Іван Корсак - The last lover of the Empress (сторінка 2)

Завантажити матеріал у повному обсязі:
ФайлРозмір файла:Завантажень
Скачать этот файл (Ivan_korsak_The_last_lover_of_the_Empress.docx)Ivan_korsak_The_last_lover_of_the_Empress.docx154 Кб2314
Catherine II was preparing for metropolitan’s trial before: she asked dignitaries’ opinion, personally looked through hundreds of beslavered pages from reports of sleuths of the Secret expedition, spitting upon fingers squeamishly. There was nobody she could be afraid of, because some were dead, others were imprisoned in immovable casemates, and the last recourse for possible opposition to throne was the Church. The higher clergy was being chased and it was helpful. She remembered when archbishop Warlaam was deported because he had written in private letter the words “Her Majesty” instead of “Her Empror’s Majesty.”

For the empress Arceniy Matsievich’s case wasn’t only his case, danger was greater and more important. In fact in her opinion metropolitan of Moscow spoke on behalf of the whole higher episcopacy, there were even rumours that in the next exactions and expropriation of churches they could reach inhibition to say a service in the whole state.

One day the empress invited Stepan Ivanovich Sheshkovskiy and asked straight, without cunning and looking in his eyes without winking, “You know about the Secret expedition even more than Attorney-General Glebov knows… Can you advice what to do with that clergy who didn’t become a tower of strength for the throne?”

“But they all are tarred with the same brush” – Sheshkovskiy understood her scrutiny and ammiable smile appeared on his oval face – “take one of them and teach him a lesson…”

“Do you advice me to arrange    hierarchs’ revolt?” – One empress’s eyebrow was rising up slowly, another didn’t move as if it were frozen.

“No, Your Empror’s Majesty” – Sheshkovskiy shook his head as if he was  adjusting it more comfortable on his short body, then he looked at the handle of his famous stick – “no, we can take one of them but the rest pastors must judge him themselves.”

“But what if they won’t judge?” – Empress’s eyebrow went down slowly, only her lips fastened.

“They will” – Stepan Ivanovich went on inspecting handle of his stick cut with curlicue, as if it were the main theme of their conversation – “there is much direct evidence.”

Sheshkovskiy recognized his speech very well. He understood that the metropolitan Dimitriy’s case was the easiest: Catherine II granted him, not the churches, thousands of bons after she had mounted the throne. Stepan Ivanovich was looking through the private letters of Amvrosiy and Timophey carefully and deliberately, they had a fear to contradict to their own aims aloud, but it looked as if they pushed Rostov metropolitan to it, called him “great-hearted”, “alive”, “true well-doer” – lists from those letters are saved in the Secret expedition, in Petropavlovsk fortress. Sheshkovskiy also knew that patronage of world dignitary would be vain. Bestuzhev-Ryumin tried to write moderate and     delicate letter to the empress, but he became (and thank heavens!) full resistance from her Empror’s Majesty, “I have never seen such patronage for the offender of the Majesty as for Rostov metropolitan who is now arrested by the whole Synod. I don’t know the reason for doubting in my clemency and humanity. Priests were beheaded without ceremony and form long ago, and even for not so important matters.”




       … The trial continued, though slowly, day by day, sad words of charge were flying off the ancient walls, rising to the arch and falling down like heavy stones on an old Arceniy’s head.

       “Metropolitan, you dared to send discourteous letter to Saint-Petersburg which was given to the Majesty at the congregation of generals by hierarchy monk Luka and was read with stops by the secretary… That letter caused great anger of a prince… and their anchoret went out of his head because of fear and was sent to Nevskiy monastery, where he was secured for six weeks. And now he is in the cell under surveillance. You are a causer, metropolitan…”

       “Why did turn against empress’s will, metropolitan, against the empress’s will which called us to observe the rules of mind, to dispose of vanity and to serve God on a state pay? Why do you need herd of six hundred horses and ten thousand tithes if treasury can subsist us without difficulties?”

       “Didn’t you offend pontiffs for obedience to throne, saying that they were looking like dumb dogs without barking?”

       After the regular trial, on the porch Sheshkovskiy told Glebov, peeping by force of habit, “What does Attorney-General think?”

       “Stepan Ivanovich, our Secret expedition has already hunted him down.” Glebov was watching his step on stony stages slowly as if he weren’t sure in their strength. “When he sees the rack, and how executioners check their whips and ropes, prepare fire-pans and instruments for torture… He will confess of everything immediately, he will even recollect that he is the Vicar of Christ’s cousin and Turkish sultan’s godfather.”

       “I believe he must be mine” – Sheshkovskiy smiled amiably and gaily.

       …The trial drew to a close and the day of metropolitan’s unfrocking was appointed. Although there wasn’t any information about it, people were going to Kremlin and Synod like a flow, such solid and disobedient that even double bands couldn’t be a barrier for them.

       “They are bringing him! Bringing him!” – The crowd cried seeing Arceniy among soldiers’ coats.

       He was going slowly in full canonicals, on the stones, which seemed to be hot even through soles and sulk soldiers were cleaning the way with butts.

       He was going, dressed in pontiff cloak, in omoforion and white hood with panagias on his breast, he had a crosier in his hand, but he was going not as doomed slave but with a dignity of metropolitan who was ready for the trial. The sky, covered with clouds, parted for a moment, and metropolitan’s canonicals shone suddenly in the sun, flashing yellow on the faces of silent and frightened people; somebody threw him some blossoming willow branches, some willow buds – metropolitan even stopped for a minute to look at a dare-devil but he was pushed in the back and the soldier on the right clubbed the last in the crowd without looking for causers but simply for order.

       Dimitriy was the first who came up to Arceniy in the trial and spread trembling hands to him.

       “What a sadness, Dimitriy” – Arceniy moved away and began to take off his hood in spirit praying.

       “Your arch and fawning tongue leads you to trouble – that arch tongue will smother you and you will die from it.”

       Pontiff Amvrosiy came, casting down his eyes to take off an omoforion.

       “Where are you going, Amvrosiy?” the metropolitan asked again with sadness taking off his omoforion himself. “You ate with me at the same table, bread from the same knife, so you would be sticked with the knife as an ox.”

       Petersburg Gavriil had to take away the crosier, but Arceniy took it himself from crosier-keeper Zlatoustov and passed to Gavriil.

       “You forgot what a pontiff must be” – the metropolitan was looking over his head as if the pontiff’s fate were written there in the space and it was necessary only to read it attentively and deliberately – “your rival will strangle you for your Herodias, because you judged me faint-heartedly, dancing with it.”

       Gedeon had to take off a mantle.

       “Sorry for your young years” – Arceniy only breathed – “you will no longer see your throne.”

       Misail had to do the last thing – to remove the metropolitan’s cowl.

       “You baked your bitter bread prepared for me very quickly” – Arceniy said hushfully and tirely – “don’t you see that you will roast yourself like bread in the oven?”

       There was silence as at the cemetery and nobody could break it till everybody heard low sobbing and all turned their heads towards it. This was Moscow Timophey, he couldn’t bear, his eyes streamed tears, tears were running on his old wrinkly and grey face, his face was like a southern land, chappy with oppressive heat and unable to absorb water.

       “You see, he is crazy!” – Orlov leaned to Glebov and Sheshkovskiy and he was whispering discomposedly as if leaves were whispering in late autumn forest. – “he must be locked up or closed at best as monk Luka and detained.”

       Arceniy couldn’t hear that whisper, dignitaries were sitting too far, but he heard by the other voice and the most passionate and hot-headed metropolitan turned to Orlov abruptly.

       “And you, count, will have to crown those whose blood is on your hands. And I’m not crazy but your brother will finish his life in an insane asylum for his evil deeds.”

       “How dare he!” – The empress turned white with anger, her temper ran away with her, she clasped her fists so strongly that nails were pressed on her palms – “and this is told near the Church!”

       Arceniy turned to her and he was looking at her for a long time, reproachfully and sadly, he was looking at the woman who was an arbiter for thousands of people, who had an opportunity to change countries and the future of peoples reluctantly and playing, people were trembling before this woman even more than the most terrible penitent before the icon.

       “And your Majesty will meet your killed husband… But you won’t die by Christian” – the metropolitan shook his head – “and you will die without confession in the scrapyard… Your lovers strangled your husband; they will strangle your son too. You fucked up the temple youself and it will fall…”

       There was silence as at the cemetery again, nobody could even move of fear. It seemed that there were not people but simply waxworks in the court, only shades from numerous candles were shining on stiff and fixed faces.

       The empress came to herself first, she was pale as from the moonlight, and she closed her ears with hands and cried in a gruff unknown voice, “Gag him!”

       The shadow of scaffold appeared like an evil twinkle and it was blinking in everybody’s eyes.






Orlov made efforts to pull in when the metropolitan predicted the coronation of the killed emperor. Count set his teeth so that they scraped like a runner on a frozen snow: first the death of the emperor Peter I was reminded him in public, and he was accused of murder. How dare this worthless metropolitan, who is an ordinary defrocked and very old monk, say this him, whose name and whose brother’s name means almost the same as the empress’s name on the vast of empire? And what can this monk understand in real imperial interests of Russia… Such state didn’t need stupid emperor, drinker from ten-year old age who could only play at soldiers. Orlov believed firmly that the empress Catherine II was able to develop the power of Russian land, to enhance its territory for account of weak deam purlieus that couldn’t help themselves. He was sure that the secret of that repast would disappear together with this generation and if it arose incidentally, then clever people would appreciate his ingenuity and associating for the sake of Russian future.

       Everything was prepared quickly but well-thought. The first note as a document on emergence was short not to suspect future empress, “Mother dear Empress, we all wish you health… Our monster is ill… Lest he should die today.”

       Aleksey Orlov with light smiling face and the celebrity guests came in the house where arrested emperor Peter III was kept.

       “We brought nice news” – the guests told the prisoner immediately – “you will soon be released.”

Пошук на сайті: