Анатолий Тимофиевич

In Diveyevo in the summer of 1926 Waking up early in the morning, I immediately could not even figure out where I was and what was wrong with me. And suddenly the thought flashed like an arrow: God, it’s not in a dream, but in reality I am in blessed Diveyevo. I jumped up and rushed to the window. In front of me, all in the rays of the rising sun, like a wonderful vision, stood a large five-domed church. The morning fog swirled like incense. Separate from the church there was a bell tower. No, this is not a dream, but in reality! I'm in Diveyevo! This thought made my heart flutter with joy. My companion also woke up, and we, quickly dressed and without disturbing anyone, walked towards the cathedral. We climbed the steps of the high porch and entered it. Beautiful, full of light, decorated with amazing Diveyevo painting, the cathedral amazed with its, I would say, some kind of spiritual beauty and harmonious combination of all its lines. The first thought was, of course, to fall to the greatest shrine of Diveyevo - the miraculous image of the Mother of God “Tenderness”, before which St. Seraphim prayed all his life and died. Here it is, the famous shrine, in a golden tsate with precious stones, on the right side of the church. In these early hours there was almost no one in the church, with the exception of a few nuns, and we were able to pray privately as we wished. Soon the bell rang for mass, and the cathedral began to fill with worshipers. The Liturgy passed quickly. At the end of it, a novice came up to us and conveyed an invitation to tea on behalf of the mother-treasurer. We heard a lot about Mother Lyudmila, the treasurer of the monastery, back in Kiev as one of the living attractions of the monastery, a great prayer book and keeper of church traditions and monastic traditions. When we entered a large room, where several nuns were already sitting at the table, we were greeted by Mother Lyudmila herself. Two novices lightly supported her by the arms. She was completely blind, of average height, looking like a very young old woman, wearing a white apostolic coat, all shining with some kind of inner, unearthly beauty. A light blush appeared on his lively face. Blindness not only did not spoil him, but, perhaps, spiritualized him even more. I remembered the words of Nilus: “Old age in Diveyevo is amazingly pleasant.” “You’re welcome, you’re welcome, my dear, long-awaited ones,” said mother. “Well, thank the Lord, we finally got ready and came to visit the reverend,” mother continued, “it’s long, long overdue, he can’t wait for you.” Confused, not knowing what to answer, we silently approached her for a blessing. She was given prepared images of St. Seraphim on enamel in metal frames. Mother slowly overshadowed each of us with them in the shape of a cross and, holding her hand a little on her head, added: “May the Lord protect, may the Lord preserve, may the Lord guide us through the prayers of the Queen of Heaven and St. Seraphim!” - And so much genuine affection sounded in her old voice, and the smile on her lips was so welcoming, that you were drawn to her with your whole being. Only a loving mother could greet her children like this after a long, long separation. After tea and a short conversation, mother called her novice: - Grunushka, take our guests to Mother Cypriana. Let them live with her there. She is the elder of spiritual life, and the place is blessed, so it will be good. We warmly thanked mother Lyudmila for her exceptional Diveyevo hospitality. I dared to ask her for permission to photograph some corners of Diveevo, especially the ditch, the image of which I had never seen anywhere. “Well, take it off for the glory of God,” mother answered smiling, saying goodbye to us. On the way, we began to ask our companion where she was taking us and who Cyprian’s mother was. - And this is what our blessed Praskovya Ivanovna lived in her cell and looked after her. A strict mother, and also an ascetic. It’s no wonder, after living with the blessed you can gain spiritual intelligence. “Tell me, sister,” I asked again, “how long has Cyprian’s mother been saved in the monastery?” - Oh, from a young age, her brother is also a hieromonk in Sarov, and now her own niece is also a novice with us, the whole family, therefore, has gathered under the wing of the reverend. Unnoticed, we approached a small wooden house with an iron roof, standing at the very gate of the monastery fence, and I immediately recognized it from the photographs I had seen many times before. It was a one-story house with a veranda, in which the great holy fool for Christ, blessed Praskovya Ivanovna, lived for many years. Here the Emperor and Empress visited her in the memorable year of 1903, the year of the discovery of the holy relics of St. Seraphim. With some timidity we ascended the low porch. The novice accompanying us pushed the door, and we found ourselves in a small room from which three doors led. Having said the usual prayer, the novice knocked lightly on the middle door, from where a response “Amen” was immediately heard - and immediately a tall, thin nun in a black robe appeared on the threshold. Apparently she was very beautiful in her youth. The regular, thin features of a haggard face, large sunken gray eyes and a surprisingly transparent skin color with a waxy tint spoke of the internal battle that was going on in this soul. Our sister bowed from the waist. - Bless, mother, I brought guests from Kiev, they want to stay with us a little longer and pray, so Mother Treasurer blessed them to stay with you. “God bless,” answered the nun, meanwhile looking at us vigilantly. We are always glad to have guests, just the cell became free for you, only yesterday your people of Kiev left, and she named the name of the famous professor, the last rector of the Kiev Theological Academy, Archpriest G. and priest Sh. In my heart I really regretted that I had lost the opportunity to be in the monastery with them, since both were close to my heart, especially the first as my mentor and leader. Having learned that those who had left were our good friends, mother, somehow unnoticed by herself, lost her sternness, and even a smile appeared on her face. She opened the door to the right and showed a small cozy room with two windows overlooking the monastery courtyard. Two beds, several chairs, a table and a small bookcase made up all its furnishings. In the corner is a icon case with images and a glowing lamp. Everything was simple, but a woman’s hand was felt in everything: in the elegant curtains on the windows, in the rugs, in the knitted tablecloth on the table, and even in the modest bouquet of wildflowers standing. Before we had time to properly examine our future home and thank Mother Cypriana, she closed the door and said: “And first it will be good to venerate the shrine,” and she led us into the cell of blessed Praskovya. Its walls were completely covered with images, and what especially attracted our attention was the beautifully crafted Crucifix standing in the middle of the cell at full height. “The blessed one especially loved to pray before him,” my mother noted, “and how many nights the darling stood without sleeping, how many tears were shed, only the Lord knows.” To the left in the corner there was a large bed covered with a colorful blanket with many pillows. On the bed lay dolls of the most varied types, some of which only had one body left. “The path of holy fools is special,” mother continued, “and they also bless in a special way, so that people do not praise them for their holiness.” They are afraid of it like fire. Our little darling loved to play with dolls, dress them up and talk in her own way. At first, people who were unspiritual and unreasonable used to laugh, saying that your blessed one had somehow turned into a child, and, to be honest, sometimes they were strongly tempted by this and even scolded. And our little dear, our dear little one, is even more indulgent, beating some of her children, caressing others and combing their hair. And we began to notice that this was being done for a reason. As soon as he starts to dress someone up in a special way and comb his head, just look, someone in the monastery will give his soul to God, and when he gets angry and starts beating them, you know that some kind of misfortune is approaching the monastery. Only one day a merchant’s wife and her married daughter came to visit us. The merchant's wife, in order to please Praskovya Ivanovna, brought her a large doll from Moscow, all dressed up in silk and velvet. But as soon as she entered and bowed to her, Praskovya Ivanovna jumped up and ran in, and then grabbed a new doll, and with one wave she tore off her hand and stuck it in her daughter’s mouth. “Here, eat! Eat!” - shouts. She became faint, neither alive nor dead, her mother was also shaking, and I, a sinner, I must admit, was scared, and Praskovya Ivanovna shouted even more: “Eat! Eat!” They barely got the guests out. But it turned out that it all happened for a reason. The mother later repented that her daughter had killed her child in the womb. That’s what a sin came out, and all this was revealed to the blessed one,” Cyprian’s mother finished her story. After the monastery meal, which was brought to us in the cell, we visited Mother Abbess and gave her church wine for the monastery. Mother Abbess was unwell, and we did not stay with her long. Soon the bell rang for vespers, and we hurried to the church again. It was good after a hot summer day to enter under its arches, which breathed a slight coolness. There were not many people and it was easy to choose a secluded corner to pray without interruption. The quiet monastic singing of a special Diveyevo chant, the soulful service of the priest and the aroma of the shrine carried the soul somewhere far, far from the terrible modern reality. It was already evening when we, leaving the church, headed to the groove, which was consecrated, according to the monk, with the piles of the Mother of God Herself and to which he attached such special significance. Silent figures of nuns slowly moved along it, fingering rosaries and quietly whispering prayers. The ditch was a fairly large embankment with a ditch outward, and on top of it ran a well-compacted path, lined with large trees. The slopes of the ditch are overgrown with grass and wildflowers, which believers collect and keep as a shrine. We also went along the groove with prayer. The feeling of tenderness was indescribable when we touched this blessed mystery and seemed to join the stream of human souls, which for more than a century have been continuously flowing, according to the behest of the saint, behind the Queen of Heaven, in Her footsteps. There are many wonderful things in Diveyevo. Diveevo itself is a wonder, but perhaps the greatest of them all is the