Novice Maria Kikot. Maria Kikot - confession of a former novice

Maria Kikot

Confessions of a former novice

Kharitina had a daughter, Anastasia, at the orphanage, very small, then she was about one and a half to two years old. I don’t know her story, in the monastery the sisters are forbidden to talk about their life “in the world”, I don’t know how Kharitina got into the monastery with such a small child. I don't even know her real name. From one sister, I heard about unhappy love, a failed family life, and the blessing of Elder Vlasy on monasticism. Most of the "mothers" got here just like that, with the blessing of the elder of the Borovsky monastery Vlasiy or the elder of the Optina Hermitage Iliy (Nozdrin). These women were not special, many had both housing and good jobs before the monastery, some had higher education, they just ended up here at a difficult period in their lives. All day long, these "mothers" worked on difficult obediences, paying with their health, while the children were brought up by strangers in the barracks of an orphanage. On big holidays, when our Metropolitan of Kaluga and Borovsk Kliment (Kapalin), or other important guests, came to the monastery, Kharitina's little daughter in a beautiful dress was brought to them, photographed, she sang songs and danced with two other little girls. Plump, curly, healthy, she caused universal tenderness.

Abbess forbade Kharitina to often communicate with her daughter: according to her, this distracted her from work, and besides, the other children could envy.

Then I didn't know any of this. With other pilgrims and "mothers" from morning to evening until we dropped, we scrubbed the floors, walls, doors in the large guest refectory, and then we had dinner and sleep. Never before have I worked from morning to night like this, without any rest, I thought that it was even somehow unrealistic for a person. I hoped that when I was settled with my sisters, it would not be so hard.

A week later I was called to the temple to Mother. From my confessor and close friend of my family, Father Athanasius, I heard a lot of good things about her. Father Athanasius praised this monastery very much to me. According to him, it was the only women's monastery in Russia where they really seriously tried to follow the Athos charter of monastic life. Athos monks often came here, held talks, sang in the kliros in ancient Byzantine chant, and served night services. He told me so many good things about this monastery that I understood: if you want to labor somewhere, then only here. I was very glad to finally see Mother, I so wanted to quickly move to the sisters, to have the opportunity to visit the church, to pray. Pilgrims and "mothers" almost never visited the temple.

Matushka Nikolai was sitting in her abbot's stasidia, which looked more like a luxurious royal throne, all upholstered in red velvet, gilded, with some elaborate decorations, a roof and carved armrests. I did not have time to figure out from which side I needed to approach this structure: there was no chair or bench nearby where I could sit down. The service was almost over, and Matushka was sitting in the back of her velvet chair and receiving the sisters. I was very worried, went up to be blessed and said that I was the same Mary from Father Athanasius. Mother abbess gave me a radiant smile, extended her hand to me, which I hastily kissed, and pointed to a small rug next to her stasidia. The sisters could talk to Mother only on their knees, and nothing else. It was unusual to kneel next to the throne, but Matushka was very affectionate with me, stroking my arm with her soft plump hand, asking if I sang in the kliros and something else of that kind, blessed me to go to a meal with my sisters and to move from the pilgrimage house to the sisters' building, which I was very happy about.

Mother Nikolai was sitting in her hegumen stasidia, which looked more like a royal throne

After the service, I, along with all the sisters, went to the sisters' refectory. From the temple to the refectory, the sisters went in formation, lining up in pairs according to their rank: first novices, then nuns and nuns. It was a separate house, consisting of a kitchen where the sisters prepared food, and a refectory proper, with heavy wooden tables and chairs on which stood shiny iron utensils. The tables were long, served in "fours", that is, for four people - a tureen, a bowl with a second course, salad, a kettle, a bread box and cutlery. At the end of the hall is the abbot's table, where there was a teapot, a cup and a glass of water. Mother often attended the meal, held classes with the sisters, but she always ate separately in her Abbot’s room, the food for her was prepared by Antonia’s mother, the Abbot’s personal cook and from separate, specially purchased products for Mother. The sisters sat down along the tables, also in order - first nuns, nuns, novices, then "mothers" (they were invited to the sisters' refectory, if classes were held, the rest of the time they ate in the children's kitchen in the shelter), then "monastery children" (shelter adults girls who were blessed to live in the sisters' territory as novices (the children liked this because they were given more freedom in the monastery than in the orphanage). Everyone was waiting for Mother. When she entered, the sisters sang prayers, sat down, and the classes began. Father Athanasius told me that in this monastery the abbess often conducts conversations with the sisters on spiritual topics, there is also a kind of “debriefing”, that is, Mother and the sisters point out to the sister, who has strayed a little from the spiritual path, to her misconduct and sins, direct on the right path of obedience and prayer. Of course, the father said, this is not easy, and such an honor is given only to those who are able to withstand such a public trial. I then thought with admiration that it was just like in the first centuries of Christianity, when confession was often public, the confessor went to the middle of the temple and told all his brothers and sisters in Christ what he had sinned in, and then received the remission of sins. Only a strong-willed person can do this and, of course, he will receive support from his brothers, and help and advice from his spiritual mentor. All this is done in an atmosphere of love and goodwill towards each other. A wonderful custom, I thought, it's great that this monastery has it.

The session started out of the blue. Mother sank into her chair at the end of the hall, and we, sitting at the tables, waited for her words. Matushka asked nun Euphrosia to stand up and began to scold her for her indecent behavior. Mother Euphrosia was a cook at the children's refectory. I often saw her there while I was a pilgrim. Small in stature, strong, with a rather pretty face, on which there was almost always an expression of some serious bewilderment or discontent, quite comically combined with her low, slightly nasal voice. She always muttered something displeased under her breath, and sometimes, if something didn’t work out for her, she cursed at pots, scoops, carts, at herself and, of course, at the one who came across her arm. But all this was somehow childish, even funny, rarely anyone took it seriously. This time, apparently, she was guilty of something serious.

Mother began to reprimand her menacingly, and the nun Euphrosia, in her displeased childlike manner, bulging her eyes, justified herself, blaming all the other sisters in her turn. Then Mother got tired and gave the floor to the others. Sisters of different ranks stood up in turn, and each told some unpleasant story from the life of mother Euphrosia. Novice Galina from the sewing shop remembered how the nun Euphrosia took the scissors from her and did not return them. Because of these scissors, a scandal erupted, because the nun Euphrosia did not want to confess to this atrocity. Everything else was about the same. I somehow felt a little sorry for Mother Euphrosia when the whole assembly of sisters, headed by Matushka, attacked her alone and accused her of misdeeds, most of which were committed quite a long time ago. Then she no longer made excuses - it was clear that it was useless, she just stood, lowering her eyes to the floor and mooing displeasedly, like a beaten animal. But, of course, I thought, Mother knows what she is doing, all this is for the correction and salvation of a lost soul. It took about an hour before the flow of complaints and insults finally dried up. Matushka summed up the results and delivered a verdict: to exile mother Euphrosia for correction in Rozhdestveno. Everyone froze. I didn’t know where Rozhdestveno was, and what was going on there, but judging by how the nun Euphrosia begged with tears not to send her there, it became clear that there was little good there. It took another half an hour to threaten and exhort the sobbing mother of Euphrosia, she was offered either to leave completely or go to the proposed exile. Finally Matushka rang the bell standing on her desk, and the sister-reader at the lectern began to read a book about the Hesychast hermits of Athos. The sisters set to work on the cold soup.

I will never forget that first meal with my sisters. I have never experienced such shame and horror in my life. Everyone turned their heads to their plates and quickly began to eat. I didn't feel like soup, so I reached for the bowl of jacket potatoes on top of our foursome. Then my sister, who was sitting opposite me, suddenly lightly slapped me on the arm and shook her finger. I jerked my hand away: “You can’t ... But why?” I was left sitting in complete bewilderment. There was no one to ask, conversations at the meal were forbidden, everyone looked at their plates and ate quickly in order to be in time before the bell. Okay, for some reason you can’t have potatoes. Next to my empty plate was a small bowl with one serving of oatmeal porridge, one for the whole "four". I decided to eat this porridge because it was closest to me. The rest, as if nothing had happened, began to eat potatoes. I laid out two tablespoons of porridge for myself, there was no more, and began to eat. My sister gave me a displeased look. A lump of porridge got stuck in my throat. I wanted to drink. I reached for the kettle, my ears were ringing. Another sister stopped my hand on the way to the teapot and shook her head. This makes no sense. Suddenly, the bell rang again and everyone, as if on cue, began to pour tea. I was given a kettle of cold tea. He wasn't sweet at all. I put myself jam - a little, just to try. The jam turned out to be apple and very tasty, I wanted to take more, but when I reached for it, they slapped my hand again. Everyone was eating, no one was looking at me, but somehow my whole “four” was watching all my actions.

