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People reached out to him [Father John] as a living testimony of the Heavenly Powers, as a living sign that Heaven is alive, divine and gracious. The people, like the Apostle Thomas, are looking to put their fingers and touch. A.B. Kruglov. All Russia prayer book The name of Father John is known throughout Russia. Wandering around the Russian land, I saw his portraits everywhere - both in luxurious offices and in peasant shacks. Not yet knowing the Kronstadt shepherd personally, I already knew him from that prayer, printed and oral, which spread like a wide wave throughout Rus'... People talked about him everywhere, everywhere his name was pronounced with reverence and love. And this reverence was understandable, this love was not surprising, when everywhere there were living witnesses of fatherly love and pastoral miraculous prayer, that help, affection that did not know the difference between people according to their condition, position: the Kronstadt shepherd everywhere carried his loving heart, his support to the rich, who needed healing no less than the poor, to both Christians and non-Christians. His faith was never dead, his love was always fiery and active. The deceased shepherd was strong with this faith and love; this was the reason for his charm, his spiritual power over the whole people. In the peasant's hut where I stayed, I saw a portrait of Father John. - Do you know him? – I asked. – Personally, no... But this is our prayer book! Our land is strong for them!.. And another, a former soldier, said: - I saw him... I saw... - No... Where to speak! Thousands... And it’s enough to see!.. He looked at me and revived my whole soul... as if grief had taken away everything... Truly, I tell you: I have never prayed as much as at the time when he served... Apparently, with him, our prayer becomes stronger! These words of a simple Russian man are significant about someone who prayed for his brothers all his life and was a sad person and a friend of the suffering and burdened. And Father John performed miracles not only in the sense of healing. He worked miracles on the souls and hearts of people who came to him. I remember the words of a writer from the people of Savikhin, who spoke about Father John to another writer. Yes, he said, it is difficult to convey in words the change that took place in the villagers who visited Father John. Where previously there was hubbub, noise from quarrels, it was replaced by good relationships: women come together, experience their impressions, as if breathing that blessed air that is there, near Father. Help is needed - they are responsive... For Father John always says: “Love each other and help each other... everyone who needs... without distinction... with God everyone is equal... and it is not for us to judge who is worthy, whoever is in need - help, do not judge and do not reason!” Meeting with intelligent people, I also heard one good thing about Father John... And there were witnesses to grace-filled healings and those who were healed themselves. Intelligent people (for example, two doctors, an engineer, a high school teacher, a professor) enthusiastically shared their impressions from their trip to Kronstadt. They went with doubts, with grief to the representative of the gospel truth, they also went with anger, which they could not calm down and tear out of their hearts - and received healing from Father John. His word, affectionate, heartfelt, his benevolent gaze, penetrating straight into the soul, lifted the burden of sorrow, often anger, and inspired them to fight, to work, to live... And how the deceased shepherd was able to help financially - there are thousands of stories about this, and I have heard many of them myself. Father John saved people from a fatal outcome, kept them from debauchery, and “put them on their feet.” One of the Jews with tears in his eyes told how Father John helped him out of trouble... gave him 500 rubles!.. The poor man could not imagine how it was that Father John gave him, some Jew (his own words), without knowing him, so much!.. - Well, so what: I left them!.. I’m a man now. I see what a... saint he is!.. Oh, if only all... your... priests were like this! But also because... you have him... I won’t vilify anyone else anymore... That’s what he’s like! You have to be an exceptional person to evoke this review and these exceptional words from the lips of a Jew! It is interesting to know whether he is alive now and how he defended Father John when he was being persecuted by leading leaflets. The more I heard about Father John, the more and more I was interested in him, one might say attracted... I read everything that was written about him. And my reverent feeling for him grew and strengthened... I was greatly struck by the following fact from the first years of his pastoral ministry. He returned home from being sick. Beggars were waiting for him at the gate of the house. He gave them everything he had and left himself only 20 kopecks for travel to Oranienbaum - to see the sick man. Father John did not have a penny more than two kopecks. And here comes a woman whose husband was dying and whose children were starving. Father John gave her the last two kopecks and went with her to her apartment. The altar server did not limit himself to monetary help and verbal consolation; he himself cleaned the room while the woman went to buy bread for the children, and then began to pray to God at the bedside of the patient. The patient recovered, and thanks to the financial help of Father John, he escaped from poverty... Where did Father John get the money? He gave away what he received. He received with one hand and distributed with the other, without looking, without counting, often handing over bags of money - not knowing how much money there was. He always did this: when he received little and when he received a lot, when he could distribute rubles and when his receipts reached hundreds and thousands... “God indicates - I distribute.” And if he was given a lot, he shared a lot. He gave away things that belonged to others, and in addition to helping the poor, he showed benefits to the rich, calling them to a good deed... They believed him, his word carried power... And so the people's priest-prayer-man lived for many years, lived for others, performing church services with lively joy, zealously, finding spiritual satisfaction in this, comforting the sorrowful, healing the sick, strengthening the weak, helping the poor... He lived, knowing almost no rest, always cheerful, joyful, with a kind smile in his radiant eyes... He lived for many years, saw common love, and... lived to see the dark days of his native land, when he, the altar server, a disciple of Christ, had to join in the “suffering of the confessors” - to endure the blasphemies, slander and insults of triumphant evil unbelief... And he departed to eternal rest under the cry of those who were not spiritually blind, under the cry of those who had received their sight, who had repented... and under the whistling and mockery of those for whom nothing is sacred, who with special gloating attack everything that is high, pure and virtuous... I heard one lady cry: “Oh, why didn’t I... recognize him personally! I saw it too late... He died, and I wasn’t with him!..” And I heartily felt sorry for her... Yes, she had a reason to cry at the memorial service for the deceased shepherd: if she had been with him and talked to him... experienced his fatherly affection, she would not have survived the blindness with which she was ill... And I consider myself inexpressibly happy that I was able to see, recognize Father John and experience for myself the power of his prayer, the power of his influence... A serious illness was the reason for my acquaintance with Father John, and now I bless the illness itself, the very sorrows of that time, for “they gave me the opportunity to comprehend the lie, to see the light”... Perhaps this is precisely why illness and sorrow were sent to me, so that I would not only be healed physically, but also spiritually, by coming into contact with the carrier heavenly truth and through him knowing the miraculous and renewing grace of God. I first saw Father John at Maslenitsa in 1886. I then fell ill, and the doctors who treated me (I lived in St. Petersburg) announced to my relatives that I would either not walk at all or would walk with a crutch. There was nothing to hope for a quick improvement in the disease, according to them. Then my life partner wrote a letter to Father John, asking him to visit the sick man. Several days passed, and Father John did not come. My nerves were greatly shaken by the illness, I had hysterical fits, and I fell into such a gloomy state of mind that at these moments I even had the thought “to end everything at once,” because “this is better than suffering all my life.” In the same terrible moment of irritation and spiritual gloom, I exclaimed: “Yes, righteous man, but he’s not coming... Maslenitsa, or something, is in the way!” It was in the morning. The excitement suddenly gave way to calm, a quiet, bright feeling came over me, and I silently either prayed or experienced some kind of sweet half-forgetfulness. Suddenly a strong bell rang in the hallway. The maid rushed to unlock it, and a few minutes later they told me that Father John had arrived. I was overcome by strong excitement... I wanted to get up and sit down, but I couldn’t. Father John entered the room. He was thin, but his face was fresh and flushed. A small beard, brown hair, a gentle, benevolent look. -Where is the patient? - he asked and, seeing me, said loudly: - Hello! – and sat down on the edge of the bed. Kind, bright eyes looked at me tenderly. He took my hand and said: - I couldn’t come earlier... having received the letter... Don’t think that Maslenitsa delayed me... I couldn’t come earlier! I remember well that these words of Father John made me blush. My face burned, and the thought: “So he recognized what I said,” confused me so much that I was barely aware of my surroundings; I couldn’t, I didn’t dare raise my eyes to Father John, but he softly and affectionately asked: - I'm a writer! – I answered, barely audible, without raising my head. - This is good... now there is so much unbelief among the intelligentsia, but you... believe... and turned to God - so let’s pray to Him together. Father John quickly stood up, walked to the front corner, where a lamp was burning in front of the icon case, and began to pray out loud. I cannot convey the content of his prayers. There were those that we all know, and others with whom he cried out to God on his own... His loud exclamation made a particularly strong impression on everyone: “Heal the sick servant Alexander!” - after which he stopped, as if listening to something, and repeated louder: “Yes, yes, Alexandra!” One of the women standing in the room said later: “I began to tremble... it seemed to me that he... seemed to be talking to the sky and hearing questions from there and answering them.” This is very figuratively said, but many people experienced the same impression. I was overcome by some kind of religious mood that I had not experienced before. I did not whisper prayers, did not repeat Father John’s words, I did not pray with my lips at all. I somehow became completely imbued with prayer, so to speak, and prayed without words. Even the word “prayed” would not be an appropriate expression; I rather listened to Father John’s prayer, all trembling, all overwhelmed by some kind of joy, a feeling for which I can’t find a specific name... But Father John, having finished praying, came up to me again and sat down on the bed. “So we prayed,” he said, “and God will help and lift you up!” He said this in the same boldly confident tone in which he had recently said: “Give healing to your servant Alexander!” And for this Father John added: - Get ready for the first week! - But today is already Friday... that means there is only one day until Lent! And the doctors... Father John interrupted me imperiously and reproachfully: – What doctors? Earthly? You turned to the Heavenly Doctor, He will help... you will get up! I felt ashamed of my words. I was silent. Father John, blessing me, looked at me with a gentle, warming gaze and left. By Monday of the first week I was up and walking, to the amazement of the doctor. This is a fact from my life, not a hearsay story. This was my first meeting with Father John. The second time I met him was in 1898, while living in Lyuban. Between 1986 and 1998, I never met Father John, although I wrote to him twice and each time, through his prayers, I received what I asked for. I will briefly talk about both cases. In 1893, while spending the winter in Kolpino, near St. Petersburg, I fell ill with an acute illness. I was treated, but the illness dragged on. I suffered a lot. Then I sent a message to Father John asking him to pray for me. And the next day I was already healthy. In 1895 (we lived in Moscow), “my life partner” fell ill with typhoid fever - I use the favorite expression of the late Solovyov. The attending physician did not give hope for recovery, saying: “I can’t say anything yet... we have to wait...”. And the patient got worse and worse... I again turned to Father John. I sent a dispatch this afternoon. And at night I had the following dream: Father John enters the bedroom, goes to the window, takes a bottle of wooden oil and pours oil into the lamp, which was barely glowing in front of the icons. The lamp flared up and burned brightly. Father John headed towards the door. I jump out of bed and say: “Father, why didn’t you pray for the sick woman?” “I did what was necessary,” answered Father John, and disappeared. And I woke up. The patient lay with her eyes open... - How are you? – I asked her. – I feel better... there is no pain... The doctor who arrived soon after examining the patient said to me: - Well, perhaps I can please you... there has been a noticeable improvement in the course of the disease... and it gives hope for a successful outcome... And from that day on the patient began to recover. And now about the second meeting with Father John, in 1898, in Lyuban. I walked in the field and returned home. I came across a running sotsky. “Where are you going?” – I asked him. “And to the count’s dacha, Father John is there,” answered the sotsky. “What kind of father is John?” - “Yes, Father of Kronstadt.” - “Could it be!” – I exclaimed. At this time the coachman drove past me. I jumped into his tarantass and ordered him to take me to the count’s dacha. When we arrived, Father John was sitting on the balcony. Next to Father John was the priest of Luban, Father Kirill Ozerov. I got out of the carriage and stopped three steps from the balcony, brushing the dirt off my coat. Father Kirill stood up and said to Father John: “Let me introduce you, Father John, to the writer A.B. who lives here. K." - “Where is he, where?” – asked Father John. I approached him. He blessed me and hugged me; then he poured tea on a saucer and said to me: “Drink!” I drank. He started asking me about how I live and what I do. I reminded him of his visit to me in St. Petersburg and of my speedy recovery after his prayer. “Thank God, thank God!” - he said. A few minutes later they began to serve a prayer service. A lot of people filled the room. A crowd of thousands stood on the street, blocking the entire meadow and courtyard of the estate. People abandoned work and ran to receive Father’s blessing. At the brick factory, Catholic workers also abandoned their work and ran to the count's dacha. “What do you care?” – the owner tried to stop them. “Whatever: he’s everyone’s Father,” the workers answered. During the prayer service, all the people prayed earnestly, many cried. When Father John went out onto the balcony and began to bless, the air was shaken by cries: “Bless, Father! Our dear! Our merciful Bogomolet!” Father John blessed, hugged some, and kissed the children. He gave money to those who asked, some three, some five, and to those especially in need, after asking them, he gave ten and twenty rubles. When he went out onto the balcony and said loudly, cheerfully: “Hello, my friends!” – it was as if he was making Christ with everyone, it came out solemnly, invitingly. In general, the picture was majestic and touching; involuntarily tears of tenderness welled up in my eyes. One could feel the connection between the people and the shepherd, who is “Father to everyone.” After the prayer service, I wanted to leave, but Father John stopped me and invited me to have a snack together. I bowed to Father John and said: “I, Father, don’t know anyone here.” “It’s all the same,” he said. “I invite you.” The hostess heard this and hurriedly said to me: “Very glad, please,” and extended her hand to me. And her face showed that she was glad, of course, not for me, but glad to fulfill every desire of Father John, glad that he managed her house as he did his own. This reminded me of the kind attitude of rich women who received respected pastors of the Church in the distant times of Christianity. After lunch, Father John went to the nearest villages and, they say, distributed money there as well. When Father John left, a mass of people saw him off. It was a holiday for Lyuban: everyone’s faces were cheerful, “as if about Easter,” as some old woman aptly put it. At these moments I involuntarily remembered the crowds of people on the streets of Constantinople, meeting and seeing off Chrysostom. Subsequently, one lady told me that at the station, a retired officer, burdened with a family, appeared to Father John, who was already sitting in the carriage, and begged for help. Father John took out a sealed envelope that he had received from a rich lady who had invited him to Lyuban, and handed this envelope to the officer. The envelope contained 1200 rubles. In August 1898, I was able to visit Kronstadt and participate in general confession. At that time, the cathedral, crowded with people, presented an amazing sight. When Father John spoke to the people before confession, his words burned their hearts. Yes, Father John was not famous for his oratory, but his word had powerful power, because: “Each teaching is the most frank confession of his heart, his beliefs. It came close to what the Apostle Paul in his sermon calls the manifestation of the spirit and power. For Father John, speaking and doing, doing and speaking are one and the same thing” 14. And when Father John addressed the confessors, the penitents, in his words one could hear sorrow and love, and joy that here they are - thieves, libertines, sensualists, drunkards, gluttons - came here, to this spiritual hospital, to heal their souls with repentance, to wash away their sins with tears, to unite with Christ in the Sacrament of Communion. I looked at him and did not recognize in him the same Father John who was in Lyuban. A completely different facial expression, a completely different Father John. The expression on Father John's face changed frequently, sometimes with amazing speed. That's why it appeared so differently on photographic cards. It is worth following only Father John during the service. The expression on his face became sometimes mournful, sometimes joyful, full of strength and power. When confession began, there was groaning and crying in the cathedral. Everyone, forgetting false shame, confessed their sins out loud. It was a majestic and amazing picture, when people raised their hands and loudly confessed their sins. “I, I am a harlot!” - the woman screamed, and tears ran from her eyes, and her face breathed complete remorse. “I don’t hide, I don’t hide, God knows, I repent that I am a drunkard and a thief,” confessed a dark-haired man in a business jacket, breathing heavily, raising his eyes to the face of the Savior. An engineer was standing next to me. At first he smiled; Obviously, to an intellectual accustomed to official confession, such a nationwide confession, such repentance seemed strange. But not even three minutes had passed before this engineer was sobbing and repenting out loud, not noticing me and others: “I am a libertine, a libertine... My God, yes! I have destroyed many, I have deceived many!” It is impossible to express in words what I experienced and felt at this time. I’ll just say: I’ve never prayed like I did on this day in my life, and I’ve never repented like I did at this confession. I did not fast, did not prepare for confession, but I opened my soul in a way that I could never do before, in any confession, for which I prepared for a week-long fast. At that moment everything earthly went away. All embarrassment and all fear disappeared. And I just felt the need to express everything that was weighing on my soul, what was hurting me. The presence of some higher grace-filled power was felt, and when Father John began to read absolution from sins, and everyone knelt down, I, so to speak, lost consciousness of where I was. It seemed to me, and it didn’t seem to me - I really can’t find the exact expression - as if I was caught up somewhere, and not Father John, but someone else, and not here on earth, gave me permission. I went to Kronstadt in an everyday mood, I went with a dejected soul, with a darkened heart. And after confession and Communion, I was definitely resurrected and reborn. I threw off that stone from my soul that had been weighing me down for many years. I always feel good on Easter night, but the mood that overcame me then was even brighter, even more sublime. And all day I felt in this festive mood, and on the street the crowds of people had the same appearance. It was a brisk, fresh August day. The sun was shining, although it was no longer warm like summer, the air was somewhat fresh. The streets are crowded with people. One might have thought that the city was preparing to welcome some particularly important guest; flags were nowhere to be seen, but this was unnecessary. The joy that was written on everyone’s faces, the festive mood in everyone’s spirit, spoke stronger and more eloquently than any flags that today was a festive day for this entire mass of people. Yes it was. Father John has just returned from his trip to his homeland. The people of Kronstadt, who had been orphaned without him all summer, suddenly came to life, rejoiced and rejoiced. They again saw Father John, from whom they had been separated for so long. Without him it was cold and lonely, everyday life dragged on, but now he returned, and again everyone was happy, good, as if holidays had arrived. The wanderers who came from afar and had been waiting for Father for a long time were also happy. One word “here he is” or “he’s coming” already excited the crowd, and they rushed to where he was. When he rides, crowds of people run after him. This is some kind of honorary guard. There are both men and women here. Father John stops several times, blesses them, and begs them to return. Some return, while others continue to flee. Father John is in a hurry, he cannot help but hurry, for everyone is waiting for him. Tired of the long church service (matins began at 4 o'clock, followed by mass, and Father John gave communion until 12 noon), Father again hurried to the service, but to another one: to serve his neighbor. He had no time to rest; the sick, the destitute, and the wanderers were waiting for him. He traveled to private houses, to hotels, to hospitals, to all corners where visitors who wanted to see him stayed. He brought words of consolation to some, and material assistance to others. And in the evening, when I went to the store to buy a frame to insert the portrait of Father John, which he had given me with an inscription, he was already leaving for St. Petersburg. What's next? “If Father John is not taken from St. Petersburg somewhere to the ends of the world, then he will return home again only at one o’clock in the morning. This is how Father John’s Day passes, notes V.M. “From early morning until late at night, he is always in public and on his feet. The life of Father John is not divided into public and private, like that of all people in general. He has no private life of his own. It belongs entirely to the people. A general, an engineer, a scientist, an orator, a minister, returning home, ceases to be a general, a scientist, an orator, a minister. Each of them at this time devotes himself to family, acquaintances, innocent entertainment, and hours of relaxation. This never happened to Father John, they say, not once for 35 years. Returning home after long and tedious work, he finds a lot of people wanting to see him, dozens of new urgent invitations, thousands of letters and requests. Each of us, who has our own corner and home, has a certain hour to refresh ourselves with food. Does Father John have such time? – I asked some in Kronstadt. They say he only gets to have breakfast or lunch a few times a year. Where does he have lunch? Everywhere and nowhere, always and, one might say, never. Due to the multitude of visitors, he can never set an hour for visiting and almost never gets to attend any supper. Therefore, he has to patiently be content with little. There he will eat some fruit, here he will drink a glass of tea, here he will eat a piece of bread or a few cookies. It often happens that during the whole day he does not have to eat properly. But he does not seek this, being completely content with the little that God sends him here or there during the day. Father John sleeps surprisingly little. It is not even always the case that 3–4 hours of deep night a day belong entirely to Father John. Quite often he spends them in a railway carriage, in a carriage, and sometimes he does not sleep at all. What a gigantic work! And he has to endure this labor not for just one day or several days, but for whole months, years, decades. Involuntarily I remembered at that moment our constant complaints about nerves, lack of sleep, malnutrition, and the notorious overwork. If each of us worked as hard as Father John works, I don’t know what would happen to us and what stories we wouldn’t come up with in our justification and apology. Maybe some people could not stand it just by imagining such work and would get sick. They talk a lot about the miracles of Father John. In my deep conviction, this difficult life of Father John alone represents the greatest miracle. Only a person with grace can endure for so many years such a mass of continuous labor, stress, so many different kinds of hardships.” Leaving Kronstadt, all the way I remembered the days I had experienced, even, more precisely, I relived what had just passed. In my imagination, Father John rose up, now serving a prayer service in cheap apartments, now driving along the street, surrounded by people, now serving in a church. His service made a particularly strong impression on me, from this service the moment when he said loudly, joyfully, reverently: “Christ is in our midst!” Some kind of electric spark ran through my entire body at these words. And I felt that Christ is right in the midst of us here, where the Bloodless Sacrifice is being performed. I had never felt this before, standing in the altars and hearing the same exclamation of the clergy. The steamer ran forward, clattering its wheels, and the words continued to ring in my ears: “Christ is in our midst!” Here, by the way, quote the words of Vasily Lebedev, who was in Kronstadt and describes Father John’s relationship with the common people in this way. “At the end of the prayer service (in the House of Diligence), Father John, with a cross in his hands, turned his face to the people and stood for a long time, listening to various requests and pleas of the sick, suffering and unfortunate who approached him. Oh, how much love for one’s neighbor must be in one’s heart in order to listen, understand, and most importantly, respond so warmly and sympathetically to all these fragmentary, timid prayers of people suffering in one way or another, as Father John listened to them and immediately, with the readiness of a loving and compassionate father, satisfied all the requests of his spiritual children oppressed by illnesses and sorrows! My God! What everyday dramas took place here one after another. What gloomy pictures of life were painted here, in the face of Father John. Here, a representative of grave grief and hopeless need, a poor, poorly dressed woman, with the burning pain of shame and illness, approaches Father and with tremulous, trembling lips begs him for mercy. But here there is no need for words, no need for explanations, and just the pleading gaze of the poor woman, without any words, turns the heart of Father John, sensitive to human suffering, to himself, and his generous and never-fading hand immediately gives her the gift of mercy, adding at the same time the good advice: “Do not despair in sorrow and hope in God.” The caressed, happy woman poured hot tears of gratitude over the merciful hand of her benefactor and, in a fit of heartfelt tenderness, fell at his feet. Following her, they bring the sick man, and he was given a benefit in the form of a compassionate, warm prayer addressed to God by Father John for the health of the sick man. In a long line, more and more people came up with various prayers, and no one left unconsoled, no one cried tears of sorrow here, although all the people’s faces were wet with tears, but with tears of tenderness, love and gratitude to their comforter and benefactor. Finally, Father John moved towards the exit, surrounded on all sides by a crowd of people who infinitely loved him and were deeply grateful to him. The people accompanied the dear guest all the way to the carriage and, crossing himself, with tears, thanked the Lord for the ineffable gifts of His grace, shed on the earth through the medium of the good shepherd who visited us, who, according to His Gospel word, shepherds the verbal flock of Christ. Directly from us, the tireless worker Father John left for St. Petersburg, hurrying to his other children, who were also grieving and sick and equally dear to his compassionate heart. Upon his departure, Kronstadt seemed deserted, froze and took on a kind of sad appearance.” Unknown author. From gymnasium memories of Father John Sergiev I remember Father John as a teacher of the law at the Kronstadt classical gymnasium in the early 80s. The fame of Father John was then still limited to the city of Kronstadt. It is possible, however, that in some places in the villages there was already a silent rumor about a good and holy priest living somewhere “beyond St. Petersburg.” The attitude of children towards a person is an excellent measure of his spiritual qualities. The soul of a child sensitively notices the slightest falsehood and insincerity of the adults around him. The cartoon is close and understandable to children's thinking. It is not for nothing that in all educational institutions there are funny stories and anecdotes about teachers, caricatures of them, nicknames, etc. As you know, “kind” teachers, whom the students love and respect, do not avoid the fate of becoming heroes of children’s cartoons. In this regard, children's laughter is objective and does not spare either “its own” or “strangers.” There was a lot of strangeness in the figure and demeanor of Father John, which, it would seem, should have affected the imagination of us, little mockers of 10–14 years old. Sharp, impetuous movements, a nervous, broken voice, unexpectedly rising and falling, periods of equally unexpected thoughtfulness and absent-mindedness - all this, it seemed, should awaken laughter in us. Meanwhile, I positively do not remember a single case when any of us ever even smiled mockingly at our teacher of the law. Such was the strength of the respect that each of us unconsciously felt for this strange man with bright and quiet blue eyes, an embarrassed smile that often illuminated his ascetic face, and a sharp, perhaps even stern, voice. There was something in the personality of Father John that irresistibly aroused respect for him even on the part of laughing schoolchildren who did not think seriously about anything yet - second and third graders. As a teacher, Father John adhered to a completely special system. He did not “challenge” us to ask the lesson, but upon entering the class, he turned to us: “Who wants to answer today?” - and if, which was very rare, no one expressed a desire to answer, he calmly sat down at the pulpit and read aloud any of his own or others’ sermons or other books, one way or another related to today’s lesson. However, with Father John, despite such “connivance” with his students, a connivance that caused dissatisfied grumbling from directors, inspectors and teachers, they studied well. Not only did they know the entire compulsory annual course, but they also diligently read various books and brochures auxiliary to the course, which Father John often distributed to us. Even in those cases when Father John’s question: “Who wants to answer today?” – no one responded, this did not mean at all that the class had not learned the lesson today. The silence in this case was explained by the fact that the custom gradually became established of answering Father John’s lesson flawlessly, going far beyond the limits of the text given in the textbook, and no one felt the opportunity to answer in this way, “with style,” that day, and therefore no one wanted to answer. But one could vouch for that that everyone knew the lesson thoroughly. What brought us children especially close to Father John was the amazing quality of his soul that he himself would go into a state of nervous anxiety and excitement as soon as he saw that one of his students was upset or dejected in any way. As soon as Father John noticed that somewhere in the back desk was sitting a high school student who was not at ease, who had some kind of small childish grief, he began to get nervous and frown. He listened absentmindedly to the person answering the lesson, from time to time he looked restlessly at the concentrated figure of the saddened boy, and in the end he could not stand it and with his nervous, impetuous gait, he left the pulpit and went to ask the one who had caused him concern what was wrong with him. He asked, like everything he did, in a sharp, impetuous, rather stern than affectionate voice, and yet - a strange thing! – after just a few minutes of conversation with Father John, the boy who had been sitting before with a ruffled face came into a good mood and began to smile. Father John also calmed down and with a clearer face returned to the pulpit... The first time I saw Father John was with my aunt, Countess Tiesenhausen. The old woman lived in the mezzanine of the Winter Palace with her niece Nina Piller, who was hopelessly ill. Father John was invited to pray for her recovery, and he made a strong impression on me. He addressed the sick woman and then those present with a speech, urging them to rely entirely on the will of God and surrender with submission to His good Providence. After that, he invited everyone to pray for the sick woman and began to read an impromptu and heartfelt prayer that moved everyone to tears. The sick woman cried, those present cried, and Father John himself cried. After the prayer, he blessed the sick woman, promised to pray for her again when he served the liturgy, and encouraged all her loved ones. He advised everyone to pray, but not to expect a miracle and not to see anything terrible in the Christian death, but to everyone to always be ready for death, as long as it was a righteous death. Soon after this, three weeks later, the sick woman died, and Father John served a memorial service for her, and again touched everyone with his kind pastoral words. Anyone who has ever seen the Kronstadt shepherd up close will never forget his meek gaze and his soft, warm voice when he uttered words of consolation. There was an air of spiritual peace from him, and a special power of grace was felt in his speeches. He made an irresistible impression, and I remember how one of my relatives, who was keen on Lord Radstock 15 and the false teachings of a Stundist nature that were fashionable at that time, 16 having met Father John in our house, rushed to kiss his hands, and one look from Father John was enough for him to abandon his hobby and express a desire to go to Kronstadt to confess and partake of the Holy Mysteries, which he had not begun for more than ten years. After this, he became a sincere believer and ceased to shun the Church and its ministers. The more Father John's fame grew, the more difficult access to him became. I remember that during my mother’s illness I wrote and telegraphed to Father John in vain, and my call did not reach him. Then I went to see General Bogdanovich, who knew him closely, the father of my corps comrade, and he wrote me a telegram, forcing me to sign: “Page of His Majesty’s Court,” and indeed, this time the telegram arrived. In response, Father John himself came and prayed for our dear patient, who was dying from an incurable illness. When I was a page, I went to see Father John in Kronstadt with a friend. When we boarded the ship in Oranienbaum, it turned out that Father John was returning to his place with the same ship, to whom we immediately approached, and had the good fortune to talk with him all the way and learn from his instructions. When the ship landed at Kronstadt, it turned out that Father John was already waiting there. On the street adjacent to the pier, beggars stood in two rows of trellises, about two hundred people. Father John, coming ashore, approached them and began to give them alms. At the same time, we were lucky enough to be eyewitnesses of Father John’s foresight. One of the passengers near us, a young intellectual of a rather cheeky type, whispered to his neighbor, a student, in a low voice, pointing to Father John, distributing money at the other end of the street: “Encouragement of parasitism!” When Father John finished the distribution, he returned to the pier, where those young people were still standing, waiting for the cab driver, and said, turning to them: “We must all be merciful to the poor, for it is said in Scripture: blessed is he who looks upon the poor and needy; on the day of cruelty the Lord will deliver him (Ps. 40:1), but we priests are obliged to take even more care of the poor, since it is also said there: food has been left for you. beggar! And, having uttered these words, he walked away, leaving the young people in great confusion. In front of Father John's house there was a crowd through which it was impossible to squeeze through. Therefore, we did not dare to penetrate there, especially since we had already had the good fortune of seeing Father John and talking with him, and we headed to St. Andrew’s Cathedral, where there was also already a mass of people, since we expected that Father John would come there to serve vespers. After some time, Father John arrived, and the people rushed towards him with such force that if the police had not stood there, Father would have been crushed. After Vespers, Father John blessed the people for a long time, and we witnessed the following scenes: a decently dressed gentleman comes up and informs Father John that he is ruined and faces shame and prison, since he wasted other people’s money. At this time, some poorly dressed woman in a headscarf passes a white bundle over the heads of others to Father. Father John takes the bundle and, without looking at it, hands it over to a decently dressed gentleman. The woman screams: “Father, there are three thousand here!” Father John addresses her with the words: “You sacrifice to God, don’t you? The Lord accepts your gift, and your money will save a person.” And a man with a bundle in his hands is already kneeling in front of the icon of the Savior and repeating through tears: “Three thousand, three thousand! Exactly the amount I owe!” After Vespers, Father John received us, blessed us and, giving us a quick farewell, since many were waiting for him, promised to pray for us. We could not stay until another day, since we had to return to the Krasnoselsky camp that same evening, and therefore we left Kronstadt, taking with us the brightest memories in our souls. After that, I often met with Father John when I lived in Moscow, and he came there and visited Prince Dolgorukov. The prince showed the Kronstadt shepherd signs of great attention and respect, each time leaving him to dine with him, and, knowing how Father John valued his time, he put his carriage at his disposal and asked him not to be shy and to leave immediately after the end of dinner if he had no time. Once the prince instructed me, at that time a young officer, to escort Father John to the Nikolaevsky station and order that the front rooms be opened. There was a huge crowd at the station, so the carriage had to walk at a walk, and when leaving the carriage I barely managed to guide Father John to the doors of the front rooms, so crowded were we. Since they feared that there would be a similar crush on the platform, where the crowd surrounded the first-class carriages, the station master ordered Father John to be led slowly across the track and seated in the carriage on the opposite side. To divert attention, gendarmes stood in trellises on the platform in front of the carriage, as if waiting for its passage, and the public surrounded them. At the very moment the train departed, the gendarmes dispersed, and in front of the astonished public, a curtain rose in the carriage window and the face of the beloved shepherd appeared, who, smiling tenderly, blessed those present. The prince laughed a lot when I reported to him how we managed to get Father John into the carriage. That the danger of a crush was not a joke is shown by the fact that on Father John’s previous departure from Moscow, the station crowd crushed him to such an extent that they bent his golden pectoral cross. Father John, while in Moscow, visited the commander of the troops, General Kostanda, and once, having arrived there in the second week of Easter, he said Christ with everyone present, since, according to him, Easter had not passed, but to greet each other with the words: “Christ is Risen!” – you can not only all Easter, but all year round. Once I was lucky enough to travel with Father John from Petrograd to Moscow on a fast train in the same carriage. Having learned that Father Archpriest Sergiev was traveling in the compartment next to mine, I knocked on his door, and he kindly invited me in and allowed me to spend several hours unforgettable in my memory in his edifying community. The next morning, approaching Moscow, Father John again invited me into his compartment, and we continued yesterday’s conversation, which ended only when the train drove under the glass canopy of the Nikolaevsky station of the capital. The last words addressed to me by the loving Kronstadt shepherd were a promise to remember me in prayer during the liturgy and an exhortation, I was already a priest at that time, to perform liturgies as often as possible and mutually pray for him. I met Father John one more time in the Crimea, where he came in the fall of 1894, summoned to the painful bed of the Tsar the Peacemaker, and was honored to be invited by him to concelebrate in the Yalta Cathedral. First, Father John served Matins, and he himself read the troparia of the canon, and at the end of Matins he delivered a sermon. After the liturgy, Father John, as