Sister Pelagia and the White Bulldog (8 page)

The circumstances under which Bubentsov and the chief of police struck up a friendship remained unknown to the local inhabitants, although there is generally little that escapes their attention, and this close relationship developed with such rapidity that it gave rise to a rumor: Supposedly the inspector’s visit was not routine, but had been prompted by secret information passed on by Lagrange, who had decided that he would attract the attention of higher authorities to his own person by hook or by crook. In any case, following the arrival of the synodical inquisitor, Felix Stanislavovich made a demonstrative gesture by ceasing completely to attend confession with His Grace.

And so in the space of a mere few days Bubentsov effected a genuine
coup d’état
in Zavolzhsk, seizing almost all the strategic positions: the administration in the person of Ludmila Platonovna, the police in the person of Felix Stanislavovich, and public opinion in the person of Olympiada Savelievna. It only remained for him to take in hand the church and judicial authorities, but here his plans misfired.

THE BISHOP, TO whom Bubentsov presented himself on Friday, on the morning following his first visits, was cool to his uninvited visitor. Avoiding making any empty conversation, he immediately asked what exactly the purpose of the synodical emissary’s visit was and what authority he possessed. Vladimir Lvovich thereupon changed his manner (he had begun in a tone of mellow piety, with quotations from Holy Writ) and expounded the essential core of his mission briefly and succinctly.

“Your Grace, as you are well aware, the present state policy in relation to the religious situation in Russia consists in strengthening in every possible way the leading and guiding role of Orthodoxy as a spiritual and ideological bulwark of the empire. Ours is a great power, but an unstable one, because some believe in Christ with three fingers, some with two fingers, and some from left to right, while others acknowledge Jehovah but reject Christ and others again even worship Mohammed. People can and should think differently, but a multinational people that wishes to remain united must have a single faith. Otherwise we shall face discord, internecine war, and the total breakdown of morality. Konstantin Petrovich’s credo consists in this, and the emperor is of the same opinion. Hence the urgent demands addressed by the Holy Synod to the bishops of those provinces where followers of other faiths and schismatics are numerous. Every month, from the western, the Baltic, and even the Central Asian provinces the bishops report thousands and tens of thousands of conversions. From Zavolzhie alone, where both schism and Mohammedanism flourish, no joyful news is received. I declare quite openly that I have been sent here first and foremost to clarify whether the reason for this passivity is lack of ability or lack of will.”

Vladimir Lvovich paused in a fashion appropriate to these words and then continued in a significantly softer tone: “Your inactivity is damaging to the monolithic unity of the empire and the very idea of Russian statehood; it sets a bad example for the other bishops. I am entirely open with you, Your Grace, because I can see that you are a practical individual and by no means the starry-eyed dreamer you are represented as being by certain people in St. Petersburg. So let us speak without equivocation and to the point. You and I have a common interest. It is essential that the true faith win a genuine victory here in Zavolzhie—complete conversion of all Old Believers to the bosom of Orthodoxy, the baptism of thousands upon thousands of Bashkirs, or something equally impressive. This will be salutary for you, since your bishopric will no longer be listed among those that are out of favor, and extremely useful to me, because these accomplishments will be the direct result of my visit.”

Seeing the displeasure on the bishop’s face and mistakenly taking this grimace for doubt, Bubentsov added: “Is Your Grace uncertain how to go about the business? Please do not be concerned. That is why I have been sent. I shall arrange everything, only do not stick any spokes in my wheel.”

The bishop, being a genuinely straightforward man, did not beat about the bush, but replied in the same tone: “This credo of yours is pernicious nonsense. Konstantin Petrovich was not born yesterday and he knows as well as I do that you cannot win anyone over to a different faith by coercion. It is only possible to speak of the observance of one religious rite or another, and as far as the monolithic unity of the state is concerned, that is of no significance whatever. I believe that the chief procurator is pursuing some other goals that have nothing to do with faith. For instance, the introduction of police methods of management into the spiritual sphere.”

