In the earthly sky. Three trips to Sarov and Diveevo

Contents From the publisher On Earth's Sky. The personality of Elder Seraphim of Sarov and the impressions of the trip to Sarov and Diveevo I II III IV V VI VII VIII IX X XI XII XIII XIV XV 70th anniversary of the blessed death of the Venerable Elder Seraphim of Sarov in Sarov A year ago. Memories of Diveyevo, Sarov and the celebration of July 19, 1903 The book contains three essays by the famous spiritual writer Evgeny Poselyanin, telling about his visit to the Sarov Hermitage and the Diveyevo Monastery on the eve of the glorification of St. Seraphim and during the Sarov celebrations themselves (1903). There, according to the author’s heartfelt feeling, “the heavenly is intertwined with the earthly,” and you no longer know “where the earth ended and the sky began.” This book is filled with the spirit of Russian holiness, the Russian land, and the life-giving Russian word. Under the general title - “In the Earthly Sky” - it combines three essays by the spiritual writer Evgeny Nikolaevich Poselyanin (real name Pogozhev; 1870–1931). They are dedicated to the Monk Seraphim, the Wonderworker of Sarov (1833), and to the monastic monasteries of the wondrous elder - Sarov and Diveyevo, which became “the places of the greatest miracles, the most glorious victory of the spirit ever won by mortal man.” Here, according to the author’s vivid heartfelt feeling, “the boundaries are erased, the heavenly is intertwined with the earthly,” and you no longer know “where the earth ended and the sky began.” Evgeniy Poselyanin was the spiritual son of St. Ambrose of Optina (1891) and in his youth received the elder’s blessing for the literary field: to write “in defense of the faith, the Church and the nation.” This blessing still breathes intimately in the work of E. Poselyanin: his prose is so expressive, figurative, filled with warm light, sincerity, and faith that one cannot help but feel the fruits of the spirit in it: love, joy, peace (Gal. 5:22). The wonderful life of the “incomprehensible Seraphim” - the interlocutor of the Mother of God, a relative of heaven, a compassionate and affectionate “practitioner-helper”, “comforter of the suffering, friend of the lonely”; a detailed description of the holy places associated with his asceticism; stories about the gracious help shown by the elder after his death - all this rich historical material, put into a harmonious composition by the writer, gives rise to a feeling of co-presence, empathy, closeness to the shrine. And it seems to the reader that he himself had already visited Sarov and Diveyevo, breathed the same air with the Monk Seraphim, whom he saw and felt as alive, dear, close. Thus, the inspired word of the narrator falls on the fertile soil of the Russian Christian soul, giving birth and strengthening faith and love in it. The three essays included by the publishers in this book were written by E. Poselyanin in connection with the approaching glorification of St. Seraphim of Sarov and the very celebration of the discovery of the relics of the great saint, which took place on July 19, 1903. “And I believe that Elder Seraphim, who during his lifetime so warmed the common people with love, has now warmed the soul of everyone who came to him,” says the end of the last essay included in the book, written a year after the Sarov celebrations. It is filled with a feeling of closeness, mutual communication, the presence of St. Seraphim in the fate of the author himself. “All of us - dark and enlightened, pure and sinful, sought after and bypassed by fate, all of us E.N. Villager. December 1930 Photo from the investigation file have pity! Whisper to each of us in a moment of grief, temptation and despondency: “Come to me, come!” Perhaps in these words of the writer lies a premonition of the coming tragic events in Russia at the beginning of the 20th century: “minutes of grief and temptation” fell on Russian shrines, subjecting the Orthodox Church to the most severe persecution; The Sarov and Diveyevo monasteries were destroyed and liquidated; the relics of St. Seraphim were taken out of Sarov in an unknown direction. The writer himself, who served the Orthodox faith and the Russian people with his talent, suffered a martyr's death: in 1931, E. Poselyanin was shot by the Bolsheviks. And the Monk Seraphim no longer greeted him “in the earthly sky” with jubilant Paschal joy, but where “above the heavens, the terrible throne of the Lord of Glory, established before the beginning of centuries, stands unshakably.” And until the end of the century, the Monk Seraphim will lovingly console everyone who turns to him as if he were alive, who comes to venerate his memory in the Sarov monastery that has risen from the ruins and to fall before his holy relics, now residing in the revived Diveyevo Monastery. In the earthly sky. The personality of Elder Seraphim of Sarov and the impressions of a trip to Sarov and Diveevo Sarov Desert. View from the bell tower. Photo 1903 Several years have already passed since I was in those places; and they stand vividly before me and are so close to me, as if they have grown into my heart. I am happy when I receive news from them, some kind of package. As soon as I read these two dear words “Sarov” or “Diveev”, I tell myself that the thing or letter being sent comes from there, suddenly something will warm my heart and it will become so bright, good... When I went there, I expected a lot. But what I saw there was more and beyond expectations. There, somewhere in the distance, a hundred miles away, there was the “world” with its boiling, often meaningless boiling life, with its indifference between evil and good, with its dazzling luxury and terrifying poverty, with its thirst for pleasure, with its cult of the flesh, with rattling steamships, with the desire to go somewhere unknown, with a desire without a goal, without satisfaction. Here the earthly was diminished, smoothed over, almost absent. The flesh is dejected, instead of luxury there is squalor, instead of worldly noise there is a quiet life, as if lurking, silent on the threshold of eternity. And to this diminishment, the exhaustion of everything earthly, it was as if a triumphant sky descended, loudly and brightly testifying to itself. It spoke of itself through the unearthly beauty of the churches, standing in which you ask yourself: “Maybe heaven is not more beautiful than here?”; spoke about itself with something elusive, wafting in the air of those places, and most of all in the radiant, extraordinary image of the man who glorified these places - Father Seraphim. Now, it has been named, this cherished name, and the soul is already trembling with delight and love, full of tenderness and childlike faith in everything incomprehensible, incredible, with which this man’s life was full. The heavenly, embodied in power on earth, the earthly, exalted into the heavenly; barriers that have fallen between earth and sky; Angels, saints and the Lady of the world Herself, descending to earth in a visible form, all the laws of the limitations of human nature are abolished and erased. This is the order of things that appears when you think about Sarov and Diveyevo... And these are the places of the greatest miracles, these places of the most glorious victory of the spirit ever won by mortal man! I saw these places, I walked through them joyful and embarrassed. And I want to convey both what I saw there and what every believer experiences. To convey this so that those who did not have and, perhaps, will never have to see them, would at least visit them in thought and learn that there is a place in the Russian wilderness, to visit which, it seems, is almost to fly into heaven. I first learned about Father Seraphim in early childhood, about five years old. I don’t remember who told me about him, probably the Russian nanny who was with my sister, a very pious woman. Still not understanding anything about religious matters, having almost no idea about the lives of the saints, nevertheless, even then I was extremely amazed at the little that I heard about him. In any case, the image of a great, extraordinary righteous man, whose life surpassed everything that I could imagine in terms of holiness, sank into my soul. I remembered, by the way, that this righteous man lived in the forest and that a bear visited him. After five years, no one spoke to me about him, I completely forgot his name, forgot his life. Only in my soul lived the impression of something extraordinary, wonderful and, at the same time, affectionate, warming, quiet. For fifteen years I strained my memory to remember clearly about this bright vision. At times it was sad that I didn’t know his name, that I couldn’t gather several vague and elusive features into one clear image. But I couldn't remember who he was. I had no doubt at all that it was not St. Sergius, although he, too, fed the bear. I was sure that I had not created him with my imagination, but that, in fact, in early childhood I was told about him and that then I knew him and was attached to him. Elder Seraphim feeding a bear. 19th century lithograph In the end, his image was almost completely erased from my spiritual world. I was almost an adult when I again first heard about him from oral stories, then began to read about him in books. And again everything I heard was so extraordinary. In Moscow there lived respectable old ladies, the Novosiltsov sisters, who at one time had a very interesting living room. Two of them were writers who signed the pseudonyms Tolycheva and Olga N. In their house I heard a story, which was not in any of the biographies of Father Seraphim, about a circumstance that happened during his burial with one of their friends, who herself told about it. On the night before the elder’s funeral service, in a dream she received an order to take an extra candle with her to the church funeral service. When the funeral service began, she noticed that one lady near her was left without a candle. Given the crush that, according to the multitude of people, there was in the cathedral, there was no point in even thinking about getting to the candle box, and the one who took two candles with her offered her extra one to the one who was left without a candle. Later it turned out that this lady especially revered the deceased elder and was very sad that she did not have a candle in her hands, like everyone else. In addition to this prediction in a dream, there were some other extraordinary details that I have now forgotten. I also remember how once a fairly large group of Father Leonid Chichagov 2 was waiting for the arrival of Father John of Kronstadt, and how during that conversation about spiritual subjects in which those present were engaged, someone began to talk about Diveyevo, about its wonderful cathedral and about the special feeling that was experienced there... It was clear that the speaker was completely in awe of delight, conveying his impressions, and this story stuck in my mind. Holy Trinity Cathedral of the Seraphim-Diveevsky Monastery. Photo from the beginning of the 20th century. A few years later, in the spring, on Maly Fontan, in a coastal area near Odessa, I bought knives from an elderly merchant and asked where he was from. It turned out not far from Diveevo. I talked to him about Diveyevo, and he praised the Diveyevo Cathedral with the greatest delight, saying that he had walked all over Russia and had never seen anything like it. Finally, I had to attack the books about Father Seraphim. And everything that I experienced in childhood during the first stories about him, all that returned with increased force, and I experienced happy, unforgettable hours over the legends about his life. It was a great, rare happiness to again find this shrine, loved in childhood and almost lost. And first of all, I felt in Father Seraphim some kind of special vitality, such responsiveness that my idea of ​​him long ago became completely real, as if I knew and saw him. It was when I, having read everything that was published about him, was especially impressed by his image, that I unexpectedly received an object as a souvenir of him that made me very happy. I only had a small image of Father Seraphim (his death) on paper, apparently sent from Sarov to my grandfather in some letter. This image, which I inserted into the frame, did not satisfy me. I wanted to have a big, good portrait of him in oil paints. The first books I got about Father Seraphim were taken with me to the camp, since I served in military service, in the camp I learned about his life in detail and from then on I began to have a special feeling for him. Once from the camp I came to Moscow for a day or two. I once walked along the right side of Kuznetsky Most, heading towards Lubyanka, and looked into the gateway of Prince Golitsyn’s house, where they sell engravings and old paintings. I haven't gone there before. There was no reason to come in now. I didn't want to buy anything. It came out involuntarily. I see hanging there an old oil portrait of Father Seraphim, half-length, not life-size, but quite large in size. The elder is depicted in an epitrachelion with his hand at his chest, with a gaunt face. The portrait makes a strong impression. The canvas was so old that there were holes in some places. Without telling the seller whose portrait it was, I began to sell it and, wanting him to lower the price, I told him: – After all, you have little demand for such portraits. Few people collect portraits of monks. “Monk, monk,” the merchant grumbled at this, “maybe this monk will soon become a saint.” He didn’t know then that his words would come true. Since then, this portrait, which represented more than what I dreamed of, has been in my possession. Two more times I unexpectedly received reminders about Elder Seraphim that were dear to me. Elder Seraphim praying on a stone. Mid-19th century I really wanted to have a piece of the stone on which he prayed for a thousand nights. I knew that these stones are kept by those who honor the memory of the elder as a great shrine, that they are glorified for healing and that their owners value them so much that they would never part with them. So there was no hope of receiving such a piece of the treasured stone. When images and shrines were distributed after one person whom I knew well, I was assigned the stone of Father Seraphim. But he didn’t reach me. Meanwhile, when I was in Sarov, the abbot unexpectedly brought me such a stone, one of the last three to five remaining with him. It depicted Father Seraphim praying on a stone. Having always had it with me since then, I once carelessly laid it down on the road and scratched it. Imagine my joy when I saw that large scratches, which were so close to the old man’s face that they could completely erase it, were located in a semi-halo on the right side of his head. In return for the stone that I did not receive as intended, I was consoled by the image of the death of Father Seraphim, written on a wooden board. For a very long time I could not make out the inscriptions on the back. Finally, to my joy, I read: “From the tree of the desert cell of Father Seraphim, the hermit of Sarov.” This means that this image was written on a board that was part of his cell. And so, looking at this warning of desires inspired by zeal for him, how can one not feel in him a person, vigilantly peering at everyone who believes him, and always ready to respond... Just recently, after the synodal announcement of the imminent glorification of the elder, I had the opportunity to unexpectedly acquire valuable images of him. At the beginning of August they asked me to borrow an image of Father Seraphim. While in St. Petersburg for a short time, I did not want to part with the images that I had; but I did not want to refuse a request that was so understandable to me and was in painful indecision. Elder Seraphim praying on a stone. Lithograph of the early 20th century. I once passed the Alexander Market, where you can find interesting antiques in the shops, but at that moment I didn’t think about the images of Father Seraphim. Elder Seraphim feeding a bear. Lithograph 1879 Suddenly I see in a Jewish shop three ancient engravings 3, obviously forming a series, framed in the old-fashioned way in blue rims with gold paper and covered with glass covered with ribbon. They show the father Venerable Seraphim. 19th century lithograph Seraphim praying in the forest on a stone, walking with a bag on his shoulders and feeding a bear. Of course, I rejoiced at the opportunity to have these images of a type I had never seen before and to free them from Jewish hands. I asked the price. The Jew does not lower the prices and remarks: “Well, yes. Now this is very interesting. He will soon be a saint.” Death of Elder Seraphim. Lithograph 1814 I bought it. Then only he announces to me that he has a fourth at home, completing this series. And as he explained at length in his Jewish jargon, “the most interesting thing” is precisely the death of the elder. I told him to bring it to the store the next day and not sell it to others. When I arrived at the time I had appointed, the Jew charged more for this one engraving than for the first three, and nothing could be done with him. Thus, without depriving myself of a single image of the elder, I was able to fulfill the desires of others. In general, the elder’s extreme zeal for everyone who values ​​him, his diligence to console them with something, to respond to them, to show that he sees their love and accepts it, is a distinctive feature of Father Seraphim now, as it was in the days of his earthly life. I remember that I found one nun alive in Diveyevo who saw the elder in the last years of his life, when she, a little girl at that time, came to him with her parents. She told me a little about the elder, remembering a little about him. But what she said also touched me deeply. The elder was on a hillock in a nearby hermitage when the then girl, now a nun, with her parents and fellow villagers approached him. Seeing people coming towards him, the elder with both hands, making quick movements towards his chest, began to beckon them, shouting to them friendly: “Come to me, come!” Then he walked towards them with quick steps... And often, ever since I heard this insignificant story, this friendly, solemn word with which the elder called the Russian people to himself rings in my ears. And it seems to me, in front of his images, that now the lips will open and this gentle call will reach everyone who needs him: “Come, come to me!” I cannot without emotion see pictures and engravings depicting an old man feeding a bear. I then remember one thought of Father Seraphim about fasting: “True fasting does not consist in exhaustion of the flesh alone, but also in giving that part of the bread that you yourself would like to eat to the hungry: Blessed are the hungry... for they will be satisfied” (Matthew 5:6). “Give to the hungry beast,” Father Seraphim could have said about his fast, who during his time in the desert had a very small supply of bread, brought weekly from the monastery, and shared it with the unreasonable wild beast. And here is an engraving of quite large sizes, in which an old man is depicted sitting in the forest on a log, and a large bear with intelligent eyes carefully, delicately takes a piece of bread from his hands, touches me deeply and amazes me. How much tenderness and zeal is in the entire figure, in the expression of the elder’s face, how much of something inexpressibly joyful is diffused in the air of this picture... I understand the impulse of one admirer of the elder Seraphim. Touched in spirit by this memory, in his dining room he placed this engraving in a very wide frame on a special table under the images and lit an unquenchable lamp in front of this picture. On the frame of metal letters there is an inscription: “The wild beast had its meal with you. Feed me too, your servant... Elder Seraphim is grateful, one might say, for the slightest memory, for the slightest diligence towards himself... So, for example, the St. Petersburg archpriest Nazariy Dobronravov pointed out one benefactor to the Diveyevo nuns, who were in St. Petersburg on business and were grieving about the shortcomings of this monastery, when it was necessary to build a cathedral. The person he indicated, the St. Petersburg merchant Kudryashov, really helped Diveev. That same night, Father Seraphim thanked the archpriest. He saw in a dream that he was in the altar of the large Sarov Church and that Father Seraphim was going there to the throne, stopped as he walked and with a low bow said to the archpriest: “I thank you, the Queen of Heaven will not leave you.” As if sensing all the sincerity with which the great elder is imbued, many who learn about him immediately become attached to him with a special love, inflamed with such faith for him, which we will search in vain in those people in relation to other saints. Here is the story of the elder’s acquaintance with one Moscow resident, who became such a zealous and ardent admirer of him that he called himself the elder’s “adjutant.” Prince Nikolai Nikolaevich Golitsyn had heard a lot about Father Seraphim, and he wanted to accept his blessing. He decided to be in Sarov on his way to his Penza village. Leaving his carriage at the hotel, he hurried to the monastery. Despite the evening time, the elder was not yet in his cell. Golitsyn set off on foot along the road to the nearby desert 4. Half a mile from the monastery, he met an elder returning to Sarov. The prince approached him and asked for a blessing. Having blessed him, the elder asked who he was. The prince, without giving his last name, said he was a “passing person.” The elder hugged the prince, kissed him, saying “Christ is Risen!”, and asked if he was reading the Gospel. Golitsyn answered in the affirmative. The elder said: “Read in this Divine book: Come to Me, you who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest” (Matthew 11:28). Here he again hugged the prince with tears, then, walking with him to the monastery, he began to talk about various trials that, according to him, awaited the prince and which all came true in due time. In the monastery, the elder invited the prince to his cell, gave him holy water to drink and gave him crackers 5 . Saying goodbye to the prince, the elder asked him how long he would stay in Sarov. The prince replied that he was going to leave tomorrow after early mass. Then Father Seraphim, with inexpressible sympathy and affection, told the prince that, having fallen in love with him, he wanted to see him tomorrow after early mass and for his sake he would not go to the hermitage, but would remain in the monastery. The prince was touched by the elder’s love. When he came to his cell the next morning, the elder came out to meet him on the porch, hugged him, blessed him, and led him into his cell. Here he again gave him holy water to drink, again gave him crackers and, blessing him on his journey, advised him to read more often the words from the Gospel that he had pointed out to him the day before, and to pay special attention to the twelfth member in the Creed 6 . Then they separated. The memory of this first acquaintance with the elder served as the prince’s greatest pleasure throughout his life. You often ask yourself: how does this mysterious love communication between Elder Seraphim and his children arise? Are they the first to go to him, or is he the first to send to their soul a call that is inaudible to the world, but audible to it? Probably the second one. Probably, some mysterious news, some happy premonition that the elder would warm them, help them, was and is received by those people who became and are becoming his admirers. How else can one explain this strange, magnetically attractive power of an old man, drawing to himself the hearts of people of the most diverse character, age, understanding, position. Why do all these people see in the elder something especially close to themselves, they hope in advance for his help in the most important, difficult moments of their lives, and their faith is never put to shame. Empress Alexandra Feodorovna. Artist F.K. Winterhalter. 1856 Why, for example, did Empress Alexandra Feodorovna 7, who had never seen Elder Seraphim, consider him so close to her, was so sure that he thought and cared about her, that she always said: “I know that this kind old man will help me die well.” So what happened? 8 The Empress was dying. Her whole family and closest courtiers were Maid of honor D.F. Tyutcheva. Photograph from the 1870s. collected in the living room near the room in the Tsarskoye Selo Palace where the Dowager Empress ended her life. At this time, Daria Feodorovna Tyutcheva, who deeply revered Elder Seraphim, approached Emperor Alexander Nikolaevich and asked him if he would allow Father Seraphim to be placed on the dying mantle. This mantle, or more precisely, this half-mantle, was brought to St. Petersburg by the Diveyevo nun Glykeria (later Eupraxia, the founder and first A.F. Tyutcheva, Grand Duke Sergei Alexandrovich and Grand Duchess Maria Alexandrovna. Photo from 1862 Abbess of the Seraphim-Ponetaevsky Monastery), was glorified by the healing of Grand Duchess Maria Alexandrovna and since then has been in the royal family. The Emperor agreed to this proposal. When the mantle was placed on the empress, she felt a surge of strength and wished to say goodbye to those close to her, and they took turns approaching the bed on which the empress lay with her eyes closed, kissed her hand and left through other doors. Having learned about this farewell, some people came from St. Petersburg. They say that none of the empresses had such a calm and beautiful death. The next day at 8 o'clock in the morning the empress fell asleep. In the rooms of Grand Duchess Maria Alexandrovna they were going to serve, at the request of her teacher, Anna Feodorovna Tyutcheva (later married to I.S. Aksakov), a memorial service for Father Seraphim. The memorial service had not yet begun when D.F., who was on duty that day, entered. Tyutchev and announced to those present that the empress had just died. They began to serve a memorial service, and the priest commemorated the newly deceased Queen Alexandra together with Hieromonk Seraphim. Thus, the first church prayer in Russia, performed a few minutes after the death of Empress Alexandra Feodorovna, connected her name with the name of the elder in whom she so fervently believed and who, according to her faith, helped her “die well.” Why, from the first story about Elder Seraphim, did those children, who will now be told about and who got their desires fulfilled from him, believe in him this fall? The father of one large family with an exceptionally high position traveled along the Volga, and two of his children, a boy and a girl, one of those around this family, in her free time, described all the places that their father now sees, and even went inland from both banks of the Volga. By the way, the Sarov Hermitage was also mentioned and the children were told in detail about Father Seraphim of Sarov. This story made a very strong impression on the children. They were especially struck by such an event in the life of the elder. One mother, who suffered in separation from her son, who had gone missing from her, came to Father Seraphim, told him her grief and finally exclaimed in grief: “Teach me how to remember him: for health or for peace?” The elder told her to stay in Sarov for now and come to him in three days. When the unfortunate mother (three days later) came to him, Father Seraphim led her son by the hand, who at that time came to Sarov and in whom the elder recognized the son of the orphaned mother. A few days later, the bird that belonged to the children flew out of the cage and flew out the window. The children were very upset, grieving not so much that they had lost her, but that birds of prey would peck her and that she would not survive the autumn frosts. They knew that people would not help their grief, but they had just heard about a man who, during his lifetime, returned his missing son to his mother. What if you ask him?.. The children probably realized that their prayer to Elder Seraphim for the return of the bird that had flown away to them might seem ridiculous to adults. They did not tell anyone about their intention and, having agreed among themselves, began to fervently pray to Father Seraphim that he would return their bird to them, as he had once returned his lost son to the mother. A few days later this bird was found on the opposite side of the country palace where all this happened... Yes, he is alive for those who want to believe him, and his testament, spoken before his death to the Diveyevo sisters, sounds for all his children: “When I am gone, come to my grave, go as you have time, and the more often, the better. Everything that is in your soul, everything that you grieve about, no matter what happens to you: everyone, come to my coffin, crouching to the ground, as if to a living person, and tell me. And I will hear you, and your sorrow will pass! Talk to me as if you were alive, and I will always be alive for you! » The warmth and compassion of Elder Seraphim during his lifetime was expressed, among other things, in his attitude towards the Russian common people, the Russian peasant. The century of Father Seraphim was, one might say, the height of serfdom. His keen eye saw from behind the deserted fence, his sensitive heart sensed all the injustices, insults, and violence that landowners, and even more so their managers, inflict on their serfs. And he always raised his voice in defense of the peasants, and he warmed them with his love, as if trying to repay them with his care for what they endure in the world. One day a landowner came to Sarov with her serf girl, and both of them went to Father Seraphim. The elder, having blessed them, asked the lady: “Who is this with you?” “This is my serf girl,” answered the lady... After these words of the lady, Father Seraphim, not paying attention to the mistress, began to speak affectionately to the maid. The lady stood impatiently and interrupted their conversation several times. Finally, the elder asked the lady: “Who is this girl with you?” “This is my serf girl,” the landowner answered again. “No, this is not a girl,” the old man firmly objected, “but a girl, and not only is she the same person as you and me, but she is also better than us, because she has a pure soul and a kind heart.” And after these words, the elder, turning to the maid, affectionately blessed her and said: “The Lord is with you, my treasure!” Another time, a provincial Nizhny Novgorod dignitary and his family came to see him. The elder received his family in his cell, but made him wait outside the doors and repeated to him several times from the cell through the doors: “I’m not at home, it’s not time for me.” The visitor was very surprised by these words and wanted to know their meaning. He asked one monk to take him to the elder, and when he said the usual prayer at the door, the elder let them both in. “I visited you, Father, five times,” the visitor remarked offendedly, “and was not worthy to accept your blessing.” “That’s why I didn’t receive you,” the wise old man now explained his behavior to him, “but spoke to you through the door, that your people say to those who come to you for their needs: “The master is not at home” or “it’s not time for him.” After all, by this refusal, by angering your neighbors, you anger God Himself. The general felt ashamed, he admitted his guilt and promised not to act like that in the future. This is how deeply Father Seraphim felt the grievances that the lower classes suffered from the higher ones. With all his heart he sympathized with those ordinary, everyday, prosaic interests from which the life of a peasant is woven, and was always ready to help in their simple, seemingly insignificant troubles for a person of a higher position. One day a peasant with disheveled hair ran to Sarov, with a hat in his hand, and in despair began to ask the monk he met where Father Seraphim was. The monk asked what he needed Father Seraphim for. - Yes, they say that he guesses. But my horse was taken away, and I was left completely poor. I don’t know how I will feed my family. The monk pointed the peasant to the old man, who at that time was working on his porch: carrying and stacking firewood in the woodpile. The little man rushed to the old man and fell at his feet. Picking it up, the elder gently asked: - Why did you come to me, wretched one? - Father, my horse was stolen. I became a beggar. And you, they say, are guessing. The elder took the man’s head and put it to his own, then said to him: “Protect yourself with silence and hurry quickly to N (here the elder named one village). When approaching it, turn off the road to the right and pass the backs of four houses. There will be a gate there, go into it, untie your horse from the block and silently lead it away.” The man actually found the horse at the indicated place. Another time, one monk brought to Father Seraphim a young peasant with a bridle, who cried with bitter tears about the loss of his horses. Having brought the crying man to the elder, the monk left, leaving them alone. After a while he met this man and asked what about his horses? Attack of robbers on St. Seraphim. Drawing from the beginning of the 20th century. “Father found it,” he answered. “Then Father Seraphim told me to go to the auction and that I would see them there. I went out to the auction and just saw my horses. Even more remarkable is the insistence with which he demanded that the peasants who had beaten him half to death and mutilated him be left without punishment. On September 12, 1804, the elder was working in a remote desert when three unknown peasants came to him and began to brazenly demand money from him and threaten him. Although he was very strong and could have dealt with them, he crossed his arms across his chest and said: “Do what you need.” They hit him on the head with an ax, beat him, trampled him, broke his ribs and abandoned him only when they considered him dead. In the monastery where he dragged himself, his situation was considered hopeless; but he was miraculously healed by the appearance of the Most Holy Theotokos. And when these villains were caught and wanted to be brought to justice, the elder demanded that they be left without punishment. When they insisted on this, Father Seraphim announced to both the abbot and the owner of the peasants, Tatishchev, that in this case he would leave Sarov forever to distant places. And thus he ensured that they were not persecuted... This mercy softened the villains, they repented and came to ask the elder for forgiveness... What a glorious page in the highest spiritual life of the Russian people! In the personality of Father Seraphim, one trait of his character is striking. This incomprehensible ascetic, about whom during his lifetime educated, serious, elderly people who recognized him could not speak without delight, who was already called “wonderful Seraphim.” This righteous man, who seemed to have combined in himself the feats of many centuries, the strength of many people, this ascetic, who lived, as it were, outside the conditions of the flesh, this mystic who read in the future as in the past, whose soul sometimes hovered in the heavenly abodes, to whom the Lady of the world descended from heaven more than once and who, the only one of all people after the Gospel times of the Church, could be called the interlocutor of the Mother of God - this man was like a little child. Over him, this true heir of the Heavenly Kingdom, the word of Christ was amazingly justified with accuracy that this Kingdom is most accessible to the one who humbles himself and becomes like a child (see: Matt. 18: 3-4). And often, often, when I see pure, touchingly tender, preciously naive, trusting children, another image appears before me - the great desert dweller, the wondrous Seraphim. There was something childish in his boundless faith, in his speeches about objects of faith, about the future life, about saints; all this seems so distant and incomprehensible to us, but for him it was a living, close, undeniable, tactile reality. “Here, mother,” he says shortly before his death, when a visitor found him collecting wood chips, “the holy fathers told me to collect wood chips for my Diveyevo orphans.” He always spoke about the Lady of the world, as those close to him speak about the earthly queen. The sky became truly close and dear to him. He became worthy of the words that the Mother of God said when she came to heal him when he was still a novice: “This one is from our family.” And at the same time, this great man, with a brilliant mind, with a willpower rarely shown by anyone else, was like a child. There is something childish in his attitude, for example, towards animals, about which one cannot read without a tender smile, without touching tears. After all, man in the universe, as the crown of all Divine creation, was appointed king of all created things and master of beasts. The fall of man was reflected in the attitude of creatures towards him. The more rebellious among them refused to obey the one who rebelled against their Creator and became his enemy. But when a person, by his feat, reaches the same enlightened state in which the first man lived in paradise, then he again receives power over nature. And this power, not as a new gift, but as a gift lost and returned, was received from God by Elder Seraphim. It is known that during his life in the Sarov Forest he fed the bear, and detailed stories about his relationship with these animals have been preserved. One monk, who went to visit an elder in a distant desert, saw him sitting on a log and feeding a bear with crackers, which he took from his cell. At this sight, the monk did not dare to move further and hid in fear behind a large tree, mentally calling out to Father Seraphim. Immediately he saw that the bear went into the forest in the opposite direction from him. One day, two nuns were talking with the elder, when suddenly a huge bear began to approach the elder’s cell from the forest on its hind legs. The poor nuns froze with fear, their eyes darkened, it seemed to them that their death had come. Meanwhile, the elder calmly ordered the bear to go into the forest and bring treats. The bear turned and walked into the forest. The elder talked for two hours inside the cell with the visitors, and in the sweetness of his conversation they completely forgot about the bear, when again he burst into the cell and, barking, handed Father Seraphim a honeycomb of pure honey, wrapped in leaves. The elder gave him some crackers, and the bear went back into the forest. One nun, whom the elder ordered to come to his distant hermitage and who was afraid to go there alone, he ordered to read loudly throughout the journey, “Lord, have mercy.” When she reached the hermitage without fear, reading these words aloud, she saw an old man sitting there on a log near his cell and a huge bear next to him. She screamed at the top of her voice: “Fathers, my death!” And she fell to the ground out of fear. The elder waved to the bear, and he immediately went into the forest, and the elder calmed the nun and, sitting her next to him on a log, began to talk with her. Suddenly the same bear appeared again from the forest, approached the old man and lay down at his feet. At first the nun was beside herself with horror, but then, seeing that the elder was treating the bear like a gentle lamb and feeding him bread from her hands, she calmed down. The face of the great old man was wonderful at that time: joyful and bright, like an angel’s. The elder even ordered the nun to feed the beast from her hands, and at first she was afraid, and then she became so bold that when all the bread was gone, she wanted to feed him more. She liked the beast so much that she started a conversation about him with the great old man: - What if the sisters see this bear: will they die of fear? “No, mother,” answered the elder, “the sisters will not see him.” “And if someone stabs him, I feel sorry for him.” “No, and they won’t stab him,” the elder reassured her, “no one will see him yet except you.” When the nun thought to herself: “This is how I will tell the sisters about this wondrous miracle,” the elder gave her a commandment: “No, mother, before eleven years after my death, do not tell this to anyone. And then the will of God will reveal who to tell.” Subsequently, this sister one day entered the cell where, with the blessing of Elder Seraphim, the peasant Efim Vasilyev, who deeply believed in the elder, was painting. He was just drawing his image. Without knowing why, the nun said: “It would be nice to depict Elder Seraphim with a bear.” The painter asked her why she thought so, and then she was the first to tell him how she had witnessed the obedience of a bear to Father Seraphim. It was then that the 11 years commanded by the elder passed. One might think that from then on they began to draw the old man feeding the bear. Isn’t there something childish in this tender picture, in this conversation of a naive nun with her questions: “What if they see it? What if they stab you?” - childish in the sense of complacency and gentleness unheard of on earth, which amaze and touch us in children. Or here’s the conversation that preceded one of Father Seraphim’s miracles over birds. The monk, who was engaged in gardening, complained to the elder that he was overcome by sparrows, everyone was pecking at his bushes and trees. “No, father,” answered the elder, “forbid them so that they do not eat other people’s fruits.” The monk began to ask him to pray for Father Seraphim to avert this scourge, and the elder repeated again: - No, no, forbid them, father! When the monk came to the garden the next day, he saw that sparrows were showering raspberries in a dense flock, but they were only looking at the berries, and not pecking at them. And then the monk began to believe in the power of Father Seraphim’s words. The elder's attitude towards children represents one of the most touching features of Father Seraphim. One poor woman, left without a pension and without any means after the death of her husband, went to Sarov to consult with Father Seraphim on how to live. “Build a church,” the elder answered her. This advice to her, a poor woman, to build a church seemed so incongruous and strange to her that she doubted Father Seraphim and returned home in great confusion. She went to church to calm down, and here an unknown woman gave her a child in her arms to bring her to communion, and she disappeared. The city learned about this incident that the poor woman would have to raise the girl. The governor invited the nobility to provide for this widow, and she was given a pension. She began to live comfortably with the girl given to her and then understood what kind of church the elder had told her about the construction of. One wealthy landowner Teplov is traveling to Sarov with his wife and children, and on the way the wife complains to her husband that the eldest son, a ten-year-old boy, is completely immersed in reading spiritual books, not paying attention to the life around him, and that in general their children are too busy with everything sacred and do not care about science, lessons and everything necessary in secular life. “Mother,” Elder Seraphim said to her when they came to him, “don’t rush to teach your children French and German, but prepare their souls first, and the rest will be added to them later.” - And, hugging their eldest son, he calls him “my treasure.” Here the elder in his cell lifts a little girl from the floor, who herself cannot venerate the image of the Mother of God, which the elder allows all his visitors to venerate, and in his arms brings her to the image so that she kisses it. So a lady and her daughter, completely unknown to him, come to the elder. My daughter had just given fifty kopecks to a convict who was walking past the monastery in heavy chains and was very pitiful. “It’s good,” the old man says to the girl, “that you gave fifty dollars to the poor.” Yes, he loves and protects children. One nun, who had just arrived to enter Diveyevo, grieved a lot, feeling the difficulty of monasticism. During the all-night vigil on Christmas Day, she was touched by the sight of orphans, monastery pupils, standing around the abbess. And when the Royal doors were opened for the grandeur, she saw Father Seraphim standing behind the monastery little ones with outstretched arms, as if protecting them. She looked at this wondrous phenomenon with fear and joy, but she could not look at the old man’s face, which shone with an unbearable light. Here are a few examples of children’s ardent faith in Elder Seraphim and their extreme affection for him. We mentioned the Teplov spouses, whom the elder ordered not to interfere with the religious disposition of their children. In 1846, their youngest son dislocated his leg and suffered from this dislocation for about two years. Meanwhile, the boy had to be assigned to military service. Believing in the healing power of Father Seraphim more than in the art of doctors, the father on December 3, 1848, despite the deep snow, went with his two sons to Sarov. There, at the healing spring, the youngest son, having prayed, washed his foot with water. A few hours later the children asked to go back to the source. On the way, despite the pain in his leg and the inconvenience of the path trampled in the snow, the younger son, holding a bottle in his hand, overtook his older brother. At the source, he scooped up water, undressed and doused himself with water from head to toe, then, having dressed, knelt before the icons, praying to Elder Seraphim for healing. Both brothers prayed there for a long time, kneeling, and, despite the frost, not only were they not cold, but they were both sweating. Returning to the hotel, the younger one announced that he no longer felt any pain in his leg. He was completely healthy and entered the cavalry regiment. Дочь петербургского частного пристава Муратовского, Мария, получив от одного монаха изображение отца Серафима, чрезвычайно к нему привязалась и никогда с ним не расставалась; когда же выучилась грамоте, любимым ее чтением стала книга о жизни и подвигах старца Серафима. And the meek old man rewarded Mary for such love for herself. Her father, a poor man, had a large family. Марию он решил поместить в тамбовский институт, надеясь на то, что туда попасть легче, чем в петербургский. Но, хотя девочка в Тамбове сдала экзамен благополучно, по баллотировке она в институт не попала, и ее взяла к себе на время одна добрая и набожная особа, которая утешала девочку, что старец Серафим устроит ее судьбу... Случилось, что местный губернатор, человек добрый, просматривая бумаги девиц, которым было отказано в приеме в институт, увидал в документах Марии Муратовской, что ее крестил один из богатых Moscow dignitaries. Губернатор написал этому барину, прося его войти в положение крестницы, и вскоре крестный отец прислал деньги – весь годовой взнос за учение. The girl entered college. The little son of priest Alexander Vinogradov, just four years old, began to stutter. This shortcoming took on terrifying proportions. Sometimes, before uttering a word, he would sway for about five minutes, muttering: ah, ah, ah... he would sulk, turn red, finally grab his cheekbones, cry and run away. The parents grieved a lot about this misfortune of their son, but they could not help him. Friends gave mother a book about Father Seraphim to read, and she read it aloud to her son. The boy, precocious for his years, listened attentively to the reading and fell in love with the elder extremely. This love was expressed in him by the fact that he kissed the pictures depicting the old man and pressed them to himself. Once during Easter, the boy stuttered so much that, looking at his agony, his mother and nanny both burst into tears. Having caressed her son, the mother asked him to always pray to God during the ringing of “Worthy” and ask Elder Seraphim to heal him. The boy promised this with joy. The mother herself, having vowed to serve a memorial service for Father Seraphim, went to tell her husband about it. Her husband, who had not yet read the elder’s biography at that time, was indifferent to her intention. Meanwhile, the boy suddenly began to speak completely smoothly, and this continued for three weeks, during which no requiem service was served. The boy began to stutter again. Then mother forced her husband to read a book about the elder, and father also believed in him. When he diligently served the funeral service, the boy began to speak well again. In terms of the extraordinary nature of the visions, Elder Seraphim’s healing in 1856 of an eight-year-old boy, the only son of Kostroma vice-governor A.A., is remarkable. Borz co. The illness began with cramps in the stomach, then melancholy appeared. The strong, cheerful boy began to wither away. The melancholy was resolved by fits with the appearance of foam at the mouth, and spasms occurred in breathing. The seizures recurred five times a day. Doctors could not help the child. Somehow his parents received from Mrs. Davydova (later the abbess of the Kostroma Monastery of Mary) a description of the life and miracles of Father Seraphim and, reading this book together, marveled at the celibate power of the elder. One night, in a dream, a sick child sees the Savior in red clothing, surrounded by Angels. The Savior said: “You will be healthy if you do what the elder who will come to you commands you.” When the vision of the Savior ended, an old man appeared to the boy, called himself Seraphim and said to him: “If you want to be healthy, take water from a spring located in the Sarov Forest and called the Seraphim Spring, and for three days, morning and evening, wash your head, chest, arms and legs with this water and drink it.” Having woken up, the child told his dream to the nanny, who told it to his parents. They came to their son's bed, and he repeated his dream to them. The parents were delighted, but did not know how to get water. In the morning the boy had another dream. Surrounded by Angels, the Queen of Heaven came to him and lovingly ordered him to certainly arrange what Father Seraphim advised. Now all the parents' concern was how to get water. In the morning they brought a note from Mrs. Davydova, who notified her of her return from the trip. From her they got water from the Seraphim spring and began to treat their son with it, as he was told to do in the dream. In 1860, she and her son, already a twelve-year-old boy, came to Sarov to thank the elder and bow to his grave, and then they confirmed this miracle in writing to the abbot. On the eve of exams at the Mining Institute, Dimitri Sobaneyev fell ill (in 1864). The mother, in despair, prays to Father Seraphim, and at night the elder tells her in a dream: “Your son will recover and pass the test of science.” She goes to the infirmary in the morning, but her son is already at exams. He returns, having successfully withstood them, and says that the old man appeared to him at night with the words: “You will recover and you will pass the test.” When you think about this attitude of Father Seraphim towards Russian children, you remember his own childhood: quiet, grace-filled, among believers, under the wing of an intelligent, pious, affectionate mother... You try to imagine the inner world of a chosen child - and you cannot penetrate into the secret that imprints him... You only see how the Angels in their arms carry a playful boy who fell from the top of a high bell tower and found himself whole on the ground. You just see how the Lady of the world appears to the hopelessly ill Prokhor with a promise to heal him and a few days later visits him in the person of Her miraculous icon, bringing him healing... And the rest is hidden from view - that great internal work, during which all the best content of the Russian people easily and freely entered the sensitive soul of the child and began to sprout there, preparing a bountiful harvest. Who spied the secret of the development of grain in fertile soil, who overheard the growth of grass, intoxicated with fresh dew at dawn? There are such phenomena in life, there is such a mysterious thing in childhood that one can only dream about it, but not see it completely and personally. That shrine that you can approach only from afar, bow to it from afar and leave with a warmed heart and a purer and better soul... What the elder was like during his lifetime: the same individual traits of his character, as can be seen from his numerous appearances, have remained in him to this day. Appearing in dreams and in reality, the old man is meek and quiet. And to his soft, gentle words one can attach the name with which the ancient “writer of the life” of St. Sergius means the property of his speech: benevolence. Sometimes they see him in a dream, as he prays at the bedside of the sick; then, kneeling at their bedside, he carefully feeds them some kind of medicine. So he wins the heart of an ardent schismatic so that she herself brings the abbess a deed of gift for the very house for which she had just asked the monastery for an incongruously high price; and warns the abbess by appearing to her and soothingly saying three words: “He will come and bring” (testimony to the abbess Pulcheria). Here he is, in a white robe with a copper cross on his chest, appearing at night to a lady choking from an abscess in her throat, and, blessing her with the short words “simple and kind-hearted,” he heals her. Here a praying mantis walks through the Murom forests and from afar hears screams and moans: robbers on the road are robbing two passers-by. She takes the image of Father Seraphim that was with her and overshadows the place where the screams are coming from. The robbers run in fear, because they imagined that an old bent monk was running towards them with a threatening look, and behind the monk a crowd of people with stakes. So the thieves want to break into the shop of one admirer of Father Seraphim, but, having broken the locks, they flee, because the old man, taking the form of a guard, begins to take revenge near the shop and then at night speaks about this in a dream to the owner’s mother. In general, over the past 70 years 9 an amazing phenomenon has occurred in the deep depths of Russian life. A man, buried in a grave near the Assumption Cathedral of the Sarov Hermitage 70 years ago, walks throughout Russia. He enters peasant huts, and city houses, and shacks, and royal palaces, bringing with him everywhere blessing, consolation, resolution of grief and disaster. Sometimes even other saints, appearing to people, teach them to turn to this wonderful man, saying that he has great boldness with God. Venerable Seraphim of Sarov. Lithograph 1866 Heterodox Christians, having experienced the miraculous help of the incomprehensible elder, begin to honor him with jealousy. The Lord severely punishes those who blaspheme this wonderworker, shining with heavenly glory, although not yet glorified on earth by church glory. We can safely say that not a single righteous person, before being canonized, enjoyed such veneration as Elder Seraphim. In his name, two women's monasteries were erected - Seraphimo-Diveevskaya and Seraphimo-Ponetaevskaya. For his name, many people, starting with members of the reigning house, made huge donations... The image of the elder has long been placed along with icons, and his church glorification was eagerly awaited by many of his admirers. After the Feast of the Transfiguration, I went to Sarov with a feeling of extraordinary joy. Everything that I experienced from childhood, thinking about Father Seraphim, everything that I learned about him later, many extraordinary stories about his deeds during life, about his afterlife appearances, enthusiastic reviews about the places where he was saved - all this now resurrected in my memory with great power, all this surrounded and filled my inner world. At that time, when there was no railway to Arzamas, which now runs from Nizhny and somewhat shortens the route to Sarov, at that time it was possible to travel from Moscow in four ways. To Ryazan by rail, from there by steamship along the Oka to the Vatashka pier, and from there about eighty miles on horseback to Sarov. This route was convenient only during high water in early spring, since during the rest of the navigable period the Oka is shallow. Then it was possible to ride horses to Sarov from Murom, but this journey is long. Finally, a little over a hundred versts of dirt road separate Sarov from the two stations of the Ryazan-Kazan View of the city of Arzamas. Photo from the beginning of the 20th century. railway line – Sasov and Spassk. I was going to Sasovo. Having chosen a train leaving Moscow in the evening, I got off the next morning in Sasovo. Several coachmen surrounded me when they learned that I was going to Sarov, and for 25 rubles I hired a troika of carriages. Part of the way, to the city of Kadoma, post replacement horses were supposed to carry me, and from Kadoma, where the postal route ended and went all the way to Sarov, the same horses were supposed to carry me, without changing, and return with me to Kadom. For the agreed payment, I agreed to go to Sarov, stay there for two or three days, visit Diveevo for a day and return to Sasovo. The time, despite August, was stiflingly hot. There was a terrible drought all summer. Long before the trip, I was horrified by the clouds of dust in which I would have to move, and I took all precautions to protect myself from it as much as possible, and for the first tens of miles I rode with the top up. To my great surprise, I noticed that there was not the slightest dust. And throughout the entire journey to Sarov and back, not a single speck of dust fell on me. In the simplicity of faith, it seemed to me that the great elder protected everyone on the journey from everything that they considered unpleasant for themselves - and this happened not only with me, but with many others. Many have noticed that once you decide to go to Father Seraphim, then all the circumstances are especially favorable. We drove very quickly to Kadoma. In Kadoma they gave me a teenager as a coachman who did not know the road to Sarov at all. He visited a large village about thirty miles away, which stood on our way and in which we had to feed the horses, but the further part of the journey, precisely the one that we had to travel at night, was completely unknown to him. Not reaching this village about ten versts, one of the horses had a seizure. I mentally prayed to the elder that nothing bad would happen to her, and, thank God, she recovered. The views along the way were beautiful. One point was especially picturesque, from which many churches could be seen near and in the distance. The huge village where we stopped in the evening, located in several streets, bore the imprint of a deep, real village, untouched by railway civilization. Homemade clothes of women and men, women's heads are tied in a peculiar way, many young women have feather decorations behind their ears Road to Sarov. Photo from the beginning of the 20th century. In that rich inn where we stopped, the old owner, tall, broad-shouldered, with yellow-gray curls, his son and grandson, a quick-witted guy, all in bast shoes and shirts made of coarse home fabric, were so strikingly different from the type of innkeepers and janitors of the central provinces. It was already completely dark in the darkness of the thick August night when we left this village. The men explained to my driver how to drive, which hand to hold, where to turn. The explanations were rather confusing, since the path was at first open, and in this province, unfortunately, the main roads are not lined with old, century-old trees, as, for example, in the Smolensk province. We went. At first, while in the villages we met, people had not yet gone to bed and it was possible to ask if we were going like this, we were calm. But for a long time we don’t come across any villages... Who knows if we missed the right turn and are going astray. The driver gets off the box, kneels down in the middle of the road and, lighting a match, looks to see if there is grass along the road. There is no grass, which means it is a big road and we are going the right way. Having not slept for several nights before, also spent riding horses, I begin to doze off. It probably takes an hour and a half. The driver's reasoning wakes me up. He's afraid we've lost our way. Fortunately, it is possible to discern that there is now an outskirts area and beyond it the village begins. I order him to knock on the window of some hut. The peasant’s disheveled head pokes out, and the coachman begins an explanation with him. “Eh,” I hear his voice, “they took it to the side.” “Well, take us out onto the road,” I tell him. - But it will take you a mile and a half to carry you. - And you sit on the box, just get dressed. I'll give you some tea. But the man comes out in only a shirt, barefoot, without a hat and, perched on a box, commands the coachman. Further the path is no longer confusing, only the man with great fervor is explaining to the coachman about the large Sarov mill, which should remain on our left by dawn. We part with our guide. The moon is rising, and it’s more convenient to drive when it’s on. I order the coachman in every village I come across to knock on some window and ask through the glass whether this is the way to Sarov. A sweet slumber takes over me. Through her I experience an even more intense semi-conscious bliss because I am getting closer to Sarov. I no longer have separate ideas about what I will see, but, like a fairy tale, something extraordinary, huge, special, endless arises in my tired brain, and I am surprised at it with all my soul and call for it. In this mood I fell asleep. The early morning freshness woke me up. The East turned a little red. The last stars in the sky went out. We were driving in an open area. In the distance stretches the blackness of continuous forests. The coachman slept in the most uncomfortable position, with his head resting on an overcoat placed next to him on the box. The horses moved at a walk. Taking the reins, I drove to the nearest village, leaving the coachman to sleep. In the village, the housewives were already getting up, the roosters were crowing, the herd was gathering, the women were walking with rockers to fetch water. After the village, a long, long dense forest soon began - already Sarov land. Shivering from the cold, I peered deep into it. It seemed to me that the Seraphim Bear was about to pass with heavy tread. The black figure of one of the ancient hermits, Nazarius 10 or Mark 11, will flash, or in a white robe, bent over, with a burden on his shoulders, the wondrous of the wondrous, the greatest of the great, Elder Seraphim himself will appear... But the forest was quiet, stern and unresponsive. And we go, we go. It's boring, impatience is painful. Suddenly, the forest wall ahead suddenly opens up, and, drenched in the rays of the rising sun, in front of us in the distance stands a snow-white cathedral with golden domes: the Sarov Assumption Cathedral. Something extremely familiar and dear told me about its outline. It closely reminded me of the cherished “Great Church” of the Kiev Pechersk Lavra, on the model of which it was actually built... And for a long time this majestic church stood before us, like a ship moored at a safe harbour. Here finally is Sarov, on a high mountain that seems steep to us. We slowly climb up the winding road and stop at the hotel. I barely understand what I'm saying; Five minutes after they assigned me a room, I had already laid down and was falling asleep like a log. Without ever coming to my senses, I wake up after Vespers. View of the Sarov Desert from the southeast side. Photo 1903 There is so much extraordinary in his destiny! Once upon a time, on this mountain stood the lively, warlike Tatar city of Saraklych with formidable loopholes, surrounded by a rampart, protected by deep ditches... It kept the surrounding population in obedience. The time came, and the Russians drove out the Tatars, and the “most royal city” was deserted and populated by wild animals; All traces of the warlike life that flourished here disappeared. And so, after centuries, one after another, several monks settled on the site of the “Old Settlement”. They hear the ringing of invisible bells, from which the whole mountain shakes, and their believing heart tells them, Hieroschemamonk John, the founder of the Sarov Hermitage. 19th century lithograph that great should be the destiny of this place... But all these first monks, having lived for a short time in this desert, leave it. Finally, the leader of Sarov comes, John 12... Not terrible, at times attacking Venerable Nazarius, Abbot of Valaam. 19th century lithograph melancholy, neither the machinations of unclean spirits, nor illness can drive him out of this place. He begins to dig caves in the mountain, the brethren gather to him and, after the consecration of the church, they solemnly and in agreement promise to preserve inviolably as long as the monastery stands, the charter... The strict life of the monks and a number of outstanding abbots attracted both pilgrims and the zeal of rich people to the desert. The magnificent Sarov churches appear. In times of disaster, the desert generously benefits the people. Convenience to “monastic work” attracts people seeking achievement to Sarov, and, finally, the 13th novice Prokhor Moshnin enters it, who was destined to shine with an everlasting radiance and shine for the Russian people under the name of Elder Seraphim... Bell tower and holy gates of the Sarov Desert. Photo from the beginning of the 20th century. So I walked through the gate in a very high bell tower to the Assumption Cathedral, asking where the chapel was. I am shown a wide, low chapel with glass walls attached to the cathedral wall. There is a large, heavy mausoleum there. Is it really under him? Chapel over the grave of St. Seraphim. Photo from the beginning of the 20th century. I am standing at the grave of Father Seraphim. At this moment there is no one in the chapel, nothing prevents you from thinking intently about him, and involuntarily, leaning against the cold tombstones, you ask him if he sees, if he accepts this visit. And he looks from the walls in several large, picturesque images of his... Here he is praying in the forest on a stone. His chestnut hair was scattered over his shoulders, and a copper cross glittered on his white robe—his mother’s blessing, which had never been removed from his chest. He raised his hands and head to the sky, crying out in the voice of a publican: “Lord, be merciful to me, a sinner!” He spent a thousand nights in such a prayer, undertaken by him in order to defeat the “enemy” who rose up against him with “mental warfare” with unheard-of strength... How did he endure this prayer? When he was later asked whether he had God’s help then, he answered: “Yes, otherwise human strength would not have been enough!” I was inwardly strengthened and comforted by this heavenly gift descending from the Father of lights. When there is tenderness in the heart, then God is with us!” Here is an old man, sitting on a log, feeding a bear. He tenderly gives him a piece of his daily bread, and the rational animal affectionately and zealously, carefully accepts this piece from him... And the words of faith and love that I read in one house before the image of the same feat of the elder’s mercy are whispered of their own accord. “The wild beast had his meal with you. Feed me, your servant too!” Here the old man is fumbling around his well - a spring in the nearby desert, where healing grace acts as miraculously as in the gospel Bethesda, with the difference that in Bethesda only once a year the Angel of the Lord, descending into the font, disturbed the water with healing power, and this power acted only on one person who was the first to descend into the water after it was disturbed (see: John 5:2-4), and here, in the Seraphim Spring, seek healing whenever you want, day and night, summer and winter, and in your home thousands of miles away, wonderful water will bring you relief, just believe that the prayer of Elder Seraphim is powerful to heal you... Interior view of the chapel and the staircase to the tomb of St. Seraphim. Photo from the beginning of the 20th century. Here, standing with his hands folded in a cross on his chest, with an unchanging crucifix, a mother’s blessing, the kneeling elder stands breathless before his cell icon of the Mother of God “Tenderness,” which he called “Joy of All Joys”... A vision to the rector of the Glinsk Hermitage, Hegumen Philaret, about the ascension of the soul of St. Seraphim. Chromolithography of the early 20th century. What did his soul feel at that moment, as it rushed, in the words of one glorious ascetic (elder Parthenius of Kyiv), “from an earthly, calamitous, lamentable, fierce, sorrowful and painful pilgrimage to a heavenly, beloved, blessed, calm, all-cheerful, unflickering, immortal, endless, eternal and ineffable fatherland?” But what rejoicing there was in heaven then can be judged by the fact that, by the command of the Creator, earthly nature itself reflected the glory of that hour. On the night of Father Seraphim’s departure “to the heavenly ones” in the distant Glinsk Hermitage, the pious abbot Philaret, leaving Matins, saw in the sky some great triumph, expressed in an extraordinary light. He stopped, thought and said: “This is how the souls of the righteous depart. Now in Sarov the soul of Father Seraphim ascends to heaven.” And I stood, full of all these significant memories, and in front of me, separated by the depth of some two or three arshins of earth, he, the “poor Seraphim,” lay in a coffin. It seemed to me that something gentle, calling, promising help and compassion was in the air. It seemed to me that I would hear from the earth those words that Father Seraphim addressed to his children: “My joy, my treasure!” I then remembered the story I heard shortly before leaving of a Moscow nun who went to Sarov. All the way, she, who never parted with her sickly old aunt, also a nun, was like crazy with fear for her, praying to God that she would not die during her absence. With a heavy heart, she came to the elder’s grave and, leaning against the tombstone, poured out her whole soul to him, begging him not to let the old woman die without her. She knew very well that she was alone in the chapel. Suddenly she, pressing her face to the monument from the outside, clearly hears light footsteps on the other side of the monument, between the monument and the wall of the cathedral. She quickly raised her head. Awe ran through her. In her heart, more vividly than reality, she felt the presence of Father Seraphim here; she was before him as if she were alive. And suddenly all her anxiety disappeared at once, and she became sure that everything was safe at home. Quiet joy filled her entire being. Indeed, she stayed in Sarov without any more fear and returned home, where in her absence everything went well. Standing at the elder’s grave, I remembered how he was buried. He lay down in the same oak coffin that he had prepared for himself many years before his death. A week before his death, on Christmas Day 1832, he reminded them to be laid in this coffin. On his chest lies an enamel icon of St. Sergius, which he gave to one monk on the eve of his death, asking him to put it in his coffin. This icon was sent to him by the abbot of the Trinity-Sergius Lavra, confessor of Metropolitan Philaret 14, Archimandrite Anthony 15. In the hand of Father Seraphim is a letter of permission. Funeral service for St. Seraphim in the Assumption Cathedral. 19th century engraving An oak coffin made by St. Seraphim himself. Photo from the beginning of the 20th century. When it was placed in his hand during the funeral service, the fingers of his hand unclenched of their own accord so that he could accept the letter. How many feelings flowed then at the hour of the funeral in the cathedral, so crowded with people that the stale air caused the candles in front of the local images to go out! What did contemporaries worry about when they buried that treasure that would soon rise above the earth again, never to hide in it again?.. But here, across the road, is the building in which his cell is located. Not myself, with a sinking heart I wander towards this cell. What a sight it was here in those days when the elder, after communion, returned from the cathedral to his place! Hundreds of people crowded around him to see. And he, with a bright shining face, completely absorbed in his happiness of the union with Christ that had just taken place, walked in deep emotion, seeing no one, hearing nothing, blessing no one. And the people, not daring to disturb his concentration, did not speak to him, but were eager to just look at this gracious face of the earthly angel. But even on ordinary days there was often a huge influx of people here. “Hurrying into the monastery,” Mrs. Eropkina recalls about her first visit to Sarov, “I was amazed by the extraordinary sight. Between the Assumption Cathedral and the opposite one-story building, dense masses of people moved like waves. From asking others, I learn that Father Seraphim lives in this very building. I intervene in the crowd of people from every gender, age and rank, and through them I make my way to the porch, where everyone was also heading. With great difficulty I rub myself into the very cell of Father Seraphim. I, following the example of others, tried to get closer to him and extended my hand to him to receive the blessing, without yet seeing his face. He, teaching me a blessing and crackers, said: “The servant of God Anna partakes of the grace of God.” Elder Seraphim walking from the church. Lithograph 1885 Here is one of the typical first visits of an elder by a person completely unfamiliar to him. With what thoughts did they approach him, with what passionate and holy curiosity? After all, they looked at him as the last refuge where earthly forces could do nothing; the impossible was expected of him. Those traveling to him were already prepared for something enormous, extraordinary, having heard such reviews, spoken with delight in their voices, with an expression of joy in their faces by those who had the good fortune to see this embodiment of grace... But even prepared by such reviews of the elder, people found more than they expected. Everywhere, at every half step, such exciting memories are crowded here. At this porch, in May 1829, the elder performed one of his great miracles. The husband of the suddenly ill peasant woman Guryeva rushed to Father Seraphim and arrived in Sarov around midnight. God informed the elder about the man’s misfortune, and when Guryev approached the cherished porch, the elder was already waiting for him and tenderly said: “Why, my joy, did you hurry at such a time to poor Seraphim?” A man told about his wife’s illness and heard the answer: “She must die.” Falling at the feet of the elder, Guryev, firmly believing in his boldness before God, begged him to pray so that his wife would remain alive. And the elder made him believe according to his faith. He closed his eyes and sank into silent prayer. He prayed like this for about ten minutes, then he opened his eyes, shining with heavenly joy, raised the peasant, who was still lying at his feet, and said: “Well, my joy, the Lord will grant your wife life. Come in peace to your home." His wife recovered, and relief began from that very moment when Father Seraphim prayed. Here is the canopy. First, the cell where Father Paul lived, the elder’s neighbor, who was not actually his cell attendant, but sometimes helped him with something, a simple and good man, about whom Elder Seraphim used to say: “Here Father Paul is saved by his kindness: he does not condemn anyone. He sees only his own sins.” And here is the second door to Father Seraphim’s cell. You involuntarily stop at the entrance to this sacred place. And how applicable here are the words addressed by the once great Philaret to the cell of St. Sergius. And here with what right can one exclaim: “Open the door of the cramped cell for me so that I can breathe in the air that trembled with the voice of the prayers and sighs of Seraphim, which was watered by the rain of his tears, in which so many spiritual, prophetic, miraculous verbs were impressed. Let me kiss the passage of her vestibule, which has been worn down by the feet of the Righteous One and through which the feet of the Queen of Heaven once stepped.” Here this life hidden in God flowed, here the greatest spiritual contemplations visited the man of God, here so many confessions were made, so many tears were shed and wiped away. Instead of the grief that hung like a stone on the heart, a joyful silence descended; miraculously, the grief dissipated and disappeared, like clouds from the sky when the radiant sun shines through. Here his daily external martyrdom took place and he experienced the greatest spiritual happiness. Here he called on God and saved the world that was coming to him. The All-Holy Lady of the world descended here to Her chosen one for a long conversation, as with a relative and close person. And I want to exclaim, standing at the threshold of this sanctuary: “Brothers, it’s all here!” And in the midst of what squalor these wonderful events took place! A small, six arshin square, quadrangular room, illuminated on the right by one window looking at the cliff of Sarov Mountain and further onto the road that runs among greenery and forest. In the corner there is a couch made of white tiles with green patterns. The walls are covered with large, life-size paintings depicting the old man in different forms. The one where he seems to be walking towards you in a white robe, bent over, and his eyes look straight into your soul seems especially lifelike. On May 22, 1890, Yu. V. Karazina, arriving in Sarov, came to this cell. Approaching the image of the old man, she saw that the face was animated, that the eyes were moving and opening, and the eyebrows were moving. Here is the icon of “Tenderness,” depicting the Mother of God without the Child with her forehead bowed and her eyes downcast, with her hands folded on her chest. What an expression on her face: whether the Mother of God listens to those praying, or listens to the innermost voice of Her heart, but all of Her is luminous beauty and mystery. In the display case are some of the elder’s things: the iron cross that he wore under his clothes, the Gospel. This cell was not the home of Father Seraphim from the first time of his stay in Sarov. He lived as a novice in another place, and where his then cell stood and where the Most Holy Theotokos appeared to him, the novice Prokhor, to heal him from a three-year serious illness, soon after that a hospital church was erected in the name of the Monks Zosima and Savvaty of Solovetsky. Appearance of the Mother of God to the Monk Seraphim (who was still a novice) during his illness. Lithograph 1885 In his last cell, he led different lifestyles in different eras. He was a recluse here. Then the only thing he kept in her cell was an icon with a burning lamp and a stump of a tree stump instead of a chair. The hospital church in the name of Saints Zosima and Savvaty of Solovetsky, built on the site of Father Seraphim’s cell, where he was miraculously healed by the Mother of God. Photo from the beginning of the 20th century. In the cell there was an armful of wood for the stove, which had never been fired. Through the closed door one could hear him reading the Holy Scriptures aloud and interpreting them aloud to himself. Some, approaching the door, listened to him. On the holiday they brought the Holy Gifts to this cell, and he received communion. After a five-year seclusion, he opened the doors of his cell, anyone could enter him, but he, continuing his studies, did not answer questions; after another five years he began to talk. During the eldership of Father Seraphim, the cell looked like this. Its main decoration was the cell’s large icon of the Mother of God “Tenderness” 16, which he called “Joy of All Joys,” and other icons. Some monks witnessed how, at the word of the elder, the lamps in front of the icons lit up by themselves. There was a simple bench against the front wall with a stone at the head for a cushion. At the door there was an armful of firewood, on which he sometimes, as if on a bed less comfortable than a bench, lay down to rest. His entire cell was littered with various objects in bags and simply lying around, which they diligently brought to him, and, by the way, pieces of peasant canvases. In front of the cell was filled with large bottles and bottles of oil and holy water and church wine in barrels. He kept all this for distribution to pilgrims. The cell was generally so cluttered that there was barely a small and narrow passage left from the door to the images. And in two round copper candlesticks, like trays with places for candles, hundreds of candles were burning, from which there was constantly intense heat in the cramped cell. It’s a wonderful reason why he kept so many lights in his house – lamps and candles. He explained this to one of his visitors this way: “As you know, I have many people who are zealous for me and do good to the Diveyevo sisters. They bring me oil and candles and ask me to pray for them. When I read my rules, I remember them first once. And since I cannot repeat them at every place of the rules, then I put these candles for them as a sacrifice to God - a candle for each; for others - for several people one large one. And where it follows, without naming names, I say: “Lord, remember all those people, Your servants, for their souls I, wretched one, lit these candles and candila for You.” This is not my, poor Seraphim’s, human invention or, so, my simple zeal, not based on anything divine. Moses, the Seer of God, heard the voice of the Lord: “Moses, Moses, tell your brother Aaron that he may kindle fire before Me day and night: for this is acceptable before Me, and sacrifice is acceptable to Me” (see: Ex. 30, 1, 7–8; Lev. 24, 1–2). Father Seraphim unusually knew from these candles who was in danger of sin. “If anyone has faith in me, poor Seraphim,” he said, “then I have a candle burning for this person in front of the holy icon. And if the candle fell, it was a sign for me that that person had fallen into mortal sin. Then I bow my knees for him before the mercy of God.” You stand in a silent cell, surrounded by his images looking at you from all sides. From the window into the cell one can see a free, spacious, purely Russian view. The candles burning in front of the icon quietly crackle, and you feel strange and strange here. How many feelings were contained in the cramped space of this cell, what amazing meetings took place here between the elder and people who were striving for him from afar. A young widow, landowner Anna Petrovna Eropkina, arrived in Sarov. Before the wedding, she had a vision: some old man unknown to her, approaching her bed, said after her: “She is getting married in vain. Her husband will live for many, many two or three months. What will it be like for her to go from orphan to widow - it’s the same as going from the frying pan into the fire.” In February 1829, she married her passionately, madly loved groom, and in May she buried him. And the separation killed her, and the thought that she did not invite him to join before her death, fearing to upset him, and that he died without parting words. In her grief, she reached a kind of frenzy, so that her relatives established supervision over her so that she would not commit suicide. Having learned about the existence of Father Seraphim and the extraordinary spiritual power of this man, her relatives persuaded her to immediately go to Sarov, although the journey was five hundred miles away, and on the way back Eropkina was supposed to be caught in the spring thaw. We have already given a description of how she entered the elder. When the elder uttered the words over her: “God’s servant Anna partakes of the grace of God,” one can judge her surprise that this man, who could not know anything about her, called her by name. What did she feel when, raising her eyes to him, she recognized in Father Seraphim standing before her that mysterious old man of her vision, who a year before, before her wedding, uttered a prophecy over her about her widowhood? But at that very moment she was pushed away from the elder, and she found herself in the hallway. There, having climbed onto the logs, she began to look through the door over the people at the old man, in whom everything: his angelic appearance, his meekness in behavior, showed an extraordinary phenomenon. She didn't take her eyes off him. After some time, the elder began to send everyone out of his cell, and suddenly he took Eropkina by the hand, brought him in and, before she had time to say anything, said to her: “What, my treasure, have you come to me, the poor one? I know your grief is very great. But the Lord will help you bear it.” The elder advised her to confess and receive communion in Sarov, and about the fate of her husband, before she spoke about it, the first said: “Do not be distressed, my joy, do not think that only because of this one thing his soul will perish, that he was not given communion before his death. Sometimes it happens like this: here on earth one partakes, but with the Lord it remains unparticipated. Another wants to join, but for some reason his desire will not be fulfilled, completely independent of him. In such an invisible way one is granted communion through the Angel of God.” The elder gave the widow instructions on how to pray for her husband. About her path he said: “God will give you a path: the snow will fall half an arshin, 17 and you will get there better than when you arrived.” And indeed, on March 17, thick snow fell, blocking the roads. Arriving home and doing everything that the elder advised her, Eropkina was completely reborn. It was as if a burden had been lifted from her. Peace came to my soul. So the Penza noblewoman Belyaeva, exhausted from life’s grief, came to the elder three hundred miles away in 1831. She went to the elder’s cell, but there were so many people that only a strong man could approach him. She stood at a distance; when suddenly the elder went through the people to her, waving his hand at her and saying: “Come here, servant of God!” The elder blessed her, looked at her and said: “It’s hard for you, servant of God! What a grief! Come after me!” - and took her to his cell. There he sat her down on a piece of wood and began to feed her bread soaked in water from a wooden cup. But she did not hear from the elder any foreshadowing of a change in her fate. He spoke to her only about patience, reminded her of Job the Long-Suffering and repeated: “Remember Job’s patience, servant of God, Job’s patience - and the heavenly reward for patience. The Lord gives a great reward for this.” And all her life, one grief after another, without giving her rest, fell on her head. And, choking with grief, she endured everything: like a guiding star, the image of the old man, who taught her patience before his end, shone for her, and his words about heavenly reward sounded encouraging. Thus, her much-tested faith was supported by the memory of the elder, and, before her death, visited by a new grave misfortune, she died resignedly, without seeing a shadow of happiness in her earthly life. And, dying, she said that now Father Seraphim was healing her from all her suffering. In 1830, a young cavalry officer Karataev, setting off on a Polish campaign, stopped by, at the request of his parents, to visit Father Seraphim. There are a lot of people near the cell, but the elder immediately sees them and beckons them to him. With love and reverent fear, Karataev, entering the elder, falls at his feet, asking him to pray for the preservation of his life during the campaign. The elder hugs him, baptizes him, then begins to confess him, telling him all his sins, as if they were committed in his presence. “Do not be afraid,” he says further, “although we are sinners, we are all under the grace of our Redeemer, without whose will not a hair will fall from our head (see: Matthew 10:29-30).” He says that fear is a temptation of the devil; but that you just have to protect yourself with faith and the sign of the cross - and the machinations of the enemy will disappear. Listening to the elder, Karataev seems to forget about earthly existence. The soldiers he leads with him also receive the blessing of the elder, who predicts that they will all survive. When leaving, the officer puts three rubles for the old man’s candles, and immediately upon leaving he is tempted by the thought: what does the old man need money for? Sincere, he immediately returns to the elder to repent of this thought to him. And the elder, warning him, tells him a parable: “During the war with the Gauls, one military leader had to lose his right hand. But this hand gave some hermit three coins for the holy church, and through the prayers of the Holy Church the Lord saved her. Understand this well and in future do not repent of your good deeds. Your money will go towards organizing the Diveyevo community for your health.” Returning from a campaign, during which, having participated in many battles, he remained unharmed, Karataev visits the Sarov Hermitage, but Father Seraphim is no longer there. The officer grieves deeply, accepting this death “as punishment for his sins.” But when he served a memorial service at the elder’s grave, a sweet silence descended on his soul. In the same year, robbers attack him, but he calls Father Seraphim for help and escapes from them. A young officer stands before the elder in 1830 and asks for his blessing to become a monk. The perspicacious elder tells him: “Don’t become a monk. You should get married, and your bride is here. Go now to the monastery hotel. There you will find mother and daughter. This daughter is your bride. And from me you tell them to come to me as soon as possible.” The young man trusts the elder too much to contradict him, and obediently goes to the hotel, but neither there nor in the monastery are the mother and daughter among the people of his circle. Lost in thought, he leaves the fence and heads along the road. He sees: a traveling carriage is coming and there are two ladies in it; one of them is very young. The officer follows this carriage back to Sarov. There, in the hotel, he learns from their people that they are a mother and daughter. Assuming that this is what the elder told him about, he decides to go in to them in order to convey to them the elder’s order and together look at the future bride. He does not tell them anything about the elder’s instructions, but only conveys his invitation to them. They are amazed not so much that the elder was calling them through a person they did not know, but rather that he knew about their arrival. But they unquestioningly go to the cell of Father Seraphim, accompanied by their stranger guide. The elder affably blesses his guests, then takes the hands of the officer and the young girl and, joining them, says: “The Lord will bless you.” And he says to the mother: “This is your daughter’s fiancé.” All three are deeply amazed... Having come to their senses a little, the mother says that they don’t know this person at all, that they didn’t expect this. And the elder, interrupting her, decisively asserts: “I tell you by God that this is your daughter’s groom and God will bless them.” They do not dare to object anymore due to their great faith in Father Seraphim. The elder advises them to return with this officer to their village, where soon the mother suddenly dies, leaving her daughter completely wealthy for the rest of her life, but lonely. And the daughter marries the man predicted for her by the elder, expecting with the conviction that she will be happy. Indeed, they enjoy complete prosperity, and since their estate is not far from Sarov, they, while the elder is alive, often go to him, consulting with him, as with a loving father, about all the little things in their lives. In 1832, the Lodyzhensky sisters came to Sarov with their brother-officer, already in rank, who was given the responsible assignment to accompany a spiritual mission to China. Once, during the Turkish campaign, he was wounded in his left arm, and now the pain has returned. On the way to China, he stopped in Nizhny, where their grandmother was abbess in the monastery, and the sisters, who came to visit him in Nizhny from Penza, began to convince him to go to Father Seraphim and accept the blessing for such a long journey. Lodyzhensky did not want to go to Sarov. With the condescension of a man to exaggerate women's tales, he listened to the sisters' enthusiastic stories about Father Seraphim and said: “I believe that he has a good life. But you're not exaggerating? He agreed to go only to please his sisters before being separated from them. On the eve of leaving for Sarov, an argument arose between the brother and sisters. They called many icons miraculous, but the brother found that this was superstition and that all icons were the same. When they arrived in Sarov, Lodyzhensky saw the elder before the sisters, ascending to the altar. When he returned to the hotel, he told them that Father Seraphim had performed a miracle on him. “While I was conveying to Father Seraphim what my grandmother and His Eminence of Nizhny Novgorod had entrusted to me, he took my sore hand and squeezed it so tightly that I only cried out in shame, but now I don’t feel any pain in my hand.” On the same day, Lodizhensky had a long conversation with the elder and then said to the sisters: “Now I am completely convinced of the holiness and insight of this wondrous man. Everything you said about him is true.” When Lodyzhensky asked the elder for a blessing on his long journey, the elder told him: “What, father, is my sinful blessing. Ask the Queen of Heaven for help. Here in our warm cathedral is the icon of the Life-Giving Source. Serve her a prayer service. After all, she is miraculous." Then the elder continued with a subtle smile: “Have you read, father, the life of Ioannikis the Great? I recommend reading it. He was a military man, very kind and The interior decoration of the church in honor of the icon of the Mother of God “Life-Giving Source”. Photo from the beginning of the 20th century. a good man, and at first it wasn’t that he wasn’t a Christian: he believed in the Lord, but he was just as mistaken about icons as you are.” At the same time, the elder pointed his hand at Lodizhensky, who was greatly surprised by this, since he knew that the sisters had not yet had time to tell the elder about their opinion about the icons of their brother. Immediately Lodyzhensky wanted to serve a prayer service, then from a hieromonk familiar to the sisters, Lodyzhensky asked for the life of Ioannikios the Great and found there that Ioannikios was indeed a military man, good, believed in the Lord, but was mistaken regarding the holy icons until he found an old man similar to Father Seraphim, who saved him from error. During the same conversation, the elder revealed to Lodyzhensky his heartfelt secret and blessed him to marry the person he was thinking about. The miraculous image of the Mother of God, called the “Life-Giving Source” Major General Pavel Yakovlevich Kupriyanov, who had visited him before, came to the elder and thanked him for his salvation during the Turkish war. He and his regiment were surrounded on all sides by the Turks. It was impossible to strengthen, move back or forward. In this desperate situation, the general repeated the prayer: “Lord, have mercy on Elder Seraphim through your prayers,” ate crackers given to him by the elder as a blessing, and remained unharmed. “The great means to salvation is faith,” the elder answers him, “and especially unceasing heartfelt prayer.” Our example is the holy prophet Moses. He, walking in the regiments, silently prayed with his heart. And the Lord said to him: “Moses, Moses, why did you cry out to Me (cf. Ex. 14:15)?” This is what prayer is: it is an invincible victory! Princess E.S.Sh. brings to the elder his sick nephew from St. Petersburg, G.Ya.Ya. The young man was so weak that he could not walk on his own. They carried him on a bed into the monastery fence. Father Seraphim, although no one had warned him, stood at the door of his cell, waiting for the sick man. He ordered him to be brought into his room, locked the door and said to him: “You, my joy, pray. And I will pray for you. Just be careful: lie as you lie, and don’t turn around in the other direction.” The sick man lay for a long time, turning his face to the wall, his back to the old man. Finally he got tired of it, and really wanted to see how the elder prayed. He looked around quietly and saw that the elder was standing in the air in a position of prayer*. This sight was so amazing that I screamed in surprise and horror. Having finished the prayer, the elder approached him and said: “Now you will explain to everyone that Seraphim is praying in the air. The Lord will have mercy on you. And you protect yourself with silence and don’t tell this to anyone until the day of my death, otherwise your illness will return.” 18 I got up healthy right there in the elder’s cell. He himself, on his own two feet, although supported by his people, left the cell. In the hotel, where they saw how they carried him to the elder, he was bombarded with questions about what Father Seraphim had done to him, that he had suddenly become healthy. But he didn’t answer all the questions, not a word, and this surprised everyone. He went to St. Petersburg. And when I was back on the estate, I learned that Father Seraphim had already passed away into eternity. It was then that he, who by the death of the elder was freed from the prohibition to talk about the miracle, told about the extraordinary prayer of the elder Seraphim, which he witnessed. ...These incidents and many others, which I read about and which were engraved in my memory, surrounded me on all sides in this wonderful sacred cell. I definitely heard this people’s roar coming through the hallway, the roar of the crowd surrounding the porch leading to the cell. I definitely saw these passionate gazes of expectation, hope, I saw the amazement expressed in them when, finally, they stood with their own eyes before this desired person, “amazing that such a person lives in this day and age and that they see him!” I heard this meek old voice, loving words: “My treasure!”, “My joy!” And it was as if a perspicacious gaze shone for me in this cell, to which the past and the future were equally open. Before which time pulled back the veil with which it was hidden from all people. And I stood, motionless and silent. But what about people with their feelings, what about the greatest healings, when heaven itself descended here, into this poor and cramped cell of the “poor Seraphim.” This place is holy not only because the threshold of the cell is worn out by the feet of the saint, but because the feet of the Queen of Heaven once crossed it. That was on the day of the Annunciation in 1831, 1 year and 9 months before his repose. He knew that the Lady of the world was going to visit him, and this was not Her first visit to Her chosen one, but the most glorious of all, and if before it was more likely just a vision, now it was in reality. The elder called one nun to him first. Undoubtedly, it was the will of God that all the details of this extraordinary event be preserved. He told the nun that “today we will have a wonderful visit,” prayed for a long time and repeated to her more than once “do not be afraid.” And the glorious hour has come. Falling to his knees and stretching out his hands to meet the wondrous procession descending towards him, the elder said: “Behold, the Most Pure, Most Glorious Lady, the Most Blessed Mother of God is coming to us.” There was a noise, like a forest rustling from a strong wind. When it died down, church singing was heard. The cell seemed to expand. Its top was filled with lights, like sparkling candles. A radiance shone, brighter than the day, lighter and whiter than the sun. The fragrance filled the cell, and the door itself dissolved. And the old man, kneeling, Appearance of the Most Holy Theotokos to Elder Seraphim on the day of the Annunciation. 19th century lithograph waited with trepidation for the Heavenly Guest. And She descended. Two Angels with golden hair appeared ahead of everyone. They held in their hands branches lined with newly bloomed flowers. Behind them walked Saints John the Baptist and John the Theologian, in shining white robes. Behind them, like the sun at dawn, the Most Blessed Mother of the Lord appeared. The Lady wore a mantle, as they write on the image of the “Sorrowful Mother of God” 19 - a mantle of indescribable beauty. The robe was fastened with stone lined with crosses. The guards on the hands of the Most Pure One and the epitrachelion placed over the dress and mantle were also decorated with crosses. On the head of the Queen of Heaven a crown shone in the crosses. The eye could not bear the light that illuminated the face of the Mother of God. The mistress seemed taller than all the maidens. The maidens followed Her in pairs, wearing crowns, and were of different appearances, but all of great beauty... Shocked by the sight of this sky descending to earth, the nun lost consciousness. When she came to her senses, Elder Seraphim was no longer on his knees, but on his feet before the Most Holy Theotokos, and She spoke to him as to a loved one. The virgins told the nun their names and their suffering for Christ. These were the Great Martyrs Barbara and Catherine, Marina and Queen Irina, Pelagia, Dorothea and Juliana, the First Martyr Thekla, the Venerable Eupraxia and Macrina, the Martyrs Anisia and Justinia. The nun heard the Lady say to Father Seraphim: - Do not leave My Diveyevo virgins! “Mistress,” answered the elder, “I collect them, but I cannot manage them on my own.” “I will help you, My beloved, in everything,” the Lady said then. “Whoever offends them will be defeated by Me.” Whoever serves them for the Lord's sake will be remembered before the Lord. Blessing the elder, the Most Holy Theotokos said: “Soon, My beloved, you will be with us!” The day of his repose, longed for by the elder, has arrived. He told many that his death was close: “My life is shortening, and I am close to my last minutes. In body I am already completely dead, but in the spirit of God’s grace it is as if I was born now.” He gave a lighted candle to one monk who loved him very much and ordered him to blow on it. The candle went out. “Like this,” said the elder, “my life will fade away, and they will no longer see me.” Realizing that the elder was foreshadowing the approach of the end, the monk began to cry. But the elder with a bright and joyful expression on his face said to him: “My joy, now is not a time of sorrow, but of joy. If I gain boldness from the Lord, then I will prostrate myself for you before the Throne of God.” The first day of the New Year, January 1, 1833, fell on a Sunday. The elder came to early mass at the memorial church of the Solovetsky Wonderworkers, which stood on the spot where his novice cell had once been and where the Most Holy Virgin healed him with Her appearance. What he had never done before, he venerated all the images and placed candles in front of them all. They noticed extreme physical exhaustion in him, but he was cheerful and joyful in spirit and, saying goodbye to the brethren after mass, said: “Take courage, stay awake, today crowns are being prepared for us!” And in this very cell he spent the entire last day of his life. In the evening, his neighbor, Father Pavel, heard him loudly singing various Easter victory songs. At six o'clock on January 2, Father Pavel, getting ready for early mass, felt the smell of burning in the hallway he and Father Seraphim shared: smoke was coming from the door of the elder's cell. More than once, Father Pavel, seeing that the elder, going to church or hermitage, did not extinguish the candles that were burning for him, warned him that this could cause a fire. But the elder answered him that during his lifetime there would be no fire, but his death would be revealed by fire. Father Pavel knocked on the elder’s door, but there was no answer, and the door was locked from the inside. Coming out onto the porch, Father Pavel stopped the monks walking by and told them his fears about the fire. A group of monks entered the vestibule, and one of the novices, violently jerking the door, tore off the inner hook, and the door opened; near the door, the canvas folded there was smoldering, having caught fire, apparently from a candle that had fallen from a candlestick that stood right there. They brought snow on a shovel and put out the fire. It was dark in the cell. They thought that the elder was sleeping, and did not dare to go inside the cell, crowding at the threshold. Meanwhile, in the Church of the Solovetsky Wonderworkers, where an early mass was being held, it became known that something was wrong in the cell of Father Seraphim, and part of the brethren standing at the mass hurried to the cell. They began to grope around to find Father Seraphim. He was kneeling before his cell icon of the Mother of God “Tenderness” in a white robe, with a copper cross, a maternal blessing, on his chest. Blessed death of St. Seraphim. 19th century lithograph His hands were folded crosswise on his chest, his eyes were closed; on the face there is a solemn expression of contemplation and peace. They did not yet dare to think that his soul had flown away, but he did not respond, his body no longer felt anything... Usually, funeral services were held in Father Seraphim’s cell, ending at his grave. At the same time that I was in Sarov, they were going to build a church on the site of the building where the elder’s cell was located. Everything had to be demolished, except for the walls of the cell itself - so that it would fit inside the church. Without examining the Sarov churches yet, I hurried to the nearby desert, which I especially wanted to see as quickly as possible. All the last years of his life, he went to the desert early in the morning and returned home in the evening. Lord, what a painful situation he was in! Once upon a time, while working on timber rafting in the Sarov dachas, a log fell on him and crushed him. Then his straight, slender figure bent. Then, when he was living as a hermit in a distant desert, robbers attacked him and beat him so much that the doctors were amazed that he was alive. The Mother of God healed him with Her appearance, but he remained bent until the end of his days. There were permanent wounds on his legs that never went away, which he acquired by standing for a long time in church and in prayer, and which especially intensified after standing on the stone for a thousand nights and a thousand days. He also had a terrible painful wound on his body, the origin of which is as follows. One completely unfortunate, lost soul was, as it were, in the clutches of Satan himself. And Father Seraphim began to beg this lost soul from God. And he had the consolation of seeing how she, in the form of a snow-white dove, flew out from the claws of Satan. But the dark horde did not forgive him for such shame and in their anger struck him with a terrible ulcer. She was on the old man’s back between the shoulder blades and did not pass until death; he went to the grave with her. Elder Seraphim of Sarov. 19th century engraving At first, the feeling was as painful as if you put your finger in a burning candle so that it burns, but never burns out. “If it had not been for the Lord and the Queen of Heaven,” said the elder, “healed me, then no one could have healed me.” And this exhausted old man, who had brought his fast to an almost unprecedented severity, once in the desert for about three years he ate only a decoction of the snitki grass, all wounded, depriving himself of sleep, this old man, cruel to himself, also carried on himself, to depress himself, a knapsack filled with stones and sand, and when he was asked why he was doing this, he answered: “Tormenting me!” Because his whole life was an hourly struggle with the spirit of evil. And if the gifts of Father Seraphim are so great, so almost unparalleled, then they were bought at a terribly high price and life, by every minute forcing himself. Father Seraphim’s words about monasticism were tormented from his soul: “Just as one does not go to war without weapons, so there is no need to become a monk without prayer and patience. The life of a monk from the beginning of his entry to his last breath is a terrible and terrible struggle with the world, the flesh and the devil. He is not a monk who likes to lie on his side, nor is he a monk who during a war falls to the ground out of cowardice and surrenders himself to the enemy without pain.” And I was now walking along the very road along which he walked, exhausted, tired, with the weight of so many “unbearable burdens” placed on him by human trust, but at the same time bright and joyful. To the right of this path, behind a slight slope, flows the Sarovka River, to the left, towering above the road, is a solid wall of an old pine forest that surrounds Sarov in a ring from everywhere. Probably, people were waiting for him under these old pines, wanting to get a closer look, without crowding, at how “the old man worked.” Many of them did not have any requests, but only wanted to enjoy the sight of this angel of God and, following him with their eyes, stood silently, thoughtful, with tears of tenderness. Yes, blessed were their eyes that they saw what they saw! Elder Seraphim in the nearby desert at his well. 19th century lithograph When he walked here, sometimes in a white robe, sometimes covered with leather, shod in shoe covers - leather stockings, leaning on a stick or a hoe, those he met involuntarily recalled the apostolic words about those who walked in sheepskins and goatskins, wandering in the deserts, mourning, embittered (cf. Heb. 11:37, 38). When the elder approached his hermitage, a lot of people were usually waiting for him there. But what kind of place is this desert? In 1825, at the end of November, that is, 7 years before his death, the elder, by order of the Most Holy Theotokos, came out of his seclusion. His health, exhausted by labor, seclusion, and the constant strain of all spiritual and physical forces, required fresh air and movement. And he began to walk every day to a place two miles from the monastery on the high bank of Sarovka. An authentic cell from a nearby hermitage, transported to Diveevo and placed inside a case-like building. Photo from the beginning of the 20th century. There has long been a spring there, dug by someone unknown and called the Bogoslovsky spring based on the icon of St. John the Theologian standing near it on a column. At some distance from the spring there was the cell of the hermit Dorotheus, who died shortly before Father Seraphim left seclusion, in September 1825. Father Seraphim earlier, during his hermit life in the distant desert, loved to go to this place. When, after the appearance of the Mother of God to him, he made his way through the forest thicket to this place of his previous exploits, into the distant desert, then not far from the shore of Sarovka, where there was then a quagmire, he saw the Mother of God, and at a distance her apostles Peter and John the Theologian. The Mother of God hit the ground with her rod, so that a source of water bubbled up from it like a fountain, and the water of this source received healing and blessing. Near Hermitage (reconstruction). Photo from the beginning of the 20th century. Subsequently, the source was lined, in the form of a well, with a wooden frame and received the name of the source of Father Seraphim. This source is completely different and separate from the not far away existing Theological Source. At first, the elder, working at the Theological Spring, lowering its bottom with stones, cultivating the ridges that he had built nearby, rested from the midday heat in Dorotheus’s cell. But then, since due to his weakness it was difficult for him to walk a quarter of a mile, they erected for him right there, near the shore, a small log house without windows or doors. The old man penetrated inside the log house, crawling into a hole left in one place between the wall and the ground. Here the old man rested from the heat of the day. Then a new cell was erected, with doors but no windows. In the place where the elder’s cell stood, an exact reproduction of it has now been erected. The cell itself is located in the Diveyevo Monastery. And then meetings took place, imprinted in the soul as the best memory of a lifetime. And here there was, as it were, a field on which the action of the elder’s gifts blossomed in incomparable beauty. Here is one of the usual meetings. “We found an old man at work. He was breaking up a garden bed with a hoe. When we approached him and bowed to the ground, he blessed us and, laying his hands on my head, read the troparion to the Dormition, “You kept your virginity at Christmas.” Then he sat down on the garden bed and ordered us to sit down too, but we involuntarily knelt before him and listened to his conversation about the future life, about the life of the saints, about the intercession, intercession and care for us sinners of our Lady Theotokos, and about what we need in this life for eternity. This conversation lasted no more than an hour, but I cannot compare this hour with my entire past life. Throughout the conversation, I felt in my heart an inexplicable heavenly sweetness, God knows how it overflowed there, which cannot be compared with anything on earth and which I cannot remember without tears of tenderness and the liveliest joy in my whole being. Father Seraphim, who had hitherto been indifferent to faith, made me vividly feel all the mercy of the Creator and His omnipotence and all-perfection.” And here, in this nearby desert, the elder’s conversation “removed,” as many put it, “the curtain from their eyes, revealing a wonderful spiritual realm. And just as before, his inexplicably joyful smile shone here.” Here is one of the frequently repeated scenes, of course, described by a visitor to Sarov. “Having arrived in Sarov, she immediately, like a deer, rushed into the forest, learning that it was in the desert. I run up to her: there are people all around. I ask someone: “Where is Father Seraphim?” They point me to the river and say: “Here he is!” And I could only see with intense attention that he was fidgeting in the water, taking out a large boulder from there and then, coming out of the water, dragging it to the shore. At that moment I made my way through the people to him, and as soon as he noticed me, he said to me with a cheerful face: “What, my treasure? Have you arrived? The Lord will bless you! Stay with us.” Soon he began to send me and all the people to the monastery, ordering us to hurry there, but no one wanted to part with him - everyone wanted to take a closer look at him and hear something from him that would benefit the soul. Moreover, it was a beautiful day, the weather was clear. But it turned out that we should have immediately obeyed the elder. Having lingered in the forest, when we all stretched out in a long uninterrupted line to the monastery hotels to our night apartments, a terrible cloud came running. The peals of thunder and lightning were extremely strong and frightened us a lot, and the pouring rain did not leave a dry thread on any of us. The next day, when I came to Father Seraphim, he received me very graciously and with an angelic smile said to me: “What, my treasure, what is the rain, what is the thunderstorm? After all, I sent you from myself in advance. If I had listened, I would not have fallen under them.” Here, near the nearby hermitage, one of the elder’s great miracles took place, which received loud publicity: the healing of the landowner Nikolai Aleksandrovich Motovilov, who became his most devoted person and, after his death, worked a lot in the establishment of the Diveyevo community. In September 1831, Nikolai Aleksandrovich Motovilov, a sick landowner of the Nizhny Novgorod and Simbirsk provinces, a graduate of Kazan University, a conscientious judge and honorary superintendent of schools of the Korsun district, then a young man of 22 years old, was brought to Sarov. He suffered, as he himself testified in writing, “severe and incredible great rheumatic and other diseases, with relaxation of the whole body and loss of legs, crumpled and swollen knees and with bedsore ulcers on the back and sides, with which he suffered incurably for more than three years.” Kazan medical celebrities used three types of treatment for him - allopathy, homeopathy and sulfur waters, without bringing him the slightest relief. Hearing extraordinary stories about the miracles of the Sarov hieromonk Seraphim, the sick man from his Nizhny Novgorod estate ordered himself to be taken to Sarov, where he saw the elder twice and talked with him. The third time he was brought to the elder in a nearby desert. Four of his men carried him in their arms, the fifth supported his head. He described his suffering to the elder, all the futility of treatment, and begged him to heal him. Then the elder asked him if he believed in Christ, that He is the Son of God, and in His Most Pure Mother, that She is Ever-Virgin. Nikolai Alexandrovich Motovilov. Photograph of the 2nd half of the 19th century. “I believe,” the patient answered firmly. “Do you believe,” the elder continued, “that the Lord, just as He previously healed the sick with one word or the touch of His hand, can also easily and now heal all the ailments of those who require His help, and can heal you too?” “I believe with all my heart and soul,” answered the sick man, “and if I didn’t believe, I wouldn’t have ordered myself to be taken to you.” Then a miracle happened. The elder said with authority: – And if you believe, then you are already healthy. - How wonderful it is when you and people hold me in your arms! “No,” said the elder, “you are now completely healthy with your entire body.” The elder ordered the people holding Motovilov to move away from him. And he took him by the shoulders, lifted him from the ground, put him on his feet and said: “Stand stronger, establish yourself more firmly on the ground. Don’t be shy, you are completely healthy now.” But Motovilov did not dare to believe his happiness so quickly and persistently answered: “Involuntarily, I stand well, because you hold me well and tightly.” The elder took his hands away and said: “Well, now I’m no longer holding you. And you still stand strong even without me. Go boldly, my father. The Lord has healed you. Go ahead and get moving.” And, taking Motovilov by the hands with one hand, and pushing him a little on the shoulders with the other, the elder led him along the grass and over the uneven ground in this place, saying: “Look, how well he went!” “Yes,” answered Motovilov, “because you deign to lead me well.” “No,” he said, “the Lord Himself is pleased to completely heal you, and the Mother of God Herself begged Him to do so.” You will now walk without me and will always walk well. Go now. And the elder pushed Motovilov to go. The miracle was too great, and the healed man still could not believe in his happiness. “Yes, I’ll fall and hurt myself,” he objected to the elder. - No, you won’t hurt yourself, but you’ll walk firmly. Then Motovilov felt some kind of power overshadowing him from above, perked up a little and walked firmly. But then the elder suddenly stopped him and said: “Now that’s enough. So, are you now convinced that the Lord has truly healed you completely? He has taken away your iniquities and cleansed your sins. See what a miracle He has done for you today. Believe, therefore, without doubt in Him, Christ our Savior." Then the elder added: “Your three-year suffering has seriously exhausted you. Therefore, do not walk now suddenly a lot, but gradually. And take care of your health as a precious gift from God.” When the elder released Motovilov, his people were no longer with him. They, along with other pilgrims who witnessed the miracle, rushed to run to the monastery in order to quickly tell there about the wondrous deed of Elder Seraphim. Motovilov himself sat alone in the carriage, in which, when he rode to this place of healing, he was supported by five people, and, sitting firmly in it, supported by no one, he returned to the monastery. When he arrived at the hotel, the abbot, the treasurer and twelve senior brethren greeted him with congratulations. And after this blessed healing for eight months, Motovilov felt such a surge of strength, such a renewal of his entire being, which he had never experienced in his entire life. It was already beginning to get dark when I approached the source of Father Seraphim. The reservoir itself is located in a spacious chapel, and by throwing a bucket on a rope into the depths, you can get water. The water is terribly cold, like ice. But not a single person has caught a cold here, even when drinking water for diseases that are generally afraid of water. Reading about the abyss of the most amazing healings that occurred from this water, and remembering, moreover, the prophetic word of an elder of one person: “I prayed, my joy, that this water in the well would be healing from diseases,” you involuntarily tell yourself that there is really something stronger here than the famous ancient Bethesda. Standing in this chapel, I involuntarily recalled at different times the descriptions of healings I had read, which I could never hear about without deep emotion. Nizhny Novgorod landowner D.A. Astafyev loses his sight in old age. He had not felt the light before. Reading spiritual books made him seem young. With the loss of his vision, his spiritual life also shortened. He sent a messenger to his cousin, Mrs. Boltina, asking her to take pity on him. She immediately sent him water from the spring of Father Seraphim, which was always in her house. Having accepted the gift with faith, Astafiev acted on the advice of his sister. He soaked a clean towel with this water and applied it to his eyes, saying: “Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, through the prayers of Your saint Seraphim, heal me.” He repeated this wiping of his eyes three times, each time seeing more clearly. After the third time he could already read. Happy, amazed by the sudden healing, he hurried to Sarov to the elder’s grave and, using his sight until the end of his days, did good to Diveeva. Chapel over the spring of St. Seraphim. Photo from the beginning of the 20th century. In 1848, the merchant Lavrov spoke very disrespectfully about the portrait of Elder Seraphim and was immediately punished for it with such a dental disease that lasted three years that, maddened by it, he ran around the rooms at night screaming loudly. The treatment didn't help. One thing remained: “the way to hurt yourself is to be treated.” He went to Sarov with his fellow countrymen, one of them was a priest. By the end of the journey, he was so weak from pain that he was brought to the source on horseback. Those accompanying him, having tasted the water, declared that it was so cold that the patient could not even think of touching it. Despite the entreaties of his comrades, he went into the bathhouse and began to undress. “You can’t put it in your mouth, you can’t douse yourself with it,” they shouted at him. “It can’t be worse than what I feel now,” he shouted and threw himself under the ice-cold water shouting: “Lord Jesus Christ, through the prayers of Father Seraphim, heal my unbearable toothache.” And as soon as he touched the water, his pain disappeared without a trace and never returned... Is it really possible without emotion to remember two people, a gentleman and a peasant, who on the same morning received healing from this source and told each other about it. The Shatsky landowner Pan-v, who constantly suffered from headaches, came to Sarov for the Assumption and on the holiday after an early mass he went to the source. The morning was cold, damp, he felt noise and aching in his head and therefore did not dare to pour his head. But this happened besides him: he slipped and fell head first right under the gutter from which this water flowed. He was completely drenched in it and immediately felt healthy, so without fear he watered his head again and again. Healthy, he headed to the monastery and met a peasant who told him: “Behold, today Father Seraphim healed me. My hand hurt: it was swollen, hard and wouldn’t rise, and that’s how I came to Sarov. Today I wet it twice from the spring, and my hand became completely healthy.” Now, next to the chapel above the source there are two baths - men's and women's. It got so dark that I took a light from the monk who was at the chapel to enter the bathhouse. I was alone in it. Due to the late hour, all the pilgrims were already in the monastery. It was all the more pleasant for me to realize, without any distraction, that I was finally in the very place that I had thought so much about, to which I had been striving for so long... And now the waters of this Bethesda, of which I had once longed to have a few drops, were available to me. The bathhouse in Sarov is designed in such a way that a frame is dug into the ground with the depth of an ordinary bathhouse, but has no water at all. In one of the side walls of the log house there is a tap built high enough to fit on your knees under it. You need to stand under the tap and turn it yourself, and then a strong stream of icy water will flow at you, splashing your body and taking your breath away. I admit, no matter how accustomed I was to cold water, it was not without my heart sinking that I turned on the tap and exposed my body to the water stream three times. But after feeling the terrible cold, when you go out and get dressed, what a blessed feeling! It’s as if you’ve been completely reborn, you feel as if you’ve become a child again, happy, innocent, trusting. There is some kind of extraordinary strength in your whole body, and there is grace in your soul, you don’t feel sorry for anything, you feel guarded, protected... What happiness, what vigor!.. Elder Seraphim is still close to this place. On May 28, 1844, many people repeatedly saw the image of an old man appearing in the waters of the spring. It was so distinct and clear, as if the old man had come to life and descended into his source. It was necessary to return to the monastery, and, barely making out the road, not afraid of getting lost just because it winds all the time along the shore, I walked satisfied and joyful, not yet accustomed to the idea that all this was not a dream, that I was really in Sarov and was at the grave, in the elder’s cell, at his source. The chapel over the grave was open, and I entered it. How passionately I waited for someone in a white robe to appear in the faint glow of the lamp and to hear: “My joy!”... The next morning I saw all the Sarov churches, the best of which is the magnificent Assumption Cathedral, which in appearance resembles the Great Church of the Kiev Pechersk Lavra. Very large in size, extremely tall, it gives the impression of a majestic and devoutly Orthodox church. Assumption Cathedral of the Sarov Hermitage The iconostasis is magnificent, extremely tall, with many tiers, as if going straight into the sky; The altar is also extensive. A large Gospel in a silver frame weighing more than 2 pounds in the Assumption Cathedral Here, in this cathedral, everything is rich and solemn. On the Feast of the Dormition, even I, who had seen a lot of church riches, was pleasantly amazed by the church luxury of Sarov. They have a gospel that is heavy enough for two to bear. There are magnificent massive chalices. Interior decoration of the Assumption Cathedral of the Sarov Hermitage. Photo from the beginning of the 20th century. The Sarov Brotherhood makes a gratifying impression with its appearance. They are self-possessed, quiet, humble. They stand in the church not haphazardly, but all in one place, in rows. The service proceeded slowly, orderly, without omissions. After mass, I visited the abbot and was surprised by the simplicity and simplicity of his cells, which left the most favorable impression. The only decoration were the portraits of the abbots, which were very interesting to see; some are antique work. What expressive faces they all have, imprinted with a strong will. The abbot invited me to stay for their main feast of the Dormition, which I thought would be held in Diveyevo. From the abbot I went past the nearby hermitage to the far one. Now the nearby hermitage was very lively, and voices were heard from the bathhouse. People were constantly meeting along the path near Sarovka. The road to the distant desert departs from the Sarovka River, going deeper into the forest. A short distance from the desert, you come across a fenced-in place in which lies what appears to be a remnant of a rock that was located here. Elder Seraphim prayed on this rock for a thousand nights. Unable to bear the elder’s righteous, holy life, the enemy armed himself against him with the most terrible of temptations - the so-called mental warfare (blasphemous thoughts), and to repel this frenzied attack of the enemy, the elder undertook a great feat, which had long since been forgotten due to its weight: for stylite life. For a thousand nights he prayed in the open air on a rock, before him was the image of the Holy Trinity, and, kneeling, loudly cried out only the words - the prayer of the Gospel publican: “God, be merciful to me a sinner!” And for a thousand days he stood on another, small stone in his desert. With this feat he defeated the enemy. After the death of the elder, admirers of Father Seraphim little by little knocked off small pieces from the rock, and all that remained of it was a small stone, an arshin in diameter, kept in the altar of the Diveyevo Church of the Transfiguration. Another stone, the cell stone of the elder, is also kept there. The fragments of this stone have healing powers. Usually they drain the water and drink it. Elder The chapel is over the stone on which St. Seraphim prayed for a thousand nights. Photo from the beginning of the 20th century. in his appearances he more than once pointed out this method of healing diseases. The amazing thing is that one day another, already glorified, saint pointed out in his appearance the healing power of this stone. Saint Mitrophan of Voronezh appeared to one sick person in Siberia in a dream and said to him: “Why don’t you ask God for help through Elder Seraphim of Sarov? He is not yet glorified on earth, but he has great boldness towards the Lord. You have a piece of the stone on which he prayed. Drain the water from it and drink it and you will be healed." Marvelous Seraphim, great Seraphim! The trees are a continuous wall. We are approaching his cell to the distant desert. Here the hermit used to make his way from one favorite place in the forest to another 20. Here, in the hot summer time, naked to the waist, he gave his body to be pitied by mosquitoes and other insects; here, with heavy feet, the bears walked to the old man for their usual treat. And here is the very place where the cell stood, transferred entirely to Diveevo... A canopy, a small room, a vegetable garden all around, and on all sides the same harsh forest. If only these giant trees could speak, what wonderful pictures they would describe to us. But everything is quiet, and nothing can be made out in their thoughtful, elusive whisper. The feast of the Assumption arrived, there was a long all-night vigil, then on the day of the feast, until late mass, a solemn religious procession around the monastery. There were a lot of pilgrims, and already during the religious procession it was a bit crowded. After mass there was a common meal, very plentiful. In front of every monk there was a very large portion of caviar lying on the table, on a wooden plate. After lunch, I immediately got ready to go to Diveevo, where I was attracted even more than to Sarov. It was there, they told me, despite the fact that Father Seraphim was there almost once in his life, as a hierodeacon, that it was there that his spirit seemed to reside, which all those who loved Father Seraphim felt. From Diveevo to Sarov. Photo by M.P. Dmitrieva. 1904 The Spirit breathes wherever it wants (cf. John 3:8) - and it is not impossible that the grace of a saint, the invisible and only warmly felt by believers, presence of a saint occurs primarily among those who especially love him. But it is difficult to love and honor more, more ardently, more tenderly than Father Seraphim is honored in Diveyevo. And I parted with Sarov without pain precisely because I was sure that his holy impressions would be renewed with even greater force in Diveyevo. On the same trio of horses that had rested during these days, I ride from Sarov, taking away, in addition to emotional impressions, very pleasant memories of the hospitality of the Sarov residents. A meal, extremely deliciously prepared (for example, they gave me a vinaigrette made from simple vegetables that was quite gastronomic), all sorts of explanations, a carriage and horses, if necessary for travel: all of them are ready “with love,” as the monks say, to provide the guest... We drive quickly, overtaking groups of slowly moving or slowly walking pilgrims. But I have one thing on my tongue, one thought in my head: “Father Seraphim, Father Seraphim, Father Seraphim.” And it seems to me that if only I could remember him in life, be closer to him, I don’t need anything else from life, and with this alone I can live fully and happily. And my head lights up when I think about what a great phenomenon this was, barely repeated for thousands of years. What gifts! After all, he sent people whom he had never seen to say something in response to their secret, burdensome thoughts... And now? He walks as if alive: he will denounce, then he will heal, then where the doctors will lose their heads, he will appear to someone at home and make a diagnosis, then he will scare off thieves or robbers, then he will arrange a money deal. And this practical assistant is at the same time there, in the ranks of the most chosen saints, and the words of St. Mitrophan ring in his ears: “He is not yet glorified on earth, but has great boldness with God.” And it’s sweet for me to whisper these two words: “Father Seraphim, Father Seraphim.” We have been going to an open place for a long time. “Master,” says the coachman, “and you can see this Diveyevo.” In the distance is the huge dome of a huge cathedral. 70th anniversary of the blessed death of the Venerable Elder Seraphim of Sarov in Sarov Chapel over the grave of St. Seraphim. Photo 1903 I, 21, wanted to be in Sarov on January 2 of this year, when it was 70 years since the death of the wondrous old man Seraphim. I wanted to be present at these funeral services for a man whose holiness had already been announced by the Church. I wanted, in addition, before endless lines of pilgrims reached out to him, now, in winter, in the desert, separated from the world by the distance of the harsh snow-white path, in silence, to experience once again what had been experienced there before. St. Petersburg was in full swing with life on the occasion of Christmastide. On the evening of December 20, I managed to escape from this cheerful and brilliant bustle. And when I finally found myself in the silence of the carriage smoothly swaying from the fast speed, a kind of serene happiness overwhelmed me when there, in the distance, a thousand miles away, I saw among the virgin snows the brooding Sarov, surrounded on all sides by the harsh, soundly sleeping forest, the chapel over the dear grave and the cramped cell of the ascetic of Christ. There are two hours of parking in Moscow, and the train departs from the Ryazan-Kazan station. And all the way to Ryazan I thought about only one thing - looking at the boundless expanse of this snowy shroud, scattered on both sides of the road - that of him, as uncontrollably as the Russian expanse, powerful, courageous, integral in his life feat, in his desire to seize the treasure of the Kingdom of God. Saint Vasily of Ryazan. Icon from the beginning of the 20th century. In Ryazan, the train stops for so long that I have time to travel along the main streets that I have known for a long time. The bulk of the cathedral rises above the high cliff above Trubezh. And near the winter cathedral, the guardian of the Ryazan region, Saint Basil of Ryazan, sleeps in a living sleep. How gratifying are these holy guards guarding ancient Russian cities! Name Ryazan to a believer - first of all, the silver ribbon of the Oka will flash before him and St. Basil, floating upstream, standing on an unfolded episcopal robe, clutching the Murom Icon of the Mother of God to his chest. At about 12 o'clock at night I sat down at the Sasovo station in a covered sleigh drawn by three gooses. It was melting, and when, having driven a little away from the station, we headed across the ice of the Moksha River, the water began to splash. Very rarely did I come across someone on the other side, and I dozed off. In the dark we stopped in the large village of Prosyanye Polyany. I didn't get out of the sleigh. It was already quite dawn when we reached the huge village of Tengusheva, located several transverse streets, where the horses were waiting. In several places along the road we watered the horses, and then a crowd of children gathered around the sleigh, often of a clearly expressed Mongolian type, since there are many Tatars in that area. It was already dark before we reached Sarov. My driver knew the way unsteadily. In the last village he asked about the road, but after driving a little, he began to worry and announced that he was not sure whether he was going the right way. Fortunately, we saw someone's sled to the side and went towards them. It turned out that this was the Sarov “forest owner,” that is, a monk in charge of forest dachas. We followed his quickly sliding sled, which, having brought us onto the road, rolled so quickly that it disappeared before our eyes. But we were already out of danger - on a large clearing leading straight to Sarov. I can't forget this last part of the journey. A silent, solemn, slightly cold night; abundantly poured stars blink in the sky. Not a single twig will crack or move. The centuries-old harsh trees were all covered with frost shining in the moonlight. Everything is majestic, inexpressibly beautiful and simple, like a wall separating the world from which I am coming from the bright world of Seraphim’s miracles. Hurry to his grave, to his cell, to the spring in the desert, to his Diveyevo! And the night is solemnly, beautifully silent, everything is hidden, as if waiting for something inexpressibly significant and good. I didn't know whether this was reality or a happy dream. But it was wonderful and unforgettable. And now the tired horses are already walking along the outer path heading up the hill from where Sarov dominates, and I now manage to notice a new, huge building near the fence: the church above his cell. Things have already been brought into the room; a moment to take off your heavy fur coat and felt boots and go lightly to the monastery. Church in the name of St. Seraphim of Sarov, built over his cell. Photo from the beginning of the 20th century. There are no services. Everything is quiet and deserted. I quickly pass the winter cathedral, the majestic ship of the Assumption Cathedral Church, and in front of me is the treasured chapel from which lights shine. And here again is his grave, and again you can tell him everything here without words, knowing that he will hear everything, accept and understand everything, and respond to everything. Anyone who knew the joy of meeting after a long separation with close living people will understand what it feels like to stand at the grave of Father Seraphim. And, while the whole soul quietly trembles, the eyes with a joyful smile see again this heavy monument, these pictures from the life of the elder: prayer on the stone, the appearance of the Mother of God with the virgins, death, the elder feeding the bear, walking with a stick, blessing the pilgrim at the source. The entrance to the newly erected church, which now embraces the elder’s cell, is closed due to the late hour. In the hotel behind the samovar, through the sleep that overcomes you, you hear stories about more and more miracles of the old man. It's almost midnight. In cities, bright lights are now turned on everywhere, they dress smartly and are waiting for the clock to strike so they can say the words: “Happy New Year, happy new happiness!” And here, falling asleep with a heart full of faith, how sweet it is to say with all the strength of the soul a much stronger and happier word: “Elder Seraphim, help us!” The next morning I went to mass in the cathedral, where the service was celebrated solemnly, on the occasion of the New Year holiday. At the altar I was amazed by the number of monastics reading synodics. A wonderful custom according to which the persons recorded for commemoration are carefully remembered. The church, magnificent, tall, with a high iconostasis and richly decorated icons, was full of brethren and pilgrims. The Sarov monks, distinguished by the severity of their lives, have a small difference in clothing, visible only to an experienced eye, from The monastery cell of Elder Seraphim, over which a church was erected in the name of St. Seraphim of Sarov. Photo from the beginning of the 20th century. other monasteries: dark purple loops on the cassock buttons. After mass I went to Father Seraphim’s cell. I knew it back when it was part of a residential building and when it had a view of the expanse of meadow. Now this building has been removed and only four walls of this cell with windows are left. A large, high church will be erected above it, and the cell itself will remain in the western part of this church. A small cell, six steps along and across. In the main corner is a copy of the icon of the Mother of God “Tenderness,” which was the cell icon of the elder, before which he died and which is located in the Diveyevo Monastery. On the side is the icon of the Cathedral of the Archangel Michael 23, since the elder bore the name of Seraphim. Directly opposite the entrance are two large images of Father Seraphim with a very soulfully painted face. There is so much peace and holiness on the waxy whiteness of the face. The eyelids are not completely closed... It seems that the elder is about to lift them and look at the icon... Another image - the elder is walking with a stick. In the corner is a large part of the stone on which he prayed for a thousand nights. Further along the wall are two display cases. They contain the elder's nails and teeth, which fell out after he was beaten by robbers, his hairs, a cap, a Gospel, leather rosary, a paraman's cross, and a mantle. Requiem services are held here, which usually end at the elder’s grave. Returning to the hotel, I got into the light monastery sleigh and rode, accompanied by one monk, to the distant desert and to the spring. The road to the distant desert goes past two memorable places: exactly where the nearby desert was located, with a spring lying nearby, and then past that part of the forest where a tent chapel was built in memory of the thousand-day prayer here on the elder’s stone. The road runs along the bank of the Sarovka River, at the edge of the Sarov Forest. She quickly rushed us with this The road to the distant desert. Photo from the beginning of the 20th century. along the way, a barely restrained horse, and under its powerful run I remembered how Elder Seraphim humbly walked this way, exhausted by constant feat, always overwhelmed by the people, with a knapsack filled with stones on his shoulders, bright and joyful in his suffering. Now that there is no foliage of the bushes, the hilly outlines of the area where the elder had his gospel valleys, his garden of Gethsemane, Golgotha, and Bethlehem are better visible. According to his vivid imagination, he gave gospel names to various places surrounding his deserted cell, and went there to pray, remembering the events that took place in the places of the same name in Palestine. Here is the distant desert itself. The house in which the elder lived during the era of his hermitage was moved to the Diveyevo monastery, and here an exact copy of that house was made. A canopy and a rather large upper room; Below, under the floor, there is a small stone crypt in which the elder could secretly hide from those who, without respect for his privacy, would enter him. Far Desert (reconstruction). Photo from the beginning of the 20th century. Nearby are the ridges of the vegetable garden, which the elder once cultivated, and near the cross signifies the place where the elder suffered serious injuries from the robbers who attacked him and so generously later forgave him. He spent a decade and a half here - perhaps the most difficult time, when he finally killed the “old man” within himself, filling himself with grace, becoming the person people were accustomed to knowing him. Here he prayed an undistracted prayer, separated from the whole world, especially when the harsh winter covered the forest with almost impassable snow. Here, sitting on a log near his cell, he fed the bears that often visited him. The cross is at the place where Elder Seraphim was beaten by robbers. Photo from the beginning of the 20th century. Here he endured a difficult struggle with the enemy, for whose final defeat he undertook the feat of a thousand days of prayer on a stone. Here, working in the garden, he was immersed in such high spiritual contemplations that his hands dropped, the hoe fell to the ground, and his gaze, fixedly fixed on one point, contemplated something great. From here, bloodied, barely alive, praising God for his suffering, he trudged to Sarov and, despite the malice of the “enemy”, having recovered, against all probability and human assumptions, he returned again here, to his beloved desert. “Oh, solitary life,” St. Basil the Great said about the desert, “the house of heavenly teaching and the school of Divine understanding, in which God is everything we learn. The desert is a paradise of sweetness, where the fragrant flowers of love sometimes glow with a fiery color, sometimes sparkle with snowy whiteness, and with them there is peace and silence. There the censer of continuous prayer, sweetly burning, incessantly boils with the fire of Divine love. There the various flowers of virtue flourish with the grace of unfading beauty.” A cave near the distant hermitage of the Venerable. Photo from the beginning of the 20th century. For the Russian soul there is some kind of attractive force in the desert; It’s not for nothing that folk poems are composed to her, sung by blind singers. I remember here the vision that one nun had of the Shamordino monastery, founded by Elder Ambrose of Optina, about the heavenly abode of the great elder. She was in a beautiful garden, where a quiet wind rustled emerald leaves, and all these leaves whispered the Jesus Prayer: “Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on us!” Blessing of St. Seraphim. 19th century lithograph Now we are already at the source. How Elder Seraphim loved this source! “My joy,” as if the word he said to someone is heard from the depths, “my joy, I prayed that this water in the well would be healing from diseases.” How often in his appearances to people he either sent them to his source, or ordered them to drink water, or rub themselves with this water. From her the blind received their sight. I heard that Sarov monks and many visitors douse themselves with this water all winter and that no one has ever caught a cold from it. Firmly believing in the miraculous power of Elder Seraphim, I also wanted to douse myself with water from this source as usual. But in the yard, which means in the wooden frame where they bathe, it was 12 degrees below zero. The water spilled on the floor in the chapel above the spring quickly froze. But at the same time, despite human doubts, everything that surrounded me: a well with buckets on chains for drawing water and a huge image in the chapel of an old man praying on a stone - everything strengthened my determination, and I entered the bathhouse. Light enters through small holes in its walls. Here, in the enclosed space, it seemed even colder. They put a rug under my feet. Canvas was laid along the icy steps of the stairs leading to the log house. For the first time in my life, I undressed in the cold and quickly went down into the log house. According to custom, they stand under the stream three times, and I could do it. When I got dressed, a strong steam came from my body. But I felt unusually cheerful, fresh and happy. For several months after that, I had some kind of extraordinary surge of strength. I agreed with the old monk, who had previously attended Father Seraphim’s cell and who had now been given a temporary warm closet-cell in the church that was being built above the elder’s cell, so that on January 2 he would let me into the cell early. One might think that Father Seraphim died between 4 and 6 o’clock in the morning, and it was precisely these hours, 70 years later, that I wanted to experience with him. Lamps and candles crackled quietly; Mysteriously, illuminated by these lights, the pale, waxy face of the great servant of God looked from the large picture, dying, as he lived, alone, only in the eyes of God. Interior view of the monastery cell of the Venerable. Photos of the early 20th century It seemed to me like an impossible vision, a dream, that on this anniversary I was standing here where all this happened, on the site of so many wonderful, mysterious, inexpressible events. And with a trembling soul I felt here the layering of all this past: the labors of the retreat, impulses to heights, heavenly visions, and faith, and joy, and amazement of so many faces, so many moral turning points that took place here and Hieromonk Seraphim of the Sarov Desert. Engraving from the 1st half of the 19th century. renewal of life... And the emaciated old man died before the icon quietly, mysteriously, in the silence of the night, folding his arms across his chest and as if looking closely at something otherworldly, which already sounded even clearer and louder to him than when he was raptured into the heavenly abodes. And now he was felt even more alive in all his immeasurable greatness, in all his inexpressible tenderness, because the day before until late I heard stories about him from the Diveyevo sisters who had arrived in Sarov that day. Here is his deserted brainchild - this wonderful Diveevo. They always knew how to love and understand him. Diveevo always burned with love for Father Seraphim and zeal for his memory. The sisters of the monastery collected all his things. They have his cells, that is, the near and far hermitages, his bast shoes and boots, his cap, his cross, his books. Now they are entering, the Diveyevo nuns, leading the hieromonk with them, and the funeral services begin one after another... It is gratifying to stand among all these persons who so reverence the elder and know so much about him. In the remembrances of the nuns, after the name of Elder Seraphim, they all have the names of his parents Isidore and Agathia and some of his other relatives. How joyful these prayers are for his relatives, who always asked to pray for his parents and for his monastic mentors! And the tunes of the requiem quietly sound, and this dear name is often heard: the servant of God of the ever-memorable elder Hieromonk Seraphim. We approach the chapel over his grave, when suddenly in the semi-darkness of the morning a large crowd is visible with hieromonks in front, hastily heading towards the chapel. This is an early mass at “Zosima and Savvaty” - in his favorite church, where he always received communion and where he received communion on the eve of his death, and they go to the grave to serve a requiem. In the winter cathedral, overcrowded with people, among whom there were many Diveyevo and Ponetayevo nuns, a solemn mass was celebrated and after it a memorial service. I have never been present at such a joyful service. There seemed to be some kind of jubilation in the air. And when the clergy in festive vestments came out in full cathedral, positioned themselves in rows right up to the Royal Doors, the candles lit up and the prayer for Elder Seraphim began, he seemed to be present here with everyone praying for him. The sun shone extremely brightly, like in spring, from a cloudless blue sky into the large windows of the church. And everything around and in my soul was light, reliable and joyful. I left the cathedral immediately after “Rest with the Saints” in order to stand in the chapel at the grave without a crowd, which is so cramped that it can hardly accommodate the singers and clergy. And there was the same joy, the same jubilation in the air. As I approached the holy gates of the monastery, a small detail struck me. Through the flight of gates I saw a piece of blue sky and greenery. And for a second I completely forgot that it was winter and frost all around. It seemed to me that I saw a blooming spring there. And that made my soul even more cheerful... A few hours later I drove up to Diveev. From a distance the head of its huge cathedral and the high bell tower are visible. Praise be to you, shelter of the chosen ones, who sought Christ and found a true mentor from beyond the grave in the meek old man Seraphim. Here it is favorite place. His spirit is on everything here. He fills everything here, moves everything. Everyone here breathes it. Among all the legends about glorious people, about blessed places, there are few legends that make the heart tremble as much as the “Chronicle of the Seraphim-Diveyevo Monastery.” Everything is here A wooden building with a chapel over the nearby hermitage that was moved to Diveevo. Photo from the beginning of the 20th century. miracle. Many secrets of the life of the wondrous Seraphim were revealed to the righteous elders of this monastery, and after his death the entire history of this monastery is a complete miracle of the elder. Stand strong, beloved bride of Christ, Seraphim-Diveyevo monastery, and believe, according to the word of your elder, that in the last times, in the days of the collapse of faith, the enemy of Christ will be powerless to cross your sacred, your Heavenly Abbess - the Most Pure Virgin. Leaving my things in a cozy, clean hotel, where guests are always greeted with great cordiality, I went first of all to the nearby desert. This is the elder’s cell, which was later moved to Diveevo and enclosed in a wooden building, like in a case. Tiny windows, small entryway and a small room where a large portrait of Father Seraphim in a black robe and hood is placed, extremely life-like; a portrait of Father Seraphim in a coffin and several icons. Here there is a vigilant, day-night reading of the Psalter. Here, in memory of the elder’s custom, they usually distribute crackers to the pilgrims. It’s good to enter here, into this building, literally fragrant with some sweet fragrance. When there is no one in it and only the whisper of the psalm words can be heard, it is good to take a candle in your hands and, shining the light on the face of the elder, look at him for a long, long time, as if he were alive. From the near hermitage you need to go to the farthest one, that is, to the Transfiguration Church of the monastery cemetery, in which the altar is made from a log frame from the distant hermitage. Along the eastern outer wall of the altar there are display cases in which the elder’s clothes are kept. Therefore, in the language of the Diveyevo sisters, going to the Church of the Transfiguration means going “to clothes.” And here again, from all the objects consecrated by the touch of Elder Seraphim, some inexplicable fragrance is felt. In the altar itself there is one of the elder’s stones - the one that lay in this hermitage and on which the elder prayed every day in his cell when he completed his feat of stylite for a thousand days. Also kept here are his candlestick, the Chetya-Minea, which was burnt during the fire that occurred at his death, a copper cross - his maternal blessing, and a Gospel with notes made by his hands. Cemetery Church of the Transfiguration in Diveyevo. Photo from the beginning of the 20th century. St. Seraphim's belongings at the altar of the Church of the Transfiguration. Photo from the beginning of the 20th century. Icon of St. Seraphim. Beginning of the 20th century Not far from the cemetery there is a huge building of workshops - painting and photography. The whole painting has been busy since the fall with painting images of Father Seraphim in different types and different sizes. “Icons” of the elder were already painted there. On them he is depicted on a golden background, with a radiance around his head, with a blessing hand. On others, where he is presented in full height, Sarov is depicted in the background. Of the various picturesque images of Elder Seraphim, it seems to me that the most successful is the one where the elder is depicted praying on a stone. Although there were no services in the large cathedral, I looked into it to renew my previous impressions of it. And again I stood amazed, joyfully admiring the solemn beauty of this most beautiful church I had ever seen. Extreme grandeur, spaciousness. The dome rests on four, as it were, bunches of columns; The icons are one more beautiful than the other. It's hard to describe - you have to see it. No wonder Father Seraphim, predicting the beauty of the future Diveyevo Cathedral, was delighted. There are two more memorable places to visit. These are the cells of the founder Agafia Simeonovna Melgunova and the holy fool Pelagia Ivanovna. The cell of Mother Alexandra (that was the name of Agafia Simeonovna in her tonsure) was also enclosed in a tent house for safekeeping. The first oblong room was probably for the cell and dining room. Next is another small chamber, and to the side a small bedroom with a stone bed, on which the great old lady rested without a mattress or pillow. The woman who lived here was, of course, one of the most remarkable women to appear in the Russian land, so abundant in beautiful female types. A large landowner, she, having remained a widow, devotes her days to visiting holy places and in Kyiv receives the command of the Mother of God to go to the north and there, at the place that the Mother of God will indicate, to found a women’s monastery. In the then unknown village of Diveevo, the Mother of God appears to her again, announcing that She has chosen this place for a new monastery. And Agafia Simeonovna settles here. It is not the gathering of sisters, but the gathering of good deeds by the first mother into the spiritual foundation of the future monastery - this is how she begins her great work. Shortly before her death, she settles in this house, and several pious women gathered around her form the original core of the famous Diveyevo. Before her death, Elder Pachomius, abbot of Sarov and mentor of Father Seraphim, administered the unction. She asks him to take care of the “Diveevo orphans” - the name that from now on the Diveevo sisters will be called in the language of Father Seraphim. And Father Pachomius promises this care and, pointing to his disciple Hierodeacon Seraphim who served him, promises for the student that after his death Father Seraphim will take care of them. Holy life! There is a cramped hiding place with a crucifix near the bedroom. The first lady spent the whole night here praying. Through the prayers of Your servant Alexandra, remember us, O Lord, in Your Kingdom... Chapel over the grave of the founder of the Diveyevo monastery, Schema nun Alexandra. Photo from the beginning of the 20th century. Nearby, at the Kazan Church, a modest brick chapel marks her resting place... Let's go nearby to another house where blessed Pelagia Ivanovna lived for many years. She came from a wealthy merchant class and accepted the difficult feat of foolishness with the blessing of Elder Seraphim, suffered persecution from her relatives, sat in chains for several years and, after terrible torture and humiliation suffered at home, finally settled in Diveyevo. And here she led the life of a free martyr, but acquired great gifts of grace. Joy flows into the soul at the site of the exploits of this sufferer. And she believes, she sees and responds with love to the zeal of everyone who honors her. For only those who have suffered a lot love deeply and actively. And when, having visited these treasured places, you begin to listen to the conversations of the Diveyevo nuns about the wondrous old man Seraphim, you feel as if you have flown into the “earthly sky.” What will it be like here, where they love him so much, the joy of glorifying the great father and elder? A year ago. Memories of Diveyevo, Sarov and the celebration of July 19, 1903 Procession of the Cross from Diveevo with the icon of the Mother of God “Tenderness”. July 17, 1903 No matter how absorbed the attention of every Russian is by the war [Russian-Japanese War of 1904–1905. – Ed.], no major political events can obscure in the memories of an eyewitness what happened in July last year in the distant Sarov desert. And now, as the anniversary of the cherished day of July 19 approaches, all this rises especially brightly. You experience again everything that was experienced there. You see again those unique, incomparable pictures and, again amazed by all this, as then, you ask yourself: “Yes, did you really see all this; did all this really happen; Wasn’t it just a dear wonderful dream?” Yes, everything related to “Father Seraphim,” as I have long been accustomed to calling him, is so extraordinary that whenever I was at his grave, at his spring, in Diveevo, in his Sarov, it was as if I was no longer on earth. And always, a few months after the trip, everything seen seemed higher and holier than any conceivable reality. 1 Published as needed: Villager E. A year ago. (Memories of Diveyevo, Sarov and the celebration of July 19, 1903) // Additions to the Church Gazette, 1904. No. 29–35, 37, 39, 41–43. On the morning of July 14, I’m in Nizhny and between trains, again from the heights of Minin’s garden, I admire the beloved picture of the connection of the Volga with the Oka, the endless “Lower Land” spread out with a green carpet, and the villages with white churches scattered on it. Again I walk around the princely graves in the cathedral dungeon, again I go down the steep slope lined with trading houses. Panorama of Nizhny Novgorod. Photo from the beginning of the 20th century. At the station of the branch leading to Arzamas, there is extreme activity. Common pilgrims stand in groups, waiting for a special, pilgrim, cheaper train. Our train is packed; and in the first class it is very crowded. You can’t help but be glad that through traffic has finally opened up, because previously you had to travel about ten miles along a dusty road to the place where the trains ran from. We're setting off. The sun at its zenith scorches the already hot, dry earth. At the stations, travelers directly attack the buffets, which are insufficiently stocked with food supplies. Drinks, kvass and beer, which are especially greedily consumed due to the oppressive heat, are in short supply at every station. This is the first experience of that bad management of the food business, which made itself felt strongly throughout the Sarov celebrations. In the department where I was, there was another one of the district leaders of the Nizhny Novgorod province. His parents were also Nizhny Novgorod landowners and knew Elder Seraphim. They also knew the famous Nikolai Aleksandrovich Motovilov, who was miraculously healed by the great elder and remained a zealous admirer of his memory for the rest of his life. This healing, as an old resident of the Nizhny Novgorod province told me at the time, was widely known among the landowners, as was the original personality of Motovilov. Here I am on my way to Sarov, leaving behind me the now noisy Arzamas with its many beautiful, picturesque churches, busy shopping arcades, shouting, din in all the streets, many horses and groups of pilgrims. Everyone is either resting, or traveling, or busy about leaving and dressing up with the drivers. Three people in a light carriage carried me quite quickly along a serviceable, newly finished main road. When I was driving from Sarov two months earlier, in May, I saw entire villages working on various broken places on this road. What a smooth surface now! In some places, part of the path prepared for the passage of the Emperor is blocked by light slingshots. Every now and then there are “reverse” coachmen, then postal carts, or Cossack patrols. From time to time, soldier pickets are visible to the side of the road. Pilgrims on the banks of the Satis River. Photo 1903 The soldiers, having lit a fire, cook porridge for themselves. In one very large village that we are passing, in the spacious square in front of the church there is a whole forest of raised shafts. A large caravan of pilgrims riding on horseback settled down for the night. I spent the night on the top floor of a clean and rich inn. The owner told me about several healings that took place in Sarov. One healed man, a merchant from near Rostov-on-Don, had just stopped with him on his way back. He saw him when he was traveling to Sarov, barely moving, and here he deliberately ran up and down the stairs several times to show the owner how steady he was on his feet. Early in the morning, in the cold, we moved further to Diveevo, overtaking lines of pilgrims. In one place, under a tree, I saw an elderly woman who was fervently praying on her knees, turning her face to the east that was growing brighter and brighter. There was something significant and beautiful in this prayer here, right under the sky, without a church, without icons, where the church was nature awakening from a night’s rest, and the icon, a reflection of the glory of the Divine, was the immaculate vault of heaven, sprinkled with the first rays of the sun. “Blessed are you, O Lord, who enlightens the day with the light of the sun.” Here you can see the huge dome of the Diveyevo Cathedral. Closer and closer, more and more crowded, and finally, having hastily changed clothes at the monastery hotel, I was already in the fence. The entire space around the cathedral is filled with a huge crowd. A service is expected that has never happened before in Diveevo: the Metropolitan of St. Petersburg is to serve with the bishops of Nizhny Novgorod and Tambov. How magnificent this cathedral is, flooded with light, always full of some kind of bright triumph, some kind of joyful warmth, so beautifully reflecting the thought of an infinitely good, calling, blessing and calming God. While the solemn service is going on, it still seems to me that here in the crowd is invisibly present the one whose care created this monastery, in whose name the sisters gathered here, for whose sake they suffered so much, for whom they called in their sorrows, for whose glorification they hoped and waited so much... And in the lower left aisle, where there used to be an image of the Mother of God, surrounded by blooming flowers, now the image of him, Elder Seraphim, the Wonderworker of Sarov. View of the Seraphim-Diveevo Monastery from the southwest side. Photo 1903 And there, in the depths of the altar, was the same portrait of him that had been hanging on the wall for a long time: an old man in a round, antique-style hood, all emaciated, as if translucent. The face is not touched, only the corolla is added... Before the end of mass, I left the cathedral to visit the treasured places of Diveevo. First of all, I went to the place where the monastery was founded, to the root inch of its land - the cell of the original founder of Diveyevo, Agafia Simeonovna Melgunova. There was a time when Diveevo seemed like a small village with a poor wooden church. One day a woman was walking through Diveevo, whose fate was miraculously connected with Diveevo. At that hour she did not think, did not imagine that she would remain in this place forever. She walked from Kyiv to Sarov and, tired, sat down to rest on a log that lay near the village church. And then a phenomenon followed that forever tied her to Diveev. It was here that the Mother of God appeared to the wanderer and, according to legend, uttered the following words to her: “This is the very place that I ordered you to look for in the north of Russia, when I appeared to you for the first time in Kyiv. And here, here is the chapel that was placed for you by Divine Providence. Live and please the Lord God here until the end of your days, and I will always be with you and will always visit this place. And in the aisle of your residence I will establish here such an abode of Mine, the like of which has never been, is not, and never will be in the whole world. This is My fourth lot in the universe. And like the stars of heaven, and like the sand of the sea, I will multiply here those who serve the Lord God and Me, the Ever-Virgin and Mother of Light, and who magnify My Son Jesus Christ. And the grace of the All-Holy Spirit of God, and the abundance of all earthly and heavenly blessings, with little human labor, will not become scarce from this place of My beloved.” Such was the promise given by the Most Pure Mother of God to the great Diveyevo leader Agafia Simeonovna Melgunova. Not only the whole of history, but even Christianity itself has known few individuals as selfless, integral in their spiritual aspirations, as this amazing woman. She came from the Nizhny Novgorod nobles Belokopytov, and at that time the widow of Colonel Melgunov and owned estates located in three provinces: Yaroslavl, Vladimir and Ryazan. Counting then, per capita, her estates consisted of 700 souls. She also had capital. Having lost her husband early, she and her three-year-old daughter went to Kyiv, hoping to lead a quiet life here. Here she took monastic vows, as people believe, secretly, with the name of Alexandra. Here, one night, the Mother of God appeared to her and ordered her to go to the north of Russia and there to stay in the place that the Lady would show her and on which the Mother of God promised to create a great monastery. Agafia Simeonovna conveyed this vision to the experienced elders, who, after a mature discussion of the issue, found that there could be no “charm” here, and advised her to carry out the command of the Lady. So she set off on her journey under the former worldly name of Agafia Simeonovna Melgunova, and during her rest on the lawn near the western wall of the rural small wooden church, a new appearance of the Mother of God followed her, with the order to remain forever in this place. For a long time after the vision, Agafia Simeonovna could not come to her senses and for a long time afterwards she prayed with tears of faith and delight. Then she came to Sarov, where she revealed herself to the elders. They advised her to settle in Diveyevo. At first, avoiding the noise of the village of Diveevo, around which copper and iron ore was mined, she settled in an outbuilding of the village of Osinovka, the estate of the Shakhaev princes, a mile and a half from Diveevo. After living here for a little over three years, she decided to sell her estates. Going around them herself, she released the peasants for a small fee, and those who did not want to go free, she sold them to those landowners to whom these peasants wanted to belong. With her previous capital, Agafia Simeonovna now has a large capital. She used part of it for contributions to monasteries and churches, for the commemoration of relatives, but spent most of it on church construction. Her contemporaries knew twelve churches that she had built and restored. It also provided a lot for widows, orphans and the poor. Around 1765, Agafia Simeonovna settled in the courtyard of the Diveyevo priest Father Vasily Dertev, who lived alone with his elderly wife. In 1767, she began to build, instead of the Diveyevo wooden church in the name of St. Nicholas, a stone one in honor of the Kazan Icon of the Mother of God. The construction of the church was connected by the church builder with the cause of charity to the surrounding peasants during the great famine of 1770. For a long time afterwards, local peasants - then already old people - told how in their youth there was famine and how Mother Agafia Simeonovna gathered them, the children, and ordered the masons who were building the Kazan Church to carry bricks. For this she gave them bread and money. In 1772, the Kazan Three-Altar Church was completed and an exact copy of the Kazan Icon was placed in it, for which Agafia Simeonovna herself went to Kazan. The memories of the surrounding peasants, landowners and Diveyevo sisters have been preserved about the life of Alexandra’s mother in Diveyevo. The founder of the Seraphim-Diveevo Monastery is Schema-nun Alexandra. 19th century lithograph Having settled in Diveyevo, Alexander’s mother forced herself to forget her origins, upbringing, and former wealth. Humbling herself, she did the simplest jobs, as if she were Father Vasily’s servant: she cleaned the barn, looked after the cattle, and washed clothes. In addition to this constant menial work, she went to the peasant fields and there she reaped and tied the crops into sheaves on strips of weak peasants. When, in the time of need, all the adult peasants go to the field for the whole day, leaving only young children at home unattended, Alexander’s mother acted in the village. She lit the stoves in the huts, kneaded bread, prepared dinner, washed the children, washed their dirty linen, and when their mothers, exhausted in the hot field, arrived, she dressed them in everything clean. She did all this secretly so that no one would see it. But, of course, she could not hide from people. The peasants began to guess about their invisible helper. When the children pointed out their mother Alexandra to their parents, she looked surprised, did not understand anything, if they began to thank her, and renounced her actions. For twelve years, Mother Alexandra never returned straight home from church on holidays and Sundays. At the end of mass, she remained in the church square and taught the peasants. She explained to them their Christian responsibilities, talked about how to spend holidays, how to properly organize their lives. For a long time, many years after the death of Mother Alexandra, these conversations remained in the memory of the local population. Alexander’s mother dressed not only simply, but also poorly. In summer and winter she wore the same old, patched clothes, girded with a sash with a knot. On her head she wore a cool black round woolen cap trimmed with hare fur. This alleviated her headaches, which she often suffered from; I also wore paper scarves. When she went to work in the field, she put on sandals. On her bed, instead of a mattress, there was felt, and under her head she placed a stone sewn into canvas, so that from a distance it seemed like a pillow. She always wore a hair shirt. Mother Alexandra was very skilled in handicrafts and prepared dowries for poor brides herself. She was of average height with a cheerful, round and white face. She had various grace-filled gifts, among other things, the gift of prayerful tears. When she stood in her usual place in the Sarov Cathedral, in front of the miraculous icon of the Mother of God, called the “Life-Giving Source,” not tears flowed from her eyes, but streams of tears. She was wise, and therefore people of different classes flocked to her for advice from all sides; She was a keen expert on the Church Rules, and it was considered special well-being if she agreed to be the manager of some spiritual celebration. Shortly before her death, in order to fulfill the command of the Mother of God, Mother Alexandra decided to start a community. One of the co-owners of Diveevo, which was a multi-land property, Mrs. Zhdanova donated half a tithe of land adjacent to the church to her mother Alexandra. On this land, Alexander’s mother built three cells with household supplies and surrounded this space with a wooden fence. She occupied one cell herself, gave another to novices, and received strangers in the third. Here the last years of her life were spent in harsh exploits. At that time, Father Seraphim was not even thirty years old. But Alexander’s mother treated him with great respect, as if anticipating what he would be for Diveev. On June 13, 1789, Mother Alexandra died. Before her end, she said to one of her novices: “Pray to God. The Lord will not leave you. I will soon leave this world, but you will live for a long time. And you will see in reality that my words will come true, and that a large monastery will gather in this place.” The life of this amazing woman ended in humble simplicity. But what greatness emanates from all this simplicity! And at the hour of death, her soul remained faithful to these greatest virtues of humility and devotion to the will of God. Having received the great command of the Queen of Heaven, she sacrificed her whole life to this command and believed to the end, although during her lifetime she did not see the fulfillment of what was promised to her. Her strong and silent soul became like the strength of her hope to those great Old Testament men about whom the apostle says that they died without receiving the promise (cf. Heb. 11:39). And she acquired for herself the bliss of those whose faith Christ blessed: the faith of those who did not see and believed (cf. John 20:29). The truth of her belief is confirmed by the entire subsequent history of Diveev. All his life, Elder Seraphim treated the memory of Mother Alexandra with the greatest reverence. Once he said: “How can we leave those for whom Mother Agafia Simeonovna asked me, poor Seraphim! After all, she was a great wife, a saint. Her humility was inscrutable, her tears were a constant source, her prayer to God was pure, her love for everyone was unfeigned! She wore the simplest clothes. And as she walked, it happened that the great ladies would lead her by the arms - she was so respected by everyone throughout her life!” More than once he repeated: “Mother Agafia Simeonovna was a great wife and benefactor to all of us and was so abounding in the grace of God, I will tell you that when she was here in Sarov, during church services, not tears flowed from her eyes, but sources of tears, as if she herself then became a blessed source of these tears! She was a great and holy wife, Mother Agafia Simeonovna, great and holy!” It is remarkable that Elder Seraphim, even during his lifetime, was in undoubted prayerful communication with Mother Alexandra. So, he once said to one sick woman: “Alexandra’s mother takes pity on you and wishes you healing.” And on this day, when in Sarov I was supposed to see all of Russia gathered in it in the person of its pilgrims, it was gratifying for me to think how Father Seraphim himself revered the righteous people of his time. After his death, Elder Seraphim repeatedly helped people together with Elder Agafia Simeonovna, as their repeated appearances show. Here, not far from the high monastery bell tower, is the original span of the Diveyevo monastery, the cell of the founder. Let's enter through the gate into the door of a wooden two-story house. This is not the cell itself, it is just a “cover” for it. To preserve the precious cell of the monastery, a wooden house was built around it, in which it was enclosed, as if in a case. Above the entrance to the cell, on a large black board, the meaning of this cell is described in white letters. Let's go into the very dead of Agafia Simeonovna. First there is a small hall, with a small window. There is a bench along one outer wall. On the sides of one of the doors are two portraits. One depicts a great old lady. She is dressed in a dark fur coat with a turn-down fur collar and a belt. On the head is a fur-trimmed hat. The face is beautiful, round, with lively black eyes. On the other hand, there is a portrait of Father Seraphim as a young man, when he was a hierodeacon, precisely at the time when he came with the Sarov builder Pachomius to unction the righteous woman. This portrait is of great value as the only portrait from the young years of Elder Seraphim. Another chamber, in which some of the founder’s belongings are kept - her cup, glasses - is remarkable in that it preserves the window where the miracle of the appearance of the icon took place. When Agafia Simeonovna erected a new stone church for Diveyevo, three-altared, instead of the previous two-altared one, she was perplexed for a long time in whose name the third aisle should be consecrated. She decided to seek a solution to her hesitation in prayer, and one night she prayed for a long time that God would show her His will about this church. Suddenly she hears a knock at the window and a voice: “In the name of Archdeacon the First Martyr Stephen.” Approaching the window, the first lady saw that on the window lay a small image of Archdeacon Stephen, who had come from nowhere, written on a simple board, almost a stump, and there was no one outside the window. This image, which was previously in the church, is now kept in this very room, by the window. There is also a third room, a small bedroom, with a narrow brick bed and the same headboard, and in this same room, as the Diveyevo nuns put it, Agafia Simeonovna’s “radical refuge” - a small hiding place without windows with a tightly locked door. In this hiding place there is a large crucifix, illuminated by a lamp. Here she prayed, invisible to people, pouring out all the fervor of her soul before God. And the soul still experiences something inexpressible when you step over the cherished threshold. A living shrine embraces you, your heart is light, and life seems easy, and eternity is bright and close. Remember us, quiet righteous one! This secret chamber with a large crucifix - the place of Agafia Simeonovna’s solitary prayer - with the irresistibly strong impression that it makes, it seems, alone is sufficient evidence of her righteousness. One person with a restless, restless soul told me that every time he stands in this silence, in front of an ancient crucifix, on this floor, which was “watered with the rain of tears” of Agafia Simeonovna, an extraordinary calm. Yes, what does this effect of the places where the righteous lived on the human soul mean many years after the disappearance of the righteous? This means that people’s feelings are more immortal than the matter about which the theory of “the eternity of matter” is composed. Buildings disappear, but there are feelings in the air, those fresh, powerful feelings that animated the people who once lived in these places. And these feelings, standing like an enchanted fairy tale in the air, cast a bright light into our sick, dark, tormented souls. Gate of the fence of the Kazan Church. Photo from the beginning of the 20th century. The faith and prayers of St. Sergius and the echo of the words of the Blessed Virgin: “I will not depart from this place” stand in the air of the Lavra of Sergius. And in the same way, great humility and boundless strength of hope and living, soul-piercing love for the suffering Christ fill the cherished refuge of Agathia Simeonovna and embrace every person accessible to religious impressions. Church in honor of the Kazan Icon of the Mother of God in Diveevo with the churches of the Nativity of Christ and the Nativity of the Virgin Mary attached to it. Photo from the end of the 19th century. Here is the holy cradle of this holy, amazing monastery, the best creation of the greatest saint of the last centuries of the Russian Church... A few steps from the cell is the site of the Diveyevo Church, where the Mother of God appeared to Agathia Simeonovna. Then it was wooden and she rebuilt it into stone. Then, in the last years of the elder’s life, an extension was made on the western side of the church, brick to brick, of a new monastery church, which represents the price of great self-denial. Father Seraphim found it inconvenient for the Diveyevo primary sisters, going to the rural Diveyevo church, to constantly come into contact with the laity, and he decided to build a special church to the porch of the Diveyevo Kazan Church, and, moreover, so that both churches would have completely special entrances. And these entrances were separated from each other by a fence. This is how it exists to this day. In front, built by Agafia Simeonovna, is the three-altar Kazan church of the village of Diveevo, with entrances from the sides, and in the back, in connection with that original church, is the two-story church of the Diveevo monastery. From the middle of the common building, perpendicular to it, a fence runs in both directions, so that the very entrances to both churches are completely separated. The builder of this first, actually monastic, Diveyevo church was Mikhail Vasilyevich Manturov, over whom the elder showed the gift of healing. The owner of the village of Nucha, Ardatovsky district, Nizhny Novgorod province, forty miles from Sarov, served in military service for a long time, but then was forced to settle on his estate, Mikhail Vasilievich Manturov. 19th century drawing having retired due to serious illness. The best doctors could neither identify the disease nor cure it. And the suffering became more and more unbearable, and finally bones began to come out of the patient’s legs in pieces. There was only one hope in God. The rumor about the holy life of Elder Seraphim reached the sick man, and he ordered to be taken to Sarov. With effort, his people brought the master into the elder’s cell, and, falling at his feet, the sick man began to pray for healing. Three times the elder solemnly asked the patient with love whether he believed in God, and three times Manturov confessed his faith. To this the elder said: “If you believe so, then also believe that to the believer everything is possible from God. Therefore, believe that the Lord will heal you too. And I, poor Seraphim, will pray.” While the sick man waited in the hallway, the elder prayed in his cell and finally came out carrying the blessed oil. At his order, Manturov exposed his legs, and the elder began to rub them with oil, uttering the words: “According to the grace given to me from the Lord, I am the first to heal you.” Manturov left the elder’s cell completely healthy. After living for some time in Nucha, with a joyful feeling, as if a person had been born again, he went to Sarov to visit his healer. During the conversation, the elder told him: “My joy, because we promised to thank the Lord,” and when Manturov asked how to do this, he uttered a word that was to change his whole life. And so great was the elder’s perspicacity that, only seeing a person for the second time, he knew his soul and knew its ability for the greatest, most extraordinary feat. Life and all its joys have just returned to Manturov. He was again in the prime of his life, wealthy, contented, free. And the elder, joyfully looking at him, said: “Here, my joy, give everything you have to the Lord and take upon yourself self-inflicted poverty.” What was going on then in Manturov’s ardent, direct, infinitely grateful soul? Give up freedom, submit to the humiliation that poverty entails? Interior view of the Church of the Nativity. Photo from the beginning of the 20th century. Manturov accepted this feat, sold his lands, and set the serfs free. The time has come for Mikhail Vasilyevich’s pure sacrifice to find a worthy goal. Father Seraphim decided to build a church and use the money raised from the sale of land for this. Calling Mikhail Vasilyevich to him, he explained to him his intention, expressed the idea that the porch of the Kazan Church was worthy of becoming an altar, since “Mother Agafia Simeonovna, standing in prayer, washed it all with streams of her tears,” and asked Manturov to give his capital to this church. It is remarkable that even before that, other people volunteered to build a church for the Diveyevo sisters. But the elder rejected these offers, and one day said: “Not all money is pleasing to the Lord and His Most Pure Mother, and not all money ends up in this monastery. Others would be happy to give, but not all money will be accepted by the Queen of Heaven. There is money of grievances, tears and blood. We don’t need that kind of money.” This church was ready in 1829 and dedicated to the Nativity of Christ. The elder was in a hurry to consecrate it. They consecrated without an iconostasis and without an entrance. Two local images were brought from one village; Instead of a porch, they installed a ladder. There is a legend that the Mother of God appeared to the elder and said to him: “Why didn’t you honor Me in the new church?” And then the elder decided to build a chapel in honor of the Nativity of the Mother of God. There was no place for another altar, and the elder came up with the idea of ​​digging into the ground under the church and building a darkened church. It has very tight vaults hanging on four pillars, and it resembles a catacomb. According to the elder’s behest, in this church a candle glows unquenchably in front of the icon of the Savior and a lamp in front of the icon of the Mother of God. The elder attached great importance to the fulfillment of this covenant. Indeed, great troubles befell the monastery at one time when this commandment of the elder was violated... The church builder Manturov endured a lot, a lot in his lifetime: humiliation, cold, hunger, and all sorts of insults. After the death of the elder, he lived in Diveyevo in a small log house, which he built with 75 rubles in banknotes, which were given to him by the Diveyevo priest Father Vasily Sadovsky, a zealous admirer of Father Seraphim. This money was the priest's last savings for a rainy day. Priest Vasily Sadovsky with the Diveyevo sisters. Photo from the 1870s. Remembering many of the elder’s orders, he, despite any persecution, tried to ensure that they were fulfilled in Diveyevo, when an autocratic man 24 was in charge in Diveyevo, putting his will above all else. Manturov suffered for a quarter of a century after the death of the elder. A few days before his death, he saw Father Seraphim in a dream. The elder told him: “Wait for me, I will come for you soon. They announce the gospel. Go to mass. We’ll pray together there!” After the prayer, the elder said to his faithful disciple: “Let’s be patient a little longer, father, let’s be patient a little longer!” On July 7, 1858, on the eve of the feast of that Kazan icon, in whose honor the Diveyevo original church was erected, erected for the Diveyevo sisters at the cost of Manturov’s voluntary poverty, Manturov ordered mass in the Nativity Church he had built and received communion. After mass, he began to repeat to the churchwoman some of Father Seraphim’s orders regarding this church, which surprised the sisters. Returning home and having drunk tea, Mikhail Vasilyevich went into the garden, felt very tired, sat down on a bench and immediately fell painlessly into the sleep of death. Manturov’s bright life, illuminated by the aura of such a rare spiritual feat, was well known to his contemporaries. How the worldly people valued him can be seen from the following lines written to the Sarov abbot by the Penza landowner Mikhailovsky-Danilevsky (son of the famous military historiographer), whose family had long been related to Sarov and Diveev and whose grandmothers, the well-born and wealthy Penza landowners Chemodanovs, were the spiritual daughters of Agafia Simeonovna. “Mikhail Vasilyevich died. I saw him two or three times, but the conversation with him was very impressive to me. Is it possible to collect some at least brief but true information about his life: about the feat of poverty for God’s sake, about his healing by Father Seraphim and, finally, about his blessed death? I would publish this information in one of the magazines. Really, it would, firstly, be useful for others, for maybe one of the readers, having read about the simplicity of his life, would come to his senses, and, secondly, most importantly, it would be a reminder to the deeply flawed and sinful world that there are people who have neglected the blessings of the world, and that, after all, the light has not forgotten them.” I have a photograph from the portrait of Mikhail Vasilyevich. An extremely pleasant, open, kind and, at the same time, beautiful face with an expression of complete sincerity and cordiality. This is how he was in life, with his cheerful, simple disposition, with his boundless kindness. When I look at this purely Russian face, it all seems to me like Elder Seraphim, joyfully looking into his eyes, says: “Behold, my joy, give everything you have to the Lord and take upon yourself spontaneous poverty,” and all that great thing, that final victory over the world and oneself, that took place then in the soul of this simple-minded man. Here is the grave of this most devoted novice of the great Seraphim. Now on the left side of the Nativity Church, between the church wall and the fence, there is a narrow strip of land overgrown with thick grass. Among this strip, a simple wooden board with a cross made of black oak rises on a brick foundation. On the wall of the church opposite the grave there is an icon of Michael the Archangel. This is the last, current, not screaming, like his whole life, peace of Mikhail Vasilyevich. And I remember at his lonely grave the great, heart-piercing words about those people who “by faith did righteousness, as if seeing Him unseen, were strong, experienced reproaches, wandered, enduring shortcomings, sorrows, bitterness - those of whom the whole world was not worthy” (Heb. 11:38). There is no inscription on the humble grave of Mikhail Vasilyevich, but every time I stand in front of it in deep thought, amazed by his very devotion to Father Seraphim, it seems to me that someone’s quiet, gentle voice whispers simple, eternal words: He who endures to the end will be saved (Mark 13:13). In the cemetery at the original Diveyevo church, built by Mother Alexandra, people close to Father Seraphim also found shelter. Here is a small brick chapel over the coffin of the original founder. Here is the grave of Mikhail Vasilyevich’s sister, Elena Vasilievna, who also had a completely extraordinary life. Smart, lively, cheerful, a beauty with a black braid and black eyes sparkling with intelligence and will, from her youth she loved social fun, dresses, noisy life, large company, and for eighteen years she was the bride of her loved one. Suddenly, for no reason, she refused him and told her brother: “I can’t understand. But for some reason I was terribly disgusted with him!” She devoted herself then to social life with all her soul, and this, in connection with her refusal to her fiancé, even worried her relatives. Once she was returning from a long trip alone in a carriage with her people. At the post station in the city of Knyazhnina, she sent people into the room to prepare tea for her, while she remained waiting in the carriage. When the servant came to report to the young lady that everything was ready, he found her in such a position that he involuntarily screamed and was dumbfounded. She stood at full height, leaning out of the carriage, holding the door with a convulsive hand, motionless, pale, with inexpressible horror on her face. Hearing the footman's cry, people came running and carried her into the rooms. At first it took her a long time to wake up from her stupor. They called a priest for her, who could still confess and commune her. Returning home, she told her brother what had happened to her. When she, wanting to get out of the carriage, put her foot on the step, then, looking up, she saw a terrible serpent above her head, spitting out flames. He sank lower and lower towards her. She could not call for help and finally, with the greatest tension, she shouted: “Queen of Heaven, save me! I give you an oath to go to the monastery!” Then the ghost disappeared. Elena Vasilievna has completely changed. I fell in love with church, spiritual reading, and lost all taste for worldly life. She went to Father Seraphim to ask for his blessing to enter the monastery. But the elder tested her for a long time before he sent her to stay in Diveevo, and finally said that it was time for her to get engaged to the Groom. When she began to sob in response to these words, the elder explained to her which Bridegroom he was talking about. And Father Seraphim became her closest leader in her monastic life. He ordered her to read the Psalter and spin during the day, which she did not yet know how to do. He commanded her to remain silent as much as possible, answering only the most necessary questions, to always be busy, to fast more; from waking up until lunch, say the Jesus Prayer, and from lunch until bedtime, say the prayer “Most Holy Theotokos, save us!” “In the evening,” the elder told her, “go out into the courtyard and pray a hundred times to Jesus, a hundred times to the Lady, and don’t tell anyone, but pray so that no one sees. And while your Groom is away, do not be discouraged, but just be strong and take more courage. So, through prayer, eternally inseparable prayer, prepare to meet Him.” Elena Vasilyevna was often seen sitting on the porch of her cell, overlooking the Diveyevo Church. Rejoicing in the proximity of the church, she entered into her thoughts, contemplating the beauty of the sky, and her lips quietly whispered a prayer that never faded on them. When the elder set up a mill in Diveevo and transferred the nun girls to live with it in order to separate them from the widows, he appointed Elena Vasilievna as their manager. But she said: “Better, Father, order her to die at your feet; but I don’t want to be a boss.” The elder revealed to Elena Vasilievna the fate of Diveevo, saying that there had never been women’s laurels anywhere, but there would be a lavra in Diveevo; predicted about the great Diveyevo Cathedral; described how the buildings would be located, and sketched out a plan with his own hand, which is still kept by the Diveyevo abbess. The elder sent Elena Vasilievna to buy that piece of land that he had identified for the future large Diveyevo Cathedral, and when she brought him the bill of sale, he was extremely delighted. Elena Vasilievna carefully hid her exploits. She secretly helped the poor. The Diveyevo sisters were very poor and needed everything, and Elena Vasilievna often gave them something as if on someone else’s behalf. She ate baked potatoes and tortillas. Both hung in bags on the porch of her cell. There were so many of them that the baker grumbled at her, reproaching her for greed. And all this was distributed secretly to the sisters. Father Seraphim gave her the obedience to be a sacristan and a churchwoman and gave her a commandment expressing the elder’s view of the holiness of the church. “There is no higher obedience than obedience in the church. Whatever you do in it, no matter how you enter or leave, must be done with fear and trembling and unceasing prayer, and never in the church anything other than what is necessary, proper, ecclesiastical and about the church should be said in it. What is more beautiful, above the church? Where can we rejoice in spirit, heart and all our thoughts, if not in her, where our Lord Our Lord Himself is always present with us!” The circumstances of Elena Vasilievna’s death are completely unusual. Her brother, who was away on behalf of the elder, became very ill. The elder explained to Elena Vasilievna that it was his fate to die, but that his life was needed for the Diveyevo monastery, and offered her the obedience to die for her brother. The elder talked with her for a long time, calming her down and talking about the sweetness of death, about the boundless happiness of the future life. Leaving the elder, Elena Vasilievna fell; she was carried home. She was ill for several days. They suggested that she call her brother. But she replied: “No, don’t. I will feel sorry for him, and this will cloud my soul, which will no longer appear so pure to the Throne of God.” She died after seven years of life in Diveevo, on May 28, 1832, 7 months before the death of the great elder, at the age of 27 years. She was buried next to the founder Agafia Simeonovna, and on her tombstone it is inscribed what an ascetic and silent life she led and how she died out of obedience to the elder. Here is the grave of another unforgettable of the original Diveyevo sisters, 19-year-old Maria, in the schema of Martha. She came from a peasant family (Ardatovsky district), which was under the spiritual leadership of Elder Seraphim. She was 13 years old when the elder told her to stay in Diveyevo. Mary was a chosen, extraordinary soul, completely special, angelic in appearance. She was tall, had a beautiful long face that breathed freshness, blue eyes, light brown eyebrows and hair. Immediately upon entering the community, she began such great feats that she surpassed the severity of life of the most experienced sisters. She didn’t say anything because she was always busy with prayer. She answered only the most necessary questions with a kind of heavenly meekness. With great care the elder watched the rapid spiritual growth of this God-chosen being and revered this soul, early ripe for the Kingdom of God. He revealed a lot to her. He also spoke with her about the future of Diveyevo and initiated her into great spiritual secrets. Little information has been preserved about the details of her 6–7-year life in Diveyevo; but her spiritual height can be judged by the price that Father Seraphim gave her. The reason for her death is explained by the following words of the elder: “When a church was built in Diveyevo in the name of the Nativity of the Blessed Virgin Mary, the girls themselves carried stones: some two, some three. And she picked up five or six pebbles and, with a prayer on her lips, silently lifted up her burning spirit to the Lord. Soon she surrendered to God!” She died on August 29, 1829. Having foreseen the