ditch. With the last breath of the monk, the Canal was also completed, which was destined in the future to be protection from the Antichrist himself. The whole meaning, the whole fullness of this innermost secret, of course, was revealed only to the monk, while we, sinners, were only given the opportunity to touch it, as if with the edge of a robe, and sacredly believe the words of the monk that not a single pebble was laid in Diveyevo without the instructions of the Queen of Heaven. In the history of Diveevo, there are many recorded cases when the monk himself apparently appeared to some of the believers, sometimes as a wanderer, sometimes as a monk, sometimes even entering into a conversation and suddenly disappearing from sight. We walked around the ditch several times with prayer and everyone didn’t want to leave, our souls were so light and joyful. We returned home completely in the dark. We were greeted, as always, by Cyprian's mother. The samovar was already making noise on the table and there were about a dozen saucers with the most varied types of treats: there was lingonberry jam, and marinated mushrooms, and cucumbers, and all sorts of other dishes. -Where does all this come from, mother? Who should we thank for this attention? “Our sisters learned that there are dear guests at the monastery, and everyone wants to console them with at least something.” We gratefully tasted this gift of love from the Serafimov orphans, and from then on, whenever we returned home, whether for lunch or dinner, some new “consolation” was always waiting for us on the table. However, all attempts on our part to get Cypriana’s mother to personally thank at least one of the culprits of this “consolation” were always followed by the inevitable answer: - Don’t worry, because the sisters do this from the bottom of their hearts, and you want to take away from them the joy that the priest sends them - to greet his guests. Once, when we were in Sarov and returned home, all our linen was washed, ironed and lay in a pile on the bed. Cyprian's mother herself, upon our departure, categorically refused to take a certain amount of money, which we persistently begged her to accept, and only seeing our genuine grief did she finally accept it. - Well, what can you do, this wouldn’t be necessary at all, oh, how it’s not necessary, well, so be it, I’ll take the sin on my soul. Ride in peace. I am writing about this with tears in my eyes, remembering all the unfeigned and touching love, friendliness, desire to caress in every possible way and the care of the Seraphim orphans for everyone who visits the earthly abode of the poor Seraphim. Early the next morning, someone quietly knocked on our cell, and a middle-aged nun, still unknown to us, entered with a surprisingly pleasant and kind face. “I heard that you are from Kiev,” she began, “and probably know M.I., a friend of our monastery, and therefore I wanted to see you, and perhaps do some service.” – We are sincerely glad, mother, for your arrival and acquaintance. The greatest service you could provide us is to show us your holy monastery. This is our first time here and we still don’t know much. - That’s great, after church we’ll go around the monastery! - How should I call you, mother? – I asked. “In monasticism I go by the name Alexandra, but in the monastery everyone just calls me Sanya,” answered our new friend. - So, you are the mother of Alexander, about whom our mutual friend M.I. told so many good things. “If it’s good,” mother grinned, “then it means it wasn’t about me, ask someone else, because our mocker M.I. loves to joke.” After the morning service and a short rest, Mother Alexandra and I set off for the monastery. We started by visiting the Kazan Church. The upper church in honor of the Nativity of Christ, small, but bright and cozy, the lower one, in honor of the Nativity of the Virgin Mary, built on the special instructions of the monk, very small, underground, with four pillars supporting it. “Oh, my joy,” said the monk, “four pillars - four relics!” On the right side of the church there is a grave-crypt of the founder of Diveev, nun Alexandra, in the world of Agafya Melgukova, next to it rests the wondrous servant of God, schema-nun Martha, then Elena Manturova 61. In front of them, surrounded by a cast-iron grate, is the grave of N. A. Motovilov, the great defender of the covenants of the venerable man, “servant of the Mother of God and Seraphim.” “Look,” Mother Alexandra suddenly noticed, “how N.A.’s slab split into a cross, and this happened quite recently.” Apparently, our monastery is destined to endure a difficult test. In fact, a huge stone slab, for a completely incomprehensible reason, gave a large crack along and across, forming the correct shape of a cross. “Yes, it’s amazing,” we agreed. On the left side of the church is a very modest, lonely grave with a small cross of his closest friend, co-conspirator and beloved disciple of the Monk Seraphim “Mishenka” Manturov 62, who carried out the greatest feat during his lifetime of selfless service to his elder and the newly created monastery. What all these names are dear and close to the heart, inextricably linked with the name of St. Seraphim. We fervently prayed for the repose of these great ascetics of piety, asking for their heavenly intercession on the difficult path of life. “Well, now let’s go to the cell where the first mother, Mother Alexandra, lived,” said