From the editors: Nikolai the Turk (Schemamonk Nikolai (Abrulah) (†18/31 August 1893) In the worldly realm, Nikolai Abrulah, a Kazan townsman. From the testimony he presented to the Kherson Spiritual Consistory, it is clear that he was of the Mohammedan faith, his name was Yusuf-Abdul-Oglu; a former Turkish subject, originally from Asia Minor, served in the Turkish army as an officer. When he felt the desire to change his Mohammedan faith to the Orthodox Christian and even began to openly declare this to his Turkish relatives, they hated him so much that for two days he could not get food for himself anywhere, no one gave him anything as an infidel. Then the Turks tortured him terribly, cutting out whole pieces of his body. But Yusuf remained adamant in his desire to accept the Christian faith. With God's help, he managed to avoid further suffering at the hands of his tormentors and retreat to hospitable Russia. In the city of Odessa, in the quarantine church, he was baptized in October 1874 and given the name Nicholas. His godparents were the Odessa mayor and privy councilor Nikolai Ivanovich Bukharin and the first-guild merchant Natalia Ivanovna Gladkova. Then, for some unknown reason, he arrived in Kazan and there joined the bourgeoisie. On July 18, 1891, when he turned 63, he entered the Optina Skete as a brother. After receiving Holy Baptism for his fierce suffering and firm confession of the truth of the Orthodox Christian faith, the Lord granted him spiritual consolations. Like Saint Andrew, the Fool for Christ, he was at one point, while still alive, caught up into paradise, where he enjoyed the contemplation of the indescribable beauty of heaven. In the skete, Nicholas He was distinguished by his meekness, humility, and brotherly love. He occupied a cell next to that of a monk, later Hierodeacon Martyrius. During the winter, the neighboring monks at the skete usually took turns stoking their shared stove and carrying firewood for the purpose. But Nikolai often performed this task alone. Father Martyrius once asked him why he did this. Nikolai only replied, "I love you." Nikolai the Turk did not live long at the skete, only two years. Shortly before his death, he was tonsured a monk in his cell and, having received all the Christian sacraments, died peacefully 120 years ago—August 18/31, 1893, at the age of 65.
God bless!
I am a former Turkish subject [in the world Yusuf Abdul oglu; 1820-1893]. I was born in 1820 in Asia Minor, in the city of Bytlis, located between the cities of Erzurum and Diyarbakir. My parents were the poorest, although they belonged to the noble class (bek). They earned their living by weaving. For three years, there was a terrible famine in our region; at the end of the last year of famine, my father died, leaving my mother and three children without a crust of bread: I, the eldest, was eight years old, my middle brother was six, and my sister was four. We lived in the Armenian quarter, in which, besides ours, there were only four Muslim houses.
Of these, three householders, although kind, were poor and could offer us no assistance. The fourth, although quite wealthy, was of a cruel disposition, like almost all Kurds, and we could not count on his assistance. Therefore, we were forced to seek food from the Armenians, begging them for aid in the name of Christ, although neither my mother nor I understood who Christ was; we only knew that the Armenians called Him the Son of God. Thus, from my earliest childhood, I, albeit unconsciously, began to appeal to the all-powerful and all-benevolent providence of my Lord, Jesus Christ. Moreover, a very significant event occurred in my childhood, seemingly foretelling my conversion to Christ. When I was about five years old, I fell ill with what is known as night blindness (tauh-chory). During the day, I saw perfectly, but from evening until the next morning, I was as if blind. This illness lingered with me for about three years. No remedies helped. But then one day, a rumor spread throughout the city that the Karabash had come to us and brought a Christian relic, from which many Turks had been healed of various ailments. The Turks call all Christian monks and clergy "Karabash" (kara meaning "black" and bash meaning "head"), as they wear black hoods and hats. My mother took me to one of the Christian churches where the Christian relic brought by the monks was located. I remember a crowd of Muslim residents standing within the church grounds, hoping to be healed. When my mother brought me to the monk, he made the sign of the cross over me, placed it on my aching eyes, and told me to kiss it, which I did. That evening, an unfamiliar old woman came to our house and advised me to apply warm boiled liver to my eyes, assuring me that this would surely cure my illness. My father immediately went to a neighbor whose cow had just died that day. He cut out its liver, brought it home, boiled it, and placed it on my eyes. From that day on, my illness disappeared completely. This was the first miracle performed upon me by the power of the precious and life-giving Cross of the Lord. It seemed to signify that by the power of this Cross I would later be healed of my spiritual blindness and behold " the true Light, which enlightens every man coming into the world ."
In our neighborhood lived an Armenian who had sufficient means through his weaving craft. The aforementioned Kurd was his companion in craft and trade.
My mother apprenticed me to this Armenian. One day, the Kurd was working in the garden; I displeased him for some reason, and he pounced on me, striking me so cruelly that if the Armenian's wife hadn't come running at my screams, he would have beaten me to death. I worked for the Armenian for two years and learned the weaving trade during that time. From then on, I began working for the owner on a piecework basis, and I managed to earn up to two rubles a month. I passed this money on to my mother, and since upkeep was quite cheap at the time and our needs were extremely limited, this income was sufficient for us and we were able to live comfortably. Under these conditions, I lived with my kind owner for another two years.
I turned twelve years old. At that time, I decided to go to Constantinople to find employment there and provide a large amount of money for my mother.
My mother initially resisted my plan, but I persisted, and she decided to let me go, albeit with bitter tears. We also found companions—two Armenians from our town. Neither of us had any means of transportation, and so we made the entire journey to the city of Trebizond subsisting on the name of Christ, as Christian (Armenian) villages lay along the way. In Trebizond, we were detained for nine days in quarantine due to the plague that was raging in Asiatic Turkey at the time. Our subsistence during this entire time was provided by a Turk, a quarantine sutler [a sutler is a merchant of food and other supplies to the army]. According to the custom of the time, the sutler would submit an invoice for the expenses of maintaining those detained in quarantine to the captain of the steamship that carried the travelers to Constantinople. Upon arrival, he would release passengers indebted to him only after they had paid their debts. Just as we were boarding the boat and rowing toward the steamer, which was anchored far from shore due to shallow water, and approaching the ladder leading to the steamer, my companions stood up, and I became distracted. At that moment, the Turkish boatman shouted for me to get out of the boat quickly. Frightened, I rushed toward the steamer's ladder, but somehow lost my footing and fell into the sea. Although I knew how to swim, my clothes quickly became wet and dragged me down. My death was inevitable, but in the meantime, someone from the steamer spotted me, alerted the captain, and they hauled me onto the deck with hooks.
Recalling this event, the thought involuntarily comes to mind that my stay in Islam would have been likened to the same bottomless sea yawning beneath me, in which I would have perished in eternal death had I not been saved in the bosom of the Church of Christ, which is also symbolically depicted as a ship. But no, nothing in human life is accidental.
Three days later the steamship arrived in Constantinople.
My uncle served at the Russian embassy in Constantinople. I mentioned him to the ship's captain, asking him to pay my travel expenses. The captain approached him, and my uncle, arriving on board, was overjoyed to see me. He had to pay about twenty rubles for me. Then he took me in; he was housed in the Russian embassy building, where I stayed with him until I found work.
My clothes wore out on the road. My uncle had to buy me new ones, which cost another twenty rubles. Two weeks later, my uncle found me a position as a servant with a wealthy Armenian, with whom I moved in and lived for about a month. I found living with the Armenian difficult, for I was forced to perform tasks completely beyond my strength, and so I left him. In Constantinople, I had many fellow countrymen from my side; I went to them and explained why I had left the Armenian. I didn't dare go to my uncle, afraid to upset him with my actions. My fellow countrymen took pity on me and promised to find a place for me, and in the meantime, they accommodated me with themselves.
They advised me to become an apprentice in a barber shop, to which I readily agreed.
The barber shop owner was an Armenian, a very kind man. God helped me, and in a short time I learned the craft of barbering. I earned up to three rubles a month, including income and salary, and I could live comfortably on this money, despite the fact that I received no other assistance from the owner except for the apartment. My uncle learned of me, and when he came to our barber shop and saw me, he became terribly angry with me for my willfulness and threatened that if I left this place, too, I was never to show my face again. I never had the opportunity to visit him, however, because the work at the barber shop took up almost all my time.
About six months passed like this. The master was pleased with me. Unfortunately, I fell in with some bad company, and I became completely spoiled in their company. The master refused me my position. I went to my uncle, but he wouldn't accept me. I was forced to board with my fellow countrymen again. Two months passed like this. I grew tired of this vagabond life. I went to my uncle again, but he scolded me and sent me away, forbidding the servants to let me in.
I was thirteen years old. At that time, the Grand Vizier in Constantinople was
Reşid Pasha, who was renowned not only as a statesman but also as a very pious and kind Muslim, decided to turn to him for help and petitioned him, begging for his high patronage. I presented my petition to him personally, and he immediately ordered me to be housed. I lived with the Grand Vizier for about a month. My life was comfortable. The Vizier took a liking to me and ordered me to be provided with the best possible accommodations. His care for me did not end there. It should be noted that provincial governors were appointed at that time by order of the Grand Vizier. One such province of the Turkish Empire, namely Sivas (ancient Sebaste), located in Asia Minor, was at that time appointed governor by a certain Ahmed Pasha, an Arab by birth, pious to the point of fanaticism, and also very kind. Reşid Pasha summoned Ahmed Pasha to his palace and, handing me over to him, asked him to raise me as his son and educate me so that I would become a good Muslim. Having thanked my benefactor, I entered Ahmed Pasha's employ, with whom, a month later, I departed for his new place of service, the city of Sivas.