hour of her death, the elder immediately said with tears to his neighbor in his cell, Father Paul: “Paul, Mary has gone away. And I feel so sorry for her, so sorry that, you see, I keep crying.” The elder’s concerns about her burial were touching. He sent her a solid oak coffin, and told her sister: “I kidnapped Mary. She is schema-nun Martha. She has everything: the schema, and the mantle, and my kamilavochka. Put her in all this.” The elder also sent 25 rubles to Diveevo for funeral expenses, 25 rubles of copper, so that everyone who would be at the funeral would be given three kopecks. On the 40th anniversary he sent a pile of candles so that they would burn continuously in the church night and day, a ruble candle of yellow wax to the coffin and half a pound of twenty-kopeck candles for the funeral service. The elder sent everyone who came to him in those days to Diveevo for Mary’s funeral: “Come, come to Diveevo. There the great servant of God Mary departed to the Lord.” They laid the young schema-woman in the things the elder had given her, in a green velvet cap, a black schema with a white cross, and a long robe. The elder spoke a lot about how high before God the life of this soul, faithful in purity, equal to the angels. So they rest side by side, the three pillars of the Diveyevo monastery: Agafia Simeonovna, Elena Vasilievna, schema-nun Martha 25. There is also a grave that you always approach when you are near the original Diveyevo church. Chapels over the graves of Mother Alexandra (Melgunova), nun Elena (Manturova), Schema-nun Martha (Melyukova) and a tombstone over the grave of Nikolai Aleksandrovich Motovilov at the Kazan Church. Photo from the beginning of the 20th century. In a cast-iron grate, a cast-iron stove stands upright, covered with the greenery of birch trees growing from the stone. Cast iron letters say that here rests the collegiate adviser, landowner Nikolai Aleksandrovich Motovilov, who was healed by Elder Seraphim from a serious illness and, after his death, served the Diveyevo monastery with his estate. This is the same Motovilov whom the elder, in his young years, healed of an incurable disease of his legs with one word on September 9, 1831 and revealed a lot to him in conversations with him. Motovilov was in Voronezh on the day of the elder’s death, and Voronezh Archbishop Anthony, famous for his righteousness, pointed out to him in the morning (the elder died at night) that at two o’clock in the morning Elder Seraphim died. Obviously, Archbishop Anthony received miraculous information about this. Motovilov remained a zealous admirer of the elder’s memory throughout his life. He collected information about his life, by the way, and in the elder’s homeland, in Kursk, he took care of the affairs of Diveyevo and that none of the elder’s covenants regarding this monastery were violated. Often visiting Diveyevo, he generously gave alms to the always needy Diveyevo sisters. They also remember how he, with his majestic, beautiful figure and flowing hair, walked around the church with a bunch of candles in his hands, placing candles on the images, which he loved to do. He left very valuable notes about Elder Seraphim. Some of them were sorted out and published in highly interesting articles by the reverent admirer of St. Seraphim, Mr. Nilus, in Moskovskie Vedomosti. Motovilov died far from Diveevo, where his body was brought. All his life he zealously revered the Mother of God, and when he was taken to Diveyevo, it so happened that the miraculous Orange Icon, which annually bypasses some places of the Nizhny Novgorod diocese and arrived in Diveyevo, was carried towards him in a solemn procession. How many memories there are over these graves, how deeply you involuntarily think about them! There is also a treasured cell in Diveevo, a treasured grave of the ascetic, also completely extraordinary, the holy fool Pelagia Ivanovna. Coming from a wealthy merchant family of Arzamas, she early married Serebrennikov, a merchant clerk, and once went with her husband to Sarov. Elder Seraphim talked with her for a very long time, they say - about six hours - and gave her a rosary. It must be assumed that it was at this time that he charged her with the extraordinary, difficult feat of foolishness. Returning to Arzamas, Pelagia Ivanovna led a new life: she prayed all night in a cold glass gallery and began to act like a fool. She was possessed by that thirst for free suffering and patience, torment and humiliation, which constitutes the sign of the true “fools in Christ.” She would sometimes put on the most expensive dress, wrap her head in a dirty rag and go among the people, and the more they laughed at her, the more she rejoiced. All this behavior irritated her husband so much that he beat her severely. Pelagia began to waste away, but did not give up. She began to run around the city, taking things from the house and distributing them to the poor. She gave them the money that was thrust into her hands out of pity, or used this money to light candles in churches... For her escapes, her husband caught her and severely beat her with logs and sticks, and her answer to everything was: “Leave me alone, Seraphim has spoiled me.” Finally, the husband decided on an even more cruel measure: he asked the mayor to punish his wife without mercy at the police station. This was done with merciless cruelty, so that Pelagia’s mother, who was present at the punishment, was numb with horror. The body hung in tatters, blood poured onto the floor, but she did not utter a single word. And it didn't help. Then the husband ordered an iron chain with an iron ring, chained his wife with his own hands and could torture her as much as he wanted. Sometimes she had the strength to break the chain, and, rattling it, she ran half-naked through the streets. Her husband caught her and chained her to new torments. Finally he returned her to her stepfather's house, where she also suffered a lot. It happened that one day her mother sent Pelagia to Voronezh and Zadonsk. In Voronezh, she and her companions visited the famous Archbishop Anthony. Having blessed everyone, he ordered her to stay at his place and talked with her for three hours alone, so that her companions grumbled why he talked to the “fool” for so long. Walking out with her, Anthony said: “Well, I can’t tell you anything more. If Seraphim started your path, then he will finish it.” And in reproach for the “fool,” the archbishop said to the pilgrims: “I am not looking for earthly wealth, but spiritual wealth.” Having learned that her relatives were keeping Pelagia in chains, Elder Seraphim strictly ordered her to be released. She began to spend nights in the graveyard of the Arzamas church, praying all night long in the open air, with her hands raised up and tears. And during the day she ran through the streets in rags. Blessed Pelagia Ivanovna Serebrennikova After the death of Elder Seraphim, one Diveyevo nun took her to Diveyevo. And here she was acting like a fool. In summer and winter she walked barefoot, tortured herself in every possible way, ate bread and water. At first she turned everything over and carried stones; then she became attached to the flowers with which her hands were always full. She didn't give herself any rest. During the day she sometimes dozed, and at night she prayed in the open air, turning her face to the east. The last years of her life, having reached a ripe old age, she spent all day on the floor, on the felt between the doors, apparently wanting to choose the most uncomfortable place for herself. Here she had wonderful visions. According to legend, a mysterious guest descended from the heights above the stars to her, blessing her for her immeasurably great feat: the great elder Seraphim came from a better world and consoled her with a long, gracious conversation. Many people came to her, confident in the gifts of her insight, the examples of which were countless, and in the power of her prayer. It has already been said about how the remarkable ascetic Anthony of Voronezh appreciated it. It is necessary to note the attitude of Metropolitan Philaret of Moscow towards her, so sensitive in distinguishing between spiritual people. There was one highly violent act in the life of Pelagia Ivanovna. In Diveevo, discord was aroused between parties of nuns, who subsequently separated from Diveevo and founded the Seraphim-Ponetaevsky Monastery. Pelagia Ivanovna found that Bishop Nektary of Nizhny Novgorod was on the side of the wrong. When the bishop, affectionately approaching her, gave her the prosphora, she strangled him. What would it seem like Philaret should say to this, who held the banner of episcopacy so high, such an opponent of any kind of arbitrariness? He speaks about this incident without any condemnation in a letter to the Lavra governor Anthony, his confessor. “One holy fool living in Diveevo and respected by everyone hit the bishop on the cheek.” Thus, behind the immense audacity of this outburst, the wise metropolitan was able to discern great confessional jealousy. Pelagia Ivanovna died on January 30, 1884, aged 75. In front of a huge crowd of people who gathered during all those eight days that she stood in the winter church, she was buried behind the altar of the large Diveyevo Cathedral. A tall, thin, slender cast-iron monument, as if speaking about the constant aspiration of her soul to heaven, was erected at her grave. There are four inscriptions on it. Here are excerpts from them. 1) Pelagia Ivanovna Serebrennikova, nee Surina, with the blessing of the Elder of God, Hieromonk Seraphim, for holy obedience, abandoned all the happiness of earthly life, her husband and children, taking upon herself the feat of foolishness and accepted persecution, strangulation, beatings and chains for the sake of Christ the Lord. 2) You who have endured everything here and overcome everything by the power of your love for God, for His love, endure our spiritual weakness and intercede for us with the cross of your feat. 3) On the thorny path of your feat, you did not leave anyone who came running to you; do not forget there, in the bliss of God’s eternal glory, the abode you loved. We, “worldly idle lovers,” can little understand the feat of foolishness. Immeasurable sorrow for the lost heavenly fatherland, immeasurable sympathy for the torment of the crucified Christ and the need to feel the bitterness of suffering every minute of life - these are the foundations of foolishness. A man beating in the madness of despair at the tomb of a loved one: this is the strength with which the “fool for Christ’s sake” every hour mourns his expulsion from paradise. And the more severe his torment, the more his burning soul’s love for Christ is quenched, and nothing is unthinkable for this soul except the most intense suffering there, on that earth where Christ accepted reproaches, thorns and the Cross. How sincere, how honest and deep these people are in their holy sorrow, in the madness of their rejection of the world and everything that, taking our thoughts away from heaven, takes us away from the path to heaven. Here, opposite and not particularly far from the cell of the founder Agafia Simeonovna, is the house where Pelagia Ivanovna’s cell was. In this house lives an elderly sister who looked after the ascetic. Here is the treasured place where she sat on the floor, immersed in prayer. Where people from a better world and her wondrous teacher Seraphim himself came to her. She looks from the wall from a large half-length portrait. What a noble, beautiful face and how much immense sorrow there is in it! Next is the room where she died, only a few days before the end she went to bed after more than half a century of asceticism. Her things are kept in the display case: wretched clothes, a blanket, an iron belt that she wore for eight years in the world, so that it grew into her tormented body, an iron chain on which her husband and birth mother chained her to the wall. And in the corner are her icons: a parental blessing - the Savior with the Gospel revealed in words: come, blessed one of My Father (Matthew 25:34). Before them glows a beautiful, unquenchable lamp - exactly the same as in Agafia Simeonovna’s cell. Both were erected by the famous admirer of Elder Seraphim and his zealous follower in the Diveyevo monastery, Father Seraphim (Chichagov). Archimandrite Seraphim (Chichagov), author of the Chronicle of the Seraphim-Diveevsky Monastery. Photo 1903 And here you are experiencing something inexplicable. Something warming, affectionate, encouraging embraces you in this place of cruel feat, great free suffering. So sympathetically, encouragingly, with the feeling of a mother, those sorrowful eyes “who endured everything and overcame everything by the power of love for God” look into your soul. When you go around all these places, all these graves, you are involuntarily amazed at the strength of spirit that these people showed. A rich lady who became a cowgirl for a village priest; a man who went into free poverty; a beauty who has turned from a brilliant society girl into a silent woman; a mysteriously beautiful flower, the young schema-nun Martha; Pelagia chained in chains; For what did these chicks of Elder Seraphim, these people “spoiled” by him, live and suffer in free torment? Yes, he ruined them for the world: he fanned the spark of the Divine fire that was smoldering in them into such a spontaneous fire that burned out their last connections with the world. There is a wonderful place in the book “Imitation of Christ” in the chapter “On eternal life and the great rewards promised to fighters” 26, which perfectly explains the fate of such people. Christ says to the soul: “Others' wishes will come true, but your wishes will be fruitless. The words of others will be heard, but your words will remain meaningless. Others will ask and receive; you will be denied. They will talk about others with great praise, no one will talk about you... But for the cruelty towards yourself with which you renounced your will, it will be eternally satisfied in heaven. There you will find everything you could want. All blessings will come to you, and there will be no more fear of losing them. And all the objects of your desires are always before you, will satiate and fill the entire width of your heart. There I will turn the shame you have endured into glory, and because you have taken the last places in life, you will have a throne in the Eternal Kingdom.” How great must be the teacher of such students, how true was the path of the students of such a teacher! “Let’s be patient a little longer, let’s be patient a little longer,” I remember Father Seraphim’s words to Manturov shortly before the end. When in my thoughts I try to gather this holy Diveyevo militia into one handful, the wonderful words of the song composed by the Church in honor of the martyrs ring in my ears, words that this Diveyevo army could sing with such right, the words of the all-perfect surrender of the soul to God, its mysterious betrothal to Christ. “I love You, my Bridegroom, and I suffer in search of You, and I am crucified, and I am buried in Your baptism, I suffer for Your sake, so that I reign in You, and I die for You, and I live with You” 27. And they suffered for Him and now reign in Him. They died for Him and are alive in Him. How Father Seraphim loved his Diveev! He even endured persecution for him. Everything that visitors brought to the elder in the last years of his life, he sent everything to Diveevo. Hegumen of Sarov did not like this very much, and he oppressed the Diveyevo sisters in every possible way. It happened that they were even searched when leaving the Sarov fence. “Diveevo Orphans” - that’s what he called his monastery, and how much tender love, how much pity there is in these words! Having never been to Diveevo (he was there only twice, as a young hierodeacon, during the unction of Agathia Simeonovna), he knew every peg there and accurately foresaw the fate of this monastery. “There will be a time,” he said, “that because of the poor Seraphim, great people will come looking for you, poor girls, and will ask about all my words.” He said that happy is the one who lives in Diveyevo for at least a day, because every day the Queen of Heaven visits this “Her lot.” The elder left a covenant that everyone who serves Diveyevo will “be remembered before God,” even the one who, having no way to help, sighs for the “orphans of Diveyevo”—and he will not lose his reward. When the elder had a glorious visit to the Mother of God on March 25, 1831, he prayed for a long time to the Lady for Diveyevo, because he took upon himself the care of Diveyevo on Her direct instructions. And they loved the old man in Diveyevo... The old Sarov was cold towards him, not understanding what a priceless treasure he had been given. When all of Russia was already reaching out to Elder Seraphim, when, almost during his lifetime, his images were hung with icons, Sarov alone was indifferent to this bright lamp. There was even a phrase used there, deeply outrageous in terms of inertia and lack of understanding of asceticism: “We are all Seraphim.” He passed away. The Diveyevo sisters, like a shrine, tried to collect everything that related to the elder, and the Sarovites completely calmly gave them these things, not realizing even then that within three quarters of a century these bast shoes and mantles, mittens, hatchets and hoes of the “poor Seraphim” would become cherished shrines of the Russian people. And so the near and far hermitages of the old man, all his clothes and shoes, gathered here; The Gospel, which he always carried in a bag over his shoulders, a book that caught fire at his death; tree stumps that served as his chair; his icons, his hatchets and pickaxes, the stones on which he underwent the feat of pillar-building, his cell icon of the Mother of God “Tenderness”, before which he died in kneeling prayer. Here, many years before his church glorification, an altar in his name was ready. In Diveevo lie those people who served him, suffered for him, who loved “poor Seraphim” more than their souls. If your heart has been touched by the captivating image of Elder Seraphim, if you want to serve him in some way, serve the hitherto poor Diveyevo and the sisters living in his poverty. Also, through prayer, serve those like-minded people and friends of the Seraphimovs who rest here. During his lifetime, the elder always asked to pray for the dead people close to him. Therefore, if you want to please him, following the names of his parents Isidore and Agathia, and his elders, Joseph, Pachomius and Isaiah, write down in your memorials the names of the elders Agathia and Pelagia, schema-nun Martha, boyar Mikhail, Elena (Manturov) and Nikolai (Motovilov), and this concern of yours will be gratifying to the caring soul of the elder Seraphim. After all, he himself “lives in Diveyevo.” Here is his gentle, inexpressibly attractive spirit. Here he will invisibly caress and console everyone who comes. Once a wanderer got lost in the Diveyevo paths; an old bent old man met him and led him to the right place. “And I live here,” answered the old man and disappeared. The wanderer recognized this old man living in Diveyevo in the images of the wondrous Seraphim. Diveev, Diveev, some kind of attractive force lies within you! You are standing in a flat, boring area, and how much more beautiful are other abodes than you. But why is it so drawn to you, so suddenly the soul in the world yearns for your wooden houses, for the cherished cells and graves of your ascetics, and wants to fly to you on wings, see you often, often and lay down bones in your blessed land. And you stand in the heart, forever dear, forever mysterious, a quiet virgin abode, all in the halo of shrines, all talking about your Seraphim. Or does he live here in spirit, or does your Heavenly Abbess visit you daily? What is your strength? I don’t know a happier place than you. Great is Moscow with its miracle workers, the Lavra of Sergius with the abbot of the Russian land slumbering in a living creative dream; the mountains of Kyiv are infinitely dear, from which the light of faith splashed onto Rus', which gave birth to so many saints - Sarov with the shrine of the meek, incomprehensible Seraphim. But only in you the soul experiences this feeling of heaven. And you no longer know, when you walk along Diveevo, where the earth ended and the sky began - the boundaries are erased, the heavenly is intertwined with the earthly. How long ago was that which glorified those treasured places! How close to us in time, how fragrant with freshness your shrines are! What a joy it is to wander around Diveevo: to walk along the Kanavka, where the feet of the Queen of Heaven passed, to go to the “clothes” of Elder Seraphim, to the cell of Mother Alexandra, to the God-created cathedral and contemplate for a long time the grandeur of the “Tenderness” icon; try to revive in my thoughts the kind smile of Mikhail Vasilyevich, the beauty of Schema-nun Martha ripening for heaven, the quiet, wise speeches of Agathia Simeonovna. And when the stars light up over the wide-spread monastery, and the Angels of God admire you, and in the night your past becomes more alive and closer, then the soul seems to completely separate from the earth and enters eternity - words cannot describe what you will feel then, and you only repeat one thing: “Earthly heaven, earthly heaven!” Having visited the memorable places of the Diveyevo ascetics, I headed to the tangible memories of Elder Seraphim himself - his cells. Closer to the cathedral is the nearby hermitage of the elder. It is enclosed in a wooden structure for safety, so you can walk around the entire house. The desert house itself consists of a tiny entryway and a tiny room, half-lit by a lamp burning in front of a large image of the Savior; Having lit a candle, you can see in the room a large, life-size portrait of an old man in the last years of his life, as well as an image of him in a coffin, the second - a very unimportant work. In the portrait, the old man is presented with an extremely emaciated face, completely hunched over, with an expression both in his face and in the pose of final exhaustion, with a characteristic deep crease at the bridge of his nose. This portrait, which makes a strong impression with its seeming severity, where Father Seraphim is a real “desert dweller,” differs from the famous Serebryakov portrait, where one can involuntarily call the old man “an angel in the flesh.” Meanwhile, both of them can be considered successful and similar to an old man. A contemporary of Father Seraphim, who still lives in Diveevo, the widow of Nikolai Aleksandrovich Motovilov, Elena Ivanovna, says that both portraits are similar. One must think that Elder Seraphim, with his lively, impressionable character, changed his facial expression very often. A portrait in a nearby desert depicts him, immersed in thoughtfulness or contemplation of human grief; Serebryakov's portrait - in his joyful moments, for example, when after Communion he returned from church to his cell and had, according to eyewitnesses, an amazingly radiant expression. The question of the icons of St. Seraphim, a very important question, seems to have received an incorrect solution. Most of the icons, which, however, should be expected, are painted extremely dryly. If the icon’s purpose is not only to remind of a famous saint, but with this memory to touch the soul and set one in the mood for prayer, then it is infinitely important to depict saints in the most touching moments of their lives. Venerable Seraphim of Sarov. Portrait of the second quarter of the 19th century. It is impossible to insist enough, for example, on depicting St. Sergius in the visit of the Mother of God, St. Spyridon of Trimifuntsky - at that moment of the Ecumenical Council, when this ardent champion of the dogma of the Holy Trinity, taking a brick in his hands, compared the Trinity of the Divine with the three elements, water, earth and fire, which formed this brick, and at his word the brick instantly decomposed into these three elements. And how warmly the images of St. Nicholas throwing gold at night to the father of the “three virgins” or saving the “innocent from death” have a warming effect on the soul. Likewise, Elder Seraphim should, if possible, be depicted not in the dry schema of a monk in a black robe, with a blessing hand, but praying on a stone in the forest or during a visit to him by the Mother of God. Especially, as I had to notice, “Prayer on the Stone,” with this artistic contrast of the white clothes of the old man and the dark green of the pine forest, makes an extremely strong impression. ...It is gratifying to be in this dark cell, to feel all the holiness of this extraordinary man imprinted here and to think about him, peering into the features of his haggard face. Thank God, in this cell everything is as before, everything is unchanged. And here is another treasured place - not far from the nearby hermitage there is the cemetery Church of the Transfiguration. In it, the altar is made from the walls of the old man’s distant hermitage, where he lived in the wilderness and in complete solitude for many years, where he performed all his greatest ascetic feats, where he prayed for a thousand days on a stone, where he fed the bear with bread, of which he already had little, where for three years he was soaked exclusively in a decoction of the snitki grass. The altar itself contained some items that belonged to the elder. The stone, that cell stone on which he, performing his thousand-day prayer and praying at night in the forest, prayed during the day; his several cell icons, the candlestick from which the book caught fire at his death, which was the reason why his door was broken down; The Gospel, which he constantly carried in a bag on his shoulders. There is a corridor around the altar cell, and on the outside of the altar eastern wall, under a large, full-length portrait of Elder Seraphim, a simple long wooden display case was built, with a glass lifting lid, and in this display case lay various clothes of Elder Seraphim; That’s why this whole building, the whole church, in the language of the Diveyevo nuns, is called the short word “Odezhka”: “Odezhka has many pilgrims,” “I’ll go to Odezhka.” There is hardly a church more original than this in simplicity and location. Several icons in the iconostasis, the walls of the hermitage without any decoration, in all their integrity... How good it used to be here before, before the influx of pilgrims that occurred with the news of the canonization of St. Seraphim. Sometimes, having chosen a quieter time, you would come alone to this church and look at all these jewels with the nun who was in charge of it. In the altar she will unlock the box where both the elder’s Gospel and his cross lie in order, wrapped in clean linen, then you go to the display case and look for a long time at all these familiar objects: large, thick-soled leather cats, bast shoes, a sheepskin coat, robes, bastings. Some special subtle fragrance emanates from these things, and when you lay your head down and bury your face in some sheepskin coat or robe, it seems to you that a gentle, senile voice is whispering in your ear: - Well, my joy? Why did you come to poor Seraphim? It was like that before. Not so now. I saw along the walls of the church and in front of the salt the most magnificent bronze showcases, with thick, beautiful glass. These familiar treasures were placed in these display cases - material memories of Elder Seraphim. All this was under the key, inaccessible, visible only to the eye, and I felt sad and heavy. This was the first stirring of the feeling that took possession of me, as a person who had visited Sarov and Diveye more than once, during the celebrations of its glorification. Elder Seraphim was, as it were, taken away from us, the people who knew him and who endlessly, enthusiastically revered him in the silence of their souls. He was a saint for us, perhaps the closest and dearest, but not a calendar saint, a saint of our inner being, our solitary consciousness, our cherished, secret and unspoken shrine. There was some special happiness in the way we honored him, not yet recognized by the Church. We warmed lamps in front of his images, images that we considered icons, although there were no aureoles around his head. What a joy it was to come to him on New Year’s Eve, on the eve of his memory, and on that night, when the mystery of his death took place, to stand alone at his grave, to go alone to his cell, where the last years of his life shone and from where his great spirit flew into the jubilant sky, and to be so, one on one with him, and to whisper to him, with the simplicity and trust of a child, everything that had accumulated for him in his soul, that his image aroused in this soul... And suddenly... now - shop windows, bronze and glass, police and people, endless, inexorable waves of people, and never again, never around him would there be this sweet silence of the old days, this opportunity to be alone with him. And now this feeling of subtle, spiritual egoism compresses the soul where one should rejoice. The gospel word was fulfilled over him: it is fitting for him to grow (cf. John 3:30). And with a sinking heart you think: “Now, when they began to call you from everywhere and an endless sea of ​​heads is raging at your coffin, all human hearts are beating with demands, with desires, with hope for you, will you forget those who came to you before; those who long ago bowed to you with all their being, before your name rushed across the Russian land, those who surrounded your image, woven from the best rays of the sun, with all the faithful and enthusiastic affection of which the human heart is capable. Is it possible that now, with your glorification, with your countless new children, they will be abandoned by you and become orphans? At the “clothes” of St. Seraphim, I heard a lot about many miracles that had happened recently. By the way, a novice, the niece of a nun, who was assigned to look after the Church of the Transfiguration, was healed in the winter at the spring of Father Seraphim from a long-term serious illness. Now she, fresh, cheerful, cleaned the church, laughed joyfully and said that all the time after the healing she had an extraordinary appetite. Since the service was still going on, I could not visit the abbess of Diveyevo, Mother Abbess Maria. Honorable, persistent woman! At her very advanced age, she just as wisely rules this monastery, the largest in Russia, inspired by the faith in the intercession of Elder Seraphim for this monastery before God, as she has ruled it for many decades. Boundless faith in the elder’s help did not leave her in the most difficult circumstances. And the sorrows she endured in former times were enormous. Sometimes it was so difficult that, as I was told, there were cases when Mother Maria fell unconscious from suffering for the monastery. Now these days are over, and how could one not rejoice for this old woman that God brought her to live to see such an ardently desired event. There is also a most remarkable personality in Diveevo, a contemporary of Elder Seraphim, Elena Ivanovna Motovilova. She is the niece of that young schema-nun Martha, whom was described above, and as a little girl, often visiting Sarov with her aunts, she saw Elder Seraphim. The great old man, in his insight, knew that she would marry Motovilov and through her husband would become Diveev’s benefactor. He often bowed low to her, then a peasant girl, and called her “madam.” Abbess of the Seraphim-Diveevsky Monastery Maria (Ushakova). Photo 1887 Listening to her memories of Elder Seraphim is extremely gratifying. Here, by the way, is an interesting detail. Once I asked Elena Ivanovna whether Mikhail Vasilyevich Manturov and her husband were on good terms. - Buddies! When we used to come from Nikolai Alexandrovich’s Simbirsk estate to the small estate that he had near Diveevo, Mikhail Vasilyevich would come to us in the evening - so I already knew that they would talk in the office until the morning. And all they talked about was Elder Seraphim. This detail is interesting in that it shows to what extent a deep impression of his personality remained in the people who knew the elder closely at that time, and that many years later, seeing each other often, they still did not have time to talk about everything about the elder. How many memories, paintings, portraits, shrines are in Elena Ivanovna’s cozy cells. Original, in different poses, except for hers, I have never seen images of an old man anywhere. Here is a wonderful portrait of Archbishop Anthony of Voronezh, again different from the common portraits of him, and many other interesting things. Elena Ivanovna recently gave some of her things that belonged to Elder Seraphim to the Diveyevo Transfiguration Church, along with the elder’s other “clothes.” Elena Ivanovna was present at the lifting of the elder’s coffin from the grave, which recently took place in Diveyevo. I was told that when the coffin began to rise, she exclaimed with tears: “You are our dear, I saw how they laid you in the grave, and now before my eyes your relics are rising!” I also managed to visit two Diveyevo institutions that I always try not to miss: photography and painting. The large, light, log chambers of the picturesque are full of paintings-images, both old ones, standing as models, and newly made ones. When the Diveyevo Cathedral was being built, in St. Petersburg, under the patronage of Grand Duchess Maria Nikolaevna, who was the president of the Academy of Arts, Diveyevo novices studied painting. The paintings currently in the studio are of St. Petersburg origin - from this particular era. The Diveyevo sisters, who studied in St. Petersburg, then painted the Diveyevo Cathedral so beautifully. In the painting workshop of the Seraphim-Diveevsky Monastery. Photo 1908 It’s good in these large chambers, where there is a pleasant smell of paints and novices stand and sit behind easels with brushes in their hands. Now they mostly paint images of Elder Seraphim. The final decoration of the face is usually given by the eldest painter, Mother Seraphim. (Despite the fact that the elder's name is so revered in Sarov, it seems that only two or three nuns in all of Diveevo bear it.) Here, across the corridor, is the treasured room where Seraphim’s always tireless, always inspired mother works, usually with her assistant, the friendly and active Lydia Ivanovna. It seems to me that Mother Seraphim received from God the gift of putting so much spirituality, so much soft and subduing power into the images of Elder Seraphim. I know one thing - that there is no image of the elder painted outside Diveyevo that could withstand any comparison with the Diveyevo faces of the elder. You stand before them, involuntarily amazed at this triumphant holiness, this quietness, this childlike purity, the boundless gentleness and affection embedded in the old man’s features. How it all glows with light, what an attractive force it has in Diveyevo’s images! Lately, there was only one detail I didn’t like: the golden lights that began to be made around the old man’s head were too massive and put pressure on his head. It is much more artistic to make these radiances in the form of a reflection, rough, thin rays around the head. In the workshop of Mother Seraphima there are always many images of the elder of different sizes and in different forms. Mother Seraphima is a young nun with a very pleasant, energetic face. You start looking at her work with her and ask where something was ordered: - Do you, Mother Seraphim, have anything for sale? There's probably something that I don't have. This, for example? – You can’t, you can’t sell this, we write from this, this is the original. – But this old man with the bear, I really like it, it’s written very warmly. - Yes, it’s not finished yet and, you see, it’s not covered with varnish. - In my opinion, it’s over. Tell it to be varnished, and it's ready, I'll take it. I even like that the trees are vaguely outlined. So almost always, no matter how hard Seraphim’s mother protects the old images of the elder in her studio, she manages to bring back something original and interesting. Once I found an amazing, radiant image of Father Seraphim on her zinc tablet, another time I was lucky enough to find a not particularly small stone, from the rock-stone on which the old man prayed for a thousand nights. On the stone with touching warmth was painted a scene of feeding a bear - a forest and logs on which an old man sits, holding bread in one hand, tenderly extended to the bear, and in the other - a twig, probably to keep the beast in obedience, and all this is so light, naive and charmingly childish that it touches you almost to tears: this is truly “an angel incarnate and a desert dweller” 28. It has been noticed that it is enough to strongly desire to have images of Father Seraphim for them to be given into your hands. The elder himself goes to meet those who are looking for him, and I know cases where, with amazing consistency, the combination of various accidents, entire collections of rare images of Elder Seraphim were concentrated in one hand. Pieces of the elder’s stone are especially valuable now because they are almost impossible to have: they are all kept in different families as treasured shrines, and no one wants to part with them. It seems that Nikolai Aleksandrovich Motovilov was the first to take pieces from this stone. He also took them out with an image of a praying old man painted on them to members of the Imperial Family. When I stand in the workshop of Mother Seraphima, I feel how much this glorious worker is doing to spread the veneration of the elder. An artistic image has an unusually strong effect on a person’s inner world and is imprinted on it. Perhaps a person who in childhood loved a picture with an old hermit will subsequently lose faith, but still he will not throw this meek face of the old man Seraphim out of his soul, and in due time this face will warm the petrified heart, evoke tears in it and resurrect the faith of bygone days... It was necessary to say goodbye to Diveev after several spent in it and the hours that flew by in an instant. Already in Sarov, one of my St. Petersburg acquaintances told me that he liked Diveevo less than such active young convents in the northwestern region. Of course, they work more there. Here they feel more. And this is the meaning of Diveev. It is in those hours when your soul is tired of vulgarity, when your heart asks for “high things,” when your whole being longs for tangible news from the other life, then you will remember Diveyevo. Just as there will be no activity, in the rough everyday sense, in the future jubilant Kingdom, there will be just as little of it in Diveevo, although it has workshops, its own factories, and schools. A living fence around those immeasurably great events and persons who lived here and took place here; flaming, unceasing love and the preservation of legends about everything that shone here - this is the meaning of modern Diveevo. And to the soul, to that soul that is so oppressed by the vanity and external worries of the world, no place in the universe will give the same joy as this mystical, quiet Diveev. Before leaving Diveevo, I wanted to drink tea at the hotel, and here I encountered for the first time one of those inconveniences that filled the lives of those who came to the celebrations. The restaurateur, who rented a buffet in Diveyevo, announced that no food supplies would be given out at the hotel, and that you had to go to the restaurant for a glass of milk. The restaurant was a wooden shed with simple tables and benches. The employees were very slow; prices for everything are high. At one of the tables, not far from me, some St. Petersburg gentlemen were sitting and telling each other about the healings they had seen, about certain types among the pilgrims. Some peasant family from Siberia, in order to make a pilgrimage to Sarov, sold their house and property and moved on carts, traveling for many weeks. At the exit from Diveyevo there were wooden barracks for common pilgrims. I entered one of them. From above, from the floor, a measured voice is heard. A young man, of an ascetic appearance, was reading a leaflet about some saint. Several pilgrims and soldiers listened to him attentively. Pilgrims near a wooden barracks for pilgrims. Photo 1903 I quickly drove to Sarov. I couldn’t help but think about the time when I used to make this journey from Diveyevo to Sarov or back across the desert, occasionally only overtaking pilgrims, and now Seraphim comes to life, I told myself, and waves of people rush towards him, as in life. After the event of July 19, 1903, Mrs. Aksakova’s brochure “The Hermit of the 1st Quarter of the 19th Century and the Pilgrims of His Time” was published, which with amazing clarity conveys both the very image of Elder Seraphim and the impression he made on his visitors. As a child, Mrs. Aksakova traveled with her parents and family from Nizhny, where they lived, to Sarov. “On the first night, we children were not woken up for matins, and we only got to mass. Father Seraphim was not at the services, and the people flocked straight from the church to the building in which the monastery hermitage was located. Our family also joined the pilgrims. We walked for a long time under the arches of endless, as it seemed to me then, dark passages. The monk with a candle walked ahead. “Here,” he said, and, untying the key from his belt, he used it to unlock the lock that hung at the low, narrow door set deep into the thick stone wall. Bending towards the door, the old man said the usual greeting in monasteries: “Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on us.” But there was no response “Amen” as an invitation to enter. “Try it yourself, see if any of you respond,” said the old counselor, addressing the pilgrims. The usual exclamation at the closed door was repeated by my father and others, both women and children tried... “If he didn’t answer, it means that the old man is not in the cell,” the counselor explained. “Should I go and check under the window to see if he jumped out, when the roar of your train was heard in the yard.” We followed the gray-haired counselor out of the corridor by another, shorter route. Having rounded the corner of the building behind him, we found ourselves on a small platform right under the old man’s window. Seraphim. On this site between two ancient graves, indeed, there were traces of two feet, shod in work shoes. “Run away,” the gray-haired monk said worriedly, embarrassedly turning the now unnecessary key to the empty cell in his hands. “Ehma,” he sighed deeply, humbly returning to the work of his obedience as a leader of pilgrims at the monastery shrine. Father Abbot blessed us, pilgrims, to look for Father Seraphim in the forest. "He won't get far," the abbot consoled him, "after all, he's been severely crippled in his lifetime. You'll see for yourself: where the arm is, where the leg is, and there's a hump on his shoulder. The bear broke him... were people beating him... after all, he's a baby, he won't say. But you're unlikely to find him in the forest. He'll hide in the bushes, lie down in the grass. Will he even respond to children's voices? Take more children, yes so that they go ahead of you. They will certainly run ahead,” the abbot shouted after the crowd that had already moved towards the forest. The forest became thicker and taller. We were more and more overwhelmed by forest dampness, forest calm and the tart, unusual smell of resin. It became completely dark under the high arches of the huge fir trees... It became eerie for both the village and the city in the gloomy forest. I wanted to cry... Luckily, somewhere in the distance a ray of sunshine flashed and lit up between the needle-like branches... We took courage, ran towards the gap that flickered in the distance, and soon we all ran out scattered into a green, sun-drenched clearing. We look - near the roots of a separate spruce, a short, thin old man is working, bending almost to the ground, nimbly cutting tall forest grass with a sickle. The sickle sparkles in the sunny sun. Hearing a rustling in the forest, the old man quickly stood up, pricking his ear towards the side of the monastery, and then, like a frightened hare, quickly darted towards the thicket of the forest. But before he could reach him, he was out of breath, timidly looking back, ducked into the thick grass of the curtain he had not cut and disappeared from our sight. Just then we remembered our parents’ instructions when entering the forest, and we shouted in almost twenty voices in unison: “Father Seraphim! Father Seraphim!” What happened was exactly what the monastery pilgrims had hoped for. Hearing the sound of children's voices not far from him, Father Seraphim could not stand his ambush, and his old head appeared from behind the tall stems of forest grass. Putting his finger to his lips, he looked at us touchingly, as if begging the children not to betray him to the elders, whose steps were already heard in the forest. The hermit's yellowish hair, wet with labor's sweat, lay in soft strands on his high forehead; His face, bitten by forest midges, was speckled with drops of blood caked in wrinkles. The appearance of the forest hermit was unsightly. And meanwhile, when, having trodden a path to us through all the grass, he sat down on the grass and beckoned us to him, our little Lisa was the first to rush to the old man’s neck, pressing her tender face to his shoulder, covered with rubbish. “Treasures, treasures,” he said in a barely audible whisper, pressing each of us to his thin chest. Pilgrims at a well in a nearby desert. 