our companion. Now this cell is located for safety, as if under the casing of the building erected above it. It itself is semi-underground, with small windows almost at ground level, and you need to go down the stairs into it. At the entrance to the cell there is a large, full-length portrait of the monk in a white robe, with a cap on his head, blessing with his right hand. The cell itself is divided into two parts by a partition; in the larger half, like a reception room, there is a table and a bench, in the corner there are many images, lamps glow. Leaning against the window is a small image of Saint Archdeacon Stephen, who mysteriously appeared when Mother Alexandra knocked on this window 63 . The other half of the cell is very small: in the depths of it there is a bed with a small headboard, which served as a resting place for the great ascetic, where she rested in the sleep of a righteous woman the next day after the visit of the Monk Seraphim, then still a hierodeacon 64 . From this room a door leads into a very tiny and dark closet, where one person can barely fit. In the corner hangs a Crucifix, illuminated by the light of a lamp. This is the place where Mother Alexandra most loved to spend time, the place of her secret exploits and prayer. Thanks to our companion, we received a small piece from the stone headboard as a blessing. After visiting Mother Alexandra’s cell, we headed to the house where blessed Pelageya, this second Seraphim, lived. Along the road, someone tall, without a hat, in bast shoes, and looked like a wanderer, was quickly walking towards us. A long white shirt almost reaching to the knees was belted with a sash, and his gray beard fluttered in the wind. He waved his arms as if arguing with himself, sometimes stopping for a moment, and then hastily starting to wave again. “Our Grisha,” whispered mother, “blessed 65,” and when he caught up with us, she bowed to him and said: “Well, Grisha, how are you saving yourself?” - but the wanderer did not pay any attention to us at all, only, stopping again for a minute, pointed his hand somewhere into space and said: “Hey, does it smell like smoke? “That’s the same,” he added, as if with some threat in his voice, and walked on again. We looked at each other in surprise, since no smoke was seen or heard anywhere. - Why would he do this? - my mother noted anxiously, - it’s not without reason that his soul apparently senses something. The Queen of Heaven will not allow any misfortune to happen. -Who is Grisha, mother? – we asked. “And this servant of God has long been attached to our monastery and has become like family to all of us.” Meek and gentle, he lives like a bird of heaven, not caring about anything. Our sisters respect him very much and believe that his prayers reach the Lord. Sometimes, however, he speaks secretly, so that sometimes you don’t even realize it, but, look, it then shows that our Grisha was not saying it in vain. While talking like this, we, unnoticed by ourselves, approached the house of blessed Pelageya, where she lived for 45 years. During her lifetime, the suffering, both physical and moral, of this great spiritual servant of God, rejected by everyone at first, and appointed by Seraphim himself to serve the Diveyevo monastery, was inexpressible during her lifetime. “Go, mother, go immediately to my monastery,” said Elder Seraphim, “take care of my orphans, and you will be the light of the world, and many will be saved by you.” Holyly fulfilling the will of the elder, despite the inhuman torture of her relatives, the slander and ridicule of those around her, blessed Pelageya retired to Diveevo, where for 45 years she shone with extraordinary feats, so that the mind refuses to comprehend all their greatness and power. And only on January 30, 1884, when she died, did everyone understand what an irreparable loss both the monastery itself and its countless spiritual children suffered with her loss. For nine days the body of the blessed one stood in the church without the slightest change. Day and night, without stopping, memorial services were held, a close crowd of people surrounded the one who, having rejected all the temptations of the world for the sake of Christ, defeated the machinations of the enemy of our salvation. With a trembling feeling we crossed the threshold of this cell. A dimly lit corridor, from which a door immediately to the left leads into a small hallway. Here, near the stove, sitting on the rug, she spent almost all nights, fighting sleep, half asleep, blissfully. Three doors led from the hallway to separate cells, in one of which she died. There is a wooden bed covered with a blanket, where she lay for the last three weeks of her life, suffering from a fatal illness. There are images hanging in the corner, and under them on the table lies a thick iron chain, with which the sufferer was once chained to the wall by her husband. The nun, who was reading the Psalter, looked up for a minute, took the chain off the table and let us kiss it, and then, to our great joy, again at the request of our guardian angel, Mother Alexandra, cut off two small pieces from the blanket in prayerful memory of the wondrous servant of God. “Well, that’s probably enough for today, otherwise we’re really tired,” said Alexander’s mother when we went outside. After all, you will still be staying with us. And tomorrow, God willing, we will finish our journey. We ended the day