Memories

Contents 1. Childhood Learning to read and write 2. School 3. Seminary The authorities and teachers of the seminary 4. The Academy The authorities Professors Studying at the Academy Essays Master's thesis About life at the Academy as a student About myself 5. Service in Bethany 6. My service at the Academy Rectors under whom I served. My scientific and educational activities Travel 7. Printing Volume I of the “History of the Russian Church” 8. Volume II of “History” About the second edition of Volume I 9. My other printed works 10. Recent years. Anniversaries 11. Miscellaneous. Apartments and house Notes about life Attempts to get married Applications I was born in the village of Matveevo, Kostroma province, Kologriv district, in the summer of Christ 1834, February 28th. My father is the priest of the village Evsigny Fedorovich Peskov 1. More than once, when I was little, my mother laughed and told me that I was not born under normal circumstances. For some reason, it was impossible for my mother to give birth to me in the hut: February 28, 1834, was a Maslenitsa Wednesday and, probably, Maslenitsa guests - relatives from nearby villages - had already arrived to us; be that as it may, but not being able to give birth to me in the hut, my mother went to give birth in the yard, in a cow shed, in which, when I was born, I first of all had to become acquainted with frozen cow droppings... Very early I began to remember myself, although I cannot accurately indicate the time. My first memory is that I am sitting in a shaky cradle, holding with both hands the edges on which it is hung, and trying to rock myself; My nanny, a peasant girl of 8–10 years old, sits opposite me on a bench, and with gestures she encourages me to act more energetically. From a further series of initial fragmentary memories, I will cite two memories. I am sitting in a hut at a table at sunset, completely alone. Since it’s getting dark in the hut, I’m scared alone and I’m about to start crying. Suddenly I hear a noise at our porch, then the patter of feet on the stairs in the entryway; the doors of the hut are opened, mother and grandmother (mother’s mother) run into the hut and on the way from the door to the stove they hastily say to each other: “You take the grip, and I’ll take the frying pan”... I don’t remember what happened next: I probably fell asleep, and they carried me sleepily to bed. The next day I found out what was the matter. Our priesthood (and we had three priests, two deacons and six sextons with sextons) returned from the village with prayer and, according to custom, drunk; the drunken people started an argument about something, which did not hesitate to turn into a fight: so, the mother and grandmother, who considered it necessary to take part in the battle (probably because other women did the same, so the battle turned out to be generally male-female) in order to support their (father and grandfather - maternal father, who was the sexton under his father) and ran to the hut for weapons... When I was little, there still existed in our diocese, as in other dioceses, spiritual boards, which were diocesan-county government places. The chiefs or clerks and clerical officials (prikazny) of these boards annually, usually in winter, traveled around the villages of their districts in order to collect all possible tribute from the subordinate clergy with money and bread. Our village belonged to the district of the Soligalich spiritual government, and the chief of this government, on the one hand, was similar to the decisive majority of his brethren in the sense that during this collection of tribute from the clergy and when fleecing them in the form of bribes, he wanted to receive and take as much as possible, and on the other hand, he differed from the majority of his brethren in that he did not demand rudely and impudently, but asked with gentle urgency, and did not even ask, but simply begged and begged, bringing his voice to a rattling sound, in which one could hear the tears of a man dying, as if from hunger. So, one time this police officer came to our village and stayed with us, i.e. at my father’s apartment, since it was my father’s turn to live in the apartment. The whole clergy gathered to us, and after drinking (without which we couldn’t take a single step, and more about that below), a bargaining began between the police chief and our people about what he should take from them and what they should give him. Our initial priest, who conducted the bargaining on behalf of the brethren, was a very brave man, not timid even of the bishop himself. With all his might and without any ceremony, he denounced and described the abundance and abundance of the clerks, from whom there is no life; in turn, the warden, not in the least offended by the cruel speeches, begged and begged to give what he wanted to take; at the same time, as an unusually devout person (later in Soligalich, when I went to pray in the same church with him, I myself saw this with my own eyes), he constantly put large and earnest crosses on himself; This trade presented an unusually interesting spectacle, and a very funny scene is still before my eyes - as if alive... During my first childhood, I was a very lively and playful boy, and therefore dangerous falls from different heights happened to me, and I received severe bruises to various parts of my body. Once I almost died in a tragic way. I climbed along the beam from the floor onto the stove and fell off the beam, and on the floor under it stood a large tub of water; fortunately, I did not fall straight into the tub, in which I could have drowned, but touched the hem of my shirt with the hook driven into the beam for hanging towels, and hung over the tub upside down: before I fell off the hook, my mother, who was sitting on the bench and sewing, managed to grab me. Another time I almost made myself without an eye. I went with my mother to the barn, which was under the upper room, and from the high threshold of the barn I jumped inside, and inside the barn at the threshold lay a large stone with sharp ends; Having jumped unsuccessfully, I hit my right eyebrow on the end of the stone and severely cut it. I have evidence that I was a sharp boy. My father took me to visit, on church holidays, to his father, and to my grandfather Fyodor Nikitich Belyaev, who was a priest in a village located 20-25 versts from our Matveev (Assumption-Neysky, i.e. on the Neya River). Together with me, his other grandson, Pyotr Dmitrievich Sokolov, the same age as me, the son of his daughter, who was married to the clerk of Parfenyev Posad, came to visit my grandfather. Grandfather put us in front of him and gave us an exam. My cousin put his fingers in his mouth and did not answer anything to my grandfather’s questions, but only mumbled, but I answered the questions very briskly. Grandfather ended the exam with a sentence towards his cousin: “You, brother, will be a sexton,” and towards me: “You will be my academician.” I remember one case when my agility drove me crazy. I said above that my maternal grandfather lived in our village, serving as a sexton under my father. Once my grandmother told me to come visit her to eat flatbreads, which she knew how to bake superbly, and she expertly cooked soft-boiled eggs to go with the flatbreads. I ran to my grandmother and found her at the stove with a frying pan in her hands. She asked me a question. I answered the question smartly and, probably, to arouse her surprise at my youth, I used some kind of swear word. The grandmother widened her eyes and asked: “Who did you hear this from, dear son?” I answered that it was from the guys on the street. “Oh, from the guys on the street,” - with these words, my grandmother grabbed me by the shirt and dragged me to the door, to the little holik standing by her, which is used to sweep the hut; she tore the dusk out of Golik and gave me a pretty good beating. After that, she still fed me flatbreads, and when I came home, I had the prudence to hide from my mother about the unpleasant incident that had happened, otherwise I would have tried another dubka. Swearing between us priest children, as a kind of bragging, was very common, and another time my father got my hair pretty bad for it. I can’t say how often I was whipped, but I think it wasn’t often, because besides the incident I told you, I remember only one more - this is when my father whipped me because, while looking for something for myself, I dropped a shelf with dishes and broke almost everything that was on the shelf. Once I was in danger of burning. The worker and I were in the barn while they were drying bread in it, and we fell asleep. Suddenly the barn wall outside caught fire from a spark that fell into the groove. From the house they noticed that the barn was on fire, they ran to put it out, but they forgot about me. But, fortunately, they soon remembered and grabbed me, and put out the fire with leaven grounds, as the carpenters who were working for us at that time advised. When I was six years old, my father began teaching me to read and write. I very poorly remember the history of this teaching of literacy, how it began, how it was carried out and how long it lasted. I conclude only on the basis of external evidence that I learned to read and write comparatively quickly. Once, when I was sitting with a book and practicing reading, a neighbor, a deacon, came to my father on business. Father was not at home. Seeing me reading a book, the deacon asked me to read; when I read to him, he said: “Well, brother, you read well, but my idiot (the deacon’s son, my peer, Menyukha, discussed below, who began to learn to read and write at the same time as me) has yet to knock a punch.” From one incident that remains in my memory, it follows that learning to read and write was not without tears. Once during Lent, my father got angry with me for a poorly prepared reading lesson. Going to church for mass, he ordered me to prepare the old lesson well and added a new, very large one to the old lesson. I saw that I could not cope with my lessons, and I began to roar; my mother, who herself could not help me because she was completely illiterate, sent me to my aunt - her younger sister Marya Kozminichna, a girl who was very literate 2. I ran to my aunt, who really helped me prepare my homework, but not for the end of mass, but only in the evening; Until this last moment, I stayed with my grandfather, afraid to appear in front of my father; Before dinner, my father himself came for me, informing me that as a reward for my diligence, a magnificent burbot ear awaited me for dinner. The book from which I practiced reading was a book that was famous at that time, at least among the priests of our area (and if I’m not mistaken, still famous among literate people from the common people): “The Path to Salvation” by Fyodor Emin, published for the first time in St. Petersburg in 1780 and then reprinted many times. The eloquence of the book, consisting of eight reflections, the first of which begins with the words: “Come to your senses, my soul is immersed in secular luxuries!”, delighted both of us—my father and me. When I was seven years old, my father began to think about taking me to school. The first question for him was what last name to give me. At that time, the surnames of the clergy were not yet necessarily hereditary. The father bore such a surname, and he could give his son whatever he wanted, another, and if he had several sons, then each had his own special one (the Kostroma bishop Platon was nicknamed Fiveysky, and his brothers were one Kazansky, another Bogolyubsky, the third Nevsky). My grandfather, my father’s father, was nicknamed Belyaev, and my father, in honor of some good friend of his, who was a minor celebrity, gave his surname Peskova. But my father didn’t like the surname Peskov (I suspect because, having studied at school and seminary very slowly, he heard a compliment from teachers that you, brother, have a head full of sand), and he wanted to give me a new surname, and namely, the surname of some famous person in the spiritual world. It used to be that on a winter evening we would lie down on the stove with my father in the twilight, and he would begin to sort out: Golubinsky, Delitsyn (who was known as a censor of spiritual books), Ternovsky (meaning the father of the famous teacher of the law at Moscow University, Doctor of Theology, the only one after Metropolitan Philaret), Pavsky, Sakharov (meaning the father of our Kostroma resident and his peer Evgeniy Sakharov, who was the rector Moscow Theological Academy and the bishop of Simbirsk, who died in the rank of bishop, we will talk about him below), ending his enumeration with a question to me: “Which surname do you like best?” After much deliberation, my father finally settled on the surname “Golubinsky.” In addition to the fact that Fyodor Alexandrovich Golubinsky, our Kostroma resident, was the most famous person of all those listed above, my father’s choice, I think, was also determined by the fact that Fyodor Alexandrovich’s brother, Evgeniy Alexandrovich, was not only his father’s comrade at the seminary, but was also his friend and drinking companion (even while they were studying at the seminary, both were not fools about vodka, like most seminarians) 4 . When we were in the last grade of college, an order came from the seminary to take away everyone’s randomly given surnames and give them their father’s surnames. We were greatly distressed, and some wept. One of the comrades was nicknamed Speransky, and his father’s last name was Ovsov, and he cried a lot, not wanting to turn from Speransky into Ovsov. But it remains completely unknown to me why my last name was not changed; while my younger brother Alexander was turned from Golubinsky to Peskov, I was left with a loud surname. The second question for my father when preparing to send me to school was the question of which school to send me to. There are three schools at approximately the same distance from our village: Galichskoye, Soligalichskoye and Makaryevskoye. Makaryev, very well known to our rural merchants who bought their goods there (who in turn bought their goods at the Nizhny Novgorod fair close to it and connected to it by water), was a city completely unknown and, so to speak, completely alien to our clergy, for which reason my father had to choose, in fact, between two schools - Galich and Soligalich. Galich is somewhat closer to our village Soligalicha; it lies on the road from Matveev to Kostroma, and it was possible to take the children together to both school and seminary. Our parish has very lively relations with Galich, for in the winter our peasants go to Galich with grain for almost every weekly trade, while with Soligalich, to whose rule, just before my father took me to the closed school, our village belonged, there were no such lively relations at all, and yet my father decided his choice in favor of Soligalich. At the time when my father had to take me to the school, in our three-clergy village (i.e., a village whose clergy consisted of three priests, two deacons and six sextons with sextons) there were a sufficient number of school students, with one part studying in Galichsky, the other in Soligalichsky. In the first school, the children of two other priests of the village studied, and in the second, the children of sextons studied: the sextons’ preference for Soligalich over Galich was determined by the fact that in Soligalich the apartment maintenance of students was somewhat cheaper than in Galich. But the reason why my father decided to choose a school in favor of Soligalich was not the comparative cheapness, because it did not matter to him, a wealthy priest. The reason for his preference was that, according to his information, in Soligalich they taught better and flogged better than in Galich. Regarding the last reason for preferring Soligalich to Galich, my father was not at all secretive with me, but good-naturedly explained to me that it would be better if they flogged - it would be better later, that in general it would be better... In fact, the reason for preferring Galich to Soligalich could have been different. My father, a great lazy man, studied at two schools - Galich and Soligalich, from which he was expelled and his grandfather transferred him to another. Maybe the Soligalich school left him with the best memories. Before my father took me to school, a great misfortune befell us: on December 27, 1842, my mother died. After giving birth, she somehow caught a cold, and a severe fever in a little over a week drove her to the grave. My father left three of us: me, my younger brother, 4 or 5 years old, and my sister, only six weeks old. No father can replace a mother, much less a father who is very fond of vodka, as my father was, along with all our spiritual ones. My grandmother, my father’s mother (who had already buried my grandfather), came to us, but four weeks after my mother, she too followed her to the next world. However, even if she were alive, thanks to her father’s commitment to vodka, she would not have stayed with us. With another grandmother, my mother’s mother, because of the same vodka, my father and I got along poorly, and soon, having buried my grandfather, who died after my mother six months later, she completely left our village to live either with her son, who was a deacon in the village of Palkino, 50 versts from us, or with another daughter, Marya Kozminichna, who was behind the priest Levashev in the village of Nikola on Between us, about a hundred versts from us. To be a cook and a housekeeper in general, insofar as this housekeeping is the female part, was taken by an old peasant woman, grandmother Aksinya, who led her part of the housekeeping, of course, in a peasant way... The death of my mother greatly influenced me: from a playful boy I became withdrawn and unsociable, beginning to shun peers and games. This same circumstance was a source of injury to my pride. Grandmother Aksinya ran the household in a peasant manner. When they took me to school, she baked me such plantains that I had to eat them on the sly, hide them, fearing the ridicule of my comrades. Once I even scattered them. The same applies to the linen - made of thick canvas, prepared somehow. About the holidays, the preparation of the table is rough, not like people do. I was afraid of disgracing myself in front of the guests and because of this I sometimes avoided the circle feasts (going to each other among the seminarians of the village: there were many of us seminarians in the village, filling the entire right choir; on holidays we usually hung out with each other). I can’t complain at all that my father didn’t take care of us, but... but without a mother, we felt bad all the time while we were growing up... Before turning to my teaching at the school, I will make some information about our rural clergy, among whom my childhood passed, and I will not have a suitable place to talk about which in my further presentation. I have already said more than once that the clergy of our village, which was three-clergy, consisted of three priests, two deacons, three sextons and three sextons (now it has become two-clergy, because after me part of the parish was separated into a special parish). There were large parishes around us - three-clergy and two-clergy. And the clergy of all parishes (as, indeed, the decisive majority of the clergy of the entire diocese and perhaps the decisive majority of the clergy of all of Russia, at least northern), without exaggeration it can and should be said, were given over to immeasurable drunkenness or were completely immersed in drunkenness. The drunken year of the priests of our village, starting with Easter, was like this. On the very day of Easter, after mass, having divided among themselves the cuts from the Easter cakes brought to church by the parishioners (which we call Easter cakes, in peasant pronunciation - paskas 5) and the colored eggs collected with the cuts from the cakes, the priests (by which I mean the entire clergy in general) took the icons and went to glorify Christ on their own - first to the senior priest, then to the second, then to the third and so on. It was as if the senior priest was offering lunch to the brethren, and in the following houses a large appetizer. I said that “and so on,” but this “and so on” did not happen very often and, in any case, did not extend very far: most of the visits ended with the third priest, very rarely they reached the first deacon and even less often the second, and if they reached the first sexton, it was as if it had never happened. The walks were far from over because after the snack at the third priest’s, people found themselves in such a position that they could somehow get to their homes only with the help of their wives. And others did not make it home and were lying around somewhere. Easter Vespers was served somehow. Only the initial priest Fyodor Nikitich Elizarov (paternal grandfather of the famous writer Vasily Vasilyevich Rozanov) was extremely strong: no matter how much he drank, it was impossible to notice that he was drunk. From the second day of Easter, the glory of the parish began, and since our parish was very large, consisting of more than thirty villages, scattered over a considerable area, the glory continued for a very long time. And for our clergy to glorify meant drinking and drinking and getting drunk every day in the evening until the vestments were in perfect condition. After glory comes the so-called prayers. Our village holidays are called prayers: each village has its own holiday, many have two, and some even three, and most of these holidays occur in the summer. On the day of the holiday, the priest with the clergy comes to the village, serves an all-night vigil (abbreviated) and a prayer service in the village chapel, makes a religious procession around the village and then, after lunch in the apartment assigned to him, goes from house to house with holy water and serves house prayers for those who wish. If the priest or one of the clergy had not gotten properly drunk in the village by the evening of the holiday, then everyone would have looked at it as a miracle - and our priests did not want to perform miracles at all. House prayers during the day were still served by drunken priests and clerics somehow. But wealthy peasants expressed a desire to serve all-night vigils in their homes on the evening of the holiday. And, Lord, what kind of all-night vigils these were: sometimes the priest could barely stand and somehow mutter exclamations; sometimes he could not stand on his own and was supported on both sides, and exclamations - the first word and the last, or a little more! And, my God, how the drunken sextons sang, assisted by drunken old men! With the end of the prayer, the period of drunkenness ended for a while, and from the fall, until about halfway through the Nativity Fast, the period of drinking began. The largest part of our peasants go to the city - for carpentry work - in St. Petersburg, Kazan, Nizhny and occasionally to various other cities. Since all the men return home from work around the same time, our women will give birth around the same time - this time is autumn. Given the very large size of our parish, which had about two thousand male priests for three priests, we also had a very large number of baptisms. To go to the village for a christening always along a convict road, for such are our roads in the fall, and sometimes in convict weather, and not to drink in the best way possible would be extremely strange, since, perhaps, a good drink under the given circumstances (the road or the road and the weather together) was not only excusable, but was directly required by prudence. Whether drinking stopped or did not stop some time before the Nativity of Christ depended on the circumstances: there were no demands - the drinking stopped, there were demands - it did not stop. After the Nativity of Christ there was again glory, during which there was greater drunkenness than during Easter glory, for on Easter, of the parishioners, only old people and those with small families who had not gone to the city were at home, but on Christmastide, all the men were present, many of them with a lot of money brought from the city. After the glory - the weddings, which were generously sprinkled with vodka by the clergy twice - during their so-called bedtime 6 and at the wedding itself. In our very large parish there were also a lot of weddings, as well as christenings - each priest rarely has less than 15 weddings in a year, and in other years there were 20-25. Weddings were best suited to the last week of the meat-eater (since they had not previously managed the preparations for them), which is why each priest officiated three or four weddings a day. Wedding trains that arrived at the priest's house brought snacks and vodka with them and were treated to food after the wedding. If the newlywed gave an extra fifty dollars, then the priests gave speeches to the newlyweds that began with the words: “Newly married couple!” These speeches were borrowed from somewhere. The first marriage, preceded by a little drinking, took place quite casually; the second marriage, after a thorough drinking, was carried out quite with a sin in half, and the third marriage, after a second thorough drinking, was performed decisively God knows how... Maslenitsa was the priests’ own holiday, which they celebrated with possibly copious libations among themselves and their guests. During Lent, the drunkenness of the priests stopped (although the priests could not ignore isolated cases of drinking), and then a new drunken year began... Our priests played a lot of tricks, and a large number of anecdotes could be told about them. I will limit myself to one in which evil spirits are involved and which has scientific significance. Once in the winter at midnight, when we were sleeping, a strong knocking sound was heard under the window of our hut. We all woke up in fright, and father ran to the window. Under the window, our neighbor, our deaconess, shouted: “Father, get up for Christ’s sake.” The father ran to the porch and asked the deaconess: “What are you doing?” “Breadwinner,” the deaconess answers, whining, “my deacon has disappeared; he went with his father Nikita to a christening in the village of N; the boy was driving them back; Father Nikita 7 came home, and the deacon got off the boy’s sleigh and disappeared somewhere.” The father rushed to the primary priest (the father was then a junior priest). The leading priest immediately knocked down the sextons and sent them to look for the deacon. Having reached the place where, according to the boy’s stories, the deacon got off his sleigh, the sextons began to scream. They shouted in vain for quite a long time, and finally, from afar, the very plaintive voice of the deacon began to reach them. They followed the voice and found the deacon in the thicket of the forest, about three-quarters of a mile from the road, standing at the gate in the snow and roaring. The sexton took him and brought him home. When he completely lost consciousness (sobered up) and slept through it, they asked him: “What happened to you and why did you end up in the forest?” He answered: “When we were driving with Father Nikita, N.N. caught up with us from behind. (the deacon called a peasant he knew by name and patronymic); he patted me on the back and said: “That’s enough, deacon, let’s go, get up, let’s go”; I got up, we sniffed tobacco from one snuff box and went first behind the sleigh, and then to the side; he led me, led me to the side, brought me to this place, laughed and disappeared.” I’ll add about this deacon, a very curious person in his own way, whom I will have to mention below, another anecdote, without the devilry. On Preobrazhenev Day, the deacon went to pray in a village four miles away from the village. The next day the priest and priests returned from the village, but the deacon was not there. The deaconess waits for one day, waits for another, but the deacon is still gone, meanwhile people are sowing winter crops. The deaconess ran to the village and found the deacon presiding over a company of old men who, after drinking all the vodka and even all the beer, were finishing off the mash. The deaconess grabbed the deacon by the hair and pulled him out from the table - she was a very courageous woman, a real babe, and he was a puny man. The deaconess saddled the horse, put a bag of baked bread on it, put the deacon on it, took the reins in her hands and, leading the horse on the reins, went home. She walked and said: “Here I am for you, drunkard, here I am for you, sneezer!” But the deacon came up with his own witty trick. When they entered the forest located between the village and the village, he seized the moment, threw the bag of bread off his horse, snatched the reins from the deaconess, whipped her with it, quickly turned the horse to the side and galloped through the forest at full speed... The deaconess began to shout: “Deacon, you scoundrel!” - but there was no trace of the scoundrel deacon. The deaconess returned to the village with a sack of bread on her back, and the deacon went to a village about 15 miles away from us for the holiday. The deaconess waited for him for four days and went for the deacon, taking from the deacon's sister a horse harnessed to a two-wheeled box-shaped dung cart 8 . The whole village learned about the deacon’s adventures and the deaconess eagerly awaited the results of the second expedition after him. When she appeared in a rural field with her cart, in which the deacon lay, almost tied, and to which his, so to speak, war horse was tied from behind, the boys notified everyone, and a triumphal meeting was arranged for him, the deacon... As soon as the priests come together, they will certainly talk about how to arrange a drink. I must say that our clergy lived in harmony: there were no quarrels. I remember once, I gathered my father in the field to sow; when he returned, I went out to take the horse from him, and noticed that my father was drunk. This surprised me. It turned out that, having gone out to sow, the father found three or four people from the clergy plowing. They immediately sent for vodka and everyone got drunk, as usual. The spiritual authorities took only paper measures against the vice of drunkenness, but how they influenced our clergy can be seen from the following. Once, while transporting sheaves from the field, tired of folding the sheaves, we sat and rested on the bank of the palm (current). Suddenly a messenger from the dean appears before the father, who was then the senior priest, with a paper in his hand. The paper contained a notice from the dean that a strict decree had been received from the Synod regarding the behavior of priests, and that he (the dean) would soon appear in the village. My father read the paper and, handing it to me with a smile, said: “You know what this means, when the dean comes on ordinary business, we put a quarter on the cathedral, and since he comes on an extraordinary matter, we’ll have to put half a bucket.” I don’t know how the clergy of our village and our area live now 9 . As for my peers, they were even worse than our fathers. My fathers drank, but did not die from vodka, and of my peers who were priests in our area, three or four died prematurely from vodka...2. We (me and the son of Deacon Menyukha, about whom it was said, our neighbor and my peer) were brought to the school in the first week of Lent in 1843. I remember how they took me to school. The whole time my father and I were driving, it was snowing, and so the whole time I was lying in the sleigh, covered with matting. When we were about 12 versts from Soligalich, on a hill in the valley below which the city lies, my father raised the mat and said: “Get up, look... we have arrived. This is the city! I stood up, looked, and my heart sank. I think that you will be tormented here for six years, and you will not sleep peacefully for a single night. At that time, the school had four classes: 1st one-year, 2nd also, 3rd, called grammar or lower department, for some 2-year, for others 3-year, because from 2nd grade to grammar they transferred every year, and from grammar after two years, 4th, called syntax or higher department, 2-year. The first grade was accepted for the entire first half of the school year no later than Lent. They brought us to the 1st class (in which there were about 45 people) and, of course, put us in the very last seats. On the very first day, a crowd of syntax students came to our class, led by their secretary (the secretary was a great man to whom the students brought pies, koloboks, and even money). The secretary looked at us and said, pointing to the deacon’s son: “This is an owl!” This is how we got nicknames, with which we studied at school. (If not every single student, then most of them had their own nicknames). I moved from 1st grade to 2nd grade 7th or 9th, I don’t remember now. Our teacher (Pavel Nikitich Albov) was an extremely zealous person: in addition to reading, penmanship and singing, he taught us a short catechism, tried to explain it in every possible way and often turned to us with questions: “What does this mean? Who will explain this? I often jumped up and must have answered well. That’s why they promoted me, despite the fact that I had to study a little: they arrived, as said, during Great Lent and after Easter they brought us back late due to poor roads. In the 2nd grade, at first I found myself significantly lower, because the old boys (students who were retained for the second year) were sitting in front. Then they soon floated down. In this class I moved up first to third place, then to second. It happened like this. In a Russian grammar class, the teacher forced me to decline the word “bitch”; starting from the third student, everyone spoke the plural nominative case “bitches”; the teacher noticed that something was wrong and put him in jail. Asked me; I wondered what was wrong, but suddenly inspiration came over me, and I unexpectedly blurted out: “Bitch.” “Well done,” said the teacher, “you sit third.” Now I found myself in the neighborhood of the sexton’s son from our village, who was the second student (Vladimir Petrovich Ptitsyn, who died while still at school). He was the son of a sexton from his father’s unit, and therefore he really did not want the priest’s son to settle in him; and the priest’s son really wanted to move him, which soon happened. The teacher brought some book to the sacred history lesson, read some story from it and made me repeat it first, then me. I retold it, probably more coherently, and the teacher moved us one to the other’s place. Ptitsyn, with tears, gave way to the priest’s son. In grammar at the lower department, I remember once I distinguished myself in a Greek lesson. The teacher was P. N. Albov, who taught us in the 1st grade and who, during our studies in the 2nd grade, was transferred to grammar. He asked us impromptu: “One Lacedaemonian woman, sending her son to war, handed him a shield and said: “Either this or that.” I alone correctly conveyed the phrase in Greek: “Either this or this.” The teacher was delighted, called me out from behind my desk and read the whole story. I don’t remember his words now, but their meaning is this: “You will be a great man, but be careful not to be arrogant, be humble!” For my comrades and for myself these words seemed surprising, and we wondered why he praised me. I didn't make any differences in the syntax. I studied properly and, it seems, was the third to enter the seminary (the first was Klyucharyov, the second was Perepelkin, the third was me). The caretaker of our school, Yakov Martyanovich Yakhontov, was a terrible bribe-taker and robbed. Money allocated for the maintenance of government-funded pupils passed through his hands, and he gave out of it only the payment to the landladies, and then half-and-half (they had to go to him many times and bow with all their might). And whatever was then left over from the allocation for each student, the superintendent put in his pocket. He forced the fathers to sign in a book that they had received everything in full. And so it went on for many years, it became common: of course, the caretaker was scolded, but for a long time there were no denunciations. Before exams, he announced in advance that so many students would be promoted to the next class, and so many would be left behind. The fathers of the weakest students had to come to him with bribes of 3–5 rubles, depending on their rank, and some psalm-readers knew how to get off with just bows. And so the superintendent transferred some of these students, and left others for a repeat course instead of expelling them. He excluded little by little, two people at a time. The superintendent also took bribes from the students themselves. We were allowed to go home for Maslenitsa on Wednesday, but many wanted to leave on Saturday the previous week, and the students had to bribe the caretaker to let them go home earlier. They gave two kopecks, as if even ten kopecks. They laughed that the caretaker also took bundles of bagels. Finally, God's punishment befell him. The rector of the seminary, Porfiry Sokolovsky (who died in retirement after being removed from the Tomsk department in 1865), came to the school, and his relatives, who were at odds with the caretaker, told everything to the auditor. A formal investigation was launched. The caretaker was dismissed in the most pitiful manner. He was without a job for a year and a half, then, thanks to the petition of his St. Petersburg relatives, he was appointed professor of history at the Ryazan Seminary. He didn’t know history, and he couldn’t prepare for lessons due to his old age; besides, he was also a stutterer. Through all this, he served as a laughing stock for the seminarians. (The caretaker’s resignation occurred while I was studying at the Academy, and my academic comrades from the Ryazan Seminary informed me about his pitiful existence). The teacher of the 