19th century lithograph We hugged the elder, and meanwhile a teenager, the shepherd Sema, who was mixed up in the crowd of children, ran as fast as he could to the side of the monastery, loudly shouting: “Here, here. Here he is... Here is Father Seraphim. Siu-yu-da-a.” We felt ashamed. Both our shouts and our hugs seemed to us like something like betrayal. We felt even more ashamed when two powerful, out of breath figures, I don’t remember whether they were men or women, grabbed the old man by the elbows and led him to the already pouring out a bunch of people come out of the forest. Having come to our senses, we rushed after Father Seraphim... Having gotten ahead of his uninvited counselors, he was now walking alone, limping slightly, to his hut over the stream. Approaching her, he turned to face the pilgrims waiting for him. There were a lot of them. “I have nothing to treat you here, dears,” he said in the soft, embarrassed tone of a householder caught by surprise in the midst of a working day. “But perhaps I can treat the children,” he remembered, as if delighted at his own guess. And then, turning to the teenager, our brother, he said: “Here I have beds with onions there. Do you see? Gather all the children, cut them onions, feed them with onions and give them a good drink of water from the stream.” We ran and skipped to carry out Father Seraphim’s orders and squatted down between the beds. Of course, no one touched Luka. All of us, lying down in the grass, looked from behind it at the old man, who pressed us so tightly to his chest. Having received his blessing, everyone stood at a distance in a respectful semicircle and, like us, looked from afar at the one whom they had come to see and listen to. There were many people here, saddened by the recent grief. Most peasant women wore white scarves as a sign of mourning. The daughter of our old nanny, who had recently died of cholera, was crying quietly, covering her face with her apron. “The plague then, now cholera,” the hermit said slowly, as if recalling to himself something long, long ago. “Look,” he said loudly, “there the children will cut the onion, there will be nothing left of it on top of the ground... But it will rise, grow stronger and stronger than before... So will our dead ones - plague and cholera... and everyone will rise better, more beautiful than before. They will rise. They will rise. They will be resurrected, every single one...” The hermit did not address the pagans with the news of the resurrection. Everyone standing here kept repeating from their youth “about the life of the next century” 29 . Everyone exchanged joyful greetings on “Bright Day.” Meanwhile, this loud “They will be resurrected, they will be resurrected,” proclaimed in a remote forest by lips that had spoken so little throughout their lives, flashed over the clearing as an assurance of something undoubted and close. Standing in front of the door of his forest hut, behind which it was impossible to stand or lie down, the old man quietly crossed himself, continuing his prayer, his silent prayer... People did not interfere with him, just as neither work with an ax, nor haymaking, nor heat, nor cold, nor night, nor day, interfered with his constant conversation with God. It was as if a quiet Angel was flying over the silent clearing. We walked back to the monastery alone, with our family, following the tired gait of my grandmother, my father’s mother. Only Alexey Nefedovich was with us, and a long row of household members stretched at some distance behind. Crowds of pilgrims were already entering the monastery gates when we still did not emerge from the wide, cool clearing, at the end of which the heads of the monastery cathedral could be seen in the distance. My father began to sing quietly - which he always did when he was among his family and he felt good in his soul; both older sisters and my teenage brother began to sing, as always, in their angelic, still half-childish voice; Prokudin's deep tenor echoed them. Separated from the other servants, Semyon and Vasily moved along, the usual bass voices of our family songs, and a modest but harmonious choir announced the high arches of the clearing: “We sing to You, we bless You, we thank You and pray to You, Our God, our God, our God...” The sounds of the last “Our God” were still fading in the heights when we quietly stepped out into the monastery clearing. Meanwhile, the meek appearance of the forest elder involuntarily floated before the eyes of the singers. My sister, Lisa, the same one whom Father Seraphim hugged so much, calling her a treasure, my sister held me tightly with both hands. When leaving the darkness of the forest, she squeezed my hand and, looking questioningly into my face, said: “After all, Father Seraphim only seems like an old man, but in fact he is a child like you and me. Isn’t that right, Nadya?” Since then, over the next seventy years of my life, I have seen smart, kind, and wise eyes, I have seen many eyes full of ardent, sincere affection, but never since then have I seen such childishly clear, senilely beautiful eyes as those that looked at us so touchingly that morning from behind the tall stems of forest grass. There was a whole revelation of love in them... The smile that covered this wrinkled, exhausted face can only be compared with the smile of a sleeping newborn, when, according to the nannies, his recent comrades, the Angels, are still comforting him in his sleep. For the rest of my life, I will remember the seedlings of small firewood, interspersed with heaps of hay, which I saw in my early childhood in a forest clearing, among a dense forest, among giant pines, as if guarding this poor, backbreaking work of a frail body, but strong with God’s help, a hermit.” With great insight, Mrs. Aksakova comprehended this character trait of Elder Seraphim. The great elder, prophet of God and seer of the mysteries, having diminished, truly became like a child. “From early morning the next day, Father Seraphim, according to his promise, was already in the monastery. He greeted us, pilgrims, as a hospitable householder greets his invited guests, in the open doors of his inner cell. No trace of his stay in the “desert” was visible on him: his yellowish-gray hair was combed smoothly, in the deep wrinkles there was no visible blood from the bite of forest mosquitoes; a snow-white linen shirt replaced a worn-out homespun 30. His whole person was, as it were, an expression of the words of the Savior: when you fast, anoint your head and wash your face, so that you may appear to those who are fasting not before men, but before your Father, who is in secret; and your Father, who sees in secret, will reward you openly (Matthew 6:17–18). The hermit's face was joyful, the cell was filled with bags filled with breadcrumbs from prosphoras. The only space left free was in front of the icons for kneeling and prayer. Next to the old monk stood the same bag of crackers, but open. Father Seraphim distributed a handful of it to each pilgrim who approached him, saying: "Eat, eat, my little lights. See what an abundance we have here." Having finished this distribution and blessing the last person to come, the old man stepped back half a step and, bowing deeply on both sides, said: “Forgive me, fathers and brothers, for what I have sinned against you in word, deed or thought.” (Father Seraphim went to confession that evening with the confessor common to all the monasteries.) Then he straightened up and, shading everyone present with a wide priestly cross, added solemnly: “May the Lord forgive and have mercy on all of you.” Thus ended our second meeting with the reverend elder. I don’t remember how we spent the rest of that day, but the third and last day of our stay in the Sarov Desert remained all the more vivid in my memory. Having confessed, as I said, the day before, Father Seraphim served mass as a priest in a small church that day. Its size allowed few of the pilgrims to attend the service. Remembering us who did not make it to the church, the Reverend sent a novice to say that he would come to us with a cross after the service. All of us, rich and poor, were waiting for him, crowding around the church porch. When he appeared at the church doors, everyone's eyes were fixed on him. This time he was in full monastic vestments and in a service epitrachelion. His high forehead and all the features of his moving face shone with the joy of a man who had worthily tasted the Body and Blood of Christ; in his eyes, large and blue, there was a sparkle of intelligence and thought. He slowly walked down the steps of the porch and, despite his limp and the hump on his shoulder, was majestically beautiful. He began to tell us about the meaning of the Cross of the Lord - and sonorous, harmonious speech flowed from the lips of Elder Seraphim in an eloquent stream. Even if I had enough memory to retain the words of the hermit over all these years, then even then I would not be able to include this impromptu sermon in my memories. At that time I was not able to understand it. At that time I could not have been more than nine years old. But what the child could then understand, see and hear has not been erased from my memory by the decades of life I have lived since then. I must not forget this clear gaze, inspired at that moment by wisdom from above, I must not forget the suddenly transformed face of the woodcutter of the Murom forests. I vividly remember the sounds of his voice, speaking as one who has authority (Matthew 7:29) to the small flock of pilgrims gathered in Sarov. I remember the sympathetic sparkle in Prokudin’s black eyes, I remember my old grandmother, humbly standing before the hermit, “like a wet lip.” I remember the youthful delight that flared up in the eyes of the younger uncle. The preacher noticed him and, bending slightly towards his uncle, said: “Do you have money?” The uncle rushed to look for the wallet in his pockets. But the hermit stopped him with a quiet movement of his hand. “No, not now,” he said, “distribute always, everywhere.” And with these words he held out the cross to him first. And my late uncle did not go away mourning (cf. Matt. 19:22), as was the case with the rich young man of Scripture... Now it's time to leave. Our horses were already standing at the hotel porch. Our well-fed horses beat the ground with their hooves, hurrying with their impatience the servants who were carrying our travel luggage to the carriages. An old monastery servant approached Alexei Nefedovich, who was riding on horseback and already raising his foot in the stirrup. “Even before morning,” he said, “Father Seraphim, leaving the church, deigned to whisper his order to me in passing, so that you, Alexey Nefedovich, do not leave in the evening without seeing him again.” Alexey Nefedovich Prokudin was known for his charity. He distributed all his property to the poor. “An old friend, my spiritual father, wants to say goodbye,” Prokudin remarked to this and, turning to us, said: “Follow me, all of you.” And so our whole family, with a retired hussar at their head, again stretched along the long corridors of the monastery building. The door to the hermit's hallway was wide open, as if inviting entry. We positioned ourselves silently along the wall of a long and narrow room, opposite the doors of the inner cell. The last fading ray of the setting sun fell on a coffin hollowed out of an oak ridge, which had been standing here in the corner on two transverse benches for decades. Leaning against the wall, the coffin lid stood ready... The cell door opened silently and slowly. With silent steps the elder approached the coffin. His now bloodless face was pale, his eyes looked somewhere into the distance, as if intently peering into something invisible that occupied his entire soul, his entire inner structure. A flame trembled in his hand on top of a bunch of lit wax candles. Having stuck four candles on the outskirts of the coffin, he beckoned Prokudin to him and then looked intently and sadly into his eyes. Having crossed the oak coffin with a wide monastery cross, he muffled but solemnly said: “On the Intercession.” Indeed, Prokudin, being completely healthy, took communion in Nizhny on the day of the Intercession, and died painlessly in the evening.” These texts are inspired memories of the elder by his contemporary. Mrs. Aksakova’s vivid and artistically presented memoirs describe the impression the elder made on the child’s soul, but do not yet fully explain it. He was an inexpressibly charming man, attractive as a magnet, and his love was the magnet. It is difficult to imagine the full power of his love, which burned like a stormy flame, and at the same time warmed and shone like a calm, radiant source of light. He loved the strong and the weak, the rich and the poor, the noble and the poor equally, and pitied everyone equally. But this is so difficult, so almost unattainable. And usually those who love and patronize simple, lowly and deprived people are, if not hostile, then with secret inner condemnation towards happy people, sought after by life, as if placing blame on them for the misfortune of the former. And for him everyone was equal, because in everyone he immeasurably respected the spark of God inherent in them. And, greeting everyone with a bow to the ground, kissing their hands and calling everyone with the dear, caressing word “my joy,” did he not honor this spark of Divinity in them, did he not pay homage to God Himself in His best and most perfect creation, which is man. How little the spirit of the so-called “elderhood” is understood by those who condemn both people who turn to elders on matters of a purely everyday nature, and the elders themselves who undertake to give advice on such matters. These people forget that in our life the external and internal are closely connected with one another. Is it really indifferent to the salvation of a person, to the direction of his life, in what circumstances a person will live? Isn’t, for example, for a person of average spiritual strength such family happiness with a loving woman the best conditions for a pure good life? And is it really possible that if an old man with the gift of foresight can, on the one hand, foresee that two persons, entering into marriage with the best intentions, will nevertheless experience the greatest misfortune - is this really such a trifle that the questioner should not have asked about it and the answerer should not have answered? There are no small things in life. Often, who we meet in a house where we go for ten minutes on the simplest occasion of politeness has a decisive impact on our life. And people who do not want to do anything in vain in life, understandably, seek in all important cases the blessings of those spiritual people who, in their eyes, are surrounded by an aura of great righteousness and insight. Elder Ambrose of Optina, who possessed this gift to such a high degree, once said that the first thought that arises in him when asking a question from a person seeking advice is God’s suggestion. In the first minutes of my acquaintance with this man, who, undoubtedly, was one of the most amazing phenomena of the end of the last century, I myself witnessed such a suggestion. A commoner completely unknown to him approached Father Ambrose and asked for his blessing to go to work in some big city. The elder, without thinking for a minute, told him not to go there. And when he began to prove how correct his intention was, he not only did not bow to his arguments, but named those two cities lying completely in the other direction, to one of which he advised him to go. I am sure that that man did not have to repent if he listened to the elder. Elder Ambrose of Optina I myself, seeing Father Ambrose for the last time two months before his death, told him that I probably wouldn’t be in those places for several years, and he repeated several times: “Who knows, maybe you’ll come very soon.” I began to prove to the elder that this was impossible, and he finally remarked: “Well, you can’t argue with me!” - moved on to another topic. And indeed, having received the news of his unexpected death, I went to Optina. If I had asked him on that last date for his blessing to travel in October, he would have canceled this trip, since I would not have gotten to his fresh grave then... And what the elders advise, they advise not at all from worldly experience, not at all from common everyday sense, not in the way that simply smart people, even wise people, come to the conclusion. There is inspiration here, this great gift at that moment to receive revelation from God where to direct a person. And what a great happiness it is to have such a gracious leader, how, having gotten used to him, it is infinitely difficult to lose him... There are people who do not have this gift, but undertake to give advice, and what cruel disappointments will befall those who blindly trust them. But in Elder Seraphim this quality of insight was to the greatest extent. And he constantly called the people who came to him, among the huge crowd, for the first time by name, and he saw the future of someone else’s life, it seems, more clearly than people see their past... His compassionate heart treated with deep sorrow the unnatural humiliation of people that serfdom created, and he did not miss an opportunity to tell the landowners about their responsibilities to the peasants. When one general Kupriyanov, who owned large estates, came to Father Seraphim to be blessed before the Polish campaign and asked Mikhail Vasilyevich Manturov, a man most devoted to the elder, to take care of his estates in his absence, the elder gave Manturov the following commandment: “Go, father. The peasants are poor, abandoned, seduced, and life is bad for them. You can't leave them like that. Take care of them, my joy. Treat them gently and kindly. They will love you, listen to you, correct themselves and return to Christ. That’s why I’m sending you.” These are the words characteristic of that time, and how many misfortunes would have been prevented in serf Russia if everyone had looked at the matter through the eyes of Elder Seraphim, while - this was also the case in this case on Kupriyanov's estates - the peasants, through cruelty and robbery of the managers, reached the point of brutality, savagery and crime. And how the old man knew how to care for people and understand them! Elena Ivanovna Motovilova remembers how she once came to his cell and he, getting ready to stand for prayer, sat her down and gave her some nuts. What great things did he pray for then, what great revelations did he contemplate? And this seer from time to time looked up from his contemplations, and, approaching the girl, showed her how to crack nuts with two stones. ...Everything in Father was one light, one joy, one affection. Religion appeared in him at its most radiant. The joyful consciousness of our redemption by the God-man, the constant living sensation of this mystery always filled his soul with unceasing rejoicing. Once a young monk met him, who was in a mood of sharp despondency, close to despair. In this state of mind, he even wanted to avoid the old man, but he found himself face to face with him. Having blessed the monk, the elder sang the words from the canon of the Mother of God: “Fill my heart with joy, O Virgin, who accepts the fulfillment of joy and consumes sinful sadness” 31 . Then, stamping his foot, he said: “There is no way for us to lose heart, because Jesus Christ conquered everything: he raised Adam, he freed Eve, he put death to death.” The monk, revived by the spiritual joy of the elder, was beside himself with delight. In general, the soul of Father Seraphim was filled with spiritual joy and, for all its courageous strength, soft, gentle, affectionate and deeply grateful. With what ardor he spoke about the great saints, about those righteous lives that he witnessed, for example, about Agathia Simeonovna Melgunova. With what fidelity he prayed for those whom he knew, and asked to pray for the dead and others dear to him. But what great communication in the last period of his life the elder gave to the people who loved him: “If I gain boldness from the Lord, then I will prostrate myself for you before the Throne of God.” He looked like an angel of God. His face shone with some kind of inner light breaking through his skin. Someone compared this glow to the way paper glows with a bright candle behind it. There was something inexplicably sweet in his smile, and his very syllable, his manner of speaking, as can be judged by his recorded words that have come down to us, had something special, simple, childish, direct about them. In every phrase he says there is some kind of great interest in everything that lives, some kind of spiritual freshness. His words were as soft, affectionate, and desirable as his gracious appearance. It is clear why he made an extremely strong impression on everyone, some kind of extraordinary outreach from the very first meeting. “He ordered us to sit down; but we involuntarily knelt down, enjoying his conversation about the future life, about the life of the saints, about the intercession, intercession and care for us sinners of our Lady Theotokos and about what we need in this life and for eternity. The conversation lasted no more than an hour, but I cannot compare this hour with my entire past life. Throughout it, I felt an inexplicable heavenly sweetness, God knows how, flowing into my heart, a sweetness that cannot be compared with anything on earth and which subsequently I could never remember without tears of tenderness and a feeling of the most vibrant joy in my whole being.” Here is one of the reviews about the impression that Elder Seraphim made, and such feelings were experienced by everyone who approached him. It is clear why the memories of his contemporaries are constantly interrupted by living cries of delight, why even now it is impossible to calmly talk or write about him. The soul immediately tunes into some high mood and rejoices with embarrassment, seeing this phenomenon incredible for the earth. “All his dear instructions,” says one contemporary, “were animated by the spirit of anointing. Every word of his reached the soul and pierced the heart. His prayers were powerful, his gifts were strong, and his heart burned with the flame of heavenly fire. “I was amazed,” exclaims another, “that such a wonderful person lives in our time and that our eyes can see him.” There was hardly another person more affectionate, warming, like Saint Seraphim; Hardly any person on earth has poured greater joy into another human heart. If it is difficult to find a more harsh, cruel life, such, one might say, a trick of voluntary torture on oneself, then it is difficult to find a more simple-hearted, undemanding attitude towards others. Those feats: standing in prayer and pillar walking on stones, which brought him to an incurable leg disease, remaining silent, eating a decoction of the snitki grass for three years - all this was for himself. And for people he had only affection, only encouragement, only tender words: “My treasure, my joy!” Have you ever experienced a feeling of some timidity when approaching shrines, for example, the famous Lavra of Kyiv? These silent, dark caves, these gloomy, stern faces, the absence of the sun. “Lord,” a disturbing thought involuntarily arose in you, “how can I be saved, won’t condemnation and death await me, taking advantage of the sparkle of this God’s sun, and the brilliance of spring nature, and the many joys of life that I cannot refuse?” I remember standing with such a painful question on a delightful May morning above that enchanting hollow that is enclosed between two mountains, where caves far and near are dug. Shocked by the sight of these caves, I asked myself with horror whether it was possible to escape otherwise, whether it was a sin that I was right there, a few steps away from them, enjoying the indescribable beauty of this southern morning, a sea of ​​lush greenery, and the cheerful chirping of birds. I felt somehow ashamed then, as if I was doing something illegal. Oh, how far it is from life, from our little joys and hopes; how little they seem to understand our sins and hobbies, our inner sufferings - our entire modern life made up of light and shadows... And in their memory they stand: stern faces, too high for us and inaccessible to us. You will never experience this feeling of alienation from you, this isolation from modern life and all its big and small affairs in Elder Seraphim. All of him is the endless jubilant joy of an already redeemed person, not a slave, but a dear son of the Lord. When, with incredible feats of approaching God, he went to people, he brought them only love, and not judgment; leniency, not severity; not oaths, but only blessings and blessings... He was a true follower of that Christ, Who, Himself coming to earth for the crown and crucifixion, He blessed the children for life. And Seraphim took from the earth the shutter, the pillars and the snitka, and gave the people only joys and consolations. Oh, how far he is from some frenzied Savonarola 32, with a whip in his hand, Savonarola, who sought to crush the most legitimate impulses of the human soul towards the sun, towards fun, towards joy. Seraphim did not come to trample and insult life, but to ennoble and decorate it. With all his incomprehensibly high holiness, he bowed to the earth, and it seemed that this holiness wanted to melt, to bloom in the sinful sea of ​​life, so that with the power of grace it would neutralize all the poisons of life and so that everything pure, bright and good would become even stronger. It was a ray of sunshine, a sheaf of these rays, brightly, joyfully and life-givingly striking into our human lives. A ray that can shine and cheer anyone who understands, loves and calls him into his life, so distant from us in holiness and so close in the compassion of the joyful Seraphim. Yes, he is only love, he is the strongest proof of this supreme stage of life in Christ, the justification of the priceless words of the apostle: perfect love casts out fear (1 John 4:18). And that’s why he is only dear and desirable, and not terrible. And that’s why you experience not thoughts of torment, not torment for your future, but the endless joy of salvation when you think about him, when you walk through the places where he lived, where he loved. How little is common among us of sound, deep concepts about the veneration of saints, which constitutes one of the most attractive details in the teaching of the Church! The veneration of saints is based on faith in the eternity of the soul, in the great closeness of those two enormous areas that make up earthly life and the afterlife. Our individuality is immortal. And the soul brings all its cherished attachments, all its serious interests to that world. Those who have retired from life do not treat the affairs, troubles and aspirations of people with contemptuous indifference, but with sympathy, because they themselves were once participants in this life. They continue to retain great love, a great desire for the good of people, and, now standing so close to the Source of all good and all mercies, they pray to Him to help people. What does it mean that some saints are revered more and others less? This depends on the degree of their responsiveness to human grief, just as among living people they love and visit more pleasant, affectionate, friendly people. What a mysterious miracle are these invisible but strong bonds with which this temporary, earthly and eternal, heavenly life are intertwined. How there, in freedom, everything developed that seemed to be in embryo, in hints, here in the human soul! Just as Panteleimon the healer loved to heal on earth, so now, with a powerful prayer, without the box and spoon with which he acted while living on earth, and with which he is still depicted on icons, he provides medical assistance. And just as the great Spyridon of Trimifuntsky helped the poor, who during a famine turned a snake into gold with his words to give alms, so now he works miracles in the same sorrowful field of human financial shortcomings. Of course, the veneration of saints also has a much more ideal meaning, representing, as it were, a whole gallery of the best types of Christianity that we should imitate. Nevertheless, while poor humanity lives and suffers on earth and needs help, first of all it will look at the saints as prayer books for themselves before God and as helpers. You need something, really need it, and you ask the saint, as an infinitely kind and very strong person, to beg God for you to “open His generous hand and fulfill you with favor” 33 . Icon of the healer Panteleimon. Athos. The end of the 19th – the beginning of the 20th century. And when the saint to whom you turned, hearing stories about broad faith in him, based on the experiences of his intercession, fulfilled your good request once, and twice, and three times and begged you for the desired mercy, then gradually great gratitude, warm love and unshakable faith in such a helper are formed in your soul. It seems to you that you know him because you, so to speak, have felt him in practice and he has declared to you in the most real and tangible way about his existence and responsiveness to you. And you form relationships between living things, beautiful, pure, charming relationships. You feel that you have acquired a powerful, bright friend, with whom you are not afraid of any trouble, who will take care of your salvation in eternity and the earthly conditions of your life. And you, like a child to a father, can express to him everything that is in your soul, everything you dream about, everything you would like to have for your life, in full confidence that he will arrange everything as best as possible. And many times a year, in large and small matters, you will vividly feel his invisible but undoubted hand, each time you will be amazed again and again experience a surge of great happiness from this care of him for you. And in turn, warmed, touched, and filled with gratitude, your heart will constantly want to repay good for good, to please such a faithful patron with something. To do a good deed for his sake, to glorify him in some way, will be the need of the soul, to which he brought so much joy and consolation. This is what veneration of saints is, not in the dead, but in living, animated forms. Believe me, it is not prejudice, not ethereal legends without any real basis that draw people to the shrines and graves of saints. If, for example, pilgrims of all classes of society keep coming and coming at the grave of Blessed Xenia, in the St. Petersburg cemetery, it means that people are experiencing her mercy more and more. And not only tenderness before the truly almost unimaginable spiritual height of the elder Seraphim led pilgrims to his grave, but also a living hope for his real help in the trials and difficulties of life. Loved it, yes. Honored, yes. We were amazed, yes. But they also asked for help, hoped, and firmly believed in this help. And because they were not deceived in her and sometimes received through him more than they asked and before the request, for this they loved him even more passionately, they honored him even more saintly, they were amazed even more enthusiastically. And they found in him alone consolation from all life’s disappointments, from the terrible cold of life. “Rejoice, the passage of those who are in the whirlwinds, Rejoice, the warming of those who are in the darkness” 34, - it is said, and it is said very deeply, heartfeltly and truly in one of the akathists, St. Nicholas the Wonderworker. These words can be repeated about Elder Seraphim. All of us, rich and poor, smart and stupid, are all almost cold. It’s cold because they don’t love us, they don’t know how to love us properly. For the most part, the pleasure that we give people with our company, and the desire that they experience to see us, they consider as their love for us, and they absolutely do not think about us, our well-being, caring only about themselves. Meanwhile, love is already sufficiently defined by the exclamation of the Apostle: we do not love in word below the tongue, but in deed and in truth (1 John 3:18). Love is an active desire for good for a person, the desire to give him what he wants and what he needs, and the personality of the loving person stands completely in the background. Love does not seek its own (cf.: 1 Cor. 13:5). It is with this kind of caring, helpful, real love that Elder Seraphim loves those who come to him. At every moment of our lives, we all have cherished desires, which are sometimes so strong that they turn into some kind of suffering. And how these desires of the human heart are visible and understandable to Elder Seraphim. One needs a son; The absence of a son for this person constitutes constant suffering, a life cross. And here is a fervent, short prayer: “Elder Seraphim, beg for us to have a son.” Another needs to recover quickly and pass exams, a third needs to find a horse that was stolen from him, a fourth needs to meet his missing son, a fifth needs to unite with a loved one from whom fate is divorcing, a sixth needs to reconcile with relatives, a seventh needs to pull out a dear dying soul from the bottom of life, the eighth needs to find a permanent piece of bread, the ninth, traveling from afar to see his dying father, needs to extend this priceless passing life for a few hours, to catch a person, to whisper words of love and gratitude to him for the last time, to receive the last blessing. And all these painfully necessary desires result in one common cry: “Father Seraphim, pray. Father Seraphim, give it! Father Seraphim, help!” And because he hears these desperate cries rising from the human heart oppressed by grief, because he delves into these needs and, by the power of his immeasurable boldness towards God, knows how to open for us the generous hand of God’s mercies - that’s why they love him so much, that’s why they strive for him. Venerable Seraphim of Sarov. Lithograph of the 2nd half of the 19th century. Yes, such a miracle worker performs the greatest miracle in life. It warms the heart, numb from the cold of life. He proves to a person, tormented by the loneliness and irresponsibility of people, that he is not alone, that there is a living soul who cares about him, lives by his interests, is ready to do everything possible for him, that he too has been blessed with pure, devoted affection. Look how quick and helpful he is to help. A sick person in the house: they see an old man in a white robe kneeling by the bed: praying or giving some kind of invisible medicine. Or he goes to a lonely patient and, caringly saying: “Open where it hurts,” applies a bandage. You want to have his images: he accidentally sends his old, rare images. They love him in the house: he himself enters the house with the greeting “Peace and blessings on this house,” and when, seeing his poor clothes, the servants drive him away, he meekly says, leaving: “I will come, I will come soon,” and a day later a portrait is received from the post office, by which they recognize the wretched visitor. In the silence of the night, a rich lady suffers alone: ​​an abscess in her throat prevents her from breathing. The old man enters and says two words to the sick woman: “Simple and kind-hearted!” - heals her. In general, a number of extraordinary things are happening. A man long buried in a grave, in the very image in which he lived on earth, walks throughout the Russian land, heals the sick, comforts the unfortunate, instructs the weak, worries about business, arranges lives. And if you had the joy of trusting him, you constantly feel his hand over your life and his power manifested in so many cases in life that you no longer need any more evidence, no more miracles. You and only you will understand how important what the elder did for you is. Only you know that what others call an accident is in your eyes an undoubted miracle created for you. And hearing about the same thing from other people, you involuntarily exclaim: “Is it really all one, and not several, all one all-encompassing Seraphim!” And from everything that you heard and read about him, from all the images of him that you saw, from the places where he lived and worked, from everything that he did for you and for other people, little by little a completely living image is created in the extreme reality of the outlines. It seems to you that you know him more than people whom you have seen a thousand times. You are sure that he closely monitors your life and participates in it. Whenever you want, you can feel it up close and personal. Just think more deeply about him, read a few pages about him, and no matter what mood you were in before, you will begin to be overcome by some kind of serene, quiet joy, similar, of course, to what people experienced who personally approached the elder during his lifetime. You thought about him, and he had already come to you: “What do you want, my joy?” Maybe you don't need anything from him; just rejoice at its shrine, just warm your soul in its rays. Yes, attracting people to oneself is one of the most interesting traits in the character of Elder Seraphim. It is difficult to express how passionately they love him. He, in the ways known to him alone, somehow pierces the human heart, somehow strengthens in the soul, and he is given all the measure of affection that this heart is capable of. They can talk about him calmly, but they interrupt their stories and discussions about him with exclamations of surprise and delight. No matter what you would do for him, no matter what you would sacrifice! And each of those who love him thinks that no one honors the elder as much as he does. I remember the words of Daria Feodorovna Tyutcheva, who loved him passionately and, through her closeness to Empress Maria Alexandrovna, did a lot for the Seraphim-Ponetaevsky Monastery. And through her sister Anna Feodorovna (later Aksakova), the mantle of Father Seraphim was brought to the little Grand Duchess Maria Alexandrovna, which healed her of a serious illness. This daughter of the famous poet loved to talk about Elder Seraphim in her elegant French speech: “I don’t know if there is anyone in the world who can honor Elder Seraphim more than me. I feel his closeness so much. I call him in all the little things in life. Now, if I can’t sleep, I call him, put his image under the pillow and fall asleep. I’m with him like a child with his nanny.” I have said a lot in the hope of explaining more clearly all the charm of Elder Seraphim, and now, as the final touch of this, with the inept, unworthy, but loving hand of a drawn image, I will say short, simple words about him. Halfway between Diveevo and Sarov, in a long, large village, I was struck by its lively appearance. There were Cossacks standing around the village, someone's smart carriages were visible in the courtyards, and everything had that lively character that any area assumes when soldiers have just arrived to billet there. The path to Sarov is very difficult due to shifting sands. When you enter that dense forest that surrounds Sarov Mountain everywhere, the sands become so deep that you have to go at a walking pace. Probably, a good highway will be built here later. But then we left the forest, and I didn’t recognize the area around me. Directly opposite the exit on the extensive road A large chapel-tent was built in the river meadow. A few days later, it was here that Sarov, led by His Grace Innokenty of Tambov, met the religious procession of the women’s Seraphim monasteries. The chapel-tent where the religious processions of the Diveyevo and Ponetaevsky monasteries met. Photo 1903 There, from across the river, the sounds of axes were heard: this was completed by two houses for housing the Grand Dukes. Here, among numerous people on horseback and on foot, we cross the bridge and find ourselves in a whole street, formed by a hotel, cattle and horse yards and some other house, where the police are now located. There are people everywhere, policemen, policemen, dust, several new wooden hotels have been built, and they are all numbered. The usual, so-called “noble” hotel - a long white two-story building, standing sideways to the front of the fence - was intended mainly for secular persons. The porch of the house to the right of the holy gate, where there was once a shop, led to the governor’s apartment. And on the top floor of the same house, but with the entrance from the monastery, there were rooms of the Right Reverends: Metropolitan of St. Petersburg, His Eminence Anthony, Archbishop of Kazan Dimitri, Bishops of Nizhny Novgorod Nazarius and Tambov Innocent. In the left wing corresponding to this, there were persons sent to the celebration itself: Archimandrite Seraphim (Chichagov), comrade of the Chief Prosecutor of the Holy Synod V.K. Sabler, the prosecutor of the Moscow Synodal Office, Prince Shirinsky-Shikhmatov, and Prince M.S., who is on assignment for the marshal’s unit. Putyatin, who was entrusted by the Sovereign with overseeing the execution of the reliquary for the relics of the Venerable One according to his drawing. Inside the monastery, the abbot's building, completely remodeled, was appointed to receive the Sovereign and both Empresses. The premises were generally not easy for everyone. Everyone was more or less cramped due to such exceptional crowds in such a deserted area. Undoubtedly, the housing problem will continue to exist in Sarov, because the number of pilgrims will not decrease. The premises then newly built for the celebration will serve to receive them. But, due to their location, they are not entirely convenient. Some stand under the monastery mountain, and for those who, having arrived at the relics of the Saint, undoubtedly enter the monastery up to ten or more times a day, this Pavilion built for the Grand Dukes. Photo 1903 burdensome. The hotel where I stayed during the celebrations is located away from the road to the source and is a large house, intended for a school or hospital, with high rooms, very bright, standing on a high place and surrounded on three sides by a pine forest. All this is good, but again, it takes more than five minutes to get to the walls of the monastery along the road, which is always dusty. This hotel housed the Tambov leaders of the nobility, who had all their own horses and carriages, and I often regretted that I did not keep the horses that brought me. The only quite convenient point for hotels is where the old monastery hotel is located, a place opposite and close to it. From there it’s a minute or two walk to the fence; you don’t have to cross any squares or climb a mountain. And convenient The surroundings of the Sarov Monastery. In the distance is the pavilion-hotel of the Tambov nobility. Photo 1903 All it would have been for them to add one or two floors above the existing new building or build a new one nearby. It must be borne in mind that many sick and weak people come to Sarov, for whom being closer to the monastery is extremely important. I had barely left the gates of the monastery when I met a boy who had been relaxed and healed that morning at the spring. He stood in a crowd of people, and his mother spoke with tears about the healing. I was struck by the bright expression on his face. It seemed to me that I had never seen such unspeakable joy. His whole face was illuminated by some kind of light coming from within. It was not exuberant childish joy, but some kind of sacrament of renewal and rebirth. This winter I saw people who said why they write so much about the healings that happen in Sarov. After all, this only encourages people not to seek medical help, but to go to Sarov. People are accustomed to a strange, incorrect view. He begins to look at Elder Seraphim as a famous doctor who heals diseases that cannot be treated by ordinary doctors. And so they go and go, and many do not get relief. “Did you personally see his healing?” - they asked. I answered such co-questionnaires as follows. - How do you want to extinguish in the human soul one of its strongest aspirations - its thirst to see living evidence of otherworldly existence, confirmation of humanity’s hope that there, in the distant happy sky, live saints, wise, strong people who are close to the suffering of the earth, who are eager to alleviate it... It seems “strange” to you this trembling expectation of a tormented person who has faith in earthly means for supernatural help from a heavenly benefactor. You yourself are living so well that you don’t need any help, neither human nor God’s. Do not rob others of the last thing they still have in life. Wouldn’t it seem “strange” to you if a patient said about his father: “I know that he will do everything possible to cure me.” Why is it “strange” that people place the same hope on a man who, it is true, died long ago, but who has since proven his existence and his extraordinary care for suffering people through many living, unforgettable deeds? Yes, I look at him as a benefactor, as a “famous doctor” where I need medical help, as an “adviser” where I am perplexed and pray that he gives me clarity of mind, as an assistant and patron where I need to arrange some business. You say that not everyone is healed. But widespread healing would be the beginning of a golden age on earth, and I believe that even in those places where Christ Himself went preaching the gospel, after His Divine visit there were still sick people left. God's Providence knows why He sends healing to some, while to others it determines the continuation of their previous suffering, which is probably more useful for their fate than health. You ask if I have personally seen miracles. I have to tell you that I wasn't looking for them. The miraculous power of Elder Seraphim, confirmed among people known to me by many signs, was too undoubted for me for me to look for more new confirmations of it. I was in Sarov not to observe, not to write my notes, but solely out of a feeling of boundless veneration for Elder Seraphim and a thirst to be with him during these days. I wasn't intentionally looking for anything. But nevertheless, I constantly heard from undoubted eyewitnesses - such as the famous Archimandrite Nikon, now the Bishop of Murom, the St. Petersburg preachers Fathers Ornatsky and Rozhdestvensky and other worldly people - stories about what happened before their eyes. And isn’t it a “miracle” that what happened to me and the people I know and what I’m going to tell you about here? I know how, in the same era, when Grand Duchess Maria Alexandrovna, the current Grand Duchess of Coburg, received healing from a serious illness using the mantle of Father Seraphim (this healing, as well as the entire course of the illness, is described in the diary kept by her teacher, Anna Feodorovna Tyutcheva-Aksakova and which belongs to the Grand Duke - Sergius Alexandrovich, as well as that old man’s mantle Seraphim), - in the same era, just a few days away, in St. Petersburg, a three-year-old boy, the only child of my uncle, sentenced by celebrities to imminent death, was healed. In January 1903, the following incident happened to me personally. I was in Sarov, having just suffered a serious long-term illness a year ago, from which I almost died, and having spent the previous spring in a warm climate. It was frosty days, it was 12 degrees. Meanwhile, I definitely wanted to bathe in the healing well. By faith in Elder Seraphim, I knew that this water would bring nothing but good, but as a human being, the very unusualness of such bathing frightened me. It seemed to me something terrible to undress in such frost and stand under the stream of water, which is almost icy even in summer. Nevertheless, I pulled myself together. So, I went to the source in a sled, on one of those zealous horses for which the desert is famous. A novice from the hotel was with me. I began to undress, and he spread a rough canvas along the stairs leading inside the log house, since the steps were icy and it was possible to fall and break. A feeling of cold that I had never experienced so sharply came over me as I walked down the stairs and, afraid of slipping with my bare feet on the icy floor, crept under the tap. Lord, how cold, how unusual! But, gathering all my presence of mind, I turned the tap, and a terribly cold stream ran over my head and throughout my body. It seemed to me that the bones in me were breaking... Three times, as always, I put my head under this stream, then I went up, caught my breath and, out of habit, went down two more times into the log house, rocking myself three times; then he began to slowly get dressed. I spent just a quarter of an hour naked in the twelve-degree frost, dousing myself with icy water. I couldn’t even return to the desert on foot, because I had to get back on time, so, after getting dressed, I rode off in the same sled. Never in my life, it seems, have I felt so fresh as during the several months after this bath. Before that, in addition to illness, I had experienced a lot of hard things and was extremely tired mentally. Now everything - both body and soul - seemed to have become younger, there was extraordinary vigor and cheerfulness. And I involuntarily asked myself: what would have happened to me if not at the Sarov spring of Elder Seraphim, but in some other place I would have performed the same operation in the cold? Of course, in a few days I would be lying in a coffin. And many visitors take this bathing in Sarov in winter, and no one has ever received anything but benefit from it. In this last month of January, His Eminence Innocent, Bishop of Tambov, bathed in the spring, and he himself told me about this. He had rheumatism in his hand, which he got rid of after this bath. To whom does God send healing through the prayers of his saints and to whom does suffering continue, why does he send it to others, but not to others? This is a question that will probably never be resolved except by guesswork by our limited minds. Of course, those who hope for a miracle, for healing, and do not receive it, experience a difficult spiritual state. On my last visit to Sarov, in May, two months before the celebrations, approaching the Sarov hotel, I saw a spring carriage, apparently prepared for a sick person. The seat was covered with pillows, and something like a bed was arranged. On the cart standing behind there was a large chair on wheels, the kind used to carry people who cannot use their legs. I was told that it was a young woman from a southern city who was leaving, who came to Sarov in the hope of receiving healing. “It’s hard to see how sad she is,” they told me. “She really hoped that in Sarov she would get up and go.” “And why,” she says, “did I come here? Back home, they will laugh at me and at my faith.” Then this story made a very difficult impression on me. How ardently we demand a miracle and how we feel the wavering of faith if it does not always and does not come immediately! But nearby it was completely the opposite. When I came to Sarov in January of the same year, I noticed one young lady praying with extreme zeal. It was clear that she was all ablaze with inexpressible zeal for Elder Seraphim. At the “picturesque” in Diveyevo they told me that she had bought and ordered a lot of images of the elder and that the previous spring her daughter had received healing at the spring of Father Seraphim. She was also present at the opening ceremony of the relics, this time with her daughter, and the pretty girl, always in a white dress, attracted attention. This lady's name is Mrs. Vasilyeva, and she lives or then lived in Ushakovsky Lane in Moscow. Her daughter, after a serious illness, lost the use of her legs. Once she saw in a dream an old man who brought her prosphora. She later learned the situation of the dream when she arrived in Sarov. Mrs. Vasilyeva, a devout woman, often went to Moscow shrines. One day she stopped at a book counter that stood in the vestibule of the Chudov Monastery, to the right of the door to the church. The monk who was selling books advised her to buy the biography of Elder Seraphim, whom he spoke of as a completely extraordinary righteous man. Mrs. Vasilyeva, who had never heard anything about Elder Seraphim before, bought this book and, as often happens with people who learn about the Elder for the first time, began to honor him extremely. She really wanted to have an image of Father Seraphim, but she could not get it in icon shops. (This was several months before the decision of the Holy Synod on the opening of the relics.) Her desire to receive such an image grew, and at the same time she developed a premonition that Father Seraphim would heal her daughter. One day she visited a nun she knew at the Ascension Monastery, who told her that she had recently received from her sister an ancient image of Elder Seraphim. This sister lived in one family as a governess, and the children in her care, somehow digging in the sand, dug there an image of Elder Seraphim, which she gave to her sister, the nun. Mrs. Vasilyeva fell at the nun’s feet, asking to give her this image. Thus was sent to this thirsty soul what she had so diligently sought. Then Mrs. Vasilyeva had another desire: to go to Sarov. But she didn’t know the way there and couldn’t ask anyone. At random, she, taking her sick daughter with her, in the hope that Elder Seraphim would heal her, went to Nizhny. There, on the street, she approached the nuns she met, asking them to tell them how to go to Sarov. The nuns turned out to be from Diveyevo. They brought her to their farmstead, and there, in a large portrait hanging on the wall, she recognized the old man who had appeared to her. On the eve of Trinity Day, mother and daughter were in Sarov and were driving to the desired source. Happy spring was blooming. Lilies of the valley were white along the edge of the forest, and the girl Vasilyeva was sad that she could not pick them. We arrived at the source, and the mother began to prepare her daughter for dousing. There were some other ladies here who, seeing the motionless girl, began to assure her mother that pouring cold water on her was pure madness. But she did not succumb to these persuasion. The patient got to her feet from under the stream of the spring and walked. On the way back, she jumped out of the carriage and tore lilies of the valley. Here is one of the typical “miracles”. And how interesting for a keen eye is this gradual revelation of himself to the believing soul by Elder Seraphim, and the gradual, so to speak, through extraordinary coincidences, attracting a person to himself to give him great mercy. I wanted to immediately understand what was happening in Sarov, and I visited churches and visited the abbot. I was especially interested in seeing the large Assumption Cathedral, where the celebration should be concentrated. This vast, tall cathedral is extremely majestic. The vaults rest on four pillars. A multi-tiered gilded massive iconostasis stretching into the sky, as if woven from branches, represents its main decoration. Now, between the two pillars on the right side, a place was being prepared for the relics of Father Seraphim. This entire place was covered with canvas from the inside of the cathedral, since the work was not yet finished. I looked with interest, going behind this swaying fence, at a marble platform with several steps, on which stood a marble shrine under a canopy-tent. There they attached gratings and strengthened the images in the canopy. The overall impression of this crayfish was extremely pleasant. Then I went to the elder’s cell, above which the church under construction had just been completed. The walls of this vast church were plastered and the floor was made of multi-colored tiles. I didn't recognize the cell itself. Her former simplicity and inviolability seemed to have flown away, and here I experienced the same feeling as in Diveevo, at the old man’s “clothes”. I remembered the cell back when it was part of the monastery building. They went up the stairs to her, passed by the doors of the cell where his neighbor, the straightforward, simple-hearted Father Pavel, lived in the days of the elder, entered the dark hallway and, finally, into the cell. Through the window in the left wall one could see wide meadows and a forest behind them; to the right of the door there was a stove made of white tiles with a green pattern. On the wall opposite from the entrance there were two large, life-size images of the old man: his death and him walking, leaning on a stick. On the next wall, opposite the window, there were other images of him. In the corner, in a shabby wooden display case, were the few remaining memories of him. In a large candlestick, dozens of candles usually glowed, quietly crackling, and how quiet and joyful everything was. I especially remember the early morning, almost night, of January 2, 1903 - exactly 70 years since the death of the elder. I then came to this cell at about three o’clock and spent several hours in it. At first I was alone, then pilgrims began to approach, mostly nuns from Diveyevo and Ponetayevo, and funeral services were served almost without interruption, one after another. And there were some sweet promises in the air, some inexpressible joy. I remember the solemn mass on this day in the winter cathedral, and again some kind of extreme joy, some kind of indescribable jubilation that filled the cathedral. The bright rays of the sun beat through the large windows, and something spoke without words about a great victory, about unfathomable glory, about all-encompassing love and accessible spiritual happiness. And when, after the memorial service, which ended with a lithium at the grave, I approached the gate in thought, from outside, the fresh greenery of the pine trees looked at me, and I stopped, amazed: the feeling of spring overwhelmed me so strongly then... And here it is again, this cherished cell where the poor Seraphim lived and prayed, where, referring to the famous words of Philaret about the cell of St. Sergius, “so many sacred, miraculous, prophetic verbs are imprinted, whose air is watered with the rain of the tears of the Rev..” Here is the threshold, “which was worn down by the feet of the saints and which the feet of the Queen of Heaven once crossed.” Here those mysterious meetings took place, like the one described by Mrs. Eropkina, here existences were renewed, here old ailments were instantly healed; here the word sounded, the smile shone, the grace of the wondrous Seraphim gave life. And I want to exclaim every time I enter this holy place: “Brothers, it’s all here!” Now the cell has been changed. Its four walls and windows were left. Instead of a wooden display case, an expensive bronze one was made, the stove was enclosed in a glass and bronze display case, and only one of the images of the elder was left, the most remarkable. Look deeply into it. On his knees with his hands folded in a cross on his chest, with a copper crucifix, he stands with his eyes closed, and a great secret has fallen on this beautiful face with some kind of waxen tint. It seems that now the long closed eyelids will rise and a soft, affectionate gaze will flash - but no: the soul has been freed, and in the sky the earthly Seraphim, the Sarov angel, is received with jubilation. From the cell I went to the chapel above the grave, from where a few days before the coffin with the remains of the elder had been lifted and taken out. Now work was going on there. The bulky large monument that stood over the grave was left in its place, and where the coffin stood, a recess was made, with a staircase leading to it from above; and at the very location of the coffin it will be placed again, behind a glass frame. The entire recess is lined with white marble. I saw this coffin, in which the old man lay in the ground for seventy years, I saw it before it was installed in its old place. In one small Sarov church I had to see how one monk, in the presence of the Tambov Bishop Innokenty and the Abbot of Sarov Hierotheus, beat its edges with tin. I asked the Eminence to give me a few chips from the coffin, and he allowed me to collect and carry away those parts of the damp wood that were at the bottom and which, without breaking them out, could be taken with my hands. This coffin, which the elder prepared for himself long before his death and kept constantly in the entryway, is an oak log. The grave and coffin of St. Seraphim, in which his relics were in the ground for 70 years. Photo 1903 Having visited these places, I went to my hotel. Soon my St. Petersburg acquaintance, and now my roommate, arrived, a young general, a well-known zealot for churchism. It was extremely convenient to be with him, because thanks to his military uniform, in those days when the monastery was cordoned off from everywhere by troops and difficulties arose for the passage of even persons equipped with all kinds of tickets, he could go everywhere and see off his companions. The first hours were devoted to making ourselves as comfortable as possible. There were no buffets or anything edible in the hotels; only samovars were served. Edible food could only be had in a restaurant located under the awnings of the former monastery equestrian yard. Having settled down, sorted out my things and thought about the order of the days during my life in Sarov, that same evening I went to the source. The road between Sarov and the spring of Father Seraphim represented one of the most interesting and typical places in the wide panorama of those days. Walking along the winding bank of the Sarovka River, along the wall of an old pine forest, this picturesque road somehow widened during this time. The narrow path of Elder Seraphim, unfortunately, turned into a wide-gauge, brisk road along which several carriages drove freely. Triples and couples galloping back and forth, an almost continuous line of pilgrims on both sides going to the source and returning from there - all this made a great impression, enhanced by frequent meetings with the healed or stories about healings that had just taken place. Not only was everything that happened there not accurately recorded, but often no one knew about the healings; they were drowned in the overall immeasurable mass of the good deeds of Elder Seraphim, and sometimes you walked next to someone healed, suspecting nothing, until you spoke to him, and then only, from his ingenuous conversation, did you learn about what had happened to him. And all these gray people, from near and far places - old people, adults and children - somehow merged into one, you forgot the names, places, details of their ailments, only the healing grace of Elder Seraphim shone more and more clearly, more and more undeniably loomed before you. Chapel over the spring of St. Seraphim. Photo 1903 Here is a crowd of people standing around a wooden cart, on which lies a boy, bent almost like a wheel by illness for several years; he began to straighten up, began to control his hands; flexibility appeared in the lifeless, strained limbs, juices flowed from somewhere through the withered veins, and he, as if not believing himself, kept moving his hands, more and more adapting to his new happiness: the ability to move. Lame Vasily Lykov, who was healed at the source during the celebrations to glorify the Saint. Drawing from the beginning of the 20th century. “The boy has gone”, “the girl’s leg has turned around” - these are the words so often heard on this road to the source. There were some truly amazing scenes. St. Petersburg priests Fathers Ornatsky and Rozhdestvensky once saw a woman surrounded by a crowd who had just regained her sight after many years of blindness. She lost her sight suddenly while she was busy in the field reaping. Her story was interrupted by a loud exclamation: - Darling, yes, I know you, you stayed with me like a blind person. At the bathhouse at the spring of St. Seraphim. Photo 1903 It turns out that the healed woman, who was traveling from somewhere from Turkestan to Krasnovodsk, near the Caspian Sea, stopped in early spring with this woman, who now recognized her. The one who had regained her sight could remember her only by her voice. Both began to sob, began to hug, and the healed woman kept repeating: “Look, look, my little eyes are looking, they see everything, oh, my little eyes are open!” Another time they saw how the parents of a boy who had regained his sight did not dare to believe the miracle that happened to him. To check on him, his parents slowly began to walk away from him into the forest, and he cheerfully ran after them, shouting: “Don’t leave me! I see you, I see everything.” There were many smaller miracles. One middle-aged man, Mikhail Matveev Krymov, who serves as a carriage inspector at the Liski station of the South-Eastern Railways, told me the following. Pyotr Zobnin, 6 years old, from the Tambov province of Morshansky district, the village of Bodino. For three years he could not use his legs and received healing at the spring of St. Seraphim on July 11, 1903 His daughter, an eight-year-old girl, Seraphima, had a painful callus on her leg for three years, hardened like a bone. The poor girl could not place her foot other than with her edge when walking. Her mother went to ask Kharkov professors for advice, but to no avail. The parents took the girl with them to Sarov and, on the eve of my meeting with her father, they bathed the sick girl in the spring. The next morning, when the girl woke up, this entire growth was separated from the leg by the root, without any pain. Hieromonk Athanasius records cases of healings at the holy spring that occurred during the glorification of the Saint. Drawing from the beginning of the 20th century. You, overwhelmed by the memory of the old man, who twice a day, bent under the weight of his bag of stones on his shoulders, exhausted, crippled, but joyful, bright, walked this road, you approach the source, admiring the bright Sarovka in its green banks, and the mighty forest, but on the edge of which you are walking, and the diversity of people, the diversity of colors, the variety of types. There are many wells along the road, where pilgrims quench their thirst by drawing water with wooden scoops, and several large crucifixes. But then the road turned, and the place of the nearby desert and spring was revealed to you. “Rejoice, for the waters of ancient Bethesda, the most glorious and mighty, are being revealed from your source” 35. These words from one handwritten akathist to Elder Seraphim involuntarily come to mind when approaching this cherished place. Where the last days of Elder Seraphim’s life passed in labor, God was pleased to open a great “source of healing.” Tradition says that one day, when the old man was making his way along his usual path, he saw the Queen of Heaven off to the side of the path, in a low, marshy place. She struck the ground with her staff, and then a source of pure spring water began to boil at Her feet. Interior view of the chapel above the well of St. Seraphim. Photo from the beginning of the 20th century. “I prayed, my joy,” they heard the elder’s testimony, “that this water in the source would be healing from diseases.” Indeed, in addition to the mass of attested healings received from this water either through bathing in the source, or when using it for illnesses in different places in Russia, everyone unanimously testifies to some kind of extraordinary freshness and surge of strength felt after bathing in the icy water of this source. The famous publicist V.V. Rozanov, who visited Sarov this summer and reported about it in Novoye Vremya in the article “In Quiet Abodes,” experienced the same impression. The properties of this water from the source of Elder Seraphim are remarkable. It does not deteriorate at all over time and always retains its freshness and coolness. Recently I had to observe such a case. One gentleman, who had large reserves of this water, on his way from the village to his dacha, began to tidy up his city apartment. It was stiflingly hot. By the way, his servant brought him a bottle of water, which had been standing all the time in the kitchen, near the stove. “What kind of water is this? - he thought. – I only have Sarov water in such bottles. I’ll try it.” He ordered a glass to be brought and poured it. The water was clear, clean and, most surprisingly, cool, as if it were coming from a well. He was amazed; gave it to a servant, who was also surprised and for a long time later told others about this unusual detail. When I stood near the source in July last year, judging by the greed and swiftness with which people walked towards it, I involuntarily compared this place to a piece of land on which gold placers had opened. Can gold give a person the happiness that health gives him? The loss of this most precious, primary condition of human well-being cannot be replaced by any piles of gold. I remember the source from before. It happened that you approached him slowly, looking around sympathetically. Here on the hill there is a semblance of a genuine nearby desert carried away to Diveyevo. Here are the garden beds where the old man worked. And you say to yourself: how many feelings are contained in this air. These unusual meetings took place here, where the elder called people unknown to him directly by name and told them their whole lives. Here, with one word, he healed Motovilov’s long-standing illness. All this was seen by the old, old motionless pines. Lord, how many interesting, unusual, wondrous things they could tell if they spoke! Then, it happened, you would enter a high octagonal wooden chapel, erected above the source. Behind it there is a grate along the edges of the well, the water level of which is quite deep. Buckets on chains are attached to the side of the grille. They are thrown into the well and, by pulling them up, they get water. To the right and left of the doors, on the tightly and often folded log walls, hang in simple wooden wide frames two huge images of Elder Seraphim: praying on a stone and walking towards the forest, leaning on a stick. To the left of the entrance stood a monk with candles; He could also have water bottles with the stamp: “From the source of Elder Seraphim, Sarov.” How pleasant it was to stand in silence by this comforting water, throw a bucket into the well yourself and pull it out. There is some special charm for the Russian soul in these “healing wells”. I remember swimming in the village of Kosin, not far from Moscow, the famous spring of St. Tikhon of Kaluga; a source in the Bogoslovsky monastery, near Kazan; at Anthony Dymsky, near Tikhvin; the new well of Elder Ambrose, in Rudnov, near the Shamordino Monastery. There is something cleansing and life-giving in the water element itself, the power of which modern doctors consider more and more healing. And something deeply soothing, affectionate, and welcoming breathes into the soul from all these healing wells. The water sounds softly, low voices are softly heard around you, and the faith of that multitude that for many years, sometimes in a crowd, sometimes alone, has passed here, involuntarily embraces you too. This calmly profound mood no longer had a place at the source of Elder Seraphim last summer. If someone had started throwing handfuls of gold there, then, it seems, there could not have been a greater crush. It was very difficult to obtain, and even more difficult to scoop up water from the source itself. It is very difficult to swim in a log house. People stood in endless lines, waiting in line. Mounted police held back the pressure of the crowd, and the entrances to these baths were guarded by teams of soldiers. There was a terrible crush in the baths itself. We had to undress almost in the crowd. To avoid a crush, many visiting ladies, judging by their appearance, educated and rich, took off their dresses and hats somewhere nearby, entering the bathhouse in their underwear. I heard that starting this year the baths have undergone a radical reconstruction, which is nothing to rejoice at. As before, now there are four of them: two for men, one for the people, one for the common people, and two for women. But the baths, they say, have now been made warm, so that even those who are timid in their faith will now bathe in winter. In addition, instead of one faucet, which previously existed in all baths, there are now, it seems, eight. The greed with which Sarov water was snapped up is difficult to describe. A lot of it is taken out and carried out from Sarov by people of all ranks and in all possible ways - from expensive English suitcases to poor pilgrim bags. In addition, a lot of it is sent by mail, since demands for this water are constantly coming to Sarov from different places in Russia. And if your friends know that you have large reserves of this water, they constantly turn to you for it. Involuntarily, looking at the terrible ailments from which the pilgrims were expecting healing, the idea arose about the need to organize something like a brotherhood of brothers of mercy at Sarov. What terrible situations, injuries, sometimes downright incredible, you will see in Sarov. Paralyzed with cramped limbs, blind, dumb, possessed, many walking on crutches. Who walks on all fours, face down; I even saw one walking on all fours, face up, and this made a particularly terrifying impression. I was also struck by the sight of one man, lying at some distance from the source in the forest, in a cart in which his wife, a pleasant, healthy woman, who was standing right next to the cart, had brought him. When I looked under the semicircular canopy of the cart, I saw a human being lying there, who amazed me with his hands. The arms from the very shoulders were incredibly thin, red, and, what was especially scary, not round, but flat. Attached to this disease-disfigured body was a completely healthy head with an intelligent, handsome face. If you covered it up to the neck, you would never guess what an ominous ruin it represents. Before his military service, he was very strong and was famous throughout the village as the first strongman. He was taken into military service in Kronstadt, in the navy, and there, among the best sailors, he was assigned to the training team. He somehow became very ill, his temperature rose to 41 degrees. The doctors probably did not understand his illness and put him in ice baths. From this he withered away. Looking at these horrifying examples of human diseases, I involuntarily recalled the Gospel lines about Bethesda, which had five porches, in which there were many sick, blind, lame, dry, waiting for the movement of water (John 5: 2-3). The healing movement of water does not occur in Sarov, but its water is always healing. And I thought how necessary it would be to gather compassionate people who would devote themselves to the exclusive goal of serving the sick brought to Sarov. How, for example, can a woman bring her motionless husband to the bathhouse? You have to turn to outsiders for help. And how difficult it is for these strangers to bring such a paralytic to the tap. All this could be done so well by such brothers of mercy, although, obviously, it would be possible to establish a special obedience for this purpose for the Sarov brethren. There is no doubt that such people would be found among the laity. Someday I intend to dwell in more detail on a question of enormous importance in the spiritual life of an educated society, namely the need to create such centers where educated people, too entangled in the chains of the world, could, even if temporarily staying in them, tune the soul in a different way, without making any vows, and with the goal of, after this, so to speak, a course of spiritual treatment, return again to the world. By the way, I note that the late Metropolitan of Kiev Platon had such a thought, who conveyed it to one of my acquaintances. Once, having visited Sarov, I walked from a source to a distant desert, where I met a young ascetic-looking man. He began to ask me, having learned that I had come from St. Petersburg, if he had heard any details about the emerging circle of “brothers of mercy,” which he, as he said, would willingly join. If only two wonderful goals could be achieved at once: helping the sick and satisfying the spiritual needs of people who are looking for a selfless life, but are not inclined to monasticism. It is very unfortunate that the record of healings in Sarov was not recorded with sufficient accuracy. Miracles certainly happened; and there were many of them. Meanwhile, there was no examination of those healed by doctors, and many healings remained not recorded at all. They said that the crutches of those healed at the spring made a strong impression, which these people immediately threw down with joy. The huge crowd of people, its kind of joyful excitement, the variety and variegation of colors against the background of the blue sky and dark green colors - all this made a strong impression. Two days before the opening of the holy relics, under the pine trees, the hieromonk confessed to the people who were preparing for communion on the eve of the celebrations. And there was something special in this confession in the open air and pine trees, contemporaries of the elder, a few steps from his miraculous source. From the source from the near desert you can go to the far desert. The road lies through the forest. Walking among the walls of these huge pines, you remember how the old man walked here. In the system of his spiritual education, he included, among other things, the living memory of the sacrifice on the cross, and therefore he named the surroundings of his hermitage with gospel names. He imagined Sarovka as Jordan; He had the Garden of Gethsemane, and Tabor, and Golgotha. It’s good in this forest, which I saw at different times of the year. It’s good in the spring, when nightingales call to each other in it and a healthy resinous smell is heard; It’s also good in winter, when snowdrifts blow between the trees and in the thinned forest you keep expecting dry branches to crack and a bear to pass by, a descendant of one of those who came to visit Elder Seraphim. The path to the distant hermitage goes past the place where the famous stone was located - the rock of Elder Seraphim, on which he underwent the feat of pillar-bearing. This feat was accomplished in deep secrecy and was revealed only shortly before the death of the elder... Visiting the site of the exploits of Elder Seraphim, pilgrims visited this stone, and little by little a road formed from an inconspicuous forest path to it, along which you can drive in a carriage. The stone itself has long been gone from this place. The pilgrims broke off pieces from it, which received the same healing power as the water from the elder’s spring. And more than once the great elder, being sick, ordered such pieces to be immersed in water and drunk, promising healing. Some are confused by the thought of how so many pieces could be broken off from a medium-sized stone and two pieces still remained (one in the elder’s cell in Sarov; the other in the nearby hermitage in Diveyevo). It should be noted that this stone was very extensive, going deep into the ground. You can even call it a rock. The stone that was in the cell is small, thin and has a fairly regular oval shape. It is kept, it seems, completely intact in Diveevo, in an altar built from a distant desert. Praying on the stone became a favorite theme in the life of Elder Seraphim. In an artistic sense, it is difficult to come up with anything more successful. On the dark greenery of the forest, under the brilliance of the stars, an old man with his hands raised up, with a copper cross on a white robe. Here is this very place: under the roof on four pillars there is a stone, a distant resemblance to that stone, and in front of it is a crucifix. Everything around is quiet, thoughtful, and concentrated, and since this difficult feat was accomplished in silence, it seems that every needle on the surrounding pines is tirelessly praying, as the elder prayed then: “God, be merciful to me, a sinner!” You stand in front of this place and try to understand why, why he undertook this out-of-the-ordinary, unusual, strange feat of “praying on the stones.” After all, how many people condemn the elder for this work of his, finding it unnecessary, comparing it with some kind of fakirism. And yet who, if not this great psychologist, should have understood the whole meaning, the whole great purpose of this feat. He undertook it when the furious attacks on him by the enemy of salvation became especially cruel. Through this feat, he seemed to throw himself entirely into the bosom of Divine love, as if speaking to God with this torment: “Lord, You see that I am ready to suffer. Just spare me; just give me the strength to endure. And you see, I’m crucifying myself with You!” To us, people absorbed in the world, who only occasionally and fleetingly perceive spiritual impressions, this thirst for martyrdom for God, which inflames the chosen souls, seems little understandable. To take on all the torments of the earth and, in the crucible of suffering, almost unbearable, to rise to the contemplation of God - this is the goal of such souls. That sacrifice of Christ - the crucified Christ with drops of blood flowing down his forehead from under the crown of thorns - is eternally fresh before them, constituting an eternal wound - albeit a sweet one, but still a wound in their heart. Chapel at the site of the feat of St. Seraphim's pillars. Photo from the beginning of the 20th century. “To suffer,” to choose free torment and revel in its torture—this is the thirst of these unconditionally sincere and ardent souls, before whose image all the joys of the world are overshadowed by the Cross with the crucified God. And we, in order to calmly enjoy life, to pick the best flowers of existence, we close our eyes before this great sign of God suffering for us. We, seeing the Cross, do not see Him, do not see His demands, do not understand the necessary reciprocity of suffering. Otherwise, these people are too deep, straightforward and honest to live in breadth, bliss and happiness where the Son of Man passed, without having a permanent refuge, where He began with the manger of cattle and ended with Golgotha. One of the deepest theologians of France, the inspired Massillon, excellently and wonderfully discusses the participation of the believing human heart in the eternal suffering of Christ. “What gives us the right to enjoy the fruits of the cross and the Eucharist? Sufferings, exploits, spiritual and repentant life. Living in bliss, will you have the courage to proclaim the death of the Savior? Do you dare to feed a body like yours, spoiled by pleasures, whims, do you dare to feed it with the flesh of the crucified God? How will you enclose in your body, passionate and sensual, the dying Christ, crowned with patience? And wouldn’t such a connection be monstrous? Transforming His Body into your being, will you decide to turn this Divine Body into a voluptuous body? And what name will such blasphemy have! In order for you to truly be fed with the Body of Christ, it is necessary for your members to become His members, for His Body to take on the appearance of your body. But His Body is a crucified body; Its members are subjected to torture. And if you live without suffering, if you do not bear the wounds of your Christ on your body, if you have never struggled with your feelings and desires, if your days pass in serene bliss, if trials irritate you, if you are outraged by everything that goes against your will, if you do not prescribe for yourself the feats of mortification of the flesh or with a murmur accept those deeds to which heaven condemns you - then how do you want to accept in is your flesh the flesh of Christ Jesus?” And here are 36 more inspired lines about the highest meaning of suffering: “In what ways could Angels envy people? Of course, only that we can suffer for God, but they never suffered for Him... And not only the Angels could wish for themselves this greatness, this touching beauty of suffering. At the pinnacle of His glory, God Himself was delighted with what a person in the midst of suffering reveals, with this wondrous ability to forget oneself, to suffer and die for the one one loves. And it seems that if God had not found the means to die for man who suffered and died for God, then man would have had a certain shade of beauty and greatness that God Himself would have lacked. And that is why the cherished day came when the heavens opened and the Son of God ascended the Cross in endless suffering, so that, no matter how great were man’s sacrifices for God, man would always see God in the glory of the slaughter higher than all his sacrifices.” And it is not for us, in any case, in front of those incredible incomprehensible fruits that Elder Seraphim reaped with his life, to condemn any of the most important stages of the life path that he so consciously passed, ascending from strength to strength, and on which this “praying on the stone” was one of the main weapons with which he snatched a glorious victory from the “enemy.” It is clear why this weapon - his stone - as if imprinting in itself the strength of spirit and holiness of the elder, in turn, became miraculous, that is, victorious in the struggle of human life with the ailments that attack it. After a rather long walk through the forest, a distant hermitage opens up on a hill, in the middle of a clearing, that is, an exact copy of the distant cell of Elder Seraphim that stood here and was transferred to Diveevo. It was in this very place that the most important time of his life passed, here he grew to his great measure. Here he went through the feats of desert living and silence; here I fed wild animals, here for three years I soaked exclusively in a decoction of snitki grass. And what secrets of his life hidden in God are contained in this place. What I wouldn’t give to lift the veil over this secret. But no! And you just realize that something great remains in the air of this place, that an intangible, but soul-clear trace of the life that once shone here is indelible. Along the porch you enter the entryway, and behind it is a fairly spacious chamber with a large portrait of an old man. The small secret corridor between the wall and the stove is very interesting. Father Seraphim could hide here when he was avoiding people, and they entered his cell almost by force. Even more interesting is his other refuge, where he hid from the people who were looking for him when his soul required solitude. And from the memoirs of Mrs. Aksakova, we saw that sometimes the people chased the elder, like a hunter after precious game. Many years after the death of the elder, on the site of his deserted cell, they found in the ground what looked like a stone quadrangular box-crypt, into which, obviously, he could only get into by lifting the floorboard. One might think that this secret refuge had some other special meaning for him, which can never be completely unraveled. Interior view of the reconstructed remote hermitage (with the entrance to the room under the cell where the Elder hid for prayer). Photo from the beginning of the 20th century. The hill on which the cell stands is surrounded by other hills, and this soil structure reminded Elder Seraphim of Mount Athos. Below, inside the hill, a small cave was dug, where the old man also sometimes retired. I was very interested in seeing the herb, the decoction of which Father Seraphim soaked for three years. At my request, one monk picked it for me. Grass of the most common type. In Diveevo, they told me that in the spring they often cook cabbage soup with dream. Not far from the cell there is the elder’s garden with the ridges he dug. Here he worked, growing vegetables for his food. To fertilize the beds, he laid moss, and collected this moss, exposing himself to the waist, so that he could be stung by mosquitoes, gadflies and horseflies that hovered in myriads over the swamp. Here in this garden, while working, he immersed himself in spiritual contemplation. An ax or a hoe fell from his hands, his hands dropped, and his soul seemed to fly off to heaven. How nice it is to take a few potatoes from these ridges, cultivated by a wonderful old man, as a souvenir. In memory of him, potatoes are still planted on them. In the same garden, an event took place, about which the plaque nailed to the post says. One day, the hermit was busy chopping wood in the forest, when three peasants approached him and began to brazenly demand money from him, saying: “Worldly people come to you and bring money.” Father Seraphim answered: “I don’t take anything from anyone.” They didn’t believe it, and one of them rushed at Father Seraphim from behind and wanted to knock him down, but he fell. Being of extraordinary strength and with an axe, the elder could easily cope with the villains. This thought, according to The site of St. Seraphim's vegetable garden. Photo 1903 human instinct flashed through him. But he remembered the words of Christ: for those who take a knife with a knife will die (Matthew 26:52). And calmly folding his hands on his chest, he said: “Do what you need.” Father Seraphim deliberately dropped the ax from his hands, and one of the robbers hit him in the head with an ax so that blood gushed from his mouth and ears, and, falling to the ground, he lost consciousness. The robbers dragged him to his cell, continuing to beat him with a stake and the butt of an ax and trample him with their feet. Then they searched his cell, but found nothing in it except a few potatoes and an icon. Then repentance overwhelmed them, and they ran away in horror. Having come to his senses, the elder somehow untangled himself from the ropes and began to thank God that He had sent him innocent suffering, and prayed that the Lord would forgive his offenders. He barely made it to Sarov. The doctors called from Arzamas were surprised how he remained alive. His head was broken, his ribs were broken, his chest was trampled, and there were mortal wounds all over his body. Father Seraphim was healed by the appearance of the Mother of God, but remained crippled for life. Even earlier, while working together with his brothers in the forest, he was crushed by a tree that fell on him and lost his natural stateliness and harmony. Now he finally bent down to the ground and began to walk no other way than leaning on an ax, hoe or stick. And here, among all these material traces of his life, on this earth, trampled by his feet, moistened with his blood, his life appears so dazzlingly bright before you, as if you had seen him here with your own eyes. Look: here he is in a white linen robe, bast shoes, with a copper cross on his chest, thoughtfully making his way through the forest. So he reached the place that he calls Bethlehem, and his whole being was overcome by the joy of the birth of Christ, and the silence of the desert was filled with a song once brought from heaven by Angels: “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men.” 37 ... Sacred words pierce the elder’s thought. The meaning of this enormous event is comprehended by him more and more deeply, and now comes a wonderful moment of supreme revelation. The song of praise falls silent. The face with closed eyes is lowered to the chest, and the right hand slowly moves near the heart. His face gradually changes and emits an extraordinary light. He contemplates something with tenderness, listens to something with amazement. There are no words in the human language to describe everything that Father Seraphim experienced in this desert cell, in this dense forest. One thing can be said: his soul felt God here vividly, clearly. And, perhaps, those steps of the Divine that in paradise were accessible to the ears of Adam, which were subsequently caught by the great prophet - perhaps they reached the ears of the humble Seraphim. How could he not have become, within a few years of such a life, the semi-celestial being that his contemporaries saw when he, having completed the work of approaching God, obedient to the call of the Mother of God who had chosen him, went out to serve the Russian people. These years of constant conversation with God, constant deepening into the secrets of the Divine, years of the highest spiritual contemplations left on his face that radiance, that extraordinary, immaterial light, which many of his contemporaries speak of in their memoirs about him. Having taken off here, in the desert, to this extraordinary height, Father Seraphim never came down from it. And that’s why everyone felt something angelic in him and, tremblingly contemplating him, seemed perplexed: was he reality or a vision that would now dispel with light rays or ascend to heaven? Now, leaving the distant desert, we finish remembering the old man as an earthly man, so that we can talk about him only as a “miracle worker.” And involuntarily, mentally going through the path of this life, all the stages of this constant torment of oneself, you involuntarily exclaim: “Lord, why, why? This hunger, this three-year feeding of oneself with a decoction of snitki grass, this is giving one’s body to the stinging insects in the swamp. This is a thousand days and a thousand nights of prayer on the stones”... What is all this for? And this is definitely not enough. Despite all the free torment that this amazing man took upon himself with such willingness, even such thirst, there were also external troubles... Either he was crushed by a tree, or he was beaten half to death by robbers because he did not give them the thing from which he fled from the world - money? And before the spectacle of these self-torments, these trials...you involuntarily cry out: “Lord, what is this for?!” And you will understand, having delved with all your soul into this radiant life, that for those who loved Christ as much as he did, who seemed to not only see, but through their earthly age were already grasping at the future all-blessed life, there could only be one path on earth: incredible and for any other person completely unbearable suffering. Only suffering could satisfy this soul, which with such strength was able to imagine, understand and appreciate the full severity of the suffering of the crucified God. Only suffering could calm a person who, perhaps, from childhood already regretted that there were no persecutions for Christ, that he could not, in order to prove his selfless faith to Him, go to death for Him in front of the eyes of thousands who, through this death, could believe in the One for whom he would die. And Father Seraphim proved this love and readiness not through the suffering of just a few hours, not through death in the arena, in a beautiful setting, in front of a thousand-strong crowd of, if not sympathetic, then still excited spectators. And he proved it with daily free martyrdom, daily fights with “lions and leopards” 38, repelling which until the last day of his life he had, in the form of the strongest weapon against them, to torment himself, execute and torture his human nature. “Look,” he seemed to say to them, “are you terrible for me when I crucify myself. Haunt me to death. I will not Give Up". And his life proved once again that the triumphant path of a Christian does not lie along a carpet of roses, but certainly runs through Gethsemane and Golgotha. And that only those who seek Christ will see and gain Christ and the Kingdom of Heaven will take possession of him, who, following Christ, will fearlessly carry his cross and will not completely throw it off his shoulders until he hands it along with his life to those who are waiting and who look with love at his feat, even though it seemed in other moments of trials that he has forgotten His servant - Christ. Before the celebrations came, I wanted to look at the so-called “town”. 39 This is a huge forest clearing near a river, where barracks were built for common pilgrims. The remoteness of this place from the monastery caused many difficulties for the people, especially since the road there, as in all the outskirts of Sarov, is sandy. The foot literally sinks into the thin dry sand, and the dust kicked up by many feet hardly settles down all the days. Only here were shops where you could buy food, although supplies were limited and even bread was often not enough. The barracks were designed for several hundred people and consisted of two high longitudinal walls and a roof. There was a passage in the middle, and on both sides there were two floors. It was interesting to walk around the barracks where the volost elders of the Tambov province were gathered. For the most part, all are smart, expressive faces; there are a lot of old heads with magnificent expression. At both ends of the “town” high tent-chapels were built so that people who did not get to the monastery could hear prayer services and all-night vigils in them. When I and my companions approached the chapel, terrible screams were heard. It turned out that they were leading a “damaged” young girl to the chapel, “Town” of pilgrims in Sarov. Photo 1903 who was stubborn and did not want to get closer to the shrine. It was scary to look at her distorted face and her convulsive writhing. She screamed in a voice that was not her own. Her mother, who was with her, told us that usually she is completely normal, but during seizures it is almost impossible to cope with her. In our society there was a young nun from an educated circle who had seen many such demoniacs. She told amazing things about them. She had to speak during the oblivion of the sick with the spirit sitting in them; these spirits sometimes told her secrets, and one day in this way she warned a friend about the danger that actually threatened her. If it were not for the unconditional trust that the narrator deserves, such stories could be mistaken for fairy tales. But other reliable persons who tried to comprehend this mysterious world of spirits told me things that prove that, indeed, these unfortunates are not hysterical patients, but “possessed by spirits” in the literal sense of the word, as is said about the Gospel demoniacs (see: Mark 5, 2-5). For example, it is known that during demonic possession such people, even illiterate ones, shout out words in foreign languages. They, lying in convulsions, scream about what is happening in the distance, and subsequently, upon verification, their words turn out to be true. In general, this terrible disease, so little studied, is very mysterious. But one can hardly agree with people who bravely dissect this issue with the assertion that this is either just a pretense, a simulation, or a form of acute hysteria. By general advice, we decided to send the girl to the source of Elder Seraphim and for this purpose we hired a cart right there in the “town”. The girl resisted, and although she did not hear where we were sending her, since we spoke to each other in a foreign language, and for the cart we had to go to the other edge of the “town,” she shouted: “Don’t go to the source, it will burn!” Barely, with the help of a strong man whom we hired here, they put her on the cart, and so she went, with her mother and this man holding her tightly. In the “town” we were told that the other day three people were approaching Sarov, carrying with them a heavily “possessed” man chained in chains. The closer he got to Sarov, the more terrible he became, and finally, on the eve of the day when we were in the “town,” already in the Sarov forest, he broke his chains and fled. If we recognize demon possession as exactly the phenomenon as it is described in the Gospel, then it is quite understandable to have an aversion to holy places and sacred objects, which is the surest sign of this terrible misfortune. The “enemies” trembled just as Christ Himself trembled, so do His faithful followers. Elder Seraphim is inexpressibly terrible for them, because no one, perhaps, endured such a fierce struggle with them as he did, and no one won such a glorious victory. On July 20, the day after the opening of the relics, in the Sarov Cathedral I was a direct witness to the healing of a demoniac. I stood at the shrine before the start of the late mass, which was to be celebrated by my long-time acquaintance, the rector of the Roman Embassy Church, Archimandrite Vladimir Putyata, in the world a candidate at Moscow University, then an officer of the Transfiguration. Standing next to the reliquary, I peered at the people who, in an endless line from both sides, approached to venerate the relics. Suddenly, terrible screams were heard at the northern entrance doors of the church. I went to them. Eight men could hardly carry a middle-aged, hairy man struggling in their arms. He resembled a scary gnome from children's fairy tales. From within him, some alien, extraneous voice shouted with an expression of torment and confusion: “I’ll come out, I’ll come out!” While he was being carried through the cathedral to the shrine, I walked next to him. At the crayfish he suddenly became quiet, as if he had lost consciousness. When they began to move him closer to the cancer to attach him, I looked into his face. It was distorted into such an expression of pain and horror that it was difficult to bear this terrible expression. But then they put pressure on him, he woke up and walked away healthy. The spell he had been under for decades was broken in that one instant. A few minutes later I found him at the other end of the cathedral. Count N.F. Heyden, the former headman of the Kazan Cathedral in St. Petersburg, recorded the location of his village. There were a lot of people standing around. He was ill for about 30 years. Of course, his healing made a very strong impression. In order to protect him from troubles that could be caused by the terrible manifestations of his illness, he had a certificate issued to him by the police officer that he was ill with a severe form of “criticism.” From the age of 18, for 30 years, this man was deprived of confession and communion, since he could not stand the approach of anything sacred. I learned from him that he was on an empty stomach; so I went to the altar and asked Archimandrite Vladimir to confess him. And at the end of the mass he received communion for the first time after 30 years. The celebrations began. They began with large funeral services for the elder and for the persons with whom he was related: the emperors under whom he lived and under whom his glory successively increased: from Elisabeth Petrovna to Alexander III; bishops, for the same time, and his parents Isidora and Agathia. It’s only a pity that such persons as his teachers Pachomius, Isaiah and Joseph 40, Agafia Simeonovna Melgunova, the first Diveyevo ascetics and those close to the elder Manturov, Motovilov and Father Vasily Sadovsky were not mentioned here. A kind of sweet sadness took possession of the soul during these last chants, during these last prayers for the man to whom we had all prayed for a long time, without church words, troparions and stichera, we prayed with all the strength of our amazed and touched soul. Oh, rise again, rise quickly. Look how many people have gathered to greet the rise of your star, which will no longer know its setting. Look how they crowd towards you with love, expecting the same love from you, asking from you “great and rich mercies” 41. The morning of July 17 arrived. On the night of this day, a majestic religious procession set off from Diveevo to Sarov. In this procession they carried the cherished shrine of Elder Seraphim, his cell icon “Tenderness”, which he called “Joy of All Joys”, before which he rested in kneeling prayer Chapel-tent where religious processions met and who resides in the Diveyevo Monastery. In the same move, they carried all those numerous banners that were donated to Sarov by different places, cities and persons on the day of the opening of the relics. The Diveyevo procession was also joined by a large procession from the Seraphim-Ponetaevsky Monastery, carrying its recently revealed icon of the Mother of God “The Sign,” famous for its miracles. At eight o'clock in the morning, with a loud bell ringing, Sarov, led by His Eminence Tambov Innokenty, went out to meet the Diveyevo Procession of the cross from the Diveyevo Monastery to the Sarov Hermitage on July 17, 1903 religious procession. The meeting was to take place at the edge of the forest, near a high tent-chapel. Standing in the tent, I admired all the beauty of this picture: the countless crowd of people, the joyful sky, the dark greenery of the forest, the play of the bright sun on golden vestments and banners. Now, in the depths of the forest clearing, advanced horsemen appeared and then a grove of banners seemed to be moving. Under the loud ringing of the mighty bells on the high Sarov bell tower, this forest of banners slowly moves, ringing with heavy massive tassels and weights. Next are the visual crosses and, finally, behind them the Ponetaevskaya “Sign” and the Diveevskaya “Tenderness” icons, and the icon of Elder Seraphim himself, not yet a venerable one, not yet canonized until tomorrow evening, but already worn in the procession. And I remembered then, several years ago, while in Diveyevo in the summer, I saw a religious procession on the occasion of lack of rain, in which the nuns carried a portrait of Father Seraphim. I was touched then by this - even if not entirely legal at that time - manifestation of their love and faith. But now they are carrying it in front of all of Russia gathered here. And how much deep meaning there is in this procession to the elder of these two icons. One witnessed his exploits and listened to his prayers; before her he poured out all the treasures of his faith. She also saw what was happening in this great soul in the dying hours. And now the witness of his earthly suffering came to glorify him. She who had cast soothing rays into his soul during the moments of his glorious sunset was now coming to illuminate the hour of the glorious, already sunsetless sunrise. Banners. Offering of the Tula Society of Banner Bearers And it seemed that here, above us, in this bright air, he was kneeling, a wonderful celestial being, and, as then on the cherished day of visiting the Mother of God, exclaiming: “Behold, our Most Glorious, Most Pure Lady, the Most Holy Theotokos is coming to us!” Another icon, of recent origin, has already glorified and established the monastery created in honor and memory of the elder. When the procession approached the chapel, the icons stood in front of it, a prayer service began, and in the sunshine I could see the icons even more clearly than before in churches. The expression of both of them seems to mark the different fate of those abodes that preserve them. As you know, Diveev, despite all his spiritual glory, is far from wealthy and suffers from great shortcomings. In general, there were a lot of difficult things in his life. Only fiery faith and love for Elder Seraphim helped the Diveyevo people not to lose heart. The young Ponetaevskaya monastery had a happier fate, and shortly before the glorification of the elder it received a huge land inheritance. Take a closer look at the wonderful face of the Tenderness icon. She is one of the few icons where the Mother of God is depicted without the Child. She folded her arms over her chest and bowed her head. There is so much concentrated sorrow on this face. Does She mourn in anticipation of the suffering of the Divine Son, does She prayerfully mourn the sins of humanity? There is so much silence and great mystery in this image, and you involuntarily think, looking at this vision, which reflected primarily Christian suffering: “Have mercy, O Lady, for us who have come to You!” Icon of the Mother of God “Tenderness”, cell image of St. Seraphim. XIX century Icon of the Mother of God “The Sign” of the Seraphim-Ponetaevsky Monastery. XX century But what a triumph—something victorious—the Ponetaevsky face of “The Sign” wafts into the soul. The Virgin with her hands raised up reveals the Child in her bosom. Lord, how beautiful and young this face is and how this immortal virgin youth of the One who, by an incomprehensible miracle, remained “before the birth of the Virgin, at the birth of the Virgin, after the birth of the Virgin” touches you to tears.” How calmly and prophetically Her eyes are raised to heaven, how brightly this saving miracle of a familyless incarnation is reflected here! Look, as if this icon is telling you, at the joy proclaimed to you: “Christ is born - glorify!” 42 On the joyful night of Christmas, feeling the freshness of that distant night and feeling the warmth of the cattle that warmed the manger and the shine of that star “in the east,” and the praise of the Angels, and the arrival of the shepherds, and the solemn caravan of the Magi, can there be any other feeling in us other than joy? We don’t repent here, we don’t regret the past, we don’t reproach ourselves for our sins, but we rejoice with all the breadth of our souls, like a child. This icon of the young innocent Virgin with the Child announced to Her is full of the same bright, fresh, simple, naive joy. The prayer service ended, and the procession moved on. I admired the many banners sent here from all over Russia for this day. Those that had the image of Elder Seraphim praying on a stone made a particularly strong impression. One of the banners of the Society of Banner Bearers of Moscow Kremlin Cathedrals and Monasteries was extremely original. It depicts the death of an old man, and its edges resemble the ends of metal fluttering ribbons. There was something endlessly joyful in this procession. This was one of the highest rises of the spiritual wave that you felt in Sarov and which sometimes lifted you to somewhere unknown heights. The banners were placed in the new church above the elder’s cell. I was at the hotel during the arrival of the Sovereign and members of the Imperial House in Sarov and saw them already in the church on July 18 at the last funeral service for the elder. Waiting for the arrival of the Royal Family at the pavilion of the Tambov nobility The participation of the Sovereign in the celebrations was one of the most typical and best circumstances of the celebrations. There was something special about his visit to the wilderness of the forest, far from the railway tracks, to the tomb of a monk in a desert monastery; in this diligent standing of long services, in communion at early mass, in the crowd of simple pilgrims, Emperor Nicholas II on the way to the deserts in visiting, together with the people, all the places marked by the works of Elder Seraphim. I could see from afar once when I left my hotel, hearing a loud “hurray,” several white jackets were moving among the fleeing people. It was the Emperor who walked on foot to the near and far deserts, and he went there more than once. And there was something reliable, comforting for Russia and its future in this unity of the Russian nation. A new coffin for the holy relics of St. Seraphim. Photo 1903 family with the Tsar at the tomb for a long time and the ancestors of the Tsar and the fathers of this people of the honored righteous. By the very arrival of the Emperor, the marble shrine for the relics of Elder Seraphim had been completed. This most original cancer, on the personal instructions of the Emperor, who took upon himself the costs Canopy over the shrine for the holy relics of St. Seraphim in the Assumption Cathedral of the Sarov Monastery according to its execution, it was executed according to the drawing and under the supervision of Prince M.S., who was attached to the marshal’s unit. Putyatina. It stands on a four-step elevation of white marble and is itself made of snow-white marble. She involuntarily reminds me of a pigeon the purity of the one who was convinced more than snow (cf. Ps. 50:9). With her artless grace and simplicity she makes the brightest impression. The room for the coffin consists of four massive slabs, which have neither polishing nor gilding - as a sign of the poverty and humility of the elder. There are inscriptions on the boards, and on the side boards there is a very interesting list of memorable days in the elder’s life. “Our Holy Reverend Father Seraphim, the Wonderworker of Sarov, was born in the city of Kursk in the year from the creation of the world 7267, and from the Nativity of Christ 1759, the month of July on the 19th day. He entered the holy Sarov monastery in the summer of R. X. 1778 in the month of Noemria on the 20th day. Monastic tonsure took place in the summer of 1786 in the month of August on the 13th day. He was ordained as hierodeacon in the month of October in the summer of 1786. Septemvrius was ordained to the rank of hieromonk in the summer of 1793 on the 2nd day. They retired to the desert of the summer of 1794 in the month of Noemri on the 20th day. He was miraculously healed from his wounds by the appearance of the Most Holy Virgin Mary in the month of Septemvri, summer 1804. Accepted the feat of silence and went into seclusion in the summer of 1810. Leave the retreat of the summer of 1825 in the month of November on the 25th day. The Mother of God was honored with a miraculous visit in the summer of 1831 in the month of March on the 25th day. “I went to the Lord in the summer of 1833 in the month of Januarius on the 2nd day.” At the feet is the text: “The Lord guards all their bones, not one of them will be broken” (Ps. 33:21). In the heads is a prayer found written down in his own hand in one of the books of the Venerable: “Save, O Lord, and have mercy on Your servant, and enlighten his mind with the light of the mind of Your Holy Gospel and guide him on the path of Your commandments, and teach him, O Savior, to do Your will, for You are our God” (Holy Venerable Seraphim of Sarov). This reliquary is closed with a silver lid shaped like a frame, into which is inserted an image of Elder Seraphim lying in a coffin. At the corners of the lid there are cast six-winged seraphim, and at the edges there is a troparion in script. The upper, head part of the lid can be folded back, and then a convex six-winged seraph is visible on the inside of it. On the inside of the lid there is an inscription: “Under the Power of the Most Pious Great Sovereign Emperor Nikolai Alexandrovich Autocrat of All Russia, this cancer was created by the command and diligence of Their Imperial Majesties the Sovereign Emperor and His Most Pious Wife the Empress Alexandra Feodorovna in the summer of Christ 1903 in the month of July on the 19th day.” Around the shrine is a bronze lattice, decorated on the sides again with six-winged seraphim, and in the corners with double-headed eagles. The canopy of the reliquary, in the shape of a chapel over the elder's well, of the Vladimir-Suzdal style, rests on four marble pillars, is made of gilded bronze, and is crowned with five onion domes. Her four kokoshniks enclose four paintings: 1) the face of the Savior Not Made by Hands (the words with which the elder answered the question made to him shortly before his death are signed, how he could perform such feats: “Jesus Christ yesterday and today, the same and forever” (Heb. 13:8); 2) prayer on the stone (the inscription is the elder’s prayer during the stylite service: “God, merciful wake me a sinner" (Luke 18:13); 3) the death of the elder (signature: “The death of His saints is honorable before the Lord” (Ps. 115:6); 4) The solemn appearance of the Mother of God to the elder (signature: “Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, through the Theotokos have mercy on us”). On the canopy there are again eight decorations - six-winged, painted, seraphim, emblems of Elder Seraphim. The raka ended in front of me, and when I saw it ready, it made a strong impression. In addition to her appearance, nobly simple and beautiful, in her details she is so imprinted with zeal for the memory of the elder and love for him! Several dozen lamps, from different cities, societies and individuals, were hung on four sides of the shrines on metal rods. There was a lot of splendor and richness in these lamps, a lot of feeling in the inscriptions. One thing grabbed me by the heart, from the citizens of the city of Kursk, where Prokhor Moshnin, the future Elder Seraphim, was born, raised and spent his entire worldly life: “To their holy companion, the newly glorified Venerable Seraphim of Sarov, the Wonderworker, reverently revered by the Kursk people” and another “from the Kursk clerks.” Lamps at the saint's shrine. Offerings from citizens of the city of Kursk These poor working people came together and sent a valuable gift to a man who in his youth worked the same way as they did when he was imprisoned by his relatives for trading. And all these lamps were waiting for the time to flare up and not go out while the Russian land stood. And involuntarily, in front of these lamps ready to be lit in honor of the new miracle worker, I remembered how he himself lit many lamps and candles in his cell for his spiritual children. There were only a few hours left before the opening of the relics. An involuntary excitement took over. Having learned that Abbess Maria of Diveyevo was staying at our hotel, I went to see her. She was, as always, calm before this event, which she had been waiting for so many years. And at these very moments it was especially gratifying to see her. But we had to get ready for the cathedral. It was locked. On the huge cathedral porch stood a smart crowd, all in uniforms. Officials visiting from different places, local nobles, many of whom are in court uniforms. Through the glass doors of the cathedral one can see how the Sovereign, Empresses and Augustus hang the lamps they brought to the shrine. When they leave, this select public is admitted, which slowly sits in the middle part of the cathedral, fenced with bars. The whole cathedral is full of some kind of silent, thoughtful solemnity. Everything has been done to make the holiday great. How wonderfully white the white marble shrine is, surrounded on all sides by a swarm of lamps hanging above it. Spread along the white steps is an artistic carpet, the diligence and handiwork of Empress Alexandra Feodorovna, extremely pleasant light green tones, conceived with amazing artistic simplicity. Two huge choirs are occupied by singers in uniforms. On the right choir there is a huge choir of the Metropolitan of St. Petersburg with regent Ternov; on the left is the no less numerous choir of the Tambov Eminence. In general, everything possible was done in terms of the splendor of the priestly service, and even on me, who had seen the most significant and magnificent services imaginable, it made an impressive impression. Many clergy filled the altar, among them acquaintances from the capitals, the famous editor of the “Trinity Leaves”, the treasurer of the Trinity Lavra, Archimandrite Nikon, the current Bishop of Murom, the rector of the St. Petersburg Seminary, Archimandrite Sergius, and the vicar of the Neva Lavra, Cornelius; St. Petersburg archpriests Father Philosopher Ornatsky and Priest Rozhdestvensky, sent to the Sarov celebrations to preach and in the previous days explained to the people the features of the spiritual appearance of Elder Seraphim. Here the bishops enter, then, with a “meeting,” His Eminence Metropolitan Anthony. At the back of the church are the retinue, the ministers, and finally, with a humble step, the Emperor and both Empresses enter. You stand as if in a fog. Yes, all this is real: this white shrine on the white marble steps, these countless lamps, this huge candlestick at the feet of the shrine, with colossal candles in it. This small hearse, a few steps away from me, is covered with green velvet, and in front of it is also a candlestick, overflowing with candles inserted into it, but not yet lit. Everywhere green is the color of the monks; green carpet on the shrine, green on the hearse, green vestments on the clergy, with seraphim. Through the fog of your excitement, you hear for the first time the singing of the stichera composed for him, and it seems strange to you that all this, what is happening here and what all of Russia is now watching, this visit of the Sovereign of the greatest power in the world to the wilderness, this people gathered from the north and south, east and west: and this, with meaning and Transfer of the relics of St. Seraphim from the Church of St. Zosima and Savvaty of Solovetsky to the Assumption Cathedral on July 18, 1903 during the all-night vigil with connections freely standing here and crowding around the cathedral, and hundreds of thousands there, behind the fence, and those endless lines that stretch here along all the paths, from all corners of Russia - that everywhere this community was stirred up by one man who died 70 years ago. And what’s strange to you is that this person, who was so simply close to you, is now surrounded by this touchingly majestic aura of church holiness; what is this for him, whom you are accustomed to thinking of in a white robe, with an ax in his hands or feeding bread from the hands of a bear - for him this is a magnificent divine service, and a marble shrine, and lamps, and candles, and these church songs that are sung according to the newly printed “service” that was just recently hastily sent to Sarov. And so strangely, vaguely in her soul, and so passionately she waits for when he will finally come here to watch and listen to everything that is happening here for him. Here is the way to lithium. In front are 125 choristers, then a long line of clergy - green and gold vestments, golden miters; behind them comes the Royal Family and part of the public in the cathedral. I remained standing in my place. Gradually the anticipation reaches the greatest tension. Outside you can hear the incessant ringing of bells; the whole church is filled with some powerful feeling. “Here it is. Here it is, really coming true,” there is a happy, jubilant thought in the air, “now, now.” The candles in the hands of those present light up. Others hastily light candles in front of the hearse. Crying can be heard here and there in the cathedral. A general is kneeling next to me and reading aloud from the “service” to Elder Seraphim, and then a long series of names of people whom he wanted to entrust to the elder’s intercession at this significant moment. And the minutes go by one after another, and the bells are still ringing outside, and the tears of many are silently dripping. A bright angel of hope flies over the crowd. And your soul, without prayer, without words, without calling, clings to the one who will now enter here in inexpressible greatness to remain here until the end of the world. Finally! The procession returns, and again there is a ribbon of singers, rows of clergy and behind them a tightly closed, slowly moving group of bishops, the Sovereign and the Grand Dukes. They carry the coffin with the relics of Elder Seraphim and place it on the hearse. And just as at sunrise that moment is wonderful when the first ray shoots out like a fiery arrow, so here something concentrated, joyful, reliable, renewing shines from this group, from this coffin. When they carried it a few steps away from me, I felt a waft of some unearthly fragrance. The coffin is an artistic reproduction of the oak log in which the old man's body was buried, and has silver hoops in the shape of leaves in three places. The coffin has been installed. The carriers, apparently shocked, go to their places. The “Our Father” is read, and then the choir members sing the troparion to Father Seraphim for the first time with thunderclaps. “In you, Father, it is known that you are saved in the image. I have accepted the cross, you have followed Christ, and you taught the deed to despise the flesh, and it passes away; be diligent about the soul, things that are more immortal. In the same way, your spirit rejoices with the Angels, Reverend Seraphim” 43. It is difficult to convey the tenderness and delight these two loudly sung words evoked: Farewell, dear, joyful elder Seraphim. Spread your cover widely over Russia, venerable and God-bearing Seraphim of Sarov, new wonderworker!.. The exciting sounds of the troparion fell silent, and the all-night vigil continued as usual. And how many changed their minds during this time, standing in front of the coffin, from which not a single person separated me, but only a narrow passage of several steps. “The great hero of the Russian people. Almost in our century you have embodied the strength and sincerity of the first, young centuries of Christianity. From childhood you went out to seek your Jesus, and the thirst for His righteousness was tireless in your soul. And you became the dwelling place of the Spirit of God; you have soared to the contemplation of God on the wings of your exploits. Your cramped deserts, the mysterious wilderness of the Sarov Forest, your “stones,” your wounded and exhausted body preach “your labors and illnesses.” But cruel to yourself, how inexpressibly kind you were, warming all living things, depriving yourself of a piece of daily bread in order to feed it to the bear. And your love has outlived you. How many touching signs of her you have left behind: your soul-consoling, inexpressibly gentle image, the memory of your good wishes, your crackers, your healing water. And the one who understood you and became attached to you will never be abandoned or lonely. Rejoice, true hero of the Russian land! In those days when love has become scarce, when slander is raised against the Russian people and their soul, as if a holy ideal had disappeared among the people, you rise in the aura of your love, a faithful and true representative of the Russian people. And look: those people have not yet died, those people who so passionately recognized your shrine are not yet weak, who so diligently sent pilgrims from all their lands to bow to you... Oh, for this love, stand above our Russian life and decorate it. Humble our passions, and teach us repentance when we fall, instruct us in tireless work, ennoble and beautify our life. Fan in all of us to the size of a cleansing fire that spark of God that burned in you with such elemental power. Lead us with a firm hand to the Father. Oh, stand above Russian life. Just don’t forget, just think about us!” Before the “praise”, Bishop Innokenty of Tambov came out to the pulpit and gave a short, inspired speech. He spoke about the coffin as a source of sadness and about the coffin that stood before us as a symbol of the greatest victory and rejoicing. He recalled the innumerable deeds, boundless humility, fiery love of St. Seraphim and that great moment that we are experiencing when the sky seemed to open and a swarm of wondrous miracles descended. A particularly strong impression was made by the last words spoken by the preacher in the greatest excitement: “In a minute the lid of this coffin will open, and we will sing before the relics of the new wonderworker: ‘We please, we please you, Reverend Father Seraphim.’” Now the “praise” has begun. When it was sung, there was silence. In the midst of this silence, the Metropolitan, with a key in his hand, approached the coffin. It is difficult to convey the impression when the loud clicking of the lock was clearly heard throughout the cathedral. Then the cover was removed. Then again, in an instant, a fragrance came upon me. In the coffin, under the glazed veil, one could see the outline of the body, a copper cross on the chest, and on the forehead there was a cut in a circle for kissing the relics. Then began a loud, victorious magnification, as if drawing heaven to earth, now sung for the first time by the clergy on behalf of Russia to this wonderful righteous man. And several times, during the incense, these thoughtful and tenderly laudatory words were repeated: “We please, we please you, Reverend Father Seraphim, and we honor your holy memory, mentor of monks and interlocutor of Angels.” The soul seemed to be already tired from the tension. Lord, what opposites! Here in the coffin is this hunched, emaciated, humble old man. And all around is this brilliance, the stunning grandeur of this service... A great crowd arose when they began to venerate the holy relics, and then I left the cathedral. The passages to the gates were bordered by trellises of soldiers, barely holding back the pressure of the dense crowd. Behind the fence, everything was also completely covered with people who stood with lighted candles; everything was full of hopes, joys, such a feeling of brotherhood... And there, in the sky, one could feel him, a hunched old man, all in white, with a copper cross on his chest, pouring into the soul of every person an answer clear to him, he, for whom the whole bulk of the people had come here, to whom the bells rang, to whom they sang in the churches, for whose sake it seemed that on that night the bright stars glowed so especially brightly and significantly in the clear sky. I sat in my room for some time. Someone came and said that a crowd of people poured into the church where the coffin with the relics stood, after it was transferred to the cathedral, that they were groaning with cries of prayer and miracles happened. Several people had just thrown down their crutches and stood on their feet. My companion came, all in tears. We celebrated Christ as on Easter night. I couldn't sit in the room. I wanted to stand in the Assumption Cathedral again, in front of the relics. In addition, I wanted to give the servant I brought from St. Petersburg the opportunity to kiss, who otherwise would have had to wait in line, perhaps for several days. The monastery was shrouded in thick darkness when I entered the enclosure. Huge lines of people stretched throughout the monastery, waiting to kiss. He stood so quietly and intently that it was difficult to believe that anyone was there: the silence was complete. In the cathedral they applied to the shrine on both sides. Now, when all the solemn atmosphere had disappeared, in this deep hour of the night, it seemed that this simplicity and closeness of Elder Seraphim was returned to the soul again. After standing in the cathedral, I went to the chapel where his grave was. It glowed brightly with lamps, and his former large images stood out brightly there. I went down the stairs. There, in the place where he rested for 70 years, in a niche lined with marble, his now empty coffin stood again. A few days ago I myself collected sawdust in it with my hands. And now he was behind bronze bars and glass. The morning of July 19 arose joyful and bright. The variegated clothing of the people, the carriages hurrying to the fence, the loud ringing of bells and, wherever the eye fell, a crowd, a crowd, a countless crowd: everything spoke of the significance of what was about to happen. Persons who had tickets to enter came to the cathedral. Everyone venerated the relics, which still stood in the new coffin, on the hearse, in the middle of the church. Mass began. The Tsar entered with the Royal Family. The time has come for the “small entrance.” During a bishop's service, this part of the mass is extremely majestic. So it was now. A long row of priests from the pulpit to the altar (there were, it seems, twelve pairs), standing at the pulpit, among the three bishops, Metropolitan Anthony with the dikiriy and trikiriy flaming in his raised hands, the magnificent Gospel carried high by the archdeacon, surrounded by ripids, clouds of incense spilling from the censers. Now there was a loud singing of these several dozen employees, “Come, let us worship.” Completely forgetting what was supposed to happen at the ceremony, I completely surrendered to the contemplation of this beautiful picture. Here the Metropolitan slowly, on four sides, overshadows the people, then he leaves the pulpit and the procession slowly moves towards the altar. And suddenly there was a delay. When singing “Save us, Son of God, in the saints you are wondrous, singing Ti,” the procession stops at the tomb. The priests take him by the staples in their arms and carry him to the altar. It was an amazing minute. The entrance marks the entry into the altar of the Lord of Powers, to which once, during the Liturgy, the Monk Seraphim was a clear witness. He saw the Savior, surrounded by angelic hosts, entering the altar after the “small entrance”. And here, in this host, as a prototype of the Church militant on earth entering heaven, walked Elder Seraphim. Thunders of conscious, animated praise, powerful, calm in their strength, filled the church, rose into the dome, fell from there on the people, and in these thunders in the hands of the priests slowly walked the one whose name was glorified in those moments of Jehovah, the Creator of the worlds and the Father of people, who sent down His servant Seraphim into the world as joy and consolation to the Russian people. It seemed that every stone of the cathedral resounded with these words: “Save us, Son of God, in the holy wonders of You, who sing to You.” And the procession quietly moves forward. Here a host of servants, bending over the coffin, rose to the steps of the ambo, now they move towards the altar, walking around the throne, and the praise of God, who inspired Elder Seraphim, still thunders, shaking the vaults, as if wanting to break out there, out to the countless people. “...Son of God, He is wondrous among the saints...” They walked around the throne, appeared again at the Royal Doors, left the pulpit, and the praise still thundered and thundered. Slowly they carried him to the shrine; the old man slowly approached the white marble bed prepared for him; who once sought sanctification in this church, is now himself a sanctifying shrine. Quietly he moves. And the praise keeps thundering and thundering. They brought it to the shrine and inserted the coffin into it. The end of earthly man, the beginning of a “new miracle worker.” We anxiously followed the growth of this luminary, the increase in its glory. Now it has stopped. And I involuntarily remembered the Gospel story. Behold, the star, which was seen in the east, went before them, until it came a hundred... Having seen the star, she rejoiced greatly with great joy... and fell down and worshiped Him: and opening her treasures, she brought Him gifts, gold and frankincense and myrrh (Matthew 2:9,10, I). What treasures will we bring you, quiet, meek miracle worker? For now - the amazement of our soul, the joy of your glorification and faith, that faith that overwhelms all this people around you, many thousands of people, and breaks and rages around you, and loudly, passionately, uncontrollably calls you... Glory, glory to you! After the mass, the relics were surrounded by a religious procession around the cathedral. It was an unforgettable picture. On a high stage, among a solid crowd of heads, a coffin moving on a high raised stretcher, the shine of the sun, a joyful sky, joyful, tender faces, quietly spreading news about the healings that had just occurred. Then the coffin was again placed in the shrine. The relics lie directly in a narrow and shallow cypress coffin, shaped like ordinary coffins. This coffin is inserted into an oak block, reproducing the block in which the old man lay in the ground for 70 years, and this block was finally placed in the shrine. The removal of the relics of St. Seraphim and the procession with them after the Liturgy on July 19, 1903. When I returned to the cathedral for the religious procession, I met an acquaintance, a young man who occupied a prominent official position in the neighboring province. He was very smart and gifted, well educated, a true representative of European culture, who spent his entire childhood abroad. He began to ask me which portraits of St. Seraphim I considered the best, and at the same time he discovered such information that I was surprised and involuntarily thought: “Well, Father Seraphim managed to conquer this European too.” He left Sarov immediately after the prayer service. A few months later, in the fall, I saw his brother in St. Petersburg and mentioned to him about our Sarov meeting. “Imagine,” he told me, “that my brother considers himself healed by the Monk Seraphim.” As you know, he suffered from terrible rheumatism, from which at one time he even lost the use of his legs. He was treated in Southern France, and in the spring before the Sarov festivals he traveled on mud to the Crimea. Due to his work, he had to be in the vicinity of Sarov during celebrations, and when he was traveling to his province, I, heading from St. Petersburg to the village, met him at one station. He looked very bad and complained of both his main illness and general malaise. When the celebrations began, they and everything that he learned about Elder Seraphim made a very strong impression on him. He wrote such enthusiastic letters to my mother in the village that it was difficult to expect from such a reserved person as we all know him. The religious procession on July 19, after which you spoke to him, especially shocked him. And a few days later he wrote to us that he was completely healthy and believed that he had received healing from Elder Seraphim. This story was especially dear to me, because the healed man is such a rational, uncarried person that it was impossible to assume the slightest exaggeration or self-hypnosis. Joy took on the most touching expression on this day for many. Monastery refectory. Photo 1903 We sent greeting messages to our relatives. I saw one honored man walking bareheaded in the sun, carrying in his hands, near his chest, a large image of St. Seraphim, which had just been consecrated on his relics. In the evening, in the presence of the Highest, there was a solemn meal from the monastery for those invited. Seats were assigned in advance, according to rank, as at court celebrations, and indicated with notes on the devices. I had to sit next to one gentleman who, with his daughter and son-page, arrived in Sarov long before the celebrations and whose brother was also present at the celebrations, in the retinue of one of the Grand Dukes. Their name is mentioned in the description of the posthumous miracles of Elder Seraphim, and I asked him if this miracle happened in their family. “Yes, I am the one at whose birth the old man showed his strength,” he answered. “That’s why I came here and brought my children.” The wife of General St., who lived in St. Petersburg, honored Elder Seraphim. While pregnant, she once dreams that Father Seraphim is praying at her bedside, and another time that she will give birth to a dead, blue baby, but at that moment Father Seraphim enters the room, blesses the baby, and the baby comes to life. Hegumen Joasaph, the compiler of the biography of Elder Seraphim, met this family in 1857. He brought to this family an image of Elder Seraphim, in which Mrs. S. recognized the old man she had seen in a dream. The birth was difficult and the baby was born lifeless. But when they began to rub him and sprinkled water on him, signs of life appeared. This same man talked to me during lunch. And there were many who came here based on memories of their parents’ relationship with the elder. The Emperor departed the day after the opening of the relics in Diveevo. A day later I saw the venerable old woman Elena Ivanovna Motovilova, a contemporary of the elder, whom the Tsar and the Royal Family made happy with his visit and asked about the elder. Meeting of the Sovereign Emperor at the Seraphim-Diveevsky Monastery. Photo July 20, 1903 On July 21, there was a solemn consecration of the church in Sarov above the cell of St. Seraphim. And in the morning of this day, in front of the eyes of many, the healing of Theodore Godunkov took place, about which the witness of this healing, Prince M.S., told me. Putyatin, builder of the elder's shrine. The marshal's unit, in which he served, was going to serve a farewell prayer service, and the people venerated the relics. By the way, they brought a tall, relaxed man, as it turned out later, Theodore Godunkov, who served in the Gatchina cuirassiers. His legs did not work and gave the impression of helplessly hanging whips. Restoring health for such a person seemed impossible. They began to apply him to the cancer, which was difficult, since he could not bend. Finally, his comrades took him flat, and thus he could kiss himself. Then they wrapped it in raki. As if testing his legs, he lowered the crutches, then felt the strength in his legs, dropped the crutches - and immediately walked. Icons of the Venerable One were constantly brought to the cathedral for consecration at the shrine. Sometimes nuns brought them with them from Diveyevo, since many of these icons were painted there. There were also icons of enormous size, taken away by the elders of various Russian churches, at the request of the parishioners. One of Sarov’s main gratifying feelings was the unity that here, at the saint’s shrine, united people of different classes and different places in Russia into one whole. It was especially dear to see such religious people from the cultural classes. Here equally feeling people from Kazan and Warsaw, St. Petersburg, Moscow, the Volga region and Tula met, and the thought of the fortress of the forefathers’ faith in Rus' brought the greatest happiness. It was clear that the believers were not closely united, they were separated, but that there were many, many more people in Russian educated society for whom there were no other gods except the Living God, glorified in the Trinity. I had to leave. Everyone present at the celebrations rose at once. And whatever joys my soul experienced in Sarov, I wanted to go home to ordinary life. I felt a great spiritual fatigue, a reaction after all the immeasurable things that had worried my soul during these days. During these days, the structure of ordinary concepts was constantly breaking down. I saw and constantly heard about the violation of the laws of nature, about these insights of the blind, about these paralytics who rose and walked. No matter how much I expected this, when it came into reality, it amazed my soul, and the multitude, one after another, of similar sensations, passionately perceived, tired the inner world. Everything that is so strong, no matter how beautiful it is, is too difficult for us to bear, due to the limitations of our receptivity, our sensitivity. I have finished conveying my impressions. Now, when I remember the great days of Sarov, next to the image of the wonderful old man stands before me another, collective, man, another great hero of these days. I see, I feel him, as he wanders through the scorching sun with a heavy knapsack over his shoulders to Sarov. There, often hungry, he stands for several days in a long line of pilgrims, waiting for his turn to kiss, and finally reaching the cherished shrine, he whispers to the elder the words of affection and love that his ingenuous soul inspires in him. God, what treasures of faith, patience and humility this people brought here. A foreigner hostile to Russia would tremble in horror if he saw his endurance. To bear a great burden for many weeks for this moment of applying to the relics. And I believe that Elder Seraphim, who during his lifetime so warmed the common people with love, has now warmed the soul of everyone who came to him. Could he leave his guest without much consolation, who extended his care to the forest bear and who, seeing those coming to him during his lifetime, called them to himself with this touching word: “Come, come to me!” Oh, continue now the same work of consoling the Russian people! But do not forget those who, with a love equal to the common people, come to you, more than these unpretentious children of nature, complex, spoiled, sinful; who seek saving paths rather than, having found them, follow them. All of us - dark and enlightened, pure and sinful, condemned and neglected by fate - have pity on all of us! Whisper to each of us in a moment of grief, temptation and despondency: “Come to me, come!” Published according to the publication: Peasant E. On the Earthly Sky. The personality of Elder Seraphim of Sarov and the impressions of a trip to Sarov and Diveyevo // “Soulful Reading”, 1903. Part I, No. 1–4. Part II, No. 5–8. Part II, No. 9. A former artillery colonel, author of the famous book “Diary of the Tsar-Liberator’s stay in the Danube Army,” now Archimandrite Seraphim, wrote the most interesting work “Chronicle of the Seraphim-Diveevo Monastery,” which contains a lot of information about Father Seraphim. – Note. ed. 1903 (Years of life: 1856–1937, took monastic vows with the name Seraphim; from 1928 - Metropolitan of Leningrad; participant and organizer of the glorification of St. Seraphim, and the “Chronicle ...” compiled by him played one of the key roles in the canonization of the saint, since it was after reading this book that Emperor Nicholas II wrote his famous decree “Glorify Immediately”; in November 1937 Metropolitan Seraphim was arrested, on December 7 he was shot by the Bolsheviks in Butovo; in 1997, the Council of Bishops of the Russian Orthodox Church canonized him as a martyr; commemorated on November 28 / December 11 - Ed.) On pages 19–22 are engravings similar to those purchased by the author from a dealer. A place on the bank of the Sarovka River, in the forest, two miles from the Sarov monastery. Here, in the last years of his life, the elder spent the whole day, working physically and receiving visitors; in the evening I returned to Sarov. Near that place there is a healing spring of Father Seraphim. – Note. ed. 1903 Elder Seraphim was in the habit of giving visitors biscuits, some of them pouring a whole heap of them into the tails of their frock coats or onto their dresses. In memory of this, in the nearby hermitage - in the elder’s cell, which stood in the nearby hermitage and was moved to Sarov - crackers are distributed to the pilgrims to this day. – Note. ed. 1903 (Currently, crackers for pilgrims are consecrated in the cauldron of St. Seraphim during the Liturgy in the Trinity Cathedral of the Diveyevo Monastery. - Ed.) The twelfth article of the “Creed” speaks of waiting for “the life of the next century.” Alexandra Feodorovna (1798–1860), wife of Russian Emperor Nicholas I, mother of Alexander II. A description of this incident is contained in the story of D.F. Tyutcheva, published in the 9th book of the Russian Archive. The writer of these lines supplements this story with some details he heard from D.F. Tyutcheva in Crimea in the last spring. Written in 1903 - Ed. Nazarius (Kondratiev; 1734–1809), abbot of Valaam, hieromonk; one of the famous Sarov ascetics, originally from the Tambov province; After his stay in the Sarov desert, he devoted many years to the revival of the Anzersky monastery on Valaam, from where in the beginning. 1800s returned to Sarov and settled in a deserted cell outside the monastery, not far from the monastery; canonized as a locally revered saint of the Tambov province. Mark (Maltsov; 1737–1817), the Sarov schemamonk, a hermit and recluse, took upon himself the feat of silence, visited Elder Seraphim in his hermitage; canonized as a locally revered Tambov saint. It is noteworthy that already in 1839 the book “A Brief Outline of the Life of the Elder of the Sarov Hermitage, Schemamonk and Ascetic Mark” was published, at the end of which the instructions of Elder Seraphim were published for the first time (even before the publication of his first life). John (Popov; 1670–1737), hieroschemamonk, founder of the Sarov Hermitage; because of his love for living in the wilderness, in 1691 he settled in the Sarov forests, leaving the Arzamas Vvedensky Monastery, where he had labored until then; Through his efforts, a church in honor of the “Life-Giving Source” icon of the Mother of God was built and consecrated in 1706, and in 1711, the cenobitic charter of the Sarov Hermitage, compiled by him, was approved. In 1734, during the difficult times for the Church of the rampant Bironovschina and the Secret Chancellery, Hieroschemamonk John was unjustly arrested and ended his life in prison in St. Petersburg. According to archival research, Prokhor Moshnin entered the Sarov monastery on November 20, 1778 (See: V. Stepashkin. Venerable Seraphim of Sarov: legends and facts. Sarov, 2002. P.63) Filaret (Drozdov; 1867), Metropolitan of Moscow, saint; a reverent of the covenants of St. Seraphim, took an active part in the fate of the Diveyevo monastery, in particular, in the case of the “Diveyevo turmoil” regarding the choice of the abbess in the 60s of the 19th century, and largely thanks to his spiritual wisdom and foresight, this matter had a favorable outcome for the Diveyevo monastery. Anthony (Medvedev; 1877), archimandrite, in 1998 glorified among the locally revered saints of Radonezh as a venerable one; in 1817 he visited for the first time, and in 1818 he entered the Sarov monastery as a novice, from where he moved to the Vysokogorsky monastery near the city of Arzamas, where he took monastic vows and was appointed a builder; repeatedly visited Father Seraphim for spiritual conversations, in the last of which, in January 1831, he received from him a prediction about the management of a vast monastery and a covenant not to leave the Sarov monks and Diveyevo sisters; soon after this, by resolution of Metropolitan Philaret of Moscow, he was appointed vicar of the Trinity-Sergius Lavra and elevated to the rank of archimandrite of the Bethapos Monastery. Fulfilling the will of Elder Seraphim, after his death he received several Sarov monks into the Sergius Lavra, and also provided assistance and intercession to the Diveyevo sisters during times of unrest and disorder in the Diveyevo monastery. Now this icon is in the home church of His Holiness the Patriarch in Chisty Lane; is exhibited for believers to venerate the wounds of the year on the Feast of the Praise of the Blessed Virgin Mary in the Epiphany Cathedral of Yelokhov in Moscow. Half arshin is a measure of length equal to approximately 36 cm. Saint Mary of Egypt in the desert, according to the legend about her, rose in the air from the ground during prayer: so her flesh was exhausted and her spirit reigned. – Note. ed. 1903 This probably refers to the image of “Joy to All Who Sorrow.” Father Seraphim, when he labored in the distant desert, the nearest hills bore the names of sacred places of history. Sarovka was called Jordan, the hill with its cell was called Mount Athos. – Note. 1903 Published according to the edition: Poselyanin E. 70th anniversary of the blessed death of the Venerable Elder Seraphim of Sarov in Sarov // “Additions to the Church Gazette”, 1903. No. 29. Saint Vasily of Ryazan was expelled from Murom by an ungrateful flock. And then, spreading his mantle on the Oka, he stood on it as if on a raft, and miraculously floated up the Oka, holding his cell icon in his hands. This is how he is depicted on icons. – Note. 1903 Cathedral of the Archangel Michael and other ethereal Heavenly Powers. Seraphim are the closest to God, the highest of the nine ranks of angels. This refers to John Tikhonovich Tolstosheev (hieromonk Joasaph, in schema Seraphim; 1802–1884), he entered the Sarov Monastery on April 15, 1820, often visited Father Seraphim for conversations and instructions, asked for his blessing to care for the Diveyevo community after his death, which he received a decisive refusal from him. In 1843 (after the death of Father Seraphim), an investigation began in the Tambov and Nizhny Novgorod consistories into the case of novice John Tikhonov, who sought ordination as a hieromonk and appointment as a confessor to the Diveyevo community. In his report to the Holy Synod, Bishop Nikolai (Dobrokhotov) of Tambov wrote in 1845 that “at the present time he, Tikhonov, is of unauthorized behavior,” “has completely shied away from monastic obedience,” does not have the necessary concepts about the priestly office, especially about the Sacrament of Repentance, and that he, as a bishop, does not find him worthy of tonsure into monasticism and ordination as a hieromonk with the appointment of a confessor. to the Diveyevo monastery (See: V. Stepashkin. St. Seraphim of Sarov: legends and facts. Sarov, 2002. P. 45). In 1847 John Tikhonov was transferred to the Nizhny Novgorod Pechersk Monastery, where he was tonsured into monasticism with the name Joasaph and ordained hieromonk, after which he visited various monasteries, in the last of which, in the Pavlo-Obnorsky Monastery of the Vologda Diocese, in 1861 he was elevated to the rank of abbot. In 1861, Hieromonk Joasaph was expelled from Diveevo. His intervention, after the death of Elder Seraphim, in the affairs of the development of the Diveyevo community led to its complete ruin and was the cause of the “Diveyevo Troubles,” which required an investigation by the Holy Synod and Metropolitan Philaret (Drozdov), who henceforth forbade Joasaph any participation in the affairs of the monastery. Posing himself as a student and successor of the work of the great elder, thus acquiring high patrons, he published “The Legend of the exploits and events of the life of Elder Seraphim” (the very first - in 1849, St. Petersburg). According to the famous researcher of the history of the Sarov Desert V. Stepashkin, "Joasaph, under the name of schema-abbot Seraphim, published three editions of the “Tales,” each time adding new details to them, reserving for himself the place of “beloved disciple” of Father Seraphim. There is no doubt that Elder Seraphim could not help but see the duplicity of this man, who received the nickname “foreign visitor” from the monks of the Sarov desert. Some sources put this definition in the mouth of the elder Seraphim "(See: Stepashkin V. Op. op. p. 46.) The memory of the now illustrious venerable Alexandra, Martha and Elena (canonized on December 22, 2000) is celebrated on July 21 of the new style on the day of the Council of the Venerable Wives of Diveyevo. See: Thomas a Kempis. About imitation of Christ. Book three: On inner consolation. Ch. 49. Troparion to the Martyr, tone 4. Wed: Troparion to St. Macarius the Great. See: Creed, twelfth article. Sermyaga is peasant outer clothing made of coarse, undyed cloth. Troparion 2, song 9 of the canon of prayer to the Mother of God. Savonarola, Girolamo (1452–1498) - Italian Dominican priest, former monk, ruler of Florence from 1494 to 1498; During his reign, he harshly fought against violators of the Christian law (sacrileges, gamblers, debauchees), in his sermons he angrily denounced the depravity of the morals of contemporary Florence and the Church, and called for asceticism. Wed: Prayer before eating food (“The eyes of all trust in Thee, O Lord...”). The words quoted here from the akathist to St. Seraphim are missing in its modern version. The very first akathist to the saint of God Seraphim was written long before his glorification, presumably by the nun of the Seraphim-Diveevo Monastery Elena Annenkova (from the noble family of the Annenkovs known in Russian literature), who back in 1887, on the occasion of the celebration of the 25th anniversary of the abbess of the first abbess of the Diveevo Monastery, Maria (Ushakova), presented it to her as a gift “personally from myself” akathist to St. Seraphim. Then her work formed the basis of the akathist compiled by the Bishop of Tambov and Shatsk Innokenty (Belyaev), as evidenced by the numerous literal coincidences of the meaning, expressions and words of the handwritten Diveyevo and handwritten Inno-Ceptian akathists. In turn, the bishop’s manuscript, being presented after the glorification of St. Seraphim to the Holy Synod, also underwent minor editorial changes, as a result of which the text of the akathist, well known and used by us today, was published in St. Petersburg in 1904. According to researchers, the closeness of the Diveevsky and Inpokentievsky editions of the akathist allows us to call it Diveevsky-Innokentievsky. From the book “On Suffering” by Monsignor Bugo, Bishop of Laval. See: Great Doxology, from the sequence of Matins. – See: Luke. 2, 14. This is what the elder said: those who live in the desert fight spirits like lions and leopards. – Note. Ed. 1903 This is what the elder said: those who live in the desert fight spirits like lions and leopards. – Note. ed. 1903 The Sarov elders, under whom Prokhor Moshnin (future Reverend Seraphim) entered the monastery, are his spiritual mentors. Hieromonks Pachomius (like Father Seraphim, originally from the city of Kursk) and Isaiah were the builders of the Sarov Hermitage in 1777–1794. and in 1794–1807. accordingly, Elder Joseph is the treasurer of the desert, who was entrusted with “special supervision” over the novice Prokhor (See: V. Stepashkin. Venerable Seraphim of Sarov: traditions and facts. Sarov, 2002. P. 19,113). See: Deacon's exclamation for the special litany. See: Irmos hymn 1, canon of the Nativity of Christ, from the sequence of Matins. See: Common Troparion to the Rev. The troparion specifically to St. Seraphim begins with the words “From his youth you have loved Christ, O blessed one...”, tone 4.