Отдел третий. Из жизни женщин-христианок

From "Children's Reading" for 1901 Fifty years ago, in the outback of the Perm province, there lived the widow of a poor rural psalm-reader. Left behind by her husband with a huge family in her arms, she raised her children with hard physical labor. To her grief, the children, reaching an age when they could free their mother from hard work, died. Only one son, Vanya, survived. At the end of the theological seminary course, Ivan Pervyashin, as a very gifted student, was transferred to the theological academy, where he brilliantly completed his education. The young academician, who loved mathematics very much, dreamed of becoming a professor of this science. His superiors predicted that he would go far. The old mother had been expecting her son’s return for a long time and was proud in advance that in the same village where Vanya’s father was a psalm-reader, his son would be a priest. By this time, the priest's position accidentally became vacant, and the mother wrote to her son to immediately go home, that the bride was already ready for him. The young man did not find the strength to fight his old mother, did not want to crush her hopes and decided to take the place of a priest. The parish loves and respects him. He knows how to help everyone in time, both in deed and in word. In his free time, Father Ivan studies mathematics, subscribes to many books and collaborates in one of the scientific journals. And this highly educated man, who knows four languages ​​and reads philosophical works in the original, lives in the very wilderness, among the majestic but gloomy nature of the Ural Mountains. In winter and autumn, in blizzards and bad weather, he goes at the first call to the patient, near whom he often spends whole nights. 2. Beautiful wife according to Solomon Solomon gave us a beautiful image of a virtuous wife in the last chapter of the Book of Proverbs: “Who can find a virtuous wife? Its price is higher than pearls; The heart of her husband is confident in her, and he will not be left without profit; she repays him with good, not evil, all the days of her life. He mines wool and flax and willingly works with his hands. She rises while it is still night and gives food to her house and proper work to her maidservants. She thinks about a field and acquires it; from the fruit of his hands he plants a vineyard. She feels that her work is good, and her lamp does not go out at night. She stretches out her hands to the spinning wheel, and her fingers take hold of the spindle. She opens her hand to the poor and gives her hand to the needy. She is not afraid of cold for her family, because her family is dressed in double clothing. She makes herself carpets, fine linen and purple are her clothing. Her husband is known at the gate when he sits with the elders of the land. Strength and beauty are her clothes, and she looks cheerfully at the future. She opens her lips with wisdom, and gentle instruction is on her tongue. She oversees the management of her house and does not eat the bread of idleness. The children get up and please her, her husband praises her: there were many virtuous wives, but you surpassed them all.” Loveliness is deceptive and beauty is vain; “But a woman who fears the Lord is worthy of praise. Give her of the fruit of her hands, and let her deeds glorify her at the gates” (Prov. 31:30–31). Further, in the Song of Songs, we see a charming picture of the love of a pure country girl for her lover, who resolutely rejected all the temptations of a rich, voluptuous court for the sake of blooming flowers, pomegranate trees, grape clusters, birdsong and the murmur of fast mountain streams of her native meadows. 3. Margarita Tuchkova, later Abbess Maria Based on the book “Simple Speech about Intricate Things” by prof. M. Pogodina Margarita Tuchkova, née Naryshkina, married General Alexander Tuchkov in 1806. The famous year 1812 has arrived. Tuchkov with his regiment was stationed in the Minsk province when he received the order to move to Smolensk. This time it was impossible for the young woman to accompany her husband, and it was decided that she, together with her little son and French governess, would lead the regiment only to Smolensk and then return to her parents in the Kostroma province. Not far from Smolensk, in a village, the regiment was stopped for the night. The general and his family were assigned a small hut. Being extremely tired from the long and difficult journey, Mrs. Tuchkova soon fell asleep and had a dream. She dreamed that a frame hung above her head, in which the following inscription was written in bloody letters: “Your fate will be decided in Borodino.” A large drop of blood separated from the letters and flowed down the paper. The unfortunate woman let out a cry of horror and jumped out of bed. The general and governess rushed to her in fear. She was pale and moaning as if in a fever. - Where is Borodino, my dear, you will be killed in Borodino! - Borodino? – the general repeated. – This is the first time in my life I’ve heard this name. And indeed, no one knew Borodino at that time. Then Mrs. Tuchkova told her dream. They began to console her, saying that Borodino was just a fictitious name, and although the dream said that her fate would be decided in Borodino, why would the general certainly be killed there? Consequently, its interpretation is completely arbitrary. “Your nerves are upset, dear,” the general said in conclusion, “try to sleep better!” Comforted by her husband's calm appearance, Mrs. Tuchkova soon fell asleep again. But I saw the same dream again: the same frame, the same inscription, the same drops of blood. But this time, in addition, near the frame she sees a standing priest, her father Naryshkin and brother Kirill. She woke up in such horror that those around her were seriously frightened. Having exhausted all means to calm his wife, the general suggested that she look at a military map of Russia to make sure that there was no Borodin in Russia. A messenger was immediately sent to the regimental headquarters. The officer on duty, frightened by the demand for a card in the middle of the night, brought it himself. The general takes the map and unfolds it on the table, but the most careful study of it does not reveal even a trace of Borodin. “Judging by its harmonic name,” the general said then, “Borodino must be some kind of Italian name.” But it is extremely unlikely that the war would be transferred there: therefore, you can calm down. But the unfortunate woman was inconsolable, and when the moment of separation came, she was in great despair. The Naryshkins left for their village near Kineshma. But Mrs. Tuchkova, in order to have fresh news from the theater of military operations, preferred to stay in Kineshma, where she rented a small house. She looked forward to every postal day. The general wrote very carefully. September 1st arrived, the day of her angel. Returning from mass, Mrs. Tuchkova sat down at the table and plunged into deep thought. Suddenly her father's voice made her wake up. Her first thought was that Mr. Naryshkin had come from the village to congratulate her on Angel’s Day. She raised her head: standing before her was her father with his little son in his arms and a priest. All the terrible details of the fatal dream instantly revived in her memory. All that was missing was a brother to complete the picture. “And Kirill...” she whispered in horror. At that moment he appeared on the threshold. - My husband was killed! – she screamed in despair and fainted. When she came to her senses, her father and brother were busy around her. “There was a terrible battle near Borodino,” said her brother through tears, who was Barclay de Tolly’s adjutant and, on the way to the army, stopped in the village on purpose to notify the family about the grief that had befallen her. As soon as her strength allowed, Mrs. Tuchkova went to the battlefield to find the body of her husband. At night, accompanied only by an old, gray-haired monk who lit her path with a torch, she wandered around the Borodino field and rummaged among the masses of corpses that blocked her path. But all her searches were in vain... The place where the general fell was approximately known, and here, in memory of her husband, Mrs. Tuchkova erected a convent in the name of the Savior. Emperor Alexander I sent her 10,000 rubles for this purpose. She was the first abbess of the monastery, received the praise of Emperor Alexander I and died in 1852, leaving behind the brightest memory in all those who had the opportunity to know her. The monastery still exists to this day 41. 4. Countess Varvara Nikolaevna Bobrinskaya From the magazine “Christian's Rest” for 1903. She is full of love for those who admire many only on stage and in the works of writers. The Countess's activities began during the famine year in the Tula province. Famine was raging there, along with its allies - typhus and cholera. This energetic woman, who does not know beautiful phrases, who does not consider only preaching about love to be the cause, but who loves her neighbor to the point of self-forgetfulness, took up arms against them. Under the command of the countess, says the chronicler, 42 women and girls in the spring, at the height of famine, sew in the meadow, cut for the sick, bake bread in the bakery, and provide food for residents of even foreign villages in the dining room. The shelter is growing to accommodate 75 people. The Countess switches her activities to a different path: she moves to another county and establishes a public library, the first in the county. She also founded the first Sunday school in the same district. Thanks to her energy, readings with magic lanterns opened. After that, she set to work on mobile libraries. The Countess moves to Moscow. Here she strives for the most unfortunate, those in prison. She is struck by the situation of the children, a truly terrible situation. There were children who spent six of the eleven years of their lives in prison. There were a lot of such children. And the countess rushed to the aid of these unfortunate, innocent sufferers. Here: a shelter for prison children has been opened in Volokolamsk. The Countess moves on. She teaches a peasant girl and organizes peasant Sunday schools. The Countess gets acquainted with factory life and organizes a women's club for factory workers in Moscow. Craftswomen attract the attention of the sensitive countess. And now a hostel for artisans appears on the Smolensk market. For two rubles a month, a worker gets a bright, good room. All these are working people. But there are also those who, due to weakness, through captivity, turned away from the path of labor and perish “at the bottom.” And the Countess went to them, full of love for her neighbor. She sets up a workshop for the inhabitants of Khitrovka 43, a night shelter for women. On her initiative (i.e., initiative), Khitrov’s guardianship is opened. The Countess is busy with alcoholics 44, with the fallen, trying to raise those she can, to tear them out, and to give others, who are certainly still unfortunate, the consolation of a Christian sister. Not a drop of disgust, not a single reproach, but only pity and love in Christ. The Countess no longer works alone: ​​she has created employees for herself, and there are already 104 of them! What these truly true Christian women endure is self-evident. First of all, imagine an atmosphere filled with smelly fumes. There is heavy, often drunken wheezing all around. Scandals are not uncommon. But Christian, not hypocritical-Pharisee, but true love endures everything. There is no preaching in words, action teaches everyone, love conquers everything. This is what a woman, inspired by love, who wanted to serve her neighbor not only in words, did. Of course, she had to step over many thresholds on her way, expend a lot of energy in order to achieve what we now see and have as a fact. This means you can work, and if others don’t do it, it’s not because they can’t, but because they don’t want to do it. Talking about business and expressing love is incomparably easier than working in such a terrible environment in which the Countess and her assistants work. We have few who want to follow this path, few in comparison with talkers and people who place burdens on others and do not lift a finger for their neighbor - but, strictly speaking, in general there are not so few people of goodness and love, only they are always not among those who talk a lot and sweetly about love. Love is the spirit and life of the teachings of Christ, who constantly testified His love for people by deeds and finally witnessed this love on Calvary by His death on the cross. 5. Varvara Evgrafovna Chertova From the Moscow Gazette, 1903, No. 33 On February 1, 1903, a representative of the Moscow Council of Orphanages, cavalry lady Varvara Evgrafovna Chertova, born on February 14, 1808, died. The deceased devoted her entire life to charity: she was one of the main and most active assistants to the wife of the Moscow Governor-General, Princess Shcherbatova, under whom public charitable activities began to appear in Moscow. There was no institution in which Varvara Evgrafovna did not take part and did not help in any way she could. Varvara Evgrafovna’s vast, insightful mind, unusually kind heart, sensitive to any grief, friendly, affectionate treatment of everyone, regardless of position, created enormous popularity for her. Her heart attracted everyone. Every day the poor, people killed by some kind of grief, came to Varvara Evgrafovna, and everyone was equally received kindly, and no one left without some kind of help. The institutions she created grew and developed. Thus, the extensive Alexander-Mariinsky Women's School, as the deceased called it “my brainchild,” worth a million rubles, was transferred in full order in 1899 to the military department for the upbringing and education of daughters of military officials of the Moscow military district. A shelter for blind women and children, the Barykovskaya almshouse for old women, a shelter in the name of Christ the Savior with free beds, numerous institutions of the Moscow Council of Orphanages and some others, which were transferred by the deceased to others during her lifetime, developed and strengthened under the talented, heartfelt management of Varvara Evgrafovna. Always friendly, even-tempered, not sparing herself to help the institutions under her supervision, how much help she provided, how much good she did to her neighbors! You can hardly find anyone like her. Peace to your ashes, kind, warm-hearted soul! 6. Sister Varvara (Varvara Aleksandrovna Shklyarevich) According to “Soulful Reading” for 1901 Sister Varvara is the daughter of a wealthy Little Russian landowner. Beautiful and well-educated, Varvara Alexandrovna was noticed from her first appearance in the world and soon married a brilliant officer, and after his death, the engineer Shklyarevich. When her second husband died, she, who had already understood the emptiness of the world much earlier, now decided to finally devote herself to serving her neighbor - the sick and the poor. The first steps on a new path were taken in the Elisabeth community in Warsaw, from where V.A. moved to Kyiv, to the Intercession Monastery. When she arrived at the monastery, she asked the Grand Duchess Alexandra Petrovna, who lived there, what she should do. The Grand Duchess answered: “For the first time, here is your obedience: get up earlier than everyone else, go to bed later than everyone else, eat less than everyone else and bow lower than everyone else. When you get up earlier than everyone else, you will set an example for others to be cheerful and active. By going to bed after everyone else, you will have the opportunity to check that everyone has settled down and that everything is in order. If you eat less of everyone, you will learn to abstain, and frequent low bows will teach you humility. When you do this, I will tell you what to do next.” After this, Varvara Alexandrovna was sent to the kitchen, then to the bread room to knead and bake bread. Then V.A. worked in the garden, was a laundress, and, finally, for seven months - a foreman during the construction of the cathedral. When she passed all these obediences, the princess called her and told her: “You can now be the abbess of the monastery.” But sister Varvara chose a different matter. From Kyiv she arrived in St. Petersburg and for some time fulfilled the duties of a deaconess 46 at the Intercession Church on Borovaya Street, and then worked a lot in the Society of Zealots of Faith and Charity. On behalf of Bishop Nazarius, she checks the lives of the poor who apply for help, supplies them with money, clothing, books and medicine. She had to go around all the outskirts of the capital, all the dirty neighborhoods and slums filled with the poor. She visits all the homes of need, drunkenness, illness and gets acquainted with the masses of morally fallen people. At this time, V. A. and the idea arose - to come closer to these abandoned people and do something to restore their morality. And so she goes to the main road and opens a soup kitchen for all passers-by. Sister Varvara arrived in the village of Lyuban in 1897, rented a hut there and, until she built a house, lived in a hired hut, which was always open to anyone who needed help or advice. The sick and ulcerated found relief from the sister. She gave them medicine and bandaged them herself. She knew how to caress and calm everyone; Women and children received special attention. She arranged Christmas trees for children, taught them to read and write, talked with adults, and soon gained the love of the entire population for her selfless service. “I met Sister Varvara for the first time in the house of a local priest, Father Kirill Ozerov,” says one writer. “The few phrases that I was able to exchange with her convinced me of her ardent faith and selfless trust in God. When I told her: “It’s dangerous what you’re up to. The goldmines can kill you,” she answered: “I believe in God’s Providence. Without the will of God, not a single hair will fall from your head. If I am destined to be killed, I will humbly accept God’s appointment.” In the fall of 1898, I had to visit my sister Varvara’s house, says the same writer (A. Kruglov). This is a small house surrounded by newly planted trees. There is a vegetable garden near the house. All this is surrounded by a fence made of poles. No gate, no wicket. To get in, you need to climb over the fence 47. You enter a spacious room furnished with large icons and engravings. In the middle there is a table covered with oilcloth, by the window there is a lectern with books. First of all, what catches your eye is a huge wooden cross with the crucified Savior. You are greeted by the hostess, sister Varvara, already an elderly woman, but with lively eyes and quick movements; ascetic 48 thinness, pallor of the face and wrinkles from labor and heroism age her prematurely. She speaks captivatingly, beautifully, and her conversation immediately reveals both her developed, bright mind and her great knowledge of life and people. She herself goes shopping to the store, to the station a mile and a half away, prepares food, cleans the rooms and washes them. At the same time, she works in the garden and sews for the “tramps.” She gets up at four o’clock in the morning, at eight o’clock in the morning dinner is ready, and her sister is waiting for the “robbers.” During and after lunch, she reads them the Gospel and various religious books, talks with them, prays, and sometimes everyone sings together. She leads a completely monastic lifestyle. “Looking at her emaciated body,” a friend of hers rightly notes, “knowing her past life in bliss and luxury, you are surprised at where she got such strength, energy, and will that helped her overcome herself.” Sister Varvara is helped by a blind girl who lives with her. Some episodes from the life of sister Varvara in her “hermitage” are interesting, characterizing the tramps. “One day,” said Sister Varvara, “one barefoot goldenrod, as they are called here, comes to me in the evening and asks me to feed him. Judging by his speech and the appearance of his face, it seemed to me that I was seeing in front of me an unfortunate man from the noble class, and although lunch was already all gone, I invited him to drink tea and bread. He asks what makes me care about them. I said that I was infinitely happy to serve in the name of Christ, that my reward should be that small but pure joy that I cause with my insignificant participation in their difficult life. He listened attentively until he finished eating, and then he gets up and asks me for shoes. And sometimes I give these miserable travelers both shoes and clothes, but this time I had nothing. I told him about this. - No, give me boots if you serve in the name of Christ. I say that I don't have it now. - Well, then give me your galoshes. - If it suits you, take it. And I immediately took off my galoshes and gave them to him. He put it on and left without saying a word. A few days later two people come to dinner. “Do you remember,” they ask me, “who took your galoshes?” Now he will never forget them. It turns out that when they learned about his trick, they beat him. There was another similar incident, from which I conclude that they protected me. One of the barefoot team also comes to me and rudely demands to give him a shirt. I firmly said that he would not get the shirt. “Well, here’s my advice to you,” he says: “get ready, confess and take communion.” And he left. To my surprise, this mischief maker comes again. I didn’t refuse him, but I just remarked: “As you said, that’s what I did: I got ready and took communion.” He was embarrassed and did not answer. The next day, it seems, he comes again, calls me to the porch and falls at my feet. - God will forgive you. Go have lunch. - I can’t enter the house. My comrades threatened to give me twenty-five lashes at the shelter if I dared to cross your threshold. They ordered to ask for your forgiveness and to immediately get out of the Novgorod province. I gave him tea, sugar, bread, a shirt, and sent him off in peace. No, they keep me safe. No wonder they call me their mother.” Sister Varvara’s view of tramps is very interesting. “After all, these people,” she once said, “are doomed to constant wandering.” They drive him from the capital to his homeland, give him a “pass ticket” with a route of 25 miles a day and an obligation to spend the night only in a shelter, and feed as you please. Now imagine such a man, barefoot and in rags, appears in his village. They know very well that he was expelled from St. Petersburg as a worthless person, and therefore they avoid him, abhor his rags and very soon bring him to the point where he again goes to wander, and first of all to the capital as the most familiar place. He knows that at the first raid he will be arrested again and driven out; but he treats this passively (i.e. indifferently), calmly; he has already received apathy (i.e. indifference) to life, and he, perhaps, does not care where he is. And he becomes so shaken that the village authorities will exclude him from their society, and then he finally stands between heaven and earth. Tell me where should they go? What should they do? These unfortunate, outcast people are superfluous to everyone, they interfere with everyone. They have only one unfortunate way out of this uncertain situation - to end up in hard labor. So should we really turn our backs on these wretches forever? Should we forget that they too bear the image of God? Don't they have a heart, a soul, a feeling? Aren't their eyes crying? Don't their bodies suffer from the cold, and their stomachs don't ask for food? Why do we condemn them in advance to the only terrible outcome - to commit a crime? I remember one day twelve people came to me at once, but one of them was drunk, with a knife in his hand. I didn't let him into the house. “You won’t come in,” I tell him. “We gather here in the name of Christ, and a drunken person should not insult this house with his presence.” I locked the door, but he began to break into it and threaten. Then I turned to the others and asked them to calm down their comrade. “We are afraid, he is desperate, and he has a knife in his hand,” they say. This upset me terribly, and I asked everyone to leave immediately. A week later this brawler comes again, but sober, and humbly begs to forgive him. - Why do you walk around with a knife? – I ask him. - How else can our brother earn food? - he answers. – After all, they don’t let anyone in and don’t hire anyone... Tell me, can’t such a person, in despair, even decide to kill? However, this unfortunate person was soon punished... But next to such people also go wandering to worship holy places. Pilgrims 49 to holy places are also a poor people in Rus'. They also need a piece of bread along the way. What about the peasants going to work? What about the factory workers who were turned down? What about those who left the hospital? What about those who have been robbed and don’t have a penny in their pocket? Oh, if you could see what a mixture of these needy people pass by my house every day! And how pitiful, dirty, cold, hungry, and miserable they are! In winter, they come to the door, huddle, shudder in their rags, shift from foot to foot in supports, in torn felt boots, in shoes, in bast shoes... Oh, my God, you think, these are people, people! After all, You redeemed them all equally with Your suffering - how dare I judge them, the poor! After all, these are your “little ones” who ask for little... At this time, it seems, what would I not give to them... In the fall, I suffered with them. They will come without shoes, and it’s cold outside, the road is covered in puddles. I can’t resist, I’ll run to Lyuban and buy them cheap bast shoes. Still not barefoot. I ask St. Petersburg to send me old, torn boots. They are ashamed. Yes, if only they knew with what gratitude, with what joy they accept every insult at this time.” Every day about thirty or forty people visit Sister Varvara. Her personal funds are small. This is a monthly pension of 50 rubles. But my sister works hard for her business, and she gets help from the outside. Once there was such a case: a lot of debt has accumulated, there is no money, there is nothing to feed. My sister went to St. Petersburg to ask for her tramps. “It’s very difficult for them to ask,” says Sister Varvara. – Tramps do not arouse sympathy in the public. Only that humble soul who remembers well the words of the prayer: “And forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors” does not consider the merits and demerits of his neighbor and helps ragged drunkards. Who knows,” Sister Varvara rightly says, “maybe we are even more vile before God for our sins than these people are in our eyes.” Sister Varvara returned home from St. Petersburg with sad thoughts. She carried little money. He drives up to his “hermitage” and sees that a whole cart of flour and cereals is standing at the gate. From whom? – Unknown. But she immediately became rich in provisions. Sister Varvara continues her service and develops her business. She built a bathhouse and, in addition to the gold miners, now helps the prisoners who are being transported along the Nikolaevskaya railway past Lyuban. On those days when the prisoners' carriages pass through Lyuban, Sister Varvara appears at their arrival at the station with a portion of sliced ​​bread and gifts for the children. But her main business is still helping tramps, for whom her desert is not only a place where they eat bread, but also a beacon that illuminates their dark, embittered souls. The whole furnishings of Varvara’s sister’s house have a strong effect on these people. The church atmosphere of this secular monastery restrains their unbridledness, forces them to humble themselves, and many of them, touched by prayer, sincere conversation, affection, which they have not seen for so long, rush sobbing to the foot of the cross and, as before a priest, begin to repent of all their sins to their sister. These moments for Sister Varvara are the most precious in life, and at this time she pours out all the power of her eloquence, all the fervor of her love for them, in order to bring the touched heart into complete repentance and set a person on a new moral path. And she managed to return many unfortunate people to the path of work and moral life. Having left her homeland and home, she went There, where all the Russian squads flowed. Under the old rags in her soul she carried A priceless treasure of love, compassion and sadness. It is not for her to take strongholds, it is not for her to subdue her enemies, The peasant wanderer understands other sounds, Another loud call rushes towards her from the carnage - Thirsty screams and cries of mortal agony. And here she is on fire: buckshot screams above her, Swarms of bullets fly, grenades explode with a bang, Mutilation, wounds, death! But should she save her life? There are prayers and groans all around - and rivers of blood are flowing! Sufferers from the fire, from the battle battle She carries away, full of wonderful power, And gives cold water to those who are thirsty, And he digs graves for the dead with prayer. What's her name? God knows! And does it really matter? The ray of glory does not shine above her head, One quiet nickname was given to her: Russian heroes call her dear. According to the magazine “Children's Help” for 1885. Of all the charitable societies that arose in Western Europe, none has achieved such development as the Society of Sisters of Charity. This community was founded by the famous benefactor of humanity, Vincent de Paul. His main assistant in this noble cause was a certain Louise Legras. Madame Legra at first helped Vincent in managing the societies he founded, but then she, too, realized the need to establish a community of women who exclusively devoted themselves to serving suffering humanity. Madame Legra gathered around her humble workers, simple village girls; thus a famous community was formed, now numbering more than 15,000 members. The life of Madame Legras therefore deserves special attention. Louise de Marillac was born in Paris at the beginning of the 17th century. She lost her mother early and was the subject of the caring care of her father, who tried to develop her remarkable abilities and studied various sciences with her. She loved art and drew well. After the death of her father, left for 22 years without patrons and support, she decided to accept the offer of Mr. Legre, secretary of Queen Marie de' Medici. After getting married, she was still modest and pious. She diligently studied the Holy Scriptures and the works of her fathers. She carefully raised her only son and tried a lot for the spiritual success (improvement) of her servants. Being a devoted wife to her husband, during his serious and long-term illness she lovingly looked after him, eased his suffering, prevented his desires and meekly endured his painful irritability. This was, as it were, preparing her for the activity to which she later devoted herself. Madame Legra's husband constantly expressed gratitude and love to her and died with the feelings of a true Christian. After his death, Madame Legras wanted to devote her whole life to God, but she still felt a lack of confidence in herself. The bishop and relative, to whom she turned for advice, convinced her to become close to Vincent de Paul and elect him as her leader. She settled not far from the place where Vincent was at that time establishing a society of priests and laymen for preaching and serving the poor. Vincent's example inspired Madame Legras: she immediately expressed a desire to share his labors. But Vincent did not suddenly agree to accept her as an employee: he told her to think more seriously about her intentions, to test her strength. This trial lasted four years. During this time, Vincent could be convinced that no difficulties, no obstacles could cool the zeal of Madame Legras. In 1629, he invited her to visit the women's societies that he had established in different parishes, examine them, find out the situation of the sick and poor, and come up with ways to help them. With joyful submission, Madame Legras accepted the offer of her spiritual father: she immediately set off, receiving his blessing and written instructions, and throughout the journey she continued to correspond with him and be guided by his advice. Madame Legras was accompanied by other pious women. They moved from place to place on village carts, stayed in poor houses, caring little about their own food and accommodation, and generally shared the poverty and hardships that they tried to alleviate. They brought with them a large supply of linen and medicine and supplied them to everyone in need. So they traveled for several years, visiting many areas of France. Arriving in the village where the parish society was located, Madame Legra gathered all the women participating in it, asked them about their work, instructed them, and showed them how to care for the sick. She gathered village girls to her place and taught them the Law of God. If a women's school already existed in the village, she encouraged and encouraged the teacher; if there was no school, she immediately established it and elected a teacher. During such a difficult and long-term activity, Madame Legra more than once encountered all kinds of difficulties; she often had to struggle with various obstacles; but sometimes she became the subject of enthusiastic gratitude - everywhere her example inspired the inhabitants, and there was no place where she did not find zealous collaborators. Without sparing her strength, she courageously served the infected and the plague, and finally she herself fell ill from excessive labor. Parish women's communities rapidly multiplied under the supervision and leadership of Mrs. Legras. Previously, they were established only in remote villages and towns; Now similar societies have been established in many cities, and even in some parishes. The richest and most noble ladies wanted to participate in them. They were obliged to carry food and medicine to the sick and look after them as maids. But rich women often grew cold. Then Vincent decided to recruit simple peasant girls to serve his neighbors. Having collected them, he called them the maids of the poor and entrusted them to Madame Legras. She placed them in her house. On the day of the Annunciation, she pronounced a vow of perfect dedication to the new work she had undertaken, and zealously began to guide her spiritual daughters. The new community developed with speed and success that the founders themselves did not expect. Soon the “maids of the poor” began to work in all the parishes of Paris: they constantly went from sick to sick, trying to help everyone they could. Wealthy residents of the capital, touched by their dedication, supported the new institution with generous donations. The number of sisters multiplied every year, and soon Madame Legras's house turned out to be too small for the new community. She decided to move to a small village in the vicinity of Paris. Here she liked the simplicity of rural life. She constantly reminded the sisters of the need for humility and hard work and did not allow them to stray from simplicity and modesty. Here she taught peasant girls, gathered them on Sundays and holidays, explained to them the duties of a Christian and taught them the catechism. Her house at this time became a refuge for the unfortunate, whom the war forced to seek salvation in the vicinity of the capital. Madame Legras willingly received them, tried to alleviate their needs and promote spiritual enlightenment. Many rich and pious ladies visited the new community and retired to it for a while from the noise and bustle of the city. Some of them subsequently joined the ranks of hard workers; others, such as Madame Miramion, themselves founded charitable institutions for the benefit of the suffering. From different cities of France they turned to Madame Legras with a request to send sisters to serve in hospitals and parishes. Madame Legra herself went to many cities, established new parish women's societies and left them written charters and guidelines. The plague and other sticky diseases did not frighten the zealous workers: there were no misfortunes and sufferings that they did not try to alleviate. Pure, fervent prayer was the source of the strength and firmness with which Madame Legras performed her arduous and varied duties for the benefit of suffering humanity. 9. Christian women are models of nursing According to the Moscow Church Gazette for 1903. Anastasia the Pattern Maker, Deaconess Olympias, Empress Plaquilla, Baroness Vrevskaya, Grand Duchess Alexandra Petrovna (in nuns Anastasia) 1. Many wealthy Christian women, especially widows (1 Tim. 5:10), fearlessly entered the prisons of their fellow men who were being tortured in order to follow them. Simeon Metaphrastus tells about the holy martyr Anastasia the Patternmaker, who suffered under Diocletian, that she, disguised and bribing the guards, often came to the dungeons in which Christians were imprisoned, crippled by terrible tortures, and here she washed their wounds, dressed them in clean clothes, and fed them with food she brought with her. 2. The same was the deaconess Olympias, known for her friendship with St. John Chrysostom. In general, in ancient times there were often cases when pious widows and women in general, even of noble birth, considered it their sacred duty to care for the sick and follow them, remembering the words of the Apostle Paul (1 Tim. 5:10): a widow should receive strangers, wash the feet of the saints, help the needy and be diligent in every good work. Therefore, serving the sick was considered a virtue that should especially adorn a Christian woman. 3. It sometimes happened that even persons from the reigning house diligently cared for the sick. About Empress Plaquilla, wife of Emperor Theodosius the Great, Blessed Theodoret says that she “cared in every possible way for the mutilated and paralyzed, but at the same time did not use the services of slaves and guides, but she herself looked after them, coming to their shelters and delivering to everyone what they needed; also visiting church hospitals, she attended to the sick, tasting soup, serving cups, breaking bread, offering pieces, washing dishes and doing everything else that is usually considered the work of slaves and maids.” 4. Here we cannot help but say: what happened in ancient times, we still see here in Russia. Often in our time, women of noble birth, prompted by Christian love, devote themselves with remarkable selflessness to serving the sick. It is only worth remembering Baroness Yu.P. Vrevskaya, who laid down her life in caring for our wounded in Bulgaria during the Russian-Turkish war. Turgenev dedicated the following beautiful lines to her in his prose poems: “Tender, meek heart!.. And such strength, such a thirst for sacrifice! Helping those in need of help - she didn’t know any other happiness, she didn’t know and didn’t know.” 5. In the same way, speaking about Empress Plaquilla, we involuntarily recall Grand Duchess Alexandra Petrovna, nun Anastasia, who died on April 13, 1900 in Kyiv, in the Intercession monastery she founded. The late Grand Duchess, daughter of Prince Peter Georgievich of Oldenburg, was born on May 21, 1833 and was married to Grand Duke Nikolai Nikolaevich Sr. We can say that she devoted her entire life to caring for the sick, not disdaining to directly care for them herself. Soon after her marriage, the Grand Duchess founded in St. Petersburg the Intercession community of sisters of mercy, a hospital, a clinical outpatient (that is, for incoming patients) hospital, a department for young girls, and a school for paramedics (now transformed into a women's gymnasium of the Ministry of Public Education). In 1881, the deceased Grand Duchess moved to Kyiv for permanent residence. Here, she soon founded the Intercession Convent for Women at her own expense, at which an exemplary surgical hospital and other charitable institutions were established. In this monastic silence, the ascetic life of the Grand Duchess took place for twenty years. Here she accepted monasticism and remained here until her death, devoting herself to serving the sick. The famous doctor Professor Sikorsky wrote about the late Grand Duchess shortly after her death: “She began to serve the suffering with that love and with that greatest moral and physical stress, which can be called exceptional and unparalleled. She was a sister of mercy, a nurse, and a mother for the sick; and all this is so simple, so joyful. She spent entire years among the sick - in the full meaning of the word. She lived in one of the hospital wards in constant direct contact with the sick, spending days and nights in such conditions and in such an environment that this life must be recognized as a continuous feat. The door of her room was not closed so that even at night she could hear the groans and complaints of the sick and go to their aid. In her own words, peace and quiet woke her up, as she was afraid to miss a minute of necessary help to the suffering. For all difficult patients, she got up several times during the night, and thus often deprived herself of the least amount of rest that was necessary to maintain health and strength. From her hands the sick received medicine, from her lips they heard words of encouragement, consolation, and compassion. She was present during all operations, actively helping, like an experienced assistant, with her skillful and steady hand. She washed all patients who were undergoing major operations with her own hands to ensure the necessary cleanliness. Having descended from a royal height, she took the most modest external position, adopting the simplest way of life and accepting monasticism.” Need I say how much similarity there is between the ancient Empress Plaquilla and the Grand Duchess of our time? Blessed Theodoret in the 5th century and Professor Sikorsky in the 19th century, describing the Christian feat of two great women, do not coincide in their descriptions? 10. Under the Red Cross (in memory of Baroness Yu.P. Vrevskaya) For seven days, seven nights I fought in the Balkans, Without memory he was raised from the frozen ground, And for a long time in a torn overcoat, in wounds, They carried me on a creaking cart. I woke up in some barracks, filmed From the cart, and realized that this was a barracks. The day shone brightly through the cracks in the plank roof, And the day was desolate - worse than darkness. And here comes the sister of mercy! A strand of her wavy braid hung... I trembled: “Why youthful zeal? I can suffer without screaming and crying... Leave me to die for God’s sake!” She looked so meekly and sternly, That I gave her the freedom to wash the wounds, And wash the wounds and apply bandages. And then I hear a gentle voice above me: “Give me your shirt!”, and I hear the answer - The answer is hesitant but hopeless: “Everyone came out, and there was no unwashed rag!” And I think: God, what patience! I am a breathing corpse, I am nothing but disgust I suggest, but it’s not in these features Adorable and he is not in those eyes! Now I was dreaming, now my hair stood on end Got up; then, in a cold sweat, I shouted: “Shirt, shirt!” - and for a long time my voice That night the peace of the weary was disturbed. In my foggy brain I was flaring up Some kind of evil intent, and tried I’m running, when suddenly I hear thunder rolling, And the wind blows heavy rain into our cracks! I became quiet and looked: among the ghosts of the night Sits in the reddish flicker of fire, A familiar shadow and sleepless eyes, Like stars through the dusk, looking at me. So she got up, walked and tilted her face To the fire, and blows out one of the lamps... And it seems as if the clothes are rustling, Something dark is sliding across the white... And it’s strange, at that moment when she flashed - Like a spirit with two white wings above it They flew up - I thought: the poor thing is tired, And if it weren’t for my cry, I would have gone to bed long ago. But here comes the rustling again, and again in clothes Simple (in the same one I wore before) She came out of a secluded corner And with a bright vision she came up to me, And with a trembling of bashful love she said to me: “Get up! I brought you a shirt..." I realized: she was putting it on me The underwear that she slowly took off. And I cried... Something childish, dear I woke up in my soul, and my zealous So it beat in my chest that it prophesied to me Hope for happiness in your native land. And here I am in my homeland! The same troubles... But no! Don't forget my holy sister! I will keep her shirt until the grave... And let our enemies amuse themselves with malice I believe that evil will respond with good: Love spoke to me under the Red Cross! From the magazine "Young Reader" 1902 The famous Boer leader in South Africa, Delray, recently declared publicly: “If it weren’t for our wives and mothers, we would have given up long ago; they didn’t want to listen about peace, they wanted to defend their homeland to the last drop of blood. - We will die, but we will not give up! - they said to their sons, brothers, husbands, who, out of pity for them and for the little ones enduring cold and hunger, sometimes started talking about the need to lay down their arms.” A German writer recently had the opportunity to meet the wife of General Delray, who showed no less heroism in the last war than her husband. This is what a German woman tells about the exploits and suffering of her South African sister, who fought off the enemy for 18 months, saving her children, few of whom survived. She told how the English took all her property, destroyed her house and set her farm on fire, in which everything that the victor could not take was burned. She runs with her children wherever they look, trying not to end up in one of the camps set up by the British, where they rounded up defenseless women with small children, dooming them to all sorts of hardships. She often does not know where, in fact, fate has taken her, and only by the glow of a fire, by cannon fire, she chooses one path or another. Providence, apparently, protects her. Often in a dream she sees herself captive, surrounded by enemies, and, waking up, she feels that she must, without wasting a minute, run without looking back, regardless of the weather, hunger and fatigue. And now the day of greatest danger has come. She had been wandering in the forest all night the night before, and by dawn she had to think about rest. The children, exhausted and hungry, should be given at least a piece of bread... The faithful Kaffir 50 went on reconnaissance, and the mother settled down with the children on the bare ground. Little Johann barely had time to read the prayer when a Kaffir came running and, choking with fatigue, shouted: “Run, run quickly: the British are near!” But it was too late to run. Not even a minute had passed before the mother and children were surrounded by the British. “Peace is concluded, you have no right to harm us,” shouts the woman taken by surprise, and her maneuver turns out to be unusually successful. The firm voice of the captive makes an impression on the officer. He had heard something about the conclusion of peace, and besides, standing before him was the wife of General Delray, whose name inspired fear, the wife of the Boer leader who gave freedom to the English General Methuen instead of hanging him. Cunning and resourcefulness saved the lives of the mother and her seven children. The British believed that peace had been concluded and went on their way. And what is most surprising is that Madame Delray talks about what she has experienced and suffered with the calmness and self-control with which people usually talk about other people’s suffering and hardships. But tears appeared in her eyes, and her voice sounded with longing, deep longing for her homeland, when she spoke about her youngest grandson. He is now six years old, he still doesn’t know how to write, but with his little hand his father wrote: “We are all healthy, dear grandmother, come quickly,” and she burst into tears. She speaks with deep pride about her eldest son. He fought hand in hand with his father, his shots always reached their target, and he was the favorite of the entire detachment. For a long time the English bullets spared him, but the young man did not spare himself. Just on the day he turned 19, a bullet pierced his skull and he fell dead. “I saw how his comrades buried him, and I will never forget it,” she finished her story. How can a people perish, exclaims the author of the above story, a people among whom such mothers and wives live and suffer!.. 12. Mother who died of joy at the sight of her son From the sermon of Archbishop Elijah Minyaty The Romans waged war and defeated the enemy. The victorious warriors returned to their city; Their relatives came running to the city gates: fathers, mothers, brothers - to see which of the warriors was alive and which was killed. Among them was a certain widow who had her only son, and she stood and waited for her son to return with the others; either she asked those entering the city if they had seen her son, or she peered forward to see him from afar. “My son,” she said, “where are you? Why aren't you performing? Why can't you be seen? Where did you stop?" And when she began to grieve that she did not see her son, at that time she heard from other people that her son was killed in the war; and it was then that she began to sob loudly, beating her chest, and crying inconsolably. But then she sees her son returning alive; she immediately runs to him, hugs him, kisses him; She was so happy about him that she suddenly died from excess joy. Where recently the mother cried for her son, now the son mourns his mother. Can you imagine the joy of that mother! This story shows, on the one hand, how strong parents’ love for children is, who therefore should value them and repay them with the same love; on the other hand, how dangerous it is to suddenly, without preparation, tell loving hearts sad or joyful news about the fate of their beloved creatures. 13. Cornelia, mother of the Gracchi brothers From “The Book of Adults” by Alchevskaya Cornelia was the wife of the famous man Tiberius Gracchus, who worked all his life for the benefit of the poor, protected them from violence, and helped them in all their sorrows. After the death of her husband, Cornelia was left alone with three children; she loved them dearly, and her strongest desire was to make them like their father. Children were her only joy and pride; she raised them in love for the poor and downtrodden. Once one of her friends came to visit her and asked to show her her best jewelry. Cornelia led her friend through her rooms and, entering a cozy little room, stopped in front of the drawn curtain. “Here are all my jewelry!” – she said, pointing towards the curtain. The surprised friend lifted the curtain and saw Cornelia’s two sleeping children in the crib. Her sons grew up and lived up to their mother’s hopes; they brought her the highest joy possible on earth: the poor, humiliated slaves warmly blessed their mother in their gloomy hovels, who raised such people who devoted their entire lives to protecting the offended and disadvantaged. Based on the book "Family Hearth" by Farrar Some writers argue that the development of children's mental abilities diminishes their attachment to their parents. Margaret Roper, daughter of the Englishman Thomas Maurus, represents a visible refutation of this. She, the best and beloved of the daughters, was one of the most learned women of her time. She wrote so beautifully in Latin that she delighted experts. She could reason with her father about very serious theological and political issues. Here are some wonderful passages describing Margarita Roper’s relationship with her father. “When Thomas Morus spent more than a month in prison, his daughter Margarita, feeling a strong longing for her father, after long, hot suffering, finally achieved a much-desired meeting with her father; first they prayed, and then the father turned to her: “Probably, Margarita, the people who put me in prison thought that they had caused me great trouble, but I assure you, my dear daughter, that if I had not considered it my duty to take care of my wife and my children, which I consider my main duty in life, then I, of my own free will, would have long since retired to a similar dungeon or to a dungeon even narrower than this.” When Thomas Morus was brought to the pier near the London prison, his beloved daughter Margarita Roper, passionately wanting to see him, rushed to meet him; falling on her knees in front of him and receiving his blessing, she stood up and hugged him. Without thinking about herself, she pushed aside the people and the guards who surrounded him with halberds and pikes, hugged and kissed him in front of everyone, unable to say anything from excitement except: “Oh, my father! Oh my father! He was very touched by her boundless love for him, and, blessing her, he said that everything that he endured, although he was not to blame for anything, did not happen without the will of the Lord, advising her to completely subordinate herself to Him and be patient with the loss of her earthly father. After this, she had to part with her father, but before she had time to move ten steps away from him, despair that she was losing a dear being again forced her to return to her father’s arms, and despite the huge crowd of people who, like a wall, separated and removed the ardently loving daughter from her parent, she made her way to him, hugged his head and showered her with kisses. He did not utter a single word and seemed to be calmed down, but the tears flowing from his eyes betrayed him; few could restrain themselves from sobbing... Finally, she was forcibly torn from her father’s arms and removed.” On the eve of his execution, Thomas Morus wrote a letter to his daughter using charcoal (he was forbidden to give him both ink and pen); In this farewell letter, he poured out all his ardent feelings for his family, thanked his daughter for her boundless love for him and left her his hair shirt. 