THE RHIPSIMIANS

Rhipsimia awoke in a cold sweat from her own cry — the vision had pursued her again, and this time it had felt true. She felt chilled, but the rising sun warmed the face of the drowsy girl. Somewhere in the distance, birds sang — their thin notes enchanted her. For a moment, she listened, entranced, and then began anew to knock at the gates. She knocked and knocked, and after yet another failed attempt, she sank down to the ground.

«To him who knocks, it shall be opened!» the wanderer repeated to herself.

And indeed, she was heard. The enormous gates swung open.

CHAPTER III. MAY IT BE RENDERED UNTO THEE FOR THY FLIGHT FROM THY FATHER’S HOUSE

A maiden in dark garments led the fugitive into a small house, where the wanderer might warm herself and rest. Within, it was nearly dark; a small hearth burned in the northern corner, and a bench of olive wood stood opposite. The paintings upon the walls struck Rhipsimia with wonder: across a blue sky, clouds sailed, and beneath them a woman stood motionless. Her face expressed immeasurable kindness and calm. Her long, fair hair, like ears of wheat, fell in waves upon her shoulders, and in her eyes of pale green, love and all-forgiveness were mirrored. Her head was crowned with a diadem — massive, of gold, studded with precious stones as crimson as blood.

«How beautiful she is…» Rhipsimia uttered aloud. «I have never yet seen so enchanting a woman.»

«Some wanderer, struck by the beauty and majesty of the princess, resolved to immortalize her image here. When I first entered this room, her countenance, just as with you, caught my eye — I marvelled at how alive she was, and how wondrously fair. They say she perished for her faith in God… But now you must warm yourself and try to sleep.»

«And how long may I remain in this room?»

«One night. Here, one is permitted to grow warm and to doze after the road. This room is set aside especially for wanderers, that they might abide awhile in warmth.»

«What am I to do next? I beg you, give me hope that I may stay within the walls of your house!» Rhipsimia looked deep into the eyes of her new acquaintance.

«The House of God casts no one out, nor ever has — all who come here of their own will are desperate and destitute souls, who have nothing left to lose, yet who still long to find something. And they do find it. Know this: if you remain here, you will keep a number of rules; you will perform work. It may seem to you like penal labour or torment, but only through faith and toil will you find happiness and find yourself.»

«The gods themselves have led me to you!»

«A person cannot worship all gods — God is one. One hypostasis, and one nature has He — the God-man. In the beginning He was a man, but later He was crucified for the sins of each one of us.» The girl bowed her head, placed together the first three fingers of her right hand, and touched her forehead, her stomach, her right shoulder, and her left.

«What is this sign? What does it symbolize?» Rhipsimia asked in alarm. «Does it concern me? Does death await me?»

«It is the sign of the cross. Later you will see, wanderer, what it means. Here you will be taught to speak with God, to thank Him, to entreat Him, to reveal Him to others. But only if you so desire. It is impossible to force one to receive teaching, to accept it, and to understand.»

«Until now, I have thought that we are ruled by Jupiter and Juno, by Neptune and Ceres…» Rhipsimia uttered in disappointment. «Why were we always told that Jupiter punishes us, and that all the dead pass to Pluto?»

«Later you shall learn all. All roads will open when you open your heart to God. If you have come here, if you have found the monastery that stands upon the steepest mountain — then God was with you; He Himself led you hither. He wished to show you that there is another life — in humility, in stillness, in conversations with oneself and with God, in labour and in peace.»

The novice departed the warm room: Rhipsimia was to sleep after her hard journey. No one asked her who she was or whence she came, nor with what intent she had knocked at the monastery gates — here, no questions were posed, no one cried out, no one cast sidelong glances. Here, all was otherwise than everywhere else.

«Who is He, then? Who is this God?» With these words, the wanderer fell asleep upon the wooden bench.

Marvellously, Rhipsimia slept a deep, untroubled sleep. Nothing frightened her; nothing tormented her thoughts or feelings. She slept as though she were at home, in a cradle — warm and sheltered. Only her eyelids would, at times, part slightly, as if the silhouette of a figure flickered before her eyes: from behind his back, two wings peered out — white, tender, downy.

