Профессор И. М. Андреевский

Travel to Sarov and Diveevo in 1926 From early childhood I heard a lot about the Sarov monastery and the wondrous Diveyevo, where the holy Venerable Seraphim, the wonderworker of Sarov and all Russia, labored. I often dreamed of visiting there, but for a long time I did not succeed. One day in the summer of 1926, in the month of July, I had to be in Kyiv. Once I was sitting on the banks of the Dnieper and admiring the Kiev Pechersk Lavra. A stranger came up to me and spoke. He announced about himself that, traveling to holy places, he was now going to go from Kiev to Sarov, to the relics of St. Seraphim. “How lucky you are,” I told him, “to be in such a holy place. But I’ve been dreaming of going there for a long time, but I still can’t!” Then the wanderer stood up, looked at me intently and said: “Servant of God John! You will be there before me." After that, he blessed me and left. I arrived in Leningrad and found out that my new service would begin only in September. One of my friends advised me to use my free time and go to Sarov. I ended up with a little money in my hands, and in addition, I received a free ticket on any route on my new service. On August 5, new style, I went to the city station to find out when I needed to validate my ticket: on the day of departure or earlier. I was very sorry that Seraphim’s Day, July 19 (August 1, New Art.) had already passed. My friend consoled me and said that in the second half of August in Diveevo the day of the icon of the Mother of God of Tenderness is celebrated, before which the Monk Seraphim prayed all his life and died. I really wanted to visit Diveevo and Sarov on this very holiday, and I prayed to the Most Holy Theotokos and St. Seraphim to bring me there on this day. I planned to leave on August 7th. In response to my request to validate a ticket for August 7, the cashier for some reason suddenly told me: “Why do you need to go the day after tomorrow, go tomorrow!” – and validated my ticket for August 6th. My spiritual father, Archpriest Sergius Tikhomirov, who was shot by the Bolsheviks in 1930, told me that when traveling to St. Seraphim, everything works out by itself and there is no need to resist it. Remembering this advice, I submitted to the need to leave a day earlier than expected, although I was somewhat upset. On August 6, late in the evening I arrived at the station, but there I learned that the train to Moscow was leaving late at night, and I had two hours of free time left. I approached the Church of the Sign of the Mother of God, which was subsequently destroyed by the Bolsheviks after the death of Academician I.P. Pavlov, who was a parishioner of this church. For some reason I knocked on the door of a closed church. Despite the late hour, the old watchman opened the door for me and, having learned that I would like to pray before the pilgrimage to Sarov, he cordially let me in, saying: “Pray, pray, because in our church we have the chapel of St. Seraphim.” I was very surprised and happy about this. When I prayed in front of the large, full-length image of St. Seraphim, I felt in my heart that he himself blessed me for the journey. After church, I went to see one of my distant relatives near the station. She treated me to tea. My relative lived in a so-called “communal apartment”, where there were many rooms and where many different people lived. During a conversation over a glass of tea, there was a knock on the room, and some unfamiliar woman asked: “Is there a wanderer here who is going to Sarov?” I was surprised and said: “Yes, I’m going to go to Sarov.” “So one old sick woman living in the last room asks to pray for her at the relics of St. Seraphim, whom she greatly honors. And here are 50 kopecks for prosphora. This woman's name is Sofia. She asks you to pray and also to know your name so that she can pray for you too. Maybe some Sofia will shelter you on the way!” I took 50 kopecks, said my name and promised to pray for God’s servant Sophia. Late at night I left Leningrad for Moscow. I knew that in Moscow there are two trains to Arzamas: one leaves in the morning and arrives in Arzamas at night, and the other leaves at night and arrives in the morning. Of course, I decided to take the second, overnight train, so as not to worry about lodging for the night and not to spend extra money on it, which I took with me, on the advice of my spiritual leaders, only five rubles. In addition, I took a small amount of medicine with me. I am a doctor, and along the way, maybe someone will need medical help. I expected to spend the whole day, before the