Зоя Пестова

All things work together for good to those who love God! (Rom. 8:28) I bequeath these notes to my daughter Natasha and granddaughter Katya I was 16 years old when I decided that I needed to go to Sarov, visit the elder and determine my future path in life. In a year and a half I was supposed to graduate from high school. My father and mother instilled in me that it was necessary to study further and get a higher education in order to be independent, not dependent on anyone and rich in soul and pocket. But where to go to study? I got 5's in all subjects, I'm the top student in the class, but I don't have any special talent. “A specialty is like a marriage,” says dad, “choose it yourself, so you don’t blame anyone later. Life’s mistakes are not in vain.” My father was a doctor, and he did not advise me to go into this specialty. “I feel sorry for your spiritual purity: after all, doctors are all libertines... Yes, with your poor health and compassionate heart, you will mourn every dead person! You can do good deeds everywhere, you need to have strong nerves, but you feel sorry for people!..” My father loved me very much, knew me, understood me, supported all my good endeavors, giving money to the poor and fulfilling my requests to visit someone who was sick or put someone in a hospital. I “adored” my father, forgiving him everything - all his mistakes, delusions. Only children can love like this - forgive everything! I was far from my mother, but I liked her independence (she had a dental office), her independence. In those years (the beginning of the 20th century), “freedom-loving women” were already becoming fashionable. Father and mother were actually divorced, but the family was still somehow preserved. The connecting link was children and the impossibility of divorce. The father was clearly burdened by his family and wanted his children to grow up as quickly as possible. They were also waiting for revolution. The 1st World War was underway (1914–1918). Political events were approaching, society was “for” and “against”, and we, high school students, were already “judging and judging” about the war and events in the country. At the age of 15, I wanted to be a convinced Orthodox Christian. This went against the worldview of my parents and the society around me, the intelligentsia of the provincial city. Then, in 1915, everyone was considered a believer, but I don’t remember a single family where the Gospel was perceived as the basis of life. I was exhausted by family troubles and only in the church of a neighboring convent in front of the icon of St. Seraphim of Sarov did I find solace in my childish grief. No one suffers more from parental quarrels than children! It was no longer possible to “move” me from the Gospel. My parents were dissatisfied with my “passion” for religious issues, reading books, and my friend from a priest’s family, and each of them tried to “reason” with me. It’s scary to remember the anti-religious statements that I had to listen to and after which I ran to church, rather to cleanse myself - to confess and partake of the Holy Mysteries. “What are you crying about?” - Father Fr. will ask me. Alexy in confession. “I’m quarreling with my family.” I could not complain in confession and tell family scenes that outraged my whole soul. I couldn’t figure out which parent was to blame. There was no peace or love in the family; we, the children, were not protected from scenes, from abuse, from tears and scandals. My sister was brought up at the institute, and my brother and I (2 years younger than me) did not know peace in the family. My father often reminded me that when I was 3 years old, I suffered from scarlet fever and there was no hope of recovery. The Pope went to the all-night vigil on December 6 (19 AD) on St.'s Day. Nicholas and, standing in front of the icon, cried bitterly, begging for my life. “If you only saw how I asked Nikolai Ugodnik to leave you to me!” - said the father and always with tears. There was an icon hanging in my father’s bedroom, but I did not see my father praying. But sometimes he sent me to pay taxes “for the repose” of his relatives, gave me money for candles and for beggars, listened to dreams, received the parish priest “with the saint,” there were no meat dishes during Lent 1, 4 and 7 - so you can’t call my father an unbeliever... He was afraid for me, what if I went to a monastery, what if I went crazy. He begged me not to fast, not to go to early mass, to eat and sleep more, to take care of my nerves, and somehow he was not at all aware of how much I suffered from his ridicule and all sorts of offensive words about what was sacred to me. The family lived prosperously, and my father gave me money for clothes, for theater, cinema, and for the poor. I myself was not an ascetic and went to plays and movies, returning home with anxiety: “What is going on there?” I didn’t love my mother during these years. Tormented by family discord, she was very nervous. Her attitude to religion was external: she performed rituals, lit lamps, ordered a “family” icon, and frames for images... Oh, how she wanted her father’s love, what a family woman and housewife she would be... How she cared about her father and us! Over the years, she began to get sick and her character and actions bordered on the character of a mentally ill and deeply unhappy woman. She was beautiful, energetic and very efficient, she loved her job and made good money, having a dental office, but her illness brought her down. “Every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way,” and it’s hardest for children! “And the demons believe and... tremble.” Mom lived of her own free will, so far from religion and the Church. At the age of 15 I read The Brothers Karamazov. The image of Alyosha struck me. I decided that I would find such an Alyosha in my life. “The Grand Inquisitor” shocked me, and I believed that it would be so. I realized that freedom is not in external life, but in the spirit, and I was no longer interested in the revolutionary heroes whom my father admired: Gershuni, Figner, Zasulich, Zhelyabov for me were insane and criminals. But Elder Zosima... Finding such a person in Sarov became my dream. This is who you should ask about your life path! Father Nikolai taught the Law of God at the gymnasium. This was the kindest teacher. He often talked to me, gave me John Chrysostom to read. But at 14–15 years old, is such reading possible? He walked in a dark green cassock, a golden cross adorned his chest. His chestnut curls suited his tender blue eyes. He became an example of meekness and forgiveness for me when in 1930 I learned that he had been exiled to Siberia and was being saved there. I was the favorite in the class and was very pleased with this, trying to help all the poor students and “pull them out” to answer. I was friends with the best students, but I especially liked the “special” ones, I looked for them, tried to find out how their souls lived. Here is Shura, a tall blond girl. She definitely glows all over! Of course! Her father is a priest. Father Mikhail 52 from the village of Timokhovo, popular, and was once friends with Father John of Kronstadt himself. Is Shura dancing? Yes, her father told her that it was possible at 15–16 years old. “Every vegetable has its time.” It's not a sin. We are young and young. You have to grow up “spiritually” so that you don’t want to dance. And I dance with Shura padespan at the school ball (a year or two later Shura died of consumption). All the girls were nominally believers. Compliance with fasts was perhaps the most important thing. No one had or read the Gospels themselves. They dreamed of marrying a rich merchant and got married at the age of 16. The majority had one fate - to become rural teachers and spend their lives in the wilderness and melancholy, in poverty and loneliness. We would like to “study further”, go to Moscow or St. Petersburg, but the tuition fees, life is expensive... and the war was going on and a revolution was approaching. I dreamed of studying further, but who should I be? Both my mother and father supported me in this, my father promised to help... but the family would fall apart without me... “Hurry up!” - the father dreamed. “In Sarov I will resolve this issue,” I dreamed and asked my parents to let me go. Observe the blameless and behold the righteous. (Ps. 36:37) I often went to the monastery for all-night vigil and mass and made friends there - nuns who vied with each other in inviting me to their place after mass to “drink tea” and talk about spiritual things. One of the older nuns loved me very much. Her name was Mother Evanfia, about 