Anathema Page #2

"Anathema" by Aleksandr Kuprin is a poignant exploration of love, sacrifice, and moral dilemmas set against the backdrop of early 20th-century Russia. The story revolves around the passionate and tumultuous relationship between the protagonist, an artist, and a beautiful woman, highlighting the conflicts between personal desires and societal expectations. Kuprin masterfully delves into themes of obsession, idealism, and the human condition, offering readers a deep and reflective narrative that captures the essence of the era. The book is notable for its rich character development and Kuprin's lyrical prose, making it a significant work in Russian literature.

• Novel

								

as our God? Thou art the God who alone doest wonders." The chant had
many turns in it, and was not particularly clear. Generally during
the first week in Lent there follows, at this point, the ritual of
anathema, which can be altered or omitted as may be thought fit by the
bishop. There is a list of persons to be anathematised for special
reasons, Mazeppa is cursed, Stenka Razin, Arius the iconoclast, the
old-believer Avvakum, etc., etc.

But the deacon was not quite himself to-day. Certainly he must have
been a little upset by the vodka his wife had given him that morning.
For some reason or other he could not get the story which he had read
the previous night out of his mind. He kept seeing clear and vivid
pictures of a beautiful, simple, and boundlessly attractive life.
Almost mechanically he went through the Creed, chanted the Amen, and
proclaimed according to an ancient custom to an old and solemn tone:
"This is the faith of the apostles, this is the faith of our fathers,
this is the Orthodox faith, this is the universal faith, this faith is
ours."

The archbishop was a great formalist, a pedant, and a somewhat
eccentric man. He never allowed a word to be dropped out of the text
of the canon of our thrice-blessed Father Andrew of Crete, or from
the funeral service or from any other rite. And Father Olympus,
imperturbably causing the cathedral to vibrate with his lion's roar,
and making the lustres of the candelabra jingle and sound as they
moved, cursed, anathematised and excommunicated from the Church the
iconoclasts, all the ancient heretics from Arius onward, all those
accepting the teaching of Ital, of the monk Nil, of Constantine
Bulgaris and Irinik, of Varlaam and Akindin, of Gerontius and
Isaac Agrir; cursed those who insulted the Church, all Mahometans,
Dissenters and Judaizers; cursed the reproachers of the festival of
the Annunciation, smugglers, offenders of widows and orphans, the
Old-Believers, the rebels and traitors, Grishka, Otrepief, Timoshka
Akundinof, Stenka Razin, Ivashka Mazeppa, Emelka Pugachof, as well as
all those who uphold any teaching contrary to that of the Orthodox
faith.

Then the extent of the curse was proclaimed: denial of the blessings of
redemption, exclusion from the Holy Sacraments, and expulsion from the
assembly of the holy fathers and their inheritance.

Curses were pronounced on those who do not think that the Orthodox
Tsar was raised to the throne by the special will of God, when at his
anointing, at the commencement of his high calling, the holy oil was
poured out upon him; also on those daring to stir up sedition against
him; on those who abuse and blaspheme the holy ikons. And to each of
these proclamations the choir responded in a mournful wail, tender
angelic voices giving the response, "Anathema."

The women had long been weeping hysterically.

The deacon was about to end by singing the "Eternal Memory" for all
those departed this life in the true faith, when the psalm-singer
brought him a little note from the priest, telling him that his
Eminence the archbishop had ordered that Count Leo Tolstoy was to be
anathematised.

The deacon's throat was sore from much reading. But he cleared his
throat by a cough, and began once more: "Bless us, most reverend
Father." He guessed, rather than heard, the feeble mutterings of the
aged prelate:

"The proto-deacon will now, by the grace of God, pronounce a curse upon
a blasphemer and apostate from the faith of Christ, and expel from the
Holy Sacraments of the Church Count Leo Tolstoy. In the name of the
Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost."

"Amen," sang the choir.

Father Olympus felt his hair stand on end. It seemed to stick out on
all sides, and become stiff and painful as if turning into steel wire.
And at that moment his memory recalled with extraordinary clearness
the tender words of the story[1] he had read the previous night:

    "Rousing himself, Yeroshka raised his head and watched the
    moths fluttering around the flickering flame of his candle
    and falling therein.

    "'Fool! fool!' said he to one. 'Whither are you flying? Fool!
    fool!' He got up and drove the moths away with his clumsy
    fingers.

    "'You'll burn yourself, little fool; come, fly away, there's
    plenty of room here,' said he, coaxing one of them with
    gentle voice, and striving to catch hold of it by the wings
    and send it away. 'You'll destroy yourself, and then I shall
    be sorry for you.'"

[1] Evidently, "The Cossacks," by Tolstoy.--(ED.)]

"Good Lord! Who is it I am to curse?" said the deacon to himself in
terror. "Is it possibly he--he who made me feel so much, and weep
all last night for joy and rapture?"

But, obedient to a thousand-year-old custom, he repeated the terribly
moving words of cursing and excommunication, and they resounded among
the crowd like blows upon a large church bell.

So the curse went on: "The ex-priest Nikita, the monks Sergei,
Sabatius--yes, Sabatius--Dorofei, Gabriel--blasphemers, impenitent and
stubborn in their heresy--and all who act contrary to the will of God,
be they accursed!..."

He waited a moment to take breath. His face was red and perspiring.
The arteries on both sides of his throat were swollen, each a finger's
thickness. And all the while he proclaimed the curse, Tolstoy's
thoughts were in his mind. He remembered another passage:

    "Once as I sat beside a stream I saw a little cradle come
    floating bottom upwards towards me. It was quite whole, only
    the edges a little broken. And I thought--whose cradle is
    it? Those devils of soldiers have been to a hamlet and taken
    away all the stores; one of them must have killed a little
    child and cut the cradle down from its corner with his knife.
    How can people do such things? Ah, people have no souls! And
    at such thoughts I became very sad. I thought--they threw the
    cradle away and drove out the mother and burned the home, and
    by and by they'll come to us...."

Still he went on with the curse:

"Those sinning against the Holy Ghost, like Simon the sorcerer and
Ananias and Sapphira. As the dog returns to its own vomit again, may
their days be few and evil, and may their prayers be turned into sin;
may Satan stand at their right hand; when they are judged let them be
condemned, let their names be blotted out and the memory of them perish
from the earth ... and may the curses and anathemas [hat fall upon
them be manifold. May there come upon them the trembling of Cain, the
leprosy of Gehazi, the strangling of Judas, the destruction of Simon
the sorcerer, the bursting of Arius, the sudden death of Ananias and
Sapphira ... be they anathema and excommunicate, and unforgiven even in
their death; may their bones be scattered and not buried in the earth;
may they be in eternal torment, and tortured by day and night...."
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