Twenty minutes after the start of the meal, Mother rang the bell again, everyone got up, prayed and began to disperse. An elderly novice Galina came up to me and, taking me aside, began to quietly reprimand me for trying to take the jam a second time. "Don't you know that jam can only be taken once?" I felt very uncomfortable. I apologized, began to ask her what the rules were in general, but she had no time to explain, she had to quickly change into work clothes and run out of obedience, for being late for at least a few minutes she was punished with a nightly washing of dishes.

I have never experienced such shame and horror in my life.

Although there were still many meals and classes ahead, this first meal and first classes I remember best. I never understood why it was called "workout". Least of all, it was similar to classes in the usual sense of the word. They were held quite often, sometimes almost every day before the first meal, and lasted from thirty minutes to two hours. Then the sisters began to eat the cooled food, digesting what they heard. Sometimes Matushka would read something spiritually helpful from the Athos fathers, usually about obedience to your mentor and cutting off your will, or instructions about life in a cenobitic monastery, but this is rare. Basically, for some reason, these classes were more like a showdown, where first Mother, and then all the sisters together scolded some sister who had done something wrong. It was possible to be guilty not only by deed, but also by thought, and look, or simply being on the way to Mother at the wrong time and in the wrong place. At that time, everyone sat and thought with relief that today they were cursing and disgracing not him, but his neighbor, which means that it had passed. Moreover, if the sister was scolded, she should not have said anything in her own defense, this was regarded as insolence to Matushka and could only anger her more. And if Mother began to get angry, which happened quite often, she could no longer restrain herself, she had a very quick-tempered character. Having switched to screaming, she could scream for an hour or two in a row, depending on how strong her indignation was. It was very scary to piss off Mother. It was better to silently endure the flow of insults, and then ask everyone for forgiveness with a bow to the ground. Especially in the classroom, “mothers” usually got it for their negligence, laziness and ingratitude.

This is often used in sects. All against one, then all against the other

If there was no guilty sister at that moment, Mother would start reprimanding all of us for negligence, disobedience, laziness, etc. Moreover, in this case she used an interesting trick: she did not say “you”, but “we”. That is, as if with himself and everyone in mind, but somehow this did not make it any easier. She scolded all the sisters, some more often, some less often, no one could afford to relax and calm down, this was done more for prevention, to keep us all in a state of anxiety and fear. Matushka held these classes as often as she could, sometimes every day. As a rule, everything went according to the same scenario: Mother lifted her sister from the table. She was to stand alone in front of the whole assembly. Mother pointed out her guilt to her, as a rule, describing her actions in some shamefully absurd way. She did not denounce her with love, as the holy fathers write in books, she dishonored her in front of everyone, ridiculed, mocked her. Often the sister turned out to be just a victim of slander or someone else's slander, but this did not matter to anyone. Then the sisters who were especially “faithful” to Mother, as a rule, from nuns – but there were also novices who especially wanted to distinguish themselves – in turn had to add something to the accusation. This technique is called the "principle of group pressure", if scientifically, this is often used in sects. All against one, then all against the other. Etc. At the end, the victim, crushed and morally destroyed, asks everyone for forgiveness and bows to the ground. Many could not stand it and cried, but these, as a rule, were newcomers - those to whom all this was new. The sisters, who had lived in the monastery for many years, took this for granted, they simply got used to it.

The idea of holding classes was taken, like many other things, from the cenobitic Athos monasteries. We sometimes listened at the meal to the recordings of classes that Abbot Ephraim of the Vatopedi Monastery conducted with his brethren. But this was different. He never scolded or insulted anyone, never shouted, never specifically addressed anyone. He tried to inspire his monks to exploits, told them stories from the life of the Athos fathers, shared wisdom and love, set an example of humility on himself, and did not “humble” others. And after our classes, we all left depressed and frightened, because their meaning was precisely to scare and suppress. As I later realized, Mother Abbess Nicholas used these two techniques most often.

In the evening of the same day, after tea, an unfamiliar sister came to our pilgrimage and escorted me and grandmother Elena Petushkova to the sister building. Two cells were vacated for us on the second floor of the "scheme" building. One of these cells, the one on the left, was previously occupied by the nun Euphrosia. I saw her with things, as usual, dissatisfied with everything and everyone, went downstairs, mumbling something under her breath. It is not difficult to guess that Matushka had long wanted to send her to Rozhdestveno, where they needed working hands, and here they also needed a free cell. Elena was placed there. This whole spectacle at the meal was just for that, but also, of course, to intimidate the rest. But then I did not attach any importance to this, it just coincided and that's it. I didn’t see anything bad at all either in these studies or in many other things, and if I did, I tried to think that I simply didn’t understand much about monastic life.

My cell was small, like a box. Everyone in this building was like this: a narrow wooden bed that occupied the entire right wall, opposite - a small old desk, a peeled chair and a bedside table. The entire wall opposite the door was occupied by a window. Wardrobe and shelf for shoes - in the hallway. But I was happy that now I have a separate cell where I can be alone, even for a short rest, and at night no one will snore nearby, as was the case on the pilgrimage. Before me, the nun Matrona lived in this cell, she was just transferring her things to the Trinity Corps, where she was transferred. The Trinity Corps was the newest, the cells there were spacious, and Mother Matrona joyfully ran back and forth, giggling with pleasure.

She seemed to me very nice and kind of cozy. Small, round, smiling. I helped her pack her things. But it was also not possible to talk to her: “After tea, Mother did not bless to talk.” And, smiling just as cheerfully, she carried another box. Mother Matrona did not live long in Troitsky, then she simply disappeared somewhere. Later, three years later, when I arrived in Rozhdestveno, I met her there. It was some other mother Matrona: very stout, some kind of swollen, inhibited. She hardly fulfilled even the simplest obediences. Sometimes she just stood in a dark closet for a long time and looked at one point, like a statue, not always reacting even in time to those who caught her doing this. As one of the sisters told me:

- The roof is off. Paranoia and seizures set in. Schizophrenia. She has been on pills for a long time, Mother blessed.

“Wow,” I thought, “when did she manage to go crazy like that?”

Easter was approaching, and the whole monastery was buzzing day and night, everyone was getting ready. Easter cakes were baked around the clock in prosphora, a huge number of Easter cakes of various sizes and shapes. In the temple, everything was cleaned to a shine, the territory of the monastery, buildings and refectories were washed and decorated. The children in the guest refectory spent all day rehearsing the theatrical production of Cinderella and individual musical numbers. I still worked at the guest refectory. We washed, ironed and put white covers with burgundy bows on the chairs, which then had to be pinned up with needles. Each chair, and there were more than a hundred of them, we dressed up in a snow-white ironed and starched cover with a bow on the back.

Since I was already a novice, I needed special clothes to go to the temple: a black skirt, blouse and headscarf. I arrived wearing a long black woolen skirt, which was the only one I had for the occasion, a gray shirt and a black scarf, which was more like a small headscarf than a handkerchief. It was impossible to let me into the temple in this form, and I was taken to the ruble room - the monastery warehouse of everything that the nuns might need. There was nothing suitable for me. The clothes were only those that someone donated, nothing was specially bought. There was some kind of synthetic black blouse with colorful patterns embossed, old, all in pellets, and terribly ugly. On my feet - instead of my gray sneakers - only worn men's black shoes with long square toes, size 44. There was no dress. Okay, we are monks, we can do anything, I thought. In this outfit, I went to obediences and to the temple. It was strange to feel at the same time both a scarecrow of a garden and a real non-possessive monk who does not care about appearance.

