folk in the stalls, clerks and their sweethearts -or their wives in other parts of the house. The play is very well -staged, well upholstered, and is vociferously received. What they are -cheering is nothing more or less than a series of opinions about women, -a disparagement and uglification of the symbol “woman,” of what is -holiest. - -But to quote the opinions gives the play. - - In woman first of all it is necessary to awaken curiosity. - - Women do not value those who pray to them. - - Woman, of course, likes admiration, but only gives herself to the - man who despises her a little. - - Men are most interesting when they are angry. - - Woman is only interesting, vivacious, clever, when she is bathed in - the atmosphere of love. - - Man is interested in his business, in sport, in thought, but woman - is only interested in herself, and if she seems to have interest in - other things it is only feigned. Her sole object is to make herself - more alluring, more interesting. - - We seek Lauras and Beatrices, not knowing that such creatures are - only the incarnation of male fancy, and do not and cannot exist. - - Girls are charming, but when you marry one you find her to be a - tedious _baba_ like the rest. At the piano they tinkle, “I am a - princess, I am a princess.” All young girls are princesses, but you - never come across a queen. - - A woman lies in a way that a man would not wish to lie, and indeed - cannot lie. She lies with her whole being. When a man deceives he - grows cool, and in that betrays himself. But a woman returns from - another man’s love specially languorous, caressing, and tender.... - Sin must surely set her soul ablaze. Even the most sinful man is - ashamed of deceit, and that prevents him from lying effectively. A - woman quite sincerely reckons she has a right to deceive. She thinks - that to deceive not only does not humiliate her, but, on the - contrary, makes her more interesting. - -The action of the drama shows two women, one who may be dismissed as a -wanton, the other is a flirt who loves her husband best of all. The -latter coquettes in various ways with an officer, a student, and a -savage Caucasian prince. She leads them on to the last limit of -propriety, and evidently finds her sole zest of life in the vanity of -having lovers always expecting rendezvous and secret kisses. - -The only words spoken on behalf of woman come from an old fellow who has -been three times married—and deceived and made foolish by three women in -turn. He says:— - -Woman is a magnificent, delicate instrument on which each can play all -that he can and will. Of course, put some Beethoven at the piano, and he -will find you a wonderful sonata; but put some giftless strummer there, -and he rattles out a vulgar polka. We are just such giftless fools, and -swear at the instrument because it produces no music. No, friends, you -are wrong; woman is sensitive, hospitable, tender, poetic. God gave us -woman as an adornment of our lives; we ourselves have spoiled her and -complain. - -The play _Jealousy_ is a sort of public trial of woman, and when at the -end the crazy husband of the woman who flirted but loved him best -strangles her, it is a sort of verdict, sentence, and execution in one. - -How serious the trial is may be judged from the fact that each of the -audience is given a pencil and a piece of paper and asked to record his -opinion as to whether the man was justified in committing the murder. - -How repulsive the whole thing! A play that should put “Woman” adequately -on the stage needs many women and the various kinds of men who need from -women the things that women can give—faith, love, children. For setting -or for evidence it needs the world. The powers of life and death must -stalk across the stage. The stakes for which men bid must be there, and -also the - - Stars silent over us, - Graves under us silent. - -_Jealousy_ is the reflection of a shameful way of life. It is trivial, -mean, parochial, the rage of talk for a day among the bourgeois of -Russia, interesting now, as opposed to the story of Antony and -Cleopatra, interesting for ever. - -“And what do _you_ think of woman?” asked a Kief friend. - -“Why,” said I, “the beast was a beast until a woman loved him. Then he -became a man, even a prince. So it is with all of us. When a woman -kisses a man, even an ugly, wretched, despised creature, he knows that -he has found grace and is precious in the sight of God. When a woman -smiles on a man she bids him live. - -“The world is kept fresh by women and children, by their faith and their -influence and their prayers. It would have rotted away but for them. - -“The love and the faith of women empower men to do things. No man who is -out on the adventurous tracks of life but has women behind him, and -their love even far away keeps him alive. A woman has cords from her -soul to the far-off hands of man, and at her will can empower men to -lift their hands and do things. She has spiritual nervous force.” - -“But if these cords get broken?” said my friend. - -“Ah, then indeed she is in a different position. She finds herself -stranded in destiny. She may become a man’s plaything or worse. Or she -may become a militant suffragist or a believer in secular education or a -propagandist of eugenism and hygienics.” - -“In England,” says my friend. “But in Russia we have no woman’s -movement. She becomes one of Artsibashef’s women, no more; a man’s -plaything and fetish.” - -Even so. - - * * * * * - -What has Artsibashef’s play got to do with Russia? It has a good deal to -do with her because of thousands such as Katia who are at the -cross-roads. With her cross, hard, but loving student Sasha she might -have been poor and unhappy, but, on the other hand, she would save her -soul’s health. Whereas with her new-found bourgeois Fedor she may easily -enter the world and the atmosphere of _Jealousy_. - -Among those I visited at Kief was a certain Vassia, a poverty-stricken -doctor who worked from morning to night healing men and women, a -specialist in internal diseases but practising in a poor district. He -did not receive a fifth of his fees; he healed on trust. - -“They come to me suffering: how can I refuse to help?” he would urge -when people tried to harden his heart against those who couldn’t pay. - -An extraordinarily kind, impracticable fellow, with a flat in complete -disorder, with an adopted child but no wife; lazy and thieving servants. -Neighbours have stolen much of his furniture, even the ikons from some -of the rooms; and the candles burn in the empty corners from which the -ikons have been stolen! That is Russian. - -Vassia and I were invited to an astonishing all-night feast given in -honour of Katia on the occasion of her last name-day before marriage. - -We sat down to dinner at six, we got up from dinner at half-past eleven; -we went to the drawing-room and talked and sang till a quarter past -twelve, then we returned to the dining-room for tea and coffee and -dessert. - -The funniest moments were when the bride’s father sat on the floor -pretending he was drunk, and when the bridegroom, to prove he was not -tipsy, crawled under the table on all fours among the guests’ feet and -went from one end to the other, and then jumped up and gave a military -salute. - -They drank too much. They were near quarrelling at the end. One of the -guests shouted in a loud voice that Katia’s brother had played the piano -like a bootmaker. - -Then the toasts! They drank twice to everybody in the room, and the men -kissed the hands of the women as well as clinking glasses with them. All -the bridegroom said at dinner was, “So-and-so, for what reason do you -not drink?” though So-and-so was often half-seas over. They drank to -absent friends, to Freedom, to Truth, to English Literature—“Let us -drink to English Literature, ‘urrah!”—to Russian dancing, to Katia, to -Katia’s figure (“thank God she isn’t like a telegraph pole”), to Katia’s -future happiness. - -She changed her dress between dinner and dessert. - -Some of the women present had a private view of the bride’s linen—eight -dozen chemises at a hundred and forty roubles the dozen, and all the -rest on a similar scale. - -“Fine batiste and lace,” said an old lady present, rubbing her fingers -together as if feeling the linen; “fine batiste that at the first wash -goes into shreds from the chemicals the laundresses use. I wouldn’t -accept such garments as a gift. It is a sin to wear them. Nowadays, when -you live in a city and the washerwoman won’t wash naturally, the only -thing to do is to wear cheap things and replace them continually.” - -What was interesting to me was the complete absence of attention on the -part of the bridegroom. He could not have treated an enemy more -negligently. - -It even prompted the German governess, who had unfortunately got a -little drunk with champagne, to cry out— - -“The bridegroom has not kissed the bride once; why is it?” - -Poor Katia! she did not seem to have one true friend amongst all these -people, and was possibly marrying to escape from father and home.... - -But away from these problems! Thousands of sleigh-horses flog the -grey-white snow of the Kief streets, flocked with Christmas traffic. The -sleighs are loaded with baskets of cakes and sweets. Men are driving, -carrying in their arms huge Christmas trees. There are men struggling -with little pigs and live geese and turkeys designed for the market or -the Christmas dinner. On the slippery sidewalks urchins are crying with -cheerful irrelevance:— - -“Five copecks, aluminium wonder lights, cold fire without smoke, without -smell.” - -“Five copecks, warm socks to put inside boots or goloshes.” - -In the Jewish old-clothes market of the Podol there are tremendous -crowds, and much business is being done. The mood of Jewry is happy in -the Christmas orgy of trade. All is calm after the ritual trial, and the -fear of persecution is all gone in the reality of good business. All -Kief seems to be in the streets buying; and the tram-cars tinkling their -alarm bells are crowded to the last inch of the step-boards. - -But somewhere there is another Kief, a quiet radiant city, silent but -for the footfalls of monks or pilgrims on the snow—the sanctuaries, -monasteries, ruins, shops, hostelries of the Petcherskaya Lavra. This -Kief stands high on those cliffs of the Dnieper whence the Russians sent -tumbling down their old god Peroun; it looks upon the river to which -King Vladimir at the dawning of Russian faith stepped down with his -whole army to be baptized. Yellow walls, half a mile long, twenty feet -high, go down, alongside steep, snowy, rutty, over-drifted roads, from -church to church. Peasant men and women in chestnut-coloured sheepskins, -fur-edged and embroidered, are plodding up and down with bundles on -their shoulders. Bright gilded domes of churches glitter above white -walls, and from many kolokolnyas come antique-sounding chimes. As you -look down from a tower you see beyond the thirty-five churches of the -beautiful Lavra the blue and white Dnieper, half frozen and snowed over, -half free as yet from winter’s grip—you see beyond all the far snowy -steppes and forests of Little Russia. - -Here, in a historical sense, is Holy Russia, for the whole cliff on -which the monasteries are built is holy ground. The foundations are -honeycombed with cells of the primeval hermits and saints of Russia. You -enter dark and narrow passages in the rock, places in which you cannot -stand erect, and you wander candle in hand from shrine to shrine in the -depths of the earth. An old monk with black cloak, grey hair, and yellow -five-times broken twisted candle, leads you from skeleton to skeleton -wrapped in purple pall; shows you now and then a skull, a dried-up hand; -points out the picture of the likeness of the saint whose remains you -salute, indicating the nickname the hermit bore in the days when he was -upon the world, thus: the industrious, the silent, the bookless, the -faster, the healer, the herbalist, and so on; thrusting the glimmer of -his torch into the intense darkness of the cell which the father had -occupied when alive. All day long the peasants wander from sepulchre to -sepulchre in this unlocked cemetery or dungeon of the dead, kissing the -coffins, laying personal ikons upon the relics in order that they may -receive special sanctification, dropping their farthings on the palls, -listening to services in remote underground churches, gathering unusual -impressions of death, tasting the sweet emotions of religion. - -In the hostelries, where are accommodated upon occasion as many as -20,000 pilgrims, you may wander at will and see peasant Russia sprawling -on sheepskins and reading holy books, or making tea. You may go into the -refectories and see 500 pilgrims sit down together to a free monastery -dinner of cabbage soup and porridge and kvass, or you may sit with them -yourself and eat. On this Christmas Eve just past I sat with such a -party in the twilight waiting for the first star to come out, the signal -to make the holy meal of _Sotchelnik_. It was a different Russia from -Katia’s, this of the 500 uncouth, shaggy-headed men and women at long -dark tables, waiting in front of huge Russian basins full of soup, as -the shades of night came down, and the lamp before the Virgin and Child -grew brighter and brighter. - -You tread with gentle steps across the giving snow and enter one of the -churches, and find yourself in an irregularly grouped crowd of antique, -hairy, patriarchal-looking men in sheepskins and birch-bark boots. There -are no pews or seats, there is no electric light, but there is the gloom -and effulgence of much gold and of many half-illuminated paintings and -frescoes. You stand with peasant Russia on a stone floor in the glimmer -and shadow of an immense candle-lit temple. You pass through with a -candle to the front, to the altar-rail lit by scores of steady silver -flames, the votive tapers of the pilgrims; you find yourself in the -presence of a radiant line of calm, attentive, singing faces. This is -Holy Russia independent of historical association. The music you hear in -Russian churches robs you of the sense of time. On Christmas Eve in -Russia you hear the music of the herald-angels, and see at the same -time, in the likeness of the listening Russian peasants, the shepherds -who heard the angels sing. You veritably escape from “the world” and -from “to-day,” and are so potently reminded of the beauty and mystery of -man’s life that you shake off all dull cares and the reproach of failure -or success, the soil and stain of circumstance, and know that what is -_you_ is something utterly beautiful before God. - -Kief has been called many names—the Canterbury of Russia, the Russian -Jerusalem, the Font of Russia—but it may most truly be called the -Russian Bethlehem, the place where Christ was born in Russia, adored by -rude shepherds, sought by the noble and the wise. - - - - - III - PEREPLOTCHIKOF AGAIN - - - MOSCOW, _February 1914_. - - -I went to Moscow to see my old friend Vassily Vassilievitch -Pereplotchikof, the painter. He received me in his house in the Sadovia, -in that mysterious sitting-room of his where scores of his paintings are -always standing with their faces to the wall, like very shy young -maidens who wait till it is their turn to be shown to society and to -their prospective suitors. - -During the summer in America which I had tramped, he had been seeking -impressions on the barren Arctic island of Nova Zemlia. What a contrast -in our fields of action! He in the silent snow-swept island; I on the -luxurious mainland of the New World. Vassily Vassilitch prefers places -like Nova Zemlia, where, as it were, candles are burning in corners from -which ikons have been taken away. We exchanged our impressions. - -Nova Zemlia has only a hundred inhabitants, one steamer calls there in -the year. There is only one post. In winter there is three months -darkness without light; in summer two months light without darkness. The -ice and snow do not melt away even in July, and the colonists—trappers -and hunters—live a stark life in opposition to the storm and stress of -nature. They are dead to the world—the world all dead to them until the -prow of their one annual steamer comes into view on the ocean in July. -The day of its arrival they call their Easter, and they do not hold -Easter according to the calendar in the dark and terrible spring, but -postpone their holiday till life is born again with the coming of the -ship. Their resurrection day is when their brother-man comes again to -them. In the arriving of the ship they see Jesus walking towards them on -the sea. - -Vassily Vassilitch told me this with a subtle emphasis. I felt rich in -having Vassily Vassilitch as a friend, for I realised he was able to -tell me sacred things. This evening of our seeing one another again he -read me many poems which he had written “not to print, but for his own -pleasure.” All that he says has a deep human interest, a significant -emphasis and luminous suggestiveness that may be recognised in his -paintings also. - -Vassily Vassilitch left Archangel for Nova Zemlia one morning in July. -The boat steamed placidly and peacefully out of the vast and enlarged -Dwina into the White Sea, and then out of the White Sea into the cold -and buffeting Arctic. On board were two Government officials going to -consider “Colonisation,” an English artillery officer, an astronomer, a -journalist from Archangel, a monk going to relieve another monk and -spend the winter on the island, peasant fur-buyers, carpenters, and -workmen. - -The monk was one of the most interesting characters, and told how a -Samoyede once in a storm dug a hole in the snow and lay there three or -four days, and slept till it was over. When the blizzard ceased he broke -out of his white grave and went home. He told how there was once such a -storm on Easter Eve that he and the villagers had to crawl to church on -hands and knees. Coming home they were all blown about half a mile out -of their course. - -From the hunting expeditions the islanders nearly always brought home -young bears taken alive, and they fed them and reared them and -eventually sold them into menageries and circuses. The monk had two -young bears one season and they were very much attached to him. They -followed him everywhere and would take food from his hands alone. If by -any chance he escaped them and got away by himself to do something they -raised a _scandal_. However, on the return journey to Archangel the monk -lost one of them. When they were some 250 miles out at sea one of the -bears broke her fastenings, jumped into the ocean and swam away. And she -swam all the way back to the harbour and was recaptured by the Samoyedes -there. The other bear gave a lot of trouble at Archangel by absolutely -refusing to be tended by any one else but the monk who had brought him. -But at last the monk exchanged his cassock with some one else, and it -was found that the bear at once transferred his obedience, and that he -could be managed by any one who wore the monk’s garments. The monk -therefore sold the cassock with the bear, and both are now part of the -stock-in-trade of a circus. In this case the habit did make the monk. - -The boat had an open hatchway, and the captain was for ever crying out:— - -“More careful, people! Don’t fall down the hole. Once the Governor of -Archangel fell down there; he didn’t get hurt because he fell on a -chambermaid who was passing. Once an official fell through and broke -twelve bottles of various drinks; he didn’t get hurt either, but was -much upset when we gave him the bill for the drinks. Another official -was reading a bit of paper and stepped over and fell on some baskets—he -also didn’t get hurt; but be careful all the same. And various ordinary -passengers fell....” - -But, as it happened, some tremendous weather overtook the ship, and not -many dare move from their places in the cabins. So the hatchway remained -open without misadventure. - -It was touching—Vassily Vassilitch’s account of their coming into view -of the shore, and the whole population of the little colony standing -staring at the ship with greedy eyes, the first visitors to them from -the great family of mankind on the rest of the world, their Easter. Poor -lonely ones! With what thirst they exchanged the first greetings and -questions! - -“How have you got on?” - -“Any sick?” - -“Any dead?” - -“Have you shot many bears?” - -“How’s trade?” - -The islanders had suffered very much from scurvy during the year. The -day before the vessel arrived a man had died of it and Vassily -Vassilitch saw the funeral. It took place about midnight. From one of -the huts came the _klak_, _klak_, _klak_, of the nailing up of the -coffin. The coffin issued from the little village borne on a dog-drawn -hearse, then followed the priest in his gilded raiment, the frantic -widow, the mourners. “Holy God,” they sang, “Holy Strong One, Holy -Immortal,” and the dogs all whined and howled. In the bitter shadowy -night they bore the corpse away, over grey earth and rags of snow, far -away to the side of a black tumbling river, and the midnight sunshine -gleamed on all the snowy mountain peaks, catching the light from the -horizon where the sun seemed poised. - -Vassily Vassilitch showed me a copy he had made of a diary kept by a -Russian peasant who had died of scurvy. Two Russian peasants settled on -a desolate part of the island to spend the winter and hunt. It was -somewhat pathetic that the man doomed to die should have had the idea of -keeping a log-book. The story tells much of Russian patience, -simplicity, tenderness, pluck. I only quote a few entries from the -diary:— - - _November 30._—Bear came to door of hut and began to gnaw the - carcase that was there. Snatched my gun, but he saw me and was off - and I dare not follow in the dark. - - _December 5._—Daylight was short. Hardly got a shot before it was - dark. Eve of the day of my angel. In the evening drank tea. Washed - my body at a basin for want of a bath. Changed my linen. Lighted - lamp before the ikon. - - _February 1._—Cloudy and windy. Shot some seals. Had great - difficulty in bringing them home. We have colds. Northern lights. - - _February 28._—Heavy weather. Both seriously ill. Extraordinary - pain. First the toes ache as if frozen, then it goes into the legs, - into the knees and muscles. Man must lie down. Over his whole body - and arms a rash breaks out. - -In March the scurvy was too much for him; the diary is continued by the -hand of his mate, who writes on April 16:— - - To-day Kulebakin (the former writer of the diary) was in pain and - delirium, but afterwards calmly and peacefully gave back his soul to - God. Weather cloudy to clear. No water. Dug the grave. All by myself - now. No one to talk to now. It is sad. - - _April 21._—Lighted a candle and burnt incense over Kulebakin, and - then carried him to the grave. Bright and sunny day. No water. - - _April 23._—The ice has cleared. Hung a torn shirt on the mountain - instead of a flag. I still wait on the chance of some one coming - from the settlement. It is very dreary. Pain in the legs. Walk with - difficulty. Need to gather strength against illness. Nothing to eat - but bread. - -At this point the diary comes entirely to an end, and it might have -seemed the writer was dead, but a peasant came from the settlement, -rescued him, and carried him back, and he returned to Russia and -recovered. The astonishing thing is he came back again to Nova Zemlia, -and wintered and hunted, repeating the experiment. A tough fellow! - -One of the sights of Nova Zemlia is the cemetery, with its tumbled and -broken crosses. The dead sleep there in the Russian faith even as they -sleep far away in tropical Turkestan and the pleasant borders of Persia. -Not only a nation stretching from West to East, these Russians, but -diving four or five thousand miles from North to South. How do they -support life in the Far North? They have to have their vodka there.[2] -There is a big supply of it on the ship for them. It will not, however, -be sold to them till all the business of fur-selling is accomplished and -the cargo brought on board, and the ship is ready to steam away. The -sale of vodka begins only after the second blast of the hooter. The day -after the boat leaves the island there is an orgy of drinking, and in a -short while all the vodka disappears and there ensue months of enforced -sobriety. - -The island has a loving and striving priest who wrestles with the people -for their souls. - -Vassily Vassilitch came upon him sobbing. There had been a case of -cheating on the island. - -“I try to make them good men and women,” said the priest; “I pray for -them. I pray with them, and yet see how they cheat and drink and forget -all that they learn!” - -Vassily Vassilitch went right round the island calling at the various -points where there were inhabitants, painting a little, talking to the -people. It is a wonderful island, a continuation of the Urals, very rich -in metals, very mountainous. There were no trees, however, and though -there were bright and beautiful flowers and birds and butterflies it was -ever bleak and wind-swept. There was not a mosquito or hornfly in the -island even in July. - -Coming home the ship passed through a field of icebergs. Vassily -Vassilitch for the first time in his life saw a mirage. It gave him the -idea that all that he had seen on the island was really a mirage, a -dream, an insubstantial pageant; that life itself was such. - -When he heard the last of the growling and snapping of the twelve or -fifteen bears tied up on deck and stepped off on to the pier and sat -once more in an Archangel _droshky_, clattering over the cobbles of the -muddy town, he felt indeed that all that he had seen and heard was -something folded and hidden away in the everyday, a wonderful, -fantastic, even absurd and improbable dream. - -“Some time, perhaps, after we die and awake elsewhere, we shall look -back on life and say the same of it,” said he. - -Footnote 2: - - Before the vodka prohibition. How they get on now it would be - difficult to say. - - - - - IV - AT THE THEATRE - - - MOSCOW, _March 1914_. - - -At Moscow, at one of the meetings of the Religious and Philosophical -Society, I met Namirovitch Danchenko, the manager of the Theatre of Art, -and he invited me to see five or six pieces of the repertory. This gave -me great pleasure and interest. - -An interesting figure in the stalls of the theatre on the first night I -was there was Maxim Gorky, who had unexpectedly returned after eight -years’ involuntary exile, and now was looking at the theatrical -presentation of Dostoieffsky’s novel, _The Possessed_, against which he -had been writing from abroad in such a way as to provoke all literate -Russia to discussion. His hair cut short, his black blouse put aside for -European jacket and waistcoat and collar, the tramp-author looked -somewhat shorn of the mystery of his personality. As he tripped quickly -past me, in one of the _entr’actes_, in his light evening boots it was -easy to think he used to be a more real character in _sapogi_. For the -rest, he did not look in bad health, was even a little flushed with -colour. But his face was nervous, self-conscious. I should say it is not -by any means the old Gorky that has returned. - -There was considerable excitement in the theatre amongst those who knew -of the novelist’s presence, Moscow being crazy to welcome Gorky with -banquets and speeches and newspaper headlines, but being unable to do -so, because Gorky’s health will not stand excitement, and because he can -remain happily in Russia only on condition that he keeps quiet. - -I was sitting next to M. Lakiardopulo, the secretary of the theatre. -“You know how he has been slating us,” whispered he to me. “There was a -time when on such an occasion Gorky would have stood up in his seat and -addressed the house, saying, ‘Why do you come to see such a thing? It is -no good; it is reactionary, and only helps to put back the progress of -Russia.’ But he is afraid to do it now. He is not sure of the Russia to -which he has returned.” - -Around Gorky and the spirit of Dostoieffsky rage for the time being all -the questions of the hour in Russia—Apollo _versus_ Dionysus, Progress -and Westernism _versus_ Life understood as a religious orgy; Materialism -_versus_ Mysticism. How weak is the power of the West may be seen in the -guise of its champion—Gorky with his foot in his grave, Gorky, whose -wonderful literary gift Italy and Greece have withered. - -But Gorky, frustrate as he seems, has effectually raised the question -and set Russia thinking and differentiating. - - I have a strange, strange feeling about Moscow (says he), a mournful - feeling.... Were the Moscow streets and the Moscow people like this - before, or do I only remark it now because I have seen what it is - like in the West? There, in Italy, amidst the brilliance and - magnificence of Nature, in the magnificent chaos of cities buzzing - with automobiles, humming with factories, you feel at least that Man - is not losing himself; you feel he is the master, the centre. His - voice is full-sounding, it is ever in one’s ears, the voice of one - who is master of earth and master of his life. But in Moscow! On the - streets I feel the people are all voiceless. The pavements are - populous, lively, noisy; there are people of all kinds going to and - fro, but the actual human voice of mankind seems to be utterly - silent. The people are all gloomy, melancholy, above all, angry. The - women have widows’ faces.... Is it possible it was like this when I - was here before? - -Gorky, despite his experience in what may be called the absolute -West—America[3]—has come back enchanted with the West. The idea accepted -in the revolutionary days that the West was good, the West was Russia’s -bright destiny providentially lighted before her for her to follow, has -died out almost unremarked. Gorky alone, all these eight years, has -nursed it, and he has been writing stories and dramas which fall flatter -and flatter on the ears of Russia. The Theatre of Art alone has refused -in turn each of his last eight plays! No wonder the faces seem to him -preoccupied. - -He cannot understand why the Theatre of Art, in its working out of a new -life for the theatre in general, should take _The Brothers Karamazof_ -and _Besi_ (_The Possessed_). Were there not new writers who would -breathe the new ideals and new hopes of Russia into the work of the -stage? Dostoieffsky was a genius, but in Gorky’s opinion an evil -genius—the evil genius—the evil genius of Russia which Russia must -overcome, an abscess on the Russian body. Dostoieffsky was profoundly -national, yes, but he expressed the Asiatic side of the Russian. “If -Russians give themselves up to Dostoieffsky they will become like -China,” said he. “In each of us sits a Dostoieffsky—we have to overcome -him.” - -Well, the great fact of this month is that Gorky’s protest has had the -fullest publicity, and has been discussed at many hundred public -meetings and in numberless newspaper articles, and yet the great mass of -the people have supported the Theatre of Art and Dostoieffsky—even -although the performance of _The Possessed_ is but a poor experiment. - -The difference between Eastern and Western literature may be aptly -contrasted. I read last summer in the letter of an American to an -English publisher something of this kind:— - - Mr. So-and-So’s novel may be a success with you, but we shan’t be - able to do much with it over here as it ends on a note of failure; - the reader must be quite sure that the hero and heroine, whatever - troubles they may have at the beginning, are going to win through in - the end. Anything that ends on a curse or a suicide or hysteria is - almost sure to fall commercially dead over here. - -Now the Russian considers failure and despair and cursing and suicide as -a glory, and success to be a reproach—the likely destiny of Jews or -earth-swallowers. America and the West prize the whole, the sound, the -substantial banking account, the ideal marriage, domestic bliss, correct -collars and ties, creases where they should be on the right sort of -attire, that glamour of materialism which Mr. Bennett so satisfactorily -renders in his descriptions of hotel apartments and the clothes of the -soulless. But Russia, even Gorky in his best days, prizes the barefooted -tramp, the consumptive and disease-stricken, the imbecile, the -improvident, the man who has no sense of the value of money, the -poverty-stricken student of Chekhof’s _Cherry Garden_ who can refuse -money, saying, “Offer me two hundred thousand, I wouldn’t take it. I am -a free man. And none of all that you value so highly is any use to me. I -can do without it on the way to higher truth.” - -The grandeur of the West, Gorky’s “magnificent chaos of cities buzzing -with automobiles and humming with factories” only prevent, _tolko -meshait_, as Russians say so constantly. Man’s voice is loud because he -has to overcry noisy machines; it is loud also because, like a child, he -is wildly excited over his toys. It is unjustifiably loud. - -But Gorky, like a fond savage, would give up broad lands and a fair -birthright for coloured beads and toys. - -Round about _Besi_ rages also the question of the future of the theatre. -Moscow is likely to become the literary capital of Europe; it is already -the theatrical capital. Whatever it is working out is likely in time to -affect the whole stage of Europe. - -Almost every one in Russian literature has contributed something towards -the question of the new development of the theatre. Strange to say, it -is a question of the theatre and the producer, not a question of the -dramatist. That is a starting-point. - -The two fundamental ideas which are in contrast are again that of East -_versus_ West, Materialism _versus_ Mysticism. One party derives the -theatre from the puppet-show and the elaborated Punch and Judy show, -suggests a theatre of dolls or types, and above all things heralds “the -glorious cinema” as the womb of the theatre-to-be—that is the Western -notion of the theatre, a show to arrest passers-by, divert them and coax -coppers from them. The other party derives the theatre from the ancient -mystery, and requires that in the theatre of the future the audience -shall collaborate with those on the stage, the foot-lights shall be -disenchanted, there shall be mystical dancing and singing and horror and -exaltation—this is the Eastern notion. - -The latter seems at first glance far removed from possible realisation -in the present, a dream of the impractical even romantic and absurd. But -when we remember that church and theatre were once one and the same, all -plays being holy, and that our Mass or Communion Service was in a sense -a survival of the Holy Mystery wherein not only the actors, _i.e._ the -priests and those who serve at the altar, took part but also the people -themselves, then it is seen to be not quite so remote. - -The Shaw plays are remarkable examples of the developed Punch and Judy -show, where various bizarre dolls with funny faces reel off amusing -speeches, all of which are just audibly prompted by the man who holds -the strings. He tries to create the illusion that the dolls are flesh -and blood—for that reason he sometimes will have even a -doll-representation of himself on the stage, as in the case of Mr. -Tanner in _Man and Superman_. And if we are deceived for a moment or an -hour and the illusion succeeds and we discuss the acts of Punch and -Judy, and Judy’s mother, and the Counsel for the Prosecution, and Toby, -and the Judge, as if they were real people, yet when we get home we -reflect after all it was all Shaw—“awfully clever, very funny, but it -was the man behind the red curtain talking all the while; we must tell -so-and-so they ought to go.” - -The Ibsen play is more or less a game of chess; again observe the -skilful moving of puppets on a board. His drama is specialised -intellectually. It is interesting to keen minds, but not diverting, not -so elementary as Shaw. _Peer Gynt_, however, is a mystery play, or could -be taken as such; there are parts in it not only for the prime actors -but for everybody in the theatre. The sad fact is that the theatre -audiences are heavy. They are not quite so heavy in Russia as in -England, for no one here considers his dinner as of any importance -beside being at the theatre; and indeed if you are not punctual at the -Theatre of Art you find the doors are closed and you cannot get in. But -all the same the people are heavy, clinging to their seats as if in them -they had found refuge. The moderns are not the Greeks. The minds and -souls of the modern Russians are at the disposal of the Hierophant of -the Mystery, but the bodies are more enslaved by gravity than lead. So, -in the near future at least, there can be no active collaboration -between audience and actors, no real disenchantment of that line of -lamps separating the stage from the world. Perhaps in time choruses will -be devised for audiences—even now in English music-halls where the -people sing the choruses of the popular songs there is a witness of the -possibility of the realisation of such an idea. Perhaps in time a part -of the public may take part in dances or may march with banners and -emblems, or opportunity may be given to public characters of the day to -make their exits and their entrances, and make speeches not to be found -in the books of words. But all this belongs to the thrice-interesting -future, not to the tantalising present moment. - -All that the theatre is doing now is to put the dramatist in his place -and give scope to the producer and the Master of Ceremonies. The Theatre -of Art, the Moscow Free Theatre, and in London, as a beginning, -Granville Barker’s theatre, are all working for a new, large, vital -stage. In a sense it is futuristic work, for it takes no inspiration -from the past, unless from ancient Greece. It regards all the work of -the last few thousand years as makeshift. It will work out something -worthy of Man, something noble and enduring. Then again Man will have a -voice, and not that gay, confident, business cry to which Gorky has -fondly given his ear. And that brings me back to _Besi_ (_The -Possessed_), at which I was sitting with Gorky in front of me and the -genial secretary at my side. - -_Besi_, or, as it is entitled in the programme, _Nikolai Stavrogin_, is -an example of the present work of the Theatre of Art. The theatre that -will produce _Pickwick Papers_ as a play and can set one of its own -staff to work out the libretto is not in need of dramatists at present. -_Nikolai Stavrogin_ was arranged by Namirovitch Danchenko, and it is a -presentment in some fifteen or twenty scenes of the vital portions of -Dostoieffsky’s novel. It assumes that the public has read the book and -knows it well, and so, subtly, makes the person sitting in his seat -collaborate, by supplying in his mind the missing links. The performance -commences at 8 P.M. and finishes about 12.30. All the while you are -considering failure—death to all Americans. - -In the first scene, a very beautiful one, with little village church and -worshippers and beggars and lackeys, the bells are set a-ringing and you -open the doors of the temple of your soul and admit the whole Russian -world of the suffering. The stage becomes the forecourt of your heart, -and the many people in the mystery commune with your sympathies. It must -be said that from an English, even from a Celtic point of view, the -story is rather desperate, somewhat unredeemed; the dream-picture that -you see is rather the nightmare of some one who is too conscious of -being ill himself—the epileptic Dostoieffsky. Dostoieffsky’s physical -ills and personal down-heartedness are interesting in his biography, but -blemishes in his artistic work. All those long novels were written as -almost everlasting _feuilletons_, scribbled often while the printer’s -devil was waiting, or writhed into black and white in the still hours of -lonely poverty and feebleness, in dreary midnight hours in Petrograd. In -order to understand them truly you need Dostoieffsky himself somewhere -on the stage, or in the heart. - -Footnote 3: - - Gorky went to America to raise money to help the Revolutionary Party - in Russia, but was hounded out of the country as an immoral man. The - newspapers started a campaign against his private life, and despite - American sympathy for the cause of “liberty” he was forced to leave - the country. No hotel would take him in. - - - - - V - THE MOVEMENTS OF THE PEOPLES - - - MOSCOW, _March 1914_. - - -During the summer, in which I lived in a cottage in the Urals, there -passed my window an endless procession of weary tramps, not in flocks or -crowds, in hundreds or in fifties, but in twos and threes day by day. I -saw them on the highway stamping their weak boots and bruised feet in -the deep August dust, trudging forward patiently, patiently. They would -come to the door, untie the black kettle that dangled from the pack on -their shoulders, beg water to make tea, sit down to munch our -peasant-wife’s pastry, resting their ragged elbows on the unvarnished -table, holding a saucerful of hot tea in both hands, and sucking at it -and breathing over it in manifest appreciation and satisfaction. - -I would ask one of them, “What are you, brother, a pilgrim?” - -“No, brother, we seek land,” he would answer. “Where we live it is too -close—we live too near together; we are going to Siberia to get land.” - -“And where do you come from?” - -“From Tambovsky Government, from Penzensky, from Nizhegorodsky,” they -would answer. From all the more crowded parts of Central Russia. They -were _perecelentsi_, migratory Russians, children of the womb of -nations, the race ever pushing out from the centre, extending Russia to -the East and the South and the North. - -Wherever you go to-day you find on the confines of the Empire, and -indeed beyond the confines, the wandering poverty-stricken -emigrant-tramp; in Siberia, in Russian Turkestan, in Mongolia, Persia, -Turkey. Anon he grows tired, or he finds his happy valley and settles -down, forming the nucleus of a new Russian colony, or adding to the -strength of one already existent. After him comes the Russian army, -claiming interests, and the Russian flag, claiming sovereignty or giving -protection; but it must always be remembered that the movement is first -of all natural, it is not merely aggressively imperial. It is not even -encouraged by the Government; thousands of the tramps die of privation -every year; thousands get thrown into prison for being, as is often the -case, _bez-passportny_ (without passports); the people they meet on the -way call them fools going from bad conditions to perhaps worse—but the -tramps go on. They say they seek a better land, but God alone knows what -they really seek, what they imagine they may see at the next turning of -the long long road. - -If you stay at Chelyabinsk, the eastern gate of Russia, you may see -thousands of these wanderers. And it is interesting to compare their -type with those whom you see at Libava, the western gate of Russia. - -Through Libava pass the greater number of those who are going to -America. Every ten days the Russo-Asiatsky Lloyd embarks a thousand or -two thousand emigrants, every week vessels sail for London and Hull -carrying Russians who have booked by the Cunard and the White Star and -other lines. From Russia there pass over to America more colonists than -from any other country in the world—upwards of 275,000 people every -year. A great number of these are Jews and Poles and Lithuanians. For -many years the number of actual Russians had been few; but in 1913 there -were of Russians alone more than of any other nationality in the world. -They are richer Russians these. They have money to show to the -inspectors at Ellis Island; they have trunks full of clothes. They could -not carry their burdens on their shoulders; they have come to the port -in trains. They are not melancholy and dusty and bearded like the -tramps, but bright-eyed, well dressed, so as to pass muster at the -inspection. They are making a bold bid for new life; they have had the -courage to pay for the new life with all the old; to take a jump in the -dark, and trust God. They do not belong eternally to the road; and they -are not carrying the cross on their backs, as are those melancholy -tramps of Siberia. - -The Siberian emigrants stop at many factories and mines and do a few -days’ work, and are perchance shot down like dogs, at a place like the -Lena gold-washings, or they settle in a fever-stricken swamp and are -swept away by pestilence. But for the most part they come to no harm, -dying eventually of old age, full of memories, poverty-stricken all -their lives, and yet in a spiritual sense rich, confessing always that -they were strangers, seeking something better than that they were -leaving behind. - -But they who go out at the western gate take their chance of strange -destiny. They are cast off from Russia and from that understanding of -life that Russia breathes. They go to be the most unfortunate class in -America, the simplest and therefore the most exploited; they go to do -work fitted better to black slaves; their young women, though they do -not know it, are often already sold into infamy whilst they breathe the -“air of freedom” on the steamer; and often the men, contracted in gangs -to the Argentine and Brazil to work on railways and plantations, are -simply living merchandise for which the labour agent who engages them -receives a substantial premium. They go to work as Russians never worked -before, and to receive double the wages they would get in Russia, and -then to realise that money buys little or no extra happiness. Or they go -to settle on the land and form a Russian community, as the Dukhobors -have done in Canada, the Molokans in California, the Adventists in the -Dakotas and in the backwoods of America, to forget that they are not in -Russia, to be as much in debt to the agricultural machine manufacturers -as they were in arrears in the payment of rent and taxes in the old -country, to perish of starvation in lean years, to be persecuted by -educational and sanitary officials, and to be spurred on once more to -seek a happier country. Others are destined to enter the choir-dance of -the races with Jew and German and English and Irish, marrying the -foreigner and merging the European in the new type—the coming American. - -At Odessa, the southern gate of Russia, the pilgrims are embarking for -Mount Athos and Palestine a thousand at a time, an unexpected delivery -of bowed and aged men and women out of the depths of Russia. There you -may see another of the continual movements of the people of Russia, an -astonishing procession this to those who are absorbed in the commercial -life of Russia, to those Jews and exiled Russians who write to the -English papers that the outward signs of Russian religion are “the -mummery of the Holy Synod.” At Odessa, and indeed on all the roads of -Russia, there are many thousands of pious Russians, pack on back, staff -in hand, on their way to the monasteries and holy places, to the -sepulchre, to Kief, to the Hermitage of Father Seraphim, to New Athos, -to many a little wayside shrine and monastery that only has its ten -pilgrims where the great ones have their hundreds and their housefuls. - -It has been said that with an Englishman the conversation always, sooner -or later, turns to sport, with a Frenchman to woman, and with a Russian -to the subject of Russia. - -This is true of the educated classes of society; but the peasants do not -talk of these things so much—the peasants’ talk nearly always turns to -God and religion. The Russians are always _en route_ for some place -where they may find out something about God, and if there is a -particularly animated conversation in the hostelry of a monastery, a -third-class carriage, or a tea-shop or Russian public-house (_traktir_), -it is almost always sure to be about religion. - -The modern evangelical movement may almost be said to have had its birth -in the famous but filthy public house, “Yama,” where originally over -vodka and beer, and later more commonly over tea, the question of -salvation was continually mooted. In the third-class carriage you will -occasionally come across an old man who reads an antique Bible through -iron-rimmed spectacles. He has heard that a new sect has been formed by -some peasants in some remote village, and is off to discover “whether -they have found anything.” - -Then what of those who march in chains from prison to prison on the -road? Often I have stopped my writing on a bright summer morning to -listen to an appalling sound—the clank, clank, clank of fifty or sixty -men in fetters—and I have looked out at a procession of unfortunate -Russians, dust from head to foot, the sun flashing on the bright steel -links on their legs and their bodies. They also belonged to the road. -They move us to the depths of sorrow or to hoarse anarchy; but they are -of the road. Their vague shuffled footmarks are the writing of the -finger in the dust. They are symbolical. We also walk as they. Listen -with “the third ear,” and you will hear the clangour of our chains as we -tramp— - - having unearthly souls, - Yet fettered and forged to the earth! - -The world is like a theatre, is it not? The theatre should reflect the -world and touch man to a remembrance of his mystery. He comes into it to -be stirred by pity and fear, not simply to be amused between dinner and -sleep. He comes into it as to a Communion Service, not merely to -receive, but to partake. Such a theatre is the world, with its marches -and processions, its lively and its heavy measures, its sacrifices, its -words of ancient wisdom from the lips of priests, words of prophecy from -oracles, the joyful choruses and jubilations, its sympathies and -choruses of sadness, its ramified manifold movements and -counter-movements. Most moving of all is the procession to the altar and -the songs we sing carrying our emblems. - -“Having been at home in many realms of the spirit,” it is good to -realise this theatre in the heart. Having a personal knowledge of the -road to Jerusalem and to America, and of the pilgrims and tramps on the -various roads of Russia, having even been marched six days along the -road under arrest on one occasion, it is good to realise all that is -happening at one and the same time in Russia—the flocking to Jerusalem -and to America, the trickling into Siberia and Mongolia and Turkestan -and Persia, the tramping to the monasteries to find God, the tramping to -cities and factories to get work, the third-class carriages of the -trains crammed with people, the uproarious taverns where is all manner -of exchange of rude ideas, the beautiful churches alight with candles -and paintings, the little theatres and cinema shows as crammed as the -churches, the bazaars and fairs, the prisons, the poor prisoners on the -road clanking their chains. - -Every common sight is charged with significance. This is the source of -the Russian spirit and the genius of Russian literature and fine art. -Thus, for instance, when you mention “smoke” to a Westerner he at once -thinks of factory smoke and that which pains the eyes or darkens heaven. -But to the Russian smoke is always - - That which comes forth out of the censer, - -the smoke of the sacrifice, the smoke of our lives—the sighs and regrets -and fears and aspirations of men and women, our crooked smokes, which, -in the language of Shakespeare, mount upwards to the gods. - -In such an atmosphere Russians can forget personal anger when looking at -the chains on their convicts, and they can see in those chains emblems -of human destiny. There is in Russia a whole beautiful sad literature -about chains and fetters. Hermits and holy men have even taken to -wearing chains voluntarily as one of their rites of world-negation. -Dostoieffsky could find Siberia, after personal experience, to be the -supreme place for the understanding of the world. - -We are encompassed about by mystery. Every common sight is a rune, a -letter of the Divine alphabet written upon all earthly things. Man’s -heart is a temple with many altars, and it is dark to start with, and -strange. But it is possible with every ordinary impression of life to -light a candle in that church till it is ablaze with lights like the -sky. That is the functions of ordinary sights—to be candles. - -So the night of ignorance is lit up with countless stars. It is not less -night but more, more beautiful— - - There’s not the smallest orb which thou behold’st - But in his motion like an angel sings. - -At those places on the road where springs gush from the rocks the -peasants have chalked the face of Jesus, so that the water seems to pour -from His mouth. At these springs stop the pilgrims, the emigrants, the -wayfarers, even the poor prisoners and their guards. That is one of the -visions of Holy Russia. - - - - - VI - LET US GO INTO THE TAVERN - - - MOSCOW, _March 1914_. - - -In a sense the tavern is also a theatre or a church. It is a place of -life. - -“I am glad you’ve come,” said a friend to me. “Keep your ears open; this -is the very bottom; everything springs from here. This is the -changing-house of the ideas of the common people.” - -There is no “bar,” in the English sense. On the long wooden counter are -bottles and glasses, and plates of sausage and ham. But you do not -lounge there and gossip over your glass. The Russian public-house is all -tables and chairs, like the accommodation for a smoking concert. But -such dirty chairs and tables! - -You sit down; you are attended by a waiter. There is an army of waiters -serving for 30s. a month and no tips. They are in white blouses, white -trousers, and white aprons, and they look as if they had strayed into -the filthy hall in their night attire. On one wall is a square -candle-lantern with the word TRAKTIR printed on it in decayed brown; on -another wall is an immense gilt ikon. The doors creak heavily to and -fro, admitting customers unreadily—how unlike the little swing doors of -the American saloons, so easy to open that you may slip in as it were by -accident. At almost all the tables are working-men and women drinking -tea, vodka, or beer, talking loudly.[4] There are many cabmen in their -round fur hats and voluminous blue cloaks; many market-women in their -cottons, with soiled coloured kerchiefs on their heads. You see twenty -people drinking tea to one drinking vodka—they pour the tea into the -saucers, hold the saucers to their hairy mouths, and guzzle at the -gratifying golden drink. But if you look about you will notice -vodka-drinkers, some asleep, with their unkempt heads on the table -(looking like tramps asleep in a free library); you see also men with -red cheeks and fiery eyes not yet overcome by liquor, but ready to bawl -and make a scandal at the least provocation. The atmosphere is heavy -with the smoke of the vilest tobacco in the world (_makhorka_). A blind -musician is playing the concertina, several people are singing, hawkers -with pies, with Bibles, with shirts, with pencils, with old clothes, are -going from table to table offering their wares. There is tremendous -bargaining and long-drawn-out haggling on the part of people who, it -would seem, do not really intend to buy, even at the last. There are -beggars, cripples, blind men, dwarfs, asking for alms in the name of -Christ. There are drunken hooligans trying to get drinks for nothing. -There are antediluvian pilgrims hundreds of miles from home, not going -to a shrine, but collecting coppers throughout all Russia for the -building of a new church in their far-away native villages. You may even -see upon occasion a peasant carrying a great church bell. You ask him -why. He tells you the church of his village was by the will of God -destroyed by a fire, and that only the bell remains, and he is -collecting alms to build a new church and hang up the bell again. - -Throughout the whole tavern all day and almost all night is a clamour of -talking and an animated scene of gesticulating, unwashed, ragged men and -women. Almost all the small business of hawkers, stall-keepers, and -little traders is accomplished over vodka or tea in the _traktir_, but -indeed the successful, even the millionaire, peasant merchant will step -without a ruffle of dignity into the most miserable tavern of the city, -and not be too proud to answer the taunts or questions of ragamuffins. -That is part of Russia’s strength. - -Then, the home is not all-absorbing in Russia, and even the poorest -people like to spend the whole evening in the tavern drinking tea, -talking, talking, talking. No one would reproach a Russian for lingering -thus away from his wife and little ones. Not much money is spent, man -for man. In three or four hours it often happens that a man spends no -more than five copecks (a penny farthing), and has only purchased a -little teapot of tea and a big teapot of hot water, the tavern’s -substitute for the samovar. - - * * * * * - -Kuprin tells the tale of a tavern in Odessa famous for one of its ragged -musicians, Sasha. He filled the public-house with the strains of the -violin, and every night the place was packed with men and women. Every -table was occupied, there was tea or beer or vodka everywhere, all the -men were smoking _makhorka_, the windows were all shut, and the air was -of that warm, dense, suffocating character that the Russian people like. -A din as of Babel pervaded the hall, and no one except those near the -music could hear Sasha’s tunes, yet every one felt that they were -hearing. - -Sasha would come in in the early hours of the evening, when people were -few, would take his first mug of beer and then begin to play, -mournfully, melancholily. His were sad, heart-aching tunes, full, as it -were, of a world’s sorrow. He sat in his accustomed place and brooded -over his violin, seemingly uninterested in everything but the soul of -music. - -The windows of the tavern were crusted with ice or clouded with steam, -and the shadows of men and women passed incessantly, some lingering, -some hurrying. But Sasha did not heed them, nor notice how many came in -at the dark and dirty doorway from the street. Only when there got to be -a crowd he began to put aside his own repertory of songs, and take up -those that were suggested by the customers, that were shouted in his -ear— - -“Sasha, play _Maroosia_.” - -“Sasha, play _The Nightingale_, play _Spring has passed by_.” - -Then, till the small hours of the morning, he would play what people -wanted him to—sad songs, gay songs, marches, dances, country -measures—dances, dances, dances, every dance in Russia he played, and -the tables were crushed back and a space made and the people danced. - -Every night, every week, every month Sasha was there, and the crowd and -the music and the air thick with _makhorka_ smoke. Not that the nights -were always the same. Events in the town, in Russia, had their echoes -there. In the time of the South African War Sasha played twenty times a -night the _March of the Boers_. During the festivities of the -Franco-Russian Alliance he played the _Marseillaise_, which was -fearfully popular with the dock-labourers. When the Japanese War broke -out he played all those sad tunes about far Manchuria and fighting in a -strange land. - -Alas, the Japanese War made a great change in the tavern. Sasha was -taken for a soldier and disappeared from ken. For a year and a half no -word was heard from him or of him. He was given up for dead, and the -tavern lost its old attraction. At last, however, one night in came -Sasha, the same as ever, unhurt, untouched. He had been captured by the -Japanese and held a year as a prisoner at Nagasaki. He had learned -Japanese music. Not that anybody wanted it. - -“Play us the old tunes, Sasha; play _Maroosia_, play _To Odessa we -sailed on the sea_.” Sasha played that night all the old tunes. - -The tavern became as of old. - -But there was storm in the air. Every one was talking of revolution. -Sasha began to play the _Marseillaise_ again, and now with a different -note from that in which he had played when friendship with France was -being honoured. In came the police and stopped him. They forbade the -playing of any Anthems whatsoever. - -There was a _pogrom_ in the town; hired ruffians appeared in the streets -inciting the population to the murder of the Jews. Not once or twice -Sasha himself was taken for a Jew and attacked. - -Into the tavern came the same ruffians, and tried to stir up the -drunkards to pillage and violence. Sasha was playing a tune of his own -fancy when suddenly one of them, a converted Jew, jumped up and cried: - -“The National Anthem! Brothers, the National Anthem in honour of our -adored monarch. The National Anthem!” - -“Anthem, Anthem,” cried his mates. - -“No Anthems whatsoever,” said Sasha, repeating the words of the -police-officer. - -“What do you mean, you don’t obey, you filthy Jew?” answered the man. - -“And you?” said Sasha. - -“I? What do you mean?” - -“I’m a filthy Jew. All right, what are you?” - -“I’m Orthodox.” - -“Orthodox! And for how much?” - -The whole tavern laughed. - -“Brothers,” said the ruffian, “shall we stand the blasphemy of this Jew -against Throne and Church any longer?...” - -There was a rush at Sasha. But he jumped up, and lifting his fiddle in a -rage, smashed it on the head of the first who came up to him. - -So Sasha was arrested as a revolutionary, and once more he disappeared. -This time every one thought he had gone for ever. It would have seemed -proper to wear mourning for him. The tavern changed in atmosphere. In -Sasha’s place came another musician, one of those who had sat and -listened to him in the old days and learned of him. One night, however, -when they were playing the old tunes and the violin was gently crooning -the song _Expectancy_, a voice from somewhere cried out nervously: - -“Brothers, Sasha!” - -All turned, and there stood the twice-raised Sasha, bearded, gaunt, and -pallid. The people flocked around him and cried to him and called on him -to play. But the same nervous, frightened voice cried out again:— - -“His arm!” - -All grew silent. Sasha’s left arm hung broken and twisted and nerveless -from his shoulder. - -“What is it, brother?” asked one. - -“Muscle dried up, that’s all,” he answered. - -“So—o.” - -“Then that’s an end to _Chaban_,” said one of the crowd, referring to -one of the most popular dances that Sasha played. - -But Sasha took out of his pocket with his right hand a queer black -wooden instrument which he had either made in prison or had had given to -him, and he put it to his lips and began to play. - -Then every one began to dance, and Sasha sat in his place, and all was -as before. As Kuprin says at the conclusion of his tale, “Man is for -Life, but Art is For Ever.”[5] - - * * * * * - -Such is the orgy unrehearsed. So a tavern can be a popular theatre. It -can also be a church, a place of searching after God. In England you sit -down in church but stand in the public-house; in Russia you stand in the -church but sit in the tavern; it humanises it, makes it more like a -home, makes it possible for the tavern to be upon occasion a kind of -church. - -It is a great national assembly-place. - -In Russia you are not allowed to hold a public meeting without the -special authorisation of the police and the presence of a -police-officer. But in the tavern is a great informal accidental -meeting; and a great deal is enacted there that the police have no power -to stop. Thus, for instance, in recent years several sects have used the -tavern as the place for their prayer meetings, and have had something -equivalent to a Salvation Army gathering, not “round the corner,” but -actually inside the public-house itself. The religious conspirators have -come as it were accidentally, one by one, have ordered their tea, and -have started an animated conversation into which, sooner or later, the -whole houseful was drawn. - -The most famous public-house in Moscow is the “_Yama_” (The Pit), in the -street called Rozhdestvensky, a public-house which Tolstoy much wanted -to visit, a tavern frequented not only by the common people but by -scholars and seekers, especially by those who style themselves -_Bogoiskateli_, seekers after God. Here appeared at times such -well-known Russians as Solovyov, Bulgakof, Chertkof, Velikanof—it was -the last who asked me to the “_Yama_,” and through whom I was able to -hear a multifarious collection of the common people discuss religion and -Russia and ghosts and the eternal questions. - -From the “_Yama_” have sprung several interesting sects, for example, -the _Bezsmertniki_, or deathless ones. Their doctrines, promulgated by a -wretched consumptive who had both feet in the grave, was that it was -possible to escape death. He held that health was faith in life, and -that disease was faith in death. Death came simply from lack of faith. -There were people living eternally but we did not know where to find -them. The _Bezsmertniki_ make pilgrimages to the East to seek those who -have been living for ages. Alas! the founder died before the eyes of his -followers. “He lacked faith,” said they, and the new religion continued. -One of the most ardent of them is a frequent visitor of the “_Yama_,” -Alexey Yegorovitch, a stocking-hawker. - -So much trouble came from the discussions in the “_Yama_” that the -public-house was closed by the Government. But as in the case of Sasha, -so in the case of the “_Yama_” and the God-seekers. You can kill or -mutilate the body, but you cannot kill the soul, the thing in itself. -The “_Yama_,” crushed in one tavern, broke out in another. - -I visited the “_Yama_” one Sunday. It was resuscitated in the “Bay” -public-house in Malo-Golovinskaya by the Candlemas Gate. We sat down in -the tavern at 12 o’clock, and over two glasses of tea talked for six -hours and a half—our only other sustenance being occasional hot cabbage -pies brought to us in trayfuls by a little serving-boy from the kitchen. -The tavern swarmed with religious characters, home missionaries, -propagandists, Bible-hawkers. There was a strong detachment of Old -Believers; an old Baptist hawker of women’s hose; many stall-keepers -from Sukareva Market; Velikanof, a friend of Pereplotchikof; Victor -Karlovitch, greasy and fat, who believes in evil spirits and feels -attracted to Theosophy. - -The talk went on evil spirits and was enlivened by many stories. A mad -woman had been taken to the New Jerusalem monastery near Moscow, and had -had a fit in church. After the fit she was found to be in her right -mind, and it was said that the unclean spirit had been caught as it came -out of her, and was now preserved in a jar of spirit and exhibited to -pilgrims as one of the sights of the monastery. Were there evil spirits -or were there not? Was it not said that they passed out of Legion into -the swine? Did not the devils cry from the bodies of the insane, giving -witness to Christ as He passed them by? - -Velikanof told an amusing story of two peasants and a steam-engine. One -of them held that it was an unclean spirit that made the engine go -foward; the other said it was just steam, no more, he knew. - -“It is an unclean spirit,” the former repeated; “I’ll bet it is an -unclean spirit.” - -“How will you prove that it is?” - -“I’ll bet you a quarter the engine won’t be able to pass the ikon of -Mikhail the _Ugodnik_.” - -“Very well; done!” - -The ikon was brought to the railway lines. Presently thrum, thrum, -thrum, the post-train left the village railway station. The first -peasant stood himself on the lines and held the ikon in front of him -with both hands. The other stood by and watched. The train came on, but -when the engine-driver saw the peasant barring the way and apparently -flagging the train, he brought his machine to a standstill and cried out -to know what was the matter. - -“You see,” said the peasant, “the engine dare not pass the ikon. The -quarter is mine; let’s go and have a drink.” - -Another visitor to the tavern told a sort of Ingoldsby legend of a -ten-pound black cat whose favourite way of entering a house was by -coming down the chimney. Another, a peasant workman, made the -astonishing statement that if you make a candle from human fat and light -it you can see _all_. - -A long discussion was started on the difference between a man and an -animal. The sole criterion set by Christ was, “By your fruits are ye -known.” A man is he who can sacrifice his life to an ideal. An animal -hungers and at once looks about to satisfy his hunger. But upon occasion -a man says to his hunger, “No, I shall fast.” A man feels blessed when -he suffers for conscience sake, but no animal feels blessed through -suffering. - -A contrast was drawn between Napoleon and Christ. Christ was offered the -empire and crown of the world and knew that in Himself He had the power -to take it, but He preferred to deny the world. In that He showed -Himself the highest type of man. They of the world nailed Him upon the -Cross and cried up to Him, “Save yourself.” He could have saved Himself, -but He did not. He preferred to deny life. But Napoleon on the mountain -fell down and worshipped Satan, and took for his portion the empire of -the world. Napoleon was an animal taking what his stomach whispered to -him. - -The conversation went on—Russia’s great destiny was to carry the banner -of the ideal, to sacrifice the material ends of life for the mystical. -“Directly you make a step nearer to God you become aware of -contradictions in terms in the life you see about you; when you get -really near to God you enter into such a maze of contradictions and -paradoxes that it is almost too much for the human brain,” said -Velikanof, quoting from a book that was being widely discussed in -Russia, _The Pillar and the Foundation of Truth_, by the priest -Florensky. “It is for Russia to explore these contradictions and -paradoxes.” - -“Russia has long dwelt in these paradoxes,” said another. Russia offers -to the world glorious paradoxes:— - -“As a substitute for success it offers failure. - -“As a substitute for fine clothes it offers rags; and for fine mansions -it offers taverns and log-cabins. - -“As a substitute for rich men it offers beggars. - -“Instead of the march music of Progress it offers the choir dance of the -Mystery. - -“Instead of Progress itself it offers Communion.” - -I told them my belief that Russia is the hope of Europe, that we are all -looking to her, that she is the living East, the pole of mysticism, in -opposition to America, the living West, the pole of materialism. This -pleased the _Bogoiskateli_ very much. They made quite sure it was not -simply a compliment, and then one of them added:— - -“Yes, Russia is the hope of Europe, and Moscow is the hope of Russia.” -And another, an Old Believer, added to that:— - -“And beyond the Preobrazhenskaya Zastava is the hope of Moscow”—it is -there that the Old Believers have a vast and important settlement. - -At half-past six the discussion broke up in the central part of the -tavern and was left to be prolonged in separate groups. Perhaps later it -again became general. I went out, and eight who accompanied me suggested -that we go to another tavern two streets off and drink another glass of -tea. This we did, and the talk went on and on as it goes on every day -and hour in Russia, in every town or village—talk about God and the idea -of Christ and suffering, of what is necessary and what not. - -Russia is considered a country where speech is not free, and, indeed, -listening to such meetings as ours there are often plain-clothes -detectives. But the police could no more stop the mouths of the Russian -people or the current of popular opinion than they could drain or hide -the water of the ocean. In the monastery hostelry, in the third-class -waiting-rooms, in third-class carriages, in the muddy and crowded -market-square, in the tavern, the Russian is always to be found eagerly -asking, seeking, informing, emphasising, making points of exclamation. -All priests, policemen, post office officials, schoolmasters, squires, -commercial travellers, and Russian-speaking foreigners will bear witness -to how they have been pestered with simple Russians asking for an -explanation of passages in the Bible, or asking questions about God. So -Russia shows herself alive. Even the taverns, in which there is so much -drunkenness and debauch, the Russians have made into something like free -churches or open debating societies. - -Footnote 4: - - Since the War vodka has of course disappeared. - -Footnote 5: - - From _Gambrinus_, Kuprin’s Works, vol. iv. - - - - - VII - IN THE CHURCH - - -I have been much struck with the many ruins of abbeys in England. There -are many ruined abbeys that seem to need comparatively little -restoration to make them great places of worship. Kirkstall Abbey -outside Leeds, for instance, is a grand pile of stone, and has room for -1200 worshippers—but it remains little more than a curiosity and a -questionable adornment of industrial Leeds. In Russia there are no such -ruins. Throughout the wide stretch of Russia there is not a single -Christian ruin. Christianity does not tolerate ruins. Kirkstall would -never have been allowed to fall out of Christian service unless a -heathen power like Turkey had gained possession of it. Russia, for -instance, in 1875, coming into possession of the ruins of early -Christian churches on the newly-acquired Caucasian shore of the Black -Sea, at once set to work to restore them and to build new churches on -the old holy sites. Kirkstall was built in 1152; it struck me, looking -at it, that at their best the Russians of to-day are not unlike the -English Christians of that date. They have the characteristics of early -Christian fervour. - -The most representative cathedral of Russia is quite a modern one—that -of St. Vladimir at Kief. It is much worth entering. A wonderful interior -painted by the marvellous Russian painters, Vasnetsof and -Nesterof—mediæval artists alive in the present, the eyes of the dead -Middle Ages opening again after a thousand years’ sleep. All the walls -and the pillars of St. Vladimir are painted by these wonderful artists. -At the north by the font is a vast representation of the birth of -Russian Christianity, the stepping of the army of King Vladimir down -into the waters of the Dnieper to their first baptism. And away high -over the altar in a background of dark blue is painted Vasnetsof’s -majestical Mother and Child, whence naturally the congregation raises -its eyes in adoration and aspiration. In the choir at the west is -painted the story of Adam and Eve and their sin, and at the east is the -wonderful Crucifixion and Resurrection, human birth balanced by -spiritual birth, Paradise lost by Paradise regained. On the columns of -the church are immense figures of the warrior-saints of Russia, the -champions of Russian Christendom. When on Easter Eve this wonderful -modern cathedral is full of all manner of Russians, you have a complete -and national picture—another vision of Holy Russia. It is not necessary -to pray or to fall upon one’s knees. It is only necessary to exist in -the great choric throng and to look over a thousand heads to the awful -and yet altogether lovely vision of the Virgin to feel one’s heart -almost stand still and one’s soul become rapt in wonder, awestruck, -thrilled. You wish to stretch arms above the head and give yourself -completely to the spirit of beauty, the Godhead. You lose the sense of -the Ego, the separated individual, you are aware of being part of a -great unity praising God. You cease to be _man_ and become the _church_, -the bride of Christ. - -The walls of all churches in Russia are painted all over with immense -pictures. This is dimly thought by Western people to be in bad taste. -But that is because the distance between the Western and Eastern -churches of Christ is as yet unbridged. The Russian has the child-soul, -the peasants get to heaven where we fail, because they are “as little -children.” And the children like the pictures. Older and more staid folk -would not perhaps have thought of them. But they only need to go through -the spiritual experience of praying in a Russian church surrounded by -the painted cloud of witnesses to wish to be such children, and to feel -that the child-idea of painting the walls with the pictures of the -heavenly host is a perfect felicity. - -The Eastern Church abhors dumb walls and the restriction of movement and -attitude implied by pews. Every wall and every pillar is painted with -pictures of the saints, and of incidents recorded in Holy Writ. Walls, -blank walls, are always in the nature of prison walls. They separate us -from other people. But the Russian, by painting the walls blue and -crowding them with the saints, imparts to them a character of infinity. -He gives to the worship a background of eternity. He paints in the -spiritual landscape of the church. - -A great interpretive Russian writer[6] thus writes of the fresco and -wall-painting:— - - In the West, where the Gothic arose, wall-painting naturally - disappeared. There was no place for it on the arrowy columns and in - the spaces between the windows. But in orthodoxy a continuous blank - wall begged to be covered with painting. An ikon, a little picture - in a square frame, was hung here and there, but still did not cover - or give voice to the senseless walls at which the eyes of the - worshippers gazed. In orthodoxy the wall must not be dumb, it must - speak. But the wall cannot speak by texts—for which there are books. - The people in the church ought to see themselves surrounded by holy - scenes, pictures—of immense content and of immense dimensions. Such - are frescoes. Only in orthodoxy are they possible, and indeed - without them orthodoxy is dumb, powerless, not expressed. Thirst for - such pictures among the Russian orthodox is great. - - Frescoes make the walls live. The soul poured forth on the walls - calls to prayer, and says as much to the worshippers as does the - reading and the singing in church, not less.... The worshippers feel - around them the great background of historical Christianity. They - not only hear but see—Christian history, they not only hear but - see—the story of salvation, they not only hear but see—the exploits - of the martyrs, the suffering.... They see the pageant of orthodoxy, - its splendid victories. - - The great difference between our immense wall-paintings and mere - painting on canvas, the things that are exhibited in galleries and - academies, is that the one is national whereas the other is only - _personal_. Instead of nervous shrieking pictures, these minute - creations which hang on academy walls, we have something eternal, - everlasting, to which may bow their heads generation after - generation, to which will pray one human family, another human - family, another.... - -This is an orthodox Russian’s view of one of the characteristic features -of his own church. To the Russian it means so much. But to one who has -worshipped in both churches, and is speaking for those who for the most -part pray in churches that have dumb walls, there is a great deal more -to note and to follow up in the consideration of this most interesting -new emblem in religion. Rozanof sets us on the highroad for a -fundamental understanding of Russian orthodoxy, and what I call the -Eastern point of view in Christianity. - -This praying in a church whose walls are “the great cloud of witnesses” -is a portentous matter. - -First of all, a word as to the _service_ in a Russian church—the holy -scene that shows itself if you go into vespers or matins, to a funeral -or a wedding or a baptism, or a service for the remembrance of the dead, -or any of the numerous occasions of religious gathering. There are no -pews, no chairs. There is always a crowd, a promiscuity of rich and -poor, of well-dressed and tattered, a kaleidoscopic mingling of people -and colours, people standing and praying, people kneeling, people -prostrated, people pushing their way to the altar, people handing -candles over one another’s heads, people pushing their way out, -churchwardens wandering about collecting alms, no irritation at the -pushing, no anger through discomfort. The lights are dim, being mostly -those of the worshippers themselves, of the candles they have lit before -votive shrines. There is no organ music, but an unearthly and -spontaneous outburst of praise from the souls of the choir and the -clergy and the laity worshipping together. It is a strange and wonderful -crowd where noble human faces, broad shoulders, and beautiful forms -predominate rather than clothes or uniforms. No ranks of pews and -people, no “man’s order,” only God’s order, the varying and wonderful -multitude. And from the back and the sides, and from the pillars and -columns look the pale faces of antiquity, the faces of the dead who are -alive looking over the shoulders of the alive who have not yet died, all -praising God, enfolding in a vast choric communion the few who in the -church have met on the common impulse to acknowledge the wonder and -splendour of the mystery of God. - -All the walls and the people and the priests are praising God. Whom do -they praise? - -Whom are we all praising? It is Some One or Something that has been -praised for all time, and that will be praised for ever. Any narrow -conception is necessarily wrong. It does not matter that many a -worshipper has a low or superstitious idea of the God he worships. We -are all comparatively narrow—even the widest-eyed of us. It does not -matter that many deny intellectually that they are praising at all. We -at least know by what we have heard, by bursts of universal praising -borne in upon our ears, that all there is, is praising. That is one of -the reasons why frescoes touch the soul, they remind us of a truth we -know in ourselves that the face of every human being, good or evil, is -turned towards God, as the flowers turn their blossoms to the sun. - -Russia has her modern frescoes, for she has rediscovered the art of -painting on wet plaster. She has also her ancient Byzantine frescoes—the -expression of the early Church. There is something in them all that -expresses the idea of choric praise, “the same yesterday, to-day and for -ever.” - -Rozanof very suggestively remarks that archaeologists are poets, in that -they turn their backs on present-day reality and go to live with a time -a thousand or two thousand years ago, holding that time to be as great a -reality as the present day. They realise that the Past lives. We make a -mistake when we talk of the dead past. It is a great religious truth -that all that has ever lived lives for ever. - -We are provincial dwellers in Time; we are, few of us, explorers, and -many who do explore Time, explore it as moles do a field. We do not scan -the vast stretch of Time from aloft. We are patient plodders, crawling -on hands and knees and peering and poring over little plots of eternity. -Few, very few of us, have the poet’s eye in a fine frenzy rolling. But -if we had the poet’s eye and the poet’s point of view we could see the -_time-that-was_ existent now, we could see it glowing and breathing and -singing. We could see every event and circumstance in history—in living -action, discharging itself and yet not getting discharged, rampant. - -Keats, looking at the bas-relief on a Grecian urn, had the true poetic -vision. He realised the ever-living quality of a moment of life poised -in a picture. So he looked at the living groups on the ancient urn and -sang:— - - What men or gods are these? What maidens loth? - What mad pursuit? What struggle to escape? - What pipes and timbrels? What wild ecstasy? - -He looked at the Greek shepherds with their pipes and heard the liquid -melody float away, and he cried:— - - Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard - Are sweeter; therefore, ye soft pipes, play on. - -What enchanted the poet was that though the sculpture was all action, it -was only a single moment. He felt that all was living, all moving, all -processional; but that all was fixed. He saw the eternity in the moment. - - Bold Lover, never, never canst thou kiss - ... yet do not grieve; - She cannot fade ... - For ever wilt thou love and she be fair! - -He sees the trees whose leaves will never fall, and the spring which is -an eternal spring. - -A joy of art and of the eyes is the poising of a moment thus, and the -showing in a sculptured relief or a picture or a poem all that was -happening in the moment—the eternal life that the moment holds, the -moment which we think passes, but which in truth never passes but ever -is. We move past the landscape of Time and deceive ourselves that it is -Time which passes us. It is we who pass by Time. The Time we have passed -through remains. We can keep it in our view. We must go high into the -heaven to see All-Time—nearer to God, nearer to the central sun of -glory. - -It is to take cognisance of the infinite breadth of Time, a richer -knowledge than that on which we pride ourselves, knowledge of the length -of Time. There is nothing more touching that one man can say to another -than the recounting of all that is happening at one and the same time in -the Universe. But speech and writing have one great lack. It is that we -must spend time to write and we must spend time to read. We must write -one word after another, must read one word after another. But, joy of -the artist! in a picture he can give an immediate impression of many -things happening at the same time. The gazer at beauty has not to follow -laboriously word by word and line by line and page by page to find out -what all was happening at one and the same time; he sees it at once and -takes it to himself at once in the painting. Especially in the fresco. -He sees the breadth of Time shown in the breadth of the picture, and the -multiplicity and variety in it. - -So the sculptures and frescoes of the church touch the human soul. They -are fragments of the breadth of Time, fragments of the pictures which -Man writes on the breadth and surface of Time, fragments of the mystical -“Garment” of which Goethe speaks. They are fragments of universal -pictures, fragments of the picture of the Universe grouped about the -feet of God. They have a choric and processional aspect. No matter what -the figures in the fresco seem to be doing, they have the aspect of -praising God, of being part of a choric universe. - -Have we not noticed this in Nature, of which Art is the mirror? A dead -man lying in an open coffin is like a piece of a fresco framed. The face -of a dead man is a picture of a man going through a great gate. It has a -grand processional look. - -The roll of history itself is a long strip of fresco. It is only too -narrow a strip. It is in the breadth of history that the beauty lies. If -we could only see in poised moments all people and all nature praising -God in all their various ways at one and the same time! That is the full -roll of history—to see the broad eternity in each moment. To see that is -to see the great phantasmagoria, the infinite blending of all shapes and -colours, of all the runic and mystic manifestations which, seen in -small, thrill us and puzzle us and perplex us in our mortal lives. It is -also a vision of the Last Judgment. I often think in these days of -accusing God and quarrelling with Providence it will not be God that -judges us, but we who give our judgment about Him. When the true and -full vision bursts upon us, we shall all cry Hosanna unto the Highest. -The whole universe, seeing itself and understanding itself, will burst -into one great cry of glory. - -How that could come about, or what such a cry would mean, is beyond -thoughts and words. We cannot be literal about it, and yet we have sense -of it, and are able to strike chords of the great harmony or catch -glimpses of the symphonies of colour and form. The strange picture is -miraged for us backward through Eternity and we catch glimpses of it. So -it is in the Orthodox Church, in a crowd of pilgrims in a dim temple lit -by the lights which the pilgrims themselves have lighted at the altars, -enfolded in the great cloud of witnesses we sing praises to the One, the -Central One, the God of All. - -There is nothing more wonderful than a real crowd, a crowd attracted by -a personality or an idea. At interludes throughout history we catch -glimpses of gazing crowds, the - - Armies of angels that soar, legions of demons that lurk, - Man, brute, reptile, fly—alien of end and of aim— - -that rush into sight at once as you name the ineffable Name. - -The New Testament pictures of Jesus standing in the midst of the crowd -is the symbol for all time of the Church, “Jesus teaching among the -people, living in His heart the life of every one He saw, living from -His heart in living veins over the whole earth, the thousand people -about Him listening, calling, reviling, praying, the angelic spirits -gazing at Him rapt, even the devils acknowledging Him from the bodies of -the possessed, the disciples bringing sick people to and fro at the -Master’s feet.”[7] This is just the same picture as the Russian Church -presents to-day. It is the idea of that wonderful modern Russian -painting, “Holy Russia,” where Jesus walks out of the ikon frame and -stands enhaloed above the crowd of all sorts and conditions of Russian -men and women. It is the picture presented in the work of the great -novelist Dostoieffsky. Dostoieffsky’s novels are pictures of great -crowds of Russian men and women in the presence of the mystery of Love. -Dostoieffsky’s novel is a church, and in the church there is room for -Raskolnikof, the murderer, and the little white-slave Sonia, room for -the sick and the suffering and the lustful and the pure. And even the -devils cry out from the bodies of _The Possessed_ acknowledging the -Christ. Jerusalem of to-day, with its thousands of poor Russian pilgrims -and its crowds, is such a church. Thither come not only the good and the -respectable, but the outcast, the criminal, and the drunkard; there is -room for them in the presence of the Sacred Face. - -The little village church of any forest-side of Russia is also such a -church. All Russia is such a church, and the world itself also, for -every face is turned to one idea of God as the flowers are turned to the -sun. Hence we sing most felicitously the Hymn of the Three Children, so -popular in the early church, the _Benedicite Omnia Opera_: - - O all ye Works of the Lord ... - - O ye Angels, O ye Heavens, ye Waters ... - - O all ye Powers of the Lord ... - - O ye winter and summer ... - - O ye mountains and little hills ... - - O ye children of men ... ye priests of the Lord, ye servants of the - Lord, ye spirits and souls of the righteous, ye holy and humble men - of heart, bless ye the Lord, praise Him and magnify Him for ever. - -Footnote 6: - - V. V. Rozanof, _Wall-Painting_. - -Footnote 7: - - “The Ikon not made by Hands,” a Russian mystical story in _A Vagabond - in the Caucasus_. - - - - - VIII - IN THE MARKET-PLACE - - - MOSCOW, _March 1914_. - - -What a divine disorder! The peasants seem to have an instinctive sense -for grouping. No matter how much the crowd moves or how many changes are -evolved in it, it is always a beautiful whole, a fair scene, with -balance of colour and form and sound. You see not a crowd but a nation. -No wonder the Russian produces a ballet which is bewilderingly beautiful -when the peasants in their gait are true to themselves and to their -nation. What troubles the eye in a Western crowd is the fact that every -one is afraid to be himself, to be true to personal impulses, and to -walk and dress and act as he likes. Stupid censure and the criterion of -convention robs our crowds of life, of diversity of colour and form. We -in the West abhor a crowd as something disorderly in itself; we prize -the drilled squad, where each and every soldier looks as if turned out -from one and the same factory. - -One of the most wonderful pieces of stage production in Moscow this year -was Gogol’s _Fair of Sorotchinsky_, presented at the New Dramatic -Theatre, a picture of a Russian crowd and a market on a hill. The first -scene shows a highway and an ox-cart laden with village girls and young -peasants coming laboriously along it. They are on the way to the fair. -The second scene, the fair itself, takes one’s breath away. The sun is -blazing with a ten o’clock in the morning full-armed effulgence, so that -the bright cottons of the peasant women, the chestnut-coloured -sheepskins of the men, the ribbons hanging from the stalls, the black -tangles of astrakhan hats, the trodden mud and puddles of the track, all -glitter like bunting on a May morning; and the tilts of the shop-tents -and stalls ascend the hill one beyond another to the sky-horizon, so -that behind the foreground, where the action takes place, there rises a -mountain of irregularly ribbed canvas. All manner of people float in and -out of the colour design: flirting village girls wearing bright beads; -stalwart yokels standing about in the mud with hay-rakes in their hands; -antediluvian monks with greasy, tangled hair, with wrinkled and wise -countenances, black and dirt-stained cloaks; tired pilgrims with huge -bundles on their backs, wiping their sunburned brows with the backs of -their grimy hands; beggars, drunkards. All the talking and bargaining -and singing is allowed to mingle, and the customers stump about amongst -the stalls and the piles of golden melons and brown pottery, and ask -prices and haggle. And the little story of the play shows itself when -the ox-cart of the first scene comes in with its burden of laughing -girls and swains. Mardzhanof, the producer, does not allow the life of -the fair in the background to slacken for a moment in order to emphasise -the main story. He lets the fair be the world, which always goes on no -matter what story is enacted upon it. Morning wears to noon, noon to -afternoon and evening, and the ox-cart sets out again home. - -Necessarily there is design in the kaleidoscope of the market as shown -on the stage; but then the design is to show what a Russian fair is -like, and this of Sorotchinsky is a wonderful representation of the -Russian crowd. Every one who went to the performance was struck with the -crowd, the way each small part was played by the actor and actress who -had it. There was not one of the great troupe who simply walked on and -filled a space; every one was realising a separate part. Such individual -work was necessary if the psychology of the Russian crowd was in any way -to be represented. - -The market-place is more secular than the theatre, the church, or the -tavern, and yet in it you see the same wonderful national idea (as -Chesterton wrote of a similar idea, “It is as if we gazed long at a -design full of disconnected objects, and suddenly they came together in -a huge and staring face”)—divine disorder, the disorder of the starry -sky, instead of man’s order, instinctive mingling instead of ranks and -pews, the live crowd instead of the dead crowd; or to translate the idea -into political phraseology, true democracy instead of collectivism, the -ballet of imagination rather than the regimental march of progress, -human destiny as a mystery play rather than a problem play, enacted in a -mysterious labyrinth rather than in a corridor of time or up and down an -everlasting staircase of evolution. - - - - - IX - THE RUSSIAN IDEA - - -Those familiar with ideas can tell at sight a German idea, an American -idea, a Russian idea, a Roman Catholic idea, and so on. Each nation has -its fundamental idea, its mother idea, the idea of which all other -characteristic ideas are children. As Dostoieffsky says: “No nation has -ever been founded on science and reason; it has always grown about some -central idea.” - -It is a remarkable fact that, although Russia is a great composite -empire with an enormous number of small nations and tribes under -her rule, she is not a country of mixed ideas. Her literature, -art, music, philosophy, religion, her theatre, her dancing, is -something intrinsically Russian. No Poles, Finns, Jews, Armenians, -Kirghiz, contribute to it. No German-Russians contribute to it. Of -all the names by which Russia is known as a nation mighty in art -and in thought, not one belongs to the subject nations. In -literature—Dostoieffsky, Turgenief, Tolstoy, Gogol, Pushkin, -Chekhof, Gorky, Balmont; in painting—Vasnetsof, Nesterof, -Verestchagin, Sierof; in music—Tchaikovsky, Korsakof, Mossugorsky; -in philosophy—Solovyof; in history—Kluchevsky, Karamsim; in -contemporary journalism—Rozanof, Menshikof, Doroshevitch, -Merezhkovsky; even in Russian science, which is something apart -from European science, Mendeleef, Metchnikof, all without -exception are Russian names, the names of Russian people at once -Christian and Slavonic. Nothing is contributed by Jews; nothing is -contributed by Poles; nothing by Finns. These people each have -their own characteristic separate literature and religion and art. -They think in their own tongues, pray in their own churches, have -their own characteristic ideas. There is not the blending we have -in England, where we include in our national literature the works -of, for instance, Disraeli, Zangwill, Conrad, Hueffer, and so -forth, proud to be Jewish, proud to be Polish, proud to be German -in extraction and yet speaking for England. The Russian idea is -something purely Russian. - -This is important not merely as a curious circumstance. It indicates the -fact that the fundamental Russian idea should be something more easy to -unravel, more evident, more mighty than other contemporary ideas. How -much more easy, for instance, to determine just what is the national -Russian conception of life than to determine ours, obscured and -complicated by so many foreign elements. - -There is a spirit abroad to-day which calls for the thing called -cosmopolitanisation, in other words, for that process of the -mongrelising of nations and ideas that is manifest to-day in America. It -wishes the breaking down of national barriers—intermarriage. The -doctrine seems to be promulgated chiefly by those Jews who have sold -their priceless birthright, who have given up the Zionist ideal, and -settled down to think that they are no longer Jews but Englishmen, -Americans, Germans, what not. They talk of the United States of Europe, -as if the United States of America were not sufficient of a problem and -a muddle. - -Russia is the strongest bond of nationality, being the purest and -clearest of the nations. Germany, France, and England also tend to shake -themselves free, and seek to find and to be themselves. - -My quest at present is to unravel the Russian idea, and present Russia -as she is in her spirit and her passion. By seeing Russia in this way we -have a revelation of the majesty of a national idea. We obtain a notion -how we should look if we could see ourselves as we really are. - -Russia and England are akin, if it were only in the bond of -Christianity. We have certain spiritual affinities. We could know -ourselves much nearer to one another, though that depends on us rather -than on Russia. She has much more to teach us than we have to teach her. -It is only kindness to our politicians and progressive workers that -could ever suggest that Russia was a blank sheet on which they might -write what they chose. Russia, alas! may learn wrong things of us and go -wrong—Dostoieffsky’s nightmare. The noisy middle-class Russia of to-day -does indeed tend to follow after other gods. But for the moment I cannot -pause to give actual pictures of Russia going wrong. I am in quest of -the vital and fundamental idea of Russia, that which is the mother of -her art, literature, music, of her religion and her traditional national -life. - -I am tempted to say that the Russian idea is an aspect of Christianity. -Hence the title of this book, _The Way of Martha and the Way of Mary_. -Russia is the fairest child of the Early Church. Her national idea is -identified with one of the Byzantine aspects of Christianity. But it -would be impossible to deny that Russia draws her marvellous spirit from -something earlier than Christianity. There is Nature-worship in the -Russians; there is Scandinavian mythology; there is Oriental mysticism. -The remote past still lends impulses of passions, dreams, fears, hopes, -to the rustling and blossoming present. Yet all its past has been -absorbed into Russian Christianity, though Russians have not yet -explored and reproduced in art all the significances of that mysterious -time in Russian history. We may say that the Russian idea is a Christian -idea. Christianity has been great enough to include and say _yes_ to all -that was wonderful in the old. - -What then of Russian ideas? Of the Russian idea? - -When you first step into a Russian novel you come across symptomatic -ideas, and when you go into Russia you find them again in the life of -the people. Probably the most obviously characteristic thing is the love -towards the suffering, pity. Russia is a remarkably tender and -comforting nation. She is greatly concerned with her neighbour, and her -heart is touched by his destiny. As Rozanof writes: - - Is there one page in the whole of Russian literature where a mock is - made of a girl who has been betrayed, of a child, of a mother, of - poverty? Even the thief is an honest thief. (Dostoieffsky’s _Honest - Thief_.) Russian literature is one continuous hymn to the injured - and insulted. And as of such people there must always be a multitude - in vain and gigantically-working Europe, it is possible to imagine - the shout of joy which breaks forth when they are shown a country, a - whole nation, where no one ever dare offend the orphan, the - destitute, in the moral sense never dares to look insultingly upon - the person left forlorn by circumstance, by destiny, by the break up - of life. Of such people there are only too many. And what can the - “kings” of Victor Hugo say to them, or in general, the manifestly - artificial subjects of Western writers? Russian stories can give - consolation. For besides being taken from the habitual common - everyday life they have a tenderness. The Western man can say: - “There is a country where I should not have been despised; there is - a country where I should not have been so coarsely insulted, where - every man would have taken my part and interceded for me, where they - would have taken me by the hand and raised me upon my feet again. I - am cursed, but only in my own country, not on the whole planet.” - - That is the effect of Russian literature. Its significance is not a - matter of the reviews of Western critics, not a matter of the noisy - fame which has overtaken it; it lies not in its material triumph, - but in a direct and absolutely unhampered affinity to the soul of - the simple and universal reader. To some the Russian song is always - pleasing.... No,—bigger, better. There are souls to whom the Russian - song is the one thing necessary in life, to whom it is dearer than - anything else in life—as to the hurt one, his mother; as to the sick - child, again his mother, perhaps neither a beautiful nor a virtuous - one. Virtue—it is of course somewhat strange to ask virtue from - Russians.... “The Troika.”... But one thing there always is in - Russia—sympathy, responsiveness. Perhaps it sprang up in Russia, and - became exaggerated there just because so many people were crushed by - various “troikas.” However that may be, to be sung to sleep with - Russia’s cradle song many wish.... - -There is love towards the suffering one. It is part of a love towards -the destiny of the individual. There is a remarkable absence of -conventional standards. You are not looked at askance because you seem -poor. The tramps and pilgrims on the road are never made ashamed of -themselves. A contrast to America, where the tramp is an object of -mirth, where he is regarded almost as an enemy of society. The Russian -takes the tramp in. He has real hospitality, and not only hospitality of -hearth and home, the giving of food and a night’s shelter, but also a -more vital hospitality, that of mind and heart. He wants to know all -about you. He asks you the human questions. He asks about father and -mother and brothers and sisters, about your home and your calling and -your goal. In return he tells you the intimate things of his life. - -This is not only a matter of the road. How often the most utter -stranger, met in a railway carriage or a post-station or at an inn, will -after a remark about the weather or the crops begin to tell you the -whole story of his life. He assumes the hospitality of your heart; a -sure sign that in general people’s hearts are hospitable, that in -general there is a love towards destiny. - -As a wanderer and a seeker I have myself experienced the ordinary -material hospitality of hearth and home, and also this of the heart, -having often been poor, strange-looking, and enigmatical enough. -Russians have not looked askance; they have been brotherly. They have -accepted a stranger naturally and simply as they would one near to -themselves. More than that, knowing that I had a special quest, there -have always been those who came forward and helped me in the spiritual -things. Mysterious beings have, as it were, anticipated my coming, and -have stepped out and recognised and said: “Read this; go to that one and -talk to him; see this Russian picture.” They love to preserve the -mystery too. I have known people who had the aspect of having dreamed of -my coming. - -The first day I was in Vladikavkaz, an old tatterdemalion standing by -the bridge over the Terek came forward to embrace me and welcome me in -the name of God. I had never met him before; I knew no one in the town. -When I left Vladikavkaz last, to make my long and possibly dangerous -Central Asian tramp, the most mysterious of my friends brought me a -beautiful little copy of Nesterof’s “Martha and Mary” to keep me from -harm. And one night, months later, in a remote Moslem town on the fringe -of the desert, I had a strange experience of adventure and terror when, -as it seems to me, I was literally saved by looking at the picture. The -giving of it was love towards destiny, hospitality of the heart. - -It might be thought, however, that the Russian love stopped short with -the honest, the religious, the seeking—that as long as a man could give -a decent explanation of himself and his mode of life the Russian was on -his side. But that would be to miss the real saliency of this love. The -Russian loves the dishonest, the criminal, the despicable, the -unpleasantly strange, the man who can give no explanation of himself, as -much as she loves the other, even a little more than she loves the -other; she has a “weakness” for the prodigal. Half her novels are -expressive of love towards “criminals.” - -In English novels the plot is so adjusted that the author has scope to -make a thorough out-and-out condemnation of the villain. He has a few -pages where he lays himself out to show how inexcusable the villain’s -conduct was, what an abject scoundrel, what a disgraceful creature he -is. The condition on which you may describe sin is that you condemn the -sinner. In life also, as well as in literature, we are condemnatory; we -love to pass judgment on others. How different in Russian literature! -You find no condemnatory spirit there. The author’s whole passion is to -defend and explain the criminal, to evoke the tender sympathy of the -reader. He makes you feel how strange, how pathetic, is man’s destiny, -how sordid his life compared with his spirit. Over the portal of Russian -life and literature you might find the motto, “Neither do I condemn -thee.” Russia feels that however mean, however ugly and strange a man’s -life may seem, it is nevertheless a part of his great pilgrimage. He has -got to go through it, he is learning something thereby, fulfilling -something sacred thereby. This is exemplified very remarkably in -Russia’s legal system where, for instance, there is no capital -punishment except under martial law. A man commits a murder, but he is -not therefore condemned and hanged and turned over to God; he gets -merely a dozen years in Siberia, and he goes on with his life. - -Dostoieffsky, when he was in Siberia with forgers and murderers and -highwaymen, was much concerned to seek out the gold in their character; -and he remarks how a violent and dangerous man will even shed tears at -the sight of a child suffering. “Murderers are much more simple than we -take them to be,” says he in another place, “so are we all.” - -The Russians are unashamed. Men and women confess voluntarily to having -committed crimes or behaved abominably upon occasion. The man who lives -an immoral life does not do so secretly to his wife. The black sheep of -the family is not hidden in the background, “never mentioned,” or -subscribed for and sent to a distant colony; he is sitting at the table -and is quite cheerful, and every one takes him for granted. No one is -ashamed to borrow or to be tremendously in debt; no one horror-struck at -the idea of visiting the pawn-shop. All which exemplifies the love -towards individuals and individual destiny. - -This is why Russia is so free. It is almost a platitude to say that -conventions determine the extent of personal freedom much more than the -laws of the realm or the behaviour of the police. Yet it is a fact lost -sight of when people talk of tyrannous government. In Russia love is -towards the individual much more than towards the State. There is indeed -no particular love towards the State. We British uphold the State; to us -the police and the police-system are almost sacred. We often condemn -individual behaviour in the name of the State. We abhor “shirkers,” -“rebels,” “breakers of the peace.” Hence our comparatively limited -British freedom. We believe in order. Our freedom is freedom within -bounds. We allow ourselves to be disciplined along definite lines. In -Russia it is different. There freedom often amounts to chaos. Even -Russian order, _poryadok_, that which comes from Petrograd, is something -borrowed from Germany to keep the nation together. Russians have no -instinct for order. Watch our best British troops marching—they give you -the idea that each soldier has been turned out from a factory, and is of -one and the same type and size. They march like moving patterns. But the -Russians march any-way; their order is of the lowest kind. It is even -tolerated to have wives and mothers marching in the ranks with their -husbands and sons, carrying their bundles. Some men are marching; others -are running. Each man has his own individual expression in his -countenance; he has not merely a regimental expression. Russia does not -care for ranks, for blocks of houses, for formal gardens, for churches -with pews. She likes the individual to do as he pleases. Hence a divine -disorder, a glorious promiscuity. The church perhaps shows the quickest -picture of national life—the kaleidoscopic mingling of people and -colours, the wonderful crowd encompassed by the frescoed walls, the -faces of the saints, the great cloud of witnesses. - -The same picture, though modified by Western influence, is shown in the -theatre. Russia wishes the disenchanting of the footlights, the -participation of the public in the action of the drama, the removing of -stalls and chairs—a divine disorder in the theatre. She believes in the -emotional communion of the theatre—the actors inspired by the people, -the people inspired again by the actors, the dance and interplay of -human thoughts and emotions. Shut your eyes to the material world and -you realise there are no footlights, no separating river of light -between the two worlds of stage and auditorium. There is a great and -wondrous ballet of thoughts and impulses, hopes and fears, going forward -and across and backward and across again between the priests of the -drama and the conspirators, the worshippers. - -The church service and the drama, the church and the theatre have much -in common. The Mass has much in common with the mystery play. And the -mystery play was originally the Mystery—at which you did not look, but -_into_ which you were initiated. You participated in the action. You -were the victim sacrificed, or the priest, or one of the conspirators in -the orgy. You were made one in the sacrifice, as in the Mass you are -made one in the sacraments of bread and wine, symbols of the victim. -Share is taken in the sacrifice, we consent unto the death. We are made -one. We get free from the idea of separation, from space and time, -realising the everywhere-here, the eternal present. - -In such a form is the Russian notion of the world and his conception of -life. It is such a church, such a theatre, such a mystery play. It has -its liturgies of beauty, its many processions, its sacrifices, its -ecstasies; it is a great phantasmagoria of emblems. Nothing is without -significance; every man has his part; by his life he divines it and -fulfils it. Every common sight and sound is charged with mystery. -Everything is praising, everything is choric, everything triumphant. - -To recapitulate and restate this in aphorism: Russian life is remarkable -by virtue of its love towards the suffering, towards the individual -destiny; by the absence of condemnation; by faith in life even if life -should express itself in meanness, sordidness, crime; a feeling for the -pathos and wonder of life as exemplified in the individual; no love -towards “the State” or man’s order, but great love towards the -individual and individual instinct; a consequent freedom, amounting at -times to seeming chaos, a divine disorder such as the disorder of the -starry sky, as opposed to man’s order, say the order in which stars -might be classified in a book; a disorder such as that of the flowers -and shrubs of the forest, rather than order as in a formal garden; a -belief, then, in instinctive genius and divination by impulse of one’s -place in the kaleidoscope of existence. - -With such natural disorder comes an incapacity for “discipline,” -“efficiency,” “progress.” Life is a mystery play. - -Whence may be inferred the following differentiation of ideas: - -Instead of the God of the Ten Commandments, and the consequent ten -condemnations, the Russian acknowledges the God whose service is perfect -freedom. - -Instead of the simplification of life, a love of its complexity. The -Russian says “yes” to the multiplicity of doctrines; he does not wish -personal destinies to be unravelled and straightened out by the State, -standardised and guaranteed by the State. He will not reduce the chess -of life to the draughts of life. A religious belief in pure democracy; -no belief in Socialism. - -Instead of belief in the Future, belief in an eternal Present. - -Instead of life understood as a march, life understood as a ballet. - -Instead of life understood as Evolution, life understood as a marvellous -phantasmagoria. - -Instead of Time understood as a passage or corridor, Time as a -labyrinth. - -Instead of the world-ideal of garden cities and carefully planned parks -and squares, a belief in the maze of the world. - -Instead of a belief in the coming of universal peace, a belief in the -recurrence of wars. No belief in the “making virtuous of the world and -all people.” - -No belief in any explanation as sufficient. - -No prejudice against impossibilities; a cheerful acceptance of miracles, -infractions of the “laws of Nature,” of the significance of dreams and -visions, of the design of destiny hidden in apparent accident; a -predisposition towards superstition. - -A belief that in apparent failure lies a truer destiny than in apparent -success. - -A saying “yes” to the mysteries of the Birth, Crucifixion, and -Resurrection of Christ. The West would take Christ down from the cross, -heal His wounds, and save Him. The East would not do that; she knows -that she must crucify Him. - - - - - X - THE LABYRINTH - - -Man is a labyrinth. He is masked, and there are masks over masks. When -you have gone past his first surface you come to a second. He is like -thousands of overpainted frescoes. His soul is a mystic temple with a -hundred and a thousand standing-places further forward or further back. -His soul circulates in passages, hides in caves or recesses, is missed -among intricacies or complexities. It has the power of metamorphosis and -can lurk in the by-ways of his being in strange guise. It manifestly -takes possession of his body, or it dwells in dim caves and recesses, or -marches soundingly along corridors; it creeps insidiously through secret -mazes; it dwells lingeringly in empty chambers, makes its exit -stealthily by little doors leading as it were to vast reservoirs; or -hurriedly it traverses many apartments to look from the outmost gate -like a newly risen moon. It is sometimes enthroned like a king or a -queen, or descending from the throne trails long robes over marble. Or -it is abased to a slave or a prisoner and is confined in towers and -dungeons serving tyrants for unknown ends; or it lies stretched on -couches, in trances, overcome in chambers of voluptuousness, escaping -again and again from the spell of enchantment and the stress of tyranny, -from would-be masters too weak finally to enthral. There are issues of -joy from many passages of pain. There are processions in the temple of -the soul; and sometimes the soul is a victim bound to be sacrificed in -honour of some conqueror, or it is the priest at the altar, or the -conqueror-god to whom sacrifice is made. The sense of destiny in the -soul may rise to a majestic height of godhead, or may be extinguished to -the dull inanition of the worm or perverted to the fury of a devil. But -even lying at great depths and in great darkness it sees the eternal -stars, as the stars are seen even in the glare of the Egyptian noonday -from the innermost chambers of the pyramids. It becomes upon occasion an -enchanter, an Ariel who can summon fairies and sprites with pageants and -choruses, and make heavenly music in every passage and turn and cranny -in the great labyrinth of man’s being. - -There are many labyrinths. Squares and circles and straight lines are in -themselves lies—they are disjointed fragments of labyrinths. There is no -truth in them until they are pieced together. A labyrinth is something -which cannot be drawn by mathematical instruments, which cannot be -photographed. It can be sensed, it can be conveyed to the mind by music, -by a certain sort of impressionism in writing and painting. We have -knowledge of the labyrinth of the world because our body and soul and -being is a labyrinth, and part answers to part. We understand such music -with our whole bodies, not only with our ears; we see such pictures with -the soul itself, which is all eye, rather than with the mere physical -eye. It is truth—heavenly harmony. - -A paragraph of good writing is a labyrinth: it is comprised in one -breath, and mirrors in its construction the natural stops and alleys of -the body. Every fruit is a labyrinth. - -All disorder is a diviner order not understood: the order of the -labyrinth, the disorder of the starry sky, the disorder of the forest, -the disorder of the world, of a nation, of the web of intricacies on the -palm of a hand. - -All astronomy, astrology, geography, cosmography, botany, natural -history, palmistry are more or less the tracing of the lines of the -labyrinth, our playful attempts to follow out the mystical maze of -natural phenomena. - -The lines which men trace in their goings to and fro upon the world are -part of the mystical tracery, so also are the tracks of the clouds, the -outlines of coasts, the ramifications of the lines of rocks. - -Reflections of the labyrinth are caught in many curious pictures and -patterns: in the design on butterfly’s wings, the markings on plumage, -the lines and mottling on birds’ eggs, the frosting on the window-pane. - -All the rest of nature seems unconscious of it; but we men are half -conscious, and pause and stare continually at what we call astonishing -or curious or wonderful things. Our life is a life of lisping and -marvelling. Every thrill is the accompaniment of a perception of part of -the labyrinth; death itself is our greatest thrill, and is perhaps the -necessary phenomenon of fuller initiation. - - - - - II - MARTHA AND MARY - - - - - I - THE _PODVIG_ - - -Russian Christianity is sharply in contrast with Western Christianity in -the characteristic idea of denial of “the world,” as opposed to our -Western idea of accepting the world and “making the best of it.” An -essential idea in Russian Christianity is denial of “the world,” denial -of this mortal life as real life, denial of material force as real -force, denial of speech as real speech. An act of denial is called a -_podvig_, and a man who does some great act of denial is called a -_podvizhnik_. - -The act of Jesus on the mountain denying the road that led to the empire -of the world in favour of the road that led to an ignoble death is a -_podvig_—denial of the world. - -“Turning the other cheek” is a _podvig_—denial of material power. - -Going two miles with the man who forces you to go one is a _podvig_. - -Mary, breaking the precious box of alabaster which might have been sold -in aid of the poor, accomplished a _podvig_. - -Simon Stylites, standing on the pillar when he might have been doing -“useful work in the world,” was a _podvizhnik_. - -The hermits of the Thebaid were all doing _podvigs_—renouncing the -world. - -Father Seraphim, who took an oath of silence and was silent thirty-five -years—proving in himself that silence was golden—accomplished a great -_podvig_. - -It is difficult in Russia to carry on a discussion of any point of -religion without coming to a consideration of this idea of the _podvig_. -For instance there is a saying in Russia, “Blessed is he who can escape -and yet chooses to take the punishment the world would give him.” A -story is told in Russia that when Jesus was stretched on the cross many -of those who had accepted his doctrines were in great distress not -knowing that this had got to be; but they said among themselves, “You -will see: there will be a miracle. I wouldn’t be in the place of these -stupid and brutal Roman soldiers for worlds. You will see He will step -off the cross, and amaze and conquer the world.” And in their anxiety -and excitement they cried out: “Save thyself.” Pessimists whispered to -one another sad thoughts, “Alas, alas! has it not always been so in the -world’s history; mankind has stoned the prophets of God. Now He is going -to die, to perish miserably, and the whole new movement will be ruined. -People who never saw Him work miracles will say He was a charlatan, and -that He never had any mission or any power. But we who saw Him raise the -dead know He has the power to save Himself.” But both the optimists and -the pessimists were wrong. They did not realise that the Man on the -cross was giving the lie to the reality of death and to the material -power of the Romans and the Jews. The giving the lie is the _podvig_. - -That strange German fairy tale of the three sluggards is probably taken -from conquered Slavs. There lies in it something of the Russian point of -view. The old king gave his kingdom to the son who would not save -himself from the gallows-tree, even though a knife were put into his -hand to cut himself down. The German version is that the king gave the -throne to the laziest of the three, but in reality he gave it to the one -who was most capable of denying the world. - -Dostoieffsky had a habit of saying that he was glad to have gone through -penal exile in Siberia, and he felt that those revolutionaries who fled -abroad and did not accept the worldly judgment and punishment meted out -by the Russian court were not true to Russian ideas and not in reality -helping Russia. He would have preferred that they accepted the cross -which Russia put upon them. Dostoieffsky constantly refers to himself as -a slice from the loaf of Russia, a slice from the communion loaf—a share -in the sacrifice. Those who flee from punishment are outside the -communion, they have no real portion in Russia. “The religion of -suffering” does not mean “suffering for its own sake,” but rather the -religion of not avoiding suffering, not avoiding or trying to avoid -destiny. The religion of the _podvig_. - -A tempter once came to a hermit living in a cave, and told him about the -pain and misery and poverty of his fellow-men living in the world, and -asked him what he would do if a million of money were brought to his -cave and put at his disposal. The hermit crossed himself and muttered, -“Get thee behind me, Satan!” The tempter was annoyed and urged his -point. “But what would you do?” he asked. - -“I should not alter my way of life,” said the hermit. - -That was a _podvig_, a denial of the reality of misery on earth, a -denial of the power of money to gain real happiness for man. - -One of the most interesting of Russian mystery plays, Andreief’s -_Anathema_, is concerned almost wholly with this idea. A man after God’s -own heart succumbs to the temptation of thinking he can put the world -right with money. He inherits a million from a relative who has died in -America, and he sets to work to alleviate human suffering. But the more -suffering he tries to remedy the more appears before him, till finally -he is drowned in suffering, and God says to Human Reason, “Not by these -measures shall it be measured, nor by these numbers shall it be counted, -nor by these weights shall it be weighed, O Anathema, dwelling among -numbers and measures, and not yet born into light!” - -This idea is so pervasive, so characteristic, that I would call it an -extra letter in the alphabet of Russian philosophy. - - * * * * * - -The history of literature is the history of ideas. - -Man first made sounds to represent elementary ideas such as hunger, -cold, warmth, danger, death. Then he made signs to represent sounds, and -invented reading and writing. The signs were systematised; they were -split up into letters and then remade as words. Alphabets and -dictionaries were made. Languages grew. - -At first people spoke only of hunger, cold, pain, pleasure, fighting, -death, and such simple things. They had perhaps only five hundred or so -words. But year by year they added to words as they discovered new -things in the world and in themselves. - -At first clever men, brave warriors, intrepid hunters gave us words; -then philosophers and astrologers and historians; then priests and -minstrels and poets. They named all the things on the world and their -feelings about the things; they named the ideas for which men fought, -for which tribes and nations fought. They named the things of which they -were afraid, the evil spirits in the darkness, in the forests, in the -earthquakes and tempests. Last of all, when they found and considered -the great spirit of man, the spirit in themselves, they named the gods, -and they named the transcendental glories and sorrows of man. - -The minstrels struck their harps and sang of the great deeds of famous -men, and then poets without harps wrote of the same deeds, changing into -words the music of the harp as well. Priests burned sacrifices on -altars, and the poets wrote of it and changed the smoke of the incense -into words. Great warriors fought before Troy, and the poets changed -their passion into words. They sailed the terrible seas ten years to get -home, and the poets changed the storms into words. The poets found out -the assonances of mankind, what every one admired, and they gave to -whole generations watch-words, words that were battle-flags. The poets -described the gods. - -Poems were so much read that whole lines and verses were as familiar as -ordinary words, and people could quote a line of poetry and everybody -would know the idea that was meant. And when the name of a god or a hero -was mentioned there rose at once to people’s minds stories about him, -poems about him. - -Stories became like extra words in the language. That is what the -wonderful Greek stories such as those of Narcissus, Demeter, and -Persephone, and the labours of Hercules became—extra words in the -dictionary or, better still, extra letters. For simple people took them -into their lives, and combined them with their own thoughts, and made -new words of their own. People learnt to use these stories in their -prayers and in all their thoughts of mankind. - -Some nations like the Jews, the Egyptians, the Greeks, grew to great -culture, and the peoples in their beautiful capitals struck thousands of -harps and sang thousands of songs, whilst away in the backwoods and lost -places of the world the rest of mankind lived almost inarticulate, -almost like beasts,—in Germany, in Gaul, in what is now Russia, in -Britain. But their upward movement was at hand. A new idea came into the -world and all the old order changed, giving place to new. The last of -the stories which became a word was the story of Christ on the cross. -“The Word became flesh and dwelt among us.” An extraordinary new letter -was given to the world, and people fitted it into their thoughts and -made new words, new languages, new cultures. - -The savage races of Western Europe came turbulently to the knowledge of -the God-like in themselves, and threw the world into confusion, -observing the old words and stories and culture of the ancient world. -They followed the word-flags of Christianity, the watchwords. Once more -the making of language was first in the hands of clever artificers, -brave warriors, intrepid hunters, adventurous sailors. It passed into -the hands of mediæval philosophers, alchemists, and scholars, to -minstrels, priests, and poets. At last they realised a wide and wondrous -culture, and they took from the ancient world all the stories and extra -words and letters now called myths, and they added them to their own -stories and words, as one might add strings to a stringed instrument. -They learned to praise God on many strings. - -To-day we express ourselves with great orchestras as formerly, long long -ago, man, emerging from the animal, the rude Pan learned to express -himself on a simple reed. - -The discovery of words has been the history of self-expression. Words -have no value in themselves. They are symbols or tokens of ideas in us. -And when we find words continually adding themselves to our vocabulary -and our culture, we know ourselves increasing in the knowledge of -ourselves and of the beauty and passion which lie latent in our souls. -Education in its highest sense is the learning of words and the learning -how to use them, learning the notes of the great instrument, learning -how to play the music of the ages, and to express with that music and -with that playing the passion and the mystery of our own souls. - -The highest of literature, like the noblest of music, is that wherein -the great stories are used as extra letters and words. Rich writing is -that which is full of allusions which we all understand. Poor literature -is often that in which the author is frequently making allusions to -events and stories which are known only to a few and have no strong -significance. To use stories as words when the majority of people do not -know the stories is to write in a language that is not understood, it is -to write in words that are not in use. The reality of a book that draws -its allusions from the Bible and from the Greek myths and general -European history is immeasurably greater than one that is constantly -referring to the Koran or the stories of the Buddha or Zoroaster or -Khrishna or Confucius. That is in itself an adequate defence of -Christianity as a religion for us. Its stories are our stories. Its Word -is the living Word. The other stories are not our stories. Christianity -is our language. If ever asked to defend Christianity, the defence lies -not in the historical accuracy of Christian documents or the verity of -records. Christianity is the _Word_. All words are at our disposal for -the expression of our passion and the sense of our mystery. The -Christian story is the word that fits. - -Our golden deeds, the deeds we consider as golden, are our extra -letters. Let the poets and musicians blend them into their music. Every -time a golden deed is made to sound beautifully in allusion a common -chord is struck in the souls of men. - - * * * * * - -And the _podvig_ is an extra letter. There are many who claim that it is -the word itself; that denial of “the world” is actually the _logos_ of -Christianity. Even in Russia, where there is also the richer and grander -conception of the Church, there are those who stand for the _podvig_ -only, for denial of the world and material force only. Witness Tolstoy -and many of his followers. It is even held by some that the whole of -true and vital and historical Christianity is founded on—“If thine eye -offend thee, pluck it out; if thy right hand offend thee, cut it off.” -The important sect of _Skoptsi_ go so far as to say that the begetting -of children is sin, and they mutilate themselves, and in that way deny -life in the name of the spiritual life. - - - - - II - THE HERMITAGE OF FATHER SERAPHIM - - -Thinking of the _podvig_, I made a pilgrimage to the hermitage of Father -Seraphim, a few hundred miles from Moscow. - -Over treeless wastes and desolate commons, where far-away churches on -the sea of snow look like ships sailing under full canvas; through -snow-blown forests of pines, through woods of tall birch trees; very -seldom past villages or human beings—to the holy city of Arzamas in the -Government of Nizhni-Novgorod. A night in an inn among the many churches -of Arzamas, and then on the road across fifty miles of desolate -snow-covered moor that lie between the city and the great monastery. I -hear of the terrible hurricane that has swept southern Russia, and the -flood that has drowned hundreds of poor fisher-folk and workmen on the -shores of the Azof. To-day there is bad weather all over Russia. It is -ten degrees colder, it still snows, and a high easterly gale is blowing -up the fallen snow and the drift-tops and drift slopes in blinding -clouds that look like engine smokes and volumes of vapour. A bitter day. - -There are no pilgrims on the way, the weather is too heavy for them. -Often as you stand and try to go forward over the uneven road, the wind -sets you sliding backward on the clumps of ice, and you suddenly blunder -into two feet of soft snow. You come to little cottages on the Sarof -side of which stand drifts higher than the cottages themselves; they -look like cliffs, and the snow blowing off unceasingly and tempestuously -above the cottage roofs looks like long white grass going in all -directions at the sport of the gale. In the afternoon the snow ceases to -fall from the sky, but it still rises in smokes and sprays over the -rolling plains. Far away on the horizon to which I am journeying the -black line of the wolf-haunted forest is visible. At night I sleep in a -peasant’s hut, on felt spread on the floor. A whole family goes to sleep -in the same room, and as I lie stretched flat on this primitive couch, -resting my weather-beaten limbs, each of the others says his prayers -before the many ikons. There are many ikons in the room, and besides -them, holy oleographs enough to give the idea that the bare wooden walls -have been papered on some religious design. Chief among the pictures is -a representation of the Tsar and the Grand Dukes giving their shoulders -to the triumphal carrying of the relics of the Father Seraphim, on the -occasion of the canonisation of the Russian hermit and _starets_. - -Father Seraphim was a saintly monk and ghostly counsellor of the type of -Father Zosima, familiar to English readers of _The Brothers Karamazof_. -He accomplished extraordinary holy exploits during his youth and middle -age, conquering the flesh and denying the world, and in his old age -became famous for his godly sagacity and humility. When he died his body -was reputed to have in it holy charm, and thousands of peasants brought -their sick and their blind, and their sins and their sorrows to the -miracle-working relics. Finally the Empress, wishing to have a male -child, abode at the monastery and prayed, and Father Seraphim gave -Russia a Tsarevitch. The Tsar named Seraphim as a saint, and the shrine -of Sarof, already astonishingly sought of pilgrims, gained a great -ecclesiastical distinction. Hence this grand oleograph on the wall. - -I slept as one sleeps who, after weeks in town, is one day surcharged -with open air. Next morning the whole family was up before dawn, and the -samovar was on the table in the grey light of sunrise. A man from the -village decided to accompany me to Sarof. - -“Haven’t been there for four years,” said he, “and now I’m homesick to -see it again. I think I’ll go and pray a little.” - -We talked of Father Seraphim on the way. - -“Is the cell still there where he fed the bear with bread?” I asked. - -“Yes, it’s there; about five versts from the monastery away in the -woods. There is a shrine there now. You’ll see the stone, too, on which -he prayed a thousand days and a thousand nights without moving away. And -the spring that he found. Many people have been cured there. It’s quite -unusual water. Will you bathe?” - -“Perhaps,” said I. “But the weather’s cold.” - -“No one ever takes cold there,” said the peasant. “It’s quite safe. The -water is very very cold. But there’s something about it. You take it -home, it doesn’t go bad like ordinary water.” - -“He was a great saint, this Father Seraphim!” - -“Of course; he was a God-serviceable man, he did many _podvigs_.” - -When we arrived at the monastery in the holy wood we were accommodated -in a cell, and a novice brought in the samovar at once. No passports -were required, no charge was made. We found at the monastery some two or -three hundred other pilgrims, most of whom had been there several days. -A pleasant collection of churches, hostelries, little shops, and -work-sheds set on a fair hill among ancient pines, a peaceful shelter -and sanctuary after the wild weather and desolation of the moors. We -wandered about the buildings in the dusk, listened to the antique -chimes, and then returned to sleep a few hours before the midnight bell -to the first service of the morrow. About one in the morning we left our -cells and all muffled up and mysterious followed other pilgrims across -the soft new snow to the door of the Cathedral of the Assumption. Then -in the witching hour of night we entered the church—such an immense -church it seemed, barely lit by the few struggling tapers, and we such a -few people in it. The peasants, however, paid no attention to numbers, -and they stood and prayed and crossed themselves and gave the responses -for hours and hours, at last receiving the blessing of the priest, -kissing the cross in his hand, being marked on the brow with holy water, -stepping up to the altar and kissing through a hole in some canvas a -part of the remains of the saint. There was nothing touching in the -service except the demeanour of the pilgrims, no music worth mentioning. -Our leaving our beds to come and stand for hours on the cathedral floor -without an inclination to shirk or go out was a _podvig_—an inbred part -of the Russian character now. - -I went to a fuller service later in the day, in a church much more -alight with candles, taken by a deacon with a deep spirit-summoning -voice, and mellowed by wonderful choral accompaniments, a long service -requiring patience from the aged folk who came to take part in it. - -A seventy-five-year-old dame explained in one of the monastery -dining-rooms, as some twenty of us with wooden spoons sat round four -huge Russian basins of soup and helped ourselves together—“I felt I -might die before it ended, but I prayed to the holy _Ugodnik_, Father -Seraphim, to ask God to give me strength to stay till the end of the -service.” - -“Why not to God direct?” I asked. - -“It’s not for a poor creature like me to trouble God to attend to me,” -said she. “No, I ask the _Ugodniki_, if they have time, to go to Him and -ask Him at a convenient moment....” - -“As to the Tsar,” said some one. - -“But God has time for every one,” said another, “and can attend to -everything at once....” - -“_Pozhalui_, I suppose so ...” said the old woman meekly in a cracked -voice, and went on with her soup. - -I talked with one of the monks about Father Seraphim. What a character -the Russian hermit was; there is material in his life for the pen of -another Carlyle writing a new Past and Present. He was silent all those -thirty-five years, and then opened his mouth. Alas! no one could tell me -the first words that he spoke. He was actually silent all the time that -Napoleon was ravaging Russia, during the time when he was in occupation -of the holy mother of Russian cities, Moscow. Napoleon was popularly -understood in Russia as Antichrist, and when the news of the terrible -French sacrilege spread over Russia there were all manner of extravagant -rumours about the end of the world. - -By this time Seraphim had obtained a name of great sanctity. Sick men -had been restored to health by drinking from the hermitage well, the -leprous had discharged their disease by touching the garments of the -holy but silent man. So when Napoleon came to Moscow, the crowd appealed -to Seraphim to work a miracle. - -“They are burning our sacred shrines,” they cried, “they are using our -cathedrals as places of execution, they are murdering our priests and -our pilgrims. Is it naught to thee, Father?” - -But Seraphim was silent. - -And others said, “He is called Napoleon, but he is in reality -Antichrist. Lead us, O Seraphim, against him in the name of the Lord.” - -But Seraphim was silent. His face retained unchanged its look of -exaltation; his uplifted eyes still seemed bent on some unearthly -vision; his attentive ears seemed to be listening to some other voices. -The old monk never spoke a word. Napoleon and the world had no power to -shatter his vision. Napoleons might come and go, but the truth to which -he was a witness remained unchanging, unchanged. And if Napoleon had -come to Sarof and pulled the hermitage down about Seraphim’s ears, the -old monk would still have prayed on in silence. - -Almost every characteristic of the Father and every circumstance of his -life had something in it that is emblematic and suggestive. In his old -age, when he became so famous, he received thousands of letters, most of -which, however, he answered without opening! It is told how in his old -age the light of sainthood shone from his brow, and on one occasion a -holy man coming to visit him in his cell found the light too strong for -his eyes and shielded them with his hands. - -“What is the matter?” said Father Seraphim. - -“The light shines from your head, O holy one.” - -“Do not be afraid,” said the Father. “You also are bright as I am or you -could not have seen me thus. I see you also a shining one. Thank God -that it has been given to miserable Seraphim to see a manifestation of -the Holy Spirit.” - -The Father during his hermitage scooped out of the trunk of a -lightning-stricken oak the coffin that should hold his remains when he -died, and he pulled it in at the door of his hut, slept in it at night, -and prayed beside it by day. - -He was an extraordinary ascetic, and yet in the picture that you get of -him in his old age, when he relaxed his asceticism, he is distinguished -by the warmth of his love and the sweetness of his counsel. The pilgrims -who come to him he calls his “joys”; before even the wicked he falls -down and he kisses their feet. When he gives his benediction he also -gives a handful of that dried black bread, _sukaree_, with which he fed -Mishenka, the bear which he tamed in the woods—Father Seraphim’s bread -which came down from heaven, the bread of the _podvig_. - -My pilgrim acquaintance took me to the various shrines, and we knelt and -kissed the thousand-day stone still standing before the great rough-hewn -cross that the saint made, kissed the ikons, crossed ourselves before -many forest shrines, and eventually came to the far shrine where -Seraphim spent so many years in the wilderness. Here an aged monk, -taking the place of the _starets_, asked us our Christian names and -where we came from. He had a great sack of _sukaree_ similar to that -which Seraphim had dispensed, and he gave us each a handful with his -parting benediction. At the well, now made into an elaborate bath-house, -men one side and women the other, my pilgrim had a bath. It struck me as -rather interesting that the monks of Sarof had fitted a dozen or so taps -to Seraphim’s natural spring and conducted it through pipes—that is the -true ecclesiastical function, to put taps to living water. - -I went into the bath-house and watched some peasants stand under the -frigid douche, and when my friend had put his clothes on again—without -drying himself—we took each a bottle of the water and put it in our -pockets. - -Then away again from Sarof and home over the snow. I carried the -_sukaree_ and the water from the well that I might give them to the old -grandmother at Vladikavkaz when I went south—the actual _sukaree_ with -which Father Seraphim fed the bear! Some weeks later when I went to the -Caucasian city I call my Russian home I took the old lady my gift from -the Father. Next day behold her doling out half-thimblefuls of the water -to her visitors and giving them each a crumb of the comfort of St. -Seraphim to eat. - - - - - III - TOLSTOY’S FLIGHT FROM HOME - - - ASTAPOVO RAILWAY STATION. - - -From a historical figure to a contemporary figure. From the simplicity -of a mediæval choice such as Seraphim’s to the difficulty of the choice -that confronts a modern. - -Nothing in Tolstoy’s life is so interesting to me as the circumstances -of his death, his flight from home to the monastery, his perishing on a -wayside station like some aged pilgrim broken down on the way to -Jerusalem. The story is such a beautiful, pathetic, touching one that -the station of Astapovo may well be an object of pilgrimage for people -who can feel in themselves the poignancies of life, and who are -interested in the destinies of mankind. - -Not a place for sightseers, however! A dreary journey at the rate of -eighteen miles an hour and at the end of it all this little station on a -by-line. In the waiting-room are peasants in rags, in sheepskins, in old -blouses, peasants sleeping on forms; bundles on the floor, heaps of -bundles, tied-up sacks, ancient green trunks. On one side of the room is -a grandfather’s clock, on the other is a little wooden chapel with ikons -and votive candles. From the clock to the chapel runs a long -linoleum-covered bar, and on the ikon side of it are scores of fresh -loaves, while on the clock side are vodka and wine. On the top of the -clock burns a paraffin lamp. There is praying and disputing and -tea-drinking, children crying, bundles, boxes, pointsmen with dim -lanterns, a mouldy-looking gendarme, and it is five o’clock in the -morning. - -Out of the lingering train they brought Tolstoy into just such a room -and to such a scene. “They brought him through here,” says the heavy -bearded man behind the bar, “and they put him first in the woman’s room -and then took him to a room in the stationmaster’s house.” - -The man behind the bar has trained his whiskers to look like those of -Tolstoy, and is vain enough to ask me: “Did you not take me for -Tolstoy’s double? Some are frightened when they see me and think I am -Tolstoy’s ghost. Am I not like him?” - -“Did you look as like him _then_? What did Tolstoy’s friends think of -your appearance?” - -“They laughed.” - -“Did you have many people here?” - -“Not many strangers, fifteen of the family, twenty correspondents, a -general from Petrograd, two doctors.... I put them all up and fed them.” - -A gruff, astonishing old fellow, this double of Tolstoy. A strange -coincidence that Tolstoy should die at his station. He is heavy, -awkward, unpleasant-looking, like a Guy Fawkes effigy of Tolstoy; and as -you watch him cross the waiting-room it seems as if his hair might fall -off and prove to be a wig, and as if one might pull his beard and -whiskers away. - -But he is quite obliging to me, and shows me the marble tablet in the -stationmaster’s wooden wall, and directs me to the room in which -everything stands just as it did then, which is being preserved so _for -all time_—if Time spares Tolstoy’s memory. - -The first I ever heard of Tolstoy was the discrediting whisper, “His -wife banks his money; everything is in his wife’s name.” And later on, -when I came to Russia, coupled with national pride in Leo Nikolaevitch -was always the rumour: “When he wants to go to Moscow he travels -first-class; he does not go on foot as he advises others to do. He -counsels us to live simply while he himself lives in style at Yasnaya -Polyana. He disbelieves in doctors, but when the least thing is the -matter with him doctors are in attendance.” I suppose no one really put -these things in the balance against Tolstoy’s sincerity—unless, perhaps, -it was Tolstoy himself. - -Tolstoy was evidently heavily oppressed by the worldly life in which he -seemed to share and which he seemed to countenance. It was mirrored in -his soul as the everyday reflection of life, the luxury, feasting, -drinking, trivial conversation, and vulgar pride of his home. - -Some time in his life, perhaps several times, Tolstoy must have been on -the point of running away. In order to make his personal life correspond -to his teaching, it would have been necessary to give up his wife and -family and the life they insisted on living. He ought to have gone out -into the wilderness and become a hermit or a pilgrim. So he would have -made his personality and doctrine into one great snow-crowned mountain -and holy landmark in the national life of Russia. - -Tolstoy failed to do this, not through weakness, but because he felt he -would lift a heavier cross and would be truer to his own ideal if he -continued to lead his life in “the world,” in the midst of the -frivolities and luxuries which did not pertain to him. He would live his -personal life against the background of this stupidity, his flesh nailed -to that cross. - -His life will not stand out in relief till some one writes the evangel -of his life. As yet Tolstoy is merely a great man, the author of _Anna -Karenina_ and _War and Peace_. Few know the real significance of his -life. But certainly it may be said of him, despite calumnies and -appearances, “He had no possessions on earth; he always confessed to -being a stranger and a pilgrim here. He did not believe that machinery -or medicine or law were of any value to the soul of man. And though he -lived in the midst of wealth he lived very simply.” - -A very brilliant old man at Yasnaya Polyana. You went away impressed -with his brilliance, and even if you were inclined to scoff you still -acknowledged he was great. But greatness was not much to Tolstoy; it was -surely nothing to him that he remained _great_ to the end. The chief -fact about him was that for many years he was really _old_ and confused -in spirit, troubled. In his heart of hearts he was not sure that he was -living the true life. He felt a doubt that the emptiness and vanity -around him were his own emptiness and vanity. The world was too much -with him; the vision forsook him. - -In the blaze up of the candle before death he saw his way and sought -sanctuary from the world, fled.... - -And he perished on the road, with his back to Yasnaya Polyana and the -“world.” In the room where he died are the poor two-foot-six by -five-foot-six iron bedstead, the table with medicine bottles, a chair, -the enamel basin they washed him in. It is all to remain as it was on -the day that he died. Pleasant symbolism! The world will also remain the -same: it will remove his body to Yasnaya Polyana, and quarrel over the -prayer to be said over the grave; it will quarrel over the rights in his -autograph manuscripts; it will publish the old man’s love-letters; it -will rig up in Moscow a facsimile of Astapovo Station and the room where -he died; it will arrange ten-year jubilees, fifty-year jubilees, -centenaries; build statues ...; but those who seek to know the true -Tolstoy, the real man who had this strange life-journey, will hear the -whisper, “Be of good cheer; I have overcome the world.” - - - - - IV - BACK TO MOSCOW - - -The Russians are considerably more interested in religion and religious -ideas than other nations. Perhaps that is due to the greater national -growth and greater national changes: questions about destiny rise to the -surface of each man’s mind. The appetite for religious discussion is -robust and eager. You go to a debate which begins at eight in the -evening. Some one reads a lecture which lasts three hours and then there -is a three hours’ general discussion. The room is packed, no windows are -open, but every one is keen. A roar of general conversation ensues at -the ten-minutes interval every hour and a half. - -A curious story enacted itself whilst I was in Moscow this spring. A -journalist discovered a group of Hindu philosophers doing a turn at a -smart cabaret restaurant. In the midst of a vulgar music-hall programme -they were performing rather beautifully on their native instruments. -They seemed somewhat out of place; and the journalist, knowing English, -sought them out and entered into conversation with them—as you can at -the cabaret, where performers mix pretty freely with those who have come -to eat and be amused. Two days later the story of the Hindus appeared in -one of the Moscow newspapers. Their leader was the chosen missionary of -Sufism, and was going through all the world preaching a new gospel. He -had had a considerable fashionable success in London and Paris, and at -the latter city a Russian hearing his music—which was in itself an -illustration of Sufism—had said, “Come to Russia; I’ll arrange -everything for you.” - -“I’d like to,” said the Hindu; “I have long wished to go there.” - -The Russian brought a form of contract and engaged the missionary and -his fellows to play every night for six months in cabaret restaurants -and music-halls in Russia. But the Hindu averred that he thought he was -signing an agreement for a lecturing tour. - -Readers of this story in the morning newspapers were much touched, and a -lady whom I know sought out X—— at his hotel, questioned him, and found -that he was indeed a serious religious man, desirous of spreading the -gospel of Sufism in Russia. And she promised to rescue his mission. - -In a week or so she had arranged a meeting for him, and X—— came with -his fellow-Hindus and their instruments and gave a lecture and rendered -some music. Several of the most cultured people in Moscow were present. -Mme. Ivanova, the wife of Viacheslaf Ivanof, interpreted for him -sentence by sentence, and afterwards question by question, and answer by -answer. The lecture amounted briefly to this: “First there was the One -and then all was peace, happiness, bliss. Then the One became the many, -and there will never be peace, happiness, bliss again until the many -becomes the One. Therefore we should strive towards the One and get rid -of the sense of the many.” - -The lecture lasted about an hour, and the Russians were pleased, -curious, earnest. They took the Hindu seriously, and questioned and -cross-questioned without mercy. The gentle prophet gave the sweetest -replies, delicately evading, politely agreeing, playfully turning -simplicities into paradoxes and back again, and all his terms of speech -were definite and simple. He never took refuge in anything vague or -emotional, treated the infinities and the immensities like little toys -or bits of toys. Everything was clear to him, everything simple; he was -above all things playful. But the Russians sent question after question -and would not take evasion or smile at playfulness, till at last at -half-past eleven the gentle Eastern begged to be excused if he did not -answer any more questions as he was tired. Indeed he seemed worn out. -But the Russians had a feeling of disappointment. For them the evening -was only beginning. - -The question of the many and the One, the world or the cell, the many -cares of Martha or the one devotion of Mary, would keep any Russian -audience speculating for an indefinite length of time. - -In Moscow in March I met again Mme. Odintseva. A great change had come -over her life. Her husband had been killed, her fortune lost, and she -had changed her religion. When I met her first she was a Theosophist, a -modern Hypatia whose home was a temple, an elegant woman surrounded by -pictures and volumes of poetry, her own especial rooms all scented with -rose de Shiraz. Now all was changed in her life; no pictures, no poets, -no perfume, no elegance, and she had exchanged Theosophy for evangelical -Christianity. The particulars of her husband’s death had evidently been -a terrible shock to her. He had been in the habit of paying blackmail to -a band of revolutionaries or depraved police, and one night he either -failed to bring the money demanded of him, or he quarrelled with his -persecutors, or he got tired of life and committed suicide. He was found -shot dead, in a lonely spot a mile from his home. A note appointing the -rendezvous was found, but the writer was never traced. His wife -necessarily does not tell what she went through in mind and soul, but -the astonishing result was visible in her new life and home in Moscow. -All was in disorder, everything had become coarser, harder. She herself -was much stouter, had given up vegetarianism, dressed very simply, read -only volumes of sermons and the New Testament, referred all questions to -texts in the Gospels, and went to prayer-meetings every other night. - -I accompanied her on one occasion. We went to what may be styled the -lowest sort of Evangelical meeting in Moscow. There is no Salvation Army -there. This was something in the nature of a slum shelter meeting. The -preacher was an enthusiastic barber. There were five or six hundred men -and women present at the meeting, and a gendarme stood at the back to -see that nothing objectionable was said. - -“We have converted three gendarmes,” said Mme. Odintseva in my ear. We -sat on forms at one side of the room, and could survey the whole meeting -without turning our heads. The men present were straight from toil, -grimy, unkempt, wild-looking. A few years ago the same type of workman -grasped a revolver in his pocket and thought of barricades and -revolutions. Now he has a New Testament and sings hymns in dark rooms, -the tears stealing down his face the while. - -As they sat waiting the opening of the service they looked a stolid, -heavy, unemotional crowd, the pale broad-browed women with shawls on -their heads, the heavy, unshaven, clumsy men in ill-fitting clothes -heavy with dirt. But they all changed under the influence of religious -feeling. There was a consciousness of unanimity in this low, vast, -irregular room. Something not to be put down in words communicated -itself from man to man. No one had come there to sleep through the -sermon or, like Yourgis at Chicago, to get out of the cold. There was -attention to the reading of the Scriptures, a communion of melancholy -love and passion in the singing of the simple hymns, testifying and -confessing with sobs and gesticulations in the midst of the prayers, -happy cries of pain and anguish from people whose sole confession was, -“I am unworthy, Lord, an unworthy one; O Lord, have mercy!” - -The barber’s sermon was simple and sweet. “Read the Gospel, brothers; -the whole sense of your lives is in the Gospel. If you are in doubt -which way to act turn to the Gospel; do not ask other people, do not try -to remember what other people have done, but be guided directly by the -words of God. And if you have sinned, and if your past life has become -unbearable to you, do not despair, turn to the Testament; it is just one -big forgiveness from beginning to end.” - -Mme. Odintseva was anxious that I should like the barber; he was a -favourite of hers. Frequently during his sermon she whispered in my ear, -and called my attention to points she considered good. Yes, the barber -was interesting; he was giving a new criterion to the people, a new -touchstone for good and evil. - -After his sermon we concluded with ten minutes’ private prayer and a -last hymn. In England the private prayer would have been silent, and -there would have been that strange surcharged silence which suggests to -the mind that there might be an explosion if one were to light a match. -But in Russia though they had borrowed the idea they had understood its -practice differently. The prayer was not silent. - -We all stood up to pray, and as we stood there began a murmuring and a -mumbling and a calling, a general muttering and a crying, a sonorous -clamour, hands waving, faces thrown upward toward heaven, faces drooping -and sobbing, every one saying his own prayer, and every one saying -different. It was a music, a symphony of pain and anguish from an -orchestra of human hearts. I did not pray, but looked about me and saw -the people swaying as if a wind were blowing among them. There seemed to -be no silent lips, and the barber-pastor prayed with the rest, -indistinctly and personally and yet vocally. Far away, beyond the low -roof of the meeting-room, a mysterious and understanding God heard each. - - - - - V - THE RELIGION OF SUFFERING - - -Nietzsche wrote of religion disparagingly as an intoxicant, and yet by -his own religion he was intoxicated. No one ever acted more strangely or -became more excited under the influence of personal religion than -Nietzsche. It is no reproach to religion that it changes reasonable -beings to emotional beings. And yet there is associated with religion a -false emotionalism and sentimentalism that we call morbidity, a desire -to be miserable and to make other people miserable, a wearing of weeds -on festival days, pessimism and “God grant we may all be as well two -months hence,” a living with death and a loving of the gruesome. - -Gloominess is a danger for the Slav soul as with us it is for the -Celtic. The bright energy of the Teuton is lacking. It is not worth -while _making_ things or working for _position_. The mind is free and -questioning. There is no sense of— - - Who sweeps a room as for Thy laws - Makes that and the action fine, - -or of - - The trivial round, the common task, - Will furnish all we ought to ask. - -Nature is “vainly sweet,” and the eye looks out on the recurring pageant -of the seasons with unutterable ennui and sadness. And in life the petty -circumstances, if congenial, are but playfully pleasant, but if -uncongenial, seem surcharged with malice. - -The river that runs through life is easily dammed, floods the whole -being of a man, and becomes stagnant, whilst poisonous mists lower over -him. The joyful current ceases. - -It is a common disaster in Russia, the falling into a morbid state. A -Russian poet writes: - - All earthly perishes, thy mother and thy boyhood. - Thy wife betrays thee, yea, and friends forsake; - But learn, my friend, to taste a different sweetness - Looking to the cold and Arctic seas. - Get in thy ship, set sail for the far Pole, - And live midst walls of ice. Gently forget - How there you loved and struggled; - Forget the passions of the land behind thee; - And to the shudderings of gradual cold - Accustom thy tired soul, - So that of all she left behind her here - She craveth nought whatever, - When thence to thee floods forth the beams of light celestial, - -which is a beautiful poem written for those who have become morbid. It -is a beloved poem, and you may come across it written laboriously and -exquisitely on tinted paper. But those who read it and love it will -never “step into the ship, set sail for the far Pole”; it is not an -invitation to join Shackleton, not even figuratively. It is for those -who love and nurse their sorrows. They have not the power nor the wish -to move. They are transfixed by mournful ideas, ideas that sing through -the air as they come, like arrows, and yet console as with music. As -another poet (Brussof) writes: - - On a lingering fire you burn and burn away, - O my soul, - On a lingering fire you burn and burn away - With sweet moan. - - You stand like Sebastiàn shot through with arrows, - Without strength to breathe, - You stand like Sebastiàn shot through with arrows - In shoulder and breast. - - Your enemies around you look on with mirth - Bending the bow, - Your enemies around you look on with mirth - Increasing the woe. - - So burns the funeral pyre, the arrows stinging gently - In the eventide, - So burns the funeral pyre, the arrows stinging gently - For the last time, - -which indicates a favourite mood in Russian poetry. Students say such -poetry over to one another in their rooms of an evening, teachers in -provincial towns say such verses to their women friends, local -journalists talk of them, gentle souls of either sex take down the book -from the shelf and turn to the familiar page and live with the poet’s -pain. Such is the melancholy of the cultured, a morbid yet touching -melancholy. It is refined. The thoughts are scented, and it is -literature and not life which is lending some one expression. But lower -down in society, where there is less reading, life itself gives the -terms of this outlook. So the coffin-maker in Tchekhof’s -story—“Rothschild’s Fiddle”—has a ledger in which he notes down at the -end of each day the _losses_ of the day. All life expresses itself to -him in losses, terrible, terrible losses. Smerdyakof, Dostoieffsky’s -most morbid conception, catches cats and hangs them at midnight with a -ceremony and ritual of his own invention. - -The old beggar pilgrim sings with cracked voice as he trudges through -wind and rain: - - I will go up on the hi-igh mounta-ain - And look into the mi-ighty de-ep, - A-and see about me a-all the earth - Where I fre-et and ve-ex my soul. - Ah, Eternity, it is but The-e I se-ek, - Little gra-ave, my little gra-a-a-a-ve, - You are my e-everla-asting ho-ome. - Yellow sand my be-ed, - Stones my ne-eigh-bours, - Wo-orms my fri-ends, - The da-amp earth my mo-other, - Mo-other, my mo-other. - Take me to e-e-ternal re-est. - O Lord have me-e-e-e-ercy![8] - -Indeed, many such examples might be adduced to show the pre-occupation -of the Russian with the idea of death. The funeral service music is -favourite popular music. In the procession of moods in the soul of the -young man he comes comparatively rapidly to “worms my neighbours.” The -excessive number of suicides in Russia may be explained by the -extraordinary liability of the Russian soul to falling into a morbid -state. - -But we are all of us, even the merriest hearts that “go all the way,” -subject to morbid moods, to fits of depression, black hours when we are -ready to deny the world, our ambition in it, our own life, our greatest -happiness, and live wilfully in an atmosphere of grief and pessimism, -loving sorrow for its own sake, lamenting for the sake of lamentation. -We love what Dostoieffsky calls self-laceration. We must every month or -so deliver ourselves up to Giant Despair and be cudgelled. - - The darker the night the clearer the stars, - The deeper the sorrow the nearer to God, - -says a Russian proverb, but these recurrent moods are not really sorrow, -they are a being morbid. They have nothing in common with the suffering -that comes from destiny itself, nothing of the circumstances of going -into the wilderness, or taking the road with the burden on one’s back, -nothing of the pangs of new birth, of the _podvig_. - - Who never ate his bread in sorrow, - Who never spent the midnight hours - Toiling and waiting for the morrow, - He knows you not, ye Heavenly Powers. - -—Who never ate his bread in real sorrow. Life is of this sort, that if -you will stake all of it for a new life you will get the new life. But -when you really do give up all the old and dear, that is a dark and -terrible hour, the hour of renunciation, of the _podvig_. - -And on the road of life itself there is a great gulf between the -vigorous and Teutonic “Welcome each rebuff that turns earth smoothness -rough” and the morbid and Oscar Wildean “living with sorrow,” a great -gulf between Father Seraphim kneeling a thousand days on a rock, and the -sad “intelligent” who reads to himself in the evening hour: - - To stand like Sebastiàn shot through with arrows, - Without strength to breathe, - To stand like Sebastiàn shot through with arrows - In shoulder and breast. - -Tolstoy in his later years was morbid. I suppose if the psychology of -Tolstoy’s life were to be followed out we should be surprised at the -frequent recurrence of morbid and despondent moods. Nothing seems more -characteristic of his later years than fruitless quarreling with the -life of Yasnaya Polyana, threatening to run away, lamentations, -self-lacerations. But now and again in relief Tolstoy did actually flee. -He took the road to Moscow to live like a simple artisan and earn his -living by carpentering, or he set off for a monastery where some famous -monk lived in his cell, and sought relief by confession and Christian -intercourse. - -That going forth on the road, a-seeking new life, is characteristic. At -times one would think half Russia is on the road. Utility has been flung -aside, the chances of gain have been passed over, the so-called duty to -work and fulfil your place in the state has been flung to the winds, and -the Russian is out on the dusty road, wearing out his boots, thinking, -trudging, praying, recognising—finding what his soul desires. That is -not morbidity, but a noble form of life. - -And many promise themselves wholly to God and enter monasteries or -convents, and there find happiness, the bright ray of destiny they -sought with their eyes in a dark world. - - Every morning, noon, and night - Praise God! says Theocrite - -—that is not a morbid life, though a life of denial. It does not mean -that every one who would live well should enter a monastery or a -convent, it only means that some one whose soul craved such a life has -found his way. How we have suffered in England from the difficulty of -giving one’s soul to God in that way. Those who would have been monks -and sisters have had to give themselves in other ways. There are -thousands of other ways. Every one who is living well has found a way. -The way meant renunciation, hardship, sorrow—but not morbid sorrow, the -sorrow which leaves you as you were, as the cloud of gnats wailing by -the tree and the stream leave the tree, leave the stream, just as they -were, just what they were. - -The differentiation between morbid sorrow and real sorrow, between -self-laceration and the tribulation that comes of destiny, is important -if we would understand aright what the Russian means by the “Religion of -Suffering.” - -The religion of suffering, of which so much is said, is a term easily -misunderstood, meaning differently in the mouths of different people. -The political propagandist holds that the Russian people are melancholy -because their institutions are so bad, and that the religion of -suffering is the religion of revolution, a growing resentment against -the government. - -The morbid Russian will say that the religion of suffering is the -knowledge of the truth that _only_ in suffering and near to death can -you understand anything about life. He will deny that anything else can -teach you. - -The peasant pilgrim will interpret it as the religion of taking to the -road and bearing the cross; being a beggar for Christ’s sake; refusing a -lift on the road to the Sepulchre, holding that where Christ walked it -is not for them to ride. - -Another will say it is the religion that helps you to face suffering, -and point to Tolstoy’s story of the death of Ivan Ilyitch. Ivan Ilyitch -was a man who had no religion, and had never faced suffering in his -life, an ordinary bourgeois of the type of lower intelligentsia, jovial, -selfish, cynical, fond of cards and of his dinner, and having no other -particular interest in life except an ambition to make more money. -Suddenly he is stricken with cancer, and lives for years in increasing -pain till at last he dies in agony. He has no spiritual comfort; pain -quite o’ercrows his spirit. The truth is, no pain really conquers the -spirit, the spirit always triumphs at the last, even if the body is -rendered useless by the struggle. But this truth is lost in the -irreligion of Ivan Ilyitch. It would seem it would have been better if -he had lived a more regular and healthy life in his youth, but that is a -false moral. The fact is he had never faced the solemn mystery of life, -never taken his ordinary human share in suffering, and so was lost in -the hour of pain. But perhaps there were more spiritual gleams in the -end of Ivan Ilyitch than Tolstoy tells us of. Tolstoy was a moralist. -But in any case Ivan Ilyitch presents a contrast to a religious Russian -on his death-bed, in his last agony, gripping tight in his hand a little -wooden cross, his eyes upon the ikon of his patron saint before which -the candle is burning. - -Another will say, the religion of suffering is that which helps you to -face life, which is perhaps another way of saying that it is the -religion which helps you to face death ... the religion which prompts -you to take risks and will face no dangers. He is losing his soul. In a -great war he wakens up and offers himself—and saves his soul. Or in the -ordinary course of things, in the “weak piping times of peace,” he -resolves to make a leap in the dark and get life, he gives up the old -for the new—he saves his soul, and out of his sufferings springs a -glory. - -Still it is not for every one to make this leap in the dark. Villagers, -the peasants of a countryside, have obviously no call that way, or -seldom a call that way. They have not the need that the townsman has, -they have satisfying visions of truth, from nature, in their way of -life, in their traditional customs. _Brand_ was probably wrong trying to -lead his village flock up among the glaciers and avalanches to make a -church of ice. He should have preached such sermons and made such -appeals in towns. He would have led people from the towns. Nevertheless -there has been a cult of _Brand_ in Russia, especially since Ibsen’s -long drama was produced at the Theatre of Art, and many divinity -students and young priests have been touched by his vigorous onslaught -on the quiet lives of simple folk. - -On the other hand, there have not been wanting vigorous opponents to -_Brand_ and the “God of the Heights,” and I have even seen the scientist -working to relieve pain put in opposition to _Brand_ working to increase -the pain and sorrow in the world. But in that opposition lies a -misconception. Crucifixion under chloroform does not conquer death and -sin, and there is no sleeping-draught for the young man on the threshold -of life who has got to dare and suffer and die many times before he -emerges at his noblest and richest. - -Dostoieffsky voiced the religion of suffering for Russia, he suffered -himself, and in his personal suffering discovered the national passion. -He sanctified Siberia, redeeming the notion of it from that of a foul -prison and place of punishment to a place of redemption, and finding -one’s own soul. He did not find Siberia an evil place, but on the -contrary, found it holy ground. These men came face to face with reality -who had lived till then in an atmosphere of unreality. The roads of -Siberia were roads of pilgrimage. Dostoieffsky sent successively his two -most interesting heroes to tread those roads—Raskolnikof and Dmitri -Karamazof. Tolstoy develops and materialises the idea in the story of -Katya and Neludof. - -Then in his novels Dostoieffsky generally shows the suffering ones, -never suggesting the idea that the suffering should be removed. He has -no interest in the non-suffering normal person. He prefers a man who is -torn, whose soul is disclosed and bare. He feels that such a man knows -more, and that his life can show more of the true pathos of man’s -destiny. Such people think, dream, pray, hope, they are infinitely -lovable, they are clearly mortal. Hence a pre-occupation with suffering, -a saying _yes_ to suffering when the obvious answer seems to be _no_, -and _Let this cup pass from me_. It is perhaps because the West has -taken it for granted that suffering is an evil thing, and has set itself -consciously the task of eliminating suffering from the world that the -East has emphasised its acceptance of suffering. Nietzsche noted what he -called the watchword of Western Europe—“We wish that there may be -nothing more to fear.” He despised that wish. The East does not despise -the wish, but finds it necessary to affirm its own belief more -vigorously. It accepts many things which the West considers wrong in -themselves—War, Disease, Pain, Death. - -Footnote 8: - - Cited by the priest Florensky, who copied down the song as he heard it - (_The Pillar and Foundation of Truth_). - - - - - VI - THE TWO HERMITS - - -Although self-laceration and being wilfully gloomy are frequent in -Russian life the idea of repentance is not popular, there being no -particular passion for righteousness and consequently no insistence on -sin as something deadly in itself. In Russia you never hear that the -wages of sin is death. The man who sins is even thought to be nearer to -grace than he who never sins, the prodigal nearer than his elder -brother. “Sin committed is nothing to grieve over. What is done can’t be -helped. Hurry on and do something else, don’t waste time in penance or -repentance.” There is no idea of penance in connection with the Russian -Church, and consequently no “indulgences.” Russia has escaped the evil -of thinking that it is possible to pay for past actions and neutralise -their effect. Even in asceticism the Russian has no idea of paying for -sins by fasting and praying and mortifying the flesh. And he who sets -out on pilgrimage does not do so as a penance for sin, he is not trying -in any way to make up to God for sin. His act is an act of praise, a -promise, his asceticism is a denial of this world in honour of the world -to come, a denial of the world’s peace in praise of the peace which -passeth understanding, a denial of the world’s truth in allegiance to -the Holy Ghost, a showing forth in symbolic act of the glory of man’s -heavenly destiny. - -The story of two hermits given by the Russian philosopher Solovyof gives -a Russian point of view. - -In the desert in Egypt two hermits were saving their souls. Their caves -were quite near one another but they never entered into conversation -unless it were to sing psalms at one another or call one another by name -now and then. In this way of life they passed many years, and the fame -of their sanctity spread beyond Egypt and into many lands. But in course -of time the devil, mortified by their holiness, succeeded in tempting -them. He snared them both at the same time, and, not saying a word to -one another, they gathered the baskets and pallets which in their long -spare time they had plaited from grasses and palm leaves, and they set -off together for Alexandria. There they sold their work, and on the -money they got for it they spent three gay days and nights with -drunkards and sinners, and on the fourth morning, having spent -everything, they returned to their cells in the desert. - -One of them wept bitterly and howled aloud. The other walked at his side -with bright morning face and sang psalms joyfully to himself. The first -cried: - -“Accursed that I am, now am I lost for ever. I shall never out-pray my -hideous sin, never, never. All my fasts and hymns and prayers have been -in vain. I might as well have sinned all the time; all lost in one foul -moment! Alas! alas!” - -But the other hermit went on singing, quietly, joyfully. - -“What!” cried the first hermit. “Have you gone out of your mind?” - -“Why?” asked the joyful one. - -“Why don’t you repent?” - -“What is there for me to repent of?” asked the joyful one. - -“And Alexandria, have you forgotten it?” asked his companion. - -“What of Alexandria? Glory be to the Almighty who preserves that famous -and honourable town!” - -“But what did we do in Alexandria?” - -“What did we do? Why we sold our baskets of course, prayed upon the ikon -of holy St. Mark, visited several churches, walked a little in the town -hall, conversed with the virtuous and Christly Leonila....” - -The repentant hermit stared at the other in pale stupefaction. - -“And the house of ill-fame in which we spent the night ...” said he. - -“God preserve us!” said the other. “The evening and night we spent in -the guest-house of the patriarch.” - -“Holy martyrs! God has already blasted his reason,” cried the repentant -hermit. “And with whom did we get drunk on Tuesday night? Tell me that.” - -“We partook of wine and viands in the refectory of the patriarchate, -Tuesday being the festival of the Presentation of the most Blessed -Mother of God.” - -“Poor fellow! And whom did we kiss, eh?” - -“We were honoured at parting with a holy kiss from that father of -fathers, the most blessed Archbishop of the great city of Alexandria and -of all Egypt, yes and of Libya, and of Pentapolis, and of Kur-Timothee -with its spiritual court, and with all the fathers and brothers of his -divinely appointed clergy.” - -“Ah, why do you make a mock of me? Does it mean that after yesterday’s -abominations the devil has entered into possession of you. You embraced -sinners, you accursed one.” - -“I can’t say in whom the devil has found a home, in me or in you,” said -the other, “in me when I rejoice in the God’s gifts and His holy will, -when I praise the Creator and all His works, or in you who rave and call -the house of our most blessed father and pastor a house of ill-fame, and -defame the God-loving clergy, calling them sinners as it were.” - -“Ah, you heretic!” screamed the repentant hermit. “Arian monster! Thrice -accursed lips of the abominable Appollonion!” - -And the repentant hermit threw himself upon his companion and tried to -kill him. But failing to do that he grew tired of his efforts, and the -two resumed their journey to their caves. The repentant one beat his -head on the rock all night and tore his hair and made the desert echo -with his howls and shrieks. The other calmly and joyfully went on -singing psalms. - -In the morning the repentant hermit made the following reflections: - -“Just think of it. I had earned from Heaven especial blessings and holy -power by my fasts and my _podvigs_.