Из воспоминаний Р. Г. Шемякиной

On May 22, 1909, at nine thirty minutes in the morning, the widow of Father John of Kronstadt, Elizaveta Konstantinovna Sergieva, quietly went to God, after much suffering. The cause of death, as determined by the doctor who used it, was senile decrepitude with an increasing decline in cardiac activity. The Lord vouchsafed her to prepare long and diligently for the transition to eternal life: in recent years, Elizaveta Konstantinovna, following the precepts and instructions of her prayer husband, received communion very often, either in the cathedral, or at home, when weakness in her legs did not allow her to leave the house, and in the last year - every day; She also received communion on May 21, but this, as it turned out later, was the last time: on that day, from six o’clock in the evening, she stopped looking at the light of God, and from ten o’clock she did not speak, showing no sign of consciousness. Her last word was: “I want,” which she said in response to the offer to drink holy water, but she could no longer swallow it; Soon after this, mother fell into an unconscious state, and the next morning she died peacefully while reading the canon on the outcome of the soul. On St. Thomas Week, at her own request, she received unction and after that said several times: “How glad I am that I took unction and prepared myself.” The burial of the body of Elizabeth Konstantinovna took place on Sunday, May 24, in the city of Kronstadt, on the left side of the cathedral garden. The deceased was born on May 4, 1829, in the city of Gdov, where her father, Archpriest Konstantin Petrovich Nesvitsky, served in the city cathedral and was the dean of the churches of the Gdov district. Transferred to Kronstadt by the keymaster of St. Andrew's Cathedral, due to poor health, he could not occupy this place for a long time and in 1855 he handed it over to the priest John Ilyich Sergiev, who married his daughter, Elizaveta Konstantinovna. When she got married, she had in her arms: an elderly father, three adult brothers and two sisters; everyone lived together and Elizaveta Konstantinovna, who acted as housewife and mother (Archpriest Nesvitsky was widowed in August 1855), had to deal with a lot of worries and troubles. Then, a few years later, her brothers received more prosperous places, which gave them the opportunity to settle separately, and mother married her sisters to teachers of the St. Petersburg Theological Seminary, later priests, and Father John and Elizaveta Konstantinovna took all care of their organization and establishment. Not having enough personal funds, Father John in both cases himself went around to wealthy parishioners, asking them to help make decent dowries for his sisters-in-law. Many gave willingly, but many probably greeted the young priest with that feeling of hostility that often accompanies good deeds among us. After their marriage, the sisters went to visit Kronstadt, and on one of these trips, in 1870, a daughter was born to my mother’s younger sister, in the apartment of Father John: it was me. After some time, I was taken home, but the Lord God wanted my true home to be in the quiet, peaceful apartment of the unforgettable Shepherd, under his blessed roof. In 1872 my father died, leaving my mother without any means. Then my uncle, seeing the helpless situation of our family, said to my aunt: “We don’t have children, we’ll take them and raise them like a daughter.” No sooner said than done, and now I found myself, by the will of God, in the care of unforgettable, infinitely dear to me uncle and aunt, who tirelessly cared for me, cared for me, took care of me, as only tenderly loving parents can care for and cherish their beloved child. Just as Father John never lived a personal life, devoting himself to serving humanity, so Elizaveta Konstantinovna never lived for herself, only the circle of her activity was already developing, limited to serving her family and friends; She rejoiced with their joys, and grieved with their sorrows. I remember her when she was about forty-five. Very lively, with a kind, handsome face, an eternal bustle, she loved to caress everyone, warm them and feed them; how now I look at her, tied up in a white apron, in the kitchen, making a sweet pie; She loved to cook herself, buy provisions herself, look after everything herself, so that everything was clean and tasty. How many times, I remember, my uncle, while tasting his favorite apple pie, said: “You are an expert at making pies.” Friendly, always even-tempered, affectionate, Elizaveta Konstantinovna loved when one of her friends visited her; then she directly fed the guest or guest, and her uncle, seeing her hospitality and sincerity, more than once said, pointing to the busy hostess: “She is a real mother.” Among the household chores, my aunt did not forget me; She spent all her free time with me, slept in the same room with us, taught me to read and write in Russian and French, and when I entered the gymnasium, she prepared my breakfast herself, accompanied me to the gymnasium every day and met me, asking for lessons. I remember that before my aunt began to teach me, my uncle served a prayer service in St. Andrew’s Cathedral for Saints Cosmas and Damian and the prophet Naum; My uncle himself took me to the entrance exam to the gymnasium, paid for me all the time from his candidate’s