Many years later, I realized that if I had remained in Constantinople, I would have drowned in the moral quagmire that overwhelmed that city and which had already begun to suck me in. I also realized that if the Grand Vizier or Ahmed Pasha had taken me in as a favorite, then, while enjoying all the blessings of this world, I certainly would not have considered betraying Islam, where eternal spiritual death awaited me. But divine providence was pleased to save me from falling into either abyss.
Halfway there, we stopped. Ahmed Pasha went to the bathhouse and took me with him. While we were washing, Ahmed said to me, "Tell my adjutants (yavers) that they are dogs." Upon arriving at my quarters, I relayed the Pasha's words to the adjutants. They were very irritated and, going to the Pasha, began to ask him to explain the reason for the insult he had inflicted on them. The Pasha asked them, "Who told you this?" They replied, "Yusuf told me." Then the Pasha became very angry with me and ordered his servants to beat me with sticks. I received ten or fifteen lashes. From that moment on, the Pasha hated me, and I hated him as well. What exactly prompted Ahmed to commit such an act against me remains a mystery to me. Upon arriving in the city of Sivas, the Pasha hired a learned mullah, who was obliged to serve as his priest and also to teach me. The pasha announced to the mullah that the grand vizier had ordered him to raise me in place of a son, and therefore he, the mullah, must teach me as best he could. At first, I studied well; the pasha and the teacher, the mullah, were pleased with me. But two years passed, and I cooled to learning for no apparent reason; I grew disgusted not only with studying, but also with living in the governor's konak (palace). Neither the pasha's kindness nor threats had any effect on me. Next to the governor's konak stood the barracks, which housed a regiment of lancers. To get rid of the pasha, I asked the regimental commander (mirolay) to accept me into service in the regiment. He approached the pasha, and with his consent, I was assigned to serve in the regiment as a private. I had to move from the konak to the barracks, which I was very glad about. This was in 1835. I was in my sixteenth year.
I remember about two months after I joined the army. One day, I had a strange dream. I was in a brothel and some prostitutes approached me, demanding money. Unable to pay them, I ran from them, but some men chased me! Seeing no escape, I seemed to cry out, "Mother of God, save me!"—and with that cry, I woke up. Upon awakening, I began to sob, tears streaming freely from my eyes, but these were tears of joy, a joy I had never known before. Hearing my cry, the soldiers surrounding me awoke and began to question me about my screaming and crying, assuming I regretted joining the military or had gone mad. I don't remember how I answered their questions; I only remember that I said nothing to them about what I had seen in the dream. They reported me to the squadron commander (yuz-bashi), who reported me to the regimental commander the next day. To all their questions, I answered that I myself didn't know why I'd screamed and cried in my sleep. The regimental commander, who liked me for my service, tried to console me and promised to soon make me a sergeant major (bash-chaush) and then work to have me promoted to officer (milazy).
After this, I devoted myself even more diligently to my service and, in a short time, three or four months, acquired such knowledge of it that I was entrusted with the training of soldiers; this new position (tamem) greatly flattered my vanity. Soon I was promoted to sergeant. At this time, I again had a significant dream. I saw myself walking down the street of some city unknown to me; there was no sun, but it was bright; I approached some Christian church; its doors were open. I entered the church, but saw no one in it, only the Royal Doors were open and on the altar stood the holy chalice (potrichel), covered with a thin cloth (aerium). I entered through the Royal Doors into the altar, approached the altar, and removed the aureum from the chalice. I saw that the chalice was filled with the Holy Gifts in the form of bread and wine. It should be noted that, while occasionally visiting Armenian Christian churches out of curiosity, I witnessed Christians receiving Holy Communion, although Armenians, like Catholics, receive the Sacrament only in one form (the wafer). Taking the Holy Chalice with my left hand, I received Communion as priests do, that is, directly from the chalice, and at that moment I awoke. This dream seemed like an idle dream to me, but it is remarkable that after this dream, I began to feel a great love in my heart for every Christian, while toward Muslims, on the contrary, I began to harbor an unaccountable hostility and hatred. Two or three weeks later, the dream I had had was repeated. I saw the same church again; I remember that when I entered it, it was entirely illuminated by a multitude of candles and chandeliers. The Royal Doors were closed. But then they opened, and a venerable elder emerged, holding a chalice in his left hand, and at his side walked a young deacon of very handsome appearance. The elder beckoned me to him with a wave of his hand, and when I approached the pulpit, he administered the Holy Gifts to me. At that moment, I awoke. I related both dreams to an Armenian merchant I knew, and he, after some thought, said that sooner or later, I would become a Christian. What else could the first of these dreams signify than that my sojourn in the Muslim wickedness was nothing more than a sojourn in a filthy house of prostitutes, from which I was rescued only by the sovereign intercession of the Queen of the Heavenly Hosts? The vision of a Christian church and the reception of the Holy Gifts there directly pointed not only to my subsequent acceptance of the Christian faith, but also to the greatest mercy shown to me, a wretched sinner—my entry into monasticism and the assumption of the great angelic schema. Upon my departure from Ahmed Pasha, the latter reported my details to the Grand Vizier. He made an inquiry about me to the regimental commander. Having received a good report of me from him, the Grand Vizier began to patronize me, thanks to which I quickly began to rise through the ranks and at ten years old I had reached the rank of captain. From the Grand Vizier's side, I could no longer count on further advancement. About ten years passed, and I continued to hold my previous rank of captain, although, as before,He was always diligent in the performance of his duties and enjoyed the favor of his superiors. Our regiment was transferred from Sivas to the city of Konya, where the governor-general (mushir) was based. At that time, all the Turkish provinces of Asia Minor were subordinated to two governors-general, one of whom lived in Erzurum and the other in Konya.
At that time, the city of Konya was entirely populated by Turks. There was a Muslim monastery (tekiya) in this city, which at the time housed up to five hundred dervishes. This monastery was quite wealthy, and one of its mosques contains the tomb of a Muslim saint (aume), who was once the sultan of Turkey. His name was Mullah Pekar.
This monastery remains a second Mecca throughout the Muslim world and is quite wealthy. It was located not far from our barracks. I began visiting the monastery and met its director (the sheikh). It should be noted that upon the accession of a new sultan, the sheikh travels to Constantinople and, in a solemn ceremony in the sultan's palace, girds the new sultan with the saber of Osman, the founder of the current reigning dynasty. Then the sheikh returns to his monastery with rich gifts from the sultan.
In conversations with me, the sheikh described the beauties of Muhammad's paradise, sensual beauties that fired my imagination. I was particularly impressed by the sheikh's stories of how beautiful houris from paradise had appeared to certain faithful, distinguished by their piety. To merit such an honor, I began visiting mosques very frequently, not only during the day but even at night. This ecstatic, religious mood lasted for about a year; but the houris did not appear. The sheikh, however, advised me not to despair and to pray more fervently. Finally, I lost all hope of seeing the beautiful inhabitants of Muhammad's paradise, who had shown such unkindness to me, and stopped visiting mosques and the monastery with its sheikh.
Thus, the age-old enemy of our salvation was preparing a new snare for me from this side as well. Previously, he had intended to ensnare me through the sensual, as he had done in Constantinople, but now he was working more on the spiritual side, on my soul's yearning for truth, justice, and, once again, for God, who created it. But here, too, the psalm's words were fulfilled: " The net was broken, and we were delivered ."
Our regiment remained in Konya for about seven years. That year, it was transferred to Van, and in early 1853, it was moved to Erzurum. Due to the outbreak of the Crimean War, the regiment didn't stay there long and was moved to the fortress of Kars, where it remained until October. During the regiment's move to Van, we had to pass close to the city of Bytlis, my birthplace, and I took advantage of this opportunity to take a month's leave. Arriving home, I found my brother and sister alive. Their joy at seeing me was extraordinary. My first impulse was to help them, and I gave them two hundred rubles, which at that time was quite a significant sum. This money helped them greatly. At that time, I was receiving up to six hundred rubles in my service. But then the time came for my departure, and with bitter tears on both sides, we had to part. This separation was very difficult for me. Perhaps my heart foresaw that I would never see them again. While the regiment was stationed in Erzurum, I met the family of the local mufti and proposed marriage to his daughter, whom I married shortly before the regiment set out. Given the position the mufti, her father, held in the city, and her wealth, she was considered among the city's leading brides and would have made the best match. If she married me, it was because her father, who had greatly taken a liking to me, desired it. When I set out on campaign with the regiment, I had to leave her in the care of her parents. She was a very kind girl and a remarkable beauty. It was very hard for me to part with her.
From Kars, the troops, including our regiment, set out for Alexandropol. Upon arrival, the Russians were gone. The city's Russian residents and some wealthy Armenians had locked themselves in the citadel. Since it was impregnable, and rumor had spread that the approaches to the citadel were mined, the commander-in-chief of the Turkish detachment, Ahmed Pasha (not the one who was governor of Sivas, but another), decided not to attack and instead encamped four miles from the city. Our detachment remained there for about a month. There was no sign of the Russian troops. One night, Ahmed Pasha gave the order to retreat back to Turkish territory, about twenty miles away. The order was carried out, and the detachment occupied the Armenian village of Subbotan. In the morning, Ahmed Pasha ordered the soldiers to wash their linen. It was already around four o'clock in the evening. Suddenly, rumors spread that the Russians were approaching. Before the Turks had time to recover, Russian troops appeared and swiftly attacked us. The battle continued until nightfall. But then a cheer rang out. The Russians launched a new attack, and the entire Turkish army wavered and fled. Prince Bebutov, commander-in-chief of the Russian detachment, did not pursue the fugitives, likely due to the small size of his detachment, which, as it later turned out, numbered only 8,000 men, while ours numbered up to 56,000. Our losses amounted to 6,000 killed, not counting the wounded. The entire camp, weapons, and treasury fell into the hands of the Russians. The rout of our detachment was complete. The Turkish troops that survived the defeat made their way to Kars. The retreat was disorderly. Everyone saved themselves as best they could. Upon arrival in Kars, our regiment remained there until spring. With its advance, fresh troops from Erzurum arrived in Kars, up to 50,000 in total, bringing the garrison of this fortress to 100,000. In May, the entire Kars garrison marched again to the city of Alexandropol and, upon arriving in Subbotan, set up camp in the village. We remained there for two weeks. Finally, the Russian army appeared, rumored to number up to 50,000 men. A battle ensued, in which our entire army was utterly routed, and I, along with others, was captured. The number of prisoners reached 2,000.
We were brought to Alexandropol and stationed near the city. It was at this time that I made my final decision to embrace Christianity. I also recalled the dreams I had seen, which I mentioned above. I approached Prince Bebutov personally and expressed my desire to be baptized. The prince was very sympathetic to my request and, for the time being, ordered me to be housed in the fortress near the adjutant's quarters. I was unaware of the differences between Christian denominations at the time and believed that there was only one Christian faith—the Armenian. About two weeks later, Prince Bebutov sent me to Tiflis to see the Armenian Patriarch Narses and presented me with a letter of recommendation. I was given travel passes and departed by post, unescorted. Upon arrival in Tiflis, I presented myself to the patriarch, who received me very favorably and housed me in his monastery. I was kept quite decently. I lived in the Patriarch's monastery until Lent. During this entire time, no one forced me to study Christianity, although I attended all the church services. During the first week of Lent, the Patriarch summoned me and announced that after Easter he would send me to Etchmiadzin to receive holy baptism.
I spent almost the entirety of Lent in the monastery. During Holy Week, the commandant of Tiflis sent for me. When I reported to him, he announced that I would be sent to Russia along with other Turkish prisoners living in Tiflis, and ordered me to go under escort to the barracks. I began to ask permission to go to the patriarch to inform him of everything; the commandant granted it, but only released me under escort. Upon learning of this, the patriarch immediately went to Prince Vorontsov, then viceroy of the Caucasus, and personally interceded on his behalf. But Prince Vorontsov flatly refused the patriarch's request, declaring that he would rather hand over fifty other Turkish prisoners than me. The prince also suggested that perhaps I was a secret Turkish spy and that my desire to convert to Christianity was merely a pretense, the better to conceal my true intentions. All that remained was to submit, and the patriarch, giving me some money for the journey, released me. A few days later, all the Turkish prisoners, about four hundred men, including up to twenty officers, were sent to Russia. The soldiers traveled on foot, while the sick among them and all the officers were given carts. A portion of the prisoners were left behind in each town along the way; the last batch, forty in number, reached Tula and were all left there until further notice. I was among this last batch.
We arrived in Tula in the fall of 1854, but I don't remember the month. The soldiers were housed in barracks, and the officers in private quarters. Among the captured officers who reached Tula was one of my fellow soldiers. We were both placed in the quarters of the merchant Tushkanov; we received 50 kopecks a day for our upkeep, and this money,
The cost of living was low, and we had plenty. A captured Turkish soldier served us. I began attending church services. I especially enjoyed the bishop's service at the cathedral; so I began going to the cathedral almost every Sunday. I barely understood Russian, knowing only a few words. But then a strong desire arose in me to learn Russian, so much so that I could not only speak it but also read and write. The Lord helped me in this. I met the cathedral's archpriest, Father Alexander (I don't remember his last name), who once, seeing a friend and me, invited me to tea. I fell deeply in love with him and began visiting him. Father Alexander was distinguished by an extraordinary love for all those in need, and since there was no shortage of petitioners, he lived practically penniless, giving away everything he had. I expressed my desire to learn Russian, and he advised me to contact his son-in-law, the priest of a nearby village. When the latter arrived in Tula, I agreed with him that he would teach me Russian in exchange for doing all the housework. Although he was reluctant, knowing I was an officer, he had to concede. So, about two months after arriving in Tula, I moved in with the aforementioned priest, his name was Father John. I lived with him for a year, during which time I mastered the Russian language sufficiently to read both the civil and the ecclesiastical press. During this time, I also frequently visited Father Alexander, who introduced me to the fundamental principles of the Orthodox Christian faith. Only then did I understand that the Armenian and Orthodox faiths are not the same. Still, despite the convictions of Father Alexander and Father John, and despite my faith in the truth of Islam having been completely undermined, I hesitated to convert to Orthodoxy. Apparently, this stubbornness contradicted my earlier decision to embrace Christianity, even if it was only in Armenian. One day, after much persuasion, Father Alexander, seeing my persistence in accepting holy baptism, said, "Well! Apparently, this is God's will! The time must not have come yet!" These words were justified by subsequent events in my life. Indeed, it was not yet time for me to embrace the Christian faith. I needed to be purified through many sorrows.
Upon my return from Father John, my life in Tula resumed its former order. I visited Father Alexander more often than ever, and conversations with this good shepherd became a necessity for me. I was received in many other homes, including those of some of the city's most distinguished figures, and everywhere I enjoyed warm welcomes and genuine affection, especially when it became known that I intended to receive holy baptism.
At that time, a holy fool named Filaret lived in Tula. A deacon introduced me to him. The deacon took me to the holy fool, and when we arrived, the deacon, turning to the holy fool, said, "Father! This servant of God wishes to receive your holy blessing!" Then the holy fool, turning away from me, handed me a small wooden cross and said, "God bless! Go and walk in the forest." Having received this answer, I was very displeased with the holy fool and reproached the deacon, saying that I was not some kind of beast, that he was sending me for a walk in the forest. To this, the deacon replied that these enigmatic words had a great hidden meaning, which would be explained to me later. The holy fool's words gave me pause, and I soon went to see him a second time; but the holy fool spoke the same words to me as the first time. Not content with this, three weeks later I went for a third time to see Filaretushka, as the people called the holy fool. Arriving at his place, I said, "Father, bless me!" The holy fool ran into another room and brought me a grivna (3 kopecks) with a hole in it, and, handing it to me, said, "Here's some for your bread! Go and walk under the windows!" He then handed me a wooden cross and said, "Go for a walk in the forest!" I left the holy fool with a sad premonition. I continued to visit Father Alexander as before. He gave me several books of spiritual and moral content, including the lives of several saints and a prayer book with akathists to the Savior and the Mother of God. But the Holy Gospel and Psalter were not among these books.
The autumn of 1856 arrived, and the prisoners were told that the war was over, Russia had concluded peace with Turkey, and we would soon be sent home. Two weeks later, we were sent off, bound for Oryol. I said goodbye to kind Father Alexander and some of my acquaintances, and as I parted from them, I sobbed like a child. It was hard for me to part with them, as it was with all Russians, whom I had come to love with all my heart.
We were supposed to go to Odessa. Upon arrival in that city, we were put on a Turkish steamship docked there; there were about 400 of us.
From Odessa, a steamship took us to Constantinople, where we were housed in barracks. We were called to a roll call and our documents were checked. Those wishing to remain in service were assigned to their regiments, while those who resigned were sent to their places of residence. All prisoners, without exception, were given full pay for their entire captivity. I received about two thousand rubles, paid in gold. At that time, Turkey's finances were still in excellent condition, despite the enormous expenses incurred by the war that had just ended. Only later was Turkey reduced to poverty, not so much by the expenses incurred in the 1874 war with Russia as by its friendship with Western European states, primarily England and France.
According to the law in force at the time, every Turkish officer was entitled to a pension in three circumstances: if he was a prisoner of war, due to illness, or due to old age and inability to continue serving. Having a capital of two thousand rubles and having received the right to a pension from the treasury of eight hundred rubles a year, I considered it best to leave the service and resign. While awaiting my resignation, I lived in Constantinople until spring, enjoying government quarters, food, and servants during this time. Having received my resignation and the right to a pension of approximately eight hundred rubles a year, as mentioned above, I went to Erzurum to join my wife and family. This was in the spring of 1857. My meeting with my wife and her relatives was most cordial. I settled in the house of my father-in-law, who, besides my wife, had no children. Two weeks passed. I began to feel weary of this life, although I continued to love my wife as before. I was burdened because my old father-in-law began to pick on me for not going to the mosque and not performing the daily prayers required of every believer. This initially sparked disagreements between us, which later turned into open hatred on his part. To avoid any further trouble, I decided to leave my father-in-law and live on my own. To this end, I bought a house in the Armenian quarter and moved in with my wife and daughter, who was then about three years old. My intention was to become closer to Christians, whom I loved with all my heart; I had long harbored hatred for Muslims.
Having settled into my home, I made the acquaintance of Greek and Armenian merchants; both began visiting me. The topic of our conversations was the Christian faith. I visited my father-in-law very rarely, out of necessity, so to speak. In my house, there was a separate room to which I retired daily for reading and prayer. I read the books given to me by Father Alexander and found great comfort in them, especially the akathists to the Mother of God and the Savior. While reading the akathists, I would take from the chest of drawers the icons of the Savior, the Mother of God, and St. Nicholas, in whom I had great faith.