1st grade when I studied there was P. N. Albov, who was mentioned above. At first, the teacher in the 2nd grade was Alexey Ivanovich Veselovsky, who was just as zealous in his work as Pavel Nikitich. And then, after he transferred to the Makaryevsky School, closer to his homeland, Yakov Maksimovich Kastorsky was appointed teacher of the 2nd grade. As a teacher he was worthless, and in appearance he was a pathetically funny person: being short, he walked on terribly high heels, as if on stilts. In the grammar, or lower department, the teachers were the school inspector, Archpriest of the St. Nicholas Church Pyotr Skvortsov and P. N. Albov (as mentioned above, transferred from 1st grade teachers). The inspector had literally not a single hair on his head or face. They chatted that in his youth he had been involved in love affairs and that some woman and for some reason had washed him with some kind of infusion, from which all his hair came out. Father Peter wore a wig on his head, and his students gave him the nickname “Wig.” The inspector was, it seems, not a stupid person and in his youth, perhaps, the teacher was decent. But when we were with us, he was already an old man and did very little teaching. Pavel Nikitich was mentioned above. In the higher department the teachers were: the superintendent of the school and Fr. Mikhail Trofimovich Golubev, priest of the Boris and Gleb Church. The caretaker was not a particularly important teacher, but we were very pleased that in the geography class he read to us excerpts from descriptions of travel to unknown wild countries. There were few textbooks on geography. The maps are old, with the exception of the map of Russia. Instead of a globe, the caretaker brought potatoes to class. Potatoes were selected with warts, and the caretaker explained to us that although they have warts, they are nevertheless round, because warts are insignificant compared to the size of the potato: so the earth is round, despite the fact that it has high mountains, which are insignificant in comparison with its size. Father Michael told the sacred story beautifully. It was customary among our fathers, when they brought us to school after each vacation, to “appear” to the superintendent, as well as to those teachers from whom some of us studied, and make them feasible offerings. The priests who made a relatively significant offering, a ruble or more, were treated to vodka by the caretaker and teachers, so they got quite drunk (and finally got drunk in the evenings at their own expense). We, the students, were to some extent corvee peasants in relation to the caretaker and teachers. For those teachers who had their own houses, we, firstly, filled the cellars, and secondly, in early spring we transferred firewood from the open courtyards, where they were placed during the winter by woodshedders, into woodsheds. The caretaker, I remember, once sent us into the forest to pick strawberries. We picked few strawberries and wanted to buy them, but we couldn’t find anyone to buy them from. The caretaker thanked us with words for our work. The inspector gave us a piece of good threshold with cabbage, Father Mikhail gave us money, which amounted to two kopecks per person. They whipped us very hard. Birch twigs were brought to the school in cartloads. From the twigs, connecting them in pieces of ten, the shears wove vines. When we were waiting for the auditor, the famous rector of the Kostroma Seminary Agafan-gel (who died as Archbishop of Volyn), for a week we cleared the school yard of twigs, the remains of cut vines trampled into the ground by our feet. During the school course, I was flogged four times: the first time in 1st grade, once in grammar and twice in syntax. The 1st grade teacher P. N. Albov was kind to me, but once I brought him out of patience by completely dirtying my notebook. He tore it open and said, “To the vine.” And no matter how I begged him, no matter how I shouted: “Pavel Nikitich, father, have mercy!” - he insisted on his own. However, it was not a section, but only fun, they beat him not with a real vine, but with a thick bunch of short rods; they hit him only five times, and I continued to shout: “Pavel Nikitich, father, have mercy!” It was marked in the grammar for this occasion. I was just another person on duty, whose duties lay with the class. But I was naughty and forgot to do it. The inspector arrives; sees that the classroom is not cleaned and asks: “Who is on duty?” Then I remembered, jumped up and said: “I.” - “Why wasn’t it swept out?” - “Sorry, I forgot!” - “Oh, I forgot, go to the vine - we will sew your memory where it should.” But the inspector was my friend: I went to study with his son, my friend. Therefore, the cross-section was light, more for visibility. This time they whipped me with a vine, but they gave me five blows and let me go. In syntax they flogged me twice, and both times brutally. In our time, there were auditors (that’s how the word was pronounced, not auditors), the best students in their class, who were assigned to listen to the lessons of their comrades in front of the class and examine notebooks with Latin and Greek vocables; Mark the students' knowledge in notes. The notes were placed on the teacher's desk before the lesson. The auditor's students changed every month. I was an auditor, and one month a relative of the caretaker took over my position as auditor. I looked at his notebook with Latin vocabulary and I see that it’s bad. I wondered whether to report this to the caretaker or not. I was afraid to inform so as not to offend the caretaker. I didn’t get it. The caretaker came to the class and first of all began to examine the notebooks at the desk where his relative was sitting. Looking at his vocabulary, he tore up the notebook, asked: “Who is the auditor?” and sent me to the vine. I stretched out, the cut began, I shouted once: “Father, Yakov Martya-novich, have mercy!” But the secretary began to “lower” and clapped the vine over his ass. (The caretaker was blind). It didn't hurt me anymore and I stopped screaming. The caretaker guessed what was going on, flew up to the secretary and gave him a healthy slap in the face (he was generous with slaps). The secretary became furious with me and began to treat me properly. They gave me the 20 hottest vines. Another time they whipped me for singing. My voice was crappy, and I couldn’t sing anything. I passed through syntax successfully - no one ever asked me to sing in class. In syntax, I finally got caught in one lesson. At first the whole class sang, and I followed everyone, then the teacher, Father M. Golubev, began to ask alone, picked me up and forced me to sing something. I sang so loudly that the whole class laughed. O. Mikhail commanded: “To the vine!” They spanked me very well, and I whimpered until the end of the lesson. The section was so common and frequent that we did not feel at all humiliating. The only thing we considered was pain. We were afraid of the section, and we slept peacefully only one night a week - the night before Sunday. Each of us was constantly afraid of being whipped, because we could be whipped, if not for a lesson, then for something. (We even had a sign, it seems, all-Russian, that if the hem of your outer dress bends while getting dressed, it means you will be flogged). The teachers were flogged relatively leniently, but the caretaker was flogged truly cruelly. Giving a student 100 vines happened quite often, and sometimes it even reached 200 vines. When I was in 1st grade, my friend and roommate caused trouble. At night his stomach ached and, not having reached the toilet, he took a nap in the hallway. The landlady complained about him to the caretaker, and the caretaker whipped the boy so painfully that for two or three weeks he could not sit, but lay on his stomach or stood. What was especially striking was that during the specified time he ate lunch and dinner standing. Another incident that remains in the memory. The students of one apartment did something similar to the apartment of an unimportant postal official who lived next door to them (it seems they threw something out the window). The official complained to the caretaker, and the caretaker gave them such a flogging that we, comrades, cried, hearing the screams of those being tortured. In relation to the students of his class (i.e., the higher department), the caretaker had a special system of cutting, namely, he tore up stupid and lazy students without mercy during the first third of the 1st course year, so that in this third of each course there were 3-4 syntax specialists on the run. In addition to flogging, the caretaker and teachers also tore the students by the hair, ears, and punched them in the back of the head. And the 2nd grade teacher Kastorsky, the worst of the teachers in the school, had the custom of treating the five people sitting in the last seats with a fist on the cheekbones. It was particularly hard on one boy, a half-idiot, whom he often made fun of. The cross-section stopped in our school at the time when I was already in the seminary. Bishop Justin (later of Vladimir) arrived in Soligalich, came to the grammar class and addressed the students with the question: “Boys, are they whipping you?” One boy, having just been brutally whipped by the caretaker, jumps up and says: “They’re whipping you.” - “Does it hurt?” - “It hurts.” The bishop severely scolded the caretaker, strictly prohibited the cutting, and since then the cutting at the Soligalich school stopped and, it seems, has not been resumed. Nowadays, the school is no longer the same school we attended. The school where we studied was located on the corner between two streets - namely, firstly, going from the market square down to the Kostroma River past the baths or medical establishment with Kokarev mineral water, and secondly, coming from the stream, which is between the varnitsa and the baths past the churches of the Nikolsky parish to Nikolskaya Street. In one direction the school faced the churches of St. Nicholas parish; in the other direction to the stream and to the bathrooms; on the third side, his yard was adjacent to the land of the merchant or tradesman Marinkin, who had a tavern in his house; on the fourth side, his courtyard adjoined the land of the cathedral archpriest Alexei Pavlovich Tikhomirov. The building was wooden, one-story, old, divided by a corridor into two halves, of which there were two rooms in each, and four in all, according to the number of classes at the school. At the end of the corridor, opposite the entrance, a small closet (room) was fenced off for the watchman, who did not live in it, but was constantly with the caretaker as a janitor and footman; and in it lived his brothers, students of the school (the watchman was a clergyman), who looked after the school and heated it in winter. The proximity of the school to Kokarev’s bathrooms was beneficial for the students. When the treatment season began, the teachers flogged us with caution, since the scream of those lying under the vine could be heard in the bathrooms where the sick were sitting. When we were in Sin-Taksim, I remember there was such a case. Father Mikhail Golubev became very angry with one student for something and wanted to flog him. But he looked back at the bathrooms and saw: standing the horses of the Shipovs, wealthy landowners who had an estate 20 versts from Soligalich, from whose family someone was then being treated in the bathrooms, pounded his hand on the table and, pointing out the window at the horses, shouted: “Happy is your God, you bastard. If it weren’t for this, I would have given you a bath.” There were no dormitories at the schools of the Kostroma province. The students lived in apartments with the townspeople. They paid 20 rubles in banknotes, 10 poods of flour, 1 pood of malt, 1 pood of barley per year. They kept us well: they fed us well, the rooms were clean. The housewives watched to make sure there weren’t too many lice, cut our hair and sent us to their bathhouse every week. We slept on the floor on our own felts, dressed in our own caftans or sheepskin coats. And the authorities watched the apartments. I just remember that scabies was raging, and absolutely everyone had it. In the summer they wore kaftans of gray homemade cloth and barefoot, and for holidays, children of wealthy parents had sibirkas (long frock coats) made of nanka (the highest grade of calico) and boots. In winter they wore sheepskin sheepskin coats, always belted, because there was already a shirt underneath, and felted boots, and a minority wore lapotskas. And I had to wear bast shoes for about a week or a week and a half in 1st grade. My father, having brought me to school on fasting, did not bring leather boots, hoping that they would not be needed. But it turned out that suddenly it was warm, the roads were covered with mud and water, and it became impossible to walk in felt boots. The hostess bought me bast shoes and put them on me. I don’t remember how she arranged the onuchi for me. On Christmas and Easter, students of the Soligalich school had the custom of singing while walking along the windowsills of houses, and at Easter they sang in Greek. They collected a fair amount of alms, so that some received 50 kopecks. Once I also took part in this singing about Easter. One master's maids made us sing Greek twenty times and gave us a nickel for it. But we met our teacher P.N. Albov. He told me: “You are the son of a priest from a rich village, shame on you!” Having obeyed his order, I went home and never praised again. At the end of the 1st grade of school, 10–12 of us ran home, and on the way we stopped to spend the night in Chukhloma. Due to lack of capital, we had to settle down for the night in the gallery of the shopping arcade. We were just about to go to sleep when some gentleman appeared and invited us, saying: “So-and-so merchant’s wife is calling you.” She treated us to dinner, then put us to bed in the hayloft, fed us breakfast in the morning, and we set off further. During my studies at the school, so-called recreations were the custom, which left me, as well as all my comrades, with the most pleasant memories. They were usually given in the month of May, on good days, and consisted of students being released in the morning from studying for the whole day and going somewhere outside the city to a suitable place to indulge in games. It usually happened like this. In the morning, on a good day, the students of the syntak-sima, or higher department, chose a deputation from themselves, consisting of two or three, usually the best, students, and sent them to the superintendent. The caretaker, even though he intended to give us recreation, usually did not give it right away, but after breaking down for about half an hour. Since the students were eager to find out what the deputies would bring from the superintendent, messengers were stationed along the road from the school to the superintendent almost to his very house, who would immediately, upon the deputies’ departure from the superintendent, report the result of the deputation via a kind of telegraph. If the result was favorable, then a frantic cry, one might say a cry, arose in the school. The students flew out of the classrooms like mad, began to fight with each other with their bags and fists, and ran to their apartments as fast as they could, so that the whole city knew that the students had been given recreation. The whole crowd of students went out of town, indulged in various games, namely, played lapta, gorodki, babki, which we usually called shlyaks, harnesses and, partly, cards somewhere in a secluded place, so that the authorities who were pursuing the cards would not see. There was once that one student even treated us to a comedy: he set up a small tent in the meadow and, one person portraying all the characters in the comedy, came out of the tent dressed either as a man or as a woman and read monologues. His acting was not particularly elegant, but funny enough. Usually, at the end of the day, the students tried to ask for recreation the next day. They went to the caretaker's house or to the one in which he was visiting, a whole crowd and sang under the windows: reverendissime et clementissime domine rector, rogamus recreationem et pro crastino die. If the caretaker intended to give recreation the next day, which happened infrequently, he usually did not give it right away and initially, approaching the window, exclaimed: pop datur. After each pop datur, the students vigorously repeated reverendissime et clementissime... And when the caretaker, expressing a desire to give recreation, exclaimed: datur, then the students ran home with loud screams. At the time when I studied, the seminaries consisted of rhetoric, philosophy, theology, otherwise called: lower, middle and higher departments - all for two years. I graduated third from college, but I don’t remember where I ended up at the seminary. In rhetoric, I diligently studied poetry and wrote the poem “The Creation of the World” under the influence of Milton, the Russian translation of which was in my father’s library. The poem aroused surprise in the teacher, but did not arouse delight: he was surprised that I took an unusually sublime topic, but was not delighted, probably because the poem did not shine with merit, and my competition with Milton was unsuccessful for me 10. But one of my fables (I think it was “The Hunter and the Bear”), which amounted to an imitation of Krylov, aroused his praise. I remember one difference with this professor. He brought the Prologue or Chetya-Minea to class, read the life of the saint and asked us to compose a summary of what we had read by the next day. He really liked my presentation, he praised me at the top of his lungs: “Wonderful, Golubinsky, excellent, Golubinsky!” I was the third or fourth to move from rhetoric to philosophy. The main professor (professor of philosophy) liked two of my essays, which ones I don’t remember now. When I was in philosophy class, I wanted to become a musician. Of the two musical instruments affordable for a seminarian - the violin and the guitar, I chose the guitar, which knowledgeable people said was easier to learn to play than the violin. I bought a decent guitar for three rubles from a friend, learned to strum one song, “How the girls stood in a round dance at our gates,” and did not go any further, realizing that he was incapable of music. I was transferred third from philosophy to theology; I did not make any distinctions in this class. Unless he distinguished himself with a copied sermon. A sermon was given on the Sunday of the Publican and the Pharisee. I didn’t want to compose it, and I turned to my colleague and fellow villager: “Kostyukha, do you have a sermon for the Sunday of the Publican and the Pharisee?” - and he had a large collection of handwritten sermons, made by his brothers who had studied before. He went and soon found the sermon. I copied it and submitted it. The teacher brought my sermon to the class, analyzed it and severely criticized it. Afterwards It turned out that this sermon belonged to 11 Innocent of Kherson and is considered one of his best sermons. When I graduated from seminary, I expected to enter the university at the Faculty of Medicine. But my father, out of priestly vanity or love of fame, resolutely insisted that I go to the Academy, and said: “If they don’t send you to the treasury, then you will go at your own expense as a volunteer.” But they sent me. The first student of the second department, in which I was also, Cap. Iv. Shirsky was sent to the St. Petersburg Academy, and I ended up second. The first was Vasily Nikolaevich Zalessky, but he got into trouble during his vacation: while drunk, he met the landowner of his village and approached her with an immodest proposal. She was offended and sent a letter to the bishop. The bishop informed the seminary, and the poor man was greatly demoted, so that he finished seventh. And he was a very talented young man: when in the middle department he wrote a large essay on philosophy of eight pages (and we usually wrote one and a half pages, rarely two), the teacher was delighted and said that such an essay would be considered good even at the Academy. Unfortunately, I don’t know the fate of this comrade. When sending me to the Academy, the seminary housekeeper provided me with clothes. My handwritten receipt was preserved in the seminary archive: “On August 9, 1854, I received from the seminary board three pairs of underwear, one pair of oversized ankle boots, one silk scarf and suspenders. Seminary student Evgeniy Golubinsky." The seminary in our time was located in the cathedral house, located on the corner to the boulevard. She was transferred here from the Epiphany Monastery after a fire in 1847 that occurred during the arson attacks that took place in Kostroma. We entered the seminary after the last traces of Bursat knighthood were exterminated there: drunkenness and rowdy behavior. Drunkenness and rows, according to eyewitnesses, were enormous: taverns and taverns were allegedly destroyed; To pacify the brawlers, they said, soldiers were invited, who treated the seminarians with rifle butts. The correction of our seminary was carried out by the rector Agafangel (Soloviev), who died as Archbishop of Volyn1. Being the rector of the Kharkov Seminary, he was sent as an auditor to the Kostroma Seminary and made a bad review about it. He was sent to correct our seminary. He acted savagely and without mercy excluded from all classes, even from theology, and regardless of any place on the list. By the time we arrived, he managed to pacify the seminary, and with us everything was quiet and peaceful. In the seminary in our time they did not flog. But there was a case when Agathangel once tore half of the theological class. The bishop let it be known that he would come for an exam in the first department of theology. Realizing that, having examined the students of the 1st department, the bishop would want to examine the students of the 2nd, the rector ordered that these too come to class. We came to class, the bishop arrived for the exam. We, the second section, sat and sat and decided that the bishop would not call us, and went: some to apartments, others to taverns to drink tea. Those who went to their apartments and stayed in their apartments, and those who went to drink tea (including me) had the prudence to return to the seminary to find out how things were there. But it happened that the bishop, having examined the students of the 1st department, demanded the students of the 2nd department. The rector rewrote the absent students, and the next day the rector crossed them all. The cross-section was not important - there were five vines, but it was shameful to the last degree. One of the students, the elder brother of the famous canonist Mikhail Ivanovich Gorchakov, did not want to go to bed, but he was grabbed and stretched out. The same Agafangel changed the clothes of the seminary, which happened before my eyes when I was studying rhetoric. I remember he came to class and examined our sheepskin coats; on those sheepskin coats that he rejected, he marked a cross with chalk. Our sheepskin coats were covered with napkin; the rector demanded that overcoats be sewn, and if anyone does not have the means, that the sheepskin coats be covered with cloth. He also demanded that the robes be replaced with frock coats. And all this with the threat of expulsion in case of failure to comply with the order. Having dressed the seminary, the rector showed it to the city, sent us from the cathedral house where we studied to pray at the Epiphany Monastery, where on the site of the former seminary a church was rebuilt, in which we prayed, at least the chosen ones, better dressed. We were placed in pairs (twenty-five pairs), and we had to pass through the central trading part of the city, along which the road from the cathedral to the Epiphany Monastery lay. Since the seminary burned down, all the seminarians, not excluding the government-funded ones, lived in apartments. There was no open drinking in our time. But most of us ran to the tavern to drink tea, which most did not drink in the apartments. In addition to tea, if funds allowed, they demanded hearth pies and a Zhukov pipe of tobacco (the pipes of these pipes were long, almost as long as a fathom). . It was a common practice among us to pawn clothes, things and books to raise money—exclusively the government Bible published by the Bible Society. There were special pawnbrokers who accepted seminary items and charged Jewish interest on a monthly basis, and among the seminarians there were commission agents who also took money or food for the commission. And I, like others, resorted to mortgages to raise money. Sometimes there was no reason to pay interest, because the interest, together with the debt, exceeded the value of the thing. For this reason, I did not buy my overcoat and watch. I remember there was a famous special pawnbroker for the seminary – the lord’s footman (Kuzka, I think) of the Nelidovs, who had a whole pantry filled with seminary things. In the apartments, only the seminarians lived on everything from the owner, paying 11 rubles or a little more. But these are a few: for the majority, this method of maintenance was beyond their means. I lived like that for a short time (about a year), with the deacon of the nunnery, Father Dimitry Ryabinin, who invited me as a roommate to his son Alexander Dimitrievich Yakhontov, who studied rhetoric with me, and therefore charged me less. But most seminarians rented only an apartment, and the hostess took upon herself the obligation to prepare food from their material. It seems she was only supposed to supply her own cabbage for the table. The table was generally not luxurious: cabbage soup and porridge, cabbage soup and porridge, and sometimes just cabbage soup. On fast days, beef was bought for cabbage soup, but, of course, it was seminar beef. I remember we lived for a week without any table. We, three fellow villagers (two popovichs - Kostyukha, me, the third - I forgot) squandered our money and ate black bread with cow butter. Each of us had a jar of butter brought from home: getting up in the morning, we had breakfast with a slice of bread and butter; Having come running from class, we had lunch with the same slice with butter, and finally, we had dinner in the same way. The apartments were supervised by four assistant inspectors, under whom were the chief elders, one for each, and under them the elders, both of them from theologians. I was the chief elder - I went around, however, very rarely (less than once a month) and signed in the journal that I had been there and found everything safely. In general, this position did not cause any trouble and did not give any authority. In seminary, as far as I remember, I got drunk twice. The first time was when I moved from rhetoric to philosophy. After the vacation, we, that is, me and the deacon’s son, were taken to the seminary by a deacon (deacon Alexei Alyakritsky - his son Veniamin, or Menyukha, was at first Ternovsky, then they gave him his father’s surname). The deacon's son was my friend both in years and at first in his studies at the school, then he fell behind by two years, and when he was transferred to rhetoric and I to philosophy, the deacon begged me to go with him until the end of the vacation in order to guide his son in the exam. We arrived in Galich. The deacon left his cart in the market square, unharnessed the horse and led us to the tavern. He ordered solyanka and demanded a decanter of vodka, then he made me drink two glasses of vodka. Now I felt dizzy and the urge to vomit: and since vomiting in a tavern was completely wrong, I grabbed my cap and flew to the cart. I think I vomited a little at the cart; then I climbed onto the cart and fell prone in it. The deacon and his son ate the hodgepodge as quickly as possible and came running. The deacon harnessed the horse and we rode off. When we were driving through the bazaar, between the rows of market women, I heard one woman say: “Women, women! Look, they’re taking a sick seminarian.” As soon as we passed Galich, and I was shaking on the cobblestone street, I felt as if nothing had happened; got out of the cart and went up the mountain under which the city stands. The second time I was drunk, as I remember, was in theology. We were driving to the seminary after vacation and got drunk at the last station. One of my comrades challenged me to boast, said that I would be sent to the academy, etc. I began to boast, and the remarkable thing is that I realized that boasting was disgusting, and yet I continued. Afterwards I felt terribly ashamed of myself, and I promised myself to never drink. I remember one return home on vacation. The three of us fellow villagers: Kostyukha Ptitsyn, Menyukha (Veniamin Ternovsky-Alyakritsky) and I had to walk to Matveevo (200 versts from Kostroma). The three of us absolutely had no money. Menyukha must have begged the landlady for two kopecks, then they borrowed two white breads per brother and sausages from the shop and ran. We ran 12 versts and stopped at the Buyanka River. Here we ate everything to ashes, ran further about 30 miles and stopped to spend the night at an inn. They demanded milk and black bread, they poured the milk into a wooden dish, crumbled the bread and ate it all. In the morning we had the same breakfast. We got ready to go and had to pay. We turn to Menyukha and say: “Pay.” He reached into his pocket and did not remove his hand for a long time, then into the other; begins to rummage around himself and, finally, making a whiny face, declares: “Brothers, I lost two kopecks!” We were embarrassed and began to think about what we could leave as a deposit for the hostess of the inn before returning after the vacation. While we were thinking this, my comrade and friend Alexey Mikhailovich Levashev came up. He had money and paid for us. On the second day we ran about 45 versts and reached his village, which is located about four versts from the main road. We had a very hearty dinner at Levashev's parents: everything that was prepared was scattered with a broom. Mother made us scrambled eggs, and we ate them; She offered another, we broke down for the sake of decency and then devoured the second scrambled egg. The next morning we had breakfast and ran on. We reached Galich (25 versts from this village), Kostyukha went to his former school mistress, and Menyukha and I went to the inn and then starved. I went to my teacher Kastorsky, transferred from Soligalich to Galich, to ask him for money: I considered him to be kind to me and hoped that he would help out. But he refused in the most decisive manner. Kostyukha, when he returned, it seems the next day, brought us something to eat and paid for an overnight stay at the inn, borrowing money from the former owner. On the third day we reached a familiar inn, and there they fed us on credit. On the fourth day in the morning we had breakfast at Aunt Kostyukhina’s in the village. Bushnev, and spent the night in another village of Trinity-Golovy with my relative, the sexton, my cousin. Both here and there they fed us well. Seminary authorities and teachers The rector of the seminary during my studies there, as stated above, was Archimandrite Agafangel Soloviev. A native of the Vladimir diocese, he graduated from the Moscow Theological Academy in 1836 as the third master and was left at the Academy as a bachelor in the department of interpretation of Holy Scripture; in 1842 he was appointed inspector of the Academy; in September of the same year he was appointed rector of the Kharkov Seminary; from Kharkov he was transferred to the rector of the Kostroma Seminary (1845–1852). From here he was appointed rector of the Kazan Academy, then he was bishop of Vyatka and died in the rank of archbishop of Volyn in 1876. At the Academy, as the surviving legend about him said, Agafangel was a stern ascetic towards himself, and a very strict inspector towards students. They told an anecdote that Metropolitan Philaret, during his stay at Trinity, once walking along the monastery wall, met a drunken student, stopped him and reprimanded him. The student, having asked for forgiveness from the Metropolitan, finally asked him not to tell his father the inspector, fearing that the latter would open a formal case against him and demand a cruel punishment for him. While at the Academy, Agafangel distinguished himself by sending a nameless denunciation to the Synod about the unorthodoxy of the Russian translation of the Bible made by Archpriest Pavsky, as a result of which denunciation the translation of the Bible was banned, and its lithographed copies were taken away. In Kharkov, under the influence of the famous Innokenty, who followed Kherson, Agathangel turned into a secular monk-dandy who sought to move in the highest provincial society. Here in Kostroma, he was the personification, so to speak, of majesty: he spoke majestically (for greater effect with a certain undertone), even if it was complete trifles; He sat majestically, walked majestically, somehow gracefully tapping his heels, and gesticulated majestically. He spoke with particular majesty during exams: when he said complete nonsense, he did not speak, but uttered them. We seminarians were very afraid of him; as if the teachers were no less afraid of him than us seminarians. For some reason, he was known among us as an extraordinary scientist. There was a rumor that he was expecting to receive a large inheritance from someone and that with this inheritance he was going to leave for England, since with his scholarship he had nothing to do in Russia (sic!). With extraordinary pomp, he performed the divine service, surrounded by a crowd of akolufs, recruited from the most beautiful and best dressed seminarians (when I studied rhetoric, the head of the akolufs was the current rector of St. Isaac's Cathedral in St. Petersburg, Archpriest John Antonovich Sobolev). He gave us strange lectures on dogmatic theology. Representing us, grown-up boys, as little boys, he launched into explanations with his usual grandeur of things that did not require explanation at all and were understandable to us. In Znamensky’s “History of the Kazan Academy,” Agafangel seems, as far as I remember, as if he were a different person, that is, he probably changed somewhat in Kazan, because he was very capable of changing. The inspector during the first time of my studies at the seminary was Ivan Aleksandrovich Veselovsky, whom we had already found ill, and about whom I cannot say anything. After his death, which followed around the first Christmastide, Dimitri Fedorovich Prilutsky, master of the Moscow Theological Academy in 1844, was appointed his successor. He kept himself apart from teachers and students, and as an inspector he did not mark himself with anything - neither severity nor weakness. He marked himself with a very bad deed in the economic department. During the dressing up of the seminarians by Rector Agafangel, as mentioned above, he sewed overcoats for the state-owned seminarians from the most disgusting cloth, which he got from some factory in Yaroslavl, with a chest-length lining, as was the case then for the overcoats of the Academy students. They said that these overcoats cost at least half as much as what was paid for them. The inspector's intervention in the economic department was explained by the fact that Rector Agafangel was looking at his very beautiful wife. The housekeeper in my time was professor of philosophy Alexey Nikolaevich Mukhin, master of the Moscow Theological Academy in 1838. There was a wonderful and completely honest man who diligently made sure that the table for the sick seminarians who were in the seminary hospital was as good as possible. Having a beautiful and dandy wife, he himself was extremely careless in his clothes. His galoshes were especially remarkable. These were some kind of boats, in which he squealed in an unusual way. In the three classes of our seminary at the time I studied there, there were 7 departments: in rhetoric, or the lower class, three, in philosophy, or the middle class, and in theology, or the upper class, two each. In all three classes I was a second-grader. I can only speak about teachers from my own direct knowledge about those whom I myself have listened to, and I know about the rest from the reviews of my comrades. In rhetoric, the teacher of rhetoric itself, or literature, was Pavel Mikhailovich Rozov, a candidate at the Moscow Theological Academy in 1830. He cannot be called a good teacher, but at the same time it would be unfair to call him a completely bad teacher. Not limiting himself to just assigning lessons from the textbook from this to that, he explained something to us. He was an adherent of poetry and greatly encouraged us in writing poetry. He loved to solemnly recite Derzhavin’s odes: “Oh you, endless space...”, “The verb of times, the sound of metal...” and interrupted the recitation with the exclamation “wonderful”, “excellent”. In appearance he was somewhat strange and somewhat funny and for some reason bore the nickname “Baklaga” (baklaga is the vessel in which sbiten workers carried sbiten for sale). When I was studying rhetoric, I lived near Pavel Mikhailovich’s house, and he invited me to come to him to study with his young children. But his children were tongue-tied to the last degree and not at all attractive, and after three days I stopped walking. This cessation of my walks, however, did not have any bad consequences for me: Pavel Mikhailovich gave up on it, and that was the end of the matter. The teacher of the Orthodox Confession of Faith, or the Catechism of Peter Mogila, was Semyon Ivanovich Shirsky, master of the St. Petersburg Academy. He was a smart and articulate man and a very good teacher. At the same time, in addition to explaining the lessons, he attracted us with stories of a liberal-satirical nature on topics of an everyday and political nature. We considered him a noble man, but, alas, it turned out that we