usual, despite the concelebration of the deacon, consumed the Holy Gifts, and then performed a prayer service for the health of the Sovereign Emperor Alexander III. Father John's modesty was amazing. He never cared about himself personally, never tried to move forward, never attributed the received mercies of God to his prayers, but always said that healing is given by God according to the faith of the sufferer himself and through the prayers of all those who prayed with him, and not just him. The more he showed Christian humility and efforts to conceal himself, the more the Lord brought forward his righteous man and glorified him. I remember such an incident. When he first appeared to Prince Vladimir Andreevich Dolgorukov, no one from the Governor General’s servants knew him yet: he was taken to the hallway and left there to wait. Nobody noticed him; officials walked past him into the reception room, not paying attention, and no one thought about reporting him to the prince, and he himself did not remind anyone of himself, standing modestly in a corner in a cassock and kamilavka. In this form I found him in the hallway and immediately told the official on duty about him, who hastened to report him to the prince, and the prince immediately ordered him to be taken to his place. From then on, the prince constantly invited him to his place and showed signs of respect; I remember once, in the presence of Archbishop Ambrose, the prince approached Father John for a blessing, and he did not refuse to give it to him, although it is not customary for priests to bless in the presence of a bishop. Father John’s relationship with the people who turned to him for help was touching: he suffered with the suffering and cried with those who wept, but he sternly and angrily denounced stubborn heretics and sectarians, like Leo Tolstoy and his followers. For this, the latter hated him with the same irreconcilable hatred with which Satan hates the angels of light. Meanwhile, Father John of Kronstadt could not at all be called a narrow fanatic, since he did good to both Orthodox and non-Orthodox people alike, and I know of such a case just in the Crimea, when Father John advised one sick person who called him - a Pole who had not been to confession for a long time - to confess and partake of the Holy Mysteries with his priest, and when he followed Father’s advice, he recovered. I know that Father John did good even to Jews, and I knew Jews who highly respected him and considered him a saint. Abroad, the fame of Father John has increased since Vanutelli wrote about him in his book about Russia, and compared him with his namesake, the parish priest of Ars, John Vianney, who lived during the Napoleonic era, and canonized by the Catholic Church. Leo XIII was also very interested in the personality of Father John and asked me a lot about him. Both the French and the English (Protestant) clergy were interested in him in the same way, and when I was abroad and in Paris, and in London, and in America, I constantly had to talk about the Kronstadt pastor as an ideal priest. Once, at the request of passengers, I gave a whole lecture about Father John on a ship in the Pacific Ocean, and his name often appeared in my sermons among non-believers. Unfortunately, I must say that even in Russia there were people who had a negative attitude towards Father John. Thus, one revered hieromonk of a suburban monastery, which I deliberately do not name, expressed himself in a conversation about John of Kronstadt: “He is not in use among us.” It seems to me that this was indicated by a certain kind of monastic jealousy that such an ascetic did not belong to monasticism, but adorned the ranks of the white clergy. I often had to speak out in defense of Father John, especially when he was reproached for precisely the things that he most avoided. They reproached him for his expensive velvet cassocks, which he never ordered for himself, but wore because his admirers gave them to him so as not to offend them - once, and secondly, because his son remembered the lesson taught to him by the late Metropolitan Isidore, when he came to him in a simple woolen cassock. “Is it really possible,” said the Metropolitan, “that you show up at the palace in such a cassock?” In response to the fact that this was his best going-out cassock, the Metropolitan remarked to Father John that appearing in such simple clothes to high-ranking persons shows a sign of insufficient respect. Just after this, Father John was given a new cassock, and he began to wear it when he had to visit high-ranking persons. In the same way, Father John could not be considered responsible for the fact that he was surrounded and looked after by his admirers, whose veneration was later expressed in the ugly form of a special adoration of a sectarian nature. In essence, it was the same feeling that surrounds every respected priest in the parish, but brought to its apogee due to the charm of Father John’s very personality and his ever-increasing popularity. No monarch in the world received as many letters and offerings as Father John: these piles of letters and telegrams were sorted by those around Father John, and only the most important, in their opinion, were transferred to Father. Here, of course, there were abuses, but Father John himself had nothing to do with it, since he could not personally, with a lot of things to do, re-read several hundred letters a day. Subsequently, he got himself a secretary, and then things went smoother and the abuses stopped. In conclusion, I will say that I saw Father John for the last time after my return from abroad, shortly before his righteous and peaceful death. He treated me as sympathetically and kindly as before, gave me his “Life in Christ” as a souvenir and blessed my works, which I most respectfully presented to him. Father John has always been my ideal of a good shepherd, and when I served in the parish, just like many of my comrades in the ministry at that time, the same admirers of Father John, like me, we tried to imitate him and always set him before us as a model of all pastoral virtues and often in difficult cases we asked ourselves what Father John would have done in this case - and tried to do the same. Father John left us, but his memory and example are alive among us, and we can confidently hope that the soul of this good shepherd now stands for us before the Throne of the Most High and his prayers for us, sinners and sorrowful ones, have become even more effective than they were during his lifetime. V. Mikulic. From memories I don’t remember exactly when and from whom I first heard about Father John of Kronstadt. I only remember that it was in 1886 and that very soon after I learned that there was a wonderful priest in Kronstadt, through whose prayers the sick were healed, I saw Father John. The doorman in the house where my mother lived was my former orderly, married to the sister of my former cook; I was their imprisoned mother and godfather three times; and when I passed their little room under the stairs, my godsons crawled onto the threshold, greeting me. One morning, intending to go out, I asked the doorman about the health of a seriously ill tenant on the top floor and heard that he was no better; the day before there was a consultation, and today they are waiting for Father John of Kronstadt. I was happy to hear this, decided to stay at home and asked Alexander, as soon as Father entered the entrance, to immediately ring three times to our apartment. On the same landing as my mother, on the first floor, lived a not-so-old, nice widow with two daughters and a son, a student of one of the privileged educational institutions in Petrograd. Remembering her piety, I called her to tell her about Father John. Sofya Semyonovna herself opened the door for me, still unkempt and wearing a hood. I said: – Do you want to see Father John of Kronstadt? She looked at me in surprise, saying: - Why are you asking me this? - But because he will be on our stairs today. They are waiting for him to see the upper patient. Then she took a step back and, clasping her hands, said: - Lord! Well, isn't this a miracle? - Yes, of course! I mentally called him all day yesterday. I wrote to him... I'll tell you; I’ll tell you everything later, but now I need to quickly clean up and get dressed. He might come in the morning. Having cleaned up and dressed, she came to sit with us until the girls returned from the gymnasium and told us about her grief and anxiety. Her kind, cheerful and pretty Pavlik was very loved by her comrades. Sofya Semyonovna knew them all, loved them, invited them to her, treated them, spoiled them, was interested in their tricks, their troubles, their views and thoughts, and lived the same life with them. Lately, a rich aristocrat with a big name began to visit them especially often. Sofya Semyonovna, no stranger to a predilection for the nobility, was apparently proud of this new friendship and willingly talked about the young man. He didn't have a mother; his father lived abroad, leaving his sons with tutors and with the manager of their affairs. Sofya Semyonovna felt sorry for the boy, took care of him and wanted him to feel at home with them. But then she has a strange dream. The healer Panteleimon points out to her that the young man's face is darkening, darkening and becoming black. Sofya Semyonovna woke up with some kind of depressing premonition, although she always laughed at dreams. In the evening, the maid told her what she accidentally saw in the mirror, passing by the half-closed door of the room of a young master who had a guest. Sofya Semyonovna was embarrassed, scared and hurried to go to school. The meeting with the respected teacher did not calm her down, but upset her even more. She felt in the position of Schiller's swimmer, rushing into the abyss for a golden cup and seeing himself in a dark abyss surrounded by unprecedented and unheard of, terrifyingly ugly underwater reptiles. What could the swimmer do but call on God, who saved him. And Sofya Semyonovna had no choice. She served a prayer service to the healer Panteleimon who had dreamed of her, cried, prayed and earnestly mentally called upon Father John of Kronstadt, about whom she had already heard a lot, for help. After praying and crying, she sat down and wrote a letter to Father John. She threw it into the mug in the evening, and he obviously couldn't get it yet. But isn’t it strange that yesterday she called Father John with all her heart, and today they tell her that he will pass by her door. Isn't this a miracle? She left. Other guests arrived. We were sitting at the table and finishing lunch when the bells rang. Throwing away the napkins, everyone stood up, and I rushed into the hallway. But while I was fiddling with the key and the chain, Father John had already passed our door, and when I ran out onto the landing, he was already high up; and closer to us stood, leaning on the railing, a lady of average height, wearing a black coat and a black hat. It was Alexandra Ivanovna Zaitsevskaya. She did not enter the patient’s apartment and waited for Father on the stairs. Mom and her guests, Sofya Semyonovna with three children and an old woman who happened to visit them, also went out onto the site. The servants from both apartments, the doorman and the janitor with their children also joined us. Everyone wanted to see Father and receive his blessing. Zaitsevskaya came down closer to us and started talking with us. We learned that Father miraculously healed someone in her family, after which she decided to serve him to the best of her ability. She told us that today they would have to visit several more serious patients, and asked us not to detain him. Father John stayed with the patient for quite a long time. But then the door knocked, opened, voices sounded, footsteps were heard. Father John came down to us. I stood below and waited for him, not without trepidation, feeling especially pathetic and disgusting. I was already twenty-eight years old, half my life; how much good could be done in such a time! So what? I didn't have children. After living with my husband for five years, I gave him a divorce, although I considered divorce a sin and a shame. The divorce was not over yet, but I had already moved to live with my mother. I remembered how I used to often say when I was invited to some society that I didn’t like: “What should I do there! All of them are some kind of divorced wives!” And now I myself was preparing to become a divorced wife. But this was not enough. I was still sick with nerves and was treated by Merzheevsky, which also seemed incredibly shameful and disgusting to me. In the spring I had an operation under chloroform. Due to unfavorable circumstances at home, I got up too early after the operation and left the clinic too early. As a result, instead of getting better, she became worse. I had seizures with convulsions, after which I felt broken and half-dead. The persistent insomnia that tormented me was especially severe because I heard music every night and always the same thing - the Tannhäuser Overture. I could take several wafers of chloral hydrate, drink valerian tea, but still no powders or mixtures could save me from this horror. At a certain hour, invisible music began to play, and at the first sounds of the pilgrim choir, which opens the overture, my hair stood on end, because I knew that I had to listen to it from the first to the last note. When the music stopped, I lay there as if dead. I was afraid of going crazy; sometimes it seemed to me that I was already going crazy, that my mother and the doctor knew it. Mom, like a saint, endured my presence and my failure in life and tried to help me. The doctor praised me for disciplining myself and promised recovery. Oppressed by shame, I swallowed zinc pills and all the prescribed medications, but had no hope of recovery. In this state, I stood on the stairs and waited for the approach of my great contemporary, the miracle-working shepherd who shone forth during the reign of the Peacemaker Tsar. A man came down to me from on high who loved God and served God, kept God’s commandments and taught others to keep them. I still knew little about him, I had not read his sermons or diary, but I already knew that he lived well, prayed at night, and got up in the morning for the joyful work of worship, healing the sick, confirming people in sobriety and hard work. I knew that Father John does more good in one day than any of us do in a lifetime. And I didn’t dare look at him, I didn’t dare raise my eyes to his face, I saw only his dress, his fur coat, which was coming closer and closer. Oh, with what deep and fervent gratitude I kissed the hand that blessed me! I looked at Father John when he was already blessing others. He was still young, cheerful, rosy-cheeked, and the expression on his simple face was serious and beautiful. His look and voice were not like the look and voices of other people, but his words were simple, like his face. Seeing the open doors of our apartment, he said to my mother: “Perhaps you would like me to come in to you?” - “We really wish you, Father!” He entered the hallway, then into a small living room, all filled with upholstered furniture. We are all behind him, the boys, the old ladies, and the janitors. He said, “Do you want me to pray with you?” - “Pray, Father, please!” Father John looked into the corner, looked around the walls decorated with paintings, candles and lamps, and said softly and without reproach: “Give me the icon.” Mom rushed into the bedroom, took out the icon and placed it on a chair in front of him. Father John crossed himself, reverently raised the icon, placed it on the high back of the chair, crossed himself, bowed to it and, stepping back, began to read prayers, both familiar and unfamiliar, composed by himself, good and touching. Rejoicing at the presence of an unexpected bright guest, we all prayed earnestly. Graceful Pavlik stood in front, almost next to Father, and on his mother’s cheeks, like a precious myrrh of maternal love, tears quietly rolled down. Yesterday she prayed alone, today the great man of prayer prays with her. Isn't this a miracle? God hears mothers' prayers. She wanted her girls to become closer to Father, she wanted them to understand, to feel who was standing in front of them, so that they would forever remember this common prayer for Pavlik. It seemed to her that everyone present was praying with her for Pavlik. I don’t know what I prayed for, but I felt good in the presence of Father John. The oppressive feeling of shame softened. And why, exactly, should I be so ashamed? Only your own misery? I didn’t offend anyone except myself... And I don’t wish harm on anyone. My husband is a kind, honest, good person and will always remain so. He has a wonderful character; Having lived together for five years, we never quarreled. And now we part as friends, without reproaches. If what happened happened, maybe it’s necessary for him that each of us live our lives exactly the way he lives it. Having finished the prayer, Father John said to his mother: “Don’t you have any sick people?” Mom hurriedly pushed me forward, saying: “She’s sick.” But, out of habit, I hastened to renounce, saying: “I’m completely healthy. Mom is sick. She's sick." Father John looked at us condescendingly and silently blessed both of us. Then he approached Pavlik and spoke to him in a friendly manner about his activities. Sofya Semyonovna approached them and began to quietly tell him about her letter. Father said reassuringly: “God will help!” Everyone surrounded him with love, and Zaitsevskaya in the hallway loudly reproached us for delaying him, and we ourselves began to clear the way for him. On the threshold he stopped and said loudly and expressively: “According to your faith, be it done to you!” - and left. We rushed up the stairs to see him off. And then, returning to the living room, they did not leave for a long time, remembering how he prayed and what he said to whom. We remembered him in the living room, and in the kitchen the servants were talking animatedly about him. Both masters and servants were alike under the spell of God's noble servant. Only the drunken cook shook her head skeptically and finally croaked: “So, so; But what is it about him, who is married himself, and rides around in carriages with other people’s wives? Riding in a carriage with a woman is the last thing!” But then the rest of the company became indignant, and Sofia Semyonovna’s tall, young maid sharply said to the cook: - She’s good herself. That's why you judge like that! Look, drunken poison!.. This was my first meeting with Father John of Kronstadt. Having recognized Father, I never missed an opportunity to see him somewhere. If I saw a crowd waiting for him on the street, I joined it and stood for hours to watch him walk from the entrance to the carriage. If I knew where he served, I tried to get to the church if possible. Sofya Semyonovna also became an admirer of Father. The unwanted friendship was stopped quietly and harmlessly, and everything went on as before, as before. A change took place in the life of our family after Father John’s visit. My mother remarried, and her second marriage was happier than the first in all respects. I was getting better little by little; spent the summer at kumys, after which she also stayed with her sister in the village of Samara province. There I felt healthy and burned all the recipes that reminded me of the sad time of my life. My boyfriends took me to live with them. We lived in Petrograd for the winter and in Pavlovsk for the summer at the dacha that my stepfather gave to my mother. From time to time, Father John of Kronstadt came to Grand Duchess Alexandra Iosifovna and served with her in the palace church. Since we lived a stone's throw from the palace, we always knew about his visits and could be in the church, where the public was freely admitted. Mom asked Father John to serve and we have a housewarming prayer service. He served a prayer service with the blessing of water, walked around all the rooms on the lower floor and blessed all the sick we had collected for his arrival. I met Father John on trains, on the street, and in private houses, but I never dared to talk to him or ask him anything. And why? He spoke so much with his life and his ministry that it was enough for us to correct our lives. He never told me anything either. Only once, in the Molchanovs’ house, also in Pavlovsk, when I asked for a blessing, he put his hand on my head and said affectionately: “My joy.” And I realized what it was because this summer I prayed a lot, went to church and worked for the church. K. Saltykov. Saltykov M.E. (Shchedrin) and Father John of Kronstadt (From the memoirs of the writer’s son) It was not long before my father’s death, about two months, no more. My mother, seeing that his health was not improving, convinced my dad that Father John should be invited. Father agreed, and then mother began to work for Father John to visit us. The task was not an easy one, since all the hours of the Kronstadt archpriest’s stay in the capital were scheduled in advance. Father John was driven around the city by some lady, who accepted appointments for his visits. This lady, having learned that my father wanted to see Father John, made an exception for us and scheduled his visit to us on his first visit to St. Petersburg. And on the appointed day, the Kronstadt archpriest actually arrived to us. He was a short priest, with kind, but at the same time eyes that pierced his interlocutor, with a small black beard through which gray hair showed through. Father was dressed in a black satin cassock. He entered us friendly, as if he was visiting us not for the first time, inquired about where the sick man was, and, having learned that he was in the office, went there, hugged his father, and then talked with him alone for quite a long time. About what - my father never told us this. Then Father asked to put a table with an icon in the middle of the living room, put dad on his knees and began to read a prayer. He read it indistinctly, abruptly, especially emphasizing some words, as if arguing with someone invisible to us. This reading made some kind of eerie impression on us, who also reverently knelt down. Finally, Father John finished his prayer and, allowing his father to venerate the holy cross, invited everyone in the apartment to do the same. He blessed everyone, told my mother that she was kind, the same for me, my sister - I don’t remember what, but it was also good. Only the cook was not allowed by Father John to kiss the Holy Cross, telling her that she was not worthy of it. It later turned out that she was a thief. Then we invited Father John to have tea in the dining room, and an interesting incident occurred here. The father was afraid that if S.P. Botkin learns that Father John visited him, then he, Botkin, will be offended and will no longer visit him. As a result, a curious order was given to the doorman: if Sergei Petrovich arrived, tell him that his father was not at home. This order was curious because of the fact that dad did not go anywhere, since he was forbidden by the same Botkin to go out into the air in winter. In addition, we did not take into account the fact that once Father John visited someone, the news about this instantly spread throughout the entire area and a huge crowd of people gathered around his carriage, awaiting his blessing. That's what happened this time too. As soon as the news of Father’s visit to us spread throughout the neighborhood, the entire part of Liteiny Prospekt where we lived turned out to be crowded with people. S.P. Botkin just at this very time decided to visit his father and was quite surprised and even, as he told us later, was afraid that dad had died when he saw such a crowd of people in front of the house. Having inquired from the first person he met about the reason for such a crowd, he, of course, found out what was the matter and realized that Father was probably with us, and therefore, without listening to the doorman’s confusing explanations, he went straight upstairs and, since the apartment doors were not locked, entered the hallway, took off his fur coat and appeared in the dining room. It is difficult to describe the embarrassment that took possession of all of us when the tall, dense figure of S.P. appeared at the door. An awkward silence reigned. One Father John was apparently pleasantly surprised to see the professor. He stood up and hugged Botkin with a kind smile. “Oh, oh, your Excellency,” Sergei Petrovich began reproachfully to the pope, “aren’t you ashamed to hide my friend, Father John, from me... After all, we are both doctors, only I heal the body, and he the soul...” Of course, after this phrase, the awkwardness that had taken possession of everyone disappeared, and a casual conversation began between the adults. When leaving, Father kissed his father on the mouth. As they explained to us later, he always did this when he saw that his help was useless. This was his last farewell to the patient from where, alas, no one returns. V. Ilyinsky. Near Father John of Kronstadt. I saw Father John twice. For the first time I saw Father John at the Kyiv Theological Academy. On September 11, at the end of the 90s, after finishing the lectures, I was among other students in the academic library when I learned that Father John was in Kyiv and was going to visit the Academy. They said that he should be at the Academy right away. We, all the students who were in the library, hurried to hand over our books and went out into the courtyard of the Bratsky Monastery. The news of Father John's arrival had already spread throughout the Academy, and students from everywhere gathered in groups and talked animatedly among themselves about this arrival. However, no one knew for sure. They said that he came to Kyiv at the invitation of Governor General Count A.P. Ignatiev and that he had arrived the day before, but when and whether he would be at the Academy, no one knew for sure. It was evident that the news of Father John’s visit to the Academy vividly affected the entire student body. The students could not boast of their religiosity and generally idealistic mood. Quite the contrary. Discipline at the Academy at that time was quite strict. The students more or less carefully attended morning and evening prayers, went to the all-night vigil and mass at the appointed time, and in general more or less accurately fulfilled all the requirements of the academic regulations, but their internal mood did not correspond to their external actions. Even the constant reader of the hours at the bishop's service was distinguished by extreme cynicism, laughed in his midst at everything churchly and religious, and often appeared at his lectern for reading the hours at the liturgy after a night spent in riotous revelry, with sleepy eyes and a smell of fumes coming from his breath; during the service, many students sat on the floor of the church and read newspapers or books, or even just had conversations at home; they composed all sorts of parodies of biblical stories, etc. etc. In addition, in general they were distinguished by extreme suspicion both in relation to each other and generally in relation to the purity of intentions and actions of individuals. The deep contradiction between words and deeds, between theoretical tasks and the practice of education, in general between what teachers say in theological school and how they conduct education here, that atmosphere of duality, stupid arrogance and all falsehood in which each of us had to spend more than ten years, moreover, during the period of greatest spiritual sensitivity, all this left a deep imprint of moral pessimism and moral weakness on students and at the same time developed in them a narrow practicality. But... a lion and a dead one are still a lion, and the crippled young man still carries in his very blood the inclinations of high idealism. Under the influence of the news of the arrival of Father John, the students discovered, so to speak, new moral sensations. We somehow immediately felt that something big, lofty, extraordinary was approaching us, but at the same time dear to all of us, and from this proximity of an extraordinary person, the flame of new moral impulses was lit in us. All other interests somehow naturally faded into the background, became small and unnecessary. Our thoughts were entirely occupied with Father John, with the great cause he serves: his constant readiness to help those who are toiling and burdened, his tireless charity, and finally his incessant prayerful fervor. Each of us has heard and read a lot about the activities of Father John, but until now Father John was for us one of those great historical figures who, from their distance, seem to be almost abstract beings. Now, in view of his tactile approach to us, we all felt within ourselves various living echoes of something that previously had hardly touched us or touched us little. The appearance, although previously bright, was at the same time pale, ethereal and distant, almost extra-life, now materialized in our eyes, began to shine and attract us to itself with its deep reality... The spiritual uplift was undoubted, and it happened very quickly. Like the petals of a flower towards the light, the most intimate corners of young but crippled hearts were now opening up, and in these corners the seeds of high thoughts and great deeds were revealed... However, this state of affairs did not last long. Soon they began to say among the students that Father John would not be with us. And we soon believed this too. There was also a probable explanation. At that time, there were continuous “misunderstandings” with the authorities at the Academy. It got to the point where they started breaking the glass in the inspector’s windows; They even shot at him, albeit with a rubber device, but still in such a way that they broke through the glass in the double frames. They said that Father John would not want to visit Wednesday, who was so disrespectful to his superiors, and the students, one by one, went to the dining room for evening tea. Something like disappointment began. “If Father John really won’t be with us for these reasons, it means he doesn’t want or can’t look deeper into our souls,” the students said. Little by little, in our midst they completely stopped talking about Father John. The author of these lines also gave himself up to impressions that, perhaps, had nothing in common with Father John. In the dressing room, three of my comrades sang Rimsky-Korsakov’s “I’m Tired of Nights.” I came in to listen. A purely Russian sad melody painted in my imagination a purely Russian picture: a girl at the window at a spinning wheel, pouring out her grief for her friend who had abandoned her, grief with the usual Russian patience, in which one can hear both self-accusation and reconciliation with a bitter lot, moreover, a special reconciliation, also, perhaps, purely Russian, without soul-tearing cries and groans, imbued with the consciousness of the inevitability of suffering. Now I no longer remember all the words of the song, but my memory vividly preserves the final phrase along with its musical transmission: “Did I anger him, my friend?” This phrase expresses a whole worldview and a complete picture of everyday life, heavy, but in the rendering of our talented composer, highly artistic and exciting... Soon we were all sitting in our rooms doing our usual business, and our small current interests were completely pushed aside and overshadowed by the experiences associated with waiting for Father John. We were sure that we would not have to see him. However, we were wrong. At 9 o’clock, a student hierodeacon (Bulgarian), for some reason always well informed regarding issues of general importance that especially interested us at one time or another, came into our room and informed us that Father John should be in the rector’s apartment right now. We immediately went to the building occupied by the rector, the late Bishop Sylvester. On the steps of the porch here sat an elderly police officer, decorated with various insignia. There was a crowd of students who had arrived before us; There were almost no outsiders. They said that the audience had gathered around six o'clock, but they were assured that Father John would not be there, and they dispersed. (Later I learned that such a hoax was resorted to almost everywhere where Father John was expected, in order to warn large crowds of people). Everyone was in a concentrated, more or less tense mood. Everyone spoke in a low voice. Theological students - hieromonks, priests and deacons - lined up on either side of the porch. The most illuminated (by a lantern) place was occupied by Hieromonk I., in a hood, with a long and thick beard, who, if not quite looking like an anchorite, then at least gave a fairly solid impression of a good monk. His figure with the long shadow that lay behind it gave a special character to the entire meeting and did not remain without a trace for the mobile psyche of the youth gathered here. Everyone was in the mood with which believers usually meet a shrine, and somehow it came naturally that our thoughts, all our spiritual movements again broke away from our everyday life and turned to something extra-spatial and timeless. The clatter of horses was heard nearby. The carriage rolled up softly and the door handle clicked. We all became one attention. Nobody told us, but we knew that Father John was about to get out of the carriage. We expected to see a majestic figure, or at least a man with majestic manners and slow speech, also calling away from this world, in short, we thought that we would meet a saint, as he is usually pictured in the imagination of a Russian person brought up on the Chetya-Menaia and ascetic literature. But it turned out differently. Having silently blessed several people waiting near the carriage, Father John quickly walked towards the rector's apartment among the parting students. Having reached Hieromonk I., he suddenly turned to him with a greeting: - I have the honor to bow. Aren't you going to be an inspector? This was said in a firm, ringing voice, abruptly and expressively, without any sweetness, so common in the spiritual environment. Father I. barely had time to answer “no” when Father John, having kissed him on the hand and lips, was already running along the steps of the porch, grunting slightly, alive, cheerful and cheerful. The impression was unexpected. Our previous tension disappeared, and we somehow immediately felt that a person who was far from alien to us had entered our midst, and that he had not come from another world, but precisely from this one, from the very world in which we ourselves live and in which all of us, ordinary people, are so interested. Some of the students followed Father John into the rector’s apartment, while the majority remained waiting for him outside. Soon the inspector came out and announced that Father John would be in the academic building. The students gathered in the hall, and, indeed, twenty minutes later Father John came here, accompanied by the rector and inspector. The students greeted him by singing the troparion for the holiday (Nativity of the Virgin Mary). I was able to see Father John from above when he was just climbing the stairs. Our Eminence Sylvester, already quite burdened with years, supported Father John by the arm on his left side. The tall and imposing inspector moved majestically to the right. Halfway up the stairs, Father John said to the Reverend Sylvester: “I need to support you,” but I couldn’t see how they walked further. Father John was dressed in a black silk patterned cassock. Students said later that he was “sprayed” with perfume, but I didn’t notice it myself. When the singing of the troparion ended, Father John addressed us with a speech. “Hello, classmates! I am glad to see you, to be among you even for a short time.” Then he spoke about Orthodoxy, about the Tsar, about the Synod, about the need to firmly adhere to the precepts of the Church. In his speech, he often called students friends. He spoke loudly, hammering out words, hastily, even nervously. He threw words into the crowd around him with the confidence that they would all be collected with great care. There was persistence and strength of conviction in his metallic voice. Apparently, Father John did not care at all about the form of speech. For him, the most important thing was to speak out. During his speech, he nervously turned around in different directions, and in general his nervousness was quite noticeable, but this nervousness was of a special kind, it seemed like the excitement of a person in a hurry, and not an organic weakness. One got the impression that he spoke his speech on the move, in motion, with the fear that he would not be allowed to say everything he needed to say. Father John, however, did not possess the gift of speech. He stopped after almost every phrase, and one could often hear in his speech: “um,” “um.” At the end of his speech, Father John thanked the students for their trust and respect in him and called himself happy to see us. And he repeated this several times. After the speech, students began to approach him for his blessing. When blessing, Father John sometimes said: “In the name of the Lord.” He blessed as quickly as he spoke. Everyone came under the blessing, not excluding notorious religious skeptics. From the hall, Father John, with a group of students surrounding him in a tight ring, moved to the inspector’s apartment, where his carriage was waiting for him at the entrance outside. On the way up the stairs, one of the students squeezed through to him asking him to help his sick brother. “He’s dumb,” said the student. “But you are God-verbal,” answered Father John. Father John left the Academy through the inspector's apartment, almost without lingering in it. Of course, Father John was a topic of lively conversation among students for a long time. Skepticism, however, eventually prevailed in the souls of the students, and the majority of them, captured for the moment by the religious movement, soon moved on to destructive analysis, so that in the eyes of many, the bright halo that surrounded the image of Father John turned out to be scattered. These skeptics pointed out that Father John moved exclusively in almost the highest circles and among the rich classes, that he was accustomed to ignoring people of the lower classes, was too stern and harsh, that he lacked sincere cordiality, a lot of affectation and secular manners; Many people didn’t like the fact that Father John’s hand was kissed by the bishop, etc., etc. There were, of course, those whose high impression of Father John turned out to be lasting, but these spoke out little. At least, I did not hear any of them speak as loudly and decisively for Father John as others spoke against him. Another time I had to see Father John in Kronstadt, two years later. Due to personal circumstances, I had to be in St. Petersburg at that time, and even live here for a long time. In St. Petersburg at that time, Father Grigory Petrov was almost at the apogee of his glory. I moved in a spiritual environment, and there was a lot of talk about him here. Father Gregory at that time gave lectures at courses for teachers and female teachers, and, judging by what I heard from one teacher, everyone was delighted with him. This teacher brought me, by the way, an excerpt from his farewell speech, with which he ended his lectures, a truly beautiful one. The impression from this excerpt was so strong that I now even remember its essential content. Let me reproduce it here. “A people’s teacher at school,” said Father Gregory, “is the same as a mason in a mine, who has to go down into a deep underground and break hard blocks with his heavy hammer in order to extract small sparkles of precious metal from them. His lot is hard. Like Ostap, he shouts from his dungeon: “Do you hear, dad?” “I hear,” comes the answer from above. Attention has now been paid to the position of the people’s teacher,” etc. I conveyed only the essential features of the main images. Father Gregory's processing of them was better than my transmission. I wanted to visit Father Gregory, and Father John, and especially Father John, although they talked less about him around me. I knew that it was very difficult to get to Father John, but one priest I knew promised me assistance - to write to one of the Kronstadt priests, so that he, for his part, would give me the necessary instructions on the spot, in Kronstadt. I went to Kronstadt by boat from Vasilyevsky Island. It was mid-May. On the way, I met a priest, a former Old Believers, one of the peasant scribes, a very interesting person in his attitude both to the Old Believers and to the ruling Church. It turned out that he was also going to see Father John, and we became partners. Together we went to the promised patron - the Kronstadt priest, but my, or rather, now our calculations were in vain. This priest received us quite kindly, but soon sent us away with absolutely nothing. In part, this was, however, in the order of things. My companion’s cassock could not hide in him a former peasant farmer, with typical peasant speech and peasant manners; I, too, could not inspire interest in myself; meanwhile, the priest lived widely, and in the next room among the guests I saw naval officers... They were embarrassed to show us in good company... First of all, when we went outside from under the inhospitable priestly shelter for us, we began to look for a room for ourselves. We went to the House of Diligence. But here they charged too much for a private room, and we didn’t want to stay in the shared room. From here we walked to the cathedral. Here one woman, having learned from questioning that we had come to see Father John, began vigorously calling us to her. She promised to give us a separate room for a ruble. Such a fee was feasible for our skinny wallets; In addition, the woman assured us that she enjoyed the great favor of Father John and that Father John would certainly be with her as soon as he returned to Kronstadt. “I maintain the apartment with the blessing of Father John,” she said. “I’m not from here, a poor widow: I was in great need after the death of my officer husband.” With my grief, I came to Father John, and he said to me: I bless you to keep apartments for my visitors, and you will be well fed. That's what I did. And, thank God, I don’t run out of good people..." Our landlady had several rooms. We got the last one available and the smallest one. The hostess turned out to be a very talkative lady. She talked a lot about the insights and miracles of Father John. We were also presented with a living example of healing from a nervous breakdown of a girl servant who served us a samovar. This girl, originally from the Minsk province, an orphan, very willingly, consistently and comprehensibly, told us the difficult story of her wanderings and her mental and physical suffering. From her story it was clear that she was getting rid of her illness gradually, and even at that time, according to her, she was not strong enough to take on any work. We fell asleep very pleased that chance had brought us to the house where we would certainly see Father John the next day. However, in the morning he was not yet in Kronstadt. We visited St. Andrew's Cathedral and