And finally Easter! It was so symbolic for me that I came to the monastery on the eve of such a great holiday, the biggest for all Christians. The service was expected to be at night, as it should be according to the charter. And then at the most inopportune moment I started my period. Nonsense, of course, but, as I learned from one novice, one cannot enter the temple in such an “unclean state”. Blimey! I heard about this for the first time. Well, okay, you can’t take communion, but you can’t even attend the service! Such orders were only here. Here, instead of serving, these "unclean" sisters went to the kitchen, prepared a meal while the rest were praying. Then, however, I found out that this rule does not apply to everyone. Particularly vociferous choir sisters, even in this form, could and even had to sing in the temple, they were not driven into the kitchen. Also, this did not concern the dean, for she was always with Matushka in the temple, regardless of purity or impurity. Sometimes, on "Mother's" holidays, Mother allowed the "unclean" to go to the temple too, if there was no work in the kitchen at that time. In general, with this "impurity" everything was ambiguous. I decided not to tell anyone about this misunderstanding, I really wanted to be at the service.

And I went to the temple. Before that, I had hardly been there, all the time we worked and prepared for the holiday. It was a surprise to me that the sisters were not praying on the first floor with all the parishioners, but on the second floor, where nothing could be seen at all. From the speakers, we heard exclamations and singing, but we could not see anything. It was impossible to approach the parapet of the balcony, probably because the nuns would have looked ridiculous, leaning over the parapet and staring at the people below. It upset me terribly. It's worse than even watching the service on TV, it's like listening to it on the radio. But you get used to it too.

During the service, I was constantly tormented by the conscience that I had lied, according to the charter, I had to be in the kitchen, and this somehow made me sad. Then there was a meal shared with the parishioners and a small concert. Everyone finally broke the fast with boiled eggs, Easter cakes and Easter.

Mother herself helped me figure out the order at the meal. After that shameful dinner on the same day, there was still evening tea, where, out of ignorance, I took an extra biscuit. They didn’t beat me on the hands, but I understood this from the looks and displeased hiss of my companions. The next morning after the liturgy, I was called to Matushka. Then I was not afraid of Matushka and was even glad to talk to her. She began to politely explain to me the rules of eating at the meal. At the ringing of the bell, they began to eat. Soup first. The tureen had to be passed in a clear sequence from the elders to the younger. If you don't want soup, sit and wait for the next call. On the second call, it was allowed to impose a second and a salad. After the third call - tea, jam, fruit (if any). The fourth call is the end of the meal. You can put yourself no more than a quarter of the second course, salad or soup. You can take it only once, do not put it on, even if there is food left. You can take two pieces of white bread and two black, no more. You can’t share food with anyone, you can’t take it with you, you can’t not eat up what you put on your plate. She didn’t say anything about jam, and no one knew for sure, the charter did not stipulate how many times it could be put. It depended on the sisters of the Quartet, which you will get into.

A week after my arrival, my passport, money and mobile phone were taken away from me somewhere in a safe. The tradition is strange, but it is done in all our monasteries.

We didn’t have time to celebrate Easter, we had to prepare for another holiday - Mother’s anniversary, 60 years. Not a single church holiday in the St. Nicholas Monastery, even the visit of a bishop, could compare in splendor with the “mother's” holidays. She had many of them: her birthday, three days of an angel a year, the days of St. Nicholas were also considered “mother’s”, plus her various memorable dates: tonsure, her consecration to the rank of abbess, etc. Each return of Mother from “abroad ” also served as a reason for celebration. Often the days of saints especially revered in Russia were not even mentioned, but not a single "mother's" holiday could do without a hearty meal and a concert. At these celebrations, the sisters were often given some symbolic gifts "from Mother" - icons, shrines, postcards, chocolates.

A week after my arrival, my passport, money and mobile phone were taken away from me.

Special preparations were made for this anniversary. Tables in the guest dining room were crammed with expensive crockery, gourmet treats and drinks. For every four guests, a whole stuffed sturgeon was baked. The entire refectory was filled with guests and sponsors of the monastery. Almost all the sisters were busy serving the guests in white pinafores with large lush bows on their backs. Mother generally liked to have bows everywhere - the more, the better. In her opinion, it was very elegant. To be honest, the nuns in hoods and cassocks with white bows on their backs looked strange and absurd, but they don’t argue about tastes.

After the meal there was, as usual, a concert and theatrical performance of the orphanage children. The guests were delighted. The sisters were also pleased: after many days and nights of grueling preparations for the holiday, they also got the opportunity to try sturgeons and everything that was left after the guests.

After my move from the pilgrimage to the sisters' building, I was very surprised by one strange circumstance: throughout the entire monastery there was no toilet paper in any toilet. Not in the buildings, not in the refectory, nowhere at all. In the pilgrimage and on the guest refectory paper was everywhere, but not here. At first, I thought that behind all this festive fuss, this important subject was somehow forgotten, especially since I was always at obedience in the guest room or in the children's refectory, where there was paper, and I could wind myself as much as I needed in reserve. I somehow did not dare to ask this delicate question to the sisters or Matushka. Once, when I was brushing my teeth in the common bathroom in our building, and the nun Theodora on duty at the building was washing the floor, I said out loud, as if to myself: “Wow! They forgot to put paper again!” She looked at me wildly and continued scrubbing the floors. Then, nevertheless, I found out from a neighbor in the cell that this most precious and vital item needs to be specially ordered from the dean, this can be done only once a week, when the ruholka is working, and you can write out only two rolls a month, no more. I thought it seemed to me. It just can't be. After all these luxurious meals with caviar, dorado and handmade sweets, it was hard to believe.

Looking ahead, I will say that there were quite a few oddities with this paper. One recently arrived novice Pelageya (in the world her name was Polina) complained to Matushka that it was impossible for her to get by with two rolls. This Pelageya was generally quite simple in life, nothing prevented her from talking about things that really worried her. On this occasion, entire monastic studies were held. Mother dishonored Pelageya in front of everyone. She said that while everyone is doing spiritual work, she thinks about things like toilet paper. The rest, of course, supported Mother in everything. They seem to have had enough. And those who didn’t have enough were silent: they thought that they were just somehow wrong. As a result, Pelageya, who had been standing all this time with a calmly stupid look, asked:

- Mother, what should I wipe with my finger, or something?

To which she barked:

- Yes! Wipe your finger!

This is something you rarely hear these days. However, this wonderful story had a happy ending. Pelageya lived in the monastery for more than a year, I don’t know how she solved the paper issue for herself, but then she nevertheless left. She never learned to be afraid of Mother, she was often rude, asked absurd questions point-blank, frankly wrote to Mother her thoughts, which she could not do in any case ... in general, she failed and left. After she left, she was forgotten for a long time. And then, some kind of pale, tired, obviously out of sorts came to some of the classes, and brought with her a pile of written A4 sheets. In a funeral voice, she began to tell us that Pelageya, it turns out, did not waste her time “in the world”, she wrote a letter or even a treatise about her life in St. Nicholas Monastery, and quite voluminous. There she dared to blaspheme the monastery, Mother and sisters. Fragments of this letter Mother read to us. “Wow,” I thought, “what this Pelageya was capable of.” The style of the treatise was very simple, even naive, but she very accurately saw the essence of what was happening in the monastery: this, as she wrote, “Mother’s personality cult”, which here replaces faith in Christ and on which everything is based here. She wrote very truthfully about the meager meals of the sisters and children, consisting mainly of donated expired products, where even on a fast day there is rarely fish or dairy products, and about mother's sumptuous meals, about incessant work without rest, about these soul-exhausting activities, about sisters who lost their minds from such a life, and, of course, about toilet paper! Pelageya sent this letter to the patriarchate, as well as to the diocese, Metropolitan Clement of Kaluga and Borovsk, under whose leadership our monastery was. But for some reason this letter ended up with Nikolai's mother. I don’t know if it was read at all in the patriarchate or in the Kaluga diocese.

She very accurately saw the essence: “the cult of the personality of mother”, which replaced faith in Christ here

Maria Kikot's book "Confessions of a former novice" evoked a wide variety of emotions from readers. Initially, the woman posted a post on her blog, where she shared her memories and thoughts. Even then, many began to comment and write to her. Someone agreed, confirmed her words, someone accused her of lying. The thing is that Mary touched on a serious and painful topic of religion. After that, her book was released, which was written by Maria not so much for the public as for herself.

There was a period in Mary's life when she decided to devote herself to the Orthodox life. She became a nun at Optina Pustyn. But why is she now a “former novice”? There are many reasons for this, but they all have one essence - behind the walls of the monastery, she saw not at all what she expected. In the book, a woman talks about what happened far from human eyes. She does not write with anger or a desire for revenge, her narration is calm and measured, it is more like describing a painting. A picture that stood before her eyes for several years every day.

The author of the book opens his eyes to many points that no one has previously spoken about. For example, this is a terrible attitude towards nuns. The monastery turned out to be a real hell in which women do not have the right to vote, they can suffer from diseases, but no one will rush to their aid. Nobody cares about their mental and physical condition. They may die in misery and loneliness. It is very painful to read, but these words are confirmed by other people, unfortunately.

The book is very original, and therefore caused so much controversy. People are accustomed to treating the Orthodox Church as something sublime, highly spiritual. They are used to thinking that behind the walls of the monastery is understanding, peace and tranquility, but this book tells about something else. It might offend some, but that doesn't mean it can't be true.

The work was published in 2017 by the Eksmo publishing house. The book is part of the "Religion. War for God" series. On our website you can download the book "Confessions of a former novice" in fb2, rtf, epub, pdf, txt format or read online. The rating of the book is 3.38 out of 5. Here, before reading, you can also refer to the reviews of readers who are already familiar with the book and find out their opinion. In the online store of our partner you can buy and read the book in paper form.

It was almost dark outside, and it was raining. I stood on the wide white window sill of the huge window in the children's refectory with a rag and glass cleaner in my hands, watching the drops of water run down the glass. An unbearable feeling of loneliness squeezed his chest and really wanted to cry. Very close by, children from the orphanage were rehearsing songs for the play Cinderella, music was blaring from the speakers, and it was somehow embarrassing and indecent to burst into tears in the middle of this huge refectory, among strangers who didn’t care about me at all.
Everything from the very beginning was strange and unexpected. After a long car ride from Moscow to Maloyaroslavets, I was terribly tired and hungry, but there was a time for obediences in the monastery (that is, a working family), and nothing else occurred to anyone, as soon as immediately after the report on my arrival, the abbess gave me rag and send straight in what was for obedience with all the pilgrims. The backpack with which I arrived was taken to the pilgrimage - a small two-story house on the territory of the monastery, where pilgrims stayed. There was a pilgrimage refectory and several large rooms where beds stood close together. So far I have been assigned there, although I was not a pilgrim, and Matushka's blessing for my admission to the monastery had already been received through Father Athanasius (Serebrennikov), hieromonk of Optina Pustyn, who blessed me to this monastery.
After the end of the obediences, the pilgrims, together with Mother Kosma, a nun, who was the elder in the pilgrimage house, began to serve tea. For the pilgrims, tea was not just with bread, jam and crackers, as for the nuns of the monastery, but, as it were, a late dinner, for which the remnants of food from the sister's afternoon meal were brought in plastic trays and buckets. I helped mother Kosma set the table, and we got into a conversation. She was a rather plump, nimble and good-natured woman of about 55, I immediately liked her. While our dinner was heated in the microwave, we talked, and I began to chew on corn flakes that were in an open large bag near the table. Mother Kosma, seeing this, was horrified: “What are you doing? The demons are tormenting!” Here it was strictly forbidden to eat anything between official meals.
After tea, M. Kosma took me upstairs, where in a large room there were about ten beds and several bedside tables close together. Several pilgrims had already settled there and there was loud snoring. It was very stuffy, and I chose a seat by the window so that I could open the window slightly without disturbing anyone. I fell asleep immediately, from fatigue, no longer paying attention to snoring and stuffiness.
In the morning we were all woken up at 7 am. After breakfast, we were supposed to be on obediences. It was Monday of Holy Week and everyone was getting ready for Easter, washing the huge guest refectory. The daily routine for the pilgrims did not leave any free time, we communicated only on obedience, during cleaning. The pilgrim Ekaterina from Obninsk came with me one day, she was a beginner singer, she sang at holidays and weddings. She came here to work for the glory of God and sing a few songs at the Easter concert. It was clear that she had only recently come to faith, and was constantly in some kind of sublimely enthusiastic state. Another pilgrim was a 65-year-old grandmother, Elena Petushkova. She was blessed to enter the monastery by her confessor. It was harder for her at that age to work than for us, but she tried very hard. Previously, she worked in a church behind a candle box somewhere not far from Kaluga, but now she dreamed of becoming a nun. She was looking forward to Mother Nikolay transferring her from the pilgrimage to the sisters. Elena, even after a hard day before going to bed, read something from the holy fathers about real monasticism, which she had dreamed of for many years.

The sister territory began from the gate of the bell tower and was fenced off from the territory of the shelter and pilgrimage, we were not blessed to go there. I was there only once, when they sent me to bring half a bag of potatoes. The novice Irina in the Greek apostle had to show me where she was lying. I did not manage to talk with Irina, she constantly repeated the Jesus Prayer in a half whisper, looking down at her feet and not reacting in any way to my words. We went with her to the sister's territory, which started from the bell tower and went down in tiers, walked through the vegetable gardens and the garden, which was just beginning to bloom, went down the wooden ladder and went into the sister's refectory. There was no one in the refectory, the tables were not set yet, the sisters were in the church at that time. The window panes were decorated with stained-glass ornaments, through which soft light penetrated the inside and streamed along the frescoes on the walls. In the left corner was an icon of the Mother of God in a gilded riza, on the windowsill stood a large golden clock. We descended the steep stairs down to the cellar. They were ancient cellars, not yet repaired, with vaulted brick walls and columns whitewashed in places. Below, vegetables were arranged in wooden compartments, and rows of jars of pickles and jams stood on the shelves. It smelled like a cellar. We collected potatoes, and I took them to the children's kitchen at the orphanage, Irina wandered into the temple, head down and whispering a prayer without ceasing.
Since the rise for us was at 7, and not at 5 in the morning, like the sisters of the monastery, we were not supposed to have any rest during the day, we could only sit and relax at the table during the meal, which lasted 20-30 minutes. All day the pilgrims had to be in obedience, that is, to do what the sister specially assigned to them says. This sister's name was novice Kharitina, and she was the second person in the monastery, after M. Kosma, with whom I had a chance to communicate. Invariably polite, with very pleasant manners, with us she was all the time somehow deliberately cheerful and even cheerful, but on her pale gray face with dark circles around the eyes, fatigue and even exhaustion were read. It was rarely possible to see any emotion on his face, except for the same half-smile all the time. Kharitina gave us tasks that needed to be washed and cleaned, provided us with rags and everything necessary for cleaning, made sure that we were busy all the time. Her clothes were rather strange: a faded gray-blue skirt, so old as if it had been worn for an eternity, an equally dilapidated shirt of an incomprehensible style with holes in it, and a gray scarf that must have once been black. She was the eldest in the "nursery", that is, she was responsible for the guest and children's refectories, where they fed the children of the monastery shelter, guests, and also arranged holidays. Kharitina was constantly doing something, running around, delivering food, washing dishes, serving guests, helping pilgrims herself, together with the cook and the taverna. She lived right in the kitchen, in a small room, like a kennel, located outside the front door. In the same closet, next to the folding sofa, where she slept at night, without undressing, curled up like an animal, various valuable kitchen items were stored in boxes and all the keys were kept. Later I learned that Kharitina was a “mother”, that is, not a sister of the monastery, but rather something like a slave working off her huge unpaid debt in the monastery. There were quite a lot of “mums” in the monastery, almost a third of all the sisters of the monastery. Kosma's mother was also once a "mother", but now her daughter has grown up, and m. Kosma was tonsured into monasticism. "Moms" are women with children whom their confessors have blessed for monastic deeds. That's why they came here, to the St. Nicholas Chernoostrovsky Monastery, where there is an orphanage "Otrada" and an Orthodox gymnasium right inside the walls of the monastery. Children here live on a full board basis in a separate building of the shelter, they study, in addition to basic school disciplines, music, dance, and acting. Although the orphanage is considered an orphanage, almost a third of the children in it are by no means orphans, but children with "mothers". "Mothers" are in a special account with Abbess Nikolai. They work on the most difficult obediences (cowshed, kitchen, cleaning) do not have, like the rest of the sisters, an hour of rest per day, that is, they work from 7 in the morning until 11-12 at night without rest, the monastic prayer rule is also replaced by obedience (work ), they attend the Liturgy in the temple only on Sundays. Sunday is the only day when they are allowed 3 hours of free time during the day to communicate with the child or relax. Some of them live in the shelter not one, but two, one “mother” even had three children. At meetings, Mother often said this:

You have to work for two. We are raising your child. Don't be ungrateful!

