, I could not obtain
justice. My mother-in-law had made all sorts of absurd accusations
against me, and consequently I was laid under an inhibition for six
weeks!"
"And what is the effect of an inhibition?"
"The effect is that I cannot perform the ordinary rites of our religion.
It is really very unjust," he added, assuming an indignant tone, "and
very annoying. Think of all the hardship and inconvenience to which it
gives rise."
As I thought of the hardship and inconvenience to which the parishioners
must be exposed through the inconsiderate conduct of the old
mother-in-law, I could not but sympathise with my new acquaintance's
indignation. My sympathy was, however, somewhat cooled when I perceived
that I was on a wrong tack, and that the priest was looking at the
matter from an entirely different point of view.
"You see," he said, "it is a most unfortunate time of year. The peasants
have gathered in their harvest, and can give of their abundance.
There are merry-makings and marriages, besides the ordinary deaths
and baptisms. Altogether I shall lose by the thing more than a hundred
roubles!"
I confess I was a little shocked on hearing the priest thus speak of his
sacred functions as if they were an ordinary marketable commodity, and
talk of the inhibition as a pushing undertaker might talk of sanitary
improvements. My surprise was caused not by the fact that he regarded
the matter from a pecuniary point of view--for I was old enough to know
that clerical human nature is not altogether insensible to pecuniary
considerations--but by the fact that he should thus undisguisedly
express his opinions to a stranger without in the least suspecting
that there was anything unseemly in his way of speaking. The incident
appeared to me very characteristic, but I refrained from all audible
comments, lest I should inadvertently check his communicativeness. With
the view of encouraging it, I professed to be very much interested, as
I really was, in what he said, and I asked him how in his opinion the
present unsatisfactory state of things might be remedied.
"There is but one cure," he said, with a readiness that showed he had
often spoken on the theme already, "and that is freedom and publicity.
We full-grown men are treated like children, and watched like
conspirators. If I wish to preach a sermon--not that I often wish to
do such a thing, but there are occasions when it is advisable--I am
expected to show it first to t
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