«In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen. Have mercy, O Lord, upon the soul of the wanderer. Preserve her soul beneath Thy protection, shelter her from the most wicked enemy and from cunning deeds; grant her compunction and sound, peaceful sleep. Peaceful sleep, peaceful sleep — let her sleep. Let Thy love, O Lord, ever follow not ahead of her, nor behind her, but beside her. Amen.»

«Who are you?» the maiden murmured through her sleep.

«I am he who will be beside you, who will show you the way and ever remain upon your shoulder. You may count upon my aid: in days of hardship and in days of ease, in suffering, in misfortune, in goodness — I will offer you my wing; I will shed light where you ask it. Upon your path there have been, and shall be, cunning ones; there shall be temptations — do not grant them power over you; do not be deceived.»

Rhipsimia’s long, deep sleep was broken by a quiet voice, already familiar.

«Greetings, wanderer. Forgive me, a sinner, that I have woken you. I see how worn out you are. Soon it will be the hour for the evening meal. Tell me, are you hungry? Here, in the monastery, other maidens dwell; I think they are of an age with you. You may converse during the repast, learn something from them; they might tell you of us, of who we are and what our mission here is. And in the morning you shall go with all of us to prayer.»

«Forgive me — sloth overcame me, and I sank into the kingdom of sleep; I truly was very weary. I will gladly share the meal with you and share all that I have. I should like to give you some very precious things — they are not stolen, yet neither are they earned by labour. They are gifts from my parents. Take them, I beg you, in gratitude for permitting me to cross the threshold of your house, for giving me shelter for the night.»

«The abbess Gayania has sent you glad tidings: if you feel that here is the place where you shall find your very self, the place from which you need no longer flee nor dread every step and sound — if here you find kindred souls, kin perhaps not by blood, but by deed — then stay forever. Your precious gifts you may keep for yourself — no one compels you to anything here. In all your deeds — your will; in all that passes here — God’s will.»

«Someone came to me, only he had bird’s wings behind his back, very large ones. I have never seen the like. Was it a dream, or perhaps a malady of the soul?»

«From the heavens, an angel descended to you — the guardian of your life, of your soul, and a messenger of God. Usually he comes to those who have received the mystery of baptism, but I cannot explain why he appeared to you before your time. Did he speak with you?!»

«He said that I should not yield to temptations — that is all I remember from my dream.»

«Come, I will show you the place where we keep the mystery of the evening meal.»

Rhipsimia’s companion was a woman of few words, yet she nonetheless showed interest in the guest: she asked from what direction she had come, why she had chosen the long and thorny path hither, whether she had blood kindred, parents. The girl answered every question truthfully; she told of the dreadful design of Diocletian, and how, through deception, she had managed to escape being forced to become his second wife.

«I cannot judge you, wanderer, for I myself do not wish to be judged; but that you have chosen another path — to devote yourself not to a sovereign, but to a cause — is a righteous deed. The truth shall be revealed to you in discourse with the Mother Abbess, with God’s blessing.»

The long corridor stretched beneath Rhipsimia’s feet like skilfully woven Persian carpets: the mosaics that adorned the walls and floors of the monastery seemed geometrically perfect in their design. To lay out a pattern — even the simplest — required the labour of more than one man: one would level the surfaces, making them smooth and flawless; later, another master would plaster the walls or floors; a third would draw the designs or the composition that would be filled with mosaic.

«Those who created here, without doubt, possessed a gift from God. Each pattern — do you see? — is a tale of earthly life: in this image, a girl gathers olives from a young tree and lays them in a basket, smiling benignly. The work brings her happiness and joy. And here,» the novice’s finger pointed to a mosaic picture, «God created the mountains and the sea.»

«And why do I not see Him?»

«With your eyes, you cannot see God. He can be discerned only with the heart. Could a man have created such things? A boundless sea, and high mountains stretching to the very heavens. And God looks upon His creations and rejoices. And together with Him, we too rejoice.»

The girls found themselves in a spacious hall. Upon a long, dark wooden table, supper stood: bread — fragrant and fresh, still warm — a little cheese and sour cream, mushrooms, olives, olive oil, and preserves. There was no meat in the monastery; it was forbidden to kill animals or birds. In small bowls, honey shimmered like gold — God’s grace, sweet and wholesome.

«Before we begin the evening meal, we pray. You will hear words of thanksgiving to God. We thank Him for sending us our daily bread. All that grows upon the earth, all that serves us as food — is His mercy. With us at the hour of the repast, there is present also the one who appeared to you. It is important to thank Christ for simple things — such as a gulp of water or a crust of bread; it is important not to forget to take joy in the meal. Our need is to commune with the Heavenly Father, to gather at one table, to pray all together. In prayer, we are one.»

«And do you not forget, every day, to thank God for your meal?» asked Rhipsimia.

«You do not forget to open your eyes each morning, do you? So we, too, never forget to thank Christ.»

To Rhipsimia’s right sat her companion. Gayania, at the head of the table, began the prayer:

«„Lord Jesus Christ, our Lord, bless our evening meal, our food and our drink. We thank Thee, Lord, that with Thy generous hand Thou sendest us, Thy disciples, this repast, which gives us strength and happiness. Amen.“»

Rhipsimia diligently pronounced every word after the other maidens; during the mealtime prayer, the girl felt an extraordinary surge of strength and a gratitude for that which lay before her upon the table, for the hospitality shown her. Of weariness, not a trace remained; hunger, however, gnawed from within, and to look at the food grew ever more difficult; the hungry howl of her stomach crept up to her lips.

«We eat in order to live, but we do not live in order to eat. You feel a fierce hunger, do you not? A wolf’s hunger! And the meal tempts you. Look upon it not with a wild, predatory gaze, but with an even, humble one — for you are above temptation. It is hard to begin living anew — not as you did before,» said the girl to her right. «I know — we all were once as you are, not understanding what it is to sleep in cold cells, to eat the simplest of victuals, to live by rules — not our own, but established from above.»

«We were told of you — or rather, that a guest dwelt within the monastery walls: a girl, wearied after a long road. Sister Mania will show you your cell after the evening meal,» a maiden sitting to the left addressed Rhipsimia. «It is safe and quiet there; the window looks out upon the flower garden, so you will ever breathe the fragrance of roses.»

«If you permit, I might tend to them,» Rhipsimia smiled. «I love flowers very much and know them well; besides, toil is no stranger to me — I saw how my parents laboured. I know but a little, yet I promise I will learn everything and do all that is needed for you and for the monastery. And I love handiwork, too; for instance, I make beads — ornaments for women who wish to shine before honoured guests and draw attention to themselves. I could make beads and teach you — they could be sold at markets and in shops, and with the money earned, we might adorn the monastery or buy books.»

«You shall speak with the Mother Abbess, Sister, and tell her of your wish to labour and of your talent. God willing, you shall teach us, and we shall teach you all we ourselves know, and show you our way.»

«I bid you rise, O maidens!» the abbess addressed all those present in a loud and solemn voice. «This morning, a wanderer washed ashore at the monastery walls. This maiden climbed the slopes; thunderclaps and lightning frightened her; the rain poured mercilessly upon her body and her garments. Strength spent, she fell near the gates of our abode! God sent her to us, and if she accepts our faith in Christ — she shall be a sister to you, and to me — a daughter! Tell her of God; love her with your hearts, and help her!»

The maidens bowed three times and, crossing themselves, began the meal. Each of them took food with one hand, carefully and reverently — she did not eat her fill, for one must rise from the table with a light feeling of hunger. Rhipsimia placed at the centre of the table all that was in her bundle, saying:

«I know not how to begin rightly, but I should like to turn to you now, O good people: all that I possess, I share with you. There is no more «mine’ here — there is only «ours.» All that belongs to me — belongs also to you! And one thing more: I wish to thank you, and I will be grateful to you until the end of my days — for shelter, for your kindness to me, for warming me and allowing me to share this meal with you. I have no sisters by blood; now I am alone in this world, yet — who knows? — perhaps you shall become my kin; perhaps, through your unity and your faith, I shall find a family.»

