The last lover of the Empress - Іван Корсак (сторінка 6)


And land under the empress’s feet was firm, even sagged again, she walked easily as if she were raised by a force – Matsievich’s trial became a real victory. Rebel resistance of clergy was suppressed by the clergy itself without disorders or disturbances of cautious people.

Pleasant feeling of victory sounded in a voice of the empress Catherine when she was speaking at regular meeting of the Synod. Her moist eyes were sparkling, posture was confident and proud, the empress had good reasons to speak as a victor, as a mistress of the situation.

“Why aren’t you shocked by your great riches which make you so powerful that you had to feel that your position contradicts to the spirit of your calling. Aren’t you the successors of the Apostles who are commanded by God to preach contempt for the riches and who could be only the poor? Their kingdom was not of this world. Do you agree with me? Aren’t my words true?”

The empress could afford light reproach in her voice only at the beginning. Let one of these pastors, accustomed to high worship, try to contest against her – she will be able to bring him to his level. In the cell of Arceniy Matsievich there were many letters found during the search from many people, who were present here and were dressed in shining clothes; let these arrested letters lie until a certain time, but she could take them at any time she wanted. The empress can and must talk to them in an other tone, tone with iron, but not with women’s accusations.

 “How can you use the riches without contradiction to your position which must be inseparable with Christian poverty? How dare you use such property and lands which make you as mighty as czars without compunction? Ah! You have more slaves than some European princes have the lieges, don’t you? You are too educated and understand that this property causes so many malversations in the state, that you can save this property only being unfair to the state itself; and you must recognize that you must be fairer than anybody else and if you aren’t, you are guiltier because you know your duties more than others.”

Spotted and angry blush appeared on the empress’s face. How can one explain them: now you are not servants of altar, not dignitaries, but you are public officers and diadem is the main thing for you.

“If I can rely on your trustiness, devotion, so I can hope that you will be my faithful subjects. If I’m right, return me those things which you had stolen insensibly and gradually.”

Immovable members of Synod were sitting as if they were rock-hewn, they were afraid even of looking around, of moving. Are they thieves now? Those who saved and had been multiplying property given to monasteries and churches for ages? Those who opened schools, printings, and hospitals for poor people? It meant that they robbed this sweaty and angry foreigner who turned up on their grey heads and didn’t have even a drop of Russian blood, who declared them fondly and boldly as if she were throwing sand at them, “Everything Russian is mine!”

But who dares express such thoughts aloud? There are letters of Saint-Petersburg Gavriil, Tver Aphanasiy, Amvrosiy Krutitskiy and Moscow Timophey among Matsievich’s arrested letters. It is enough to shake off the dust from the pages and ink will not have time to fade. Who dares, when Arceniy Matsievich is before eyes, Arceniy who caught a cold on his way and scurvy influenced him after expeditions to Kamchatka – he was bald, running sores appeared on his body; Matsievich, respected hierarch became defrocked as if he were a real thief?

The empress was looking attentively at wrinkly faces of pastors, she guessed about discourteous thoughts in their wise heads, but she didn’t take on this, it pleased her and set her laughing; something forced her to answer in a funny Russian word – she began to learn Russian sayings with pleasure, she wanted to say something like “There you are!” but she couldn’t.

But she sat at the writing table immediately after the Synod. She had to tell Voltaire about her mellowness, “Arceniy, Rostov bishop… was judged by Novgorod metropolitan and by the whole Synod as a fanatic, quilty in enemy intentions towards both Orthodox and supreme power, he was defrocked and then he was under world command. I forgave him and made him a monk.”

Runners were rushing at night and didn’t pity horses as it was ordered in the highest direction; they were bringing one more direction too. Curly lines on the expensive paper told, “Comparing himself with Chrysostomin in patience, trying to arouse clamour and displeasure towards the government, he used all means in cunning contrivances, took aspersions, predictions, devotions and God’s name in vain unscrupulously… And that’s why – under strong supervision, and they will give him neither ink nor paper.”

Horses were rushing in hollows and forests so fast that even white foam was flying from a bit, runners were in a hurry…




Prosecutor Naryshkin found Arceniy Matsievich in the monastery yard. The metropolitan was cutting wood, he was breathing heavily – he had to mop the floor, to cut wood and to do other hard work several times a week, according to judgment. Arceniy was just cutting thick billet with expiration, but it was gnarled and couldn’t be taken at one dash, so Arceniy raised it over the head together with sticked ax to cut it at woodblock for the second time; whether the billet was too heavy or his strength oozed away, but he was wabbling as if he were drunk.

“I have to make an examination,” Naryshkin said.

Arceniy began to free his ax out of the billet, twitching an ax-handle silently; at last he managed to do it and followed Naryshkin without saying a word.

It was clear that prosecutor knew Matsievich’s life in the monastery very well.

“Did you say that previous emperors and czars had given Church different riches? Now one couldn’t hope for the honours, he could be even robbed. They had taken away even ornaments in Yaroslavl?” Naryshkin was looking at the paper, sticking, as if he were reading the written very carefully or didn’t want to look at metropolitan.

“God knows it’s harsh truth.”

“Even Turks award their mosques, but there is Sodom and Gomorrah in Russia.” Are these words yours?”

“An angel will come down from heaven on the last day – and the enemy of the Church won’t hide.”

