The past should not be lost, the past is based on the new, so I considered it my duty to put together a part of Fr. Arseny's life.

In order to gather precious information about Fr. Arseny, I had to turn to the memory of his spiritual children, the letters he once wrote to friends and spiritual children, and the memoirs written by people who knew him.

Fr. Arseny's spiritual children were numerous, and wherever the Lord settled him, they appeared around him, whether it was the city where he, an art historian, was ordained to the priesthood and organized a community in a half-forgotten parish, a village where he was exiled, or a small town lost in the boundless forests of the North, or a terrible camp of a special regime.

Intellectuals, workers, peasants, criminals, political prisoners, old Bolsheviks, and employees of the organs, coming into contact with him, became his spiritual children, friends, believers, and followed him. Yes! Many, recognizing him, followed him.

Everyone who knew Fr. Arseny told me what they saw and knew about him.

When I met with Fr. Arseny, I tried to learn about his life, but although he had many conversations with me, he told me little about himself. I managed to write down some things during his lifetime, and when I gave him notes to look at, I asked: Was it so? and he always said to me: Yes, it was, but he always added: the Lord led us all along many roads, and every person, if you look closely at his life, has much worthy of attention and description. My life, like that of every living person, has always been intertwined or walked next to the lives of other people. There were many things, but everything was always from the Lord.

Often several times he corrected inaccuracies in writing. For the convenience of recounting memories, I have shifted some events in time, changed the names of places and the names of almost all the participants, since many are still alive, and time is changeable.

It was difficult to search, but as a result there appeared these memoirs, letters and notes, although imperfect in their presentation, but recreating the image and life of Fr. Arseny.

At the beginning of my work, I had no idea at first what kind of material and volume the book would collect, but now I clearly see that there will be three parts: The Camp, the first part, and you will read it now, the second part, The Path, which will include individual letters, memoirs, and stories of people who knew and know Fr. Arseny. The second part has been written, but needs to be improved, and for the third part, a lot of material has been collected, on which there is still a lot of work to be done. I pray the Lord to help me.

It would be presumptuous to say: I wrote, I collected. Many and many dozens of people who knew and loved Fr. Arseny wrote, collected, and sent me their notes, and this belongs to them. I only tried, like all those whom Fr. Arseny raised and put on the path of faith, to pay a small part of the unrepayable debt to the man who saved me and gave me a new life.

After reading the notes, remember the health of the servant of God Alexander, and this will be a great reward for me.

CAMP

The darkness of the night and the bitter frost shackled everything except the wind. The wind carried snow charges, which, spinning, exploded in the air, turned into clouds of fine prickly snow. Hitting obstacles, the wind threw shreds of snow, picked up new ones from the ground and again rushed somewhere forward.

Sometimes there was a sudden lull, and then in the darkness of the night a gigantic spot of light would shine on the ground. In the streaks of light lay the city, spread out in the lowlands. Barracks, barracks, and barracks covered the ground.