Often "mothers" were punished in case of bad behavior of their daughters. This blackmail lasted until the moment when the children grew up and left the orphanage, then the monastic or monastic vows of the “mother” became possible.
Kharitina had a daughter, Anastasia, at the orphanage, very small, then she was about 1.5 - 2 years old. I don’t know her story, in the monastery the sisters are forbidden to talk about their life “in the world”, I don’t know how Kharitina got into the monastery with such a small child. I don't even know her real name. From one sister, I heard about unhappy love, a failed family life, and the blessing of Elder Vlasy on monasticism. Most of the "moms" got here just like that, with the blessing of the elder of the Borovsky monastery Vlasiy (Peregontsev) or the elder of the Optina Hermitage Iliy (Nozdrin). These women were not special, many had both housing and good jobs before the monastery, some had higher education, they just ended up here at a difficult period in their lives. All day long, these "mothers" worked on difficult obediences, paying with their health, while the children were brought up by strangers in the barracks of an orphanage. On big holidays, when our Metropolitan of Kaluga and Borovsk Kliment, or other important guests, came to the monastery, Kharitina's little daughter in a beautiful dress was taken to them, photographed, she sang songs and danced with two other little girls. Plump, curly, healthy, she caused universal tenderness.
Abbess forbade Kharitina to often communicate with her daughter, according to her, this distracts from work, and besides, the other children could envy.
Then I didn’t know anything about it, with other pilgrims and “mothers”, from morning to evening until we dropped, we wiped the floors, walls, doors in the large guest refectory, and then we had dinner and sleep. Never before have I worked from morning to night like this, without any rest, I thought that it was even somehow unrealistic for a person. I hoped that when I was settled with my sisters, it would not be so hard.

A week later I was called to the temple to Mother. I heard a lot of good things about her from my confessor and close friend of my family, Father Athanasius. Father Athanasius praised this monastery very much for me, according to him, it was the only convent in Russia, where they really seriously tried to follow the Athos rule of monastic life. Athos monks often came here, held talks, sang in the kliros in ancient Byzantine chant, and served night services. He told me so many good things about this monastery that I understood: if you want to labor somewhere, then only here. I was very glad to finally see Mother, I so wanted to quickly move to the sisters, to have the opportunity to visit the church, to pray. Pilgrims and "mothers" almost never visited the temple.
Matushka Nikolai was sitting in her abbot's stasidia, which looked more like a luxurious royal throne, all upholstered in red velvet, gilded, with some elaborate decorations, a roof and carved armrests. I did not have time to figure out from which side I needed to approach this structure, there was no chair or bench nearby where I could sit down. The service was almost over, and Matushka sat in the back of her velvet throne and received the sisters. I was very worried, approached the blessing with a wide smile and said that I was the same Mary from Father Athanasius. Mother abbess gave me a radiant smile, extended her hand to me, which I hastily kissed, and pointed to a small rug next to her stasidia. The sisters could talk to Mother only on their knees, and nothing else. It was unusual to kneel next to the throne, but Matushka was very affectionate with me, stroking my arm with her soft plump hand, asking if I sang in the kliros and something else of that kind, blessed me to go to a meal with my sisters and move from the pilgrimage house to the nursing corps, which made me very happy.
After the service, I, along with all the sisters, went to the sisters' refectory. From the temple to the refectory, the sisters went in formation, lining up in pairs according to their rank: first novices, then nuns and nuns. It was a separate house, consisting of a kitchen where the sisters prepared food, and a refectory proper, with heavy wooden tables and chairs on which stood shiny iron utensils. The tables were long, served in "fours", that is, for every 4 people - a tureen, a bowl with a second course, salad, a kettle, a bread box and cutlery. At the end of the hall is the abbot's table, where there was a teapot, a cup and a glass of water. Mother often attended the meal, held classes with the sisters, but she always ate separately in her abbot's room, the food for her was prepared by Antonia's mother, the abbot's personal cook and from separate, specially purchased products for Mother. The sisters were seated along the tables, also in order - first nuns, nuns, novices, then "mothers" (they were invited to the sisters' refectory if classes were held, the rest of the time they ate in the children's kitchen in the shelter), then "monastery children" (orphanage adults girls who were blessed to live in the sisters' territory as novices (the children liked this because they were given more freedom in the monastery than in the orphanage). Everyone was waiting for Mother. When she entered, the sisters sang prayers, sat down, and the classes began. Father Athanasius told me that in this monastery the abbess often conducts conversations with the sisters on spiritual topics, there is also a kind of “debriefing”, that is, Mother and the sisters point out to the sister, who has strayed a little from the spiritual path, her misdeeds and sins, direct them to the right path of obedience and prayer. Of course, the priest said, this is not easy, and such an honor is given only to those who are able to withstand such a public trial. I then thought with admiration that it was just like in the first centuries of Christianity, when confession was often public, the confessor went to the middle of the temple and told all his brothers and sisters in Christ what he had sinned, and then received the remission of sins. Only a strong-willed person can do this and, of course, he will receive support from his brothers, and help and advice from his spiritual mentor. All this is done in an atmosphere of love and benevolence towards each other. A wonderful custom, I thought, it's great that this monastery has it.
The session started out of the blue. Mother sank into her chair at the end of the hall, and we, sitting at the tables, waited for her words. Mother asked the nun Euphrosia to stand up and began to scold her for her indecent behavior. M. Euphrosia was a cook at the children's refectory. I often saw her there while I was a pilgrim. Small in stature, strong, with a rather pretty face, on which there was almost always an expression of some serious bewilderment or discontent, quite comically combined with her low, slightly nasal voice. She always muttered something displeased under her breath, and sometimes, if something didn’t work out for her, she cursed at pots, scoops, carts, at herself and, of course, at the one who came across her arm. But all this was somehow childish, even funny, rarely anyone took it seriously. This time it looks like she did something serious.
Mother began to scold her menacingly, and M. Euphrosia, in her discontented childish manner, bulging her eyes, justified herself, blaming all the other sisters in her turn. Then Mother got tired and gave the floor to the others. Sisters of different ranks stood up in turn and each told some unpleasant story from the life of M. Euphrosia. Novice Galina from the sewing shop remembered how Mother Euphrosia took the scissors from her and did not return them. Because of these scissors, a scandal erupted, because M. Euphrosia did not want to confess to this atrocity. Everything else was about the same. I somehow felt a little sorry for M. Euphrosia when the entire assembly of sisters, headed by Matushka, attacked her alone and accused her of misdeeds, most of which were committed quite a long time ago. Then she no longer made excuses, it was clear that it was useless, she just stood with her eyes downcast on the floor and bellowed discontentedly, like a beaten animal. But, of course, I thought, Mother knows what she is doing, all this is for the correction and salvation of a lost soul. It took about an hour before the flow of complaints and insults finally dried up. Matushka summed it up and delivered a verdict: send m. Euphrosia to be corrected in Rozhdestveno. Everyone froze. I didn’t know where Rozhdestveno was and what was happening there, but judging by the way Mother Euphrosia begged her with tears not to send her there, it became clear that there was little good there. It took another half an hour to threaten and exhort the weeping m. Euphrosia, she was offered either to leave completely, or to go to the proposed exile. Finally Matushka rang the bell on her desk, and the reading sister at the lectern began to read a book about the Hesychasts of Athos. The sisters set to work on the cold soup.