“Well, and what of it?” said Bubentsov with a cool shrug. “If this empire of yours and mine holds firm, it will only be due to the effort of will demonstrated by the powers that be. Every dissenter in thought and faith must remember at every moment that he is under close observation, that he will not be indulged and given a totally free rein. Freedoms are for Gauls and Anglo-Saxons, but our strength lies in unity and obedience.”

“You speak to me of politics, but I speak to you of the human soul.” Mitrofanii sighed and then went on to say something that he should not have done. “I do not have many new conversions in my diocese, because I do not see any point in enticing schismatics, Muslims, and German colonists into Orthodoxy. I say let everyone believe as he wishes, as long as he believes in God and not in the devil. As long as people behave in a godly manner, that is all that is necessary.”

Bubentsov’s eyes glinted and he spoke in a voice that was ingratiating but conveyed an unconcealed threat: “An interesting opinion for a provincial bishop to hold. And far from coinciding with the opinion of Konstantin Petrovich and his majesty the emperor.”

By this point everything had become clear to Mitrofanii, both about his visitor and about his probable subsequent course of action, and His Grace therefore rose unceremoniously to his feet to indicate that the conversation was over.

“I know. That is why I inform you of my opinion with no witnesses present, so that everything will be perfectly clear between us.”

Bubentsov also rose and said briefly, with a bow: “Well, then, I thank you for your frankness.”

He left and did not darken the door of the episcopal see with any further visits. The declaration of war had been made and accepted. The lull that is common before the beginning of a general engagement had set in, and, at the time our tale begins, it was not yet over.

THE UNSUCCESSFUL SALLY against the fortress of faith was followed in short order by a foray against the bulwark of jurisprudence. Enlightened by his well-wishers, who by this time were already numerous, Bubentsov did not make his approach to the chairman of the Chamber of Justice or the provincial procurator, but the latter’s assistant, Matvei Bentsionovich Berdichevsky.

Their conversation took place in the Nobles’ Club, into which Matvei Bentsionovich had been accepted immediately after he was elevated to the personal nobility on the basis of a recommendation from Baron von Haggenau. Berdichevsky dropped into the club quite frequently, not out of the snobbishness typical of parvenus, but for a more prosaic reason: The procurator’s assistant had many children, and his house was filled with such chaotic toing and froing that even this home-loving
paterfamilias
sometimes needed to take a break. In the evening Matvei Bentsionovich usually sat on his own in the club library and played himself at chess—our town could offer him no worthy opponent for that abstruse pastime.

Vladimir Lvovich walked up, introduced himself, and suggested a game. He was granted the right to make the first move and for a certain time there was complete silence in the library, with only the malachite chess pieces occasionally tapping against the board. Berdichevsky discovered, to his surprise and delight, that he had a serious opponent and he was obliged to make some effort, but even so little by little the black pieces won the upper hand.

“Oh, for a little trial,” Bubentsov suddenly sighed, breaking the silence.

“What was that?”

“You and I are berries from the same field,” Vladimir Lvovich said amiably. “We climb upward, tearing our nails, with everyone around us only trying to knock us back down. You are a converted Jew; it is hard for you. Your only support comes from the governor and the bishop. However, I assure you that neither the one nor the other will remain in his post for long. Then what will become of you?” He set down a rook and declared:
“En garde.”

“A little trial?” asked Matvei Bentsionovich, looking intently at the board and twisting the tip of his long nose with his fingers (a rather unpleasant habit of his).

“Exactly. Of schismatics. Some acts of sacrilege or other, or better still of savagery. Mockery of Orthodox sacred objects isn’t bad, either. We need to start with some merchant or other, one who is particularly respected. A rich man’s purse always comes before his faith. Press him hard enough, and he will soon realize where his best interests lie and back down, and many others will follow him. As things are, no doubt the police and the consistory staff and your court officers all receive bribes from the Old Believers, but we won’t make them pay with money, only by making the sign of the cross with three fingers, them and every last member of their households. How’s that?”

“They don’t receive anything,” Matvei Bentsionovich replied, figuring out some baffling sequence of moves.