After prayer, I put the icons and books away in a chest of drawers and locked them. The Christians knew about this, but they didn't betray me. My wife knew too, but perhaps out of love for me, she also kept quiet about it. My father-in-law stopped visiting me and completely hated me. Despite all this, I lived peacefully. This continued for almost eight years, until the spring of 1865. During this time, my decision to embrace Christianity matured again, and this time it was final. I was merely waiting for the right opportunity, although I myself didn't know how my conversion would be accomplished. Islam had become completely repugnant to me. But the enemy of mankind was not asleep.
One day, a gendarme officer (zantiy) came to me with two soldiers and announced that he had been ordered to search my house. When I asked him the reason, he, without explaining anything, demanded the key to the chest of drawers containing icons and Russian books. I handed him the keys. The icons and books were found and taken by the officer. I was ordered to the guardhouse. The interrogation began, but I only answered that although I had Christian icons and books, I had not converted to Christianity. When the judges further questioned me about keeping Christian icons and books, I replied that I read books because, living in Russian captivity, I had learned their language, and that I only kept icons in a rather poor manner. After the interrogation, they reported me to the Minister of War. It was decided to demote me to private and give me two hundred lashes with a stick, which was carried out. After the torture inflicted on me, deep wounds opened on my body, so much so that I was unable to sit or walk, and could only lie on my stomach. I was sent to the hospital for treatment, where I remained for six months. The doctor was German and treated me kindly. My wounds never completely healed, only closed. The scars from them still have not healed, although more than twenty-eight years have passed since then. My pension was transferred to my wife and children, of whom by this time I already had three: a daughter and two sons. Then I was handed over to the custody of the civilian authorities and imprisoned in the city prison, in a common casemate where criminals of all kinds were held. Before being handed over to the civilian authorities, from the day of the search of my house by the military, I was held for almost a year in the military guardhouse. I heard that after my arrest, my wife and children moved into the house of her father, who had taken possession of my house and all my property. It turned out that the denunciation of me had been made by my wife, who reported everything she had observed to her father, who then reported it to the Turkish authorities. I can't call my life in the military guardhouse particularly difficult; no one bothered me there. My greatest solace came from reading prayers from a Russian prayer book given to me by Father Alexander. While still living in the house, I always carried this prayer book with me, separate from all other books, and thanks to this circumstance, it survived the search and was not confiscated. The gendarmes at that time limited themselves to searching one chest of drawers, but did not search me personally.
Sometimes my fellow prisoners would ask me what books I was reading; I would tell them they were doctoral books, and with this explanation they were satisfied. With my transfer to a civilian prison, all sorts of sorrows began for me. I had to endure hunger, cold, and human insults. Prisoners were not entitled to food from the state, and they earned their living by hiring themselves out for work or with funds provided by their families. The Lord inspired some of the Greeks and Armenians held in the same prison to provide me with food, which they did throughout my imprisonment.
There were up to thirty prisoners in my cell, including murderers awaiting the final disposition of their cases. The cell was terribly crowded, and also filthy, stinking, and unclean. The prisoners were not provided with bedding, clothing, or linen; each wore his own clothes. Washing or changing linen was, of course, out of the question. Therefore, most of the prisoners were literally covered with parasites of all kinds. The kind Christians who brought me food were unable, due to the meagerness of their means, to provide clothing; I was forced to wear the clothes that had survived my imprisonment in the military prison. I had to stay near a tub of excrement, and some of the Muslim prisoners, rising at night, deliberately vomited their excrement on me. I had to endure the most severe and humiliating insults from the Muslim prisoners every day; They knew I had betrayed Islam, and that was enough for them to consider me worse than a dog. The prison guards (sup'mate) also didn't leave me alone and often inflicted severe beatings on me. The Christians living in the city may have known of my plight, but for fear of being prosecuted, they hesitated to help me. I certainly couldn't count on help from my father-in-law or wife.
Three Christian prisoners showed me particular protection; as if moved by another, higher will, they did everything possible for me in their situation. They spared me the proximity of the foul-smelling tub, deciding to make room for each other. May the Lord reward them for this love in this life, if they are alive, and with eternal blessings in the next, if they have already departed this world.
In general, my situation in prison was terrible, and at that time the thought often occurred to me: what must be the state of those unfortunates who, having spent their lives wickedly, are condemned by the highest truth to remain in the dark confines of hell with no hope of ever leaving them and at the same time enduring unimaginable mockeries from demons, these merciless guards, filled with malice and vengeance towards the unfortunate prisoners. A terrible picture, full of joyless, unbearable horror, arose in my imagination with these thoughts. I compared my condition with the state of hellish prisoners, and instantly faith and hope in my Lord Jesus Christ and His Most Pure Mother filled my whole being with inexpressible joy and gladness, and I reconciled myself to my fate, especially when the consciousness arose that I was bearing all these sorrows from the Muslims for
Christ, my Lord. Only one thought terrified me: that I might die before receiving holy baptism. But this thought soon passed, and I was reassured, believing that the Lord would guide me and not allow me to perish in the Muslim wickedness.
Two years had passed since my imprisonment. One day, the prison warden summoned me and announced that I would soon be exiled to the island of Kbrez (Cyprus).
This news neither saddened nor pleased me. I knew that sorrows awaited me there, too. But, placing all my trust in God's providence, I began to calmly await the decision of my fate.
I didn't have to wait long. Soon they sent me to Beirut under gendarme escort. They gave me no food. I had to subsist on the bread of Christ from the Greeks and Armenians living in the villages along the way. In Beirut, they put me on a steamer; two days later, the steamer docked in Cyprus, near the city of Mush, where they disembarked me and the gendarme escorting me. This was in the spring of 1868. I was informed that I could live in the city as I wished and wherever I chose, but I was strictly forbidden from leaving the city. I was forced to subsist on alms, having nowhere to lay my head. Greek Christians were hesitant to openly help me, fearing trouble from the Turks; for the same reason, they didn't hire me for work. From Muslims, I encountered nothing but hatred. But there were also cases where, in great need, I would go to a Muslim and beg for a piece of bread. He'll call me a "giaour" (a dog, the Muslim term for a non-believer)—the harshest insult Muslims use—but in the end he'll still feed me. It truly happened to me that if the Lord wishes to have mercy on someone, He will soften even the Saracen's heart, as the Holy Fathers say (St. Abba Dorotheus, Epistle 7).
In the city of Mush, I met a wealthy Greek merchant, but I received no assistance from him, except that he once gave me a Turkish half-imperial and some clothing. The Greek mostly confined himself to moralizing. I learned that in our city lived a very good Greek doctor, whose name I don't remember; his name was Constantine. Rumor had it that he had previously held the position of court physician to Sultan Abdul Aziz and had been bribed by his nephew, Murat, the heir to the throne, to poison the Sultan. But the plan failed. Although the Sultan took the poison, the physician's son-in-law, who, of course, knew nothing of the assassination attempt and was one of the court physicians, managed to give the Sultan an antidote in time and saved his life. An investigation was conducted, resulting in the Sultan's sentence: the physician's head should be cut off. But, due to Murat's machinations, the execution was not carried out. The condemned man was secretly sent to the city of Mush, and the Sultan was informed that the execution had taken place. Murat continued to provide the exiled physician with his protection, thanks to which he enjoyed the respect of all the city authorities. It was to him that I decided to appeal for relief. After listening to me, the doctor declared that he would do everything in his power. Soon I was informed that I would be sent back to my hometown of Erzurum. Perhaps they intended this to ease my fate, but for me the news was a heavy blow. Indeed, what could await me in that city if not new and perhaps even greater sorrows? They sent me by steamship to the city of Beirut, and from this city I had to travel to Erzurum in stages.
Later, some Christians asked me why I hadn't been baptized in the city of Mush, living in freedom. I hesitated, firstly, because the Turks would certainly have learned of it, no matter how secretly my baptism had been performed. Then they would have cut off my head without any trial, on the governor's orders alone, and the people would have torn me to pieces before the execution. In that case, all the Greeks living in the city would have suffered as well, for the Turks harbor a terrible hatred for them, as infidels.
The gendarme escorting me turned out to be not only greedy but also extremely cruel. For some reason, he suspected I must have money on me, and he began to press me in every way to give him two hundred piastres, promising to let me go free; otherwise, he threatened to beat me to death. Despite my insistence that I had no money, the gendarme did not relent. When we left the village, he tied my hands behind my back with a rope and drove me before him like a pack animal, inflicting cruel blows on my back with a whip. He rode on horseback, but I was forced to walk, covering thirty or forty miles a day. The brutal beatings he inflicted on me left me extremely weak and almost barely able to move. Moreover, I was once again forced to rely on alms from the inhabitants of villages along the way, and the road, which ran along the Mediterranean coast, was covered in shifting sand, which sank my wounded feet. It was the hottest time of year: July, and the sun was unbearably scorching. Water was impossible to come by along the way. The scorching thirst was especially excruciating. In this state, the terrible thought suddenly occurred to me of committing suicide, thus ridding myself of my tormentor. The road, as I have already said, ran along the Mediterranean coast. I asked the gendarme for permission to swim, citing the fact that a dip in the sea would refresh my exhausted body, especially my aching feet, the soles of which were covered in bloody blisters. The guard agreed. I had already undressed, dipped myself in the water several times, and as I was about to plunge into the depths of the sea, an unspeakable terror suddenly overwhelmed me, so that, gathering my last strength, I rushed quickly to the shore, as if escaping some terrible abyss. The Lord, who does not desire the death of a sinner, saved me. After this, I resolved to endure whatever happened. One day, the Turk became so enraged with me that he began to strike me all over my body, beating me until I fell senseless on the hot sand, bleeding profusely. Abandoning me, he went to a village several miles away and returned accompanied by two peasants, who lifted me and placed me on a horse they had brought. From sheer exhaustion, I could barely stay in the saddle and had to be supported. In the village, the gendarme handed me over to the Armenian village elder, ordering him to keep a strict watch to ensure that I did not escape. Was escape even a possibility in such a terrible situation, when I could barely even move? But the guard's malice overlooked it. The foreman turned out to be a very kind man. Upon learning that the reason for my exile was my desire to embrace the Christian faith, he and his wife did everything they could to calm me down. They prepared a bed for me, offered me the best food, washed me, and dressed me in clean linen. In short, they treated me as the benevolent Samaritan in the Gospel treated the traveler. May the Lord reward them for all this and not deprive their souls of eternal salvation! These simple and kind people especially calmed and delighted me.when they announced that they would give the gendarme the sum of money he demanded of me and free me from his further tyranny. The next day my tormentor appeared and, having received the ransom, immediately handed me my papers and left.