15. The legend of the good queen who wished to take on the cross of her neighbors (Carmen Silva - Queen Elizabeth of Romania), (legend) According to the magazine “The Joy of Christianity” In the old days there lived a good queen. She wanted to alleviate the suffering of all the unfortunate on earth. But the more good she did, the more unfortunate she seemed to encounter. Its wealth was not sufficient to satisfy all the needs of the poor. Her words were powerless to relieve grief, and her hands could not restore health to the sick. Then the thought appeared to her that the Lord could not have created a world so full of grief; she felt that humanity was destined to be happy, but she did not know how to do this. One day she went to church and prayed to God with such fervor that she had no idea about before. She prayed as those mortals pray who do not know what would happen to them if their prayer were heard. She prayed: "Lord, let me create happiness for those who suffer, even if I had to bear their cross." She left the church, fearfully asking herself if her prayer had been heard, because sometimes it seems that the Lord does not always listen to our prayers. But on the same day she could see that her prayer was accepted. She met a boy who was being carried in a chair; he could not walk all his life. She had known him for a long time, and he loved the good queen with all his heart. Out of habit, she went up to him, took his weak, thin hand in hers, and in her sonorous, soft voice she told him that he would soon get well. The child's eyes seemed to widen as she spoke. She felt that this was taking away all her strength, and she was overcome by a feeling of fatigue such as she had never known before. Suddenly the boy stood up in his chair and said, as in a dream: “I think I can walk.” Then he rose to his feet and walked as if he had never limped. The Queen smiled sadly at the sight of this miracle. She returned to her place and remained in bed for many weeks, sick, motionless. Her limbs seemed withered. But she did not want the help of a doctor, saying that when the Lord wants it, He will heal her. And so it happened. But from that moment on, she was constantly sick with one or another illness of her neighbors whom she healed. She became blind, deaf, became mute, and had a fever, but after each illness she became younger and more beautiful, exalted, it seemed, by every trial through which she passed. No one ever heard the slightest murmur from her. The rumor of the miraculous power of healing spread far, although she herself never spoke of it, and people always flocked to her from everywhere, begging her to ease their suffering and not suspecting what sacrifice it was causing for her. The only rumor that spread was that the queen exposed herself to all sorts of infections and did not want to take any precautions, especially when dealing with children. Soon her poverty equaled her other trials. She was skilled at providing work to others, but she could give nothing herself. She was forced to deny herself the slightest luxury, because she had no means of support. She had only one dress left, and at the same time her name was blessed everywhere. Both near and far came to her. They only wanted to touch her hand, to catch her gaze, the brilliance of which relieved everyone to whom it was directed. A breath of peace and happiness spread around her, and even those who doubted her drew peaceful reassurance from her. No one could resist the gentle influence of her entire personality. Most painful of all were the hours of gloomy discord, when she tried to instill peace in everyone, and she was stung by evil tongues even in her own home. She cried silently. Soon the clouds cleared, and she realized that she was destined to take on the mental suffering of others. It was especially difficult for her when she took upon herself the painful repentance of a guilty conscience, as if she had committed some crime. This happened when she guided someone who had sinned or fallen before temptation onto the path of truth. It was so terrible to endure this because she recognized herself as innocent, and her poor heart beat day and night in mortal torment. At times it seemed to her that this was only a transitional state of her soul, similar to what she had already experienced. But in reality her suffering was terrible. One day a poor woman came to her. “Oh, my dear, incomparable queen,” she said, “my only son is dying, and I know that you have miraculous healing herbs that heal when no earthly remedy can do any good.” Without hesitating for a minute, the queen hurried to the bedside of the dying young man. His eyes were already half-closed, he looked at the queen, and this one glance was enough for the flame of an extinguishing life to flare up again. Breathing returned. His pale, cold lips again became red and warm, and the grateful mother threw herself at the queen’s feet, kissing her feet, then hugged her saved son. Returning to her place, the queen did not feel as weak as usual, but was sure that a dangerous illness or even death awaited her. But what was her horror when the next day her son fell dangerously ill, and it seemed that death was close. “Lord, Lord,” she prayed, “do not demand this sacrifice from me - it is beyond my strength.” Her plea was in vain, as was her skillful departure. Her gaze lost its power. Her son didn't get up. At times he only whispered something about angels and flowers, until one day he remained cold and pale in her arms. She was overwhelmed, without tears, without strength, without sighs, completely overwhelmed with grief. From that day on, it seemed that her miraculous power had left her... People said that she had lost faith in her healing herbs. Even darker days lay ahead for the unfortunate queen. She, who had never complained before as long as she could help her neighbors in their ailments, now told herself that Providence was cruel, and she could no longer rejoice with the mother whose child she had saved from certain death. One day, for the first time after many days spent in anxiety and doubt, she fell asleep. And it seemed to her that the door opened, and her son came up to her - happy and radiant. He sat down at her head, took her hand, and suddenly the burden of her heavy grief ceased to weigh on her heart. The child breathed in the wonderful smell of violets, and she was delighted and joyful. He spoke to her in a sonorous, clear voice, like a bell: - Don't cry, mother! You gave me happiness higher than that on earth, even higher than love, you opened heaven to me. It has been given to me to return here without suffering, without grief, for the sake of your sacrifice. Mother, don't cry! I'm all around you. You fell into the virtuous error of planning to banish suffering from the face of the earth. You had to atone for this mistake in grief and tears. The world is as the Lord wished it: a mine, a cave, a crucible, a quick transition from one fleeting existence to another, higher or lower, depending on our life on earth. Be patient, mother, a little longer: the hour of your deliverance is near, and I am with you, with all my love, with all my strength. You can still console others because you believe in a future life, because you are sure that this life awaits all of us. Death does not exist. There is only rebirth, and if you knew, oh my mother, how good it is, you would joyfully await its dawn and you would never cry again. Poverty must exist, and with it lies and war, since these are the paths to purification and mercy. Blessed are those who come to the aid of the suffering with all their strength and voluntarily sacrifice all their strength, sacrifice everything they have. But they cannot make heaven out of the world. They are not allowed to do this. At that moment the queen woke up, and since then peace has dawned on her soul. She could still do good, comfort others, bring them joy, but she could no longer heal them. And she didn't ask for this power. 16. Catherine the Great in home and royal life Catherine the Great was of average height, slender, captivating beauty, traces of which were not destroyed until her death. Her deep eyes portrayed modesty, kindness and peace of mind. She spoke quietly, and her pleasant smile charmed everyone. No matter how hard she tried to hide her rank, her unusually majestic appearance inspired respect in everyone; anyone who had not seen her would never have recognized her as the empress even among the crowd. Famous foreigners said about this empress that she was born to be the mistress of nations. Catherine had a calm, cheerful, but sometimes hot-tempered disposition. She excused the oversights, slowness, and slow-wittedness of the servants condescendingly, and, if necessary, reproached them with meekness, like a mother teaching her children. Friendliness, encouragement, and providing some kind of pleasure were part of her rules. She possessed an excellent art of giving nuances to every speech, every movement, and even glance. She bowed and received nobles not equally - according to their merits, years and merits. Catherine always woke up at 6 o'clock and did not require any servants. She herself would put on her shoes, get dressed, light a candle, light the fireplace, and while almost all the people in the palace were still sleeping, the empress was already fulfilling her duties. To such an extent she valued the peace of mind of the last of her subjects. One day, during such solitude, when the fire was blazing in the fireplace, when everything around her was silent, a wild voice was heard: The amazed empress asked: “I,” the chimney sweep responded through the emptiness of the fireplace, “I’m cleaning the chimney: turn it off quickly, I’m hot.” The Empress brought a mug of water, poured in the firewood and, having learned that the pipe was straight from the very top, ordered it to be corrected. After Catherine got dressed, she drank coffee. Then she sat down to work and studied until 9 o’clock. At this time, various nobles came to her with papers. Catherine was not a ruler for her family, but a most tender mother; the empress treated them meekly, politely, excused their shortcomings, entered into their position, gave them various pleasures, and valued them. One day she became thirsty and, knowing that the orderly valet (servant) was dozing at that time, as usual, she carefully opened the door several times and each time returned to her chairs without success. More than half an hour passed; finally she called; the sleepy valet brought her water, and then the empress announced to him that his slumber had tormented her with thirst for a long time. Catherine sat down for lunch at two o'clock. There were always eight or ten people at the table. They behaved simply and spoke freely. Sometimes they talked about European news, about published works, about funny adventures, and no offensive words were allowed about anyone else: Catherine did not tolerate slander. The guests saw her as an affectionate, kind hostess, and not an empress, and the time spent with her remained in everyone’s memory for a long time. She valued everyone's self-esteem; paid attention to his reasoning, realizing that whoever is happy with himself is happy with her. Nature endowed Catherine with the excellent art of delighting the eyes, soul and heart. After lunch, after drinking a cup of coffee, Ekaterina went to her office, sat down to do needlework, knitted blankets and sweatshirts on long wool knitting needles, and the head of educational institutions, Ivan Ivanovich Betskoy, read books to her. There were no dinners except on holidays. At 10 o'clock she left, went to bed, drank boiled water and calmly fell asleep. The Empress fulfilled all the rules of the faith with precision, listened to matins and mass on Sundays and holidays, observed fasts and set an example in piety. 17. Meeting with the Empress (Catherine II) Marya Ivanovna 51, having learned that the Court was at that time in Tsarskoe Selo, decided to stop here. She was given a corner behind a partition. The caretaker's wife immediately started talking to her, announced that she was the niece of the court stoker, and told her what time the Empress usually woke up, ate coffee, and took a walk. Marya Ivanovna listened to her with attention. The next day, early in the morning, Marya Ivanovna woke up, got dressed and quietly went into the garden. The morning was beautiful, the sun illuminated the tops of the linden trees, which had already turned yellow under the fresh breath of autumn. The wide lake shone motionless. The awakened swans swam importantly from under the bushes that shaded the shore. Marya Ivanovna walked near the beautiful meadow, where a monument had just been erected in honor of the recent victories of Count Rumyantsev. Suddenly a white dog of the English breed barked and ran towards her; Marya Ivanovna got scared and stopped. At that very moment a pleasant female voice rang out: - Don't be afraid, she won't bite. And Marya Ivanovna saw a lady sitting on a bench opposite the monument. Marya Ivanovna sat down at the other end of the bench. The lady looked at her intently; and Marya Ivanovna, for her part, casting several indirect glances, managed to examine her from head to toe. She was in a white morning dress, a nightcap and a shower jacket. She seemed to be about forty years old. Her face, plump and rosy, expressed importance and calmness, and her blue eyes and light smile had an inexplicable charm. The lady was the first to break the silence. -You're not from here, are you? - she said. - Exactly so, sir: I just arrived from the provinces yesterday. – Did you come with your family? - No way, sir. I came alone. - One! But you are still so young. – I have neither father nor mother. - You are here, of course, on some business? - Exactly so, sir. I came to submit a request to the Empress. – You are an orphan: probably you complain about injustice and insult? - No way, sir. I came to ask for mercy, not justice. - Let me ask, who are you? – I am the daughter of Captain Mironov. - Captain Mironov! The same one who was the commandant in one of the Orenburg fortresses? The lady seemed touched. “Excuse me,” she said in an even more affectionate voice, “if I interfere in your affairs; but I am at the Court; Explain to me what your request is, and perhaps I will be able to help you. Marya Ivanovna stood up and thanked her respectfully. Everything about the unknown lady involuntarily attracted the heart and inspired confidence. Marya Ivanovna took a folded paper out of her pocket and handed it to her unfamiliar patron, who began to read it to herself. At first she read with an attentive and supportive look; but suddenly her face changed, and Marya Ivanovna, who followed all her movements with her eyes, was frightened by the stern expression of this face, so pleasant and calm for a minute. -Are you asking for Grinev? - said the lady with a cold look. “The Empress cannot forgive him.” He stuck to the impostor not out of ignorance and gullibility, but as an immoral and harmful scoundrel. - Oh, that’s not true! - Marya Ivanovna screamed. - How is it not true? - the lady objected, flushing all over. - Not true, not true. I know everything, I will tell you everything. For me alone, he was exposed to everything that befell him. And if he did not justify himself before the court, it was only because he did not want to confuse me. Here she eagerly told everything she knew about her fiancé. The lady listened to her with attention. -Where are you staying? - she asked later; and hearing what Anna Vlasyevna had, said with a smile: - Ah! I know! Goodbye, don't tell anyone about our meeting. I hope that you will not wait long for a response to your letter. With this word she stood up and went out into the covered alley, and Marya Ivanovna returned to Anna Vlasyevna, filled with joyful hope. The hostess scolded her for an early autumn walk, which, according to her, was harmful to the young girl’s health. She brought a samovar and, over a cup of tea, was just about to begin endless stories about the Court, when suddenly the court carriage stopped at the porch, and a chamberlain came in with the announcement that the Empress would deign to invite the maiden Mironova. Anna Vlasyevna was amazed and worried. - Wow, Lord! - she screamed. - The Empress demands you to the Court. How did she find out about you? But how will you, mother, introduce yourself to the empress? You, I am tea, don’t even know how to step on the court... Should I escort you? Still, I can at least warn you about something. And how can you travel in a traveling dress? The chamberlain announced that the Empress wanted Marya Ivanovna to travel alone and in what she would be found wearing. There was nothing to do: Marya Ivanovna got into the carriage and went to the palace, accompanied by the advice and blessings of Anna Vlasyevna. Marya Ivanovna foresaw the decision of her fate; her heart beat strongly and sank. A few minutes later the carriage stopped at the palace. Marya Ivanovna walked up the stairs with trepidation. The doors opened wide in front of her. She passed a long row of empty, magnificent rooms; the chamberlain showed the way. Finally, approaching the locked doors, he announced that he would now report on her, and left her alone. The thought of seeing the Empress face to face frightened her so much that she could hardly stand on her feet. A minute later the doors opened and she entered the empress’s dressing room. The Empress was sitting at her toilet. Several courtiers surrounded her and respectfully let Marya Ivanovna through. The Empress addressed her kindly, and Marya Ivanovna recognized her as the lady with whom she had spoken so frankly a few minutes ago. The Empress called her and said with a smile: “I’m glad that I could keep my word to you and fulfill your request.” Your business is over. I am convinced of your fiance's innocence. Here is a letter that you yourself will take the trouble to take to your future father-in-law. Marya Ivanovna accepted the letter with a trembling hand and, crying, fell at the feet of the Empress, who picked her up and kissed her. The Empress started talking to her. “I know that you are not rich,” she said, “but I am indebted to the daughter of Captain Mironov.” Don't worry about the future. I take it upon myself to arrange your condition. Having treated the poor orphan kindly, the empress released her. Marya Ivanovna left in the same court carriage. Anna Vlasyevna, impatiently awaiting her return, showered her with questions, to which Marya Ivanovna answered somehow. Although Anna Vlasyevna was dissatisfied with her unconsciousness, she attributed it to provincial shyness and generously excused her. On the same day, Marya Ivanovna, not interested in looking at St. Petersburg, went back to the village... 18. Stories about Empress Maria Feodorovna, wife of Emperor Pavel Petrovich By the way, the Mariinsky Hospital was under the patronage of Empress Maria Feodorovna. The senior doctor of this hospital came to the empress every day with a report 52. Once he reported that one of the sick women needed to have her leg removed and that the matter was urgent. “In that case,” said the Empress, “perform the operation today.” The next day she greeted the doctor with the words: -What is this poor woman? Was the operation successful? The doctor was a little confused: the operation had not yet been performed, and he tried to excuse his delay by lack of time and concern for other patients. But the empress expressed her displeasure to him. “I warn you,” she said, “that I do not intend to listen to such explanations tomorrow and demand that the matter be completed today.” However, the next day it turned out that the operation had not started. The Empress flushed with anger. “How,” she exclaimed, “despite my orders?” “I beg you, Your Majesty, don’t be angry with me,” the doctor answered, “I’m really not to blame.” This woman is simply crazy; she announced that she will only allow the operation in your presence. I didn't dare report this to you yesterday. - Shame on you! - the empress remarked, - why did you torture her for nothing? She ordered a carriage to be brought immediately, took the doctor with her, went to the hospital and was present at the operation. Empress Maria Feodorovna was involved in all the smallest details of raising children in many institutions entrusted to her care. She even took care of the pleasures of her pets: she sent them treats and provided them with various entertainment. One boy was forced to lie in bed for a long time due to illness; the empress ordered daily reports to her about the state of his health and supplied him with pictures, pencils and various trinkets. All the pupils of the institute at the educational home enjoyed the patronage of this institution throughout their lives and could return there when they were dissatisfied with their places in private houses. Everything was thought out by the empress’s tender heart. And her arrival at the institute was a real holiday: children with joyful faces rushed to her. One day, Privy Councilor Mukhanov, who accompanied the empress on one of her visits to the orphanage, expressed surprise that she tenderly kissed the hands and feet of the unfortunate foundlings, examined the linen of the nurses, etc. “Oh,” she answered, “all these abandoned children are now mine and in me they must find the care they are deprived of.” From time immemorial, people have said: “A kind, homely wife is a hundred times more valuable than gold, much more valuable than a semi-precious stone.” That well-known Russian word is true: Ivan Grigorievich realized its truth in himself. His mistress is young, only twenty-two years old, but such a treasure that God grant to every good person. Fresh, healthy, and pretty, Agrafena Petrovna has been married to him for five years now, and even though Ivan Grigorievich is more than twice her age, she loves her gray-haired husband with all her soul, day and night thanking the Creator for the happy lot sent to her. The life of this loving and beloved woman passed quietly and peacefully. Always calm, never disturbed by anything, she shone like a red sun in her husband’s house, and wherever she appeared in public, everywhere she was welcome, like a bright heavenly guest. Wherever he enters, he brings with him peace, harmony, harmony and fun. With her, the gloomy old people, who looked sullenly at the hateful world, grew younger and, as if having cast ten years off their shoulders, became softer, kinder and more friendly. No gossip, no evil reproaches, no dashing bickering was ever heard in her presence. How Agrafena Petrovna achieved such an influence on all her acquaintances - she herself did not know and others did not know. Somehow it happened naturally; and when it started and how it started, no one would be able to give an answer. The most quarrelsome person, the one most eager to quarrel and abuse, calmed down in front of the meek wise woman’s eyes and then he himself said on the side that there was no need to quarrel with Agrafena Petrovna. She grew up an orphan, but God's holy protection was always over her. Because of her parents' prayers, apparently, Gruna did not have the chance to experience the bitterness and cravings that are inseparable from an orphan's lot. From her infant cradle to her wedding crown, she almost never knew any troubles or sorrows, and having accepted the crown, she brought paradise into her husband’s house and reigned in it. She hardly knew troubles and sorrows, but they were not entirely unknown to her. Without grief, without sadness, a person cannot survive the century. And over Grunya, while still a girl, a serious misfortune suddenly broke out like a thunderstorm, and it would have been beyond the child’s strength if there had not been good people who with love averted the thunderstorm and filled the girl’s soul with peaceful happiness. Her father had good incomes and lived in perfect harmony with his young wife, comforted and overjoyed by the growing Grunya. The children did not live with them, so the parents deeply loved their blond daughter. Father and mother went to Nizhny for the fair - they had a shop there in Shchepyany Row, on Peski; They also took their little daughter with them. It was a difficult year: cholera at the fair was killing the people. Grunin’s father got sick a day, two young men fell ill, they were taken to the hospital, where they died. A day passed, then another. At the same time, Grunya’s father and mother fell ill, and they were also taken to the hospital. One woman was left alone in Grunya’s shop. Having somehow escaped from the neighboring merchants, who for Christ's sake were looking after the little girl, she, without drinking or eating, wandered around an unfamiliar city all day, looking for a hospital; finally, exhausted, she spent the night in the bushes of the Volga slope. In the morning, when it was still light, the hungry girl was already standing at the gates of the Martynovskaya hospital. The girl was driven away from the hospital gates and told that she no longer had an aunt or a mother, that before the daylight they had both been demolished to the cemetery. But Grunya did not walk away from the hospital. Then the Lord looked at the orphan with a merciful eye and sent a kind man to her. One fair trader from across the Volga heard that in Shchepyany Ryad an abandoned (empty) shop had appeared, and there was only one small child left in it. The good man gave up his job and went on a search. He found Grunya at the hospital gates and took the orphan into his home. He gave her drink, fed her and raised her on an equal basis with her own daughters, not distinguishing them by a hair from her God-given daughter. This kind man's name was Potap Maksimych Chapurin. As soon as Grunya became unmarried, Potap Maksimych began to look for a good, sedate man, into whose arms, without fear for fate, without fear for a happy destiny, one could give his God-given daughter. At that time, Ivan Grigorievich was widowed. His wife left him, leaving three children, small or small. The time of trouble has come: it is known that a widower is not a father to his children, he himself is an orphan. Trouble, great sorrow for small children to be left without a mother, worse than for bees without a queen. The unfortunate Ivan Grigorievich understood this, and his heart was torn with longing, looking at the orphans. Ivan Grigoryevich once stopped by Potap Maksimovich to relieve his melancholy in a conscientious conversation with a well-known friend. It was evening time. In the front room the whole family of Potap Maksimovich was sitting having tea. “Here I live, gossip, like a dead man,” said Ivan Grigorievich to Aksinya Zakharovna. - One, like a finger. There is no one to utter words with, if you die, there is no one to cry, no one to remember. “What are you talking about, dad,” Aksinya Zakharovna objected, “children are remembered by their parents’ souls.” - What, kids? They are small, gossips, still unreasonable,” answered Ivan Grigorievich. - Damn they children without a mother!.. It’s disorganized, unsettled in my house. I wouldn’t look... But what about the house? Get lost completely! It’s not my home that’s destroying me, it’s my poor orphans. How can they grow up without a mother? Neither caress nor caress... There is no care: you come from the city or from the mill: the children are unwashed, unkempt, dirty, ragged. Was it like this with the deceased? I recently visited and sometimes they go to bed hungry without me. My bitter life, gossip! And, bowing his head on his hand, Ivan Grigorievich sighed with a heavy sigh. Tears sparkled in his eyes. She looked intently at the crying widower Grun. She felt sorry for the orphans. I remembered how, hungry, she wandered around a strange city. They talked for a long time about the disastrous fate of Ivan Grigorievich; he left; Aksinya Zakharovna went out to do some housework for some reason. Grunya stood at the window and thoughtfully picked off the faded leaves of the rose tree. There are tears in her eyes. Potap Maksimych noticed them, approached Gruna and asked affectionately: - What are you doing, my dear daughter? The daughter looked at her named father, and tears flowed from her eyes. - What are you, what’s wrong with you, Grunushka? – Potap Maksimych asked her. -What are you talking about? “I feel sorry for the orphans, dad,” the girl answered in a trembling voice, leaning against the shoulder of her named parent. - An orphan herself, I mean... Will the Lord send them their own mother, as he did to me? Darling, darling, I feel sorry for you. Potap Maksimych was silent, looking with love at Grunya; she continued: “I was an orphan myself. I wasn’t there for long for your love and mercy, but still I remember what it was like for me then, what an orphan’s lot is like. God sent you and my mother to me, which is why I did not recognize the grief of an orphan. And I remember what it was like for me to wander around the city. I can’t pay anything for your love, daddy, I only tell you one thing before God: I love you and mommy, like my own father and mother. - That's enough, that's complete, hello, that's complete! - said the touched Potap Maksimych, caressing the girl. - What else do we need from you? You repay us with your love. You brought happiness to our house... We didn’t do it to you, you did good to us. - Daddy, daddy, don’t say... Don’t repay me for your favors. And if you don’t repay, how can you repay God? Grunya fell to Potap Maksimych’s chest and began to sob. “You will repay with good deeds, Grunya,” said Potap Maksimych, stroking the girl’s head. “Listen, father, what I’ll say,” Grunya said with firmness, quickly raising her head, “just as you looked after me, so should I look after orphans.” This is the only way I can repay God... What do you think, daddy? A? “You said it well, Grunya,” said Potap Maksimych, “in a divine way.” “I feel sorry for Ivan Grigorievich’s orphans,” said Grunya. “It would seem that I would be the mother he is looking for.” - How so? – Potap Maksimych asked, hardly believing his ears. - Are you going to marry the old man? “I’ll go, dad,” Grunya said firmly. - He's kind. But he’s not the one for me... I’d only like to look after the orphans. “But he’s old, he’s no match for you,” said Chapurin. “Whether he’s old or young, it doesn’t matter to me,” answered Grunya. - Not for him, for the sake of the poor orphans... - Oh, Grunushka, my Grunushka! - said the deeply touched Potap Maksimych, hugging the girl and kissing her tenderly. -Your angelic darling. Your father and mother are now leaping in heaven. And if you sinned in any way before the Lord, you atone for the sins of your parents. Your pure, holy darling! The God-given daughter and the named father hugged each other tightly. The next day, right in the morning, Potap Maksimych quickly got ready and went to Vikhorevo. “The bride is in sight,” he said, entering Ivan Grigorievich’s house. - What a bride this is! – Ivan Grigorievich responded with annoyance. -Where did you dig it up overnight? “Yes, at least our Grunya,” said Potap Maksimych. “You’re crazy,” answered Ivan Grigorievich. “At least I should have said something, otherwise I’ll be damned!” “Just think, head, you and I have gray beards, and she’s still a child.” She wants to go hunting for the old man's children. - How will you agree - will you get married? – asked Potap Maksimych. “It’s a trivial matter, godfather, you say,” answered Ivan Grigorievich. “I won’t go by hunt; I don’t want to take it by force.” “Well, listen to what I agreed with her the evening after you left Osipovka.” And Potap Maksimych told Ivan Grigorievich his conversation with Grunya. During the story, Ivan Grigorievich bowed his head more and more, and when Potap Maksimych finished, he stood up and, looking at the icons with weeping tears, crossed himself and bowed to the ground. - Darling! - he said. - Holy soul! Angel of the Lord!.. The next day there were bridesmaids, but not like they usually are. None of the strangers were here, and there was no matchmaker, and the groom, seeing the bride, did not act according to the old, not according to the grandfather’s ritual. When he saw Grunya, he bowed to her and, giving free rein to his tears, said, sobbing: - Mother! Holy soul! Agrafena Petrovna! Be a mother to my orphans!.. “I will,” Grunya said quietly with a smile. Two weeks later, Grunya was married to Ivan Grigorievich. Grunya raises other people's children, and raises her own: she already has two children. And he does not create any discord between the children; he loves his stepson and stepdaughters no less than his own children. And what a hostess came out, it was simply amazing. And fame spread across the Volga region about the young wife of the Vikhorevsky thousand-man. Good fame, good fame. May God grant everyone such glory, good word of mouth among people. 20. Countess Anna Grigorievna Tolstaya In 1889, Countess Anna Grigorievna Tolstaya died. Being of a noble family, who had connections with the highest modern society, she was always a deeply religious person in her soul, always reverently disposed in life. Religion permeated her entire life and all her activities. She treated all church rituals with love, loved reverent service in the church and cared for the splendor of God’s churches, donating generously to decorate them for everyone who turned to her. Every day, especially in recent years, she attended church and often read the Apostle or Gospel in advance in order to listen with greater attention in church; Not only did she strictly observe all fasts, but during all fasts she considered it her duty to fast and partake of the Holy Mysteries. During her illness, she especially often partook of the Holy Mysteries and in the Sacrament of Blessing of Unction she sought healing for mental and physical ailments. Distinguished by her sincere love for God and the Holy Church with its decrees, the Countess, naturally, always showed deep respect not only to the archpastors, but also to the shepherds of the Church; She considered it a great honor when the archpastors visited her, and she paid great attention to the shepherds of the Church. She always accepted blessings from the shepherds and reprimanded others if they did not fulfill this Christian custom. Not only did she never allow herself to say anything bad about the shepherds of the Church, but she also exhorted others to treat them with respect as servants of Christ and builders of the Mysteries of God. She especially expressed her love for pastors in that she founded a shelter for elderly clergy and bequeathed her house in which she lived to another similar shelter and even left significant funds for its maintenance. With deep piety and love for the pastors of the Church, she was especially distinguished by her extraordinary charity. This virtue of hers is known in all parts of Moscow, and many of those in need from everywhere came to her for help, and she did not refuse anyone. Many even from the noble, but poor, received significant monthly help from her, not to mention frequent daily alms to the poor and wretched. Her loving heart could not remain cold-blooded towards those in need, and she was always the first to donate to various charitable institutions. In addition, thanks to her generosity, an extensive orphanage and school for orphans were established in the Nizhny Novgorod province. She provided significant assistance to the Moscow parish care for the poor. And she did all this not out of vanity, she didn’t even like being thanked for the help she provided - no, she did this solely out of her great love for all the poor and unfortunate, and moreover, she did it secretly, so that her right hand, according to the Savior’s commandment, did not know what her left hand was doing. Finally, in relation to herself, she was always strict, abstinent in life, and did not allow herself any whims or excessive pleasures. In dealing with her neighbors, she was always very affectionate, meek, good-natured with everyone and much lower than herself, she never offended anyone, she wished the best for everyone, she treated everyone with sympathy and love; she never allowed herself to mock the shortcomings of her neighbors, was not angry with anyone, never remembered evil - she embodied, as far as possible, a comprehensive love for humanity. “This is an angel, not a man,” - one often heard about her from many, and everyone who knew her agreed with this. 21. Beecher Stowe – defender of blacks In America, trade in blacks has long been carried on. American traders traveled to Africa, bought hundreds of blacks there and sold their “products” at a profit in American markets. In the markets, blacks were assessed in the same way as cattle: they were tested for strength, forced to lift weights, ordered to open their mouths and examined their teeth to determine age and health. The treatment of the blacks was inhumane: they were forced to do backbreaking work and for the slightest offense they were beaten, tortured, and chained. The black man had no property; he could earn nothing for himself: everything belonged to his master. The black man didn’t even have a family, because every minute he had to be prepared for the fact that his wife or children would be sold to the side and he would be left alone. There was also no one to complain to: according to the law, the master was not responsible for his treatment of slaves and had the right to torture and kill them with impunity. This inhumane human trafficking continued for many years. There have been attempts to change this terrible order; however, thousands and millions of blacks still continued to drag out their miserable existence. The slave owners, of course, did not talk about this; The blacks themselves did not know how to ask for protection or describe their torment: beaten, abused, humiliated, they could only endure and die in silence. It was necessary for someone to undertake to tell the whole world about all the bitterness of the suffering and humiliation of the black man. And it was performed by a woman, the writer Harriet Beecher Stowe, who wrote the famous book “Uncle Tom's Cabin.” This book tells the story of several Negro families, and this simple, true story has spread throughout the world and awakened in all hearts a warm sympathy for the oppressed people. People started talking about blacks everywhere: both in America and in Europe; and soon there were people who stood up for the freedom of blacks. Years passed, slavery fell, and the Negro, formerly half-animal, was recognized as a man. The impetus for this movement was given by the famous story of Mrs. Beecher Stowe. Harriet Beecher was born in 1811 into the family of an American pastor (i.e., priest) in a small town in North America. Her childhood was carefree and happy, surrounded by a large, cheerful family. From the age of five, the girl runs to school, and at home she climbs into her father’s room and, huddled in a corner, so as not to disturb her father, reads books. Harriet studied well and was considered one of the most capable students at school. She completed her studies in another city, at a school established by her older sister. Here Harriet tries to write small, very successful stories for children, in which her talent is already revealed. At the age of 25, she marries Professor Stowe, an educated, intelligent and serious man. Her family life was very happy; She lived with her husband in perfect harmony, sharing joy and sorrow with him. A year later, Harriet Beecher Stowe gave birth to two twin daughters, and a few years later she was the mother of seven children. However, family responsibilities and household chores did not drown out Beecher Stowe’s interest in the fate of black slaves. Soon Beecher Stowe decided to write a story about the life of blacks, Uncle Tom's Cabin. In 1851, the first chapters were printed, and a year and a half later the entire book was published separately and sold hundreds of thousands of copies in the first weeks. Soon translations of it appeared in all languages; the story itself was adapted for the theater, performed on stage and attracted a crowd of thousands. All of America, all of Europe then started talking about the hitherto unknown wife of Professor Stowe; thousands of letters flew to her expressing sympathy, gratitude and respect. The money raised from the sale of books drove poverty out of the Beecher Stowe family forever. But neither money, nor fame, nor fame changed the simple working lifestyle of the writer. As before, she is involved in everything herself, runs the household, attends her home school, where black children also study with her children, as if to confirm that she not only preached in words about the equality of people, but also in deeds. In her house all blacks persecuted by slave owners find shelter and help; they boldly go to her, knowing that they will meet their protector and patroness in her. She formed a whole office to help blacks. Money is sent here from all sides, because everyone believes that the writer will be able to manage it well. A few years have passed since the publication of Uncle Tom's Cabin, when a complete change took place in America. First of all, the law on fugitive slaves was repealed, and then black slavery itself fell. Beecher Stowe's life's purpose was achieved. She fulfilled the work that she was called to do - she honestly worked for people and quietly left the field of life. The writer spent her last years on her estate, surrounded by her beloved family and close friends. She had to outlive all the people dear to her: her husband, sister, beloved brother - everyone died before her. These losses shocked her so much that she went crazy and soon died in a mental hospital at the age of 78. In a certain kingdom, in a certain state, there lived a king and a queen. He lived with her for a considerable time and decided to go to a foreign land. He gave orders to the ministers, said goodbye to his wife and went on the road. Whether long or short, he arrived in a foreign land; and an evil king then ruled in that land. This king saw the king, ordered to seize him and put him in prison. He has a lot of all sorts of slaves in prison: they sit in chains at night, and in the morning the evil king puts collars on them and plows the arable land until the evening. The king lived in such torment for three whole years and did not know how to get out of there, how to give the queen news about himself. And he finally found an opportunity and wrote a letter to her. “Sell,” he writes, “all our property and come and redeem me from captivity.” The queen received a letter, read it and cried: “How can I ransom the king: if I go myself, the evil king will see me and take me instead of his wife; If I send ministers, there is no hope for them.” So what did she think? She cut off her brown braids, dressed up as a musician, took a harp and, without telling anyone; set off on a long journey. She comes to the evil king’s courtyard and plays the harp so well that if you listen to it forever, you won’t get enough of it; The king, as soon as he heard such glorious music, immediately ordered the guslar to be called to the palace. - Hello, guslar! What land are you from, what kingdom? “Since I was little, Your Majesty, I’ve been walking around the world, making people happy and thereby feeding my own head.” “Stay with me, live a day, two, three, and I will reward you generously.” Guslyar remained; He plays in front of the king all day long, but he can’t hear enough of everything: “What glorious music! It takes away all boredom, all melancholy!” The guslar lived with the king for three days and came to say goodbye to the king. - What kind of work do you deserve? - asks the king. “Perhaps, sir, I’ll have just one slave; you have many imprisoned in prison; and I need a companion for the road. I walk through foreign lands; sometimes there is no one to say a word to. - Feel free to choose anyone! - said the king and led the guslar to the dungeon. Guslyar looked around at the prisoners, chose a slave king, and they went on a journey together. They approach their state. The king says: - Let me go, good man! I am not a simple slave, I am the king himself; Take as much ransom as you want: I won’t spare either the money or the peasants. Here they said goodbye and went their separate ways. The queen ran a roundabout way, got home before her husband, took off her guslar dress and dressed herself up properly. An hour later everyone ran in and bustled around the palace. All the courtiers came out to meet the king. The king turned to them and said: - This is what my wife is like: how I sat in captivity and wrote to her to sell all her goods and ransom me - she did nothing. What was she thinking about if she had forgotten her husband? - Your Majesty! As soon as the queen received your letter, on the same day she disappeared to an unknown location and has been missing all this time; I just came to the palace today. The king became very angry and ordered: - Gentlemen, ministers, judge my wife according to the true truth. Where in the world did she wander around? Why didn’t you want to ransom me? You would not have seen your king forever and ever if not for the young guslar; I will pray to God for him, I will not regret giving him half of the kingdom. Meanwhile, the queen managed to dress up as a gusliar, went out into the courtyard and played the gusli. The king heard, ran towards him, grabbed the musician by the hand, led him into the palace and said to his courtiers: - This is the guslar who rescued me from captivity. The guslyar took off his outer clothing - everyone immediately recognized the queen. Here the king rejoiced; He began to feast in joy, and so he had fun for a whole week. One lady noticed every day that her household expenses for some unknown reason were increasing, and her supplies of household provisions were running out too quickly. She decided to consult about this with the hermit who lived in the forest. Having explained the reason for her visit, she told him: “My household is completely upset, which seems surprising to me; I would like to ask you to advise me on how to improve it. The hermit asked her to wait a little, then he brought a small closed box and handed it to her, saying: - It is necessary that you carry this box three times during the day and three times at night for a whole year to the kitchen, cellar, stable and all the household establishments of your house. I promise you will see a change. In a year you must return this box to me. The lady, who had faith in the action of the mysterious box, carried out exactly the advice of the hermit. She constantly went with him to all the household buildings at the appointed time. The next day, when she went to the cellar, she found the groom there stealing a bottle of wine; in the kitchen there were maids who treated their guests to various dishes. In the barn I saw cows standing without food in the manure, and in the stable there were horses that were fed hay instead of oats and were never cleaned. And so she discovered new problems in the house almost every day. When the year had passed, she took the box to the hermit and gave it to him, saying: “Indeed, my farming has become much better; I would like to ask you to leave this box with me for another year; it rightly contains extraordinary power. The hermit said with a smile: “I can’t give you the box, but when you open it, you will see for yourself the method that you have already experienced with your own experience. He opened the box, and the lady saw in it a piece of paper on which was written: “In order for everything to go in proper order in the house, the owner needs to observe everything himself.” 24. A Mother's Love (true incident) Based on the book “Autumn” by Chistyakov In 1783, there was a terrible earthquake on the island of Sicily, from which the beautiful trading city of Messina was badly damaged. The most terrible earthquake began completely unexpectedly; the whole earth trembled as if alive, rose and fell; from under it some terrifying rumble, crackling, thunder and groan were heard. At the same time a strong hurricane arose. The sea waves rose and broke with a groan on the coastal rocks. Add to this the crash and roar of breaking buildings. People ran through the streets, screamed desperately, fell under the ruins of houses, died or moaned pitifully in pain, unable to free themselves from the piles that had fallen on them. All this together presented such a terrible picture that it is impossible to describe it. Before this earthquake there were some foreshadowing signs by which knowledgeable people guessed about the approaching disaster; but, as always happens, few people believed their words; no one took precautions; only a few left the city on time. After the first underground shock, after the first hesitation, everyone ran as best they could to escape the falling stones; but the blows followed so quickly one after another that many died both in their houses and on the streets. The general horror was so great that people lost all reason; they have lost their sense of compassion; they paid no attention to those who were dying; everyone thought only about themselves; no one helped the fallen to stand up, no one pulled out those crushed from under the stones; everyone ran with mad haste; everyone was thinking only about how to quickly run out of town. Fathers and mothers forgot about their children, and children did not remember their parents. On the best street of Messina stood the wonderful marble palace of the Marquis Spadara, one of the richest people on the island of Sicily. His wealth was incalculable; his wife was beautiful, young and kind; a little two-year-old son completed the marquis’s happiness; it seemed that he had nothing to desire. He, like all Sicilians, was familiar with the consequences of an earthquake. Due to the proximity of such fire-breathing mountains as Etna in Sicily and Vesuvius in Italy, earthquakes occur very often, but if they are not strong, then little attention is paid to them; on the contrary, if the first tremors are as terrible as those that shook the island in 1783, then everyone knows what to fear, and then everyone has only one thought: to save themselves, to flee the city. On the unfortunate day of the earthquake, the Marquis of Spadara was sitting in his wife's room; their son slept nearby, in another room. Suddenly the house shook and groaned from a terrible underground shock; the first blow was followed by a second and a third. The walls seemed to be crumbling; the doors slammed by themselves; tables, chairs and cabinets fell; mirrors and paintings were torn from the walls and smashed with a roar; window panes were falling, floors and ceilings were cracking. A desperate cry was heard on the street and in the house: “Earthquake! Earthquake!" All the servants rushed headlong out of the palace. - Earthquake! – the marquise exclaimed and fell unconscious to the ground. - Earthquake! – the Marquis repeated and jumped up in fear. He turned pale, like a dead man, and seemed to have turned to stone - he could not move either his arm or his leg. But from under the ground those terrible sounds that we spoke about were heard; More shocks were repeated and he regained consciousness. He looked at his lifeless wife, and the thought flashed in his soul: “We must save ourselves. We need to save her." He forgot his son. With the force of despair, he threw his wife onto his shoulders and ran from the steps of the palace, out of the shaking house. -Where to run? - he asked himself and, with his thoughts clouded, stood in bewilderment on the street. A man ran past, noticed the marquis because he was blocking his passage, and shouted: - To the harbor! To the harbor! What are you worth? When there is no room on earth, water will save you. And to die, to drown, is better than to die under the ruins! A man ran past; his words awakened consciousness in the marquise, and he also ran; There, in the harbor, there is salvation: there is a large yacht (ship), and there is a lot of space in it. All Messinian rich people always have their own boats or small yachts to travel along the beautiful Mediterranean Sea, between the islands from which the aromatic fragrance of blossoming orange and orange trees emanates. The sea still served as a place for a walk; now he hoped to find salvation in it. He hurried towards him. The earth, after the first tremors, still continued to tremble, and the terrible force of the vapors accumulated under it was still expressed by a roar, a groan, and, as it were, a distant clap of thunder. The Sicilians know that if an earthquake begins with strong shocks, that if they are followed by an underground noise and the vibration continues, then this means that this is only the beginning of a terrible disaster and there will be many more shocks and the earthquake can continue for quite a long time. All these phenomena now terrified the unfortunate inhabitants of Messina, and everyone hurried with mad haste to the sea, to an open place. The Marquis was also in a hurry, but the unusual weight slowed his steps; at any other time he would not have carried his wife through all the rooms of his palace, but now the horror of death and despair gave him double strength; he was out of breath, his legs were giving way, but he walked. My God! What a terrible path he had to take! How many obstacles are there at every step! The air was filled with dust from destroyed buildings; in addition, the sulfurous fumes from the ground made it even harder to breathe. Many houses had already collapsed and were blocking the streets with their ruins; The shaking of the earth still continued, and many houses were still shaking and threatening to fall. With extreme effort, the Marquis had to climb over the ruins, or, if the stones were happily scattered, go around them; but this was rarely possible and it was much more difficult to climb over piles of rubble and stones. Sometimes it was necessary to stop and wait either for the wall to fall, or for the dust that had risen in the street to settle down, at least a little, and open up the opportunity to look where to step. The danger increased every moment; the ground shook more, buildings fell more often and the despair of those running intensified. From under the rubble, the groans of those buried alive were sometimes heard, or the desperate screams of the wounded were heard. Corpses came across every minute; the tired ones clung to his dress and slowed his steps; he staggered from fatigue, his head was spinning from all these horrors, his hair stood on end; he desperately tore himself from the hands of the unfortunates who clung to him, and hurried further, further from death; he did not reason, but, obeying instinct (drive), walked further, further to the sea. Only one thought filled his soul: “Hurry, hurry! Now the blow will happen again, I won’t have time to escape!” His strength was exhausted, his legs were giving way; it seemed to him that he would fall and die right there on the spot. He strained the rest of his strength so as not to fall and get to the safe haven. Here in front of him is a straight street ending in the sea; it is already visible; but white waves also move and rush along it and are crushed by foam and splashes; wind and underground forces swirl and foam the water. At any other time, no one would have thought of venturing out of the harbor, but now the only salvation was on the water, and people were rushing to it. His legs refuse to serve, the Marquis staggers as if drunk, but he once again overcomes his mortal exhaustion, gathers all his strength, breaks through the densely closed ranks of the people and runs onto the embankment; in front of him the yacht rushes and breaks, tossed by the waves; salvation is close - but the unfortunate man could not take another step and with the entire weight of his double burden, he fell unconsciously to the ground. Whether the marquise gradually came to her senses or from a severe bruise from the fall, her eyes only opened; She moved them around, unconsciously looked at the strangers surrounding her, then looked at her husband, who was lying next to her as if dead, and rushed to him with a desperate cry: A woman standing nearby took pity on the unfortunate woman, leaned towards her, pulled her away and said: - No, he’s alive, he’s just fainting, don’t strangle him, he’ll come to his senses. You were exactly the same when he brought you here. He must have fainted from fatigue and fear. Just move away from him, give him air, he will wake up. These words calmed the marquise; she stood up, but at that moment she remembered her son; She jumped up, looking around in fear, looking for him with her eyes and suddenly screamed in a tearing voice: - My son! Where is my son? I don't see him! Tell me where is he? - Do you really have a son? – asked the same woman. - If there is, then I don’t know where it is. He didn’t come with you and your father, he must have fallen behind. No one came with your husband. “I didn’t see anyone,” the woman repeated. - My God! He's there! - the marquise exclaimed once again in an inhuman and terrible voice - grief, despair and suffering of maternal love were heard in it. This voice penetrated the marquis’s heart; he woke up, propped himself up on his elbow, managed to grab his wife by the hem of her dress and said barely audibly: “You lay in front of me like you were dead, I grabbed you and carried you out of the city, but I didn’t remember about my son.” I didn’t see any of our people; If he had seen it, he would probably have remembered it and ordered someone to take it out of the house. Oh, have mercy! - he added to those around him, - save my son, I am the Marquis of Spadara, I am rich, I will give half of everything I have to the one who saves my child. I can't do it myself. I have no strength. Oh, save him! - and tears flowed down the pale face of the half-dead, exhausted marquis. - Oh, it’s clear that you are not a mother! - exclaimed the marquise, snatching the dress he was holding onto from his hands and rushing forward. - For God's sake, stay! There is no way to save him! I beg you, stay! Don’t go, you’ll ruin yourself, but you won’t save him! At the desperate cry she stopped, looked around and answered: - I can’t. Must go. I will save my son or die with him! And she ran again. The Marquis stood up, called her name in despair, and again fell unconscious to the ground. Once again she stopped, looked with love and sorrow at her husband, who was lying on the ground as if dead, but she did not stay, but rushed forward into the city, towards everyone fleeing from it. She does not run, but flies, barely touching the ground; her flowing hair flutters in the wind. So she disappeared through the city gates. - Stop this woman! - they shout after her, - she’s gone crazy, she’s running into the city, there’s death there. Some people she meets try to stop her, but she pushes everyone away and hurries forward. Nothing can slow her down; With a faithful glance, she chooses her path in advance, jumps over stones, logs and heaps of garbage: she is pulled by the strongest feeling of a woman’s heart - maternal love. She saw the cradle of her son in front of her, only the thought of him occupied her. No external impression reached her: she did not hear the desperate cries of the wounded and dying; she did not notice that the vibrations of the earth were intensifying with every step she took; she did not foresee the proximity of new underground attacks. The underground thunder did not reach her, which either cracked as if someone was throwing iron strips there, then knocked as if someone was rolling iron balls, and finally burst into a deafening crash. She hurried forward tirelessly and without stopping. Without thinking or choosing a path, she still did not lose her way and unconsciously ran in the most direct and shortest direction. Here in front of her is the church in which she always prayed, but its bell tower collapsed and covered all the neighboring houses; the building itself had collapsed from top to bottom and could have fallen immediately. - My God, give me the strength to save my Alphonse! - she exclaimed. There is only one street left, very close. Is the house worth it? Thoughts, each more terrible than the other, crowd in her head; the heart beats stronger and stronger; breath escapes with effort from her half-open mouth; but her run is as fast as at the beginning; no obstacle stops her. She rounds the last corner. The Marble Palace stands intact as before; the earthquake did not shake him. The unfortunate mother's heart sank joyfully and then began to beat as if it wanted to jump out. - My God, let me find my child, and then do with me what you want. Among the collapsed houses, in whose stoves and fireplaces fire was burning, a fire broke out and with every moment it spread further and further. The remains of houses adjacent to the palace are on fire; the flames have already touched the palace; the roof is smoking, the window frames are on fire. The wind whistles, roars and spreads fire; what the earthquake had not yet destroyed was destroyed by the flames. The Marquise does not see the fire, does not see that the fire is already engulfing her palace; she runs through the open door, up the marble steps of the stairs; non-stop runs through open rooms filled with expensive things; she tramples on them, does not see them, and with all her soul strives to where her happiness lies, her son. In one nursery the door did not open; the mother, with a sinking heart, opens it, and in front of her is a cradle in the middle of the room, just as it stood, and only sways violently from the vibrations of the earth. The mother rushes to her and sees: her son is sleeping, rocked by the earthquake. The mother screamed with joy; The little one woke up, smiled through his sleep and held out his hands to her. She grabbed him and pressed him to his dying heart; for a moment she raised her eyes with gratitude to the sky, whispered a prayer - and hurried out of this terrible, previously sweet house. But then the underground thunder struck louder, the earth trembled from a strong blow; floors and walls shake; the mother flies in horror towards the familiar staircase, but at the moment when she wants to step on it, she collapses with a roar, and thick smoke rises from the yawning depths, and dust rises in columns. The Marquise almost jumped off the run into the depths, but returned back in time and rushed to another staircase; there are many exits; Here it is with the second one - and this one is no longer there. A death-terror gripped her soul; She doesn’t know where to go, but she remembered in time that there is another way out. She rushes into one long, narrow corridor, at the end of which there was a narrow twisted staircase in the wall: it led to the lower floor. The Marquise runs with desperate speed and tremblingly clutches the baby to her; behind her the ceilings are collapsing, the walls are shaking more and more. As soon as she escaped to the lower floor and managed to reach the window that looked out onto the terrace, a new underground shock shook the entire earth, and it seemed that it was falling apart, the ceilings and roofs collapsed, and a pile of stones remained from the former magnificent palace. The unfortunate mother managed to jump out the window; she was hit on the head by a piece of falling cornice; blood ran down her face, but she, not remembering herself, not feeling pain, ran across the yard; heard everything crumbling behind her, felt the wave-like movement of the earth; ran to the shore of the pond in the middle of the garden and fell unconscious to the ground. How long she lay there is unknown, but when she came to her senses, the first thing that struck her was the cry of a child. When she woke up, she saw that during her fall she had pressed her son to the ground so that he could not free himself and was crying because he had hurt himself and it was hard for him. Making sure that he was healthy, the marquise looked around. She was hot from the flames that stood above the palace and burned out what was still left after the earthquake; some trees in the garden burned down; there is smoke, stench and suffocating heat everywhere. But in the midst of the picture of extermination, a feeling of deep gratitude awoke in the marquise’s soul. She threw herself on her knees and with tears thanked God for her miraculous salvation and the salvation of her child. Then she calmed him down, washed the blood from her face, tied a scarf around her head because the blood was still flowing, took the baby in her arms and went to look for either a way out of the garden or a place where she could wait out the fire. The earth no longer shook, only a rumble could still be heard underneath it and it shuddered occasionally. The wind whistled with terrible force. The Marquise could hardly move her legs; she was exhausted from exertion, from two fainting spells and from great loss of blood. She went to one exit from the garden, but was met with smoke and flames from a neighboring house; in another place, a pile of still warm and smoldering ruins blocked her path, etc. Wherever she went, something was blocking her exit. She was like on an island in the middle of a burning sea of ​​fire. The heat became unbearable; the unfortunate woman did not know how to protect the child; Finally I remembered the earthen cellar in which agricultural tools were hidden; she hurried there and in its damp depths found protection from the fire that was burning all around. She sat here for several hours; her son, tired of crying, fell asleep; she took off some of her clothes, wrapped the baby, put grass under his head and laid him on the ground. Alphonse had already asked for food several times, and when he fell asleep, her first thought was: could she find something to eat somewhere? She went to walk around the garden, found ripe oranges and two pears off her heels and brought them to her earthen cellar. The fire still continued, but the underground shocks and tremors had ceased. The fruits satisfied little Alphonse's hunger for that day; his mother hoped that by morning the fires would subside and they could try to leave the garden and look for the marquis, who now, perhaps, was grieving and crying for them as if they were dead. The night passed sleepless for the marquise, in anxiety and sadness: little Alphonse was cold and crying. The next morning his mother gave him the last pear, got dressed, took him in her arms and went to the palace, hoping to get out into the street through it; but here on one side there were such piles of stones that it was impossible to take even a step on them; on the other side it was still smoking, the red-hot debris lay in a fiery heap and the ash barely covered the coals. “No, there is no way out,” thought the marquise and sadly went to look for another way out. Her anxiety grew; Alphonse was crying. She walked slowly along the collapsed garden fence and looked for a way out. Finally, in one direction there was no fire visible, only ruins lay. The marquise returned back to the pond, drank some water, gave her son something to drink, picked a branch with unripe oranges and left. The path she had to choose was unimaginably difficult: at every step she had to climb a pile of stones, or climb over a wall, or make her way between leaning and overhanging stones, which with every minute could collapse and crush her with their weight. She could not find a familiar street: they were all so littered and distorted that not a single one could be recognized. Only in the evening did she begin to come across people who casually answered her questions and hurried to find those whom they had lost in this disaster. Following these brief and imprecise instructions, however, the marquise finally got out to a place from where the pier was visible. She was completely exhausted because she had not eaten anything for two days; little Alphonse cried from hunger; thank God there are people here, you can buy something. She didn’t have any money with her, but she took out the earring, and they gave her a bun for it, which at least a little satisfied her hunger and the child’s hunger. She sat down on the steps of the embankment and thought: “Where can I find a husband? – she asked herself. “Everyone here is a stranger, I’m afraid of everyone.” Is he alive? Yesterday I saw him fall as if dead. God! You brought me out of the fire, You protected me from falling stones, You brought me to people. Lord, let me find my husband, the father of my son!” After this short prayer, she rose and looked around her with a weak, dull gaze; Everywhere people are bustling about, fussing, fussing; but not a single familiar face anywhere. The Marquise looked out to sea; there were hundreds of boats, skiffs and large ships, which, like seagulls after a storm, were recovering and heading towards land, now calm and again safe for a while. The poor woman looked thoughtfully into the distance, thinking about how she could find out what had become of her husband. - Is it you, beautiful senora? – suddenly a familiar voice was heard behind her. The marquise turned around: behind her was the same woman who had shown her sympathy the day before. - And your son is alive and saved? A miracle happened over you, the Holy Mother of God protected you,” and the talkative old woman said a lot more in this tone. Having chosen a moment when she could say a word, the marquise asked: - What happened to my husband, where is he? I left it here yesterday. - Oh, poor, poor, how he was obsessed with you; he will wake up from fainting, come to his senses, shout: “Isabella,” and again lose his senses. So he lay there until the dark night. The sea became quieter, the sailors from one large, beautiful yacht went ashore, one came across your husband, clasped his hands and exclaimed: - Oh, my God, this is the senor, we need to save him. He called another sailor, and the two of them carried him to the yacht, where he lies to this day. - Is there a boat here? Can you take me to the yacht? They'll pay for it there! I would give money now, but I don’t have it with me. – The time, senora, is bad now; Everyone has their own grief, no one will take a step for nothing. “Here’s an earring, I’ve already given one away, but this one costs a hundred ducats; take her, but find me a boat and a boatman. The old woman greedily grabbed the earring, kissed the marquise's hand in flight and disappeared. Five minutes later she brought a young fisherman and said: - Senora, here is my grandson, Luigi, he will take you to the yacht; she stands over there, at the other end of the harbor, closer to the exit to the open sea. The marquise and her son got into the boat; young Luigi struck with his oars, and the little boat flew across the calm bay; The marquise's meeting with her husband was touching. The Marquis was ill, but at the sight of his wife and son, what illness would not go away? Especially if it happened, like this one, out of grief for losing them. From that time on, the Marquis left Messina and moved to Northern Italy, where such earthquakes do not occur, and no longer wanted to live in large stone houses, but always chose wooden ones. Their happiness was no longer disturbed by the earthquake. Alphonse grew up and became a smart and kind man. 25. Cossack lullaby Sleep, my beautiful baby, I will tell fairy tales You were dozing with your eyes closed, Terek 53 flows over the stones, An angry Chechen crawls to the shore, But your father is an old warrior, Sleep, little one, be calm, You will find out for yourself - there will be time - Feel free to put your foot in the stirrup You'll be a hero in sight How many bitter tears stealthily Sleep, my angel, quietly, sweetly, I will pray all day long, I'll start to think that you miss me Sleep until you have no worries, Yes, preparing for a dangerous battle, The son of a poor widow fell into bad society. His mother constantly, but unsuccessfully, begged him to leave his bad comrades. One day, seeing that her son was going to his friends to drink, she made every effort to restrain him, but in vain. “Goodbye, I’m going after all,” he told her coldly. “In that case,” answered the mother, “I know what I will do.” I will shut myself in my room, kneel before the icon and will not stop praying for you until you return. The son left, but did not find the desired pleasure. The image of his mother, on her knees praying for him in front of the icons, seemed to him more and more clearly and was persistently crowded in his imagination... Finally, he decided to go home and see what his mother was doing. He found her in the same kneeling position in which he had left her, he himself fell to his knees in front of her, hugged her and thanked God for giving him such a loving mother. Since then he has completely changed. 27. Advice from a prudent spouse Blessed Augustine's mother's husband was very hot-tempered and bad-tempered; but she lived with him in harmony and calmly, so that her friends, who often quarreled with their husbands, asked her for advice on how to soften their obstinate disposition. “Dear friends,” she answered, “it is your own fault that you suffer great insults from your husbands: you respond to every insulting word they say with annoyance, and by mutual insult you upset them the more. And when I see that my husband is angry, I remain silent and only in my soul pray to God that silence will return to his heart. His temper goes away on its own, and I am always calm. Imitate me, dear friends, and you will also be calm.” 28. A picture of a wonderful family life, as described by Tertullian The 3rd century Christian writer Tertullian paints such a picture of family life. “How happy is a marriage approved by Heaven. How can I describe the happiness of a marriage united by the Church, confirmed by the Sacrament, secured by a blessing - a marriage announced by angels and which the Lord Father considers valid. How blessed is the wedding of two believers with the same hope, the same piety, the same feelings towards everything. They are brothers, they both work together, they pray together, they educate, they encourage and support each other. They are inseparable in the church of God, in joys, sorrows, persecutions and consolations. Neither of them avoids the other, neither is harsh. They voluntarily visit the sick and help the poor. The Lord Jesus Christ, seeing this, rejoices, He sends His peace to them. Where they are, there He is, and the devil flees from them.” Nineteen years after my father's death The neighbor's daughter loved me, well done; I got married and lived with my wife. As if she brought happiness to my yard - May God grant the Kingdom of Heaven to the poor! Such and such, brother, was the mistress - She treasured the copper half-shell. On a long evening, it used to light a torch And he spins for himself without closing his eyes; The roosters will crow - well, then he will rest And he will lie down. And it’s just dawning She’s already on her feet: just look, she’ll run, He will give food to both sheep and cows, He heats up the stove and sits at the spinning wheel again. Or that he cleans the house. In the summer, rye will be reaped or sheaves will be served From land to cart, and she has little grief. I used to say: “Isn’t it time to rest?” “Nothing,” she says, “I’m not tired.” Sometimes she happens to buy a new thing For fun, he will say: “In vain! We will love each other without this; Why are you wasting your money, my clear falcon!” Like in paradise, he lived with her... Yes, it’s not for us to know, Where and how the storm will find us. The wife lay down in the ground to sleep forever... If you remember, life will not be nice to you. Comp. based on the book “Ascetics of the Eastern Church” by Filaret, Archbishop. Chernigovsky Blessed Elizabeth, being during her lifetime the abbess of one of the women's monasteries, zealously cared for the salvation of her sisters in the Lord. An experienced ascetic, who knew the hearts of women well, instilled in sisters and wives to especially beware of evil tongues as a sin that was very common among women. “Whoever, by dodging a lie,” she said, “thinks that he is expressing his intelligence and strength, is mistaken to the point of pity: he is an obedient instrument of Satan, the father of lies. The Father of Darkness brings darkness to such a soul; it does not recognize its sins, does not see its danger and remains insensible. Women's talkativeness is all the more sinful because, with a lack of prudence and irritability of heart, we most often waste emptiness, lies, slander, frivolity, harmful to ourselves and others. “The heart of the righteous answers with thought, but the mouth of the wicked pours out evil in a river,” says the wise one (Prov. 15:28). What does chatty slander reveal? The anger of pride, enraged by its weakness. In poverty, a woman, out of envy, denigrates others; the rich humiliate others out of pride. How much trouble, how much suffering comes from this for people! How detrimental all this is to the immortal soul! Love one another, and do not be malicious, we are told.” 31. “O Lord, lay guard with my mouth” Prophet and king, singer of the Creator of the universe! From your lips like a mighty wave Praise flowed and songs of inspiration The world marveled, and the holy sound echoed. But you pray that God, glorified by you, Captured lips of praise. Singer! Warmed by your singer, My spirit is confused... Is this your prayer? After all, the word is a gift, a gift of God, purer than gold, More valuable than all blessings, the gift, all the holy gifts; Isn’t it with them that we heal our brother’s ulcers, Are we smashing vice, subduing the ardor of passions? Don't we give them both grief and anxiety? Are we in a hurry to tell our friends or to the sky? It contains thought and spirit, it leads us to God, Takes away sin, brings down grace. Praise to the Creator from the first days of creation It sounded in him like an echo of pure thoughts. Yes, the word is a gift! But on the terrible day of the fall The thought faded, the mind became grounded. And the tongue became, the tongue - the singer of the word - The organ of evil, and evil, the most terrible of all evils: He is beyond barriers, his arrow is ready Smite enemies, neighbors and friends. He can turn family paradise into hell, Throw a shadow on truth and honor, Raise a war between kingdoms, and hail with hail, Confuse minds, stir up hostility and revenge. Prophet, you are right! And on the holy day of fasting The church is shining, the smoke of the incense is flowing, Then, so that the world kneels I asked the Lord to guard my lips. From the book “My Life in Christ” by Archpriest John Sergiev of Kronstadt An angry and proud person is ready to see only pride and malice in others and is glad if they say bad things about any of his acquaintances, especially those who live happily, richly, but are not close to him spiritually, and the worse it is, the more he is glad that others are bad, and he is more perfect than them, and is ready to see in them only one evil and compare them with demons. O malice! O pride! O absence of love! No, you find something good in an evil person and rejoice in this goodness, and speak with joy about his good qualities. There is no person who does not have some kind of good; Cover the evil that is in it with love and pray to God for it, so that the evil God will create good things with His goodness. Don't be an evil abyss yourself. When we hear any bad reviews about a person, then, internally comparing him with ourselves, we say in our hearts: I am not like that, I, in comparison with him, am perfect, and dreaming this way about ourselves, and internally condemning others, we enjoy our superiority over them. This is satanic pride, this is the stench of a carnal, sinful person. May such thoughts flee from your soul! May we consider ourselves the worst of all people. When they speak ill of someone, let us sigh and say to ourselves: we are worse, a hundred times more sinful than this person, and from the bottom of our hearts we will pray for our condemned brother. 34. Sayings of the word of God about peace with your neighbor Thus says the Lord of hosts: /.../ love truth and peace (Zech.8:19). Have peace among yourselves (Mark 9:50). I beseech you, brethren, in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, that /.../ there be no divisions among you, but that you be united in one spirit (1 Cor. 1:10). Be at peace with one another ( Col. 5:13 ). Seek peace and follow it (Ps. 33:15). Maintain /.../ peace with all who call on the Lord with a pure heart (2 Tim. 2:22). Let us seek what serves for peace (Rom. 14:19). Make peace with your opponent quickly while you are still on the road with him (Matthew 5:25). If possible on your part, be at peace with all people (Rom. 12:18). Try to have peace with everyone (Heb.12:14). It is very humiliating for you that you have litigation among yourself /.../ Why would it be better for you not to endure hardships? (1 Cor. 6:7). He who loves life and wants to see good days, keep his tongue from evil; /.../ seek peace and strive for it (1 Pet. 3:10–11). Be like-minded, peaceful, and the God of love and peace will be with you (2 Cor. 2:11). Deceit is in the heart of evildoers, but joy is in the heart of peacemakers (Proverbs 12:20). Blessed are the peacemakers: for they will be called sons of God (Matthew 5:9). From the magazine “The Helmsman”, 1900. Only he will receive mercy Live in peace, love each other, 36. There are women in Russian villages There are women in Russian villages With calm importance of faces, With beautiful strength in movements, With the gait, with the look of queens, - Wouldn't a blind person notice them? “It will pass - as if the sun will shine! If he looks, he’ll give me a ruble!” How all our people are coming. But the dirtiness of the situation is wretched It doesn't seem to stick to them. Blooms She is beautiful in any clothes, He endures both hunger and cold, Always patient, even... I saw how she squints: With a wave, the mop is ready! On weekdays he does not like idleness. How the smile of joy will disappear Money can't buy it. "Joy!" – The men repeat among themselves. In the game the horseman will not catch her, In trouble, he will not fail, he will save: There is a clear and strong consciousness in her, That all their salvation is in work, And her work brings reward: The family does not struggle in need, They always have a warm house, The bread is baked, the kvass is delicious, There is an extra piece for the holiday. In front of the whole family in front; Sits like he's sitting on a chair, two year old To everyone who loves the Russian people! 37. Proverbs from everyday life Order is the soul of every business. One slave does not serve two masters. Every person is recognized in action. A person paints a place, not a person's place. You will always receive respect for being honest. When you begin something, think about the end. Tell me who you know, and I will tell you who you are. Good brotherhood is better than wealth. Make new friends, but don’t forget the old ones. An old friend is better than two new ones. A friend is known in misfortune. He who loves whom listens to him. Where there is love, there is pleasure; Where there is fear, there is coercion. Brotherly love is better than stone walls. Save your money for a rainy day. Don’t wash your dirty laundry out in public, that way there will be less nonsense. Don’t spit in someone else’s well: you might end up drinking water from it. Frequent feasts will wear out the half-hearted people. Treating is a treat, but bondage is not bondage. 38. Secret ascetic peasant Pelagia How much wondrous, heavenly love sometimes lurks in the heart of a peasant! But who would even think of suggesting a lesson for Christian edification here? I will tell you about one hard worker, Pelagia, who lived sixty years ago in the village of Shipilov, Kostroma district. This peasant woman lived in the same house with two daughters-in-law, whose husbands were away for most of the year to earn money. Their house was small and not rich; In addition to one cramped hut in which they were housed, in the yard there was also a so-called cowhouse, or something like a stable for letting in livestock. Pelagia first lived with the children in the same room; but then, for secret nightly feats of prayer and contemplation of God, she began to go to the barn, where she spent whole nights, and went to bed only before dawn. Finally, in order to hide her exploits from human eyes, she decided to stay forever in the stuffy hut, and only occasionally did her beloved daughter-in-law spend the night with her. She did not want anyone except this daughter-in-law to see her prayer. And while the latter was sitting in that hut and doing needlework, Pelagia went into the hallway and prayed. Her food was the coarsest; She even came up with a special food for herself, namely: she mixed rye flour thickly, and used this raw dough instead of bread, and even then very little, and she rarely took other food. During the day, as usual, she spun flax, and divided the money she earned into two parts: she gave one part to the church, and the other to the poor, moreover, she approached the poor man’s house quietly and put her alms on the window, opening it a little. One night, the worker, as usual, prayed in the hallway, and her daughter-in-law slept in the hut. Before the morning, the daughter-in-law woke up and saw that her mother-in-law was kneeling in a prayer position. After standing for several minutes in fear and embarrassment, she said to her: “Mother, mother!” But there was no answer: mother was already cold. Then another daughter-in-law came for homework. Seeing that their mother-in-law had died, they dressed the body of the deceased and laid it on the table, and on the third day they put it in a coffin and were about to take her to church, when suddenly her face came to life, she opened her eyes, threw back her hand and crossed herself. The family got scared and rushed to the stove corner. After a while, the revived woman said in a quiet voice: “Children! Don't be afraid, I'm alive"; and then she got up, sat down, and with the help of those around her, got out of the coffin. “Calm down, children,” she said, “were you afraid, did you consider me dead?” No, I am destined to live a little longer. God, in His goodness, desires the salvation of everyone and, guiding us to bliss through mysterious destinies, arranges everything so that both death itself and the return to life serve the benefit of many. What happened to her when they thought she was dead, she said almost nothing about it; only with tears she exhorted her children to live piously and avoid all sin, asserting that great bliss awaits the righteous in heaven and terrible torment of the wicked in hell. After that, she continued her toiling life for another six weeks, tenderly directing her mental gaze to the country of the heavenly fatherland, and finally moved to the heavenly shelters. 39. Selfless feat of a Russian woman, the wife of a railway foreman The magazine “Resurrection” published a story by a female doctor about the selfless feat of the wife of a railway foreman, named Nastasya, for which she received a gold medal. This is how Nastasya herself talked about it. – It was last summer, shortly after Ilya’s day. My husband had to go on work. I fed him lunch and, when he and the workers boarded a trolley (a carriage moving on rails) and left, I decided to go to the village to do my own business. I took the children with me, locked the house and went. The day was so clear, if only there was a cloud for you; It just hurt so much. I spent too much time in the village. I went to see my mother, and she’s so affectionate and talkative, and we’re also getting to know her; She didn’t let me go without tea, but we talked a little there and didn’t notice how time had passed. I started getting ready to go home and said goodbye. She went out onto the porch: lo and behold, there was a cloud, and it was so menacing and scary. Still, I went without timidity. Vasya fell asleep in my arms, and Tanya grabbed my dress and ran away after me, while she kept chatting and talking. Suddenly thunder strikes above us! The mother of cheese, the earth, groaned... Me and the child and Tanya - and so we all collapsed to the ground. And then it seemed to me as if all the trees had been knocked down to the roots - such a terrible crashing sound went through the forest. I came to my senses a little, and I saw that we were all lying in the water. Vasya shouted obscenities... Tanya and I stood up. The downpour was such that it was impossible to hide under a tree, and there was no need to take shelter - we were all wet to the bone. I thought then that it would be better to run home as soon as possible, to hide from trouble. We are going down like this, lo and behold, on this side of the embankment the water has spilled over the lowland and has already risen in other places, level with the embankment; I see that the stone pipe through which the water was supposed to flow was completely flooded. We began to go further to the left, where the embankment was higher, we ran to the embankment, climbed onto it, and looked: on the other side the water was flooding the lowland and was already approaching our barracks. We ran along the canvas; The closer to the crossing, the higher the water becomes on one side of the roadbed, and in other places it has even reached the sleepers, and I see that the embankment is being washed away. Then the embankment disappeared completely under water. I got off the embankment and ran to the house; He was already surrounded by water, so he had to walk straight through the water. We got there; I unlocked the door, took dry shirts out of the chest, changed the children’s clothes, and was about to change clothes myself - lo and behold, the water began to come out from under the floorboards below. I then rushed out of the chest, where the linen and dress lay, to choose and put it higher so that it wouldn’t get wet; but before she had time to choose everything, the water in the room rose ankle-deep. I sat the children on the windowsills. I see it's starting to get dark. The rain, I hear, has subsided. Let me, I think, quickly change clothes, pick up the guys, and get out of here as quickly as possible before night falls completely. Suddenly I heard a whistle in the distance and guessed that it was a passenger train: it always passed us at that hour. I remembered that the embankment was now washed away, opened the door and started shouting to the watchman, but no one answered me. I just thought that it was the train whistling in front of the excavation, that from us to this excavation, if straight, it would be three miles, and if along the line, it would be all seven, because the line turned towards us from the excavation with a large curve. And then it was as if someone pushed me. I ran into the room, grabbed a red lantern, lit it, moved the children onto the table, in the corner, under the icon - the table was higher than the window sills - and ordered my daughter: - Sit, Tanya, hold Vasya tightly and don’t drop him! Sit until I come. I came across a grip and I took it with me instead of a stick. I ran out into the street and flew along it. Water was already pouring through the canvas everywhere and reached almost to my knees, and in other places where the canvas was washed away, I dived up to my waist and just kept raising the lantern, afraid that it would be flooded with water. But in one place the canvas washed out so deeply that if I hadn’t thought of taking a grip, I probably would have drowned here myself. The water bubbled in the ravine, like a river in flood; I measured the depth - the whole grip was gone, and I couldn’t reach the bottom. Eh, I think, won’t God carry it through? I had only a short distance to reach the rise where the road should not be flooded. I felt the rails and sleepers under the water with a grip: I saw that they had not sank. I made the sign of the cross and began to cross the ravine along the sleepers. This is where my grip came in most handy. I got over safely and ran on. Now, it’s not far, I think... Suddenly a train appeared around the bend. At this point I dropped the grip and ran, without understanding anything, towards him, while I kept waving the lantern. I hear frequent whistles sounding; My heart immediately felt better, I paused and took a breath. Now, I see, the train has stopped. When I approached there, many passengers had already gotten off, surrounded me and began to question me, but then I remembered about the children and shouted in a voice that was not my own: - Ah, children, my children! They will be flooded with water! And she started to run back; but they held me back. Now the conductor and several passengers with lanterns went to the booth, and I was led into the carriage. I remember that all my courage disappeared somewhere, and my strength was gone; I sank down on the sofa, all broken, broken, as if sick, and began to cry like a small child. The ladies surrounded me, took off my wet clothes, wrapped me in something dry, and everyone persuaded me, calmed me down, and some even cried themselves. I don’t know how much time has passed, I look: the door opens, they are bringing my Vasya and Tanya. Immediately all the heaviness and grief fell from my heart. I grabbed the boy in my arms, and Tanya herself dug into me... Then the ladies completely caressed my children,” Nastasya finished the story, “they gave them so many sweets, money and various gifts while the train was moving back to the station... Nastasya’s simple, artless story makes a great impression. This woman, who did not know how to express what she felt and changed her mind at the moments when she abandoned her own children in danger and risked her life, obviously herself did not realize the full magnitude of the moral feat she had accomplished. These are the true heroes!.. 40. The heroic feat of the peasant woman Sofia Osetrova Not long ago, newspapers reported on the selfless feat of Sofia Osetrova, a peasant woman from the village of Peschany Brod. Walking near the river, Osetrova heard desperate cries for help and, running up to the river, saw that some boy, skating on the ice, had fallen into an ice hole and was drowning. The ice was very thin, since the river had recently been covered with it, and it was extremely dangerous for an adult to walk on it. Without thinking twice, Osetrova threw off her outer dress, despite the frost, and, breaking the ice with her feet, hurried to get to the drowning man. The sharp ice cut into the body of the selfless peasant woman, but she, not paying any attention to the blood flowing from the wounded places, as if feeling no pain, heroically strove for her goal and managed to grab the boy in time, who was already being carried away under the ice. Having climbed ashore with the boy, the peasant woman began to pump him out, and soon she managed to bring him to his senses; Then only she noticed her wounds and the blood flowing abundantly from them. Exhausted and numb from the cold, Osetrova somehow made it home, accompanied by praise and enthusiastic expressions of gratitude from the peasants who subsequently came to the scene. For her selfless act, Osetrova was presented with a reward by the local police authorities. The rescued boy, the son of the peasant A. Kondratenko, soon completely recovered. 41. Selflessness of a mother My mother, leaving Kazan for the last time, made my uncle Yevseich give his word that he would notify her if I became ill. He had long intended to fulfill his promise and decided to act without asking anyone: one of the literate uncles wrote him a letter in which, without any precaution and even unfairly, he informed that the young master was suffering from epilepsy and that he had been sent to the hospital. You can imagine what a thunderclap this letter struck my father and mother. The letter took quite a long time and arrived at a time of complete slush; the road was broken at every step and in every valley there was a jam, that is, snow saturated with water; it was almost impossible to travel. But nothing could stop my mother: she left that same day with her Parasha and her young husband Fyodor; She rode day and night on alternating unshod peasant horses, in a simple one-horse peasant sleigh. There were four sleighs: in three there was one person each, without any luggage, which all fit on four sleighs. Only in this way was there any possibility of moving forward step by step, and then taking advantage of the morning frosts, which this time lasted, fortunately, until mid-April. In ten days my mother dragged herself to the large village of Murzikha on the banks of the Kama; here there was already a large post road, more firmly established, and therefore it was more possible to travel along it; but from Murzikha it was necessary to move across the Kama to get to the village of Shuran, located, it seems, 80 miles from Kazan. Kama has not yet passed, but has puffed up and turned blue; the day before they carried mail through it in their hands; but it began to rain that night, and no one agreed to transport my mother and her companions to Murzikha; fearing every minute of delay, she herself walked from house to house in the village and begged good people to help her, told them her grief and offered everything she had as a reward. There were kind and brave people who understood a mother’s heart, who promised her that if the rain stopped at night and by the morning even a little bit of frost was frozen, then they would undertake to deliver her safely to the other side and would take what she would reward them for their efforts. My mother prayed until dawn, kneeling in the corner in front of the image of the hut where she spent the night. The mother's warm prayer was heard: the wind dispersed the clouds, and by morning the frost dried the road and covered the puddles with a thin ice. At dawn, six young men, fishermen by trade, who grew up on the Kama and were accustomed to dealing with it in all its forms, each with a pole or hook, tying a light load behind their backs, crossing themselves on a church cross, took the women by the arms, shod in men's boots, gave the pole to Fyodor, instructing him to drag the chuman, that is, a wide splint, bent upward in front and tied to rope, taken in case the lady got tired, they set off on the road, letting the most efficient of their comrades go ahead to feel the road. The road lay askew, and it was necessary to walk about three miles. Crossing a huge river at such a time is so scary that only an ordinary person can make it without losing courage and presence of mind. Fyodor and Parasha simply roared, saying goodbye to the white light and to all their relatives; in other places it was necessary to force them to move forward; but with every step my mother became more cheerful and even more cheerful. The escorts glanced at her and shook their heads affably. It was necessary to go around the ice holes, climb over the cracks on poles folded together; my mother did not want to sit on the chuman anywhere; and only when the road, having approached the opposite side, went near the very shore along a shallow place, when all the danger had passed, she felt weak. Now they laid a fur blanket on the chuman, put pillows on it, the mother lay down on it as if on a bed, and almost fainted; in this position she was dragged to the Yamsky courtyard in Shuran. My mother gave one hundred rubles to her guides, i.e. half of their cash, but honest people did not want to use it: they took a little blue for their brother (five rubles each in banknotes). Listening in amazement to my mother’s expressions of warm gratitude and blessing, they said goodbye: “God grant you a safe journey!” - and immediately went home, because there was no time to hesitate - the river passed the next day. 42. By mother’s prayer (true) – There are many, many inexplicable things in the world. There are miracles even in our unbelieving age! - said our host, a retired sailor, walking back and forth in the dining room. To confirm his words, he told us the following incident from his life. - I was a midshipman 54, a young, cheerful youth. Our voyage that time was very difficult and dangerous. The ocean made a gloomy noise... I remember that evening very well. Our commander was a very kind man, but stern and exacting in practice. We were terribly afraid of him... Everything around was calm. The sailor lit a lamp for us. Angry splashes of the ocean flew through the cabin windows. Suddenly we hear the captain’s hasty, firm steps and conclude from his gait that he is irritated by something. “Gentlemen,” he said, stopping at the door of the cabin, “who allowed himself to sneak into my cabin now?” Answer. We were silent in amazement, looking at each other in bewilderment. - Who? Who was there now? - he repeated menacingly, and, probably, reading the complete bewilderment on our faces, he quickly turned and went upstairs. His voice sounded menacing there. Before we knew it, we were ordered to report upstairs. The whole team, all our people, lined up at the top. -Who was in my cabin? Who allowed himself this cheeky joke? Who? – the captain asked menacingly. General silence and amazement were his answer. Then the captain told us that now, as soon as he lay down in his cabin, he half-forgotten heard someone’s words: keep to the southwest, in order to save human life. The travel speed must be at least 300 meters per minute. Hurry up before it's too late. We listened to the captain's story and were surprised. It was decided to go in the indicated direction. Early in the morning we were all, as usual, on our feet and crowded on the deck. The helmsman silently pointed out to the captain a black object visible in the distance. The captain called the boatswain and said something quietly to him. When the captain turned to us, his face was paler than usual... Half an hour later we saw with the naked eye that the black object was something like a raft, and on it were two human figures lying. It was a sailor and a child. The waves flooded the raft, a little more and it would have been too late. The captain, like the most tender mother, fussed over the child. Only two hours later the sailor came to his senses and cried with joy. The child was fast asleep, wrapped up and warm. “Lord, thank you,” exclaimed the sailor, a simple guy, “apparently, mother’s prayer reached God!” We all surrounded him, and he told us the sad story of a ship that crashed on underwater rocks and sank. There were a lot of people, but some managed to escape in the boat, the rest drowned. By some miracle he survived on the rest of the ship. The child was a stranger, but the child grabbed hold of him in a moment of danger and was saved with him. “Mother, apparently, prayed for me,” said the sailor, reverently crossing himself and looking at the sky, “her prayer saved me.” Apparently, she prayed fervently for me. I carry her letter with me in my pocket... Thanks to my dear. And he took out a letter written by a woman’s illiterate, weak hand. We re-read it all, and it made a strong impression on all of us. His last words, I remember now, were: “Thank you, son, for your memory and affection for not forgetting the old woman. God will not leave you. I pray for you day and night, son, and a mother’s prayer reaches God. Pray too, son, and be healthy and do not forget your old mother, who is praying for you. My heart is always with you, I feel all your sorrows and troubles and I pray for you. May the Lord bless you and save you and keep you for me.” The sailor apparently deeply loved his mother and constantly remembered her. The rescued child, a seven-year-old boy, fell in love with the captain, a childless man; he decided to keep it. That's the whole story, gentlemen. I told you the absolute truth. All my comrades, sailors, witnessed this incident. Marvelous are the ways of Providence! Great is the power of maternal prayer. There is a lot in the world that is mysterious, inexplicable, and incomprehensible to the weak human mind. 43. Khristina Danilovna Alchevskaya For primary female education in Kharkov, an institution has been set up that one can be proud of - a Sunday school. It arose at the initiative of Khristina Danilovna Alchevskaya, who has been working in the field of primary female education for about three decades with extraordinary love, energy and success. This school uses donated premises from the city, has a museum for visual education, has a capital of 12,000 rubles, and currently about fifty teachers work in it unselfishly and conscientiously. Thanks to this school, more than 3,000 girls and women have already learned to read and write. In 1900, under the editorship (i.e., leadership) of Kristina Danilovna Alchevskaya, three excellent books for self-education were published, the merits of which have no equal in all of Europe. These are “Books for Adults”, where information on all branches of knowledge is presented with an experienced hand. The Kharkov Sunday school received the attention of the late empress, who awarded Mrs. Alchevskaya with a gift - a brooch in the shape of a bee made of precious stones. The famous teacher Baron Korf and Mr. Miropolsky spoke about the Kharkov Sunday school with extraordinary praise, and the latter said the following about it: “There is no doubt that if such a school were abroad, it would enjoy general honor; it would be studied by foreigners and would serve as an object of general sympathy; but we approach the matter differently, and who knows, maybe there might not be a pedagogical bashi-bazouk 55 who will take pleasure in casting a shadow on the best of things.” Baron Korff says: “The Kharkov Sunday school serves as the best proof of the injustice of the opinion that a Russian woman is only capable of words and not deeds.” Translation from Beranger Kurochkin With friendship, with love in harmony. To those who live in this world 45. Russian writer A.N. Bakhmeteva The personality of the recently deceased Mrs. Bakhmeteva was instructive for the completeness of her inner spiritual content, due to which she was an excellent example of an integral person, with firmly developed, truly Russian, Orthodox spiritual and religious convictions. A worthy representative of the noble class, she represented a majestic image of a highly moral personality, whose conversations and all actions showed extraordinary gentleness and warmth of feeling, extraordinary sincerity, characteristic of an exceptional nature. She was keenly interested in all issues relating to the Orthodox faith and the Church, delved into the needs of public charity, contributed to the development of parish charity under the shadow of the holy church and was an active employee of the Staro-Pimenovsky parish trusteeship in Moscow. Possessing excellent literary abilities, she devoted her writing talent exclusively to the benefit of the Holy Orthodox Church, and the truly Christian mood of the deceased guided her in her literary works. She enriched church historical literature, which in general is not particularly rich in our country, with