[9] This has already become evident -by the miracles and wonders I have lately been enabled to perform, but -after this that has happened, all is lost. By giving myself up to -fleshly abomination I have sinned against the Holy Ghost, and that sin, -according to the word of God, will be forgiven me neither in this life -nor in the life to come. I have thrown the pearl of heavenly purity to -be trampled under feet by swine, by devils. The devils have taken my -pearl, and, no doubt, having stamped it into the mire, they will come -after me and tear me. Well, well, if I am irrecoverably lost whatever is -there for me to do out here in the desert?” And he returned to -Alexandria and gave himself up to a life of debauch. Eventually, on one -occasion when he was hard up he conspired with other vagabonds, fell -upon a rich merchant, killed him, and robbed him. He was tracked down, -caught and tried in the courts. The judge condemned him to death and he -died without repentance. - -But his old companion continued his holy life, his -_podvizhnitchestvo_[10] attained a high degree of sanctity and became -famous through the many miracles wrought at his cave-mouth. At a word -from his holy lips a woman past the age of child-bearing yet conceived -and brought forth a male child. When at last the good man died, his -shrivelled and worn-out body, suddenly as it were, blossomed in beauty -and youth, becoming translucent and filling the air with a heavenly -perfume. Over his holy relics a monastery was built, and his name went -forth from the church of Alexandria to Byzantium and thence to the -shrines of Kief and Moscow. - -The lesson of this story is, according to Varsonophy, who told it, that -there are no sins of any importance except despondency. Did not both -these hermits sin alike and yet but one of them was lost, namely, he who -desponded? - -Varsonophy was a pilgrim from Mount Athos, who used to say, “Eh, eh, -don’t grieve about your sins, be done with them, they don’t count. Sin -539 times in a day but don’t grieve about it, that’s the chief thing. If -to sin is evil, then to remember sin is evil. There is nothing worse -than to call to mind one’s own sins.... There is only one deadly sin and -that is despondency, from despondency comes despair, that is more than -sin, it is spiritual death.” - -Footnote 9: - - _Podvig_ is a Russian word for holy exploits and victories, especially - for those consisting in a denial of the world. See Chapter on - _podvigs_, page 111. - -Footnote 10: - - _Podvizhnitchestvo_ = the life of going on doing _podvigs_, the - continuance of denial of the world. - - - - - VII - AT THE CONVENT OF MARTHA AND MARY - - -One Sunday I went to the convent of St. Martha and St. Mary in the -Bolshaya Ordinka on the other side of the Moscow river. It is a -wonderful institution, belonging to the new Russia and yet being part of -the old, a young dainty stem with leaves sprung from the rugged -many-wintered tree of the Russian Church. Like St. Vladimir’s Cathedral -at Kief, its beauty lies not in any antiquity or ruin. It is a new -institution; it is served by young people; and has new life, new -interest, and ideals. It is the convent of which the Grand Duchess -Elizaveta Federovna, the widow of the Grand Duke Sergius, whose murder -was contrived by Azef the Jewish agent-provocateur during the -revolutionary period, is the abbess. - -The remains of the Grand Duke were deposited at the shrine of St. -Alexey, and praying there, the grief-stricken widow promised herself, -her life, and her estate to God. The beautiful sister of the Empress -found her way from desolation and the tomb to a bright and spacious and -yet devoted life, and she was consecrated and took the veil. - -One of the first deeds of her new life was to purchase a building site -in one of the poorer parts of the city, and to have it consecrated for -the building of a convent and churches. A temporary church was put up -and services took place from the first. The first plans were realised in -1907; the sisterhood was already formed and had begun work by February -1909. The Grand Duchess is the abbess and there are about a hundred -sisters. Every one is young, every one is active. No woman over forty -can enter the sisterhood, no one also who is weak physically or likely -to be unable to perform the arduous labours for and among the poor which -the sisters impose upon themselves. - -The convent combines in its ideal the imitation of both Martha and Mary. -Each sister dedicates herself to “God and her neighbour.” She would sit -at Jesus’ feet like Mary, and be occupied with many things like Martha. -But certainly the idea of Martha and service stands first in their -minds. Their religion is the religion of good deeds. They visit, clothe, -comfort, heal the poor, and all but work miracles, flowers springing in -their footsteps where they go. They receive and consider thousands of -letters and beggars. They perform work which is often left to the -municipalities and Care committees in the West, but the work is much -more fruitful since it is done in the Name of Christ rather than in the -name of reason. In some convents the sisters are divided into Marthas -and Marys, and there is a question when a new one takes her place—a -Martha or a Mary? But in the Martha Marinskaya all have to be Marthas. -Each sister has a specific calling and name, _e.g._ the letter-writer, -the purchaser, the guest-receiver: there are medical sisters, church -sisters, kitchen sisters, and so on. - -The service in the convent church is open and free. All and sundry may -go in. And yet necessarily one is in a way a guest, a visitor. It is a -very gentle and delicate experience to stand on the stone flags of the -wide church beside fifty or sixty maidens in white and avow allegiance -to the same emblems, praise the same splendid Creator and God. - -I came to the service, but I also wished to satisfy a desire to see the -frescoes and wall-paintings by Nesterof. The rood-screen, the apse, and -the sides have been painted by that great artist, and two or three of -his most beautiful pictures are the surface of the walls. - -There is a large picture, the whole width of the church, a presentment -of Holy Russia at the margin of a birch forest; plains and folding -valleys and uplands and broad acres in the distance. In the foreground -bright green grass thick with purple labiate and yellow rattray, an -opening in the forest, delicate silver birches on each side and tiny -pine trees, seedlings of pine-trees. In the opening all manner of -characteristic Russian “poor folk” gazing, praying, kneeling, crying. -For a haloed Christ stands among the birch trees and receives all who -will come to Him. - -The Russian peasant believes that Christ wanders on his roads— - - the heavenly King - Our mother Russia came to bless - And through our land went wandering; - -and he is quite right, believing that. The thought, almost by itself, -constitutes the idea of “Holy Russia.” - -The most beautiful picture in the church is the dedicatory Martha and -Mary—“The Master is here and calleth thee”[11]—a panel in front of which -stood a sister all in white like a statue, little candles in front of -her, a stout six-feet wax candle beside her. - -A tall and portly priest with long hair, whimsical and gentle, took the -service—Father Mitrophan; and he walked to and fro, now with the people, -now behind the sacred gates. A score of sisters in black veils and with -black crowns on their heads sang in the choir. A sister stood at a -counter by the door and sold candles. A congregation of sisters, -fashionable visitors, peasants, working-people, and beggars grouped -themselves miscellaneously in the wide, open, light-filled body of the -church. Of course there were no seats. It was pleasant to be there; -there was good air, a fragrance occasionally of flowers, and a sense of -young women in a certain mood towards God. We sang, assented, crossed -ourselves, bowed. The sixty sisters all in white prostrated themselves, -and there was a billowy flood of white linen on the floor. And the black -choir sang, gently, pitifully, sweetly, exaltedly, with _pale_ voices. -It was their church, their temple. They expressed themselves there as a -maid expresses herself in her private room at home. The gentle Nesterof -paintings pertained to them specially. They were chosen by them. - -In the midst of the service in come the convent waifs, children of the -childless, two dozen little boys in green blouses, two dozen little -girls in blue frocks and drab pinafores. And they stand in the midst of -the church. They are so small, they might be the children of dwarfs. - -Father Mitrophan comes out to deliver his sermon, and we all move up -closer towards the altar rails so as to hear him. He is higher than we, -and looks a shepherd with a flock about him. A gentle sermon: “You have -parents in the flesh, you have also parents in the Spirit. There are -earthly families, there are also spiritual families; worldly intercourse -and heavenly intercourse. Our parents bore us and then as soon as -convenient brought us to the font to give us back to God. The parents -were not present at the baptism because they were only parents of the -flesh, but the guardian angels were present because they were parents of -the Spirit. To-day is the day of St. Afanasief and of St. Sergey, -spiritual fathers, to whom we must look for guidance and love. What do -they teach us? Why, first of all, to do things, to work. What a worker -was St. Paul, for instance, writing fourteen epistles. We mustn’t be -lazy! We shan’t get anything without making effort. Fast day comes; we -say it doesn’t matter much, we’ll eat ordinary fare. It’s time to go to -church; you say to yourself, ‘No, no, don’t need to,’ and you take a -stool and a book of church verses and sing to yourself pleasantly and -comfortably. No, no, it won’t do. The Fathers of the Church didn’t go -lazy like that, or where should we be....” And so on, in a sententious -manner and sing-song tone, nodding his head and pronouncing many of his -dicta in a colloquial tone of voice like an old woman saying proverbs. -He had an Orthodox voice. There is such a thing in Russia, a voice and -manner in which the Church and the Church service are reflected. It -communicates itself to the worshipper and is often a superadded grace of -personality in a man or woman, a certain Byzantinism in expression, a -holding oneself like a figure in a fresco. - -Amen! A crossing of ourselves; the sermon is ended. The crowd about the -altar breaks up, and we spread ourselves out in the fresher spaces of -the church once more, and the _pale_ singing of the black-robed choir -recommences as the conclusion of the liturgy is sung. The sixty sisters -prostrate themselves together in a billowy mass once more. Worshippers -cross themselves before the altar and go out. The Communion bread is -taken and the service is over. The waifs march out; we all come out. - -It is good to have been at prayers with the sisters, just as if one had -spent a few hours in perfect mood in a garden. It took my mind back to a -morning in an immense London church when I came in late and was taken up -and put in a seat just underneath a picture of the Virgin. At the -Virgin’s feet were armfuls of lilies. I had a sense, I have it now—all -flowers are flowers at the feet of the Virgin. - -Footnote 11: - - The Frontispiece of this book. - - - - - VIII - THE WAY OF MARTHA - - -The way of Russia is more the way of Mary, and yet no people are more -given to working for their neighbours and being actively kind than the -Russians. There are many Marthas among them. They visit the poor, bring -food to the hungry, clothe the wretched. They work for the suffering -people around them. Almost every cultured Russian of grace or character -has some social or personal responsibility or care, the passion to put -right the affairs of some unhappy family, the will to raise drunkards -and law-breakers from spiritual death. It is national and natural, and -it is strange that this should be the characteristic of a people who -also have a passion for going into the desert and saving their souls. - -But it is impossible for every one to go into the desert or take to a -cell, and indeed the impulse to go away does not come to every one, and -when it does come it is seldom sufficiently strong to break down the -ties of everyday life and make a road of the affections—the narrow road -that leads away from the world. Even among a mystical people the great -majority remain behind in “the world” and have the normal life, serve -man as well as God, marry, have children, work as well as pray, and live -through six everydays to one of incense and song. The Church has its two -aspects, that of Martha and of Mary, and it is with the way of Martha -that we are generally more familiar, though many may look lingeringly -towards the wilderness, feeling that perhaps after all the better part -is to be found out there. - -The way of Martha has come into some discredit in the West owing to the -organisation of charity, the reliance on parliaments and philanthropical -societies and committees rather than on individual volition. As a -substitute for love towards one’s fellow-man have appeared many -things—voting for a candidate, appeals to policemen and to magistrates, -prison, sending a young man to the Colonies, trusting to the -court-missionary ... that is the way of “the world” and not the way of -the individual. However much “organisation” there may be, there will -always remain as a fundamental idea of the Church personal love towards -one’s neighbour and care for him. Such love when seen is something that -convinces in itself, like the action of the good Samaritan. - -There is a family I know in Russia, the V’s. To come into touch with -them is to touch something that works miracles like the hem of the -sacred garment. Yet all in the family are Marthas, they are all of the -spirit of good deeds: there is nothing particularly contemplative about -any of them. Most interesting of all is the youngest of the children, -Lena. She is being brought up in an atmosphere of altruism. She is only -twelve years old, and is like a plant springing up in a flower-garden; -one can watch her growing more beautiful from day to day. She is gentle, -quick, and tender. She has many desires and is eager, but when Julia her -eldest sister tells her to do one thing or another, perfectly obedient -and submissive. She is slender and wistful like a girl in one of -Nesterof’s pictures. She has the intense pleasure of a child, and when -we read _Alice in Wonderland_ together I wondered at the gladness of the -little girl. Grown-up humans are often so constrained and polite when -you read a paragraph to them. You can never be quite sure that they are -not secretly bored. On her birthday Lena _gives_ presents to her sisters -instead of receiving them, and has been brought up to feel that it is a -joy and privilege to give. When distant relatives or friends from far -away come to visit the family, Lena gives them presents. One day she was -debating what was the very biggest present she could make to a lady who -was staying at the house, and she decided to give away one of her little -pet tortoises. Once Vassily Vassilitch brought her a present, a big book -with pictures. How vexed Julia seemed! “You spoil the child bringing her -presents without any special reason!” said she. She was sorry that he -should be giving, and not Lena or she herself. - -Julia is so self-denying that some years she goes without a greatcoat -even for the coldest winter weather. All her money goes to other people. -But she is not at all proud of her good works. She is just simple and -cheerful, a quiet though impulsive woman. You never hear her laugh -loudly, but there is always a sort of kind warmth and cheerfulness in -her face. She will give up a book, her time, her means of making a -living, her pleasure, to whatever appeals to her; and the whole house in -which she lives is founded on altruism. Occasionally there comes to -visit them a friend who is also extremely unselfish and altruistic. Then -sometimes there are some amusing, even absurd scenes—contests in -altruism. - -The family is vegetarian, for no one in it would cause any animal pain. -They have even scruples about killing flies and troublesome insects, and -rather catch them and put them out of the window than destroy them. One -day Julia showed me with horror an article from the _Russian Word_ on -the fate of lost dogs. The State voted a certain amount of money for -poison to destroy ownerless dogs, but the police, instead of killing -them with poison in a humane way as intended, hired the worst type of -criminals in the town gaols to beat them to death for a few copecks in -order that they might peculate the greater part of the money voted. -“Such ugly things are part of the background of our everyday life,” said -I. “They are hidden from us, but they are always there, none the less.” -Julia could not believe it. - -One summer I spent some days with the family in a big country-house in -the province of Kaluga. The estate was an island in a loop of a little -river. I spent one morning watching the fish which swarmed in the water -of the river, and I longed for a rod and a line. Not that I ever caught -many fish in that way. But when I was seven years old some one gave me -Izaak Walton and a fishing-rod, and I slept with _The Compleat Angler_ -under my pillow. I had visions of great captures of fish. The one thing -wanting was a grasshopper. Izaak was always talking of grasshoppers, and -I had lost faith in worms and paste. But though I heard grasshoppers in -many country banks I could never find one. Here at Dietchino were both -grasshoppers and fish in manifest abundance. - -In the little river were perch and gudgeon and chub, minnows, pike. I -watched the sinister shadows of the pike. They moved about like sharks, -and every now and then there would be a splash as if a branch had -dropped into the water, and I would see six or seven little fish jumping -bodily out of the water as a murderous pike rushed at them, and they -fled in terror. The fish seemed pretty hungry. I caught several -grasshoppers and rather cruelly threw them on to the surface of the lake -and watched the perch snatch them away. A sad end for the grasshoppers, -but a better luncheon for the fish. Lena and her next sister, Olya, were -much horrified at my action, though they were too kind and well-trained -to say more than “Oh!” when I mentioned it. Later Olya told me how one -evening she had seen that on one of the lines left by the village boys a -fish was caught and struggling, and how she came next morning and the -fish was still on the hook and not taken in, and she thought it so -cruel, and wrote a letter to the boy and pinned it on a tree near by. - -Some time after that we went out one day and watched the fish. Little -Lena had three biscuits in her coat pocket in case she should be hungry. -But she broke up two of them and threw the bits to the fish, and we saw -them come and eat the fragments with as much avidity as they had taken -the grasshoppers I provided. We were out for a walk; Lena and I went on, -and she kept one remaining biscuit in case she should be hungry. -Presently along the road came a familiar dog and fawned around us -ingratiatingly. “Poor dog!” said Lena, “it’s just had puppies, it is -very hungry,” and she took out her last biscuit and gave it to the dog. - -The little girl has an almost perfect character, and the fact that she -will never do or think anything unkind has a constraining effect on -elders in her presence; and yet she is an open-air little girl, and rows -and bathes and plays games and goes long walks, as any boy might wish -his sister to do. - -Each of the four sisters has inherited consumption, and though not -actually in consumption they have all a certain fragility and -slenderness. Their only brother died of consumption, a clever boy, who -never for a moment permitted grief to enter the hearts of those who were -tending him. All was mirth and laughter at his death-bed. Joke after -joke, idea after idea put forward. All agreed that it would be absurd to -wear black for such a one. And the sisters and near friends went to the -funeral in bright summer dresses. They were of those who hope all -things, believe all things. - -This winter Julia was chiefly engaged arranging popular lectures on the -Oriental religions—“in order to give an interest in religion to those -who had fallen away from Orthodoxy and had now no religion at all.” She -had set a room apart for meetings and given it the atmosphere of a -church, and there was a library of several hundred volumes to which -visitors referred frequently. She kept open house, and I have often been -there in the evening when there were more than a dozen visitors sitting -at the long table of the dining-room having tea. There would be all -sorts of people, some real seekers, others of a friendly gossipy type. -Many of them were really foreign to Julia’s nature and temperament, -wrapped up in themselves and consequently not able to realise what a -sweet and wise and wonderful woman their hostess was. But all were -welcome. - -Julia’s grandmother, a very gentle and simple old lady of eighty, always -presided on these occasions, and if she were not drinking tea, a space -would be cleared on the tablecloth and _patience_ would be laid out. She -is always in black, has large eyes and fine brow and a magnificent Roman -nose, regards the cards intently, and puts them one upon another -deliberately and solemnly as if she knew all their secrets and were the -Queen of Spades herself. But she listens to all that is said, and can -repeat almost the whole of the conversation after the people are gone. -She is of the old Orthodox Russian type and dwells under the ikons. No -meal is ever begun without her grace being said. And she also has the -gentle spirit of altruism. Every other Sunday night a rather obstinate -old lady who belongs to the Evangelical Christians comes and sits beside -her and reads in a loud distinct voice a volume of Spurgeon’s sermons in -translation. And the old lady asks no questions, always seems to be -pleased, and goes on putting out her cards and making up her patience -pack in sympathetic silence. - - * * * * * - -Julia has lived in France and England, and she especially likes the -English. “They have learned to be so kind,” she would say. “They take -care not to injure people’s feelings when they talk. They are gentle, -and they are not unjust, they are fair. They are centuries in front of -us Russians in that way.” - -That observation struck me very forcibly when I heard it; for Julia has -herself an English manner. She is like an English lady of quality of the -best type. She has that something which she admires in us expressed in -herself. - -It is good that the standard notion of an Englishman which one finds in -Russia is something which corresponds to this praise which Julia gave -us. The Russians see us at our best, that is, as we really are, and they -admire us. They like our quiet kindness and fairness. They admire our -passion for social reform and “putting the world right.” - -Julia also is “helping to build the kingdom of heaven upon earth,” -helping to make the world really ready for the Master when He comes -again. She is an _Eager-Heart_, who would even give up her chance of -sheltering the heavenly Babe and wondrous Mother in order to take in a -human babe and earthly mother homeless in the snow. - -That is the way of Martha, the finding of Christ in the suffering human -being in the world, the realisation of “Inasmuch as ye did it unto the -least of these ye did it unto Me” as contrasted with the way of Mary—the -denial of the world and of the reality of the suffering in it, the -pouring of the ointment on the feet of Christ instead of selling it and -giving the proceeds to the poor. - -The way of Martha implies a great number of workers and the consequent -necessary organisation—a church. It has its priests, its temples and -buildings, its ceremonies and sermons. The hermit needs no church, no -temple or priest, but the worker in the world needs everything. - -Hence the pomp and splendour of the Church is associated with the way of -Martha. Its faith is carried like a great banner wherein is depicted a -world set free, a kingdom of heaven upon earth. The ranks of the world -are understood as grades of authority in the great business of -well-doing, and kings and men are consecrated with solemn rites to the -service of God. We are enrolled as soldiers of the heavenly King and -need a religious music which is military, and appeals of sound and -colour which stir the heart. - -So in Nesterof’s picture of Martha and Mary,[12] Martha is painted in -resplendent rose and is in the forefront, whilst the mystical-faced Mary -is darkly robed and stands behind her sister. So in Christianity all -that is visibly and obviously splendid is associated with the way of -Martha—the wonderful cathedrals, the soul-stirring processions, holy -wars, solemn rites and pageants. Martha is always to the fore and -splendid, and goes to meet Christ, whilst her sister Mary remains in the -background at home in faith. - -Footnote 12: - - The frontispiece of this book. - - - - - IX - MARTHA’S TRUE WAY - - -The view I take of the miracles is this, that no one _met_ Jesus or -_saw_ Him who was not miraculously affected in some way or other. The -deaf began to hear, those who had never spoken in their lives had their -lips unsealed, the cripples found out that they had the souls of men, -the sick were as if they were well, scales fell from the eyes of the -blind, and he who never saw anything in his life was suddenly awake to -beauty. The outcast and the vile learned to believe in themselves; even -the dead became alive. When John asked, “Art thou He who should come, or -do we look for another?” it was sufficient to answer, “The blind see, -the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are -raised, to the poor the gospel is preached.” - -And the miracles never cease. As they happened two thousand years ago, -so they happen to-day. We have the vision, and our infirmities fall -away: we see, we hear, we praise. Christ is ... - - The subtle alchemist who in a trice - Life’s barren metal into gold transmutes. - -There is much of the Gospel written by men who had not the vision, or by -politic priests. Many ecclesiastics of the early Church could not -understand the mystic story, and misunderstanding it they yet strove to -defend by every means in their power the authenticity of their -misreadings. Explanations, local colour, even absolute inventions were -interpolated in the sacred writings in order to prove that certain -dogmas were right, in order to prove that other dogmas were wrong. They -actually raised Lazarus materially from death, instead of leaving what -was probably the original story, the fact that Jesus convinced Martha -and Mary that Lazarus was still alive in the presence of God. Not that -the Gospels are the worse, or that we would have them otherwise. There -is an added poetry in the marks which time and life make on any living -thing. And the Gospels have been crucified as He of whom the Gospels -were written was crucified before them. - -Most explanations of the miracles are true, but inadequate. They often -lead to confusion of thought and the emphasis on the material facts and -outward manifestation rather than on the spiritual facts and inner -reality. It is true that Christ “went about the world doing good,” and -that He is to us “an ensample of godly life,” but the good that He did -was spiritual good. - -The works of our Marthas get a great deal of their inspiration from the -healing of the sick and the ministry to the suffering. Progress itself, -the whole modern reform movement as far as it associates itself -consciously and verbally with Christianity, identifies its inspiration -with that touching of Christ’s soul which did not permit Him to pass one -suffering man without healing him. - -But it is often forgotten that the good which He did was spiritual good. -The true way of Martha is not so much giving money to the penniless, -clothes to the ragged, medicine to the sick, homes to the houseless, -decent dwellings to those who live in slums, as it is to make the poor -know that all these things are nothing and of no account; as it is to -touch their hearts and give them a new outlook upon life. Martha has -also to make the blind see, make the deaf hear, the mute speak, and to -raise the dead. As it is, it frequently happens that the poor, receiving -“charity,” are left angry, and so become poorer thereby, and the blind -find themselves in a greater darkness, and the deaf in a more deathly -silence. - -We look on our fellow-creatures with dull eyes, and our personal -character and spiritual beauty is not sufficient to lighten up the -landscape and the faces of the people around us. There is no light about -our heads, and people touching the hem of our garments feel no contact -with mystery. So we do not reveal Christ to men. Though all is within -our power. Martha’s ordeal is as great a one as Mary’s, her consecration -as vital. We cannot go out carelessly and minister to the poor, for if -we do, we perform no miracles. And without miracles the poor are not -satisfied. - -The true Martha has the wishing heart, and her fingers are full of -virtue. She is an argument in herself, and her presence without words -works true miracles, revealing the mystic meaning of Christ in herself, -and causing every one who _meets_ or _sees_ her to be miraculously -affected in some way or other. - - * * * * * - -Obviously the service of Martha is always personal. Therefore nothing -anonymous is Christian, and philanthropical societies, parliaments, -reform movements, and the like are doomed to failure unless they are -served by men and women with Christ-faces. - - - - - X - MAKING WEST EAST - - - ... who made West East - And gave to Man - A new heaven and a new earth, - As Holy John hath prophesied of Me. - - -The West seems to have the tradition of the way of Martha, England -especially. Our Victorian era, of which the popular teachers were -Kingsley, Carlyle, Ruskin, was essentially an era of work and deeds -rather than of faith. As children, we in our prime to-day were brought -up on the gospel of work. Thoughts about one’s soul were considered -rather ignoble: they were smoke that we had to consume ourselves. We -were urged to forget the question of our souls and _work_. The whole -world was working, all the factories of England sang together. Every man -in England, from the highest to the lowest, knew when he wakened each -morning that he had that day some real and indispensable work to do. The -child must learn his lesson in that light. “If I hear of an artist of -promise,” says Ruskin, “the first question I ask is, ‘Does he work?’” -Ruskin dismissed Whistler, who painted rather in the way of Mary, -because he obviously did not work. All great men whatsoever worked. - - The heights by great men reached and kept - Were not attained by sudden flight, - But they, while their companions slept, - Were toiling upward in the night. - -If you want to be a Knox or a Luther or a Cromwell or a Frederick or a -Bismarck you must work. - -The spirit of industry seemed to be Christianity itself. In reading -Froude’s history one seemed to gain the idea that the Reformation meant -getting rid of idleness and monks and abbeys, and substituting noble -labour, honest craftsmen, and factories. It is a modern misapprehension. -There was a time when we used to sing a hymn extravagantly opposed to -the gospel of work— - - Doing is a deadly thing, - Doing ends in death. - -We have a reputation for work. Most Russians would be incredulous if -told that Englishmen had ever sung such words. Yet they have, and we -know that we are not like the ants who have always been working and -always will work. We have been out of love with work before and will be -again. - -During the Victorian era every Englishman had his coat off and was -working for all he was worth, perspiration on his brow, grime on his -body, the clangour of machinery in his ear. Carlyle found his generation -working, and gave it his blessing in effective phrase, and was so -obsessed by his own message that he gave up his own quest, his own -seeking, and lived in the British Museum, pondering, grubbing, -scratching, and turning forth volume after volume of dull Frederick, and -he forgot his own soul and the man who wrote _Sartor Resartus_ and _The -Heroes_. - -And although this work, work for work’s sake, is not a Christian thing, -it is associated in the mind with what I call the “way of Martha.” It is -an exaggeration of her sweet serviceableness, a supposition that she had -gone crazy and had not only become cumbered about with many things, but -was so cumbered that she could never in all her life spare a moment to -come to the Master. Be that as it may, England had a fairly clear and -simple notion of her creed. Work pleased her. Popular opinion was on the -side, not of the parson who did nought, but of the old farmer “who -stubbed Thornaby Waaste.” Tennyson sang work and the goal of work—“All -diseases cured by science,” “the Parliament of the World,” “the rule of -the meek upon earth.” We gave our shoulders and our hearts and our lips -to the work, though indeed not much of the last, for in those days -silence was golden. - -Now silence is golden only for those who do not know what to say. A -change has come about, is coming about. Work has ceased to be holy. - -“To labour is to pray.” “Do the duty which lies nearest to you, that -which is doablest.” “Do noble things, not dream them, all day long ...” -such was the message of Victorian literature. And yet in that literature -there was a note of discord, and that was the voice of Browning, the -first of the moderns, and he wrote: - - Not on the vulgar mass - Called “work,” must sentence pass. - -And again: - - Thoughts hardly to be packed - Into a narrow act, - Fancies that broke through language and escaped; - All I could never be, - All, men ignored in me, - This, I was worth to God, whose wheel the pitcher shaped. - -And again: - - He fixed thee midst this dance - Of plastic circumstance, - This Present, thou, forsooth, wouldst fain arrest: - Machinery just meant - To give thy soul its bent, - Try thee and turn thee forth, sufficiently impressed. - -The way of Martha had given place to the way of Mary. My elders read -_Rabbi Ben Ezra_ to comfort one another: - - Grow old along with me! - The best is yet to be, - The last of life, for which the first was made; - -and they read it because of a secret sense of failure. But the poem, and -the message of Browning in general, came to those of my generation with -a different force. When I was twenty I lived with the poem, as did those -I loved; I carried it with me wherever I went; it burned, it blazed in -my mind. It was a triumphant song. All the beauty of the time seemed to -radiate from it, and as I recall it to-day and write the old words down, -it brings back to me the fields, the hills, the roads, lime blossoms, -roses, faces of the summer when its meaning was first absolutely and -clearly mine. What was it in the poem? It was the modern movement. It -was good b’ye to the old. It was a sight of one’s own immortality and -Psyche herself, the ever-lovely one. - -But necessarily I cannot write down what it meant. Suffice it that I can -remember how a boy of this time reacted to the touch of Browning. -Browning was a wonderful turn in English thought. - -It was not simply one poem of Browning that broke away from -Victorianism. We had held that there was no greater satisfaction than -that of the craftsman in the work of his own hands. His was the real -_Imitatio Christi_ when he made something with his hands and saw that it -was good. Then we read _Andrea del Sarto_, despising - - This low-pulsed craftsman’s hand of mine, - -knowing that the artists who failed reached a heaven denied to him. - -From Browning’s day on we have been moving away from Martha and coming -to Mary. The note-books of those young ones who loved thoughts began to -be filled with verses, sayings, apothegms of a new character, and many -of the elder ones to whom we read what we had found were blind and deaf -to the new ideas. I remember one old literary man and artist who used -always to say, “I take my stand with Jim”—meaning that he held with St. -James that faith without works is barren. He belonged to the old. - -I admit we were not sober in our judgments. We went to see Ibsen and -Bernard Shaw, and it was easy to agree that Nora was right when she fled -from her home and her husband to save her soul, and we thought that the -immoral and unprincipled Dubedat was sooner to be saved than the -hard-working slum doctor. We saw in Solveig, who stayed in the -background and prayed, the true type of womanhood, and understood how -Peer Gynt through her could be saved. We read Nietzsche, that mad -Christian, a sort of Mary who hated her sister Martha, calling out in -anger that man had ceased to be man and had become merely _neighbour_. -We entered the domain of Russian literature, and read Dostoieffsky and -Chekhof and Gorky, and so fell under the spell of Eastern Christianity, -where we remain to-day. - -The taste of England has been steadily changing this last ten years, and -the current becoming deeper and broader. Russia and the East have been -coming steadily nearer, and more and more of us have turned our backs on -work and service and that Divine materialism—the raising of the poor. -Not that we are on the way to becoming a philosophic and reflective or -ascetic nation, or even in the way of singing again “Doing is a deadly -thing”; but more and more of our nation is attempting to take to itself -and re-express the other aspect of Christianity—the way of Mary. - -Even in the North of England, where the land is devoted to work and the -towns are little more than barracks of workmen, there is a noticeable -and, even from a capitalist’s point of view, an alarming change of -spirit. The “workers” are rebellious. It is not that they want more -money or lighter hours or better conditions. They simply don’t want to -work. The rising generation is disinclined to settle down, and the time -is coming when there will be difficulty in getting labouring hands, when -it will be difficult to buy them. The gloom of our industrialism is -destined to be broken. - -As yet, however, those who represent us in politics, literature, and art -belong to the old. Mr. Lloyd George with his care for the poor is a -Martha. Mr. Bonar Law is a Martha also. H. G. Wells, with his World set -Free, and his rooms with rounded instead of squared corners to help the -women to sweep, is a Martha. Our poets are not Marys, and it is -necessary to go to Francis Thompson or Rossetti to find a mystic poet. -Our painters, Peter Graham, Farquharson, Leader, and others whose works -deck Academy walls, are occupied with the outward appearances of things -rather than the transcendental. And since Watts is dead we have not even -a mystical portrait painter, but all admire the gift to show in the face -money, importance, style, meat. Our people are worth painting, but there -is no one to paint them. We need an English Serof to show the true -kindred and spiritual relationship of faces. - -On the stage we admire Russian opera and Russian ways. We show _The -Dynasts_ in the same way as it would have been shown in Moscow, or -nearly so. There first of all the new tendency is showing. Unfortunately -we have a long battle against American humour and vulgarity, American -materialism and the capital that would exploit our stage. Otherwise our -stage would change at a greater speed. Still the difference in the way -Shakespeare is produced in England is an index of the change. When we -produce _Hamlet_ as it is produced at the Theatre of Art, Moscow, we -shall have traversed the whole distance between the way of Martha and -the way of Mary as far as the stage is concerned. - - - - - XI - THE ECCLESIASTICAL CHURCH AND THE LIVING CHURCH - - -Strange that there should be a feud between the Church and the Theatre! -They were originally one and the same, and as it is the Church remains a -holy theatre where day after day is enacted the same holy mystery. In -passing: how much nearer the Theatre is brought to the Church by the -constant repetition of the great classical and mystical dramas such as -_Hamlet_. The reason for the religious distrust of the Theatre which -exists in all countries,—in England in the Free Churches; in Russia in -the Orthodox Church,—lies in the degradation of the Theatre, the making -it a show of wild beasts, a stage for indecent dances and comic songs, -an arena for combats of athletes. The common townspeople are not and -never can be the pupils of Hypatia. They will have their indecencies and -vulgarities, wild beasts, acrobats, invitation to sin. The showman has -usurped the place of the mystagogue, and money-making has replaced -religious service or service to art and culture as a motive of -theatrical production. The Theatre to-day, even if it aspire to be -serious, has unclean hands, and the Church not unfairly regards it as -part of the stock-in-trade of the evil one. - -An interesting exemplification of the relation of Church and Stage is -furnished by Oscar Wilde’s _Salome_. To the Christian, to look at the -dance of Salome is to glance into the charnel-house where all is decay -and worms and death, and to see there the head of one of the saints with -celestial aureole. But the dramatist has turned the interest to the -dance itself and made you say that it is interesting: he has dwelt on -the jewels, the crimsons, the thick lips, the luscious movements. Every -effort is made to make you agree with Herod, and the best way to do that -is to suggest to your body and soul the same feelings towards the dancer -on the stage as Herod felt towards the daughter of his brother’s wife—so -that you would give her anything, even the pure body of the saint that -is in your keeping. He would give you a place with the worms and the -spirit of decay, and let you end as Herod ended, eaten by the worms at -the last. No aureole for you! - -But the Church suggests the aureole for you, and if _Salome_ were -presented as a mystery-play the whole interest of the populace would be -directed towards the sainthood of John the Baptist. When Oscar Wilde’s -_Salome_ was produced at Petrograd, Russia made short work of it. On the -first night, at the first public performance, some one stood up in the -middle of a scene and shouted in a bass voice: - -“_Spustee zanavess!_” “Lower the curtain!” and the curtain was lowered; -and _Salome_ has not been repeated there from that day to this. - -Who it was said this is rather a mystery, but it was doubtless some one -who had the voice or the ear of Orthodoxy. Russia probably gained by -this prohibition. A pity, however, that many other plays quite as -injurious are allowed their way to the perversion of private morals and -the corruption of public taste. Indeed it would be a gain to Russia if -the Church would cease looking at the Stage from a merely ecclesiastical -point of view. The fault of the clergy is their pride in their own order -and their institutions. The clergy, ministers of the living Church of -Christ, should in nature be the humblest of people, so humble in fact, -so meek and unresentful, that it would be necessary occasionally to -protect them from the enmity of the secular world. As it is, in their -pomp, they are proud. They despise the Stage and often prohibit plays on -quite wrong grounds, incidentally depriving not only the theatre and the -public, but the Church also, of something helpful to the cause of -Eastern Christianity and of all real Russian values. The prohibition of -Andreef’s _Anathema_, performed at the Theatre of Art in Moscow, is an -example. Though this prohibition was at the instance of the Archbishop -of Moscow the play was in essential teaching profoundly helpful to -Eastern Christianity. It was written by a man who belonged to the -revolutionary movement, but it was only the more remarkable and the more -powerful thereby. It was in substance a refutation of Westernism and the -ideals after which secularist Russia was striving. A pious and -philanthropic Jew inheriting immense wealth, millions of American -dollars, resolved in his simplicity to save the world, feeding the -hungry, clothing the ragged, giving money to the needy, medical aid to -the suffering. The drama shows the futility of this dream, and at the -end the mob of enraged and suffering humanity stone the philanthropist -to death. Not by material but by spiritual things could their sufferings -be assuaged. - -The archbishop who stopped it was probably never in a theatre in his -life, and no doubt condemned it on hearsay, and from a complete -misapprehension of the significance of the drama. - -The Church of the future in England, and probably in Russia, will have -to come into alliance with what may be called the right side of the -theatre. For occasionally in the theatre people worship as much as -others do in the Church. Many young people whose families have lapsed -from the Church find their religious life functionised in the book, the -drama, the opera, the symphony. They are not _communicants_ in the -literal sense, they are outside the church walls and the shut church -doors, but they are inside the living Church. They have a common word -with people inside church walls. Their chorus of praise swells from the -other side of the walls, and in some countries the secular chorus of -praise to God has considerably more volume than the official -ecclesiastical chorus. Somehow in church one rather resents the choir, -especially in the _Te Deum_, when they are singing it to some -“God-forsaken” curious tune that a pedant musician has chosen. It is -good when the whole church can lift one great voice. And outside the -church the greater congregation rather resents the church-goers. They -would sing _Te Deum_ also. - -The relation of Church and Stage exhibits the confusion of religious -values at present existing. The same confusion exists with regard to the -Church and Literature—many of the great classics of Russian literature, -like Gogol’s _Dead Souls_, the monks would regard it a sin to read. The -ecclesiastical Church takes no useful stand with regard to what is -helpful, what harmful, in past and present literature; it is left for -the living Church to find out for itself and do what it can without -organisation. Even in the domain of Holy Writ there is a confusion of -what the living Church believes, and what mere ecclesiasticism lays -down. At least one fundamental idea in Christianity has been overlaid, -and, as it were, frustrated by the Church itself—the idea of the Holy -Ghost. The Holy Ghost has been conventionalised and made terrible. It -has become the most inscrutable and awe-inspiring aspect of the Trinity, -whereas it should be the most familiar and consoling, Christ saying -good-bye to his disciples in that last long sweet talk where He calls -them friends, tells them that after He is gone away from them there will -come a new consolation, the vision of Truth. - -“I will pray the Father and he shall give you another Comforter that he -may abide with you for ever; even the Spirit of truth whom the world -cannot receive, ... the Comforter which is the Holy Ghost, whom the -Father will send in my name, He shall teach you all things, and bring -all things to your remembrance, whatsoever I have said unto you. Peace I -leave with you, my peace I give unto you: not as the world giveth, give -I unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid.... -If the world hate you, ye know that it hated me before it hated you. If -ye were of the world the world would love his own: but because ye are -not of the world, but I have chosen you out of the world, therefore the -world hateth you.... When the Comforter is come, whom I will send unto -you from the Father, even the Spirit of truth, which proceedeth from the -Father, He shall testify of me: And ye also shall bear witness, because -ye have been with me from the beginning.” - -And in the cross-examination before Pilate, Jesus said, “My kingdom is -not of this world: if my kingdom were of this world, then would my -servants fight, that I should not be delivered to the Jews.... To this -end was I born, and for this cause came I into the world, that I should -bear witness unto the truth.” - -Therein lies the true idea of the Holy Ghost, the Holy Spirit—it is the -vision of Heavenly Truth that gives the lie to worldly values, worldly -truth. By virtue of this Holy Spirit the blind see, though they have no -eyes, the deaf hear, the dumb speak, the dead live, mortality itself is -disproved. The mysteries of the Pentecostal mitres, of the gift of -tongues, and the conventionalised notion of what is called the “sin -against the Holy Ghost,” have stood in the way of the simple and -beautiful conception of the comforting vision of Truth. The Church, with -its keys of heaven and hell, and its arrogation of the power of anathema -and excommunication, has preferred to lay its emphasis on those texts -which may seem to imply the dreadfulness of offence against a certain -more inscrutable aspect of the Trinity. There is nothing in the Gospels -but love of man, forgiveness of man, and nothing is more pitiful than -the man who, having a glimpse of the Truth, yet denies it or wilfully -confuses it with magic or unclean power. - -But the _Filioque_ clause of the Creed is alone sufficient to exemplify -the confusion of ecclesiasticism and the living Church. There are many -who think that the two Churches of England and Russia are kept apart by -this clause alone. England holds that the Holy Ghost, the Holy Spirit, -proceeds from the Father and from the Son, Russia that it proceeds from -the Father alone. Russia’s basis is St. John, XV. 26, “... the Spirit of -truth, which proceedeth from the Father, he shall testify of me.” “What -does it matter how it is put?” cries the living Church. But -ecclesiastical pedantry is strongly entrenched, and whenever the -question of the intercommunion of the two Churches is mentioned there -arises that fatal phrase—“_Filioque_—and from the Son.” - -“Does not one of your Thirty-nine Articles lay down that the Holy Ghost -proceeds from the Father _and from the Son_? And is not assent to the -Thirty-nine Articles obligatory upon your clergy? Why, then....” To -which one can only answer in one’s heart: - - Thirty-nine Articles, - Ye precious little particles, - And did God really make the world by you? - -The same confusion exists with regard to the Church and Life. That which -the living Church of Christ possesses is a spiritual communion, not a -set of dogmas or a set of points of ecclesiastical law. If a man is -really touched to go to church, if he has the impulse from the heart, it -is not in order that he may hear dogma. He goes to blend his voice and -his thoughts with the voice and the thoughts of humanity in hymn and -prayer. But to-day many misconceptions arise. Carlyle could not go to -church because the sermon bored him. Many stay away from churches -because they can’t stand so-and-so’s sermon. As if the sermon were part -of the service! In old days the sermons were often delivered outside the -churches after the service was done. The priest came through the -worshippers, went out into the church square, and rising to a platform -or “outside pulpit” harangued the everyday crowd. The function of the -Church service is not to be a frame to a sermon, even a clever or -profound or inspiring sermon. Its function is praise. - -A Jew writing for an important Russian newspaper about the state of the -Church of England remarks that “dogmas make many leave the Church, and -those who stay remain to preach ethics,” and he goes on to praise ethics -as the function of the Church, leaving out of account, and evidently -having no notion of, the Church as a temple of religion, a place of -communion and aspiration. Surely the preaching ethics is a work begun by -parents and confirmed by the schoolmaster. Christ did not die on the -cross or forgive the thief who recognised Him in order to preach “Thou -shalt not steal!” Yet such a confusion of ideas remains in the mind even -of the cultured. - -Still, the whole world and the universe is an orchestra praising God, -and, remembering that, it is impossible to say there is real confusion -or final confusion. It is as impossible to classify and show series of -like things, for the imagination tells you that every instrument in the -orchestra is diverse. Hence I am open to misconception when I write of -confusion or when I classify, as for instance when I talk of Marthas and -Marys. There is confusion and there is order. Nothing is fixed, all is -in motion, the kaleidoscope is ever moving. So it would be wrong to say -that all who were in the way of Martha were in towns working for the -poor, or that all in the way of Mary were away in the desert saving -their souls at the feet of the Master, or that the priests in their -orders and vestments with their processions and grandeur were all in the -way of Martha, or that the hermits of the desert did not upon occasion -come like Paphnutius to Alexandria to save Thaïs, the dancing-girl. The -sisters love one another; and though it is not written in the Gospels, -there were certainly occasions when Mary might have been seen cumbered -about with many things whilst Martha sat with her Lord. - - - - - XII - WITNESS UNTO THE TRUTH - - -The purely Eastern aspect of the Church is the way of Mary, the -spiritual, meditative, introspective, mystical way, and this is ever the -strength of the whole Church. It is even the strength of the Protestant -churches, though there the spiritual life is more private. In Orthodoxy -the voice speaks from the desert right into the ears of the everyday -mundane crowd. The people are enjoined against sloth in the name of the -fathers of the desert. They sing their hymns in praise of those who have -overcome. They are encompassed round about with “the crowd of -witnesses,” the ikon faces and frescoed saints of the church walls, the -thousands of those who have died in the Lord looking on whilst we run -with patience the race that is set before us. - -Our work is in the world, our passion is for the realisation of good -worldly hopes. We pray for the King, the Emperor; we own a true -allegiance to a God-guided Cæsar, and are ready to render to such a -Cæsar the things that are his. We pray for the administrative bodies and -for Parliament, may they go forward to the raising of the poor, the -healing of the sick, the raising to a life of knowledge those who are -dead in ignorance. We pray for our fellow-man and for ourselves. We band -ourselves in a Christian order, and confirm in ourselves the resolve to -fight against sin, ugliness, unhappiness. We promise to give time, to -give money, to work for the Cause. This is all in the way of Martha. But -these thoughts and prayers are made in a temple where the light is the -light of candles placed before shrines of the Unseen. A vision -accompanies the Christian man. Though his passion is towards the things -of this world he is encompassed and enveloped by the atmosphere of -another world. The remembrance remains his that Cæsar is not God, nor -Cæsar’s officers the angels of God, nor this world the real world, that -the poor we have always with us, that our true citizenship is of another -realm. - -The work of Martha fails, fails again; the poor multiply, sickness -becomes a plague and scourge from God, the ignorant increase, peace -becomes war, the progressive work of centuries topples down like Babel, -kings or emperors become killed, allegiances of millions are changed, -famous Christian workers and organisers who have given their whole life -to the Cause go out to death with grey hairs, all their life-work made -as nought before their eyes. The passionate soldier-saint goes out in -failure. The lukewarm mediocre man and the cheerful happy-go-lucky -mortals, the ordinary folk, the witty ones, the dull ones, the run of -mankind as we call them, also go out, looking at the failure of ideas to -which they have vaguely or earnestly given assent. But Christianity does -not fail. Thousands of years hence this young religion of Christianity -will be more triumphant, splendid, vital, than it is to-day. And this by -virtue of the mystical and transcendental aspect of the word. - -The service of the Church is more than a consecration of duty. It is a -bearing witness to the Truth, a watching till He come, an expectancy, a -getting into position for a great procession, a carrying of banners and -emblems, a joining in a universal hymn sung not only by ourselves but by -all the dead. The light of the Church is the light of transfiguration, -not the light of common day, it is the light of the halo round the -saint’s head. - -You enter a church, such a temple, for instance, as the Cathedral of the -Assumption in Moscow. At a step you are in the precincts of a different -world. You have overstepped a frontier line, and the language has -changed, just as when in Europe you cross a boundary and the language -changes, say from German to Russian. The people are looking a different -way, not Westward as to the Emperor but Eastward as to God. You are in a -new kingdom; but as your thoughts go back to the street you left you -realise that the kingdom is not from thence. - -The faces in the ikons are not the faces of men. The figures are twisted -and strange. One asks: “Why did not the Byzantine painters paint the -truth? There never were men looking as these men. Why these -copper-coloured and flame-coloured faces? Why the unearthly expression -in eyebrows and eyes? Men never looked like that.” The answer is: the -early Christian painters did not wish to paint earthly truth. Their -object was to indicate the unearthly nature of man, his citizenship of -another world. They wrote into the features of every saint, “Be of good -cheer, I have overcome the world.” This was one of the earliest -traditions in the Christian Church, and has been handed down from -generation to generation in the books of _ikonopis_ or ikon-painting. -There is a way to paint a Christian saint, and that way has to be -followed in the Eastern churches. He must be represented as a witness -unto the Truth, a face that at least at last owns no allegiance to the -monarch in the West, but only to the God in the East, the face of an -archangel or of one who sings continuously, “Holy, holy, holy, Lord God -Almighty, which was and is and is to come.” One may belong to a mighty -empire, but the citizenship of those within the Church is of a mightier -and grander and vaster empire. The thrill of the new national hymn is -the greater, the characteristic uniforms and robes have the more -reverence in their associations. - -The vestments of the priests astonish one. They are gorgeous past -belief. Whence comes that gold brocade? It was cut in another world. At -least, that is its intention, that is what it would signify. Who are -they in white robes? Why do the priests at the altar walk so stately? -What is that new _tempo_ to which they have learned to move and to swing -the censer? - -And the voice of the clergy, that unearthly bass, that profound groaning -and seeking of notes that man does not utter, that voice as of Jesus -commanding the soul of the dead Lazarus to return to the awful and -dreadful corpse? The service in the Slavonic tongue, not in the everyday -tongue.... - -All these things bear witness unto the Truth and are the emblems of our -allegiance to the kingdom of Christ, marks of our other citizenship, the -visible emblems and symbols of our hope, our love and passion. Hence it -is possible to sing with angels and archangels. Failure in the work of -Martha loses significance as failure. Failure is even good, it is one -more sign, an involuntary ritual, telling of our truer destiny. - -So though the way of Mary is consummated in the desert, in the cell, in -giving up the world, in pilgrimaging, praying, fasting, and only a few -can necessarily take to that way, yet it is that way which speaks -triumphantly in the Church. The great majority of human beings must -always remain behind “cumbered about with many things,” though loved by -the Master they will not be able to sell everything, take up the Cross -and follow to the place of the Skull. They will keep the commandments of -Christ and enter on set occasions the temples we have set up. They will -receive confirmation in their life and in the love of the Lord, they -will pray for what they will, and confess themselves. They will praise -and be in communion. They will recognise that they belong to another -kingdom, and their hearts will swell with the triumphant and passionate -affirmation of the Godhead which each finds in his poor conditional -existence as man. The way of Martha and the way of Mary. - - - - - XIII - THE FESTIVAL OF THE DEAD - - -At Easter I was at my old home, Vladikavkaz, and on the second Tuesday -after Easter Sunday went through one of the most characteristic of -Russian holidays—Krasnagorka. It is half-Christian, half-pagan—a -festival of spring and of new life, but celebrated almost entirely in -graveyards and cemeteries. At Krasnagorka almost the whole population of -the town goes on an outing or a picnic—to the cemetery. - -Early in the morning I received a message from a Russian friend, “Come -to our church; you’ll see an interesting sight.” The church was crowded, -but I got in, for nobody objects to your pushing. It was an unusual -service. The whole centre of the floor of the church, a space of some -twenty feet by seven, was covered with napkins in which lay lumps of -cake, brightly coloured eggs, basins of rice and strawberry jam, basins -of rice and raisins. In each basin, and there were some hundreds of -them, a lighted wax candle was stuck in the rice and gave a little -flame, and beside each lay the little red book in which the peasant -records the names of his relatives as they die. - -“What is it all for?” I asked. “It is the food for the dead,” my friend -answered. - -A priest and a deacon were standing at the near end of the spread of -illuminated food, and they read aloud from sheaves of papers the names -of dead persons whom members of the church had wished to have -remembered. Each person who had brought in food for sanctification -brought also a slip of paper with the names of his dead. It took hours -to read them all out, and when at last the task was finished, the deacon -took a smoking censer, and walking round the feast flung incense over -it, the chains of the censer rattling as he made the Sign of the Cross. -We sang once more the festal hymn of Easter, _Christos voskrese iz -mertvikh_—“Christ is risen from the dead,”—sung at every service until -Ascension, and then, after kissing the cross in the priest’s hand, each -person sought out his special basin of rice and pieces of cake and bowl -of coloured eggs and moved out of the church. - -At the door of the church stood many beggars, six or seven bearded, -tattered, and dirty old men, and a score or so of women and children. -All the old men had their mouths open, and each worshipper, as he made -his exit, helped a beggar liberally to rice and jam, scooping out great -spoonfuls with wooden spoons and poking them into the open, waiting -mouths. Many beggars had cotton bags hanging from their necks, and into -these were promiscuously flung spoonfuls of rice and raisins, eggs, -biscuit, cake. The beggars were told to eat what was given them in the -name of the dead. My friend fed at least ten beggars before she left the -church, and gave eggs and bits of cake, but she did not give all that -she had. A great quantity was reserved for a spread in the graveyard. - -Many cabs were waiting at the church door, and the worshippers stepped -into them with their napkins of sanctified food, and drove to the -cemeteries of the town. From ten o’clock in the morning until sunset, -the cemeteries were as thronged with people as Hampstead Heath on -Whit-Monday. - -Nearly every grave in a Russian churchyard has seats round it, and it is -possible to go to the family grave and sit down and think a little, or -pray a little when you wish. I went to the graveyard where my friend’s -sister lies buried, an acre of cypress and pine and gentle mounds, where -the dank earth seems like bed-clothes laid over the dead. To-day this -wide melancholy collection of green mounds and wooden crosses was alive -with the laughter and songs of children. On the heaps of mouldering -earth samovars were humming, and little candles gleamed against a -background of lilac blossoms and spring flowers. - -My friend and I sat down. The mother of the dead one came, deep in crape -and laden with gifts. We planted our candles, and on this grave as on -all the others round about the wan flames flickered. We took -bright-coloured eggs—our Easter eggs dyed purple and crimson and -brown,—dug holes in the mould with our fingers, buried the eggs, covered -their brightness over with mould again. Then we put down slices of -Easter cake on the grave, and emptied there saucers of rice—that the -dead one might share in. We sat on the crazy wooden seats around, and -looked at the earth and were silent. - -The mother went away to find a priest, and presently brought a -purple-cloaked greybeard to sing over the grave and burn incense. His -red and wrinkled face was all red and fresh from the open air, for he -had been in the graveyard all day singing over the graves. He was tired, -but he raised his head and his voice and called forth his little -memorial prayer in an antique musical bass: “Grant to her who has passed -away, O Christ, to obtain Thy unspeakable glory.... Give rest, O Christ, -to the soul of Thy servant....” We all stood around, silent and -awe-stricken, and listened and crossed ourselves, and kissed the cross -in the priest’s hand. - -He received a rouble, then went away to another grave; beggars besought -us; and as if they had not been satisfied at the church door, but were -taking enough to last them a whole year, they received helping after -helping of rice and cake and eggs. This, I felt, was the great beggars’ -day in the year. They were important people. They were necessary to the -feast. Strange that they should appear as proxies for the dead and eat -for them. A beautiful reminder that in the living we find all our dead -again. - -We had stood to meet the priest and to give the beggars the food we had -brought, so now that the beggars had eaten all the rice and raisins and -rice and jam and had gone farther to eat at other graves, we sat down -again in the still presence of the green mound and we talked of the -virtues of the dead one, of how old she would have been and how beloved -she was, and of how often she had been remembered, and how soon we -should join her. Evidently the mother assumed that what she said was -heard by her whose body lay in the earth. We were all quietly joyful—not -sad. We had the spirit of children making believe; we had also the calm -faith and knowledge of elders—that there is no death, that those who -have passed out of sight have not ceased but are alive for evermore. I -felt the Russians, and indeed mankind altogether, to be very dear at -this festival; they were doing things that must touch those invisible -ones who know more than we do and look on, bring tears to the eyes of -angels, and not as often in man’s history and the spectacle of his -civilisation and abomination call down the wrath of higher powers. - -We talked ... and then as we became silent again we heard the music of -man’s life, and listened with our souls. - -At some graves there was boisterous jollity, at others terrible anguish -and grief. Near where we sat a woman lay moaning on the grave of her -husband, her red tear-washed cheeks and her lips on the earth; and she -called to him with sobs, telling him all that had happened during the -year, how the children were, how often they had thought of him. It was -heart-rending to listen to her. And yet, mingled with her terrible -lament, came the sound of mumbling priests, the buzz of conversation, -the laughter of children wrestling among the graves and gambling in the -eggs that had been given them, the tinkle of the guitar and of light -songs, the strains of the concertina. - -We walked by winding ways across the graveyard and saw many an old man -and woman knocking at the door of the earth they would soon enter, -dropping placid tears and thinking what it would be like some years -hence when they would be under the earth and this festive crowd of live -beings above, candle-lighting, feasting, singing, thinking, praying. And -there were young men and women walking arm-in-arm, looking brightly into -one another’s eyes, strengthening their bonds of love and of life. There -were also little children, boys and girls, thoughtless, indifferent to -death and to the dead, waiting for the older people to go away, so that -they might forage among the graves and dig up again the red and blue -eggs that had been buried there. - -“Are they allowed to do that?” I asked in horror. - -“Yes,” said the sister. “Every one knows that directly evening comes and -we elders go home the poor children will come and dig up the eggs and -take them away, and take also the wild flowers we have brought. Let -them! It is quite good that they should. You know it is the festival of -spring and of life.” I realised that she was right. It is the way to -give to the dead—give to the beggars and to the children. The dead get -what we send them, surely. - - * * * * * - -Strange to notice in this acre of God some graves that had not been -visited this day—old graves. I reflected on many a country walk in -England, culminating in a visit to an old church and graveyard, and the -tracing of the names and dates of people long since passed away. It is -somewhat strange. When we are in an old graveyard and looking at the -graves of people who have died centuries ago we feel, instead of grief, -a sort of quiet satisfaction, and that even when those whose burial is -recorded are of our own name and family. We dare not even contrast our -feeling with the poignancy that is attached to a new grave—with its -garish stone, fresh clods, and wilted flowers. - -I often wonder where the dead are. Neither in heaven nor hell, I -suppose, nor waiting for a last day and dreadful judgment, nor going -through the circles of purgatory, nor just simply under the earth.... - -We know that they exist and are alive, and the knowledge is of that more -certain kind that does not spring from our mentality but is felt in our -bodies. The grief we have when sons or daughters or fathers or mothers -die is a _physical_ anguish, and is akin to the pains of birth. Some one -has been cut off, deceased—cut off from us. Even in a dream to lose one -of those _nearest_ to us is to suffer a sort of physical mortification, -to weep senselessly, lose control of nerves, and be prostrated. - -The fact is we are all one. Even the death of some one who is quite -remote jars upon the soul. - -We were talking one evening of death and some one said to me: - - “... to die and go we know not where, - To lie in cold obstruction and to rot, - -—that is what I fear in death. They tell me I am a pagan, but I feel the -dead are under the earth. I hate to think of lying in a damp churchyard -and decaying all alone, through days and nights and spring rains, summer -storms, autumn winds, winter snows. The rain must be terrible for the -dead—to be all wet and old like a fallen leaf.” - -Another said he did not mind the idea of lying under the earth in the -rain and changing into mould. It was gentle and restful. And it was -beautiful too, for flowers would rise from where the body slept. One -recalled the lines: - - Oh, never blows the rose so red - As where some buried Caesar lies; - -and another, the beautiful lines of Nash: - - Worms feed on Hector brave, - Dust hath closed Helen’s eyes. - -But to my mind came some words said to me by Algernon Blackwood the -first day we met: - -“You know we all came out of the earth; somehow or other we have got to -get back to her. The Earth is not dead, she is living.” - - * * * * * - -He was right. And the dead under the earth are in living care. All that -is is One and is beautiful. Life and death make a unity. Everything in -the world and without it, in the past and in the future, is to me a -unity, and I am calm and happy in it. In me, in you, are all the -dead—they crowd behind my eyes and look out, one above another’s -shoulders like the people at a great spectacle. There are myriads of -them—I hold them. In this sense they are under the earth, in that you -and I are earth, and they are in us, and look out of us. We are all -windows through which there glance at times faces of each of all there -ever have been. - - - - - III - THE DESERT AND THE WORLD - - - - - I - A CHAIN OF HAPPENINGS - - -Winter changing to summer I gave up life in towns and set off upon a new -adventure. In May I was looking at Bokhara and the gay-coloured -meditative Mohammedan world. In June I was tramping across Russian -Central Asia the way the pioneers go to find new land and new life. My -road companions were people who had given up the old and were seeking -the new—not farther West but farther East. By July I had crossed to -southern Siberia, and was away on the Altai Mountains when the War with -Germany broke out. In the autumn I returned in the wake of the mobilised -Russian army, and was in Moscow during the first month of its -enthusiasm, then at Libau and Vilna and Warsaw, at Petrograd, and home -to England. I wrote my book on the War. All the winter I wrote and spoke -for Russia. Life resolved itself into lectures, speeches, addresses, -meetings, and all with the view of making Russia and especially Russian -Christianity better known in England. Time flies in such a way, and very -quickly it was May again and time to set out upon a new adventure. So I -took up my quest of Martha and Mary once more and set out for Egypt, -hoping to be able to go from Egypt to Russia the way Christianity came -to her. For a great deal of Russian Christianity came from the Egyptian -deserts and had its source in the life led there by the hermits during -the first five centuries after Christ. - -Doubtless the quiet life of the hermit saints had more power to change -the world than all the clangorous wars of their time, than the talk and -the gossip and the cheering and the hooting, than the foes laid low or -tyrants raised to power. There is a beautiful passage of Nietzsche—“The -thoughts that change the world come on doves’ feet. The world revolves -round the inventors of new values; noiselessly it revolves.” So if we -would know what sort of a Europe is going to be, or of Russia what sort -of an East she will be— - - Oh! Russia, what sort of an East will you be, - The East of Xerxes or of Christ? - -it is necessary to seek the ideas of to-morrow in the quiet places where -they lurk unseen, not in the clash of the Great War. The trenches are -pungent with fumes, the earth itself deaf from the sound of artillery, -both Nature and Man’s work lie blasted and ruined along a long but -narrow stretch of land—that is the front, the War, the biggest and only -thing in the world. But I must leave it and go southward and eastward to -the places where ideas are born. - -In May when I left England the streets of London were flocking with -merry crowds; there was a vigorous popular optimism in the air. At night -the Soho restaurants were packed, the theatres ablaze with the glamour -of success. Paris was different. One European capital was bright; -another silent, vigilant, and clad in serious garb. The enemy was -encamped and militant and near. South to Marseilles, to the vivacious, -light-hearted, southern port! The ship by which I sailed for Egypt was -painted an austere leaden colour to resemble a man-of-war or armed -merchantman, and so deceive the enemy lurking under the waves—a masked -ship. We were delayed a week in the port through lack of labouring -hands; for every one had gone to the War. We watched liner after liner -go out of the harbour laden with young soldiers going to fight the Turk -and win Constantinople. - -My slow ship left the land and slipped away through the night as it -should, towards Egypt, unhasting, unresting, over the calm shadowy -Mediterranean ... an almost fourth-dimensional progress, a mysterious -magical journey. The stars looked through soft vigils and possessed a -mystery; they dreamed over us as we went. We disturbed nothing; we went -on. I sat up in the prow of the vessel and looked forward—the eye of the -boat. - - ... Everything is akin to me - That dwells in the land of mystery. - -The ship is masked; its colour is the colour of the waves at night. The -ship is pleased. A shadowy blue-grey ship going forward calmly, equably, -yet triumphantly, ever gently forward, towards the unknown, the -mysterious.... - - - - - II - THE HERMITS - - -The first effort of the Apostles towards the establishment of -Christianity was along the way of Martha—the sharing out of the money -and the starting of a sort of Christian-socialist state. But life taught -them that this was impracticable, and they and all the early Christians -soon found themselves working and living and praying in an altogether -different way—driven into the wilderness, stoned out of cities, hounded -into gaol, faced with the horrors of torture or barbarous execution. -There were soon more Christians in the desert places of the earth, -living in caves and in forests, than there were in the towns and -villages. Some fled from persecution, others were driven by the Spirit; -and no doubt all, when they found themselves cut off from the world, -began to share in the meditative idea of Christianity. They obtained the -consolation of wanderers, and found a new significance in the promise of -the Comforter. They had visions; they met the resurrected spirits of -those who had died in the Lord. The strange life they had to live -brought a romantic mystery into the possibilities of the road and the -outside world, so that when one met a stranger there was the doubt that -he might be an angel, that he might even be the risen Lord Himself. The -heavens opened, and sweet music accompanied the vision of the Grail. The -stigmata appeared on the hands and bodies of those who had attained to -unity with Christ. - -Yet those who went out into the wilderness, alike those who fled -persecution and those who went out voluntarily to seek and be alone with -God, were tempted “of the devil” as they phrased it. The town and the -world which they wished to overcome tempted them back. They had left -behind in “the world” fathers, mothers, brides, children, friends, -money, position, pleasure. They lived on locusts and wild honey and -grains and roots—and they longed for the good meat of the city. They -were ragged, unwashed, bruised, unkempt—they longed for the freshness of -the bath, white linen, and clean clothes. Their bones ached and they -were tired—they longed for soft beds. They were solitary and longed for -company, longed especially for the company of women. And the devil who -tempted them was a dragon that could never be killed, which, slain, but -changed to a different shape. The temptation was put forward in new -guise, and the lure of sin more subtly baited. They entered into the -temptation of Jesus as they entered also into his sufferings. - -They drew men unto them. All those whose minds were troubled by the -monstrous woman—Babylon—thought of the Christian solitude in the desert. -It became a not infrequent phenomenon—the going into the desert “to save -one’s soul.” The wild places of the earth began to have names and fame. -Hermits lived in places where no one had ever lived before, and the -curious came out to see them. By their spiritual virtues they made the -desert, which was barren in the material sense, blossom as the rose. - -The caves in the mountains by the Dead Sea filled with anchorites, and -the holy men looked upon the dead salt lake that had once been the gay -world of Sodom and Gomorrah. The mountain supposed to be the mountain of -Christ’s temptations became honeycombed with the abodes of -world-forsakers. “If a man does not say to himself in his innermost -heart, God and I, we are alone in the world; he will never find rest,” -said one, and betook himself to Mount Sinai. The Virgin Mary sailing in -a boat with St. Thomas and St. John was wrecked off the coast of -Macedonia and miraculously washed ashore on the mountain of Athos; and -in due course there appeared on the strange uninhabited mountain an -antique Greek, lean, long-haired, unutterably devout, and he lived in a -cave and meditated on the Mother of God. Another followed and another, -till a laura was founded. - -The hermits gave Christianity a new bias. One has only to compare an -ascetic’s dream, the majesty and the mystery of the Revelation of St. -John, with the sweet reasonableness of the Gospels ... “A sower went -forth to sow,” and the like ... to see how great is the change in the -spirit of the Church under the influence of the anchorites. Such a -sentence as—“To him that overcometh I will give of the hidden manna, and -will give him a white stone, and in the stone a new name written, which -no man knoweth saving he that receiveth it,” comes straight from the -desert and is part and parcel of the spiritual fervour of the early -Church. - -The hermit based his life on Christ’s wanderings in the wilderness and -His denial of the world, on the idea of bearing the Cross, and on the -promised second coming of Christ. As Christ renounced the power of -changing stones into bread, so they renounced the power of bread, the -feeding of the hungry, _i.e._ service in the world, the way of Martha. -As Christ refused the throne of Caesar when the devil was ready to show -him the way to obtain it, so they refused to try to establish Christ’s -kingdom in a material form. They denied all material power—denied that -the power of Caesar was real power, that physical force had power, that -money had power. St. Arsenius, the anchorite, was offered all the -revenues of Egypt by the Emperor Arcadius and asked to use them for the -help of the poor, the hermits, and the monks; but Arsenius refused, -saying that such work would be worldly and was not for him. The same -Arsenius inherited a great fortune, his cousin’s estate, but refused it. - -“When did my cousin die?” - -“Two months ago,” he was told. - -“Oh, then the estate is not mine, for I died long before that,” said -Arsenius. - -He had died to the world, and to money among other worldly things. - -The hermits also denied the physical senses—our ordinary sight, hearing, -touching.... “Grieve not that thou art without what even flies and gnats -possess,” said Antony, the father of Egyptian hermits, to blind Didymus; -“rejoice that through thy physical blindness thy spiritual sight has -become more clear.” The hermits took upon themselves oaths of silence, -went into remote places where was the most abject barrenness of earth, -the utter negation of all physical life and material power. Not content -with the privations of the Sahara they went into abominable marshes like -the soda swamps of Nitria, where they mortified even the most innocent -of the senses, the sense of smell. They strove to be as it were dead in -all the physical body and limbs, and in the physical senses. “Unless a -man imagines to himself that he has been lying for three years in the -grave and under the earth, he will never die to himself,” said Moses the -Ethiopian, a simple negro anchorite, who though he seemed black in the -body was all white in the soul. - -In this denial they did things which seem fantastic to the modern world. -They dug their graves in advance and lived in them till they died. They -stood on one leg, the foot of the other leg on their knee, their arms -outstretched as if crucified to the air; they climbed to the height of -ancient pillars and remained there praying for years. Pachomius is said -to have prayed for days together, standing with outstretched arms as -immovably as if his body had been fastened to a cross. His eyes were -lifted upward at a strange angle and were full of light, he gazed in -fixed rapture as if his eyes were resting on a celestial vision. In this -Pachomius praying thus an artist might show a picture of what the hermit -stood for. These hermits were not foolish; they were mighty and -wonderful like the living word of God itself. They were living -hieroglyphics. - -It must be remembered that Christianity had to overcome a world of -philosophy, had to absorb all that lay in the philosophy of the East, in -the religions of Egypt and Greece, and of the Jews. Thanks to the -hermits, Christianity took to itself all that was vital in all extant -ideas. By the life and death of Jesus the seed of Christianity was sown, -thrown into the spiritual life of the world, and instead of springing up -immediately and bearing fruit, it sent its strength downward like the -seed of a mighty tree; it grew deeper into the spiritual world rather -than higher, became more mysterious and secret rather than manifest and -clear. - -To-day Christianity is of different portent. But in those days the -enthusiasts, visionaries, and saints did not clearly know what -Christianity was: Christianity was not clear to them; they sensed it, it -had possession of them, they were in a state of exaltation because of -it. Christianity was growing through them, growing deeper. Their -intellectual conceptions of what Christianity was and was not were often -quite mistaken—but the vision they could not express was authentic. The -new idea was in the air. Hence, for instance, the gift of tongues. -People listening to the apostles were caught by the idea, even though -the language spoken was foreign to them. Christianity was imparted by -enthusiasm alone, by the gait, the gesture, the expression of -countenance of the believer, the living hieroglyphic; and it did not -matter that the apostles spoke one language and the listener another. -The spirit of truth sat in the faces of the apostles like tongues of -fire and spoke for them. In those days many who had never seen an -apostle dreamed and became Christians, heard a voice from heaven, were -struck blind by the heavenly vision like Saul, whose mind on the way to -Damascus was far from Christianity, but whose soul was so near that even -at the stoning of Stephen there could have been but the thinnest -partition between him and the great splendour. Many people in those days -went about in strange apprehension—as if the world were coming to an -end, and quite truly a world, that of the Romans, was coming to an -end—and suddenly they were aware of the mystery, and without a word of -proselytism gave up everything and went to the desert. - -Needless to say, the number of Christians grew, and the reputation of -the Christians grew. Persecution soon ceased, and presently it became -such a mark of distinction to be a Christian that all the mundane crowd -came in and called itself Christian. Some of them were Christian in name -only, and their children in superstitious obedience. Even till to-day -Christianity is cumbered about with the descendants of this mass of -people, the great crowd who vaguely assent to the term Christian but -have only a remote conception of what Christianity really is. The -riotous and lascivious population of Alexandria supporting worldly -Cyril, though Christian in name, was nothing less than an obstacle to -Christianity, an opaque mass between the light shining in the desert and -the north whither the light should shine. Still, when “the world” came -in and called itself Christian there were a great many who took their -conversion seriously, and of these, many went to the desert and schooled -themselves to become hermits, tried the life to see what it was like. -Ammon and his bride were dressed, ready for their nuptial festivities, -when the revelation came to them, and on their wedding-day they resolved -to forego the worldly tie of marriage and live in the desert as holy -bachelor and virgin. They dwelt in Nitria and entertained thousands of -young men and women of the rich and cultured world and meditated on the -hermit’s life, Ammon receiving the men at his cell, his bride the women -at hers. After some time Ammon, who was rich, founded a monastery, and -he and his bride agreed to part, she going to a distant place to -continue her work, he remaining to establish his. Ammon became abbot of -the monastery, and under him were four thousand monks; this was in the -evil-smelling swamp of Nitria, on the fringe of the Sahara, some forty -miles west of what is now the Alexandria-Soudan railway. People began to -flock to the desert. There were tens of thousands of hermits and monks -and consecrated virgins waiting for the coming of the Bridegroom of the -Church. These Christian converts gave to the desert the largest human -population it has ever had. There were four hundred monasteries in the -desert of Nitria alone. It was possible to invent such an anecdote about -the younger Macarius the anchorite as that some one gave him a bunch of -grapes and he, being so altruistic, took it to a neighbouring anchorite, -that anchorite to another, and so on, till the grapes had made the whole -circuit of the Sahara and came back to Macarius again, preserved all the -way by the virtue of the self-denying hermits. - -The desert had an atmosphere of Christianity. Many aged solitaries like -Arsenius and Paphnutius took to the road with sacred missions. The -hermit’s life was not always continuous cave-dwelling. St. Arsenius, a -gracious genius, went to the councils of Emperors; we read of men like -Paphnutius returning to “the world” at the obedience of the heavenly -vision and saving people whom the Lord needed. Thaïs, the courtesan of -Alexandria, was taken from the midst of her gay life and brought to a -cell in the desert. The anchorites found for her this beautiful prayer, -“Thou who formed’st me have mercy,” and Thaïs was saved, though she -died. And she was numbered among the Marys. No hermit setting out upon -the road took away money with him or had thought for the morrow. That -was a golden rule in their ways; money counted for nothing. Serapion the -Sindonite sold himself as a slave in order that he might save those who -were slaves of the world; and he put the money he received as the price -of himself in a pit and covered it with earth. He was a perfect servant, -and by his humility and sweetness touched the heart of his master and -mistress, who soon learned to say the Lord’s Prayer with him and were -converted to Christianity. One day they said to Serapion: “We are -unworthy that you should be our servant and slave, take back, we pray -you, your freedom!” - -Serapion replied that he thanked God for the day when his mission was -accomplished, and thanked his master and mistress for his freedom. Then -he went to the pit where the purchase money was buried and brought it to -his two converted friends. They were much astonished, and implored -Serapion to keep the money. But he refused though they wept, and he set -off for the desert once more, cared for by the Lord. - -Nothing counted in Egypt except Christianity. Monasteries and churches -sprang up all over the land. The rich women who gave up all for Christ’s -sake gave their jewels to the adornment of the screens and altars in the -desert churches, and it was thought to be the best place for jewels, -_fruitlessly sacrificed_ to the spiritual. The wealthy bequeathed their -estates to the Church, hoping thereby to find grace in heaven; and the -Church employed the wealth so gained for the building of new monasteries -and the employment of Byzantine painters and metal workers, for the -upkeep of their institutions, and for alms. It seems the new wealth did -not altogether spoil the life in the desert. Egypt was particularly -suited to be the mysterious source of contemplative Christianity and its -spiritual power—the greatest deserts in the world, the emptiest -landscape, the incomprehensible Nile coming out of the depths of -mysterious and untrodden Africa, the ancient monuments of religion, the -Sphinx, the pyramids, the obelisks ... the oldest domain of man, a land -of tombs. But for the Mohammedan hordes Egypt must have remained the -true holy land of Christianity. As it is, the life lived in Egypt at -that time is certainly the spiritual inspiration of the Eastern Church -till this day. - -It is somewhat astonishing to reflect that in the early centuries of our -era Christianity in Egypt was alone with the ancient monuments of Egypt, -and that those monuments were in a considerably greater state of -grandeur that they are to-day. There was very little robbing of the -tombs and destruction of old buildings before the coming of -Saracens—those terrible robbers and destroyers. Egypt has now become -associated with Mohammedanism in a secondary way. But in the days of the -hermits there were none of those mosques which guides delight to show -one now as part of the interest of Egypt—the alabaster mosque, the -mosque of Sultan Hassan, all built with stolen stones. But Christianity -and the worship of Isis were side by side, the Egyptian religion of -death side by side with the Christian religion of death to the world. No -wonder that the early Christians embalmed their dead, and that they -painted the faces on wood as the Egyptians had painted the faces of the -dead on the cases of the mummies, or that regarding hieroglyphics they -began to paint Christian hieroglyphics—the frescoes peculiar to the -Eastern Church. Paphnutius flinging a stone at the Sphinx learned his -mistake when he saw a look of sadness come over the face, and the lips -seemed to murmur to him the name of Christ. - -The influence of Egypt went northward. As the gospel is read facing the -north, and the belfries of Eastern Churches calling the people to -worship are put northward of the holy building, so the whole Church -looked northward. Constantinople was the capital of the Eastern World. -The embalmed bodies of the saints who had died in the desert were taken -thither, the faces of the dead were painted into the fresco and the -ikon. Hermits appeared in all the desolate mountains and rocks of Greece -and Bulgaria and Asia Minor. Christianity crossed the Black Sea, and -hermits appeared in the Caucasus, and stately cathedrals were built on -the shores of the sea. Christianity sailed up the Russian rivers and hid -in the Russian forests. Only in the year 988 was Russia officially -converted to Christianity, but long before that the Christian hermits -and missionaries had appeared. St. Andrew himself is said to have been -the first to come to Russia. The religion that came in was the religion -of the hermit, and the faces on the ikons were the faces of anchorites -who had died in Egypt or Asia Minor. Christianity took various aspects, -but its vital source was the spiritual life of the hermit in the -wilderness. - -Anon, Egypt was overrun by the Turks. The jewels were plucked from the -screens and ikon-frames, the monasteries and churches were pulled down, -the monks and hermits put to the sword, and practically the whole -material evidence of the existence of Christianity was swept away as if -a storm of the dead sand itself had come over it. One year the desert -was a-tinkle with Christian bells, choric with Christian psalms; the -next year all was desolation, and when an ancient hermit missed by the -Arabs came to Nitria he found not one human being there, and he lived -amongst the ruins of monasteries and chapels as if the place were the -remotest and most solitary in which a world-forsaker could dwell. In its -turn, also, Constantinople fell, and the Hellespont and Bosphorus, the -issue to Russia, became Mohammedan. Eastern Christianity receded to -Greece, was shut away in Russia. And Greece and Russia, and especially -Russia, have preserved the direct traditions of the early Church and -what Christianity originally meant. With them has remained the spiritual -fervour of the hermits. - - - - - III - IN THE DESERT - - -Between the Nile and the Red Sea lay the desert of the Thebaid, and the -remote monastery of St. Anthony is now reached after two days’ camel -ride from the station Beni Suef. The desert of Scete where Arsenius -lived—the desert where Philammon the hero of “Hypatia” learned to be a -monk—is on the Upper Nile. What was Nitria is now Wadi el Natrun, and is -reached by three days’ camel ride from the Pyramids, or _via_ Khatadba, -one of the stations on a loop of the Cairo-Alexandria railway. The -shrines of the hermits are in the hands of the Copts, a simple Christian -people, said to be the lineal descendants of the ancient Egyptians. The -Coptic Church is an Eastern one, and it is the lineal descendant of the -Church of Egypt that flourished in the first centuries of Christianity. -Only whereas the Church of Egypt was a brightly living church, the -Coptic Church is going on in a tradition. What is valuable in the Coptic -Church to-day is that it has slept through many centuries unchanging, -that it has never been rich and pompous, never erudite, never -pleasure-loving. It has withstood the Arabs through dwelling in the -wilderness and fortifying its churches and monastery walls and being -hard. It has never had the opportunity to thrive. So it has preserved -the traditions and something of the spirit of early Christianity, and in -the half-ruined temples of the desert you may see the stigmata of -Christ. - - * * * * * - -I had some difficulty finding out about the monasteries: no one goes to -Egypt to visit Christian shrines, so my desire to know where the ancient -hermits had lived sounded strange and unwonted in the ears of most -people. But at length, through the Bishop of Jerusalem and Marcus Bey -Simaika, the leader of the Coptic community in Cairo, I got a letter -from the Patriarch and full directions as to how to reach the desert -shrines. I chose to go to Nitria. - - * * * * * - -Out of sight of the grey triangles of the Pyramids, out of sight of -everything, and over the even, empty desert, white, yellow, burning, -rose-lined on the horizon, glaring ... heat and light beat upward from -the sand on which and into which the terrible and splendid sun drives -its armies all day. The air is so dry and light that one seems to have -lost weight. There is a feeling of unusual exhilaration. - -I came on horseback to an oasis, not a bountiful and delectable oasis -with shade of palm trees, fruit to pluck above the head, and cold water -bubbling from a spring below, but a poisonous marsh overgrown with reeds -full of reptiles and blood-sucking flies. There are good and evil oases. -This was the marsh that gave its name to Nitria—the soda marsh. The -hermits chose it because it was even worse than the desert. My black -horse prances along on somewhat doubtful turf, and then once more to the -loose and heavy sand blown into waves and undulating like the sea. On -the horizon lies the strange blunt silhouette of the first of the -monasteries, and without a trace to follow, we plunge through the sand -towards it. We come up to it at last, an enigmatical-looking building -which has the shapelessness and silence of a ruin. How silent it is! -What a deathly and unearthly silence! It seems hardly possible that -human beings are living there. The cream-coloured walls are lined, -patched, broken, gigantic. It is a rectangular fortress. There is but -one entrance, and that is a small one and heavily barred. There are no -steps in the sand; if yesterday had any footfalls the wind has smoothed -them away, and the breathless silence is one which it seems almost -possible to hold in one’s hand. - -From the high yellow battlement an old loose rope hangs down, and is -evidently connected with a bell. - -Jingle-jangle-jangle! I ring the bell and wait expectantly. There is a -long silence and I ring again, jingle-jangle, jangle-jangle-jangle! Then -some one comes and laboriously undoes the little door, and a -dishevelled, bare-footed monk appears. I present the letter which I bear -from the Patriarch, and am admitted. The monks are pleased; all shake -hands. I sit on one divan, and five of them on another. One novice -washes my hands, another brings me a glass of a brown-coloured drink—it -is medlar juice and water, and is full of the fibre of the fruit. This -finished, he brings me a glass of pink sugar water, then coffee all -round, thimble-fulls of sweet coffee. The abbot, a fine-looking fellow -with regular features, broad face, black moustache and beard, and with -an open space showing the freshness of the lower lip, is talkative. He -has a towel wrapped round his brows for turban, and fingers black beads -as he talks. Next to him is a comfortable-looking monk in a blue smock -and white knitted skull-cap on his head. Next to him, an old fellow with -wizened bare legs and feet, old yellow rags on his grizzled head, ragged -black cassock over his grey underclothes. - -“What do you do all day?” I asked. - -“Pray, read, sing,” they answered. - -“What do you think of the war?” - -“The war does not touch us. If they come and kill us, we don’t mind, but -we pray each day that God will bring it soon to a close.” - -“If the Arabs come, what will you do?” - -“If they shoot at us we will throw bread to them, that will be our -reply.” - -“Do you have many visitors?” - -“Not many.” - -“Do the Russian pilgrims come here to pray?” - -“Yes, some.” - -“Are you content to live out here in the Sahara whilst all sorts of -great events are happening in the world, and content to have no news and -never mix with the people of the city? In England we’re too busy, one -couldn’t escape to a place like this even if one wanted to.” - -The abbot gave me a remarkable reply: - -“I think there is room for everybody: one seeks money, that is his way; -another prays, that is his way; another does his duty and ploughs, that -is his way. There are many ways. You know of Martha and Mary. Martha was -right, but Mary’s good part was right also.” - -How touching it was for me to get this true reply in this remote -monastery, and to hear of Martha and Mary in the first half-hour of -conversation with the monks. My mind was preoccupied with the ideas of -Martha and Mary, and here was this simple Coptic abbot using almost the -same terms to express himself as I might use myself. - -There were in this monastery about sixteen monks, and in the desert -altogether there may be about one hundred and fifty. Once there were -thousands of holy men and hundreds of monasteries. There was gold in the -monasteries, there were jewels and pictures. Not an inch of the little -desert temples but was covered with Byzantine fresco. - -But the Saracen came and murdered the cultured clergy, and tore away the -jewels, as was fit, and rolled down many a wall, wrecked many an altar. -There was a sixty years’ gap in the Christian history of the desert. -Then a wilder type of Christian took possession, Arabs who had been -converted, or enslaved Copts who had forgotten their own language and -learned that of their masters. They brought Arabic gospels and -liturgies. They repaired some of the ruins of the old monasteries and -churches, and they put up Arabic inscriptions and painted out the old -Coptic frescoes and hieroglyphics with frescoes of their own conception. -They built round their temples impregnable fortress walls with -draw-bridges at a height of forty feet above the level of the desert. -They withstood sieges and persisted ... to this day. - -The abbot showed me round the monastery. The buildings were all a -patchwork of ruins and repairs and changes. The frescoes had been -white-washed out in nearly every part. The old stained glass, broken and -shapeless, was mortared in with new glass. And yet there was a real -odour of antiquity in the place. The patterns in the ikons were but dust -patterns, and the face of the Virgin crumbled away as the abbot took the -picture down to show me. In a niche here and there left by accident were -the original frescoes in wonderful purple and crimson, pictures of the -choric saints, their faces and bodies all of that unearthly and mystical -shape and colour by which the early Christians loved to represent -citizenship of heaven and denial of the world. - -The lectern had a nail on which to fix the candle. The communion cup was -swathed in the oldest vestments of the monastery. In an ordinary -cupboard with easy-swinging wooden door I was shown the mummies of the -sixteen Patriarchs of the Coptic Church. Sixteen Patriarchs in a -cupboard, each wrapped in his robes and tied up compactly! The Abbot -unwrapped one a little and showed me the dried brown flesh. The -seventeenth Patriarch, he from whom I had my letter, will find a place -in this cupboard in his turn. - -In one of the churches I was shown the box with the sacred remains of -Macarius, the primitive hermit in whose name the monastery had been -founded. - -They showed me the books from which the service is read, all hand-copied -volumes. I wondered especially at a copy of the New Testament, written -ages ago in Coptic and now spattered on every page and every paragraph -with new and ancient spots of candle grease. - -From the vault of one of the churches hang seven old dusty ostrich eggs -by long strings. A monk explained to me that as the ostrich looks to its -egg as the most precious thing in life, so they look to God in their -prayers—at least, the egg is to remind them. - -We went into the fortress church, the only entrance to which is at a -height of forty feet by a bridge from the outer rampart. They showed me -how the bridge could be drawn in and the monks be secure from assault of -arms. Up on the ramparts a novice had his duty beside a pile of bread -and a stoup of water. When Bedouin beggars ring the monastery bell, he -lowers them bread and water in a basket. “We give away twice as much as -we eat ourselves,” said the Abbot, showing me the bakery. Here were -hundreds of wheaten loaves in long stone receptacles, good bread, but -made dirty so that the monks should not get to prize it. They showed me -illuminated books a thousand years old, showed me the scrivener’s cell -where among many quills a monk still copies the Scriptures day by day. -They showed me one chapel the whole floor of which was covered with -chillies drying, showed me the long room where every evening all the -monks gather about the Abbot to read the gospel and discuss its -meanings, showed me the massive doors, two feet thick, of wood and iron, -meant to resist the Arab. In one room was a small cask, and the Abbot -took a tin mug and drew me a little wine—communion wine. I drank half; -he finished. - -The monks were most kind, simple and loving. It was an amusing spectacle -at lunch. I lunched; every one else waited on me. A beautiful Abyssinian -boy washed my hands, two monks shelled eggs all the time and filled my -plate, two others stripped cucumbers for me, another kept helping me to -hot milk soup in which slabs of sugar were dissolving. The Abbot stood -above me with a feather-brush waving the flies off me. Every one was -talking. There was especial interest in the questions which the -Abyssinian boy who had washed my hands was continually trying to put. He -was a beautiful stripling who could have been posed for Christ Himself, -but for the fact that he was black. He was tall and gentle, with large -liquid eyes. He was not a monk, but a pilgrim stranded in the desert. He -had been on his way to Jerusalem, and had been turned back from Port -Said because of the War. He was anxious to hear from me whether I knew -of any way of getting to Jerusalem now. The Abbot was the only one who -knew Abyssinian, and he interpreted. Alas! I could give him no hope of -getting through to the Holy Sepulchre. - -I lunched, and slept a little, and the brethren of the monastery slept. -Then my horse was brought out to me and I rode away across the sand. -Before going, I went to the western side of the monastery and looked out -over the Desert. Thousands of miles it went on, level, empty, burning, -and yet mysterious. Some Coptic hermits have wandered forth into its -mystery and are living the antique life of the anchorite out there. At -least, so the Abbot told me, though he couldn’t say where they are or -how they live. Only now and again, at rare intervals, some one of them -comes back to the monastery to communion and then disappears once more. - - * * * * * - -I rode away to Bir Hooker, where I stayed the night. That is on the -other side of the salt marshes. There an enterprising British company is -producing thousands of tons of caustic soda annually. The antique -hermits chose this spot in the Desert because of the death-dealing -odours which intensified their denial of the world, but in another era, -behold British business men doing in the way of trade and worldly gain -or duty what these others do in the name of denial of the world. As the -Abbot said: There are various ways of serving God, the way of Martha and -the way of Mary. - -Still, the manager of the caustic soda works, a shrewd and circumspect -Scotsman of Protestant temperament, would like to have the sixteen -Patriarchs buried decently and, if he could, spend three days in each of -the monasteries tidying up. “It’s not showing due respect to the dead,” -said he, “nor is it sanitary, nor decent. I’ve nothing to say against -the monks; they are simple and kind and hospitable. But they’re just -_wasting_ their lives. They’re doing nothing, making nothing.” - -The manager would show the monks how they ought to keep house. But -better still, he would clear them all out. They are very good, very -kind, there is nothing against them, but what are they _doing_, he asks. -Their lives are pure waste. They don’t produce caustic soda. - - * * * * * - -I go to my room to sleep, and then at midnight come out again to see the -full moon flooding the vast plain of sand with light, and to realise -once more the breathless and perfect stillness of the desert. - - - - - IV - THE WORLD - - -From the Desert back to the town, to “the world,” to the hurly-burly of -Cairo and the flesh-pots of Egypt! It is war-time, the summer of 1915, -the Turks are being fought on the Peninsula of Gallipoli. The city is -full of soldiers, sunburned Australians and New Zealanders who have not -yet been in action but are being kept lest the Arabs should come out of -the Desert and strive to efface the English and French civilisation of -the banks of the lower Nile and so add more ruins to the ruins of Egypt. -The city is majestical with its broad streets, white stone palaces and -stately mansions, its wondrous river and its mighty bridges. The -dryness, cleanness, and whiteness of a city that knows no rain; the city -gleams in a vast supply of sunshine. The wind blows all the time from -the Desert, and wafts heat in the face as from a furnace. A city of life -and gay energy. The fountain of life plays rapidly and brilliantly all -the time, throwing up all colours, forms, faces. There is a sense of -resplendent and tremendous gaiety. No one comes to Cairo to be an -ascetic and mortify the flesh. But every building, every sight and -sound, says, “Life, life, life.” All around is death—the Desert which is -death itself, the Pyramids which are tombs, the old cities and ruins -which are the bodies of ancient civilisations passed away. But every -sight and sound in the oasis of the great city says—Live, be gay, let -the pulse beat fast, let the heart go and be glad, let the eyes sparkle -and burn, let the lips form words of passion and pleasure. - -There is a sense of an immense antiquity which in contrast with the -little second of the present moment makes the latter less important, -less holy. There is a subtle smell in the air, an odour that makes the -head a little dizzy and the hands a little feverish as you walk; it is -the actual odour of antiquity, a finest dust in suspension in the wind, -the dust of decay from past ages. All that dies in Egypt becomes dry, -and only after centuries turns to dust and loses form. That which rots -away in a year in our northern clime keeps its semblance for a thousand -years in Egypt. The stones of the houses of native Cairo were many of -them quarried by the ancients; the wooden beams and joists have lasted -from the days of the Pharaohs, and only now are gently crumbling. Here -the very stones can be used to manure the fields. Subtly, secretly, the -seventh foundation is always crumbling away and passing in dust into the -Desert air. The smell in the air is partly the fine dust of mummies, of -the bodies that were once erect and nervous and vivid, gay and -felicitous and moving, the mysterious flocking humans of thousands of -years ago. - -The streets roll forward with flocking crowds—dark faces, brown faces, -sallow faces; red caps and straw hats and little turbans and smocks and -burnous; negroes, Copts, Arabs, women in white veils, women with dark -veils; Europeans, soldiers, hawkers, mendicants, post-card sellers, -newspaper vendors. Along the centre of the broad sun-swept roadways -crash the electric trams; the rubber-tyred cabs and wide-hooded -victorias follow pleasantly; the motor-cars proceed; the military -auto-cycles pant; and the heavy ox and buffalo carts of the natives -blunder along at the sides. There is doing everywhere, happening, being. -Voluminous and promiscuous action floods and surges through the city -with the traffic. It is life everywhere. And yet mingled with life there -is death. There is plague in Cairo, and every now and then the eyes rest -on a native funeral procession, one procession, two processions, five -processions, ten processions all following one another. They are in -every street, and they go past with their strange pomp of death, with -the body and the mourners and the keeners and professional howlers. The -brightly living crowd on the footways each side of the road pause a -moment and think, “Some one has died,” and pass on, oblivious, intent on -life. - -In luxurious hotels gentle and beautiful Nubians are handing out -delicate fare, rich dishes cooked and served in that sought-out and -magnificent style that Egypt has inherited from ages of epicurism. And a -wonderful assembly of officers and ladies, rich pleasure-seekers and -tourists from the Mediterranean shores, invalids, receives—sitting at -flower-decked tables in great halls. Many restless souls fall into the -rhythm of Egypt and feel themselves part of a great and satisfying -grandeur. It is borne in upon the mind that the rich have always lived -in a certain way in Egypt, and that the grandeur of Pharaoh and of -Antony and Cleopatra are one and the same with the grandeur of to-day. A -living thread of crimson and gold runs through the centuries of Egypt -and is caught to-day, unbroken. Cairo is the capital of the Desert, and -yet I do not know. It seems to me even at midday, when the sun glares -over the stones, that somehow the Desert does not exist, or that it is -in profound darkness, and that Cairo is a city all lamps, an island of -effulgent light encompassed on all sides with darkness. It is barely -credible that the sun of Cairo is the terrible sun of the Sahara, the -sun whose monstrous arms clasp thousands of miles of scorched sand and -wasted world, that the sun may not even notice Cairo as it looks on the -Desert. But those who live in the cities of Egypt are enough unto -themselves. - -A strange impression, in the afternoon, to go down side streets and -observe the throngs of young men, unsteady on their feet but bright-eyed -and thirsty-lipped, greedy, eager; the strong-limbed sun-burnt Colonial -soldiers dancing with Arab girls, the café-chantants, shooting-saloons, -bars, bad houses, the barrel-organs, the smell of the air. - -One can spare a questioning thought as to the homes of the soldiers. -They come to Egypt from a fresh Colonial country, from good homes, pure -women who are their mothers, gentle and innocent girls who are their -brides. They nobly offer themselves to fight for their race against a -false idea and a predatory nation. Tears fall at their departure. -Prayers accompany them. But though bound for France and England they -suddenly find their destination changed to Turkey, and they are put -down, for convenience, in Egypt. They are dumped upon this mysterious -and astonishing country as if one bit of dry land were just the same as -any other, and without any notion of the spiritual significance of being -stranded here. No blame to any one. Providence directs the destinies of -men and women. - -The first army that came were the wildest, boldest, and they plunged -right away into the sin and gaiety and dangerous pleasures of the city, -conducted by the money-grubbing but ingenious and smiling Arabs to the -gambling dens, dancing-houses, and strange parlours of the back streets. -They were cheated, swindled, robbed whilst drunk, robbed whilst asleep, -but they saw strange sights and tasted unusual pleasures, sating the new -eyes and lips which Egypt had given them. At last, the time drawing nigh -for their departure for the Dardanelles, they resolved to get back part -of what they had lost in the back streets of the city—certain things -they could never get back—and they went down in force and sacked the -houses and rushed the Arabs and Arab women to the streets and took back -what they could find. There was a great riot. The native police were -called out, and they fired at the screaming mob. Such scenes were -enacted in the city that brought to mind the continuous street-rioting -in Alexandria in the old early-Christian days. But what is most -significant in the sight of these fine young men in the city is the -realisation of the impure strain they take back with them from Egypt to -the women and the children of Australia and New Zealand. - - * * * * * - -Night comes over the stately city, and the Europeans in their white -clothes come in greater numbers into the streets. The great remote -staring moon stands over the broad highway and arched bridges. Heat -seems to be generated through the haze in the sky, but a light dry -breeze is ever blowing, and the pungent sweetish odour of the city is in -the nostrils. In the contrast of darkness and night silence the clangour -of Eastern music is more stirring. It stirs the body, not the soul, and -is like the sensuous music of Nebuchadnezzar, the music of cornet, -flute, harp, sackbut, psaltery, and dulcimer. Dark women with gold -ornaments hang out from curtainless windows or lurk just inside doorways -and dark passages, ready to coil snake-like upon a prey. In the roadways -a shouting, calling crowd. In the taverns they are singing “Tipperary” -and “We won’t go home till morning”; some men are standing on the -tables, others are trying to put gawky Arab girls through the steps of a -tango. The music jangles. The whole street has a collective voice, a -strange tinkling and murmuring uproar. - -A tall, lank, loose-jawed, genial Copt would show you the haunts of -evil, and offers his services to procure you pleasure. You have said -“No” to him; he stands there where you left him on the pavement in his -long cotton rags, smiling gently and cogitatively—the same type as stood -in the city of the Pharaohs in the old days of the Israelitish bondage. -It is strange to reflect that they find in the mummies of those who -lived so many thousands of years ago the marks of “the city’s disease,” -and the sign of the impure strain. There is a community of sin. What was -in ancient Egypt is in the world to-day and was not invented in any -recent time but has been carried on from one human being to another, to -many others, and from them to others still. - -I look at the mummies of Egypt, at the bright pictures of the people, -fresh as if painted yesterday. These paintings on the coffin-lids live, -they are the real people. You know that the brown, dry bodies wrapped in -thick folds of linen did once walk, and were the beautiful society of -some era five or six thousand years ago. There is in Cairo the unwrapped -mummy of the majestical Pharaoh who would not let the children of Israel -go. As you look at his face time is bridged over, and you see how brief -a space is our vaunted history of man and what parochial dwellers in -time we are, rolling our eyes and hushing our accents when we speak of a -hundred or a thousand years, as if those seconds of being were of vast -extent, tiring the angels to get over them. There lies old Pharaoh, -brown, but still in the flesh. He has a Roman nose, distinguished -features, the face of a man of learning; there is a look of Dante about -him. His neck has shrunk to the size of a bird’s neck and his head -rather dangles on it, but it is an actual head and an actual face. - -Pharaoh is unwrapped, but beside him stands an unopened pupa case; the -linen is fresh as when new, and daintily folded and tied as on the day -of burial five thousand years ago. A lotus flower lies in the coffin; it -looks as if it had been picked last month and had wilted a little, and -yet it may have been picked by the princess herself, and she was a -daughter of one of the Pharaohs—perchance even of her who found and -cherished the baby Moses. - -When you read of Jacob in the Old Testament, that— - - ... the physicians embalmed him. And forty days were fulfilled for - him; for so are fulfilled the days of those which are embalmed: and - the Egyptians mourned for him threescore and ten days. And when the - days of his mourning were past ... Joseph went up to bury his - father: and with him went up all the servants of Pharaoh, the elders - of his house, and all the elders of the land of Egypt ... - -you realise that there is perhaps somewhere a mummy of Jacob, and a -modern might see him face to face. - -Time flies. But the distance is near. I would like to imagine one night -in ancient Egypt. The faces on the coffins, as I look at them, lid after -lid, are quite realisable, those broad cheeks and bright eyes.... I -suppose one could find five thousand mummies who in their lifetime were -contemporaries, and one night they are all thinking about much the same -thing. Something is toward at the Court; their chairs or carriages or -chariots come for them; they are decked out, they have their jewels in -their hair, their fine garb, their vanities, spites, triumphs, -vexations, loves, ambitions. They dwell in their present moment, eyes -burn, hearts beat faster, lips frame vain words. The same moon is on -high, the same odour in the air. They bend their gaze towards the -throne, they flock towards the throne as if the touch of it were -miraculous. Vanity of vanities! The Israelites had to go out to the -Desert to find the ten commandments and the Mosaic laws. Vanity of -vanities—and is it not _all_ vanity? Is not the life of the ascetics in -the Desert vanity also? No, for they have denied the world. They have -said _No_ to Egypt and gone into the wilderness to seek a promised land. -In their shrunken pearly faces is written a different allegiance from -that of Pharaoh. They deny that this world is our world, that our life -is our true life, that death is really death. - -But we do not condemn the gay crowd that imagination has summoned from -the linen wrappings of the tombs, nor the glimmering of khaki and -burnous in the purlieus of Cairo in that moment we call 1915. Mankind is -one and indivisible. - - * * * * * - -Outside the city stand the three triangles and the woman’s head, signs -written in the sand which might cause all people to know that there was -some mystery about Cairo. - -The dead are sleeping and you cannot wake them. There are crowns on -their heads, and they sleep that fixed, unearthly, steady sleep, -undisturbed, untouched, uncorrupted. Egypt that was is dreaming Egypt -that is. Out in the Desert sits the Sphinx with an I-am-that-I-am -expression on its face. - - - - - V - ST. SOPHIA - - - ... new Jerusalem, coming down from God out of heaven ... as a bride - adorned for her husband. - - -Kingsley remarks that though Cyril thought he was establishing the -kingdom of God upon earth, he was in reality establishing a sort of -devil’s kingdom. The kingdom of God was independent of Cyril. And yet, -of course, a great deal of the material success of Christianity was due -to Cyril—if Christianity can really have such a thing as material -success. Cyril was a sort of Cæsar to whom must be rendered the things -that are Cæsar’s. And in his day imperial Cæsar himself had become -Christian, and kings were to arise who would claim as a divine right, -not only the things that are Cæsar’s but also the things that are God’s. - -They were in their day accounted great, and there was noise about them -and lights, and throngs of those who flock to noise and light. But -though some were mighty instruments of the Divine Will, the spiritual -power did not proceed from them but from the silences and the -obscurities and privacies of life. But for the holy men in the desert -Cyril could no more have gloried and lasted than could a blossom without -root. And on the other hand, Cyril and his like, and what they stood -for, were in one sense the blossom and fruit of the seed sown by the -hermits. It was the hermits who gave the spiritual impulse to -Alexandria. Alexandria in turn gave new hermits to the desert—as new -seeds fall from flowers in autumn. Such is the unity of the Church. - -It seems at first as if the rude cave or cell of the hermit cannot be -reconciled with the splendour of the churches of their time, with, for -instance, the wondrous cathedral of St. Sophia, as if the wretched cave -or hole in the earth were a contradiction of the great marble temple, -painted and gilded and set with all manner of gold ornament and precious -stone—and yet there is this obvious reconciliation, that the one is the -seed, the other the blossom; the one the prayer in secret, the other the -reward made openly; one the white light, the other the rainbow of -Creation. - -The first centuries of Christianity were a wild time. Many religions and -philosophies were in the throes of glorious death, exchanging their -mortality for Christian immortality. The music of change streams upward -in wild, rapturous, sensuous, and agonising melody. Ten thousand -passions and tragedies of conflicting import ravish the senses, and the -heart leaps and the blood dances in the veins at the spectacle of death -becoming life, or the heart sinks and the face pales at the dread of -life turning to death. Only the calm soul sees the myriad colours blend -at last and become reconciled in the whiteness of Christ. - -And that whiteness into which the other creeds must merge is the Holy -Wisdom, the Sancta Sophia, with the name of which the early Eastern -Church identified itself, representing the Bride of Christ as a new -Athene, Sophia, the Christian Wisdom. - -The Holy Wisdom distilled from Isis and Athene and thousands of other -goddesses and conceptions that died to become Christian, the water of -life distilled from all the magical fluids of antiquity. The wild waste -of passion and colour, the almost barbarous pageantry of the early -Church, is the pageantry of autumn; the reds and browns and yellows, the -flame-colours and death-colours, that go before the whiteness of -Christmas. - -The cathedral of St. Sophia itself, the beautiful symbol of the Bride of -Christ, is the representation of the death of thousands of creeds to -become immortal in the new Christian conception. There is not an idea -that is being transmuted that does not find its counterpart in the -sacred edifice. - -A mystic wrote: “St. Sophia was not born or created, but was built.” A -relic, the dust or bones of those who had died for the faith, was built -between every tenth stone in the walls of the cathedral. The walls were -of granite and marble; the pillars of porphyry, malachite, and -glimmering alabaster; the floor of polished marble; the doors of cedar -inlaid with ivory and amber. Its height was as the height of heaven, its -breadth as that of the earth. They brought the glory and honour of the -nations into it. Trees of silver with lights for fruit sprang from the -floor, like the tree of life in the midst of the City. Silver boats with -oil and floating wicks hung from the domes. The stone canopy above the -ambo bore a great cross inlaid with diamonds and pearls. Above the -screen which shut off the choir were twelve columns overlaid with -silver, and between them representations of the Jewish prophets, the -Holy Family, and the four Evangelists—the past, the present, and the -future of Christianity. The altar was raised upon a throne of gold, and -was formed of thousands of precious stones and gems and pearls that had -been crushed to dust and diffused in molten gold—as if of the pure lives -and passions of all men a wine had been pressed into a precious chalice. -On all the walls and on many of the pillars were painted the pageant of -the Church, the prophets walking with God, the Saviour revealing God, -the saints and martyrs and champions living and dying for the truth. -There was not a religious history nor a Christian life that did not find -its counterpart or emblem in the frescoes of St. Sophia. The cathedral -and the idea of Sophia functionised every true conception and beautiful -life lived in its day. It was “The Word” written in stone, and standing -instead of the ruined and almost illegible tablets of Moses. It was the -white stone in which the new name was written. - - * * * * * - -The idea of St. Sophia is reduplicated throughout the Eastern Church. It -is a-gleam in millions of ikons, endeavours to paint the _all_ of -Christianity and the living breathing Church itself, the Bride. It is -the inspiration of such a cathedral as that of St. Basil, that -marvellous mediæval passion in stone built by Ivan the Terrible in the -Red Square of Moscow—hence its many colours, its extraordinary diversity -of shapes, its harmonisation of incongruous angles and solecisms of -form, its many chapels and standing places by which the Byzantine -architect endeavoured to suggest that each and every one who entered the -cathedral might find a particular place where it was most fitting he -should stand and praise, a particular chapel where he might kneel in -secret. Astonishing to find the architectural idea coming up again in -such an unlikely place as New York, in the cathedral of St. John, which -will be the largest church in the world, and pre-eminently the cathedral -of the West. Into the walls and body of this new cathedral bits of every -kind of stone existent in America are being built. St. John, built from -the substance of the world, will be the counterpart of St. Sophia, built -of the substance of the other world, and having the dust of martyrs -between each tenth stone—the cathedral of the way of Martha and the West -balancing the cathedral of the way of Mary and the East. - - * * * * * - -Roman Catholicism was founded on the rock of apostolic succession. St. -Peter’s represents the House built upon a rock, the House that shall -survive all storms and tempests. Eastern Christianity or Orthodoxy was -founded on St. Sophia, the Holy Wisdom; and whereas Catholicism is a -House built on the earth, Orthodoxy is a House vouchsafed from heaven, -the new Jerusalem coming down from God out of heaven ... as a bride -adorned for her husband. - -The word is one and the same. But the Roman Catholic is the least free -of individuals, religiously. The rock of apostolic succession is the -rock of infallibility. And whereas a foundation of wisdom implies -freedom of individual thought, a foundation of infallibility implies -intellectual and religious servitude. A Roman Catholic who thinks for -himself in religious matters has already begun to be a heretic and has a -sin to confess to his father confessor. - - * * * * * - -The service in one of our London churches frequently ends on the -antiphone: - - I am the Living Bread, - Which came down from heaven. - Whoso eateth Me shall live for ever. - -Even among the least religious people the sitting down together to a -meal makes a certain intimacy. The loaf which is broken for you and me -and another goes to make flesh and blood in each of us. Without any -reflection or thought we know that we are nearer because we have broken -bread together. At the symbolical meal, Communion, we are consciously -nearer. By virtue of the bread that was broken for us we know ourselves -nearer to one another. - -Unity is the deepest knowledge. There are moments when one feels one -would with deep emotion offer one’s ego and individuality upon the altar -of unity, when one would cease to be John Brown or Ivan Ivanovitch, and -become one with the human race, giving up one’s rich treasure of -memories and experiences, character, developed intelligence, dear -idiosyncrasies. In the depths of that humility is discovered a new -graciousness and love, a new faith. - -Only at death do we pass completely to the unity, though in life at rare -moments we can apprehend it. That unity is not necessarily the unity of -the family, of the human race as a family; it may be the human race is -after all only one human being—Sophia, the Bride of Christ. - - - - - VI - FROM EGYPT TO RUSSIA - - -On the quay at Alexandria flocks of Russian peasant pilgrims with great -bundles on their backs, men and women who had been in Jerusalem when the -Great War broke out, or at Mount Sinai in the desert seeking remote -shrines and holy men. As Smerdyakof said, “No one in these days can move -mountains into the sea by faith, unless perhaps one man in the world, or -at most two, and they most likely saving their souls in secret somewhere -in the Egyptian desert”; and the peasant pilgrim, through the traditions -of his Church, always looks to these deserts for spiritual power. - -Besides the Christian pilgrims are hundreds of refugee Jews driven out -of Zion by the belligerent Turk, many of them patriarchal types of great -piety, long-bearded men with multiplex wrinkles on their brows. - -My ship goes riding over the sea to Greece, passing the seven churches, -those candles lit in the dim dawn of Christianity, passing Cyprus and -Patmos and a thousand nameless islands where lived mystics, hermits, and -writers of the early Church. We carried ikons brought from Jerusalem to -be carried back to Russia. The pilgrims sang Christian hymns; the Jewish -patriarchs, with phylacteries on their brows, read the Mosaic books and -the prophets. Nearly every one on the boat was bound for Russia. We went -thither the way these things have ever gone, from the desert northward -over the sea. Not in vain does the reader of the Gospel stand facing the -north; not in vain is the belfry of the cathedral built on the northern -side. The direct message of Christianity has been the message that has -gone northward. - -The cathedral of Christianity, our St. Sophia in large, may perhaps be -imagined in this guise. - - North - —-||—- - ( ) - | S S | - | U I | - | R A | - +————————+ +———————-+ - | England Greece | - | | - == WEST Stalls of the choir where stand ) JERUSALEM - | the martyrs and the saints | - | Rome | | | | | | | - +————————————————————-+ - EGYPT - -Egypt is the choir of the cathedral where stand the martyrs and the -saints singing in white robes. Through the gates at the north and the -west come those who hear the sweet tidings and the heavenly music. - -The journey from Egypt to Russia is like going across our great Sophia -from the splendid choir to the multitudes who have come out of the -forests to listen. - -Christianity went over the waves to Athos and Tsargrad, to the Greek and -Roman cities of the Black Sea shores, and up the mighty rivers to Kief -and Novgorod and Yaroslaf, down the great Volga, driving the Tartar -before it, across the forests and along the rivers where lived the -primeval nature-worshippers of Russia, brought by knights in armour, by -priests and bishops, engendered by hermits and martyrs, enforced -eventually by princes and monarchs, interwoven with the splendour of -mediæval chivalry. Russia became officially Christian in 988, when King -Vladimir and his hosts were baptized in the Dnieper at Kief. A cathedral -of St. Sophia, “mother of Russian churches,” springs up at Kief, St. -Sophia appears at Novgorod, St. Sophia at Yaroslaf. At the time of our -Edward the Confessor Russia was as fervently Christian as England. And -the seed, no doubt, had sunk deeper or had been wafted into remoter -solitudes. There was room in Russia for Christianity to mature in the -popular mind. - -At last the Turks streamed across the Levant, and severed the Christian -world in two. Foolish and naïve Mahomet came stamping into the great -cathedral of Sophia on horseback, shouting out at the foot of the -sublime altar, “There is no god but God, and Mahomet is His prophet.” -Legend says that on that day a priest was celebrating Mass at the altar, -and he prayed that the body of Christ might be saved from profanation. -As an answer to his prayer the stones gaped, and priest and Host were -enclosed, as the relics had been that in earlier days were placed -between the tenth stones. The priest was probably murdered as he broke -the bread, and, it is true, he has been taken into the wall and has -become part of the Bride. - -Leopards have their dens where Christian hermits once prayed to God, and -they do not know that the ground is holy ground. And the ferocious yet -simple Turk has it not in his power to profane Sancta Sophia. When the -time comes he can be driven back to the wilds whence he came. - -Constantinople falls. But Christianity does not fall, rather it grows. -Russian Christianity is saved from much ecclesiastical exploitation, -Levantine corruption, and materialism by the severance of the earthly -tie, the break-up of the patriarchate of Tsargrad. After the Turks took -Constantinople Russian Christianity was fed by the angels. Hence its -fair face to-day. - -Over the sea to Russia, to the Kremlins round the many-domed churches, -to the gleaming ikons, to the great choruses, resplendent and triumphant -Orthodoxy; to the land where ever day and night there is witness, where -the young men see visions and the old men dream dreams; to Kief, to -Novgorod, to Moscow, to the Kremlin, to the great pink-walled hill that -stands above the mother-city crowned with churches. Bowing at the -Ilinskaya, baring the head to enter at the Spassky Gate ... my eyes rest -on the wan wall of St. John the Great. I climb to the belfry and let my -fingers pass lovingly over the bulging bells. I light a candle in the -cathedral of the Assumption. I walk across the broad open spaces where -Napoleon’s cannon are ranged and listen to the sad slow chime of the -Kremlin clock giving the hours and the quarters. Here again is a holy -city standing above a merely worldly city, this walled hill over -commercial Moscow, this Sophia exalted above Prudentia. - -In the first autumn of the War, when I was at Moscow, I used to go to -the Kremlin last thing each night. They were beautifully starry and -peaceful nights. The churches and the low pavements that wander among -the cobbles were flooded with silver, the toothed battlements and -antediluvian old towers of the Kremlin walls seemed gigantically -exaggerated in silhouette, and yet, though exaggerated, in a way truer, -as if the ordinary vision of them we had by day was not correct, as if -they were really in themselves of enormous importance and -correspondingly enormous proportions. The moat of the Moscow river lay -murky below, and afar among the vast congregation of the houses of the -city a lamp burned here and there as if before votive shrines. -Motionless sentries stood in front of the cathedrals. One’s own steps -echoed startlingly. The single liquid melody of the Kremlin chime broke -out and poured away—_ding_, _ding_, _ding_, _ding_, _dong_, _dell_, -_dell_. Holy Russia was watching. - -I went into a cathedral: still many candles were burning. I walked along -the walls: lamps were alight before holy pictures set in the old bricks. -There was a perfect stillness and serenity. I paused, and the mind went -across Moscow and beyond it fifteen hundred miles to Poland and Germany -and Austria where was another scene, a more exterior scene and -manifestation of the life of Russia,—Russia in arms against a false -ideal. Russia was serene though Russia was in deadly struggle. The heart -was beating faithfully, strong hands were smiting the foe. - -In the night the hundreds of Napoleon’s black cannon had a sinister -aspect, each one seemed pointed at me. The mind went back to their real -hour of history when from them death blazed forth; when instead of this -stillness and serenity the thunder and tumult of battle was around them. -They are death’s heads of what once were live guns; they are greedy as -death, menacing as death—harmless also as death. Away above them among -the glittering stars stand the gold crosses of the churches, the -splendour of God. The mind’s eye takes in hundreds and thousands of gold -crosses, waving, dipping, lifting, triumphant, the grand processional -aspect of the Church. Even at this moment how many are dying, how many -souls are passing. In the Kremlin in the still night Holy Russia is -watching. Away on the battlefields the brave are dying. Look, in the -Kremlin you see their crosses among the stars; listen, you hear the -heavenly chorus swelling as they join the great procession of the -Church. - - * * * * * - -From Egypt to Russia, and then from Russia West once more to England. -The tempestuous War still rages, and in the seasons of history it is -deep winter. Ravenous winds lash the bare trees, howl through the -churchyards. Or the wind dies down awhile and bitter frost sets in, and -the merciless hungry stars stare