departure of the night train, in Moscow, where I had not been for a long time, with my relatives, friends and acquaintances. But when I went to the ticket office in Moscow to validate my ticket for the night train, here, as in Leningrad, the cashier suddenly told me for some reason: “You will still be in time for the morning train, because you just need to cross the square and there is the Kazansky station, from which the train to Arzamas leaves in half an hour.” And he gave me a ticket for the morning train. I was very upset by this, but, remembering that I had to resignedly submit to what would happen, I decided that, perhaps, thanks to an earlier departure, I would meet someone I needed or avoid some kind of trouble. The train was crowded with people. All around you could hear swearing, screams, and bad harmonica music. The train moved slowly, stopping for a long time at stations. We drove all day. Evening came, darkness fell, and it began to rain. People began to leave the carriage, and when the train approached Arzamas at night, there were almost no passengers left. Worried by the thought that at night, in the dark, in the rain, without money, I would arrive in an unfamiliar city, I covered my eyes with my hand and mentally prayed to St. Seraphim to help me with lodging for the night. Suddenly, an elderly, cleanly and neatly dressed woman came up to me and spoke to me. Having learned that I was from Leningrad and going to Sarov, to see St. Seraphim, she was touched and delighted. - Well, where will you spend the night? Do you have any relatives or friends here? I replied that I had no acquaintance in Arzamas and that I had just prayed that St. Seraphim would help me find accommodation for the night. “Well, then spend the night with me, father,” the woman exclaimed. Sofia herself will shelter you,” she added. I shuddered, remembering the words spoken to me yesterday that “maybe some Sofia will shelter him,” and I was very surprised why this woman spoke of herself as “Sofia herself.” – Is your name Sofia? – I asked her. – No, I’m Ksenia Dmitrievna Kuznetsova, but I work as a watchwoman at the St. Sophia Cathedral and live right under the bell tower. So I said that Sophia, the Wisdom of God, will shelter you! Ksenia Dmitrievna led me in the dark through the city of Arzamas and brought me to her room under the bell tower of the St. Sophia Cathedral. “I’ll give you some tea, feed you, and put you to sleep on the bed, and I’ll lie down in the corner on the floor!” - she said. I protested, saying that I would happily lie down on the floor, and added that, unfortunately, I had very little money. - What are you, what are you, father! You yourself need money, so I will give it, but I won’t take anything from you. Where has it been seen that a wanderer to holy places can take money for an overnight stay? And I won’t put you on the floor, but you will lie on the bed... I don’t want to go to hell because of you! – she unexpectedly concluded. Seeing my surprise, she said: “The wanderer must have honor and respect and the best bed in the house, otherwise the Lord will be angry!” In the morning she again gave me something to drink and feed, put some cakes in a bag, gave me a large wooden staff with a cross, which she asked me to return on the way back, and, indicating the way to Diveevo, which was seventy kilometers away, advised me to cover this distance in two days. “But before you go to St. Seraphim,” said Ksenia Dmitrievna, “don’t be lazy and go in the opposite direction two kilometers and venerate the miraculous image of St. Nicholas the Wonderworker in the St. Nicholas Convent.” At first I thought to myself - why would I change the planned route to Diveevo, and then I realized that with this thought I had offended the wonderful St. Nicholas, whom, like St. Seraphim, I had especially revered since childhood. And I first went to the St. Nicholas Monastery. There I saw the miraculous image of St. Nicholas, carved out of wood. It seemed to me that St. Nikolai looked at me sternly. I fell to my knees and asked forgiveness for my thoughts. With a staff in my hands, I set off on the road towards Diveevo. It began to rain heavily. I was wet to the bone, and it seemed to me that St. Nikolai sent me an easy penance test for my negligence. With great difficulty, tired and exhausted, I reached the first village of Yamishche. The village really stood in a large hole, in a ravine, and I remembered the description of one village in Chekhov’s story “In the Ravine.” The village was dirty, noisy, unfriendly. There was some kind of Soviet holiday, they played harmonicas, and