I will never forget that first meal with my sisters. I have never experienced such shame and horror in my life. Everyone turned their heads to their plates and began to eat quickly. I didn't feel like soup, so I reached for the bowl of uniformed potatoes on top of our foursome. Then my sister, who was sitting opposite me, suddenly lightly slapped me on the arm and shook her finger. I jerked my hand away: “You can’t ... But why ???” I was left sitting in complete bewilderment. There was no one to ask, conversations at the meal were forbidden, everyone looked at their plates and ate quickly in order to be in time before the bell. Okay, for some reason you can’t have potatoes. Next to my empty plate was a small bowl with one serving of oatmeal porridge, one for the whole "four". I decided to eat this porridge because it was closest to me. The rest, as if nothing had happened, began to eat potatoes. I laid out 2 tablespoons of porridge for myself, there was no more, and I started eating. My sister gave me a displeased look. A lump of porridge got stuck in my throat. I wanted to drink. I reached for the kettle, my ears were ringing. Another sister stopped my hand on the way to the teapot and shook her head. This makes no sense. Suddenly, the bell rang again and everyone, as if on cue, began to pour tea, they handed me a kettle with cold tea. It was not sweet at all, I put myself some jam, just a little bit, just to try it. The jam turned out to be apple and very tasty, I wanted to take more, but when I reached for it, they slapped my hand again. Everyone was eating, no one was looking at me, but somehow my whole “four” was watching all my actions. 20 minutes after the start of the meal, Mother rang the bell again, everyone stood up, prayed and began to disperse. An elderly novice Galina came up to me and, taking me aside, began to quietly reprimand me for trying to take the jam a second time. "Don't you know that jam can only be taken once?" I felt very uncomfortable. I apologized, began to ask her what the rules were in general, but she had no time to explain, she had to quickly change into work clothes and run out of obedience, for being late for at least a few minutes she was punished with a nightly washing of dishes.

Although there were still many meals and classes ahead, this first meal and first classes I remember best. I still don't understand why it's called practice. Least of all, it was similar to classes in the usual sense of the word. They were held quite often, sometimes almost every day before the first meal and lasted from 30 minutes to two hours. Then the sisters began to eat the cooled food, digesting what they heard. Sometimes Matushka read something spiritually useful from the Athos fathers, usually about obedience to your mentor and cutting off your will, or instructions about life in a cenobitic monastery, but this is rare. Basically, for some reason, these classes were more like a showdown, where first Mother, and then all the sisters together scolded some sister who had been guilty of something. It was possible to be guilty not only by deed, but also by thought, and look, or simply being on the way to Mother at the wrong time and in the wrong place. At that time, everyone sat and thought with relief that today they were scolding and disgracing not him, but his neighbor, which means it had passed. Moreover, if the sister was scolded, she should not have said anything in her own defense, this was regarded as insolence to Matushka and could only anger her more. And if Mother began to get angry, which happened quite often, she could no longer restrain herself, she had a very quick-tempered character. Turning to screaming, she could scream for an hour or two in a row, depending on how strong her indignation was. It was very scary to piss off Mother. It was better to silently endure the flow of insults, and then ask everyone for forgiveness with a bow to the ground. Especially in the classroom, “mothers” usually got it for their negligence, laziness and ingratitude.
If there was no guilty sister at that moment, Mother began to reprimand us all for negligence, disobedience, laziness, etc. And in this case she used an interesting trick: it was not You who spoke, but We. That is, as it were, keeping himself and everyone in mind, but somehow this did not make it easier. She scolded all the sisters, some more often, some less often, no one could afford to relax and calm down, this was done more for prevention, to keep us all in a state of anxiety and fear. Matushka held these classes as often as she could, sometimes every day. As a rule, everything went according to the same scenario: Mother lifted her sister from the table. She was to stand alone in front of the whole assembly. Mother pointed out to her her guilt, as a rule describing her actions in some shamefully absurd way. She did not denounce her with love, as the holy fathers write in books, she dishonored her in front of everyone, ridiculed, mocked her. Often the sister turned out to be just a victim of slander or someone else's slander, but this did not matter to anyone. Then the sisters who were especially “faithful” to Mother, as a rule from nuns, but there were also novices who especially wanted to distinguish themselves, in turn had to add something to the accusation. This technique is called the "principle of group pressure", if scientifically, this is often used in sects. All against one, then all against the other. Etc. At the end, the victim, crushed and morally destroyed, asks everyone for forgiveness and bows to the ground. Many could not stand it and cried, but these were, as a rule, beginners, those to whom all this was new. The sisters, who had lived in the monastery for many years, took this for granted, they simply got used to it.
The idea of holding classes was taken, like many other things, from the cenobitic Athos monasteries. We sometimes listened at the meal to the recordings of classes that Abbot Ephraim of the Vatopedi Monastery conducted with his brethren. But this was different. He never scolded or insulted anyone, never shouted, never specifically addressed anyone. He tried to inspire his monks to exploits, told them stories from the life of the Athos fathers, shared wisdom and love, set an example of humility on himself, and did not “humble” others. And after our classes, we all left depressed and frightened, because their meaning was precisely to scare and suppress, as I later realized, Mother Abbess Nicholas used these two methods most often.

Feb 16, 2017

Confessions of a former novice Maria Kikot

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Title: Confessions of a former novice

About the book "Confessions of a former novice" Maria Kikot

"Confessions of a former novice" made a lot of noise in the Orthodox community. Its effect was like an exploding bomb. After Maria Kikot published part of her book in LiveJournal, there was a great response: many men and women responded to her story. Some readers shared their stories in response, supplementing and confirming Mary's words, others accused her of lying.

Initially, the author did not plan to publicize the events from her life. However, the decision was made. And the book "Confessions of a former novice" was an attempt to rethink why it happened that an exemplary novice became a "former" and left an exemplary monastery.

At the age of 28, Maria Kikot, already a fairly mature person, having established herself as a professional, decided to become Orthodox. Moreover, she set foot on the path of monasticism.

Her spiritual father blessed her to go to the famous monastery in Optina Hermitage. However, the young woman had absolutely no idea that in the holy monastery she would be met by a real totalitarian hell. The author describes life inside the nunnery. Before us, she appears as Mary saw her for five years. Her confession is not an action-packed "action", it lacks a plot and intrigue. However, it leaves a very deep impression.

"Confessions of a former novice" will not be easy to read if you have a romantic and sublime attitude towards Orthodox monasteries. However, many responses to the story of Maria Kikot confirm that everything written by her is true. She talks about the complete lack of rights for novices and nuns, about the fact that the authorities are absolutely indifferent to their mental and physical health. As a result, many women suffer, their lives are broken. The author shares his life drama so poignantly that it is impossible to turn a blind eye to it.

Maria Kikot writes about how people are manipulated, and emotional abuse is disguised as a real Orthodox patristic tradition of monasticism. From her story it becomes clear how "obedience", "humility" and "blessing" turn into ways of manipulation, and nuns and novices end up in a concentration camp for body and soul.

Reading the book "Confessions of a former novice" is interesting and very fast. It evokes a strong emotional reaction. After all, the elders, abbesses, confessors abuse the sincere desire of a person to know the truth and draw closer to God.

On our site about books, you can download the site for free without registration or read online the book "Confessions of a Former Novice" by Maria Kikot in epub, fb2, txt, rtf, pdf formats for iPad, iPhone, Android and Kindle. The book will give you a lot of pleasant moments and a real pleasure to read. You can buy the full version from our partner. Also, here you will find the latest news from the literary world, learn the biography of your favorite authors. For novice writers, there is a separate section with useful tips and tricks, interesting articles, thanks to which you can try your hand at writing.

Quotes from the book "Confessions of a former novice" Maria Kikot

The more time a person lives in a monastery, the more difficult it is for him to leave, because the very personality of a person is immersed in this environment: with certain emotions, beliefs, worldview, relationships. Life "in the world", if it was, is gradually forgotten, becomes something unreal.