60 years old. She lived in a monastery from the age of 17, refusing to get married and loving everything more than the Heavenly Bridegroom - Christ. Our monastery for 600 people had its own farm, fields and meadows, barnyard and vegetable gardens. All the work was carried out by the young, for free - out of obedience. “Obedience is higher than fasting and prayer” - this was the rule of the monastery. The young nuns lived with the old nuns in the same cell. Mother lived like this for 30 years with one nun as her mother. - Didn’t you quarrel? – I’ll ask. - There was, there was dissatisfaction, but we had to learn humility, patience and meekness - this is also a great science. But everything is good for those who love God: you will cry, you will pray, and you will hit your feet. Sorry! And again peace. “Yes, we don’t have this in the world and it can’t be,” I will answer, remembering my quarrels with my own mother. Would you like to go into the world? - No, never, as I joyfully accepted the tonsure. Relatives will come from home and talk about their worldly life - how much evil, sorrow, untruth, noise and quarrels there are, but here in the monastery we have peace, grace and love and the salvation of the soul for eternal life. “Everything is decay,” Mother Evanthia loved to repeat, “but the soul is eternal and will go to God’s Judgment, as life is lived. What will you answer if you destroy your soul? Now in her old age she had one obedience - she was a gatekeeper, lived in a cell at the gate, did not go anywhere and carried the keys to the gate with her - these were two big keys. She was sent to church services by her partner, a young lame nun who helped Mother with everything. All the nuns zealously guarded and fulfilled their obedience. The nuns were all excellent needlewomen and willingly taught me all of their handicrafts. They made elegant little things for free for all sorts of charity lotteries. Hooping, knitting, embroidering with gold and silk was their work. They also took orders, since the desire to earn money was not infringed, as long as obedience was done. Idleness was considered a sin, but, of course, people did not work on holidays. - What kind of obedience would they give me? – I’ll ask. - If you have a voice, join the choir in the choir. – I have no voice, I always cough. – The abbess would carry the staff either to the office, or to the needlework room, to the icon painting room. I sighed: “Is this for life?!” – Yes, we must firmly decide so as not to disgrace both ourselves and the monastery! “Monasticism is marriage with Christ. Love the Savior more than anyone and everything.” Yes, Mother Evanthia herself loved Christ and led a strict ascetic life of asceticism and prayer. Her faith was simple and strong. It happened that you would tell her your grief, and she would respond: - And what about Nikolai Ugodnik? Turn to him, ask him, he will help you. All the saints and saints were living friends for her. – Believe that your prayer will be heard! This means you need to be patient, this means it is necessary to save your soul! She herself prayed for my sorrows. Together we decided to go to Sarov. Our monastery was dispersed in 1928. Mother died at the age of 76 in 1930. May God rest her soul! To the saints who are on earth, and to Your wondrous ones - all my desire is for them. (Ps. 16:3) I had great childhood grief. At the age of 14 (grades 5–6), I took private French lessons in the summer from a high school teacher teaching German, N.D.K. She was 22 years old, she had recently graduated from the Institute with a code (diamond medal of Empress Maria Feodorovna). She could always be seen in the monastery in front of the icon of St. Seraphim of Sarov. She did not go anywhere except church and was known as an “ascetic”, a nun. During lessons she joked with me and was not at all “crazy”, as they called her in our house. I saw faith without hesitation or doubt, I saw her standing and praying in church. She was all like a burning candle before God. Strict, modest, intelligent, convinced, ideological, unshakable in faith - this is how believers characterized her. She was the first in my life to open the Gospel to me and read me the parable of the Sower. The grain fell on good soil, and my sympathy began to grow - my love for this extraordinary girl. She had large, gray, expressive eyes and a soulful, soft voice. It happened that I wanted to argue with her, and I couldn’t agree with her, and I asked her 100 questions about why and why. But autumn came, lessons ended and parents rebelled against the hobby. “You loved the needlework teacher! After all, Natalya Dmitrievna is abnormal! She’ll make you an ascetic, a nun!” Insults, reproaches, ridicule were rained down on my dear one, and I only dreamed of seeing her!.. I am copying verbatim her first letter to me, which I still have. You simply look at things with one left eye and, by your own free will, deny the existence of half the phenomena in the world. Why? And it’s illogical, that is, if you deny it, that’s all in this case. Listen! After all, now nothing in the world is completely explainable. If you are accustomed to think thoughtfully about everything around you, you could not help but be amazed that not a single most knowledgeable scientist can give you a positive answer to many questions of paramount importance. While we float on the surface, as if we know something, as soon as we touch the basics, we admit the powerlessness of the mind. Let's take examples. Why do the salivary glands secrete saliva and the gastric glands secrete gastric juice? And still others, others, etc. Science does not solve such questions and calls any secretion of glands a glandular secretion. Let's take the plant world. Why, explain to me, do two tiny grains of an apple tree and a birch tree, placed side by side, select one of the same juices from the ground, the other the other? Take the wonderful rose and the lump of dirty earth from which it grew. Is everything clear to you here? And if that’s all, then consult with someone and cook up a rose yourself. Attempts to create a living being ourselves, which is what Goethe’s Faust did, have not been successful in any modern laboratory... It’s not just me, but great people who recognized that all phenomena in the world are miracles, the only difference being that some miracles are repeated every day and we are accustomed to them, others are rarely repeated. (If more often, we would also get used to them and stop noticing them.) We don’t understand them, but, strangely, for some reason we even deny them! Why is this, huh? In general, dear Zoya, you are wandering around the spiritual world, not having the key to enter it. You stumble upon spiritual phenomena, but you don’t know what yardstick to measure them with. You can deny them, laugh at them, but they exist regardless of that. And the words of the Apostle Paul brilliantly come true for you: “a natural man does not understand the things of the spirit, since it seems to him madness.” Well, think about it, it would be funny if you, never having seen a piano, sat down to play and wanted to play Beethoven. No matter how much you hit the keys, you still wouldn’t play, you wouldn’t reveal its charms. To enter the world of sounds, you need to know certain techniques... How do you want to jump without any preparation into that world of spiritual phenomena, which makes up a whole half of a person’s life? Or do you think this world does not exist? And our souls dangle in our bodies like a pea in an empty jar? In order to see the Sun, I must turn my face towards it and open my eyes. To see the source of spiritual light, I must open my spiritual eyes. This is done among literate people by reading suitable books and prayer, among illiterate people by reading them verbally and with the same prayer to the One who alone opens the mind to understand the Scriptures (Luke 24:45). Since you belong to the category of literate people, I am sending you the book for serious review. If you are interested in many things, you will find the answers. If not, don't read. No, however, read, in any case, you can’t lose anything from reading such books, but if you want, you can gain a lot. I am more than sure that you will like this book for its depth and clarity of presentation. Read for spiritual health! Well, all the best! “To the doctor, heal yourself!” If I’m not mistaken, this book was by Bishop Theophan “What is spiritual life and how to tune in to it.” So, reading books of spiritual content, reading the Gospel and going to church and praying in my room became necessary for me. In the corner there is a case with icons and a lamp always lit, on the night table there is a Gospel and some book. But my father watched me and, of course, read my diaries, full of admiration for the words of Natalya Dmitrievna. - Your new one! (adoration). You better read (author). Go to the library, take Renan, read this author. Obeying, so as not to cause irritation, I myself went to the library, took it and read. No, I didn't like these books! - Well, is it interesting? Did you understand who Christ was? The conversation began. I was so young, I loved my father so much that I could not argue or discuss with him: I was afraid that in another 5-10 minutes he would say something terrible for the soul. How could I compete with him, with his stock of all kinds of scientific atheistic arguments! And he had so many of them... “Daddy, you should read the Gospel... You would love the church,” I will say timidly. “I know everything, I know and understand everything, listen to me, I’m afraid for you, you are my happiness, I won’t survive if.., if...” There are tears in my eyes, my voice trembles, I cough dully in my office. I made him very upset! Very... very!.. But I still go to mass, to the all-night vigil, to Mother Evanthia. My father was the chairman of the pedagogical council at the gymnasium, and of course, the authorities knew about N.D.’s influence on me. This was dangerous for N.D. - freethinking was not encouraged. After me, other students began to “adore” N.D., and the students were the best in grades 5–7. With bitterness and bewilderment, I saw that N.D. was shunning me and there were no more books or conversations, and the reason was that our family situation was known to the whole city. Idle gossips spread gossip... Bad family! “Who did your father walk with on the boulevard yesterday?” Shame burned my cheeks. I closed in on myself and ran to the monastery to see Mother Evanthia. “Why doesn’t N.D. love me?” – I ask in my diary. In all subjects 5, and in German always, for all answers 4. I know, I know, I’m guessing! “Can anything good come from Nazareth?” And I... we have bedlam (a madhouse in England). Can anything good come from bedlam? I'm sad, sigh and envy Lisa. Yes, I grew up in a very difficult environment... She was a year older than me and a grade below me. Natalya Dmitrievna considered Lisa her little best friend. Lisa was a red-cheeked, strong, snub-nosed girl from a peasant family living in the village. My father was selling something, bringing gastronomy from Moscow. She had a long thick red braid and sparkling round eyes. The whole figure exuded peasant corpulence and businesslike efficiency. She was the first student in the class, but she was alienated from everyone. Learning was easy for her. She spoke abruptly and briskly, without mincing words. She followed N.D. in everything. She could also be seen in the church where N.D. was... N.D. bow and Lisa bow. N.D. will take off his hat in church and so will Lisa. N.D. will light a candle and Liza will do the same right away. Lisa performed all the fasts, although she did not hide the fact that she ate black bread in loaves. She dressed in black, walked with her eyes downcast, did not read secular books and, of course, like N.D., did not go to the movies or plays, did not dance; spoke little, and did not speak to some girls at all. “Saint! Nun! Holy fool! Hypocrite!" - they laughed at her. Despite the posts and services, she was healthy. So it seemed that she was about to burst into laughter, that all this was an act in her, not hers... And she only raised her eyes to see N.D. Before the German lesson, Lisa would not let anyone, and especially me, light a lamp in the class in front of the image, she would push everyone away; “Not like that, I myself!” N.D. will enter the classroom, look at the icon, and casually whisper something to Lisa. But it’s hard for me, it’s insulting: there’s been no word or look from me for a long time. She even stopped asking, no matter how much I raise my hand, but she asks Lisa 5-10 times during the lesson. Lessons for grades 5 and 6 were held together, since not everyone learned German. I became friends with Lisa, but Lisa did not talk to me about N.D. I think it was their conspiracy. All my diaries of that time are filled with conversations with Lisa about asceticism, monasticism, and the Jesus Prayer. She, Lisa, was for asceticism, for the renunciation of everything worldly and sinful. Just to save your soul for the Kingdom of God. And the rest is none of my business! I put forward altruism and the desire to “lay down my soul for my friends.” There was the hidden influence of my father, stories about revolutionaries, convicts. After all, during his student years, my father was fond of revolutionary theories and “bowed before the convicts,” as my mother said. My father was also listed as a prison doctor, and although only criminals were in the city prison, my father felt sorry for them and always said that “everyone is to blame for each other.” I once carried a package to prison. During these years, my father no longer corresponded with his “comrades” and burned all their letters, but, like many, he scolded the tsarist government and waited for the revolution when there would be... whatever he dreamed of!.. Oh, his dreams! - Bake pies, go to the very outskirts, where the poor live! - Dad said. I baked pies and sought out the poor. My mother scared me terribly with these shacks, shouted at my father, and my philanthropy ended. I myself was looking for some kind of feat, I began to think about how to help in the war, and my father found a way out: he gave me a job. Having collected envelopes, papers, stamps, I went to the hospital and wrote letters to the villages to the soldiers who were in the hospital. It was my father who brought up in me concern for people, and I believed, like him, that asceticism is selfishness. Once a week, my father hosted a free reception for the poor at home. So I had conversations with Lisa about how and how to save my soul. The spiritual salvation of N.D. and Lisa proceeded at a rapid pace. There were rumors that they began receiving Holy Communion almost every day. This created a sensation in the city not only among merchants and intellectuals, but also among the clergy. And in the city there are 25 churches and 3 monasteries - you can walk around secretly. And again rumors, gossip: “This is heresy! This is not Orthodox! N.D. confuses female students by trapping them in religious sects.” N.D. would have been considered a sectarian if they had not known that the local bishop favored her (Iosif Petrov). - The Lord has arrived! – Lisa whispered to me enthusiastically. The bells were ringing. The Bishop performed the divine service with pomp and solemnity. Only Lisa and N.D. approached the Holy Chalice. And when the bishop served for himself, privately, Lisa sang and read for the psalm-reader, and N.D. came up alone. And the bishop invited them to the table. But there were no people like N.D. in the city. I was tormented by childhood envy, but I didn’t want to follow N.D. as blindly as Lisa did, and I didn’t want to give up secular pleasures, to the joy of my father, who was afraid of N.D.’s “heresy.” At 15, I was a pale, thin girl. For some reason, I didn’t like to eat and ate little, I wasn’t interested in any sweets, but I loved to dress beautifully. The blue dress suited me so well. “Violet Girl,” someone called me, and I was already looking at myself in the mirror. And Lisa was sewing a black dress, preparing to go to the monastery. She had already prepared her rosary and silently said the Jesus Prayer - at the age of 16! A?! My father taught me that the meaning of life is “tirelessly doing good”... Oh, I would believe him if... why didn’t he love his mother? Why did he say in front of us children that he couldn’t wait until we grew up?! How he dreamed of something else, how he was burdened by his family! My health was weak, and my father more than once, with tears in his eyes, persuaded me to rest, take a walk, and eat. I upset him to tears with my thinness and cough. “What early spiritual development you have! - he was horrified. At your age I only thought about pleasures. Why do you so insistently want to go to Sarov? Apparently, there you will find yourself some kind of tragic death! He scared both himself and me, “I need to find my path in life!” - I repeated. Lisa and I decided to go together. This was in June 1915. May the Lord give you according to your heart and fulfill all your intentions. (Ps. 19:5) I was released to Sarov with Liza and two nuns, one of whom was Mother Evanfia, and the other, so silent and quiet, constantly fingering her rosary, that one might think