loud swearing was heard. I walked through the entire village and did not dare to stop anywhere to rest. The sun came out, it began to dry out, and I, having rested on a pebble behind the village, moved on. The weather has completely cleared up. At ten o'clock in the evening, already in complete darkness, I reached the village of Orekhovets, halfway to Diveevo. I had to spend the night, and I began knocking on huts. But they didn’t let me in anywhere, learning that I was a “passer-by,” a “wanderer.” Sometimes they said rudely: “Go away, there are a lot of you hanging around here.” Finally, one villager told me: “The priest lives there, maybe he’ll let you in.” I went to the priest's house and knocked. A few minutes later, shuffling steps were heard, and the old priest opened the door. In response to my request for an overnight stay, he replied that, unfortunately, he could not accept me, since this was forbidden to him by the authorities under pain of severe punishment, but he advised me to go to the hut on the corner, to the Komsomol, where I could, perhaps, spend the night. “Oh, father,” I answered, “but not the Komsomol.” I’m going to St. Seraphim to pray... Don’t be afraid of me, I have valid documents with me, I’m a believer... “Besides, my children are sick,” the priest interrupted me. “Father,” I exclaimed hotly, “but I’m a doctor, and by the way, a specialist in children’s diseases, I will examine your children, and I have medicines with me.” The priest, convinced by my arguments, let me in and introduced me to my mother. After examining the sick children, I reassured the parents that it was only the flu and gave them medicine. Mother put on the samovar, the three of us sat down to tea, started talking, and after about an hour we became friends. “Forgive me,” the priest suddenly said, “that I wanted to refuse you accommodation for the night.” God sent me such an interesting guest, but I wanted to drive him away. I, in turn, apologized for being so intrusive in my request for an overnight stay. After spending the night, early in the morning, having drunk tea and bagels, I moved on. Mother dried, cleaned and ironed my dress and put some cakes in my bag. Father made me promise to spend the night with him on the way back. The day was clear, warm, the birds were singing, and my soul was light. I walked and prayed to St. Seraphim, overtaking passers-by. Everyone smiled welcomingly and bowed. I spoke to some. “Look, you see how many people are coming and going,” one passer-by said to me, “after all, they are all coming to the monk, from different ends of the Russian land!” Indeed, no matter who I asked, everyone answered that they were going and going to St. Seraphim. There was no one here and from where. And ordinary people, and intellectuals, and men, and women, and youth, and children. Some were from Moscow, others from Odessa, others from Arkhangelsk, others from Siberia... This surprised me extremely and made me especially happy. “You see, a young man, a monk, is going up the hill in front, this is Father Platon, the son of the famous professor Ivan from Moscow. At a time when everyone is striving to join the Komsomol, he became a monk,” one elderly lady from Tula explained to me. For some reason I suddenly wanted to get to know this young monk better. I caught up with him, bowed, started talking, and we became friends. We spent the entire subsequent journey together. U o. Plato only had a ticket from Moscow to Arzamas and back. He had neither money nor things. “Reverend Seraphim will always provide food and provide lodging for the night,” he said with conviction. – Do you have any acquaintances in Diveyevo? – I asked him. - No, but St. Seraphim will send his acquaintances! “Perhaps through me, a sinner, he will send you these acquaintances,” I said. “I hope to meet in Diveevo my good friend, a doctor-professor, who, after the death of her husband, also a professor, went to Diveevo and works there in the monastery hospital,” I explained to Fr. Plato. “Well, thank God,” answered the young monk. We moved on. Once, when I proposed to Fr. Plato should sit and rest, he answered me: “No, you can’t rest, you have to hurry, otherwise we’ll be late for the all-night vigil. It’s such a great holiday!” - What holiday? – I was surprised. - Well, tomorrow is the feast of the Diveyevo Icon of the Mother of God of Tenderness, and at the same time the feast of the Smolensk Mother of God Hodegetria. The veil seemed to fall from my eyes, and I immediately understood why, both in Leningrad and in Moscow, the cashiers validated my tickets almost two days earlier than I wanted. The obvious help of the Mother of God, who answered my prayers to hold the Diveyevo Feast of Tenderness there. Here Hodegetria, that is, the Guide, took me by the hand and led me to the Day of Tenderness, touching my soul with quiet joy... We approached Diveyevo as the bells were ringing, right at the beginning of the all-night vigil. The fatigue was gone, even though we had walked more than thirty kilometers. There were a lot of people in the church. Three bishops served - the Reverends Seraphim, Philip and Zinovy. That evening and the next day, about 3,000 pilgrims came to Diveevo. When I asked one nun whether Professor Dr. V.V. Shch. was in the monastery, she answered me that “Mother Vera is here,” and took me to V.V., who was already a nun and was in charge of the monastery hospital. “You will spend the night in the hospital,” she told me and Fr. Plato. I have one room with two beds that is completely free. Now go to church. After the service, come and have tea with me... The service was wonderful. A wonderful choir, very special “Diveyevo” motifs and style of singing... After the all-night vigil, Fr. Plato visited V.V. and talked for a long time about the wondrous Diveyevo, about the Monk Seraphim and his covenants. “Tomorrow after mass we will immediately go to Sarov, to the relics of St. Seraphim,” said Fr. Plato, and I agreed with him: “Hurry to Sarov!” “No,” said V.V., “you need to stay in Diveyevo for at least a day.” Don't you know what St. Seraphim said? Happy is the one who stays in Diveevo for a day, for the Most Holy Theotokos will pass by him. The Lady descends to earth once a day and walks around the monastery. Then V.V. told us that there is a “rule” of St. Seraphim that must be followed, namely: walk around the ditch three times with a rosary in your hands, that is, along the path around the monastery, and read the “Mother of God” 150 times and the “Our Father” 150 times, then pray for all relatives and friends, both living and dead. After this, you can say your most heartfelt, most necessary desire and it will certainly come true. One of Diveev’s novices once said to Mother Abbess Alexandra: “I wish I knew this minute when the Lady goes around the monastery along the ditch!” To this the mother abbess replied: “But live all day as if at this time the Most Holy Theotokos is passing by you!” Wonderful answer. Of course, we decided with Fr. Plato will stay one more day in Diveevo. In the evening, after examining all the sights of the monastery, especially the cemetery where the Manturovs, 19-year-old Maria Martha, and other nuns, known from the “Chronicle of the Seraphim-Diveevsky Monastery” by Metropolitan Seraphim Chichagov, are buried, Fr. Plato, with rosary in hand, began to follow the “rule” of St. Seraphim and quietly walked three times along the ditch around the monastery. I expected to ask myself a lot after the walk, both from the spiritual and material realms. But when, at the end of the third round of the ditch, I had completed all the rules and wanted to express my heartfelt desires, a miraculous phenomenon happened to me, obviously by the great mercy of St. Seraphim. I was suddenly overcome by a very special spiritual quiet, warm and fragrant joy - an undoubted conviction with my whole being in the existence of God and in completely real prayerful communication with Him. And so it became completely obvious and clear to me that any request for something earthly would be tantamount to a prayer: Lord, get away from me and deprive me of Your wonderful gift... And I internally fervently turned to the Lord: “Lord, don’t give me anything, take away all earthly well-being from me, just don’t deprive me of the joy of communicating with You, or if this cannot be preserved forever in our life, then give me a heartfelt memory, give me the opportunity to preserve until death the memory of this real blissful moment of feeling Your Holy Spirit!” The next day we went with Fr. Plato in Sarov... They venerated the relics of St. Seraphim with great excitement, with spiritual fear and reverence. I felt that I was spiritually born yesterday in Diveevo. Everything became new inside. Before, I did not understand such a simple truth that the spiritual differs from the spiritual more than the spiritual from the physical. And now I understand it all well. Inside, in the depths of my soul, it was quiet, calm, joyful. The external miracles at the shrine of St. Seraphim that happened before my eyes were not amazing. It all seemed simple and natural. A withered boy was healed at the relics, a mentally ill woman was healed; all