her works. She is the author of “Stories for Children about the Earthly Life of the Savior”, “Feats and Miracles of the Holy Apostles”, “Selected Lives of the Saints”. Particularly remarkable are her “Stories from the History of the Church” - universal and Russian, written for the Russian young generation in a simple, but elegant, fascinating form. These stories are distinguished by a truly churchly spirit and leave in the reader’s soul an edifying impression from the depiction of church-historical events and figures who have passed through almost two thousand years of the Church of God. Her books are easily digestible, bringing to the mind of the reader a firm conviction in the unshakability of the universal truth of Orthodoxy and igniting in the heart love and reverence for the great historical church figures. We can say that the books of her “Stories” are the best tombstone for her. In the village of Medvezhiy Ugol, the harvest is coming to an end. Peasant women race each other in a hurry to finish their work. One, younger and more agile than the others, finished her line earlier than everyone else, crossed herself and went to help her neighbor, who was a little behind her. The two of them soon put the squeeze on, and both moved on to the third, then, the three of them together, to the fourth, to the fifth. The last one, the sick woman who is the most behind everyone, is already going to get a whole lot of “help.” This good custom is carried out in Bear's Corner according to the behest of our great-grandfathers and grandfathers and is inviolably preserved by everyone. Under the Roman Emperor Valens, a follower of the heretic Arius, there were many Orthodox Christians in the city of Edessa in Mesopotamia. The emperor, a cruel enemy of the Orthodox, ordered all their churches to be locked and sealed. But the faithful children of the Church gathered outside the city on Sundays and performed their services there. The emperor, taught by heretics, ordered the death of all Orthodox Christians who would gather outside the city and perform divine services. The city prefect (chief) Modest secretly notified the Orthodox of the danger ahead, advising them not to hold any meetings. The next Sunday, to Modest's extreme surprise, the gathering of Orthodox Christians was as large as never before. The prefect received orders to immediately go there with an army to put to death the courageous confessors of the Orthodox faith. Walking through the city, he saw a poor woman who, holding her young son in her arms, hastily ran out of the house, leaving the doors unlocked, and hurriedly ran through the rows of soldiers. Modest ordered to stop her. -Where are you running so quickly? – the prefect asked her. “I’m running there,” the woman answered, “where the Orthodox gathered.” “Don’t you know that I have been sent to put to death everyone I find there?” “I know,” said the woman, “that’s why I’m in a hurry, so as not to miss the opportunity to suffer martyrdom.” – Why are you carrying your young son with you? “So that he too can be a participant in the same bliss,” answered the courageous Christian woman and ran forward with haste. Modest, amazed by such courage, immediately returned to the palace and convinced the emperor to cancel his cruel order. At first Lisa was frightened by the nanny's serious and stern face, but she soon got used to her and fell in love with her deeply. Agafya did not part with her. It was strange to see them together. It used to be that Agafya, all in black, with a dark scarf on her head, with a thin face, would sit upright and knit a stocking; Liza sits on a small armchair at her feet and is also working on some work or, raising her bright eyes importantly, listens to what Agafya is telling her; and Agafya does not tell her fairy tales: in a measured and even voice she tells the life of the Most Pure Virgin, the lives of hermits, saints of God, holy martyrs and martyrs; she tells Lisa how the saints lived in the deserts; how they were saved, they endured hunger and need; they were not afraid of the strong; Christ was confessed; how the birds of heaven brought them food and the animals obeyed them; how in those places where their blood fell, flowers grew. Agafya spoke so importantly and humbly, as if she herself felt that it was not for her to utter such lofty and holy words. Sometimes she woke Lisa up early at dawn, hastily dressed her and took her secretly to matins; Lisa followed her on tiptoe, barely breathing; the cold and half-light of the morning, the freshness and emptiness of the church, the cautious return to the house, to bed - all this shocked the girl. Agafya never condemned anyone and did not scold Lisa for pranks. When she was dissatisfied with something, she only remained silent, and Lisa understood this silence. From the magazine "Children's Holidays" I love old family icons! How many prayers they heard, how many tears they saw, passing from generation to generation; how many times have dying parents passed them on to their children with a final blessing, and often touching legends are attached to these living memories of their ancestors. I also have an icon in front of which I prayed as a child - the icon of John the Warrior. The saint of God stands with a copy in his hand, and his dark face is sharply separated from the gilded robe. From childhood, we were instilled with special respect for this image of the warrior of Christ and were told more than once on what occasion it was painted. Mr. Norov, one of the relatives of my grandfather, Alexander Borisovich Novikov, promised to build a church, and for many years he put aside part of his income for its construction. Norov’s numerous relatives looked at his vow as a common cause, and everyone donated their feasible contribution to the church. Finally, the required amount was replenished, and Norov was about to begin, with God’s help, a good deed. His money was kept in a locker in his wife's bedroom. No one crossed the threshold of this room except the owners of the house themselves and a trusted woman whose name was Anna. All the relatives were preparing for the ceremonial foundation of the church. The day was set when Norov, pale and upset, came to my grandfather. “I have a problem, Alexander Borisovich,” he said, entering, “the church money was stolen yesterday.” Grandfather clasped his hands. “And we know the thief,” Norov continued, “imagine: our Anna.” “And we couldn’t believe it, but the evidence was there.” After all, you already know that we all trusted Anna. I sent her yesterday morning to take the papers out of the locker, and with these papers I settled the accounts. In the evening I checked them again and wanted to put the account books in the drawer. I unlock it and see: the drawer where the money lay was pulled out a little; Lo and behold, the box is empty. My eyes just turned green. I’ve just started working on Anna – well, of course, I don’t know, he says. And who could, besides her? Judge for yourself. She claims that she forgot to lock the bedroom when she brought the papers in the morning. So how, I ask, was it locked when I came in the evening? After lunch, he said, I realized that the door wasn’t on the key, so I locked it. She swears, she swears, but no matter what you say, there is no one but her. “Who knows,” my grandfather remarked, “you never know what happens?” I am ready to vouch for Anna. Don’t offend her, don’t take it upon your soul. – Do you think it’s easy for me? You know how much we loved Anna. The poor wife is crying, but there is nothing to do: you won’t keep a thief with you. – What do you think we should do with Anna? “I’ll send her to the steppe estate.” - Hey, don’t sin! - repeated my grandfather. - But what does she say herself? - Spills and cries. He says he can’t point it at anyone, but not me. She wants to serve a prayer service to John the Warrior: they say, the saint of God will intercede for me. She asks everyone to pray for her. And I should pray more than anyone else, since I’m definitely sinning against her; maybe the Lord will reveal the truth through the intercession of His saint. Tomorrow morning I invited the priest. Won't you come? “Certainly,” said grandfather. “And now I’ll go around our people,” Norov continued, “after all, you all made contributions to this church, let’s pray together.” The next day a priest arrived and began serving a prayer service to John the Warrior. Suddenly, in the midst of the prayer service, the sound of heavy footsteps was heard, and the cook, making his way through the crowd, approached one of the guests and said to him in a low voice: - Father, Nil Andreevich, your man is dying, he asks you to come to him. - How does he die? Where is he? Nil Andreevich entered the kitchen. The patient lay pale and exhausted on the floor. Nil Andreevich bent over to him. “Father,” he said in a weak voice, “forgive me for Christ’s sake and untie my sinful soul: I stole the money.” Neil Andreevich looked at the cook and said almost in a whisper: “No,” Ivan began again, “I’m in memory; I stole money: the saint of God is punishing me. I'm dying. At least he could fulfill his Christian duty and obey Anna. He caught his breath with difficulty, but began to tell how sin had bedeviled him; but the master, making sure that he was really in memory, interrupted him with the words: - God will forgive you! Calm down, I'll call a priest to see you now. This was the story of the culprit. The day before, Nil Andreevich Novikov dined with the Norovs, and Ivan accompanied him, since at that time they traveled only in a carriage loaded with fours and with a footman, and for holiday visits (visits) two of them were required. At the usual hour people went to dinner, and Ivan followed them. Walking past the bedroom, which Anna had indeed forgotten to lock, he took it into his head to look into this room, which was perfectly decorated, according to the stories of the Norovsky servants. He admired the luxury that surrounded him for several minutes, and suddenly the evil one confused him. The idea came to Ivan to use someone else’s property. The bedroom was at the end of a long corridor, so that one could hear footsteps approaching in the distance and explain his presence there by a feeling of curiosity that really attracted him there. This idea came to his mind instantly. He rushed to the table and pulled out a drawer, in which he found nothing except the key. Ivan stuck it at random into the locker and turned it. The lock clicked, the thief's hand trembled and blood rushed to his head; but, without giving himself time to come to his senses, he pulled out the first drawer he came across and grabbed the wallet that was in it. He then put it in his pocket, locked the locker, replaced the key and ran out of the room. Nil Andreevich, having listened to the confession of his servant, returned to the house when the prayer service had already departed and everyone was kissing the icon. “Anna,” he exclaimed, entering with quick steps, “your prayer has been heard: the thief has been found.” Anna exclaimed and fell to her knees in front of the image. “The great saint interceded,” she said through sobs, “he interceded!” Rescued my little orphan head! A general commotion arose: some surrounded Nil Andreevich, others rushed to Anna, hugged and congratulated her. The owners of the house approached her, and Norov bowed to her and said: - Forgive me, for Christ's sake, I offended you. She asked that a thanksgiving prayer be served immediately, but Nil Andreevich announced that it was necessary to wait, because Ivan wanted to apologize to her and asked the priest to go for the Holy Gifts. But Ivan recovered. Having confessed his sin and received communion, he felt immediate relief. The master did not punish him for his offense, saying that the saint of God had already taken the punishment upon himself. My grandfather ordered the image of John the Warrior to be copied and blessed my mother with it. But in whose hands is the icon now, before which poor Anna prayed so fervently, I don’t know. Vespers has passed, the last exclamation of the clergy Silenced under the arches; people are worried. The prayer is over, and again the voice of the world He calls his children through the open door. Submissive to him, a thick crowd hurries - Those to go home for rest, and those to work at night, Some are devoutly baptized, some are giving to the poor; The people are leaving, God's church is emptying. Finally the priest passed quickly, And the sound of his steps on the stone floor He fell silent on the porch; and the silent watchman He put out the lamps and sat quietly in the corner. I'm here alone. Oh no! I can hear sobs! Here they cry, here they mourn, here people should be. Someone is still waiting here, melting in the chest of suffering, Solitude, solitude, silence. I'm looking for: who would it be? Whose grief, hiding, It came to pour out in private before the Creator. Here is a group... A woman, bursting into tears, With two little ones I bowed before the cross. Invisible behind the pillar, I see them freely. Poor thing thinks she's alone here And before the crucifix, leaning against the cold slab, Sobbing, absorbed in fervent prayer; As if he wants everything, all the oppression of heartache In it, pour out from your torn soul. Little ones - the eldest is nine years old, no more - The poor ones grew sad and cried with her... And as if overshadowing the mournful group, A crucifix was erected high above her; And extending his arms to those who weep, The Righteous One, crucified on the cross, bowed down. Forgetting about my own severe suffering, Covered with sores and drenched in blood, He bowed His pale face, wearing His crown of thorns, And, full of goodness, he looks with love. Accidentally illuminated at that moment by a ray of sunset, He seems to be telling them with a look of gentle eyes: “Come to Me, all of you who are oppressed by loss, Come to Me, those who mourn, I will give you peace!” According to “Sunday Reading” 1884 On the feast of the Presentation of the Lord, we hear the narration of the Evangelist: And Anna the prophetess, daughter (daughter) of Phanuel, from the tribe of Asher: she matured (that is, grew old) in the days of many, living with her husband seven years from her virginity. And that widow, who was eighty and four years old, no longer left the church, served with fasting and prayers day and night (Luke 2:36-37). Saint Anne is a crown for widows; wife by gender, prophetess by dignity. She was adorned with widowhood like a royal diadem; decrepit in body, she was strong in spirit; with the dilapidation of her face she was sculpted with wisdom; bowed by old age, she was cheerful with knowledge; withering from many years, she blossomed in knowledge of God, fasted, and did not become satiated; she prayed and did not wander; stayed in the church, and did not go around other people’s houses; sang psalms, and did not talk idle; prophesied, not fabled; she occupied herself with Divine objects, and did not worry about vain things... You heard what the Evangelist said about her: and she, i.e. Anna, confessed to the Lord and spoke about Him (i.e. Jesus Christ) to all who were looking for deliverance in Jerusalem (Luke 2:38). Do you see Anna's greatness? (From the teaching of St. Amphilochius of Iconium, see “Sunday Reading”, 1884, No. 6) 52. The widow and the prophet Elisha (Book of Kings, 4. ch. 4) One of the poor wives of the prophetic sons, Sobbing and groaning, she said to Elisha: “Oh, have pity on me, your slave, My lot is sad, and bitter, and harsh... Oh, have pity on me, the most unfortunate of widows! My husband, your faithful servant, died in suffering. During his life, you know, he feared the Lord And he revered Him sacredly. The lender is evil Now he has come to me and wants to take me with him My two sons and make them slaves... Oh, have pity, sir, and have mercy on us!” And the poor widow bowed down, mourning, Filled with love and trembling hope, And she began to kiss the edges of his clothes. And Elisha said: “What can I do for you? And how can I help you? Tell me darling What do you have in your house?” - “My husband, dying, He left only debts. Everything is sold - alas! – Lenders to a helpless widow; I have only one vessel of oil left.” And she fell again in prayer before Elisha. And the man of God answered his wife: “Go and ask in your neighborhood and relatives Larger dishes as possible And call both sons to you, Close the door of your hut tighter And boldly pour into empty vessels For the glory of the Lord, your transparent oil.” And she did according to the word of Elisha, And a light stream of wonderful oil A stream poured down, and the poor widow Glorified the greatness of the Divine in my soul... And again she came humbly to Elisha And he says to him: “The vessels are all full, What should I do now? And blissfully over her He opened his arms and answered his wife’s question He answered kindly: “Go and don’t be embarrassed, Sell the oil sent by the Creator, And pay your debts; eat in excess Until you raise your beloved sons.” Whoever has a drop of faith does not run out of oil, Just pour it and a miracle will happen... The storehouse of God's blessings is inexhaustible, And there is no end to the flow of the Lord's vessel. From brochures prot. I. Petropavlovsky “Historical. essay on charity" Fabiola, who came from the noble Fabi family, had the misfortune of marrying a depraved man who soon left her, after which she devoted herself exclusively to serving the sick. She used her rich treasures to build the first public hospital in Rome. Here people with crippled arms or legs, torn out or burst eyes, with stinking wounds or those afflicted with leprosy found refuge and care. Often Fabiola herself brought the sick into the house, washed and bandaged their wounds, brought them food and refreshed them with drink. According to Blessed Jerome, she cared for the sick with such maternal love that the poor wanted to be sick just to be in her care. Olympias, who came from a noble family, was rich and beautiful, distinguished by high mental gifts, after the death of her husband Neuridius, the prefect of Constantinople, 56, remaining a widow of only eighteen years, made a vow to God of eternal widowhood in order to devote her life to God and people. Emperor Theodosius, who wanted to see her again married to his relative Elpidius, decided to force her to do so by taking away management of the estate from her; but the Olympics sent him a letter of gratitude in response with the following content: “Oh, sir! You have shown towards your humble slave the wisdom and kindness not only of a master, but also of a trustee, since you laid the heavy burden of the wealth that I own on another and thus freed me from those cares and worries to which the need for the good management of my property forced me. I ask you for one thing that would increase my joy: order the division of my property between the Church and the poor. For a long time now I have felt within myself certain movements of vanity that usually accompanied my own distribution of alms to the poor...” After some time, Theodosius returned control of the property to her, and she knew only one use for it - helping the poor and the Church. The mother of the Monk Paisius, widowed with seven young children, wept bitterly over the death of her husband. One day an angel appears to her and says: “Why are you crying so inconsolably for your husband? Your children are no longer in your care. God, the Father of the orphans, cares for them more than you.” 56. A widow's precious inheritance One poor woman lay sick, and her death was not far off. This woman was a widow and spent the entire time of her widowhood in prayers and tears. Now the hour has come for her to be separated from the world. Her grown children stood around her bed and looked at their dying mother with eyes full of love. Gathering her last strength, she stood up once again and, looking at the children with her eyes shining with joy, said: - Children, I leave you a huge treasure. The children looked at their mother in surprise and said: - Dear mother, how can this be? Was there ever a widow poorer than you? “Yes, my children,” answered the mother, “but I still leave you a great treasure that will bring you a blessing: look!” With these words she handed them her Bible, which lay under her pillow, and said: - Know, children, that there is not a single leaf in this book that would not be watered with my tears; This is the treasure that I leave you: do everything that is written in it, and you will be happy. The children reverently accepted their mother's last gift. Her words lay deep in the hearts of the children. They tried to fulfill what the word of God requires of us, and they were pious, kind and happy people, and they repeated to everyone that the Bible is a treasure that has no price on earth. A father, mother and two children lived on a deserted island in the middle of the ocean, abandoned there by a storm. They ate roots and herbs, drank from a stream and lived in a cave. There were often thunderstorms on this deserted island. The children no longer remembered how they got there; they forgot the continent (land) on which they were born, and knew neither bread, nor milk, nor fruits. One day a boat with four blacks landed on the shore. Their parents were very happy with them, thinking that their liberation had finally arrived; but, unfortunately, the boat was so small that it could not lift the whole family, and the father decided to go first. The mother and children wept bitterly, seeing how he sat down in the fragile boat and how four people gathered to take him away. But he told the children: – Don’t cry, it’s better there; we will all connect soon. When the boat returned and took the mother away, the children began to cry even more, but the mother said: – Don’t cry, we will meet soon in a better country! Finally the boat returned for the two children. They were afraid of the black people and trembled when they saw themselves in the boundless sea. This fear continued throughout the journey and did not quite pass when they reached the shore. But what was their joy when their parents met them on the shore, holding out their hands to them. They took the children under the shade of palm trees, to a green meadow, and began to treat them with honey, milk and all sorts of fruits. - Oh, how reckless was our fear! - said the children, - instead of fear, we should have joy, seeing black people who have come to take us to a country much better than the wild island. - Dear children! - said the father. “There is great meaning in our transition from a deserted shore to fertile soil: we all face a transition from a worse world to a better one.” Our land is like an island; the country in which we now live is a weak semblance of Heaven, and the stormy transition from the island here is death. The boat is a stretcher on which four porters in black clothes will carry us. But do not be afraid when the time comes to leave the earth; For pious people who love the Lord and submit to His will, the transition is not scary; for them, death is a transition to a better life. Death is not scary; this is a welcome guest: only this way can one reach the Kingdom of Heaven. 58. Mothers should not grumble at God when they lose their children From the book “Lessons and Examples of Christian Love” by Rev. G.Dyachenko Saint Athanasia lived in her youth with her pious husband Andronik and had two children from him - a son and a daughter. The Lord was pleased to take them to Himself. Andronik and Athanasia were deeply upset by the death of their children. Afanasia, from great sadness, became completely exhausted and asked for death. “It’s best to die with them now,” she said. But, of course, you cannot resurrect the dead with grief, and they were buried by the patriarch and buried in the church of the martyr Julian, where their grandfathers lay. After their burial, Athanasia indulged in even greater sorrow. She stayed at the grave of her children and did not stop crying for them. The day passed after the burial, and night fell. And then at midnight the holy martyr Julian appears to Athanasius in the guise of a monk and says: - Why, wife, do you not give peace to those who are sleeping here? - Don't be angry with me, my lord. I had two children and today I buried both of them here. - Why are you crying about them? It would be better for you if you sat at home and cried about your sins. And there is no need for you to cry for your children - after all, they are in Heaven. Hearing this, Afanasia was touched in her heart and said: – If my children live in Heaven, then why am I crying for them? Then she wanted to continue the conversation with the man who had appeared, but he was no longer there. She turned to the church watchman and asked: - Where is the monk who talked to me? - After all, you see that the church doors are locked, and therefore no one can enter here: why do you say that some monk talked to you? Only then did Afanasia realize that it was a vision. She hurriedly went home, told her husband about what had appeared to her and about the conversation with him, and both were comforted. 59. Letter from St. Theophan the Recluse to his dying sister "Goodbye, sister! The Lord bless your outcome and your path after your outcome. After all, you won't die. The body will die, and you will move to another world, alive, remembering yourself and recognizing the whole world around you. Your father and mother, brothers and sisters will meet you there. Bow to them, and convey our greetings to them, and ask them to take care of us. Your children will surround you with their joyful greetings. You'll be better off there than here. So don’t be horrified when you see death approaching; for you it is the door to a better life. Your guardian angel will receive your soul and lead it along the paths that God commands. And have strong faith that the Lord and Savior blots out all the sins of repentant sinners. Your sins were also blotted out when you repented. Restore this faith in yourself as quickly as possible and remain with it inseparably. Grant, Lord, a peaceful outcome to you! A day or two, and we are behind you. See you soon. Therefore, do not worry about those who remain. Goodbye! The Lord is with you! How touching is this letter from the elder saint to his dying sister! What calmness, what strong faith, living confidence in the future blissful life it breathes! It’s like an old man escorting his sister on a short journey; This path is not to an unknown country: it leads to the Father’s house, where our relatives (close ones), who were called there by God before us, are waiting for us... The elder saint sends bows and greetings to all of them, asking for their prayerful care for himself. And he wishes his beloved sister a peaceful, good journey - a Christian, shameless death - and he himself promises not to delay: “A day or two, and we will follow you...” This is how a righteous Christian views death. This is how he sees off those dear to his heart to the afterlife. Can't you hear the victorious word in his words: Death! Where is your sting? Hell! Where is your victory? (1 Cor. 15:55). Let each of us look at death in the same way as St. Theophan, let him no longer fear it, but with love accept God’s determination about our death. 60. Mysterious dreams and visions confirming the existence of the afterlife From the book “From the Realm of the Mysterious” by Rev. G.Dyachenko Vladimir Engelhardt, before leaving Moscow for Arkhangelsk on business, on February 5, 1858, wrote a letter asking his mother, who lived in St. Petersburg, to bless him for his long journey. Having set off on the road, he stopped for the night at one station and then, lying on the sofa, he saw in front of him in reality, on February 13 at three o’clock in the morning, his mother and sister, who had died back in 1846. His mother blessed him with the sign of the cross. Struck by this vision, he lit a candle to see those who appeared more clearly, but those who appeared suddenly became invisible. Subsequently, he learned that that very morning his mother died in St. Petersburg. One highly educated Christian, says His Eminence Nikanor, Archbishop of Odessa, in his sermon, said the following about his brother officer. In one city, his brother and a friend were traveling home from an evening feast in the same carriage. He arrived and entered his apartment, and his friend went further to his house. The brother enters the office, accompanied by the orderly and the dog. In the office he sees: at his desk, with his back to them, his friend, with whom he just parted this very minute, is sitting. The orderly says: “I didn’t notice how they came in...” Even the dog showed signs that he was seeing a stranger. The brother looks into the face of the man sitting and sees the terrible, deathly face of his comrade. At that same moment, the comrade’s servant came running to report that the master had immediately returned home and died. One Caucasian man sat in his apartment at night and read a book. He looks up and sees fog opposite him in the corner. Waves his hand to clear the fog. But the bright figure of his bride, who at that moment was far away in Russia, stands out from the fog. Here he involuntarily falls to his knees in front of the shadow. The bride places a wreath on his head and disappears into the fog. For a long time he felt the circle on his head that the wreath touched. He immediately goes to his parents and talks about the vision. We wrote down the day and hour; It turned out that his fiancee died that day. One of the comrades of the famous Russian scientist and writer Lomonosov, Academician Shtelin, tells the following dream of the great Russian writer. – On his way back to Russia, when Lomonosov was sailing by sea, an incident happened to him that deeply affected him and which he could never forget. He woke up after a strange dream in which he very clearly saw his father, thrown out by a shipwreck and lying dead on an uninhabited, unknown island in the White Sea, which had no name, but was memorable to him from his youth, because he was once washed up there by a storm with his father. As soon as he arrived in St. Petersburg, he hurried to inquire about his father at the stock exchange from all the merchants arriving from Arkhangelsk and from the Kholmogory artel workers, and finally learned that his father had gone fishing last autumn and had not returned since then, and therefore they believed that a misfortune had happened to him. Lomonosov was as amazed by this news as before by his prophetic dream. He promised himself to go to his homeland, to find the body of his unfortunate father on the island, known to him in his youth and now presented to him in a dream with all the details and signs, and to bury him with honor. But since his occupation in St. Petersburg did not allow him to fulfill this intention, he and the merchants returning from St. Petersburg to his homeland sent a letter to his relatives there, instructed his brother to carry out this enterprise on his account, described in detail the situation of the island and convincingly asked that the local fishermen, having gone fishing, would come to him, find the body of his father on it and interred it. This was accomplished that same summer: a gang of Kholmogory fishermen landed on this wild island, found a dead body on the described island, buried it and placed a large stone on the grave. The news of the perfect fulfillment of his desire, which he received the following winter, calmed his ever-present secret sadness, the reason for which he only later told others. 61. Remember the Hereafter From the book “My Life in Christ” by Rev. John Sergiev of Kronstadt In order not to be servile to passions and the devil every day, you need to set yourself a goal, constantly keep it in mind and strive for it, conquering all obstacles in the name of the Lord. What is this goal? The Kingdom of Heaven, the Divine palace of glory, prepared for believers from the foundation of the world. But since the goal is achieved by known means, it is necessary to have these means at one’s disposal. What are these means? Faith, hope and love, especially love. Believe, hope, love, especially love, despite any obstacles, God most of all, and your neighbor as yourself. You do not have the strength to keep in your heart these priceless treasures of the human spirit, fall more often to the God of love, ask, seek, only: you will receive, you will find, it will be opened (Matthew 7: 7-8) - He who promised is faithful. Walking, sitting, lying down, talking, studying, at all times pray with your heart for the gift of faith and love. You have not yet asked properly, with fervor and constancy, and have not had the firm intention of acquiring (that is, acquiring) them. From now on say: behold, begin. 62. Two widows and a stranger (legend) From the book “Autumn” by Chistyakov In the middle of the wild, gloomy mountains, in a narrow valley overgrown with dense forest, lived two old widows. Their poor, dilapidated huts were so stuck together that they seemed to stand under the same roof; They often, without leaving their huts, talked to each other, only opening their tiny windows for this. But, despite such a cramped and close space, the neighbors did not interfere in each other’s household; each did what she wanted in her own hut and disposed of her goods in her own way. One of them was stingy and rarely helped anyone; the other, on the contrary, generous and compassionate, gave the last penny to the poor, although she herself often had the last piece of bread on the table. Not far from them, on the ledge of a heavy mountain, stood a monastery. The monks of this monastery spent time in fasting and prayer, did a lot of good in the surrounding area and, in addition, worked constantly in the fields, in the gardens or in the forest. They, together with compassionate people, helped poor women, so that, despite their extreme poverty, they lit the stoves when the winter cold set in, and had bread and a mug of milk every day. One day a strong storm raged; the trees in the forest moaned pitifully, bending to the ground; Thousands of streams flowed from the mountains and carried stones into the valley with noise and roar. Thunder rumbled continuously, and lightning illuminated the dark night with fiery zigzags. Streams of rain pounded on the wooden roofs of the poor shacks and on their small windows. The old women listened with fear to the howling of the storm. A stingy old lady hears that someone is knocking on her door. “Oh, my God, you didn’t even have time to have dinner,” she said with annoyance, putting away her unfinished dinner in the closet, and, hearing that the knocking continued, she went to unlock the dilapidated door. - Look, what a stormy, stormy night, will anyone but a tramp come out on such a night? - she grumbled. “So impatient, he knocks incessantly.” Just see if the door breaks down. With these words the door opened and a monk entered the room; a dark cloak enveloped him completely, so that his face could not be seen. The old woman, expecting to see some tramp, was frightened, confused at the sight of the monk, and with her courtesy and affection tried to make amends for her bad thoughts; she invited him to sit on a chair, tried almost forcibly to remove his cloak, saying in a plaintive voice: - Oh, my darling, how wet you are, all to the last thread, there is not a single dry spot on your cloak, you can even squeeze it all out!.. - Well, feel sorry for me, I’m not wet, it’s my outer coat that’s just damp from the rain! – the monk interrupted her regrets. “And I seem to have disturbed you: you didn’t even have time to have dinner.” “Ahti! - thought the widow, - how did he know that I had just had dinner! Well, there’s nothing to do, we need to give him a crust of bread.” “Yes,” she continued loudly, taking out a three-day-old crust, “this is what I ate, take it for yourself, eat it, maybe you came from afar and, what good, haven’t put anything in your mouth all day.” She was sorry to give even this stale crust to the poor, almost beggarly monk, who could not give her anything for the kindness shown to him. The monk guessed her bad thoughts and did not even take the stale bread; he threw off his cloak and sat down on it, waiting for the hostess to light the stove to dry his cloak and warm his numb hands. And at that time she looked him up and down through her round glasses. Then she noticed that this monk was not at all like her previous benefactors; She had never noticed such a stern and at the same time kind face on any monk from the mountain monastery; his shining black eyes seemed to her to look into her soul and see all her secret thoughts. She could hardly make out his handsome, noble features with the faint flicker of a tallow candle. Suddenly his face lit up with a bright light and became almost completely transparent, and the old woman thought he was looking at her with regret. “Why did he come? What does he want from me? - she thought, becoming more and more worried. -What a stormy night! - said the monk in a quiet voice. “What is it like now for those who have neither a hut to protect themselves from bad weather, nor a piece of bread to satisfy their hunger; what is it like for those poor people who have nowhere to lay their heads, and they, exhausted by a long walk and penetrated to the bones by the rain, wait somewhere in the forest under a pine tree for dawn and the end of the storm; Is there something wrong with them, the poor, now? - Yes, trouble! It’s a real misfortune to be in the forest now,” muttered the old woman, daring to look directly at the monk. - What would happen to poor people on such a stormy night if good people did not help them? - Yes, it’s bad for the one who now remains homeless in the forest! - he said, and his eyes sparkled so kindly, and his voice became even softer and more tender. – Do you know: such unfortunate people came to our monastery; help them, give them a blanket or even a scarf: they will pray to God for you, so that He will not leave you in misfortune. Try to help them too. – May God bless you for your good intention! – the old woman said passionately. – The Lord God always rewards and blesses generous people! - answered the monk. – Remember the Holy Scriptures, and you will find many examples there; Do you remember what it says: whoever takes pity on the poor, shelters him and treats him kindly, will be rewarded a hundredfold for all this! – What lucky people are those who can do good to their neighbors! - said the widow, sighing. - What kind of happiness is this? - Listen, my daughter, and you can be happy like others! I came to ask you to help the unfortunate who are ten times poorer than you; help them in any way you can. And he began to tell how two unfortunate people came to the monastery. Lightning struck their huts, destroyed and burned them to the ground; They did not have time to salvage anything decisively from their belongings. “Unfortunately,” the monk continued, “so many people have gathered in our monastery today that we cannot find a free corner where these poor people could spend the night, and they are now standing at the monastery fence, half-burnt and homeless.” Allow me, my daughter, to come to you and spend the night here; they would thank you forever for this, and by morning, perhaps, many of the wanderers will move on, and we will take them to our monastery. The widow almost became angry with frustration. - How? Let it go now! Have mercy, father! – she screamed almost in tears. - Why did you come to me? Isn't there anyone richer than me in the neighboring village? I am an old, poor widow and I myself don’t know how to manage the household... Let alone give it to others. - Well, that’s enough, as if you don’t have a blanket; give it to us, then we’ll return it to you,” the monk begged her. “After all, someone else recently brought you a thick woolen blanket as a gift; give it to me, it's probably lying around idle. “Who could have told him that I was given a new blanket?” But there was nothing to be done, it was necessary to get at least something for the unfortunate people. The stranger looked at her so sternly and angrily: she was afraid to disobey him, she didn’t know why. “Well, I won’t give him anything new,” she thought, going through all sorts of rags in her closet. “I can’t give away a good, warm blanket, so how can I cover my poor old bones?” Yes, I feel sorry for the old blanket: it’s not entirely bad. It could serve me for the rest of my life if I take care of it, but who knows what kind of people they are, these strangers, and whether it is true that they came to the monastery from afar. God knows, maybe it was some vagabonds who told the tale to the compassionate monks. Perhaps they have never even seen a blanket, and they usually sleep under a simple dirty mat.” And the more the widow thought, the more natural it seemed to her that she shouldn’t even give the old blanket to God knows who; these people may have a fever or some contagious disease, typhoid fever. And what a pity it will be to burn a good blanket later! That's what she thought, looking at the old blanket. “The blanket is inexpensive, but my late husband bought it for me in the second year after our wedding, and if anything had happened to it, I would never have forgiven myself for it. I’ll give these poor people my old scarf, it’s still pretty good, especially for them.” Talking to herself like this, she examined her scarf from all sides. “Still, he could serve me, he is quite strong and good for autumn days; Well, I’ll give it to the monk, maybe he’ll repay me for this with something.” “Here, take this scarf,” she said, approaching the monk, “although it is quite worn out, it can still warm a chilly body.” - So this is all you can give to the poor, you have nothing else? - the monk asked her. - Yes, of course, I have nothing else, Holy Father! “- she answered, “and, probably, without this handkerchief, the cold will cause rheumatism in both my hands and feet; I’m an old woman, and at my age it’s expensive to sleep without a warm scarf on a cold night. - And these poor people - they don’t have any scarf left, they don’t have a jacket like you’re wearing, which warms you so warmly. Everything burned down; they came to the monastery in what they fell asleep in. But, no matter what the monk said, nothing touched the heart of the stingy widow, and she, except for a scarf, gave him nothing. With sorrow, he left her and knocked on the neighbor’s door. This one greeted him very kindly; she immediately lit a fire, put a mug of milk on the table and took out everything she had left in the closet. He told her the same thing as he told the first old woman, but here they listened to him completely differently. “Oh, my God,” said the kind old woman, “how come you didn’t come to me earlier?” After all, they, the poor ones, can’t wait for you? She busily ran from the closet, bringing him an old blanket, then a pillow, giving him the last of her clothes. - Here, here, take it, maybe it will be useful to them; it’s still better, they’ll be warmer... Oh, yes, I almost forgot, by the way, take this canvas too, it’s still better to sleep than on the bare floor. So, bringing him this and that, she collected a decent bundle, tied it with a strong rope and almost pushed the monk out of the door, saying: - Go, go quickly to the poor people, because they won’t wait for you in the rain! Yes, if necessary, bring them both to me. The monk left, blessing her. After he left, the storm roared even stronger than before, thunderclaps sounded more and more often, and suddenly lightning struck the roofs of the poor forest shacks with a deafening crash. The roofs caught fire, and within a minute both huts were on fire. Both widows ran out of their huts in fear, not having time to take anything with them; in the forest they met the same monk. He took them both by the hands and led them to the monastery, like little children. There was a recess in the wall of the monastery fence, in which all the things of the compassionate widow were stored, and many new things were added to them. “Here you go, take all this, my good daughter,” the monk told her, “you rewarded yourself with your generosity!” - Why are you giving me all this? What will you give to the unfortunate people you spoke about? – the widow asked in surprise. – You yourself are these unfortunate people! - answered the monk and, turning to another widow, he continued to speak, taking out an old scarf from under his cloak: “I gladly give you what I managed to save from your property from the fire.” Although the scarf is very worn, it can still warm your chilled shoulders. The stingy old woman was completely at a loss, put on her scarf, muttering to herself: “Oh, if only I knew that he was talking about us ourselves...” The monk smiled. “Oh, I have no doubt that you would have acted differently,” he said, “this is a lesson for you, my daughter; henceforth you will think that you too can be in need! While he was speaking, lightning illuminated him from head to toe, so that it seemed as if he was standing in a bright radiance. In the bright rays he seemed menacing in his wonderful beauty, and when the old women came to their senses, the monk was no longer in front of them. Both old women entered the monastery, where the good monks sheltered and warmed them, and began asking about the monk there. But none of them went out anywhere at night, and no one saw any monk anywhere. Five-year-old Darenka was left an orphan: both her mother and father died within the same year. What was in the house was lived in even earlier. The orphan had to wander around other people's yards, where it was day and where it was night; where they will give you cast-offs for Christ’s sake, where they will feed you bread from hand to mouth, where you will be allowed to go to the bathhouse to wash. Living as an orphan means shedding tears. Darenka got a lot of beatings, but the village children had no way at all: as soon as they saw the orphan, they would immediately offend her, and if she complained, she would get worse. It was bitter for a rootless orphan to see how other children were warmed, dressed, shod, fed, and cared for by their father and mother. No matter how bitterly the orphan's life was, she grew and grew, and grew up to be so beautiful, such a worker - to everyone's surprise: with a flail or a sickle - she works for two. The men began calling Daria Nikitishna to each other: “Come to me!” yes, “Live with me.” - “We are your own people, Daryushka!” He only hears such speeches. Although Daria’s life isn’t bad now, she hasn’t forgotten her old beaters: “It’s good now, but if I run out of strength, I’ll end up homeless in my old age.” And she decided to at least marry a beggar, just to be a housewife herself. And Daria got married. Daria lived with her husband for a year and a half, never heard an unkind word from him, never saw him look askance. The recruits came up and accepted him as a soldier. Daria did not remember herself saying goodbye to her falcon. Three weeks had not passed, a letter arrived from afar: the falcon did not reach his regiment, he fell ill on the road and gave his soul to God. Daria cried, pushed, and went into town. There she hired a rich master as a scullery maid to help the cook. After living with the cook for six years, Nikitishna took a closer look at the matter. In the meantime, the cook began to drink, cooked the food worse and worse, and on the eve of the master’s name day he ran away from the yard. The master was left without a cook: guests had been named for his name day, but there was no one to cook dinner. Nikitishna helped out the master: she cooked such a dinner - to everyone’s surprise. From that time on, Nikitishna began to work as a cook for a large salary. And she lived like this for almost thirty years. And the craftswoman had money to save: when she began to lose her strength, she had eight hundred rubles in money. “Well,” Nikitishna thinks, “it will be like living with strangers, we need to get our own house together.” Although she had nothing to remember her homeland with kindness, she was still drawn to her native land. Nikitishna came to her homeland, set up a house on the edge of the village, set up a household, found her second cousin somewhere, took her instead of her daughter, gave her water, fed her, married her off, took her son-in-law into the house and lives for herself - she can’t stop looking at her little grandchildren. Although Nikitishna does not need anything, she always willingly and even joyfully goes to rich merchants and village captains to build tables that are needed: birthday or wedding tables, funeral or memorial tables, or in case of the arrival of important guests. And everywhere she is the right person, a welcome guest. From the collection “Morning Dawn” From the book “In Town and Country” Marfa Ivanovna Bliznetsova, better known in the city as the captain's wife, lived on Mironositskaya Street. Her small house, with three windows, looked out cheerfully and welcomingly between other houses, more and more gloomy, old... In the tiny garden, despite the late autumn, gillyflowers and mignonettes were still blooming; here and there yellow caps of sunflowers peeked out from the gooseberry and currant bushes... It was a cold, rainy morning. The dreary autumn sun, peeking out from behind a cloud, hid again. Marfa Ivanovna had just returned from the cathedral, from late mass, and sat down to drink tea. In a small, but very neat, clean room, a samovar sparkling like gold was hissing merrily on the table. A porcelain lamp was burning in the front corner in front of the icon case. It was cold, damp, and dirty outside; The grayish-leaden sky looked gloomy and sad; but here, in this room, it was so clean, warm, cozy. The light in the lamp burned brightly and cheerfully, illuminating the gilded vestments of the icons; The fire in the stove burned brightly and flared up, spreading life-giving warmth all around; everywhere there was cleanliness and order; Something welcoming and familiar wafted from everywhere... Quite tired and chilled, Marfa Ivanovna started on her fourth cup, but suddenly remembered something. - Ulyana! Ulyanushka! - he shouted. “Now, lady,” a voice was heard behind the wall, and a healthy woman of about forty-five, in a sundress, with her sleeves rolled up, entered the room. – Haven’t you thought it off yet, Ulyanushka? – asked Marfa Ivanovna. - Yes, soon, lady. The cabbage soup has been boiling for a long time; I’ll be planting the pie now too... And there’s some old man with no legs asking you. Must be a beggar. So he goes straight into the kitchen, and with the dog at that. Where are you going? - I say. “I need to see the lady,” he says. She told me to come in. - Oh, yes, it’s that one, apparently. Call him, Ulyanushka! Call him, let him come in. - How? Here? To the upper room? – Ulyanushka was amazed. - What are you talking about, lady! After all, it is dirty, so wet, it will pollute the entire floor. - Shall we wash it? When should you wash it? Is it time now? I can't tear myself apart. - Okay, okay, go... “I still wouldn’t have stolen anything there in the kitchen,” Ulyana grumbled as she left, “there are a lot of them hanging around here, wretched people.” To the upper room - you go. It would be nice to stand in the entryway. The sound of wood was heard behind the wall. The door opened and an old beggar entered the room. His shabby caftan, covered with countless patches, was soaked to the skin; Almost streams flowed from his disheveled gray beard. Trezorka, as wet and dirty as his owner, also slipped into the room. The old man crossed himself at the image, timidly and in surprise looked around the room and stopped on the threshold, obviously not daring to go further. - Come in, grandpa, come in! – Marfa Ivanovna addressed him affectionately. - Sit down, relax... - Save you, Lord, and have mercy, mother! – the old man spoke and crossed himself. - Reward you, the Queen of Heaven, for your kindness. There’s no reason for me to go, to go here, my dear: look, there is purity here, such grace, as if in paradise. I was wet and covered in mud. It would be better in the kitchen... - Well, here we go again! What is there - sit down. What is your name, grandfather? - Peter, mother, his name is Peter. The old man hobbled to the chair that Marfa Ivanovna pointed out to him, leaving whole puddles of water on the floor, and timidly sat down. “Here’s some tea, Grandpa Peter, have a drink.” It's good in the cold. Here are the cream, pretzels... - Save you, Lord, and have mercy! - What kind of punishment is this! – Ulyana suddenly screamed, bursting into the room with a poker. - After all, the little dog ran in here! Oh, you vile one! - and she rushed at Trezorka, who was lying down in front of the stove. - Get out, you bastard, get out! Trezorka threw himself under the sofa with a squeal, but Ulyana immediately pulled him out by the tail and did not spare either the poker or her hands: blows rained down like a hail. Terrible torment suddenly distorted the old beggar's face. The glass trembled in his emaciated hand. - Where is this dog from? Whose? - asked Marfa Ivanovna. “Mine, nurse,” the old man almost moaned. - Forgive me, for Christ's sake. I didn’t want to leave it outside: it was cold, it was raining. She got dirty here and brought water. Yes, me too... - Leave it alone, Ulyana! - Marfa Ivanovna shouted. - There is no pity in you. Well, why are you beating the little dog? Come here, honey, come here! – she beckoned to Trezorka. He timidly approached her and, having received a pretzel, waved his tail as a sign of gratitude. - Do you love a dog? - Marfa Ivanovna asked the old man. - How can you not love, mother, a smart little dog, attached... Together we suffer through grief, together we go hungry and get