with a stern face, continued firmly and distinctly reading aloud the Gospel, apparently not noticing what was taking place around him, though he had, in fact, observed something unusual long before. But at last the murmurs, first subdued but gradually louder and more confident, reached even him. 'It shows God's judgment is not as man's,' Father Paissy heard suddenly. The first to give utterance to this sentiment was a layman, an elderly official from the town, known to be a man of great piety. But he only repeated aloud what the monks had long been whispering. They had long before formulated this damning conclusion, and the worst of it was that a sort of triumphant satisfaction at that conclusion became more and more apparent every moment. Soon they began to lay aside even external decorum and almost seemed to feel they had a sort of right to discard it.
'And for what reason can this have happened,' some of the monks said, at first with a show of regret; 'he had a small frame and his flesh was dried up on his bones, what was there to decay?'
'It must be a sign from heaven,' others hastened to add, and their opinion was adopted at once without protest. For it was pointed out, too, that if the decomposition had been natural, as in the case of every dead sinner, it would have been apparent later, after a lapse of at least twenty-four hours, but this premature corruption 'was in excess of nature,' and so the finger of God was evident. It was meant for a sign. This conclusion seemed irresistible.
Gentle Father Iosif, the librarian, a great favourite of the dead man's, tried to reply to some of the evil speakers that 'this is not held everywhere alike,' and that the incorruptibility of the bodies of the just was not a dogma of the Orthodox Church, but only an opinion, and that even in the most Orthodox regions, at Athos for instance, they were not greatly confounded by the smell of corruption, and there the chief sign of the glorification of the saved was not bodily incorruptibility, but the colour of the bones when the bodies have lain many years in the earth and have decayed in it. 'And if the bones are yellow as wax, that is the great sign that the Lord has glorified the dead saint, if they are not yellow but black, it shows that God has not deemed him worthy of such glory--that is the belief in Athos, a great place, which the Orthodox doctrine has been preserved from of old, unbroken and in its greatest purity,' said Father Iosif in conclusion.
But the meek Father's words had little effect and even provoked a mocking retort. 'That's all pedantry and innovation, no use listening to it,' the monks decided. 'We stick to the old doctrine; there are all sorts of innovations nowadays, are we to follow them all?' added others.
'We have had as many holy fathers as they had. There they are among the Turks, they have forgotten everything. Their doctrine has long been impure and they have no bells even, the most sneering added.
Father Iosif walked away, grieving the more since he had put forward his own opinion with little confidence as though scarcely believing in it himself. He foresaw with distress that something very unseemly was beginning and that there were positive signs of disobedience. Little by little, all the sensible monks were reduced to silence like Father Iosif. And so it came to pass that all who loved the elder and had accepted with devout obedience the institution of the eldership were all at once terribly cast down and glanced timidly in one another's faces, when they met. Those who were hostile to the institution of elders, as a novelty, held up their heads proudly. 'There was no smell of corruption from the late elder Varsonofy, but a sweet fragrance,' they recalled malignantly. 'But he gained that glory not because he was an elder, but because he was a holy man.'
And this was followed by a shower of criticism and even blame of Father Zossima. 'His teaching was false; he taught that life is a great joy and not a vale of tears,' said some of the more unreasonable. 'He followed the fashionable belief, he did not recognise material fire in hell,' others, still more unreasonable, added. 'He was not strict in fasting, allowed himself sweet things, ate cherry jam with his tea, ladies used to send it to him. Is it for a monk of strict rule to drink tea?' could be heard among some of the envious. 'He sat in pride,' the most malignant declared vindictively; 'he considered himself a saint and he took it as his due when people knelt before him.' 'He abused the sacrament of confession,' the fiercest opponents of the institution of elders added in a malicious whisper. And among these were some of the oldest monks, strictest in their devotion, genuine ascetics, who had kept silent during the life of the deceased elder, but now suddenly unsealed their lips. And this was terrible, for their words had great influence on young monks who were not yet firm in their convictions. The monk from Obdorsk heard all this attentively, heaving deep sighs and nodding his head. 'Yes, clearly Father Ferapont was right in his judgment yesterday,' and at that moment Father Ferapont himself made his appearance, as though on purpose to increase the confusion.
I have mentioned already that he rarely left his wooden cell by the apiary. He was seldom even seen at church and they overlooked this neglect on the ground of his craziness, and did not keep him to the rules binding on all the rest. But if the whole truth is to be told, they hardly had a choice about it. For it would have been discreditable to insist on burdening with the common regulations so great an ascetic, who prayed day and night (he even dropped asleep on his knees). If they had insisted, the monks would have said, 'He is holier than all of us and he follows a rule harder than ours. And if he does not go to church, it's because he knows when he ought to; he has his own rule.' It was to avoid the chance of these sinful murmurs that Father Ferapont was left in peace.
As everyone was aware, Father Ferapont particularly disliked Father Zossima. And now the news had reached him in his hut that 'God's judgment is not the same as man's,' and that something had happened which was 'in excess of nature.' It may well be supposed that among the first to run to him with the news was the monk from Obdorsk, who had visited him the evening before and left his cell terror-stricken.
I have mentioned above, that though Father Paissy standing firm and immovable reading the Gospel over the coffin, could not hear nor see what was passing outside the cell, he gauged most of it correctly in his heart, for he knew the men surrounding him well. He was not shaken by it, but awaited what would come next without fear, watching with penetration and insight for the outcome of the general excitement.
Suddenly an extraordinary uproar in the passage in open defiance of decorum burst on his ears. The door was flung open and Father Ferapont appeared in the doorway. Behind him there could be seen accompanying him a crowd of monks, together with many people from the town. They did not, however, enter the cell, but stood at the bottom of the steps, waiting to see what Father Ferapont would say or do. For they felt with a certain awe, in spite of their audacity, that he had not come for nothing. Standing in the doorway, Father Ferapont raised his arms, and under his right arm the keen inquisitive little eyes of the monk from Obdorsk peeped in. He alone, in his intense curiosity, could not resist running up the steps after Father Ferapont. The others, on the contrary, pressed farther back in sudden alarm when the door was noisily flung open. Holding his hands aloft, Father Ferapont suddenly roared:
'Casting out I cast out!' and, turning in all directions, he began at once making the sign of the cross at each of the four walls and four corners of the cell in succession. All who accompanied Father Ferapont immediately understood his action. For they knew he always did this wherever he went, and that he would not sit down or say a word, till he had driven out the evil spirits.
'Satan, go hence! Satan, go hence!' he repeated at each sign of the cross. 'Casting out I cast out,' he roared again.
He was wearing his coarse gown girt with a rope. His bare chest, covered with grey hair, could be seen under his hempen shirt. His feet were bare. As soon as he began waving his arms, the cruel irons he wore under his gown could be heard clanking.
Father Paissy paused in his reading, stepped forward and stood before him waiting
'What have you come for, worthy Father? Why do you offend against good order? Why do you disturb the peace of the flock?' he said at last, looking sternly at him.
'What have I come for? You ask why? What is your faith?' shouted Father Ferapont crazily. 'I've come here to drive out your visitors, the unclean devils. I've come to see how many have gathered here while I have been away. I want to sweep them out with a birch broom.'
'You cast out the evil spirit, but perhaps you are serving him yourself,' Father Paissy went on fearlessly. 'And who can say of himself ‘I am holy'? Can you, Father?'
'I am unclean, not holy. I would not sit in an arm-chair and would not have them bow down to me as an idol,' thundered Father Ferapont. 'Nowadays folk destroy the true faith. The dead man, your saint,' he turned to the crowd, pointing with his finger to the coffin, 'did not believe in devils. He gave medicine to keep off the devils. And so they have become as common as spiders in the corners. And now he has begun to stink himself. In that we see a great sign from God.'
The incident he referred to was this. One of the monks was haunted in his dreams and, later on, in waking moments, by visions of evil spirits. When in the utmost terror he confided this to Father Zossima, the elder had advised continual prayer and rigid fasting. But when that was of no use, he advised him while persisting in prayer
