Father Sergius | Page 7

penitently confessed his sin of pride. By return of post came a letter
from the starets, who wrote that Sergius's pride was the cause of all that
had happened. The old man pointed out that his fits of anger were due
to the fact that in refusing all clerical honours he humiliated himself not
for the sake of God but for the sake of his pride. 'There now, am I not a
splendid man not to want anything?' That was why he could not tolerate
the Abbot's action. 'I have renounced everything for the glory of God,
and here I am exhibited like a wild beast!' 'Had you renounced vanity
for God's sake you would have borne it. Worldly pride is not yet dead
in you. I have thought about you, Sergius my son, and prayed also, and
this is what God has suggested to me. At the Tambov hermitage the
anchorite Hilary, a man of saintly life, has died. He had lived there
eighteen years. The Tambov Abbot is asking whether there is not a
brother who would take his place. And here comes your letter. Go to
Father Paissy of the Tambov Monastery. I will write to him about you,
and you must ask for Hilary's cell. Not that you can replace Hilary, but
you need solitude to quell your pride. May God bless you!'
Sergius obeyed the starets, showed his letter to the Abbot, and having
obtained his permission, gave up his cell, handed all his possessions
over to the monastery, and set out for the Tambov hermitage.
There the Abbot, an excellent manager of merchant origin, received
Sergius simply and quietly and placed him in Hilary's cell, at first
assigning to him a lay brother but afterwards leaving him alone, at
Sergius's own request. The cell was a dual cave, dug into the hillside,
and in it Hilary had been buried. In the back part was Hilary's grave,
while in the front was a niche for sleeping, with a straw mattress, a
small table, and a shelf with icons and books. Outside the outer door,
which fastened with a hook, was another shelf on which, once a day, a
monk placed food from the monastery.
And so Sergius became a hermit.

III
At Carnival time, in the sixth year of Sergius's life at the hermitage, a
merry company of rich people, men and women from a neighbouring
town, made up a troyka-party, after a meal of carnival-pancakes and
wine. The company consisted of two lawyers, a wealthy landowner, an
officer, and four ladies. One lady was the officer's wife, another the
wife of the landowner, the third his sister--a young girl--and the fourth
a divorcee, beautiful, rich, and eccentric, who amazed and shocked the
town by her escapades.
The weather was excellent and the snow-covered road smooth as a
floor. They drove some seven miles out of town, and then stopped and
consulted as to whether they should turn back or drive farther.
'But where does this road lead to?' asked Makovkina, the beautiful
divorcee.
'To Tambov, eight miles from here,' replied one of the lawyers, who
was having a flirtation with her.
'And then where?'
'Then on to L----, past the Monastery.'
'Where that Father Sergius lives?'
'Yes.'
'Kasatsky, the handsome hermit?'
'Yes.'
'Mesdames et messieurs, let us drive on and see Kasatsky! We can stop
at Tambov and have something to eat.'
'But we shouldn't get home to-night!'

'Never mind, we will stay at Kasatsky's.'
'Well, there is a very good hostelry at the Monastery. I stayed there
when I was defending Makhin.'
'No, I shall spend the night at Kasatsky's!'
'Impossible! Even your omnipotence could not accomplish that!'
'Impossible? Will you bet?'
'All right! If you spend the night with him, the stake shall be whatever
you like.'
'A DISCRETION!'
'But on your side too!'
'Yes, of course. Let us drive on.'
Vodka was handed to the drivers, and the party got out a box of pies,
wine, and sweets for themselves. The ladies wrapped up in their white
dogskins. The drivers disputed as to whose troyka should go ahead, and
the youngest, seating himself sideways with a dashing air, swung his
long knout and shouted to the horses. The troyka-bells tinkled and the
sledge-runners squeaked over the snow.
The sledge swayed hardly at all. The shaft-horse, with his tightly bound
tail under his decorated breechband, galloped smoothly and briskly; the
smooth road seemed to run rapidly backwards, while the driver
dashingly shook the reins. One of the lawyers and the officer sitting
opposite talked nonsense to Makovkina's neighbour, but Makovkina
herself sat motionless and in thought, tightly wrapped in her fur.
'Always the same and always nasty! The same red shiny faces smelling
of wine and cigars! The same talk, the same thoughts, and