by attending evening worship, which we tried never to miss. At night, a thunderstorm passed somewhere nearby, and the sky was ominously blazing with lightning, but the morning was wonderful, cloudless, fresh, when Mother Alexandra and I again walked through the monastery. “Now we’ll visit Blessed Natalia,” said Mother. True, she is less known among the people, but she, too, was a great servant of God and went through a difficult, sorrowful path of foolishness. Some even in the monastery were initially tempted by her, but she endured everything and at the end of her life she was known to many for her gifts of grace. Oh, how easily we are ready to condemn everyone and how we always forget the words of the Lord: “He who is without sin, let him throw the first stone at her.” The building where Blessed Natalia once took refuge was behind the ditch on the left side of the cathedral. A small porch, a few steps up, and we are in the blessed one’s cell. Everything is kept in perfect order. You understand that this is not only a dear memory of the departed, but that these places, where the great battle of God’s chosen ones took place with the spirits of wickedness in high places, which ended in victory over them, and now invisibly strengthen and sanctify everyone who with faith calls on the names of their inhabitants. We did not stay here long and hurried to venerate the grave of Blessed Pelageya, which is now located behind the altar of the Trinity Cathedral. On it is a cast-iron slab surrounded by a fence and a large cross. From here it is very close to a wooden chapel where two small hand millstones for grinding grain are kept. The monk himself once used them, and then gave them to his beloved Diveev. Our hearts beat faster as we approached the great shrine - the Near Hermitage of St. Seraphim, transported after the death of the priest by his spiritual son and friend N. A. Motovilov to console orphans in Diveevo. Currently, this desert itself, more than a hundred years ago, is protected from the effects of time and bad weather by a special house-case. We were met by Mother Ilaria, the keeper of this shrine, and led inside. A completely dark small vestibule with a tiny square window almost at the height of a man, and then there is a door to the right into the cell itself. Here it is, all fragrant with the prayers of the priest, all illuminated by wondrous visions of the heavenly world, the desert of poor Seraphim, sanctified by the appearance of the celestials! Here the blessed presence of the monk is somehow especially truly felt and his voice sounds: “My joy!” With deep emotion we entered it and knelt down. Right on the wall there is a famous portrait - the image of the saint, so strikingly described by S. A. Nilus when he visited Elena Ivanovna, the wife of N. A. Motovilov, in 1903. This is what Elena Ivanovna told him about him then: “For a long time my husband begged Fr. Seraphim to allow the portrait to be removed from him, and only after repeated and long-term insistence did the priest agree.” This is the portrait of him that I want to show you - he is extraordinary: sometimes he looks sternly, and sometimes he smiles, and so welcomingly... Judge for yourself! In Elena Ivanovna’s prayer room, above a small table, on the wall, I saw this portrait. - Look, look: he’s smiling! And how he smiles! The face, directly facing the person entering, smiled with such a smile that the heart brightened, looking at this smile - there was so much goodness, greetings, unearthly warmth, purely angelic kindness in it. And this smile was not the frozen smile of a portrait: I saw that this face was becoming more and more animated, as if blooming.” Now this portrait, after the death of Elena Ivanovna, was transferred to the Near Hermitage, was in front of us. We kissed him with great reverence. In addition to the priest’s image, there were also other images in the cell that hung in it during the life of the monk. Lots of lamps. Apart from us, there were no strangers in the cell. It was so quiet, so calm in my soul, such a bright joy enveloped my entire being, that it seemed that I would never leave here. “Mother, dear,” I prayed, “please don’t be angry, but it’s so wonderfully good here that I want to stay longer.” - That’s great! Pray, pray, it’s not just you, but everyone feels who God will bring here, and peace of mind and holy joy through the prayers of the priest. A lot of time passed until we finally decided to leave this blessed corner. Hearing our steps, mother Ilaria also came out of her cell. “How happy you are, mother, that you live under the same roof as the monk,” I said. – Yes, it is God’s great mercy towards me, a sinner, that the Lord vouchsafed me to be in this obedience. Nowhere is the saint so close in spirit as in his desert. “I, a sinner, was not worthy,” mother continued, “but several years ago our sisters saw the priest here as if he were alive. They came somehow upset to pray and cry when the persecution of the Holy Church began and they killed the Tsar-Father. They remembered how the saint of God predicted the onset of a terrible time: “You will not live to see the Antichrist, but you will survive the times of the Antichrist,” he once told the sisters, prophesying the future. The sisters cried, grieved, and just left his cell, when over there, by the big birch tree that grows on the corner of the desert, stood our dear, our beloved father, with a cap on his head and in white clothes, and looked at them so kindly, kindly and at the same time mournfully. The sisters were speechless, then they screamed, and the priest turned the corner and disappeared from sight. For a long time afterwards, people in our monastery remembered this miraculous phenomenon,” mother finished. “And now,” she added, “just as during his lifetime the reverend father used to distribute crackers to those who came to him, so in our time the monastery has preserved this custom and gives, as if from the hands of the priest himself, as a blessing.” Let’s go to this window, where the priest himself once gave crackers, and take them yourself. We approached and saw on it a pile of black crackers specially cut into squares. We took them with joy, and to this day I have preserved them as a shrine. “Please accept this from me as a prayerful memory,” mother said, handing over several pieces of wood wrapped in paper. This is from the desert. We warmly thanked mother for the expensive gift. July 28 was approaching - the day of celebration of the greatest shrine of Diveyevo - the Tenderness icon. This holiday is always celebrated in Diveevo no less solemnly than July 19, the day of the opening of the relics of St. Seraphim. Pilgrims also began to arrive for this day. There were not so many of them compared to previous years, but still the monastery became significantly livelier. The all-night vigil was solemnly celebrated with the concelebration of three bishops. Could I have thought that this was the last nationwide glorification of the Queen of Heaven before the destruction of the monastery and that the Lord deigned me to still be present at it. In the morning at Liturgy we received Holy Communion. The holiday ended, the pilgrims dispersed, and the life of the monastery returned to its usual rut. There are no words, holidays in these monasteries are good for their solemn and splendid services, but for me personally, modest, everyday services have always been even more precious, when nothing external distracts or disturbs your prayerful mood. Our life in the monastery has already taken on certain forms. In the morning and evening, attend divine services; in the intervals between them, it is obligatory to walk around the cells of the blessed, ditches and hermitages. Gradually, our circle of acquaintances among the nuns of Diveyevo expanded, and we sometimes spent our free evenings after church with one or the other of the monastery elders, reveling in their inspired stories about the past of Diveyevo, about the countless miracles that took place there through the prayers of St. Seraphim. We had to visit Mother Lyudmila at least every other day, otherwise the novice would appear from Mother with instructions not to forget her and to visit her. We, of course, gladly accepted this invitation, and one day, at the request of the sisters, I photographed a whole group of them together with Mother Lyudmila... One evening, Mother Alexandra came to us and invited us to visit one of the nuns, who was now sick in her legs, could not move on her own, but would really like to get to know us. We immediately took advantage of this invitation and went. Alexander’s mother said the usual prayer, knocking lightly on the door, and from there a response “Amen!” was heard, and then a deliberately stern voice said: - Come on, show your guests, let me look at them. “There’s probably nothing to look at,” I answered jokingly instead of Alexandra’s mother, “you won’t see anything good anyway.” “What a funny answer,” the hostess smiled. Thank you for visiting the old woman, the Lord chained me to a chair for my sins, I am a great sinner,” mother sighed. Soon a conversation began over the tea. - Mother, how long have you been saving yourself in the monastery? – I started. - But I’m 23 years old, dear ones, I’m living in the monastery. When I came to the opening of the relics of our saint, I stayed here, the priest captivated me, took me to him and did not let me into the world anymore, where I almost lost my soul, if not for St. Nicholas. – Mother, not for the sake of idle curiosity, but for edification, share with us, if possible, the history of this event in your life. “Well, I don’t make a secret of this, especially since the Lord showed His mercy on me, a sinner.” I was born in a small town. My father died early, and I grew up with a mother who doted on me, her only child. With difficulty, she, poor, earned a living both for herself and for me, but I somehow understood this little then. She was very spoiled by her mother. Just give me everything, both this and that, and a new dress, and shoes, and how much sleepless nights it cost for my poor mother, I didn’t think about it at all. I was even brought up at the gymnasium on her last pennies; she wanted to give me an education. My mother was a very believer, and she tried to instill in me her faith and love for the Lord and always took me with her to church on holidays. True, I liked being in church, and especially at Easter Matins. I also loved the ringing of bells, but still did not show much religiosity. Dances, evenings, balls - this was my element, and how indignant I was that fate, as if it were evil, sent me such poverty as my lot! Self-esteem suffered terribly! But then the studies ended, and I firmly decided to make my way to an independent life. To St. Petersburg, to courses, salvation there! In vain did the poor mother beg me not to leave her, pointing out all the dangers of living alone in a big city - I was inexorable. Youth is cruel! My mother cried bitterly when she parted with me, and my soul was heavy, but the temptation of a free life overcame everything. My poor mother gave me the last crumbs of her savings for the journey, and removed a small image of St. Nicholas in a silver robe is our only wealth and, blessing me with it, she said: “God’s will be done, my daughter, my late mother blessed me in this way, and now I entrust you to St. Nicholas, all my life I prayed to him for your well-being and now I believe that he will take pity on my tears and protect you at the right moment. St. Petersburg immediately greeted me unfriendly, and I felt terrible that I had been torn away from my native shelter. I settled in a tiny furnished room with one landlady, laid out my meager belongings, hung the image in the corner and rushed to look for suitable activities. But there was still no work. In vain I ran around looking for lessons, since I didn’t know how to do anything else. I already owed rent for the apartment, and the landlady rudely demanded payment, and the hope of earning money was diminishing. Finally, I reached such an extreme that only the last 50 kopecks remained - and the image of St. Nicholas in a silver robe, which he did not have the courage to sell. I decided to use this money to advertise the job again in the newspaper, and then whatever happens. Ahead is either starvation or the shame of the street. I waited for two days without leaving the room, expecting that someone would show up, and then the hostess made such a scene that I fell into complete despair. I could have written to my mother, it’s true, but my pride didn’t allow it, and I knew that I had taken the last thing from myself. And so, on the third day after the announcement in the newspaper, I became so horrified by my helplessness that I decided to commit suicide. There was a bottle of acetic acid on the window. With a trembling hand, I poured its contents into a glass; I don’t remember how I grabbed it and brought it to my mouth. The gaze involuntarily somehow fell on the image of St. Nicholas. Suddenly I remembered my mother. – Will you forgive me, my poor mother? – I whispered quietly. Mechanically, I approached the corner where the image hung, holding out my hand with a glass. - Saint Nicholas, forgive me, a sinner! – she closed her eyes and opened her mouth to take a sip. Suddenly something hit me hard on the hand: the glass fell to the floor with a clink and broke into small fragments, and when I, in terrible fear, opened my eyes, I saw that on the floor, next to the broken glass, lay the image of St. Nicholas. Rising from the wall, he hit me on the hand so hard that I involuntarily dropped the glass. My nerves couldn't take it anymore. I fell on the bed and sobbed, feeling that an undoubted miracle had saved me. The image lay with me on the pillow, and I literally watered it with tears. Having barely calmed down, I lay down on the bed when suddenly there was an unexpected knock on the door. “Mistress, another unpleasant conversation,” flashed through my head. I open it. On the threshold, a decently dressed gentleman looks with surprise at my face, swollen from tears and disheveled hair. “I have an advertisement,” he says, “I need a teacher for a girl for the summer... Like in a fairy tale, after 2 days I was already like family with wonderful people as a governess. I didn’t tell anyone then what happened to me, not even my mother, so as not to upset her sick heart, but my life changed dramatically. Having earned money, I returned home, and we lived happily for five years. After her death, I firmly decided to go to a monastery, but I didn’t know which one, and just then the discovery of the relics of St. Seraphim approached. I got ready for Sarov, prayed fervently at the tomb of the saint of God, asking for his help, and on the way back I stopped in Diveevo, and went to see Blessed Pasha, and when she saw me, she screamed: “Where have you been before, where are you staggering, they are waiting for her here, waiting for her, but she still staggers God knows where!” - Yes, everyone threatens me with a stick. I, a sinner, realized that this was my destiny, and I stayed in Diveyevo. Throughout the story, mother’s face changed its expression, tears flowed from her eyes, she experienced her past as vividly as her present. We listened with no less attention to this story about the human soul, so wonderfully guided and protected by the Providence of God. The days flashed by one after another, and now a week has passed unnoticed since we were in Diveyevo. We lived surrounded by love, cordiality, genuine hospitality, reveling in the fragrance of the shrine of the blessed Diveyevo. It was decided that tomorrow we would definitely head there, but one circumstance happened that delayed our trip by one day. Quite unexpectedly for me, my childhood friend, the abbot of the Kiev Pechersk Lavra, Archimandrite Hermogenes, arrived with his cell attendant V. The meeting was very joyful. Unfortunately, he only had a day of free time. After farewell visits to Mother Abbess and the Treasurer, we, together with him and the nun given to accompany him, set off to venerate the shrines. This time, in addition to what we examined earlier, we were able to see in the altar and sacristy of the cathedral wonderful artistic utensils donated by many admirers of St. Seraphim. From here we went to the church in honor of the Tikhvin Icon of the Mother of God. It contains a lot of famous and revered icons of the Mother of God. This church was closed during our stay, and only occasionally did Bishop Seraphim perform services there, who was still here in honorable exile, whose deeply spiritual and bright appearance can never be forgotten. The church was not opened for ordinary pilgrims. This was the order of the authorities. Then we headed to the cemetery Church of the Transfiguration. Despite its more than modest appearance, it concealed many expensive shrines, and, first of all, the Far Hermitage of the Saint served as the altar of this church. Inside the church there were display cases where the saint's personal belongings were kept. Here are his mantle, bast shoes, an axe, a large cross that the monk always wore on his chest, a Gospel, slightly burnt at the time of his death. A showcase was opened for us, and we could directly venerate these tangible monuments to the life of the saint of God. Then mother led us into the altar. In one corner of it lay a stump of the tree that had once bowed down at the prayer of the monk, in the other corner - the remnant of the stone on which the monk had prayed for 1000 days and nights. It was already significantly reduced in size compared to its original appearance, as the believers took it apart piece by piece. Then mother led us to a small, inconspicuous-looking table standing behind the altar, and said: – This is also our great shrine. Throughout the life of the monk, the image of “Tenderness” stood on this table, and the head of the monk leaned on it at the moment of his death. Then she pulled out a small drawer from the table and added: “And this is the reverend’s cap, which he almost never took off from his head in the last years of his life, and this is his handbag.” The cap was dark, with a yellow lining, and the arms were green velvet with gold braiding that had darkened with time. We venerated these shrines with great reverence. Obviously, there was something in our eyes that mother completely unexpectedly took out the scissors and cut off a small piece from the lining and, pulling a thread from the handrails, distributed them to us. Oh, how I thanked the Lord and St. Seraphim then for this gift to me, a sinner, and blessed the providential visit of my friend, without whom I could hardly have received such a precious shrine. And to this day, in the cross with the relics of St. Seraphim, received much later, these shrines are kept in my possession as the most precious thing in the world. When we were returning home, Grisha came across us again. This time he smiled and, pointing his finger at the young cell attendant, Fr. Hermogenes, then not yet a monk at all and in secular clothes, said loudly: “Aha, deacon, aha, deacon,” and ran on. Father Archimandrite was in a hurry and rode to Sarov on horseback. I decided with my friend to definitely go to Sarov and back on foot, and we were just looking for a travel companion. Cyprian's mother, having learned about our desire to go to Sarov on foot, fully approved of this plan. Work hard for the sake of the monk, and he will not leave you, and perhaps I will send my niece with you on the road, she has been asking for a long time to pray in Sarov, and at the same time to visit his dear uncle, my brother, which means he is a hieromonk there. Stop by if you find him at home; he lives more in the forest than under a roof. Through the prayers of the monk, everything worked out as well as possible. The next day after the Liturgy, with a large metal can for water from the source and accompanied by our companion, guided by the blessing of Mother Cypriana, we set off. Nun Elena (Elena Vasilievna Manturova, 1805–28.5.1832) – the first head of the Mill community (Comp.). Mikhail Vasilyevich Manturov (1896–7/7/1858) was buried on the left side of the Church of the Nativity of the Virgin Mary, right under the window (Comp.). Here is how this is described in the “Chronicle of the Seraphim-Diveevo Monastery” by Archimandrite (later Metropolitan) Seraphim (Chichagov): “Alexandra’s mother was perplexed as to which saint to dedicate the third chapel [of the Church of the Kazan Icon of the Mother of God], and therefore one day she prayed all night in her cell to the Lord to indicate His will. Suddenly her knocking was heard in the small window and behind it a voice: “Let this throne be the first martyr Archdeacon Stephen!” With trepidation and joy, Alexander’s mother rushed to the window to see who was speaking to her, but there was no one, and on the windowsill she miraculously and invisibly found the image of St. the first martyr of Archdeacon Stephen, written on a simple, almost rough stump of a log. This image was always in the church and has now been transferred to the cell of the founder of the Diveyevo monastery" (St. Petersburg, 1903. P. 29) (Compiled). The Monk Seraphim, being a hierodeacon, visited Mother Alexandra in the first half of June 1789 together with the Sarov builder Fr. Pachomius and treasurer Fr. Isaiah. The first mother asked Fr. Seraphim “not to leave her monastery, as the Queen of Heaven Herself will then deign to instruct him to do so.” This name does not appear in other memoirs about the Seraphim-Diveevo Monastery. Perhaps we are talking about Blessed Onesimus, originally from the village of Osinovka.