“How do you mean?”

“From the schismatics. The police and the consistory staff. Or the court officers, either. That is not the practice in our province. I’ll take your pawn.”

“What about your queen?” Bubentsov asked in surprise, but immediately took the queen with no hesitation. “Your protectors will be gobbled up in exactly the same way, and in the very near future, too. I shall be needing an experienced man of the law, Mr. Berdichevsky, someone well acquainted with the local conditions. Think on it. This has the whiff of a great career about it, even perhaps not purely in the field of jurispridence, but that of canon law. Even your Jewishness is no hindrance there. Many pillars of ecclesiastical law have been drawn from your nation, and even now the converted Jews include some of the most zealous propagators of Orthodoxy. And give some thought as well to the consequences of stubbornness.” He waved the captured queen eloquently. “After all, you have a family. And I have heard that another addition is on the way.”

Desperately afraid, and therefore avoiding raising his eyes from the board, Matvei Bentsionovich mumbled: “I beg your pardon, sir, but, first, you are in checkmate. And second”—he spoke these words almost in a whisper, with a powerful tremor in his voice—“you are a scoundrel and a base individual.”

As he said it he squeezed his eyes tightly shut, recalling all at once the double duel, and his twelve children and the addition that was on the way.

Bubentsov laughed as he looked at this brave soul’s pale face. He glanced around to make sure that there was no one nearby (there was not), gave Matvei Bentsionovich’s long nose a highly painful tweak, and left. Berdichevsky twitched his nostrils, depositing two cherry-red drops on the chessboard, and made an unconvincing attempt to overtake his insulter, but the tears welling up in his eyes veiled everything in a rainbow-colored mist. Matvei stood there for some time and then sat back down.

AND NOW ALL that remains is for us to tell you about the retinue of the unusual synodical inspector, for in their own way this pair were no less colorful than Vladimir Lvovich himself.

As his secretary he had with him Provincial Secretary Tikhon Ieremeevich Spasyonny, the same respectable-looking gentleman who had nodded so amiably through the window of the black carriage. From this official’s surname, which means “saved,” and even more from his behavior and conversation it was clear that he came from the priestly estate. They said that Konstantin Petrovich had moved him close to his own person by advancing him from the rank of simple sexton—evidently he had spotted something exceptional in this modest junior clergyman. In the synod Tikhon Ieremeevich held a low, insignificant, and poorly paid post, but he was frequently honored with confidential tête-à-têtes with the chief procurator himself, so that there were many, even among the hierarchs, who were a little afraid of him.

This lowly official, as quiet as a mouse, had been attached to Bubentsov as the eye of the church authorities, who preferred to keep a check even on those they trusted. At first he had performed his duties conscientiously, but by the time the aforementioned carriage arrived in Zavolzhsk, he had fallen completely under the spell of his temporary superior and become his unquestioning minion, evidently having come to the conclusion that no man can serve two masters. How Vladimir Lvovich won him over we do not know, but we imagine that for such an inventive and talented man it was not a very difficult task. Tikhon Ieremeevich remained true to his trade, only instead of spying on and nosing things out against Bubentsov, he now did so exclusively for his benefit—it is quite possible that being a man of far-seeing intelligence, he had identified some advantage to himself in such a change of vassalage. Though he was short, with a habit of constantly pulling his head down into his shoulders, Spasyonny possessed clawlike hands on unnaturally long arms that hung down almost as far as his knees, and therefore Vladimir Lvovich had at first called him “Orangutang,” but later awarded him the less offensive nickname of “Undershirt.” (The point was that Tikhon Ieremeevich was distinguished by such genuinely fervent piety that his every second word, whenever it was appropriate and also when it was not, was a citation from Holy Writ, and he had once been incautious enough to mention to his suzerain that for protection against the devil he wore beneath his frock coat a special shirt, which he called a “blessed baptismal shirt.”) Like a good Christian, Spasyonny did not take offense at his master’s jokes and merely repeated briefly: “Sprinkle me with hyssop and I shall be pure, wash me and I shall become whiter than snow.”