after a prayer service (on the occasion of the service day) we went to inspect the military ships stationed in the roadstead. We ended up on the battleship Poltava. Everything here was of great interest to us: the daily routine, the arrangement of individual rooms, and, finally, the various weapons for exterminating people and enemy ships. My companion was positively depressed by the novelty of the impressions. The officer gave us explanations, and Father Barsanuphius kept inserting his remarks into his speech: “Lord, what wisdom!”, “What wisdom, Lord!”, “What has man come to! Oh, my God! What a man!” etc. And when we went down to the engine room, where in front of us were huge pistons and connecting rods, an endless number of screws and individual mechanical devices with various digital indicators - in a word, the main propulsion laboratory of the ship with its own muscular and nervous system and with its arteries conducting steam to various parts of the metal body, Father Barsanuphius only sighed and shook his head. Confusion was already shining in his eyes. It was noticeable that everything he had seen now began to sadden him, although the deadly purposes of various devices were completely obscured by the art of subtle and complex calculations of mechanics, so that when examining the battleship, attention focused not so much on what everything was done for, but on how it was done... We returned to our apartment around six o'clock. Father John was still not there. We went wandering around the city again. Crowds of people were moving around the church house where Father John lived. We learned that they were expecting him from hour to hour, and we joined those waiting. The composition of the crowd was very diverse. There were local workers here, dressed in a festive manner, clicking sunflower seeds, more or less cheerful and cheerful; These behaved “at home,” masters of the situation. But there were also quite a few newcomers, most of whom were sullen and kept to themselves. There were simple and flirty scarves, but there were also bright hats, although in small quantities. In the male half, caps predominated; There were very few pots. Most of those waiting for Father John walked along the street, so that the street began to resemble a place of public entertainment. Around nine o'clock a rumor spread that Father John would not return to Kronstadt that day. Others said he would return by midnight. The crowd began to thin out. Father Barsanuphius also went to the apartment, but I firmly decided to wait, at least until midnight. The night was bright, “white,” as the local name goes, reminiscent of early twilight or the time before sunrise. The traffic on the streets began to dwindle, and the group of those waiting for Father John now stretched out like a long ribbon, one end of which in a small ball rested against the open gate of his apartment, and the other was lost in the distance towards the steamship pier. At about eleven o'clock some vague noise was heard at the end of the living line of human figures. This noise quickly grew and got closer. Finally, a distinct cry began to be heard: he was going, he was going. The ribbon swayed, curled up, got tangled into large balls, and straightened out again. When everything around me began to move in disarray and exclamations were heard: “Father!.. Our breadwinner!.. Here he is!..” - I was already outside the gates, in the large courtyard of the church house. There were several passages into the building. At one of them, on the left, stood a group of about ten people. It was not difficult to guess that Father John was supposed to pass through this particular passage, and I headed in that direction. The noise near the house, on the street, somehow stopped immediately. Behind me I heard the sound of the wheels of a fast-moving carriage. I stopped. The gates were already locked, but many people had gathered in the courtyard. Everyone rushed to the one-wheeled carriage in which Father John was sitting, supported by his home secretary. He bowed to me from a distance and said something at the same time, but I couldn’t make out what exactly. When he got out of the cab, we kissed, and I said that I asked him to give me five minutes to talk. “Only five minutes,” answered Father John, “because I don’t receive anyone at these hours.” I followed him in the crowd. When Father John climbed the steps of the porch to his apartment, the students who were waiting for him here began to ask him for his blessing. - I have an exam tomorrow. Father, bless! - said the high school student. “Bless me too, I also have exams,” said the girl in the uniform. - And bless me! And me,” was heard from all sides. Father John was saying something to the children, but I also couldn’t make out what. It was clear that he had the most cordial relationship with them, and he asked the schoolboy about something. Father John's apartment was located on the second floor. The first room I entered was the kitchen. From it a door led into the dining room, a small room with a dining table in the middle and large icon cases with icons and lit lamps in two corners. There were chairs of various shapes along the walls without any consistency, not only in style, but even in color. There was also a painted wardrobe there. The table was covered with a white tablecloth. From the dining room, two more doors led to two adjacent rooms, but the inside of these rooms was not visible to me. In general, the atmosphere was reminiscent of the room of a poor rural priest: everything was simple, without any pretensions to comfort, but at the same time there was a feeling of warmth and coziness here. When I entered the dining room, Father John was in the next room. He soon came out and invited me to sit down. He took off his regalia and cassock as he walked and remained in a silk, sky-colored cassock. He himself hung the cassock in the closet. The light cassock completely corresponded to his light appearance. In front of me was a man of average height, quite well built and very blooming in appearance, with a white, clear face and a bright blush on his cheeks, who could not be considered seventy years old. The hair on the head was not thick, short and heavily streaked with gray. He had almost no eyebrows. Small blue eyes looked both concentrated and lively. Radiation-shaped wrinkles ran from the eyes to the churches. In general, he had a great resemblance to famous portraits of him. Father John moved quickly, but his legs were apparently growing heavy. He heard a little hard. The movements of his hands especially showed impetuosity, but his voice was still firm, sonorous, youthful. Undressing, he told me that he was at the consecration of the sanatorium in Vindava and that Empress Maria Feodorovna was there. While talking to me, he went out into the neighboring rooms several times. He went out into the kitchen and talked to someone here. I did not see his interlocutor and did not hear what he was talking about, but it was noticeable that he was excited and at times spoke with tears. Father John listened in silence and only occasionally inserted his questions. And this, apparently, had a calming effect on the speaker. “Well, money doesn’t buy happiness,” Father John finally said. “You remember this!” - and dismissed the interlocutor, having previously given him instructions to bring Lafite. It was probably a local merchant. I began my conversation with Father John as soon as I entered the dining room. I spoke hastily so as not to detain him. After listening to me, Father John ordered the samovar to be prepared. “Father and I will drink some tea,” he added. He himself said little: he either only asked questions or inserted short remarks into my words. Meanwhile the maid brought the samovar. Father John himself brought the tea from the next room, in a paper wrapper, and brewed it himself. I also poured the tea myself. Before tea he ordered sherry to be served. When the bottle arrived, he sent it back. “We are not poor yet,” he said jokingly and ordered some other food. When a new bottle was served, he poured two small glasses. - Drink! “It strengthens,” he said, clinking his glass against another glass. “The doctors forbid me to drink,” I said, “not so much, however, in order to refuse, but rather to listen to his opinion.” “And I allow it,” he said decisively. And indeed, I have hardly ever experienced a better effect from wine than this time. Father John sent two glasses of tea to someone in the next room. Over tea he asked me where I was staying. I said. - Why not in the House of Diligence? - They should give you a number anyway. Speak on my behalf so that they can give you a number. (I was embarrassed to take advantage of such a kind offer, especially since I hoped to see him the next day and at the apartment I occupied.) I stayed with Father John for about 40 minutes. When he left, he offered to serve liturgy with him the next morning. I said that I had not been to Vespers and had not prepared at all. “It’s nothing,” he said. Even when I was sitting with Father John, I heard from time to time a knock on the outer door of his apartment. As I left him, I noticed several men and women from the common people at the door on the stairs. Apparently, they followed the words of the Gospel: push, and it will be opened (Luke 11:9). They were waiting for me at the apartment with great impatience. They already knew that I had managed to get a reception from Father John, and as soon as I entered the room, I was immediately bombarded with questions. What did Father say? How did you receive it? How is he feeling, etc., etc. The next day, people gathered at the church in anticipation of Father John even before the bell rang, for Matins, but Father John arrived at the church when the service had already begun, around six o'clock... During Matins, he often went out to the neighboring chapel to pray. He also went out to the choir. He was not visible from the altar, but when he was shown to the people, this could be noticed by the excitement that immediately arose from time to time among the worshipers. From time to time, hysterical cries were heard: “Father, dear, Father!” One woman screamed so loudly that she was taken out of the church. Father John read the canon himself. Before the liturgy, the serving priests (there were five of us) read the entrance ceremony without Father John. Father John served in a unique way. The exclamations were apparently pronounced with extreme tension throughout the whole organism; He didn’t stretch out the words, but he didn’t blurt them out either, but pronounced each word abruptly and separately. Twice, I noticed, he wiped his eyes with a handkerchief during the liturgy. He also said his prayers. His movements were also free and natural and, as usual, impetuous. He apparently paid little attention to everything around him. He gave communion himself. Two were denied Communion without any explanation. One was a girl, almost a girl of fifteen or sixteen years old. When Father John said that he would not give her Communion, she looked around her in confusion, left the pulpit, and then again stood in the ranks of those going to Communion. After the dismissal, Father John addressed the communicants with congratulations. “I have the honor to congratulate you on your reception of the Holy Mysteries,” he said and added several instructions to these words. When the liturgy ended, people began to approach Father John with various requests - some for prayer, and some for material help. A young deacon who had arrived from somewhere, sick and poorly dressed, served with us. He asked for help to support his family. Father John gave him something like 80 rubles. Another socialite asked for help; he spoke a lot and with tears about his sick wife. Father John gave him 28 rubles. My companion Father Barsanuphius received 100 rubles for his newly built church. Father John took the money out of the pocket of his cassock, where it lay in unopened envelopes. He gave charity willingly and without any mental embarrassment. Right there in the altar, he dictated to his secretary answers to telegrams, which were received in very large quantities. Around Father John, in general, everyone was in an elevated state of mind: some experienced the joy of resurgent hope, some experienced the relief of a now satisfied need, and some experienced simply a reverent feeling at the sight of the moral power of a man to whom the gaze of thousands and thousands of people with the most varied and deeply exciting expectations was directed. But although Father John was the central figure both in the altar and in the church in general, he filled everything with himself and was the subject of the exclusive attention of all those praying, so that all others were unnoticeable in front of him, with all this, it was by no means possible to feel that he, the only big one among others, was constraining, oppressing, suppressing anyone. In his relations with others there was not the slightest degree of greatness visible, conscious of his dignity and therefore always, if not arrogant, then at least patronizingly condescending. It cannot even be said about him that he was like a father among family members close to him. Rather, there would be another comparison - he was like a senior and responsible leader among workers engaged in a large and important matter. There was not the slightest sentimentality noticeable in him, so common among people who are not deep enough, although they are morally high. Work, business - this is the atmosphere that seemed to be most akin to him and which he seemed to want to create around himself everywhere, work not in the sense, of course, of material productivity, but in the sense of manifestation of the best sides of our moral nature. Observations of Father John’s activities after the service convinced me of this even more. After leaving the church, he only went to his apartment for a few minutes, and then immediately went to serve prayers in houses and give communion to the sick. On this day I saw him in the House of Diligence. Here he served prayer services in every room. Here and there he sat down at the table, poured himself some tea and treated the hosts of the room to tea. The tea he served was accepted as a sacred thing and was immediately drunk, judging by the faces, with deep faith in its special power. I saw a table with tea and snacks in almost all the rooms. Father John stayed in the rooms for no more than 5–10 minutes. In the corridors and especially on the stairs he was surrounded so tightly that it seemed that people themselves were leading and carrying him, and he was completely deprived of freedom of movement. Sometimes he made efforts to free himself from the awkward situation; in these cases he raised his head, but his face always invariably shone with joyful excitement. He finished the service of prayers in the House of Diligence by three o'clock. If we consider that he got up at five o’clock, in time for matins, then it turned out that on this day, which was still far from over, he spent ten hours straight on his feet. Despite all this, I did not notice in his face any signs of fatigue or simply a feeling of burden. From the House of Diligence, Father John went to the steamship pier and here boarded a ship bound for St. Petersburg. He took a separate cabin and did not leave it until the ship stopped. By the way, he was not at our apartment at all. In St. Petersburg, a large crowd of people was also waiting for him on the shore and, as soon as he stepped on the ground, immediately, as usual, surrounded him in a tight ring. The police officer accompanying Father John was wiped out, and Father John had to make his way to the carriage with his own efforts. And it wasn't easy for him. He was not only crushed by people with their bodies, others, perhaps involuntarily, constrained his movements; but others, especially women, grabbed the skirts of his cassock, clung to his sleeves, and thus deliberately held him in place. I saw first the right and then the left sleeve of his cassock fluttering above the heads of those around him. It was he who escaped from the tenacious hands of overly enthusiastic admirers and, especially, female admirers. One might think that in the small space that separated the steamer from the carriage he was more tired than during ten hours of service, conversation and charity. When Father John finally got into the carriage and drove off, the crowd followed him for some time; and one woman ran after the carriage when the horses were taking Father John away at a full trot. I could clearly see her figure from the ship. Tall, with her arms outstretched, she ran with long steps. Her dress went far back. The scarf also fluttered behind her. Her entire appearance expressed impetuous impulse. It was difficult to decide what is more here: painful hysteria, when a person loses the ability to correctly evaluate impressions, severe mental anguish that remains unhealed, or, perhaps, deep moral needs, for which a fulcrum has finally been found? They laughed at the woman, but to me she seemed a typical expression of the state experienced by hundreds of thousands and millions of people of our time, morally confused, suffering and searching, sometimes with hope, sometimes without any hope, with only the pangs of despair... I said goodbye to Father Barsanuphius right there on the pier. Even in Kronstadt, he convinced me to go over to the Old Believers. When parting, he repeated his advice especially persistently, drawing before me what, in his opinion, were tempting prospects. Later, he even sent an Old Believer to me for negotiations. Now Father Barsanuphius is already dead, as I learned quite by accident from one missionary organ, which contained laudatory reviews of his deep devotion to Orthodoxy... I had the opportunity to see Father John for the third time, but already dead, in a coffin, or, more precisely, I had to see the funeral chariot with his remains at the Ascension Bridge on the road from the Baltic Station to the Ioannovsky Monastery. The people, singing “Holy God,” walked in a crowd of thousands in front of and behind the chariot, densely filling the entire street and stretching over a large space. I stood in one place. The ranks passing by me had just finished singing the initial words of the Trisagion, when new ranks approaching began chanting the same words. So in the space where I stood, the following was repeated an infinite number of times: “holy, holy, holy.” The spectacle was very impressive. The tall chariot glittered with silver. The clergy also wore white robes. Shiny banners fluttered. Thus, Father John went to his grave as bright as he appeared alive among people. Priest Vasily Shustin. From personal memories Our family met Father John when my father entered into his second marriage, when I was seven years old. The young bride really wanted the marriage to be blessed by Father John; Father John arrived and from then on began to visit us every year at our apartment in St. Petersburg... I saw that huge crowds always gathered around Father John and literally tore his clothes, but I did not understand such a desire of people for him. My heart was closed until I was 17 years old. Not only Christians went to Father John, but also people of other faiths: Mohammedans, Buddhists... And indeed, Father John had an all-encompassing soul, filial to God, bold. When Father came to us - and sometimes unexpectedly - they immediately covered a small table with a tablecloth, put a bowl of water and placed a cross brought from Jerusalem; We had our own gospel, censer and sprinkler. Father especially loved to pray in the dining room, in front of the image of the Savior, which he considered miraculous. Sometimes he would get up and silently look at this image for five minutes. When he sees that everything around him is prepared for the prayer service, he kneels down and begins to pray. He always prayed extemporaneous prayers, pronouncing some words very sharply, with special emphasis, boldly asking the Lord for mercy for us. After such a rather long prayer, where he also always remembered the atoning sacrifice of Jesus Christ, he himself sang: “Save, Lord, Thy people” and blessed the water. Then he made sure to walk through all the rooms and sprinkle them and all the beds with holy water. Father said that the air is polluted by our actions and our thoughts and we need to clean it: holy water drives away and destroys this intangible stench. After lunch there was always tea. Father loved the strongest tea, almost black, and always asked to rinse the tea and pour out the first water, as he jokingly said: “We need to wash away the Chinese evil spirits.” For tea they served some kind of fish appetizer. Father did not eat meat at all. Sometimes he drank half a glass of sweet wine and, looking around at those present, let someone finish his glass. Then they placed in front of him a row of glasses with strong tea, a whole stack of saucers and a deep plate with lump sugar, and he, after blessing, took whole handfuls of sugar and scattered it among the glasses. He quickly stirred it with a spoon, poured it into saucers and distributed it to those present. He loved this kind of communication. By this time, there were usually many tenants from our house coming to our apartment; everyone strove to see Father and during the meal asked about their needs. Sometimes he, lost in thought, did not answer anything, but gave advice to others or prayed for prayers. After tea he blessed everyone and hurried to another place. A crowd again gathered at the entrance, and Father had to be dragged straight to the carriage. They often accused Father that he rides in a carriage, that women sometimes sit there with him... How evil people are in their perverted nature! Who else but women surrounded our Lord, who else but them served Him with their wealth? So here too there were rich people - women from the spiritual children of Father John, who considered it their happiness to provide their carriage for the use of Father. And he personally didn’t care what he was wearing: he was above it. When I was still very young, my father had a serious sore throat. Simanovsky, a professor of throat diseases at the Military Medical Academy, determined that he had throat consumption. His entire throat became covered with ulcers, and his father’s voice completely disappeared. I remember at Christmas, on the occasion of my father’s illness, they didn’t even make us a Christmas tree. A kind of mourning reigned in the house, everyone spoke in whispers, despondency reigned; We children were not allowed to see our father. Only on the first day of Christmas we were brought to him, and he, mournfully and silently, handed out gifts to us. Simanovsky stated that he had ten days left to live, and if he was taken with great precautions immediately to the Crimea, then he might live another two months. At this time, Father John had just returned to Kronstadt from one of his trips. We sent him a telegram. Five days later he came to us. He went to his father’s bedroom, looked at him and immediately exclaimed: “Why didn’t you tell me that he was so seriously ill?!” I would bring the Holy Gifts and commune him.” My father looked pleadingly at Father and wheezed. Then Father went deep into himself and, turning to his father, asked: “Do you believe that by the power of God I can help you?” The father made a sign with his head. Then Father John ordered his mouth to be opened and blew three times in a cross shape. Then, swinging, he hit the small table on which were various rinses and cauterizations. The table overturned and all the bottles broke. “Give up all this,” Father John said sharply, “nothing else is needed. Come to me tomorrow in Kronstadt, and I will introduce you to the Holy Mysteries. Listen, I’ll be waiting.” And Father left. In the evening, Simanovsky arrived, and with him Dr. Okunev, also a specialist in throat diseases. They were told about Father John and that tomorrow they would take my father to Kronstadt. Simanovsky said that it was crazy that he would die on the road. (It was necessary to travel from Oranienbaum by sleigh across the sea, and the weather was windy and frosty.) But the father believed Father, and the next day they wrapped him up well and took him to Kronstadt. Father came to the apartment where my father was staying and introduced him to the Holy Mysteries. Father lived in Kronstadt for two more days, seeing Father every day. When he returned home, Simanovsky was amazed: all the wounds in his throat were healed; only the father's voice was still weak. Simanovsky publicly declared: “This is unprecedented, this is truly a miracle!” This is how the miraculous healing of my father took place through the prayers of Father. The father lived after this for 25 years. Three years after my father’s healing, my second mother had a daughter. They asked Father John in advance to be the child’s godfather. Father agreed. My sister was born in the summer when we lived at our dacha in Finland. Father John, according to our information, should have been in his homeland at that time. They decided to baptize the sister and register, as is done in some cases, Father John as the godfather, since he gave his consent to this. The baptism was scheduled for Sunday after mass. Suddenly, on the eve of Saturday, a Chukhonian cab drove up to our dacha, and a priest easily jumped out of the carriage. We look - it’s Father John. “Here I am for the christening,” he declares, throwing open the doors. We were amazed, and, of course, chaos began. Father ordered to send for the local dacha priest and bring a font from the church. He himself walked through our garden and admired the forest that surrounded our dacha. An hour later everything was ready for the christening. The Sacrament began, which was performed by the local priest Father Simeon Nalimov. Father John himself held my sister in his arms, renounced Satan, read, boldly read the Creed, and fulfilled everything that was due to a godfather. After the Sacrament, he sat down in a chair on the balcony and said: “Well, now rejoice. Congratulations on your newborn baby... Now I am your relative, close to you. And look how smartly I am dressed, as if I had come to the Tsar...” And indeed, Father was with stars and crosses. He kissed all of us and rejoiced with us. At this time, a crowd of people had already gathered in the garden, and Father blessed this crowd from the upper balcony. Then he had lunch with us. I took it with my photographic camera. And he began to rush to St. Petersburg in order to get to Kronstadt on the same day. A local landowner sent him his carriage, and we escorted him to the station, where summer residents and Finns were already crowding around, asking for his blessing. When the train arrived, the conductors took him in their arms and placed him in a separate compartment. Subsequently, the deacon of my gymnasium church said that he was once traveling on the same train in which Father John was traveling to us. The deacon, seeing Father all alone, was very surprised and, sitting down next to him, asked where he was going. “To the Shustins for christening. They asked me, and now it’s time to go.” No one told Father that we had a child, and they couldn’t tell him, because my sister was born earlier than expected. Subsequently, this sister Anya fell ill with smallpox as a seven-year-old child. Father John fearlessly ran his hand over her face and stroked her. And at that time her face was all covered with ulcers, the girl suffered greatly. After her recovery, there was no trace left of these ulcers, only a small hole near the eye. One time my father invited me to go to Kronstadt with him, since he wanted to confess and receive communion from Father John. I went with him. Father came to Kronstadt to see us, served a prayer service, sent everyone out of the room and confessed to our father. After confession, my father says to me: “You too should confess to Father John,” and asks Father about this. But I didn’t prepare for communion and ate meat that day, so I told Father that I would like to take communion, but I couldn’t. Then Father tells me: “That means you don’t want to.” And I answer again: “Father, I’m not prepared.” He, without listening to me, asks categorically: “Do you want it or don’t you want it?” Of course, I wanted to and told him so. Then he again sent everyone out of the room and said: “You have little faith, why do you doubt?” - and confessed me. The next day I received communion in his church and returned home with a light heart. Another time I had to receive communion with Father John during Lent. I arrived and stayed in Kronstadt for several days. It was difficult to get Father to come to me, and I had to confess in a general confession. My father and I arrived at St. Andrew’s Cathedral even before the bell rang. It was dark: only half past five in the morning. The cathedral was locked, and there were quite a few people standing around it. We managed to get a ticket to the altar from the headman the day before. The altar in the cathedral was large and up to 100 people were allowed in. We had to stand on the street for half an hour, and we went through a special entrance straight into the altar. Soon Father arrived and began serving Matins. By the time he arrived, the cathedral was already full. And it accommodated several thousand people. There was a rather high grate near the pulpit to contain the pressure. There was already a crush in the cathedral. During Matins, Father read the canon himself. After Matins, general confession began. First, Father read prayers before confession. Then he said a few words about repentance and shouted loudly to the whole cathedral: “Repent!” Then something incredible began to happen. Screams, screams, verbal confession of secret sins. Some, especially women, tried to shout as loudly as possible so that Father would hear and pray for them. And at that time Father knelt before the throne, put his head on the throne and prayed. Gradually the screams turned into crying and sobs. This went on for about fifteen minutes. Then Father stood up, sweat rolling down his face, and went out to the pulpit. Requests for prayer arose, but other voices began to quiet those voices; the cathedral subsided. And Father raised the epitrachelion with one hand, read the prayer of permission and circled the stole first in a semicircle on the pulpit, and then in the altar and the liturgy began. Twelve priests served behind the throne, and on the throne stood twelve huge bowls and paten. Father served nervously, as if shouting out certain words, as if showing special boldness. After all, how many souls of repentant souls did he take upon himself! We read the pre-Communion prayers for a long time: we had to prepare a lot of particles. A special stand was placed near the grate for the Chalice. Father came out at about 9 o'clock in the morning and began to impart communion. First, those who were in the altar approached. I came up among them. Father raised the spoon to introduce me, brought it to his mouth and suddenly took it away and lowered it into the Chalice again. I felt empty and frozen: it means that I am not worthy of Holy Communion, I did not repent enough at this general confession. (I was really stunned by everything...) I stand in front of the Chalice, and Father doesn’t say anything to me, but looks inside the Chalice and seems to be stirring something, then he picks up the spoon with two particles of the Savior’s Body and communion. I went to the choir and began to watch how the people joined in. There was a terrible crush near the bars, and the screams of those choking were heard. The priest shouted several times not to push each other, threatening to leave. In front of Father, so that the Cups would not be knocked out of him, another grate was placed, and people were allowed through between the two grates. There was also a chain of policemen who besieged the people and held the passages for those receiving communion. The people took communion. Quite often, Father drove away from the Chalice and did not give Communion, mainly to women. “Come in, come in,” he said, “you are overcome by madness, I have anathematized you for the blasphemy that you adhere to.” He spoke this to the St. John’s, the sect that considered Father Jesus Christ, who came to earth for the second time 17. Father had a lot of troubles and grief from these St. John’s. They bit him, if possible, so that at least a drop of his blood would get into their mouths. The priest in the cathedral denounced them and excommunicated them from the Church. But they crawled towards him like crazy and didn’t listen to anything. And even the police had to drag them away from the Chalice. Despite the fact that two more priests were giving communion at the same time in the chapels of the church, Father with the Chalice, which he changed several times, stood idle from 9 in the morning until half past three in the afternoon. One had to marvel at his energy and strength. I made it to the very end of the mass. At the end of it, the Holy Gifts still remained, and Father called everyone who was there to the altar, communed, but did not drink. Having placed everyone in a semicircle in front of the altar, holding the Chalice in his hands, he began to commune the people a second time directly from the Chalice. It was an amazingly touching picture! Supper of love. Father did not have a shadow of fatigue on his face; he congratulated everyone with a cheerful, joyful face. Much to my chagrin, I had already eaten the prosphora and could not enter this holy semicircle. The service and Holy Communion gave us so much strength and vigor that my father and I really didn’t feel any fatigue. Having asked Father for his blessing to return home, we quickly had lunch and rode on a sleigh to Oranienbaum. When I became a student, I began to understand Father John more and more deeply and become spiritually attached to him... Science suddenly became more difficult for me, my memory weakened, I came to Kronstadt, I told Father about this; Father explains my condition by my excessive studies at the gymnasium and orders me to give my brain a rest. I began to become spiritually attached to Father, but these were already the last years of his life. He has already begun to welcome us into his apartment as relatives. One day I came to see him, and he was very sick. Matushka, his wife, says that they took him to some slum and severely beat him there. Mother generally told us little about the life of Father John. She called him “brother Ivan,” since in reality he was never her husband. She even wanted to divorce him and sued him. But he was adamant and she resigned herself. Now she was also old, her legs hurt, she could not move independently, but she did not take care of herself, but only of her brother Ivan. She asked me: if Father John gets worse, bring a doctor to him. “After all, brother Ivan doesn’t like doctors, and it’s difficult to force him to see a doctor.” But he liked one doctor, Alexandrov. When I notify you by telegram, you will bring him. I don’t know the address where he lives, but you can find out this way... And indeed, three weeks later we received a telegram from mother asking us to bring a doctor. I had already looked through the book “All Petersburg” in advance at the addresses of all the Alexandrov doctors, went to see them and found out which of them visited Father John. After the telegram I went to a certain address. But it turned out that the doctor had gone to the Caucasus. What to do here? Now I sent him a telegram asking him to indicate a deputy. He immediately replied to us by telegram and indicated another doctor. I went to a new address. He agreed to go to Kronstadt, but since it was already 11 o’clock in the evening, we decided to leave in the morning and were in Kronstadt in the morning. Father felt a little better, as the mother who met us told us. The doctor sat down to warm up. Suddenly the door from Father’s room opens, Father comes out and walks straight towards us, approaches the doctor and suddenly says: “Christ is Risen!” - and christens himself three times. I look at Father in bewilderment. Then he came up to me, blessed me and called the doctor to his office. The doctor stayed with Father for about an hour. Then Father comes out joyfully and says: “But the doctor told me to breathe some air. Let them pawn the horse. Thank you (Father turned to me), thank you very much for such a good doctor,” and kissed me firmly on the cheek. This was so unexpected and at the same time so joyful for me that tears came to my eyes. I was glad that I had at least served Father in some way. And he says to his wife: “Mistress, order V.V. to be fed.” Feed us all the best we have for lunch, the pie that was brought today!” He sat me down at the table, and he went for a ride with the doctor. On the way back to St. Petersburg, when the doctor and I boarded the train in Oranienbaum, the doctor said to me: “But Father John is really an ascetic, and everything that is written about him is all a lie. Why did he greet me with the exclamation “Christ is Risen!”