cold. I picked her up as a puppy, so tiny, and fed her. So he has been following me ever since, never leaving a single step behind. Where I go, she goes too. We were even together in the war,” the old man grinned. - How is this possible? – Marfa Ivanovna was surprised. - Yes, that’s it, mother. In fact, I picked it up during the hike. We walked this time through one village. Well, I see a puppy floundering in the pond, squealing. I felt sorry, I pulled it out, and hid it in my bosom under my overcoat. At first I kept thinking that he wouldn’t grow up, he would die, because he was still blind, a sucker. However, nothing, I fed him. Sometimes you would sit down to eat porridge and give it to him; You bite the cracker, and the cracker too. The soldiers laughed: look, they say, what a child God sent! However, nothing, they didn’t beat me. Well, Trezorka grew up, became so smart and understanding. We taught him different things there. “He’s my scientist, mother,” the old man remarked, not without pride. “And he wears a diarrhea, and jumps over a stick, and is a master of walking on his hind legs.” Wherever the regiment would go, it would run after the convoy. Once he was almost killed: a bullet hit him. - Why don’t you drink tea, grandfather? - Marfa Ivanovna interrupted him. - Thank you, dear, God reward you, I am very pleased. “Drink, drink, my dear,” and Marfa Ivanovna handed him a new glass. - Yes, take some pretzels, what are you doing? “Thank you, thank you, nurse... So, the bullet hit,” the old man continued. “I thought Trezorka would die completely.” There was no time to look after him: he had to go further, and he couldn’t take him with him either. He left him on the road... I cried, mother, I’m ashamed to say, I cried bitterly; it looks at me pitifully, moans, licks my hands. He wants to get up, but cannot run after us. Passion, mother, it was a pity: the little dog is smart. However, there was nothing to do, so I left it. We're going, we're going, we moved away about a hundred and fifty versts and became a camp. One day I was lying in a tent, and suddenly I heard a squeal... Lord, I think, is it Trezorka? I came out and saw that he was there. He jumped on his chest, squealed, barked. You've been resting for a while, mother! - concluded the old man. “Since then we’ve been living with him, never parting.” - Eat, grandpa, eat! - Marfa Ivanovna said affectionately, giving the old man a huge piece of fish pie. - It'll get cold. - God reward you, mother! “The old man wiped away a tear that had rolled out of his eyes with his fist. The samovar had long since been put away, and now on the table, covered with a clean damask tablecloth, stood a rosy pie; a bowl of cabbage soup was immediately smoking. The sun, peeking out from behind a cloud, made its way through the lowered muslin curtain of the window and illuminated the cheerful picture. It was fun to look at this good-natured, busy old woman, so cordially, with all her heart, treating a ragged, dirty beggar. Even the wrinkles on his forehead seemed to have smoothed out. It had been a long time since the old man had eaten with such appetite; Yes, and of course! In all his long life he had never had such a dinner. Of course, there is nothing to talk about Trezorka. Lying down under the table, he became completely absorbed in eating the huge meat bone and was, of course, also extremely pleased. “Yes, Lord, save and have mercy on everyone from such a life,” Marfa Ivanovna said thoughtfully. “An old, sick man, he needs peace, a good piece of bread, but here you come, cold and hungry.” - What to do, mother! - the old man sighed, - everything is God’s will. - That’s right, grandfather, but still... “Thank you, nurse,” he said, getting up from the table and crossing himself at the icon, “thanks for the bread, for the salt.” God reward you! And she fed me to my fullest, I’ve never eaten so much in my life, and neither did Trezorka. Well, get up, thank the hostess, and it’s time to go home. I've been too long too long, mother, forgive me for Christ's sake! - Wait, grandpa, wait! Let's talk! - It’s about time, dear! And you also need to be given peace. You guessed it, you want to rest after lunch. - Nothing, wait, sit down. “You see, grandfather,” Marfa Ivanovna began. “I told you just now that I don’t have any capital.” The husband, the deceased (the Kingdom of Heaven to him!) served faithfully and truly for thirty-five years, worked, saved. Well, I left this house and my pension. And thank the Lord: I don’t need anything else. I live, I don’t need; well-fed, dressed, warm. - Grace, mother, grace. It's like living in paradise. Anyone would do the same. - That's exactly what it is. Well, I think, you know... This is what I think, grandfather: my house is small, but there are only three rooms in it, and the kitchen is spacious, that means. We cook food for two, but sometimes everything is left over. Well, I think: what should I do to shelter a person and feed him? - So tomorrow, you know, take it and move in with me. - To you, mother? How can this be? - Yes, that’s it. Take it and move on. Why do you need to live in the cold and in hunger? I have a place on my stove, lie there from morning to night, steam your bones. There is also a plate of cabbage soup. “My dear, nurse,” the old man cried, “the Queen of Heaven reward you for your kindness.” But I can’t, my mother, I can’t: I’ll embarrass you. I am a poor person, sick. I can't do anything. Why do you give me bread for free? – That’s enough, grandfather! What is there! There will be, I say, I have enough... Move over tomorrow with Trezorka. My kitchen is bright and clean; It’s warm in winter, like in a bathhouse. But don’t pay much attention to Ulyana; She's not an evil woman, she just likes to grumble. So tomorrow, be blessed, and move on. – You are my dear!.. Benefactor!.. - Get up, grandpa, get up. It is a sin to bow to a person. Bow down to God. - Mother, Queen of Heaven! - the old man crossed himself, and tears flowed in three streams down his wrinkled, emaciated cheeks. - Intercessor and Patroness! Reward her, send her health and happiness! “So, brother Trezorka,” he said quite cheerfully, smiling through his tears, “you and I have lived to see the red day.” We were hungry a lot, we were cold, we were wet in the rain, under the snow - well, now the Lord has sent us a bright holiday. Thank the lady, kiss her hand. Trezorka squealed and jumped. Touched, Marfa Ivanovna turned away and wiped away the tears that were rolling from her eyes. Again the sun, hidden behind the clouds, peeked out, as if it too shared the common joy. - Look, he left a legacy, you gray-haired bastard! - Ulyanushka grumbled, seeing off the old beggar. - God sent guests!.. What do you want here - shoot! - she kicked Trezorka, who stuck his curious nose into some pot. - Oh, I wish you were empty. – And Ulyana angrily slammed the door. But the old man did not even hear her scolding. According to the magazine “Soulful Reading” About seventy years ago, a peasant family lived in the village of Yuryevskoye-Povolzhsky, Tver district. It consisted of a widow, an elderly woman, Anna Galaktionova, her son Yegor, his wife Stepanida and little daughter Yegor. When this old woman was still young and her husband, Vasily Isaev, was alive, they, not having children of their own at the beginning of their married life, took the orphan Luka as their foster child; raised and raised him, and married him to a simple and kind, unrequited woman, Marya Levonova. Luke soon died, leaving behind three orphans: two girls and a boy. Meanwhile, Anna Galaktionovna, after several years of childless married life, herself gave birth to a son, Yegor, but soon after the birth she buried her husband. The two widows lived peacefully at first. Marya Levonova was a working woman, hardworking, simple-hearted, silent and submissive; her children were unrequited before Anna. But Anna soon began to manifest a special, preferential, unreasonable love for her Yegorushka. Anna used to send her adopted children to burn coals, and mow, and thresh, and do all kinds of work; and Egorushka is somewhere near the house with his mother. Stepchild - go and chop wood, bring water, and give food to the cows; the girl goes here and there, do this, do that, but Yegorushka doesn’t want to know anything - Yegorushka’s mother will bake a flat cake on purpose, and pour milk, and give porridge; and for the adopted children cabbage soup and stale bread. The foster children and prayers did not know well: where and when to study! We got up a little - now to this, to another, to a third job; and Yegorushka was taught to read and write; Yegorushka read the Book of Hours and the Psalter; Yegorushka sang in the choir in the church. Yegorushka is clean, white, always combed, always washed, always tidy; and the adopted children - how it will happen. Marya Levonova endured, cried and prayed to God, and worked tirelessly with her children. “Well, what can we do: let’s be patient, after all, she loved us,” she said about the first years of her life in Anna’s house. Finally, Marya's patience was exhausted. Seeing the daily oppression of her children from Anna, hearing her scolding and grumbling, she decided to retreat from sin with her children into her hut, and live until the world gives her children land - albeit in the name of Christ, but with her honest labor. Anna was left alone with Yegorushka. Yegorushka began to grow up. Realizing that his mother loved and spoiled him excessively, he began to be willful and capricious: I want this; Give me this! The mother fulfilled her son's whims. He didn’t like to work, but his mother tried to work for three. This was to Egor’s advantage. He became worse and worse morally. Good people, especially the parish priest, told Anna to stop spoiling her son, to admonish him and stop him, that this would be harmful to him and to her grief. Where!.. The mother didn’t want to hear anything. “Yes, he is so meek, so kind,” she said, “and so obedient!” It seems that there is no one better in the world than him. Good people shook their heads and walked away from her. The priest admonished and instructed Yegor himself; but how can you reason with a person who has been spoiled and spoiled since infancy? The time has come to marry Yegor. His mother chose Stepanida Petrovna as his wife from a nearby village - a smart and kind woman - and hoped that her son would marry and change. If a tree has grown and become stronger, it can be broken rather than straightened, and so it is here. The mother herself finally saw his problems, but it was too late. - What are you doing, father? Come to your senses. Christ is with you; You are doing this wrong, and this is wrong. At least he was afraid of God and ashamed of people; “You’re already married,” she would start telling Yegor. Yegor didn’t want to hear anything, he did everything his own way. The mother will begin to speak again: “Look, child, this is how things go in good people; what about you? Yegor not only does not listen to his mother, but also begins to quarrel with her. “Go away, I’m tired of it,” he will say. “Well, she started whining, old lady,” Yegor will say and slam the door. It was bitter for the mother, but she endured. Yegor began to scold her more and more often. The mother began to cry; began to tell people about her grief; She began to ask the priest to help her in trouble. “After all, he doesn’t drink much,” she said, “so, God knows, he’s very willful.” The priest made suggestions, but all this only irritated Yegor more. One day - it was during the prayer before Great Lent - Yegor strongly scolded his mother for no reason. “Come on, Yegor, come to your senses,” his wife said, stopping him. - What are you doing? After all, she is your mother. - Get out! It's none of your business; I'll kill you too! Yegor walked like a lion. The wife fell behind. Yegor did not know how to hurt his mother more and more painfully, he even hit her. The mother went to the stove in tears and lay there all day crying. It's time to have dinner and eat a fast. This evening, according to Christian custom, the peasants go to say goodbye in the village to their relatives, to the priest, to their friends. Yegor himself did not go anywhere, and no one showed up to him: everyone was afraid to enter their house because they heard noise and screaming. When they began to sit down to dinner, the wife said to Yegor: - It’s enough to fight; go and call your mother to start talking, you infidel; Yes, say goodbye to her; Now they say goodbye to strangers too. “Let him die of hunger there on the stove,” Yegor answered in anger and sat down at the table. The mother felt bitter, bitter: her heart could not bear it. “God be with you, dear son,” she said to him through tears. “By your grace, I didn’t put a piece of bread in my mouth today.” Eat one meal alone. God grant that you have to break your fast the way I am now breaking my fast with burning tears. She looked at the image and crossed herself. Lent has arrived. The mother’s heart forgot the quarrel and forgave her son, but Yegor’s soul was heavy. He thought about fasting; but somehow I didn’t think of it: “I’ll speak on Passion Day, God willing.” Holy Week has come, and Yegor did not get around to telling everything. His wife and mother received the Holy Mysteries, and Yegor kept thinking and thinking. Holy Saturday came - Yegor somehow didn’t make it to church on that day. About three o'clock in the afternoon the wife heated the bathhouse. According to village custom, Yegor, along with his wife and daughter, who was no more than six years old, went to wash. When they were already washing, suddenly the wife heard something crackle in the dressing room; another minute - the crackling sound gets louder and louder; she says to her husband: “Egor, look.” Yegor opens the door from the bathhouse and sees that the dressing room is all on fire. The fire, the straw, the firewood - everything was burning: the flames spread quickly. In fright, Yegor rushed naked out of the bathhouse through the burning dressing room. This was the only way, because the window, according to an unreasonable custom, is made extremely small in village baths. One minute Yegor was running in the dressing room; but the fire engulfed him from all sides. However, he ran out of the fire and ran naked and screaming into the village to call the people to put out the fire and save his wife and daughter. His burnt skin was bursting and hanging on him in rags. The people, indeed, immediately saw the fire and rushed to put it out. A quarter of an hour later the fire was doused: in the spring there was a lot of water near the bathhouse, and there was also plenty of snow. The dressing room, built, or, more correctly, attached somehow to the bathhouse and consisting of several fences placed upright, was quickly pulled apart. The roof of the bathhouse had just begun to rise and was soon pulled down. They opened the door to the bathhouse; there, neither alive nor dead, sat huddled in the corner, Yegorov’s wife and young daughter. They were extremely scared, but unharmed. The Lord saved them from visible death, and, moreover, from the most terrible death. When Yegor, in fear, threw himself into the flames to run out of the bathhouse, his wife, not remembering how or why, managed to close the door behind him and remained, by the will of God, in the bathhouse with her daughter. Before the flames had time to reach them, the fire was doused. Meanwhile, Yegor, naked, completely burned, ran home to his mother. “Mother, forgive me, the accursed one,” were his first words. - The Lord punished me for you. There was nowhere to apply for medical benefits, and it was too late. Antonov's fire quickly began to cover all the burned parts of his body; they called the priest. Yegor confessed with such self-condemnation and contrition that such repentance is rarely seen. He suffered the whole night and all the next bright day; He kept moaning and begging his mother for forgiveness. By the evening of Bright Day he was dead. During all this time, Yegor did not have a drop in his mouth. And he did not break his fast in a Christian way, as his offended mother had predicted. The death made a terrible impression on the entire parish. The poor mother stood at the coffin as if killed. The body was buried on Holy Tuesday. The joyful words of the church hymns: “Christ is risen from the dead, trampling down death by death and giving life to those in the tombs” - seemed not to touch her ears and heart. Yegor's wife and daughter wept at the coffin. Without any sermon, this coffin was the best preacher for all the residents of the village and the whole parish. The Lord clearly spoke to everyone: “Look what a terrible punishment awaits both parents for the bad upbringing of their children, and children for disrespect for their parents.” Many other lessons could be learned from this event. Soon after the funeral, Egorov's wife moved to live with her father and mother; and Anna had to bow to Marya Leonova and her children so that they would not leave her, an orphan. It is unknown why the dressing room caught fire; it was probably planted earlier, or at the entrance to the bathhouse a firebrand was taken out and thrown somewhere near the dressing room, as is very often the case in villages; the wind blew this firebrand; and nearby there is straw, brushwood, fire; it’s like gunpowder: one minute and there’s a fire. “I witnessed this terrible, soul-shattering event,” says the author of this story. It still lives in the memory of the Yuryev peasants as the formidable word of the Lord Himself. Our grandmother could not see anyone’s suffering, and all she had to do was hit an animal or crush an insect in her presence to fall out of favor for a long time. Once my sister, a girl of about six years old, bought herself a siskin in a cage. The siskin seemed very cheerful; he chirped and jumped. We all: brothers, sisters, and I rejoiced at him and admired him. Grandma came to us. The sister, of course, immediately ran to her with her siskin and was about to take him out of the cage when the grandmother stopped her. She put her hand on her head and, bending down towards her, asked tenderly: – You bought the bird in order to release it into the wild, of course? - For what? – the sister asked with surprise and even fear, looking up at her. “Sorry, girl,” said the grandmother in a sad voice, “I thought that you were kind and so great that you understand how bad, how sinful it is to torment such a tiny creature of God.” - Who is tormenting him? – my sister asked offendedly. - Nobody touches him. He has everything: food, drink, and look what a cell, a miracle... The sister raised the cage to the grandmother's face. “Yes, he has everything except what he needs,” said the grandmother, as if reproachfully. She didn’t add a word, but we could clearly see that she was unhappy with us. Before lunch, grandmother sat with mother, and at lunch she talked to us as if nothing had happened. After lunch, seeing us at the window near the cage, she came up to us and began to admire the siskin. “Poor little bird,” she said, “did you think a few days ago, when you were flying free, that you would end your life in such captivity?” And your children, is their father feeding them or have they all already died of hunger? And how they waited for you, how they stuck their heads out of the nest, how they opened their big mouths and screamed and screamed! How hungry they were and how cold it was at night! But you are how many times larger than a bird, and what would you do if someone took your mother away from you? Grandma left. We were silent. The bird no longer seemed so funny to us... Half an hour later the unlocked cage stood on the open window. The siskin, jumping, approached the open door and, as if sensing freedom, perked up with his whole body, looked around in all directions, made two or three jumps over the threshold and, as if not believing his luck, stopped, looked back again and, jumping, went out onto the slope of the windowsill, sat down, chirped loudly, joyfully, fluttered up and, continuing to chirp, flew away. “May the Lord God please you in the same way, dear girl,” said the grandmother, who saw the whole scene. She walked up to her sister and kissed her deeply on the head and forehead. The grandmother herself considered it her duty to release the birds. On the Feast of the Annunciation, she not only bought full cages of birds, but when she had no money, she used all her eloquence to convince the seller of the illegality of his trade. Some responded to her with rudeness, while others, after thinking, opened the cages and, watching how the little birds pushed and crowded each other at the door, said: “They’re like people, they lost their minds with joy.” 68. Sayings of the word of God about married life Husbands, love your wives, just as Christ loved the Church and gave Himself for her (Eph. 5:25). Wives, submit to your own husbands, as is fitting in the Lord (Col. 3:18). Wives, submit to your husbands as to the Lord, because the husband is the head of the wife, just as Christ is the Head of the Church - and He is the Savior of the body (Eph. 5:22-23). Husbands, love your wives and do not be harsh with them ( Col. 3:19 ). Likewise, you, husbands, treat your wives wisely, as with the weakest vessel, showing them honor, as joint heirs of the grace of life, so that your prayers will not be hindered (1 Peter 3:7). 69. Mother’s prayer takes out from the bottom of the sea (true incident) About eight years ago I lived in Moscow, on one of its distant outskirts, located on the banks of the river. It was one of the first days of April, when, as usual, the Moscow River, quiet and low-water the rest of the year, this month, with noise and roar, raises its fast waters high in the granite banks in the center of the capital and spills widely in the low places of the city, crushing and carrying away everything that gets in its way... The day was approaching evening, and since the morning was Sunday, the first after Easter, the first three bells for the all-night vigil were already ringing in all the churches. My late mother, who taught us from childhood to visit the church of God, and this time, leaving home somewhere, asked me not to go to the river (where I was going with my comrades to “watch the water”), but, as always, advised me better to go to church and defend the Divine service. I gave her my word to fulfill her wish, and we parted. Always obedient and obedient to all my mother’s advice, this time, being left alone and getting together again with my comrades, I soon forgot my promise to her and went to the river. The river raged with all its might... Its spill was one of those that very rarely happens in Moscow, and the old-timers said that they would not remember such water from the fifties. On both banks of the river stood countless crowds of people and looked at the fast-moving waters, occasionally carrying either a lonely boat torn off somewhere or belated pieces of ice. Many brave souls, despite the depth of the river and the speed of the current, floated between the shore and the barges on rafts poorly made from various old items. Incited by their antics and not content with the spectacle from the shore, we approached the river and, having found an abandoned, thin, half-submerged punt, without thinking twice we climbed onto it to move onto the barges. And since it was no longer possible to sit in it, we sat standing at opposite ends. A pole that came to hand replaced our oar, and we, not paying attention to the warnings of prudent people about the danger, set sail from the shore. As we moved closer to the goal, our boat became increasingly filled with water, and one careless movement was enough to completely sink. My comrade, leaning on the pole, in all likelihood, tied it deeply into the ground and, pulling it back, strongly rocked the boat. I lost my balance, stepped on the side... My head began to spin, and I don’t remember what happened next... At that moment, when I came to my senses and opened my eyes, with inexpressible horror I saw, or rather felt myself, plunging into a muddy expanse of water, which, fighting with the air, burst into me through my mouth, nose and ears. Through the greenish-muddy mass of water I saw above me a distant reflection of God’s light, and my heart, as if saying goodbye to it, sank painfully... In one moment, my entire short life flashed before me: my happy, serene childhood, my adolescence full of hardships and hardships and my blossoming youth. In an instant, a sad regret appeared in me about the untimely loss of my young life, ruined by my crazy act. In an instant, a bitter reproach of conscience awoke in me for breaking my word to my mother, and I realized that God was punishing me for this transgression. The meek, loving face of my kind mother, who from infancy taught us the fear of God, virtue and love for people, vividly appeared to me. I involuntarily remembered that son who, dying in the midst of a stormy sea, mentally asked his mother to pray to the Lord to deliver himself from death, and, instinctively raising my hands in the air, I seemed to beg my mother to also pray to the All-Good Providence for my salvation. At that moment, despite my inability to swim, I felt that I was rising upward. Through the expanse of water, I saw the light of God closer to me and, emerging to the surface of the water, I found myself near our surfaced punt, on which my comrade was already sitting. Without remembering myself, I climbed onto the overturned bottom of the boat, and my first movement was the sign of the cross with sincere gratitude to the Heavenly Father, who did not allow me to become a victim of a childish prank. At this time, as if reminding me of my promise for the all-night vigil and my offense against my mother, a ringing sound was heard in the nearby bell tower. Soon a boat was handed to us from the shore, and we got out onto land and ran home. A little time later, while telling this terrible incident to my mother, I learned that at that time she completely unreasonably fell into some kind of melancholy state and, as if anticipating something unkind with me, mentally raised her fervent maternal prayer to the Lord for me, which makes me completely attribute my deliverance from a terrible death to the great mercy of the Creator through her prayer and once again confirm the well-known proverb that a mother’s prayer is from the bottom of the sea takes it out. 70. Princess Dashkova - first president 57 of the Russian Academy of Sciences 58 Ekaterina Romanovna Dashkova was born in 1743 and was raised in the house of her uncle, Count Mikhail Illarionovich Vorontsov. Excellent, according to the standards of that time, her upbringing was limited to learning to speak foreign languages, dancing and drawing. It was only thanks to her passion for reading that she became one of the most educated women of her time. Traveling abroad and meeting famous writers greatly contributed to her further education and development. In 1758, Catherine Romanovna became a close person to Empress Catherine II (then the Grand Duchess) and her most devoted admirer. They were connected by a love of science and literature. But soon after Empress Catherine’s accession to the throne, Princess Dashkova’s husband dies. A young twenty-year-old widow devoted her life to raising her only son. To complete his education, she spent seven years abroad, in England, where her son completed a course at the University of Edinburgh. In addition to England, she also visited Germany, France, Switzerland and Italy and everywhere tried to make acquaintance with scientists and writers. Upon returning to her homeland, Princess Dashkova was invited by the Empress to take the place of director of the St. Petersburg Academy of Sciences and Arts. According to Dashkova, the Russian Academy was opened, with one of the main goals being the improvement of the Russian language. Ekaterina Romanovna was its first president. According to her appointment, the princess in her opening speech expressed confidence “that the sciences will not be contained within the walls of the academy alone, but will be appropriated to the entire Fatherland and, having taken root, will flourish.” For this purpose, public lectures were organized at the Academy (annually during the summer months), which were a great success and attracted many listeners. The eleven years of Princess Dashkova's directorship were a flourishing time for the academy. The best assessment of her activities can be that in 1801, upon the accession of Emperor Alexander I to the throne (when the princess had already retired), members of the Russian Academy unanimously decided to invite Princess Dashkova to again take the chairmanship of the Academy. But she refused this offer. The princess spent the last years of her life studying literature. She left behind very valuable and interesting memoirs (memories) about the glorious time of the reign of Catherine the Great, of whom she was a close and zealous collaborator. Honor and glory to Princess Dashkova for the fact that she, sparing no labor, no money, no strength, tried to obtain the highest education in order to then serve the spread of enlightenment in her homeland, honor and glory to her for the fact that she, understanding the importance of a thorough education and raising children, undertakes long difficult journeys, even lives for several years away from her homeland, in distant England, in order to give the best education to her son here. Let all Russian women praise her for showing by example that a Russian woman is capable of the highest scientific education and can honorably occupy the highest and most responsible position, such as, for example, the position of president of the Academy of Sciences. Comp. according to the sermon of Archbishop Elijah Minyaty Coriolanus, the noblest patrician 59 and the most courageous commander, was unjustly expelled from Ancient Rome. Embittered, he calls for an army and initiates a war against an ungrateful fatherland. He approaches Rome victoriously, surrounds it, besieges it, constrains it. He is the first to ascend the fortress walls of the city, holding a sword in his hand, breathing threats and murder, threatening to burn the city to the ground, and destroy the citizens themselves with the sword, with their blood to quench his anger and make amends for the insult unfairly caused to him. The Romans gather in council with trepidation and do not find any remedy for the threatening danger except to fall at the feet of this terrible and strong man, ask for forgiveness and soften his anger. So, those elected from the Senate went ahead, followed by various dignitaries and, finally, the common people, crowds of women and children, all with tears in their eyes and deep despondency on their faces; they climb the wall, appear before Coriolanus, fall, bow, beg, cry, and all with one tender voice ask for mercy for the fatherland and their lives. But he stands implacable, does not bow to requests, does not soften from the tears of all citizens; on the contrary, he becomes embittered, wants to give a sign for battle, to lead the army on the offensive, to kill and destroy everything. When in the crowd he saw the saddened face of a venerable woman, Beturia, his mother, who reminded him of her tender maternal love, he saw, and at the same moment his gaze brightened, his anger subsided, the sword sank and fell from his hands; he stops the advance of the army, reconciles with the citizens, enters his hometown not as an enemy, but as a friend. Thus, he frees the fatherland from extreme danger. So the presence of one mother in front of her son is more important than the presence of a countless crowd of people; For a son, what could be nicer than his mother’s name? What is stronger than a mother's tears and prayers? This is how powerful a mother’s influence can be on her son! 72. Family peace is very pleasing to God According to “Cheti-Minea”, January 19. One day Macarius, the great ascetic, heard a voice: “You have not yet become equal to the two women living in the city.” The holy ascetic immediately went to the city and, having found the women indicated to him from above, said to them: “I came to you from the distant desert to find out your deeds, with which you please God.” The women answered: “What business, holy father, are you looking for from us? We are married women and live with our husbands, as all married women usually live - what special affairs can we have?” But the monk convincingly asked them to tell their way of life. Then one of them said: “We are two daughters-in-law, wives of two brothers, we have been living in the same house for fifteen years, and during this time we have not heard a bad word from each other and have never quarreled among ourselves. We had the intention of withdrawing from the world and dedicating ourselves to serving God in some monastery, but our husbands did not agree. Instead, we made a covenant before God - never to utter a single empty word, to sit at home and do business.” Having heard this, the Monk Macarius said: “Truly, the most important thing is the will to do good deeds, and if there is such a will, no matter where anyone lives, he will achieve salvation.” The wind beat rain on the windows. It was dark, damp and cold outside. But in a large, clean room it is warm and cozy. The lamp is burning brightly on the round table in front of the soft large sofa. An antique crucifix made of ivory, already yellowed. The even light of the lamp runs in light, gentle tones over the entire figure and illuminates the head of the Crucified One with soft light. And the whole figure is sharply separated from the ebony cross. - Mother! - a six-year-old curly-haired child says to his mother, who is sitting on the sofa and quickly knitting a long, warm scarf. - Mother! After all, it was Christ who was crucified? - Yes, Christ! - and she glances briefly at the crucifix and again plunges into her work. - How was He crucified? Tell me, mom, what does crucified mean? - This means that He was nailed to the cross. - So! “She leaves work and takes the child by the hand. “They put His hands like this on a wooden cross, they hammered a nail into each hand, the nails pierced his hands and went into the wood; then they also drove a large nail into the tree into each leg; Then they dug the cross into the ground, and so He hung on this cross the whole day until He died. The child turned pale. His sensitive, receptive imagination vividly depicted the horror of the terrible bloody execution. - Mother! Was He in a lot of pain? - he asks, trying not to believe his impression. – Does it hurt... Until it bleeds? - Yes! It really, really hurts. - Why did they do this to Him? Was He evil? - No, He was kind, He was kinder than all the people who were and will ever be on earth, because He was not only a man - He was God! - Why did they kill Him like that? - Because He wished the best for everyone. He said that God, His Father, was good, and then sent Him to earth so that everyone would know how good He was. And He did many good deeds, and many people followed Him constantly. And the evil ones envied Him. He caught them in lies, envy, and evil deeds. And for all this, they captured Him and executed Him. However, He Himself, wanting to save people from their sins, wanting to suffer for them, voluntarily agreed to surrender to His enemies, to accept torment, and the most terrible ones, for all people. “And nothing was done to His killers for this?” - And color came to the boy’s face, and tears sparkled in his eyes. “I would nail them all to trees.” And he clenched his little fists. - Why? - says mom. - You would do a very bad thing. One should never pay evil for evil. This is what He, Christ, said, and when He was crucified, no matter how painful it was for Him, He, dying, prayed for those who crucified Him, prayed because He loved all people - both good and evil... After all, every evil person would not be evil if there was nothing evil around him and if he himself could not do evil. The boy looked for a long time at the crucifix, at His bowed head, at his suffering face, at his half-open lips, which seemed to be whispering a prayer and repeating the same great word of love for man. “Mom,” he finally said, “I will be kind, I will love everyone - both good and evil.” “Yes,” said mom, “be kind and love everyone, all people.” If you love everyone, then you will study well, because only the one who knows a lot can do a lot of good to all people, and he really loves all people. And she looked at him intently, moved his curly hair from his forehead and kissed his still small, but already high and steep forehead. “Perhaps,” she thought, “a love for knowledge, truth, for the benefit and good of all people will really grow in you.” Maybe He has already marked you and placed this great love in your heart. And she looked at the crucifix with a quiet, silent prayer. And the lamp glows quietly. Light, warm, cozy in a large room. And the wind beats rain on the windows. It's dark, damp and cold outside. Happy, happy, irrevocable time of childhood! Having run to your fill, you used to sit at the tea table, on your high armchair; it's already late; I drank my cup of milk with sugar a long time ago, sleep closes my eyes, but you don’t move from your place, you sit and listen. And how not to listen? The mother is talking to someone, and the sounds of her voice are so sweet, so welcoming. These sounds alone speak so much to my heart. With eyes blurred by drowsiness, I gaze intently at her face, and suddenly she became all small, small - her face was no bigger than a button; but I can see it just as clearly; I see how she looked at me and how she smiled. I love seeing her so tiny. I squint my eyes even more, and she becomes no larger than those boys who are in the pupils of the eyes; but I moved - and the spell was broken; I narrow my eyes, turn around, trying in every possible way to resume it, but in vain. I get up, climb up with my legs and lie comfortably on the chair. “You’ll fall asleep again, Nikolenka,” my mother tells me, “you’d better go upstairs.” “I don’t want to sleep, mother,” you answer her, and vague but sweet dreams fill the imagination; A healthy child's sleep closes your eyelids, and in a minute you forget and sleep until they wake you up. You used to feel when you were asleep: someone’s gentle hand was touching you; by one touch you will recognize her and even in your sleep you will involuntarily grab this hand and press it tightly to your lips. Everyone has already left, one candle is burning in the living room; my mother said that she would wake me up herself; It was she who sat down on the chair where I sleep, ran her wonderful, gentle hand through my hair, and a sweet, familiar voice sounds in my ear: “Get up, my darling, it’s time to go to bed.” No one's indifferent gaze bothers her; she is not afraid to pour out all her tenderness and love on me. I don’t move, but I kiss her hand even harder. She takes my neck with her other hand, and her fingers quickly move and tickle me. The room is quiet, semi-dark, my nerves are excited by tickling and awakening; my mother is sitting next to me; she touches me; I hear her smell and voice. All this makes me jump up, throw my arms around her neck, press my head to her chest and say, breathless: - Oh, dear, dear mother, how I love you! She smiles her sad, charming smile, takes my head with both hands, kisses my forehead and places me on her lap. - So you love me very much? She is silent for a minute, then says: - Look, always love me, never forget. If your mother is not there, will you forget her? Won't you forget, Nikolenka? She kisses me even more tenderly. - That’s enough, don’t say that, my darling, my darling! - I cry out, kissing her knees, and tears flow in streams from my eyes - tears of love and delight. After this, as it used to be, you come upstairs and stand in front of the icons in your cotton robe, what a wonderful feeling you experience, saying: - God save daddy and mommy. When I repeated the prayers that my childhood lips babbled for the first time behind my beloved mother, love for her and love for God somehow strangely merged into one feeling. After prayer, you would wrap yourself in a blanket, your soul would be light, bright and joyful, some dreams chase others - but what are they about? Elusive, but filled with pure love and hopes for bright happiness. You used to remember about Karl Ivanovich and his bitter fate, the only person I knew who was unhappy, and you would feel so sorry, you would love him so much that tears flow from your eyes, and you would think: “God grant him happiness, give me the opportunity to help him alleviate his grief; I’m ready to sacrifice everything for him.” Then you take your favorite porcelain toy, a bunny or a dog, tuck it into the corner of the down pillow and admire how nice, warm and cozy it is to lie there. You will also pray that God will give happiness to everyone, that everyone will be healthy and that tomorrow there will be good weather for a walk, you will turn on the other side, your thoughts and dreams will get confused, mixed, and you will fall asleep quietly, calmly, with your face still wet from tears. 75. Unhappy queen, victim of hatred and slander In the glorious city of Athens lived a certain philosopher 60 named Leontius; He was of a noble family, and although his faith was pagan, his life was most honest. At his death, he gave up all his property to his son, and left his daughter without everything. And when he was asked why he treated the weak creature with such contempt and did not leave her anything as a dowry, Leonty replied: “His happiness will be enough for her.” Perhaps he answered this way, based, as a pagan and astrologer 61, on the strange contemporary views of the star under which his daughter was born. But her future happiness, as you will see, was the result of her careful upbringing, virtues, outstanding talents - she really achieved a brilliant position when convenient circumstances presented themselves. Athenaida, as the philosopher’s daughter was called, was not satisfied with her father’s will and, after his death, began to sue her brother, wanting to invalidate the will and take the appropriate part of her parent’s estate for herself. Leaving Athens, she went to Constantinople to seek justice from the king there. Theodosius the Younger was king at that time. When Athenaida presented herself to the king, the royal sister, the glorious Pulcheria, saw her; she noticed her beautiful face, honest look, reasonableness in her speeches; One could feel in everything that she was the daughter of a philosopher and, moreover, herself of high intelligence and education. Pulcheria loved her, graciously accepted her and converted her to Christianity, giving her the Christian name Eudokia instead of the pagan name Athenaida. Having converted to Christianity, she gave Evdokia in marriage to her brother, Tsar Theodosius. And so the words of her father were fulfilled: “Her happiness will be enough for her.” From a simple Athenian pagan she became a Christian and queen of Constantinople. She lost her parental inheritance, and God gave her a scepter and a crown. Our heart rejoices hearing about such happiness of this girl. But let us prepare ourselves for tears to mourn her great misfortune. Oh, envy, envy, how bitter you are and how much misfortune you bring to people! They envied Evdokia, slandered her unjustly before the king and her husband, as if she had little loyalty and respect for him and as if she greatly respected Pavlinian, who was a very learned and honest person and with whom she, indeed, often talked, loving science herself. Although the king did not believe this, he had doubts and, without saying anything to Evdokia, looked for an opportunity to verify himself. One day they brought the king an apple that was of extraordinary size; the king sent him to Evdokia. And she, not suspecting any slander against herself, sent this apple to Pavlinian, who was sick at that time. The king, having come to visit the sick Pavlinian, saw his apple there, changed his face, became indignant in his heart and came out sad and angry, and when he came to the queen, he first of all asked: where is the apple that he sent to her? She, either by the action of the devil, who rejoices over evil, or by God’s permission, did not tell him the truth, but said that she had eaten that apple herself, and confirmed her word with an oath, even swearing to the royal health. That was enough; the king believed the slander and immediately ordered the head of Paulinian, who was lying in bed, to be cut off, who was not only completely innocent, but did not even suspect anything. The king divorced Evdokia and sent her into exile in Jerusalem. And so the palace, where joy and peace had previously reigned, was outraged by sadness and anxiety. From this example you see how much evil envy mixed with slander could do. Thanks to envy, the innocent Pavlinian was killed, the queen was separated from her husband; the virtue of a faithful wife is violated; the joy of many was disrupted, and no one received any pleasure from it. After this, can an envious person who brings only evil joy to demons, can and does he have the right to be called a Christian? In conclusion, let us remember the teaching of the Apostle Paul: let us not be conceited, irritate each other, or envy each other (Gal. 5:27). Let us not be vain, let us each know only his own; Let us not condemn each other, let us not be jealous of each other. If you eat one another, then beware lest you all perish. But if you bite and devour one another, take heed lest you be destroyed one another (Gal.5:15) 62. 76. Natalya Borisovna Dolgorukaya Natalya Borisovna was her mother's favorite; who was the aunt of Emperor Peter the Great; She grew up in contentment and comfort, surrounded by the most tender cares. Admiring her, her mother often dreamed of how Natasha would grow up and be one of the most noble and beautiful brides. Her mother did not forget to give her an education, which was very rare for women of that time. Natasha very early learned to read and write not only in Russian, but also in foreign languages, and until her death she retained a good memory of her educated governess, taken to her by her intelligent mother. But Natasha didn’t have to use her mother’s affection for long. She was barely fourteen years old when her mother died, leaving her an orphan in the care of her governess and her older brother, who was then only fifteen years old. At that time, children of noble parents were accepted into the service early, which is why he then served as a lieutenant (officer) in the Preobrazhensky Regiment. It was he who then became the master of the house. The girl's character changed greatly after the death of her mother. From cheerful and lively, she became thoughtful and serious. An orphan, she attracted general attention with her beauty, wealth and education, but rarely went out into society, finding no pleasure in dancing and empty conversations. Many noble suitors wooed her, but she refused them all, deciding to marry the one she loved. She lived like this for two years. She was already sixteen years old when she met the twenty-two-year-old Prince Ivan Alekseevich Dolgoruky. She liked the young man, handsome, cheerful, talented, very much, and she agreed to marry him. At that time, Peter the Great had already died, and his grandson, Peter II Alekseevich, who was only fifteen years old at that time, reigned in Russia. The young sovereign, while still the Grand Duke, became close to Dolgoruky and fell in love with him so much that they even slept together in the same room. The Prince supported the Emperor's desire to learn and often helped with good advice. And the Tsar fell in love with Dolgoruky so much that he wished to become related to him, and became engaged to his sister, Ekaterina Alekseevna. Thus, Natalya Borisovna’s groom became the first person in the state, after the Tsar, and it is no wonder that she heard exclamations from all sides: “Oh, how happy she is!” Finally, the ceremonial agreement took place. Rarely has anyone seen such a brilliant gathering in life. The whole royal family, all foreign envoys, all the nobility were at the conspiracy; there were so many guests that the vast house of the Dolgorukys could barely accommodate them. The bride was gifted: some with expensive earrings, some with watches with diamonds, some with other jewelry. The Dolgorukys’ wealth was countless, and “my hands,” says the princess, “could not have taken all the gifts if they had not helped me accept them.” When the guests began to leave for Moscow, tar barrels were lit on their way, and a huge crowd of people stood near the house. - God bless! - they shouted in the crowd, - our father Boris Petrovich’s daughter is marrying an important man. Now she will do plenty of good for everyone. But the happiness did not last long: only twenty-four days. On Christmas Eve, December 24, 1729, there was a betrothal, and on January 18, 1730, Tsar Peter II Alekseevich unexpectedly died, having contracted smallpox. With his death, the position of the Dolgorukys changed dramatically. The death of the Emperor had a terrible effect on Natalya Borisovna. She wakes up on January 19, happy, cheerful, goes out to drink tea and sees all her relatives in the dining room. She knew that the Emperor was ill, but did not expect misfortune. The tear-stained eyes of her relatives, the answers that she was reluctantly given to her questions, out of a desire to hide her grief, betrayed them. She had heard more than once before how, when there was a change of king in foreign states, former royal favorites died in exile and execution; she cried bitterly, foreseeing evil. In vain did her family try to console her, promising her other suitors - both noble and rich. But she didn’t even want to hear about how, having given her word of happiness, she would refuse the groom when he was losing everything. In the evening, Ivan Alekseevich came to her, complained bitterly about his misfortune, talked about the last minutes of his dear dead man, how he talked to him, how he said goodbye. And both the bride and groom cried, and swore that one death would separate them. All friends and acquaintances began to avoid them, shun them, and curry favor with those whom they predicted to be their new favorites. It is better not to be born than to be exalted by chance, circumstances, and then to fall is as easy as to rise. The Duchess of Courland Anna Ioannovna ascended the throne. Following Anna Ioannovna, her chamberlain 63, the clever and ambitious Courlander Biron, came to Russia. He was a cruel and uneducated man. Foreseeing what a misfortune his arrival in Russia would be for the entire people, the Dolgorukys, among the conditions proposed to the queen, stipulated that she should not allow him to come to them. It is clear what kind of anger he must have had towards the Dolgorukys, and it was not for nothing that he said publicly: “I will not leave that family name at home.” Arriving in Moscow and seizing all power into his own hands, he, a simple groom by birth, could not see indifferently the faithful servants of the former sovereigns. In a very short time he rose to such a high position that everyone kissed his hands and honored him as a Grand Duke. Not knowing what he could find fault with in order to quickly exile the Dolgorukys, he began to call their former friends to him, caressed them, asked how the princes lived, whether they took bribes. But no one could say anything bad about them. Then he ordered an announcement that anyone who was dissatisfied with anyone should submit requests to the empress. Denunciations and slander began, and the Dolgorukys’ position became more dangerous every day. So time passed until April. The countess was sad. Either the groom arrives and they cry together, then all sorts of bad news arrives. Who speaks; If someone sends you into exile, someone takes away their ranks and orders, then there will be trouble at home. Her brother and relatives constantly reproached her for not refusing her fiancé, who was in danger of disaster. It was necessary to decide on something. No matter how much they postponed the wedding day, but finally, seeing the stubborn determination of the bride to go to whatever lay ahead, they had to set it. The day has come. There is no one to even escort you to church: none of your relatives are going, and who will call? Only two old women, her distant relatives, agreed to go to church. It was necessary to go to get married fifteen miles from Moscow, to the Dolgoruky family village of Gorenki. The groom's father and his brothers and sisters lived there, unfriendly towards the bride, and already upset by the expectation of impending troubles. The countess began to say goodbye to her family and brothers, who sent her away with bitter tears, mourning her as if she were dead. She went with her two old ladies to get married and, tearful, walked from under the crown into her father-in-law's house, alone with her husband, because the old ladies had also gone home. And although many guests from the groom’s side were invited, the wedding looked more like a funeral than a cheerful feast for the newlyweds. Three days after the wedding, the newlyweds had just prepared to go on a visit, when an official suddenly arrived and announced to Natalya Borisovna’s father-in-law that they had been ordered by the Empress’s decree to immediately go to their distant villages and live there until further orders. After great difficulties and hardships, they finally arrived in their villages. Here we decided to stop for a rest and lived quite calmly. Only once, already in the third week of the stay, do they all have dinner together in the manor’s house, overlooking the main road. Someone looked out the window