Some may ask how he could decide to let me go. It's very simple. At that time, in Turkey, especially in its Asian possessions, official customs were extremely patriarchal. My escort only had to tell me I had escaped with my papers, and give a small baksheesh (gift) to the right person, and that would have been the end of it. The gendarme probably did just that. I stayed with my benefactor for about two months. My strength was restored, and I decided to continue my journey. My kind hosts begged me to stay with them for a little while longer, until my health was fully restored; their hospitality and love for me were the most sincere. They equipped me for the journey, gave me a horse, clothing, linen, provisions, and, on top of all this, gave me another two hundred piastres for travel expenses. Erzurum was still about five hundred miles away. But the road no longer seemed as terrifying to me as before. I spent ten days on the road. The journey completely restored my strength. There was no need to hurry; in the villages along the way, I was offered lodging and food free of charge. Thanks to this, the two hundred piastres given to me by my benefactors remained unspent. They proved very useful later upon my arrival in Erzurum. It is difficult to describe the state of mind that overcame me when I caught sight of the tall minarets of Erzurum and then the city itself. I had no heartfelt affection for my wife, the cause of all my suffering, but my love for my children remained. The most I could hope for was that my father-in-law would allocate me part of my seized property and leave me alone. In a pinch, he would give me shelter in his large house for a while until I could settle down. But this hope, too, was not destined to be realized. At that time I did not yet know to what extent the heart of a fanatical Turk could become hardened.
Upon arriving in Erzurum, I stopped at an inn (khan) and inquired about my father-in-law. It turned out that he, his family, as well as my ex-wife and the two sons I had left behind, the eldest now ten and the youngest eight (my daughter had died while I was still alive), were all alive... My wife had not remarried, although she had the right to do so. However, Turks are reluctant to marry widows, especially those with children, even if they are well-off, as my wife was. Generally, for some reason, Turks are prejudiced against such marriages. I approached the gate of my father-in-law's house and knocked. A servant girl, unknown to me, came out. When she asked what I needed, I asked her to tell my father-in-law that his son-in-law had arrived, and to tell my wife that her husband had returned. I didn't have to wait long. Upon seeing the maid, I felt my heart pound in anticipation of her answer. But imagine my chagrin when the maid told me my father-in-law and wife had told me to get out, like an infidel, and never dare show my face at the gates of their house again. I wept bitterly upon receiving such a cruel and harsh answer. All hope of seeing my children vanished, for they were destined to perish eternally outside Christianity, though it was difficult to count on their conversion. Heartbroken, I returned to the inn and rented inexpensive lodgings there.
Having rested and recovered from the moral blow inflicted upon me, I visited some of my former Greek and Armenian acquaintances and told them of all I had endured since my imprisonment in the military prison, up until my present return to the city, and of my reception by my father-in-law and wife. I asked them for one favor—to grant me the necessary means for the journey to my beloved Russia, which now, after a series of sorrows I had endured, had become even dearer to me and seemed like a promised land. Only in this land, among the Russians, did I hope to find the peace that my yearning and tormented soul had long craved—not so much physical peace, although I needed that too, but spiritual, that river of living water flowing into eternal life, of which our Lord Jesus Christ spoke. This faith was subsequently justified, although I was again forced to endure many, many misfortunes, both at my own hands and at the hands of others, as the reader will see from the following account. Truly, the ways of God's providence are inscrutable! Only now, after almost a quarter of a century has passed, are things in that distant past beginning to become clear to my spiritual eyes and acquire a profound, previously unknown meaning.
The Greek and Armenian Christians, persuaded by the clergy, took my plight to heart and decided to arrange a donation for me, which ultimately yielded up to a thousand rubles (12,000 piastres). With such a significant sum in hand, I could confidently set out. I then petitioned the Turkish authorities for a passport, but my request was not only denied, but I was even ordered to be imprisoned again for intending to cross into Russia. Fortunately, they warned me in time of the impending disaster. There was no time to hesitate, for any delay could have cost me my life. On the advice of my Christian friends, I disguised myself as a beggar (dilangi) and left Erzurum in this guise. Apart from a shabby robe and a stick, I had nothing on me; the money was sewn into my belt. I headed for Kars, which I naturally avoided, lest I be captured by the Turks, even though I had my passport (teskire) with me. I disguised myself as a beggar for fear of being robbed on the road, a common occurrence in Turkey in my time. Passing Kars and Bayazet, I reached the Arpachay River, which formed the Russo-Turkish border, and stopped in an Armenian village on this side of the river, where there was an Armenian church. I went to see the priest of this church. Having learned from me the true purpose of my journey, he showed me warm hospitality and let me spend the night. The next morning, when it was almost completely dark, he secretly escorted me to Arpachay and showed me a ford across it. The river was shallow, the water only reaching my knees, and so in a few minutes I was already on the other side. After walking about a hundred and fifty paces from the bank, I looked back. A sentry on the Turkish side noticed me and shouted, "Tur! (Stop!)" But I ignored him and continued forward, quickening my pace. After walking about ten miles, I encountered some Cossacks. It's hard to describe the joy that overcame me when I saw them. I was ready to throw myself on their necks and kiss each one. They gave me the warmest welcome. I didn't reveal anything about myself, however, and called myself a Turkish beggar on my way to Yerevan. That evening, I reached a Cossack picket. Its commander, a Cossack officer married to an Armenian woman who was with him, received me as one of his own after I told them about myself. After spending the night with them, I continued on. The officer gave me some money and a riding horse and a Cossack, who escorted me to the place where the Arpachay flows into the Euphrates River. Together with a Cossack, I crossed to the other side of the river and, continuing on, reached the city of Nakhichevan. Its Armenian inhabitants gave me the warmest welcome and provided me with money for the journey.
From Nakhichevan I went to Echmiadzin, sixty miles away. Echmiadzin is a fairly large town, resembling a city, whose inhabitants are exclusively Armenian. It has many good shops; in general, it is a commercial place. The monastery itself is located on the outskirts of this town. I stopped for the night in the house of an Armenian. I visited the monastery, where the Armenian Patriarch Kevork lived at the time, the successor of my benefactor, Patriarch Narses, whose death I had learned of earlier, while in Turkey. I also did not reveal my identity to anyone at the monastery. From there I went to Yerevan, a city no more than fifteen miles from Echmiadzin. On the way there, my life was twice in danger. Once, I nearly fell through the ice while crossing a deep ditch (khandek), and another time, I was almost drenched by water rushing down the mountain like a river. It was springtime then. The year was 1874, and I was fifty-four years old. Lent was beginning. But despite these years and the hardships I had endured, I was still as strong as some thirty-five-year-olds would be. The grace of God, "healing the weak and replenishing the depleted," strengthened me.
In Erivan, I stopped at a coffee shop and went to see an Orthodox priest, a Georgian by birth, who was the rector of the only Russian military church in Erivan, located in the fortress.
I told him my life story and asked him to grant me the privilege of receiving holy baptism. The priest asked for my documents, and when I showed him my Turkish passport, he told me that although he fully believed everything I said, he could not baptize me without the permission of my superiors. At this point, I began to fear that the Russian authorities would not protect me and would consider me a fugitive, since I did not have a foreign passport. My anxiety grew, and I decided to embrace the Armenian faith. With this in mind, I returned to Etchmiadzin and submitted a petition to Patriarch Kevork expressing my desire to be baptized. The representative before the Patriarch at the time was His Grace Stephen, Bishop of Constantinople, who, although he allowed me to live in the monastery, immediately expressed suspicion that I was converting to the Armenian faith in order to earn a few hundred rubles and then flee back to Turkey and convert to Islam. No matter how much I assured the bishop that his suspicions were unfounded, he remained adamant. I lived in the monastery until Holy Week. I was given quarters in a barn where the buffalo were kept, and I was given meager food, along with the workers. Having lost all hope of having my request granted, I left Echmiadzin and returned to Yerevan. Divine Providence was pleased, through this minor suffering, to teach me that the truth of Christ, in all its fullness and radiant radiance, is found only in the Orthodox faith, and that, having learned this truth during my stay in Russia, I should not have sought any other faith, even if it called itself Christian.