were cruelly mistaken. When I was already studying at the Academy, I unexpectedly received the news that Semyon Ivanovich was becoming secretary of the consistory. To the great surprise I expressed, they answered me that Semyon Ivanovich, saying goodbye to the students of the seminary, said: “You are surprised that I am moving to the secretory of the consistory: I am moving to the secretaries of the consistory not in order to become dirty in it, but in order to clean out the dirt that is in it.” In fact, he was the greatest bribe-taker, more bitter and greater than his predecessors: his predecessors, people not with higher education, did not neglect small gifts and were not demanding regarding bribes; he also demanded that he be given bribes in accordance with his master's degree. In a short time, he acquired a beautiful stone house in Kostroma, which can be judged by the fact that the vice-governor, the second civilian in the province, was able to rent an apartment on the lower floor. There was a rumor that Shirsky was being transferred to the Synod - we understood this in the sense that he bought himself a place in the Synod. But he was not transferred to the Synod, but was transferred to the secretary of the Georgian Synodal Office. At first, the teacher of civil history was Vladimir Ivanovich Vladimirov. He was some kind of half-crazed man, whom we slightly mocked. After his death, Ivan Dmitrievich Alyakritsky, a fellow member of the Academy of Pavel Mikhailovich Rozov, took his place. This was a completely weak-minded man. He had three subjects for his chatter, which had nothing to do with civil history and which I have forgotten. Coming to class, he began to talk as if it were business, and then he would certainly turn to one of his stories and repeat all three of them, only once - in one order, another time - in a different order. We mocked him, the unfortunate man, in a terrible way. Suddenly, one side of the class hisses (the desks were on both sides of the teacher’s table in half), whistles, kicks, and creates an unbearable uproar. Ivan Dmitrievich jumps up and begins to swear at the top of his lungs. Under his swearing, the side calms down somewhat, but the other side begins to do the same. Ivan Dmitrievich turned to the other side and began to scold it. He ended his swearing with curses: “Damn you! Damn you! Once he grabbed his hat and with an exclamation: “I’ll run to complain about you scoundrels to the rector!” he ran out of the class. But he didn’t run to the rector - he was afraid of the rector more than fire, much more than we, the students, ran out of the class, hid in the corridor behind the doors and stood there the entire lesson. (I’m not telling a tall tale in person, but the real truth). Once the rector came to his class. After greeting him and us, the rector invited him to continue the lesson. Ivan Dmitrievich began to fidget in his chair, started to say something three times, but nothing came out of him. Finally, the rector invited him to remain silent and himself began to explain to us what should be done. During the rector’s interpretation, Ivan Dmitrievich interjected from time to time: “That’s what I just said.” Leaving the class, the rector said that he would come to the next lesson. Ivan Dmitrievich came running to the next lesson before dawn. He brought with him the history of Smaragdov and, straightening it out at the place where he should have interpreted it, said: “You read this, and I’ll go to the porch to look at the rector. When the rector leaves his apartment, I will run into the classroom and then, when he comes, I will start asking you questions about what you read, as if I told you!” But this time the rector did not come to class at all, and Ivan Dmitrievich stood on the porch in vain. The teacher of algebra and geometry was Afanasy Sergeevich Davydovsky, a graduate of the Gorigoretsk Agricultural School. He seemed to be a smart man and seemed to know his business fairly well, but he was a pitiful teacher (having at the same time a pitiful appearance of short stature - lousy). His lessons were in the afternoon, and in winter, during his lesson, the stove in the classroom was heated. Arriving at the class, he began to write or draw on the board, about five people surrounded him and looked at his drawing (writing). Another five people sat down by the heating stove and toasted his galoshes - they placed their soles against the fire. Everyone else sat at their desks and indulged in afternoon naps and more fun activities. I was usually one of those who dozed off. In the philosophy class, the teacher of philosophy itself (namely, logic and psychology, which comprised the then seminary philosophy) was Pyotr Semenovich Smirnov, master of the Kyiv Academy. The teacher was good and very diligent. Arriving at the class, he took a long narrow notebook in both hands and, imagining a windmill, began to walk around the class and interpret philosophy. But, unfortunately, his interpretations fit into our heads very poorly: he did not descend to our understanding. Once he decided to do a rehearsal, and we were shamefully cut off at it: no one would push us in the teeth. Afterwards he became the caretaker of the Galich School (and he had a bad reputation as a bribe-taker). At the same time, I remember, Pyotr Semenovich taught patrolology, and he taught very well, that is, to some extent he captivated us, especially by reading excerpts from the patristic works. The teacher of the Holy Scriptures was Semyon Ivanovich Shirsky, mentioned above. The teacher of biblical history was Mikhail Makarovich Vertogradov. He was not a stupid man, famous for his wit, but the teacher was careless to the last degree, unconscientious about his work. He was famous for the fact that in his life he conquered many hearts that belonged to the wives of officials. During the last time of my studies at the seminary, he lived in an apartment with one official, sharing the same space with his wife. The teacher of Russian civil history was Yakov Aleksandrovich Benevolensky, master of the Moscow Theological Academy in 1850. In first grade, he talked about the historian Solovyov, who was then beginning to rise to fame, and we expected that he would be a kind of Solovyov for us. But he turned out to be an unimportant teacher and attracted our attention mainly with his panache. Having been a great friend of Semyon Ivanovich Shirsky, he, like him, ended his life as a secretary of some consistory. The teacher of agriculture was the above-mentioned Afanasy Sergeevich Davydovsky. In theology, the teacher of dogmatic theology was the rector Agafangel himself, whom was mentioned above. He taught for one year, then he was called in, and now I can’t remember who taught theology in his absence. Pastoral and moral theology was taught by Hieromonk Justin (Okhotin), Master of the St. Petersburg Academy, who recently died as Archbishop of Kherson. The teacher was very zealous, but somehow still not quite fluent in speech. He was very handsome, and the Kostroma ladies were delighted with him. Archeology was taught by the above-mentioned Vertogradov and he taught it as poorly as biblical history. In the 1st department of rhetoric, the professor of rhetoric itself was Nikolai Osipovich Andronikov, a candidate at the Moscow Theological Academy in 1840, a very good teacher. The teacher of the Orthodox confession was Sylvester Andrey-novich Voskresensky. A very good teacher, famous for his learning, unfortunately, in his old age he became very addicted to vodka. The teacher of algebra and geometry was Ivan Gavrilovich Sokolov, a graduate of the Gorigorets Institute, a friend of Davydovsky. The teacher is very good, like a rural owner who became famous for feeding purebred cows. In philosophy, or in the middle department, the teacher of philosophy itself was Alexey Nikolaevich Mukhin (former housekeeper of the seminary, as mentioned above), master of the Moscow Theological Academy in 1840, Andronikov’s comrade, considered the best of the seminary teachers. The teacher of biblical history, it seems, was temporary, was the priest of the cathedral and an outstanding dandy in Kostroma. He had an extremely peculiar gait, mincing gracefully with his legs, sticking out his butt. As a teacher he was a smug, ridiculous chatterbox. This priest was replaced at the department of biblical history by Gavriil Ivanovich Pernatkin, a candidate at the Moscow Theological Academy in 1850. The teacher is unimportant. В богословии преподавателем пастырского и нравственного богословия был Ксенофонт Дмитриевич Бронзов. Преподаватель хороший и очень хороший проповедник, прекрасно произносивший проповеди. The old teachers lived modestly and separately. But a significant part of the youth accompanied and diligently served Bacchus. Изредка доходило до того, что валялись по улицам и поднимаемы были добрыми людьми или полицией. Я окончил курс семинарии и послан был на казенный счет в Московскую Духовную Академию в 1854 году. Меня послали от 2-го отделения богословского класса, от 1-го отделения послан был на казенный счет Николай Кириллович Соколов, сын костромского священника, двоюродный брат А. В. Горского (мать Николая Кирилловича была родная сестра отца А. В. Горского) 12 . Третьим поехал в Московскую Академию волонтером Василий Яковлевич Муравьев, сын костромского протоиерея. Приняты мы были так: Николай Кириллович – седьмым, я – девятым, а Василий Яковлевич был принят не высоко, но которым, не помню. Evgeny Sakharov. We entered under the rector Evgeny Sakharov (the first master of the Moscow Theological Academy in 1838). He was a frail man, constantly coughing and as if he was going to die soon, but he lived for quite a long time. For almost the whole summer he wore a fur cassock, felted boots and woolen stockings, which in winter, at least at night, were placed in the oven of the student bakery. At the same time, he began to swim as soon as the ice melted, when not a single soul had yet thought about swimming. Alexander Fedorovich Lavrov, a friend of Evgeniy, whom Evgeniy was going to tonsure as a monk, but who deceived him by soon getting married, said the following. Once they went to visit the rector of Bethany. We drove up to the front porch, the footman opened the carriage and was waiting for Evgeniy to come out. Alexander Fedorovich in the carriage waited and waited for the rector to come out, and finally turned to Evgeniy: “Oh, rector, come out!” - “Why, brother, should you go out? There is a through wind between the carriage and the building.” Alexander Fedorovich barely restrained himself from laughing and ordered the carriage to drive away a little. Evgeniy was a poverty-loving and charitable man. At that time there was no academic church in the building, and the academic church was the monastery refectory, in which the rector and the inspector performed services, and students sang in both choirs. When the rector walked home from the meal after the service, he was always followed by a large crowd of beggars, who stopped at the rector’s front porch; Then his servant Peter, whom he, and after him we all called general, came out to the porch with a canvas bag of copper money and gave it to the poor. In general, many petitioners came to Evgeniy with letters of petition and certificates of poverty. They told me such a case. One lady came to him and asked for poverty: she expected a ruble, a lot of three. But Evgeny gave her 25 rubles. She, confused by the surprise of such a huge sacrifice, fell at his feet. Но ректор понял ее так, что она припрашивает еще, и говорит ей: «Матушка, .извините! I don’t have any more.” In our time, Eugene was not involved in science at all and gave us lectures on messianic prophecies, written God knows when. He tormented the clerks of the academic office by constantly correcting the style of papers, especially “this” and “this”. The clerk will rewrite the paper and bring it for signature, “after all, brother, it would be better to put “this” here (if there was “this”) and vice versa (if there was “this”). The scribe will correct “this” to “this” or vice versa, and the rector will again return to the previous one. Therefore, one day the clerk wrote two copies at once: one with “this”, the other with “this” and brought both to Evgeniy. From such a surprise, Evgeniy was confused. Rector Evgeniy did not like Gogol very much; he considered him a tough-toothed person who did nothing but ridicule the funny. If the rector, walking through the busy student rooms, caught someone reading Gogol, he would make a suggestion that they should not engage in such trifles. Sergius Lyapidevsky. The inspector was Sergius Lyapidevsky, a Tula native who died Metropolitan of Moscow (Master of the Moscow Theological Academy in 1844). He was an exemplary inspector in terms of the inspector's cunning and omniscience and behaved menacingly. He did not enjoy the favor of the students due to his lack of cordiality. Sergius was an unimportant lecturer; he read moral theology and for some reason in almost every lecture he used the comparison of the church with a boat and a ship. A student, about to fall asleep during his lectures, would tell his neighbor: “Wake me up when the boat passes” or “When the ship passes.” The lectures that Sergius gave for the exam were impossible to memorize, and the students in his exam answered very poorly, they were confused, because there was confusion in the lectures themselves. From the moral side, Sergius is characterized by the following incident. Once the housekeeper (Father Gerontius) bought good linen for the students’ underwear, came to our rooms and boasted to us: “Today I will make you some good underwear.” I was very interested in this because I did not receive linen from home and took it from the treasury in kind (and not in money, like some nearby students). But then they give us underwear, and it turns out to be made of unimportant linen. And to our questions, where is the good linen, the housekeeper father answered with a giggle that it had disappeared, the inspector took it to his sisters, who had come to him before. Since October 1857, Sergius became rector of the Academy, successor to Eugene. During our time at the Academy, Sergius as rector did not distinguish himself in any way. But when I was in the service in Bethany, in 1860, a disaster occurred at the Academy, in which he, formidable as an inspector, revealed himself to be a completely wet hen. Academic doctor Sokolov informed Sergius about 2nd year student Parfeny Replovsky that he had syphilis (the rector was going to marry this doctor to one of his many nieces). Replovsky incited the students against the doctor, staged a riot, so the students demanded the doctor’s dismissal, and he, poor thing, was fired. At the same time, someone gave money to the students as a tip through the rector. One of the students committed some abuses when purchasing and distributing tea. Both cases were combined into one and the students were immediately emancipated from discipline: they began drinking, not going to lectures, and not knowing the busy hours. The rector's authority completely fell, and people stopped paying attention to him. Fortunately for him, he was soon assigned to Kursk. Leaving the Academy, Sergius allegedly said that he would consider the day of his departure from the Academy the best day of his life. Porfira Popov. Sergius's successor in the inspectorate was Porfiry Popov, a very good, very kind man. He treated the students unusually well, but had no influence on us. I remember we didn’t go to afternoon lectures - to languages, we went to bed. He ran around the bedrooms, tried to herd students into classes, but to no avail. Philosophy. Dmitry Grigorievich Levitsky read experimental psychology and moral philosophy; Vasily Ivanovich Lebedev – logic and history of middle and new philosophy; Victor Dmitrievich Kudryavtsev – metaphysics and history of ancient philosophy. Dmitry Grigorievich Levitsky. The only thing I remember about him is that, while giving lectures, he would break down terribly, especially when he spoke them without a notebook, walking around the class, sticking his tongue out in both directions, hitting his desk with his hands, etc. He was married to Anna Martynovna Lovtseva, the younger sister of Sofia Martynovna, the wife of S.K. Smirnov. Anna Martynovna, widowed, was for a long time the head of the Filaretov School. Now he lives in an almshouse. Both sisters were beauties, and when they stood side by side in church, we, the students, then decided which was better: Sofya Martynovna was slimmer, Anna Martynovna was taller and slimmer. Vasily Ivanovich Lebedev behaved majestically, walked importantly into the pulpit and read. His lectures were remarkable because they were filled with foreign words - “transcendental”, “transcendental” every two Russian words. I remember an incident happened to him. Lebedev wrote criticism of Katkov’s article, published in Leontyev’s Propylaea, and published it in Pogodin’s Moskvityanin. He attached great importance to this criticism and recommended that we read it in class. But in response to his criticism, Katkov wrote the most severe anti-criticism, in which he positively mixed him with dirt. Vasily Ivanovich then came to class with his wings down and complained about Katkov, it seems, about his dishonesty. Fedor Alexandrovich Golubinsky. Viktor Dmitrievich Kudryavtsev took the chair of Fyodor Aleksandrovich Golubinsky, about whom I will say a few words here. Fyodor Alexandrovich left service at the Academy in the very year 1854 in which we were sent to the Academy. Immediately after leaving service, he wished to visit his homeland Kostroma and set the time of his arrival in Kostroma in mid-August. The rector of the seminary, Archimandrite Porfiry, wished to introduce us to him in Kostroma and for this purpose stopped our departure to the Academy for exams. But we waited a day, two, three; the rector began to fear that we would not arrive on time for the exams and let us go. Fyodor Alexandrovich and I parted ways on the road and never saw him. Upon arrival in Kostroma, Fyodor Alexandrovich fell ill and died there on August 26, 1854. Having not seen Fyodor Alexandrovich in person, I formed a fairly clear idea of ​​him from the stories of the professor at Bethany Seminary, my friend P. P. Delitsyn, who had an extraordinary ability to imagine his acquaintances in the faces. According to the stories of P.P. Delitsyn, he was a great eccentric, much more than his son Dmitry Fedorovich. When Fyodor Alexandrovich walked to lectures in the academic garden with bundles of books, the academic ministers approached him with a blessing. He laid the books on the ground and blessed them most earnestly. He was always late for his lectures and always overstayed his welcome, so that the next teacher had to ask him to leave the class. They said that Rector Alexy, when he forced him to write articles for the “Additions to the Works of the Holy Fathers,” sat him in his office, taking off his boots, as clerks and scribes did in the old days, instructing them to write something large and urgent during a busy time. Once at Maslenitsa Fyodor Aleksandrovich came to Pyotr Spiridonovich Delitsyn, with whom he lived next door in a state-owned academic house, and saw his children's stories of some multi-volume English writer in Russian translation, became interested and read volume after volume in the first week, forgetting about the services, so that finally, on Wednesday or Thursday, he was forcibly dragged into church. Once there was a meeting of the board in the apartment of the inspector (Sergius), and in the apartment across the corridor at Pyotr Simonovich Kazansky there was a small gambling meeting. Fyodor Aleksandrovich from the board went to the toilet, and from the toilet, instead of going to the inspector, he ended up with Pyotr Simonovich. He sat down there with the gamblers and began to talk, completely forgetting about the government. The board waited for him for a long time, then they went to look for him and, finally, remembering that opposite the inspector Pyotr Simonovich was gambling, they went there and found Fyodor Alexandrovich. In the old days, there was a bathhouse on the official academic yard. Not far from the bathhouse, under a huge elm tree, an earthen sofa covered with turf was made. Once, when Fyodor Alexandrovich was washing in the bathhouse, one of the professors, former residents of the back house, came out of the apartment and sat down on this sofa. Fyodor Alexandrovich went out to cool off completely naked and sat down on the sofa. For the lady it was so unexpected that she did not have time and did not dare to run away, she hid and held her breath. Fyodor Alexandrovich, as if nothing had happened, sat, sighed, said something to himself, and then, having cooled down, went to the bathhouse. Then the lady flew home, not remembering herself. Once Fyodor Alexandrovich needed to change his linen. Instead of going to the cook and telling her: “Give me fresh underwear,” he first took off his shirt and, naked, with the shirt in his hands, came to the kitchen and said: “Daryushka, give me a new shirt.” Victor Dmitrievich Kudryavtsev. When we arrived to take the exam, we had to write one impromptu essay by Viktor Dmitrievich, and the senior students told us the day before that tomorrow a famous person would come to teach the topic. We look: a small man enters, hopping, crooked, thin. Afterwards, these shortcomings somehow disappeared, or we took a closer look, or maybe he gained weight and gained a beard and mustache, and his shortness seemed to have straightened out. He gave lectures well, their merits can be judged by his published works. However, they listened to him no better than others. He was married to Kapitolina Vasilievna, the younger sister of Lyubov Vasilievna Amphiteatrova. It took Egor Vasilievich Amfitheatrov a lot of trouble to marry off Kapitolina Vasilievna to Viktor Dmitrievich. She lived with Yegor Vasilyevich, she was not distinguished by her beauty, she was thin. It took him a whole year to feed and water Viktor Dmitrievich and P. A. Smirnov in order to finally marry one of them to his sister-in-law. Her distinctive feature was terrible stinginess, for which, however, Viktor Dmitrievich himself was accused. In the shops of the townspeople they said to those who were bargaining: “You are bargaining like Kapitolina Vasilievna.” The Kudryavtsevs accumulated a lot of money, which Viktor Dmitrievich used quite stupidly. They lived very frugally. I usually didn’t go to their evenings, but I went once when Viktor Dmitrievich returned from St. Petersburg, having completed the training of the heir, Nikolai Alexandrovich. Everything was extremely meager and pitiful: the appetizers were very meager, the wine was bad... They said that Kapitolina Vasilievna kept a very bad table and starved Viktor Dmitrievich. Literature. E.V. Amfitheatrov was a master of the St. Petersburg Academy, nephew of the Kyiv Metropolitan Philaret. I found him already elderly. At the Academy, Egor Vasilyevich was an outstanding professor (together with V.D. Kudryavtsev) and a great authority among his superiors. Yegor Vasilyevich was famous for the theory of literature, which had not been read at the Academy before him. He was a very good reader, although they listened to him a little more than others. Yegor Vasilyevich’s lectures, borrowed from German sources, were very sophisticated. Metropolitan Filaret allegedly said about his lectures on the origin of language, presented for a public exam, that he would rather go to hard labor than memorize such lectures. Then the course of these lectures turned out to be not only compiled on the basis of German sources, but also directly copied. After the death of Yegor Vasilyevich, they decided to publish his course in order to lay a wreath on his grave, but they had to abandon this intention. During his lifetime, Yegor Vasilyevich himself published only one article about Jewish poetry, which did not represent anything special. He was a bigwig on the academic board because he had been its secretary for a long time: he had the decisive vote in all academic affairs. He was married to Lyubov Vasilievna, the daughter of a Moscow priest, a very beautiful and pretty woman. Yegor Vasilyevich, who looked important and dignified, was not at all handsome, wore a wig, and they said that he did not have a single hair on his head; He got married when he was 40 years old, taking Lyubov Vasilyevna as an 18 or 19-year-old girl. E.V.’s face, clean-shaven, was all wrinkled. Civil general history. P. S. Kazansky. I can’t say anything special about Pyotr Simonovich. He was a man who knew his business, strictly, conservatively. Gave lectures with some shouting. Like all Simonovichs, he was distinguished by his quarrelsome character, and he had frequent clashes on the board, especially with Yegor Vasilyevich Amfitheatrov. Amphitheaters and staged the well-known story with Kazansky’s exit from the Academy and his dissertation. He persuaded his friend Subbotin, and A.P. Lebedev also pestered them. At the time when this story took place, I was on a business trip abroad and, for my part, just sent a review of the dissertation from abroad, in which I wrote that for all the scientific activities of Pyotr Simonovich, I recognize him as fully deserving of a doctorate. As for the dissertation, I myself was not familiar with the subject, but F.A. Sergievsky pointed out to me that a lot had been written off there and, after checking, this instruction was confirmed. Pyotr Simonovich at the Academy was valued less than he deserved, and less than he was valued on the side - in St. Petersburg. One of the St. Petersburg authorities, perhaps Sukhomlinov or Bychkov, was surprised that we had little respect for Pyotr Simonovich, and told me: “But we don’t do that.” Russian civil history. S.K. Smirnov. Sergei Konstantinovich, when he was secular, looked very funny: bald, big face, shaved. When he became a priest and grew a beard, he became handsome. He did not lecture us, but chose more or less entertaining anecdotes from history. The students listened to him very much and admired him; Coming from class, I got into arguments with my comrades about his lectures and said that this is not history, but the devil knows what. Nikita Petrovich Gilyarov once told me that Sergei Konstantinovich initially read the real story, but since no one listened to him, he turned to anecdotes. Mathematics. 77. S. Delitsyn. Originally a Muscovite, he taught mathematics to first-year students at the Academy. During Napoleon's stay in Moscow, Pyotr Spiridonovich lived there all the time and told how difficult it was for him to get bread for his elderly parents. In our time, Pyotr Spiridonovich looked like a tall, corpulent old man, heavily dragging his feet. Rector Evgeniy enrolled me in a schism class parallel to mathematics, and I attended only one lecture with Pyotr Spiridonovich. I can’t say how he taught mathematics. I only remember that he came to class, wrote mathematical things on the board, explained a little, bowed, and that was the end. Pyotr Spiridonovich's main occupation was editing translations of patristic works, which (translations) were produced by all the Academy's mentors in a certain number of sheets (translation of works was a profitable item and was distributed equally among everyone). No matter how you came to see him, he would sit in his office on his terribly overused sofa and correct translations. In the translations of other mentors, Pyotr Spiridonovich did not leave a living word. His second job was the censorship of books of spiritual content produced for the Nikolsky book market, and with this signature - “censor Archpriest Pyotr Delitsyn” - he was famous among the clergy of that time. Also, F. A. Golubinsky owed his celebrity among the rural clergy, mainly, to the censor’s signature under the same books, and not to his philosophy. As a person, Pyotr Spiridonovich was a great hospitable person, and his apartment was always open to everyone who wanted to spend a pleasant evening, play cards, for which he himself had a penchant, and have a fun chat, especially with his eldest son Pyotr Petrovich, a great laugher and talker, who was the mentor of the Bethany Theological Seminary and lived with his father. D. F. Golubinsky completed the course and remained at the Academy in 1854, when we entered the Academy. Dmitry Fedorovich read physics. I didn’t attend any of his lectures because I was signed up for a schism. From the very beginning, he was the same somewhat eccentric that he remained until his death: Dmitry Fedorovich inherited his eccentricities from his father. N. P. Gilyarov-Platonov. When we entered the Academy, a schism class was opened, which those who did not want to study mathematics and physics could attend, and Nikita Petrovich was appointed as a mentor. In appearance, he was tall, one might say, an elegant gentleman with an expressive face. He was distinguished by outstanding talents. I studied with him for a year, at the end of which Nikita Petrovich was forced to leave his service at the Academy. He did not give us real lectures on schism (courses), but spoke to different classes about various matters - he criticized books written about the schism, and for the most part found that everything written was no good, he analyzed existing views on the schism and recognized them as incorrect, he tinkered for a long time with I. S. Aksakov’s notes about schismatics, with the hook notes of schismatics. Nikita Petrovich's face was very expressive, and when he was in shock, he spoke masterfully. Of all his stories, the one that remains in my memory is the story from Cyril’s book about why the Catholic clergy shave their beards... His leaving the Academy happened like this. Hierodeacon Anfim, later Exarch of Bulgaria, lived at the Academy at that time. He told A.N. Muravyov that Nikita Petrovich read his main subject (hermeneutics in his senior year) very freely. Muravyov conveyed this to Metropolitan Philaret, and the Metropolitan asked Nikita Petrovich to leave his service at the Academy. They said then that the Slavophiles, to whose circle he belonged, wanted to give him a place as a home tutor for the children of some grand duke. But Metropolitan Philaret refused him his recommendation, which was required. However, Filaret did not prevent him from becoming a director (or manager) of the Synodal Printing House and, upon leaving his service, he gave or procured him a monetary allowance. Nikita Petrovich had as his wife the daughter of a Moscow priest, Vera Alekseevna, and they gossiped that his family life was not very good, because his wife did not have a particularly good character. A. V. Gorsky. We found Alexander Vasilyevich secular, already elderly (42 years old), but he looked older than his years: gray-haired, bald, shaven. His figure was not particularly presentable: a wide back, a prominent rear; when he was in a hurry (for example, to the library), he shuffled his feet and stuck his butt out. He dressed with deliberate negligence, imitating, as they said, the famous Pogodin in his time. He wore a frock coat, a vest and worn trousers, but even the crows would not have taken his cap to their nest. He had the same cylinder 13. When Gorsky became a priest, he grew a beard, which was thick and good, and he completely changed. And he began to dress impeccably, they said, imitating Metropolitan Philaret. Alexander Vasilyevich was a real scientist who devoted his entire life to science: he sat and sat at his books and did nothing else. He sometimes went out on visits, but very rarely. Sometimes you get tired of writing lectures (I’m talking about the time of your service), you go out into the garden for a walk; sometimes you look: in the bachelor's building all the lights were extinguished, only A.V. Gorsky had a light on, so this light even animated, it happened. In the character of Alexander Vasilyevich, one should note as an outstanding trait his passion for picking and making fun of people. This is well stated in one letter from P. S. Kazansky to Plato. He pestered the students who came to his library with these tricks, so that some were afraid to go there. My friend Nikolai Pavlovich Krylov, a Muscovite, a dandy and a dandy, once flew into the library, handed over a note and said: “Alexander Vasilyevich! Give me such and such a book.” He looked at him with a smile and said: “Sorry, this book has not been written yet, but when it is written, then please!” Krylov turned and flew away and probably never looked into the library again. We listened to the lectures of Alexander Vasilyevich, like other professors, rather poorly, despite the fact that he was a famous professor. He read church history, all kinds: biblical, general and Russian. In the Gospel story that he was reading, he stopped at places and declared that here it was decent to indulge in reflection and began moral considerations. He read them in a thunderous voice, but that was all that occupied us. Once before Christmas (in his first year of senior year) he decided to do a rehearsal, and they responded to him very poorly. He got angry. (I was trembling for myself, because if he had asked me, I would have answered just as badly as the others, and it would have been shameful for me to come to him.) Alexander Vasilyevich was an academic librarian for quite a long time. He was a truly exemplary librarian: he knew the library like the back of his hand. Whatever book they asked him, he did not consult the catalogue, but immediately went to the place where it stood and immediately took it, or after some very short searching. When I wrote “A Brief Sketch of the Churches,” I really needed a German book, like a translation from Greek or based on Greek sources, that would treat Greek literature. The librarian was then already V.P. Luchinin. We were knocked off our feet looking for her. I finally decided to turn to Gorsky, I said: “Here’s the thing, Alexander Vasilyevich...” He immediately grabbed his hat and flew with me to the library. He went into the middle hall of the library and looked around; comes to one cabinet, unfolds it and hands it to me with the question: “This one?” I just screamed in amazement. The contents of the Slavic manuscripts of the academic library, descriptions of which did not yet exist, were well known to him. When I served in Bethany and I was assigned to read schism as a side subject, I needed various articles on schism, I turned to A.V. Gorsky, and he immediately went to the library, collected an armful of manuscripts that contained the articles I needed, and handed them to me. The tricks that were mentioned somewhat frightened the students, but there was also a good side to them: the students tried not to ask him for books that did not exist, or not to misinterpret the names of existing books. The situation with checking out new books to the library was as follows. Alexander Vasilyevich subscribed to Russian books based on notes from his mentors and at his own discretion. Foreign books were sent to him by the Riga bookseller Deibner: he sent entire boxes with the latest works of German theological literature. Alexander Vasilyevich looked through the books (or gave them to look through), which he found necessary, he kept, others he sent back. Alexander Vasilyevich was in charge of this business even when he was already the rector. There were always boxes from Deibner in his apartment. Hieromonk Porfiry Popov. He taught patristics. The man is very good, very kind, but sickly - consumptive. He studied his subject very diligently, read in detail and thoroughly (the lectures were good). Only he read them unusually quickly, without any calculation of time. Due to illness, he was sent to the Simonov Monastery, then to Rome... (See above, about him as an inspector). A.F. Lavrov, master of our Academy in 1854, the year when we entered the Academy. I read canon law. At that time, Alexander Fedorovich was just beginning his professorial service and was just composing his lectures. Therefore, in order to save, if possible, his lectures, he read them unusually slowly: he drew out the words, made a stop between each word, so that the reading turned out to be very boring. Alexander Fedorovich was the nephew of the once famous Moscow University professor Nikita Ivanovich Krylov, and they said that he took advantage of his uncle’s lectures (not in the sense of simply copying, of course), but we were not attracted to lectures compiled under the influence of the famous university professor. In his relations with students, Alexander Fedorovich was unusually, exceptionally polite and obligatory. This politeness and obligation turned out to be harmful when he became an academic librarian: he allowed students to rummage through the shelves and they created terrible chaos on the shelves. I remember when I was writing the “Short Essay”, I constantly had to go to the library. Alexander Fedorovich, out of obligation, gave me the keys, and I went there alone. So more than once I had to put in order books that were terribly mixed up by students. As a student, Alexander Fedorovich was a modest and pious young man (he only loved cards, which the rector did not know), so rector Evgeniy hoped to tonsure him as a monk, which was what everyone else at the Academy expected. But he unexpectedly deceived everyone’s hopes by marrying Marya Nikolaevna Korsunskaya, the daughter of a Rostov priest and the sister of his fellow student Pavel Nikolaevich Korsunsky. Not being of a distinguished appearance himself, he picked up the beauty written off her face. From Marya Nikolaevna he had one daughter, Sasha, who died about ten years old, plunging him into terrible grief, so that his wife feared that the man might go crazy. Then Marya Nikolaevna died of breast cancer, and then Alexander Fedorovich became a monk. He died as Archbishop of Lithuania. Everyone expected him to be the Moscow world leader, but he died prematurely. Having married Marya Nikolaevna, Alexander Fedorovich first went to parties and received guests himself. But when the money taken for his wife