Arseny was particularly apprehensive about the little girl since children withstand the plague worse than adults. He held her hand, not letting go, whenever he could. From her pulse he discerned changes in her condition and controlled her battle for life. Arseny could feel when he had to intervene decisively. At those moments, he mustered everything he had, leaving nothing behind, and delivered to the child everything vitalizing that he could find within himself. He feared only the depletion of his own strength.
When people came into the room to see them in the morning, Arseny was sitting motionless on the floor and holding the child by the hand. Those who entered thought he was dead. That the princess and her daughter were dead, too. But Arseny was alive. And though the princess and her daughter were still very weak, they were healthy.
That event became the beginning of Arseny’s rise. The prince doted on his family, so the recovery of his loved ones made a deep impression on him. He gave Arseny a sable fur coat as a gift. The gift’s value was obvious despite the warm season. The prince decided to make Arseny the court doctor and house him in his own palace.
It should be noted that princely chambers in this time long gone do not fully correspond to current notions of palaces. The Russian nobility’s palaces were usually wooden. They differed from the houses of simple townsfolk in terms of size more than anything: they were taller and broader. Construction never finished. It might be interrupted, but it would be resumed when the first necessity arose. New quarters were added to the main building with new marriages in the family. New additions appeared when kitchens, rooms for servants, and service areas were expanded. The structures became larger but not more beautiful. They resembled bee hives or a colony of mollusks. Their primary merit was that they suited the owners.
After living at the prince’s for several weeks, Arseny appealed to him, requesting that he be let go. No, Arseny did not want to leave Belozersk—there were still many people there who needed treatment—he asked only to be provided other housing. The request surprised the prince at first but Arseny explained that he visited other patients and was afraid of bringing the pestilence into the prince’s chambers. This was the truth but it was not the whole truth. Life in the palace weighed upon Arseny.
I feel you less strongly when I am amid luxury, he admitted to Ustina, in tears. And there it is impossible to accomplish the task I now live for.
The prince did not even consider hindering Arseny, for Arseny’s word meant a great deal to him. It was important for the prince that Arseny not leave Belozersk. He gave him a house not far from the palace and let him live as he saw fit. As Arseny saw fit was, of course, to deal with the affliction that gripped the city. Within a short time, he was able to arrange for the recovered to help the ill in Belozersk, too. He could not have dealt with the entire city’s ill all by himself.
Arseny left his house at daybreak and made the rounds to the houses of the plague-stricken. He examined them, determining their conditions and prospects for life. He stayed for long hours in places where his help could turn out to be decisive, persuading the sad angels of death to wait a bit. At times, when he thought his powers had completely abandoned him, he went to Beloozero.
It was already the end of May, but the lake was still under ice, its boundless leaden expanse standing in contradiction to the green-covered shores. Arseny felt the coldness of the lake’s depths as he walked along the ice. A waft of that coldness felt to him like a waft of death, as if the lake’s abyss contained everyone from Belozersk who had ever departed. He could gaze at the ice for hours, studying what had frozen into it over the winter: shards of a pot, charred pieces of campfire wood, a fallen wolf, remnants of bast shoes, and items that had lost their initial appearance and transformed into pure matter after resting for so long.
Arseny thought he was by himself but that was not the case. He could not hide anywhere from his renown. Unbeknownst to Arseny, Belozersk observed him from the shore. The city understood that the strain on Arseny would be unbearable for a regular person, so its people did not prevent him from gathering his strength in solitude.
But one day a speck broke free from the shore and began rapidly moving toward Arseny. He paid it attention when it became obvious that the speck was headed directly toward him. At first he thought the person was still far away but it only appeared that way because the person was so small. When the boy approached, Arseny saw he was around seven years old.
I am Silvester, said the boy. I have come, for my mother is sicke. Helpe us, O Arseny.
He took Arseny by the hand and pulled him in the direction of the shore. Silvester’s hand was cold. Arseny moved along silently behind him. Silvester slipped on the ice several times and hung ludicrously from Arseny’s hand. But neither laughed, since their walk was not joyful. Their motion was accompanied by the crackling of ice beneath their feet; above their heads there bellowed birds who had returned from warm lands. From time to time, waves of warm shore air flowed over them, offering its heat as they walked over the icy expanse.
My father died two years ago, said Silvester. Also from the pestilence. My mother’s name is Kseniya.
Seeing that Silvester was looking at him, Arseny nodded.
Silvester’s house stood by a swampy pond near the very edge of the city. Despite Arseny’s expectations, it was a nice home, without orphanhood or abandonment.
When did she get sick? Arseny asked before crossing the threshold.
Yesterday, said the boy.
Arseny went in. Silvester followed him despite a cautionary gesture.
She’s my mama, whispered Silvester. Nothing wicked can come to me from her.
But she belongs to the illness now, not to herself, said Arseny, whispering too, as he led the boy outside.
Kseniya lay with her eyes closed. Arseny watched her in silence for several minutes. Even the swelling from the illness had not distorted her balanced facial features. Arseny touched her forehead with his hand, surprised at his own timidity. He pressed on her forehead with his palm to shed his indecisiveness. Kseniya opened her eyes. They expressed nothing then slowly closed: Kseniya had no strength to resist sleep. Arseny felt her pulse. He drew his hand along her jugular artery. He pressed several times on the place under which her heart was beating. He could feel nothing in her but the waning of life.
In the entry room, Silvester looked at Arseny, questioning. Arseny knew that look very well but had not seen it before on a child. He could not fathom what he should say to a child who wore that look.
Things look bad, you know (Arseny turned away). I feel pained that I cannot save her.
But you saved the princess, said the boy. Save her, too.
Everything is in God’s hande.
You know, for God, it would be such an easy thing to heal her. It is very simple, Arseny. Let us pray to Him together.
Let us. But I do not want you to blame Him if she dies anyway. Remember: she is likely to die.
You want us to ask Him but not believe that He will grant this for us?
Arseny kissed the boy on the forehead.
No. Of course not.
Arseny made a bed for Silvester in the entryway and said, you will sleep here.
Yes, but we will pray first, said Silvester.
Arseny went to the room and brought out icons of the Savior, His Virgin Mother, and the great martyr and healer Panteleimon. He took dippers off a shelf and put the icons in their place. He and the boy knelt. They prayed for a long time. When Arseny finished reciting prayers to the Savior, Silvester tugged at his sleeve.