Father AlexyÉi's Story

"Father AlexyÉi's Story" is a poignant short story by Ivan Sergeevich Turgenev that explores themes of faith, redemption, and the complexities of human relationships. The narrative follows Father AlexyÉi, a Russian Orthodox priest, as he reflects on his life, struggles, and the moral dilemmas he faces within his spiritual duties and personal interactions. Through rich character development and evocative prose, Turgenev delves into the internal conflicts of the protagonist, highlighting the often challenging interplay between spirituality and worldly concerns. The story offers a profound commentary on the nature of compassion and the search for meaning in a turbulent world.

								
Twenty years ago I was obliged--in my capacity of private inspector--to
make the circuit of all my aunt's rather numerous estates. The parish
priests, with whom I regarded it as my duty to make acquaintance, proved
to be individuals of pretty much one pattern, and made after one model,
as it were. At length, in about the last of the estates which I was
inspecting, I hit upon a priest who did not resemble his brethren. He
was a very aged man, almost decrepit; and had it not been for the urgent
entreaties of his parishioners, who loved and respected him, he would
long before have petitioned to be retired that he might rest. Two
peculiarities impressed me in Father Alexyéi (that was the priest's
name). In the first place, he not only asked nothing for himself but
announced plainly that he required nothing; and, in the second place, I
have never beheld in any human face a more sorrowful, thoroughly
indifferent--what is called an "overwhelmed"--expression. The features
of that face were of the ordinary rustic type: a wrinkled forehead,
small grey eyes, a large nose, a wedge-shaped beard, a swarthy,
sunburned skin.... But the expression! ... the expression!... In that
dim gaze life barely burned, and sadly at that; and his voice also was,
somehow, lifeless and dim.

I fell ill and kept my bed for several days. Father Alexyéi dropped in
to see me in the evenings, not to chat, but to play "fool."[16] The game
of cards seemed to divert him more than it did me. One day, after having
been left "the fool" several times in succession (which delighted Father
Alexyéi not a little), I turned the conversation on his past life, on
the afflictions which had left on him such manifest traces. Father
Alexyéi remained obdurate for a long time at first, but ended by
relating to me his story. He must have taken a liking to me for some
reason or other. Otherwise he would not have been so frank with me.

I shall endeavour to transmit his story in his own words. Father Alexyéi
talked very simply and intelligently, without any seminary or provincial
tricks and turns of speech. It was not the first time I had noticed that
Russians, of all classes and callings, who have been violently shattered
and humbled express themselves precisely in such language.

... I had a good and sedate wife [thus he began], I loved her heartily,
and we begat eight children. One of my sons became a bishop, and died
not so very long ago, in his diocese. I shall now tell you about my
other son,--Yákoff was his name. I sent him to the seminary in the town
of T----, and soon began to receive the most comforting reports about
him. He was the best pupil in all the branches! Even at home, in his
boyhood, he had been distinguished for his diligence and discretion; a
whole day would sometimes pass without one's hearing him ... he would be
sitting all the time over his book, reading. He never caused me and my
wife[17] the slightest displeasure; he was a meek lad. Only sometimes he
was thoughtful beyond his years, and his health was rather weak. Once
something remarkable happened to him. He left the house at daybreak, on
St. Peter's day,[18] and was gone almost all the morning. At last he
returned. My wife and I ask him: "Where hast thou been?"

"I have been for a ramble in the forest," says he, "and there I met a
certain little green old man, who talked a great deal with me, and gave
me such savoury nuts!"

"What little green old man art thou talking about?" we ask him.

"I don't know," says he; "I never saw him before. He was a little old
man with a hump, and he kept shifting from one to the other of his
little feet, and laughing--and he was all green, just like a leaf."

"What," say we, "and was his face green also?"

"Yes, his face, and his hair, and even his eyes."

Our son had never lied to us; but this time my wife and I had our
doubts.

"Thou must have fallen asleep in the forest, in the heat of the day, and
have seen that old man in thy dreams."

"I wasn't asleep at all," says he. "Why, don't you believe me?" says
he. "See here, I have one of the nuts left in my pocket."

Yákoff pulled the nut out of his pocket and showed it to us.--The kernel
was small, in the nature of a chestnut, and rather rough; it did not
resemble our ordinary nuts. I laid it aside, and intended to show it to
the doctor ... but it got lost.... I did not find it again.

Well, sir, so we sent him to the seminary, and, as I have already
informed you, he rejoiced us by his success. So my spouse and I assumed
that he would turn out a fine man! When he came for a sojourn at home it
was a pleasure to look at him; he was so comely, and there was no
mischief about him;--every one liked him, every one congratulated us.
Only he was still rather thin of body, and there was no real good
rosiness in his face. So then, he was already in his nineteenth year,
and his education would soon be finished. When suddenly we receive from
him a letter.--He writes to us: "Dear father and mother, be not wroth
with me, permit me to be a layman;[19] my heart does not incline to the
ecclesiastical profession, I dread the responsibility, I am afraid I
shall sin--doubts have taken hold upon me! Without your parental
permission and blessing I shall venture on nothing--but one thing I will
tell you; I am afraid of myself, for I have begun to think a great
deal."

I assure you, my dear sir, that this letter made me very sad,--as though
a boar-spear had pricked my heart,--for I saw that I should have no one
to take my place![20] My eldest son was a monk; and this one wanted to
abandon his vocation altogether. I was also pained because priests from
our family have lived in our parish for close upon two hundred years.
But I thought to myself: "There's no use in kicking against the pricks;
evidently, so it was predestined for him. What sort of a pastor would he
be if he has admitted doubt to his mind?" I took counsel with my wife,
and wrote to him in the following sense:

"Think it over well, my son Yákoff; measure ten times before you cut
off once--there are great difficulties in the worldly service, cold and
hunger, and scorn for our caste! And thou must know beforehand that no
one will lend a hand to aid; so see to it that thou dost not repine
afterward. My desire, as thou knowest, has always been that thou
shouldst succeed me; but if thou really hast come to cherish doubts as
to thy calling and hast become unsteady in the faith, then it is not my
place to restrain thee. The Lord's will be done! Thy mother and I will
not refuse thee our blessing."

Yákoff answered me with a grateful letter. "Thou hast rejoiced me, dear
father," said he. "It is my intention to devote myself to the profession
of learning, and I have some protection; I shall enter the university
and become a doctor, for I feel a strong bent for science." I read

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