was spent, and it remained to live on the then meager salary, then it was concluded, and for Marya Nikolaevna, who had some attraction to society, it was difficult. The conservatism of Alexander Fedorovich, revealed in the history of the transformation of the church court, is well known. Here he showed great courage, because he went alone against the majority, against the Chief Prosecutor Count Tolstoy himself. My relationship with Alexander Fedorovich, while he was a socialite, was very close, although we were people of different directions, we argued, as they say, to the point of tears, but ended amicably. When he became a monk, he began to treat me with the greatest, so to speak, caution. I personally invited him to a doctoral debate, and Alexander Fedorovich positively and kindly promised to come, but then in the morning, on the very day of the debate, he sent a telegram that he could not come due to a sudden stomach upset... And then, when His Eminence Alexy learned about the incident at the debate of V.P. Nechaev (later Bishop Vissarion) with the viceroy of the Lavra Leonid (about this incident, see below), he said: “It was good that I did not come.” F. A. Sergievsky - Bachelor of Biblical History and P. A. Smirnov - Bachelor of Church Archeology, comrades in the teaching of A. F. Lavrov and appointed to the departments immediately upon completion of the course of study. I can’t say anything good or bad about both of them: they came to class, read, left, and that’s the end. The first ended his life as rector of the Archangel Cathedral in Moscow, and the second died as the former chairman of the educational commission in the Synod. Hieromonk Mikhail Luzin - Bachelor of Holy Scripture, a comrade of the three who preceded him, left at the Academy, like them, immediately after completing the course. He gave us very interesting lectures about Baur and Strauss. Moreover, he was an excellent reader, so his lectures can rightly be called outstanding. Therefore, they listened to him with more attention than anyone else. Mikhail died as Bishop of Kursk. N. I. Subbotin - Bachelor of Hermeneutics and the doctrine of religions and schisms. He took the place of N.P. Gilyarov-Platonov. Subbotin, even in the audience, remained the same graceful young man as he was in society (as mentioned above). He brought with him a certain smell of perfume. He read his lectures gracefully and tenderly. But they listened to him no more than to the Others. Many called him the first splitist of our time. And it is true that he was the first expert on modern movements in the schism, but it cannot be said that he was the best expert on the science of schism. Judging by the book about the Belokrinitsky hierarchy, he was more of a judicial investigator than a scholarly historian, which I once pointed out in a review of the said book when it was submitted for a doctorate. Subbotin became the first expert on modern movements in the schism in this way. He accidentally met and then entered into the closest relations with Alexei Ivanovich Khludov, who had great connections with fellow believers and schismatics. Khludov delivered him all kinds of information, written materials, and introduced him to those persons from whom he could receive information. On one of his visits to Trinity, A.I. Khludov wanted to get acquainted with the academic library. Subbotin was then a librarian. While showing the library, he managed to charm Khludov, so that after that they established the closest connections. (Subbotin’s nobility towards me at the doctoral debate will be discussed below.) N. A. Sergievsky – Bachelor of Biblical History. I lived with him for two years in the same room (4th, where there is now an economy room and a dining room). He was a senior, I was a junior. Sergievsky was the eldest in the room. In the smoking room, Nikolai Alexandrovich very nicely told us jokes. Throughout his studies, he did not go particularly high, only at the end was he dragged into third place (he was the grandson of Metropolitan Philaret). He was not distinguished by great theoretical intelligence and gave lectures (so everyone thought) left over from his brother (Filaret Alexandrovich). But he had a good practical mind. After leaving service at the Academy, Nikolai Alexandrovich went abroad in the family of Count Putyatin as a home teacher under the pretext of studying the state of Catholic religious educational institutions. He was later the director of the Commercial Academy in Moscow. They said that Metropolitan Filaret asked Moscow merchants for him, on whom the appointment of the director depended. He served in the Ministry of Public Education under Count Putyatin, then for a long time he was a trustee of the Vilna educational district and, as rumor went, not entirely thin. Died as a senator. Accepted into the Academy, I wanted to become a clerk in the editorial office of “Additions to the edition of the Works of the Holy Fathers in Russian translation,” to which the senior clerk of the editorial office, my fellow countryman, Andrei Vukolovich Vlasov, called me, and to which I wanted to join for fear that my father would send me incorrect and insufficient money for tea, for smoking tobacco (I smoked desperately) and for buns I submitted a petition. But the rector of the Academy, Eugene, to whom I was a fellow countryman, called me to him and said that he did not want me to become a clerk, because writing would distract me from my studies, and that if I needed money, I would turn to him. I took the request back and the rector, for his part, gave me money for tips several times, for which I still remain sincerely grateful to him. I was settled as an inspector in No. 4 (which now constitutes the housekeeper's hall and dining room). N.A. Sergievsky was appointed as number senior, and my comrades at the first of two tables were: Vasily Nikiforovich Potapov, Pavel Ivanovich Gorsky and Rufin Alekseevich Rzhanitsyn, at the second table sat Nikolai Petrovich Lavrov (uncle of St. Petersburg professor Pyotr Alekseevich Lavrov), Valentin Nikolaevich Amfitheatrov, the father of the famous publicist Amfitheatrov, the other two were not I remember (one of them, it seems, is Vasily Vishersky). Soon I expressed inner gratitude to the rector for rejecting me from writing. No matter how easy the position of a clerk was, it still required time, and yet all my time until the last, one might say, minute was necessary for my studies. I arrived at the Academy with some, very small, knowledge of the French language and with complete ignorance of the German language, and yet I saw that at the Academy knowledge of the French language is desirable, and knowledge of German is absolutely necessary. And I sat down to further study one language and study another language and did the job with such diligence (I sat without getting up from my chair) that by Christmas time of the first year I began to read quite fluently in both languages, resorting to a dictionary only in rare cases. Until the last time of his life, P.I. Gorsky remembered this sitting of mine without getting up. Having studied languages ​​out of awareness of their need, I used them to write essays. In the first year, I excelled in philosophy; I imagined myself as a philosopher whose mind goes beyond reason and there is darkness in his head. Two of the professors, Lebedev and Levitsky, read my essays in class as examples of essays by authors whose minds were unclear. V.I. Lebedev comes to one class, sits down on the lectern, takes a notebook out of his pocket and says: “Here, gentlemen, today I will not lecture you, but will read the essay of one of you. A philosopher has appeared among you...” This was followed by mocking praise. He started reading: he reads half a page, a page, and then criticizes and mocks. The essay was on the topic: “How can one prove that the so-called universal and necessary axioms cannot be deduced from experience through induction and analogy?” The professor’s signature on the essay, which I still have, is as follows: “The concept of an axiom is generally formulated incorrectly. Hence the scope of the issue is arbitrarily limited and its solution is one-sided. The tongue is heavy and very unclean. But behind all this, the reasoning shows in the author a good thinking ability and can be called good.” Fortunately for me, in this class I sat in the back row and no one noticed how I blushed and turned pale, and generally felt disgusting. Everyone was interested to the last degree in who the author of the essay was, but they could not find out, and only after a long time, when I could treat my authorship with complete composure, did the matter become known. One day V.N. Strakhov came up to me and said: “But this is your essay?” I smiled in agreement. Dmitry Grigorievich Levitsky read my work for the same reasons and with the same analysis of it. At that time I was in the hospital and only from the stories of my comrades I guessed that this essay was mine. I also hid my authorship. The topic of the essay is “On the importance of self-knowledge.” The professor’s signature under it is as follows: “There is a noticeable desire for clarity and thoroughness of thinking. Darkness and abstraction are the shortcomings of the work, which, however, gives good hope.” The third essay, written to V.D. Kudryavtsev, was not read in class. But here’s what N.P. Gilyarov told me about him. When compiling the general annual list, Nikita Petrovich, for whom I wrote a very good essay, suggested that I should be written down first, but Vladimir Dmitrievich, when he heard this, widened his eyes and said to him: “Come to me and I will show me what your Golubinsky wrote to me.” It was probably an essay on the topic: “In the observable life of the soul, is there any indication of its immortality?” The review is as follows: “Most of the reasoning is irrelevant. The rest, to the point, is practical. In any case, the essay shows that the writer can write very well.” Due to the schism, I wrote an essay for N.P. Gilyarov on the topic: “On icon painting in the Orthodox Church.” The essay was signed “Very good,” but fearing, based on Vladimir Dmitrievich’s words, that I might be demoted very much, he forwarded it to “Very good.” Further words of the review: “The work is somewhat damaged by the excessive liveliness of presentation and, in places, vagueness in expression.” I don’t remember whether it was in the first or second year of my junior year that I wrote an essay to P. S. Kamensky on the topic “Pericles and His Age.” I myself was very pleased with the essay, but the teacher was very dissatisfied and wrote me down on his private list as 26th or 28th, I don’t remember, so when compiling the general list they barely persuaded him not to insist on my demotion. I thought that I would delight him, but one day P.I. Gorsky, his nephew, comes from him and says: “... your uncle scolds you with all his might.” The review is as follows: “The author became interested in the ideas of Greek worship. The language is alive. But the essay can be called nothing more than an introduction.” Probably P.S. In his second year, Kazansky wrote an essay on the topic: “On the influence of the Byzantine Empire on the peoples of the Slavic tribe,” under which it was signed: “Good.” In the second year he wrote an essay to V.D. Kudryavtsev “On the reasons for the success of philosophy in Greece.” He read this essay in class and wrote a note: “Very good.” E. V. Amfitheatrov wrote two essays: “How can we explain that the predominance of aesthetic abilities over other powers of the soul among some peoples was accompanied by unfavorable consequences for the religious and moral education of these peoples?” The review is as follows: “The main ideas are not presented entirely correctly and clearly; but the solution to the question is witty, close to the truth and reveals in the author a remarkable ability to think and write. Almost very good." Another - on the topic: “Why are Shakespeare’s works more satisfying to modern taste than the comparatively more artistic tragedies of the Greeks?” Review: “The work is distinguished by the freshness of its thoughts, the particular maturity of its judgment and the strength and conciseness of its language. Very good". In the second year I wrote an essay for V.I. Lebedev on the topic: “Is it a fair opinion that everything that is real is reasonable and that everything that is reasonable really exists?” Review: “The author is recommended to take care of the purity and liveliness of his language, clarity and accuracy in expressing his thoughts. However, the reasoning can rightly be called very good.” In my senior year, I wrote an essay for rector Eugene about the Antichrist. Whether he was satisfied with the essay or dissatisfied, I don’t know, because he didn’t turn in the essay and didn’t tell me anything about it. Wrote a very good essay about. Mikhail Luzin. He didn’t pass it, but I know because he read it in class as very good. I wrote a not very good essay to A.V. Gorsky, who was not entirely satisfied with it, called me to his place and made me his comments. The topic for the course essay was given to me as follows: “The mode of action of the Greco-Roman emperors against heretics and schismatics in the 4th century.” This topic was sent from the Synod to the Metropolitan so that he ordered it to be given to the Academy, and A.V. Gorsky, to whose department the question related, gave it to me. I can’t say anything by what motives he was guided by in giving me this topic. I didn’t quite like the topic, but of course I couldn’t refuse it (later some accused me of not giving up the topic, but I recognize this accusation as completely unfounded, I didn’t like the topic, but what could I say against it without knowing the matter well?). The work could be written according to two plans - either historically according to the reigns of the emperors or systematically with a review of measures according to their groups. I preferred the historical plan: I worked very diligently, went to Alexander Vasilyevich, informed him about the progress of my studies, and he approved of my work. I managed to write and rewrite the essay (former seminary comrades, novices of the Lavra, helped me rewrite it) by Easter and submitted it to Alexander Vasilyevich. A week and a half or two later, he called me to him and told me that I needed to write the essay systematically, and handed me the last one for revision. This revision was truly hard labor for me: I wrote to the point that I almost lost the ability to express myself intelligently. Meanwhile, if I had first carried out the presentation systematically, my work would have been unusually easy, because there was a book in German on precisely this topic (by Riffel, it seems) with a systematic overview of the measures taken by the emperors. The essay submitted in the 2nd edition was approved by Alexander Vasilyevich, and I was given a master's degree by the Synod. Alexander Vasilyevich himself edited my work in places, and where there is police eloquence in it about the beneficence of measures against heretics and schismatics, it belongs to Alexander Vasilyevich. I received a master's degree for my essay and thought that was the end of the matter. But when I was at the service in Bethany, Alexander Vasilyevich once called me to him and announced that an order had been received from the Synod to publish the work in the “Additions to the publication of the works of the holy fathers in Russian translation.” I didn’t quite like it, but there was nothing to do. The consolation for me was that the editors were rich in money at that time, and they paid me a very good salary per page. Then one fellow believer, jealous of strict measures against schismatics, published it as a separate pamphlet without asking me, but with the permission of the rector Sergius, to whom, as they gossiped, he brought a bag of wine. About life at the Academy as a student Throughout my studies at the Academy, the students behaved very modestly. There were people who were addicted to vodka and drank, but there was no real drunkenness, which came later. The drinking itself took place in secret, so for a long time I did not know about the drinking and found out by chance. Once I was walking in the Pafnutev Garden, a friend came up to me and asked if I had a nickel. I, in turn, asked: “What do you need a nickel for?” He answered that it was missing by a scale. I did not suspect this student of drinking at all and was quite surprised by his confession. His confession aroused my curiosity, I turned to my friends with questions, and they told me that drinking individually and in groups occurs secretly, in toilets (sic!), in bedrooms and in servants’ stoves. The only thing open and time-honored was drinking, which can be called preaching. A senior student who preached a sermon on a Sunday or holiday gave his comrades a quarter, which they drank upon arriving from church to their rooms, before dinner. But at the same time, each person who drank experienced little more than, or even no more than, the current bastard, so there can be no talk of getting drunk. In my senior year, I didn’t preach a single sermon, so I didn’t give a single grade, and I never went to someone else’s drinking party (I only heard that they took place in the bedroom). It happened that at festive drinks, some gentlemen drank too much, got drunk and then behaved not quite decently, but this happened very rarely. Young people could not do without adventures in the amorous part, the field of which was Posad. There were rumors that sometimes there were clashes with the townspeople, from whom the ladies' men came out with more or less dented sides. As for students going to classes, as I said above, the latter should be divided into two: into pre-lunch classes, in which lectures were given by professors, and afternoon classes, devoted to languages: Greek, Latin, Hebrew, German and French. They attended the pre-lunch classes very regularly, although they were far from attentive to listening to lectures: but the exception in this regard was only the days before the deadline for submitting essays. Students who did not have time to complete their essays on time remained in their rooms to finish writing them during lecture time. (Sitting quietly and decently in the classroom, we did whatever we wanted - reading newspapers or magazines, dozing...) 14. Our main occupation was writing monthly essays, which, indeed, most students did very diligently. At the same time as listening to lectures, students were not engaged in independent additional study of science courses, according to the latest manuals on science and textbooks, limiting themselves in this case to those few tickets that were handed in by mentors (15 tickets each). At the same time, the students did not prepare all the notes handed in by the professors, but divided these small parts among themselves, so that each person received 3-4 tickets, which we crammed. Barely noticeable marks were made on the tickets placed on the table. Since I was not distinguished by visual acuity, I was strictly punished so that I took the tickets with the greatest attention and did not pull out someone else’s. What was memorized fragmentarily and hastily evaporated within three or two days. Thus, the study of science at the Academy was extremely superficial or insignificant. The students had all their non-lecture time completely free - all this time was occupied solely by writing essays, which the students worked really hard at. Most students tried to become aware of the existing literature on essay subjects. In religious terms, there was nothing outstanding, either for good or for bad, between the students of that time. We went to church regularly, went to sermons and to communion. There were absolutely no manifestations of religious free-thinking, and there could not have been any, given the state of the discipline at that time. In our time, every class had at least one crazy person. In the previous course there were two crazy people, in ours there was only one - Feofilakt Antonovich Orlov from the Ryazan Seminary. He usually walked around the rooms with his finger in his nose, like a real philosopher. In the summer at the end of the first year there was a thunderstorm. Theophylact walked around the garden and spoke something like that. They came running to listen to him; Even the inspector came out. After that, he was placed in the hospital, in a small room, where we took turns guarding him. Then he was sent home, after the vacation he returned and at the Intercession Act, when E.V. Amphiteatrov, as secretary, began to read the report, suddenly Theophylact separated from the crowd of standing students, majestically extended his hand, wrapped in the hood of his overcoat, and exclaimed: “Egorka!” There was excitement, and the majestic Yegor Vasilyevich was so embarrassed that he sat down. To our great regret, the servants picked up Theophylact and took him out. During his madness, he showed extraordinary powers of observation and was busy making fun of the professors: it turned out that he noticed all sorts of trifles worthy of laughter, and we gathered in crowds to listen to him make fun of this or that. The man is undoubtedly a very, very intelligent man; he somehow completed the course and served first in Arkhangelsk, and then was transferred to his native Ryazan. In Ryazan, he declared himself, one might say, a great man: with his tireless efforts he built a school for girls of the clergy. I said above that the rector of the Academy, Archimandrite Eugene, to whom I was a fellow countryman, was very supportive of me. Likewise, A.V. Gorsky, who was also my fellow countryman, treated me very favorably. During our studies at the Academy, his father, Archpriest of the Kostroma Cathedral V. S. Gorsky, was still alive. Alexander Vasilyevich usually went to Kostroma for Christmas and vacations. During his trips and absences, he left me to do housework in his apartment. This housekeeping had the meaning for me that I could rummage to my heart’s content in the books with which the office of Alexander Vasilyevich, who was then a librarian, was full. Here I could see and read books that he would not have given from the library not only to a student, but, perhaps, to a professor. For example, I read his French translation of Gibbon’s “History of the Decline and Fall of the Byzantine Empire” and the French translation of Procopius of Caesarea’s “The Secret History of Justinian and Theodora.” One professor, A.F. Lavrov, also came to me to rummage through Alexander Vasilyevich’s books. Before accepting the priesthood, Alexander Vasilyevich was a big tobacco smoker. After he left, there remained a more or less significant supply of tobacco in his tobacco box, and I usually smoked it to the last ounce. On this occasion, a certain scandal happened for me once: Alexander Vasilyevich arrived from Kostroma, P. S. Kazansky immediately ran to greet him. After talking with Alexander Vasilyevich, he expressed a desire to smoke. Alexander Vasilyevich ordered the attendant to fill the pipe. The attendant replied that there was no tobacco at all, and at this announcement I felt very awkward. But Alexander Vasilyevich did not say a word and sent for new tobacco. (Along with Zhukov tobacco, he also smoked cigars that were inexpensive, but not entirely bad either). He usually went to Kostroma with my friend, and with his cousin N.K. Sokolov. On the days of our departures to Kostroma, he arranged festive dinners for Sokolov and me, at which he drank himself and forced us to drink glasses of two or three wines. A little tipsy from the wine, he then said goodbye to me with an extremely long and extremely strong kiss. I said above that while studying at the seminary, I accidentally got drunk twice. This misfortune also happened to me twice while studying at the Academy: once in the Academy itself, another time in the village, in my homeland. At the end of the first year of study at the Academy, P.I. Gorsky received an addition to his surname - “Platonov” and Platonov’s award money. Using Platonov's money, he arranged a snack for his friends, including me, in the apartment of his widow mother, who lived in Posad. At this appetizer they forced me to drink two or three glasses of vodka, and I became very tipsy. They led me back to the Academy, arm in arm. Having arrived in room (4th), for some reason I did not want to sit in it and, leaving the room, sat on the threshold of the doors leading from the corridor to the porch. It happened on Saturday during the ringing of the all-night vigil. The inspector had to go through these doors into the church. But not only did I not move into the room from his passage, but I didn’t even get up when he passed, and he, for his part, carefully walked around me without saying a word to me. The remarkable thing about this story is that Inspector Sergius neither deliberately called me to him for a reprimand, nor on occasion ever after did he say a single word to me. Obviously, he knew that I got drunk not from my love for vodka, but from lack of practice in it. Sergius showed here a nobility that we are not used to seeing from him. Another incident took place in the village, in my homeland. During a vacation on a holiday, I went with one of our village priests for a walk to the river, which flows one and a half miles from the village. On the river near the road there were then two dyehouses that belonged to rural dyers. One of the dyers was in the dye shop at that time and invited the priest and me to visit him. Wanting to treat such a rare guest as an academician as best as possible, he sent to the village tavern for a bottle of bread rum. He literally forced me to drink a glass of this disgusting rum. This glass made me very drunk, so the priest forcibly brought me to the village, and at home I felt so bad that my father and younger brother sat over me all night without sleep. I finished my course at the Academy in 1858 as the fifth student. After four comrades who were left in the Academy itself, I found myself the first contender for professorships in seminaries. The best of the professorships in seminaries was, or at least I recognized, the position of professor of rhetoric at the Moscow Seminary. I really wanted to occupy him, but he was interrupted by my comrade Alexander Vasilyevich Morev, who had some very strong hand in the spiritual and administrative field. Not assigned to Moscow, I was assigned to Bethany for the same rhetoric class. I began my service in Bethany by being the first to introduce beards, which then began to become a custom among officials. After completing the course at the Academy, I spent my vacation at home in the village: I did not know how to shave and did not have a razor. Likewise, there was no one else in the village who had a razor and knew how to shave. That's why I grew my beard. And then he decided to keep it in order to avoid the very unpleasant process of shaving the barber. Therefore, I came to the service in Bethany with a beard, and after me others began to grow beards. However, I do not take credit for being a beard promoter; I was only the first to wear a beard at Bethany Seminary. I came to Bethany with a certain reputation for talent and learning, and my praiser was the professor of the Bethany Seminary, Ivan Aleksandrovich Veniaminov, a student of N. P. Gilyarov. I met Veniaminov as a student of Nikita Petrovich, while still a student at the Academy. The rector of the seminary, Ignatius, immediately wanted, so to speak, to use and test my talent and learning: he instructed me to write a welcoming speech to the metropolitan for the first Christmas; For a sample, they gave me from the office a collection of previous speeches, or a river book. Having read the collection, I was horrified: in the speeches there was an eloquence completely unbridled and uncontrollable, knowing no limits (so that the people who composed these speeches could be considered, if not crazy, then half-crazy). I composed a speech and then, over the course of twenty days, I edited it all, making more and more new versions. Finally, I submitted a speech to the rector (my speech was eloquent, but not frantic, but moderate), and the rector was, in all likelihood, dissatisfied with it, at least after that he not only did not say a compliment to me, but even a single word. I took up my rhetoric with the greatest zeal. I was interested in the question of who was the first creator of rhetoric, taught in seminaries, which taught to write not only correctly and purely, but also eloquently. It turned out that this first creator was Cicero, who said that “poetae nascuntur, oratores fiunt,” without understanding Aristotle and mistaking his rhetoric, which contained practical advice on how to write speeches, for the very theory of science. I ordered the necessary books and decided to write my own rhetoric textbook, but during preparations for writing I was transferred to the Academy. I was very unhappy with myself as a teacher. When explaining lessons to students in class, I could not achieve the desired freedom of oral presentation: I felt forced and embarrassed. When I complained about myself to P.I. Gorsky, he advised me to have a good small drink before going to class. But I couldn’t take his advice, because if I drank a little, I would not only begin to speak freely, but also completely fool around. I kept hoping that I would achieve the freedom I wanted, but I don’t know whether my hopes would be justified. After a year of service in Bethany, they added schism to my rhetoric and made me a librarian. I inherited both the schism and the library from the above-mentioned I. A. Veniaminov, who went to Moscow to become a priest after marrying the daughter of Archpriest Nikolai Andreevich Rudnev, the author of the famous, very good book “The History of Heresies and Schisms in the Russian Church.” The Metropolitan demanded that I write a program of lessons on the schism and returned it to him without any comments. By the end of the year, this split had spoiled my blood a lot. About two months, a month and a half before the exams, I met the rector of the seminary on a walk. After talking with me, he concluded by telling me: “And at the public exam, the bishop will probably scold you when you take the schism; he always scolded your predecessor.” Since Ignatius was the grandson of the metropolitan and a person close to him, I believed that he was speaking on the basis of some information. On the very day of the exam, for some reason I needed to see the rector before the professors gathered with him before heading to class. After the speeches for which I came, dismissing me, he said again: “And today the Bishop will probably scold you.” You can imagine with what excitement I waited in line for the split exam. The turn came, I went to the metropolitan, and the rector called three students who had to answer about the schism. I took the tickets from the book of Metropolitan. Gregory "The Truly Ancient and True Orthodox Church." One student answers very well, a very long ticket; The Metropolitan does not say a word. Another student answers again, a very long ticket and very well; The Metropolitan again does not say a word. The third student answers also well and has the same ticket; At the end of the answer, the Metropolitan, without saying a word, lets me go, giving me his blessing in silence. When I ran to my place, all sweaty with excitement, P.I. Gorsky, who was sitting next to me and knew about my expectations of the metropolitan’s abuse, said to me with a laugh: “You looked at the metropolitan very fiercely; he was scared of you!” In Bethany my friends were the seminary inspector, Hieromonk Epiphany (Izbitsky), Pyotr Petrovich Delitsyn and his brother Dmitry Petrovich Delitsyn, who also taught rhetoric in the 1st department (and I in the 2nd), and I. A. Veniaminov. Pyotr Petrovich, who lived in Posad with his father, when he came to Bethany for lessons, usually arranged small snacks for us in brother Dmitry’s apartment. These refreshments were extremely fun. The fact is that Epifaniy and Pyotr Petrovich were gifted with an extraordinary talent for making laughs and told funny jokes in the most magnificent way. Often a competition was arranged between them: one would tell a funny joke, the other would try to outdo him and tell an even funnier joke, etc. We, the listeners, laughed until we cried and laughed until we dropped. In Bethany we received an insignificant salary and ate unusually meagerly from the common professor's cook. My clothes were bad: the tailcoat was a student official one, issued upon completion of a course of study at the Academy. I entered the service in a student's overcoat, lined with air. I didn’t have the money to start a decent overcoat. I was rescued from trouble by P.P. Delitsyn, who lent me money and himself bought me a wadded overcoat with a collar made of Polish beaver in Moscow. I wore this overcoat for endless centuries until it was completely worn out: the cotton wool went down, forming whole heaps there, and only the cloth and lining remained at the top. I. A. Veniaminov instructed me that I should always have a bottle of sherry and a straw for my comrades who come to me. That's what I did. There in Bethany I lived somewhat more socially than later at the Academy. Towards the end of my life in Bethany, I started organizing regular evenings with the professors so that there would be no card games, but only useful and pleasant conversations. I had one such evening. It went well, but it didn’t end quite well: Ivan Nikolaevich Dobroumov and Vasily Nikolaevich Strakhov got into a heated argument with each other, having drunk a fair amount. After I left for the Academy, these evenings stopped. 