at the dead earth. Or heavy clouds come -over and the snow sifts down, becomes deeper, communes with the breeze, -wreathes itself in fantastic drifts. On the still branches of the forest -the snow is balanced, or only disturbed by ravens flitting awkwardly -from one tree to another. It is the winter of history, but the season -will change. Under the crusted streams the water is flowing, flowers are -rising under the snow, flowers from the living seed. The seed lives -through the four seasons, and the seed is the Word of God. - - - - - APPENDICES - - - - - APPENDIX I - WAR AND CHRISTIANITY - - -Among the Russians, as among other nations, there are many whose -conscience does not permit them to bear arms and fight, many who believe -that war is evil in itself, and that it is unchristian to oppose force -with force. Russia has its non-resisters, Dukhobors, Molokans, Quakers, -who either obtain official exemption from military service, or who -suffer punishment for refusing to obey the call. And among the mass of -the Russian people who as yet do obey the summons and shoulder the gun -for the Fatherland, the question is frequently raised, “Can we reconcile -Christianity and war? Can we reconcile the spirit of Russian religion -with the using of brute force to overcome a wrong or to defeat an -enemy?” - -Not that any great number of the Russian peasant soldiers ask themselves -questions about the ethics of war. They go forward gladly to fight for -the Tsar, and to defend their country. With them fighting is a -tradition—Christianity is Christian warfare, not warfare with sin and -disease and crime, but war against the heathen. Since the pagan god -Peroun was rolled down the cliffs, and the army of Vladimir stepped into -the Dnieper and was baptized as one man, Russian Christianity has been a -Christianity in arms, in arms against Tartar and Mongol and Turk. The -spirit that prompted the Crusades perseveres. That is why a war against -the Turk is a great national war; it is still something in the nature of -a great religious pageant. More than half the man saints on the Russian -Calendar are warriors, and the rest are simply monks and hermits. - -Still as wars go on they change in type. Fighting has ceased to be a -praising of God. There is no raining of splendid blows on the Saracen’s -head. War for the common soldier has ceased to be fighting, and has -become “obeying orders.” The soldier does not even know whither his shot -has sped. He seldom or never shoots at a man; he shoots at a vague -general man called the enemy. He also knows that no one is trying to -kill him personally, and that he in his turn is also part of a vague -impersonal man—the enemy of the man on the other side. - -War becomes a standing to be killed for one’s country, and an obeying of -orders. - -It is a noble and a Christian thing to die for one’s native land. It is -also one’s duty to obey the orders of those put in authority over us. -The question is, Are those who direct the war acting in a Christian -spirit? They in their turn obey orders of those in authority over -them—the Generals, the Commander-in-Chief, the Government, the Tsar. -They must render to Caesar the things which are Caesar’s. - -Is it then Christianity in the Tsar to make war, or to answer force by -force? Some Russians say, “It depends on the cause. A war to protect -little Servia is a good and Christian war.” Others say, “It does not -depend on the cause. No cause, not even the best in the world, can -justify the carrying on of war; of that wholesale and organised murder -which goes by the name of war.” So we come to the Russian pacifists, and -those who believe that any peace is better than the justest war. They -declare that war is evil in itself. They offer no compromise on the -subject. In time of peace the Pacifists have a great following, and they -seem to be in a majority; but when war breaks out a great number who -merely sympathise, but do not absolutely believe, fall away and leave -the true Pacifists standing, as they have stood in each war up till now, -in a hopeless minority. - -They hold that war is a survival of barbarism, or, to put it in the -words of Solovyof, “Something like cannibalism, a barbarous custom that -must in time be isolated and localised among the more savage regions of -the world, and then slowly but steadily disappear till it becomes merely -a historical curiosity.” - -The simplest way to test this notion of war would have been to survey -the modern history of the civilised world and see if war between -civilised community tended on the whole to be less. But here and now as -I write is the vast conflagration of the German war. If this war had not -come about it might have been possible to say, “Man is on the whole -tending towards universal peace.” The Spanish-American War was scarcely -a war at all. The South African War was an example of the power which -could be brought to bear on an uncultured and wild people to make them -behave themselves and be peaceful. The Russo-Japanese War was begun in -the misconception that the Japanese were yellow devils, and if the -Russians had known with whom they had to deal they could have arranged -matters. The Italian-Turkish War was simply a cultured nation taking -over territory of the wild and warlike Turks, and so precluding war for -the future. The wars in the Balkan States were the natural conflicts of -wild tribes not yet properly civilised. Up to that point war could be -explained away, but then we come to July 1914 with its European -conflagration, and the Pacifist inference cannot be made. - -For the time being war is redeemed from the imputation of savagery by -the great German conflict. It can no longer be classified as a -disgusting practice such as cannibalism or sutteeism. - -But the minority, those who still take peace as a golden rule, are even -now unconvinced. At the best they hold that this war is a war to prevent -war in the future, a war for the establishment of the Federation of -Europe, a war that will make possible universal peace. - -Still they hold that notion as a makeshift opinion. They would never in -the palmy days of peace have thought it possible that mankind would go -to war in order to get a better peace afterwards. They held that war was -always avoidable, and that you could not by Satan cast out Satan. - -They hold that nationally as individually we should give back good for -evil. Amongst the educated Russians there are many pacifists, many -non-resisters, a number also of quaker-like people who refer all war -arguments to the one simple commandment—“Thou shalt not kill!” - -Many Russians hold that Christ substituted for the Jewish law “Thou -shalt not kill!” the moral principle “Thou shalt not hate!” And they -understand the chastisement of war as performed more in sorrow than in -anger. - -Those who try to follow out literally the patterns of behaviour set out -in the Gospel ask what would the Good Samaritan have done if he had come -earlier than he did and had met the man who fell among thieves just at -the moment when the thieves were attacking him with apparently murderous -intent. Would he then have had to pass by on the other side like the -Levite, or should he have fallen on his knees and prayed, or should he -have rushed to the physical assistance of the man who was being -attacked. Many held that it would have been the Samaritan’s duty to -defend his neighbour with all the means in his power. As the General -says in Solovyof’s conversation, “I prayed best when giving commands to -the horse-artillery.” So in August 1914, when Austria fell upon Servia -and Germany fell upon Belgium, Russia in the East and Britain in the -West rushed generously to give their physical assistance to the nations -in distress. America, like the Levite, averted his eyes and said, “It is -no concern of mine.” - -The action of Britain and Russia is no doubt popular Christianity. It is -the way of the world. Christianity was not preached to nations but to -individuals. - -The true Christian attitude of the man who falls among thieves is to -give up his money and strip off his clothes and hand them to the thieves -saying, “Would to God there were more for thee!” He would offer no show -of defence, but, on the contrary, would rejoice. For in taking away -money and clothes they took away earthly material things, things that -should be lightly prized. To have given them freely and affectionately -to those who wanted them was to blossom spiritually or, to use another -figure, it was to quicken the circulation of love. And directly he gives -up these things the Good Samaritan comes along and he, out of pure -affection, gives from his superfluity the means to the naked one to be -clothed and restored. - -If the Good Samaritan had come up in time he would as a Christian have -been ready to give his things also to the thieves. Or if the thieves had -been actuated by the impulse of murder, he would have fallen on his -knees and prayed. Such is the way of those who deny “the world,” and -with it deny also the power of physical force. - -Somewhat of this interpretation of Christian impulse is given in the -following Russian conversation taken from the book on War and -Christianity written by the great Russian philosopher, Vladimir -Solovyof:[13] - - _Prince._ He who is filled with the true spirit of the Gospel will - find in himself when necessary the ability by words and gestures, - and by his whole spiritual demeanour so to act upon the soul of his - unhappy brother who would commit a murder, that the latter will be - suddenly overwhelmed and converted, and will see the error of his - ways and turn away from the wrong road. - - _General._ Holy Martyrs! Is that the way you’d have me behave - towards, for instance, the Bashi-Oozooks, who in Asiatic Turkey - massacre the women and children of the Armenian villages. You think - I ought to stand before them making touching gestures, saying - touching words and making a tender religious appeal to them. - - _Mr. Z._ Your words would not be heard owing to the instance of the - murderers, and if heard would not be understood since you know not - one another’s languages. Then as regards gestures, as you will of - course, but I should have thought that under the circumstances the - best gesture one could think out for the occasion would be the - firing of a few volleys. - - _Lady._ But, seriously, could the General have explained his - Christian sentiments to the Bashi-Oozooks? - - _Prince._ I did not at all assume that the Russian army should have - acted according to the spirit of the Gospel when dealing with the - Bashi-Oozooks. But I do say that a man filled with the true spirit - of the Gospel would have found even the possibility then of - awakening in dark souls that good which lies hidden in every human - being. - - _Mr. Z._ You really think that! - - _Prince._ Not a whit do I doubt. - - _Mr. Z._ Well, do you think that Christ Himself was sufficiently - filled with the true spirit of the Gospel? - - _Prince._ Is that a question or a joke? - - _Mr. Z._ I put the question because I’d like to know why Christ did - not so apply the true spirit of the Gospel as to awaken the good - hidden in the souls of Judas and Herod and of the Jewish chief - priests and of the wicked thief of whom we commonly forget when - speaking of his repentant brother.... - -Which confuses the issue because Christianity is not a converting of -non-Christians to itself, it is a way of bearing oneself with regard to -the world and God, a witnessing of the truth. This life is not truth. -For that reason among others, Christ does not save Himself from death; -material gains on earth are not real gains, so to the man who would take -the coat the cloak is given also; the kingdom of this world is not a -real kingdom, so Christ turns His back on the Devil when the presidency -of the world is offered to Him on the mountain. When St. Peter smote off -the ear of the High Priest’s servant, Christ restored the ear as a sign -that His kingdom could not be won by the sword. When war is brought to -the test of Christian idealism, especially as interpreted by the -Russians, it is found to be of the world—a rendering to Caesar of the -things which are Caesar’s. - -Nevertheless, if we say that war is unchristian, or if we hold that -those waging war are by their very behaviour unchristian, we are wrong. -We are mistaking the true spirit of Christianity. For Christianity is no -rule which people must obey; it is no set of rules for people. The -deepest thing in Christianity is personal choice. Those who are saved -are those who personally choose. If a man goes to bear arms for love of -his country, if he offers his life as a sacrifice on the altar of his -Fatherland, he is still a true Christian though engaged in violence. Or -if a man stands out to refuse to go like the peasant in _Peer Gynt_, who -cut off one of his fingers so as to be rejected by the army doctor, we -still have Christianity exemplified in personal choice and in the -readiness to sacrifice material things for spiritual gain. - -What, then, of the peasant soldiers who presumably make little choice? -Of them it must be said, they are Christians on the emotional plane, not -on the intellectual. By their splendid enthusiasm it is evident that the -peasants do make an emotional choice. Perhaps in that choice lies their -Christianity with regard to war. - -They are Christians also in that they do not regard death as something -terrible. Death for them is a sacrament, a new baptism, a second time -going down of the warriors of King Vladimir to the River Dneiper. - -Footnote 13: - - _War and Christianity_, by Vladimir Solovyof, now translated into - English—Constable’s Russian Library. - - - - - APPENDIX II - THE CHOICE OF EAST AND WEST - - -An interesting new domain of study is opening for the Bible student in -the comparison of what the various nations have taken to themselves in -their understanding of the Gospels. Translation itself inevitably -changes the emphasis, the _accent_ of various passages. And Slavonic -perception, British perception, German perception, American perception -necessarily differ. It is a truism to say that we each take from a book -only what we wish to take from it. To one who knows Russia and has the -feeling for Eastern Christianity, there is no more enthralling -occupation than to read the Gospels with an eye to discovering which -parts Eastern Christianity has emphasised, which parts Western -Christianity has taken; which parts, for instance, Russia has -emphasised, which parts America has emphasised. - -One evening in Vladikavkaz I had a long talk with Russian friends about -this difference in emphasis, and we went through the whole of St. -Matthew and discussed many texts of the New Testament. - -We started with the Beatitudes, as they are the beginning of the -Christian teaching. We agreed that “Blessed are the poor in spirit” was -a stumbling-block to the West, a phrase that preachers had to interpret -very carefully as having a meaning other than “Blessed are the -poor-spirited.” In Russia, however, it is perhaps the most important -beatitude—at least, two of my Russians held it to be so. In the Russian -translation it runs, “Blessed are those who are beggars in spirit.” -Russia sees blessedness in the state of beggars, in the state of those -who have nothing; a beggar in Russian is one who has no earthly -possessions. The beggar is a national institution. No one purely Russian -in temperament wants to get rid of the beggar—the man who has nothing. -Even Gorky calls the beggar the bell of the Lord, the reminder to man -that he can have no true possessions here in the world. - -The second beatitude, “Blessed are they that mourn,” we also took to -mean more to the East than to the West. The East feels the blessing of -mourning, the West the blessing of being comforted. - -The third beatitude, “Blessed are the meek,” meant more to the West we -concluded. We in England and America look forward to what Tennyson calls -“the reign of the meek upon earth.” We remember the promise that the -lion shall lie down with the lamb. One of the most popular of Western -pictures is that of the child carrying a palm-branch, “A little child -shall lead them.” The East, however, feels that the lions will always be -lions, that “the world” will remain “the world” without much change, -full of the faithless, the cruel, the predatory, mingled with the -faithful, the gentle, the self-abnegatory. - -The fourth beatitude, “Blessed are they who hunger and thirst after -_righteousness_, for they shall be filled,” seemed to me to be also a -purely Western one. America and the West have taken it specially to -themselves. It has been the watchword of the Puritans. But my friend -Vera astonished me by reading it, “Blessed are they who hunger and -thirst after _truth_, for they shall be filled,” and on looking at the -Russian translation I found indeed that the word was _pravda_ and the -popular sense was nearer “truth” than “righteousness.” That difference -means a great deal to a national outlook. - -“Blessed are the merciful” we took to be a Western beatitude, “Blessed -are the pure in heart” to be Eastern. “Blessed are the peace-makers” has -become a very Western idea, and King Edward the Seventh was sung to the -grave as a saint as King Edward the Peace-maker. “Blessed are they who -are persecuted for righteousness’ sake” is in Russian “Blessed are they -who are persecuted for the sake of truth”—for theirs is the kingdom of -Heaven. “Blessed are ye when men shall revile you and persecute you and -say all manner of evil against you falsely, for My sake, for great is -your reward in heaven” is taken equally by West and East, though the -East feels more that the reward is within you, whereas the West thinks -of a reward after death. - -We considered the Temptations in the Wilderness. First, it was Eastern -to go into the wilderness at all. It would have been more Western to go -into the town and find salvation in work, in “doing the duty that lay -nearest.” - -The teaching of the temptation to turn stones into bread has an Eastern -emphasis. The Russian, says, “I would not if I could.” The Western is -ever coming to the Russian and saying, “Lo, your people are starving; -but see how undeveloped your country is, you have gold, you have oil, -you have coal, you have all manner of precious things in your soils and -your rocks; say but the word and they can be changed into bread, and -your starving may be fed.” But the Russian says, “Bread is not so very -important; what is important is the word that proceedeth from the mouth -of God.” - -The second temptation, that of suicide or of nihilism, of casting -oneself down from the Temple, is something the West has understood more -clearly. The East continually succumbs to this temptation, and the -Russian is ever “tempting God.” - -The third temptation has a great Eastern emphasis; Jesus, in lofty -contemplation of the world and of His own genius, understands that He -could be a new Alexander and be king of the whole world. He could reign -in wonderful glory, and could enact perfect laws for mankind and issue -them with the authority of a king. But He denies the world and its glory -in the name of the life of the Spirit. The typical earnest American of -to-day, if he saw a chance of ruling all the worlds and felt that he had -in him the Divine message, would almost certainly take the opportunity; -but the typically serious Russian, or at least the Russian monk, would -prostrate himself on the ground, saying, “Get thee behind me, Satan, for -it is written, ‘Thou shalt worship the Lord thy God, and Him only shalt -thou serve’”—“Him only,” that is, not mankind. - -On the strength of this introduction I have gone through the main -teaching of the Gospel, and have made the following differentiation of -how East and West have taken or emphasised or avoided the thoughts and -words of the New Testament. We are somewhat tired of the comparison of -the Authorised and Revised Versions, or of the English translation with -the original Greek texts. Here, I fancy, is something more vital; a -comparison of the way the teaching has been generally understood by the -masses of the people in the Western and Eastern Churches. I am not -comparing the opinions of the authorities in both Churches, but the -opinions which hold sway, which make ethics. By this means it may be -possible to make what would be a valuable historical record of the -position of the progress of Christianity to-day. - -The way of the West—what may be called the way of Martha—is easier, more -human than the way of the East—the way of Mary. Thus at the -Transfiguration the disciple cried out, “Master, it is good for us to be -here: let us build three tabernacles.” It was not at all necessary to -build three tabernacles. The good part was like that of Mary—to sit at -Jesus’ feet. - -But to take the teaching in the order it is given in St. Matthew’s -Gospel: “Ye are the salt of the earth” has been printed in red ink in -the Bibles of the West, and it is generally thought to refer to the just -and upright, the elder brothers, the stand-by’s of the community as -opposed to the prodigals. - -“Let your light so shine before men that they may see your good works -and glorify your Father which is in Heaven,” has in the West become a -weekly exhortation to give a good alms at collection-time. This is an -instance of materialism. The spendthrift East takes its stand more with -St. Peter, who was able to say, “Silver and gold have I none; but such -as I have give I to thee.” The giving of money is the least of the good -works in the power of the East; “Am I so bankrupt of grace that my -function is to give money?” the Eastern may exclaim. - -“If thine eye offend thee, pluck it out” means more to the East, where -in the monastic life of the Orthodox Church the lusts of the flesh are -mortified—that is, made dead; where hermits wear heavy chains and take -oaths of silence, or hide themselves from mankind. It is witnessed in -many sects, such as the Skoptsi, who deny the world by defunctionising -the body! - -“Swear not at all” is a simple admonition, appealing directly to the -Western mind. In Russia the swearing in ordinary conversation is thick -as the weeds on a waste. A curiosity in Russian swearing is the common -expression _Yay Bogu_, which means really, “Yes: I say it to God,” but -which through carelessness and iteration has become equivalent to -something like our “’s’truth.” In America, however, the adjective -God-damn is commoner than any other unpleasant expression in any -country. - -“Resist not evil. Who will take away thy coat, give him thy cloke also; -and who forces thee to go a mile, go with him twain; and whosoever shall -smite thee on thy right cheek, turn to him the other also.” This has -been taken more seriously by the Eastern Church. In the West it is more -“a counsel of perfection,” or the words and the sentiment are taken as -an ornament of Christianity. Agnostics and non-Christians make a mock of -Christians because they do not turn the other cheek. The teaching is -considered of so little importance that it is a Christian act to give a -cad a thrashing, and the clergyman well versed in the noble art of -self-defence is by no means a rarity. In Russia, non-resistance is a way -of overcoming the world and putting Satan behind you. Going two miles -with the man who forces you to go one, giving the cloak to the man who -takes the coat, turning the other cheek, are _podvigs_, holy exploits, -taking the uniform of Christ’s not saving Himself from the Cross. - -“Give to him that asketh thee, and from him that would borrow of thee -turn not thou away.” This has authority in Russia. In England we do not -give for the asking, and to borrow is disgraceful. In Russia giving and -lending are scarcely virtues; they are a condition of life. America is -also ready to give and lend, but not so much to persons as to societies, -funds, hospitals, new priesthoods. - -“Love your enemies” is the _podvig_, the holy exploit once more, by -which the world is overcome, and is very real in Russia. - -“Pray for them which despitefully use you”: this is essentially a -teaching that has Western acceptance. The Russian does not pray much for -his enemies. - -“Be ye perfect!” This is a Western ideal, to be perfect. The East does -not strive to be better than it is now. - -“Do not your alms before men” is generally disregarded by West and East. - -“When ye pray, use not vain repetitions”: the West has obeyed this -monition. The prayers of the East are indeed not unlike the prayers of -the heathen. The Lord’s Prayer has meant much more to the West than to -the East. - -“When ye fast, be not of a sad countenance”: the West, except in the -case of the Roman Catholic Church, does not fast. The Roman Catholic -Church, though Western in its locality and constitution, is in many of -its customs Eastern—for example, in the celibacy of its clergy, in the -monastic life it affords, in its fasting, in its repetition of prayers. -A wide gap, however, divides it from Eastern Orthodoxy, and as wide a -gap separates it from the leading spirit of the West, the latter being -decidedly Protestant. Dostoievsky, in the story of the Grand Inquisitor -in _The Brothers Karamazov_, treats Roman Catholicism as a great -conspiracy to defeat Christianity, and that point of view is taken very -seriously by Russians to-day. Roman Catholicism indeed provides a holy -way of life, and puts its members in a true position with regard to life -and the world, but it does so by authority. Little is allowed to spring -from personal initiative, and truths are not so much personal -experiences as priestly guarantees. Roman Catholicism stands to one -side, and this comparison of the spirit of East and West does not -greatly involve her. - -“Lay not up for yourselves treasures upon earth.” To this the East has -paid heed. Russia is the greatest spending nation in the world. No money -is saved. Every rouble is spent as it is obtained. In England and -America children are actually given money-boxes and taught to save their -pennies! - -“Take no thought for your life, what ye shall eat or what ye shall -drink; nor yet for your body, what ye shall put on”: this is obviously a -teaching which conditions the ragged and disorderly and unconventional -East. In England and America one might almost think the opposite ideas -had been recommended, seeing how we cherish the right crease in the -right sort of attire, how we strive to be in fashion. - -But “Seek ye first the kingdom of God and His righteousness; and all -these things shall be added unto you” is something which obtains the -hearty belief of the West. - -“Take no thought for the morrow” has an Eastern accentuation. - -“Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof” is taken by the West as a -cynical utterance. The West believes that Christianity means, -“Sufficient unto the day is the good thereof.” The West says each day is -full of blessing; the East says each day is full of suffering. - -“Judge not, that ye be not judged”: no one pays much attention to this. - -“Why beholdest thou the mote that is in thy brother’s eye”—a reproof to -the West, not needed in the East. America is terribly censorious and -critical of the neighbour. Russia has no censure. - -“Ask, and it shall be given you” the West has believed. It has, however, -asked for material things. The East has taken rather, “Seek, and ye -shall find.” - -“Whatsoever ye would that men should do to you, do ye even so to them” -is in great favour in the West. - -“Enter ye in at the strait gate”: this is quite Western in adhesion. - -“Beware of false prophets.” Both churches have gladly taken this phrase -to use against schismatics and dissenters. - -“By their fruits ye shall know them.” This criterion the West has -adopted. Easternism may be said to regard the barren tree as holy. At -least, it never curses the barren. - -The story of the wise man who built his house upon a rock has edified -the West. - -To the story of the scribe who wished to follow Jesus, but who -apparently wished to do so and remain comfortable and well-off at the -same time, and to the story of the disciple who wished to bury his -father first, but to whom was said, “Let the dead bury their dead,” the -West has paid little or no attention, whilst the East has taken it to -himself. - -The fact that Jesus sat down and ate with publicans and sinners is in -the spirit of the East; the West prefers ever the company of the just. -The West is glad to have the action of Jesus explained in the following -verse: “They that be whole need not a physician, but they that are -sick.” - -“Provide neither gold nor silver nor brass in your purses.” Alas, all -Western weal believes that it is founded on gold. If any good work is to -hand, the first thing is to raise a fund. - -“When they deliver you up, take no thought how or what ye shall speak -...”: this has always been most helpful to persecuted nonconformists and -heretics. - -“I came not to send peace, but a sword” is overlooked in the West. The -West thinks that Christ proclaimed peace. And the peace that was before -the Great War was thought to be a wonderful fruit of Christianity—the -peace of mutual jealousy and fear, the great commercial peace of the -twentieth century, that Kipling calls the “Peace of Dives”: - - The whole wide earth is laid - In the peace that I have made; - And behold, I wait on thee to trouble it. - -“He that findeth his life shall lose it; and he that loseth his life for -My sake shall find it”: the West emphasises this thought. Carlyle gave -it great force in his gospel of work. “Forget your troubles,” says the -West; “throw yourself into work and lose yourself—then you’ll soon find -yourself.” The East will not work in that way. - -“Come unto Me, all ye that labour and are heavy-laden” has been comfort -to the West. - -In the matter of healing on the Sabbath the Western is rather on the -side of the Jews. - -The question, “Who is my mother and who are my brethren?” has not been -acceptable to the West. The West would have preferred Jesus to be a -model family man, not only loving mother and brothers and sisters, but -having a wife and children about him. The Eastern Church takes its stand -with the early Christians and the denial of earthly ties. Sometimes news -is brought of father or mother or brethren to the wonderful Russian -hermits such as Father Seraphim, but they coldly repel the tidings with -Christ’s words, “Whosoever doeth the will of God, the same is my brother -and sister and mother.” - -Casting the wicked into the fire—this idea lingers in America, but it is -dead in Russia and in England. - -The confession of Peter, and the prophecy, “Thou art Peter, and on this -rock I will build my Church,” the Roman Church has necessarily taken to -itself. - -The Transfiguration on the mountain—the possessed about the foot of the -mountain—is taken as an Eastern understanding of life. The light of -transfiguration is the halo about the head of the hermit; the possessed -below make the hurly-burly of the world whence the hermit made his -escape. “The light of transfiguration,” I heard Prince Trubetskoi say in -a lecture at Moscow, “is the light of haloes, the light of Holy Russia, -the light of friendship.” - -“Let us build three tabernacles” is, as I said, Western. - -The West has believed Jesus in that He answered the question, “Who is -the greatest in the kingdom of heaven?” by taking a little child and -setting him in the midst of them. - -The West has allowed its eyes to rest on the parable of the Talents, but -the East has had more appreciation of “The first shall be last, and the -last first.” - -The West has insisted on “Render unto Caesar the things that are -Caesar’s,” but it has avoided the condemnation of the Pharisees; the -Gospel of St. Matthew reveals itself as the gospel of the kingdom of -heaven as opposed to “the world.” But the West has sought to find “the -world” holy. Western Christianity was started by the conquest of worldly -armies, but Eastern Christianity was founded on the example of hermits, -eunuchs, stoics, philosophers, fanatics. It had all the advantage of -proximity to the place where Christianity started, all the advantage of -the traditions of Greek and Roman philosophy. Despite all our study of -Greek and of history and of philosophy at the schools, and despite the -Russian’s lack of study, yet the latter is nearer to the ancient spirit; -but he has lived historically in direct relation to Byzantium, and has -ever had before his eyes living examples of the way to live a Christian -life. - -“Many are called, but few are chosen” has had great influence in the -West, but the power of the text is waning. Protestantism is becoming -more philanthropical, easy-going, and generous than it was in the days -of persecution. - -The idea of the Second Coming of Christ is a strange will-o’-the-wisp of -light that cannot be tracked and is difficult to account for, breaking -out ever and anon unexpectedly where you would think it had for ever -disappeared. At present it is seen in many places, East and West. -Originally it was a very powerful sentiment, but after two thousand -years of waiting hope has died down, and it is seldom that whole -societies sell up all their worldly goods and repair to the valley of -Jehoshaphat to wait the great day. - -The story of Mary pouring the precious ointment on Jesus’ head rather -than selling the ointment and giving the proceeds to the poor, is the -way of Mary rather than the way of Martha. - -Here perhaps ends the Gospel of St. Matthew as far as definite sentences -of teaching are concerned, and probably sufficient ideas have been taken -out and compared for the purpose of this differentiation. - -As regards the acts of the Gospel, there remains the consideration of -the miracles. The healing of the sick, the lame, the blind, has become -the example of the West, and what Christ did by miracle they do by -science. The East, however, insists on the miraculous, and to-day in -Russia thousands of miracles are performed annually at the sacred -shrines. Whether these miracles are genuine or no is a moot point. Many -certainly are no more than ecclesiastical contrivances for gaining -popular support for ikons and shrines. Many are said to be the result of -the faith of those who ask the miracle. At Kief and Sarof and New -Jerusalem many a blind man receives sight, many a crippled woman -straightens herself out, many a sick man is restored to health. The -Eastern Church lays stress on the miraculous; the miracle, however, is -esoterically understood as mystery. The Russian has an extraordinary -capacity for belief. - -There remains the Crucifixion, of which I will say no more than that it -is the greatest _podvig_, the crown of the life of Jesus. For the West -it is the Resurrection that is emphasised. As I wrote in _With the -Russian Pilgrims to Jerusalem_: “For the Orthodox, He was dead; for the -Protestant, He is alive for evermore.” So two churches combine to make -one truth, and the hand-maidens of the Lord, Martha and Mary, are shown -to be indeed two sisters, not only in kindred but in spirit. - -THE END - -_Printed by_ R. & R. CLARK, LIMITED, _Edinburgh_. - - - - -BOOKS BY STEPHEN GRAHAM - - - =A TRAMP’S SKETCHES.= - - =WITH THE RUSSIAN PILGRIMS TO JERUSALEM.= - - =WITH POOR EMIGRANTS TO AMERICA.= - - =THE WAY OF MARTHA AND THE WAY OF MARY.= - -These four books, published by Macmillan & Co., form a sequence of which -the _Tramp’s Sketches_ is like a prologue or a promise. The Pilgrim book -is of the Way of Mary; the America book is of the Way of Martha; and the -fourth book, _The Way of Martha and the Way of Mary_, knits the other -three in one. - - -_Other Volumes._ - - =RUSSIA AND THE WORLD=: An Account of how Russia is affected by the - War. Fifth Edition. - - =VAGABOND IN THE CAUCASUS=: Mr. Graham’s first book. - - =UNDISCOVERED RUSSIA=: A Presentment of Holy Russia. - - =CHANGING RUSSIA=: Written in 1912. - - - - -By STEPHEN GRAHAM - -WITH THE RUSSIAN PILGRIMS TO JERUSALEM - -Illustrated. 8vo. 7s. 6d. net. - - _THE ATHENÆUM._—“M. Jusserand’s _Pilgrim Life in the Middle Ages_ or - Burton’s or Doughty’s accounts of their pilgrimages to Mecca are - books of secure repute. Mr. Graham in _With the Russian Pilgrims to - Jerusalem_ gives us a companion volume.” - - _THE MANCHESTER GUARDIAN._—“‘Many think in the head,’ wrote Francis - Thompson, ‘but it is thinking in the heart that is most wanted.’ It - is because this book has been pondered, and the events it describes - lived ‘in the heart,’ that it possesses such grace and distinction. - Those who have followed Mr. Graham and have watched his style - becoming with every volume he has written a more and more - close-fitting and appropriate garment for his thought, will not be - disappointed. It is his best work—gay, beautiful, and tender; gay - with the spirit of youth, beautiful with the spirit of poetry, and - tender with the spirit of worship.... Compare these reverent and - radiant pages with the bright semi-cynicism of _Eothen_, and you get - a measure of the distance the English spirit has travelled since - 1844.” - - _THE NATION._—“The Russians have not been broken by Russia. Mr. - Stephen Graham, in his beautiful and remarkable book, throws this - great truth into vivid perspective. Not for him the ‘grey days’ of - Tchekhof or the hoarse challenge of Gorky’s exultant mood, not for - him the symbol of Andreyev’s Red Laughter.... This Englishman does - not dwell upon the Russians’ suffering, but upon their immense hope; - he is preoccupied not by their material poverty but by their - spiritual wealth.” - - _THE DAILY MAIL._—“Mr. Stephen Graham is favourably known as the - interpreter of modern Russia and more particularly of the peasant. - To that task he brings every accomplishment. He has sympathy; he has - the insight of genius and the heart of the poet. He has a rare and - precious gift of style.... He seems to have divined by some flash of - intuition the psychology of the Russian. This book will add greatly - to his already great reputation. It is a pleasure to praise such - work. Here he has given us an extraordinarily beautiful and - interesting account of an extraordinarily interesting - achievement.... It breaks entirely fresh ground. It makes a deep and - universal appeal.” - - _THE WESTMINSTER GAZETTE._—“The best book on Russia written by an - Englishman.” - - _THE OUTLOOK._—“Something more than a book of travel, a spiritual - Murray—a very remarkable piece of work ... at once simple and - extraordinary.” - - _CHURCH TIMES._—“We are sure that the student of human nature and - the student of religion alike will find a deep interest in this - book. Its merit is the complete sympathy and the true insight with - which it describes the child-like faith of the Russian peasant and - his passionate love of the Saviour who died for him.” - - _MERCURE DE FRANCE._—“C’est une longue aventure où l’on se croirait - reporté au temps des croisades, et l’auteur dessine en quelques - traits nets et durs des types étonnants. Voilà un livre à lire pour - quiconque veut être intéressé et obligé de réfléchir.” - - _THE TIMES_ (in a leading article Feb. 5, 1914).—“No living English - writer has made investigations so patient and so wide into the - habits and manners of the great dumb masses who are the body of the - largest and the least-known nation in Europe.” - -LONDON: MACMILLAN AND CO., LTD. - - - - -By STEPHEN GRAHAM - -WITH POOR EMIGRANTS TO AMERICA - -Illustrated. 8vo. 8s. 6d. net. - - _THE NATION._—“Mr. Stephen Graham is a real super-tramp, and in his - aspect of the world and his fellows there is always a touch of the - pilgrim’s sanctity. He feels an attraction, partly æsthetic, often - sentimental, to people of simple and religious life, and especially - to the Russian peasants, whom he depicts as the simplest and most - religious of all mankind. He loves the beauty of untouched nature, - and of man pursuing the primitive and traditional methods of - pasture, plough, or loom. He is always conscious of a spiritual - presence behind phenomena, and is strongly drawn by emotions of - pity, sympathy, and fellow-feeling, as by the qualities of humility - and indifference to material things.... Of all English writers on - America Mr. Graham is almost the only one who tells us certain - things that we really wanted to know.” - - _SPHERE._—“Not one of the well-known writers who from the days of - Dickens and Thackeray to our own has written his experiences of the - United States has proved so attractive.” - - _TIMES._—“Of these three travellers (Henry James, H. G. Wells, and - Stephen Graham) Mr. Graham has at least the advantage of extreme - contrast.... His book is full of humanity, sensitive with the love - of peace and beauty.” - - _GLASGOW NEWS._—“With a fairly comprehensive knowledge of the books - on travel in America published in the past twenty-five years by - English authors, the present writer has not a moment’s hesitation in - declaring that _With Poor Emigrants to America_ is immeasurably the - best among them all. It is not only an unusually informative book; - it is a work of spiritual genius, precious by reason of its - revelation of as unique and beautiful a character as surely has - dignified the trade of letters since the period of Lamb or - Goldsmith. Stephen Graham is something far more rare than an - ‘interpreter of Russia’ or a philosophical ‘tramp’; his quiet voice, - if he be spared, is likely to sound even more distinctively and more - impressively above the noisy chatter of his contemporaries. It is - perhaps a little unfortunate that his interest should be so much - engaged with Russia, for we grudge to Russia an expositor who, we - think, might be better employed in writing about his own race, but - then we must admit that but for the influence of Russia we might - perhaps have had no Stephen Graham.” - - _SPECTATOR._—“An extremely interesting record, with many penetrating - illustrations of the contrast between Russian and American ideals.” - - _FIELD._—“The book is full of Mr. Graham’s philosophy, but that - philosophy largely reveals itself in the narration of his - experiences both on board ship and on land. They are narrated with - an abundance of anecdotes and with a charming simplicity of style - which make the book delightful reading.” - - _LIVERPOOL POST._—“This is a book of sheer delight which will compel - most readers to finish it at a single sitting. It tells his story in - the free and effortless style which Mr. Graham uses so magically.” - - LINDSAY BASHFORD in the _DAILY MAIL_.—“The best of his books. Mr. - Graham is the modern poet-pilgrim; his is the vision of wide roads - and long deliberate journeys; his the gift to understand the heart - of the poor and the wanderers. Each day’s little events, each casual - encounter, each wayside talk or tiny adventure has its deeper - significance, and resolves into the deeper human movements he seeks - for as he goes, and which he interprets for us. I do not know of any - books of contemporaries which have a more intimate appeal, which - speak with more friendly confidence of the actual life of human - beings in our world to-day than do these wonder-books of Mr. Stephen - Graham.” - - -LONDON: MACMILLAN AND CO., LTD. - - - - -By STEPHEN GRAHAM - -A TRAMP’S SKETCHES - -Extra Crown 8vo. 5s. net. - - _ACADEMY._—“To have read _A Tramp’s Sketches_ is to have been lifted - into a higher and rarer atmosphere. It is to have been made free, - for a few hours at least, of the company of saints and heroes. This - much we owe to Mr. Graham, who has added to English Literature a - book that, if we mistake not, is destined to endure.” - - _SPECTATOR._—“Like Jefferies’ _Story of my Heart_, but the author is - much more occupied with men than Jefferies was. Unlike most books of - its kind _A Tramp’s Sketches_ has indisputably a genuine passion - running through it.” - - _ENGLISH REVIEW._—“It is a delightful book, redolent of the open - air, of the night, of the great silences of expanse, and yet full of - incident, of real spiritual and material sympathy, both with the - ‘black earth’ and the monks of the monasteries, whose hospitality he - enjoyed, and with his fellow-comrades on the road. It is life that - interests the author.” - - _PALL MALL GAZETTE._—“Descriptions of Nature are apt to become - tiresome, but we have not been wearied once in reading these pages; - and this is not, we believe, altogether due to Mr. Graham’s fine - style, his ever-adequate perception of the right word, but because - of his sincere and absolute love of Nature in all her moods. Here is - no pretence, no make-believe. He writes of the mystery and beauty of - the sea, the night, the sunset, the moon, and the stars in words - that seem at times to take colour from that which they describe.” - - Mr. ALGERNON BLACKWOOD in _COUNTRY LIFE_.—“They are the notes of a - spiritual pilgrim going towards the new Jerusalem. The writer’s - passionate worship of Beauty, his love of simplicity, his charity, - his courage, all these make a strong appeal. He has in him poetry - and vision.” - - Mr. WM. PURVIS in the _SUNDAY CHRONICLE_.—“Stephen Graham walks the - earth in the garb of beggary, and sees unusual types and meets - incredible men and women and analyses his emotions, and worships the - Great Spirit in vague fashions; and writes excellently about it all. - He wishes there were more like him; and so do I.” - - _DAILY NEWS._—“This robust book, a classic of educated yet wild - vagabondage.” - - _LIVERPOOL COURIER._—“Mr. Graham found pleasure, even joy - everywhere, and he has an almost inspired faculty for making the - reader see things as he sees them.” - - _THE QUEEN._—“The whole book is full of beautiful things.” - - _IRISH TIMES._—“Not a chapter, scarcely a page, which cannot be - re-read with profit and delight.” - - _GLASGOW HERALD._—“Told in language that is always adequate and - luminous.” - -LONDON: MACMILLAN AND CO., LTD. - - - - - ● Transcriber’s Notes: - ○ Text that was in italics is enclosed by underscores (_italics_). - Text that was in bold face is enclosed by equals signs (=bold=). - ○ Footnotes have been moved to follow the chapters in which they are - referenced. - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WAY OF MARTHA AND THE WAY OF -MARY *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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