salary, and followed my progress with unflagging interest, looking through my notebook with marks every week and signing it. Is it surprising if, under such favorable conditions, I brilliantly completed my course of study; This was a great joy for my unforgettable teachers, and my uncle hurried to tell many of his friends the good news: “Our niece and pupil, Rufa, graduated from the gymnasium with a gold medal.” As far back as I can remember, my aunt always treated her great prayer husband with reverent love and respect. When he, tired, came home from services or from the church of God, she hurried to take off his boots, help him take off his shoes, and carefully covered him, putting him to bed to rest. Then dead silence settled in the apartment: so jealously did the aunt guard the short-term rest of the toiling shepherd. Being generally in poor health, the uncle often fell ill, and then the aunt turned into a tireless nurse - she spent all nights at the patient’s bedside, and during the day she herself prepared food for him. I remember that in 1879, Father John fell dangerously ill: he developed inflammation of both lungs. For hours at a time he lay with his eyes closed, in oblivion, and when he came to his senses, he often said: “My head hurts unbearably, as if someone were hitting it with a hammer.” One day my aunt was sitting near her uncle’s bed and crying bitterly; Opening his eyes, the priest looked at her and said: “Don’t cry, Lisa, God willing, I’ll get better, and if not, God and good people will not leave you; I didn’t leave anyone, and they won’t leave you.” Several days passed, and one morning my aunt ran into the nursery and exclaimed in a voice trembling with excitement: “Uncle is better, the crisis is over!” Aunt and I looked at each other, hugged tightly, and both cried, but with tears of joy... When the unforgettable father made his frequent and then daily trips to St. Petersburg, the aunt never went to bed without waiting for her uncle, even if it was around one in the morning, despite the fact that her health was not at all strong; She constantly suffered from headaches and insomnia for several years in a row. Over time, mother, out of weakness, was forced to give up some of her concerns about the priest, and what a difficult deprivation it was for her, poor thing! I also remember the following incident: several years ago, my uncle, after taking a bath, went out into the hallway in winter in his shoes; Auntie was terribly worried and, no longer able to move quickly due to illness in her legs, sent to tell the priest that he risked catching a cold by going out into the air lightly dressed after a bath. Returning from the hallway, my uncle walked into the living room where my aunt was sitting and said to her, affectionately clapping her on the shoulder: “Thank you, dear, for your concern for me; just don’t worry, my feet are dressed warmly.” Father John deeply appreciated such concern on her part for himself and responded to her in kind. When illness prevented the unforgettable priest from traveling to St. Petersburg, and later even around Kronstadt, he did not sit down to dinner for a single day without going into the living room or into his aunt’s room, depending on where she was, and without calling her to the dining room. He said: “When I have lunch alone, I don’t even have an appetite.” There was not an evening when my uncle did not come to my aunt to say goodbye and bless her before going to bed: “I wish you a good night,” “Sleep well,” “The Lord be with you,” “God bless you,” these were the greetings that he said to her before leaving for the office to retire. Some time before the death of the priest, my mother fell ill with influenza; It was here that her uncle’s concern for her was especially evident. It was impossible without tears of tenderness to see how the dear sufferer, who could barely walk, blessed her several times during the day and every evening before going to bed, stroked her head, and said: “Poor, poor,” “Together you and I suffer,” “Together we suffer,” “We are both sufferers.” And for a long time he would stand near her chair, shaking his head and looking with pity at the sick woman, and sometimes he would turn his mournful gaze from her face to the image and silently pray for her for a long, long time... Usually, when someone inquired from his uncle about his or his aunt’s health, he invariably answered: “We are both bad,” “We are both going to die,” “We are both preparing to die.” Once, when the uncle was told that the aunt was ill, he came to her and said: “Don’t be discouraged, the Lord is merciful; He will give you the patience to endure the suffering and be completely healthy.” In November, while having lunch with his aunt and two visitors, his uncle began to tell them that his health was very bad. Aunt, wanting to encourage him, said: “You always feel better in the spring; spring will come and you will get better.” To this, my uncle objected: “In the spring, you say? You’ll live to see spring, but I won’t.” The priest’s prediction came true: he died in December, she in May. When the unforgettable uncle, from December 6, no longer had the strength to celebrate the Liturgy, but communed every morning at home, he came to the room of his aunt, who was sick with influenza, with the Holy Chalice and communed with her, saying: “My Lord and my God!”, “Approach with the