6. My service at the academy 15 I was transferred from Bethany to the Academy to the department of Russian Church History on January 11, 1861. At the end of our course, N.K. Sokolov was appointed to the department of Russian church history, separated into a special department from general church history, who at the end of 1860 went abroad in the family of gr. Putyatin, under the official pretext of studying monuments relating to the new history of the Western Church. I don’t know the story of my move to the Academy at all. They did not ask me if I wished to be transferred, nor did they first inform me that they intended to transfer me, and when they did, they directly informed me that I was being transferred. It must be thought that my translation took place at the suggestion and desire of A.V. Gorsky, under whose closest, so to speak, supervision was Russian church history. I will begin the narrative about my academic activities at the Academy with brief reports about the rectors of the Academy under whom I served. Rectors under whom I served. The first rector at the Academy, under whom I began serving, was Savva Tikhomirov, transferred from the rector of the Moscow Theological Seminary and appointed one day before my appointment as a bachelor of the Academy - January 10, 1861. The professors were offended by Savva’s appointment as rector. Usually, people were appointed to the rector of the Academy who had completed its course more or less highly and, before being appointed to the rector of the Academy, had served as teachers in it for more or less a long time. Although Savva graduated from the course with a master's degree, he did not have the slightest claim to becoming a professor at the Academy. It is true that when he was a synodal sacristan, he published an index of the sacristy and library. But this index, which does not at all belong to the number of scientific works, as everyone knows, was compiled not by him himself, but by his hire by his friend at the Academy, Alexei Egorovich Viktorov 16. Metropolitan Filaret himself was aware of the unusual nature of Savva’s appointment as rector of the Academy and, sending him to the Academy, provided him with a letter to A.V. Gorsky, in which he asked the Academy professors to accept him favorably, and asked Alexander Vasilyevich not to leave Savva with his advice on managing the Academy. I have no idea what kind of lectures Savva gave to the students, but there can be no doubt that these lectures represented something very unimportant. During his reign, it was not at all on his initiative, however, that the professors of the Academy decided to publish a church-historical dictionary, but the whole matter was limited to just words. Only a few of the professors wrote several articles for the first edition of the dictionary. I was among these few. One of my articles, written for the dictionary, led to great embarrassment of A.V. Gorsky, to whom they were presented, this is precisely the article about Abraham of Rostov, and led to confusion with his bold criticism of later legends about Abraham (see in the “Addition” to the chapter on monasticism in my “History”). Returning the articles to me, Alexander Vasilyevich wrote me a note in which he strongly advised me not to be too bold in criticism. “The most honorable and kind Evgeniy Evsigneevich! I forward to you two of your articles about the Monk Abraham of Rostov and his monastery, and along with this my extract from one manuscript of the former Kostroma Epiphany Monastery, containing the life of the Monk Abraham. There is something in it that resolves your confusion. Kindly look indulgently at some of my notes. Since the matter is not entirely clear, too harsh reviews and decisive conclusions may necessarily seem premature. May God grant that the new revision will lead you to more moderate conclusions. Your zealously devoted Professor A. Gorsky, April 21, 1862.” Having ruled the Academy for a short time, Savva was appointed vicar of Moscow on November 4, 1862. A.V. Gorsky was appointed Savva's successor on October 23, 1862. The rumor about the appointment of Alexander Vasilyevich to the rector of the Academy was greeted by students and professors with anxiety and fear, since the former feared that he would be a strict rector and twist them, and the latter feared that he would attend lectures and, as a learned man, would subject them to strict criticism. But the worries and fears of some and others turned out to be completely in vain. As for the students, Alexander Vasilyevich did not curb them at all: he wanted to act on them with gentle measures of exhortation and admonition, but this absolutely did not serve anything: the students called him daddy for his kindness, willingly listened to his instructions and admonitions, but they did not correct themselves at all, continuing to drink and be dissolute. In general, during his reign, the promiscuity of students did not decrease, even if it did not increase. There were frequent funny and comic incidents. In one year there were two students, outstanding drunkards and disorderly persons: they got drunk and behaved outrageously in Posad, ended up with the police, from which they were taken to the Academy. At the end of one academic year, when all the students had gone home, these two remained at the Academy and continued to drink and misbehave, and Alexander Vasilyevich spent two or perhaps three weeks trying to evict them from the Academy, and when he succeeded in evicting them, then, as they laughed then, he was ready to sing a thanksgiving prayer in joy. As we said above, Alexander Vasilyevich was a man wholly devoted to science, however, this rectorship with its complex responsibilities extremely distracted him from scientific pursuits, which was extremely painful for him. During the reign of Alexander Vasilyevich in 1864, the Academy celebrated the 50th anniversary of its presence in the Lavra. An anniversary collection was published, consisting of articles by several professors. On October 1, on the day of the Protection of the Mother of God, which was the opening day of the Academy, a solemn act took place at the Academy under the chairmanship of the Metropolitan, at which Philaret, Archbishop of Chernigov, Academician Bilyarsky, Mikhail Nikiforovich Katkov, who was then at the apogee of his glory, were present among other guests. S.K. Smirnov read a historical note about the activities of the Academy over half a century, written with his characteristic not entirely correct eloquence. Afterwards, Sergei Konstantinovich himself made a statement to Alexander Vasilyevich about the scientific works desired and expected from the professors of the Academy, which he ended with the appeal: “It’s time to move from words to deeds.” After the act there was a gala dinner, it seems, in the rector’s chambers. The next day, Alexander Vasilyevich had a second, less formal dinner for the mentors and for the remaining guests. When I came to lunch, Alexander Vasilyevich took me by the hand and, leading me to Philaret Chernigovsky, said: “This is the bachelor Golubinsky about whom I told you yesterday.” From the tone in which these words were spoken, it should be concluded that he did not particularly praise Filaret about me. For his part, this latter did not give me a single compliment or even a single word, but only silently blessed me. The celebration of the anniversary of A.V. Gorsky's scientific and service activity was also modest: we presented him with an album with our cards, and he treated us to dinner, at which the eldest of the professors, E.V. Amfitheatrov, said a short, laudatory and not entirely successful greeting over champagne. Alexander Vasilyevich enjoyed great fame as a scientist and was highly revered by his students. Therefore, when he died, we expected that all the Moscow priests and his disciples would come to his funeral, so that they would form a large choir. But we were completely deceived in our expectations. It seemed like no more than two or three people arrived. Alexander Vasilyevich's successor was Archimandrite Mikhail Luzin. Mikhail was going to become a good, outstanding rector. He decided to curb the students from drunkenness and idleness and return them to that modestly decent and fairly working life that they spent before the turning point that happened under Sergius, which we talked about above. We, the members of the council, for our part, completely sympathized with him and expressed full readiness to assist him, as much as it could depend on us. Mikhail began to use strict measures in relation to outrageous people. Among those temporarily expelled by him for drunkenness was the now famous professor of theology at Kharkov University, Archpriest Butkevich. Unfortunately, Mikhail was soon transferred for an unknown reason from the rector of our Academy to the rector of the Kyiv Academy. Regarding my article, published in the Journal of the Ministry of Public Education, Mikhail called me and said: “Perhaps you will be asked to leave the Academy!” I answered him: “If they ask, then, of course, I will leave her.” Then, when the first volume of my “History” was published, one of our people was in Kiev with Mikhail, and he said: “Evgeniy Evsigneevich has sinned a lot and will be beaten a lot.” Mikhail's successor was Sergei Konstantinovich Smirnov. When he took office, he gave us a pompous speech in which he promised to do a lot, but it was all words, words and words... 17 He was a very ordinary rector, not outstanding in anything. He did not shorten the drunken and disorderly student life at all. As far as I remember, no special incidents happened during his reign. Sergei Konstantinovich's successor was Archimandrite Christopher, transferred from the rector of Bethany Seminary. This was not a particularly nice man. He marked his reign by depriving professors of the right to take academic bread, for which they paid money, and to take kvass, which was given for free, and also finally deprived professors of the right to use academic horses. Before the opening of the railway from Moscow to Trinity, there were no passenger cabs in Posad, and in case of need for someone to go somewhere, an academic horse, or an inspector's horse, or a special professor's horse was given. When the railway opened and passenger cabs appeared, most of the professors stopped using the academic horse, but some old people continued to use it. Christopher completely forbade this. I blame not for myself, but for others. Although strict towards others, he was a great gentleman towards himself. The rectors of the Academy were and still are served a carriage with horses to the gate of the garden lattice, and they walk from the porch to the gate. Christopher did not want to make this walking journey and ordered the carriage to be brought to the porch (not the rector’s porch, the approach to which would have been accompanied by major damage to the bushes, but to the church porch, and the matter still did not happen without some damage to the garden). During the reign of Christopher, an extraordinary incident occurred. Students broke the windows in the apartment of inspector Antony Korzhavin. The professors of the Academy, who were on cold terms with Christopher, said goodbye to him especially coldly. Christopher's successor, Anthony Khrapovitsky, one of the rectors of the St. Petersburg Seminary, was distinguished by his simplicity of address, was in close communication with students and had influence on them. He enjoyed great favor in secular society. At his farewell, when the train started moving, the ladies shouted: “Who are you leaving us with?” and shed tears. They said that Anthony also participated in the preparation of a libelous article against me in The Wanderer. But to what extent this is true, I cannot say anything. Anthony constantly said that Metropolitan Sergius wanted my resignation, but others said that he himself wanted my resignation no less than Metropolitan Sergius. But how fair this is, again I can’t say anything. My scientific and educational activities I turn to myself and to my academic affairs. The history of the Russian Church is one of the sciences taught in the senior year. Her teacher's activities, as teachers and other sciences of the course, consisted of giving lectures during both years and reviewing student essays: in the 1st year of the course, in the 2nd year of the course. As for giving lectures, things could be done with him in two ways: either in the exact sense of the word, reading from a notebook, or in such a way as to speak in a live voice with a note in hand (sic!). There can be no dispute or doubt that the second method is much preferable to the first and it would be good if it were made generally binding. But, despite the awareness of the superiority of the second method over the first, I began to read lectures in the first, and not in the second, way, that is, in the precise sense of reading from a notebook. This is for two reasons: the first reason is that at the time I began to give lectures, the second method had not yet become a custom in our Academy, the second reason is that I recognized myself as not particularly capable of reading in a living voice (if the method were universally required, I would, of course, try as much as possible to improve my abilities). In relation to the weekly number of lectures, the sciences taught in the senior year were divided in two: for some sciences there were two two-hour lectures per week, for other sciences one two-hour lecture with the addition of two afternoon lessons of some language. The history of the Russian Church belonged to the second class: it was a one-week lecture with the addition of two afternoon lessons of German. If we were to compose lectures on some science that has already been completely developed, so that all that remains is to convey in our own presentation the content borrowed from books, then a week’s time for compiling a lecture would not only be quite sufficient, but also quite sufficient. But the situation is completely different with Russian church history: it is not yet a completely developed and processed science, but is in a period of development and processing. In this state of affairs, the preparation of lectures on it cannot consist only in one’s own presentation of the finished content, but had to consist in the preparation or development of the content itself. Namely, what was required was the most thorough study of the subject subjects from existing sources and then diligent scientific processing of them with a possibly satisfactory, of course, explanation of why something else accepted by my predecessors was rejected by me as untenable and false. According to what has just been said, I worked on compiling a weekly lecture all week long, without taking a breath and tirelessly and, one might say, day and night, since I largely did not get enough sleep at night. In general, this urgent preparation of lectures for reading over the course of two years was extremely difficult work for me and tired and exhausted me to the extreme. I will now tell you about my relationship with A.V. Gorsky regarding scientific matters and about the relationship of my student listeners to me. As one must think, Alexander Vasilyevich, transferring me from Bethany to the Academy, counted and hoped that I would work under his leadership, turn to him for advice and guidance. But I absolutely could not do this. Alexander Vasilyevich and I were two people of different directions: he was a conservative, whose motto was the motto of Metropolitan Philaret: “Prudence and caution.” I, on the contrary, was a liberal who subjected everything to strict criticism - accepting only what stood up to criticism and rejected what did not, without any consideration of whether it was prudent or not. In this state of affairs, I could not go to Alexander Vasilyevich for advice and instructions, but, on the contrary, I tried in every possible way to avoid interviews with him on scientific issues and hid from him what and how I was thinking about. There is no doubt that this made Alexander Vasilyevich very angry and upset, although he did not openly express his feelings. But I couldn't do otherwise. In support of what has just been said and as a kind of illustration of it, I will tell you one incident that took place a little later. Alexander Vasilyevich traveled to St. Petersburg to participate in one commission at the Synod. From St. Petersburg he brought me as a gift Chistovich’s book “Feofan Prokopovich and His Time” (St. Petersburg, 1868). When I came to him, he handed me a gift with the words: “Here is a St. Petersburg kalach for you,” and we began an academic conversation about the book. When talking about Feofan Prokopovich, it was impossible not to talk about Stefan Yavorsky. But as soon as we did this, an argument began between us. Alexander Vasilyevich stood for Stefan Yavorsky, I stood for Feofan Prokopovich. The dispute became heated, but Alexander Vasilyevich, realizing the comical nature of the dispute under the given conditions, tried to stop it, ending it with the words: “Well, you and your Feofan Prokopovich.” Alexander Vasilyevich reconciled with me and returned his favor to me when I published “A Brief Essay on the History of Orthodox Churches,” with which I pleased him extremely, as I will say about this below. As for my student listeners, it was not at all the case that the walls of the auditorium were cracking due to the influx of them to my lectures; it was not at all the case that the auditorium, with the safety of its walls, was all filled with them, but it was the case that they attended my lectures far from regularly and far from being the full number of students in the course. Speaking without false modesty, I gave relatively good lectures to students. There were two reasons for such little attention from students to my lectures and such poor attendance by students at my lectures: the first is that, as I said above, I read from a notebook, read very quickly and was far from a first-class reader or reader, and if not completely bad, then not particularly far from it, the second reason is that in order to attract students to the audience (to my lectures) I did not resort to Parsley and Paradise, meaning such an ordinary liberal quarrelsomeness on various topical issues. I am not some kind of Black Hundreds in my political convictions, but there is a time and a place for everything, and I considered it unworthy of a decent scientist and a decent professor to be invited to lectures in a farcical way. My audience was especially empty during Lent. My lecture was on Wednesday and in the last hours before lunch. And since during Lent students had to go to church for presanctified mass, my lecture was moved to the afternoon. After lunch, students preferred going to the bedrooms for a good afternoon nap rather than going to class to listen to good lectures. I still remember one incident. I wrote a lecture that I really liked. I went to class and thought that I would treat the students to it, but I came to class and saw that, alas, there was almost no one to treat: at the first two desks there was only one person sitting - the ever-memorable Phil. Al. Ternovsky, there were 5-6 people sitting at the back wall of the audience, but they sat with their heads down and seemed to be inclined not to listen to me, but to doze off or sleep completely. I confess frankly that at times I felt bitter resentment towards the students for their little attention (indifference) to my lectures. You work and work and suddenly there is an empty audience! I said above that the classes of the teacher of Russian and Church history, as well as other senior year teachers, consisted of: firstly, giving lectures throughout both years and, secondly, reviewing student essays: in the first year, monthly, in the second year, coursework. The best of the course essays were master's essays, and they required special attention in some respects, as will be indicated below. Reviewing course essays sometimes turned into extremely hard work for other teachers, becoming a real punishment from God. It was accepted that during all four years of study at the Academy, a student who stood in the first category on the lists would certainly, and as if eo ipso, complete the course of study with a master. But it happened that some of these students submitted course essays that were bad or very bad; in such cases, it was the responsibility of the teachers who read the essays to transform them from bad and very bad into possibly good ones, no matter how much work it cost and no matter what corrections the essays required, even if it came to completely redoing them. I remember how Alexander Fedorovich Lavrov, in one course or graduation year, agonized over correcting his essays all summer from Easter to vacation. Transferred from Bethany to the Academy shortly after, bachelor Vasily Ivanovich Bogolepov was so tormented by correcting such an essay that this torment, as one might think, was one of the reasons for the mental illness that befell him soon afterwards, forcing him to leave his service at the Academy. And they said about Nikita Petrovich Gilyarov that, at the request of the rector of the Academy Alexy, he wrote a completely new dissertation for the grandson of Metropolitan Philaret, a 17th year student, Hieromonk Ignatius, who died as a Kostroma bishop. It was like this. Ignatius submitted a worthless essay. Nikita Petrovich, having read it, sent for Ignatius in order to show him what and how to correct. Ignatius did not come to him. I sent it a second time, but it didn’t come either; the third time he didn’t come either. Then Nikita Petrovich went to the rector with a report about the essay and a complaint against Ignatius. The rector answered him: “Whatever you want, as long as the essay is good.” And Nikita Petrovich had to write an essay. Particular attention, which was required when reading all master's dissertations in general, was to try to clear the works of everything that could bring about the condemnation of Metropolitan Philaret or arouse his anger. Master's theses, before being sent to the Synod for consideration by the latter, were subject, so to speak, to revision by Metropolitan Philaret. A conference of senior professors of the Academy was formed under his chairmanship, and at the conference several passages from each work were read to the Metropolitan at his direction. If in any essay anything was condemned by him or aroused his anger, then the professor who read the essay received a more or less severe reprimand from him, either immediately at the conference itself, if he was a member, or through the rector, if he was not a member. I, for my part, was very happy about the master's theses: I did not have to correct very many of them and for none of them I was reprimanded by the metropolitan. By the way, Phil wrote my dissertation. Al. Ternovsky, and he wrote it very carefully, so that I did not have to make corrections, taking into account Filaret’s views. After preparing lectures for reading for two years, I undertook work that I considered and still consider useful and desirable in general, and which was especially desirable for me due to my intention to write a course on Russian church history - namely, extracting from the chronicles all the news related to church events; combining them into one place with a chronological arrangement and compiling from them, as it were, a special consolidated church chronicle. I undertook the work without having the money to publish it, but I hoped that Alexander Vasilyevich, recognizing the obvious usefulness of the work, would find money, asking for it, for example, from the Metropolitan. Having worked enough to be able to begin publishing the work, I went to Alexander Vasilyevich with a report. He very much approved of the work, but did not give any further movement to the matter, and I had to abandon the work as if it were a failed undertaking. Before starting to prepare a course on Russian church history, I decided to write two essays that served as an introduction to the course, namely, firstly, a study on Constantine and Methodius, the first teachers of the Slavs, and secondly, a short sketch of the history of the Orthodox churches of Bulgarian and Serbian with Romanian. I completed the study of Constantine and Methodius, as follows from the date under the preface to it, in July 1867 (date - July 9, 1867). The study consists of two parts, of which the first offers a complete biography of Constantine and Methodius, and the second contains a critical overview of the legends about them. The work, which still remains in manuscript, consists of two handwritten quarter books, of which the first contains 452 quarters or 904 pages, the second contains 392 quarters or 764 pages, and both contain 844 quarters or 1688 pages. I submitted my essay to the Academy of Sciences for the Uvarov Prize and was awarded the full Uvarov Prize of 1,500 rubles by the Academy. At one time, the work could not be published due to the censorship conditions of that time, since I very sharply criticize the legendary tales about Cyril (Constantine) and Methodius, and especially the legendary tales about their alleged disciple Bishop Clement. Yes, I didn’t bother very much about printing it, since printing would have been very expensive and, undoubtedly, would not have paid off. One could bother about publishing it in a journal, but the only place for it, due to its enormity, would be in the “Readings at the Imperial Society of Russian History and Antiquities at Moscow University”; I could not address the Society, since it was then dominated by its secretary Osip Maksimovich Bodyansky, whose essay “The Time of the Origin of Slavic Letters” I allow myself to criticize quite sharply, and in general Osip Maksimovich would not have reacted favorably to the work of a person in whom he should have seen his rival. While doing research on Constantine and Methodius, a most unfortunate catastrophe happened to me due to severe overwork. One evening I stand at the desk and write. Suddenly there was a strong noise in my head and blood rushed upward in fountains from my neck. When the noise in my head stopped, I felt severe pain in it, and it turned out that I had severe darkening in my eyes. The pain in my head soon went away, and I was treated for a long time for the darkening in my eyes and was only half cured; working capacity returned (I mean the ability to read and write) in only one eye (left), and as for the other eye (right), the vision in it improved to some extent, however, not to the point of helping the other eye in reading and writing. But after some time my right eye again ceased to have any vision, so that from 1866–1867 I became, in fact, one-eyed, although in appearance I seemed to be both-eyed. Along with the darkening in my eyes, I developed tinnitus, which has remained since then to the present day. “A short sketch of the Orthodox churches of Bulgarian, Serbian and Romanian” was published by me in 1871 with part of the money from the Uvarov Prize received from the Academy of Sciences. With this essay, as I said, I pleased Alexander Vasilyevich Gorsky to the extreme, since I illuminated the history of the Slavic churches, hitherto covered in the darkness of ignorance, with the light of knowledge, for which I spent a great deal of work. This essay turned out to be very unsuccessful commercially. I assumed that in the great Russian country there would be 1,200 people who would want to know the church history of our kindred Slavs - the Bulgarians and Serbs - and printed the work in 1,200 copies, but I was completely mistaken in my assumptions. Immediately after the publication of the work, one hundred and two and a half copies of it were sold, and then its sales became extremely difficult, so that even now, after 38 years, a fairly significant number of copies remain in my hands. While writing this essay, I was dreaming of founding a church-archaeological museum at the Moscow Theological Academy, of which I still have documentary evidence. The Moscow merchant Sirotinin bought somewhere and from someone in Siberia an ancient, very archaeologically remarkable paten, which he later sold to the museum of Count Stroganov, where it is now located. Sirotinin took a photograph from the paten, a copy of which he gave to his friend, and to my friend Al. Evg. Viktorov. He gave the photograph to me and wrote on the back of it: “To the Church and Archaeological Museum at the Moscow Theological Academy from A. Viktorov, September 2. 1870" I intended to conduct the matter in such a way that, through A.V. Gorsky, I would obtain from the Metropolitan an open letter to the priests of Moscow parish churches, allowing them to give to the museum at the Moscow Theological Academy that which had fallen out of church use and was not of particular value, and it was supposed to indicate in the catalog which church which item was taken from. In this way I hoped to lay a sufficient foundation for the museum. I went to Alexander Vasilyevich with a report on my thoughts. He greatly approved of my idea, but did not give it any further movement. With my dream of a museum, I somewhat warned the Kyiv Theological Academy with its museum, which was opened there in 1872. Some of my acquaintances and friends 18 strongly urged me to submit a “Short Essay” for a doctorate degree, which, undoubtedly, would have been given to me for it, since the only competent judge in the Academy, the rector of the Academy A.V. Gorsky, had the most favorable opinion of him, which is now discussed below. But, to my true and greatest happiness, I refrained from doing so: I found that to be submitted for a doctorate, the essay was not thick enough and did not have sufficient external representativeness. I postponed the search until the completion of Volume I of the History of the Russian Church. If I had submitted a “Short Essay” for a doctorate degree and received the degree, then I could not submit Volume I of the “History of the Russian Church” to academic censorship, but would have to submit to ordinary censorship. Ordinary spiritual censorship would never have approved it for publication under any circumstances. (By postponing indefinitely getting a doctorate, and with it residency, I was depriving myself of a thousand ruble salary increase. But, being single and living modestly, I did not particularly need 1000 rubles). Meanwhile, if it had happened that I had written volume I of the “History of the Russian Church” and found myself unable to publish it, I would have created for myself the position of a true martyr. (I did not explain above why I had not yet submitted a dissertation on Constantine and Methodius for a doctorate. The fact is that a significant part of the dissertation consists of sharp criticism of the legendary tales about the first teachers and about their imaginary student Bishop Clement. And Alexander Vasilyevich would in no way approve of this criticism, but, on the contrary, would strictly condemn it, so the doctorate, undoubtedly, would not have been given to me, and yet I I would have created a very unpleasant scandal for myself). At the end of my speeches about my first scientific works, I consider it my duty to mention with a word of sincere gratitude the late Lavra librarian, Father Arseny, who most obligingly lent me the necessary Lavra manuscripts. Whenever I came to him for manuscripts or whenever I sent my servants for them, there was no refusal. I often had five copies of Lavra manuscripts or even more, and no demands were ever made regarding their return. (In the preface to the “Description of the Lavra Manuscripts,” Fr. Arseny says that he, being at that time the assistant librarian Fr. Ilarius, was his collaborator in compiling the description. But out of modesty, he is telling a lie: he was the only and exclusive compiler of the description. Father Ilarius, an illiterate man and who was incapable of this kind of work, such as the description of manuscripts, in relation to Fr. Arseny had only that sad meaning, that being a big fan of vodka, he got used to it too). Having written two essays that form an introduction to the course of Russian church history, I decided, before starting to process this latter, to make a scientific trip abroad, mainly to the Southern Orthodox Slavs and Greeks. I started the travel business not in the usual way, but bypassing this order. If I had started in the usual way and entered the Council of the Academy with a request to request leave for me to travel abroad, then the old men who sat on the board of the Academy and did not particularly complain about me for not going to them to drink vodka, to play cards and to bow before them, would undoubtedly have forced me to bow to them to my heart’s content. I directly sent a request for leave to the Chief Prosecutor of the Synod, Count Dmitry Andreevich Tolstoy, explaining to him in detail in the request the reasons why I would like to make the trip. Count Tolstoy, having received my petition, asked the rector of the Academy A.V. Gorsky about me. Alexander Vasilyevich, in response to Count Tolstoy’s request, sent him the most flattering review of me, in which he praised my scientific activity in general and the just published essay “A Brief Essay.” Alexander Vasilyevich told me the contents of his review himself. Soon after he sent his review, I came to him at what is called a good hour, that is, when he was in a very good mood. Having talked to me about why I came, he sat me down, took a piece of paper from the table and said: “Here I will read you a review about you, which I sent to the Chief Prosecutor of the Holy Synod,” he began to read. The review was so laudatory that I listened to it for a while, and then I felt embarrassed listening to the increased praise about myself, so I got up and, asking for Alexander Vasilyevich’s blessing, left him without listening to the end of the review. The draft review is probably preserved in the papers of A.V. Gorsky, and the white copy is preserved in the papers of Count Tolstoy. In response to Alexander Vasilyevich’s review, Count Tolstoy sent him a letter in which he expressed his consent to my trip. At the next meeting of the Academy Council, Alexander Vasilyevich reported about my trip abroad as news: “Here we have Evgeniy Evsigneevich going abroad.” Then Yegor Vasilyevich Amfitheatrov, taking on an important, commanding air, said: “Well, we will also need to carefully consider whether Evgeny Evsigneevich should go abroad,” letting those know that if I took the matter through the Council, many bows would be required from me. To these words, Alexander Vasilyevich replied: “But permission to travel has already been received from the Chief Prosecutor of the Holy Synod.” Yegor Vasilyevich, changing his important, commanding air to that of a man in an awkward mess, said: “In that case, of course, there is no point in arguing.” For the trip abroad, I wanted to receive 2,000 rubles in addition to the salary of the extraordinary professor: I expected to make a more or less significant trip to the Balkan Peninsula in places inhabited by Greeks and Bulgarians. With a request for an increase, I considered it necessary to contact Count Tolstoy personally. Having no money for a trip to St. Petersburg, I begged to be sent there as a deputy to the First Archaeological Congress that had opened then. Count Tolstoy received me unusually kindly. To my request for an increase, he replied that he would satisfy it with full readiness, knowing that everything with me would benefit science. Obviously, he repeated Alexander Vasilyevich’s review of me (and perhaps also the review of N.A. Sergievsky, who was with him, with whom, as a student, I lived in the same room for two years, as mentioned above). I stayed in St. Petersburg with A.F. Lavrov, who lived there as a member of the commission for the transformation of the church court. When I told him how Count Tolstoy received me, he told me: “Well, now go to the director of the Economic Administration at the Holy Synod and repeat your request to him.” But I found that going to the director of the Economic Administration after Count Tolstoy’s assurance meant to some extent showing distrust of this assurance, and I looked at the trip to the director as one of those trips that is called knocking down thresholds, and refused to go. Then Alexander Fedorovich said: “Well, look, instead of 2000 rubles you will get an increase of one thousand.” I laughed at this prophecy. But, alas, the prophecy turned out to be a real prophecy: instead of two thousand, they actually gave me one thousand rubles. I was so sensitively punished for my superiority and scrupulousness. I set off on the trip from Posad on Saturday June 17, 1872: from St. Petersburg, where I needed to be before the trip, I left towards Vienna through Vilna and Warsaw on June 21 and arrived in Vienna on June 26. I lived in Vienna until October 28, making trips from there to Poland, Hungary, Galicia, Bukovina with some touching on Moldova. From Vienna went down the Danube to Belgrade in Serbia on 28 October. I stayed in Belgrade until the end of December, having made a fairly significant trip around Serbia. From Belgrade, through Ruschuk and Varna, I headed to Constantinople, and in Ruschuk I had a stop and made a trip out of it to Bukarest in Wallachia. He stayed in Constantinople until July 20, 1873, and on Easter 1873 he made a trip to Jerusalem, leaving on March 15. We stayed in Jerusalem from March 27 to April 20 19. From Constantinople he came to Thessaloniki, where he stayed for three days and arrived on Athos on July 25, 1873 and, having traveled almost all of it, left it on August 12. From Athos I went back to Thessaloniki, from which I went to Athens. He arrived in Piraeus on August 18, where he endured a five-day quarantine. He did not make any trips from Athens for fear of being captured by robbers. From Athens I went to Rome and stopped in Corfu and Bargrad. From Rome he traveled to Naples to inspect Pompeian excavations, to Ravenna to inspect ancient churches, to Venice and Florence to inspect their antiquities. He returned to Russia right before the Nativity of Christ in 1874. Of the foreign Russian people who treated me with courtesy and commitment, it is necessary to mention with a kind word the archpriest of the embassy church in Vienna, Mikhail Fedorovich Raevsky, the secretary of the embassy in Belgrade, in the absence of the ambassador, Prince Dmitry Nikolaevich Tseretelev, who was correcting his position, the ambassador in Constantinople, Count Nikolai Pavlovich Ignatiev, and the archimandrite at the Constantinople the embassy church of Father Smaragd, the embassy archimandrite in Athens, Father Nicholas. Among foreign scientists, I consider it a duty of sincere gratitude to mention the famous Serbian scientist Milan Milicevic, who accompanied me on my trip to Serbia. I was extremely glad that my dreams of traveling abroad had come true. With my own eyes I saw preserved ancient monuments of church architecture, which I wanted to see for my science. Without seeing them myself, but knowing only from drawings, I would never have formed the absolutely clear and distinct idea I wanted about them (St. Sophia of Constantinople should be put in first place here): with my own eyes I saw church life and church morals and customs among the Greeks and the Southern Orthodox Slavs, some of which (morals and customs) we do not have. In general, I returned from abroad with a feeling of complete satisfaction. 7. Printing of Volume I of the “History of the Russian Church” Having rested from the trip and submitted a short report about it to the Academy Council, I finally began to work on the course of Russian church history. On its first volume, covering the pre-Mongol period, which I intended to present and actually presented to the Academy Council as a dissertation for the degree of Doctor of Theology, I worked together with the continuation of lectures and some side work for about 5 years. I will not go into its characteristics, since it is printed and everyone has it. I will only say that the final processing of the volume, as well as its first writing, for the reasons stated above, was very difficult work, which took me many sleepless nights and made me rack my brains a lot. I remember that during the final processing of the volume, I was particularly tormented by the question of why we Russians, being an exception from the peoples of Europe, did not acquire real enlightenment for ourselves and did not become an enlightened people, but became and remained only a literate people. I intended to dedicate the first volume of my “History” to the memory of A.V. Gorsky and had already prepared a dedication, which is as follows: Alexander Vasilievich Gorsky, the late rector of the Moscow Theological Academy. We allow ourselves to dedicate this volume of our history to the memory of an unforgettable person. Having been a student of the late Alexander Vasilyevich in the proper sense that we studied with him at the Academy, we cannot completely call ourselves his student in the improper sense of being the successors of his ideas, views and opinions and general direction. But he was a teacher for us in another improper sense: his selfless devotion to science and his, without any rhetoric, but in truth, tireless diligence, inspired us and challenged us to imitation and competition. But I was unable to publish this dedication (which is discussed below). When I prepared the first volume of “History” for publication, the question arose of where to get money for printing, which I did not have and which, due to the vastness of the volume, required a very large amount. Metropolitan Macarius helped me with this, lending me 2,500 rubles from the Perervin sums. I talk about this in the unpublished dedication to Volume II of the 1st half of my History, which is given here in its entirety. Dedication to volume II of the 1st half: “I intended to dedicate the first volume of my “History of the Russian Church” to the memory of Alexander Vasilyevich Gorsky, by whose example I was inspired and with whom I competed in scientific work. But the intention remained unfulfilled, because some admirers of the memory of Alexander Vasilyevich rebelled against the dedication I had compiled, reinterpreting it in an unexpected way for me. I consider it my duty to dedicate this second volume of “History” to the memory of His Eminence Macarius. His Eminence Macarius is one of our most famous spiritual scientists and one of our most glorious patrons or benefactors and encouragers of science, both spiritual and secular 21. But his attitude towards me, which forces me to dedicate this volume of “History” to his memory, testifies to the fact that, together with other qualities and virtues, he was distinguished by a truly high nobility of soul. Horace said about writers that they represent a genus irritabile, our Pushkin called their class a ticklish guild, and without Horace and without Pushkin, everyone knows that they are predominantly proud people. But among the irritable kind, in a sensitive guild and among people who are predominantly proud, the Most Reverend Macarius was a rare and worthy exception, being able not only not to flare up with anger against a person who dared to act to some extent as a rival to him, but also to be extremely supportive of this person and directly help and patronize him. Having prepared the first volume of “History” for printing, I was faced with the question: where to get money for printing, which I did not have at all. The only person to whom I could turn to with a request for a loan of money, without resorting to humiliating requests and bows (and recognizing some moral right to ask for them), was the Metropolitan of Moscow with his Perervin sums, which Metropolitan at this time was precisely the Most Reverend Macarius (who became Metropolitan of Moscow on April 8, 1879). When I announced my intention to turn to His Eminence Macarius with a request for a loan of money to some of my academics, they expressed extreme surprise to me and said with laughter: “Go ahead, poke your head in, he’ll ask you.” There was also an immediate reason for saying this: in the form of some kind of test and in the form of some, so to speak, statement about myself to the learned world, in 1876 I published a chapter from “History” in the “Journal of the Ministry of Public Education”: about Christianity in Russia before St. Vladimir 22, and there were rumors that the Right Reverend Macarius spoke very unfavorably about this test of mine. [Vladimir Sergeevich Solovyov reported at the Academy, where he was a volunteer student for some time, that Macarius scolded me very much to his father] 23. But since I had absolutely no one to turn to for money other than the Metropolitan, despite any bad prophecies and omens, I decided to turn... Arriving in Moscow, I stopped this time with the Reverend. Vicar Alexy (former professor of the Academy A.F. Lavrov), so that for trips to the Rev. Macarius, who lived at the dacha in Cherkizovo - it was summer - was allowed to use his bishop's horses. Having learned about the reason for the ban, i.e. that I had come to ask the Metropolitan for a loan for the printing of “History,” the Reverend Alexy laughed and said: “Well, goose,” he shook his head doubtfully and made a grimace, which said the same thing that they told me at the Academy, i.e., “Come, poke your head, he will show you the money.” To the doubts of Eminence Alexy, I answered that besides the Metropolitan I had no one else to ask for money and that if he did not give it, then the matter would be over, and asked him to lend me a horse. It is clear that I did not go to the Most Reverend Macarius with completely full hope and not with particularly calm feelings. I arrive in Cherkizovo and, taken into the Metropolitan’s reception room, wait with trepidation for what will happen... and it was that the Most Reverend Macarius comes out, receives me unusually kindly and with the greatest readiness expresses his consent to satisfy my request, and, instructing me to write a formal paper in her name, allows me to set the terms of the loan, which I myself will find convenient for myself, and says that he will put the resolution on paper, without reading it. I left, or, better to say, jumped out from the bishop and flew to the Most Reverend Alexy at the Savvinskoe courtyard, not remembering myself. When in response to the question of the Eminence: “Well?” I told him how the Bishop received me and how he reacted to my request, he, one might say, turned completely into surprise and amazement... Others may think and say that God knows how important it is that the Most Reverend Macarius lent you money to print the History. But they must understand that it is really of great importance if none of the people who formed the circle of people, so to speak, knowledgeable in relation to the Right Reverend Macarius, believed or expected that he would meet my request the way he met it. In relation to another metropolitan, it would not be particularly important that he lent money to the Academy professor (and it would only be remarkable in that it would represent, if I am not mistaken, the first example of a metropolitan lending a professor and, moreover, a rather large loan, amounting to as much as two thousand five hundred rubles). But it’s a completely different matter in relation to the Right Reverend Macarius, who lent money specifically to me and specifically for a certain need. I wrote and was about to publish my “History of the Russian Church” while he was publishing his “History of the Russian Church”. It goes without saying that I intended to correct and supplement it to one degree or another, for otherwise why and for what purpose would I publish my “History”, and in any case I acted with my “History” as if it were his rival. So I wrote the “History of the Russian Church” to some extent against the “History” of the Right Reverend Macarius and to some extent as if in place of it, and I turned to him with a request for a loan of money to print this “History”, in other words: I wrote a book to some extent against the Right Reverend Macarius and turned to him with a request to lend me money to print this book written to some extent against him. It was to be expected from a man of ordinary qualities of soul, as everyone expected from the Right Reverend Macarius, that he would meet his emerging rival, if not with open, then with hidden anger, and would refuse him the means to publish, if not rudely, then somehow plausibly. But the Most Reverend Macarius did not act as expected, but on the contrary acted as was not at all expected; and this undoubtedly testifies that he had qualities of soul that were far from entirely ordinary. He was capable and willing to sacrifice his personal pride for the benefit of science: without denying the possibility that I to some extent complemented his History, he met me not as an impudent person acting as a rival to him, but as a desired collaborator. I don’t know whether the Most Reverend Macarius can generally be placed on the same level as Metropolitan Plato: but his behavior towards me truly resembles this latter... Not limiting himself to the fact that he lent me the means to publish my “History” (i.e., its first volume), which was very important for me in the sense that the censor of the book (Rector of the Academy S.K. Smirnov), seeing the Metropolitan’s favor towards me, himself became favorable, the Most Reverend Macarius appeared as my defender when the trouble of not receiving a Doctor of Theology for my “History” threatened me and, therefore, not receiving at the Academy with the title of ordinary professor. (And when I came to him to thank him, he gave me so many compliments that he completely embarrassed me). In general, the attitude of the Eminence Macarius toward me regarding my “History of the Russian Church” is such that only with all my soul and with all my heart can I exclaim: may his memory be blessed! (There is also a person to whom I owe sincere and deep gratitude for his benevolent attitude towards me as a scientist, this is the late Count D. A. Tolstoy, who was Chief Prosecutor of the Holy Synod. If I do not have time to express my gratitude to him in a deliberate way, then let it be witnessed in these unostentatious and few lines).” S.K. Smirnov, the censor of my book, turned out to be very supportive of me. In the entire volume, he forced me to correct one place, namely to somewhat soften the harsh speeches about holy fools, which I did, retaining the essence of the speech. On my own impulse, I threw out a rather long note that the current priestly cassock is a Turkish caftan (that’s why the cassock is a half-caftan), which was borrowed by the Greeks from the Turks more or less shortly after the occupation of Constantinople, and by us borrowed from the Greeks in the 2nd half of the 17th century. N. I. Subbotin and V. O. Klyuchevsky were appointed reviewers of my book. My doctoral disputation took place on December 16, 1880. I won’t say that I passed it brilliantly. Not being entirely healthy physically and feeling for some reason morally oppressed, I debated with my opponents not with the vivacity and vivacity that was expected of me. However, he came out of the competition with them with honor. I must note the noble behavior of N.I. Subbotin during the debate. Having been his opponent in his own debate, I pinched him somewhat for reasons, however, not some secondary ones, but purely and purely scientific ones. He could have taken revenge on me for pinching me with his pinching, but he didn’t do that at all. Then I was very pleased that, for a random reason, my friend A. S. Pavlov, who intended to come to argue with me about something, did not come to the debate. Pavlov was an unusually ardent and unusually loud debater, so that at least the visible victory could be considered his. (On one visit to Trinity at my place for dinner, we argued about something; he, as usual, began to shout; it came to my mind: “Let me start screaming too,” and he began to scream. This terrible cry of the two arguing represented something wild and something extremely funny, which frightened my servant). Episode at a doctoral debate. By the way, Moscow Archpriest Vasily Petrovich Nechaev and the subsequent Kostroma Bishop Vissarion came to attend the debate. He sat at the debate next to the governor of the Lavra, Archimandrite Leonid. Being a man with an extremely intemperate tongue and not particularly tactful, Nechaev allowed himself to tell Leonid some very bad compliment about the Trinity monks, something like the fact that the Trinity monks contribute a lot to increasing the population of Russia. Leonid, a man of extremely stupid character, for some reason imagined that Vasily Petrovich said a compliment in agreement with me, and having previously been unusually kind to me and seeking rapprochement with me, as with a scientist of the same workshop with him, after the dispute he began to scold me at all costs, both to those who met him and to those who met him, and to everyone and everyone, especially the students of the Academy who came to him to ask for Lavra awards. library manuscripts. A V.P. Nechaev, who was already Bishop Vissarion of Kostroma, wrote to me for some reason that he said a compliment to revive the debate!.. The approval of my doctorate by the Holy Synod took a very long time: we spent a long time deciding whether to give me a degree or not. They said that Archpriest Parvov, chairman of the Educational Committee of the Holy Synod, who was entrusted with reviewing the book, copied out passages that were piquant in the sense of liberalism and presented them to the members of the Synod. Finally, the ardent defense of me by my patron, the Eminence Macarius, was victorious, and I was confirmed as a doctor on June 5, 1881. 24 The Synod’s decree approving me as a doctor came to the Academy on June 13, 1881. I was elected to the position of ordinary professor the next day, June 14, 1881. Decree of the Holy Synod No. 2094 of June 5, 1881 ended with these words: “Having thus instructed Your Eminence to note to the Council of the Academy that when considering a dissertation, it should pay attention not only to the scientific merit of the work, but also to the conformity of the general direction with the spirit of the teaching and the dignity of the Orthodox Church, which is not always observed by the Council in due rigor, as can be seen from this and other works approved by the Council, for which reason to send a decree to Your Eminence.” Epilogues to history will be published in the first volume of “History of the Russian Church” In 1881, the new Chief Prosecutor of the Holy Synod, K. P. Pobedonostsev, came to Trinity on the summer St. Sergius Day, which occurs on July 5th. Together with Metropolitan Macarius, he came to the Academy to get acquainted with us professors. During the presentation of us to the Chief Prosecutor and then in the conversation that followed, the Metropolitan twice began to praise me to the Chief Prosecutor, listing and characterizing my scientific works. But both times the chief prosecutor listened to the metropolitan’s praises in silence, without saying a single word, so the metropolitan suffered some affront in his zeal for me. (I recently heard that Pobedonostsev was especially angry with me for my speeches about the Apostle Andrew). On this occasion, I presented my works to the chief prosecutor, who handed them over to the rector of the Academy, asking him to send them to St. Petersburg. Some time later he sent me a letter of gratitude from St. Petersburg, in which, letting me know that he had not read and would not read my works, he expressed ambiguously that he did not have time to read good books. This can be understood to mean that he classifies my works as good books. In the same year, I submitted volume I of “History” for the Uvarov Prize and was awarded the full prize of 1,500 rubles. (The review, and a very detailed one, was written by Professor I. I. Malyshevsky). Finally, the unpleasant story of my paying my debt to the Perervin Monastery. During the life of His Eminence Macarius, I paid a thousand rubles, and by the time of his successor, Metropolitan Ioannikis, I still owed 1,500 rubles. Archimandrite Nikodim, who gave me money, was transferred to another monastery, and Archimandrite Vincent, brought by Ioanniki, was installed in his place. This Vincent, having found in the papers that I owed the monastery one and a half thousand rubles, began to verbally punish me with various acquaintances so that I should hurry up with the payment of the debt. Finally, he filed a formal complaint against me with the Metropolitan. I had the money to pay the debt, but since, on the one hand, I was not bound by any obligation regarding the payment deadline and knew that the Perervin Monastery did not need money (Archimandrite Nikodim, giving me the money, directly told me not to worry about quick payment), and on the other hand, I wanted to have cash in case it was possible to print Volume II, I was in no hurry to pay the debt. The Metropolitan, having arrived at Trinity, on his first meeting with the rector of the Academy scolded me for not paying my debt. The rector, calling me to him and telling me that the metropolitan scolded me very much, advised me to go to him for an explanation. The next day I actually went to the Metropolitan and, having received his blessing, told him: “I am coming to your Eminence because, as the father rector of the Academy told me, you scold me very much.” The Metropolitan, without saying anything to these words of mine, sat me down and began to lecture me or teach me that money loves counting. I listened for a while, and then stood up and said: “I have the money to pay, but I was slow in paying for this and that reason” - which is now said above. “If you absolutely demand that I pay the debt, then tomorrow I will send the money to the monastery.” With these words, I bowed to the Metropolitan and the next day I actually sent all fifteen hundred rubles to the monastery. The Metropolitan then told the rector of the Academy that Golubinsky was a very angry person. Having printed the first volume of the History of the Russian Church and completed the process of obtaining a doctorate for it, I began processing the second volume of the History for printing. For this volume, I took time from the Moscow period from the Mongol invasion to Metropolitan Macarius and also divided it into two halves, with a review in the 1st half of the activities of the metropolitans and a review in the 2nd half of church life from its different sides. I prepared for printing the entire 1st half of the volume and a significant part of the 2nd half, postponing its completion until the time when printing it was possible, and then sat down by the sea to wait for the weather, that is, to wait for the opportunity to print the volume. If Chief Prosecutor Count D. A. Tolstoy had remained in place and Metropolitan Macarius had been alive, both of whom were very favorable towards me, then both of them or one of them, in all likelihood, would have arranged for me this opportunity in a not particularly long time. But Count Tolstoy left the post of Chief Prosecutor at that time, and His Eminence Macarius died on June 9, 1882, and I was left to wait for an opportunity, without pinning my hopes on anyone in particular 25 . Finally, he arranged for me the weather at sea, or gave me the opportunity to print Volume II, my former student at the Academy, and my subsequent true and great benefactor S. A. Belokurov, who completed the course in 1886, and after graduating from the Academy entered the service of the Main Archive of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, in which he remains to this day, now being a senior observer and representing in it the person on whom the entire archive rests. Belokurov invited me to publish Volume II of “History” in the “Readings of the Imperial Society of History and Russian Antiquities” at Moscow University, where he is treasurer, and asked my permission to begin efforts on the Board of the Society for permission to publish Volume II in “Readings.” At first it seemed strange to me to publish in a magazine not an article, but a book, and, moreover, the 2nd volume of the course. But then, having thought and reflected that no matter how I print, I just have to print, I gave him permission to start the trouble. For some reason unknown to me, after working for quite a long time, Belokurov finally achieved that my “History” was published. The Imperial Society of Russian History and Antiquities at Moscow University decided to print volume II of my “History” at a meeting on December 21, 1898. Soon the printing of the 1st half of Volume II began, and it appeared in the form of a book of “Readings” in 1900, the 192nd in total. It was finished printing in April. After printing the 1st half of the volume, it was necessary to begin printing the 2nd half of the volume. But, alas! here I must cruelly blame and scold myself. I said above that, having processed a significant part of the 2nd half, I postponed finishing it until the opportunity to print it opened, but by the time this opportunity opened, I myself was unable to finish it and generally prepare it for printing properly, and it remained in the manuscript. Due to constant questions to me whether I would soon publish the second half of Volume II, in 1904 I began to finish it and generally prepare for printing, but soon I saw myself forced to abandon the work due to the consciousness of my impotence. Then I wrote a note: “In May 1904, upon arriving home from St. Petersburg, I began to prepare for printing the 2nd half of the second volume of the History of the Russian Church... But soon, seeing my senile impotence to do the job, I left it. May God forgive me and may the people who are interested in the matter forgive me! May 29, 1904" Still in manuscript, the second half of Volume II is as follows. The chapters have been rewritten for printing: “Management” - 151 fours, “Enlightenment” - 142 fours, “Divine services” in five notebooks: 1st - 102 fours, 2nd and 3rd without pagination, 4th - 115 fours, 5th - 72 fours. The draft chapter on monasticism consists of 11 notebooks. The chapter on the moral state of society has not been written at all. I wanted to carefully collect everything related to morals and paint a picture, but God did not bring it. By the time I printed the 1st half of Volume II, the 1st half of Volume I was all sold out, so that individual copies of it that came to market were sold at extremely high prices. I wanted, of course, to make a second edition, but I did not see an opportunity to fulfill my desire, and suddenly, quite unexpectedly, this possibility was pointed out by the person from whom this could least be expected - K. P. Pobedonostsev. I don’t know who changed Konstantin Petrovich’s thoughts on volume I of my “History” and inspired him with the desire for this volume to be republished 26 . Konstantin Petrovich could do this by passing the book through spiritual censorship. But he found it inconvenient to do this and acted in such a way that he sent a letter to the secretary of the Imperial Society of Russian History and Antiquities at Moscow University, E.V. Barsov, with advice to print the 2nd edition of volume I in the Society’s “Readings”. I quote this letter verbatim: 1 Sep. 1900 Tsarskoye Selo. Dear Elpidifor Vasilievich. I read with pleasure and interest the second volume of Golubinsky’s “History” that you published. We will look forward to the second half through you. But here's what comes to mind. Volume I has long been out of stock, but many people want to have it. Why don't you publish it in the same way - this time it is all the more convenient that the first edition has already passed through spiritual censorship. I hear that the author would not mind repeating the publication. (The following are a few lines in the letter that do not concern me). Hello and may God bless you. Neither me nor anyone on the Board of the Society thought of this, because publishing the second edition of a book in a magazine is an unprecedented and extravagant undertaking. But since the advice was given from such a height and from such authority, we did not fail to take advantage of the advice. The 1st half of Volume I was published in “Readings” in 1901, making up the third book of that year. And then the second half of the volume was printed, which in the 1st edition was completely sold out (printed in 1904, making up the second and third books). After the publication of the first half of volume I, I addressed K. P. Pobedonostsev with the following letter: Your Excellency! Dear Sovereign Konstantin Petrovich! The Society of Russian History and Antiquities published the 1st half of the 1st volume of my “History of the Russian Church” in the 2nd edition at your invitation. Bringing you my sincere great gratitude for providing me with the opportunity of the 2nd edition of half of the volume, I consider it my duty to respectfully present you with a copy of the publication. In the preface to the book, I found it possible, without your permission, to say directly that it was published at your invitation, and I also did not dare to ask your permission. If you had not found it inconvenient to give me this permission, then I would not have failed to testify in print my truly great gratitude to you. With deep respect for Your Excellency, I have the honor to be Your most humble servant former professor at the Moscow Theological Academy Evgeny Golubinsky. August 19, 1901. Konstantin Petrovich responded to my letter with the following letter: Most Honorable Evgeniy Fedorovich (sic!) I am sincerely glad that the first volume of your “History” has appeared in print again and thank you in advance for the expected receipt of it from you. At the same time, I hasten to inform you that I do not at all want my name mentioned in print regarding this publication, especially since E.V. Barsov could well, without my invitation, publish your work in the publication of the Society, which many are looking for on the book market and do not find. Hello and may God bless you. K. Pobedonostsev. August 24, 1901 Tsarskoye Selo. 9. My other printed works Large and small books and articles in chronological order are: 1. Essay on the history of enlightenment among the Greeks from the time of the capture of Constantinople by the Turks until the present (XIX) century // Orthodox Review. 1872. Nos. 5, 6, and 7. 2. 3. About the so-called Joachim Chronicle of Tatishchev. Assembly speech 1881 Oct. 1. // Additions to the edition of the Works of the Holy Fathers in Russian translation for 1881, part XXVIII. 4. 5. Saints Constantine and Methodius, Slavic first teachers. Speech given on April 6 1885 // Additions to the edition of the Works of the Holy Fathers in Russian translation for 1885, part XXXVI. 6. 7. To our polemic with the Old Believers. A collection of articles that were published in the Theological Bulletin. 1892., book. 1–3, and in Readings in the Imperial Society of History and Russian Antiquities at Moscow University, 1896. Then they were combined together, corrected and supplemented and printed as a book in Readings of the Society of Russian History and Antiquities 1905, book. 3. 27 28 Reply to Father Archpriest I. G. Vinogradov (regarding what is stated in the above-mentioned articles regarding our polemics with the Old Believers regarding the making of the sign of the cross) // Theological Bulletin, 1893, No. 8. 29 St. Sergius of Radonezh and the Trinity Lavra created by him. – S. Posad, 1892. The book was published on the occasion of the five hundredth anniversary of the death of St. Sergius with funds donated by Metropolitan Leonty. 30 In the magazine “Strannik”, Nikon, now the Bishop of Vologda, wrote a libel about me about this book. The reason for the appearance of Pasqueville was the following. Nikon, together with the governor of the Lavra, Leonid, were going to celebrate the 500th anniversary in 1891, and in a letter to Metropolitan Ioannikiy I proved that it should be celebrated in 1892, with which he agreed. This offended them greatly. I published the answer to this libel in the Theological Bulletin, 1893, 10 and 11 books. 31 Soon after the publication of the 1st edition of the book, written hastily to meet the deadline, I began to correct and supplement it, especially the guide to the Lavra, keeping in mind mainly the interests of the townspeople and the surrounding nearby villages. In 1908, S. A. Belokurov invited me to publish the 2nd edition in the “Readings at the Imperial Society of Russian History and Antiquities at Moscow University” and began printing the book under his supervision. It is placed in books 229 and 230 of the “Readings of the Society of Russian History and Antiquities” (issues 2 and 3, 1909). 16. Metropolitan of All Russia Peter // Theological Bulletin, 1893, book. 1. 17. 18. Metropolitan of All Russia Theognost // Theological Bulletin, 1893, book. 2. 19. 20. The enslavement of Rus' by the Mongols and the attitude of the Mongol khans to the Russian Church or to the Russian faith and their clergy // Theological Bulletin, 1893, book. 6 and 7. 21. 19. Metropolitan of All Russia Kirill III (the first after the Mongol invasion) // Theological Bulletin, 1894, book. 1 and 2. 20. 21. Metropolitan of All Russia Maxim // Theological Bulletin, 1894, book. 5. 22. 23. A note entitled “On the issue of church reform,” compiled at the beginning of 1906 and printed in Moscow in the same year as a manuscript in the amount of 100 copies. 24. Articles published in the “News of the Department of Russian Language and Literature” upon my election to the Academy of Sciences. 22. The question of the borrowing by pre-Mongol Russians from the Greeks of the so-called schedography, which among the latter was the highest course in literacy. 1904, vol. IX, book. 2. 23. 24. About the errors of one place in the original chronicle, which remain unnoticed. Right there. 25. 26. Kherson holy martyrs, commemorated on March 7th. 1907, vol. XII, book. 1. 27. 28. Regarding V.I. Lamansky’s reconstruction of the history of the activities of Constantine the Philosopher, the first teacher of the Slavic. 1907, vol. XII, book. 2. 29. Printed reviews of books by Beneshevich, Platonov, Bishop Arseniy, Golubev, Voclav Vondrak, Kuznetsov and others. 10. Recent years. Anniversaries The history of scientific activity includes anniversaries of this activity. I had two anniversaries: one that was supposed to be celebrated, but was not celebrated, and the other, which was celebrated. The first anniversary is the 25th anniversary of my scientific activity in 1883 on August 19. A.P. Lebedev and A.P. Smirnov were concerned about celebrating this anniversary. They probably sent a notice to the seminary with the purpose of sending me congratulations on the day of the anniversary. At the Academy, someone wrote me an address, which for some reason N.I. Subbotin and D.F. Kasitsyn did not want to sign. Because of my anniversary, A.P. Lebedev and D.F. Kasitsyn had the strongest abuse. The Rector of the Academy S.K. Smirnov brought to the attention of the academic fraternity through N.F. Kapterev that the Metropolitan did not want to celebrate the anniversary. In “Modern News” by Nikita Petrovich Gilyarov, someone published a note that my comrades did not want to celebrate my anniversary. Another anniversary is August 19, 1893 - the 35th anniversary of my scientific activity. My colleagues presented me with a doctoral badge, which I did not have, with the inscription: “To Evgeniy Evsigneevich Golubinsky from colleagues and students of 1858–1893.” This was followed by a dinner where speeches were made. N. F. Kapterev gave a welcoming speech. Following Kapterev, I also spoke, expressing gratitude to my comrades and briefly reviewing my scientific activities. (The anniversary is described in the “Theological Bulletin”) They congratulated me on what a master I am at speaking impromptu, and I answered that my speech was not impromptu at all, but was written by me in advance and hollowed out. My election to ordinary academician of the Imperial Academy of Sciences in 1903 My election to ordinary academician of the Imperial Academy of Sciences was a complete and decisive surprise for me. I had long been a corresponding member of the Academy (since 1882), but since until then there had been no example of any of the professors of the Theological Academies being elected to the Academy, it did not even occur to me to think about this membership. On the evening of November 10, 1902, I was sitting in my office and talking with my niece, a gymnasium teacher, who came to me. They hand me St. Petersburg newspapers brought by the postman, and with them a letter. The postmark is a letter from St. Petersburg, but the hand is unknown to me. Who do you think the letter is from? I unfold it, start reading and am completely amazed. This letter from the chairman of the Department of Russian Language and Literature of the Imperial Academy of Sciences, A. N. Veselovsky, is as follows: Dear Evgeniy Evstigneevich (sic). The preliminary commission appointed by the Department of Russian Language and Literature of the Imperial Academy of Sciences to indicate a candidate for the vacant department of ordinary academician unanimously decided on you. Before transferring your choice to the Department, I consider it my duty to contact you to secure your consent. The salary of an ordinary academician is 4200 rubles; condition: residence in St. Petersburg. Please accept the assurance of my complete devotion and respect for you. SPb. Vasilievsky Island, Nikolskaya Embankment, No. 1. I responded to Alexander Nikolaevich’s letter the next day after receiving it with the following letter: Dear Alexander Nikolaevich! I would not at all mind becoming an academician, but on the condition that I live in St. Petersburg not all year round, but during the winter half of the year, and starting not with this winter, but with the next. I just sat down to correct the 2nd half of the first volume of the “History of the Russian Church” for the 2nd edition, and now resettlement is unthinkable for me. Sincerely respecting you, your most humble servant E. Golubinsky. November 11, 1902 On December 1, 1902, I received the following second letter from A. N. Veselovsky: Dear Evgeniy Evstigneevich! Today at the Branch meeting you were elected unanimously. Let me congratulate you. Of course, we will wait for you until next winter. As for the requirement to live in St. Petersburg, then 4–5 months (summer) are eliminated, and you will be able to freely divide the rest between St. Petersburg and Moscow. In response to this second letter, I sent the following letter to Alexander Nikolaevich: I hasten to bring you personally and the entire Department of Russian Language and Literature my sincere and deep gratitude for the high honor with which you have bestowed upon me your election as a member of the Department. Diligently honoring you Your most humble servant Professor of the Moscow Theological Academy I consider it my duty to present my writings to the members of the Branch who elected me. Please, take the trouble to notify me how many copies are needed, and allow me to send them all to your name. And if, perhaps, I should present my writings to someone else, then please instruct 32. I was elected by the general meeting of the Academy as an ordinary academician on April 19, 1903, and approved by the Highest on June 26 (“Moskovskie Vedomosti”, Ziyulya 1903, No. 52). My election, of course, has some history: someone proposed me as a member of the Academy, someone wrote a review about my scientific works. But, unfortunately, I still don’t know this story. I can only assume that I mainly owe this to A.I. Sobolevsky 33 . My first task after my election as a member of the Academy of Sciences was to take steps before the highest spiritual authorities to recognize that I have equal rights with university professors on the issue of my content as an academician. Regarding university professors, there is a law that those who have served their pension, if they enter some non-university service, then, together with the salary for new positions, continue to receive a university pension, and on the basis of this law, university professors elected to members of the Academy of Sciences, together with a salary from the Academy, retain a university pension. Not wanting to be humiliated in front of university professors and to be offended in comparison with them, and thinking not only about myself, but also about subsequent academicians from the professors of the Theological Academies, I undertook the aforementioned efforts before the highest spiritual authorities. I personally addressed the corresponding report and my request regarding it to the first member of the Holy Synod, His Eminence Anthony, to Chief Prosecutor K. P. Pobedonostsev and to the director of the Economic Administration under the Holy Synod, P. I. Ostroumov. I was received very favorably by all three, and all three promised me to satisfy my quest. It was indeed satisfied. Here is the decree of the Holy Synod to the Board of the Moscow Theological Academy dated December 3, 1903, No. 26878: “Due to the request of the former Honored Professor of the Moscow Theological Academy Evg. Golubinsky, elected by the Imperial Academy of Sciences as an ordinary academician, on the preservation of his pension for spiritual and educational service, which was granted to him before his election as an academician, the Holy Synod, in view of the scientific merits of the former Honored Ordinary Professor E. Golubinsky and in relation to the procedure established by law for maintaining pensions for emeritus professors of universities while they continue to serve both in the Ministry of Public Education, and for other departments, by resolution dated November 12–19, No. 5537, he decided: the pension assigned to Professor Golubinsky for spiritual and educational service, in the amount of 3,000 rubles per year, should be retained by him and upon approval by him as an ordinary academician of the Imperial Academy of Sciences. Reporting this, the Economic Administration humbly requests the Board of the Moscow Theological Academy to resume the provision of Professor Golubinsky’s pension from the date of its termination, from the salary allocated for this subject according to the academic budget of the current year” 34. 11. Miscellaneous. Apartments and house After moving from Bethany to the Academy, I initially lived in the Academy, in which all the single, old and young professors lived then, with the exception of P.I. Gorsky, who with his mother had an apartment in the government yard. My apartment was on the second floor on the corner to the library and hospital opposite the apartment of A.V. Gorsky. After the death of P. S. Delitsyn (November 30, 1863), I moved to the government yard. In the government yard they lived: in the front apartment of the front house P. S. Delitsyn, in the back apartment F. A. Sergievsky; in the back house in a larger apartment to the south - A.F. Lavrov, in a smaller one to the north - P.I. Gorsky with his mother. When P.S. Delitsyn died, Phil took over his apartment. Alex, Phil's apartment. Alex, was occupied by A.F. Lavrov, and A.F. Lavrov’s apartment was occupied by P.I. Gorsky. I moved into the remaining apartment of P.I. Gorsky in the back house to the north. I moved from the academic to the government yard because it was restless at the Academy, because the housekeeper Gerontius, a famous reveler, lived below me, who organized orgies at his place at night and interfered with my studies. Another motivation was that in the government yard I had a small garden in front of the apartment, my own dog. There was an eye catastrophe in this apartment (mentioned above). I treated my eyes with a blister plaster applied to the upper part of my neck, which I kept on for a whole week. I healed the laceration for more than a month. At the same time, P.I. Gorsky rendered me an extraordinary service, coming every day to bandage my sore spot, entertaining me and serving me in the most obliging manner. When P.I. Gorsky was getting ready to get married, he convinced me to give up my apartment to him in order to make one apartment for himself out of two apartments. I gave in to him, and I myself moved to Ulyanov’s house next to the government yard. This apartment was next to the front government building. I ran to A.F. Lavrov, who lived in the back apartment of the front house, almost every day for fun after evening classes for an hour or half an hour and lied and fooled around. In general, with women I felt awkward, embarrassed, but with Marya Nikolaevna, the wife of Alexander Fedorovich, I felt completely free. From an apartment in the Ulyanov (now Nikiforov) house, I undertook a trip abroad. This house was two-story - the top was wooden, the bottom was stone - it burned down about 8 years ago, and several people died in the apartment on the top floor where I lived. Now one lower floor has been rebuilt. Alexander Fedorovich and Marya Nikolaevna came to see me off, and we drank half a bottle of champagne for good luck. I have now left Ulyanov's apartment. Upon returning from abroad, he first lived in the new monastery hotel, then moved to Belich’s house on Vifanka, which had recently burned down and was located near the railroad bed (second house) next to the former house of S.K. Smirnov1. V.N. and I lived here. Potapov (he is below, I am above), and his cook fed us both, and the housekeeping was run by V. Nikif., and in the most accurate way, penny for penny. He did not live with Belich for long. From here he moved to Nizhnyaya Street to the Kubyshkins’ house; I rented this apartment on June 1, 1875 for 276 rubles a year, or 23 rubles a month. He lived in it for a short time - until October 1884. The apartment was good, the owners were nice. The inconvenience was that there was no garden at the apartment, and for walks I was forced to go to the railway track. From here he moved to the house of I.V. Kogtev on Dvoryanskaya Street - the second house from Vifanskaya. Here I lived until July 1885, when I bought my own house. 35 I bought the house from the tradesman Kaftannikov for 3,000 rubles. The house had land half the size of the present one - 5 fathoms wide; the other half of my current land belonged to the tradesman Drishchev, who pestered me in a drunken state with a demand to give him a yard of land allegedly taken from him by Kaftannikov. The drunk man stood on the corner and shouted: “Give me the arshin!” More than once we had to send for the police. But, seeing the police, he shouted “Guard!” and fled to his hut, which stood in the depths of his plot, and there he was already inviolable under Habeas Corpus. Finally, fortunately for me, he needed to marry off his daughter and he sold me his land for 700 rubles. I remodeled the house I bought and added an entire half to it. He rebuilt the services: the bishop's bathhouse, a cellar, a barn with a basement, two sheds. He planted a very good orchard. I still live in this house. I very rarely avoided formal dinners, but mostly attended them. Birthday dinners were organized by very few of the members of the corporation: it was customary to come to the birthday person at 12 o’clock with congratulations and have a snack, and in the evening they gathered to play cards, dance, and have fun with games. The evening ended with dinner. At birthday dinners I visited A.V. Gorsky and P.S. Kazansky, who, contrary to custom, organized real dinners (I don’t remember who else I visited). It was as if he didn’t go to anyone on birthday parties. At the funeral dinners he was with P. S. Delitsyn, A. V. Gorsky, V. D. Kudryavtsev and I. N. Korsunsky. I was at parties (not birthday parties) only three times: at V.D. Kudryavtsev’s twice and at S.K. Smirnov’s once. The first time was at Kudryavtsev’s for a housewarming party, the second time was when he gave an evening, returning from St. Petersburg after finishing the studies of the heir, Nikolai Alexandrovich. At evenings I usually felt completely bad: I didn’t play cards, didn’t dance, and almost didn’t take part in games. Once I came to the gazebo (to drink tea) with A.F. Lavrov. He had a card game: Phil was playing. Al., P.I. Gorsky, Sergei Konstantinovich. Smirnov and Alexander Fedorovich himself. Along with the men there were also ladies. One of the ladies suggested: “Let’s teach Evgeniy Evsigneevich to dance,” and they began to teach me. Since I danced very awkwardly, the laughter was terrible. Sergei Konstantinovich, who was playing cards, hearing this laughter, concluded that I was a person capable of bringing great excitement to society, and on the very first party he had, he most urgently demanded that I come to the evening. I came and at the evening I felt very uneasy and did not know what to do with myself, and Sergei Konstantinovich probably repented more than once that he was stupid to invite me. Small parties gathered to play cards and drink. I didn’t attend any of them, since I didn’t play cards and didn’t drink vodka. M.N. Lavrova tried to marry me twice: the first time to the sister of the former judicial investigator here, it seems, by the name of Spassky. She even arranged for me to have a date with my fiancée at her apartment. The bride was not particularly beautiful, but rich. I don't know why it didn't happen. For the second time, Marya Nikolaevna wanted to marry me to her relative, the daughter of Uncle A.F. Lavrov, Nikita Ivanovich Krylov, a professor at Moscow University. But in response to her letter offering me Nick. Iv. replied that she already had a fiancé. The third bride was matched to me by V.N. Potapov: his relative, the niece of D.F. Golubinsky, the daughter of his sister, who was married to the priest of the Church of St. George on Polyanka, Dmitry Vasilyevich Razumovsky. The bride was not a particularly beautiful girl, but not bad either, very smart and well educated. But I noticed that she had a very domineering character and had a tendency to hide her husband under her shoe. I, on the one hand, had no desire to be under the shoe, and on the other hand, I did not recognize the strength in myself to pacify the obstinate one and backed away from the bride. My fourth bride is the daughter of the Viennese archpriest, Mikhail Feodorovich Raevsky, famous in his time, Lyudmila Mikhailovna Raevskaya. I was in Vienna twice during my trip abroad: on the way there and on the way back. When I was in Vienna for the first time, she was not at home - she was visiting her sister. When I arrived the second time, she was at home. She was not a beautiful woman, but she was not ugly either, she was even more intelligent, excellently educated and unusually tactful. From the very first minute I met her, I really liked her, and she apparently liked me very much. This second time I stayed in Vienna for a week and a half, and by the end of my stay things between us had reached the point where she was apparently waiting for my proposal. However, I did not propose, deciding to do it from home. But I didn’t have the patience to get home, and I sent an offer from Warsaw. Arriving home, I impatiently began to wait for an answer. In my hotel, where I settled upon arriving from abroad, my friend, student Father Georgy Orlov (the current Bishop of Astrakhan Georgy) lived almost constantly. I told him my secret, and we both waited together for an answer. After a very long time, the answer finally came. With impatience and trembling hands, I unfolded the letter and alas! a decisive refusal. Father Raevsky wrote to me that his daughter thanks me very much for my very good opinion of her, but that she still wants to be a girl. I assumed that she had found a much more profitable and prominent groom than me, but A. A. Lebedev, a former Prague priest, assured me that she supposedly married some Bourbon, some unimportant officer. I have no further information about her. In the end, I'm very glad I didn't get married. Neither I myself would be happy in my marriage, nor would I make my wife happy. By nature, I am a very ardent person and am attached only to the book, to the book, and to the book; I have an aversion to any kind of housekeeping and to all sorts of evenings and parties. I ended my academic career somewhat prematurely and in an extremely sad manner. I am currently nearing the end of my 75th year of life; It goes without saying that my abilities and strength for scientific activity have weakened significantly compared to the years of courage. However, I keep them and could do easier scientific work. But about a year and a half ago I lost my sight, and this marked the end of my scientific activity. I said above that after the catastrophe that happened to my eyes, I managed to restore vision in only one eye, namely the left one. For almost forty years I worked with just this eye, and I worked, speaking without boasting, quite intensely. I think that from prolonged and rather intense work, the visual power in the eye was depleted, and it, so to speak, went out. When darkening in the eye began, I turned to two Moscow specialists in eye diseases recommended to me - university professor A. A. Kryukov, who recently died, and the chief doctor of the Alekseevsky Eye Hospital V. O. Averbakh. But the eye drops prescribed to me by one and the other did not bring me the slightest benefit. I carefully put the drops into my eyes, and the darkening of my vision took its course. I hope everyone will agree that no greater misfortune can befall a person than the loss of sight. And this great misfortune befell me. I earnestly pray to the Lord God that He will give me the strength to bear my heavy cross without complaint and that He will not be too slow in taking me to Himself. To the chapter on Kostroma Seminary From the archives of the Kostroma Theological Seminary From case No. 105 about the production of tests in December 1848: In the list of students of the Seminary of the lower department for the September third 1848 Evgeny Golubinsky stands at No. 2. Marked: “personal” abilities, “very diligent” diligence, “good” successes. In the list of successes in the Greek language class, E. Golubinsky is number 49. Marked: “weak” successes. In the report for the Latin class for the Christmas third - under No. 5: “very good abilities, good diligence and good success.” According to general history - at No. 5: “very good abilities, excellent diligence, excellent success.” According to the Orthodox confession for the December third, it is No. 12: “abilities, diligence and good success.” In algebra for the September third - at No. 46: successes are “consistent”. From case No. 106 about testing in July 1849: In the rank list compiled after internal tests in July 1849 Evgeniy Golubinsky, a student of the 2nd lower department, marked under No. 3. In the class of Orthodox confession - under No. 2, marked: ability, diligence, success “very good”. In history and Latin for the Genvar and May thirds - at No. 3, “very good abilities, excellent zealous diligence, very good successes.” In Greek for the Genvar third – No. 14, success: “very good.” good ones." In algebra - No. 3: abilities are “very good”, success is “good”. In French - at No. 49, abilities, diligence and success are “small”. From case No. 116 about testing in June 1850: On the list for algebra, geometry and Easter, E. Golubinsky is No. 4 - his success is very good. According to the Orthodox confession and reading the historical books of the Old Testament - at No. 2; abilities, diligence, success - “excellent”. In Greek the progress is “very good”. In history, in the subject of liturgical books and in the Latin language - at No. 3, abilities “very good”. good”, diligence “excellent, zealous”, successes “excellent”. In literature - No. 3, method, diligent, success - “excellent”. From case No. 117 about testing in December 1850: In the list for the September third in the class of educational books of the Old Testament, E. Golubinsky is No. 1, abilities and successes - “excellently good”, diligent. "very zealous." According to biblical history and Russian history - under No. 4, capable., adj. and success, “very good.” good ones." In physics and natural history, read for the September third - under No. 1, abilities are “very good”, successes are “very good”. According to Greek language - No. 2, diligent. and success “weight. good ones." From case No. 93 on the production of tests in June and July 1851 (secondary 2nd department): In the list compiled after private tests in July, E. Golubinsky is listed at No. 2. In psychology and Latin - at No. 2, “very good” abilities, “tireless” diligence, “excellently good” successes. In physics and zoology - No. 8. In biblical history - No. 3, in Greek - No. 6, capable, diligent. and yen. "very good". According to the Holy Scriptures - number 1 - “excellent good”. From case No. 94 about testing in December 1851: In the rank list of the secondary 2nd patrol department, E. Golubinsky is No. 4, with “excellently good” abilities and successes, “very zealous” diligence. On hermeneutics and reading the prophetic books of the Old Testament - at No. 1 - “excellently good”. In botany - No. 3, ability and diligence are “excellent”. According to biblical history - at No. 6, abilities and successes are “very good.” From case No. 95 on the conduct of tests in June and July 1852: In logic, psychology, patristics and Latin, E. Golubinsky is listed under No. 4, “very good abilities, very zealous diligence, very good successes.” On hermeneutics and reading the prophetic and teaching books of the Old Testament - at No. 1 - “excellently good”. In Russian civil history - No. 8 with the examiner’s mark “very good”. In physics, natural history, agriculture - No. 8, abilities “excellent”, successes “very good”. According to biblical history - at No. 4, according to the reading of the Greek Fathers of the Church - at No. 3 - “very good”. From case No. 96 on the production of tests in December 1852: On dogmatic theology and homiletics E. Golubinsky - under No. 3, abilities, diligence, yen. "excellently good." In the New Testament reading class - No. 5 - “very good”. In church history, theology and medicine - at No. 3, in agriculture - at No. 8 - “very good”. According to the reading of the Greek and Latin Fathers of the Church - at No. 2, according to the Hebrew language - at No. 3 - “very good”. From case No. 115 about the conduct of tests in July 1853: In the list of the 2nd Higher Department in Dogmatic Theology, E. Golubinsky is listed at No. 3, method., diligent., success, “very good.” In the general list compiled at the end of the January third of 1852–1853. “according to abilities, diligence and success” E. Golubinsky is listed under No. 4 - “v. good ones." According to church history, the third is “v. good”, in medicine – third, success: “very good”. From inventory file No. 116 - “Notes of lessons taught in the 1st and 2nd departments of the theological class for the September third of 1853”: E. Golubinsky, according to the Holy Scriptures, is the first; in the history of the Russian Church and canon law – first (method, diligence and “very good” successes), in Greek – No. 1 (“I studied very well”), in medicine – No. 1 (“very good”). From the file according to inventory No. 62 about the production of tests in June and July 1854: In the list of students who read the books of the New Testament, E. Golubinsky is first; method., diligent. and “excellent good” success. According to the history of the Russian Church and canon law - third, method., adj. and “excellent” success. In Latin and Greek. language for the Genvar third – at No. 2, “I worked very well.” (Throughout the whole year, the mark of success in Greek is “very good”, under No. 1). In agriculture – tenth, “very good” abilities, “very good” successes. From the case according to inventory No. 6 - 1854, according to the order of the Board of the Moscow Theological Academy on the election and sending of two students to the Academy: E. Golubinsky “sends of his own free will to the Academy with the permission of the Moscow Theological Academy.” From the certificate of the Kostroma Theological Consistory, it is clear that E. Golubinsky was 20 years old when he completed his seminary course (journal number 859). There is also the following receipt from E. Golubinsky: “On August 9, 1854, I received from the Seminary Board three pairs of underwear, one pair of oversized ankle boots, one silk scarf and suspenders. Seminary student Evgeniy Golubinsky." The announcer of this Kostroma Theological Seminary of the higher department of the 2nd class, a student of Evgeniy Golubinsky, Kostroma diocese of Kologrivsky district, Nativity of the Theotokos Church, village of Matveev, priest Evsigney Peskov’s son, 20 years old, in September 1848, having entered the Kostroma Seminary from the Soligalichsky Theological School, studied at her, with excellent abilities, excellent diligence and excellent behavior: the Holy Scriptures, dogmatic theology, moral theology, homiletics, the science of confessions, the offices of elders - excellent, good, about the holy fathers of the church, about liturgical books - very good, about church antiquities and rituals, the foundation of the church. laws and canon law - excellent, biblical history, church history - very good, growing history. church - excellent, logic and psychology - very good, rhetoric and poetry, sacred hermeneutics - excellent, algebra, geometry and Paschal - good, physics - very good, basic principles of medicine and smallpox vaccination, agriculture - very good, natural history, general history, Russian civil history - very good, Orthodox confession - excellent and studied languages: Greek, Latin - very good, Hebrew - good. In 1852 he was awarded the surplice. From September 15, 1852 to July 14, 1854, he held the position of chief foreman. This 1854, July 14th, after private and public tests at the end of the full course of seminary studies, the Board of the Kostroma Seminary, with the approval of His Eminence, the Most Reverend Philo-theus, Bishop of Kostroma and Galich and Cavalier, upon his inclusion in the first category of seminary students, was elevated to the degree of seminary student and as a result of the order of the Board of the Moscow Theological Academy dated June 19 This year, 1854, No. 155, he was dismissed to the Moscow Theological Academy to join its students. In confirmation of which, this certificate from the Board of the Kostroma Seminary was given to him, student Golubinsky. July 28, 1854. Unsuccessful attempt to get the book: “On our polemic with the Old Believers” approved by St. Petersburg censorship 36 This book - “On our polemic with the Old Believers” - was given in November 1897 through N.V. Pokrovsky to the St. Petersburg censor, who seemed to have received it favorably. But in January 1898 there was a decisive refusal. See the letters from Glubokovsky and Pokrovsky located here. Dear Evgeniy Evsigneevich! N.V. Pokrovsky told me the sad news that St. Petersburg. censorship does not allow your book to pass. Therefore, I personally spoke with Fr. chairman of the Committee and again became convinced that now everyone was overcome by such fear that it was no longer possible to have any hope. Out of respect, allow me to offer advice from personal experience. When printing my dissertation on Theodoret, the less venerable o.o. the censors tried to create difficulties, and I turned to secular censorship, where the late P.E. Astadiev and Vl. let me through with remarkable delicacy and unhindered. Nazarevsky. Moreover, all the formalities were completed in addition to me by the University Printing House. Is it possible for you – now and in the future – to use this method? This is all the more possible since the chairman of the Moscow Censorship Committee is now Vl. Nazarevsky, a graduate of the Moscow Academy (comrade N.F. Kapterev), although there is a very dangerous Bethany seminarian S. Sokolov. You just need to take the general title and note that this is a “historical study”: then there will be no obstacles. In any case, why not try and at least ask Nazarevsky in a letter? Sorry for the unsolicited but sincere advice. N. Glubokovsky, who always respects you. 1898. I, 16. St. Petersburg, Nevsky Prospect, 180, apt. 5. Dear Evgeniy Evsigneevich! To my extreme regret, I cannot give you a consoling answer on the issue of censorship of your work. Recently, a former censor, now appointed to the post of Rector of St. Petersburg. seminary, Archimandrite Methodius came to me with an apology that he could not put impimatur on your book. His colleague Archimandrite Clement speaks in the same sense. They are confused by the strong expressions in the book, for example, about three-fingered and two-fingered, and they are afraid of penalties from above; Moreover, there was a rumor here that the Old Believers had taken a fancy to these expressions and were presenting them to the missionaries. The book has been returned to me intact, and I will send it to you next Monday. I have heard that the most humane censor is in Vilna: priest Peter Levitsky. Do you consider it possible to communicate on this subject, for example, with your student Flavian Nikolaevich Dobryansky, who lives permanently in Vilna and knows Father Peter well (address F.N.D.: Public Library in Vilna). It is quite difficult to come up with a different outcome without resorting to a radical change in expression, at least undesirable. Please forgive me for the grief I unwittingly caused you and accept the assurance of my sincere and deep respect and devotion. Your humble servant Nikolai Pokrovsky. Opinion on the essay of the extraordinary professor Golubinsky “History of the Russian Church” (volumes I, half 1st) The book of Professor Golubinsky, submitted for the degree of Doctor of Theology, constitutes the first half of the work undertaken by the author, the subject of which is the history of the Russian Church - its so-called Kiev or pre-Mongol period. The book is divided into four extensive chapters: the first is devoted to an analysis of legends and opinions about Christianity in Russia before St. Vladimir, the second tells about the baptism of Vladimir and the establishment of Christianity in our country under this prince and his successors, the third depicts the structure of church government that was established in the first centuries of our Christian life, the fourth describes the first successes of enlightenment in Rus', to which the author added a detailed critical and bibliographical sketch of translated and original writing that appeared in Rus' in the pre-Mongol period. Prof.'s work Golubinsky is critical par excellence. When talking about the events of the history of the Russian Church or describing the emerging order of church life in Rus', the author interrupts his story and description at every step, dwelling on this or that phenomenon, checking the news of sources and the opinions of historians about it, considering the degree of reliability of these news and opinions, and for this purpose entering into a detailed analysis of the sources of our history, both Russian and foreign. It can be said that within the period, not a single major fact of our church history was left without careful verification, not a single important historical monument was ignored by the critical attention of the author. This direction of the researcher is also reflected in the fact that, in addition to footnotes and “additions and amendments” appended at the end of the book, each chapter of the work is accompanied by a number of explanatory or justifying articles, many of which form integral critical studies (such as, for example, articles on the life of St. Stephen of Sourozh in the first chapter, in the second - about the legends of Peter Damiani of Ostien and the unknown interpolator of the chronicle Ademar, testifying that the Russians were converted to Christianity by Latin missionaries, in the third chapter - about the church charters of the princes of St. Vladimir and Yaroslav, in the fourth - about the translated writing that existed in Rus' in the pre-Mongol period). This direction, which imparted a much more critical rather than pragmatic character to the “History of the Russian Church” under consideration, led Prof. Golubinsky to many new conclusions for our historical literature, thanks to which many facts of the initial history of the Russian Church appear in a different form, not as they are depicted by other historians of the Russian Church. Such conclusions include the author’s judgments about the Russians who attacked Constantinople and adopted Christianity during the reign of Emperor Michael III, about which Patriarch Photius speaks in his conversations and district message, then considerations about the circumstances of the baptism of Prince Vladimir and about the progress of the spread of Christianity in Rus' under this prince and his successors, as well as many private comments and guesses in the chapter on the initial structure of the Russian Church and in the review the most ancient monuments of our writing. These original conclusions, no doubt, will not pass unnoticed in Russian historical science, and some of them will help a more correct understanding of how the Christian life of Rus' arose and proceeded at first; but among these conclusions there are also those that are unlikely to be accepted by historical criticism. These are conclusions drawn up under the exclusive influence of two features that in some places distinguish the author’s research: firstly, his inclination, so to speak, to isolate church-historical phenomena from their setting, to consider them out of connection with the historical environment in which they arose, and secondly, his historical-critical skepticism, the sometimes excessive suspicion with which he treats the sources of our history. Weaknesses from which Prof.'s book is not free. Golubinsky, are redeemed by qualities that make it a remarkable phenomenon of our historical literature. First of all, attention is drawn to the breadth and thoroughness of the study of historical sources, not only Russian, but also foreign, mainly Byzantine. From them the author extracted abundant material for critical considerations that were original and sometimes witty; This same study gave the author the opportunity to place the initial structure of the Russian Church in historical connection with its Byzantine prototype, as well as to consider the first successes of book education that developed under the patronage of the Church in Rus' in connection with its Greek and Bulgarian sources, and in this way illuminate many details of the initial history of our church-moral life that remained unclear. The author’s attitude towards historical sources corresponds to his attitude towards the historical facts themselves, which is distinguished by the same inquisitiveness: when solving a well-known question, he does not rest on the first considerations that arose in his mind, having examined it in one place, he returns to it in another to look at it from a new side, revealed to the researcher upon further study, in a new order of considerations, tries from various possible solutions to choose the simplest and most probable, to foresee and eliminate objections that it may cause chosen solution. Based on the above, I believe that the work of Prof. Golubinsky, nominated for the degree of Doctor of Theology, fully deserves to be admitted to public defense. Extraord. prof. V. Klyuchevsky. Extraordinary professor Evgeniy Golubinsky's review of the essay by ordinary professor Pyotr Kazansky: “The History of Orthodox Monasticism in the East”, submitted for the degree of Doctor of Theology The work of Mr. Kazansky is not so much a scientific work in the strict sense as a moral (more precisely, ascetic) edifying work, which is clear from the fact that it is dedicated to Russian monasticism and which the author directly admits (p. 24 beginning). The work of Mr. Kazansky is not so much a history of monasticism in the strict sense of the word, but rather a series of individual biographies of the most famous ascetics of the 4th and 5th centuries. Biographies of ascetics are not free from some shortcomings; at least, they suffer from the drawback that they are too similar to one another, so that after reading them all, the reader’s mind is left with no special idea about almost any one ascetic and almost all merge into one general vague idea. The work of Mr. Kazansky cannot be considered completely independent. As far as I had time to make inquiries, if not always, then sometimes he made quite a lot of use of Tillemont’s book “Memoires pour servir a l’histoire ecd. des six premiers siedes.” The work cannot be considered completely satisfactory in literary terms and is not free from various particular shortcomings and mistakes. Despite all these shortcomings, the work cannot be denied important, or at least not insignificant, scientific significance. The author rightly says that “due to the great influence of the monastic class on the fate of the Holy Church, the history of monasticism became an integral part of Church History,” and that “just as the history of the Church in the first three centuries of Christianity would have been incomprehensible without the history of the martyrs, so the history of subsequent centuries would have been incomprehensible without the history of monasticism” (p. 23). Although he does not present in his work the real history of monasticism, and therefore does not fill the gap he pointed out in our literature on church history, nevertheless, he paves and greatly facilitates the path for a real historian of monasticism, because he gives in his work that preparatory work, which is almost never done without in scientific works. There are aspects of the subject that a future historian of monasticism will find in the work of Mr. Kazansky, if not completely, then already very significantly processed. When presenting the biography of those fathers who left behind writings or about whom others have testified, the author usually, through authentic extracts, tries to present a systematic summary of their moral teachings and their moral views. This is the side of the work that the author has handled most carefully and for which he deserves full praise. Bearing in mind not only the present work of Mr. Kazansky, but also all his scientific works in general, which have acquired him a very respectable reputation among our scientists, and also bearing in mind his 30 years of teaching activity, I find it quite fair that he should be awarded the degree of Doctor of Theology. Extraordinary professor Evgeny Golubinsky. Letters from E. E. Golubinsky to A. V. Gorsky Your Reverence, Most Honorable Father Rector! I've been in Vienna since June 26th. I got from the border to Vienna with the help of a kind person who knew Russian and German. Mikhail Fedorovich Raevsky received me in the most favorable manner. Fortunately, there was a free apartment in the very embassy building in which he lives, and I settled in it, although for me it is somewhat expensive. While I’m studying Vienna, I’m learning to speak German and looking through Mikhail Fedorovich’s library, which contains a lot that I haven’t seen. I didn’t start studying seriously because my books and notebooks, which I sent from St. Petersburg by freight train, had not yet arrived. So far I am satisfied with my life, although they don’t live quite like Russians here. I will certainly send a review of Pyotr Simonovich’s book, for which he will probably scold me greatly, by the beginning of the school year, before which Nikolai Ivanovich did not want to submit his review. My address: Oesterreich, Wien, Wahlfischgasse, No. 3, to Archpriest Raevsky for transmission... Your Reverence, Most Honorable Father Rector! From a chance conversation with Mikhail Fedorovich Raevsky, I learned the following: if you, on your own behalf, or even better on behalf of the Council, contact him with a request - whether he can devote a certain amount to our Academy from among the Slavic books at his disposal (sent to him, at his discretion, by various Slavic societies and individuals), then he will do this with great pleasure. The less you hesitate in writing, the better it will be. I, of course, am a biased judge, because I have to, but let me say the following: with benefit or without benefit, Mikhail Fedorovich does so much for the Slavs and to maintain the honor and good name of Russia among them, that for us, the Moscow Theological Academy, if we are also Slavs, it would not be a sin to elect him as an honorary member. This would be no worse than NN and NN, and in no case would it damage the honor of the Academy. I, thank God, am alive and well. I do my job diligently. In delivering the necessary books and information, Mikhail Fedorovich and a certain Adolf Ivanovich Dobryansky, a famous Hungarian-Russian patriot and political figure, most certainly help me as much as they can. Filaret Alexandrovich traveled through Vienna to Marienbad. Since fate was less merciful to him than to me, and did not send him a leader, he worked to his fill in Vienna, which is why she, although very good, did not like him very much. I sincerely bow to all of ours. In the last letter, sorry, I wrote the address somewhat illiterately: the street is not Wahlfischgasse, but Wallfischgasse. By sending you unfranked letters, I am causing you some losses because, according to Mikhail Fedorovich, not franking is the only way to ensure that the letter reaches you without fail. I am sending you with this my review of the work of Pyotr Simonovich. This review is short because I am an unofficial reader. Just in case, I unofficially and officially give you the right to use it completely at your own discretion. Thank God I'm alive and well. I am currently beginning to experience obstacles in my studies, because F. P. Raevsky and others who helped me deliver books have left Vienna. By August 15, everyone will be back, and then, I hope, things will go smoothly again. I sincerely bow to all of ours. E. Golubinsky. Vienna August 11/23, 1872. I sincerely apologize to you for ruining you with unfranked letters. Father Archpriest says that this is the only way for letters to arrive correctly. Tonight, God willing, I will travel through Austria to Krakow, Lemberg, Chernovtsy and to Iasi in Moldova, if they let me through. Back to Przemysl, from which to Eperies or Pryamje in Hungary, maybe to Unvar, where the see of the Hungarian-Russian bishop is, to Pest and to Vienna. After this, I will stay in Vienna as long as it takes to put the collected information in order, and then to Karlovci and Belgrade. Thank God I'm alive and well. I bow to all of us. E. Golubinsky. 18/30 August 1872. I returned to Vienna from my trip to Austrian Rus'. I won’t boast that I made the trip completely successfully, because with Austria’s extreme suspicion against everything Muscovite-Russian, this cannot be done; but, in any case, I remain satisfied with it. I had a great and safe trip, at least without any major adventures. Assuming that Alexander Fedorovich is already in St. Petersburg, I am making my most humble request to you. Instruct me to give my salary from July to Juncker’s office in Moscow so that he can transfer it to Vienna. Order to ask Juncker which Viennese banker he will transfer to, and to notify me about this last one so that I can know where to get the money. I humbly and most earnestly ask you to do all this as quickly as possible, so that in Vienna you don’t have to live in vain while waiting for money or news about it. If Alexander Fedorovich is still at Trinity, I ask you to convey this most humble request to him. I probably can’t say how long I’ll stay in Vienna, but probably no more than halfway through our Russian October. I sincerely bow to all of ours, I remain your most humble servant My address is still the same, i.e. Wien, Wallfischgasse, No. 3, to Raevsky for transmission to me. 1872. September 20 old style. P.S. If Junker gives me some kind of receipt that I must have in my hands in order to receive money here, then, of course, I humbly ask you to forward this receipt to me. Let the letter with this receipt be an insurance letter and clearly state what type of document is being sent. I thank you most earnestly for your letter. I thank you just as earnestly for ordering the prompt sending of money to me, which I received in the form of a bill from Juncker to the local banker, including 663 guilders and kopecks (of which I have the honor to inform you formally). Sorry and sorry that I was somewhat slow in responding to your letter. Thank God I'm alive and well. I am still staying in Vienna, where I will finally stay for no more than two weeks and from which I will go first to Karlovci, then to Belgrade. I can’t say that I was completely satisfied with my stay in Vienna, but I still did something. I wrote articles about Galician Russians, about Hungarian Russians and about Austrian Rusyns. The historical half of the articles is completely ready, but half is about modern (mainly church) life, which fascinates me a lot, unfortunately, with significant gaps and holes, because, despite all my efforts, I have not yet managed to collect all the necessary information. If God grants health, I have hope for a return journey. Then I will travel through Austrian Russia and will act much more boldly: if the Austrian government and the police send me, it will be to the same Russia, to which my path will already lie. I would probably send the finished one to you at your discretion, but unfortunately, it has not been rewritten. Here I could find only one copyist (from the Galician Russians), but he also asks for a guilder per sheet, which is expensive for me, who tries in every possible way to protect guilders. For a week and a half I went to study in the imperial or court library (the one at Lambetius). I looked through books about the Slavs that I couldn’t find in Russia; I looked at several Slavic manuscripts and found something about the Serbs. I also looked at some Greek manuscripts, but didn’t find anything special. I bought 300 guilders worth of books here. There are some rare ones; for the most part they are not rare, but necessary for me and mainly about the Austrian Slavs. I will probably have to cry with these books, because carrying them is a very troublesome and inconvenient thing. Alexander Fedorovich writes to me that Juncker’s receipt for 216 rubles, which he had, he sent to you. If you find it possible to send it on the day immediately after receiving this letter, then send it, because I will still wait for them. Otherwise, you will send them to me in Belgrade, from which I will write to you how to address them. Your information about Dmitry Fedorovich brought me into the greatest surprise. I haven’t seen him, he hasn’t been to Raevsky’s. Where he is now, I don’t have the slightest information. My review of Pyotr Simonovich’s work should be understood in the sense that I am decisively in favor of his doctorate, although, in view of the circumstances that have occurred, I don’t quite understand why he needs a doctorate. Please forgive and bow to all of us. October 17 old style 1872 I am writing to you not from Vienna, from which I completely left on October 28 (Saturday) evening, but from Belgrade in Serbia, which I arrived in yesterday evening. On the way I stopped in Pest. I was in Saint-André (see my book) with the Bishop of Budim Arseniy Stojkovich, who received me extremely kindly, fed me a ceremonial bishop's dinner and even gave me one manuscript (not particularly important in itself, but precious, according to him). The bishop is a very respectable old man, very dignified and, as far as I can judge from the short (Church-Slavic-German) conversation, very smart. In Belgrade, I have so far managed to visit our consul, take a quick look at the city and find Zivojin. The latter immediately dragged me to his friends’ birthday parties, of whom there turned out to be three, and to whom I had the honor of being introduced to many Serbs, including even retired ministers. I don’t know what will happen next, but so far the Serbs, as it turns out, have some idea about my book, are very kind to me. Now, excuse me, I’m bothering you with something, namely a request to send money - those 216 rubles that Alexander Fedorovich had, and the November salary. Since, according to a certificate from the consul, it turned out that sending money directly to Belgrade is not entirely convenient, you need to do the following. Take back the money given by Alexander Fedorovich Juncker for an increase from interest (216 rubles), attach the November salary to it and send the entire amount in hundred-ruble Russian notes in an insurance letter to Vienna to Archpriest Mikhail Fedorovich Raevsky, so that he forwards it to me (write him a small letter about this). Raevsky's address is the same as before, i.e. Wallfischgasse, No. 3. For my part, I will write to him about this. Since I will stay in Belgrade (with a trip to Karlovtsi and Novi Sad) for no more than two months, and since I want and need to receive money in Belgrade, I most earnestly ask you to order their expulsion immediately (please remember that there is literally no aunt sitting abroad and that without money a person is completely lost there). Please convey my sincere bow to all of us. I managed to look through the catalog of Serbian books sold in Belgrade; for 50–70 guilders I can buy everything I need. In my wanderings I remembered Mr. Voskresensky, our philologist: strongly advise him to learn to speak German quite fluently. If he listens to advice, he will say thank you more than once; if he does not listen, he will call himself a fool more than once. I have just received your letter from Metropolitan Michael of Belgrade, forwarded to him by M. F. Raevsky. I sincerely regret with you the not entirely satisfactory state of affairs at the Academy. I asked the Viennese embassy official about Dmitry Fedorovich, through whose hands all matters pass. He replied that he did not remember at all when Kositsyn was and that if he was (at the embassy), it was no more than once (how long he was in Vienna and when he left Vienna, the embassy does not know). He suggested that I contact the outgoing phone, but, unfortunately, I did not do this, being sure that Dmitry Fedorovich had returned long ago. In Belgrade I am currently busy looking for an apartment. As soon as I finish it, I will immediately revise my notebooks and, if possible, send them to you. Since the consul lives extremely far away, and the letter needs to be sent now, I cannot attach my note certified by the consul to it for Juncker. I believe that he will be content with presenting this letter of mine, certified by the Academy, or a note, which, just in case, I enclose on the next page. Extremely grateful to you for your concern for me, I remain your most humble servant. NB. If you need accurate information about Dmitry Fedorovich, then write to Mikhail Fedorovich. He will do it right away. NBB. For the future, do not give my money to Juncker, but leave it until required by the Academy. I have the honor to announce that I received the money, including 400 silver rubles. The letter arrived while I was away from Belgrade, traveling around inland Serbia, as a result of which I am delaying my response. I spent 10 days on this journey; traveled around quite a significant part of the principality; became quite familiar with the way of life and, to some extent, with the character of the people; saw five old monasteries with their Byzantine churches. I also saw Zhicha, but, unfortunately, I could not see Studenica, because it lies in barely accessible mountains and due to the late season it was impossible to decide to travel. In the absence of our consul, the manager of the consulate, his former secretary, Prince Tsereteli, a most wonderful and obliging young man, arranged things in such a way that I was given as a companion one Serb who knew Serbia very well, a certain Mr. Milicevic, a secretary in the Ministry of Public Education. His companionship was extremely useful to me in all respects. Postponing a detailed report until a future time, I cannot help but say that regarding public schools, Serbia, to our shame, is ahead of us Russians. Schools in almost every village are for the most part very well organized, and the government pays serious attention to them. I conveyed your regards to the Metropolitan. He, for his part, bows to you earnestly. He, the Metropolitan, thinks mainly about the Bulgarian question here. He would like to think behind us Russians, that is, to give his answer after ours. In any case, his answer will be favorable to the Bulgarians, although, of course, cautious and prudent to the last degree. With my articles, sorry, I will be untenable for a while. In Serbia I have so much to do with the Serbs that I absolutely don’t have the time to finally put in order what was written in Vienna. Moreover, I won’t find copyists here either, and I’m afraid of sending articles without leaving the lists with me in case they get lost. O. Zhivoin, a self-described priest, lives in Belgrade and is a teacher of the law at the gymnasium. According to his custom, he diligently beats the dogs' fur 37 . Alexander in Pozharevets, where I saw him during my travels. Until recently, the weather here was very good (which I enjoyed during the trip), but about three days ago it snowed and it became winter. My address in Belgrade is Beldrd, Fu(..)rstenthum Serbien. Russian Consulate. For transmission to such and such. I can’t say anything yet how long I’ll stay in Belgrade. But at least until the end of this month. I haven’t gone to Karlovtsy yet and I’m planning to go one of these days. I humbly ask you to earnestly bow to all of us on my behalf. (I dare to disturb you with my most humble request. If the Belgrade Consul General Nikolai Pavlovich Shishkin, who is in Russia on vacation in Russia, comes to pay his respects, then receive him more kindly. He was obligatory towards me to the last degree). I am writing to you from Constantinople, where I arrived yesterday morning. Belgrade became more comfortable than expected due to bad weather. The winter was beautiful at first, but then it suddenly turned so bad that it was impossible to go on a trip, having to cross the Black Sea. I saw enough of the Serbs of the Principality of Serbia in all the respects I needed, I bought books and collected information, and in general I remain satisfied with my stay in Belgrade. It cannot be said, however, that life there was fun; ancient Sigindun and the current capital of the Serbian principality is not a capital city, as perhaps you imagine it, not even just a city, but a large Turkish village in a state of transformation from a village to a city. I had enough acquaintances among the Serbs, but it was not at all customary for them to visit each other, and all my outings were limited only to our consulate and the metropolitan. The latter was very kind to me, but at the same time looked at me the way the Jerusalem Greeks looked at Arseniy Sukhanov. In Karlovtsi and Novi Sad, i.e. I didn’t go to the Austrian Serbs, because the consul and all the Belgrade Serbs I knew strongly advised against this trip. Due to the ongoing unrest, the Austro-Hungarian government there is so suspicious that a Russian traveler, who appeared at such an unusual time for tourists as winter, would certainly be proclaimed a Russian spy. God willing, I’ll stop by on the way back. I traveled to Constantinople - from Belgrade to Rushchuk along the Danube by steamship, from Rushchuk to Varna by rail, from Varna along the Black Sea. I made a stop in Ruschuk and went from there to Bucharest, where I spent a day. The weather, unfortunately, was most disgusting, and I had very little time to examine it; I bought some books and stocked up on book catalogs in order to order books here, which is easy through the embassy or consulate. In Rushchuk I entered Turkish soil for the first time, not without some fear. But, to my happiness, there is our consulate there, and even to my great happiness, the consul turned out to be the most wonderful and most obliging person, who immediately took me under his full protection. The Rushchuk riots, which you know about from the newspapers, were not as important as the Greeks tried to make them out to be, and now everything is calming down, only the Greeks and Austrians (acting together with the Greeks against the Russians) do not stop slandering the Russian consul, as if he is the instigator of everything and the leader of the Bulgarians. I drove from Rushchuk to Varna in disgusting weather and was afraid that I would have to travel along the Black Sea in the same weather. But the weather changed for the better, and I made my first journey by sea without fear and safely. The steamer was rocking quite violently, so that it was almost impossible to walk, but I did not feel the slightest seasickness or nausea (others suffered somewhat). The Constantinople Ambassador Nikolai Pavlovich Ignatiev received me very graciously and for now gave me an apartment in the embassy house itself, with the embassy’s father, Archimandrite (Smaragda from the St. Petersburg Academy), whose premises are larger and more comfortable. For now I see and know Constantinople only from the window of my apartment, because it’s dirty and bad weather outside, and it’s absolutely impossible to walk. My apartment, located on a hill and located on the fourth floor, is one of the best points for a general overview of Constantinople, but, unfortunately, everything is covered in fog, and the air clears only for minutes. St. Sophia is right before my eyes behind the Golden Horn (the embassy in Pera), but so far away that even with the excellent binoculars that I stocked up in Vienna, I can’t see it very clearly. The location and view of Constantinople are the most beautiful, and the Greeks, who are prone to boasting, do not boast at all when they say that their great city is the only one in the world in its beauty. With the onset of favorable weather, I will begin a detailed survey of Constantinople and will try to study it in such a way that I can then leave as clear a description as possible. I can’t tell you anything about the Greek-Bulgarian question yet other than what you know from the newspapers, because I haven’t had time to gather information yet. Our Efstaphius of Zograf is now Metropolitan of Pelagon or Bitol and lives under the exarch in one of the outskirts of Constantinople; Since we were friends in the old days, I will not fail to renew our acquaintance. God willing, I’m going to go to Jerusalem, if God allows me to be alive and well. You will need to go around mid-March. Let me therefore turn to the end of each of my letters to money. I humbly ask you to send me my salary for December, January and February. Send in Russian hundred-ruble notes; send not directly to Constantinople, but to Odessa, to the following address: “to Odessa, to the Diplomatic Office of the Novorossiysk Governor-General, for sending to the Russian Consulate General in Constantinople, with transfer to such and such, with the investment of such and such an amount in such and such Russian banknotes.” Write the address in Russian. I humbly ask, as always before, not to delay the delivery. Living in Constantinople, as I hear and as I know from first experiences, is terribly expensive, and how I will manage to make ends meet and save on books, I still don’t know. I allow myself to personally disturb you with my most humble request. Since I will have to live in Constantinople for a long time and since I will constantly need the patronage and help of Mr. Ambassador, I would humbly ask you to write him a letter. He may not know you personally, but he knows you by ear, and, in any case, you are the Rector of the Academy. Write that you have such and such a professor of ours and we ask you not to leave him under your patronage. I am sure that such a letter will be very useful to me. The address to the ambassador, if you have any difficulty, will be composed by Alexander Fedorovich, a master at this matter. Please convey my sincere bow to all our fathers and brothers and do not fail to inform me at least a little about our academic news. Your most humble and most zealous servant Having made a trip to Jerusalem, I am again in Constantinople, where to this day, thank God, I am alive and well. I traveled safely with your prayers. When we went there, we were at sea for 10 days; driving back - 8. There we went to Cyprus and Rhodes. We rode there with a very good storm for five whole days, and it pumped us up and beat us to our hearts content. Fortunately, I turned out to be a very good sailor and suffered relatively little; While most of my companions were vomiting terribly, I got away with a slight pain in my head and a slight pain in the pit of my stomach. I traveled there and back on an Austrian ship, because they are much better than our Russians in all respects. The name of my former companions was Babylon, that is, they were definitely from all nationalities. We talked among ourselves, and very animatedly, in the universal language we had invented. I am pleased with the trip. In addition to visiting the holy places, he became personally acquainted with the Greek colony in Jerusalem and the emerging Arab question. The Greek colony is something extremely deplorable in the generally very deplorable Greek church, and the Arab question is that soon or not, the Arabs will show the way from Jerusalem. The impressions that I brought back from Jerusalem are similar to the impressions of Arseny Sukhanov and the famous Blagoveshchensky, if only not even sadder... From the Jerusalem-Palestinian holy and non-holy places I went to Bethlehem, the monastery of St. Savva, to the Dead Sea, to the Jordan and to the Mountain. It would have been possible to travel all over Palestine, because now it is safe for us to travel there, but the obstacle was money; The trip was already terribly expensive for me, up to three hundred and a half rubles. I met and became quite close friends in Jerusalem with Fr. Antonin, whose conversations, since he knows the Greeks like the back of his hand, were very useful for me. He tirelessly purchases land there (with the money of willing Russian donors) - in Jerusalem itself, on the Olivet, in Gorneya, from Mamre. oak (of which I also have a piece from a dry, sawn limb). I lived in Jerusalem for three weeks - Passion Week, Holy Week and St. Thomas. Of course, I saw the Rite of the Holy Fire, but since the Arabs who were at odds with the Patriarchate did not come to it today, it was not performed with the very original atmosphere that usually happens. Only the rifle butts of the Turkish soldiers, of whom there were many placed in the church, worked on the backs of those present who were disturbing the order as diligently as in previous years. On the way we stopped for quite a long time in Smyrna, Alexandria and Beirut. All three were examined, and there was nothing ancient in all three. There is nothing new in the church history of Constantinople recently. The Bulgarian question has become and remains. (I don’t know if it’s true, but I heard at the embassy, although not from Ignatiev himself, the following characteristic curiosity: one very rich and very influential Greek in the Patriarchate rents out a house for an entertainment establishment to a Russian citizen; the entertainment establishment, 7 days ago, I don’t know why, was closed and sealed by the police; since with this closure the interests of the owner somehow suffer, he supposedly suggests to our embassy: “Please, please, so that they open an establishment, and I undertake to destroy the schism.” New to us are fires, which have been happening almost every day lately. One fire was very close to us, so we were about to run. Since all my books are here now, I’m no less afraid than anyone else. Next Friday I’m going to go to Mount Athos, where I’ll stay for a week and no more than two. Then I plan to make trips (by rail) to Nicomedia and Adrianople and Philippopolis. I put off even thinking about a trip throughout European Turkey, because under current circumstances it is completely inconvenient. I have some information about the sad things going on at the Academy. With all my heart I feel sorry for the Academy and you. I humbly ask you to send me my salary for March-May. I humbly ask you not to delay your deportation any more than ever, because I have been behind on the trip to Jerusalem and the purchase of books. I bow deeply to all of our people. Your most diligent and humble servant Address the letter in the same way as before, i.e. to the Novorossiysk governor, for forwarding to the consulate, with transmission to me. Excuse me, please, upon my final departure from Constantinople, due to the countless hassles of packing up and forgiven visits, I did not have time to write to you, and I am writing this from Holy Mount Athos, from the monastery that you see in front of you. Currently alive and almost healthy. But the last month of living in Constantinople was unhappy for me. While going to the envoy's dacha, which is located about 30 miles from the city on the Bosphorus, due to a strong wind, I received rheumatism in my hands, which I suffered from for three weeks. I got rid of it by sea bathing, but not completely, and some of the pain still remains. There is nothing new in Constantinople. The Greek-Bulgarian question remains in the same position. Recently, both newspapers and the public have been talking about reconciliation, which both the Greeks and the Bulgarians are supposedly not averse to. But judging by the information that is available at the embassy and that I have in addition to the embassy, ​​these rumors should almost be considered the invention of idle people. If the rumors are true and it is decided to make an attempt, then the current patriarch will have to give way to another. The Greeks want to remove him, however, without that, because they do not have the custom of the patriarch staying too long, since among the bishops there are too many people who want to sit in the same place for a little while, and for the public these removals constitute very interesting news and, in the struggle of parties for one and another candidate, represent an opportunity to exercise their political and diplomatic abilities, with which the Greeks are endowed in such abundance and for which the field is not so wide. Before leaving, I paid a visit to the Bulgarian Exarch, who earnestly bows to you. I must admit, I didn’t particularly like his conversation - somehow he scolds the Greeks too much, which may not seem strange to a Russian living in Russia and which does not have a very pleasant effect on a Russian who has lived in Constantinople and knows more than one thing about the Bulgarians themselves. Our former Eustathius of Zograf, currently Metropolitan of Bitolia, lives under the exarch. Having not yet received a berat from the government for his diocese, and therefore not receiving income from it, he lives on 15 rubles a month, which the exarch gives him, and in abundance exactly like our seminarians. Recently, a note on the Greek-Bulgarian issue was sent to the envoy for leadership, compiled by one of the members of the Synod (according to Nikolai Pavlovich - Macarius). The note is decisively against the Greeks and decisively on the side of the Bulgarians. I have already written to you that, due to the current circumstances, I had to live as modestly and carefully as possible, so that the Greeks, as the envoy was constantly afraid, would not make me a Russian spy, a propagandist, and would not raise a fuss. Thank God, everything went well, it goes without saying that with some damage to the business, for the circle of my acquaintances among the Greeks, which was most important to me, I had to limit only to a few few people. I visited the Patriarchate several times, but I did not drink coffee or smoke tobacco at the Ecumenical Patriarch’s, that is, I did not introduce myself. My trips from Constantinople, which I wrote to you about, did not take place due to my illness. I would still like to go to Adrianople and Philippopolis when I would get rid of rheumatism a little, but the envoy resolutely opposed this. From Constantinople I went to Mount Athos on July 20, Elijah’s day. The steamer first took us to Thessaloniki, where it stood for two days to unload and load. Taking advantage of the time, I examined the city in all detail, that is, I visited all the mosques that were converted into those of Christian churches. The Jews, numerous in Thessalonica and under the Apostle Paul, currently make up two-thirds of its inhabitants and hold the city in their hands to such an extent (having completely forgotten the Greeks) that it can rightly be called a Jewish city. Of course, I remembered Constantine and Methodius, natives of Thessaloniki, when I was in their homeland; but where their father’s chambers were, this, of course, will not be indicated by the current residents. We arrived on Mount Athos at the Panteleimon Monastery for the very feast of St. Panteleimon. There are about 20 to 30 Russian admirers in the monastery, and we will have the opportunity to see the famous Athos 14-hour vigils. Compatriots from the Trinity were found here: Father Filaret (Sopelkin) and Father Jeremiah, who serves as a doctor at the monastery and who undertakes to cure, among other things, me. I will stay on Mount Athos for two weeks, but I will try no more. Father Archimandrite Macarius is very merciful to me and, I hope, will arrange my trips around Athos in such a way that we will see all the most remarkable things. I received the money for February-May and I thank you most earnestly for not delaying, as I asked you. Since I don’t know how long I will stay in Athens, to which I will go from Athos, and since it would be inconvenient to send future money somewhere else, then, excuse me, having just received the money, I will bother you with it again. I humbly ask you to send the salary for June, July and some in advance for August, if possible, immediately to Athens to the address: “Athens, Kingdom of Greece, Russian Embassy (in French and Russian). So much, in hundred-ruble credit notes. For transmission to such and such. From so-and-so (from you). They ask to keep the money at the embassy until required.” Please do not slow down because the mail to Athens, as far as I know, takes quite a long time. Since, God willing, I intend to be in Venice (from Athens to Italy), I consider it necessary to make an offer to the Academy. In Venice, as you know, Greek liturgical books are printed; If the Academy finds it useful to purchase a full range of these books for the library (which, in my opinion, at least, would be very useful), then I am at its service. But since I will not have my own extra money, then, if agreed, government money should also be sent (together with mine written above to Athens). I don’t know what size, but I believe that 200 will be enough. Sorry, I wrote the letter amid singing in many churches, amid the ringing of bells and amid the knocking of bells, and therefore I constantly got lost. I bow deeply to all of our people. Your most humble and zealous servant E. Golubinsky. Taking this opportunity, I am writing to you again, so that, hoping for your kindness, I will somewhat increase my requests. I wrote to you to send my salary for June-August to Athens. If possible, please attach for September. To move from Athens through Italy to Vienna, I would like to have more money at my disposal, firstly, because the journey is not short, and secondly, so that in Rome I would be able to buy the necessary Italian books (in Constantinople I learned so much Italian that I can read learned books), and in Venice Greek ones. If you do not find it possible to fulfill the requests with your own authority, then report to the Council, which, I hope, will not refuse such a small matter. I still earnestly bow to you and all of ours. Your most humble servant Most Honorable Sergei Konstantinovich! The day before yesterday, before I left St. Petersburg, a rumor reached me that some kind of demonstration was being prepared at the Academy the other day with the addresses of Prof. Golubinsky. I am conveying this to you as a rumor that arouses some fears, whether there is any idea of ​​establishing some kind of tendentious celebration, with the publication of its details and addresses in newspapers. This would be extremely undesirable and hardly beneficial for the reputation of the Theological Academies, especially at a time when their transformation is being prepared. I have not yet had time to write to you about this from St. Petersburg, but I am writing from Moscow, where I arrived for one day. It would be especially unpleasant if this were followed by the participation of the Kiev teacher F. Ternovsky, about whose character and direction the Holy Synod recently made a judgment, the consequence of which would be a strict order for all Academies and the imposition of responsibility on the Rectors for the direction of teaching. I consider it useful to inform you about this confidentially. It would be better for the Academies if everything resembling this kind of demonstration were eliminated from them. Sincerely respectful and devoted Born in 1805, finished studying in 1832, f March 5, 1885 Marya Kozminichna is the mother of the St. Petersburg archpriest Fyodor Semenovich Levshev. My grandfather, Kozma Vasilyevich, was an educated owner and a wealthy man. He arranged his three daughters very well: he married two of them to priests, and the third to an academician, a teacher at the Makaryev School, Alexander Ivanovich Krasovsky, who was transferred to a professor at the Vyatka Seminary, who, after the death of his wife, became a monk with the name Ambrose and was the former rector of the Vyatka Seminary. Aunt Marya, a smart girl, lived with Alexander Ivanovich for quite a long time and during her stay she learned to read and write, learned to sew, embroider, and thread with beads. From Vyatka she took out city clothes - a hood and a cap. She dressed in them on big holidays, arousing surprise among the peasantry at her outfit; when she walked out of the church in a bonnet and cap, she was accompanied by a whole crowd of peasant girls. She was married to the priest of the village of Nikola on Mezhi, Semyon Fedorovich Levashev. E. A. Golubinsky was later a deacon at one of the parish churches in Kostroma and, it seems, died as a deacon. And which we have, or at least had in my time, a different shape than near Moscow, namely, the shape of rather high pyramids, which consisted of circles superimposed on one another and gradually decreasing in volume. “Laying” is the peasant’s agreement with the clergy regarding the time of the wedding and payment for the wedding, made in advance. Nikita Petrovich Ptitsyn is our second priest. This cart has a lifting tail, which, upon arrival at the field, is raised (removed) so that manure can be raked out of it with a hook. They assure me that it’s better and that the old drunkenness is no longer there. 2 This ends the “Autobiography” of Evgeniy Evsigneevich, written by his hand. (Note by S.I. Smirnov). Teacher Pavel Mikhailovich Rozov is an old man, a man of the ancient covenant, a candidate at the Moscow Theological Academy in 1830. About him, see S.K. Smirnov: History of the Moscow Theological Academy. P. 430. Nikolai Kirillovich graduated from his department as the second student. The first was Nikolai Fedorovich Rozanov (uncle of the famous publicist V.V. Rozanov), but for what reason Nikolai Fedorovich was not sent to the Academy, I cannot say. At some exhibition in Moscow, an Academy student showed Alexander Vasilyevich to his lady friend: “This is our famous professor!” And she answered him: “I thought he was an artist.” This question about our poor listening to lectures has often occupied me and I think that in order to force students to listen to lectures (namely lectures, and not fairy tales and fables or Parsley and Paradise) it is necessary, firstly, for professors to hand over detailed programs before lectures so that students can become well acquainted with the content of the readings in advance; secondly, that the lectures should be given orally, and not read from a notebook, and thirdly, that the lectures should be interspersed with interviews, consisting of students giving a report on what they read, and the matter should be arranged in such a way that it does not have the appearance of rehearsals - it does not scare away students, but attracts them. But in general this question is serious and requires deliberate speeches. Poor listening to lectures is a constant occurrence in our school. In our edition, the chapter of E. E. Golubinsky’s memoirs about Metropolitan Philaret (Drozdov) is omitted. – Approx. publishers. He complained to me that Savva paid him meagerly for his work and, among other things, gave him an old spyglass. During this speech, his wife Sofya Martynovna stood to the side, and he, pointing to her, said that “her role is intended to instill a spirit of nepotism among the professors of the Academy.” By the way, the late Anton Semenovich Budilovich, who made a very favorable review in the Journal of the Ministry of Public Education. From Constantinople I did not make the proposed trip around the Balkan Peninsula, because there was a struggle between the Greeks and the Bulgarians on the church issue, and since in my “Brief Essay” I stand decisively on the side of the Bulgarians, I was afraid that the Greeks could cause me great trouble. My scientific views and my scientific disposition in general, as was boldly revealed in the first volume of History, differ significantly from the views and disposition of Alexander Vasilyevich. But since I am a student of his Academy, I had reason to fear that other people, looking at my characteristics as my shortcomings, would blame him as my teacher for them. Not wanting this to happen, I made a corresponding reservation in the dedication regarding my scientific views and my scientific disposition. But when I showed the dedication selected at the printing house and printed for proofreading to the late E. A. Viktorov, with whom I stayed in Moscow, he, reinterpreting me in a completely unexpected way, was very offended for Alexander Vasilyevich, whom I supposedly had renounced, and showered me with cruel abuse. Frightened by the thought that others might misunderstand me as misunderstood as Viktorov did, I saw myself forced to refuse to print the dedication. He donated 3,000 rubles for scholarships to the school and seminary in which he was educated, and 96,000 rubles for prizes in four theological academies for the works of mentors and students, and a total of 125,000 rubles, then - to the Holy Synod and to the Academy of Sciences for them to issue prizes in turn - in one year first for essays in the subjects of theological sciences and in another year - in the subjects of secular sciences - 120,000 rubles, and in total 245,000 rubles (not inherited from ancestors, but acquired through their own labor and accumulated through their savings). For which I must bring my deepest gratitude to the then editor L.N. Maikov. In brackets [ ] are words added to the text of the dedication later (Ed.). Unfortunately for me, just at that time Chief Prosecutor Count D. A. Tolstoy left his position, under whom I would undoubtedly have been confirmed as a doctor without any delay. I began to publish volume II in the Theological Bulletin of 1894. But having reached Metropolitan Alexy, he had to stop, since the rector of the Academy, Archimandrite Anthony Khrapovitsky, found it impossible to publish an article about him, so as not to jeopardize the fate of the Theological Messenger. Under rector Arseny, an attempt to publish the article was renewed, but again unsuccessfully. The late chairman of the Educational Committee at the Holy Synod, Archpriest P. A. Smirnov, took upon himself this honor of changing the opinion of the Chief Prosecutor. I cannot deny this positively and decisively, but I somewhat doubt it. For the academic act, I prepared a speech at the celebration of the 500th anniversary of St. Sergius - On the significance of St. Sergius of Radonezh in the history of our monasticism.” – Published in the “Theological Bulletin” 1892, 2nd book. This speech was given by I. N. Korsunsky1 due to my feigned illness. The monastic authorities present did not like this speech very much, so Metropolitan Leonty later expressed regret that he had not read the speech first. This is natural. This speech is reprinted in the 2nd edition of the book about St. Sergius of Radonezh (pages 95–106). The history of the canonization of Russian saints. – Published in “Theological Bulletin”, 1894, book. 6, 7, 8, 9, 10. The study appeared as a correction and addition to the book by priest Vasiliev on the same topic, written for my master’s degree. The second edition of “The History of Canonization” was published in “Readings of the Society of Russian History and Antiquities”, 1903, Vol. 1 and played an important role in the history of the canonization of Seraphim of Sarov. The commission appointed to examine his relics found only bones instead of a whole body and returned to St. Petersburg in confusion. The Synod, when the commission informed it of what it had found, was also confused and did not know what to do. At the meeting of the Synod, which was confused about what to do, Sabler appeared with my book under his arm and, pointing to the book, exclaimed: “This book will help us out!” The point is this: in my “History of Canonization” I prove that saints are canonized not for the incorruption of relics, which sometimes does not exist, but for the miracles performed at the grave. -Metropolitan Anthony also referred to my book in his letter regarding the canonization of St. Seraphim, published in Novoye Vremya, 1903, June. About the beginning of book printing in Moscow // Theological Bulletin, 1895, book. 2. 11. 12. Response to the article by priest Dedovsky “On Greek Eastern Orthodoxy” // Theological Bulletin, 1895, book. 3 and 4. 13. 14. Archaeological atlas for the second half of volume I of the “History of the Russian Church” // Readings of the Society of Russian History and Antiquities, 1906, book. 2. I set a vulgarly cheap price for it and expected that everyone with a second sex in their hands. I volumes will be snapped up, and he was completely mistaken in his expectations and dreams. The atlas diverges extremely tightly. 15. I also published articles, which were partly included in the “History of the Russian Church”. History of the altar barrier or iconostasis in Orthodox churches // Orthodox Review, 1875, No. 11 (abstract read at the II Archaeological Congress in St. Petersburg, 1872). Christianity in Russia before Saint Vladimir // Journal of the Ministry of Public Education, 1876, part 187. 15. 16. The conversion of all Rus' to Christianity by Vladimir and accomplished 17. 1 I pretended to be sick because I am a bad reciter and because the content of the speech was sensitive, as can be seen from the excerpt from it below. establishment of the Christian faith in it under his successors // Journal of the Ministry of Public Education, 1877, part 190. A. N. Veselovsky replied that the books should be sent to the 1st department of the academic library in the name of the librarian of this department A. A. Shakhmatov, which I did in the same month of December. Professor N.N. Glubokovsky wrote to me on December 7, 1902 that the whole matter was being arranged by A.I. Sobolevsky, who was writing (NB: but as if he hadn’t written?) a report on my “scientific merits.” elected academician on April 19, 1903, and the decree of the Holy Synod on my pension was dated December 3 of the same year. One might think that for some reason the Holy Synod was slow in granting my request. But that's not true. Elected as an academician on April 19, 1903, I arrived in St. Petersburg and took up the position of academician after the academic holidays only in September of the same 1903 and began my efforts only upon arrival in St. Petersburg. He occupied the apartment on June 5, 1874 for 225 rubles a year, or 18 rubles. 75 kop. per month. Lived until June 11, 1875. We are already talking about the 2nd edition of this book. From the archive of E. E. Golubinsky. Box 7. “Woolbeating” – ruffling and fluffing wool for its subsequent spinning or felting; “dogs” are devices for beating wool. (Ed.) You might be interested in: