В. Ильинский. Около отца Иоанна Кронштадтского

I saw Father John twice. For the first time I had to see Father John at the Kiev Theological Academy. On September 11, at the end of the nineties, 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 now. 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 Kiev at the invitation of Governor-General Count A.P. Ignatiev and that he 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 attitude. Quite the contrary. The 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 services was distinguished by extreme cynicism, he 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; all sorts of parodies were composed of biblical stories, and so on, and so on. 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 a theological school and how they conduct education here, that atmosphere of division, 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 lifeless, now materialized in our eyes, began to shine and attract us to itself with its deep reality... The spiritual uplift was undeniable 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 an environment that was so disrespectful to their 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 my 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 screams and groans, imbued with the awareness 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 nine o'clock, a student hierodeacon (Bulgarian) came into our room - for some reason he was always well informed about issues of general importance that especially interested us at one time or another - 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 anacharite, then, in any case, 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 naturally happened 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 Chet-Menya 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 the 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 up 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 had entered our midst who was far from alien to us, and that he came not 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 Father John actually came here twenty minutes later, 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 was speaking his speech on the move, on the move, with the fear that he would not be allowed to say everything that needed to be said. 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, among students, Father John was a topic of lively conversation 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 did not like the fact that Father John’s hand was kissed by the bishop, and so on, and so on. 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 dungeon and break hard blocks here with his heavy hammer in order to extract small sparkles of precious metal from them. His lot is difficult. As Ostap shouts from his dungeon: “Do you hear, daddy"? “I hear,” comes in response from above. The position of the people's teacher now attention" and so on. I conveyed only the essential features of the main images. Their processing by Father Gregory was better than my transfer. 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. In Kronstadt I took a 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 mainstream church. It turned out that he was also going to see Father John and we became partners. Together we appeared 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 let us go - completely empty-handed. In part, this was, however, in the order of things. Because of my companion’s cassock, he looked like a genuine 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 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: she was in great need after the death of her 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 smoothly, told us the difficult story of her wanderings and her suffering - mental and physical. 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 Bartholomew kept inserting his remarks into his speech: “Lord, what wisdom!”, “What wisdom, Lord!”, “What has man come to! Oh, my God! What a man!” and the like. 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 Bartholomew 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 also local workers dressed for the holidays, clicking sunflower seeds, more or less cheerful and cheerful; These behaved “at home,” masters of the situation. But there were also a lot of newcomers here - most of them were gloomy 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 be back by midnight. The crowd began to thin out. Father Bartholomew 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’s going, he’s 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. Meanwhile, the noise near the house on the street suddenly stopped. 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 a 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 an air 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 sky-colored silk 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 given his seventy years of age. 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 also 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, happiness doesn’t come from money,” Father John finally said, “remember that!” 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 comments 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’s strengthening,” he said, clinking his glass against another glass. “The doctors forbid me to drink,” I said, not so much, however, in order to refuse as to listen to his opinion. “And I allow it,” he said decisively. And indeed, I have hardly ever experienced a better effect from wine as 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 forty minutes. When he left, he offered to serve the 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. 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 the father say? How did you receive it? How he feels and so on and so on. The next day, the people gathered at the church in anticipation of Father John even before the bell 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, didn’t blur them out, but pronounced each word abruptly and separately. Twice, I noticed, during the Liturgy he wiped his eyes with a handkerchief. 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. He refused communion to two - without any explanation. One was a girl, almost a girl, about fifteen or sixteen years old. When Father John said that he would not give her communion, she looked around her in confusion, left the ambo, 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 acceptance of the Holy Mysteries,” he said and added several instructions to these words. When the Liturgy ended, people began to approach Father John with different 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 eighty rubles. Another socialite asked for help; he spoke a lot and with tears about his sick wife. Father John gave him twenty-eight rubles. My partner, Father Bartholomew, received one hundred 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 diverse 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 invisible in front of him; for all that, 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, in any case, 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 five to ten 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 glowed 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 the right and left sleeves 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 - 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 prospects that were tempting, in his opinion. 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 chanting the initial words of the Trisagion, when new ranks approaching began chanting the same words. So in the space where I stood, it 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.