“Did you tell a watchman Alekseevskiy that nobility forgot their ancestors who had given monasteries lands and that now nobility was robbing?”

“Only holy heaven know the truth.”

“At present courtiers, greedy for church property, clapped on that bad decree to the empress, because she didn’t know Russian laws and life, then she signed it blindly…” Do you affirm that it is true?” Naryshkin had his eyes glued to the paper as if they were sticked there.

“Who has ears let he hear what Spirit tells Churches…”

“How cunning he is, he is hiding behind the Revelation,” Naryshkin’s thought was buzzing as angry and annoyed wasp. Arceniy is not only a rebel himself but he gives the others unreasonable expectations. Archimandrite Anthony believed in this old prisoner’s chatter and comforted among monks, “There will be changes on the emperor’s throne. Arceniy will be dismissed, he will become a pontiff again, property will be given back to monasteries and Arceniy will take me with him.” And archimandrite was pleased with talks among clergy, that Synod took place with the violation of indigenous rights, that’s why the metropolitan wasn’t actually defrocked and everything ended in ordinary disguise. God took the mind away of the heartless judges at that moment.

Everything was written in prosecutorial papers and Matsievich finished with excuses in vain, he didn’t know that there were interrogatories, when drunkard deacon Lebedev gave denunciation, at that moment Antoniy denied him and in addition he told at the inquest as Arceniy accused the Holy Synod.

“Didn’t you tell about Synod, didn’t you insult it?”

“No, I didn’t, I told only that I wrote to Synod, being a bishop, so as to stand before the Judgement safely. And Synod explained my thoughts wrong, that’s why I would plead with him at the Judgement,” Arceniy shook his head, his back hurt because he he had been cutting the jag of wood for the whole day.

It was difficult for him to stand; pain was worse, now he felt as if he lay with his back on bare-heated oven.

At last Arceniy took out a copper coin from his pocket and put it on prosecutorial papers.

“You give alms? Me?!” – Naryshkin’s face turned pale, he banged his hand on the table hammer and tongs, there was even a pat under ringing set of ancient monastic cells – “I’m a prosecutor but not a beggar!”

 Arceniy only shook his head sadly. In his vision he saw Naryshkin and people who were bowing him ingratiatingly, because he became a great superior, proprietor of state plants, he saw as if Naryshkin was being examined, because he spent much money, as if he were imprisoned in the castle, and had only five copecks a day – he would never have more.

The metropolitan told quietly, “Take it, you will see you need it.”

Annoyed Naryshkin was looking for facts about Arceniy even harder, examining monks, world monastery servants, he closed them in cells for several days without water and food “to think and remember.” And he found so much that the empress gave this case immediately to an Attorney-General Vyasemskiy.

“Learn, if there are particularly robust casemate for this liar in Vyborg, Narva or Reval” – the empress ordered and she was pleased with the casual word – “name him the Liar and nobody will know the other name. Nobody will have right to know…”




In autumn 1770 crows were circling over Moscow, and their evil cry under high lead clouds was curdling the blood of frightened Muscovites.

While the bands of loud balls were ringing about bigger or smaller victory in Turkish war in Saint-Petersburg, an invisible enemy, for whom there weren’t any barriers, penetrated into almost every home of Moscow – plague entered the town unexpectedly and decimated the population as mature grass.

Doctors and scientists sent urgent dispatches to Petersburg, asked what to do to stop epidemic, but those dispatches were left in the offices, went from one table to another; one of fortune-tellers advised to make a fire to smudge a trouble – and those black smokes in shaky columns were rising up over Moscow as enigmatic and illusive forest.

Disease began in General overland hospital, among those who returned from Turkish attack, then moved to Sukonniy yard. Governance couldn’t isolate workers from Sukonniy yard; fearful people were running away, preading plague in the town.

A boy from the Strahovs family brought a note with a number of dead people every day, that’s why people opened windows, seeing crimson coat with blue collar of small messenger and were asking anxiously.

“Hey, boy, how many?”

“Six hundred!”

“How many, how many?”

“Six hundred!” the boy cried again and the inhabitants crossed themselves gladly, “Thanks God, thanks God…”

People hoped for grateful sign, because yesterday the same boy in crimson coat answered, “Eight hundred!”

One could hardly take away bodies covered with black and green thick flies, that’s why crows got used to it and were not afraid of people. Superintendent ordered to dismiss criminals from prisons and to create brigades responsible for burial – those criminals robbed poor people at the same time. Members of those brigades, in masks and greased coats, were pulling bodies with hooks like blocks, threw them on carts, brought them out of the town or threw them there in pits, broke into houses and pulled alive people to isolation – Muscovites hid the sick not let healthy men get into isolation, because they could only die there. General Governor count Saltykov left Moscow and ran to village Marphino as if from the fire, officers went after him, noblemen, clerks were running away. Eleven months later, after the beginning of the epidemic, the empress Catherine sent prince Grigoriy Orlov, General-in-chief with wide latitudes, general and her favourite to Moscow.

There was a phobia of fear. And spreading rumours were quick too in this period of human grief.

There were talks, “The icon of Bogolub Our Lady near Varvar Gates will save us!”

All people went there, elbowing and swearing, they had hopes for the last save. People were touching the icon, gave expensive contributions, read devotions at prayers served by impersonal celebrants who appeared immediately and didn’t have right to do it without pontiff’s blessing.

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