and saw: a column of dust along the road; Several carts are rushing straight towards the house, with a carriage behind. Everyone rushed to the windows - they saw: all the soldiers in the carts, more than twenty people, and a guards officer in the carriage. The princess fell unconscious from her chair, and when she came to her senses, she saw: the room was full of soldiers. In horror, she grabbed onto her husband and did not let him go, so that he would not be separated from her. Nobody really says what happened. Just running and crying all over the house. Suddenly the officer orders the carriages to arrive: they want to take them somewhere, but the exiles don’t know where. One thing consoled the princess: she would not be separated from her husband. The officer took pity on her and allowed her, before getting into the carriage, to go to the barn for things, where the young couple had a bedroom, but not otherwise than under the escort of two soldiers. Somehow Natalya Borisovna got ready to set off again, and only then, in the carriage, did she learn from her husband that they had been ordered to be taken to Siberia, to the small town of Berezov, more than three thousand miles from Moscow, and there to be kept under strict guard, not to let anyone near them, nor them anywhere except the church; that it is forbidden to even write to them and give them pens and ink. So, in great grief, the exiles reached the city of Kasimov, on the Oka tributary of the Volga. There was no face on the princess; even her husband's relatives feared for her life. They put everyone in the apartment together, no longer apart as before, but they stationed sentries with bayonets at the doors. The Dolgorukys lived like this for a week, while they prepared the ship that would carry them further by water. Finally the ship was ready. Let's go. We drove first along the Oka to Murom, and from Murom to Nizhny, and from Nizhny we began to go down the Volga, but below Kazan we turned onto the Kama tributary of the Volga, and along the Kama it took more than two weeks to the city of Solikamsk, where we finally switched to carts. But the dry route was no better. I had to travel as many as three hundred miles through the Ural Mountains, on the Russian border with Siberia, five miles uphill, and the same amount downhill. And the road is rocky, narrow, it’s barely possible to make your way on one-horse carts. On both sides there are abysses and cliffs covered with forest. The burden of the journey was further increased by the fact that Dolgoruky was given almost no rest, in a hurry to get them to their destination as quickly as possible. This was not some modern highway, but a country road, along which, instead of stations, about forty miles away, small houses were erected for sheltering travelers and feeding horses, with such low doors that one had to bend down to enter. During this move we all suffered a lot of grief and illness. But it was still nothing compared to the further journey by water to Berezov. The exiles were given the most crappy, old ship, intended for firewood. Even the officer, who had seen them off until now and now handed them over to another, cried as he parted with the unfortunates and said: “Now you will suffer all kinds of grief.” And on this ship they sailed under an escort of 24 soldiers for another whole month, until they were brought to the city. Berezov is a small town in the Tobolsk province, 4000 versts from St. Petersburg. It stands on an island formed by the Sosna River. This place is desolate and wild. The inhabitants there eat raw fish, ride dogs and wear reindeer skins instead of clothes. As they will be stripped from the animal, they will be put on, threading the arms, instead of sleeves, into the skin from the front legs. The huts there at that time were built of cedar wood with ice plates in the windows instead of glass. The winters there are terrible, up to ten, eight months at a time, and nothing grows there: not bread, not even cabbage. There are dense forests and swamps all around, and grain is brought a thousand miles away. In this city, which was then still a small village, a prison for exiles was built six years before the Dolgorukys arrived there. The Dolgoruks lived here in a large, low wooden house with a small pond in which geese, ducks and swans swam. Only these birds entertained the unfortunate ones in their solitude. The exiles ate with wooden spoons and drank from tin glasses. They fed them such bread that they often lost their teeth; they were kept in such cold that the cabbage soup froze while they were eating it; Moreover, food was not even brought every day, but for several days at a time. They weren’t allowed to go anywhere except the church, and even then they were under guard. So they dragged on day after day, but Natalya Borisovna firmly endured everything: the cold, and the rough treatment of the soldiers, and domestic troubles, which increased even more with the death of her father-in-law and mother-in-law upon her arrival there. She endured everything firmly and resignedly for the one whom she loved so much, trying with affection and care to at least somewhat console her husband’s drooping head. I read the Gospel with him, prayed and cried together. So she lived in the prison for about eight years. But in the eighth year a new misfortune occurred. One petty official, together with Natalya Borisovna’s younger brother, a 12-year-old boy trained by the former sovereign’s bride, reported that Ivan Alekseevich had spoken daring speeches against the Empress. Prince Ivan was imprisoned in a cold barn and, separated from his wife, was forbidden to see her. But Natalya Borisovna begged permission to see her husband for a minute a day through a tiny window, and through it for three whole months she passed food to him, and then not herself, but through a sentry. “They took away from me,” she herself said, “my life, my good father and husband, with whom I wanted to end my life, with whom I was the only comrade in prison. This black hut in which I lived with him seemed more fun to me than the royal chambers...” The deceived boy later found out that because of him, the young Dolgorukys, whom he loved, were getting a hard time, and out of grief he took his own life. But Dolgorukaya soon lost her last consolation - to see her husband at least for a minute a day. On August 4, 1738, Prince Ivan was taken to Novgorod, without even allowing him to say goodbye to his wife, and was executed there... She didn’t even know for a long time that he was no longer alive, and when they told her that they had taken him away, and she began to sob and beg to be released after him, she was pushed into the prison, locked up, and a sentry with a gun was placed at the door. After the death of her husband, she was left alone in Berezovo with her two sons, because her relatives were sent to different places. And she lived there in dire need for another year and ten months. Finally, in 1740, exhausted and in rags, she was brought to Moscow with both children, the eldest of whom was already eight years old, but she did not find Empress Anna alive. Neither acquaintances nor relatives recognized the wretched wanderer as the wife of the Tsar’s once executed friend. Instead of the former rich beauty, in front of them was a beggar asking for bread and shelter for her children and herself. She wandered from house to house, through other people's yards and front yards for many years and, despite all the hardship of her situation, she raised her own children, enrolled her eldest son in the service, married him, and she herself was left alone with her youngest. The mother raised her children, and there was nothing left for her that would tie her to the life in which she loved so much and endured so much for her love. She decided to leave the world and go to a monastery, so that she could live out her last years in peace. In 1758 she arrived in Kyiv. She cried all her tears; the mere image of her late husband often rose before her and awakened old memories. Once, late in the evening, she wandered thoughtfully along the banks of the Dnieper, preparing in her thoughts to become a monk. The waves raged in the river, lightning shone in the distance, clouds covered the month. The soul of the sufferer felt bitter, terribly bitter. I remembered him... I remembered a short time of happiness... But she suppressed the old memories in herself and, quickly tearing off the wedding ring from her hand, threw into the Dnieper the last expensive thing that remained in her memory of the past. Soon afterwards she took monastic vows and began to await death in a quiet monastic life. But death did not come, and every year the loneliness was felt more and more. Her beloved elder brother also died, and her little son, weak and insane, also died almost in her arms. Not long after him there lived a sufferer, and in In 1771, she died quietly and painlessly, writing a few days before her death: “Those remaining after my death, shed tears remembering my miserable life. Thank God it’s over—my tears don’t flow anymore, my heart doesn’t sigh.” 77. St. Gregory the Theologian's poem against women who love dresses (extracted) Do not, women, build towers of false hair on your heads, do not show off your delicate neck, do not cover God’s face with vile colors, and do not wear masks instead of a face. It is indecent for a woman to show her bare head to men, even if gold is woven into her curls. If nature has given you beauty, do not cover it up with rubbish, but keep it pure for your spouse alone and do not turn greedy eyes on strangers, because the heart follows the eyes indecently. And if at birth you did not receive the gift of beauty, then avoid the second ugliness, that is, do not borrow beauty from your hands - the beauty that comes from the earth, which is bought for a few coins, the beauty that is erased and flows to the ground, cannot stay on you during laughter, when joy trembles the cheek, the beauty that is exposed as a fraud by streams of tears, moisturizing the cheeks with fear, and destroyed by a drop of dew. Now your cheeks shine and are full of charms; but suddenly (to great laughter) they are two-colored, in some places dark and in others white marble. For you, who have become darkened and browned, is it possible to retain the beauty that is exposed as a forgery? Therefore, do not resort to shameful aids to embellish your appearance. If you have the cunning to hide something from your spouse, although it is not convenient to cover the image of God with a mask, then be careful that the angry God does not say to you like this: “Answer, creature alien to me! Who is your Creator? I created my own image. How can I see an idol instead of the image that is dear to Me?” If you have the same love for your spouse as he has for you since he brought you into the bridal chamber as a blooming maiden, then this is pleasing to him. But if you try to please the eyes of others, then your spouse will hate it. It is better for you to hide the charms given by nature inside your house, than to display counterfeit charms indecently. For your spouse is satisfied with your natural beauty. And if beauty is exposed to many, like a net for a flock of birds, then first you will begin to admire those who admire and exchange glances, then grins and exchanges of words will begin, first furtively, and then with great courage. But stop, talkative tongue, and do not utter what follows. Here everything goes inextricably one after another, just as iron, attracted by a magnet, itself attracts other iron. Listen to my advice, which I will tell you from the Divine Word. Or do you not know how, in ancient times, your forefather was seduced by the murderous tree with its good color, and how the cunning of the enemy and the persuasion of his wife seduced him and immediately expelled him from the green paradise? From that time on, my daughter, this is the paternal law: never rely on good nature. For all beauty is a short-lived delight for me: it is brought by spring and immediately destroyed by cold winter or destroyed by merciless time. I'll tell you a fable that suits this case very well. According to one ancient legend, in the human race there was no distinction before who was good and who was bad; but many, although they were virtuous, were considered lawless, and conversely, many, although they were reckless, were considered good; the most dishonest people were accompanied by glory, and the perfect were pursued by infamy, but neither one nor the other received justice. But the reigning sin in the world did not hide from the King of God and, grieving about it, He finally proclaimed the following word: “It is unjust for My glory to be on both the good and the evil; this will make sin even more intense. Therefore, I will give them a sure distinguishing mark by which it is easy to recognize who is wicked.” Having said this, He covered the cheeks of the good ones with blush, so that at the sight of something shameful, blood immediately spreads under the skin; He especially endowed women with a greater blush, because their skin was more transparent and their hearts were more tender. But among the wicked, God thickened the blood and made it motionless in the insides, so that even from shame it does not come into circulation. Where shall I rank you, who have adorned your cheeks? Your blush is not important to me, although it covers your appearance to the point of excess; for this is the blush of shamelessness. Do not paint your face, do not fake your color; I recognize the one beauty that nature has given. Natural children, although ugly in appearance, are nicer than beautiful, but adopted ones. Remembering this, keep your body as it is by nature, and do not want to be revered as other than what you really are. One color is amiable in women - this is the kind blush of modesty. If you want, I will give you a different color: make your beauty pale, exhausting yourself with deeds for Christ, with prayers, sighs, vigils day and night. Here are rubbings suitable for both unmarried and married people. Let's save the dyes for the walls. The best treasure for women is good morals, that is, to sit more at home, talk about God’s word, do weaving and yarn (this is a woman’s responsibility), distribute work to maids, rarely cross the threshold of their home, seek entertainment only in the company of chaste women and in one’s husband. From V. Hugo translation by Pleshcheev Still quite a baby in the cradle, One day you fell asleep next to me... Fluffy, plump cheeks And the childish features were clear. You didn’t even hear the bird’s trills - You slept so soundly and sweetly; And I stood there thinking. Surrounded There is a mysterious darkness at twilight... It seemed to me that the angels were flying To you, child, from heavenly heights; And in my heart I prayed to bring They are just bright dreams for you. I picked jasmines and roses without noise And he threw it into the cradle at your feet... And I cried... I was frightened by the thought: What does fate have in store for us this night? The time will come, deep road, - I, in turn, will fall into a deep sleep, And the night will envelop me in silence; My cramped home will be darker than prison, And I won’t hear the birds trill. Then prayers, tears and flowers, Everything that I gave to your cradle - You will return everything to my grave! 79. Tabitha as a model for Christian wives engaged in needlework Comp. according to “Sunday Reading” 1881 In Joppa, which is now called Jaffa (a city near Jerusalem), there lived a Christian woman named Tabitha, which means Chamois. She was married, or a widow, or an elderly girl, it is not clear from the narrative of the “Acts of the Apostles”. But what is clear is that she was a virtuous woman, and was especially merciful to poor widows. So she fell ill and died; she was washed and laid in the upper room, that is, she was properly prepared for burial. Such people always arouse great regret for themselves in society, and many mourners gather around their coffin. At this time, not far from Jaffa, about fifteen miles away, it was in Lydda, a small town, that the Apostle Peter was visiting Palestinian Christians. He was known everywhere not only as an apostle, but also as a great miracle worker who performed extraordinary deeds. In Jaffa they heard, no doubt, about the last miracle he performed in Lydda, healing a local resident named Aeneas, who had been lying in bed for eight years in relaxation (Acts 9:33). The Jaffa Christians, saddened by the loss of such a benefactor of the poor as Tabitha, sent two people to ask the holy apostle to hurry up and come to them. Peter immediately stood up and went with the messenger. When he arrived and was brought into the upper room where Tabitha lay, all the widows who were there appeared before the apostle with tears, complaining of their grief and showing the shirts and dresses that the deceased woman had made for them when she was alive. Apparently the tears were strong, and the deeds of charity of the deceased were so obvious that they touched the holy apostle. Peter, having sent everyone out of the room and knelt down, prayed; then, turning to the body, he said: “Tabitha, get up!” And she opened her eyes and, seeing Peter, sat down. Peter gave her his hand and raised her; and then, inviting the Christians and widows who were outside the room, he brought her before them alive. With this action, he showed them that for the sake of their tears and for their consolation, he begged God to let her live with them: “Here is your benefactress,” as if he were saying so, “be comforted, she is alive and will be with you.” One can imagine the joy of all these poor widows who were here, mourning their benefactress. What did Tabitha do to deserve such crying about herself from the poor widows? All the widows appeared before him with tears, showing the shirts and dresses that Serna made while living with them (Acts 9:39). Tabitha did good to poor widows, and her charity consisted mainly in the fact that she made for them, probably also for their children, their shirts and all sorts of dresses necessary to clothe our bodies. She turned needlework, usually associated with the female sex, into a means of charity for poor widows and their orphans - this was her virtue. This is no small virtue if we pay attention to the fact that clothing is one of the first and most sensitive needs of a person. It is difficult to even decide what is more important for a person - food or clothing. Without food, a person cannot exist: he needs daily food. But even without clothes it’s difficult for him. Without her, he cannot appear anywhere: neither to the church of God to pray to his Creator, nor to people to beg them for a piece of bread or to earn his daily food through labor. Clothes that are wretched, ugly, dirty, poorly covering the body, arouse disgust towards the person on whom they are seen: such people are usually bypassed and are not accepted into even more or less clean rooms. Pay attention now to the situation of widows, so that you can appreciate the virtue of Tabitha. Even now, after the loss of her husband, a widow suffers great shortcomings in the means for her existence, especially if she is left with children. In ancient times, at the time in which Tabitha lived, a widow was a pitiful creature, having lost her family support, and with it, for the most part, a corner, a field, and social position. That is why in the sacred books the name of a widow, used without the addition of any other word, almost always means the name of a poor woman. It was not easy for widows to get food, but acquiring the necessary clothing was even more difficult. Imagining this, you will understand the feeling with which the widows showed the apostle the shirts and dresses that were on their bodies, sewn and made by Tabitha - they showed them with tears in their eyes, looking at the deceased. The picture of these widows could not help but touch the apostle, and he took pity on them, comforted them, resurrecting the dead. Of course, not only in the person of these widows, but in the person of all poor people, widows and orphans, wherever and whenever we see them, the picture of nakedness and wretched rags evokes human compassion; and you will agree that he is worthy of earthly and heavenly blessings who does not turn his gaze away from her, but mercifully opens his right hand to cover his wretched body from cold and shame. In a society where all people enjoy mutual assistance - otherwise they could not live - various concerns and activities are divided among its members, just as in our body each member, using the help of others, has its own judgment and its own doing (1 Cor. 12: 5, 6, 25); Some concerns and activities are characteristic of a man, others of a woman. Handicrafts have always been considered a woman's occupation among all nations (Proverbs 31:13, 19, 22, 24). When the wise man depicts the ideal of a wife, one of her first virtues is needlework, the ability to prepare all kinds of dresses and clothes, with which she dresses her entire family and, in addition, supplies the poor in need (Prov. 31:13, 21). Nowadays, handicrafts are familiar to every woman: they teach them at home and in girls’ schools; children of both lower and higher ranks, poor and rich, are taught. Therefore, each of you, pious readers, can be Tabitha, can, like her, serve the poor, widows and orphans with her handicrafts, providing them with shirts and other dresses. But another, perhaps, will say: “How - so that with my own hands I begin to sew clothes for these poor, wretched, unseemly women or their children, so that on their dirty body I can see my work: shirts, shoes, etc., sewn or knitted by me?..” So, indeed, there seems to be some kind of discrepancy between gentle, soft and white hands and a dirty, rough body. But even gentle hands were called to work, for example, for the Red Cross, they worked for wounded soldiers, without considering what would happen to this linen, sewn by gentle hands, what kind of body it would be on, what wounds they would cover... But then, you say, it was a special thing; then - warriors who went to war, saving our brothers from oppression, from suffering under the yoke; this was done out of general excitement, when all the women did the same, everyone wanted to show their 64 patriotic feelings. Isn't it the same here? Our brother, our sister are in extreme poverty, they have nothing to cover their bodies, they suffer from the cold; cannot appear to people to beg or earn food, they suffer from hunger; people, seeing poor clothes, abhor and disdain them; children in ugly rags, in dirty, crusty rags, suffering from cold, from illness, covered with ulcers and wounds all over their bodies. After all, these are also our neighbors, the brothers of Christ, whom He commanded us to love and for whom He bequeathed to have fraternal care. You say: “There is no general patriotic excitement here.” This is the grief that members of society do not want to pay attention to the naked poverty hovering among them, people pass by it, because no one will know about the benefit to her, no one will give a reward for it, they will not write about it anywhere... But this is why attention to these poor, widowed and orphans is required, because their nakedness does not arouse anyone to compassion and that people bypass it, not paying any attention as to the most ordinary thing. If you thought about it, did it, and then looked: maybe your work on the body of a homeless, unwashed child would seem more beautiful and pleasant to you than on your own... What is the need that you will not hear praise for your good deed, that you will not be rewarded, that they will not write about you, that your good deed will not be known? You do good for its own sake; and virtue is its own reward. People will not know about your good deed, but the unfortunate widows and orphans who have benefited you will know and will pray for you, for your health and happiness, for the health and happiness of your children; God will undoubtedly know about your good deed and will never forget it; He will reward you in this life - with health and happiness, and not only you, but also your children, and even more in the future - with eternal bliss in heaven. What reward do you want more? 80. Monica, mother of St. Augustine, is an example to be followed by women of our time Monica was born in 331 in the small town of Tagaste, in North Africa. Her parents were Orthodox Christians and their daughters were given a good upbringing. Among the servants in the house was a kind old maid who had a significant influence on Monica's upbringing. Parents, when choosing servants to care for their children, should especially ensure that they are moral people imbued with a truly Christian spirit. Mere diligence and honesty are not enough; they should be required to be deeply religious. Immoral servants can poison the heart of a child in its hidden springs; servants with good morals can also acquire participation in the Kingdom of Heaven for raising children. We meet children who perfectly know the main truths of the faith and commandments. In a conversation with some of them, you will learn that the pious nanny taught the children Christianity while the parents did not care at all about it. When hiring servants, therefore, Christian mothers, make sure that they are devout and religious. In the home of Saint Monica's parents, her nanny made every effort to raise the girl in a strictly Christian spirit. In general, strictness reigned in everything in the family. To train the children in self-control, they were allowed to eat only during lunch; and outside of dinner time they were not even allowed to drink water. With all the care when raising children, it is difficult to avoid mistakes; just as it is almost impossible for a gardener to have time to weed out all the weeds in his garden, so parents do not always manage to eradicate in their children all the bad habits that entered human nature after the Fall. This happened with Monica. Her parents instructed her to fetch wine from the cellar; She began to taste it little by little, adding a few drops every day, until she was finally able to drink a significant amount of it. The maid usually went with her to the cellar, but for some reason she did not embarrass her young mistress in this. But one day there was a small quarrel between them, in which the maid called Monica a drunkard. And what all the instructions and lessons were unable to do was produced by this one offensive expression. This, of course, was not a direct path and means to correction, but the Lord sometimes uses extraordinary means to educate and correct people. Thus, Monica was decisively cured of her shortcomings. II. Good example of parents Monica's parents were devout Christians and, through their good example, exerted a good influence on their daughter. It always happens like this: if the parents themselves are indifferent and cold to religion, if they themselves have gross shortcomings and the children notice this, then let them preach whatever they want, everything will be in vain - the children think: first do what you advise. They tell a fable that one day the old crayfish decided that their children, instead of walking backwards, as had been the case until now, would walk forward. A day was also appointed for changing the old order. Old and young crayfish gathered in an open place. “Well, go ahead,” came the order from the old to the young. But alas! No matter how hard young crayfish try to move forward, they are actually moving backwards. No matter how much the old crayfish scolded the young, it was all in vain. Finally, the young people decisively declared: “Try it, old people, first do it yourself, show us an example.” Of course, things didn't work out. You understand, reader, that a good example of parents works best. Monica grew up in innocence and purity of heart and throughout her life she repented of the passion for intemperance noticed in her. We find nothing unusual in the history of her early life, and therefore she represents an excellent example of a young Christian woman. Keep clean Christian clothes; adorn yourself with the virtues prescribed by the Christian title: meekness, patience, mercy, compassion, peacefulness, kindness. Be strong in faith, hope and love, work for the salvation of your soul; This is the surest way to gain peace and happiness on earth. Having become an adult girl, Monica was betrothed by her parents to a pagan youth, Patricius, a citizen of the city of Tagasta, who was then a member of the city government. III. Thoughts before marriage When Monica reached adulthood, her parents began to look for a groom for her. This cannot be said to be a general rule. Among the pagans, indeed, it was the custom for parents to take care of finding husbands for their daughters, and the daughters were not asked for their opinion about this. Of course, parents, generally speaking, had no right to force their daughter to marry one person or another. But they could help in this regard with their advice. But, on the other hand, this is a gross mistake of daughters when they start dating behind their parents’ backs and without their knowledge, even without even the intention or thought of getting married as soon as possible. Such acquaintances rarely lead to good things. And parents who are indifferent to such acquaintances of their daughters bear a heavy responsibility, as well as the daughters themselves, who make acquaintances without the knowledge of their parents. Those spouses who have reason to reproach each other for their past behavior are far from a happy life. Monica's husband was a pagan. At the beginning of Christianity, when Christians lived among the predominant mass of pagans, there was nothing else to do. In addition, many of the pagans were converted to Christianity precisely through marriages with Christian women. Many Christian women converted their pagan husbands to Christianity. For example, Queen Clotilde of France converted her pagan husband, King Clovis, to the faith. Saint Nona, who was married to a pagan, also persuaded him to Christianity and was the mother of Gregory of Nazianzus, Saint Caesarea and Saint Gorgonia. That's how it was at that time. But since the establishment of Christianity in the world, when it became the dominant religion, marriages with infidels were completely prohibited, and marriages with non-believers were condemned and allowed reluctantly, only in the most extreme cases. If now, for example, an Orthodox Christian married a Jewish woman, this would be a sign that he does not value his faith at all. Friendship between two people obviously consists of agreement of beliefs. But religion is the deepest and highest of all that excites the human heart, and if there is no agreement on this most important point, which unites and separates human hearts, then what kind of friendship should there be? Just think about prayer at home, about attending public worship, about raising children. In Switzerland, one lady confessed: I am a Catholic, my husband is a Protestant; we live quite tolerably; but it is a misfortune if the spouses are not of the same religion. True family harmony and happiness (some people living in mixed marriages admit) occurs only when the spouses value the religion they both profess. The Orthodox Church allows marriages with non-believers under the condition that the upbringing of children is ensured in the spirit of Orthodoxy and that the Orthodox spouse is not forced by the non-religious part of the family to change their religion. Christian young women! Seriously think about your peace of mind and the salvation of your soul before you decide to marry a person of a different faith. Time is short, but eternity is endless. Patrick was a kind man, but quick-tempered. In it Monica, his wife, had an excellent field for her Christian zeal. She tried to turn him to God, telling him about the goodness of God, but mainly acted on him with the voice of her heart and her virtuous character, which she, but the stories of her son Augustine, aroused not only love, but also the surprise of her husband. When there were outbursts of anger at him, she knew how to soften it with silence. When her husband’s fever passed, she gave him an account of her course of action. Good wife! When your husband is in a bad mood or perhaps angry and agitated, then do not add fuel to the fire with noise, abuse and reproaches; This is useless; on the contrary, it will make things even worse. Better hold your tongue and don’t let a single word slip through your teeth until your husband calms down. He is probably not angry for long; he is perhaps angry for no more than a quarter of an hour. If you cannot hold your tongue, then take water into your mouth and hold it there until your husband calms down. You will see that this remedy is effective; it has helped many unhappy wives. Wives came to Monica with traces of beatings they received from their husbands and complained to her about them. Monica told these wives that let them curb their caustic tongues, and then it will be much better. Those women who followed her advice no longer had quarrels with their husbands, and those who did not listen to her advice should have repented of this. Usually wives are to blame if they complain about their husbands. With patience and caution they can defeat them. Good wife! Try this once, if you find yourself in similar circumstances, and you will see that things will go differently. The young wife often argues with her mother-in-law. This one usually does not want to give up her dominion, and the other one wants to manage the household, or there are evil people who try to create discord between both halves, and these are from among their own servants. It was the same in Monica's house. The bad maids quarreled so much that the mother-in-law began to have a strong dislike for her young daughter-in-law. But Monica did not cease to be friendly and courteous towards her mother-in-law, and just as the fog disappears from the sun’s rays, so her mother-in-law’s dislike towards her disappeared and passed away. This latter told everything to her son and demanded that he punish the evil tongues, which he did. Since then, no one else dared to destroy the peace that prevailed between both women, and they lived among themselves like two tenderly loving friends. Maybe these lines will catch the eye of some mother-in-law and daughter-in-law who are not living well with each other. “Oh, if only I had not entered this family when I got married! - says one. “The devil himself cannot stand it.” “What kind of monster have you brought into the house,” the mother-in-law sighs deeply, “and who can get along with her! Her place is not where kind and peaceful people live.” But who is to blame? Of course, neither one nor the other, and yet it is difficult to free them both from guilt. The daughter-in-law should yield in many ways to the old woman and lovingly try to earn her favor. If Monica could win over a pagan, why not get along with an older Christian woman? Thanks to Monica's diligence and influence, her mother-in-law later converted to Christianity. Young wife! And you may have the opportunity to convert an old woman to the path of truth, who until now was cold towards religion, rarely attended church and even less often received the Holy Mysteries. What would you do? Women often came to Monica and said that they had suffered such and such things from such and such women; in a word, they spewed poison and anger at those who were absent, from whom, in their opinion, they had been wronged. At the same time, the noble character of the pious woman was shown in the most beautiful light. Instead of (as often happens) going to women against whom she had heard a slander, and secretly conveying to them what one or another of her acquaintances had said against them, and thereby adding fuel to the fire, she, on the contrary, when coming to them or meeting with them, kept silent about what could inflame enmity, and expressed with tender and judicious love only what could serve to reconcile both sides. In this way she knew how to turn enmity into friendship. Blessed are the peacemakers: for these shall be called the sons of God (Matthew 5:9). Now, kind reader, turn to your own heart. Perhaps you too go from house to house to listen to people’s talk, to judge and vilify those who are absent, and then tell them that you have heard about them. Do you not thereby create quarrels and enmity between people who until that time lived well among themselves? Or maybe you are inventing different things to arm people one against another? Who can count all those hateful speeches, slander and slander that flow daily from women’s lips! How few understand the reprehensibility and sinfulness of such speeches! It rarely happens that such sinful speeches are mentioned in confession. How will those who daily sin with their tongue and do not think of correcting themselves from this shortcoming appear before the judgment of God? What blinding! Often people who consider themselves almost saints and attend church daily cannot control their angry and caustic tongue; they collect information about all people, they know everyone inside and out, only they know nothing about themselves, and if anyone touches them a little, they flare up like a flame, and then woe to those who fall into their tongue. Good wife! What is your language? Do you promote peace or hostility to them? From the marriage of Patricius with Monica there were three children: Augustine, Navigius and Perpetua. We will talk about Augustine later. Navigy was a pious man; he was the inseparable companion of his mother and his, later famous, brother. Perpetua was also a devoted daughter of Monica and tried to emulate her pious life. She married, was soon widowed, and appears to have had no children. Augustine built a nunnery in Ippon, of which Perpetua was abbess. Augustine called her a saint. They often say: where there are many children, one is not like the other. Every family has its black sheep, the proverb says. Augustine behaved in such a way that this proverb seemed to be justified on him. It is commonly believed that good Christian parents have good, well-behaved children who bring them joy. But it happens that one, or several, or even all children will go down a bad path; This is due to various bad influences that unfortunate children fall under. In any case, a kind, Christian-minded, pious mother can pass on a lot to her children. At a time when she still carries her child under her heart, and then she already lives completely for him. Treasuring that noble life that begins and blossoms in her, she lives under the beneficial influence of the virtues: meekness, humility, love for God and neighbors, compassionate mercy for the poor, patience in suffering; She daily abides in all these virtues, and just as warm rain promotes the growth of plants and the ripening of flower buds, so the prayer of a mother brings down abundant blessings on her child. Frequent reception of the Holy Mysteries gives her the necessary strength to fulfill all maternal responsibilities. Wanting to make her child a member of the saving Church of God, even before birth, in her prayers she entrusts to God that living being that the Lord calls to the light through her. And this does not remain without beneficial consequences, as experience shows. On November 13, 354, Monica gave birth to a son, who received the name Augustine; but this newborn son was not immediately baptized, because, according to the custom of that time, baptism was delayed, as we know about Tsar Constantine the Great, who, although he was favorable towards Christianity, was only baptized at the end of his life. According to the views of that time, it seems that it was considered a very shameful thing if a baptized person, after baptism, again fell into some serious sin; Thus, baptism was postponed out of high respect for the dignity of the Christian and the holy Sacrament of baptism. IX. Mother! Pray for your children Monica began raising her children while they were still in her arms. As soon as they saw the light, she overshadowed them with the sign of the holy cross. As soon as the children could even understand a little, she told them about a loving God, His omnipotence, strength and greatness. How often Monica, with her maternal gaze, seemed to plunge into the eyes of her children! How often she folded their hands to make the sign of the cross! How often I repeated the words of prayers to them! Christian mother! Do it too, just like Monica did. If God has given you a child, then sign him with the holy cross when he rests in your arms. With this sign on its forehead, it must begin its life’s journey. “By this victory,” Emperor Constantine once read on the cross. And your child, growing under your maternal care, by the power of this sign will defeat the devil, the world and his own evil lusts. A young, unreasoning child cannot yet pray, but you, a Christian mother, can pray for your child and should do so. Just as a gardener waters tender plants daily or several times a day so that they grow and later bear flowers and fruit, so you water your tender soul with the dew of prayer. Do not think, good mother, that your prayer is not needed for your child. Why do some children turn out bad from the most Christian parents? Most often because these parents repeatedly forgot the duty of prayer. Good mother! Have you neglected this duty too? If so, then start praying and pray for the child until the child learns to pray on his own. As soon as your child begins to babble the sweet name of his mother, try to imprint the word of prayer on his soul. The child should pray with you, say with you: “Our Father.” And even if it does not yet understand this lofty prayer, when pronouncing it, a loving God understands your child. The prayers that you, mother, teach your child will accompany him throughout his life, and when you are no longer alive, your children will pray for you with those words of the holy prayer that you taught them, and these prayer words in the mouths of your children will be like your own words. As soon as Augustine came of age, his parents sent him to school. The pagan father was concerned with making Augustine a famous secular man, and the pious mother wanted to make him a pious servant of Christ. The boy’s brilliant abilities soon emerged, and Augustine later repentantly reported on his childhood pranks in his famous book “Confessions.” The parents rejoiced that the boy was making great progress in science, but the heart of the poor mother felt great anxiety when she saw how absent-mindedly Augustine accepted her good advice and moral teachings and when she noticed that as he grew older, his behavior became worse and worse. Monica, with a confused heart, agreed for her son to attend a pagan school. Why didn't she send him to a Christian school? Because there were no Christian schools then. Parents should consider it a great happiness if their children study in schools that are imbued with a truly Christian spirit. They must carefully monitor whether a bad, anti-Christian trend is spreading in the schools that their children attend, which is not uncommon today. Children and their good direction and upbringing are most precious to them: they are entrusted to them, like a precious pledge, for safekeeping by the Lord Himself, and they will someday have to give an account for them. The present modern spirit is growing against the Christian trend, and in Christian schools it wants to revive ancient paganism. O mother, if your children are forced to go to a school in which, perhaps, religious feelings are abused, then be the guardian of their religious feelings, talk to them yourself about what an invaluable benefit is in the teaching that the Lord brought to us and which is preserved in the Church. This is the best capital you can put in the hearts of your children. For this, one day they will remember and glorify you before the throne of God. Mother! When your children are in school, be a vigilant overseer for them. XI. Entrust your children to kind, Christian-minded people When Augustine reached adolescence, his parents sent him to the city of Madera for further education. Here he entered the society of frivolous young men and with youthful frivolity broke the bridle that restrained his tendency to dissipation; here he learned the hidden ways of vice. One can imagine how hard it was for good Monica when she saw her son Augustine on such disastrous paths. But what could she do? She prayed. She also added loving exhortations and heartfelt advice to free her beloved child from the snare of vice and save his soul. One day, when Monica was alone with her son, she admonished him with great sorrow and bitter anxiety. “My child! - she said. “May God protect you from all kinds of unchastity, especially from adultery.” But the good mother’s admonitions were in vain. Small children mean little worries, big children mean big worries. If parents are able to keep their children with them and before their eyes, while they are not yet fully grown, then this is great happiness for them. Such children cannot adequately thank God for the fact that they are not thrown into the stormy sea of ​​life and are not forced to wander in the desert of life in order to seek the true path themselves. But if parents must give them to strangers, then they should try to give their growing sons, who are forced to acquire useful knowledge or arts on the side, only to good, Christian-minded people, from whom they could conscientiously fulfill their religious duties, who could encourage them to do this. Whether their daughters should serve and do anything in other people's houses, parents should take care that they end up in Christian families. If children do not live at home, then conscientious parents should inquire about them and warn them against various temptations. A mother's eye cannot help but watch her children. XII. Monica converts her husband You may ask, dear reader, whether Monica managed to influence her pagan husband and win him over to Christianity? One cannot expect anything else from such a woman. She tried with all her might to convince her husband of the correctness of Christian teaching. She revealed to him the truths of faith. She taught him, she captivated him with words, but especially with the example of her life. Great was the patience with which she bore her husband’s insults; she was full of humility and love. She tamed her husband's anger with her love. Piety and purity of heart shone in her eyes. The sight of such virtue should have led her husband to the thought: religion, which makes an earthly being so worthy of love, must itself also be worthy of love. In 371 he was baptized and soon after died a blessed death, cleansed of pagan vices and filled with saving grace. Monica grieved a lot, but at the same time thanked God for the grace that her husband was awarded before his departure from the world. One, converted to the true faith, remarked: “Nothing in his eyes made this faith so beautiful and worthy of love as the meek and patient behavior of his believing wife.” A woman like Monica, who was entirely devoted to virtue, treated the demands of piety with all possible severity. But there are people who outwardly perform deeds of piety, but inside they are full of arrogance, and their tongue pours out poison and bile. The best way to know by language is where true Christianity is and where it is not. Whoever brings dishonor and slander to an absent person does not have a religious spirit, although outwardly he seems pious. True virtues are drops of honey that attract others with their sweetness. Christian wife! Are you like Blessed Monica? Do you inspire love in your husband by fulfilling your Christian duty and by your pure, sincere virtue? Monica became a widow. She remembered the words of the apostle: The true widow and lonely one trusts in God and continues in supplications and prayers day and night (1 Tim. 5:5). She took these words to heart; She completely surrendered to God and now prayed even more than before. Holy Scripture tells us about the prophetess Anna, who did not leave the church day and night, serving God with fasting and prayer. This good Anna was given the grace to know and see Christ in the arms of the virgin Mother of God. The son of Mother Monica said beautifully: “A true mother, by the grace of the Gospel, is honored to be the mother of Christ when she tries to be holy both in body and spirit.” For a Christian widow, the place of sensual joys and pleasures is replaced in a holy, chaste life by spiritual joys and pleasures, namely: spiritual reading, reverent prayer, psalmody, pious meditation, exercise in good deeds, hope for a future life, a pure heart turned to heaven, and for all this thanksgiving to God, the Father of lights, from whom comes every perfect gift and every good gift, as testifies Holy Scripture. Sometimes young or middle-aged women, standing at the coffin of their husbands, express their grief so strongly that the very stones must take pity. From this strong outpouring of grief one would think that these widows devoted their entire love to their dead husbands and could no longer think of another husband. But experience shows something else: the more screaming, the sooner there will be a new wedding. When circumstances make a new marriage necessary, let the widow marry in the name of God. An honest Christian widow, who can bear her widowhood and, moreover, has children, let her live entirely for their good upbringing, let her heart be turned to God and let her seek joy and consolation in prayer, attending worship services and good deeds. She can be a sister of mercy for her needy brethren; and let her think no more about earthly pleasures, but only about the salvation of her soul. A woman like Monica, after the death of her husband, did not feel the need to marry again, but lived from then on for God, for the salvation of her soul and for her children, especially for Augustine, who had lost his way. To supplement his education, Augustine entered the higher school in Carthage. To find the means to do this, Monica saw herself in the need to live the simplest possible lifestyle with other children. She hoped that the high mind of her son, the more familiar he became with the pagan sciences, the sooner he would see and hate the dirt that the pagan scriptures were full of, and the sooner he would leave his delusions and become a true disciple of Christ; and the great mother of the great son was not mistaken. At twenty years old, he read everything and understood everything. His comrades treated him with great respect; it tickled his ambition; It was flattering for him to see himself loved and respected. Pagan teachers of higher education presented all pagan excesses as truth - this is what Augustine was looking for. In sensual pleasures he sought satisfaction for his heart, which thirsted for truth; but it remained empty and did not feel full. There was a lot of talk about science, but Augustine found in it shimmering and seductive images. There is nothing new under the sun (Eccl. 1:10); what was, is also what will be (Eccl. 1:9). Since the Lord Jesus Christ came from heaven and said: I am the way, the truth and the life (John 14:6), we know what the truth is. Every child in the Gospel finds it. All the higher questions, the solutions of which the ancient world sought in vain, are now no longer a mystery. We do not need to agonize over the questions: where did you come from, man? Where are you going? Why do you live in the world? This is quite clear to us. No science and no human wisdom can give any other solution to this than the one given by the Son of God. Whoever, at the present time, when the sun of Christianity is shining over the world, begins to seek truth and science outside of Him and begins to create his own religion for himself, will be like a person who, in broad daylight, lights a dim lantern and says: “I want to have my own light.” Four years later, Augustine returned from Carthage, but returned unconverted. He continued to be an unbeliever and immoral. One can imagine the sorrow of the good mother, Monica. Streams of tears flowed from her eyes daily; from the altar of her heart the fragrance of prayer incessantly rose for her, although a scientist who had already gained fame in the world, but in her believing eyes such an unfortunate son. Monica was a tenderly loving mother, but at the same time strong and firm in spirit. A woman, guided by the spirit of peace and full of vanity, would have welcomed with triumph the day when her son, so glorious, hurried into her arms. It is natural for a mother to be happy when she hears praise from her children. But Monica was not looking for this quickly disappearing joy. Her only desire was to save her son's soul. How high Monica stands here before us! In order to test everything over her son and have a stronger effect on him, she carried out one heroic decision, namely: when Augustine returned to his homeland, she locked the doors on him so that he would not dare to live with her. He found shelter with a rich pagan, who later himself became a Christian. But Monica did not want to have any relations with her son: she thought that the shame that Augustine should have felt from this would serve to convert him. In addition, she did not want to tolerate an unbeliever in her house. How many mothers are there today who, like Monica, are forced to see their sons return either from university or some other school with a loss of faith and morals! A secular woman will think: well? This is now the custom of the world; If only he passed his exam well, got a profitable position, and then found a noble and rich bride. To a Christian mother, earthly splendor and wealth have no more meaning than cobwebs and street dirt. On the contrary, her heart hurts if she sees her son on the path of vice and unbelief. A good mother, like Monica, will not abandon prayer and heartfelt admonitions; she will use everything, even the most extraordinary means, to preserve the child of her heart for heaven. Soon after Augustine returned from Carthage, Monica had a wonderful dream. She dreamed that she was standing on a board and a brilliant young man with a smiling face was approaching her, while she was sad and depressed. He asks her the reason for her sadness and daily tears. She answers: that’s why she’s crying because she lost her son. Then he began to exhort her not to lose hope and to look around, because Augustine was right there, next to her. Hearing this, she saw her son on the same board on which she stood. This dream had such an effect on Augustine’s mother that she allowed him to live with her. She told him the dream in the hope that it would impress him. Augustine then answered his mother, after listening to her dream, that she would one day be the same as he was now. She remarked to this: no, it’s not what this dream predicts, but that you will be where I am. After a year's stay in Tagaste, Augustine again went to Carthage to teach rhetoric, that is, the art of eloquence, in order to acquaint his listeners with the techniques of lawyers and teach them to save the lives of the guilty. But Monica felt much more cheerful after the dream and looked forward to the future with hope. Was it superstition? Not at all; because, although dreams usually belong to the realm of dreams, we know from Sacred History that God often announced His will in a dream, as the story of Joseph’s stay in Egypt shows. But the devil leads those who serve him through unbelief along the paths of superstition. All ancient paganism is full of superstitions, and modern paganism with its table-turning, conjuring of spirits and various fortune-telling is direct proof of the truth that unbelief and superstition go hand in hand. Monica's hopes were justified. Augustine subsequently converted to Christ and was one of the most devout Christians. 