Everyone followed each other. If you don't write, they will write to you. Nothing in this huge monastery could be hidden from the abbess. The loyalty of sister Matushka was measured by the number of denunciations. Especially zealous scammers Matushka favored with ranks - they became elders in obedience, assistants to the dean, mother's cell attendants, elders in sketes, and then abbesses of monasteries sponsored by the mother throughout Russia.

It was very scary to piss off Mother. It was better to silently endure the flow of insults, and then ask everyone for forgiveness with a bow to the ground. Especially in the classroom, “mothers” usually got it for their negligence, laziness and ingratitude. This is often used in sects. All against one, then all against the other.

Sneaking has been the most disgusting thing in the world for me since kindergarten. And there was also some kind of subconscious fear that it was only once to try to annoy someone or take revenge with the help of a denunciation, and then it would be impossible to return back to the previous state: there was in all this a feeling of some kind of irrevocable fall, akin to prostitution.

A week after my arrival, my passport, money and mobile phone were taken away from me somewhere in a safe. The tradition is strange, but it is done in all our monasteries.

... conversations at the meal were forbidden, everyone looked at their plates and ate quickly in order to be in time before the bell.

... real monastic life is not at all like it is described in books.

Always afraid of those who yearn to rule over souls. What do they do with the bodies?

For her, order was important, the charter of her monastery, and people just need to be fitted to this mechanism and made to do everything right. Adapted - good, no - you can leave. She often repeated a phrase plucked from the book of some Athonite fathers: "Fulfill or depart." She liked her very much.

Victor Hugo, Dostoevsky, Ostrovsky, Pushkin and some fantasy. Mother did not bless the monastic sisters and novices to read any fiction, only the lives of the saints and the instructions of the fathers, so the books had to be hidden from the sisters. If someone had caught me with such a book, Masha and I would have been hit hard.

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I spent the whole summer, September and October, in Kariz. Usually, in autumn, cows were brought to the Monastery in September, but this year was special: on October 21, Patriarch Kirill was supposed to come to us. They decided to leave the cows for the time being in Kariz, so as not to spoil the view with heaps of manure. Since the end of August, everyone in the monastery has been preparing for this important event. In three monastic churches, everything was cleaned and polished, children and sisters rehearsed songs for the festive concert, cooks bought food and composed new dishes. For several weeks, no one in the monastery had a rest, everyone worked day and night. I was glad to avoid this fuss, we were more than calm in Kariz. The Lord sent me a remedy for despondency, which I would not even have guessed. It turned out that I have an ear for music and even a voice. This was somehow noticed by M. Elisaveta when we served our services. The service in the skete is the follow-up of Vespers, Compline and Matins with Midnight Office, as well as hours and pictorial, which can be served without a priest. Liturgy, of course, we attended in the church once a week. We ourselves sang troparia and read the canons with prayers in a small room hung with paper icons, which we called the temple. It smelled of incense and candles, and along the wall were old black stasidia with high armrests, on which the head fit comfortably and one could sleep a little. It’s not that we were lazy or didn’t like to pray, it’s just that we couldn’t do anything from constant lack of sleep and fatigue. If you wanted to pray, or the service was interesting, in no case could you sit down. I noticed that one has only to sit down, and that's it, in the next moment you are already falling asleep.
Everyone in the skete sang, except for Metropolitan Evstoliya, and I, too, slowly began to study. We sang in Znamenny and Byzantine chants in two voices: basic and hysson. I had to learn by ear the tunes for all eight voices, but when you yourself serve almost every day, everything is remembered by itself. It was very interesting for me, and very difficult. At first I sang with everyone, and then M. Elisaveta began to teach me to sing the part of the second voice, the issona. There is only one note, a melody is strung on it, like a thread, in some voices it changed, but it had to be kept at a constant height and cleanly. It seems simple, but it was given to me with great difficulty. From excitement, I often stopped hearing anything at all, and until the tone was given again, I stood in silence, which was very unpleasant. If I did not hit the notes, it was difficult and even impossible for the sisters to sing their part, I knocked them down. I was beginning to doubt that I really had any kind of hearing. I really wanted to learn, but it was possible to study only during the service, at other times no one worked with me, and it was very difficult to constantly spoil services and get on everyone's nerves. Mother Elizabeth did not allow me to sing in the first voice, together with everyone, she really wanted me to learn the part of the second voice, there were not enough second voices in the monastery. After much torment, I finally figured out how to learn. I asked my mother to bring me a voice recorder, recorded our services on it, and then, at obediences or in a cell, I listened and sang my part with headphones. Of course, all this was secret, there was nothing to dream that Mother would bless me to start a recorder. Sisters were not blessed to have such things. I hid it in my pocket, and the small headphones were not visible under the handkerchief. But it helped me quickly learn to sing.

Frost began in early October. The cowshed in Kariz was summer and unadapted to the cold. Each milking turned into torment. In the mornings, water often froze in the pipes and there was nothing to give the cows to drink and wash the milking machine. I had to carry water from the house and heat the ice on the stove in large iron tanks. Cows were no longer washed, as in summer, they were rarely driven out of the barn, and we had more time for services and prayer. There was a terrible fuss in the monastery in connection with the arrival of the Patriarch, often we were even forgotten to bring food and take away tanks of milk. M. Elisaveta went to the monastery to conduct rehearsals of the choir and prepare for the patriarchal service. The children were also taken away, only me, m. Gergia, m. Kypriana and m. Evstoliya remained in the skete. We were all promised that immediately after the visit of the Patriarch we would also be taken to the monastery. Only the old m. Evstoliya remained in the skete for the winter, she lived here all the time. M. Kypriana also asked to stay here for the winter, she wanted to live in solitude, like ancient hermits, but Matushka did not bless her - there were not enough workers in the monastery.
On the morning of the arrival of the Patriarch, nun Fomaida, the monastery driver and housekeeper, came for us and took us to the monastery. The cows were locked up in the barn for the whole day, having previously been fed a double portion of hay and compound feed. We were all over the front. In the monastery, the sisters sewed new apostles, shawls and cassocks especially for this day. As soon as we arrived, we were immediately sent to help in the kitchen. There were many men in suits with headphones, apparently from the patriarchal guard, and in the kitchen at the stove was not M. Antonia, the main monastery cook, but two men in black silk suits with red belts, like those worn by chefs in sushi bars . They were two personal chefs of the Patriarch, they tried soup and fried something in a pan. These people were responsible for the patriarchal table, and all the other cooks with M. Antonia laid long tables for the sisters and guests in the refectory decorated for this occasion. The sisters had already prepared everything the day before, all that remained was to arrange the food on the tables. Everyone looked terribly tired. At ten o'clock, all the sisters were to line up in two rows along the sides of the path leading to the temple to meet the Patriarch. Although everyone prayed very much for good weather, we were not lucky with the weather. It couldn't have been worse. From early morning there was endless sleet with rain, and in such quantity that this wet gray mass had to be constantly raked from the paths with shovels in order to be able to somehow get through. About five sisters and janitors have been busy with this for several hours. The sky was dark gray, heavy, it was impossible to see anything on the street. We were lined up along the path, the Patriarch was supposed to arrive any minute. We stood in jackets, someone was in a coat, under this wet snow and waited for more than an hour. I was soaked to the underpants, I felt lukewarm streams of water running down my back and flowing into my boots. Finally, the motorcade of the Patriarch drove up. The patriarch got out of the car, accompanied by guards, quickly and dignifiedly walked between the rows of wet and frozen sisters and disappeared into the temple. We also hurried to the temple, taking off our water-heavy jackets and champing our boots as we went. The service was very magnificent and solemn, on this occasion microphones were held in St. Nicholas Church. The sisters on the second floor, although they could not see anything of what was happening in the church, could hear every patriarchal word and exclamation. After the service, the Patriarch delivered a sermon, but by that time the sisters were no longer in the church, it was necessary to bring hot food to the tables in the refectory. After the meal, there was a children's concert, the Patriarch delivered a speech, where he thanked Mother Nikolai for her efforts, took a picture with the little orphanage girls and promised to come to us again soon.
The next day, rest was announced in the monastery after all these labors: they lived all day according to the Sunday charter, which meant: getting up at 7 in the morning and as much as 4 hours of rest in the afternoon!