The abbess listened attentively to the girl’s speech and moved her lips softly; then she made the sign of the cross in the air and smiled — and from her smile, in Rhipsimia’s eyes, a fire of faith and hope kindled. She sat down upon the bench; the other girls, with a nod of their heads, thanked Rhipsimia.

No temptation! I am no savage! spoke Rhipsimia’s inner voice. After satiety, disgust always follows. Besides, I am stronger than desire. That means Mania was right — I must be collected, judicious, and look upon the victuals simply.

Despite her fierce hunger, Rhipsimia ate very modestly, like a little field mouse, and learned within herself to say «no» to temptations and worldly needs.

«The body will take only so much food as it requires, just as the earth takes only so much rainwater as it needs; but all those viands eaten beyond your measure — will do no good; that is human greed, gluttony, a sin,» the new acquaintance instructed the guest as she accompanied her to her cell. «In life, it is the same: take only as much as is appointed to you; be content with what you already have. In the Monastery of St. Paul, food — as with all that is customary in secular life — is treated modestly, at times with indifference. The novices have enough of a roof over their heads, a meal twice a day, and sleep — not long, but sound. Some think it is easy to enter a monastery, that it will open its doors hospitably to everyone and give all that is needed for a happy life. But that is not so. Within the monastery walls, people seek and receive forgiveness; they live here not because ordinary life has wearied them, but because they save their souls. And they turn to God. If you do not wish to speak with Him, nor seek to; if you do not desire to tame yourself and your temper; if you go against the commandments, show pride and haughtiness, rebelliousness — you simply will not be able to remain here; you will break. Different maidens live in the monastery: some fled from other lands — far-off, hot lands; some are orphans altogether; some were nearly destroyed by tyranny — and only within the monastery walls did such a soul begin to live, and not in fear, but in peace with herself and with others. Would the novices of the monastery gossip about you? Perhaps, in secular life, they would have judged you, ridiculed you, beaten you — a fugitive — simply because you are not like them, not pleasing to them. But within these walls, each one understands and accepts another with all her life’s stumbles and errors, with her lies, her unrighteous life, her sins. And each maiden helps another — not to correct, perhaps, but to atone for her sins before God, just as He once, upon the cross, atoned for the sins of all mankind. People think that to enter a monastery is tantamount to death, that you will never again leave its walls, that you bury yourself alive. Yes, a monastery is another life, not like life in mighty Rome or Athens. Here, it is different. Here, life is full, interesting — if you look beyond the tip of your nose, if you carry God in your soul, if you teach others to open themselves to Him, to trust and rely upon His will — you will find joy here, and you will wish for no other existence. Does God compel you to serve Him? No! If you go to serve Him freely, at the call of your heart — it means you go to serve the Truth. Of course, you are now bewildered; thoughts are whirling like a whirlwind in your head; you have seen much today, do not understand much now — but I will try to explain everything to you. No doubt you wish to know: to whom do we address ourselves? Why do we utter these speeches during the evening meal?»

«It is called a „prayer,“ is it not?»

«It is. A prayer is those words which open our hearts; they draw us nearer to God. You must tell Him of your needs, confide to Him your cares and worries — the Lord will surely hear you. And do you know who taught people to address God in prayer? Jesus. He was the first to speak with Him. And in conversation with God, Jesus found consolation, joy, relief. The Lord is grieved when we forget to speak with Him, for He is ready to pour out upon us the light of His blessing, to listen to us, to give us His love, to give more than we think. The most terrible thing, wanderer, is that people neglect communion with God — and from that, their life grows dark.»

«And how does it grow dark? Through temptations?» Rhipsimia asked thoughtfully. «That silhouette that came to me — he said that I must not yield to them…»

«Yes, and even the smallest temptation will lead to irreversible consequences and to sin. Prayer guards you from unnecessary thoughts, from breaking the commandments, from crossing over to the evil side — for Satan, who is absolute evil, waits for nothing else. In your room, you may read, if you wish — but I beg you, speak with the Lord without fail: as you go to sleep, in the morning — the moment you open your eyes — and in your daily labours, pray as well. Evil will not come to you, if God has made His dwelling within your heart.»

After the long talk, the novice threw open the door of the cell meant for the guest. Inside the small room, it was uncommonly beautiful: from the high ceiling, adorned with decorative wooden slats and gradually narrowing into a cone, a hesychia lamp hung down.

«In every cell, there are shelves for books,» she pointed to a small shelf standing by the bed. «These are the books of our monastery; now, they are yours, too. You see, we also know how to share: you — with your daily bread, and we — with our spiritual bread. By the by, in these books you will find writings about our religion — about Christianity — and, of course, in the library, you will see the most important book of all — we call it the Book of Books.»

The cell pleased Rhipsimia greatly: she began to examine the books, carefully turning each page.

«Can you stay with me? I should like to speak of God, and to learn what I must do tomorrow.»

«In the morning, I will come for you, to lead you to the morning prayer — we gather in the prayer hall to speak with the Lord. Also, our Mother Abbess is present with us at prayer — you saw her at the evening meal. With her, you may speak of all that troubles or interests you; she will bless all the deeds you undertake within the monastery walls. Then, after the prayer service, we go to breakfast, and afterward — to our obedience. It will help you to overcome a foul temper and the passions — and only in obedience can you find freedom, keep God’s commandments, and draw nearer to the Kingdom of Heaven. Do you know what we call maidens who, like you, come to the monastery of their own free will? Novices.»

«So obedience is a kind of discipline?» Rhipsimia asked with curiosity.

«Not entirely. What is discipline? Submission to rules invented by another person, is it not? That is, one person submits to another, carrying out some earthly tasks. But obedience is the renunciation of one’s own ego. When you understand that you must live not only for yourself — that besides you there are other people, and you can make them happy by helping them — then your soul, and body, and spirit will be transformed. Our abbess is not a ruler, not an emperor holding absolute power in her hands. The Mother simply loves us; she loves the monastery; she helps the maidens to set out upon the righteous path; she teaches us to trust. For every maiden living here, it was hard to trust another — for who knows when a knife will be thrust between your ribs? But the Mother continually repeats that only through good deeds can one earn the trust of another.»

«And what if I fail to earn your trust, and the Mother’s trust? Will I be driven from the monastery?»

«No one can drive you out of the House of God, maiden. For now, you are a guest among us — you have been here but a single day, yet you already show interest in our life, in God; you share your last with us, and you wish to help us — you have already entered into obedience, and all will go well with you; upon all your deeds rests God’s will. Tell me, wanderer — will you not be averse to our calling you by something other than your name? My name is Mania, but I have grown so used to «Sister’ that gradually the name given me at birth fades from my memory.»

«I am Rhipsimia. But if you all call me «Sister’ — I will be only glad. It sounds warm and pleasant — especially so.»

«Because here, all are one, and all resemble one another. Rest, Sister. Until tomorrow!»

Mania left the cell, leaving Rhipsimia alone with herself. Rhipsimia lay down upon the bed, a book in her hands. The first thing the girl read was a parable about an old man, the father of a daughter who did not love her father:

«Once, somewhere not far from Hygiea, there lived a daughter with her father. The father, while he was young, pampered his daughter; all the work he did himself — his child knew not what it meant to labour daily in sweat and blood. The years passed — and they, unhappily, spare no one, nor do they beautify. The father grew old — and the daughter began to be ashamed of him. Her beloved father, who had always gladdened her and spoiled her, carried her in his arms and denied her nothing — had now become a burden. The daughter grew vexed when her father, with trembling hands, took hold of her own; she could not look calmly upon how he held a spoon with his dry, wrinkled fingers, or drank from a cup; and their heart-to-heart talks no longer amused her.

«Do not be angry with me, my little daughter. I know you feel revulsion for an old man — forgive me that I cannot be forever young, gladdening you with flowers and catching you up in my arms. You see, labour has made a man of me — though, it is true, a very old and feeble one. If you feel hatred and spite toward me — endure it. All will come right. All things pass.»