81. About precious stones and gold jewelry (From the works of Clement of Alexandria “Pedagogue”, book II, chapter 12 and book III, chapter 2) It is a purely childish thing to be interested and fascinated by precious stones, dark or light green, thrown up by the waves of a distant sea and extracted from the bowels of the earth. Only stupid people who are keen on things that amaze the eyesight can become addicted to transparent stones, original colors and various glasses. So children, when they look at fire, seduced by its brilliance, are drawn to it, but, undeveloped and little conscious, they do not understand that it is dangerous to touch fire. Meanwhile, foolish women have necklaces and chains made of stones such as amethyst, carnelian, jasper, topaz and Milesian emerald, this is the most precious thing. With excessive luxury, pearls appeared, which were extremely valuable. And this pearl is born in a shell that is the size of a small fish eye. And pitiful women are not ashamed to put all their desires in this shell, when they could be decorated with holy pearls, precisely the word of God, which in Scripture is called a pearl of great price. It is absolutely necessary to destroy the passion for clothes and external decorations, which, turning the lover of beauty to empty vanity, leads him to forget about virtue and concentrates all his concerns on the decoration of the body. By tying to the body something that is not characteristic of the body, the dandy takes care of deception and follows the custom of seduction. By this she reveals not honesty, sincerity and childish purity, but swagger, effeminacy and coquetry. Women who wear gold jewelry even obscure and hide their true beauty. They do not understand what a criminal appearance they put on themselves, tying themselves with countless chains. These rich women seem to compete with the prisoners and prisoners. Isn't a gold necklace the same as a collar? And the chains – aren’t they the same chains or bonds?.. Blessed Paul said beautifully: I desire that women, in decent attire, with modesty and chastity, adorn themselves, not with braided hair, not with gold, not with pearls, not with costly clothing, but with good works, as becomes women devoting themselves to godliness (1 Tim. 2:9, 10). So, in the wrists of your hands, let there be a holy decoration - an easy message for generosity and care for the home and family. He who does good to the poor lends to God (Proverbs 19:17). The hands of the courageous become rich (Proverbs 10:4). The Wise One calls those who despise money and who are always ready to share their wealth with others as courageous. Let your feet be seen to be unlaxly quick to do good and march towards righteousness. Chains and necklaces - modesty and modesty: such necklaces are designed by God. Blessed is the man who gains wisdom, and the mortal who gains understanding (Proverbs 3:13), says the Spirit through Solomon. Because acquiring it is better than acquiring silver, and the profit from it is greater than from gold; it is more valuable than precious stones ( Proverbs 3:14, 15 ). This is a true decoration! Let not women have their ears pierced, contrary to nature, so that gold earrings may hang on them; for it is indecent to do violence to nature against its will. Instead, let there be another, better decoration for the ears, more in accordance with nature - true catechumen, that is, good teaching accepted by the ear... It is not the appearance of the outer man, but the soul that must be adorned with the adornment of honesty and kindness. We can say that the flesh also needs to be decorated, but only with the decoration of abstinence. Women care only about external decoration and leave their inner in desolation: behind these worries of appearance, they seem to have forgotten themselves... Such women care little about the household and the management of the family, but, exhausting their husband’s wallets on their whims, they spend what they get in order to appear beautiful and have many witnesses to their beauty... They forget, pathetic, that they destroy and lose their own beauty when they adorn themselves with someone else’s, unusual for them. From early morning, rubbing and cleaning their face and smearing themselves with various mixtures, they cool the surface of the skin, poison the flesh with harmful drugs, and with excessive rubbing completely spoil their vibrant color. Therefore, from these anointings, they appear pale and easily succumb to disease, since their flesh is weakened by those harmful and often poisonous drugs with which they rub and adorn themselves. Moreover, they insult the Creator of people, as if He did not give them sufficient beauty. They do not do anything that relates to housekeeping at all, and sit decorated, as if they were born to be looked at, and not to do business... Just as a hand covered with a plaster or a plastered eye by its very appearance gives reason to think that a person is sick, so exactly rubbing and embellishment reveals a soul infected with illness inside. Although you dress in purple, although you adorn yourself with gold and paint your eyes with colors, you adorn yourself in vain (Jer. 4:30), says God through the prophet Jeremiah. In fact, isn’t it stupid: horses, birds and other animals are content with their own adornment given by nature, such as a mane, natural color and various feathers, but a woman seems to be lower than animals and considers herself so ugly that she cannot do without the beauty of someone else, artificial, fake?.. 82. To wives who have thin husbands From the book “Chetii-Minei in teaching.” Archpriest Guryev Everyone knows that not everyone lives happily in marriage and that, in the vast majority of cases, wives have to drink the bitter cup more often than husbands. There, you hear, the husband is a drunkard; another doesn’t care whether he has a wife and children or not; the third has become a habit of constantly abusing his wife. Fourth... You can’t count how many bad husbands there are. And so my heart bleeds, looking at these unfortunate sufferers, as if condemned to daily torment and boundless sorrow. How can this be? Is it really possible to leave them in this torment and do nothing to help them? Is there really no way to alleviate their bitter fate? No, it is necessary to help, and there is a means to alleviate their plight. You, of course, ask, what does this remedy consist of? But listen, we will reveal it to you now. The mother of St. Gregory the Theologian, Blessed Nonna, was the daughter of good Christians, and her parents raised her according to the rules of Christian piety. But here is her misfortune: her parents married her to a pagan. And it was bitter, bitter for her, an ardent Christian, to see how her husband, instead of the true God, honored soulless creatures and bowed to fire and lamps. In fact, what was it like for her when she stood at her prayer, and her husband stood at his; will she begin to pray to God, and her husband will begin to perform idolatry rituals? Yes, it was hard. But to her credit, it must be said that it was only difficult at first. Nonna was a wise woman and strong-willed, and she soon found a way out of a difficult situation and made her bad husband good, and out of him, a pagan, she also made an exemplary and holy Christian. How did she achieve this? Nonna fell to God day and night, in fasting and with many tears she asked Him to grant salvation to her head, she worked tirelessly on her husband, trying to win him in various ways: with reproaches, convictions, services, and most of all with her life and fiery zeal for piety, which most strongly inclines and softens her heart, voluntarily allowing herself to be led to virtue. She needed, like water to break through a stone with the continuous fall of a drop, to expect success in what she tried from time to time, as the consequence justified. She asked for this, expected this not so much with the fervor of her youth, but with the firmness of faith. And no one relied on the tangible as boldly as she did on the expected, knowing from experience the generous love of God. The husband’s mind was gradually healed, and the Lord began to attract him to Himself with sleepy visions. Once it seemed to Nonna’s husband that he was singing the following verse of David: We rejoiced at those who said to me: Let us go to the house of the Lord (Ps. 122:1). As he sang, he felt sweetness in his heart and, standing up in a joyful mood, told his wife about the vision. She, realizing that God Himself was calling her husband to the Holy Church, began to teach him the Christian faith even more diligently and led him to the path of salvation. At that time, on the way to Nicaea, Saint Lentios, Bishop of Caesarea of ​​Cappadocia, stopped in Nazianza. Blessed Nonna brought her husband to him, and Gregory was baptized by the hands of the saint. After accepting holy baptism, he led such a righteous and godly life that he was subsequently elected to the episcopal throne in the same city of Nazianza. So, here's help for you, unfortunate wives! Imitate Saint Nonna and, God willing, you will turn your husbands to the good path. Pray fervently to God for them; influence them with gentle reproaches, persuasion and favors. Show them an example of a pious life, believe in the mercy of God, arm yourself with patience and believe that, just as a drop of water breaks a stone through its continuous fall, so you, undoubtedly, sooner or later will touch the hearts of your husbands and turn these hearts to the Lord. But even if, despite all this, you had not touched them, then even here yours would not be lost, for through your patience here on earth from men you will earn for yourself the crown of martyrdom and will be numbered in heaven among those who endured to the end. 83. A story to console a wife whose husband is prone to drunkenness There is such a parable in ancient books: when Jesus Christ was still walking the earth with His apostles, they came to one village and asked a rich but cruel old man for a drink of water. “Move on,” the ruthless rich man answered them. They left that inhospitable village and passed through a field. A girl is working in the field. They asked her for a drink, she hurriedly took her jug ​​and cordially gave them a drink. And the apostles asked the Lord: “You know everything, Lord, tell us what will happen to this good girl?” “She will marry that ruthless old man.” – Where is Your truth, merciful Lord? – the apostles exclaimed in amazement. “My truth is that this girl will save her husband and thereby earn herself a crown.” What does this legend teach? Yes, the same thing that the holy Apostle Paul teaches when he says: What can you do if you save your husband? (1 Cor. 7:16). Why do you know, wife, maybe you can save your husband? Maybe that’s why God arranged it so that you would marry this unfortunate man, obsessed with drunken passion, so that through you the salvation of his poor soul would be arranged? And if so, then think about what great happiness God has assigned to you - to be God’s instrument in the matter of saving a person close to you?! Well? Is it really possible to grumble about your bitter lot after this? Use all the power of your love to save the soul of the unfortunate husband. A wife’s love is a great force: your heart was created for love, and you should live not with your mind, but with your heart, not with your thoughts, but with love. And love will teach you what to do to save your poor husband. Love will tell you how to hold your loved one when he is drawn to alcoholic drinks, how to console his poor heart. Here comes the Feast of the Lord - persuade, good wife, your weak husband to go with you to the Church of God, go with him to the priest-priest, ask him to give you spiritual advice; visit your good relatives together, who, you know, will not have vodka... You look, and the holiday has passed, and tomorrow you have to work, and not get drunk. Doesn't he want to listen to you? Scolding? And then don't be discouraged. It is then that you most importantly resort to God, fall before the Queen of Heaven, our warm and all-powerful Intercessor before God. Oh, how powerful is Her prayer to the Lord for innocent sufferers like you! To console you, I will repeat the story of a martyr wife like you about how the Queen of Heaven helped her. “I saw a lot of grief, I shed a lot of tears in my youth, when my husband led a drunken life. What happened, he earned money, then there, in the neighboring village, and drank in a tavern. Once in late autumn there came a great cold, three of my children lay dying with smallpox. The feast of the Kazan Icon of the Mother of God has arrived; Early in the morning a neighbor comes to our house and says that my husband has started drinking again, drank all his clothes away, and is left in only a shirt. Out of grief, I fell onto the bench and sobbed with despair in my heart. My neighbor got scared and began to persuade me. “Today,” he says, “is the holiday of the Queen of Heaven, it is a sin to cry; Come with me to the Church of God, let’s pray, maybe it will be easier for you. Meanwhile, the mother-in-law looks after the children. I didn’t know where to go from my fierce grief, I got up and went to church. When we arrived there, they sang touchingly: “O zealous intercessor, Mother of the Lord Most High, pray for all of Thy son...” Tears flowed like a river from me, I fell to my knees, and cried and prayed, and my heart seemed to be breaking into pieces. I didn't see anyone around me; I only hear: - Why is she crying like that? Or did her father and mother die? “No,” others say, “she has had neither father nor mother for a long time; Her life is very bad: her husband... Here I cried even hotter, began to pray even hotter: “Mother, You are my Intercessor! How can I live?!.. I won’t leave You, intercede, intercede for me, a bitter orphan!” And the Queen of Heaven stood up and heard my bitter prayer. And now I won’t forget: I come home and I can’t believe my eyes: my husband is at home and not drunk. I involuntarily burst out: - What is this, Lord? Are you really getting sober? “Yes,” he says, and he looks so timid. And he told how in the morning he went to the drinking house straight from bed, had already approached the door, grabbed the bracket, suddenly, as if someone shouted at him: “Get back, go home!” And he himself does not remember why he was afraid, and rushed to run home. Then I told him how I prayed to the Queen of Heaven, and realized with fear and joy that it was She, Mother, our Intercessor, who took pity on us and returned my husband from the path of destruction. And from that day on, he would take even a drop into his mouth to this day, and this will be more than 25 years old. Since then, we have served every year on October 22 a prayer service to the Queen of Heaven and the Kazan Icon was exchanged at the same time. The husband himself went to Moscow to pick her up.” This is how the simple woman ended her story, happy that the Queen of Heaven helped her to reason with and save her husband from drunken passion. Pray for your unfortunate husband too; constantly ask the Queen of Heaven; ask the saints of God, especially the martyr Boniface, who himself was tempted by the passions of the flesh and drunkenness and therefore can help those who are tempted... Take out the prosphora for the health of your husband, invite him to eat from this prosphora when on an empty stomach he is drawn to vodka to get a hangover... Ask for prayers about him from the ministers of the Church of God and believe: the Lord will hear your heartfelt cries, the Queen of Heaven and the saints of God will listen to your prayer. Remember how in Christ’s parable the widow persistently asked the unrighteous judge, and he finally listened to her. Will God not hear you when you cry out to Him in your sorrow day and night? To her! Will hear; The Queen of Heaven will also hear your bitter complaints about the enemy who enslaved your husband to sinful passions, and you will see joy, and your husband will sober up and become different - a kind, sober, good man. Two soldiers served in the regiment, fellow villagers and the same year, but in their hearts they were completely different people: one had a heart like wax, soft, and the other hard, like stone. Both of them were called Ivans; and their comrades nicknamed them: one Quiet Ivan, and the other Proud Ivan. After the war, both Ivans retired and returned to their native village. Our fellows looked out for a bride. Quiet Ivan fell in love with the poor widow’s daughter, a meek, kind girl. Proud Ivan liked the innkeeper’s daughter, a arrogant, well-liked girl, but with a large dowry. Proud Ivan comes to his rich bride and tells her: “I’m taking you from a rich family, and I’m not a poor person myself: here’s a ring-ring made of pure cast gold, with precious, semi-precious stones.” The bride accepted the gift and said with a grin: “I have a lot of all kinds of expensive clothes in my chests, and all your gifts are to my heart.” She put the ring on her middle finger and looked at it, admiring it. And the golden ring shines; a gemstone burns like fresh blood; and around him the diamonds brighten like burning tears... Quiet Ivan comes to his bride and tells her: – I love you more than anything in the world; I would give you gold and pearls, but I have nothing but a warm heart. Accept an inexpensive gift from me - a silver ring, a simple ring. It was drenched in hot tears and given to me with a blessing. Wear it without taking it off, and be happy and prosperous, just as I was happy with it. The bride blushed, accepted the treasured gift from the groom and said: “It’s not a gift, but your love that is dear to me.” The bride looks at the ring, and on her finger it turns white, like a pure snowflake, and shines, as if a tear has rolled down it. And then the wedding day came. There were a lot of people - the church was full. There are two grooms and two brides in front. One bride is wearing scarlet damask, muslin, and heavy pearl earrings in her ears. And the golden ring on her hand sparkles with a semi-precious stone. The other bride is wearing chintz, calico, and in her ears are silver earrings with glass. And the ring on your hand turns white like a pure snowflake. An elderly priest came out of the altar. The grooms put their wedding rings on the plate, and the brides put their gift rings. The priest looked at the rings and was surprised, but did not say anything to the brides. The holy wedding ceremony ended, the priest blessed the newlyweds. He whispered to the soldiers to come to him in the evening and bring rings with them. In the evening both Ivans come to the priest. The elder received them honorably, seated them in first place in the upper room and asks them to confess in all honesty where they got such rings from. “I wouldn’t tell people how this ring was obtained,” said Ivan the Proud, “but to you, father, as before God, I will reveal the whole truth.” We took one place by storm. The drums beat, and we rushed into the fire to attack. We burst into the town and the enemy fled to their homes. We see they are shooting from the windows of a rich house. We knocked the enemy out of there, and as I walked through the rich chambers, I saw: a woman lying on the floor in blood and moaning, and on her right hand a ring with a semi-precious stone glittered - this very one. “If it’s not me, someone else will take it off,” I thought and tore the ring off my finger. It’s hard to admit, but the truth needs to be told: how the woman cut into my heart with her sharp gaze and said one word after me in her language, and I don’t know what, but it must not have been very welcoming - and I ran without looking back. That’s all here in full, as before God. And the priest said to Proud Ivan: - You did a bad thing. This ring is precious: the scarlet stone in it is a ruby, and the light stones are diamonds; but even whole mountains of precious stones are not worth one tear, one sigh of an offended person. Repent, my son, of your sin to God. - And you, gentleman, where did you get your ring from? – the priest asked Quiet Ivan. “It’s obscene to boast to people how I got this ring,” says Ivan Tikhy, “but I won’t hide it from you, father.” Together with a comrade we were in this very battle. I rushed forward along with everyone else. Suddenly I see a little boy running towards me, crying, shouting: “Mom, mom!” And pity took over me - I ran up to him, stroked his head and said: don’t leave me behind, boy! The guns will ride here, the cavalry will rush - they will trample you like a booger; and you hold on to me tightly: maybe I’ll bring you out, you fool, unharmed. And the little boy understood me and grabbed hold of me with his little hand; I advance, but he is not a step away from me, and does not cry. Suddenly I see a woman rushing along the street, shouting: “My son, my son!” - "Mother! - my curly-haired boy squeaks, - my mother! The woman heard a dear voice - a bird darted almost at my bayonet and grabbed the gun. “God be with you, young lady! “I tell her, “take your child and go to the right, otherwise they will trample you.” She grabbed my son and fell at my feet, sobbing, catching me by the knees. But I don’t have time to stand with her, my comrades are advancing. “Let me go,” I say, “I need to go forward.” She stands on her knees and hastily removes the ring from her hand and catches my hand. Frankly, I gave in for a minute - she put her ring on my finger, made the sign of the cross over me in her own way and shouted after me - what, I don’t know, but it must have just been a greeting, and I needed to run, and I wanted to listen... So I still had the ring. That's all here: I confess to you as to God Himself. And the priest said to Quiet Ivan: - Christ-loving warrior! You have done a Christian thing. This ring is of little value, but inscribed on it in writing not ours is a great word among all peoples: “God bless you.” And God will preserve you everywhere, just as you preserved the innocent soul of a baby. The priest said goodbye to both Ivans, and they went home, both thinking the same thing: “Anyone in my place would have done the same.” And both Ivans began to live at home. Quiet Ivan took up field farming, and Proud Ivan took up trade. Quiet Ivan will sow his field, and the shoots will turn green like velvet, and when morning comes, he will cover them with honeydew like silver. Proud Ivan bought various goods: braids, knives, nails; Before he has time to bring it to his shop, rust will cover all the iron like blood, even if you throw away all the goods. However, both Ivans live evenly: Quiet - does not get rich, because the family is poor; A proud person does not become poor because the family is rich. But their joys in life are not equal. Quiet Ivan has silence every day; and every holiday, thanks be to God, good people do not forget his house. Proud Ivan has bickering and quarrels every day - sometimes with his wife, sometimes with his father-in-law, and every holiday there are guests walking around. And his life became worthless to him, but his wife and relatives became punishment. Proud Ivan is not happy about wealth either, and he curses his life and his failure. And Quiet Ivan lived comfortably and lovingly in his family for many years. And when old age came to him, he already had seven children; True, they were not rich, but they did not know great need: God gives children, and He also gives for children. Quiet Ivan will look at his old wife and obedient children and say: “There is no limit to God’s mercy towards us sinners.” 85. About gentle treatment of servants Having learned about some Christian that he was treating his servants cruelly, Saint John the Merciful, Patriarch of Alexandria, called him to himself and with meekness begged him to be philanthropic. - My son! - said the patriarch. “It has reached my sinful ears that, due to the action of the enemy, you are treating your household somewhat cruelly, but I ask you, do not give room for anger. God gave us servants not so that we could beat them, but so that they would serve us, and maybe not for that, but so that we would support them from what God has given us; so, tell me, what did man give and at what price did he buy the one who was created in the image and likeness of God? Do you, sir, really have more in your body than your servant: an extra arm, an extra leg, a different hearing, a special soul? Is not your servant like you in every way? Listen to the luminous teacher Paul: All of you, he says, who were baptized into Christ have put on Christ. There is no longer Jew or Gentile; there is neither slave nor free... for you are all one in Christ Jesus (Gal.3:27), and if in Christ we are equal, then we must be equal among ourselves. This is why Christ took on the image of a slave, to teach us not to be proud against our slaves. There is one Lord for all, who lives in heaven and looks upon the humble (Ps. 112:6); It is not said: “to the high,” but “to the humble.” How much gold have we given to subject to slavery the one who is honored and bought with us by the Divine Blood of the Lord? For him the sky, for him the earth, for him the stars, for him the sun, for him the sea and everything in it. It is also true that angels serve him; for him Christ washed the feet of the slaves, for him he was crucified and suffered everything else; How can you dishonor someone so honored by God? As if you were not of the same nature, you beat him without mercy? Tell me: would you like God to immediately punish you for all your guilt? Of course not. And how do you pray every day: “forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors”? If the cruel master did not correct himself, then the merciful archpastor ransomed the unfortunate slave and gave him freedom. On the eve of the burial 65, after lunch, I felt sleepy, and I went to Natalya Savvichna’s room, hoping to fit on her bed, on a soft down jacket, under a warm quilted blanket. When I entered, Natalya Savvichna was lying on her bed and must have been sleeping; Hearing the noise of my steps, she stood up, threw back the woolen scarf that covered her head from flies, and, straightening her cap, sat down on the edge of the bed. Since even before it happened quite often that after dinner I would come to sleep in her room, she guessed why I came and said to me, getting out of bed: - What? Are you sure you have come to rest, my dear? Lie down. “What are you talking about, Natalya Savvichna,” I said, holding her hand. – That’s not what I’m after... That’s how I came... Yes, you yourself are tired; You better go to bed. “No, father, I’ve already had enough sleep,” she told me (I knew that she hadn’t slept for three days). “And there’s no time for sleep now,” she added with a deep sigh. I wanted to talk to Natalya Savvichna about our misfortune; I knew her sincerity and love, and therefore it would be a joy for me to cry with her. “Natalya Savvichna,” I said, after a short silence and sitting down on the bed, “did you expect this?” The old woman looked at me with bewilderment and curiosity, probably not understanding why I was asking her this. – Who could have expected this? – I repeated. “Oh, my father,” she said, casting a look of the most tender compassion at me, “it’s not like I expected it, but even now I can’t even think about it.” Well, it’s high time for me, an old woman, to put my old bones to rest; and this is what I had to live to see: the old master, your grandfather, eternal memory, Prince Nikolai Mikhailovich, two brothers, sister Annushka - she buried them all, and everyone was younger than me, my father, but now, apparently, for my sins I had to live through it too. His holy will. He then took her, that she was worthy, and He needed good things there too. This simple thought pleasantly struck me, and I moved closer to Natalya Savvichna. She folded her arms across her chest and looked up; her sunken, moist eyes expressed great but calm sadness. She firmly hoped that God would not separate her for long from the one on whom all the power of her love had been concentrated for so many years. “Yes, my father, it seems like a long time ago that I nursed her, swaddled her, and she called me Ours.” Sometimes he would come running to me, wrap his arms around me and start kissing me and saying: “My Nashik, my handsome boy, you are my little turkey.” And I used to joke and say: “It’s not true, mother, you don’t love me; Now, just let you grow up big, get married and forget Ours.” She used to think. “No,” he says, “I’d rather not get married if I can’t take Nashi with me: I’ll never leave Nashi.” But she left and didn’t wait. But she loved me, the deceased. But who did she not love, to tell the truth? Yes, father, you must not forget your mother; it was not a man, but a heavenly angel. When her soul is in the Kingdom of Heaven, she will love you there too, she will rejoice in you there. And, lowering her head, she fell silent. She needed a handkerchief to wipe away the falling tears; she stood up, looked into my face and said to me in a voice trembling with emotion: – The Lord moved me many steps closer to himself. What is left for me here now? For whom should I live? Whom to love? - Don’t you love us? – I said reproachfully and barely holding back tears. – God knows how much I love you, my darlings; but to love her as much as I loved her, I have never loved anyone, and I cannot love her. She could no longer speak, turned away from me and sobbed bitterly. I didn’t even think about going to sleep; we sat silently opposite each other and cried. Conversations with Natalya Savvichna were repeated every day; her quiet tears and calm, pious speeches brought me joy and relief. 87. Against family divisions The Word of the Lord is not said in vain: Every kingdom divided against itself will be desolate (Matthew 12:25). There is one ancient legend, an ancient parable: one king, dying, left the kingdom to eighty heirs. Before his death, he called them all to him and, handing the eldest a large bunch of tightly tied rods, ordered them to break it, but he could not do this; after him, another son took over the bundle of twigs, then a third, and so on, and no one was able to break the small bundle of twigs. Then the old man said: “Untie the rods, take each rod and break it.” It is clear that the bars were broken in one minute. “So you, children,” said the elder, “as long as you live in harmony, together, no one can defeat you, but individually every enemy will defeat you.” Happy is the home where peace and love live, where parents take care of their children, where everyone lives in good harmony: husband and wife, brothers and sisters. The blessing of God rests on such a house. Live, then, brethren, with all humility of mind,... bearing with one another in love, trying to maintain the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace (Eph. 4:2-3). 88. The Lord blesses family happiness According to the magazine "Helmsman" 1898 In the small Galilean town of Cana, in the house of Simon the Zealot, a modest family celebration was taking place - a wedding feast. Among the guests was our Lord Jesus Christ Himself, together with His Most Pure Mother. Probably the owner of the house was not a rich man; he did not even have enough wine for the usual treat. The attentive and compassionate gaze of the Mother of God noticed the natural embarrassment of the owners in such cases; Sympathizing with them, Mary began to beg Her Son to help the poor. And it was here that Christ first demonstrated His Divine miraculous power, miraculously transforming water into wine. The servants, obedient to the word of Jesus, filled the vessels with water and brought the most beautiful, pure wine to their owners. Undoubtedly, this miracle of the Savior made a strong impression on all those present and especially on the owner himself. In this visit by Christ to a family holiday, in this first miracle performed at the holiday, God's blessing on a person's family happiness was clearly manifested. Marriage, one might say, is the basis of family happiness or the means without which it is unthinkable, and Christ did not disdain to attend the wedding celebration. The meek, loving heart of the Savior did not shy away from peaceful family scenes and willingly shared its joy with good householders. However, God’s blessing for family happiness was given earlier, in paradise itself, to the first people. And throughout the Old Testament history, family well-being was usually considered the height of human happiness, and the Founder and Lawgiver of the New Testament Himself is brought up in the quiet family corner of a simple carpenter, then He Himself is present at a marriage celebration, blesses and hugs innocent little ones, often attends the suppers of family people, in His speeches and parables sometimes uses examples and images from the field of family structure (for example, the parables of invited to supper, ten virgins, about the prodigal son). Finally, in his dying moments, having adopted His Mother’s beloved disciple, he clearly confirmed the truth that for a man of advanced years, having support in good children is a great joy. Imbued with the spirit of the teachings of Christ and perfectly understanding the benefits of a correct family system for human life, the holy apostles laid for it, so to speak, a solid foundation - they set out the doctrine of the Sacrament of marriage as an institution of God, and following their example, the Christian Church blessed and blesses people for family happiness. But what was established by God, preached by the holy apostles and blessed by the Church, certainly meets the needs of the human soul; and family happiness is something that the heart yearns for and without which a person is often gloomy and gloomy. Let us explain the above idea with the following comparison: among the vast monotonous plain, a lone tree rises. It may be green and beautiful, but still, with its loneliness, it evokes something like sadness in the viewer. But let us fix our gaze on another picture from visible nature: a bunch of green trees crowd together, representing a cozy, beautiful corner of God’s world - fragrant moisture emanates from it, birdsong flows loudly from it... How beckoning, how pleasing this corner is to all living things! Something similar can be observed in human life. Here a man spends his days alone - there is no one with whom he can share his joy or sorrow, no young life curls around him. It’s boring for him, it’s sad for others to watch him - lonely, gloomy; years will pass, old age will come, and yet the young shoots of new life will not surround him, will not delight him. A different impression is made by a kind family, where the mutual relations of the members breathe love, friendship, and the joy of life; How gratifying and pleasant it is to spend time among her! Even in extreme old age, in view of approaching death, the gaze of a happy family man rests with joy on his little ones, children and grandchildren, calling upon them the blessing of God. Yes, it was not in vain that it was said in paradise: it is not good for man to be alone (Gen. 2:18); both the word of God and observations of real life convince us of this truth. Only those few chosen ones of God who are still on earth, having given themselves up entirely to selflessness for the good of their neighbor and immersed in the religious stream of serving God, leading an almost angelic life, can be completely happy outside of family conditions; However, in general, ordinary mortals who have not ascended to the spiritual heights of ascetics, who have not renounced earthly interests, do not run away from family responsibilities, do not be burdened by them, for in the family is your happiness, your joys. And if, Christian and Christian, it falls to your lot to be a father or mother, husband or wife, then value your position, sacredly observe your family responsibilities, and the Lord will bless you, as He once blessed with His presence and miraculously made happy the family in Cana of Galilee. Comp. according to the magazine “The Joy of a Christian” The Holy Apostle Paul immortalized these names - the grandmothers and mothers of his beloved disciple Timothy, Bishop of Ephesus, with the words of his message to him from Rome: I thank God, Whom I serve from my ancestors with a clear conscience, that I constantly remember you in my prayers day and night, and I wish to see you, remembering your tears, so that I may be filled with joy, bringing to mind an unfeigned memory your faith, which formerly dwelt in your grandmother Lois and your mother Eunice; I am sure that it is also in you (2 Tim. 1:3-5). The majestic image of two mothers rises before us when we remember that Timothy, their son and grandson, was for many years the companion and collaborator of the Apostle of the Languages, Paul. Timothy served the Church as a true helper of the great apostle - with the power of grace. He enjoyed the complete trust of his spiritual father and was his friend, and in many of his sufferings he was always a consolation to him. He lived so selflessly in the spirit of the apostle that Paul could write about him: I hope... to soon send Timothy to you (Philippians), so that I, having learned about your circumstances, may be comforted in spirit. For I have no one equally diligent who would so sincerely care for you (Phil. 2:19, 20). Loida, before converting to Christianity, was a pious Israeli, fed on the word of promise, trusted in the Messiah, and raised her daughter Eunice in the same spirit. When the news of the appearance of the Messiah reached them, the hearts of both women were prepared, and they were soon illuminated by the light of reason and the love of Christ. When Eunice had a son, he was named Timothy, that is, “he who fears God.” Early on he was introduced to the world of faith, in which the wives who raised him, his mother and grandmother, lived. The Holy Apostle Paul says that from childhood he knew the sacred scriptures (2 Tim. 3:15), that is, the books of Holy Scripture, or the Bible. It was easy for Timothy to perceive the gracious power of the word of God, because the faith of those who raised him was completely sincere, that is, direct and unwavering, manifesting itself equally in all actions. The faith of a pious mother and grandmother is of the greatest importance for subsequent generations, and especially for the grandmother. We are told that in India the Gospel cannot penetrate the life of the people until the family is revealed to it and until in the family it is not the father or the mother, but mainly the grandmother, who is hostile to everything new, adhering with all her might to the old. “Until the grandmother is converted,” the missionaries assure, “the family is not open to the Savior.” In Lystra we see a converted grandmother whose faith is passed on to her daughter and grandson. It is good for spouses who have mothers like Evnika. From them many can learn how to bring their unbelieving husbands to the Lord Jesus with just one appeal - without words, and if this turns out to be unattainable, then the fruits of their grace-filled life will certainly manifest themselves in their children. This is precisely what Christian mothers should keep in mind before their very eyes when raising their children. Lois and Eunice clearly show us the chief means of education for Christian children. This is the word of God, mainly the Gospel, and prayer. Who does not know about the influence on children's souls of stories from biblical history, for example, the stories of Joseph, David, the three youths and the like? And look how the child’s eyes open, how his hearing strains and how his heart perceives when they tell him about Jesus the Savior! In addition to teaching her child the word of God, a mother must embody this word in her life and must serve as an example of its grace-filled power for her children. The life of Eunice and Lois was just such an example for young Timothy, who “feared the Lord.” In the second century after the Nativity of Christ, during the reign of the Roman Emperor Hadrian, a widow named Sophia, which means wisdom, lived in the city of Rome. She had three daughters - Vera, Nadezhda and Lyubov. The pious mother, who pleased God with prayer and alms, raised her daughters in such a way that they, bearing the names of Christian virtues, set an example of faith, hope and love with their lives. The rumor about their virtues and the beauty associated with them spread throughout the city. One of the leaders, Antiochus, wished to see them. The holy girls appeared to him and did not hide their faith in Christ. Antiochus informed Emperor Hadrian about them; Adrian ordered Saint Sophia and her three young daughters to be brought to him. Saint Sophia then learned that she and her daughters would face the feats of martyrdom for their faith in Jesus Christ. She herself was strong in faith; but her daughters, despite the fact that the eldest, Vera, was only twelve years old, and Lyubov was nine, turned out to be quite ripe for the feat of martyrdom. Their ardent love for God could not allow them to renounce Christ. “Almighty God, arrange for us according to Your holy will; do not leave us, but give us Your holy help: may our hearts not be afraid of the proud tormentor, may we not be afraid of his terrible torment, may we not be horrified by bitter death, may nothing tear us away from You, our God.” This is how the future ascetics prayed, being called to the court of the persecutor of Christians for the first time. Judged, they stood with a bright face, with a calm heart, and cheerfully looked at those present there. The Emperor, seeing their calm faces, asked Sophia about her origin and faith. She confessed her faith in the Lord Jesus Christ, the Son of God, and called herself His servant. “I betrothed my daughters to Christ,” she said, “so that they would preserve their purity for the heavenly Bridegroom.” The king, seeing that the mother of three daughters was an intelligent woman, and not wanting to pronounce immediate judgment on them, sent them all to one noble woman, Palladia, whom he instructed to convince Sophia not to sacrifice her children and their happiness for the sake of faith in the Crucified Christ. In Palladia's house, Sophia spent three days in prayer and exhorted her daughters to be ready for martyrdom. “My beloved daughters,” she said, “the time has come for your feat, the day of your disgrace to the immortal Bridegroom is approaching, show by your name your firm faith in Him, undoubted hope in Him and unfeigned love for Him... If your corruptible bodies are given over to death, then He will clothe them with incorruptibility... My dear daughters! I think that the king will tempt you a lot, will promise you great gifts, offer you fame, wealth and honor, but do not attach your heart to anything: all this will disappear like smoke. I believe in God that He will not leave you suffering for Him. Remember my illnesses when you were born, remember my labors when raising you, remember my instructions in the fear of God. Give me the joy of being called the mother of martyrs who courageously endured suffering for the name of Christ.” Having listened to the mother’s suggestions, the daughters were touched in their hearts, rejoiced and cheerfully anticipated the torment. Three days later they were brought to trial a second time. Without fear, they confessed their faith in Jesus Christ, not being tempted by the promised benefits if they renounced their faith and worshiped idols. The eldest, Vera, was the first to suffer. This holy maiden courageously endured two hours of setting her body on fire on a hot grate, boiling in a cauldron filled with resin, and emerged unharmed by the power of God. The cruel persecutor, not knowing what to do with her, pronounced a death sentence. Holy Vera, filled with joy for herself, hastened to pray to God and encouraged the sisters. She was worried that one of the remaining sisters might renounce the faith out of fear of torment. Saint Vera's head was cut off. Sophia joyfully kissed her martyred body and glorified Christ God, who accepted her daughter into the heavenly chamber. After Vera, ten-year-old Nadezhda was also given over to torture. She, like Vera, was persuaded to renounce Christ with promises of earthly benefits and affection, but she remained unshakable in her faith. She was thrown into the fire, then her body was whittled with iron claws. When her body was crushed into pieces and blood flowed in a stream from the wounds, at that time a wonderful incense was felt. Infuriated by the firmness of the holy youth, the tormentor ordered to prepare a red-hot cauldron with boiling resin. When they wanted to plunge Holy Hope into this cauldron, it suddenly melted and the resin scorched those standing near it. So clearly the power of God helped the holy martyr. After this, the order was issued: “Cut off her head.” The young woman, having kissed her mother and sister, said to her sister: “Let us present ourselves together to the Holy Trinity.” Then she went up to the dead body of Saint Vera, kissed it and shed tears. She herself bowed her head under the sword. The mother rejoiced that her two daughters accepted martyrdom for Christ, and persuaded Lyubov to follow their example. With caresses and flattery they dissuaded her from torment, inclining her to idolatry; but this holy girl also remained adamant. First of all, she was shown a lit stove. She, without waiting for anyone to throw her there, entered it herself and walked among the fire unscorched. Then the tormentors pricked the members of her body, but the power of God strengthened her. The end of her torment was the truncation of her head. Sofia took the bodies of her daughters out of the city and buried them with due honor. The mother was not tortured, perhaps because of the cruel calculation that, while leaving her life, they also left her with hopeless grief. But the Lord soon consoled Saint Sophia. Having buried her children, she spent three days at their tomb in unceasing prayer and then fell asleep in the sleep of death, uniting her with the children in the Kingdom of Him, for Whom their hearts were filled with love. Christian mothers! Bowing to the ground before these holy martyrs, looking with reverence and amazement at their great and glorious deeds for the sake of Christ, try, with the help of God, to imitate them. How - ask. Of course, no one now forbids us to maintain true faith in God; no one now forces us to worship idols; We live, thank God, in the days of peace of the Church of God. But how many different temptations there are for our faith now! How many misconceptions are disastrous and destroy our faith! Children are happy if their mothers are like Saint Sophia and have raised in them Christian feelings, indestructible by any temptations and temptations. 91. Holy Martyr Leonilla as teacher of her grandchildren According to the magazine “Sunday Day” for 1902. Some women have to raise not only children, but also grandchildren after them. Some people will have a son or daughter get married, have children, and even die. Their orphans are left in the care of their grandmother. If any of you, Christian wives, had to bear such a cross and take in your grandchildren, how would you treat them and what would you teach them? Listen to how the holy martyr Leonilla acted. After the death of her son, a pagan, she took into custody his three sons - the twins Speusippus, Eleusippus and Melevsippus. Being herself a deeply believing Christian, she, as it is said in her life, most of all wanted to enlist her grandchildren in the army of Christ and enslave him in His holy service. According to her desire, she taught them this way: “My beloved grandchildren,” she told them, “know our Lord Jesus Christ, the true and living God, who created the whole world with His word, stretched out the heights of heaven over us, spread the breadth of the earth, gathered the depths of the sea, adorned the sky with stars, set two great luminaries to shine for everyone, gave water to the fish to abide, adorned the earth with greenery and trees and every living thing.” gave him what he needed. He created man in His own image and likeness and enriched him with wisdom, reason, and knowledge so that he would know his Creator, distinguish good from evil, and did not honor idols as soulless idols, but swept away the bad ones and ran from them. Leave, sweetest grandchildren, all the demonic idols; Confess the Creator of all, our Lord Jesus Christ, without any doubt.” This is how Saint Leonilla taught her grandchildren. And, as you see, first of all, her concern for them was to bring them to the knowledge of our Savior and confirm them in faith in Him. When the latter, with the help of God's grace, was achieved, then the holy grandmother began to teach her grandchildren the confession of this faith. Having received holy baptism, the twin brothers crushed the idols, rejected all the threats and admonitions of the pagan judges and began to wait for torment. At this time, Leonilla told them: “Know that no one in your family was found nobler, richer, better and more pleasing to God than you. Although you are young, you have enlightened your entire family through the confession of Christ and surpassed all the elders in your family in wisdom. Be constant and strong in the holy law of Christ, do not be afraid of rebuke (that is, threats) and torment, and take courage, strengthened by faith in Christ. Do not forget that all the visible kingdoms of this world are nothing, and real life too, for they accept a speedy end. The Kingdom of God, invisible, is eternal, and perfect wisdom consists in seeking and desiring it. And through temporary labors you will delight him, and soon the passing torments to which you will be subjected will be transformed for you into eternal joy.” This is how the holy grandmother converted and taught her grandchildren, and her conversion and teaching in due time brought worthy fruits. Her grandchildren remained unshakable in their confession of faith, like a rock, and all three acquired the crown of martyrdom (Chetii-Minei, Jan. 16). So, if any of you had to raise your grandchildren, then, firstly, treat them as orphans, meekly and kindly, and, secondly, primarily take care of establishing faith in Christ in their young hearts and thereby making them heirs of the Kingdom of God. As, of course, you noticed, Leonilla’s entire treatment of her grandchildren breathed meekness and love, and her whole teaching was to teach them the Christian faith, confirm it in it and make her grandchildren love Christ most of all. She, as they saw, understood perfectly well that the visible kingdoms of this world and real life itself are nothing, for they are about to end, and therefore she tried with all her might to distract her grandchildren’s thoughts from the earthly and direct them to the heavenly, eternal and Divine. And you lead your grandchildren along the same path, and, without a doubt, this path should be the best for them; for if they are confirmed in faith in God and learn to love Him, then they themselves will be with God, and God will be with them; and if God is with them, then they will never be lost and will not fear any evil. The mother of St. John Chrysostom, the pious Anfusa, remained a widow at twenty years of age, and out of love for a pious life did not dare to enter into a new marriage. “When I was still young,” writes Saint John Chrysostom, “I remember my teacher (and he was the most inveterate pagan) was surprised at my mother in front of many. Wanting to find out, as usual, from those around him who I was, and having heard from someone that I was the son of a widow, he asked me: how old is my mother and how long has she been a widow? And when I said that she was forty years old and that twenty years had already passed since she lost my father, he was amazed and loudly exclaimed: “Oh, what kind of women Christians have!” John, having received his education in secular schools, was preparing to become a lawyer 66; but his inclination towards monastic life drew him to another type of service. One of his friends and fellow educators, who had great moral influence on John, supported him in these dispositions; and in order to more conveniently achieve the desire that lay on his heart, he convinced John, leaving his mother’s home, to settle with him. John was already close to fulfilling this desire. “But the mother’s constant admonitions,” he writes, prevented this. When she found out about my intention, she took me by the hand and led me into her inner chambers, and sat me down by the bed... Instantly, springs of tears flowed from her eyes, and from her lips - words that were more sorrowful than the tears themselves. Sobbing, she said to me: “My son! I did not long enjoy the cohabitation of your virtuous father. It was God's will. His death, which soon followed the illnesses of your birth, brought you orphanhood, and for me - premature widowhood with all its sorrows, which can only be well known to widows. For no words can describe the storm and the excitement to which a woman is exposed who has recently left her father’s home, is still inexperienced in the affairs of life - and is suddenly deeply struck by grief and forced to take on worries that exceed her age and her very nature. She must correct the negligence of servants, notice their deceit, destroy the evil intentions of relatives, courageously endure oppression and the ruthless demands of tax collectors. If, after the death of the spouse, there are still children left, let it be a daughter, a lot of them, and she will bring care to the mother, at least the care will not be associated with costs and fear; but for her son she is exposed to a thousand fears every day and great worries. I'm not even talking about the costs that I must incur if I want to give him a good upbringing. However, no disadvantages of my position forced me to enter into another marriage and bring another spouse into your father’s home; but in the midst of confusion and anxiety I remained firm and did not run away from the red-hot furnace, which truly depicts the state of a widow. Firstly, I was supported by Divine help. Much in such sorrows I was consoled by the fact that every minute, looking at your face, I saw in it a living and truest example of your deceased father. Therefore, while still a baby and barely able to babble, when children are especially pleasant to their parents, you have already brought me a lot of joy. You cannot even say this to accuse me, that I, faithfully maintaining widowhood, oppressed by poverty, lost my father’s inheritance, as many orphans suffered. I kept all the remaining property intact, and together I did not spare any expenses required for your upbringing, using my own property, with which I left my father’s house, for this. Do not think that with my words I want to reproach you - no. But for all my care I ask one gratitude: not to make me a widow a second time and not to rekindle grief, which has already died out. Be patient until my death. Maybe my life won't last long. Those who bloom with youth hope to reach a ripe old age, but we, who have grown old, can expect nothing but death. When you bury my body in the earth and unite my ashes with the ashes of your father, then undertake long journeys, cross the seas that you want. Then no one will interfere with you. But while I’m still breathing, don’t be separated from me. Do not unnecessarily incur the wrath of God upon yourself by leaving me to be a victim of such disasters, when I am not guilty of anything before you. If I have given you a reason to blame me for involving you in the vanities of life and forcing you to take care of your and my needs, then run from me, as they run from ill-wishers, from enemies, forgetting the laws of nature, the labors of education, and the skill of hitherto inseparable treatment. And everything else. But if, for my part, I do everything to remove from you the slightest concern about the needs of life, then, if nothing else, at least let these bonds bind you to me. Although you say that you have many friends, none of them can give you more peace of mind; because there is no one who cares about your well-being as much as I do.” Here is a few information about the life of the pious Anfusa, preserved, not without the will of Providence, for the instruction of Christian spouses and mothers. 