Upon my arrival from Karizhi, I was given a new obedience. Once, in the classroom, Matushka strongly scolded the sisters and "mothers" who worked in the orphanage. I don't remember why they upset her so much. The nun Alexandra Matushka, the head of the orphanage, was demoted and put to wash dishes in the sister's kitchen, in her place she appointed her "right hand" and the dean of the monastery - the nun Seraphim. Seraphim's mother was supposed to put things in order there. Mother gave her as an assistant, as she said: "The best sisters." They were: nun Mikhail, novice Olga and me. Of course, we were not the best, it was just said that we wanted to become like that. And also because obedience in a shelter is a million times harder than 100 barns. Nobody stayed there for long. Not because of the children, but because the sisters and "mothers" who were in this obedience lived according to a special charter. This charter must have been invented by some superman or an alien, or already a saint who no longer needed rest and sleep on this earth. These "shelters" worked all day long, even without an hour of rest and services. Only on Sunday they could rest for three hours.
The shelter was located in a beautiful white building with glass doors. It was connected by a passage to the children's and guest refectories. In the summer, he was all buried in flowers, and tame rabbits jumped on the lawns.

Obedience in the orphanage began at eight. It was believed that if you slept for so long, you no longer need rest during the day and you can now work until 23.00. There was not even that hour of rest per day that the sisters were supposed to. But we never managed to sleep until eight, because we could not go to sleep in our cells, we had to sleep on free beds in the common children's rooms, if there were any, or in the hall on the couch. At night, the shelter also read the indefatigable psalter, which meant that it was necessary to get up in turn and read the commemoration with kathismas for 2 hours. In the morning it was noisy, they walked around and talked, what a dream. The sisters could not go to sleep at their place because the obedience in the shelter ended after 23.00, and the gate separating the sisters' territory from the shelter was closed earlier. Although it was easy to climb over them, and often did, Mother punished for this. In addition, at night it was also necessary to monitor the children. The orphanage sisters did not attend church services; they were also deprived of time to fulfill the monastic prayer rule. All day only obedience and nothing else.
The children's daily routine was about the same as that of the sisters, only they also studied. They, like the sisters, were also placed on obediences on the territory of the shelter, the whole day was scheduled for them by the minute. Attendance at church services was compulsory for them. Long monastic services made the children very tired, they simply hated them. Oddly, none of the children had toys. There were some soft toys in the hall, but I never saw anyone playing there. Around the orphanage itself, the children walked everywhere in formation, in pairs, the teacher constantly looked after them, even the big girls, they were never left alone at all, all the time they had to do something. These children did not have a single free minute, everything was subject to a strict routine and took place under the strict supervision of the sisters. It is impossible to maintain a healthy psyche in such conditions, almost every day one of the children had a tantrum with screams, the child was punished for this, as a rule, by washing the floors or dishes in the kitchen late at night. The most terrible punishment is to take them to Mother for a conversation, the children were most afraid of this. Often the children ran away from the orphanage, which became the topic of regular monastic classes.

Once two adult girls of sixteen years old ran away: Lena and Nika. In the classroom, Mother spent a long time describing to us the depravity and depravity of these young girls (it was not clear when they managed to become so depraved in the orphanage). The reason for their departure, according to m.Nikolai, was fornication, in other words, they were lesbians, and this passion pushed them to the sin of leaving the monastery shelter. Everyone knew that the girls were girlfriends. They had long wanted to leave the orphanage and the monastery, simply because they could no longer live such a life, but Matushka would not let them go, as if they were minors. Therefore, the girls fled secretly, without the documents that were in the abbess's safe. They had nowhere to go, for some time they stayed at Nikina's friend's apartment, and then they nevertheless returned, but not to the monastery shelter, but to one of the sketes. I never saw them again in the monastery. They said that after some time Lena got married and had a baby, but I don’t know how Nika’s fate turned out. Of course, they were not lesbians at all, but Matushka needed a weighty explanation for the police and sisters: why two girls had run away from the orphanage. It is interesting that m. Nikolai almost always resorted to such a piquant explanation for leaving the orphanage or from the monastery, if two people left. Also, all those who tried to be friends with each other within the walls of the monastery, and even just to communicate, were stigmatized with this sin. I have never seen such a cluster of "lesbians" before. Well, how can you prove that you are not a camel?

Matushka often said that our monastery exists only thanks to the orphanage. Sponsors donated huge amounts of money to the "children". It's only strange, was it really impossible to allocate some of these funds to hire normal educators for children with specialized education, as it should be in such an institution? Why did the sisters, who were often completely unsuitable for this, and who came to the monastery not at all for this, have to take care of the upbringing of children? It would hardly occur to an ordinary worldly person to establish monastic rules in an orphanage with a charter that was invented for monks, and not for children. I still found the time when the girls were forced to walk in black long dresses to the heels and scarves tied on their foreheads. Now it has been cancelled. The dresses became red, but everything else remained the same.

At the orphanage, I had to work with three groups of children of different ages. Plus, Mother blessed me to teach biology to five classes of children in the gymnasium, where the teacher suddenly left. I do not have a pedagogical education, and I studied biology at a medical university. When I asked myself for at least an extra hour a day to prepare for lessons, I was not blessed. I had to prepare for the lessons, especially since the classes were different from the fifth to the eleventh, and I hardly remembered the school biology course. Somehow, Mother Serafima caught me alone in the orphanage library preparing for a lesson. She asked why I was not obedient. I had a “window”, because the children were at the choreography, and according to the rules, in this case I had to find M. Seraphim and ask what I should do. In such cases, they were usually assigned to some kind of cleaning. But I did not approach, but went about my business - biology. M. Seraphim was outraged by this. I, in turn, was outraged by the injustice, because I did not mind my own business. With M. Seraphim, such tricks did not work, and I was taken to Matushka, as a malicious violator of the charter and order. Matushka said that since I didn’t obey M. Seraphim, she would send me to the cowshed. I did not beg her to leave me in a shelter. It was very difficult for me to live there without services, and the orphanage charter seemed unbearably heavy to me. As a punishment for all this, I was deprived of communion for the entire Great Lent. There was no one to teach biology anyway, except for me, and I continued to go to the shelter in the mornings, then washed the dishes in the kitchen and went to the barn. But in the evening it was possible to attend services with all the sisters, which for me was the most important and favorite thing.

For me, the situation in the shelter was news, I did not think that it was so strict here. I saw these girls at the holidays, smart and cheerful, I did not think that they live such a hard life, even for an adult. The sisters did not live in such strictness as orphanage girls. Matushka was very proud of her shelter, at every holiday the children performed songs and dances, they often traveled with Matushka to give concerts abroad. Matushka made sure that the orphanage had good teachers in choral singing and choreography. The most talented at the performances were, as a rule, not those children who were taken from orphanages, but children who came with their “mothers”, children who grew up in a family. This is another reason why Mother took "mum". These children's performances were a kind of hallmark of Mother Nikolai, she believed that since the children sing and dance, then everything in our monastery is wonderful. To understand how these singing and dancing children live when the holiday ends, you can only live or work in the orphanage, and not from outside. Abbess Nicolai's focus on her image, on everything external, as on a beautiful package: concerts, sumptuous meals, expensive treats, bows and vestments, awards and cars, testifies to her superficiality. She was only concerned with how the monastic and orphanage life looks from the side of sponsors, church authorities and the press. The inner, spiritual life, and simply the human life of each individual member of this kingdom, did not interest her at all. The degree of spirituality of a mentor is usually inversely proportional to his magnificence. Moreover, all the luxury with which Mother Nicholas surrounded her own person was very ridiculously combined with the daily life of sisters and children, as well as with her own sermons in the classroom about selflessness, self-sacrifice, asceticism, hesychasm, altruism, and the like. Interestingly, M. Nikolai herself was not in the least embarrassed by this contradiction. Moreover, she constantly said that she herself was just as non-acquisitive and disinterested as Jesus Christ, the Mother of God, John the Baptist and other ascetics of the past, simply because she officially did not have any personal property, and all these luxurious palaces, cars and sturgeons with dorado do not belong to her alone, but to the whole monastery.

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