Returning to Yerevan, I personally petitioned the governor to accept me as a Russian citizen and to be baptized. It was Friday of Holy Week. Having accepted my petition, the governor examined me from head to toe and, without saying anything, ordered me to appear before him on the third day of Easter. When I arrived at the appointed time, he addressed me and said, "You, my dear fellow, must be a deserter." Not understanding the meaning of the word, I turned to the governor for clarification. "A deserter means a runaway Russian soldier. I conclude this from the fact that you speak and write Russian well," the governor replied. I countered that, although he knew French and German well, he probably still considered himself Russian. Similarly, I, having studied Russian and Armenian, remain a Turk. I don't know if my answer had any effect on the governor, but he ordered me to go and await further orders, adding, "You will be a Christian." But, alas, the governor's prophecy was destined to come true almost a year later.
The day after this, that is, on Easter Thursday, a police soldier came to me and ordered me to follow him to the police chief. The latter announced that I was to be sent back to Turkey as a fugitive. It was inexpressibly hard for me to hear such a cruel and unjust sentence. Placing my trust in God, I submitted to Him. I was immediately imprisoned in a military prison, from where, after two weeks, I was sent by train to Alexandropol, and from there to Kars. I expected to be executed in Kars. But God preserved me. The governor of Kars gave full credence to all my words when I identified myself as a Turkish beggar who had gone to Yerevan to find work to support himself, and that my passport had been stolen.
At this point, the idea of going to Jerusalem occurred to me. Knowing that poor people wishing to visit Muslim holy sites are given passports free of charge, I told the governor I wanted to go to Mecca to worship. The governor not only ordered a passport (teskire) but also gave me three half-imperials (medjidie) for the journey.
In Kars, I met some of my fellow countrymen, residents of Erzurum. They were all Christians and helped me as best they could. The money, a thousand rubles, collected for me in Erzurum, was in my belt, and I was saving it for a rainy day. From Kars, I set out for Erzurum, which lay on the way and was unavoidable. While in this city, I showed myself to no one, lest I be recognized.
From Erzurum I set out for Jerusalem. My route lay through the city of Sivas (Sebastia), where I had begun my service as a sixteen-year-old youth, and was now approaching my fifty-fourth year. Almost forty years had passed since then. I found none of my former acquaintances here. I remember passing the governor's konak and the barracks where our regiment was stationed. A feeling of both heaviness and sadness filled my soul. "Vanity of vanities and all is vanity," I thought. From Sivas I went to the city of Kayeari (ancient Caesarea), and from there to Adana. On the way to this city I encountered temptation. In a Kurdish village, four enormous dogs attacked me. It should be noted that nowhere, it seems, are such vicious giant dogs as in Turkey. I began to fight them off with a stick; help came from nowhere. The dogs were attacking me with the clear intention of tearing me to pieces. But as soon as I began to recite the Jesus Prayer, which Father Alexander had taught me back in Tula, a fifth dog suddenly appeared, and they pounced on it and began to tear it to pieces. The barking of the dogs brought people running, but the dog had already been literally torn to pieces. The same fate awaited me, had not the name of my Lord, Jesus Christ, miraculously saved me from a terrible death. After spending the night with a Kurd, I continued on to the city of Adana and from there continued on to Tarsis (ancient Tare, the birthplace of the holy Apostle Paul), a small city but very beautiful for its surrounding orchards. Fruits of all kinds are abundant here, and their prices are astonishing. From Tarsis I went to Mersina, which lies on the shores of the Mediterranean Sea.
With God's help, I managed to board a Russian steamship here, which had arrived with pilgrims traveling from Russia to Jerusalem. The steamship captain treated me kindly and ordered the ship's sutler to provide me with food at my request. On the steamship, I became acquainted with some of my Russian admirers. Among them was a merchant from Samara who had shown me many kindnesses. May God save him and remember his love for me, a wretched man. Five days later, the steamship delivered us to Jaffa—the harbor and gateway to the Holy City. From Jaffa, I traveled with the aforementioned merchant to Jerusalem. We stayed in a room set up for Russian pilgrims. Noticing me in Turkish clothing, a gentleman, who later turned out to be the pilgrims' guide, ordered me to be escorted out, mistaking me for a Turk. I told him that I had come here to receive holy baptism and that he had no right to expel me. The consul was informed of my whereabouts, and he came and checked my passport. I told him the true purpose of my journey and who I really was. I was feeling quite unwell at the time and asked the consul to send me to the hospital, which was immediately done. At the hospital, the doctor began questioning me about who I was and whether I had been baptized. I told him that I had long been a Christian, although I had not yet received Holy Baptism. My words greatly surprised the doctor. The Russian Archimandrite, Father Antonin, also learned of my whereabouts and ordered that if my condition worsened, I be baptized secretly. I was very well cared for and treated with great kindness at the hospital. I remained there for about a month and a half.
Upon leaving, I applied for baptism first to Archimandrite Antonin, then to the Russian consul, and finally to the Jerusalem Patriarch Procopius, but was refused everywhere. Everyone cited the strictness of Turkish law, which prohibited Muslims from converting to Christianity while living in Turkey. [From 1516 until the British occupation of Palestine in 1917, it was part of the Ottoman Empire.] I then decided to go to Constantinople, hoping that perhaps the Russians living there would help me fulfill my long-held intention. In Constantinople, I found refuge at the Athonite metochion, where Father Makarii, abbot of the Russian Athonite monastery of St. Panteleimon, lived at the time. Having some disputes with the Greeks, Father Makarii, having learned from me a brief history of my life, advised me to seek the protection of the Russian ambassador, Adjutant General Ignatiev. Indeed, through the holy prayers of this great elder, my endeavor was crowned with success. Adjutant General Ignatiev not only obtained a Turkish passport for me to travel to Russia, but also ordered ten Turkish gold coins and a ticket for free passage on a Russian steamship to Odessa in a second-class cabin. Not only Russians, but all Turks and Greeks living in Constantinople, spoke of Ignatiev with great respect. Two days later, the steamship arrived in Odessa. This was in October 1874. And so, eighteen years later, the Lord allowed me to set foot on Russian soil for the second time. My joy knew no bounds.
In Odessa, I stayed at a refuge for pilgrims established by Prince Gagarin, where I was given decent quarters and board (both free). Here I met Colonel Pogoretsky, who served in the Odessa District Headquarters. I owe him much for his attention to me. On his instructions, I went to the mayor, General N. I. Bukharin, who volunteered to be my godfather and promised to send a godmother.
At last came the day I had longed for, the day on which I was to enter the bosom of the Church of Christ. It was November 10, 1874. Previously, the mayor had referred me to the local Bishop, Dimitri, and with his blessing, Father Peter Troitsky, rector of the Church of St. Nicholas the Wonderworker in Karantin, was entrusted with imparting to me the elementary truths of the Christian faith, which I had already partially studied. Remarkably, when I first entered this church, I was astonished to recognize it as the very church I had once seen in a dream while in the city of Sivas, and in the icon of St. Nicholas, located in this same church, I recognized the wondrous elder I had seen in my dream and who had administered the Holy Gifts to me. I then told Father Peter about this in detail. I was very impressed by this priest, generally speaking, for his kind, open, and noble character, and, most importantly, for that evangelical, heartfelt simplicity, coupled with his immense intelligence, which I so often subsequently encountered in Russian priests. So, on the appointed day, November 10th, I was baptized in the Church of St. Nicholas before early Mass. After living in Odessa for about a week, I decided to fulfill a long-held intention of venerating the holy places in Russia, about which I had previously heard many stories, especially about the abundant miracles of grace that flow from the holy relics and miraculous icons housed there upon all who come to them with faith.
Looking back on the years I spent in Turkey, from 1856 to 1874, during which Providence was pleased to visit and test the firmness of my will in accepting the Christian faith through various sorrows and misfortunes, already familiar to the reader, I thank the Lord God for them, Who said that through many tribulations one must enter the Kingdom of God. Although I am a great sinner by my deeds, trusting in God's ineffable mercy, I do not despair of finding salvation for my wretched soul. Having obtained the necessary documents, I set out for Kharkov to visit the Svyatogorsk Monastery located in that province.
I spent a year at Svyatogorsk Monastery, fulfilling my obedience as a bartender at the monastery guesthouse. My intention was to remain at the monastery permanently, but I encountered a temptation that need not be recounted, and I decided it was best to leave. Archimandrite Father Herman and my spiritual father, Hieromonk Paisios, tried to restrain me, but I had no idea then that a monk should not have his own will, and I insisted.
Upon leaving the monastery, I headed first to Moscow, where I visited all its most important holy sites. The Lord then granted me the opportunity to visit other places where holy relics venerated by the Russian people are located: the Trinity Lavra of St. Sergius, Vladimir, and Verkhoturye. The relics of Saint Simeon of Verkhoturye, miracle worker of all Siberia, rest in this latter city. From Verkhoturye, I returned by my original route to Moscow and, after spending several days there, headed south to reach New Athos.
On the way, I stopped in Tula, but my benefactor in Christ, my beloved Father Alexander, was no longer alive. I saw only Father John, from whom I had learned Russian, and also visited some of my former acquaintances, including two of my comrades—Turkish officers who had converted to Christianity and entered Russian service.
Having wintered on New Athos, I left for Odessa in the spring of 1876, intending to travel throughout Russia again. I was in no need of funds, for, as the reader will likely recall, I spent the money I had brought from Turkey with extreme frugality, and my needs were, moreover, quite limited. I consider it worthwhile to mention the vast difference in impressions I had of Russia upon my return from captivity in Turkey in 1856 and upon my return there in 1874. During my first stay in Russia in 1854-1856, living in Tula and encountering people from various strata of society there, I became convinced that the power and invincibility of the Muscovites, as the Turks call them, lay not so much in the vastness and populousness of their kingdom as in their moral and spiritual strength.