she was deaf and mute - Mother Barsanuphia. My father was very concerned, gave me advice and instructions, and with tears baptized me on the road. I promised him not to bathe in cold water - because I always coughed. Mom was angry and frightened me with cases on the topic of “what could happen,” citing terrible tragedies. We waited for a long time for the ship at the pier. I remember reading Arndt's book On True Christianity while sitting on logs by the water. I was afraid that my mother would come to take me back. Natalya Dmitrievna came to see Liza off, and the two of them sat at the top of the mountain, on the boulevard, talking peacefully. I didn’t dare approach them, they didn’t invite me there and didn’t say a word - I was offended and envious, but you won’t be nice to me by force! Lisa was proud of her friendship with me: I consulted with her on academic matters, sometimes she corrected my German presentation; I protected her from the attacks of her classmates; she visited our house. I excused her harshness due to her rural upbringing, but I admired her devotion to the Church and imitation of N.D. in everything. Her spiritual perfection, as I believed, was unusually ideological, deep... Where am I with my doubts, with my sociable character - I’m not an ascetic, I love nature, poetry, looking for interesting people, arguing with girls about the meaning of life. There is a lot that is unclear to me, I want to know a lot! And with Lisa, everything is clear, nothing is needed except the salvation of the soul. Just ask the elders of the Sarov Hermitage for blessings for frequent communion of the Holy Mysteries and for monasticism. - No, I'll come home! - I answer. - “Anyone who looks back is not trustworthy for the Kingdom of God!” - says Lisa. She responds with quotes from the Gospel and Psalms. As soon as we boarded the ship and entered the cabin, Lisa allocated seats. And I thought that Mother Evanfia would be the eldest. They were both tired, having waited all day at the pier for a very late ship, and quickly fell asleep. We lit the wax candles we took with us and read the Gospel. – 50 bows! - said Lisa. – I can’t, I’m tired, my head hurts! – I almost fell asleep. - I lost my temper! And you’re going to Sarov, you should stay at home! – Lisa snapped and began bowing to the east. In the morning the question of food arose; We all took bread, crackers, eggs and other non-meat supplies with us, since it was wartime, everything was getting more expensive and everything was expensive on the ship. Lisa ordered to eat mine first. “I have canned food, eggs, we’ll have more on the way back - we’ll eat everything later, after.” She hid her heavy backpack away. We drank tea with sieve. For lunch we took some cabbage soup and potatoes from the kitchen. – You pay, you are the richest of us. You've had enough! Eat more black bread! She herself ate huge pieces and laughed at me: “There are no buns here, I’m used to broth and cutlets, so my head hurts... Well, lie down! Sissy!” I just shrank from such treatment, trying to help the old nuns in everything, staying closer to them, and they persuaded me to have lunch alone in the dining room, not to be embarrassed by them. I took lunch, but we ate together. The mothers were more friendly towards me than towards Liza, and Liza tried to avoid them. Sitting on the deck, she stood up every now and then, crossing herself at the churches that stood white on the banks of the Volga. Wounded soldiers were riding on the deck. The public listened to their terrible stories about the atrocities of the Germans, about the hard life of soldiers in the trenches. How they all wanted to go home to their wives and children, to their village, to their home. They considered their wounds to be happiness, which, perhaps, would free them from murder and death. These were elderly bearded peasants. And the young people were embittered and cursed the officers, commanders and the Tsar. The revolutionary spirit was already wafting everywhere, the discontent of the people was clearly expressed. Some gave their lives, and others (I knew who) profited from the war. Two days later we reached Nizhny Novgorod and spent the night in a monastery. Sitting by the window on this warm June night, I began to pray to heaven, in my own words asking God to guide me, not to let me get confused, perish for eternal life, forgetting the Gospel and the Church. “Show me how to live further!” - that was the cry of my soul. It was a cry of inspired prayer. I knew that in a year, when my sister and I graduated from high school and college, a new life would begin without my father, who so dreamed of living “for himself.” The mother, without hesitation or hiding, expressed her thoughts, frightening her with the future. Lisa went to mass in the morning, where she received communion, and came tired and dissatisfied with something. In Ardatov we agreed with the driver for five or six days. Two of them rode with their luggage, and we girls walked in turns, since it was difficult for the horse to carry everyone. The driver was experienced; he had been carrying pilgrims to holy places for many years. The driver really appreciated Lisa’s habits - how she knew how to lead and control the horse when the driver walked. “You keep walking, but she even drove the driver off the box - she wants to sit there herself,” the old women grumbled. - I love to rule! - Lisa said dashingly, urging the horse on with a whip. - Well, go ahead! Lady! We drove at night and met the dawn in the field. “Let us sing, girls, - Glory to You, who showed us the light!” the mothers asked. Everyone sang in chorus and also sang prayers. Some pilgrims - two women, a girl and a lame man - sat down next to us and a choir came out. They walked 60 miles, and we had a driver, and we parted. A majestic panorama opened before our eyes when churches and then the entire monastery (Diveevsky) appeared from behind the forest. The nuns met everyone, took their luggage and escorted them to the hotel. It was as if they were waiting for pilgrims, and we were like family to them. We abandoned the noble hotel and went to the “common” hotel, like ordinary people. It was clean, but hard to sleep on a wooden bench, eat in simple tin plates, and wash from a common washstand. And here the children were crying, and their heads ached from the stuffiness and stale air. This is all after my bright, cozy room! The night gave no rest... In the morning mass. Lisa again approached the Holy Chalice. – When did you confess? – I asked. - Look at yourself, and enough is enough for you! - was her answer. After mass and breakfast of millet porridge, which was brought to the table in a bucket and everyone who wanted ate, we went to inspect the monastery’s facilities. I was interested in the workshops. Bright, spacious rooms with hoops lined up in a row. Novice nuns sew, embroider beautiful things with silk and gold, beads and pearls - robes for icons, shrouds for tombstones, and various panels and pendants. What labor-intensive handwork, what skill! In another room they sew linen and dresses: after all, there are more than a thousand nuns in the monastery - everything is their own and for their own. Here are the underwear for the army, green tunics, harsh shirts. Hall of gold seamstresses: they sew epaulettes, shoulder straps, knit aiguillettes for the army - this is a state responsibility. They are all led by their own nuns. – Where does the taste and elegance of drawing come from? “From childhood they are taught to obey, and the Lord makes everything wise,” explains the conductor. Hard work grows talent. We visited an orphanage for girls. Nanny nuns take care of children. “Whose children are they?” - “Yes, various cases of orphanhood and poverty, and now refugees from the Germans from occupied provinces.” They are maintained at the expense of the monastery. There was a drawing lesson in the art workshops. There is a school for children at the monastery. Girls are taught to paint icons, but now they are taught to draw different figures from cubes, from casts. Several girls, about 10–12 years old, in long black dresses and skuffeys. “They already want to be nuns.” “At 10 years old?!” - I am horrified. “It is clear from their character and heartfelt disposition that they are inclined towards monastic life; they don’t like peace.” Adult nuns paint icons. The picturesque Crucifixion remained in the memory for a long time. Hard work, silence, prayer everywhere! Only girls are accepted into Diveevo, widows are not accepted - this is what St. Seraphim commanded - that is why it is called Diveevo (Virgin) 53. Here everything is ready for the nuns: both clothes and table, but all the work that is given to anyone is not paid for by anyone, everything is done “out of obedience.” There are a lot of different outbuildings, all done by nuns. A vegetable garden, a garden, a barnyard, a bee yard - they couldn’t get around them all. After dinner - Lenten noodles with mushrooms - the nun began to go around with the dish to everyone. “How much for a day with four?” – we asked. “Due to zeal,” was the answer. Our mothers appreciated it: it’s not expensive for us, and they showed us their diligence. In the evening we had to walk along the “Seraphim Path” - a small embankment with a well-trodden path; They walked with the Jesus Prayer and rosary: ​​“The Antichrist will not pass through this path!” - explains the nun. “Will he come soon?” - someone will ask. “Oh, soon for you, soon!” – Antichrist – renunciation! – the next voice will explain. - I won’t renounce! Everyone, but not me! – another voice will respond. - Pray! The Lord is merciful and will forgive everything. So they go one by one, kissing the icons they meet on the pillars, and bow down. I was tired, and the worm of doubt was creeping up with caustic thoughts: what is all this for? Hurry to Sarov! In the morning we went to mass; it was Sunday and the “big choir” was singing. There was solemn singing, we returned around two in the afternoon, we could barely stand on our feet from fatigue. Lisa refused any chores around the house or helping her mothers, took care of her supplies and talked, answering sharply. “Okay, just be patient, we’ll be in peace,” the mothers consoled both me and themselves. Lisa kept a record of expenses, dividing everything equally among four, and ate for three, surprising us with her appetite. There was no white bread at all, and only prosphora was eaten in the morning. In the evening we rode along the road to Sarov, on the same rested horse and with the same driver. For some reason he was hungry, he took bread from us, and we asked Lisa to give him something from her supplies. I was very surprised that the driver ate the hard-boiled rotten eggs given by Lisa, even black ones sometimes. The weather was hot and the testicles deteriorated. “Well, she didn’t give it to us!” - “And look how he eats! – Lisa was touched. This is what hunger means. This is what a simple person means - not you! And the cabman, drinking water from a flask, ate about two dozen eggs during the journey and kept praising Liza for how she knew how to handle a horse. The pine forest ended, we drove through fields and in front of us were the walls of Sarov. The crowds of people walking here and there gave the feeling that they were going to and from the market. Mordovian peasants in embroidered sundresses, bright scarves and aprons, onuchas and bast shoes filled the road. We walked with children, pulled carts with disabled people, with the sick. We often saw beggars, cripples, and blind people on the road, sitting on the ground and singing “Lazarus.” At the entrance gate, a tall monk directed those who came and arrived into the buildings. There are arrows with numbers everywhere, so we immediately found “a building for women without children.” And there is one for families and for male pilgrims. Women and children are not allowed to walk around the monastery. We were introduced to the schedule of services in the church and where to go. To the desert, to the stone, to the spring. They said that in three days everything can be done and “go home,” that is, you cannot live any longer and there is nothing to do. Strictly, briefly, clearly, without bows. Novice boys, 12–14 years old, brought teapots of boiling water and a bowl of black bread. They played the role of “errand boys” and quickly, accurately carried out the orders of the senior gray-haired monk, looking into his eyes. They weren't naughty. Apparently it was stern: “They run for eight hours! – explained Fr. Paisiy, “and they keep everything clean and orderly.” For the first time in my life I heard the word “street children”; they are ours, shelter children. Again from areas occupied by the Germans, refugees who had lost their parents and relatives. In the morning at 5 o'clock before mass there was a general confession. The church is full of people. It was my first time at a general confession, but I realized that an individual confession would have taken a day or two. The priest, looking into the missal, listed the sins, and the people noisily answered: “Sinners! sinners! And I thought, and I dreamed of confessing to the elder! I was one of the last to come up and said about it. “We have no time, no time! See how many people there are! What do you have? Did you sing? Did you dance? Didn't you fast? Separately - why? God be with you, girl. Go in peace! Believe and pray!” - “Or maybe I should go to a monastery?” - “To the monastery? First you need to strengthen your faith in the world, test yourself in everything. After all, you are one of the secular girls? You can see it. Interested in spiritual life? Read books - these are the same people. Where can we talk to everyone? Do you see how many people there are?! Once!" My heart was hurt and bitter. Lisa read the Rule for Holy Communion loudly. They were already singing the Cherubim song. A male choir of monks sang some familiar musical notes, reminding me of my early happy childhood at the dacha near Uglich in the Uleimenovsky monastery. What am I looking for here? Why did I come here? In Uglich there are old monks and this crowd of Mordovians, simple, sinful people who do not understand anything, is not there. I was looking for people who could serve as an “example of life” for me, and I saw such people, but their example did not suit me, because I was 15–16 years old and I was from an unbelieving environment, having heard anti-religious arguments around me since childhood. But I was a believer in God, loved Christ and did not want to be different. They pointed out to me monks and priests as negative characters in life, they were ridiculed and scolded in front of me, but my soul was drawn to them and I found wonderful deeds in their lives. I saw morally perfect people, disciples of Christ, people far from sins, and people around me. Here there was swearing, but for those there was prayer; here there was hatred, malice, revenge, gossip, and among the believers there was love and forgiveness and non-judgment. Someone said that the human soul is Christian by nature and it depends on the person himself to preserve and preserve his soul. “The image is of Your ineffable glory” - the soul is the image of God... “Don’t you know that you are the church of God, and the Spirit of God lives in you” - my diary was filled with such sayings. And if my father dreamed of leaving his family in a year or two, when we would graduate from high school, I also wanted to leave home, where they did not like Christianity, where there were no followers of Christ. But where? But I won’t even be able to earn my own bread... Everything ahead is unclear, everything is scary... The quiet monastery, the monastery, beckoned with the simplicity of life and goals, but the mind did not agree and demanded education, broad activity, will, freedom every hour and some kind of life scope, and not sitting at the hoop, sewing, working, exhausting, day after day. “To ruin your life in a monastery is to save your soul for eternity! - my old companions teach me. Even in the monastery there are sins and temptations, but with prayer everything can be overcome! And there is only death in the world!” And I remember incidents from my early childhood. I'm 6–7 years old. Bonna takes me with her to the monastery, “to visit the monk Fr. Mikhail." He reluctantly opens the door to the cell - embarrassed and dissatisfied. I don’t understand what the bonna is quietly saying to him, but oh. Michael, sitting in the corner under the icons, shakes his head and says; “No, we are not allowed to do this! No, it’s not useful for us!” Somehow I sense that the bonna is inviting him to go for a walk in the forest, and this is a sin for him. I am delighted with the words of Father Mikhail, I know that he won, that he did the right thing. I am ready to kiss his hands and begin to ask to go home. "Stump! What an oak stump he is!” - Bonna says as she leaves, and I know that Fr. Michael is a saint, and when he celebrates mass, I kneel not in front of the images, but in front of him. I have loved priests since childhood. Novice Nikolai walks with our family in the rye in the evenings; but then it’s 8 o’clock, the bell rings, announcing that in half an hour the monastery gates will be closed for the night. “Stay, let’s walk some more, you’ll climb over the wall!” – the monk’s mother and aunt persuade him. “We are not allowed to do this!” - he answers and runs away. Who is not allowed? Like later, in the years of youth and all sorts of temptations, these words: “this is not allowed to us!” – warmed us with a bright fire, purified our actions, warmed our souls and confirmed our faith! Yes, only the believer the Lord gave the strength to overcome temptations and sin. And the time was approaching such that the slogan “everything is allowed!” reigned. War, devastation, high prices. Even in the monastery there are announcements: “Beware of thieves!”, “Don’t walk in the forest alone!”, “Beware of strangers!” – there are already cases of robbery of pilgrims here. Mother Evanthia, who understood me, consoled me: “You will receive an answer and consolation here, pray and do not be embarrassed by anything. Well, are there thieves here too? People are everywhere, sins are everywhere. The enemy of the human race attacks holy places even more, and takes up arms against good holy people even more. The devil doesn’t need sinners, they are already his servants!” We came to the cathedral to venerate the relics of St. Seraphim. The line winds through the church, an akathist is read to the saint, and the people sing along discordantly with the singers. The candle box rings with coins being counted. They sell candles of all sizes, and the monk carries them on a platter to the shrine. And there is the shine of silver and gold from the many lit candles and lamps. Again doubts: does the deceased saint need all this? And why all this pandemonium here? The queue to the relics is strictly observed, the priest monk bows his head to a certain place - you cannot linger for a second, the next pilgrim comes up... a thousand-thousand-strong chain of people moves... Where is there to “cry at the relics, pour out grief, ask for forgiveness, visitation and firmness” - rather, faster!! Let's go to the source. The road is through a forest, a hundred-year-old pine forest. The road is wide, trampled by crowds of pilgrims. Again, Mordovians in bright dresses, in bast shoes, many Russian peasants, a group of monks from some monastery - they also go to the source. Girls in white headscarves, like me and Lisa. I remember Nesterov’s painting “Holy Rus'”. Those who are toiling and burdened are coming... Most are simple people. “No hats, no dandies; there are no cheerful people, no rich people,” says Lisa. “Yes, the Lord didn’t call the rich and cheerful to Him,” mother will say, “they don’t need anything here and they have nothing to do here!” But I have to go, because I am burdened with doubt and fatigue! The sun is unbearably scorching, it’s June, and it’s good to walk through the forest in the hope of drinking at the spring. On the sides of the road there are kiosks selling prosphora. The monk wets the bottom of the purchased prosphora with water and with an ink pencil writes the names of those commemorated “for health” and “for repose.” The prosphora goes into different baskets. “We will remember everyone, we will remember everyone,” says the old monk. Tomorrow you will receive a prosphora in the vestibule of the church, well, if not yours, not with your names, you will receive a prosphora? We are all one Body of the Lord! We are all equal: old and young, poor and rich - with the Lord!” The coins and dimes ring as they are dropped into metal mugs. “And you need money everywhere!” - Liza laments, not being able to fit all her relatives on the huge prosphora. And I don’t want to write anyone who is not a believer, but Mother advises writing exactly them, for whom there will be prayer in church at the altar. “What about without money? After all, more than a thousand live in the monastery, everyone needs to be clothed, shod, fed, and all of us, pilgrims, are fed bread and kvass for free,” they admonish us. “Yes, the kvass here is excellent, and the black custard bread is better than any honey gingerbread!” Let's move on. Crippled beggars sit on the side of the road, sing “Lazarus,” divide money, lie down, sleep. We met a cart - they were transporting a legless man. Oh, you Rus', patient, poor! We go down 10 steps and find ourselves in the bathhouse. The floor is concrete. At the top of the ceiling there is an iron pipe with holes from which water flows in a large stream, cold spring water. Lisa and mother come up, crossing themselves, under the ice-cold shower. I don’t want to - I promised my father, I’m coughing. “Now you’ll take a bath and you won’t cough forever,” they tell me. “No, I don’t want to!” - “Well, you’ll always cough!” - my mothers prophesy to me 54. “She doesn’t have faith in this,” Lisa interjects and goes under the stream again. It was like boiling water!” – steam is coming from her body. I shudder, struggle with myself: “No, don’t!” She went up to the well and looked deep into it: there was an icon (?) of St. Seraphim. Everyone rushed to me: how? where was it? how did you see it? “You’re lying, I didn’t see anything! Look, what a saint!” – Lisa was alarmed. “It seemed to me... I saw it, but why did you attack me?” - “The Reverend appears only to special people!” - they explain to me. “And she didn’t even bathe! – Lisa lost her temper. You can’t see anything!” “Well, okay, leave Zoya,” mother interceded; and I’m offended and scared, people are listening all around, everyone is looking into the well and at me. There's a kiosk here. They sell bottles and wooden cases for them. Having poured water, she took a bottle for her mother: “Maybe it will heal.” We went further through the forest - to the stone on which St. Seraphim prayed for 1000 days. The stone is fenced with an iron lattice; nearby pine trees are bound with high iron. Pilgrims ruin everything by taking them for healing. All the ground around the stone is dug up so that holes are formed from clean yellow coarse sand, which is poured into bags. The monk, the stone guard, distributes small stones. Nearby, a kiosk sells leaflets with prayers, to which one. Ribbons, bookmarks, swatches and crosses on laces. If you don’t have money, take it for free, others will give it for you, but our conscientious people almost never take it for nothing, maybe a piece of paper with a prayer. Everything costs a penny, two, a nickel. Both Lisa and I bought black silk rosaries. “What do you need them for?” – Lisa interrogates. "As a gift for mother." “That’s it!” How angry she is, Lisa. I am confused in my soul: there is trade everywhere, there is money everywhere... Is this the Kingdom of Heaven? Is there any truth here? People honor sand, honor stone, honor water... I don’t need all this, it’s alien, and I’m tired of it all... Again we go to the “Far Cell”, where the Monk Seraphim lived. A small hut, covered in icons and lamps. An old monk, Father Afanasy, distributes crackers. He pats someone on the head, crosses someone, says a word to someone else, or sings a prayer. I come up too: “Nothing, don’t push, everything will be fine!” – the words encourage me. We return tired and after a modest dinner we learn from the monk that there is an old man in retreat in the monastery. He hasn’t received anyone for a long time, but you can write him a letter and get an answer. I was happy, although the worm of doubt did not leave me: “How will he answer me?” Throughout my life I carried this letter safe. Here it is: “Father. Teach me how to live in order to be worthy of bearing the name of a Christian. Show me my path and how I must follow it in order to achieve moral perfection, which I strive for with all my soul and want to acquire it. I grieve that I have little faith, which strengthens spiritual life. Dogmas and rituals have no place in my soul; I either reject them or do not follow them, because they do not teach morality. The Gospel words of Jesus Christ, that the Kingdom of God is within you, live in my soul, but I do not know how to build and strengthen this Kingdom. I would like to have peace and quiet in my soul with unceasing prayer to Jesus Christ, but I cannot take monastic vows because I want to “lay down my soul for my friends,” and I love to live with people and in the world. I also mourn the fact that I often love my dad more than the teachings of Christ, and when my parents are against my frequent going to church or to confession (which was during Lent), then I am greatly distressed in heart and do not know what to do, I cannot violate my parents’ request. I find solace at the Crucifixion, but my heart hurts. Tell me, father, how many times a year should one begin Holy Communion? Some people tell me that it is possible often, but I am afraid to get used to it, for which, of course, in the next world I will suffer punishment from the Lord, and I myself, perhaps, will not be able to always be ready, for I am immersed in the worries of this world. Today I went to confession and received the Holy Mysteries, but I do not have the same spiritual joy that I experienced before, due to the many confessors, I did not have time to tell all my sins, and I am bitter today. Father, you know everything that is in my soul, and you see it - teach me how to live and tell me, show me the way, I want to live as a true Christian, without having faith in dogmas and rituals. I grieve that, apparently, our family will soon fall apart, and I don’t know who to go to - my mother or my father. My beloved father has someone else, and he wants to live with her, not with us. I am my father’s favorite daughter and I love him myself, but I feel sorry for leaving my mother sick. Tell me, father, what will happen to our family and who should I go to, my father or my mother. My heart hurts when I think about sister Raya and brother Nikolai - where should we go and how to live next? My mother has some kind of illness, her head and heart hurt, she’s sad. Tell me, what should she do to get better? Father, dear, write me a note - I would live by it. I ask for your blessing on my family, God’s servant Anna, and on me, a sinner, God’s servant Zoya.” I rewrote it completely. Lisa gasped: “Where can the elder read your message? What did you write? I didn't let her read it. It was a protest for her nagging at me. “Did you write about me? What about N.D.?” - “I won’t tell you anything!” And there are conversations around: “Where can the old man read all our letters? But when? Is he literate? Will he understand? How will he answer? The monk handed out envelopes: “Place them at the monastery according to your diligence.” And here is the money! Who prints it? Who's reading? And the devil whispers doubts. I remember the words of Christ: “Behold, Satan asked to sow you like wheat!” The soul is sown, sown through a sieve of doubt and unbelief; The chaff is swept away, faith remains. And they write, and they give money, and they believe that there will be an answer. Faith is needed, faith! A huge mailbox, this is where letters are placed. Can’t read it!.. So many tears, prayers, requests here - and all with the hope of an answer. The next day, in the evening, we all go for an answer. The crowd goes to a two-story wooden outbuilding with a balcony and stairs, towards it. “This is unthinkable! - I think. This is a deception: answer everyone?! Oh God, why did I come here? Everything is a lie, a deception of the people...” Satan whispers to me in my soul. I walked away from the crowd. A monk came out onto the balcony and brought books and pictures from the life of St. Seraphim. The crowd began to bustle, all eyes turned to the balcony. The monk is the cell attendant of the elder Fr. Anatoly, who is in seclusion, does not come out, does not receive, does not see anyone... I believe, Lord! Help my unbelief! According to your faith it will be given to you! (Matthew 9:29) I stood outside the crowd... I no longer expected anything, knowing in my mind that no one would give any answer to the letter, since this was impossible. Yesterday evening, after writing a letter, I told Mother Evanthia about this. Although she was upset by my mood, she did not stop praying for me day and night, and her eyes watered. She felt as if obligated to me: she advised me to go to Sarov, I partially paid for her travel, and my desire to see the elder and get advice was impossible. And in the evening we need to move on... The crowd began to fuss, made noise, and, turning around, I heard voices: “He’s calling you!” is calling you!” Mother Evanfia waves her hand: “Go, she’s calling you!” Everyone turned to me, the crowd parted. I flew like a bird onto the balcony where the monk stood. A tall, thin monk of about 45 years old, with heavenly blue eyes, puts his hand on my shoulder. I am amazed and cannot say a word, but he begins to speak. His voice is trembling, he either stutters or is worried: “Well, the girl came here, to the elder for an answer, so I’ll answer you. Don’t worry, just believe and pray to St. Seraphim, and everything in your life will be fine. You study, so you continue to study and you will work and earn everything you need.” “What about mother? father? family?.. I hasten to ask. I'm so unhappy! We have a family... and she cried so bitterly - there is discord in the family...” – You will live alone, but don’t leave your mother. Their discord does not concern you, do not grieve about it - through sorrow they will come to repentance, and you pray for them, but you do not need to live with them, you will live alone. - There is no way for you to go to the monastery, you don’t need to, then you won’t be alone: ​​you will have a husband, and you will have children, and you will also see your grandchildren... Now study and don’t worry - everything is fine with you. The Lord will show you a clear path. That's how young she is; but she wanted and came here, the Lord and St. Seraphim need this... “My joy,” he told you, that’s the kind of girl who came... The monk strokes my head, and my tears choke me. “I don’t have much faith; I haven’t swum at the spring.” I'm coughing... - By faith, by faith! But you are healthy, although life will be a little difficult for you, you will not live without sorrow, but strengthen yourself in faith and you will become stronger. Do good to people for the glory of God, do not forget to give alms, and everything will be good and clear for you. I told you everything. You don’t have to go to anyone else, don’t look, live with your mind, prayer... - No, no, alone, without him, and he will repent, only later, both his mother and him. – Should I go to Moscow? - Yes, to Moscow, you need to study. - Who should I be? I would like to help... I would like to be a sister at the front... - Where are you going... no, no! You can help everywhere. – Stay close to needlework, it’s not useful for a girl to think, but what’s simpler? There's a family, children, worries at home, don't go to school! “The Lord will arrange everything for you, the Monk Seraphim will protect you from everything, if you have come to him now, he will be with you for the rest of your life!” Just don’t forget these days, our conversation today. Here’s a book for you, read it, and then get along with good people, stick to the church, attend it and go to the sacraments, and that’s how life will pass. Your life is clear to me, go in peace! Comforted by his peaceful conversation, I went downstairs and rushed to Mother Evanthia. “Well, here’s your answer!” - the old woman said, crying, and questions were pouring in all around: “What did you say? What did you say? Did you answer? I, calmed down, with such a wonderful silence in my soul, am sitting somewhere on a log, leafing through a book. “The royal path of the Cross of the Lord, leading to eternal life” 55. This is a conversation between an angel and a girl about life, about the path, about the cross. Let's go home. The monk gave each of the mothers a picture. Lisa is in tears, sobbing, sobbing. I’m silent with her, I don’t want to tell her anything, I’m full of what I’ve experienced. It’s so calm for me, so quiet in my soul. “Do you know what he called you? - my mother asks me. After all, it’s Zoya who’s calling you first! Zoya! What a miracle! And there was no Zoe in the crowd, I immediately realized that it was calling you. He’s calling not Zinaida, but Zoya... because this is a miracle... and you first.” Sitting together, I tell Mother Evanfia everything, and she cries happy tears: “After all, I prayed! It’s a miracle!” - “What is Lisa crying about?” - “So she climbed up the stairs to him after you, said something to him, and he pushed her down the stairs and said something to her - oh, how offended she is: he talked to you so much, but to her - oh, it’s bad, it’s offensive to her” 56. Pilgrims began to come: “And he gave me a book, and he gave me a rosary, and he blessed me with an icon, and he told me... and he told me,” - and everyone is happy... O simple Russian souls! It was difficult to approach Lisa, she was so upset. I didn’t tell her anything about myself, somehow I didn’t want to hear her shout. At dawn we left for the Znamensky Monastery. There is a huge icon of the Sign. Lisa, to my surprise, did not approach the Holy Chalice and was gloomy. She learned something from my mother, that I had an answer to everything, and was silent with me. Our friendship was increasingly unraveling because Liza did not untie her bag of food, and we were hungry. I was ashamed of her and bitter for her rudeness, greed... A very unpleasant thing happened on the ship. Lisa decided to treat us to canned food, but when opened, each one hissed, swelled and spoiled the air. The canned food had spoiled after five days of hot weather and the shaking of the carriage. They opened the window and threw every single can into the waves of the Volga. But we are all hungry and have no money, and we still have a day to go. In Rybinsk they took one lunch for 1 ruble. 40 kopecks (how prices are rising!), and I had 2 kopecks left. “Can you buy it, Lisa?” “I still have to go home after Uglich...” she refused, shoving her wallet away. My friend was lost to me. “I thought that you would return from Sarov inspired, but you are evil!” - Mom said. I will never forget these words! “I'm tired! I don’t want to talk!” My diaries were read without me, everything was reviewed. My father was very interested in my trip, but did not abandon his irony: “Did you think you would find holiness there? They kiss the stone! They drink holy water. Well, daughter, are you happy? Have you seen enough? Have your eyes opened?!” I withdrew into myself and, in order not to arouse protest in my father, I wrote a lie in my diary for my father and mother, that “in Sarov I did not find what I was looking for.” I liked it at home. Was I happy with the trip myself? Did I realize everything that happened to me? Of course, I am satisfied and realized. At the age of 16, it was difficult for me to understand everything. I didn’t want to contradict my parents, especially my father, who was glad that I didn’t stay in the monastery and didn’t get sick. Somewhere in the depths of my soul, the conversation with the cell attendant-monk remained and passed through my whole life, and was a guiding thread in life. There was peace in my soul - the path was clear! A year and a half later I left for Moscow. She studied hard and became an engineer. And there were difficulties and sorrows, but I did not lose faith, I did not leave the Christian path. I see my husband, and children... and grandchildren. Death will soon be here - thank God for everything! Reverend Father Seraphim, pray to God for us! What about Natalia Dimitrievna? Years passed. I came to my hometown and visited her; We've gotten closer over the years. At the age of 30, she took monastic vows in a monastery on the Volga from the hands of Metropolitan Joseph. But she did not hide her secret monasticism. She lived poorly, taking private lessons, spending all her time in church. Exile, prison, Siberian concentration camp... and so on with short breaks from peaceful life, and again prison... for faith, for the church, for connection with the ruler, and so on until the age of 60. Her sorrows cannot be counted! I didn’t leave her and helped her. And she came to our family, rested with us for 2-3 weeks, but our paths were different, and her worldview was different from ours. The fact is that Metropolitan Joseph in his youth still somehow singled out N.D. 57 in the world. Of course, such a girl, with such spiritual inspiration, with such mental baggage, could hardly be found! May God forgive me, but I am deeply convinced that such prominence in the world of N.D. was for her spiritual benefit. She wrote a lot in her life and reflected on the mistakes of the Church. In the 1920s, a community of Christian-minded people gathered around it. Daily communion of the Holy Mysteries was necessary for N.D. If not for the time, if she were a man, her business would be reformation. With her “works” she pushed in vain at many bishop’s doors and reached the Patriarch (in 1950). "Are you a nun?" – he asked. "Yes". “Say the Jesus Prayer. The Church doesn’t need your reforms!” - He pushed her notebooks aside. So everywhere there was misunderstanding, refusal to listen. But in our time before reforms? I, burdened with family, children, work, housekeeping, always told N.D. that her “works” were not suitable for me. In 1938, she went into exile to Metropolitan Joseph, but he, having broken away from the central movement and becoming the head of “Josephiteism,” reproached N.D. for going to church. “Vladyka, you got up in the morning and served mass yourself, but if I leave our Church, where should I go, where should I receive communion?” N.D. accurately conveyed their conversation to me. Vladika Joseph, already in exile, was taken again and died somewhere in a concentration camp (in 1943). N.D.’s faith was strong. When all hope of “transferring the works of his life” to the Church was lost, someone N. appeared on the horizon, and the works were transferred “directly to the “mouth of the Church”" 58. The illness began. N.D. was shaking and she stopped walking. Our last date was in 1952, when she was 60 years old. She spent eleven years in a nursing home. The handwriting in the letters got worse and worse, then my hands stopped working. Her whole body was numb. My head was fresh and clear. Due to illness, I have not been able to visit her even once since 1950. Her Golgotha ​​was beyond my strength and understanding. This bright candle burned out on November 25, 1963, on the eve of St. Valentine's Day. John Chrysostom. They buried her solemnly, remembering her as schema-nun Seraphim. May God rest her soul! She always said about herself that she was happy in life. And Mother Evanfia? The monastery was dispersed in 1927. Mother died at the age of 76, already living in a private apartment. One day I dreamed about her. Call. I opened the door, and she came in and said: “Help Father S. 59, and you will have everything!” (S.’s father was in exile, and four children were left orphans.) The dream strengthened me: after all, in these 30s, it was dangerous to help those in the camps. And Lisa? I left the city in August 1917. The revolution broke out in October. I came to my father in January 1918 and visited my ex-girlfriend. With a red bow on her cropped head (what a braid she had!), in a bright red jacket, she sat at the piano and played some funny song. “You have changed so much... Do you believe in God?” – I asked anyway. “Perhaps I believe in God, but I don’t believe in eternal life! Yes, I have changed and my beliefs are completely different now...” - “Are you a Bolshevik?” - “Yes, perhaps so!” - “What about N.D.? Do you visit her? She blushed: “No, no!” The revolution has come to our outback. The nuns told me a year later that “Lisa measured the monastery, because she knows everything and everyone here, and evicted the nuns from the monastery.” I found out that when she was admitted to the party, someone asked her a question about her faith and she said: “I was under the influence of N.D. Krylova then,” and publicly renounced her faith (and Natalya Dmitrievna) 60 . Years passed. Having visited Uglich, I learned that Lisa “went uphill.” Then in the 30s I heard about the tragic death of her two girls; her husband left her. She lived in Moscow, studied, was a political worker, and became members of the Center. KIM. Once upon her arrival, N.D. asked me to go with her to Lisa, but I refused. “This will be my last date with her,” N.D. asked. But it was ’38. It was dangerous to go to an enemy, and I refused. There was a rumor that Lisa died under the “cult of personality.” How I want to believe that she repented before her death. The monk foresaw her path! I saw in her an enemy of the Christian faith... Lord, forgive sins and renunciations, and accept martyrdom as atonement! Reverend Father Seraphim, pray to God for us! Father Mikhail Zelenetsky died in the camps. Diveevo - “wonderful, wonderful, Divine”; the meaning of this toponym does not go back to the concept of “Virgin”. The compiler found details about the village in an ancient source (Compiled). The prediction for disbelief came true: I have been coughing all my life and nothing helps me. The exact title of the book is “The Royal Way of the Cross of the Lord, Leading into Eternal Life.” In the Russian arrangement by St. John of Tobolsk. M., 1904 (Compiled) . Lisa asked for blessings to receive communion daily, and the monk said: “You can’t!” - and drove her away. I remember his telegram: “No one is allowed, but those with a sick soul (N.D.) can.” We are talking about Metropolitan Nikodim (Rotov) of Leningrad, then a bishop (consecrated bishop in 1960). Having learned about the death of Natalya Dmitrievna Krylova, he came to her funeral service, bringing with him full schematic vestments for the deceased (Comp.). About 25 years later I once heard from N.D.: “Lisa is like a daughter to me, I gave birth to her, I love her.” And the conversation was forever over. Not a word of condemnation.