this was as it should have been. An old monk always stood at the relics of St. Seraphim. He had held this position for many years - to stand at the relics and consecrate icons and crosses. One of my friends, who was in Sarov many years ago, told me the following incident. Approaching the relics of the monk in line and holding in his hands a small icon for consecration, he noticed that an old monk named Isaac was taking the icons, placing them alternately on the forehead and chest of the monk and then returning them back; sometimes, if the images were large, a seal was placed on them: “Consecrated on the relics of St. Seraphim of Sarov.” My friend, an engineer by profession, thought to himself: “How can this be so? After all, the icons should be blessed with holy water!.. But he said nothing and, approaching the elder, silently handed over his icon. Then the monk suddenly stopped for one second in his movement, as if in indecision, and did not place the icon either on the forehead or on the chest of the Monk Seraphim, but asked one of the novices to bring holy water and sprinkled the icon with it. Obviously, the elder was a seer and read thoughts. Looking at this elder, I remembered the story of my friend, who later accepted the priesthood... In Sarov, we visited the Near and Far Hermitages, examined the wells dug by the Monk Seraphim, bathed in a holy spring of healing water, saw under glass the stone on which the Sarov ascetic prayed for 1000 nights and days, and much more. We also saw one old nun, who told us that in 1903, at the opening of the relics of St. Seraphim, she was present when the letter of St. Seraphim (addressed to “the fourth Tsar who will come here”) was handed over to the Sovereign Emperor Nicholas II. The letter was kept in the Sarov Monastery for four reigns. The Emperor was deeply moved when he read this letter. No one knows anything about the contents of the message. The nun’s story really amazed me, because I had never heard of this fact anywhere. Fr. and I Plato really wanted to get even a tiny grain of sand from the stone on which St. Seraphim prayed, but we were told that if every visitor to Sarov were given a grain of sand, the stone would have long since disappeared. Father Plato invited me to go with him into the depths of the forest and pray to St. Seraphim that he would send us a grain of sand from his stone. Like children, with the firm belief that our prayer would be heard, we knelt down and prayed. Our prayer was soon answered. Less than half an hour had passed when, wandering through the forest, we stopped near a large wooden cross, of which there were a lot in the Tambov province in the forests, fields, and roads. This cross was painted with paints by one nun, who depicted the Savior. The nun was finishing her work when we approached her and said hello. “Varvara,” she answered. – How well you write! - I said. “No, not really,” mother Varvara said modestly, “this is not my specialty; I am a miniaturist. Now, sometimes some bishops received pieces of the stone of St. Seraphim, the size of a fingernail, and so I wrote the faces of the saint on such a stone... - Mother! - Fr. exclaimed. Plato, - but we would so much like to get at least a grain of sand from this stone! The nun looked at us intently and said: – As the greatest shrine, I treasure a few grains of sand from the holy stone... These grains of sand remained with me after polishing the pebbles on which I wrote images. But these grains of sand are kept by my relatives, far away, seventy kilometers from here... Maybe you will give me your addresses and I will send you these grains of sand by mail... I had two envelopes with stamps. I wrote my own, Leningrad, and Fr. Platon – Moscow address, added “registered” and gave it to Mother Varvara. (Two weeks after returning home, I received several of these grains of sand by mail, as promised by Varvara’s mother, whom I had to meet in the Sarov Forest under such strange circumstances.) Over the next two days we visited a wonderful icon-painting art workshop, talked with many old monks and nuns; we walked through a dense forest with huge pine trees, two girths wide; we breathed in “the incense of Sarov pines,” as one Russian poet, Klyuev, put it about the fragrance of Sarov. I decided to purchase a small silver icon with the image of the Mother of God of Tenderness on one side, and St. Seraphim on the other, to wear around my neck all my life. But, unfortunately, such an icon, which is usually available in large quantities in the monastery, was not available at this time. I was very upset by this circumstance, but Fr. Plato told me: “Pray for St. Seraphim to send you this icon.” Again with childlike faith, Fr. Plato asked the monk to send me this icon (my companion already had one). “Well, now, when you arrive home, you will definitely receive this icon,” Fr. told me with conviction. Plato. Either someone will give it to you or you will buy it!” Having been spiritually nourished in Sarov and Diveevo, we went back to Arzamas. It is customary to come to Sarov from Arzamas on foot for 70 miles. “Whoever comes to visit me needs to take off his little shoes,” St. Seraphim used to say. Therefore, almost all pilgrims came to Sarov on foot. However, they usually went back on carts that could accommodate ten people, a ruble per head... But the conditions of the trip were such that all ten of them did not sit at once, but took turns, walking part of the way. Fr. and I And so we went with Plato. The last night in Sarov I hardly slept, but listened to the tower clock striking. Every minute they struck once with a thin bell, then the quarters with a slightly larger bell, and finally the hours were struck with a large bell... On the way to Arzamas, we noticed another cart ahead of us, also hired by a dozen passengers. Among these latter, our attention was attracted by two female figures: a young schema-nun and her companions, sisters of mercy in a white headscarf. The sister of mercy often sat down on the cart, although she was a strong, red-cheeked woman. The schema-nun, pale, fragile, extremely sickly in appearance, walked cheerfully and never sat down on the cart. We became interested in these praying mantises, caught up with the sister of mercy and got into conversation with her. Having learned that I was a doctor, the nurse asked me: “Explain to me, doctor, how to understand the following case.” And she told me that her relative, a young nun of the Smolensk Monastery Veronica, was sick with pulmonary tuberculosis in the last stage. Doctors sentenced her to death two to three weeks later. Then she begged to be given the schema and then taken to the relics of St. Seraphim. She was brought barely alive in a separate train compartment and then on a cart to Sarov. Venerating the relics of St. Seraphim, Mother Veronica felt healed and said: “Forgive me, St. Seraphim, that I couldn’t come to you on foot and wear my little shoes, but now I won’t go back to Arzamas, but will walk seventy kilometers.” And here she comes. I replied that I am not only a doctor, but also a believing Orthodox Christian, and therefore I understand this fact as an undoubted miracle created by the Monk Seraphim... Three years after this event, being in the Solovetsky concentration camp for my religious beliefs, I met there with Bishop Hilarion from Smolensk, who told me that Mother Veronica remained alive until 1929, when he was taken away from there, and about Many believers in the Smolensk region know her miraculous healing... On the way to Arzamas, Fr. Plato and I stopped by Fr. Alexey, a priest in the village of Orekhovtsy, and spent an unforgettable hour with him in spiritual conversation while the horses were resting. In Arzamas I said goodbye to Fr. Plato: he went to Moscow, and I went to see my new friend, the guard of the St. Sophia Cathedral, Ksenia Dmitrievna. I returned her staff to her, thanked her for everything, and had a heart-to-heart talk with her. “I don’t know what to give you as a souvenir,” said Ksenia Dmitrievna and thought for a minute. Yes, that’s what!.. I’ll find such an icon in Sarov, but you’re unlikely to get it in Leningrad. And she took a small silver icon from her neck and showed it to me. Don't you have such an icon? I looked and was stunned: it was an icon with the image of the Mother of God of Tenderness and St. Seraphim. It was such an icon that I and Fr. Plato prayed the day before in the forest. “This icon,” Ksenia Dmitrievna explained to me, putting it on me, “lay on the forehead and chest of St. Seraphim on the day of the opening of his relics in 1903... I went home, and since then, for more than 25 years, this icon has been with me constantly. God grant that I may go to the grave with her. I hope so strongly. My whole life changed after my pilgrimage to the Sarov Hermitage. The Lord took from me, through my prayer on the ditch, all earthly blessings, but preserved forever the memory of that moment when, by His boundless mercy, by the mercy of the Most Holy Theotokos and through the prayers of St. Seraphim, I, a sinner, was completely undeservedly privileged to experience within myself the quiet, joyful, good and fragrant breath of the Holy Spirit of the Lord...