Indeed, at that time, love for God and devotion to the Tsar and the Fatherland constituted the most fundamental and distinctive qualities of the Russian people, from the nobleman to the lowest commoner. There were, of course, exceptions, but where aren't there? Therefore, they are not worth mentioning. Everything was united into a single, unshakable whole. Upon my return to Russia, I was immediately struck by a general instability in religion and morality, especially in religion. Natural Russians, raised in the Orthodox Christian faith, not only openly rejected but also blasphemously denigrated their faith in every possible way—openly denigrating it, as if proud of this blasphemy, ascribing to it the significance of some lofty moral feat. Hidden and overt depravity was evident in families. Love for the Tsar and the Fatherland, reverence for the authorities, the fulfillment of moral duty to society and the state, and family responsibilities were subjected to ridicule and mockery. This contagion, spreading from the educated classes to the lower classes, began to permeate the common people, as I personally witnessed during my extensive travels across Russia, encountering common folk who openly embraced all manner of schismatic sects. Only one idol was universally revered, before which everyone bowed—money. Profit and profit at any cost, stopping at no means—such was the cry that echoed like a mournful groan throughout the Russian land. "My God," I thought, "is this really the same Russian people whom exactly twenty years ago I so deeply revered as the bearers of the Christian faith, the greatest sacred object of my soul? "Are these the magnanimous Muscovites whom I so dearly loved for their moral virtues? Is this the promised land to which, through so many years of captivity and all sorts of misfortunes, my yearning soul tirelessly and irresistibly yearned?" Words fail to express the heavy and bitter feeling I had to endure at these dismal thoughts, born in me at the sight of such a terrible impoverishment of the moral strength of my new fellow citizens. If this swift whirlpool was dragging hundreds of thousands of Russians into its deadly depths, then I, as a proselyte, faced great danger lest I be swept along by it, that is, lest I become an atheist, and perhaps even a revolutionary. But the Lord saved me from the clutches of hell. I will tell you one story.
The Lord showed me that, amidst the general moral confusion in the Russian land, His true servants remained, that a remnant remained who had not yet bowed the knee to Baal, and that this remnant served as the guarantee of the salvation and spiritual rebirth of my new homeland for a new, better life. I began to be personally convinced that the manifestations of this new, luminous Christian life, as the greatest creative force in the world, began to powerfully manifest themselves in various government and clergy activities from the very beginning of the 1880s, and that my new homeland was beginning to return to the former luminous path of Christian love and freedom, that in place of the former darkness of despondency, the light of Christ, peace, tranquility, and joy began to reign in the Russian land [referring to the beginning of the reign of Emperor Alexander III]. May the Lord bless Orthodox Russia, and peace upon Israel! My new fatherland, that holy and mighty Rus', to which I turned my thoughts and hopes in moments of dire trials and sorrowful thoughts, now began to resemble a tree, once mighty and tall, covered in green leaves and fruit, but now beginning to bare its leaves. I am no expert on history. I know that in the lives of nations there are periods of moral eclipse and grave mistakes, leading first to the spiritual and then the political death of nations. Such a dark era occurred in the Kingdom of Israel during the time of King Ahab. Something similar happened in Russia. Rebellions began.
I spent the entire year of 1876, until autumn, wandering, and in September I arrived in St. Petersburg. The capital of my new homeland gave me an unwelcoming welcome. I found myself an inexpensive apartment on Goncharnaya Street and decided to cut my expenses as much as possible, limiting myself to only the bare necessities. I submitted a petition to His Imperial Majesty, asking for an allowance and placement in civil service. Three months passed. There was no answer. But then one day a policeman came to me and asked me to follow him to the head of the secret police, General Kolinako. When I appeared, the general demanded my documents and began questioning me in detail about who I was, why I had converted to the Orthodox faith and come to Russia; finally, he announced that I should go home and keep my documents. In general, the general treated me with extreme suspicion, probably considering me a Turkish spy. My situation was taking a very unfavorable turn. I could no longer count on an allowance, much less on entering Russian service; I had to fear for my personal freedom, lest I be arrested and, what I feared most of all, lest, as a Turkish subject, I be sent to Turkey, where, of course, in that case, an inevitable execution awaited me, and moreover, the most terrible one, as a traitor to the fatherland and Mohammed.
In the summer of 1891, I returned to Optina Pustyn for the second time. At the time, Father Ambrose was living in the Kazan-Gorsk women's community, near the village of Shamordino, which is why it is sometimes called Shamordino. This community was organized under the direct, personal supervision of the elder. It was located about seventeen versts from Optina Pustyn, and so I went there to receive the elder's blessing and advice: should I continue my wanderings or remain in the monastery, and which one? In Shamordino, I encountered a large congregation of pilgrims, each of whom desired to see Father Ambrose, to receive his blessing and resolution to one or another issue in their lives. I wrote down my request on paper and submitted it to the elder through Father Joseph, the hieroschemamonk who was with him; otherwise, I would have had to wait a very long time in line. My intention was to go to Tashkent, where I hoped to enter the service of Grand Duke Nicholas Konstantinovich. But God judged otherwise. This year's pilgrimage to holy places was already the last of my wandering life. I had reached the age of 71, and although my health was still robust, a sad thought involuntarily entered my mind: where would the Lord show me my final resting place? However, I was never particularly troubled by this, placing all my trust in the Lord, and this trust comforted me.
Upon receiving my note, the elder summoned me. When I arrived, I told him how and where I had spent the twelve years since my first visit to Optina Pustyn, that is, since June 1879, and then began asking for his blessing to go to Tashkent. But Father Ambrose not only refused, but also said I would do better to remain at Optina Pustyn forever. I deeply believed that through the blessed elder, the Lord was indicating my final destination in life, and therefore I immediately expressed my full consent to the elder's proposal.
Soon, the skete's superior, Hieroschemamonk Father Anatoly, arrived in Shamordino. Father Ambrose announced his blessing for me to join the skete and its brotherhood. My entry into this holy monastery took place on July 2, 1891, and I was appointed a novice. The obedience was very simple: Father Anatoly blessed me to read the Psalter in the skete church for two hours daily, alternating with the other brethren. The Psalter is read for the health and repose of the departed brethren of the skete and lay benefactors. Thank God that He enabled me to find Father Ambrose alive. Had I been just three or four months late, it is unknown how or what would have happened to me. On October 10 of that year, Father Ambrose passed away. The death of this great ascetic was truly a great and irreplaceable loss for the entire Russian land.
Having entered the skete, I didn't know how to thank the Lord for such wondrous and great mercy. Who am I, wretched one, and what good have I done that He has placed me in this holy monastery, among the host of venerable fathers and brothers who lead angelic lives? Following the commandment given to me by my spiritual father, Hieroschemamonk Anatoly, I strove by all means to eradicate my former inclinations and habits.
Above all, I tried to refrain from judging others and to focus all my attention on recognizing and healing my own sinful defilements. With the help of God's grace, "healing the weak and replenishing the deficiencies," and the holy prayers of my spiritual father, I began to make some progress in this good intention. Although I was, and still am, a great sinner, completely covered with sinful wounds, from the very beginning of my entry into the skete and until now, I have felt great peace in my heart, and at times, great joy. Life in the holy monastery, with the help of God's grace, has given me insight into the spiritual life in Christ, into the hidden, mysterious essence of this wondrous life. Some understanding of this life has revealed to me mysteries the existence of which I had previously never even imagined. Through blessed experience I have now come to know the high significance and deepest meaning of monastic life.
This life consists of external struggle and internal spiritual work. I began my external struggle by striving with all my might, firstly, to attend all services held in the church and in the common cell, where the brethren of the skete gather to read the daily prayer rule on days when, according to the skete's rules, church services are not to be celebrated; secondly, to fulfill the prescribed cell rule for the skete as best I could, without adding to it without the blessing of my spiritual father, and without omitting anything from it, except, of course, in exceptional cases, for example, during illness and the like; thirdly, to serve each of the brethren according to my ability, for which I often suffered from them the sorrows and persecutions instigated by the enemy of the human race; fourthly, to be content with what the monastery provided me, limiting my cell environment to the essentials, avoiding excesses. Never worry about acquiring money or any kind of property.
My inner work consisted of trying, firstly, to bear with composure and good-naturedly all the sorrows and misfortunes that were allowed to me by God's providence and dispensation; secondly, to recognize myself as a sinner, more unworthy than all men, which is what I really am; thirdly, to pray for both my benefactors and my enemies, according to the commandment of the Lord; and, fourthly, to unceasingly and prayerfully call upon the sweetest name of my Lord and Savior Jesus Christ.
After living in the skete for a year, I fell ill and thought the end of my life on earth was approaching. A sacred custom had been established in our skete, according to which all novices were immediately tonsured into the mantia if their illness began to raise concerns. Therefore, Father Anatoly blessed me to be tonsured into the mantia, even though I had not yet attained the ryasophore, which was performed by Father Benedict, the skete hieromonk. I received this great mercy from the Lord on May 10, 1892. That day marked the feast day of the Holy Apostle Zealot.
With my tonsure into the mantia, my sorrows intensified, inner sorrows. But the Lord, who does not desire the death of a sinner, but that he live, granted me relief from my physical ailment as my inner sorrows intensified. Although my former health never returned, I was nevertheless able to attend church services and the monastic rule in the communal cell.
No particular temptations have happened to me since the time of my entry into the skete, either during my time as a novice or after my tonsure into the mantle.
Thus passed about a year. But after Holy Pascha of this year, 1893, my previous ailment—a scourge in my back and legs—intensified, so that I was no longer able to leave my cell. My life was again in danger, and so, on the advice and blessing of Father Anatoly, Father Benedict tonsured me into the schema, which took place on April 26 of this year, the feast day of Saint Basil, Bishop of Amasia. And thus I, the most wretched sinner of all, was for a second time deemed worthy of God's great and intense mercy—clothing in the great angelic image. Lord! Lord! Truly, Your mercy is ineffable, and You "desire all to be saved and to come to the knowledge of the truth." You came not to call the righteous, but sinners to repentance, of whom I am foremost. I reverently submit myself before the inscrutable judgments of Your providence. From what abyss of destruction, which is truly vile and blasphemous Mohammedanism, have You pulled me out into Your wondrous light!
It's also noteworthy that my tonsure into the great angelic image took place on the feast day of Saint Basil of Amasya. The city of Amasya (ancient Amasia) is three hundred miles from the city of Sivas (ancient Sebaste), where our regiment was stationed, and I had occasion to visit Amasya on official business. Little did I know then what awaited me forty or fifty years later!
With my tonsure into schema, my health worsened even more, and internal sorrows and generally enemy temptations greatly intensified.
After my tonsure, I experienced a variety of demonic temptations for three days. Until then, I had had almost no understanding of these temptations; I knew only from the patristic books and from my spiritual father, Hieroschemamonk Anatoly, that all sinful thoughts are implanted in us by demons, and that many, unaware of this, mistake such thoughts for their own. Now, however, I have learned from experience that sinful thoughts, such as blasphemous, lustful, remorseful, and others, are truly implanted in our minds by demons, and our minds seem to converse, entering into conversation with the demons. Thus, demons repeatedly filled my cell, appearing to me in physical form, uttering curses and blasphemies against the Church of Christ, the Mother of God, and the Lord Jesus Christ Himself. I heard the demons' voices as physically as I usually heard the words of people, and I saw their dark images. The main goal of the demonic temptations was to distract me from prayer in every possible way. An indescribable terror would then overwhelm my soul. Therefore, I experienced the most powerful temptations from the demons when I began to pray. The temptations and demonic attacks continued not only at night but also during the day.
On Thursday morning, May 13th [1893], at about two o'clock, I began to read the Akathist to St. Nicholas the Wonderworker. The Lord granted me such grace at this that tears flowed uncontrollably and abundantly from my eyes, so that the entire book was wet with tears. At the end of Matins, I began to read the 50th Psalm, "Have mercy on me, O God...", and after it the Creed, and when I finished it and pronounced the last words: "... and the life of the age to come. Amen," - at that very moment an invisible hand took my hands and folded them in the form of a cross, and my head was embraced on all sides by a fire like the yellow color of the rainbow; this fire did not scorch me, but filled my entire being with inexpressible joy, hitherto completely unknown and unexperienced to me. No earthly joy can compare to this joy. I don't remember how or how long it took me to find myself transported to some wondrous and indescribably beautiful place, filled with light. I saw no earthly objects there; I saw only one thing—an endless, boundless sea of light.
At that moment, I saw two people standing near me on my left, one of whom appeared to be a youth and the other an old man. I was told that one of them was Saint Andrew, the Fool-for-Christ, and the other was his disciple, Saint Epiphanius. They both stood silently. At that moment, I saw a dark crimson curtain in front of me. I looked up and saw the Lord Jesus above the curtain.
Christ, seated on a throne and clothed in precious vestments, like those of a bishop; upon His head was a mitre, also resembling a bishop's. On the Lord's right side stood the Mother of God, and on the left, John the Baptist, wearing vestments similar to those in which they are depicted on icons. Only Saint John the Baptist held the sign of the Lord's cross in one hand. On either side of the Lord stood two radiant youths of wondrous beauty, holding flaming weapons. At this moment, my heart was filled with inexpressible joy, and I looked upon the Savior, indescribably delighted in the sight of His divine face. The Lord appeared to be about thirty years old. Then the realization dawned on me that here I, the greatest of sinners, worse than a stinking dog, had been deemed worthy of such great mercy from the Lord and stood before the throne of His ineffable glory... The Lord meekly looked upon me, as if encouraging me. The Mother of God and Saint John the Baptist also gazed upon me meekly. But I was not deemed worthy to hear a single word from the Lord, His Most Pure Mother, or John the Baptist. At that moment, I saw before the Lord Father Nikolai, a schemamonk of our skete, who had died at noon on May 10th and was not yet buried, as they were awaiting the arrival of his brother from Moscow. Father Nikolai had made a full prostration before the Lord, but he was not wearing a schema, but a novice's robe, holding a rosary in his hands and his head uncovered. I did not notice whether the Lord, the Mother of God, Saint John the Baptist, and the luminous youths who stood before Him, spoke to him. After this, I looked up and behold, to my right, I noticed a great multitude of people approaching me. As they approached, I began to hear singing, but I could not discern the words. When this great host approached me, I saw that some of them were wearing bishop's vestments, some were wearing monastic mantles, and others were holding branches in their hands. Among them, I also saw women in rich and beautiful clothing. In this throng, I recognized many saints known to me from their depictions on holy icons: the Prophet Moses, who held the Tablets of the Covenant in his right hand; the Prophet David, who held a kind of gusli that produced beautiful sounds; and my angel, Saint Nicholas.
In this same assembly I saw our elders, now departed in God, Hieroschemamonks Leo, Macarius, and Ambrose, and some of the skete fathers still living. This entire great multitude of God's saints gazed upon me. At that very moment, I suddenly saw before me, that is, between me and the curtain, a great and immeasurable abyss filled with darkness. But this darkness did not prevent me from discerning in its terrifying depths the Prince of Darkness, as he is depicted in church paintings; in his arms sat Judas, holding something like a sack. Beside the Prince of Darkness stood the false prophet Muhammad, wearing a green cassock and a green turban. Around Satan, who formed the center of the abyss, throughout its boundless expanse, I saw a multitude of people of every class, sex, and age, but I did not notice anyone I knew among them. From the abyss I heard cries of despair and unspeakable horror that could not be conveyed in words.
The vision ended. After this, I was suddenly placed in another place. It was filled with a great radiant light, similar, as it seemed to me, to what I had seen in the first place. Saint Andrew and Saint Epiphanius were no longer with me. It is difficult to convey in words even the most remote semblance of the beauty of this place—a beauty truly imperishable and ineffable. If we often encounter great difficulty in depicting earthly beauties to someone, and, not content with words, resort to colors and sounds for this, then how can I, a lowly one, convey the unearthly beauties of paradise that I saw! Human language is meager and poor for depicting its wondrous and most marvelous beauty. I saw there great and beautiful trees, laden with fruit; these trees stood as if in rows, forming avenues, the end of which was impossible to see; the tops of the trees, joining together, formed a kind of vault over the avenues; The alleys were carpeted with what seemed to be pure gold, of extraordinary brilliance. A great multitude of birds perched on the trees, somewhat reminiscent in appearance of those of our tropical countries, but infinitely surpassing them in their beauty. Their song was filled with great harmony, and no earthly music could convey the sweetness of their sounds. They sang without words. A river flowed through this great garden, the water extraordinarily clear. Among the trees I noticed wondrous monasteries. They resembled palaces similar to those I had seen in Constantinople, but these monasteries were of indescribable beauty; the color of their walls was like crimson, resembling rubies. In appearance, paradise somewhat reminded me of our Optina Skete, in which the monks' cells also stand separately from each other, and the space between them is filled with fruit trees. By whose design our skete was arranged in this way, I do not know. Paradise was surrounded by a wall, which I saw only on one southern side; On the wall I read the names of the twelve apostles, but I don't recall the language in which they were written. In paradise, I saw a man dressed in shining robes and sitting on a snow-white throne. He appeared to be about 60 years old, but despite his gray hair, his face was that of a youth. Around him stood a great multitude of beggars, to whom he was distributing something. An inner voice told me that this man was Philaret the Merciful. Apart from him, I was not privileged to see any of the righteous inhabitants of paradise. In the midst of the garden, or paradise, I saw the life-giving cross with the Lord crucified on it. An invisible hand directed me to venerate the cross of the Lord, which I did, and as I bowed before it, an ineffable and great sweetness, like a flame, filled my heart and penetrated my entire being. After this, I saw a great monastery, similar in appearance to others in paradise, but immeasurably superior in its beauty. Its summit, like a gigantic church dome, rose into the infinite heights and seemed lost within them. In this monastery, I noticed something resembling a balcony.On which sat the Queen of Heaven on a richly decorated throne. Around her stood a great multitude of handsome youths in shining white robes, holding what appeared to be weapons in their hands, but I could not discern what they looked like.
The Queen of Heaven was dressed in the same garments usually depicted in icons, only multicolored. On Her head was a crown, like a royal one. The Queen of Heaven gazed upon me graciously, but I was not granted to hear a word from Her. After this, I was granted to contemplate the Holy Trinity—Father, Son, and Holy Spirit—just as They are depicted in holy icons: God the Father as a saintly elder, God the Son as a man holding the precious and life-giving cross in His right hand, and God the Holy Spirit as a dove. I saw the image of the Holy Trinity in the air. It seemed to me that I had walked for a long time in paradise, contemplating its wondrous beauty, surpassing all human understanding.
When I awoke from this vision, I thanked the Lord for this great and ineffable consolation, which I, a great sinner, had been granted. All that day I felt as if I were beside myself, filled with the great joy that filled my heart. I had never experienced anything like it before.
May 17, 1893
Holy Spirit Day.
Optina Pustyn.