"Are you, they say, still a royal hereditary archpriest?"

"What are you, God be with you! If we had all at that time had a similar understanding of the faith and the place of Orthodoxy in the life of Russia, then, you see, there would have been no revolution. No, I come from a service family, my father is an engineer at a German factory. At that time, it was a position! His own house, his departure, the house was full of bowls, servants, grooms and everything that was required. The family was Orthodox, but the spirit of the time of atheism and fascination with Europe could not but poison the spiritual atmosphere. His mother, born a noblewoman, was born and raised in the village, on his grandfather's estate, and was more religious. Although, rather, this piety was more akin to ritualism. But, true, with the inhospitability of the old era. In our kitchen, someone was always feeding, either a crippled orphan, or an invalid soldier... Father looked at all this calmly, as at a sweet oddity of his wife, but did not take part.

I didn't have time to get an education - I attended lectures at the university. Unfortunately, and not only lectures. There were so many games on the course, now I can't remember! But they had the same essence - to destroy and then build. Something terrible emanated from all these teachings, the hellish spirit of misanthropy. And people went and listened, and obeyed! It's like a man looking into an abyss - one awkward movement and that's it, death, and he is drawn to look again and again! They did not want to hear the voice of the righteous, but followed the scoundrels. And they came.

At first, the war, it seemed that people would come to their senses, here it is, God's punishment. No, they did not heed, and revolutions began. By that time, I had changed the image of my worldview, left secular science and entered the seminary. It was frightening outside the walls of the Trinity, but how calmly and reverently services were performed in the churches of the Lavra! In my free time, I sat in the academic library and read, read, read... I kept trying to understand what was happening and predict the future. The boldness of youth, the hope of reason! Fortunately, there were enough schema-monks of the elders, they managed to prepare them for life: reading was no longer so attractive as prayer and prayerful communion. Disputes and discussions, always very convincing for all parties involved, were generally perceived as a waste of time.

It was a terrible, but also interesting time - martyrdom cleansed the Church. If news came, it was always bad, and more often, very bad, even more often - terrible! My parents died, and the decision was made - monasticism, life in the world was simply unbearable for me. And so he was tonsured and consecrated twice. Almost immediately with the laying of the cross on the percy, he took the cross on the ramen - arrest, camp, exile... Then, again, arrest and camp, in general, everything is like with people, there is no need to talk much about it."

"From. Anthony, how was the declaration of 1927 received by the clergy?" - I interrupted the elder.

"And how could it be perceived? Bishops - in different ways, I heard so, I myself did not communicate with them much. The lower clergy - calmly, quite calmly. And what was there that did not exist in the history of the Russian Orthodox Church?! The word "Soviet Motherland" hurt the ear, or something a little different, the essence is the same. Why, at that time the words "Russia" and "Russian" were nothing but White Guards! They are to blame, the enemy has no ability to force a person to sin, to force him, no. He only offers sin, and you are free to choose. This is a private sin, but the sin of the people also grows out of personal sins. Did only the Jews desecrate churches and join the union of the atheists?! No. Of course. But this is a separate conversation. Yes, so where did we stop, from. Alexander?"

"Arrest, camp, exile..."-I remind you quietly. And from. Anthony continued his unhurried story.

"I was released after the war, I could not walk, so the disease was exhausted, and the term ended. One soldier taught me to go to his homeland, and he told me who to turn to. Warm-hearted people, believers, they left me over the summer. In the neighboring village they found a job - he got a job as a stoker. I did not turn to the local bishop, I was afraid, I had heard all sorts of things from people. I think the winter will pass, the heating will end, then I will look for something. The fathers gave me the address of one archbishop, they said for him that he took those who were imprisoned - calming the plenipotentiary with a bribe and a plentiful feast.

And I want to serve. Once, before Christmas, two or three weeks before, I don't remember if Varvara had already passed, they knocked on my door at night. It was a dashing, hungry, cold time, and I had coal, like a second bread! Come on, I think I'll open it. A young guy came in, about thirty years old and stood there, crumpling, unable to start. I couldn't stand it anymore, I said: "I've come, so keep your speech, that, they say, you're crumpling, I don't bite!" And this is what he said. His mother, a very religious woman, in the godless accursed thirties, was constantly visited by wandering priests, both monks and laymen, they say, there was even some kind of bishop. So, they stopped, served, communed, baptized, did everything that people needed. The old hieromonk appeared especially often, and people liked him very much for his simplicity, gentle character, and reliability in requests. One day a monk appeared in the morning, with his usual suitcase, in which he kept everything for the service and a bundle in his hands. He gave my visitor's mother the suitcase, and ordered her to hide it - they were already looking for him to arrest him. The last order was: "I will not return, I will give it to the priest who returns to these parts after the camps!"

The woman zealously fulfilled the assignment - even the Germans did not find the suitcase. And now she, old and sick, having heard that a priest allegedly worked in the stokehouse, sent her son to find out everything. There is no need to tell further - and everything is clear as it is. I didn't run, I flew like a bird without feeling any shortness of breath or rheumatic joints, only faster! Here it is - the cherished house, the barking of an unknown thin dog, the creak of the door and we are in the house. An old woman is lying on the bed, elderly women are sitting on the bench near the table. A kagan is smoking on the table, and there is not even a suitcase, as we understand now, but a solid wooden chest upholstered in leather. Its small size made me shudder - are there really no vestments?! Or maybe there is no Eucharistic set?

I was so excited that I forgot to greet the people and wish peace to this house! "Hello, father, bless!" - a middle-aged man stood next to me, a sturdy man and clearly a front-line soldier, "God bless." "I am the eldest son, Vasily. Here, father, the keys are all yours, sort it out. Only one request, it is to give my mother the Unction and funeral service - it hurts badly." "All you need is welcome! Only I'll open it in my stoker, okay?!" - my voice was trembling, my hands were nervously stroking the cherished chest. Vasily smiled: "I told you - he is yours, from. Antony. Yurko," he nodded at his younger brother, "he will bring him to you now."

I had one stool and a bench in my stoker. Now I covered the stool with a clean shirt given to me by someone, put the chest on it, and myself, sitting on a bench, examined my treasure. Brown thick leather was embossed, one might say, with patterns on church themes: a cross framed by grape bunches and leaves, in the corners - the domes of churches. But here is the key in the lock, I try to turn it - it was not there, the key is in place. Something is wrong here, the condition of the chest does not allow you to think that the lock is spoiled by rust. Once again I carefully examine the chest and find a hidden hole, insert the key there with the reverse side, turn and hear a slight click! After that, the second lock opened. I open the lid, but it's just a miracle! From the inside, the lid unfolds and turns into a small iconostasis. White robes are laid inside. Under them is a wooden bulkhead, in which, in recesses, the service Gospel, the service book and the service book are fastened. With trepidation, I pull out the vestments and unfasten the Gospel - yes, under it, as it should be, in the iliton, lies the Antimension! There is an opportunity for service, what a joy!

I pull out this middle bulkhead. Under it, in the recesses, there is everything - the Eucharistic dishes, and the baptismal set, and even the Monstrance. The bulkhead itself is a small table, a portable throne. The legs are immediately placed next to it. My joy has no bounds, but where to serve?! I don't have a home, and, in fact, not a house at all. Stoker, I work and live here. People called me to live with them, but why embarrass them, the houses and dugouts after the German are miserable, and here I will pray and sing. And I'm a dangerous tenant, look at it, they can take me again. But what to do now.