? He raised Christ in me. I now remember: Father John is the priest who healed my wife from hysterical attacks, which are called demonic possession. She could not stand the proximity of the cross and icons. I was then a young doctor in Vologda. Father John was then passing through Vologda to visit him. I was a flighty young man, an unbeliever, and my mother-in-law was a very believer, and she asked Father to come visit us. He visited us, prayed, laid his hands on my wife’s head and the seizures stopped. But I considered it an accident, self-hypnosis; I was, of course, pleased that my wife had become healthy, but did not attach any importance to the power of Father John’s prayer. He didn’t even ask who he was or where he was from. And now, thanks to your case, I met him and became convinced that he was truly an ascetic. It turns out that Father remembers my incident in Vologda. There, of course, there was not self-hypnosis, but healing...” I was especially happy to hear this confession from the doctor. This date with Father was our last date. As they told me, from the words of Father, the Lord did not give him healing because he himself healed many, and while healing, he took the illness upon himself and had to suffer. On my second visit to Optina Monastery, Elder Barsanuphius told me: “And Father John of Kronstadt appeared to me and handed you and your family over to my spiritual leadership and then added: “I see Father Father John, he takes me by the hand and leads me to a staircase that rises beyond the clouds, so that you can’t see the end of it. There were several landings on this staircase, and Father brought me to one landing and said: “But I need to go higher, I live there,” and at the same time he began to quickly climb up...” Then Father Barsanuphius spoke about his meeting with Father John in Moscow. “When I was still an officer, I had to go to Moscow for work. And then at the station I find out that Father John is serving mass in the church of one of the buildings. I immediately went there. When I entered the church, mass was already ending. I went to the altar. At this time, Father John transferred the Holy Gifts from the throne to the altar. Having put the Cup down, he suddenly comes up to me, kisses my hand and, without saying anything, goes back to the throne. Everyone present looked at each other and said afterwards that this meant some event in my life, and decided that I would be a priest. I made fun of them, since I never even thought of taking the priesthood. And now you see how inscrutable the fate of God is: I am not only a priest, but also a monk.” At the same time, Father Barsanuphius said among other things: you should not leave the church before the end of mass, otherwise you will not receive the grace of God. It is better to come to the end of mass and survive than to leave before the end. Another Optina hieromonk, Varsis, told me that the same incident happened to him as to me, when Father John communed with me with two particles of the Body of the Lord. This, in his opinion, was an indication of his monasticism. Father Barsanuphius could not explain this incident, but said that it undoubtedly meant something important. In general, the elder attached great importance to the actions of the priest after he received communion. “It happened to me several times,” the elder said, “you serve mass, receive communion, and then go to receive the people. They express their needs to you. Other times you immediately find it difficult to give a definite answer, you tell him to wait. You will go to your cell, think it over, settle on some decision, and when you come to say this decision, you will say something completely different from what you thought. And this is the real answer and advice, which if the questioner does not follow, he will incur worse misfortune. This is God’s invisible grace, especially clearly manifested in old age, after communion of the Holy Mysteries.” A. Doganovich. From my memories of Father John of Kronstadt Many years ago I began to develop consumption. The doctors and professors who treated me advised me to go to kumiss in the summer. I understood that this was necessary due to the seriousness of my situation. With a vague feeling in my soul, I was getting ready to go on the road. At this time, the first edition of my children's book “The Sorrow of the Russian Land” was published. Just before leaving for the south, I asked my mother to take ten copies of my book to Father John of Kronstadt for the St. Andrew's shelter (or wherever he wishes) and to ask for my blessing for the trip. My mother highly revered Father John and had long been planning to go to Kronstadt. She gladly undertook to carry out my instructions. After taking me to the railway, she went to Kronstadt. She saw Father John in the House of Diligence, in someone’s room. After the prayer service, she handed books to Father and conveyed her request. Looking at the books, Father John ordered them to be taken by his psalm-reader, so that he would leave one for the shelter and give the rest for general use. He immediately distributed them to the public. Father John said to my mother: - God bless her... good luck to her! Let him get better! Meanwhile, at kumiss, the doctor was afraid to prescribe me to drink kumiss due to the hemoptysis that appeared, so as not to make it worse. We carefully sampled half a glass. But the influence of kumiss turned out to be beneficial for me, and the portions were quickly increased until I reached 20 bottles a day. Since that summer, I began to recover from my evil illness. Subsequently, I saw Father John several times: and when he looked young, cheerful, fresh and joyful, with a soft and clear voice that penetrated into the very heart, and I saw him already aged, with a voice changed from catarrh of the throat, although equally soft and soulful, and with darkened skin on his face... I will only touch on the general confession in St. Andrew's Cathedral, which I attended during my visit to Kronstadt. The three of us went there and upon arrival in Kronstadt we went straight to the House of Diligence. We were given a wonderful room, which had just become available. A girl dressed all in black at the House of Diligence announced to us that Father John had returned from St. Petersburg and would soon come to serve prayer services at the House of Diligence. “I would like to tell us a word, but we didn’t fast,” one of the companions remarked. “So you will fast today and tomorrow,” said the girl. - Many people do this. That's what we decided to do. Indeed, Father John soon appeared and walked in with a light, cheerful gait. Judging by his fresh, blooming appearance, with a slight blush on his cheeks, and general animation, one could not assume fatigue after traveling to the capital, where he spent the whole day at work, visiting the sick and serving prayer services. His light blue eyes focused on us soulfully and at the same time with affection. - Hello, my friends! – he greeted us, teaching us a blessing. His gaze, meek and soft, was impossible to withstand. It seemed that he was reading the innermost thoughts at the bottom of the soul, penetrating into the very depths of sins... Everyone’s gaze involuntarily drooped. “Good deed, good deed,” he told us encouragingly. “Today we’ll pray, and tomorrow come to the cathedral for Matins, for confession, and at mass and receive communion.” And he stood in front of the image and ordered his psalm-reader to tell him who asked for his prayers. The people who came for him crowded at the door, and sighs were heard there. The psalm-reader, sorting through the letters, quickly listed: - From Tomsk they ask to pray for the sick slave Vasily, from Tula - for the baby Alexandra, from Kherson - for the youth Alexy, etc. With each name, Father John, repeating it, prayed out loud, making the sign of the cross. – Send, Lord, healing to Your suffering servant Vasily... Be Your mercy, Lord, to the baby Alexandra... etc. All those present involuntarily prayed with him. This set the mood for the prayer service, which in itself made a special impression, despite its short duration. Then Father John said goodbye to us just as friendly and went to the top floor of the building for prayers. He ran up the stairs with unusual ease for his age. The servants and the people wanted to support him by the arms, but he, apparently, did not need this at all, ahead of them. We asked for a samovar. The girl who served it warned us that she would wake us up in the morning at four o’clock so that we could get to the cathedral on time. We quickly drank some tea and began to pray again, overcome by some kind of high mood. It was already late, and the excitement of the day had made itself felt. I had to think about rest. We took a nap anywhere in our clothes, on purpose so as not to oversleep the service. And indeed, they got up on their own before 3 o’clock. The girl who came to wake us up was surprised to find us awake. In the half-light of a fine morning that had barely begun, we went out onto the street along which pilgrims were streaming towards the cathedral, and the church itself was already surrounded by a dense crowd of people. Soon the first bell sounded in the air. Its sound spread softly through the air. The people began to be baptized. When the doors of the church opened, the crowd poured inside in an unstoppable wave. We were caught up in the current, and I soon found myself at the salt grate, separated from my companions. The bell continued to buzz, and more and more people arrived in the church, although it was already so crowded that there was no room for an apple to fall. I looked around, not without fear. Suddenly a guard from Father John appeared, who gave permission to take me to the sole. The watchman wanted to take me in alone, but that was not the case: the people grabbed him and me by the hands, by the dress, and we moved in a crowd to the side doors. Soon Father John came out and began to read the canon. Reading it made a strong impression; the words of the canon seemed to receive a particularly deep meaning and meaning. Despite the crowd, there was complete silence in the church; everyone listened attentively to the reading and was imbued with it. In the mouth of Father John, every word received special weight and carried a new revelation. Matins went on for a long time. But no fatigue was noticed. With his animation, his spirituality, Father John maintained the mood of the crowd of thousands. All eyes were fixed on him, and he owned the soul of everyone. Even on the salt, I was pressed tightly against the bars. Next to me stood an elegant merchant’s wife and her daughter, both dressed in all white, and near the image, for almost the entire service, an emaciated young woman in a black dress and a white headscarf lay prostrate. But let me move on to the confession itself. Father John came out to the people in a strong state of nervousness, and the words of his address to the pilgrims sounded with extraordinary strength and authority. “Repent to God of everything,” he said, “at least don’t lie to yourself, justifying your sins!” A shiver ran through the body from this prophetic voice, cutting through the stinking sinful atmosphere like God's thunder. There were sobs in the crowd, everyone's eyes were wet with tears. “Repent, all you fornicators and harlots!..” thundered the voice of Father John. - I'm a damned harlot! – I heard close to me. Copious tears flowed from the eyes of the young commoner, which she did not wipe away. The gray-bearded men sobbed like children. Everyone either whispered something to themselves, or spoke in a low voice, forgetting about those around them. – Repent, murderers and murderers, voluntary and involuntary! – Father John’s voice rang out at a high note. These words fell like a mighty blow, hitting everyone painfully in the heart. What happened here in the church is difficult to convey. A scream erupted from all the breasts, as if everyone felt like a murderer. The silent murmur of human voices filled the church, like the surf of sea waves, on which, like white scallops, the individual cries of the penitents rose. - I am a murderer, damned one! – an elderly woman once squealed in the church near the lattice of the salt. Everyone was crying. I have never experienced such sincere, so complete repentance either myself or seen around me. It was felt that not only the eyes, but the very heart were emanating from tears, being washed by them... Everything in the world was forgotten. The world seemed to cease to exist, everything was focused on one time - being in the church. Only here the words were clearly understood: the church is heaven on earth. Whoever experienced such sensations, it was as if he was already in heaven... That is why he did not feel tired, although mass departed late, and communion ended only in the second hour... In front of Father John they placed a bowl the size of a bowl on a pedestal, and five such bowls were given to him, despite the fact that at the same time with him, in the side aisles, two other priests were giving communion to the people. But everyone, apparently, sought to receive communion from the hands of Father John. My short stay in Kronstadt left an indelible impression on me for the rest of my life. Since then, I have always turned to Father John in writing or by telegraph in case of any grief or illness, and have always invariably received either spiritual consolation or physical healing. Out of gratitude to the prayer-book father who died in Bose, to whom I will forever retain reverent memory, I could not remain silent and hastily jotted down these lines. I would like to end this way: oh, how happy are we all who have seen and known the Kronstadt shepherd! E. Villager. In memory of the true shepherd If suddenly an angel flew from heaven with a face illuminated by the radiance of the mountain light, and began to tell us about the secrets of the heavenly side, if, having delighted our soul with these stories, he, quietly flapping his snow-white wings, flew back to his native, holy land, we would watch his flight for a long time, it would seem to us that he was taking with him some best particle of our soul there, into the heights, and would seem to fall before with this bright phenomenon all our doubts, with what tangibility it seemed to us we would grab the edge of that sky where the wonderful guest rushed... So similar to the descent of such an angel from heaven was the appearance and life among us on earth of the wonderful shepherd Father John of Kronstadt. He was one of those people about whom one can say that they bring a piece of Heaven with them to earth and make everyone approaching them clearly feel this heavenly region surrounding them. The secret of his influence was that what others believed in somehow vaguely and fortune-telling, he seemed to see with his earthly eyes, as if he touched with his own hands. He could, pointing to the icons, say, as the wondrous elder of Sarov Seraphim said with a heavenly smile on his face shortly before his death: “These are my relatives.” The sky was a closer region for him than the earth. Here on earth he seemed like a visiting “guest of the heavenly side.” And so, flapping his wings, he flew to his holy homeland. And we stand thoughtfully, remembering this happy flight and looking in the sky to see if there is a trace left of his ascent “to the mountain.” I saw Father John for the first time in Moscow in the house of Colonel Leonid Mikhailovich Chichagov, now His Eminence Seraphim, Bishop of Chisinau, and his hospitable and sweet wife, the beautiful Natalya Nikolaevna, who came from the Dokhturov family, memorable in military chronicles. They waited for Father John for a long time, and while waiting for him, an interesting spiritual conversation took place. I remember one person who, with great enthusiasm, spoke for a long time about the great elder Seraphim of Sarov and his Seraphim-Diveevsky Monastery. A story that instilled in my soul a desire to see this sacred place for myself. Finally, Father John arrived and, having blessed those present, began to serve a water-blessing prayer service. And in the first brief word that he uttered before the start of the prayer service, I was surprised by both the authority of his tone and the confidence in what he was saying. Inviting people to pray with him, which everyone needs, he ended his speech with the words: “Let us pray to Him, confident that He will hear us, that He cannot fail to hear us. Let us speak to Him as children speak to their Father, as the created to their Creator, as the redeemed to their Redeemer.” Then I had to see him a few years later in St. Petersburg. I came to St. Petersburg on business while still a student, and I really wanted to see Father John in order to talk with him slowly, face to face. I was advised to take the Baltic Railway train with which he was leaving for his home in Kronstadt in the evening, and I went to the Baltic Station. When Father John entered, I was struck by one detail, which I noticed more than once later, when I saw him in a crowd of people. He walked, surrounded by a dense group of people, somehow toppling over a little, as if surrendering to the will of this crowd and being carried by it, and at the same time it seemed that he was carrying this crowd forward himself. And then, at that moment, I understood the meaning of this man. He himself, like a shepherd, led the people, but the people’s zeal for him seemed to inflame and support him. Here there was a wonderful influence of the shepherd on the people and the people on the shepherd. And it was as if they both helped each other in moving forward to the Kingdom of Heaven. I then managed, as I had expected, to get into the carriage with Father John. Before the train left, I saw the continuation of those good deeds that, like a cornucopia, poured out from him everywhere he appeared. A beggar on the opposite side of the station suddenly asked him through the window, and he handed him a few rubles. Then some poor mother and her little girl came up. Looking at the girl, Father John affectionately put his hand on her shoulder, then looked keenly into her mother’s face and, giving her money, said to her: “You don’t live well, I’m not giving it for you, but for the girl.” The train finally started moving. I could calmly talk with Father John. It was December, cold. The window where we were sitting in the empty carriage was open, and I wanted to lift it. But Father John said with his gentle smile: “Leave it alone, I love the air, I’m a northern bear.” Filled with the harsh Arkhangelsk air, everything seemed stuffy to him. St. Petersburg and Kronstadt, fanned by the sea air, were just a match for him. I was told that, for example, in continental Moscow he felt bad. I then drove through several stations with him and could talk about everything I needed. Then a year later I saw him again and again in St. Petersburg. This was on the first day of my arrival. I stayed with his great admirer, Princess M., who told me that she was expecting Father John that day. And while he, walking around the apartment, sprinkled the rooms with holy water, I again said a few words to him in private. I participated in the publication of a newly printed book on the history of the Russian Church, and he initiated it, giving for it, as I remember now, one paper ruble, which I kept somewhere. His hand turned out to be light, since five thousand copies of the book were sold out in less than one month. Then I had to see him, either up close at some prayer services, or from afar on the street. You used to walk around St. Petersburg, see a carriage standing next to a crowd of people, and ask what they were waiting for. They will answer: Father John is in this house. From various private individuals in different cities I heard about the miraculous power of his prayer. The old Moscow lady of Petrovo-Solovo told me how the wife of the manager of their Tambov estate suffered madly with her teeth, how they finally sent a dispatch to Father John, and the hour it was supposed to be received, the toothache instantly and completely stopped. I heard about such a case today. The story was told by a happy family man. “Unfortunately, I cannot call myself an ardent believer. Like most of my contemporaries, I am almost indifferent to faith. About twenty years ago, my wife died after giving birth. The doctor who treated her declared the situation hopeless. I called Professor L. He said: in a few hours the agony will begin. It's over. I had an acquaintance in Kronstadt - I sent him a letter by express, so that he personally asked Father John to pray for his wife. I didn't tell anyone about this letter. This morning my wife had a terrible seizure. We sent for the first doctor we could find. A gentleman of the Jewish type appeared, which was somehow unpleasant for me. Seeing my depression, he told me: -Why are you so sad? There is hope ahead. The situation is not that bad at all. Indeed, the wife began to recover incomprehensibly and is still healthy. A day later, I received an answer from a Kronstadt acquaintance that Father John prayed intensely for his wife and the time of his prayer coincided with that terrible attack, after which she felt better. A few days later I asked Professor L. again. I still remember him standing in the hallway after visiting his wife in front of his fur coat with his eyes wide open in amazement... He didn’t even take money for the visit and, leaving, said: “I can say one thing here: that means miracles still happen.” And now I remember this and am still amazed.” I remember him serving in different places: in the Lyceum church in my native Moscow, where I came for a holiday visit, and in a wooden church in the dacha area of ​​Siverskaya, in the magnificent church of the St. John’s Monastery... I remember how, approaching the altar from the throne, he told me a kind, warm word of encouragement and greetings. I remember how I watched him in amazement after the consecration of the Holy Mysteries. It seemed that an unbeliever could believe, looking at how he rejoiced and admired the greatest shrine in the world. First he bowed before her, convulsively clutching her in his hands, then he fell to the Chalice and paten with his head, then he fell to his knees before her. And how eternally new was his delight during the daily, unforgettable liturgy he performed. “How will I repay,” the psalms ask, “to the Lord for all that he has done for me? I will take the cup of salvation, I will call on the name of the Lord (Ps. 116:3:4).” And this daily communion of Father John was for him an act of greatest and constant gratitude to the Redeemer God. And it was clear that during the celebration of the liturgy, he seemed to see that Cross, with a living, suffering God, to whose pierced side the Angel himself brings the Cup from the throne, filling it with healing Blood, he himself sees that Glorious Queen of heaven, to whom he reverently pronounces the words: “Fairly about the Most Holy, Most Pure, Most Blessed, Most Glorious Our Lady Theotokos and Ever-Virgin Mary.” The whole secret of Father John’s influence and influence on the people, the whole secret of the contagiousness, so to speak, of his faith lay precisely in this reality of his faith, with the eyes of which he saw what we only sense and guess about. He, indeed, was an angel who flew down to testify to people about the glory of the Divine. He was like that youth who then in Constantinople during the earthquake was marvelously taken up into heaven and overheard the Trisagion hymn sung by the Angels, brought it to earth and died himself. Only Father John walked the earth for a long time, constantly ascending to Heaven and bringing evidence of the Divine from there. I remember in the year of his illness when I visited him several times, having communicated with him by telegram, at his house in Kronstadt. Each time, dressed in a fur coat and hat - it was winter - he waited for me in the entryway of his house and then led me into his office. On my last visit, I asked him to give me some kind of icon as a blessing. There were many icons in his office, and my gaze fell on the icon of the Tenderness of the Mother of God, in front of which the Monk Seraphim of Sarov died. I have always had a special feeling for this icon. I thought: “Oh, if Father gave me this particular icon.” I didn’t have time to express this thought in words, didn’t have time to ask him for anything, when he quickly took the image of Tenderness from all the icons standing here and made an inscription on the underside of the board in his elegant, soft handwriting. I also remember the procession of his funeral in the darkness of a December night through the illuminated streets of St. Petersburg, among a countless crowd of people standing in silent and concentrated anticipation. This was not a funeral, it was like the transfer of the relics of a revered miracle worker. And then my thought is transferred to that white marble underground church, where under a large white marble slab the earthly shell of this glorious temple of the Holy Spirit rests. How many tearful requests and prayers are brought here from all sides of Russia, and how much help, consolation and healing is given here by this shepherd with his heart, which has spread even more in the new form of his being... And if then, in those earthly days, Father John, with the tenacity of a Canaanite wife, grabbed onto the robe of Christ and did not let go of it until he received what he asked for, then now, standing at the Throne of the Almighty, how even stronger his prayer became and how wonderful are the connections that, through this expensive grave with a white marble tombstone, surrounded by diligently brought flowers, connect the Russian people with those who flew into heaven and the sad land who did not forget the true shepherd... And was it possible not to bow to him on earth, not to love him with all my soul?! Undoubtedly, Father John possessed something otherworldly, otherworldly. They say, “there are souls that are born ahead of time, and they soar around the earth, not understood by anyone, and such a soul is sick.” I wonder if Father John had one too. K.M. Fofanov. Memories of the greatest people's prayer book A man of great will and thought died - it was John of Kronstadt. He devoted his entire life to bringing himself closer to the God of Perfection - he so sincerely desired this. Maybe there were words about him from N. A. Nekrasov: But this “Arkhangelsk peasant,” who knew and deeply understood Lomonosov, perhaps believed even stronger, even more deeply than his famous fellow countryman, in the great nation from which he was born and worked miracles with this faith in the living Russian people. The most humble of priests in his time, this dear and respected shepherd, now passed into eternity, as if demands my word, and I speak of him. My first acquaintance with him, which I learned only later, was in 1882. I had to be in Kronstadt in the summer on some personal business. But I didn’t find the person I was visiting at home. The steamer left, and I found myself at night in the open air. In frustration and grief, I sat down on a boulevard bench and dozed off. Everything was already quiet and deserted; dawn must have been approaching. Suddenly I noticed: a short man in a dark brown cassock was making his way with a hasty gait along a quiet boulevard. - What you? – he asked me sternly and abruptly. I was taken aback; the extraordinary compassion of a passing deacon or priest surprised me. He stood there for about two minutes, talked to me, and wanted to express his participation with financial help. I refused. He walked forward nervously. And then, many years after this brief meeting, I became convinced who it was that summer night that met me, forgotten and alone on the boulevard. When my wife was a girl, she lived in Kronstadt as a governess in the family of the merchant N. Father John was a member of this merchant family; then his fame was just beginning to thunder both in Kronstadt and far beyond its borders. My wife, raised from childhood in strict church principles, often thought about joining a monastery as a girl. For advice, by the way, she also turned to Father John of Kronstadt. The priest did not approve of her intentions. “You don’t need to save yourself in a monastery,” he sternly remarked to her, “but you need to save yourself in the world!” When, after some time, his spiritual daughter was engaged to me, she again turned to her revered confessor for advice. Now he approved of her intention. “A woman will be saved by bearing children,” he told her convincingly. My wife still hesitated in choosing a groom and, hearing unflattering gossip about me, reported this to the Kronstadt Father. “It doesn’t matter, even if he drinks, marry him!” This is your purpose. And he repeated once again that a woman will be saved by childbearing. I heard many still justified predictions of Father John from reliable sources, and my respect already lived and grew in me in absentia, but personally I avoided and was embarrassed to see him up close, although I had already seen him many times, surrounded by a dense crowd of people at random meetings, either at the station, or when getting out of the carriage, when he did not have time to shower blessings on those around him. While living in Gatchina, I became well acquainted and became close with Father Vasily L. This venerable priest, a man of the kindest soul, had a large family. He is a friend of the late John of Kronstadt, who, having no children of his own, baptized his friend Vasily and was a frequent guest in his house when he came to Gatchina. Father Vasily also often visited John in Kronstadt. – You should attend a general confession! – Father Vasily once told me. I respected Father John, knew a lot about him from hearsay, and was somehow especially afraid of him. “I know that this is an extraordinary spectacle, but it seems to me that I am completely unworthy of it,” I objected, knowing, according to rumors, that Father John is a very strict dogmatist, and my poem, published in 1888 in the magazine “Observer,” had already been banned by the Holy Synod. I expressed my concerns about this to Father Vasily. - All this is nothing! You don’t know what a kind and wonderful person he is. After some hesitation, I agreed to go to Kronstadt with Father Vasily and three other people. This was during Lent 1901. During the general confession in Kronstadt, many people came from everywhere. Hospice houses, the House of Diligence, hotels - everything was crowded with pilgrims. There were no outrageous or funny scenes here, and exploitation was everywhere rapaciously gaping. Around the good shepherd, like around a venerable oak, lichens, unclean mushrooms, harmful mosses developed, but there was also a lot of kindness and true prayer. And legends about magnificent miracles were mixed with anecdotes of the strangest, and sometimes cynical, nature. They were often published in the small press back then and there is no need to repeat them. The room where we spent the night was also crowded with wanderers, wanderers, and, surprisingly, soldiers who had arrived from somewhere and did not hesitate to spend the night with the ladies; or rather: the ladies, for the sake of the solemn occasion, were not at all embarrassed by the billet of a whole company of young soldiers. Everywhere several lamps burned in front of the icons. Housewives asked guests not to smoke and did not even allow smokers to stay overnight. In almost every room for guests, Father John was expected to pray, banishing smoking, and therefore a strict veto was imposed on tobacco. However, Father Vasily and I were given a small room, separate, for prayers, and Father Vasily prayed almost until the morning, preparing for the Holy Gifts. At six o'clock in the morning we were already at the altar of St. Andrew's Cathedral in Kronstadt. Several priests from different dioceses had already gathered there. We were waiting for Father John; he was not among us yet. I confess that I was awaiting the arrival of the famous shepherd, not without inner trepidation. Priests and deacons entered, and at each entrance I trembled, thinking: here he is! Grey-haired, tall, curly, with beautiful hair and balding, young and old priests gathered in anticipation of their beloved shepherd, many had already put on their clothes, but he still hesitated. Finally, with a cheerful, almost cheerful gait, his smart shoes creaking, he entered in an elegant crimson duckweed. Short in stature, with smoothly combed hemp-colored hair, he could be immediately recognized from his portraits, many of which were very similar. From a distance, his face seemed somewhat stern and stern, but when he came very close and hugged Father Vasily, he said: “Oh, and dear friend Vasily is here!” - then I noticed the unusually gentle shine of his eyes and forehead, which seemed to glow with whiteness. Father Vasily introduced me. John blessed me and looked straight into my eyes, as if trying to read something in them, but this look of light and gray eyes, like the autumn sky, made me slightly embarrassed, although they were simple, kind eyes, reminiscent of the eyes of good-natured Olonets. And I felt that I believed, and he probably read this in me, and this faith must have touched him. With a quick movement of his hand, he took my hand and hastily pulled me into the vestibule of the altar, abruptly saying as he walked: - You go to confession - let's go! An involuntary trembling made my knees buckle - not from fear, but from reverence and bewilderment for this original power of a deeply Christian believer. I stood in front of him and looked at him; He, lightly touching the lectern, asked in a quiet voice, quickly: This was his first question, spoken with tenderness on the word “people,” and again I saw the reassuring gaze of the confessor. “My father was a merchant,” I muttered. - Well, yes, from the people! – he said affirmatively. And I was glad that he guessed me. After a few insignificant phrases, to my surprise, Father John said insinuatingly: “They say you drink... but you’re not a drunkard! God's gift. And at these words, Father John impatiently made a gesture with his hand, as if the floor was about to collapse under me. I was shocked and delighted - he encouraged me so sacredly that I immediately grew in my own eyes and felt at ease. After that, as if he had known each other for a long time, he began to talk about his friend P., his classmate, a seminarian: - He was capable, very capable; studied better than me. I studied poorly at first. I got three, and he got five for essays... and wrote poetry well... and then he lost his way, married a girl... started drinking... and died young... in the hospital... and maybe he would have been in my place. He told this simple story simply and so touchingly that it seemed to me that I had become a child and was listening to my kind father. After several more successful and insightful remarks, which I do not want to share publicly, Father John asked to introduce me to my wife, having learned that she was here, and in conclusion, looking intently, inquisitively at me, said: - But I can do anything! What would you like? I can! I didn’t expect this at all; I was so happy that I was seeing the great shepherd face to face and talking with him that tears almost came to my throat, and I answered: - Father, you don’t need anything! I am already so deeply happy that I see you! At these words, Father John hugged me and, kissing me, said: – The Lord bless you! Thus ended this extraordinary, joyful, and unforgettable confession for me. Then I prayed at the altar and saw an extraordinary service and an extraordinary prayer of a great Christian that I had never seen before. Many priests in wonderful brocade vestments served with Father John; there were crimson, and lilac, and green, and scarlet, and blue brocades; Father John himself was in white and a miter, sparkling with precious stones, crowned his head. Incense, especially pleasant, must have been donated by rich merchants, hundreds of candles, expensive vestments - all this transported me to the time of Vladimir - Prince Solnyshko, and whether from fatigue or from a poorly spent night, it sometimes seemed to me that in the clouds of incense floated one or another face from the dead near and dear to me. Father John prayed as if he were talking with someone visible only to him. At the altar he prayed in the same way: with tears in his eyes, almost all the time kneeling before the throne. And he pronounced the words sharply, abruptly, as if he were convincing, as if he was ordering, or, rather, insisting on his request. - My state! Light You are mine! - he exclaimed, raising his hands, with tears in his voice, and suddenly, his precious miter shimmering, he bowed his head to the floor. It was so unexpected and touching that I myself wanted to exclaim: - God, God! Give it, give it everything that this altar server prays for. He knows what he wants, and he probably wants what is true. His general confession was just as extraordinary and majestic when he emerged from the altar to a countless crowd of people and began to shout sharply and powerfully: - Repent! Remember that God forgives everything if you pray to Him in faith... And the crowd of a thousand, like one person, boomed: - We repent, Father, we repent! He raised his voice even more authoritatively: - If you are a thief, if you are an embezzler, repent! If you are a harlot, if you are a fornicator, if you are a robber, repent... God will forgive! Here confusion began in the church. Many were crying bitterly. Many people felt ill, the cliques began to cackle, bark, or shout out crazy words. Father John, with the blessed cross, calmed the excitement for some time, and the people again shouted: Before bringing out the Chalice with the Gifts, Father John addressed the crowd with the following words: - Now you will accept the Body and Blood of Christ Himself - and He will enter into you, and you will be close to Him, like relatives. And if the Lord God loved His Son, then He will love you and forgive all your sins... Just sincerely repent... remember your sins... pray... and God will forgive you. And when, after some time, Father John brought out the Chalice with the Gifts, the crowd was reverently silent. With a crowd of ten thousand, such silence was amazing; even the shouters fell silent, only a colorful sea of ​​heads, slightly bowed. Many fell to their knees. It seemed to me that a wave of wind swept through the church from thousands of restrained sighs. And abruptly and especially clearly it was heard: “I believe, Lord...” Father John gave Communion in generous spoons. When he found out that it was my wife, he gave my wife two particles. Both she and everyone were amazed why he did this. So what? Ten months later we had twins, twins: a boy and a girl. Father John treated Holy Communion with particular reverence and placed the power of healing on it. But in other cases he was strict. I saw one young woman, a pretty blonde, very elegant, approach the Chalice. Father John frowned, looked at her sternly and sharply remarked: - I won’t give it to you today. Come on in! The woman walked away, burst into tears and fell to her knees in front of the nearest icon. They say that others dared to receive communion from his hands almost every day. Perhaps he noticed something bad in this woman too, which is why she, in deep shame, was suddenly completely transformed by his words. How selfless Father John was, although money flowed to him in streams - everyone knows this. I can’t help but cite one case that illustrates his relationship to money. I personally witnessed this. After the liturgy, when Father John was unmasked, one Kronstadt admiral, almost the deceased Makarov, came to the altar of St. Andrew's Cathedral: plump, of medium height, bald, with a graying beard. The admiral asked Father John for something and called him somewhere. Father John listened carefully to his request; then the admiral, taking out a thick wallet with hundred-ruble tickets, took two or three rainbow ones and handed them to Father John. Father John nervously and as if with disgust crumpled up the brand new banknotes so that they crunched, and threw them on the sill of the church window. - Will! Will! – he shouted impatiently, making it clear that the audience was over. I could cite many stories about the great clergyman of Kronstadt, which I heard from reliable and fair people, but I will keep silent, because this would lead very far. I’ll finish my incomplete and weak notes with Father John’s view of modern literature. This is what he writes, by the way, in one of his works: “Nowadays we need strong and fiery in spirit Chrysostom, Gregory, Vasily, and that worldly, slanderous word has taken on great power in the press, for whoever does not write now is not published and does not read. All are literate, educated; literally a whole sea of ​​words is poured onto paper, and in addition, it is illustrated with pictures, and sometimes – what kind? Some readers will stare, while others will turn away or tear apart another leaf” (The Path to God. 1895. P. 33). Ariadna Tyrkova-Williams. Something that will no longer be When dad visited Vergezh, every evening after dinner he went to the chapel to pray. Occasionally a priest would come, either our parish priest from the distant village of Kolomno, eight miles away from us, or a nearby priest from Vysotsk. A prayer service or all-night vigil was served. The smell of spruce, birch, grass, blooming clover, and freshly mown hay poured in through the open windows. Bird voices merged with the exclamations of the priest, and some kind of bright lightness straightened the soul. These services were held in our cramped chapel unnoticed, without fatigue or boredom. Sometimes the Zvanskaya abbess brought her choir. The dark figures of her clergy women were clearly visible on the white plastered walls. Their faces under their black, velvet, pointed hats seemed even younger and brought a unique artistic quality to the quiet village chapel. Like the Quattrocento masters, through small windows with thick iron bars one could see the greenery of the fields, painted with the colorful heads of wild flowers, the tops of distant trees, the blue sky with a white cloud pattern. We loved our Verge chapel, we loved it thoughtlessly, without repentant worries about our sins, but far from the rebellion that seduced us at the solemn services of the Vladimir Cathedral. In this small papa’s chapel, where every detail, every icon was familiar from childhood, prayer words sank into the soul more easily, and even impatient youth listened more attentively to the heartfelt eloquence of the long akathists. Let's say not always. If our young comrades were visiting us that day, if the polysyllabic epithets translated from Greek aroused first bewilderment on their faces, then a barely restrained smile, then it was not easy for us to suppress our infectious laughter. But there was nothing offensive or provocative in it. We did not recognize ourselves as subjects of the Heavenly King, but we did not intend to rebel against Hero as against the king of the earth. We didn’t think about it, especially in the chapel, where from the walls, from the open doors, from the bees buzzing in the grass, from the big red butterfly that flew into the window, everything exuded a clear calm, a bright world. My father also felt this joyfully. In the chapel, the edges separating us from him rose. This did not happen often, on special holidays. Usually he went to pray alone, and did not even try to invite us with him. And how happy he would be if one of the children knelt next to him in front of his favorite image of the Savior. Sometimes he tried to approach us. Once, when I was already a student, he entered my room. “Here, I brought you a gift,” he said, smiling uncertainly. He was a strong-willed man, with bright, decisive desires, with angry, sometimes unbridled outbursts, but at the same time shy and bashful. He became more and more shy with us as we grew up, shed our childhood uncertainty and our own desires and sympathies became more and more clear, and our personal characteristics and properties emerged. I already knew that hesitant smile of his. I unwrapped the heavy package with curiosity. It contained three books - a prayer book, the Gospel and the Apostolic Epistles, in a luxurious synodal edition with Russian and Slavic text. I thanked him and admired the red and gold morocco binding, lined with white moiré, excellent paper, large print. My father listened to my polite words. And shadows came over his dark face with large cheekbones and dark, beautiful eyes. He kissed me and said with a slight sigh: – Maybe someday you’ll read... I kissed his hand. Are these three wonderful books somewhere now? I didn’t think to take them with me, I didn’t expect such long wanderings. And how I would like to have them now! Another time, when I had already separated from my first husband and was living in a small apartment, where only an icon hung in the corner in the nursery, my dad, who was very worried about me, suddenly asked: – Whose image would you like to have? I want to give it to you. The question took me by surprise. I didn’t think about icons and prayer at all, so I answered hastily: - Okay. And I thought - Mother of God... An unusual feeling of guilt confused me. These restrained, simple words opened the doors to some chambers where I had no access... But we lived, intoxicated by the self-confident consciousness that the whole world was open before us, that we understood everything. Over the years, my father's piety grew. He received communion more and more often, went on pilgrimages more and more often, and built a new church in the village of Vysokoye. The construction of this church is a bright page in my father’s life. Until the very end of his days, he had a reserve of vigorous energy, but he spent it on official matters, on troubles around the nest, and did not engage in public affairs. For two years he was an unpaid secretary of the Society for the Care of the Blind. He was passionate about this work, organized gatherings, workshops, and distributed brochures. I hosted him twice a week. Much to the displeasure of the servants, our hallway these days was filled with blind people and their sighted relatives. Dad patiently listened to requests, gave information, directed, and went to work somewhere himself. I don’t know why he stopped this work, and I don’t understand why mom, always ready to help the needy and burdened, treated dad’s secretary with a grin. She herself was never a member of any society and did not like lady patrons. Society of the Blind – it was the end of the 80s. Then came our impoverishment, difficulties, impoverishment of life. My father temporarily gave up. But after my mother, with a careful but firm hand, began to unravel and organize the household, my father again accumulated a supply of dynamic energy, and he decided to build a new, stone church in the village of Vysokoye instead of a dilapidated wooden church. When he first talked about this with his mother, she looked at him in surprise: - How much will it cost? Where will you get the money from? - The money will be found, if only you are diligent. Mom shrugged, but father was right. He found the money. He himself could give nothing except a certain amount of wood and brick. He had no money at all. He and Seryozha, then a student at the Forestry Institute, lived together in a small apartment in St. Petersburg. But dad tirelessly visited acquaintances and strangers, asked, convinced, insisted, and, in rubles and kopecks, he collected the 40,000 rubles that were needed for the construction. I went to Kronstadt, received some money from Father John, and stood there on the porch with a collection of books, like Uncle Vlas. With gray hair, a gray, roundly trimmed beard, and lively, young, black eyes, he attracted attention. His dignified appearance and the order around his neck, which he wore on such occasions, left no doubt - a master, a real master. All the more willingly did ordinary people put nickels on his collection book on the porch of St. Andrew's Cathedral in Kronstadt, in the St. Sergius-Trinity Lavra, in Moscow churches, everywhere where he appeared. He worked like this for several years. He found his main support in Father John. Since then, dad became the spiritual son of the Kronstadt Father. Great joy poured out on him from Father John. Without paying any attention to the weather, during summer storms and winter snowstorms, dad went to see him in Kronstadt and stood there in the altar, and sometimes in a dense crowd of pilgrims, he stood for long services. Father John was very kind to him and found time for personal conversations. The father returned from him calmed and enlightened. None of the children ever accompanied dad on these trips. I can't forgive myself for this. But still, I saw Father John, spending three days with him under the Verge roof, when he came to us for the consecration of the Vysotsk church. In my father’s life, the construction of this church and the appearance of Father John in our house were the most important events. For all of us, for the entire Vergezh family, this was just one of the colorful incidents of our Vergezh picturesque existence. Just like the meeting with Father John was only one of the meetings with an extraordinary person. We could not help but succumb to the charm that radiated from him, but we were unable to understand his giving power. I was still very young, absorbed in my own poorly organized life and took on faith the intellectual bias, prejudice against the eccentric priest who attracts to Kronstadt from all over Russia thousands of slackers, hypocrites and cliques, spreading superstitious rumors about his miracles. All fairy tales that intoxicate the common people. There are no miracles these days. It is clear that we approached the miracle worker with childish skepticism. We did not consider him a deceiver, thank God, but we were surprised why he tolerated and encouraged this noise, this crush of praying mantises and pilgrims around him and his church. And when he appeared, when, at my father’s request, our whole family went down to the river to meet Father John on the riverside threshold of the estate and he looked straight into my eyes with clear, sharp eyes, some kind of warm excitement rose in me. I can still see the light of those amazing, deep-set eyes. They shone like two lamps. I have never seen such continuous radiance from anyone. And ordinary people’s eyes can sometimes flash, light up with rays, sometimes dark, sometimes light. Rays streamed continuously from Father John's eyes. I didn’t suspect then, I wasn’t able to understand that this was a reflection of a continuous inner radiance. His appearance with us brought great joy not only to his father, who was as happy as a young man in love. With his knowledge of people and insight, he could not help but immediately see our distance from everything that fed and burned his chosen soul... He realized that in the whole large family there was only one Orthodox person - my father. When dad, already in the living room, introduced all the children to him in turn, I read in Father John’s gaze the understanding and regret that we were so blind. He didn’t try to reason with us, much less conquer us. But he spoke to us differently than to dad. Father John, although they were close in age, spoke to him like father and son, with quiet, attentive affection. When he addressed any of us, he was simply a friendly socialite. He had a lot of worldly courtesy. We felt this on the very first evening, when the important guests had not yet arrived and in the living room, besides us, there were only Father John and his old friend from the Academy, Father Ornatsky from St. Petersburg. They had not seen each other for a long time, Father John was delighted at this meeting, hugged and kissed his classmate. They recalled their student pranks, when they would stealthily run to concerts at night and climb over the high walls of the Alexander Nevsky Lavra so as not to catch the eye of the inspector. Both priests enjoyed the cheerful memories of their youth, and we enjoyed listening to them, looking at their rejuvenated faces. Our simple living room has warmed up and become even more comfortable. Then Father John fell silent. His face changed. He retreated into himself. We didn't understand what was going on, but dad did. Perhaps the illustrious guest warned him in advance about the hours of his prayer. Dad approached Father: “If you like, Father, I’ll take you to the garden.” It's already getting dark. They went out onto the balcony together and went down the alley. Father John especially loved to pray in the open air and, probably, even in the afternoon, when the pope showed him his estate, he chose our linden alley, our green colonnade, as a natural prayer place. He went there every evening and returned from the garden with a tired and happy face. The next evening, this order was almost violated. A bishop and his retinue arrived from Novgorod. It immediately became clear that the Kronstadt Father was alien and disliked to them. This happened at the very beginning of the 90s. The Synod looked and listened with distrustful suspicion to the activities of Father John, to his sermons, to the growing worship that attracted crowds of people from all over Russia to St. Andrew's Cathedral in Kronstadt. This zeal, this accumulation seemed unnecessary to the Synod. Father John was already a people's pastor, but still only a common people's shepherd. Among the clergy they whispered that he could not escape synodal disgrace. They did not yet know that he would soon become close to the royal family. The Novgorod bishop, in response to my father’s respectful request to allow Father John to serve the all-night vigil in our house, dryly stated that the priest whom he had brought with him would serve the all-night vigil. Poor dad. He dreamed so much about this all-night vigil in our dining room. I had to submit. In the evening everyone sat in the living room. Mom, as expected, is on the sofa. Next to her is the eldest of the visiting nuns. On the other side, in the chair, was the bishop, who was talking affably with the hostess. The priests sat on chairs along the walls. Father John sat silently far away, right under the window. When the hour of his evening prayer arrived, he approached the bishop and, as required by church discipline, asked permission to leave. He stood close, but the bishop did not notice him. Father John returned to his distant chair. I saw the other priests glance at each other furtively. They understood the full meaning of this scene. After some time, Father John came up again with the same request and again the Bishop did not pay attention to him. Again Father John retreated to his place under the window. The same scene was repeated a third time. At this point my mother could no longer bear it and quietly said to the bishop: – Vladyka, Father John wants to tell you something. Only then did the bishop look at the Kronstadt Father and, holding the wide sleeve of his silk cassock, gave him his leave blessing. Dad opened the door to the balcony for Father John, and Father went into the garden, into his favorite linden alley. A not at all Christian draft of malevolent feelings passed through the living room... Our habit of reaching out to everything and everyone whom the authorities do not approve of, intensified the chill that had set in. We were wary of the bishop and turned to Father John. It has become closer, more accessible, more understandable. Moreover, “Our Father,” the only prayer that the bishop allowed him to read at the all-night vigil, still sounded in his heart. I have never heard such a prayer before or since. And all around the house, in the darkness of an unusually warm October night, one could hear cautious steps, muffled voices, rustles and whispers, and the breathing of several thousand people. They came and came from all over the area to receive the blessing of the Kronstadt Father. All the estate buildings, all the sheds could not accommodate the pilgrims who filled the courtyard, garden, and spread throughout the entire estate. The actual night siege is fortunately peaceful. The presence of these pilgrims, more clearly than the arrival of honored guests, among whom were Governor B. Stürmer and Chief Prosecutor of the Synod Sabler, indicated that some great event was taking place on Vergezh. An exciting, bright tension seeped into the house from this invisible crowd. I don’t know whether Father John found a quiet place for his lonely prayer that evening in the garden, but at dawn he went out to the people. Out of false modesty, I did not go downstairs, did not give myself over to the sea of ​​people that flooded our spacious courtyard, I remained in my room on the second floor and only furtively from behind the curtain looked at the faces of old and young, men, women, children, shining with happy emotion. All faces were turned in one direction, towards the porch, where Father John stood. I couldn't see him. A soft, gentle voice was heard, but I could not make out the words. The crowd was baptized. Exclamations and sighs, similar to sobs, rushed over her and reached me. And they were infected with vague excitement. The mood of the pilgrims on the day of the consecration of the Vysotsk church swept through my soul even more infectiously. By village standards, it was built quite spaciously, but so many people gathered that only a part got inside the church. A huge crowd stood outside the fence in the open air, filling a wide rural street, lined with birch trees and firmly paved even under Arakcheev. The day was quiet and sunny. The Volkhov distance stretches out in its farewell autumn beauty. The service is over. We had to go down to the steamer that was supposed to take us across the river to Vergezha, where breakfast awaited us, served for a hundred guests. A solemn procession led by the bishop, surrounded by clergy, left the church. The Novgorod ruler, carefully moving along the steep descent, blessed the people as he went. Around him, people crowded and climbed on steep, rain-scarred ruts. They let the bishop, the governor and all their entourage through politely and decorously. But their eyes were looking for another shepherd, looking for their Kronstadt Father. He was one of the last among the clergy. And for the crowd he was the first. As soon as they saw him, everyone rushed towards him. It even became creepy: what if there was a crush, what if these ever-closer waves of people crowded him, knocked him off his feet? But they just doused him, wrapped him around him and, as if in their arms, carried him down to the river. Faces and hearts were turned to him, thousands of eyes were watching him, invisible threads and currents were drawn to him. I walked close to Father John and physically felt these currents. This radiation of the people's soul for a moment demolished and melted the rough shell of indifferent curiosity that had darkened my consciousness. I did not and do not like crowds, but on this shining holiday day, without realizing it, I disappeared into the crowd of Orthodox pilgrims. Father John was in his element. He was used to feeling this flow of hearts around him, which is difficult to convey in words and impossible to forget. Remembering all this, how happy I am for my dad, that he, in true unity with the people, felt so deeply, and was so childishly devoted to spiritual closeness with the Kronstadt Father. And how sad it is to think that we, the rest of the Tyrkov family, passed by this source of living water. Village priest. Unforgettable Father This is already the fifth year since our unforgettable All-Russian Father passed away. More time will pass after his blessed death, but the name of dear Father will not be forgotten. On the contrary, just as Father John during his life was the bearer of God’s grace, so after death this grace does not become scarce in him. According to the news of many spiritual magazines, healings are already taking place at the grave of Father John. But this is understandable, natural, and as it should be: if during his lifetime Father John comforted the suffering and healed the sick by the power of God, now, having already united with the Lord in the Kingdom of Heaven, he prays all the more for all of us sinners, and especially those who remember him. But it seems to me that Father John cannot be forgotten not only by those who knew him, but also by those who did not honor him. This personality was very bright! Father John left behind a lot of good deeds! How many monasteries he founded, how many churches he built, how many schools he opened! There is almost no church in need that he would not donate to! And his charities?! What about donations to poor families?! You can’t count everything! So how can you forget him? His name will be passed on from generation to generation, at least by the people who have benefited from him, and there are millions of them! The writer of these lines partly belongs to them, which is why he considers it his sacred duty to reveal this to the highly respected editors of the Kronstadt Shepherd. I want to report on two incidents from the life of Father John and two dreams about Father John that I saw after his death. When I was still studying and was a boy, I heard and read a lot about Father John. Then I already imagined him as a people's comforter and I myself, with my childhood grief and need, often turned to him both mentally and in writing. Although Father John never answered me, it was always easier for me, and my affairs were crowned with success. I believed that Father John was helping me. Over the years, my faith in Father’s prayers increased. When the time of youth came in my life and I, overwhelmed by both youthful fervor and modern teachings, did not know where to direct my path, although I felt an attraction to the priesthood, I again addressed a letter to Father. He did not answer me, but all my doubts disappeared, I was removed from the midst of my corrupting comrades, I was already on the eve of the priesthood. Soon I was ordained a deacon. After all this, I really wanted to visit my dear Father. Imagine my surprise when the Lord sent me a like-minded wife! She, as it turned out, was already in Kronstadt. Needless to say, we had no obstacles to visiting our dear Father together. In May 1904 we went to Kronstadt. How long the road seemed to us! And it’s clear why: we were not interested in anything except Father John. Thank God: here comes Kronstadt! But what is it? City or monastery? How many cities we have passed through, what noise and bustle there is everywhere! In Kronstadt you won’t see anything like this: there is silence and tranquility everywhere; only all the streets, especially near the cathedral, are crowded with pilgrims with knapsacks on their shoulders, obviously having come from afar. They talk to each other about the monastery. Among them you can also see intelligent pilgrims, but you cannot distinguish them from the inhabitants of the city, because no matter who you meet on the streets of the city, you will not notice on a single face that “vanity of vanities” that is visible in the inhabitants of all cities. Father John left his mark on the whole city, the whole city succumbed to his charm. We don't know how it is now. But how gratifying it was under Father! I felt at home and was as calm and joyful as everyone else, although I had not yet seen Father John. This is where the grace of God truly lies! We stayed at the House of Diligence, where the influence of Father John was also reflected in everything. The grandeur of the building, the cleanliness, the arrangement of rooms with walk-through doors for speedy circulation of prayers to Father John by pilgrims, the laid tables in the front corners in front of the icons with prepared bowls of water for consecration, the portraits of Father on the walls - everything speaks of him... We decided to see Father in our room, although I, as a clergyman, had the opportunity to see Father at home. I was told that all the clergy who visit Father John serve the Liturgy with him, for which purpose they first confess to one of the priests. I went to Father Andrey, the priest of the Church of the House of Diligence; this is a nice old man! He warned me that Father John likes to be told about his needs loudly, briefly and clearly. I realized that I couldn’t talk much with Father, but I didn’t need that: I came to him only to pray with him and ask for his blessing to accept the priesthood. I looked forward to the next day. I did not sleep almost all night, and in the morning I had barely fallen asleep when the big bell was rung for Matins. I jumped out of bed and immediately remembered: “After all, I am preparing to serve with Father John, about whom I had only heard and read, and here I will be in close communion with him through the Divine Liturgy! It’s both gratifying and scary. What if he finds vices in me that I don’t even know yet and removes me from priesthood?!” This is what scared me... And the bell kept ringing. I looked out the window onto the street: it was full of people. After praying to God, we went to the cathedral. With difficulty we made our way to the cathedral; There were especially many people near Father’s house, where the pilgrims were waiting for Father John to come out... Everything in the cathedral was full. Having somehow arranged for my wife in the church, I went straight to the altar. But even here it was already full. Just as in the cathedral no one paid attention to each other, so in the altar they didn’t even look at me. Everyone was waiting for Father John, everyone’s gaze was directed towards the exit, towards Father’s house. Just like a magnet, he attracted everyone’s hearts even before his appearance. Everyone was focused, collected... But then a cry was heard: “Father, help! Father, pray! Our dear breadwinner!” - “Father is coming!” The frozen, concentrated lava of the people stirred up and rushed after Father John’s carriage. It was scary to look at this picture. One might have expected that someone was about to be run over, but this did not happen. Only then did the people calm down somewhat when Father John, through the same side passage that I had taken, ended up in the altar. There was no such confusion here. Father himself blessed everyone and greeted everyone. I asked him for his blessing to serve the liturgy. He blessed. But they began to serve only after Matins. Father John did not serve Matins, but was busy all the time with letters, telegrams, and pilgrims at the altar; then he went out to sing and read stichera and the canon in the choir. I noticed later that Father sang and read, and served in a special way: he devoted himself to prayer with all his being, which was noticeable on his face and movements. One might think that on the path to God he was waging a strong struggle with the devil. He did not read the way we read, but simply spoke, talked with God or the saints. It’s nice to hear such reading, but we don’t know how to read like that: for this we need to be Father John. And how does such a ministry of Father influence the people! The confusion that existed before Father John's arrival did not stop at all in the cathedral, and with the appearance of Father John from the altar to the choir, the noise intensified. The people, seeing him, did not pay attention that Matins was going on, and loudly greeted him: “Father, you are our dear, breadwinner!” etc. But as soon as Father John began to read, everything calmed down... Everyone’s eyes were fixed on him, and everyone merged with him in prayer. Matins is over. We are preparing for the liturgy. Many visiting priests are vested. Father's services are always conciliar. The remarkable thing is that even during the service everyone felt at home, at ease: whether because everyone was busy with Father and focused on themselves, or for some other reason, I don’t know. Throughout the service, his face was somehow unearthly, bright, ruddy, alive. Father John was generally a lively, active man; His movements were fast, his speech abrupt and strong. But in moments of a strong influx of God’s grace upon him, he remained silent. Only by his face it was clear that the Lord was with him, and everyone felt it almost visible. At this time he did not resemble Father John, and was like an angel flying from heaven; then he stood motionless, closing his eyes: probably his soul was transported to heaven and there it was already performing the liturgy in the Heavenly Host. Now the moment of communion has come. How vividly everyone felt the presence of Christ! Just like the Last Supper. How joyful it was in my soul! I wish I had more minutes like this!.. The curtain was pulled back. Father appeared before the people. What happened here cannot be described! There were crying, and tears, screams, groans - everyone asked for Father John’s prayers... He began to say the word. The people fell silent. He spoke about how one should begin to communicate with God in Holy Communion, that such noise and confusion are not pleasing to God, and if the crowd does not shut up, he will not give communion. But as soon as he fell silent, the noise arose again. Father John gave communion to only a few people, and then announced that he was refusing communion to the people, and went to the altar. There was even more noise. Everyone was at a loss. Quite unexpectedly, I gained courage, and I shouted to the whole cathedral that from the behavior of the pilgrims one can assume that they do not want to partake of the Holy Mysteries of Christ, that by this they are bringing great sorrow to Father, which means they did not come to Father for help, but to insult him, etc. He asked and begged them to calm down in order to make amends. To my surprise, Father came out, the people quieted down, and he began to give communion to everyone. Maybe it was not I who influenced the people, but Father’s prayer, but I was extremely happy that I seemed to help Father calm the people down. Communion went on for a long time, and I was impatiently waiting for it to end, so that I could be closer to Father John again. But then communion ended, and mass also departed. The people became agitated again. Father John quickly went out the side doors, straight from the altar. I no longer saw what was happening there, because I was still in the cathedral. When I arrived at the House of Diligence, everyone there was already on their feet: they were waiting for Father John with prayer services. The mood was again the same as before mass: what if Father denounces and rejects? Everyone feels a sense of damnation in front of such people. But then Father arrived! He began serving prayer services from the ground floor, and then began to go upstairs. Soon he was on our floor. He walks quickly and serves prayers, but loudly and clearly, his singing can be heard far away. Everyone, including us, was impatiently waiting for Father to come to our room, our hearts were aching... The door opened! Father came in, quickly blessed us and began a prayer service. The feeling of fear is gone, the presence of Father John destroys it, it is easy to pray with him. I put 5 rubles on the table for the prayer service. The prayer service is over. Father John did not take the money; then I gave them to the psalm-reader, but Father quickly returned them to me and said: “We don’t take from our own money.” I thanked him and began to ask his advice about accepting the priesthood. He pierced me with his gaze and said loudly: “With God!” I also asked him to sign the portrait for us as a blessing, he quickly did this too, asking what my name was, my wife’s, and whether we had any children. Rising from his chair, he blessed us and was about to go to another room when it occurred to me to ask for something from his works. Before I had time to utter the words, however, he already answered me: “Okay, okay!” And he quickly left. I was happy and sad. I am delighted to communicate with dear Father and saddened by not receiving books. Although he promised me, when will I receive them? When will he give them to me? And I really wanted to have books from him. Then they told me that Father John had already finished serving prayers on the lower floor and was already preparing to go to the private apartments of the pilgrims. I decided that Father had forgotten about the books and became even more sad. Imagine my amazement when, not yet having come to my senses from all this, I heard the loud voice of Father John: “Father deacon, father deacon!” I thought that this did not apply to me, and was only perplexed: what is this confusion on the stairs? And it turned out that dear Father himself was coming up the stairs to me with books and again shouting: “Father Deacon, Father Deacon, here are my books for you!” And the people are still crowding towards him and surrounding him. I rushed as fast as I could through the crowd and found myself near Father. I took the books from him, thanked him, and he also blessed me, and I kissed his hand very, very hard and, happy with everything, went to my room. I was blissful! I couldn't be happier in the world! How simple Father is! He remembered me all the time and himself brought me the books “My Life in Christ.” These books are now my treasure. With those 5 rubles that Father did not take, I bought his works and now I console myself with them. Satisfied with everything and renewed in spirit, the next day we were already getting ready to go home. But this always happens to us: having received one happiness, we want another. I also decided to receive a pocket Gospel from Father as a blessing. For this purpose, the next day I went again to the cathedral to see Father John, where he was already preparing to serve. Somehow I squeezed my way to him, I handed him the Gospel and asked him to write a blessing on it. He already remembered me. Taking the Gospel from me, he said to me: “What are you, he still needs the Gospel! Well, let me write." I didn't know how to thank him; he quickly signed and handed me the Gospel; only the signature has not yet dried; I was afraid that it wouldn’t be smeared, but dear Father immediately went and took a piece of paper from somewhere and carefully attached it to his signature. I was moved to tears by his love! And he didn’t caress me alone like that, but everyone, although his movements and reprimand were rude, they hid the Divine love that he had for people. Thanking him and asking his forgiveness for the trouble, I asked him to bless us on the road. He blessed. So we parted with him. Delighted, we said goodbye to dear Father and dear Kronstadt and went home, taking with us the memories of dear Father for eternal memory. Yes, none of those who visited Kronstadt repented of this! Everyone here felt communication with God through dear Father John, everyone felt his love, and where there is love, there is God! Perhaps these descriptions of mine are not interesting, but these new touches of his love for the people, outlining his bright appearance, are dear. I wrote this for their sake, not for my own sake. Returning home, I was soon ordained a priest, of course, through the prayers of Father. Four years later we were still planning to go to Father John. I was already a priest. According to magazines, Father’s health was inferior to the diseases of old age. I had a presentiment that he would not live long, and so, at all costs, I wanted to see him one last time. I didn't have money for the trip. How can I be here?! Let's float and be! A bell was bought from our church, and we owed money to the breeder. So I went to Father also for a donation for the bell, taking my wife and children this time, so that Father would bless us all one last time. They gave us money for the road to Kronstadt from the church, and from there I hoped to get there using donations, so that I could then pay for what was spent on the road with my own money. I was sure that Father would not refuse. We arrived in Kronstadt. This was in March 1908. In Kronstadt everything was the same: the same crowd of people, even more, the same monastic mood. We stopped again at the House of Diligence. Here we learned that Father John is very bad, but still serves every day. Everyone was sad, and we involuntarily succumbed to this mood: Father, our joy, was going to the Heavenly Fatherland, but everyone didn’t want this, everyone wanted him to live longer. Father John, of course, now no longer went anywhere except the cathedral to serve liturgies. He received people at home, sitting in a fur coat on the stairs in the hallway: it was already stuffy for him at home. I also went to Father’s house. The people are visible and invisible!.. And everyone crowded around Father John’s house to a small porch with a narrow, high, curved staircase, on the landing of which Father sat on a stool in a fur coat and hat. Soon they reported on me. I was received very cordially by Father. He remembered me. He also endowed me with his books again, for which I sincerely thanked him. But, looking at him, I wanted to cry both for myself and for him, and I cried, cried inconsolably! He's changed so much! Previously, he was always cheerful, lively, joyful, and there was no shadow of old age! And now he has suddenly become a weak, frail old man: his manners, movements, gait - everything about him has already become senile; the face is thin, yellow, sickly, but before it was always fresh and ruddy; only the eyes, bright, clear, remained the same, but they were already saying that “how, they say, I am tired of worldly evil and want to quickly be resolved and be with Christ forever: death is gain for me.” I wanted to talk to Father, but he, obviously oppressed by illness, responded to all my words: “In my books you will find everything you need!” I burst into tears even more, asked him for his blessing to serve the Presanctified Liturgy with him, we kissed, and I went to my room. It was really sad! The next day came. I served mass with Father along with other visiting priests. But no, the previous mood was no longer there: everyone was saying goodbye to Father. And although he himself read, sang and served in the same way as before, he was already like an old man: his voice was weak, his movements and gait were slow, he often sat down to rest. But what is remarkable: during a special influx of God’s grace to him, he somewhat came to life and looked not like a man, but a bright angel. So, when they sang: “May my prayer be corrected,” he was so transformed that, looking at him, I just wanted to cry with emotion, and I, kneeling before the throne so that no one could see me, cried for myself and said goodbye to Father. No matter how weak Father John was, when the time came for communion, he himself came out with the Holy Chalice - he would only give communion to a few people and give the Chalice to another priest, and he himself would enter the altar, sit on a stool in front of the altar, rest, and then get up and take communion from the spare Chalice that stand on the altar for the pilgrims, after which he would again go to give communion to the people. He did this several times. I noticed this, but didn’t say anything about it to anyone. I stand there and think: what is this? We can only receive communion once at mass, but Father receives communion several times. I think so, but I don’t even look at him, and he couldn’t see me because he was sitting and standing with his back to me. Just taking communion like this, Father John suddenly spoke loudly, without addressing anyone or looking at anyone: “Yes, yes! I only feed on the Holy Mysteries: my stomach can only receive the Holy Mysteries!” I was amazed by these words and at first I didn’t understand to whom he was saying this, but then, coming to my senses, I realized that he said it to my thoughts, and maybe to everyone’s thoughts: that you cannot take communion like that, because your stomach is filled with rough food and all sorts of things. With this, Father John discovered my thoughts and explained his action... After mass there was no such excitement as before: they did not rush to their rooms and apartments and did not wait there for their dear Father, he now did not go anywhere. Everyone calmly returned to their places, and then again went to Father’s house. Having prayed with Father, I could have gone home, but I didn’t have a penny to go back and pay for the room, and I didn’t dare ask Father for a donation for the bell: I was somehow ashamed, and then, when I dared and went to ask Father for money for his house, they didn’t report me to him, and I stood at Father’s porch for whole days to no avail. What did this mean? Was it a test for me or was it just abuse by the people surrounding Father?.. Only I was terribly tormented by fear: would Father really not donate for the bell and I would have to humiliate myself and collect money for the journey from the pilgrims? But how could I decide to do this when I was ashamed to ask the kind Father John for donations for the bell?! The situation was critical. My wife shared this difficult situation with me. We prayed together to the Mother of God and St. Nicholas the Wonderworker so that they would not leave us on the road with the children, and hoped for Father’s kind heart. But how can you ask him for money?! They’re not allowed into the house, but I didn’t dare go into the cathedral. Finally, I was already tired. Having prayed to God, after the fourth mass I decided to turn to Father with a request. He stood at the altar. I approached him and told him that I was going to go home, I thank him for his comfort with prayer and his gifts, and then I asked for donations for the bell. Imagine my surprise when Father John didn’t even answer me?! I repeated my request to him several times, but he still did not pay attention to me. I didn't know what to do. They told me to tell him louder: Father doesn’t hear. I was terribly embarrassed, but I still overcame myself and loudly, right in Father’s ear, repeated my request. Then he perked up, took 50 rubles out of his pocket in notes, handed them to me and said: “Often priests come to me not to pray with me, but to ask something: who needs a bell, who needs a church, who needs a school, who needs orphans!..” This upset me extremely. What is he saying?! And I loudly and boldly answer him: “Father, I didn’t come to you for money, but just to pray with you one last time, and for you to bless my family: why did I bring my wife and children?” Father didn’t answer me anything, but still said goodbye, kissing me. I went to my family sadly, although I had money, and I left home in the same mood. I kept thinking: why did Father say that? Didn’t he really see my zeal for him, that I was only going to him, and not for the sake of money?.. When I arrived home, I did not calm down, although I told myself that I deserved it. I was somewhat reassured by the fact that it was not I who offended Father, but he hardly wanted to offend me, because people of holy life do not offend anyone, but bless everyone and do good to everyone. I languished for a long time and was not happy about the money, which, of course, all 50 rubles went towards the bell, and I returned the money spent on the journey. I thought about writing a letter to Father, but the journals already reported that Father was dying, and on December 20 he was no longer alive. This is where Father consoled me. Having celebrated mass for him, I wrote him down in my remembrance and always pray for him with love. One long winter night, I sat up reading his diary, “My Life in Christ,” which he gave me on my first trip. I fell asleep late. And so I see in a dream: as if Father is in my house, standing in the hall, so bright, rosy, joyful. I fell at his feet, hugged them and cried, telling him my sorrows, which I still had when I arrived, and asking for his help. He picked me up from the floor, hugged me, kissed me, caressed me, patted me on the back and just said: “You have to be patient! You have to endure it!..” I felt so good and joyful from this that I woke up. I felt a sweet state in reality. Then, of course, my grief over Father’s words disappeared without a trace: I realized that Father was testing this, humbled me, and I thanked him for everything! Because of Father’s prayers, my sorrows passed even after my arrival. It is gratifying to feel that Father does not forget you even in Heaven, remembers you there too and hurries to us for consolation! I also saw another dream about Father on the eve of December 20 (the day of his death). The church in my parish was cold; just before that I became hoarse, which is why I was not going to serve the Liturgy for Father; That’s why I went to bed so as not to serve: I didn’t even read the rules. In a dream, I see that the Most Reverend A., who was close to Father John, is supposedly performing an all-night vigil at the council, and the writer of these lines is a student of the Eminence A. at the Missionary Courses in Kazan and is still in spiritual communion with him... And this worthy bishop seems to be holding a vigil in his cathedral of the Transfiguration Monastery, and I, a sinful and unworthy priest, was among the concelebrants. There were countless people. Polyeleos has arrived. The cathedral has great lighting. The Royal doors open: His Eminence A. and the entire host of clergy come out, all in light vestments, and surround him in the middle of the cathedral with a lectern on which lies an icon - I don’t remember who it depicted. Only the entire clergy, led by the bishop, and all the people sang loudly: “We magnify you, Reverend Father John, and honor your holy memory...” In reality, weak, my voice in a dream was strong, and I sang very loudly along with everyone the magnification of St. John. We all knew that we sang this magnification not to just anyone, but specifically to Father John of Kronstadt. Everyone was in a solemn and joyful mood. I also immediately woke up from this dream and, of course, immediately began to prepare to serve the Liturgy for dear Father. How I already served, I won’t talk about this, but I didn’t feel the cold in my church and my voice soon completely returned to the prayers of dear Father. What are these dreams, let anyone understand: they speak of the imminent, perhaps, glorification of Father John. But I can confirm with an oath that these dreams are not fiction, but actual truth, but for now I ask you to believe your pastoral conscience. O.I. Malchenko. Personal memories I remember Father from the age of six. When he was in St. Petersburg, he often visited us. I then tried to get closer to him, and he lovingly caressed me. So I grew up, becoming more and more attached to him, and he always showed me his affection... Once an offer was made to me, and we went to Father to ask for his blessing. He just asked: “Do you like him?” I say: “No, Father.” He didn’t answer anything, but over tea, without addressing anyone, he read a whole instruction about marriage... apparently I took everything into account. Father knew and loved my future husband for a long time, he was even his student. When my husband’s parents asked Father to bless him to marry, Father said that his bride was still growing. (My husband was 10 years older than me.) And Hieromonk Varnava, from the Black Skete near Moscow, once told me: “Look, look for the groom in the church!” And indeed, we met in church: there was a consecration of the Church of the Resurrection of Christ (near the Warsaw Station), and I was there with my father. The police stood as trellises, maintaining a passage in the church for the clergy. I looked for Father with my eyes and, when I saw that he was coming from the other side, without thinking twice, I slipped to the other side, through the police, right in front of the walking clergy, just to see Father John closer. And of course, he noticed me here (like many others, including my future husband) and, as he passed, he blessed me and even stuck his hand through the police, and I managed to kiss it. My husband then approached a mutual friend so that he could introduce him to us. When he later went to Father for a blessing, he immediately said: “This is your destiny!” Then he told us: “I would like to marry you myself, but I’m not happy with marriages, but let them get married in my robe.” I also moved to Kronstadt, where my husband’s father had a big business. When I was already expecting a child, Father, before leaving for his homeland, came to us and said: “God grant you to give birth easily, easily, easily...” And indeed, my first son, Volodya, was born unusually easily, with the sound of a bell. He was a special boy - he developed exceptionally early: at six months he already understood everything, while walking, he recognized the beggars and reached out to give to them. All his teeth began to erupt at once, he was sick, and his father carried him to the communion of the Holy Mysteries. Despite the fact that the boy was very hot, he was completely calm and attentive to his surroundings throughout the service. When his father brought him to the Holy Chalice, Father John suddenly drove him away... The husband, in great confusion, went with the child to the altar and there Father John, standing with the Chalice at the altar, ordered the child to be brought to him. The husband approached with fear, Father communed Volodya with the Body and Blood of Christ and then said: “Well, so that this is the last time!” On the same day, in the evening, Volodya died, seven months old. When my son Nikolai was born, Father, as if expecting this event, immediately came himself to give me a prayer and name him (before that, they had been waiting for him for a long time to see my mother-in-law, who was sick, he went to her only after me). Father was glad that we decided to name our son Nikolai, he immediately took him in his arms and said: “Thank you, mother, you don’t even know what kind of son you gave birth to!” And he said that he himself would be his godfather. During the Sacrament of Baptism, Father not only zealously fulfilled the duties of a godfather, but also forced the godmother to equally zealously deny Satan... and so on. My husband was an unusually pure and deeply religious person. Once, while I was leaving for my family, he suffered a strangulated hernia and had to rush into surgery. They let me know right away, but the operation was unsuccessful, and when I arrived, he was already hopeless. Father John was not there, and another priest gave him communion. He left in full consciousness, asked me to pray and repeated the prayers out loud after me. He asked Father to convey a request to pray for him... Suddenly he asks: “Don’t you see anything?” I say: “Nothing!” - “Oh, don’t you see what a wonderful garden, what roses... oh, what a fragrance...” And as if inhaling this fragrance, he died. It was December 9, 1903. Father arrived and was very upset. “Why did you give it away?” – he told me several times with tears. He served all the funeral services himself. On the day of the funeral, December 12, Father always served in the Church of St. Spyridon. The Emperor also visited there, since it was the church of sailors and the throne on that day. That’s why it was very difficult for him to free himself, but knowing my grief, knowing how much I wanted him to perform Sasha’s funeral service, he told me: “I will perform the funeral service if you give me your word that you won’t cry.” - “How can I give such a word, what if I still cry?” - “No, you still promise me this.” There were especially many people at the removal - both because of her husband, who was very loved in Kronstadt, and because of Father... Fearing crowds and disorder, they asked Father not to go, but still he himself took the icon and walked in front of the coffin. And everything went orderly and calmly. After mass, he came out to say a word and began: “Today we are burying Alexander Ivanovich Terentyev, there is a young widow and a child left...” - but then he began to cry and went to the altar. Then, handing me the prosphora, he said: “Thank you for your obedience!” It was only then that I myself noticed that I really didn’t shed any tears and definitely felt some kind of celebration. For the service on the 9th day, Father demanded red vestments for himself, and when I later asked: “Why?”, he said that we should rejoice, since the soul of the righteous is with the Lord on the third day... On the 40th day, I dreamed of a husband in a white tunic among the holy saints of God and said to them: “If only she weren’t scared!” - And I waved my hands and shouted: “Yes, yes, I’ll be scared, I’ll be scared...” After the liturgy, I ask Father (who himself served the entire forty-year period): “Where is my husband now?” - “How can I know this?” - “You should know, since he was your spiritual son and you prayed for him all the time!” - “Well, if you are so sure that I know, then he is with the righteous, he is counted among the martyrs (since he died under the knife), and why did you ask me about this?” I told him my dream... I kept worrying that I didn’t pay Father anything for the magpie, and I kept thinking about how I could reward him... Once in a dream I saw the Tikhvin Icon of the Mother of God and from it a voice: “Give me the payment!” I didn’t understand what kind of board it was, and I didn’t pay much attention to the dream... But now I see it for the second time, I see the same dream for the third time, and then Father was near the icon. Now I started thinking... I remembered that at our house at one time there was the miraculous Tikhvin Icon of the Mother of God, which belonged to a merchant. He went broke, brought the icon to us, and after that, having made a new chasuble for it, they sent it to the church in Ozerki, which was built by his father and grandfather. When I arrived in St. Petersburg, I asked my father where the old robe from the icon was. “She,” he says, “probably stayed in the workshop.” - “Give it to me!” - “Why do you need it?” I say: “It was on the miraculous icon, it’s impossible to scrap it, but I’ll order an icon for it and donate it somewhere.” - “Well, this is a good thing, take it...” I drove to the workshop with fear - what if they had already melted it? But, thank God, she was safe. I ordered it to be gilded and added: “And put on a filigree scarf for her,” but I shuddered at my own words - I remembered the dream!!! She also ordered it to be decorated with stones. I knew that the owner had an icon painter friend, a very spiritual old man, and I ordered him to paint an icon for this robe. It is surprising that, having written it, the old man died soon after. They sent the icon to me in Kronstadt. She was wonderfully beautiful! Just then the anniversary of my husband’s death approached, and I decided to give this icon to Father for his prayers for my husband. With Baba Liza (Elizaveta Ivanovna Ryabova, his spiritual daughter very close to Father), we carried this icon in our arms to Father, who at that time was sick and laying down. They brought it, they called... The wife opened it, looked out and slammed the door again: “Father is sick, he’s not seeing anyone!” I shouted to her: “We brought the Mother of God [the icon] and we won’t take it back, take it. She's here on the window! And I myself went home with bitter tears. Baba Liza kept reassuring me that it was really necessary... Before I had time to sit down with my relatives for dinner, Father’s janitor Mikhei comes running and says that Father asks me to come right away. I jumped up and ran. And Father himself met me and immediately asked: “Where do you want to place this icon?” I said: “You know better, you have many monasteries there... And I brought it to you, because I had a dream that you were there too...” Then he said to his wife: “Remember that for Olga Ivanovna the door is always open both day and night!” Some time passed - Father again called me to him and said: “But the Mother of God healed me! She will be my Abbess in the Ioannovsky Monastery,” and said that the icon will be placed as a local image in the upper church, and since the place is larger than the icon, a troparion will be written below... And while they are working, the icon stands in the refectory and akathists and prayers are sung to the Mother of God every day. Father couldn’t wait for the icon to be in place, and kept asking the visitors whether they had seen the Lady, whether they were working well... Someone else donated a wonderful diamond star for the chasuble in the icon. Soon after it was installed in its place, one woman was healed there of blindness. When I was getting ready to get married for the second time, I went to Father for a blessing. And he said: “Well, if that’s what you really want, go marry him for now... I just feel sorry for you, you’ll have to suffer a lot!” At the beginning of September 1908, I fell ill with cholera, and Professor Chistovich, at the request of our doctor Shverdlov, his friend, got me a job at the Military Medical Academy, where, besides me, only cadets were in hospital. I was very bad. Then Daria Yakovlevna - also a soul close to Father - rushed to him in Kronstadt to ask for prayer... When Father heard, he just sighed: “Oh, poor thing, poor thing!” But his wife told him: “Ilyich, Kolya will remain an orphan... You can do it! Pray!” Then he went home. About two hours later he returned, beaming, and said: “He will stay!” The Lord brought her back to life! And I had one foot in the coffin!” At this very time they had already taken me out to another room to finish. But the sister who loved me, out of desperation, injected me with a huge dose of camphor, and I came to life and stayed!.. On December 9, I went to Kronstadt to visit my husband’s grave and then planned to go to Father to thank him for the healing. I went from the cemetery to Elizaveta Ivanovna, and she said: “Olenka, you should go to Father, they’ll let you in, but he’s already so weak that he served the last liturgy on the fourth, and now they’re giving him communion at home - he’s so bad...” I asked Vera Pertsova to find out if I could come. Father said: “If he wants to receive a blessing, then let him go now, and if he wants to talk, then at six o’clock.” So I had to stay overnight in Kronstadt, which was not my intention at all. When I came to him at 6 o’clock, I stopped on the threshold, not expecting such a change... He was sitting in a chair, covered with duckweed, skin and bones. “Hello, my white angel, hello, my joy! I'm so glad to see you! Thank you for your faith! After all, you have risen from the dead! And I already had one foot in the coffin!” And I say that now I’m not the same as I was, I’ve become worse... And he says: “If you lose faith, who will believe?” and asked me to keep my faith firmly... There was only one lamp burning in the room, near the icon of St. Seraphim, which I also brought him from the Sarov monastery. He talked with me for a long time. Then he said, seeing my tears: “Don’t think that if I leave, it’s all over! I will pray there in the same way at the Throne, and you tell me everything the same way. I will be even closer, standing at the Throne of the Most High; and I will hear you and fulfill your requests... And now we need to thank the Lord for your healing! I will serve my last mass tomorrow. But I’m very weak, so hurry up and don’t be late!” At parting, Father stood up and made me sit in his chair... When I said in the House of Diligence that Father would serve tomorrow, no one wanted to believe it, even they assured me that I had misunderstood, that this could not happen. But still, in the morning, although with doubt, we went with Baba Liza to church, not in a particular hurry... and suddenly, when we reached the house where Father lived, we saw that the gates opened and from there, covered in pillows, he came out... And we really had to run... So, on December 10, 1908, Father served his last mass and even preached a sermon. While performing the Sacrament, he pricked himself with a spear and then, standing on the salt, turned to those standing nearby and said, pointing to the oozing blood: “Here I have stabbed myself!” They gave him a handkerchief to tie... Giving me Communion, Father said: “God's servant Olga takes communion for healing and salvation!” These were the last words of dear Father that I heard from him here on earth. I’ll tell you more about Father’s insight, which I witnessed. Once, two petitioners came to Father when I was there. I wanted to leave so as not to disturb, but Father told me to stay. One of them was apparently a rich lady, the other was simply dressed. Both, when he came out to them, fell to their knees, and both handed him envelopes. Father took an envelope in each hand, held them there for a while, and then, crossing his arms, handed them the same envelopes, that is, he only changed them. The lady immediately screamed: “Father, what are you doing, there are three thousand there, it’s me for you!” Father says: “If it’s for me, then don’t you care what I do with them, you know that I don’t need anything myself. You better look at what you have in the envelope...” And in that envelope there was a letter from the son of the woman standing next to him, where he wrote to her that he had made a mistake in his service (he served in a government institution) and if he did not get three thousand rubles, he would have no choice but to commit suicide - he asked his mother to save him... “You see,” when she read, Father told her, “you saved my soul!” How happy you are!” There is nothing to say about the happiness of the mother who received the salvation of her son. The second incident was with my mother. She, having once come to Kronstadt to see me, calls me to go to Father for a prayer service in the House of Diligence, wants to pray for my brother Nikolai, he upset her with something then... They came when the prayer service had already begun. He says to me: “Go, Olenka, ask Father John to remember Nicholas.” I approached and asked; Father looked, recognized, smiled slightly and began to read the litany about the health of the servant of God John. Mom got excited. “Olenka, Father probably didn’t hear what Nikolai needed, go and say again...” And I think that Father probably heard, although he was a little deaf in one ear, since he didn’t ask me again... which means that’s how it should be... I calm my mother down, but she can’t pray, why doesn’t Father remember his son. He persistently sends me. I had to come up again, although it was very uncomfortable. Twice I loudly whispered to him: “Nicholas, Father, Nicholas!..” And he quickly turned his head to me with a look that expressed slight reproach: what, they say, do you really think I don’t know what is needed?.. I walked away in embarrassment, and he again read the litany about the health of John, but he never mentioned Nicholas... Mom was very upset. Afterwards, Father, greeting her, asked: “And how is Ivan Ivanovich, is he healthy?” “And she says: “Thank you, Father, you’re healthy!” - “Look, are you healthy? Well, give him my blessing." In the evening, my mother returned to St. Petersburg, her nanny greeted her: “Mistress, mother, what happened, now everything is fine, apparently, everything worked out, the master almost got killed!” – I hurried to dad... He’s lying all bandaged. “Thank God that I’m still alive!” It turns out I went in the morning on my usual errands. The trotter, at full speed, collided with a dray somewhere, and the father was thrown onto the pavement... How he did not break his head on the pedestal, near which he found himself lying close - only the Lord knows, through the prayers of Father, who at that hour prayed for the servant of God John, who took away this great grief from all of us. Dad was seriously injured, but recovered soon without any consequences. With “perceptive eyes,” Father John knew for whom we needed to pray, but for brother Nikolai, apparently, one mother’s prayer was enough. But here is the case of dear Father’s help after his death. Already in Finland, during the years of my loneliness, the Lord led me to care for the sick Father Vasily Skipetrov in New Kirk, who was for many years the rector of the Russian church. Three years ago, my mother died, also in my arms, and entrusted me with the priest... At first I only visited him, and recently I moved in with him. He was ill for a long time and seriously... Lent in 1927, many churches in the Finnish diocese switched to Western Easter. Father grieved over this and, thanks to his illness, avoided this transition, since our church rarely hosted services of visiting priests. On Palm Sunday, someone was supposed to come to serve - the priest was looking forward to it, because he wanted to receive communion. By night he got worse, and in the morning I saw that he was just dying... I became afraid for him that he would die without the Holy Mysteries. Apparently, the agony has already begun. I gave him holy water, a piece of arthos... he can’t swallow it anymore. Then, in despair, I directly cried out, looking at Father John’s card: “Father, you promised me, don’t let him die without Communion!.. You said that you will always hear me - help me!” There were just our own people here, by the way, one artist who restored Father’s beloved Vladimir Icon of the Mother of God and just brought it to him. I asked her to run to the phone, call the shop in the area where there was also a church and Father Potapiy Bogomolov served, who also had not yet celebrated Western Easter that year... But Father Vasily had a disagreement with him and somehow he didn’t want him. But there was nothing to choose, since no one else came. They hurried to the phone, doubting that they would get through, since it was Sunday and there might be no one in the shop. But they returned with the news that the merchant’s daughter herself immediately answered the phone and promised to run to church right away. Now we need to tell from the words of Elsa, the merchant’s daughter... She was sleeping... suddenly, as if someone had pushed her and said: “Go to the shop!” She jumped up in fright, pulled on her felt boots, threw on her coat and hurried to the shop, where the phone was already ringing... She ran to church as she was, and conveyed her request. Father Potapiy said that the horses should be prepared by half past two, but when he began to serve, he felt something extraordinary, as if someone was urging him: “Hurry, hurry!” Then from the altar he asks the singers to shorten as much as possible - “blessed” they sang only two verses... (He is a very reverent priest, but here he is in a hurry besides himself.) He finishes the service after 11 and immediately goes - half past twelve was with us... We were all there praying near the departing - it was clear to everyone - Father Vasily. Father Potapius approached him with the Holy Mysteries: “Father Vasily, do you want to take communion?” Father opened his eyes, which were already completely cloudy, almost rolled back... now clear, and nodded his head... Father Potapiy was afraid that he might not swallow the sacrament. I said that then I would swallow for him, I had not tasted anything yet. Father Potapiy read a silent confession, kissed him as a sign of reconciliation and communed Father Basil with the Holy Mysteries of Christ. “Father not only swallowed, but also stuck out his tongue to show that he had swallowed everything.” Great joy was visible on his face... They brought the icon of the Vladimir Mother of God. Father Potapiy consecrated it and served a prayer service, and after it began to read the funeral service, during which Father Vasily died quietly, having received from the Lord this gracious Christian death with the obvious help of the dear priest Father John. David Ozerov. Father John of Kronstadt (Personal memories) With a feeling of deep heartfelt tenderness, I begin to present my personal memories of the unforgettable prayer book of our father John of Kronstadt. My sincere desire to truthfully and reverently tell everything that I saw and heard, everything that I felt and experienced in the presence of our All-Russian shepherd, whose spiritual flock stretched from the White to the Black Sea, from the Great Ocean to the Baltic Sea and in the power of whose prayer millions of not only Orthodox Christians, but also people of other faiths believed. The life of Father John, his teaching, service and the irresistible power of his charm on our people lies in the fact that Father John was given a special grace from above: to embody in himself in the most materialistic age those principles of the Orthodox faith, spirit and love that formed the basis of the life of the Russian people, their spiritual and civil system, their history. Father John, in his pastoral ministry, consistently resurrected in all its aesthetic appeal and in all its great ecclesiastical and social significance the ideal of the ancient primates of our Orthodox Church, saints, mourners and prayer books, leaders of people's life. I first met Father John in the 1890s with his old friend, an old woman, the Tsarskoe Selo merchant Baranova. The pious, ancient, original old lady Baranova received Father John, as in ancient times they received prophets and saints. Father John served all-night vigils and prayer services in her house, blessed water and talked with a simple but childishly believing old woman, who poured out all her worries and worries to him, confided all her family and commercial affairs, trusted him infinitely and believed with all her soul in the power of his prayer. Father John treated her with deep respect, patiently listened to all her complaints and stories, answered her questions simply, understandably for her, spoke to her as they speak to children, consoled her, encouraged her, prayed about all her worries, and often communicated with her. Father John had many such friends in Rus', and these friends were ready to give everything they had at his word. The friendship of Father John with such simple, good-natured, childlike believers, their boundless faith in his holiness, erected throughout our homeland such godly institutions that the West has no idea about. In Tsarskoe Selo, for example, another pious old woman, M.A. Drozhzhina, following only one word from Father John, who at a prayer service in a private house called her, childless, “grandmother” and blessed all her good intentions, set up an exemplary maternity shelter for 50 poor women in labor, adding a magnificent church to it. “As he called me, childless, lonely, grandmother, I realized that I had to set up a shelter for poor women in labor, and now 600 grandchildren are born in my house every year,” the venerable old lady told me with emotion. There are portraits of Father John everywhere in the house. There are many such charitable institutions in Rus', and they were erected not with deliberate philanthropic goals, but simply “for the glory of God and through the prayers of our precious Father.” But Father John did not treat everyone with such complacency. I was once present at Father John’s extremely harsh treatment of a person in a prominent position. This man, taking advantage of Father John’s stay with old lady Baranova, came to her and asked Father John to come to his apartment, on the same street, to see his sick son. Father John flatly refused, and when the petitioner knelt down in front of everyone present and begged Father John to visit his apartment, Father John, to the surprise of everyone around him, said: “I have blessed the water here, take it with you and sprinkle it all over your apartment and then only I will come.” Resignedly, in front of everyone, this man bowed to Father John’s feet, took a kettle of holy water and left. After waiting for some time in general silence, Father John crossed the street and entered the sick man. Leaving the house, Father John flatly refused the voluminous envelope with money, which the owner of the apartment begged him to accept “for distribution to the poor,” and, getting into the carriage, gratefully accepted the ruble handed to him with a note by some ragamuffin. At the same time, I cannot help but remember another significant incident that I had to witness. In Tsarskoe Selo there lived a young Jew G., the son of a tailor, a university graduate, and a pharmacist. His wife became seriously ill, and the doctors declared her hopeless. G. came to me and asked for advice whether he, a Jew, could go to Father John in Kronstadt to ask for his prayers, since he, in essence, does not recognize any religion, but believes in the power of Father John’s prayer. “You can ask for anything,” I answered him. A few days later, G., beaming with joy, came to see me and announced that he had gone to Kronstadt. Father John listened to him, prayed for his wife’s recovery, was kind to him, and when he returned home, he found his wife out of danger. “I’m going to Father John to thank him and I will make him very happy, since we decided to be baptized by him as a sign of gratitude.” About two days later G. comes to me, confused and embarrassed. “Imagine,” he tells me, “that Father John did not agree to baptize me. I told him that in gratitude for my wife’s recovery, my wife and I decided to be baptized from his hands. “Do you believe in the risen Christ the Savior?” – asked Father John. “No,” I answered, “but I believe in your holy prayers.” “Well, in that case, I can’t baptize you,” said Father, “I don’t need your gratitude, study the Gospel, contact any priest, and when you believe in Christ the Savior, be baptized.” “So I left with nothing,” G. said sadly, “and now I don’t know what to do: Father John didn’t want to accept anything from me.” Anyone who saw Father John only at prayer services in private homes has no idea about him. One had to see him in front of the altar during the celebration of proskomedia and in front of the holy throne during the liturgy, only then would one get an idea of ​​the depth of his priestly feat. During the Liturgy, Father John prayed in such a way that, looking at him, it became clear and understandable why so many hearts of our vast homeland deeply believed in the power of his prayer. In the Kronstadt Cathedral almost every day at six o'clock in the morning the matins service began. Inside the church there is twilight, candles are burning in front of the images, there are a lot of people, everyone is reverent, they enter without noise or fuss, give notes, buy candles, and crowd around the bread tables. “Father already left at five o’clock and is driving around Kronstadt,” the watchman whispers. Matins begins in the southern aisle and another priest serves. In the main altar, at the altar, Father John is standing, a candle is burning in front of him, he is completely absorbed in reading letters and telegrams; after each letter he prays and bows for a long time; It’s quiet in the altar, the guards walk on tiptoe, apparently afraid to disturb the common prayer book. The cathedral is full of people, but from the altar it seems that there is no one in the cathedral: silence and general silence. The service continues in the southern aisle. Suddenly everyone seemed to perk up. A wave of general sigh sweeps through the cathedral: it was Father John who came out to the choir and began to read and sing the canon for the cleric. The people crowd around the choir and look intently at Father John, and he, not paying attention to anyone, reads with inspiration, emphasizing some words, conducting a small choir of clerics. Matins ends, visiting priests and deacons approach Father John and ask to serve the Liturgy with him. Father John hugs them and treats everyone kindly, approaches those standing in the altar, and blesses everyone. The liturgy begins. Father John in bright, always festive vestments, with an enlightened face, stands before the throne, and his soul talks with God and with the Heavenly Church - with the holy saints of God. He impulsively takes the cross in his hands and kisses it, raises his hands, makes movements as if in a silent conversation, nods his head affirmatively when reading the Apostle and the Gospel, solemnly makes his exits; you see in him, in all his movements, in the exclamations he uttered, an unshakable faith in the great significance of the priestly office, the successor of the apostles and saints, in which the sacred fire of faith burns in the great Sacrament of the Eucharist being performed, according to the rules established by the Church, and on whom grace is abundantly poured from above to perform the works of God in holiness and purity. The people feel this, and every appearance of Father John is met with a general roar of sighs and prayerful exclamations. Everyone - the clergy, the clergy and the people - are merged into one common prayerful soul, raising to God all their needs and sorrows, all their doubts, joys and sorrows, and the rise of this common prayerful mood becomes higher and higher. And Father John, when performing the Gifts, turns his face to the people in front of the closed Royal Doors, points to the Gifts and, saying: “Take, eat, this is My Body,” invites everyone to the Last Supper. After the offering of the Gifts, Father John several times takes the paten with the Lamb and the Holy Chalice in his hands, raises them and tears continue to flow down his cheeks. He is completely in prayer, does not see or hear what is happening around him, his face is illuminated by the light of grace. No one could look at Father John at these moments without special tenderness and deep emotion. Tears of tenderness flow from your eyes; you feel all your insignificance, all your weakness, all the poverty of your faith in front of this picture of great, pure, unshakable faith. You are imbued with the feeling that Father John prays for everyone who comes to him for help, grieves for everyone, prays, as if demanding, according to promise, help and intercession from God, and it becomes clear to you that Father John’s prayers are heard, that his prayers in the name of Christ the Savior reach the Throne of the Most High, that the grace of God illuminates his forehead, his eyes, his entire appearance with holiness and heavenly light. You comprehend that in the Kingdom of Heaven the transformed human body, created in the image and likeness of Almighty God, will be beautiful, will shine, as the Angels, Archangels, Cherubim and Seraphim shine, as all the saints shine, “celebrating the unceasing voice and beholding the ineffable kindness of the Face of God.” During the fragmentation of the Lamb and the communion of the Holy Mysteries by the clergy, Father John speaks loudly and enthusiastically texts from the Holy Scriptures: The Word became flesh and dwelt in us (John 1:14), prophecies, prototypes of the Old Testament, extracts from the psalms. After the sacramental verse, preparation for general confession begins. Father John comes out to the pulpit and faces the people. He reads a prayer before confession, which mentions the prophet David, and tells in detail the whole story of the holy King David, then reads a second prayer and tells the story of King Manasseh. Father John speaks loudly, in a sonorous voice, and it is clear: his speech flows straight from his heart, speech not prepared, but felt at the moment. His voice sounds even more heartfelt and warmer when he turns to the New Testament and speaks with tenderness about the All-forgiving Christ: “In the time of Christ the Savior it was easy to repent - he came, bowed at the Savior’s feet and poured out his whole soul before Him, washed His feet with His tears, cast all his illnesses and sorrows at His feet and immediately received relief and forgiveness of sins. Now it’s not the same, now it’s more difficult, you have to believe, you have to repent with a contrite heart, you have to resort to His mercy, you have to cry, you have to promise not to sin.” Father John speaks for a long time, and the hearts of the listeners beat ever stronger, the words of mercy and repentance penetrate deeper and deeper; Many are already crying and lamenting, and simple women are sobbing loudly. Father John interrupts his sermon, turning to the sobbing women: “Wait, don’t cry, I’ll tell you when to repent. Now listen to me carefully,” and the women calm down, only some cry inconsolably, quietly: it’s clear that their souls are very heavy and very happy to finally hear the words of consolation from their beloved Father. And Father, becoming more and more moved himself, continues to talk about repentance, gives examples from the Gospel, talks about the prodigal son, about the harlot, and dwells on the repentant thief: “Many think that they too will repent at the last minute, saying: Remember me, Lord, in Thy Kingdom (Luke 23:42) - and by this they will be saved. No, do not count on repentance at your last breath, you must remember Christ all your life, follow His commandments and more often resort to tearful repentance. The thief is not your example: everything was forgiven to him because with his living faith he sweetened the last minutes of the Sufferer of the God-Man at a time when the Savior was surrounded by persecutors, when His human nature suffered inexpressibly. Do not compare with him, repent while you are healthy, while you live. I myself, a sinner and damned one, when I repent, tearfully ask God to forgive my iniquities and untruths.” The simple hearts of listeners cannot stand the humble speech of their loving shepherd. “Where are we from you! “Pray for us,” voices are heard from all sides, full of tears and tenderness. “I will pray for you, but you also pray, repent, remember your sins.” And Father John loudly begins to list all the sins and shortcomings of people, loudly asking: “Do you repent and promise to try not to sin?” - all the people, all those present begin to pray loudly and cry, and he, the universal prayer book and mourner, raises his hands and eyes to the sky, and tears flow in streams from his eyes, and it is clear that he suffers for everyone, for everyone asks the All-Bountiful Lord for forgiveness and help, for everyone who turns to him with confidence, who from the far outskirts of our homeland resorts to his help in days of illness and sadness. Whoever saw this picture of Father John’s prayer in front of a crying crowd will never forget it and in it will find moral support and consolation in all the difficult moments of his life. Raising his epitrachelion high above the people, Father John, with a moved voice, reads a prayer of permission and disappears through the opened Royal Doors. Then all those present receive Holy Communion. Everything I have stated relates to impressions common to everyone who knew Father John. I turn to my personal memories of him. In 1891, there was a famine in Russia, which reached threatening proportions in some provinces. In the rifle battalion of the imperial family in Tsarskoe Selo, all the lower ranks came from former appanage peasants, so the battalion began to receive requests for help from spare riflemen from the hungry provinces of Simbirsk, Samara and Voronezh. The battalion officers established guardianship at the battalion church in the name of St. Nicholas the Wonderworker for the families of retired and reserve lower ranks of the battalion who suffered from crop failure. But what could the officers do when hundreds of their former colleagues began to seek help, describing their plight in vivid colors. Knowing from experience how every charitable cause grew and developed with the prayerful assistance of Father John, I turned to him with an earnest request to come to the battalion church on May 9 and serve a prayer service to St. Nicholas the Wonderworker and thereby begin the work of helping the starving riflemen. I received a written answer from Father John that May 9 is a holiday in Kronstadt and that, unfortunately, he cannot come. On May 7, in the morning, I suddenly received a telegram from Moscow from Father John that he would arrive on May 8, in the evening, in Tsarskoe Selo, would spend the night with me, early in the morning he would serve matins, liturgy and a prayer service with an akathist to St. Nicholas the Wonderworker. Admirers of Father John can imagine with what feelings of joy and tenderness we greeted our dear guest. Soldiers began to come to my apartment with various requests and notes for Father, and one long-term non-commissioned officer asked for a personal meeting. Father John immediately accepted him, and the non-commissioned officer asked for the healing of his wife, who had been suffering from a terrible illness for several years: she could not approach the Holy Chalice and therefore could not commune her child herself. Father John caressed the non-commissioned officer, promised to pray and ordered his wife to be brought to church before matins. I was repeatedly present in Kronstadt during the difficult situation of Father John’s struggle with those possessed by this terrible disease: the inability to attend the liturgy and approach the Holy Chalice. I call it a struggle, because I saw firsthand how hard it was for Father John to bring them closer to the Holy Chalice step by step. I once saw a young, quite healthy-looking woman being led by four men. She took a step forward with great effort and then resisted and could not be moved from her place by any means. For a whole week, every day before the start of the service, Father John forced her to move forward one step, prayed, sprinkled holy water on her, while he himself apparently suffered, sweated, and fought with an invisible force. I took advantage of the opportunity with the non-commissioned officer and expressed to Father my doubt that these simple women were possessed by a demon. At the same time, I put it this way: “I don’t believe in a demon that can inhabit a simple dark woman; Why doesn’t he move into educated, intelligent people? The most immoral, evil and unbelieving people are present unhindered during the celebration of the sacrament, while ordinary women rush about, scream and go berserk.” To this, Father John answered me as follows: “You must believe in God, in the Risen Savior, but you do not need to believe in demons, this is not required of a Christian. Don’t even think about it, and in general it’s none of your business and is not part of your responsibilities. There is no need to believe in demons, and the less you think about them, the better. Live according to the Gospel, be a real Christian, and then the evil spirit will not be scary for you. But we priests deal with it all the time, and I think every true altar server knows that evil spirits and demons exist and fights against them. As for the fact that you do not understand why demons do not enter educated people, then you are mistaken. Demons enter ordinary people out of simplicity, and woe to those evil people who communicate with them and through whom demons enter ordinary, dark people. These latter only suffer, but the culprits are those who have intercourse with the evil spirit. Woe, woe to them! The evil spirit inhabits educated and intelligent people in a different form, and it is much more difficult to fight it. In general, I repeat, don’t think about it. There are people who are mentally ill, and there are nerves. These need to be treated, but there are also those possessed by an evil spirit, and no treatment will help. They are healed only by prayer and fasting. There is no need to delve into these issues; leave this to the priests who have received special Gifts of the Holy Spirit to combat the evil spirit. The evil spirit, or simply the devil, loves it very much when great importance is given to him, people fear him, he is evil, the father of lies, he immediately takes advantage of this, and then there is trouble...” At one o'clock in the morning, Father John went to rest and at 4 o'clock in the morning he got up and suggested going out into the air for a walk. It was a wonderful, sunny day, and we went out to the park, to the lake. All his life, Father John loved solitude, clean air, nature, and his whole life was spent in cities, in crowds, in stale air. You should have seen how he admired every tree, every green leaf, how he greedily breathed the fresh morning air, how he glorified God in His creations! At about five o'clock in the morning we left the park and on the highway in front of the barracks we met a crowd of chukhonkas with milk. The Chukhonki, seeing Father John, surrounded him and asked him to bless their jugs, opened the lids, and Father John made the sign of the cross over each jug, put his hands on the heads of the Chukhonki, who cried with joy and kissed his hands. During the walk, Father John explained to me why, despite the holiday in Kronstadt, he decided to come to us to serve a prayer service in the care of St. Nicholas the Wonderworker. I will try to convey his words as accurately as possible. “When you wrote to me that relief for the starving soldiers was supposed to be organized in the name of St. Nicholas the Wonderworker, I felt that I had to come. I never forget May 9 and what St. Nicholas the Pleasant, the Wonderworker, did for me on this day! And on this day I always especially celebrate him, I thank him and ask for his help and intercession. It was a long time ago! I was then a student at the Theological Academy. A few days before May 9, a friend of mine from the Academy came to see me and told me the sad news that plunged him into despair that he had become completely and hopelessly deaf. All the doctors he consulted told him that he was incurable. I tell him: “What about final exams? How are you going to hold them? I write to him on paper; he read it and said: “How can I pass the exams when I don’t hear anything?” I was troubled in spirit. But this is impossible, unthinkable! And I write to him on the same piece of paper: “Come to me on the 8th in the evening, and all night you and I will pray to St. Nicholas the Wonderworker, then we will serve the liturgy, a prayer service with an akathist.” So we did, and the two of us prayed so much, asked so much, so convinced St. Nicholas the Pleasant to help us, that after the akathist my friend suddenly heard, and we congratulated each other, cried and hugged. And he successfully passed all the exams. I never forget this event on May 9, and all my life I thank the saint of God for his help and intercession.” The arrows of the Imperial family greeted dear Father with joy and reverence. During the liturgy, the non-commissioned officer’s wife approached the Chalice with her child and rejoiced, shedding tears. Loudly and soulfully, Father John read the akathist to St. Nicholas the Wonderworker. “Father Nicholas, pray to God for us,” he said, as if addressing a person present here, among us. When Father John left the church, the lower ranks surrounded him so much that the officers had to join hands and surround him in a tight ring in order to protect him from those who wanted to touch him and receive his blessing. After May 9, the affairs of the trusteeship immediately flourished, donors appeared, and 8,262 rubles and 112 pounds of bread were collected from the pieces left over from the lunch of the lower ranks. From September 1, 1901 to July 1, 1902, the guardianship had the opportunity to supply bread to 330 families affected by crop failure and, in addition, arranged for them, through specific district overseers, work, for which they received an allowance of flour according to the number of souls in each family. As you know, not only lay people from all over Russia, but also clergy turned to Father John for advice. I had to witness an outstanding incident when a deacon from the Don, a young, handsome Cossack, came to Father John for advice. Father John served the liturgy in the cathedral together with visiting priests and deacons. Standing in the altar, I involuntarily drew attention to the young deacon, who was shedding tears throughout the liturgy. Father John treated him especially kindly and, after performing the Gifts, gave him a ripida, which he held over the Holy Chalice all the time. From questioning, I learned that this deacon lost his wife and children during a fire on the Don and he had only a newborn left, which he carried out of the fire in his arms. And so he came to Father John for advice on what to do, whether to quit his rank, since he did not want to enter the monastery, and could not nurse and raise a child, not having the right to marry in the rank of deacon. After the service, I approached the deacon, expressed my condolences to him and asked what advice and instruction Father John had given him. “Yes, I’ve been living here for a week now and I keep asking Father John what I should do, but he just says, “serve with me,” and so I serve every day, praying and crying, but I don’t get an answer.” I agreed with the deacon that he would call on me on the way home. About two weeks later he came to see me, looking calm, thoughtful, and stern. “What,” I ask him, “did Father John say in the end?” - “Yes, he didn’t say anything, I served with Father, received the Holy Mysteries every day, we prayed together, he blessed me and let me go, and for the journey he gave me a cassock, warm outerwear and a hat.” - “What will you do?” – I asked him. “Father John serves in such a way,” he answered, “that it is a great joy and consolation to serve with him, I now feel calmer, some kind of peace has settled in my soul. I haven’t made any decision, I’ll go home, and then God willing!” About six years after that, I received a telegram from the Don from this deacon. He asked me to make inquiries at the Synod to see if the Don Archpastor’s special proposal for permission to ordain him, a widowed deacon, as a priest had passed for an opening vacancy in some village. According to the information I made, it turned out that the Donskoy Archbishop asked, as an exception, to allow the ordination of the most worthy widow deacon to the priesthood, for which the permission of the Holy Synod followed. In May 1900, the Society of Primorye Sanatoriums intended to open Russia's first seaside sanatorium for chronically ill children in Vindava. The Society Committee instructed me to ask Father John, together with the committee, to go to Vindava, consecrate the first pavilion named after Her Majesty Empress Maria Feodorovna and lay the foundation for another sanatorium building. Father John, having listened carefully to my report on all the committee’s proposals to alleviate the suffering of children suffering from bone tuberculosis, told me that he agreed to go. Everything was arranged, and departure was decided on May 10 at 8 pm, via Riga. At 12 noon on May 10, the clerk of St. Andrew's Cathedral, Kiselev, comes to me and gives me a handwritten letter from Father John. Father writes that he was told that there is deep snow in Vindava, that it is very difficult to get to the sanatorium, that in general it is very cold in Vindava and therefore he does not dare to go so far. I asked Kiselev where Father John was currently. It turned out that he was in the courtyard on Basseynaya and was having lunch after mass with Abbess Taisiya, who was celebrating her name day. I go there and enter a large hall where a lot of people are having lunch. Father John, seeing me from afar, says: “Did you receive my letter? I can’t go.” I approached Father John and said: “Who could tell you such a lie that there is snow and cold in Vindava and that it is difficult to get to the sanatorium?” “Yes, that’s what they’re saying,” said Father, pointing to his neighbors, some old women. “Don’t believe them, they’re just trying to dissuade you, they don’t want you to leave. The weather in Vindava is wonderful, sunny, there has been no snow for a long time, everything is dry and starting to turn green, we have a horse-drawn railway from the city to the sanatorium, the carriage is ready for you, Father Alekseev and all the members of the committee are traveling with you. In Riga they are waiting for your passage, and in Vindava the whole city is going to meet you.” “Well, let’s go,” said Father John and got up from the table. Everyone stood up, and those around him began to persuade him not to go; Father John did not pay any attention to them and asked me how to arrange it so that he could go to Kronstadt. “I must take the Holy Sacrament with me, which I never travel without, and take some things with me.” They decided that Father John would go immediately to the Baltic station and take a two-hour train to Oranienbaum, and I would arrange a boat for him with the expectation that he would be at the Baltic station by six o'clock, at the time the train departed for Riga. Father John immediately quickly and impulsively said goodbye to those around him, got into a carriage with some old woman and ordered the coachman to go to the Baltic Station. We arrived at the station, I put Father on the train and agreed with the clerk about the steamer. Exactly at 6 o'clock Father John arrived at the Baltic station, and we left through Riga to Vindava. We arrived in Riga the next day at 10 o'clock in the morning. In Riga, at the station, Father John was met by a countless crowd of people; he was carried out of the carriage in their arms and taken somewhere. I only managed to ask the police chief to bring Father John to the Tukum station by 12 noon. At all stations before Vindava we were greeted by huge crowds, Father John opened the window of the carriage, and small children were handed to him through the window, whom he blessed and kissed, and the children were returned to their parents through another window. It is remarkable that not a single child cried or was frightened, and little hands hugged Father John’s neck. Passengers in Father John's carriage changed all the time, some sat on the floor, at his feet, and just looked at him. Father John read the Bible all the time, read loudly and admired the prophecies of Isaiah, and the simple women and nuns sitting at his feet thought that he was prophesying, were touched, sighed and cried. We arrived in Vindava at 9 pm. The whole city greeted Father John at the station, even the Jews crowded in front of the carriage windows, looked and bowed. Father John went to the venerable old man Archpriest Alekritsky, the rector of the only Orthodox church in Vindava at the prison. Father Alyakritsky asked Father John if his parishioners could partake of the Holy Mysteries the next day. “Of course,” said Father John, “but I will not confess anyone, this is your flock, confess them yourself.” Late in the evening, Orthodox priests and an archpriest arrived from all directions with a deacon from the Archbishop of Riga and sat for a long time at the tea table with the elderly archpriest, the old people remembered their college years and sang cants in chorus. Early in the morning, Father John, in concelebration with all the priests and deacons, served Matins and Liturgy, after which Father John was taken to the city. We were supposed to board the horse-drawn railway carriage at half past two, but Father still wasn’t there. Finally, at three o’clock, they brought Father John to Father Alyakritsky’s apartment; he was apparently terribly tired. “I can’t go to the sanatorium,” Father John told me, “I’m so tired that I can barely stand on my feet, they took me all over the city, I was at the site of the Orthodox church under construction, in the hospital, and in private houses, I was treated to herring everywhere, I’m so thirsty, I’m so tired that I can’t move.” Now they ordered to give Father some tea; I promised that he could sleep peacefully for more than half an hour in a horse-drawn railway carriage. We got into someone's carriage and drove to our platform. I sat Father on the front bench of the carriage, wrapped him, tired and exhausted, in a blanket, and he immediately fell asleep in the sound sleep of a baby. The invited city authorities and guests arrived and quietly, silently boarded the carriage. When we approached the sanatorium through the forest, we had to wake up tired Father John. He opened his eyes in surprise and, smiling, said to me: “Where did you take me to the forest?” The arrival at the sanatorium was unusually joyful, the sun was shining, sick and crippled children and employees of the sanatorium, with a mass of people who had arrived on foot, greeted the dear guest. Having rested, we began to consecrate the sanatorium. The priest completely came to life and before the beginning of the prayer service he said a heartfelt word, ending it with the following words: “In nature, life is spread in abundance everywhere, and a person who is in the bosom of nature, under certain conditions on his part - moderation and abstinence from everything unnecessary and sinful - himself is revived, encouraged, renewed, strengthened, so to speak, resurrected from the dead. Let us wish recovery to all children, both present and future, whom a compassionate hand will bring here, and may God grant fathers and mothers to be healthy themselves and to give birth to healthy children.” After the prayer service, Father John sprinkled holy water on all the buildings of the sanatorium and the sites for new buildings, and then everyone went to a high dune above the sea. Father John apparently enjoyed the silence, the wonderful view of the sea and the clean, life-giving air. I turned my head back and saw that at a distance, under the dune, a huge crowd of workers in multi-colored shirts, dressed in a festive way, was gathering. At this time, the Vindava port was being built and artels from all over Russia worked on the buildings. All these artels gathered near the sanatorium pavilion and waited for Father. Father John, turning around, noticed them, stood up and went to them. They all, in a crowd of several hundred people, knelt down and bowed at his feet. “Hello, workers,” Father John affectionately greeted them, “stand up; Hello, dear friends." - “Hello, our dear Father, hello, our dear! - the men began to shout. “We came for you.” - “How are you following me?” – asked Father John. One of the elders, in general silence, explained to Father John: “We came for you with all the artels, we must carry you through all our buildings, you must bless all our work, that’s what all the artels decided, and we came for you.” “How can this be,” said Father John, “after all, you work in the port, on the water, how can I get there?” “And we will carry you in our arms and pass you from artel to artel.” “What do you think,” Father John said to me, “should I go to the port with them?” “We’ll have to go,” I answered, “they are here from all over Russia at work and want, like all of us, to receive your blessing.” - “Will you go to work with them?” – asked Father John. “Nobody invites me,” I answered. “Look, he’s so cunning,” Father said, laughing good-naturedly, “he’s trying to persuade me, but he’s not going.” - “Yes, dear Father, no one will carry me in their arms, how can I walk across the sea at port work?” We didn’t allow Father John to enjoy the peace, silence and view of the sea; we put Father in the carriage, the workers surrounded him and walked into the city to the bridge. A steamer was waiting there, and Father was taken to the port. Eyewitnesses told me that indeed Father John was carried in his arms through all the port facilities, along the piers, into the open sea, and the artels carefully passed him from hand to hand. Then something significant happened, we were all confused and only later, several years later, we realized that the perspicacious Father was right. The head of the port works, a Pole, was a zealous Catholic. He, as it turned out later, was constantly making fun of Father John’s enthusiastic reception in Vindava, but since he was in charge of all port work, had all the workers’ artels under his authority, built the sanatorium and took an active part in its organization, he decided to host a ceremonial dinner for Father John, to which he invited everyone who came to consecrate the sanatorium. He invited Father John not the day before, not even during the consecration of the sanatorium, but when the tired and exhausted Father John was brought from the port to the carriage at the station, when it was already dark. Therefore, Father John refused lunch and all the clergy remained with him. So the dinner never took place. Subsequently, during the revolutionary movement, the supervisor of the work was changed. Father John, having rested, drank tea in the carriage and dictated to Father Alexander Alekseev the word he had said before the prayer service. At night we left Vindava and returned to St. Petersburg early in the morning on May 14. Often after this I saw Father John, but I never saw him so joyful, radiant, contented as in Vindava, on the seashore, on a high dune under the pine trees. When Father John was already seriously ill, several months before his death, I had to go to him in Kronstadt on behalf of the priest and parishioners - Karelians of the Orthodox Church of the Exaltation of the Cross in Machusaar, standing as if guarding Orthodoxy on a rock on an island in Lake Ladoga. A young energetic priest, Father Vladimir Nikitinsky, who was my pupil in childhood, decided to rebuild the dilapidated church and renew the old robe on the miraculous icon of St. Nicholas the Wonderworker, transferred to the island of Salmi two hundred years ago and revered by all Karelian fishermen. This church fell into complete disrepair, the roof was leaking, there were no vestments or church utensils that were even remotely decent. That vestment lay on the throne for twenty years. Everything had to be updated, and the funds were the most modest. The Karelian fishermen and their shepherd decided to ask for the blessing of Father John and begin renovating the church. Having arrived in Kronstadt the night before, I learned that Father John was very weak and was unlikely to serve. Nevertheless, as always, at 5 o’clock in the morning St. Andrew’s Cathedral was full of people. To the great joy of everyone, Father John arrived at 6 o’clock in the morning, but he had no face, he was deathly pale and could no longer read in the choir. During the proskomedia and liturgy, Father John kept leaning his hands on the altar and the throne, and it seemed that he could not stand it and would faint. While performing the Gifts, Father John came to life, prayed, as always, with his soul, and after receiving the Holy Mysteries he was completely transformed, and our former dear Father, incomparable to anyone, appeared before us. I asked Father’s permission to go to his apartment. “Come to me and wait for me there, I will come soon, I will introduce all my household members,” Father told me. Father John spent his entire long-term priestly service at St. Andrew's Cathedral in a small, modest apartment, distinguished only by the fact that in all the corners of all the rooms there were icon cases with icons presented to him from all over Russia. On the cabinets there are cages with cooing pigeons, and in front of the windows there are canaries, tirelessly trilling. Both those and other birds, of course, are offerings from his admirers, who do not know how to show their love for Father John. Soon Father John arrived, cheerful, cheerful, joyful, and impulsively entered the next room, where he communed the Holy Mysteries with everyone living with him. His elderly wife came up first, and the janitor came last. In the same room, which was more like a warehouse for all kinds of offerings, Father John received me. I told him in detail about the Karelian Machusaar Orthodox Church, about the zealous young priest Father Vladimir Nikitinsky and his evangelical flock - simple but deeply religious Karelian fishermen. “Speak louder,” said Father John, “I’ve begun to hear something poorly.” I told Father John that they all bowed low to him and asked for his holy prayers and blessings for the renewal of the ancient Orthodox Church and the miraculous icon of St. Nicholas the Wonderworker. “Tell Father Vladimir and his flock,” said Father John in a loud and ringing voice and crossed me with a large cross, “that I bless them with all my heart and thank them for their trust. I know the Karelians and highly value their proven faith and deep affection for their native Orthodox Church. I bow to them and wish them success in renovating the ancient church and the miraculous icon of the great saint. I want to participate in the renovation of their church and would like to donate a tabernacle to them, but I don’t have one at hand. Can you purchase a tabernacle and send it to them on my behalf?” I, of course, happily agreed. Father John unlocked the desk drawer with a key and began to look for money in the drawer, found a 25-ruble note, which he gave to me, saying: “I didn’t find any more, that’s all I have, I’m afraid it won’t be enough.” I bowed to the ground to Father John on behalf of the Karelian fishermen, saying that for 25 rubles I would buy a tabernacle and that I deeply believe that the initiative of the dear Father, as always, will revive the whole business, and that I have no doubt that with God’s help, through his holy prayers, the entire Machusaar church will be renewed for the glory of God. Indeed, Father Vladimir and his flock not only managed to bring the church into a properly maintained state, but the church received abundant donations from all sides; the chasuble for the icon of St. Nicholas the Wonderworker was renewed and decorated, all church utensils: vestments, vessels, the altar Gospel - everything was received in abundance, and, as the crowning of this good deed, the Machusaara church was decorated with sonorous bells, the ringing of which not only proclaims the good news of the Resurrection of Christ on Lake Ladoga, but also serves the working fishermen a lighthouse: the wonderful hum of a large bell during fogs and bad weather leads them to a quiet pier. Father John of Kronstadt with the wounded In our difficult time of general unrest, disorder, misanthropy, general bitterness, reproaches, the overthrow of idols and the darkening of ideals, I wanted to bring everyone thirsting for love, peace, forgiveness and fraternal unity in the name of Christ to a health resort for wounded and sick soldiers in Finland, near Teriok, on August 26, the day of Father John of Kronstadt’s visit to the health resort. In recent terrible times, we have become so accustomed to terrible bloodshed, civil strife, explosions, fires, unrest, and misfortunes that we cannot imagine that here, close to us, purely biblical pictures of peace, love, complacency and spiritual communication could appear. It is very difficult to describe Father John’s visit to the wounded and maimed soldiers; one had to see this amazing radiant picture. I will try to describe what I saw with my eyes and heart, and what I heard with my ears and with all my soul. Health resort, a spacious, extensive house, on the shore of Lake Beauty, surrounded by tall pine trees; quiet in the forest - the air is saturated with the smell of pine; It had rained the day before, the sun was warm and soaring. A crowd, strange at first glance, had gathered at the very porch of the house. Crippled soldiers on crutches, most of them missing one leg, missing an arm, with their heads bandaged. Everyone is dressed the same in dark blue jackets, some have St. George's crosses on their chests, their faces are exhausted, serious, thoughtful - everyone has joyless thoughts and worries about what is happening at home in their homeland, how families live, what they feed on, how they will feed in the future when the breadwinner is crippled, weak and sick, and then there are memories: difficult hours spent in infirmaries and hospitals in the Far East, operations, dressings, languor far from home, among strangers, and surrounded by illness, suffering and death. Next to the crippled warriors are nuns, sisters and novices of the Lintul community, all in black; they stand in a tight group next to the soldiers: they have no worries about the future, about families, about children, they devoted themselves to hard monastic work, but they are sad and have memories of the past: their whole life was so gloomy and joyless that hard field work seems like peace to them; but they also have moments of disappointment, melancholy, even despair, and their hearts yearn for consolation and spiritual joy. “He’s coming, he’s coming,” a general conversation can be heard, everyone perked up, the soldiers took off their hats. All of them are from different places of vast Russia: here are northerners, accustomed to hard field work on an ungrateful land, which is still dear to them, like a mother is their own nurse, here are pitiful landless Vitebsk and Mogilev peasants who have nothing, neither land, nor home, and therefore have a weak body and a depressed soul, here are stubborn, illiterate, but straightforward eastern russians provinces, good-natured, naive and laughing at themselves crests, and serious, gloomy, withdrawn Poles who work in factories and factories and have lost all love for home and land there, and strong-willed, wholesome, cheerful, cheerful Siberians, descendants of the same motley Russian peasants, but differing from them in their belief in themselves, in their power and strength, whose grandfathers fought with nature and people and won. All these currently crippled, sick, exhausted people heard about Father John, read about him, saw his portraits, but they never dreamed that Father John would come to them, visit them and that they would see him face to face. Having learned the day before that the common prayer book of all Rus' would come to them, the peasant soldiers prepared themselves for this joyful meeting. In the evening we sang Matins prayers in chorus, washed ourselves, dressed neatly, ate lean, did not smoke; The nuns also prepared for the desired meeting, everyone became quiet and eagerly looked at the forest road turning off the highway to the Lintul dacha. Here comes Father John! Joyfully and affably he bows to the crowd: “Hello, dear brothers, hello, sisters!” Father John enters the high porch and everyone bows, everyone below is shining. “We wish you good health, Father,” the soldiers answer in unison. “Hello, our priceless Father,” the sisters say. I’m standing next to Father, our universal, dear Father John, I look at the crowd at the porch, and it seems to me that all of our Rus' is here, holy, tormented, simple, dear Rus': dark peasants, exhausted soldiers, narrow-minded nuns, and above them on an elevated platform is Father John, the universal prayer book, whose ardent and unshakable faith consoles everyone, encourages: simply, artlessly, without reasoning and speculation, in Russian, in the old, ancient, biblical way. This is how the saints of all Rus' consoled and encouraged Holy Rus', and so it was in all difficult times: during the Mongol yoke, during the invasion of enemies, during times of unrest, pestilence and plague. So now and for a long time to come our poor people will be consoled by prayer books and saints. The time will come, God willing, when it will be necessary not to console the people, but to rejoice with them in the abundance of earthly blessings, the general well-being and spiritual development of the entire Russian people. Everyone entered the house; cripples on crutches hurried up the stairs, helping each other. A large, bright room with windows overlooking a wonderful lake; the sun flooded it all; in the corner there is a table with images and a bowl of pure crystal water from a well dug near the shore of the lake; Water seeping through the sand is naturally filtered. “So I would drink and drink this water,” said Father John after the prayer service. Soldiers on crutches stood in front of the table, and nuns stood at the side. Father John began to loudly and clearly pronounce the prayers poured out from his loving heart to the Lord. The sight of the crippled soldiers, apparently, especially touched Father, who was accustomed to constantly seeing the sick and suffering. Father John “speaked” to the Lord in a particularly inspired manner; namely, he “spoke,” convinced, begged, and bowed. “You see, Lord,” said Father John, “the exhausted, wounded soldiers before You, You see their wounds, You see their torment, their melancholy, their suffering. Help them, heal them, comfort them, encourage them. Bless this water,” and Father pointed with his hand to the vessel with water, “and give to all who taste it, those who are sprinkled with it, health, vigor, and consolation.” Father John ended one prayer with a doxology and began another, and Father John’s prayer flowed more and more touchingly and touchingly; Everyone prayed with him with all their hearts: tears flowed down their cheeks, their hearts cried out to the Lord, and our prayer book took the cross in his hands, kissed it and said: “You Yourself, Lord, suffered to death on the cross, You healed our human suffering, comfort, heal the people standing here before You.” Then Father John said: “Blessed is our God always, now and ever, and unto ages of ages. Amen,” and, turning to the choir of sisters, said: “To the Heavenly King.” A prayer service with the blessing of water began. Father John spent a long time choosing which Gospel to read, and settled on the 20th chapter of the Gospel of Matthew, verses 1–16. A more appropriate gospel text could not have been chosen for the soldiers living in the health resort; and what a significant phenomenon that Father John chose this and not another Gospel! Among the wounded and maimed, disputes and gossip constantly arise about where who was wounded, in how many battles he participated, and the unfortunate patients, who were not wounded, but who caught typhus or other diseases in the war, always feel as if awkward in front of the wounded and maimed. In the parable of hiring workers in a vineyard, everyone receives the same pay at the end of the work. Father John loudly and clearly said the words: “Friend, I will not offend you”... And even louder and more inspired: “Thus the last will be first, and the first will be last, for many are the titles, but few are the chosen.” “Glory to Thee, our God, glory to Thee.” After the prayer service, everyone approached the cross. Father John sprinkled everyone with holy water and at this time spoke loudly, clearly, addressing the wounded: “I am happy, my friends, that I see you, I am flattered that I see before me my brothers who shed blood for their homeland, I bow to you and your wounds and injuries. Many would like to see such wounded people who have suffered for us and bow to them and thank them, but not everyone succeeds. I am happy that I have the opportunity to see you, bow to you and thank you. Know and remember that all your wounds, all your torments and sufferings are written down in the Kingdom of Heaven, you, with your sufferings, torments, and wounds, have already reserved places in the Kingdom of Heaven in advance; and what is higher than this? After all, our life here on earth is only a preparation for eternal, heavenly, joyful, bright life. Everything that you have endured will be credited to you: take care not to overshadow what you have achieved with your subsequent life. Keep what you have acquired sacred and inviolable. I know that you will return home, you will still endure a lot, you may not be appreciated, they will perhaps be offended and reproached, your torment and wounds will be forgotten, but you yourself do not forget them, always remember that you have already acquired a reward in heaven for yourself with your suffering, always rejoice in this, rejoice, thank God, thank Him for the fact that you, like our Lord, suffered, remember that He suffered until death, until death on the Cross and that you were crucified with Him. I repeat to you: do not darken what you have acquired, rejoice and rejoice, do not be discouraged, do not be sad; God bless you." After the wounded, the sisters came up, and their father John also encouraged and consoled them. After the prayer service, Father John moved to another room - the library; there are books and pictures on the shelves all around. Here a small episode occurred that clearly depicts Father John’s attitude towards the simple, dark Russian peasant and explains the deep connection that exists between Father John and the simple dark people. In our health resort there turned out to be one illiterate Penza peasant from the reserves, a Cavalier of St. George, without a leg. No matter how they tried to convince him to take advantage of his free time to learn to read and write, he stubbornly refused, saying that it was difficult for him, that his head was not working and that reading and writing would not give him back his legs. The little guy was generally a fool, and other, more advanced soldiers made fun of him and teased him. I pointed him out to Father John and told him that he didn’t want to learn to read, but had a lot of free time. The little man looked at Father John and said: “Where can I study, my head is still spinning from the war.” “It’s true,” said Father John, “where should he study, because he is still completely sick, because how much torment and suffering he has endured - is it easy? I lost my leg.” At the same time, Father John crossed himself and kissed his St. George's Cross, and the soldier also crossed himself and kissed Father John's pectoral cross, and they hugged, and the soldier began to cry. This was the end of my desire to persuade him to learn to read and write. A table was set in the middle of the library and tea was served. The nuns stood in a semicircle in front of the table and sang antiphons, and a line of wounded men on crutches with mugs of tea in their hands approached Father John; the poor tired hands holding the mugs were shaking, but everyone wanted to go up to Father, who was putting sugar in each mug, while impulsively taking a whole handful of sugar and throwing it into the mug, as if wanting to symbolically sweeten their pitiful, helpless life. At the same time, the priest, with his characteristic kindness and affection, patted them on the head, hugged them, and they tenderly and joyfully kissed his pastoral hand. Having sung the antiphons, the choir joyfully sang to the dear, priceless Father John for many years, the soldiers took up the song and sang for a long time and bowed to Father John with all their souls and with all their hearts, wishing him many, many years to the joy and consolation of all the suffering, sick and disadvantaged. When we returned and drove through the forest, I expressed to Father John all the grief of his admirers at the malicious and slanderous attacks on him by the Judaizing newspapers. Father John bared his head, crossed himself and said: “And I thank the Lord that they revile me! God bless! Finally! And then everyone glorified them, counted them among the saints, and the Gospel says: Blessed are you when they revile you and persecute you and slander you in every possible way and lie against you for My sake (Matthew 5:11). This means that my end is near and the Merciful Lord will soon call me to Himself. Glory and thanksgiving to the Lord God!” My memories. Metropolitan Nestor (Anisimov) My meeting with the famous Archpriest Ioann Sergiev made an unforgettable impression on me. It happened under these circumstances. In between studies, I was in the city of Vyatka, with my family. One summer, my stay among my loved ones and loved ones was overshadowed by my mother’s serious illness. According to the determination of the council of doctors, she was doomed to inevitable death. They informed the father about this and stopped visiting the patient. Mom was melting before our eyes: the liver disease could not be treated, and mom could no longer even speak. In my mind at that time, there was no way my son’s love could be reconciled with the thought of the possibility of losing his mother. At this very time, news arrived that Archpriest Father I. Sergiev was going to Vyatka. I had occasion to hear about him as a man of prayer of enormous power of faith. The thought of trying to see him and asking him to pray for my mother’s health and life did not leave me. Not only in Vyatka were they preparing for the meeting of Father John Sergiev, but also from the surrounding area, from the nearest district towns and villages, people gathered in huge numbers. With the inquisitiveness inherent in youth, I looked at the pilgrims and, more with my heart than my consciousness, I felt that this was coming Orthodox Russia, inspired by prayer, with good intentions, as if confirming with its spiritual appearance the words of the chant: “Glory to God in the highest and on earth peace, good will towards men!” Seeing this multitude of believers, I thought: how can I, a young man, carry out my decision and get to Father John to take care of my sick mother? I went to Vyatka Vicar Bishop Philaret and asked him to help me meet with Father John Sergiev. The bishop sympathized with my grief. He offered to transport my mother to the monastery church and put her there in case Father John came there. However, she was already so weak that she could not be moved from bed. Gloomy thoughts overwhelmed me when I returned home from Bishop Philaret. Suddenly a sudden decision ripened within me. Here, at the station, lives the recently arrived new Vyatka police chief K.K. Korobitsyn. “Shouldn’t we turn to him for help?” – I thought and knocked on the door. He received me quite kindly and said that Father John Sergiev, originally from Arkhangelsk, was his fellow countryman. And with these words, he handed me his business card with the inscription that I should be allowed unhindered wherever this archpriest, famous in those years, would be. On the day of Father John’s arrival in Vyatka, countless crowds of believers made it difficult to move around the city. The guest went straight from the station to the Poskrebyshev family. Several blocks before their house, the streets were crowded with people. Even with the police chief’s pass, I barely managed to get to the treasured house in the hope of seeing Father John. Upon presentation of Korobitsyn's business card, the gate was opened for me, and I walked onto the open front porch on the second floor. There, in a small hall in front of the icon, Father John Sergiev stood in his stole and served a prayer service. I was shocked by the enormous strength of spirit and the soulfulness with which he said his prayers. His voice was filled with religious boldness. When, at the end of the prayer service, the worshipers began to approach the holy cross, I was among the last. Worried and holding back tears, I told Father John about my mother’s fatal illness. He asked me her name, crossed himself and said: Then he told me to bring her some blessed water. I followed his instructions, but before leaving home, I hastily wrote a note with the names of our family members and handed it to old lady M.P. Medvedeva for transfer to Father John for prayerful remembrance. The next day I went to the House of Diligence, where the guest was to celebrate the Divine Liturgy in the church. And now the streets are filled with people again. I made my way with difficulty through the courtyard into the church crowded with worshipers. Soon the ringing of bells and the hum of voices announced the arrival of Father I. Sergiev. Believers picked him up and carried him through the crowd through the courtyard along the same stairs where I passed. He recognized me, looked at me friendly and said: - You're already here! How's mom? “Everyone is in the same situation... hopeless...” I answered. – Let us ask God for health, and He will hear and save... It is almost impossible to describe the delightful power of the service of the Divine Liturgy performed by Father John. This is, from beginning to end, an unquenchable flame of bold prayer. The sharp, loud, persistent, demanding appeal to God in prayer shocked those praying. Telegrams and notes were continuously carried to the altar with a request to Father John to remember the listed names at the church altar. The next day, for the second time, I attended the service performed by Father John in the Church of St. John the Baptist. Many sick and possessed people were brought there. Under the church vaults, groans, cries and pleas of the suffering were heard every now and then, hoping for healing from their ailments. And Father John’s prayerful voice sounded the same as the day before: boldly, confidently, reminiscent of the communication with God of the ancient prophets. Fearing that my mother might die in my absence, I went home before the end of the service. On the same day, but a little later, I could not stand it and set off in a cab in search of the whereabouts of Father John. But I barely had time to turn the corner of our street when I saw, to my surprise, what seemed to me an endless train of carriages. On the first of them sat Matryona Petrovna Medvedeva with the priests. Seeing me, she waved her arms and shouted: -Where should we go? Father John is coming to you! I quickly returned home and asked my father and grandmother to meet the guest. And he told the janitor that due to the cramped size of our courtyard, only one carriage, Father John, would be allowed through the gate. I myself quickly prepared a table, water for consecration and church candles, which I had in stock. Meanwhile, mother was carried into the hall on the bed. By the time the prayer service began, crowds of believers filled not only the hall and adjacent rooms, but also the courtyard and the street. But then Father John came in and asked: Having received the answer, he blessed our family and turned to me: - Well, you see, I came to see your mother. Let's pray, and the Lord God will restore her health! With these words, he approached his mother, who was lying in an unconscious state, caressed her like a small child, saying: - My poor, sick Antonina... Father John put the cross that was on it on her head, read a prayer and invited us all to pray for the sick woman, and inquired from her father why her mother was sick. Then, kneeling before the table with the Gospel and the cross, Father John loudly and boldly asked God to heal his mother. “For the sake of her children, Lord,” he exclaimed, “show Your Divine mercy, spare Your servant Antonina, restore her vitality and health, forgive her all sins and infirmities!” You, Lord, promised to fulfill and give those who ask. Hear us who pray to You, and grant health to Your sick servant Antonina! Father John pronounced these words addressed to God in complete confidence in the mercy of the Almighty. At the end of the prayer service, he again approached his mother, blessed her and said firmly, in a commanding voice: “Call the priest now, he will give communion to the sick woman, and with God’s help she will be healthy!” At parting, Father John asked his father about our family life and, blessing us, left. As he drove out of the yard, many believers crowded on the street surrounded the carriage. Many grabbed the wheels with their hands, others tried to touch at least the hem of his cassock, some threw letters, bags of money, notes of remembrance. When we, the family, having seen Father John off, returned to my mother, she lay as if transfigured; one of us asked her if she was aware of what was happening. Mom whispered barely audibly: “Leave me alone...” We fulfilled her request, and the priest I called came. Before the start of confession, we said goodbye to my mother and left, and when after her confession we returned to communion, we saw with joy that the sick woman was sitting on the bed, and after communion of the Holy Mysteries she calmly stood up on her feet. The next day she no longer went to bed and quickly began to recover. After this significant event for our entire family, my mother lived for about thirty-four years. In me, as a young man, an incident of the fruitful power of faith and prayer accelerated the process of my spiritual growth, strengthened my desire to devote my life to God and to serving to help and benefit the suffering. It seems to me that the power of faith in God and in His miraculous help, which gives a real and not imaginary result of hearing the strong inner, deep spiritual and boldly persistent prayer request of a weak person from the Almighty Lord God the Creator, was clearly revealed here. This phenomenon, of which there are many among believers, has always been defined by humanity with the word “miracle,” miraculous help from above from God. Two people can argue on this issue: a believer and an unbeliever. But in my understanding (a happy, believer, who knew the whole process of a dying serious illness in this case of my dear, beloved mother, who was dying before our eyes), all this is hardly subject to discussion and reasoning, that is, to the judgment or judgment of a person, when even the doctors left her, and one doctor A.Yu. L., to console us who were crying, said: “We did everything we could, let the Almighty do more, since the doctor heals, and the Lord heals,” which ultimately happened. I left my parental home forever, retiring to a monastery, preparing to take monastic vows. With special touching, with tears of sympathy, my dear mother saw me off, giving me maternal blessings and kind words. Soon Archimandrite Andrei returned from Yelabuga. I told him in detail as my spiritual father about what had happened. Together with him, we sent a telegram to the Archbishop of Vladivostok and Kamchatka Eusebius with a request to accept me as a missionary to Kamchatka, with tonsure as a monk in the city of Kazan. Bishop Eusebius immediately responded by telegraph that he was joyfully awaiting my arrival in the rank of hieromonk. At the same time, he turned to Archbishop Demetrius of Kazan with a request for my tonsure and ordination to the rank of hierodeacon, and then hieromonk, with a blessing for the Kamchatka trip. I turned for a blessing to Archpriest Father John Sergiev, who, even in childhood, noted me for his responsiveness and compassionate attitude towards my sick mother. Soon a reply arrived from him in my name. On a photographic card with the image of Father John, he wrote the following inscription: “I bless the servant of God Nikolai Anisimov for the great feat of missionary work, if he finds himself capable and feels a calling to it. May the grace of God, the weak and healing, appear in him. I kiss him brotherly. Archpriest John Sergiev. March 18, 1907." On April 17, 1907, I took monastic vows at the hands of my Abba, Father Archimandrite Andrei. This happened on Holy Tuesday of Holy Week. My father, mother and brother Ilarius were present in the church at my tonsure. After tonsure, my spiritual father, Archimandrite Andrey, gave me an edifying word as a new monk. He blessed me with the Kazan Icon of the Mother of God. At the bottom of this icon there were images of two faces of saints: the martyr Nestor of Thessalonica and the Venerable Nestor, the Russian chronicler. Their memory is celebrated on October 27 (Old Style) on the same day. On May 6, 1907, in the Kazan Cathedral, the former Altai missionary, Bishop Innokenty (Solodchin), elevated me to the rank of hierodeacon. The personality of Bishop Innocent deserved every respect. This venerable elder, a deep ascetic and ascetic, subsequently accepted the schema in the Kherson monastery. Before my departure for Kamchatka, Vladyka Innokenty gave me useful instructions as a former Altai missionary. By the way, he asked me: – Now you will bear three crosses: monasticism, shepherding and missionary work. Which of these crosses is lighter and which is heavier? After some thought I replied: – I believe that the easiest of them is shepherding; it is followed by missionary work and monasticism. But Bishop Innocent objected: – All three crosses can be equally heavy or light, depending on how you carry them. If with faith, reverence, giving oneself a constant strict account of this great and holy service, then any of the crosses and even all three at once will be easy to bear with God’s help. Two days later, on May 9, 1907, on the day of my heavenly patron, from the holy font of Baptism of St. Nicholas, the Wonderworker of Myra, in the same Kazan Cathedral, I was ordained to the rank of hieromonk. Advised by Archbishop Dimitri of Kazan (Doctor of Church History Sambikin), I soon left for Kamchatka. On the eve of my departure, a special messenger arrived from Kronstadt to the place of religious service. He brought me Father Archpriest John Sergiev’s priestly pink vestments and oral parting words from Father John, who I highly venerate, with the following content: “Give the Kamchatka missionary (I don’t know his monastic name) the vestments from me. God help him... But give this vessel to him and say - everything I drank (more than half) was drunk by me during my life, and he will finish the rest in his life, but let him endure all adversities patiently, may the Lord God bless him and save him.” So voluntarily, by Divine command and according to the attraction of my Christian heart, I took upon myself three crosses: monasticism, shepherding, missionary work, and walked with them along the thorny path outlined by the Lord, bringing to His glory the light of Truth and Truth to the peoples of the distant outskirts of the Russian State who are in darkness and oblivion. I carried these three crosses in my heart all the years of my life. Wherever fate took me, no matter what people it brought me into contact with, I remembered that I am the son of my Great Motherland, voluntarily bearing this sacred burden. I consciously renounced the worldly, vain blessings of life, neglected my career and went to the distant, uninhabited, forgotten and unknown to me Kamchatka, driven by the desire to help people suffering there in darkness, ignorance and deprivation. In 1907, in the first half of August, as a result of heavy rains and stormy mountain streams, a large flood occurred in the Gizhiginsky district, causing many troubles and misfortunes. All fish stocks, including dog food, were washed away by the floodwaters. The dwellings and yurts of the Tungus, with their fur clothing and all household belongings, were demolished. In addition to all this, from the village of Gizhigi to the borders of the Sea of ​​Okhotsk there was a shortage of fish, which for the indigenous population was the main food, replacing bread, which was not there then. The Tungus, who suffered from the flood and the resulting famine, did not have reindeer, which deprived them of the opportunity to obtain food for their families. I was an eyewitness to their hopeless, disastrous situation. I was overcome with despair at the thought that I could do nothing to help the unfortunate sufferers. I was cut off from communication with central Russia for at least a year and had no supply of food to provide emergency aid to flood victims. In search of a way out of this situation, I wrote letters of invitation to Bishop Eusebius in Vladivostok, Bishop Andrei in Ufa, and also to Father John Sergiev in Kronstadt. My messages reached their destination only after a year. In response, I received letters of encouragement and encouragement; in addition, cash assistance and food parcels for distribution to local populations affected by the disaster. I was especially encouraged and consoled by the short but inspiring letter from Father John Sergiev. “Father Nestor! Be bold and trust in the face of Him who sent You in the apostolic preaching. Be patient, like the apostles, trust in God’s help, comfort the new flock with Your hope of eternal life. I am sending you 400 rubles by transfer for the hungry. Archpriest John Sergiev." V.N. Zverev. In memory of Father John of Kronstadt Remember your mentors who spoke the word to you. In the nineties of the last century, my father occupied a professorship at Moscow University. Our family consisted of a father and mother and five children, of whom I was the eldest. By the age of 8–9, my parents noticed some shortcomings in my development. Medical intervention was required. My father's comrades and friends - doctors and professors of medicine - paid a lot of attention to me. The case was about the nasopharyngeal region, tonsils and glands, which acted abnormally and had a detrimental effect on the entire body. The treatment undertaken did not give the desired results, and by general agreement it was decided to perform an operation to remove the ill-fated tonsils. Professor Stanislav Fedorovich Stein undertook to perform the operation. The operation, performed at home, was quite painful. Two or three days spent in bed were not enough. After lying there for quite a long time, having grown and lost weight, I got out of bed, to the concern of those around me, with a crooked neck. My head turned out to be bent to my left shoulder, and all attempts to straighten it caused me severe pain. All means were used - massage, electrification, a metal collar lined with suede... They did everything they could to me... However, all this was of little help. It was not possible to raise my head, and all activities were abandoned. I was threatened with the fate of forever remaining a freak. There was no pain. Rejoicing that they left me alone, I did not notice the misfortune that befell me. My parents, of course, looked differently. My mother could not see my wretched figure without tears. The father frowned. I consulted with whomever I could. At home there was talk about the need to take me abroad to some celebrity... None of this was needed. Having been taken out of the village, all of us children, the servants who nursed them were depressed by my illness no less than my father and mother, felt sorry for me and my parents and talked a lot about what had happened in their circle. With the coming spring, against the backdrop of the jubilant and joyful revival of all nature, my wretchedness was somehow especially regrettable. One fine day, one of them informed my mother about the expected arrival in Moscow of Father John of Kronstadt, who had a very short stay in the city. Our household insisted on the need to entrust me to the prayers of the then well-known servant of God and expressed unshakable confidence in the validity of the proposed measure. Our family was a believer. Everyone grew up and was brought up in the good rules of Orthodoxy. The mother strictly ensured that the required earnestness and order were observed in the house in relation to the requirements of the Church. We all carefully fasted, received communion, defended all-night vigils and masses without any concessions. Fasts, traditions and customs were kept sacred... However, in our family there was a habit of avoiding, as it were, out-of-the-ordinary phenomena of a religious order. It was not the spirit of denial that acted, but caution, dictated by the fear of disturbing the integrity and balance of mental life. In our house, there were quite well-known cases of family discord - a consequence of the infatuation of some with the acquired spiritual guidance and the passionate protests of those who did not want to recognize it. They knew about Father John that people from all over Russia came to him and turned to him with their infirmities, sorrows, worries and spiritual anxieties... It was known that everyone who resorted to Father John not only received the sought-after reassurance, help and resolution of issues that tormented their conscience, but also became his spiritual children, unquestioningly accepting his instructions and guidance. The latter circumstance forced others to fence themselves off from the possible splitting of the soul in such cases: by turning to the experience of a spiritual leader for advice, the seeker thereby, as it were, recognizes in advance all the instructions of such a leader as obligatory for him. If the instructions do not come to one’s heart and do not agree with the intentions of the person asking, deviation from the requested guidance gives rise to a feeling of dissatisfaction with oneself and mental anxiety... My father and mother thought something like this. I remember well how my mother told my father about her decision to see Father John. The father made no objections, but it was noticeable that he himself would have refrained from such a step. “What exactly are you hoping for, Nadya?” – he asked briefly. "By the grace of God." - “In that case, of course... However? What if your expectations don't come true? “It will be as God pleases,” the mother answered decisively. By evening it became known that Father John was to serve tomorrow in the house church of one of the charitable institutions of the Mother See - I remember, in the Widow's House of Countess Sheremeteva - very close to our apartment. Early in the morning, encouraged by the good wishes of all our household members, my mother and I went to the indicated address. The sun, the greenery of the blossoming trees on the boulevards, still breathing the freshness of the night, the cheerful sound of the wheels of a cab on the cobblestone street - everything fascinated me then and was forever imprinted in my memory. In the church yard we came across a huge crowd. The church did not accommodate those who wanted to enter there. There was no hope of getting through to Father John. Conversations with people who found themselves in the same position as us led to the decision to defend the service in the air and try to venerate the cross at the end of it. I had to stand for a long time. I'm tired and pretty bored. Finally, the crowd surrounding the church entrance began to move. Those standing there for the service began to leave the church, and streams of those waiting for their turn to approach the cross flowed towards them. The crush and crush, as usual, was terrible. Through the efforts of those who had entered into our situation, we hardly made our way into the church, but we had to stand somewhere on the sidelines for a long time until the crowd around Father John, who was letting the people go, thinned out and the opportunity opened up to approach him. Around Father John stood his admirers who had lingered in a semicircle, wanting to enjoy the sight of their beloved Father. Around the brightly sunlit church, people were stationed in separate groups awaiting his exit, so that they could receive his blessing at the farewell. Father John himself, lean, lively, with sharp movements, stood on the lower steps of the solea and, handing the cross to the right and left, exchanged abrupt words with those who approached, which were quickly picked up by those around him. We were almost the last to arrive. Father John turned in our direction and looked questioningly at both of us. Suddenly his face lit up with a cheerful smile and his eyes shone with affection. "Finally! But I’ve been waiting for you for a long time...” Embarrassed in the face of the people surrounding us, my mother quickly tried to explain the purpose of our visit. Father John seemed not to be listening. He leaned towards me with a cross and put his hand on my head. “What’s wrong with your head? – he looked into my face from above. - Come on! Raise your head! Nothing... nothing... Everything will be fine...” I can’t say anything about my feeling, but later I learned from my mother that, to her indescribable joy, I raised my head. Father John let me venerate the cross, stroked my head, exchanged short words with my mother and affectionately praised her for visiting him. The mother was shocked and could not find words to express her feelings. Yes, it was not necessary. “Bless me, Father...” - she moved me to Father John - for the rest of my life!.. Father John broadly blessed both of us. “Go in peace... And I’ll remember... If I need to, I’ll definitely remember,” he affectionately stroked my head goodbye. He gave us the cross a second time and turned to the next. I remember how those ahead crowded around us. I remember tears of joy and tenderness on the faces around us. They kissed me and hugged me. They vying with each other to address their mother. Someone shoved a prosphora into my hand... Suddenly everyone rushed somewhere to the side. Father John left the altar through the southern doors. He managed to undress and was heading towards the exit. Everyone followed, vying with their hands for the blessing. On the porch, Father John was detained by those waiting for him to appear outside. He barely made his way to the cab driver who was waiting for him. The latter was surrounded. People stood on the steps, grabbed the carriage and ran after. Our return journey was joyful and bright. On the way, my mother began to kiss me, repeating that I would forever remember what Father John had done for us. The driver driving us shared our joy. I turned my head in all directions without experiencing any pain or awkwardness. We were joyfully welcomed home. The atmosphere was purely Easter. As a child, I did not retain in my memory the judgments and conversations of my elders regarding what was described. Then I had to find out that there were many of them. The medical representatives shrugged their shoulders. Simpler people rejoiced with us in simplicity of heart and thanked God, who sent such shepherds to Russia as Father John. Father John kept his promise to remember me under an amazing coincidence of circumstances... Life went on as usual. The straightened neck was completely straightened. We stayed in Moscow. Father John labored in Kronstadt. His fame expanded. From time to time, news reached us about miraculous cases of his intercession before God. His portraits appeared, carefully preserved by admirers. There was no shortage of condemnations and wretched witticisms addressed to him. Young people, students and representatives of the liberal-materialist way of thinking were sophisticated in this direction. In the nine hundred years, my father left his professorial career, moving to the administration service. We moved to St. Petersburg. My brother and I were sent to a gymnasium. Childhood is over, adolescence has begun. Life has changed. The proximity to the church became weaker. Not because anything changed in our views, but because the whole way of life of bureaucratic Petersburg was radically different from the way of life in Moscow. There were relatively few churches in St. Petersburg. The ringing of the bell is almost inaudible. The population, which zealously attends churches, is itself closed and averse to parish communication. The deanery in St. Petersburg churches, by the way, is stronger. Muscovites treat their shrines much more freely. A Muscovite goes to church and feels that this church is his own. A Muscovite in church is surrounded by familiar, familiar faces. He feels “at home”, an unwritten member of a living community - a parish. A Petersburger “appears” in church. The composition of the church's visitors is constantly changing; there is no mutual communication, and the parish as an organic body is not felt... All this, as well as the small features of St. Petersburg church life that we noticed, made an unfavorable impression on us children. We felt left to ourselves, as if we were guests in the church of God. We did not find the warmth and closeness of Moscow churches in St. Petersburg. We had to live for many years in Northern Palmyra until we got along there and got used to everything, and learned to love our incomparable city of Petrov - “full of lands full of beauty and wonder”... Then, when we were in the capital, every time we experienced a feeling of returning to our native land, we hurried to go around the treasured corners, to visit where our mental and spiritual life had once awakened. We learned early the value of memories. In St. Petersburg, the orphaned and wretched, the simple at heart, have left us. There was no closer proximity to the people. The people in St. Petersburg are as decorous as the bureaucrats. Everyone lives in their own circle and has no relationships with others other than business and official ones. Habits of the multifaceted diversity of Moscow life were difficult to overcome. My brother and I were bored, unable to explain the feeling of separation from the masses of people that oppressed us. But time passed. I was already a student. Life flowed smoothly. My brother and I had the prudence to value the advice of our father and mother and were in no hurry to “emancipate ourselves.” There was complete trust between “fathers” and “children”. It saved us a lot. We maintained clarity of soul and purity of imagination. The temptations of youth slid past. Not so much because of the rules taught, but because of a healthy home environment, many different interests, an insatiable passion for reading and the opportunity to communicate with people of high culture and education. Despite the proximity of Kronstadt, I somehow never had the opportunity to go there or visit Father John. I saw him several times by chance and from a distance, during his infrequent visits to the capital. Sometimes I heard all kinds of judgments about him in society - mostly favorable. I also heard the opinions of Old Believers, who laughed affectionately at Father John’s fervor and treated him with deep respect. But it was not possible to attack people close to Father John, and the personality of Father John remained distant to us. An unexpected incident made us all remember the promise Father John once made to my mother and me. On a windy March day, after standing for a long time at the racetrack, I returned from the races chilled and feeling chills. I warmed up at home, went away, and the night passed peacefully. In the morning, as usual, I went out to walk my dog. We lived on Znamenskaya. When I reached the Greek Church, I happened to clear my throat. A thick piece of dried blood stained the wet snow. I hurried home, but found myself unable to take even a few steps: blood gushed out from both my nose and throat. With the participation of compassionate parishioners, I was taken to our apartment. They put me to bed. The heat rose. The bleeding didn't stop. The measures taken by doctors did not help. By the evening everything was complicated by severe articular rheumatism - it was impossible to move... I don’t remember much of what happened next. Having come to my senses, I saw familiar and unfamiliar representatives of medicine at my bedside. The smell of methyl salicyl reigned in the room. My legs and arms were covered with hot compresses. The bleeding stopped and then started again. I was bleeding and extremely weak. The confused look of the father and mother, the sympathetic visits of the sister and brothers, the cautious visits of friends and acquaintances who dropped in for a moment - everything indicated that things were bad. In the evening, my father cautiously suggested that I confess and receive communion in the morning. “Not because it was so bad,” he said, “but still... it’s better, you know...” The mother cried. I agreed quite calmly and, I remember, fell asleep. I woke up several times during the night. There was no pain. The breath was clear. My mother, who did not leave my side, anxiously rose from her chair and said in confusion that there was no more fever and that her skin was damp. In the morning I fell asleep completely soundly. When I woke up, I moved and felt that my body seemed to have recovered from the shock. I didn't feel any pain. Mild coughing did not cause bleeding. I wanted to address my mother with something, but my voice did not obey me... I was surprised to notice that my mother’s face and eyes were shining with happiness. - Lie down! Lie still! Thank God!.. The night passed peacefully... Now just so as not to irritate the blood vessels again with coughing. And do you know how inexplicably and miraculously all this happened? “My mother said that after sitting at my bedside all night, in the morning she dozed off quite soundly. The maid Natasha woke her up and asked her to go to the kitchen. There, an unknown woman with a simple appearance was waiting for her in our house. Showing a piece of paper with our address, she said that she was looking for us on the orders of Father John and asked if we had a sick person named Vasily. To an affirmative answer, the woman said that Father John, “remembering” about me, sent her to say that he had prayed for me and was letting me know that my illness had stopped. The woman handed over a small prosphora, with instructions to let me taste it as soon as I woke up. The mother did not know how to thank or where to place the messenger of Father John. Together with her and the servant who happened at the same time, she thanked God and could not find words to express her gratitude to Father for his intercession on my behalf. The woman refused any remuneration. When asked how and where Father John learned about my misfortune, I could not answer. After the all-night vigil, Father John called her to him and, giving our address - there was no last name, instructed her to find the sick Vasily and convey what was said above. The woman herself was convinced that Father John knew us well and could not be surprised at the actual state of affairs. Filled with warm gratitude, she undertook to retell Father John our gratitude for his intercession, kindness and wonderful help. For several days the doctors still tormented me with poultices, but my strength returned and after ten days I was able to get up. It was decided to send me to recover immediately in the village, in the Samara province, for kumiss. Staggering from weakness, I barely walked along the carriage corridor to my compartment. A day later, on the road, I was already moving around quite freely. At the small steppe station I got out of the car on my own. The sun, the steppe, and kumiss did their job. After two months, I could already take part in all the fun and entertainment of my peers and return to university healthy by the fall. Returning to St. Petersburg, to my shame, I was unable to get ready to go to Kronstadt to thank Father John for his good deed, and, postponing the trip from day to day, I felt unwell, like a person who had not fulfilled his duty. It is not known when I would have gone to Kronstadt if an incident had not helped me again, reminding me of Father John. “In order not to delay, I’ll go to Kronstadt tomorrow,” I decided. My cousin, Vasily Aleksandrovich Karamzin, who lived with us in the winters as a student at our university, expressed a desire to accompany me. We were very friendly and understood each other perfectly. And this time I immediately understood the motive that guided him in this case: we all knew Leskov by heart and we all knew his “Midnight Owls.” The steamer from Oranienbaum took us to Kronstadt the next day in the evening. It was late autumn with matinees, storms and fog on the bay. We were pretty chilled. We didn’t know Kronstadt. We didn't have any friends there. We needed somewhere to spend the night, and we turned to a random passer-by, asking him to show us a hotel. A passerby - a man in a very worn coat and the most modest appearance - looked at us, smartly dressed students, with some bewilderment. “Yes, gentlemen, where are you from? From St. Petersburg? And you don’t know Kronstadt. Isn’t it to Father John? In that case, please! “He took us somewhere nearby.” “A hospice house for people coming to see Father,” he pointed out to us a quite decent entrance. “You will feel peaceful here, and it’s close to the cathedral if you decide to visit early...” We thanked for the kindness and began to climb up a fairly wide and well-appointed staircase. We were met on the site by the house manager, an elderly, friendly woman. She gave us a spacious room, with a high ceiling and good beds; gave us tea and promised to wake us up early so as not to miss mass. “By the way, you’re here,” she said. - Just Father will serve. And let me give you some advice: if you come to Father John with a request, tell him directly what you came with, don’t drag out the conversation. Father John gets tired: he has a lot of people every time... “Yes,” we say, “we don’t need anything.” We came to thank Father and be blessed. “Don’t be shy,” the woman smiled, “speak directly... Father doesn’t refuse students... We felt funny. We assured the manager that our visit had no material goals. - May it be for you! We've seen enough of your brother here, gentlemen. We’re used to it... the same way... just like you, dandies... but there’s nothing to pay for the training. It's understandable... She did not believe our assurances otherwise. - Well, God be with you! Rest. Don't bother cleaning the room. But I won’t give you tea in the morning before mass: it’s not supposed... It was still dark when we went outside in the morning. The frost that struck at night froze the mud and puddles. Here and there, thick groups of people were making their way to the cathedral, trying to get to the front. By the time we arrived, the cathedral was already full of worshippers. The audience was very diverse. As once in Moscow, with our usual gaze we immediately noticed a group of people close to Father and regular visitors to the church crowding closer to the salt. Not wanting to push through the dense rows of those in front, we positioned ourselves relatively close to the entrance. Our student coats attracted some, not always favorable, attention. It was felt that there was little sympathy for the students here. The difficulty of our situation occurred to us: how and where would we be able to turn to Father John? How can we make him aware of our desire to see him closer? Preoccupied with such considerations, we listened to the service rather absent-mindedly, but with great attention we followed the sacred rites of Father John himself. He did not serve alone. Several priests who came from afar concelebrated with him. Father John himself moved quickly. His gestures were sharp and simple. The voice sounded loud; Every word rushed through the church sharply and clearly, extremely articulately. The words of prayer in the mouth of Father John sounded tense. It seemed that he served for himself, forgetting everything around him. His face was difficult to see from the distance, but in his movements and manner there seemed to be some kind of unyielding demand. The service of Father John did not arouse emotion, but was irresistibly captivating with its aspiration. Our dispersion has ceased to exist. Behind the large exit we were distracted from our contemplation by a certain short gentleman, dressed in a good frock coat, with a graying beard and rather long hair combed smoothly back. He was noticeably lame. “Father John, gentlemen, ordered you to be taken to his altar,” he said quietly. - You're welcome! We looked at each other in surprise and noticed that those around us were also quite surprised. Some looked in our direction with undisguised curiosity, others with obvious gloating: here, they say, you, students, will be in nuts from Father! The gentleman turned out to be the headman of St. Andrew's Cathedral. Limping and pushing the people aside, he led us to the left aisle and placed us at the passage connecting the small altar with the main one. There was no one in the altar except the two of us. Karamzin and I looked at each other in bewilderment and, listening to the singing coming from us, indulged in fortune telling: how and why did Father John think of us? There were many participants. Father John was not released soon. Finally, he entered back into the altar, placed the Holy Chalice on the throne and walked towards us with quick steps. “Wait a little longer,” he spoke hastily, “I’ll come out to you soon.” For now, drink some warmth and eat prosphora. - Yes, Father, we didn’t partake! Father John persistently repeated his order: A lame elder appeared from somewhere and placed aside a large copper jug ​​of warmth and a dish with sliced ​​prosphora. Feeling embarrassed to “eat” at the altar, we drank some of the warmth and took a piece of prosphora. “No, that won’t do,” said the headman. – Father John ordered you to eat properly. He poured us a large ladle each and, to our embarrassment, forced us to eat with our mouths full. Having refreshed ourselves, we returned to our previous place. Father John dismissed the worshipers. Soon he handed the cross to another priest and walked straight towards us. We asked for a blessing. “It’s good that you came... it’s good,” Father John praised, blessing us both. He took me aside and didn't let me say a word. - Are you healthy? God bless! Have you arrived? I’m very glad... What are you asking from God? The suddenness of the unexpected question stumped me for a moment. “Thank God,” I say, “Father, for everything... but I ask you not to send what is beyond your strength and to send strength and strength to cope with everything that He sends next... Father John looked into my eyes. Despite the fact that it was absolutely clear that he saw right through me, I did not feel embarrassed. - Fine! - Father John praised. - Thank God that He sent you such a father and mother... Are your mothers sisters? – he looked at Karamzin. I still tried to say something about my gratitude. - I know! I know... It’s good... but don’t... - and went to Karamzin. I didn’t hear their conversation, but I clearly saw Karamzin’s cheerfully embarrassed face, confirming something to Father. Father John spoke cheerfully and gesticulated strongly. The upsurge of spirit and strength that overcame him during the service did not go away, and there were no noticeable signs of fatigue. - Well, that’s good!.. See you. Go, venerate the cross!.. Don’t rush. You'll have time... and there's no need to rush home. From the cross to me. There will be guests... - Yes, Father, you are tired... - No, no! Definitely... Leaving the church, Karamzin and I began to discuss: should we take advantage of Father’s invitation, or would it be better to go to St. Petersburg without bothering him? The headman who heard our conversation was extremely surprised. - What are you doing, gentlemen? How is this possible? Since Father said, what is there to talk about? Do you know where Father John lives? Follow them,” he pointed to a decent group walking ahead, “they are also there... On the way, Father John, riding in a cab, overtook us. He was wearing a large fur coat and a fur hat, and in this attire he seemed small and frail to me. His entire posture showed the weariness that had taken its toll. The fur coat seemed to be weighing down his shoulders. What remains most in my memory are his eyes, the colors of which I can’t even describe. Father John's eyes shone with extraordinary brilliance and liveliness. It seemed that they embraced so much and saw so far that it became clear that to this person everything and everyone was clear at a glance. At his entrance we came across a large crowd. With the double doors wide open, a line of people climbed the steep wooden stairs, eager to see Father John. A stream of people who had already visited him came down to meet them. Many faces were joyful and beaming with delight. Some cried, others walked with their heads down, deep in thought. There were few women. The room on the second floor occupied by Father John is poorly etched in my memory. From the small hallway, a stream of people poured into a fairly bright room and, undressing, went into the next large one, also similar to a living room. The doors to the apartment stood wide open. There was a chill coming from the stairs and my feet were freezing. The situation was reminiscent of the moment of the meeting of the miraculous icon at home, when, sometimes, the doors were opened just as wide for everyone to venerate and clouds of frosty air rushed into the warm apartment. Without haste, in order of priority, we entered the living room. Those who were there stood in a large semicircle, with their backs to the windows. At the opposite wall, on the sofa, sat Father John, who had not taken off his fur coat because of the cold. The hat was lying nearby. On an oval mahogany table, not covered with anything, there was a glass of strong tea in front of him. Some people were sitting on the two chairs closest to Father John. Father talked to them in a low voice. People replaced one another. Father John released some quickly, while others detained. Seeing our appearance, Father John ordered us to sit down on the chairs. I was on his left side. Karamzin placed himself opposite me, on the right. Continuing the conversation with others who remained standing in front of the table, Father took us by the hands and ordered us to be served tea. We protested, to the obvious disapproval of those present. It was very awkward to sit over a glass in front of all the visitors crowded into the room. We wanted to drink our tea quickly in order to quickly give way to others, but the tea was hot and there was no time to rush. - Drink! Drink! – Father John turned to us, continuing to release those who had come. Mid-sentence, he suddenly turned to me: “It’s good that you love Nikolai Semenovich... The great one was a master of words.” - And he laughed cheerfully and slyly. I felt a little ashamed, remembering the flashing thought about “Midnight Owls.” - Nothing! Nothing! – Father John laughed. “I love Leskov myself...” And, turning around, he sternly and as if impatiently saw off some elderly man, who was saying something about the frequency of his appeals to Father John. Having found a moment, we stood up and, no longer embarrassed, warmly thanked Father John for his kindness and affection. Having accepted the blessing, we kissed the hand that blessed us and in heartfelt joy we left Father John, who without words managed to understand our innermost thoughts and motives. St. Petersburg always remains St. Petersburg. Despite the unusual nature of Father John’s reception, no one showed that the manner he adopted was somewhat peculiar. Our student figures, emphatically standing out against the general gray background of the crowded visitors, did not evoke any signs of surprise at the attention Father showed us. Despite the fact that Father John talked with everyone quite loudly, no one allowed themselves to detect even a small amount of interest in someone else’s conversation. No whispers, no comments. Self-absorption and their own concerns made the already self-possessed St. Petersburg residents completely indifferent to everything that did not directly concern them... Expansive Moscow would have reacted differently, would not have hesitated to express either sympathy or interest. Moreover, I would not have refrained from questioning and interpreting the words and actions of my beloved Father. Before leaving, we went to the hospice house with the intention of thanking the manager for the hospitality and paying. Seeing our happy faces, the manager herself burst into a smile. -Have you seen Father? Have you received any consolation? I'm happy for you, gentlemen!.. For an overnight stay? We are not entitled to anything. Save your money, gentlemen... You will need it yourself... - Well, if you want, put some in the mug. It hangs in our hallway. “We have a good Father,” the manager said as he saw us off. – Students are never turned away. He rewarded you enough! Laughing, we assured her that we had not come for an “award.” The kind soul did not believe our assurances. - God be with you! How secretive you are, gentlemen... Long-standing experience, obviously, firmly established the glory of the students who attended Father John. The remains of Father John found peace in St. Petersburg, in the church of the convent he created during his lifetime, on Karpovka, to the left of Kamennoostrovsky Prospekt. The lateral part of the monastery abutted the property of the Grot family, which at that time represented a completely rural corner in the middle of St. Petersburg, with a huge shady garden and the manor’s house visible behind the trees. The entire length of the Karpovka bank was drowned in dense thickets of willow trees, hanging their branches into the quiet waters of this river. The grave of Father John was located in the crypt, under the monastery church, turned into a chapel. A smooth, large, rather tall marble slab indicated her place. The chapel was also decorated with marble and decorated with numerous icons. Lamps were burning everywhere, and at the top of the tombstone there was a huge copper candlestick, invariably lined with hotly burning candles. The chapel was open for those who wished to visit the grave of Father John from morning to night, and I do not remember a time when it remained empty. Having the good fortune to see and know Father John, I did not have to come into closer contact with him during his lifetime. After his death, there was nothing in the world closer to his grave. Like many, many, I myself, our families and relatives, we went to Karpovka with all our joys and sorrows, often even without these motives - out of a desire to share with Father what was in our souls. And in communication with the deceased, we all found support and consolation and found peace of mind. Mental conversations with Father John refreshed the soul; Vain worries naturally disappeared, complications that seemed insurmountable became ridiculous and insignificant, and the path to be followed became clear, direct and simple. S.A. Poltoratskaya. Bright moments I will never forget my first acquaintance with dear Father, Father John. It was in St. Petersburg. I was nervously ill then and, completely weakened from illness, spent all my time in bed. Many doctors visited me... But someone - I don’t remember who exactly - advised our family to invite Father John to me to pray with him for the sick woman. We wrote to Kronstadt. We waited quite a long time. We were afraid that the Lord would not honor us with this happiness. And I was still lying sick... One day my husband went to dinner with a relative. Suddenly they run with a report: “Father John has arrived!..” So unexpectedly... I am in complete despair that my husband is not at home and he will not meet Father John. A priest runs in... Mild, deep, penetrating eyes... He runs up to me, puts his hand on my head, pressing firmly on the crown of my head, and looks intently... It seems that there is no such secret thought that he would not read... He’s in an extreme hurry: “My children, I’m in a terrible hurry to get to the train... let’s pray!.. Where two or three gather, Christ is always between them...” All my children are near Father. I also stood up and approached him. So he begins to pray. Only he knew how to pray like that! I forgot everything and everyone around me... You feel it... The voice is so extraordinary... He doesn’t read a prayer, but talks to Someone, Sees Someone in front of him, Asks Someone, earnestly asks... And I, a sinner, kneeling next to Father John, don’t pray, but think: “What a misfortune, how unfortunate Father has come: my husband is not at home, he won’t see him... Father is in such a hurry to leave, but I dreamed that he would sit in our dining room and bless our meal... The main thing is that you can’t ask him to go to the nursery and bless the crib of my beloved daughter!... And I don’t like that! I wanted!..” I woke up and saw that Father John had finished praying and was hastily blessing the children and the rest of those present, saying: “I’m in a hurry, I’m in a hurry to catch the train, kids...” He turns to me. He looks intently into my eyes and says: “Will you soon come to see me in Kronstadt? Soon?" Then, walking quickly with me through the dining room, he suddenly stops, looks me in the eyes and asks: “Where is your husband?” I answer: “He wasn’t expecting today, didn’t know you would be there... left for lunch...” Then Father John orders the children to quickly bring a portrait of their father. I'm not myself. How did he find out my secret desire?.. He looks at the card, crosses it and says: “Yes, I’ve known him for a long time, I’m familiar with him...” Then he wants to run again... and suddenly he stops again at the table where tea is set, takes someone’s poured cup, takes a sip, eats a piece of bread, and then gives me tea and bread, smiling so affectionately. I don’t remember myself from surprise and delight: after all, my second mental wish came true... He’s in a hurry again: “We must, we must hurry: the train will leave, children...” Everyone runs forward through the living room to the hallway. From there there is an exit from the apartment. But suddenly Father, instead of running after everyone into the living room and beyond, turns sharply to the small door covered with wallpaper, runs along the corridor and... straight into the nursery, to my Varyusha, to her crib... He baptizes the crib, while looking slyly and affectionately at me, completely lost from the surprise of the fulfillment of my third secret and, moreover, most important desire... We run to the exit again. I help Father John get into the carriage. He blesses me with the words: “Soon, soon come to Kronstadt!” - and leaves... I, as if healthy, ran back up the stairs... There is no mention of illness... I’m talking about everything that happened... I’m going to Kronstadt... A few days later I was already in Kronstadt, fasted there and received communion from the hands of dear Father... These are my personal, family memories. And how much I can tell as an eyewitness! One day I was fasting in Kronstadt (and I did this every year), and it was my turn to go to the analogue placed opposite the Royal Doors. Father John finished confessing to some simple woman, dressed in a sundress, with a scarf on her head. This woman had already finished, received Father’s permission and began to go down the steps from the pulpit. Father John stood motionless near the lectern, deep in thought... For some reason I did not dare to approach... And suddenly he takes something out of his side pocket, some kind of package, runs after the woman, puts it in her hands (probably money), then comes back... still standing, thinking... again takes something out of his pocket... runs, catches up with the woman and again puts something in her hands... The crowd in St. Andrew's Cathedral was such that I could no longer observe, and most importantly, it was my turn to confess. The following incident made a strong impression on everyone. One day, during confession, Father John, interrupting the confession, stood at the Royal Doors and in a menacing, imperious voice, unusual for all of us, ordered the confessor to be taken away from him. She was still a young woman, dressed like a novice in a black dress, with a black scarf on her head, hanging low over her eyes... It turned out that she threw herself at Father John during confession and began to strangle him... What horror there was in the crowd!.. I remember another old woman, a society lady, who wanted to see Father John out of curiosity and went with me to Kronstadt. From Oranienbaum it was necessary to travel on horseback, in a wagon, on ice. In Oranienbaum, this lady had breakfast with hazel grouse... We arrive in Kronstadt and go straight to St. Andrew's Cathedral, where Father John was already conducting confession. There are not many people, and the psalm-reader lets us all behind bars to the lectern. I look: my companion is here too... I tell her: “There are only confessors here... Are you really going to confess?..” My neighbor rushed about, but it was already impossible to leave, the psalmist locked the bars and left... I said: “It’s true, the Lord wants you to confess to Father John!..” - “No, no, no! - the lady gets excited. “I can’t and I don’t want to!..” And the confession continues, mine is already over... Father is waiting... I look: my companion is at the lectern... What she said to Father John is unknown... They talked for a long, long time... And then she returns loudly sobbing, but calmed, peaceful... She only said that Father said: “Hazel grouse is not a sin... It’s a sin to overeat... you can also fast for the humble!..” That same day, at late mass, my companion and I communed, so unexpectedly for her!.. During Great Lent, Father John also organized “general, popular confession.” One time I had to participate in it. The impression has not faded even now, after many, many years... In my opinion, these “folk, general confessions” should especially have an effect on the common people and be deeply felt by them. Dark, unlit St. Andrew's Cathedral in Kronstadt... It's towards evening... There are a lot of people, and the most diverse: elegant ladies, sensitives, officers, clergy, women in sundresses, peasants... You can barely stand: it's so cramped. Here Father John comes out of the altar. Immediately everything falls silent - and it was as if there was a buzzing in the hive - silence sets in... As if there was no one here in the cathedral. In a loud, nervous voice, Father John briefly explains what confession is and how one should approach it: forgetting everyone and everything, remembering only the Lord One, present here and waiting for repentance, sincere repentance of sins. He sees and knows every hidden sin, He will allow and forgive the one who does not hide anything... And with the words, sternly, loudly, spoken to the whole cathedral: “Repent!.. Repent out loud!..” - Father John kneels at the Royal Doors - to pray for all of us... We all... (I’ll tell you about myself and think that, of course, we all felt the same way). The neighborhood is forgotten: here, next to me, an elegant lady shouts out something loudly and asks, then a Chuika in greased boots repents at the top of her voice, an officer remembers something, not embarrassed by the presence of others... I don’t care... No one cares... All these ladies, men, officers, Chuikas 18 - what do I care about them at this moment!.. I try to remember everything, not forget anything, say everything, loudly repent. After all, the Lord hears everything, sees everything, knows everything... He listens... Rumble, screams, sobs, nervous cries, even groans... Suddenly we hear a voice... we raise our heads - and we see Father John already standing facing us and talking to us. Everything immediately became quiet. Quiet, so quiet... We wait... we hear: “In the name of the Lord I forgive and give permission!..” God, how light my heart is! You know, I didn’t hide anything, He, the Omniscient God, heard everything and forgave, allowed... What peace, what happiness you feel in your heart... The next morning, Father John introduced everyone, and he reached the point of complete exhaustion, poor thing. And although two priests helped him give communion, everyone, of course, strove for him, for Father John, and considered themselves unhappy if they didn’t get it... It happened that Father refused and did not give the Holy Mysteries, saying to the communicant: “Wait: you are not ready yet!..” How everyone was afraid of this!.. And now we no longer have our dear prayer book. He is near the Lord now, near the Lord, before Whom he now offers his prayers. Do not forget, great prayer book of the Russian land, and us sinners in your unceasing prayers, us who will never forget you! V.M. Two days in Kronstadt. We are talking about an English preacher who came to St. Petersburg in 1874. Lord Radstock was a follower of evangelical Christians - one of the movements in Protestantism, related to Baptistism. He taught that faith alone was enough for salvation, while they rejected: church hierarchy, the Sacraments, veneration of the cross, icons, relics of saints, etc. - Ed. Stundists were the name given to representatives of various religious movements (Pashkovites, Molokans, Doukhobors, etc.) in Russia cep. XIX century. – Ed. How much more can this assessment apply to people who consider various barren Hindus to be new incarnations of the Son of God? Probably Chukhons. In St. Petersburg, this was the name given to the Finns who lived in the vicinity of the city. – Ed.