fear of God and faith,” “Accept the Body and Blood of Christ,” “Peace be with you, old lady, I congratulate you.” The last time the priest came to my mother’s room was on December 17 in the morning, he introduced her to her, and from 18 he did not leave the office. Especially after the death of her uncle, her aunt’s health deteriorated: general weakness began to develop rapidly, her legs and arms began to work very poorly, and her heart gradually began to give out. She greatly missed the unforgettable deceased, could not hear his name without tears; The orphaned aunt could not come to terms with the idea that her uncle was gone; she told those around her: “It still seems to me that Ivan Ilyich did not die, but left somewhere, as he used to leave for Moscow, and will come again.” Shortly before her death, mother saw a brooch on one of her friends - a portrait of the priest and cried inconsolably, exclaiming: “Ivan Ilyich, Ivan Ilyich,” and when they began to console her with the fact that he was now blissfully well, she said: “It’s good for him, but it’s so hard for me without him, because we’ve all been together for fifty-three years.” Anticipating her imminent death, mother often, sitting in a chair, fixed her gaze on the image and said: “I need to get ready, I need to ask God to forgive all my sins.” She often remembered and was consoled by the words of the unforgettable father, our common representative before the Lord God, spoken by him on December 17, when he was told that the sick mother was very grieving, unable, due to illness, to come to the office and care for him: “Tell my wife that she is always with me, and I am always with her.” These words constantly encouraged the sufferer, consoled her in her long suffering with the hope that even after his death the priest did not leave her, would soon take her to himself, meet her in the Heavenly monastery and, through his intercession, bring her to the throne of the Most High. Usually the aunt wore her uncle’s cassock at night or slept covered with it. Every time I went to the Ioannovsky Monastery, she always told me: “Bow before your uncle for me,” and she cried bitterly, inconsolably. Whether her arm or leg began to hurt badly, she immediately asked to anoint the sore spot with oil from the tomb of the unforgettable priest. Deeply believing and religious, mother only hoped for God’s mercy and with all her heart strove for spiritual salvation. “Ivan Ilyich, bless me, pray for me,” the aunt asked her great shepherd husband several times a day, whom, to her grief, she had to endure. After his death, praying sincerely and with tears herself, my aunt, out of her greatest Christian humility, feared that her prayers would not soon be heard by the Lord, and always asked others to pray for her. When I went home every night at night, after evening wishes, she constantly told me: “Pray for me.” Whether I was going to the all-night vigil or mass, I always heard from her lips the same request, coming from the depths of my heart: “Pray for me,” and I prayed for her as best I could... One afternoon, before my arrival, my aunt felt unwell, and then she did not calm herself down with anything other than hope for God’s mercy: “Today is Saturday,” she said, “Rufa will go to the all-night vigil and pray for me.” So great was her faith in the power of prayer in general that she even, through my sinful prayer, hoped to receive relief! Finishing this short essay dedicated to the blessed memory of the unforgettable deceased, one cannot help but stop with surprise at two of her distinctive features: extreme humility and meekness; in these two highest Christian virtues all the greatness of her soul was revealed. Auntie was not angry with anyone, she had no malice towards anyone. If anyone upset her or did something unpleasant to her, she endured it without complaint and forgave everyone from the bottom of her heart. To the question addressed to her: “Do you have enmity against anyone?”, Mother invariably always answered the same thing: “No, against no one.” Forgiving insults herself, she taught others to do the same. Sometimes he would say: “Don’t be angry, God Himself will show who is right and who is wrong, and you will forgive.” Auntie never allowed herself to get involved in the affairs of the great shepherd and man of prayer, she never tried to move forward and stand alongside him; remaining constantly in the shadows, she shone with the reflection of his glory, she shone with the reflection of his lofty Christian virtues. Like a tender sister and loving mother, she tirelessly took care of the common treasure, and sick, weak, almost without legs, she warned everyone, begged everyone: “Don’t make noise, Father is resting,” “Don’t accept anyone yet, Father is unwell.” Father himself knew her soul, highly valued her purity, meekness and humility, and spoke of her this way: “My wife is an angel.” Did everyone know that behind the back of the great righteous man, Father John, stood his guardian, ready to lay down her soul for him? If they didn’t know this then, let them know now and let everyone sincerely pray for the pure old woman, the meek old woman, the servant of God Elizabeth! Infinite gratitude to you, wonderful, selfless mother-educator, and eternal memory of you, glorious virgin wife of the lamp of the Russian land - may they live in us, in our children and grandchildren!