93. Maria Nikolaevna Aksakova In 1891, it was one hundred years since the birth of one of the most remarkable Russian writers, Sergei Timofeevich Aksakov. In essays on the education of wonderful people, he should be given an honorable place because he was undoubtedly a wonderful, noble Russian man and one of our best writers. Aksakov’s father and mother were people completely opposite by nature, but their characters complemented each other; That, perhaps, is why their son developed into such a comprehensively gifted person. Sergei Timofeevich’s mother, Maria Nikolaevna, is especially vividly depicted in the writer’s memoirs. Her ardent, strong character and iron will to achieve her goal naturally gave her a leading role in the family. If we add that she was, moreover, very smart and well educated for her time, it becomes clear that we are dealing with an extraordinary woman. She lived in the wilderness, on the edge of Russia, in Ufa, where not only educated, but also simply literate people were a rarity at that time, and through self-education she managed to achieve such brilliant results that all the smart and educated people who came to Ufa rushed to get to know her and never forgot her. Most of these acquaintances later turned into friendships with her family, which ended only with death. Scientists and travelers who visited the Ufa region also certainly met Maria Nikolaevna and left written signs of surprise at her intelligence and beauty. Aksakov’s father was a provincial Russian landowner, of an old noble family, who lived in the village all his youth. Rustic and narrow-minded, Aksakov’s father received almost no education, but he had great common sense and a wonderful, sensitive soul. He was not distinguished by any brilliant qualities, but his soul shone with that even, quiet radiance that distinguishes truly kind and noble people. Weak-willed by nature, he was persistent in important matters and, despite his natural timidity and shyness, knew how to force himself to be respected. Under such circumstances, the importance of good upbringing was enormous, and, fortunately, Marya Nikolaevna was fully prepared for this difficult role (occupation). Despite her cold, calculating mind, she knew how to love passionately and strongly. Such selfless love was her love for her children, and especially for the eldest, Seryozha, whom she saved from death. She had to go against all generally accepted views and concepts of that time, redo the entire structure of life, starting with food, applying it to the health and nature of the child. In addition, she was often ill and had to maintain numerous family relationships and acquaintances and, for this, move from place to place. There was nothing to think about systematic (that is, according to a specific plan) education. Marya Nikolaevna's main concern was to protect her son from contact with reality, which could easily develop coarse feelings in a child, especially if we remember how unsightly reality was in these dark times of serfdom. Seryozha’s poor health partly helped her in this. Thanks to him, he was spared many of the inconveniences of life at that time. But Seryozha grew up without friends of the same age as him. His sister, whom he loved very much, was younger than him and could not take an active part in his interests. Thus, his mother became his constant interlocutor and comrade, and even when he was in his infancy, she discussed her plans with him, advised him where to go and where not to go, and explained her thoughts. When the time came for Seryozha to study, she put him to study, not by force, but talking to him about the benefits of education, saying that she would like to see him smart and learned. Such gullibility greatly flattered the child’s vanity and produced real miracles. This was also greatly facilitated by the charm of his mother, who stood out sharply with her manners, her restraint and her education above the dark mass of relatives who behaved without any dignity. Being herself literary educated, Maria Nikolaevna well understood the value of mental interests and tried through them to expand the inner world of her son, which could partially replace his real one. Seryozha learned to read unusually early, in any case, before the serious illness with which his successive memories began, since immediately after his recovery he remembers himself already reading the children's book “The Mirror of Virtue.” At this time he was only four years old. Along with his love of reading, Serezha developed an unusually strong inclination towards fantasy (imagination). He shared his stories, read from books, with his sister, but at the same time he often embellished them with his imagination, so that when he once retold the tales of Scheherazade, it turned out that he was telling on her behalf what she had never dreamed of. At the very first age, little Seryozha’s need for reading was very great. When he studied The Mirror of Virtue, he was so bored without books that he began to read Buchan's Home Medicine. However, his mother found this reading inconvenient for his age; She chose only some places and, marking them with bookmarks, allowed her son to read them, and it was really interesting reading, because all the herbs, salts, roots and various medicinal drugs were very sensibly described there. However, after some time Seryozha had the opportunity to read books that were more accessible and interesting to him, in the form of “Children's Reading for the Heart and Mind,” published by Novikov. This book was given to Seryozha by one of his father’s acquaintances, Anichkov. “I was so happy,” says Aksakov, “that I almost threw myself on the old man’s neck with tears and, not remembering myself, jumped up and ran home, leaving only my father to talk with Anichkov. Afraid that someone would take my treasure, I ran straight through the hallway to the nursery, lay down in my crib, closed the curtains, unfolded the first part - and forgot everything around me.” When they finally found him doing this, he was like a madman: he didn’t say anything, didn’t understand what they were saying, and didn’t want to go to dinner. The mother, however, put an end to such frenzied reading: she locked the books to herself and gave them to her son one part at a time, and then only at the appointed hours. The moralizing articles made little impression on Seryozha, but the articles on natural science made a whole revolution in his childish mind, and a new world opened up for him... For the first time he learned what lightning and clouds are, the formation of rain and the origin of snow. Many phenomena in nature, which he had previously looked at meaninglessly, although with curiosity, received meaning and significance for him and became more curious. Ants, bees and especially butterflies, with their transformations, captured the child’s attention and sympathy: he received an irresistible desire to observe all this with his own eyes. This desire was easy to satisfy, since the family spent every summer in the village. Since the ability to become passionately carried away was one of the fundamental traits of Seryozha’s character, the impressions of nature temporarily crowded books out of the boy’s head. This was fortunate for him, because otherwise his character could have taken an overly abstract direction due to too early mental development. His father introduced Seryozha to field work, developed in him a love for it, as well as a love for fishing and hunting, and in this case this cruel fun did not serve as a goal, but only as a means of getting closer to nature, which his father taught Seryozha to understand and love. It is necessary, however, to note that Seryozha’s love for nature did not immediately fall into the proper rut; even she worried him too much. In such cases, his father was especially useful to the impressionable boy. It was at these moments that he turned to his son with quiet admonitions and, with his amazing gentleness, tamed his son’s nervous impulses. The example of a meek father and the hours spent with him among the green Urema 67, with a gun or fishing in the transparent Deme, surrounded by green banks, under the blue tent of the sky, had the most beneficial effect on the boy, and the reflection of these hours later gave such clarity and serenity to the writer’s works. However, Seryozha did not stop reading in the village either. The lack of books suitable for his age encouraged him to read anything. But he especially loved poetry, memorized them and, even as a child, recited them beautifully, so that sometimes he was forced to read them in the presence of adults. For a long time, Seryozha studied haphazardly, until finally his mother’s friends convinced her that it was time to send him to the gymnasium. After tears, hesitation and doubts, it was decided that Seryozha would enter the Kazan gymnasium, and they began to prepare him for it morally and mentally. At this time he already read very well, but wrote poorly, and did not know arithmetic at all. His father wanted to somehow convey to him his arithmetic knowledge, that is, the first four rules, but the learning progressed so sluggishly and lazily that he abandoned it. But under the influence of his mother, everything changed. In just two months, Seryozha learned these four rules and, moreover, very thoroughly. He also achieved possible perfection in copying copybooks. He did all this in front of his mother and solely for her sake. She told him that she would burn with shame if he was not praised in the exam, which had to be passed in precisely these subjects, and that was enough. Seryozha passed the exam brilliantly. The director of the gymnasium who examined him was delighted with his reading of Dmitriev’s poetry and Karamzin’s prose, and also approved of calligraphy (writing); Seryozha also distinguished himself in the four rules of arithmetic. It is necessary, however, to note that the exam took place in the director’s apartment, and not in the gymnasium itself, which greatly influenced the success of the answers, since the boy could not be embarrassed by the novelty of the situation. After such a successful start, things did not immediately go smoothly. Our closed educational institutions still leave much to be desired. For Seryozha, weakened by a long illness, accustomed to life in complete freedom and maternal care, the harsh barracks life by the hour and submission to discipline were very difficult. To top it all off, the chief warden of the Kazan gymnasium took a dislike to the boy. In short, the beginning of gymnasium life did not bode well. All this led to Serezha’s severe nervous illness. When the mother received the news of her son's illness, she did not hesitate to save him. She arrived at the gymnasium from the village in early spring, and she had to cross rivers ready to move at the risk of her life (see the story above), and when she arrived, she tirelessly worked for her son to be returned to her. These efforts were crowned with success, and Seryozha’s mother took him to the village, where he stayed for a whole year, enjoying complete rest and freedom. This year helped strengthen his health and strength, and when he returned to the gymnasium, he lived in a private apartment with one of the teachers, under whose supervision he continued his gymnasium education. Reading books, which he still indulged in with passion, greatly contributed to the expansion of his knowledge, especially since he began to read not just anything, but with analysis, since starting from the middle classes, his reading began to be supervised by Grigory Ivanovich Kartashevsky, who took charge of his upbringing, a highly educated man, who was then a teacher at the Kazan gymnasium, and later a professor at Kazan University and a trustee of the Warsaw educational district. The task of finishing Aksakov’s upbringing and to a large extent balancing his impressionable nature fell to the lot of this wonderful man. 94. Bianca of Castile, mother of the French king Louis IX Comp. based on the book “Mothers of Great People” by M. Blok The mother of Louis IX, King of France, nicknamed a saint for her piety, Bianca of Castile, was a remarkable woman both in her exalted character and in the strength of her mental abilities. She had all the good qualities of heart and mind. Her parents gave her a careful upbringing: she studied the arts and, most importantly, music, spoke Spanish, French, English and even Latin, and this language, as you know, was in the Middle Ages the language of all scientists, as well as the highest strata of society throughout Europe. In addition, she was diligent, hardworking and distinguished by loyalty and sound judgment. Brave, eloquent, she had all the qualities of a statesman, combining fortitude with political intelligence. Having become the wife of Louis VII, the son of Philip Augustus, Bianca acquired enormous influence over her husband; she followed him to war and was present in the councils. Philip Augustus himself, her husband's father, resorted to her advice; both of them completely entrusted to her the great task of educating him, who was later to become King Louis IX. Bianca of Castile herself raised her son for France. She occupied himself with both his heart and mind, and tried to awaken in him two feelings that characterized his entire reign: the fear of God and the love of responsibilities. Let us listen to what the historian Joinville says about the first of these feelings: “As for his soul, the Lord saved him from evil with the help of the pious instructions of his mother, who taught him to believe and love God; she surrounded him with religious people and took him to holiday services and sermons from childhood. He more than once recalled the words of his mother, who said that she would prefer to see him dead than to know that he had committed some mortal sin. These words were the rule of life of Louis IX; He remained faithful to her instructions until the end of his days. Surrounding himself, as his mother taught him, with religious people, he listened to their speeches, listening to them with the deepest reverence. Waking up in the morning, he quickly got dressed and went to church. Often in the middle of the night he suddenly got out of bed and went to the chapel. On Good Friday he stood for service with bare feet, and on Maundy Thursday he himself washed the feet of the beggars. One day he made a remark to the Sir de Joinville, who said with naive frankness: “I will never wash the feet of these scoundrels in my life.” To this, the son of Bianca of Castile remarked: “You should not despise what God has created for your teaching. I ask you, out of love for the Lord, and also out of love for me, to accustom yourself to washing the feet of the poor.” Dying, Louis IX remembered the lessons of his mother, who taught him to consider a transgression before God the most terrible of all sins, and, sending for his eldest son, told him the following wonderful words: “Dear son, my main advice to you is to love God first and most strongly.” Louis owed his mother more than just religious feelings, which made him a pious man, nicknamed “saint”; but, having in the person of Bianca of Castile a devoted and believing Christian, he also used the instructions necessary for a statesman. She often repeated to her son that a king should not devote all his time to prayer and rest, but must earn immortality through his actions. She cited his predecessors as examples, assessed their actions, pointed out their qualities and merits, weaknesses and vices, convinced him not to trust flattery, taught him to listen to the truth and instilled in him the rules of justice. In addition, she tried to instill in her son a love of duties and precisely that science, which is rightly called the source of good qualities, caution, rules of conduct, morals and correct indications of the truth. Bianca of Castile did not limit herself to memories and judgments about past events; she talked with her son about the current state of affairs in France and in other countries, raised in his presence serious questions about the means of the state and about the morals and character of the people. She taught him not only to know everything, but to judge, decide, and, most importantly, she taught him to make quick decisions in important cases. She also taught him to express himself well, write and forced him to write down wise sayings, which were thus imprinted in his memory. It is clear that Bianca of Castile was as knowledgeable in this regard as our teachers and parents, who from a young age give children books describing high moral actions, thus providing them with useful and enjoyable reading. Bianca of Castile added all kinds of physical exercises to her son’s mental activities: he jumped over ditches, climbed walls and was not afraid of rain, wind, or storms. She loved country life and often, leaving the courtyard, she herself observed her vast estates and went into all the details of the economy. During their stay in the village, her children were often mistaken for the children of peasants: she forced them to work, and one could often see how the daughter of Bianca of Castile, with a basket in one hand and a knife in the other, cut grapes, and her brother, the future Louis IX, carried the grapes she had cut. The Queen instilled in the children that work elevates a person, no matter what conditions he was in, and she proved this idea to them not only with words, but also with examples. Everything about their upbringing was serious. Frivolous games and useless entertainment were strictly prohibited. Very often, during a walk, the young prince would go to the hospital, thus learning from an early age to console the unfortunate and help the poor. Needless to say, the mother always accompanied her son. She constantly watched her son, entered his room at all times of the day and night and, when necessary, resorted to reprimands, and sometimes even to punishment. Is it surprising after this that a child raised by such a mother and under such rules became what he later became? The one who, from a young age, spent all holidays visiting hospitals, remained the same when he reached the throne. He founded many charities. Wherever Louis IX went, says his biographer (life writer), he looked for poor orphans everywhere and gave them generous alms. In his own palace, he fed the poor, and he himself served them, cutting bread and pouring wine, and never missing an opportunity for alms. Hearing the grumbling of those around him for this, he said that he preferred to spend money on this than on satisfying his vanity. However, he was not angry at such remarks, since the hallmark of his character was the love of truth, instilled in him by his mother. The historian Joinville tells a charming anecdote about this. Returning from the crusade, the abbot (Catholic priest) of Cluny presented the king with a pair of magnificent horses. The next day the abbot again came to the palace for some important negotiations, and the king listened to him for a long time and graciously. Following the abbot's visit, Joinville entered Louis and said: “I want to know, Your Majesty, why you listened to the Abbot of Cluny so favorably?” Is it because he gave you a couple of horses? The king thought for a few minutes and answered: – Do you know, Your Majesty, why I asked you this question? “Because I want to advise you to prohibit judges from taking gifts from plaintiffs, since they will listen more favorably to those from whom they receive something, just as you just listened to the Abbot of Cluny.” The disciple of Bianca of Castile clearly emerged in the face of the monarch, who frankly admitted that he listened more favorably to the petitioner from whom he accepted the gift, and was not angry at the remark made to him on this matter. “I would rather see you dead than to know that you have committed a great sin,” his mother often repeated to him. He himself later told his son: “I would rather have some Scot come to rule France than see you misrule the country.” It would be superfluous to remind readers of other qualities of the soul of Louis IX. Everyone knows the famous Vincennes oak tree, at the foot of which the king loved to sit. All his subjects flocked there, starting with the poorest, and could talk to him without hesitation, without fear of the gatekeepers and others. He patiently listened to everyone who came to him, helped one, consoled another, and no one left him without receiving relief in word or deed. We see here the full development and application of those high qualities that the king owed to his mother. It should be noted that Bianca of Castile was involved in raising not only Louis, but also her other children. Her daughter Isabella received an equal upbringing as her brother; she read Latin fluently and was gifted with rare mental abilities. Bianca of Castile devoted her time and care to her as well. One day, when a young girl was admiring the beauty of her hand, Bianca, entering the room, addressed her with these words: “Your hand is perishable; take care of the beauty of your soul, and only then will you live in the memory of people.” She never missed an opportunity to give smart advice or moral teaching to children. No queen understood her maternal duties better or performed them with greater activity. It is also rare to find a mother who better understood the duties of a queen and who showed more energy and dignity. Having been a regent (ruler), she liked to say that her most honorable title during her regency was that of mother, the natural educator of her children. During his journey, Louis learned of the death of his mother. His grief was so strong that he fell into complete despondency. “He suffered so much,” writes the historian Joinville, “that he did not speak to anyone for two days. After that, he sent one of his servants for me and, seeing me from afar, stretched out his hands and exclaimed: “Oh, I’ve lost my mother!” How much regret and praise can be heard in this exclamation. He lost in her not only his mother, but also a devoted and experienced friend and, in the words of the famous writer, “support, friend and example.” 95. Elisabeth Kodweis, mother of the great German poet Schiller Elisabeth Kodweis (that was the name of the mother of the great Schiller) was the daughter of a rural innkeeper, but her low origin did not prevent her from acquiring a good education. Through reading she developed her taste and achieved a wide knowledge of literature. At twenty-six years old, she became the wife of the barber (barber) Jean Gaspard Schiller. His occupation was not particularly profitable, and the young couple barely made ends meet, especially when the birth of their first child increased household expenses. Then Jean Gaspard decided to join the regiment in order to earn more money for his family through his craft. The new service allowed him to see his family only occasionally. He was in Bohemia at the time when his wife gave birth to a son, Frederick, who was later to become the pride of the family. Blond, blue-eyed Friedrich was a living portrait of his mother; He was distinguished by curiosity, a clear mind and at the same time a kind and gentle heart. The boy began to babble his first words, sitting on his mother's lap; she taught him to read and write and then entrusted him to the care of a pastor (German priest), while at the same time continuing to raise her son. To her credit, it must be said that she had the gift that constitutes the goal and aspirations of many famous teachers (educators), namely the gift of interest, captivation and transfer of knowledge as if in jest. Let us follow the lessons of this gentle and devoted mentor with her student. Sometimes she told him a Bible story, which the child listened to with slight excitement; another time she entertained him with one of the naive and wonderful legends, preserved from ancient times in the memories of the German people, or forced him to read aloud the best passages from the works of her favorite poets. This kind of teaching had nothing boring and dry in it, which so often discourages children from learning. To be convinced of the impression this method of teaching makes on children's minds, one should listen to Schiller himself. This is what he says: “One day, when my mother and I were walking to our grandparents, she led us through the mountains. It was on Holy Monday. During our walk, she told us the story of two disciples who met Jesus Christ on the road to Emmaus. Her speech became more animated every minute, and when we climbed to the top of the mountain, our excitement reached such proportions that we fell to our knees and began to pray to God.” One of Schiller's main traits was kindness and a desire to help the poor and be useful to others. He loved to give away all his property, not excluding books and clothes. One day the father noticed that instead of the fasteners that his son usually wore on his shoes, he had simple cords. Then he asked him the reason for this change. “I gave my everyday clasps to the poor boy,” answered Schiller, “he will wear them on holidays, and I have another pair of clasps for Sundays.” This act does honor to the great poet. However, in this he followed only the advice of his parents, who were famous for their kindness. The memory of his mother always lived in Schiller’s heart, and he did not miss a single opportunity when he could express his love and gratitude to her. He thought about her when he wrote his beautiful poem "The Bell". This poem contains a touching passage dedicated to the mother of the family, a devoted and pious woman; This place was written not so much by a brilliant writer as by a son full of tenderness. Let us remember in what terms Schiller addresses his sister after learning about his mother’s illness. Being away from his family and unable to move due to his ill health, he hurried his sister to go to her mother, offered to bear all the travel expenses and begged her not to spare anything in order to ease and strengthen his own mother. At the same time, he assured her that he had enough money for everything, and sadly exclaimed: “Good Masha mother! I can’t think about her without feeling excited!” Later, when he had the misfortune of losing his father, his first thought was about his mother. He wrote her the following touching letters: “Dear mother! I want you to have everything that can make your life somewhat enjoyable. From now on, I will see to it that no worries touch you. After so many trials, the end of your days should be clear, and I hope that you will live many more happy days with your children and grandchildren.” These few lines fully justify the words of Madame de Staël: “Schiller was admirable not only for his talents, but also for his virtues.” At the last minute of his life, his excellent mother thought about her son and told him with excitement: “There is no other son like you in the world!” To him she addressed her last farewell, saying: “God bless you, my son!” 96. Domitia Lucilla, mother of Marcus Aurelius, Roman Emperor Marcus Aurelius's father died very early, so he was raised by his mother, Domitia, who treated him very carefully. She herself was well brought up, pious and loved to do good. In addition, she was distinguished by extraordinary modesty. Her character was courageous and decisive. A gentle and prudent mother tried to show only good examples to her son. She paid special attention to those who surrounded her son and in whose company he was. She didn’t even want to send him to school, but raised him at home, inviting the best teachers for this purpose. The education given to the young man was versatile and complete for that time. Educated by selected teachers, Marcus Aurelius made very rapid progress. Marcus Aurelius was brought up very modestly. Even when he was twelve years old, he disdained luxurious robes, wore a cloak made of coarse woolen material, slept on boards, preferring such a bed to any other. His kind mother demanded that he soften his strict lifestyle, and with difficulty achieved that he agreed to lie on animal skins. But from an early age, our young hero was sedate and strict. His love for truth in his youth was so great that, following the example of the Greek Aristides, he did not even resort to lying as a joke. There was only one way in which Marcus Aurelius in his youth had to be reproached. But don’t rush to give your verdict, young readers! How many mothers would consider themselves lucky if their children suffered from these same defects! It was necessary to suppress in the exemplary student too much love for work and too passionate an attitude towards studies. His beautiful mother was afraid that he would strain his already weak health; and his teacher had to quarrel with him in order to force him to rest. Marcus Aurelius got up at four o'clock in the morning. Even as an emperor, he remained true to his habit. To cheer himself up, he often repeated the following phrase: “If you find it difficult to get up in the morning, tell yourself immediately: I am waking up to take on a task worthy of a man. Was I really born to luxuriate in a warm bed? It is useful for many students and even adults to have this saying of the great emperor before their eyes. However, despite the fact that Marcus Aurelius was so serious in his youth and that his education was guided by the best teachers of that time, he retained the most gratifying memory of his mother’s instructions. Although he had an emeritus professor of philosophy with him, his mother herself was involved in his moral education and developed his excellent inclinations. Conversations with his mother and frequent conversations with her left deep marks on the young soul and had the most beneficial influence on this last of the Antonin family. He felt pleasant only around the one he called his mommy. He admits with noble simplicity that, having drawn up a plan of behavior for himself, he had no other intention than to imitate his mother. He says that he is not only wary of committing bad deeds, but does not even want to allow them in his thoughts, following the example of his mother in this too. When it comes to honoring the deity, a generous attitude towards people, simplicity and moderation in life, the mother again serves as a model for him. She instilled in him the rules of charity. “A pious woman, virtuous,” is what he calls her. 97. Alice de Roy, mother of the famous poet Lamartine Comp. based on the book “Mothers of Famous People” by M. Blok Alice de Roy was the daughter of de Roy, the chief manager of the financial (i.e. monetary) affairs of the Duke of Orleans. She received an excellent education from her mother, a very worthy woman, who gathered the most educated people of that time. Madame Lamartine was kind, had a gentle character, knew how to sacrifice herself and was generally distinguished by an exalted soul. She spent whole hours in prayer. All this must have influenced the great writer. Madame Lamartine cared very little “about what is called education,” says the poet; she did not seek to make her son a precocious child; she was in no hurry to entrust him to foreign teachers and fill his head with classical languages. Above all, she wanted to make him “a happy child, sensible and with a loving heart.” The famous writer is pleased to tell us that he learned a lot in his young years, “without ever wrinkling his forehead.” He read, wrote, studied, played in the garden, sitting on his parents' laps. He loved to read, but his mother restrained his impatient desire to know everything, although she willingly gave the inquisitive boy a book of her own choice and suitable for his age. In the evenings, the father read aloud some beautiful tragedy or poem, the mother listened, deeply moved; the child perceived all the mother’s impressions and retained a lasting memory of her. But the memory of “constant communication with nature” in the company of children of his age, when he took part in all the village work and drove goats and sheep to the meadow, remained even stronger in his soul. In the evening, the boys drove the herds into the village with shouts and songs, after which the children danced, danced in a circle on the sloping lawn, lit funny fires and, going down the slope, watched as they slowly burned out. Add to all this the pleasure that was associated with the harvest, with the harvesting of grapes, with a walk “among the green fields and cheerful banks of the Seine River,” and then you will understand Lamartine’s words that “no one has ever been brought up so close to nature and fell in love with country life so much in his youth.” But what is especially striking about his upbringing is the influence that his mother had on the poet. “I drew from my mother’s soul,” he said. In the author who wrote such excellent pages, it is not difficult to recognize the boy from the village of Milli, who, walking with his mother around the village, admired the beautiful landscapes with her and listened intently to the “beautiful interpretations” that she gave about the wonderful nature. “Without her, I could not even make out the universe that was before my eyes; she gave me the opportunity to guess everything.” It was Madame Lamartine's constant concern to direct the thoughts of her children to God. Speaking about his young years, the poet often repeats that under the most insignificant circumstances of their lives they read a prayer. Just don’t think that the mother resorts to strictness for this, as is sometimes done in other families; the children fulfilled her wish voluntarily, without disgust. Listen to what the poet says: “When we woke up in our cribs, the cheerful morning sun was already sparkling through the windows, the birds were chirping on the rose bushes and in the cages, the footsteps of the servants had long been heard throughout the house, we were impatiently waiting for our mother to appear so we could start getting dressed. She entered with a face on which kindness, affection and heartfelt joy always shone; After kissing us all, she helped us get dressed and listened to our cheerful children's chatter. The children's imagination was refreshed, they, waking up, chirped like swallows in their nests under the roofs when their mother flies up to them. Then she addressed us with the following words: “To whom do we owe the happiness that we enjoy? - To God. If it weren’t for Him, the sun would not have risen, leaves would have fallen from the trees, cheerful birds would have died of cold and hunger, and the earth would have been bare. You, my poor children, you would have neither a crib, nor a house, nor a garden, nor a mother to shelter and feed you. Justice demands that we thank Him for all that He has sent us today and ask Him to give us many more such days.” Then, kneeling before the bed, folding our hands and holding them in hers, she sometimes kissed us and slowly, in an undertone, read a short morning prayer, which we repeated after her, trying to imitate the expression of her voice. After the prayer, my mother read something moral to us; in the evenings after dinner she gathered in the living room all the servants and even the peasants from the nearest villages, the most friendly ones to our house, and read several edifying passages. One of the children was assigned, in turn, to read a short prayer for the traveling, poor and suffering. If a long walk was undertaken on a beautiful summer day, and if the young imagination of the children was amazed by stopping before a beautiful, foaming wide waterfall, or before the sunset, when its rays brilliantly illuminated a group of clouds of unusual shapes, our mother rarely missed an opportunity, so as not to make us ascend in soul to the One who was the Creator of all these wonders. How many times, walking with us on summer evenings around the outskirts of the village, where we picked flowers or collected shiny pebbles in streams, she sat us at the foot of a willow tree and talked to us with a heart overflowing with pious enthusiasm about this wonderful universe that enchanted our eyes and hearts. But it was not only religious feelings that the mother wanted to instill in her children. Lamartine says that she tried to make him kind and truthful and gave him an example of boundless devotion. She constantly visited the poor and sick, helped them, brought medicine, and bandaged their wounds. She knew a little about medicine, and sick people flocked to her, asking her to help them. The children accompanied their mother during her visits to the sick, bringing them lint, old linen, several bottles of old wine, white bread and broth. They entered the poorest homes, sat on the bed and eased their suffering. The child reports that he himself more than once saw how his mother, entering the cage, wiped away with her own hand the cold sweat that appeared on the forehead of the dying man, tried to console him as best she could and surround him with her last cares. So that He touches them. And a lot And so the children, sometimes strictly, He ordered them to bring the children. What is in the Kingdom of God in the whole world Only those who were like children will enter Not knowing the passions behind me, Pure with a meek heart and soul. And that children should not be disturbed To go to Him, to seek Him... And, having said so, the Source of strength, He hugged the children and blessed them. 99. The Beneficence of Parents' Prayers for Lost Children Many parents suffer from bad behavior of children. Especially nowadays, we often see that children, either through disobedience, or atheism, or wickedness, inflict cruel wounds on the hearts of their parents and bring the latter to the point that they become despondent, not knowing how to turn lost children to the path of truth. “All measures,” say the unhappy parents, “have been used to correct their son or daughter, nothing helps. God punished us!” The latter, of course, is true, for the bad behavior of children is, indeed, God’s punishment; but one should never despair of correcting children. You say, you have tried all the means: which ones? Admonition, punishment, prayers, etc. And that’s all? - Yes. - Well, not all means. You have forgotten the main thing - prayer. If nothing helps, as you say, then contact her. Be sure that it will serve as a very powerful means for the correction of your children and for your consolation. The Holy Martyr Mirax, originally from Egypt, was the son of Christian parents who raised him in the Christian faith and piety. But the enemy of the human race confused him. He once appeared to the Hagaryan prince Amira, publicly renounced Christ, trampled the cross and became a Mohammedan. The admonitions of the parents did not lead to anything: the apostate son did not give up his delusions and remained in evil faith. However, his parents did not despair of his conversion and day and night they prayed to God for the salvation of the deceased. What then? Their prayer was not in vain. The grace of God touched the heart of the sinner, and Mirax repented. Once he came to his parents and said: “Parents! I have darkened my mind and sinned gravely. But what to do? What has passed cannot be brought back; at least I want to repent from now on and become a Christian again.” “Child,” his father and mother answered him, “we prayed for you day and night, and now the Lord heard us. And now we thank the Lord that He listened to our prayer and turned your heart to Himself. But what to do now? You know how cruel the Hagaryan prince is and how cruelly he will treat us when he finds out that we contributed to your conversion to Christ. Therefore, go to the prince yourself and declare your conversion yourself. We will again pray that the Lord will deal with you in His mercy and work for your good.” Mirax did not hesitate, went to the prince, cursed the Hagaryan faith and confessed Christ. Devoted to torture, he bravely endured it and finally, beheaded by the sword, accepted the crown of martyrdom. So, in view of this example, do not forget, parents, that if you yourself are not strong to correct your children, then through your prayers God is strong to restore them from their fall. Despair or gasps and sighs, you know, will not help the matter, but prayer is always beneficial. This means that you should resort to it and place all your sorrow on God. He, who did not come to save the righteous, but the perishing sinners, will hear your cry and turn your lost children to the path of truth. He creates things that do not exist as if they exist, and He often creates the latter first. This means there is no need to kill too much. 100. A powerful tool for raising children Archpriest John Sergiev of Kronstadt If you want to correct someone’s shortcomings, do not think about correcting him by your own means: we ourselves spoil things more with our own passions, for example, pride and irritability that comes from there; but cast sorrow upon the Lord (Ps. 54:23) and pray to Him, who tests our hearts and bellies (Ps. 7:10), with all your heart, so that He Himself will enlighten the mind and heart of man; if He sees that your prayer breathes love and comes from the whole heart, then He will certainly fulfill the desire of your heart, and you will soon say, having seen a change in the one for whom you are praying: this is a betrayal of the right hand of the Most High (Ps. 77:11). 101. Will there be a reward in the afterlife for mothers who raise their children in piety? Comp. according to "Pouch." Archpriest Guryev You know, of course, Christian wives, those mothers who, having raised their children in piety, reap the fruits of their labors during their lifetime and live to see the time when their children, having grown up, become exemplary Christians, faithful servants of the Tsar and the Fatherland, wonderful people in the family and breadwinners and support for their mothers in old age. There is no doubt that this is a great reward for such mothers. But here is the question: will they receive a reward for piously raising children in the future life? And will their children raised by them in piety pay them anything for their labors and cares about them in the afterlife? How to solve these issues? Let's solve it using an example. Saint Martha, whose memory the Holy Church commemorates on July 4, had an only son, Simeon, raised him, as it is said in her life, “with all danger,” and God led her during her lifetime to rejoice in her son’s holy and godly life. But then the time came for Martha to depart to the heavenly world, and then, the day before her death, she was rewarded with the following vision. It seemed to her that she was caught up in the heights of heaven, and there she saw a wonderful and bright house, the beauty of which is impossible to describe. And when she walked in that house and was amazed at its wonderful structure, she suddenly saw the Most Holy Theotokos with two bright angels, who said to her: “Why are you surprised?” Martha, reverently bowing to the Mother of God, answered: “I am surprised because, Lady, I have never seen such a wonderful house in all the days of my life on earth.” Then the Queen of Heaven said: “Who do you think this house is destined for”? “I don’t know, Madam,” answered Martha. The Most Pure One continued: “Know that this peace is prepared for you, and this house was created for you by your son, and you will remain in it forever.” After this, at the command of the Lady, the angels set up a wondrous throne, and the Mother of God continued: “This glory is given to you because you lived in the fear of God and lived pleasing to God. But do you want to see even more glorious places here? And having said this, she ordered Martha to follow Her. And the Queen of Heaven led her to the highest heavenly places and showed her an even more wonderful and brightest, incomparably different from the first, house, the beauty of which neither the human mind can comprehend, nor anyone’s tongue can express. Here the Mother of God also said: “And your son created this house, and also laid the foundation for a third one.” A day after this, blessed Martha died. So, Christian wives, know that mothers who raise their children in piety, not only in this life, but also in the future, will be rewarded for their labors and care for their children, and their children themselves, raised by them in piety, will pay them there for their care for them. And knowing this, you yourself will increase your zeal for the upbringing of your children and, having succeeded in virtue yourself, teach your children to it. 102. Proverbs of a spiritual and moral nature About God's providence for people. What is our fate if not God’s will! Man walks, God leads. It’s not the horse that carries you, it’s God that carries you (that’s why they ask on the road: where is God taking you?) If you follow Christ, you will find a good path. God will carry away the menacing cloud. No one can, so God will help. If not God, who would help us? Whoever comes to God, God comes to him. With God, even across the sea, but without God, not even to the threshold. God gives enough bread from heaven. We float along the river, and our belly is in God’s hand. The ship was launched into the water - handed over to God. God didn’t want me to be worse. The enemy is strong, but God is merciful. Man sinned, but God interceded. God is not poor; God has a lot of mercy. God's love is limitless - God's love is not equal to man's. Everyone is about himself, but the Lord is about everyone. Human love loves itself, and Divine love loves its friend. People are daring, but God is merciful. God sends for every destiny. God is with the bag for the widow. Behind the orphan is God with a gate. The father is not before the children, as God is before the people. (The prophet Isaiah has an even stronger expression: Will a woman forget her suckling child?.. But even if she forgot, I will not forget (Is. 49:15)). Naked - oh! And behind the naked one is God. A child falls - God lays down the feather bed. It doesn’t know God, but God loves it. God will find you and bring you to the people. If you break an arm or a leg, it will survive; but if you break your soul, you won’t get along. Don’t be foolish: you’ll go to the next world lopsidedly. The soul knows the soul; the heart gives the message to the heart. Even though the hut is spruce, the soul is healthy. God will not take the soul, it will not come out on its own. With faith you will not be lost anywhere. Apply faith to action, and action to faith. Without faith the Lord will not deliver, without truth he will not correct. Without faith they live in this world, but you cannot live in the next. He who is without crosses (without a pectoral cross or without sorrows) is not Christ’s. To refuse God is to join Satan. The demon fell from faith, not knowing its limits. By Vespers the bell is ringing - all the work is on the corner! Live not by bread, but by prayer. Prayer is halfway to God. A short prayer, Our Father, may he save. Prayer is not for God, but for our misery. The light in the church comes from a candle, and in the soul from prayer. Whatever comes, keep praying. Everyone is baptized, but not everyone prays. Prayer without love cannot be heard. Pray and beware of evil deeds. Save yourself at home and go to church. He who is pleasing to God is also pleasing to people. There is no salvation for those who are drunk on Sunday. When anxiety comes, you will inevitably grab onto God. Need will teach God to pray. Anyone who has not been to the sea has not prayed to God to the full. From this story it is clear that some, although very rare, dreams are prophetic, i.e. prophetic character; the rest have no meaning. Believing all dreams indiscriminately is unreasonable, sinful, dangerous Chronicler - a writer who delivers information to newspapers about all current events in public life Khitrovka – Khitrov market in Moscow, an area where the poorest class of the population lives Alcoholic, alcoholic - a person devoted to the vice of drunkenness Cavalry - having the highest orders of the Russian Empire Deaconess is an ancient ecclesiastical office; deaconesses taught the faith and served at the baptism of pagans Nowadays a gate has been built and the house is fenced. The dug well is the best in the village for water Ascetic - indulging in feats of fasting, prayer and labor; thin, pale A pilgrim is a pilgrim who comes from afar to worship a shrine Kaffirs - a tribe of blacks living in South Africa The daughter of Captain Mironov, killed by rebels during the Pugachev riot, who came to St. Petersburg to ask for her fiancé Grinev, suspected of treason Report - a written report to senior management about the state of affairs of a particular institution First officer rank in the naval service That is, an uneducated, cruel, rude person Prefect – city ruler President – chairman, chief The Academy of Sciences is the highest scientific institution Noble Romans were called patricians Philosopher - lover of wisdom, learned man Astrologers are ancient scientists who monitored the movement of the stars and thought from the stars to guess the fate of each person We borrowed this story from the sermon of the Greek Archbishop Elijah Minyaty Chamberlain - court rank Patriotism - love for the Fatherland Lawyer – defender of the accused in court Urema - tall grass and shrubs growing along river banks You might be interested in: