INTRODUCTION
[From Thomas Riha, Readings in Russian Civilization, vol. 1, p. 128]. At the time of Tsar Alexis (1645-76) a group of religious zealots brought about the revival and enforcement of strict ecclesiastical rules of prayer, fasting, and personal morality. Avvakum, then a country priest in Nizhni Novgorod on the Volga, gave his support to this program. But Patriarch Nikon had other ideas of religious reform that involved bringing the Russian church closer to the practices of Greek Orthodoxy. Many faithful, led by Avvakum and other conservatives, refused to adopt Nikon's changes and became known as Old Believers. Eventually they were excommunicated by the Church Council of 1666. For fifteen years Avvakum languished in the subterranean prison at Pustozersk in the Far North, on the Pechora River, where he wrote his autobiography. Ten years after its completion, in 1682, he was burned at the stake. George Fedotov writes that Avvakum was "an author of genius, undoubtedly the best writer among the Muscovites, and certainly, in the daring venture of writing his spiritual autobiography, unique in old Russia. Old Believers consider him a canonized saint of the Church."

I was born in the Nizhni Novgorod area, beyond the Kudma river, in the village of Grigorovo. My father was the priest Pëtr, my mother Maria became a nun named Marfa. My father was given to hard drink, but my mother fasted and prayed zealously and was ever teaching me the fear of God. Once I saw a dead cow at a neighbor's, and that night I arose and wept much over my soul before the icon, being mindful of death and how I too must die. And from that time I grew accustomed to praying every night. Then my mother was widowed and I, still young, orphaned, and we were driven out, away from our kin. My mother deigned to have me married. And I prayed to the most holy Mother of God that she might give me for a wife a helpmate to salvation. And in the same village there was girl, also an orphan, who was accustomed to going to church unceasingly; her name was Anastasija. Her father was a blacksmith by the name of Marko, very rich, but when he died everything dwindled away. And she lived in poverty and prayed to God that she might be joined with me in marital union; and so it was, by the will of God. Afterwards my mother went to God amidst great feats of piety. And being banished I moved to another place. I was ordained a deacon at the age of twenty-one, and after two years I was made a priest. I lived as a priest for eight years and was then made archpriest by Orthodox bishops. Since then twenty years have passed, and in all it is thirty years that I have been in holy orders.

And when I was a priest I had many spiritual children; up to now about five or six hundred. Never slumbering I, a sinner, was diligent in churches and in homes, at crossroads, in towns and villages, even in the capital and in the lands of Siberia, preaching and teaching the Word of God, this for about twenty-five years. . . . When I was still a priest, there came to me to confess a young woman, burdened with many sins, guilty of fornication and self-abuse of every sort; and weeping she began to acquaint me with it all in detail, standing before the Gospel there in the church. But I, thrice-accused healer, I was afflicted myself, burning inwardly with a lecherous fire, and it was bitter for me in that hour. I lit three candles and stuck them to the lectern, and raised my right hand into the flame and held it there until the evil conflagration within me was extinguished. After dismissing the young woman, laying away my vestments, and praying a while, I went to my home deeply grieved. The hour was midnight, and having come into my house I wept before the icon of the Lord so that my eyes swelled; and I prayed earnestly that God might separate me from my spiritual children, for the burden was heavy and hard to bear. And I fell to the ground on my face; I wept bitterly, and lying there sank into forgetfulness. Nothing could I ken, as I was weeping, but the eyes of my heart beheld the Volga. I saw two golden boats sailing gracefully, and their oars were of gold, and the masts of gold, and everything was of gold; each had one helmsman for the crew. And I asked, "Whose boats are these?" And they answered, "Luka's and Lavrenti's." They had been my spiritual children; they set me and my house on the path to salvation, and their passing was pleasing to God. And lo, I then saw a third boat, not adorned with gold but motley colored--red, and white, and blue, and black, and ashen; the mind of man could not take in all its beauty and excellence. A radiant youth was steering. He raced toward me out of the Volga as if he wanted to swallow me whole. And I shouted, "Whose boat is this?" And sitting in it he answered, "Your boat. Sail in it with your wife and children if you're going to pester the Lord." And I was seized by trembling, and sitting down I pondered: "What is this vision? And what sort of voyage will it be?" . . .

After a short time, as it has been written, "the sorrows of death compassed me, and the perils of hell found me. I met with trouble and sorrow." An officer took away a maid, the daughter of a widow, and I implored him to give the orphan back to her mother. But he disdained our importunities and raised a storm against me. His men came to the church and crushed the life out of me; I lay senseless on the ground for half an hour or more. I came back to life by the will of God, and he, seized with fear, gave up the maid to me. Then the devil prompted him and he came to the church and beat me, and dragged me, in my vestments, on the ground, and I recited a prayer all the while.

Afterwards another officer found occasion to be moved with fury against me; he came running to my house, beat me, and buried his teeth in my finger like a dog. And when his throat was filled with gore, he released my hand from the clutch of his teeth and, leaving me, went home. As for me, I thanked God, bandaged my hand with a piece of linen, and betook myself to Vepsers. As I was on my way that same man attacked me once more, with two small pistols. Standing close to me, he fired one of them. By the will of God, although the powder exploded in the pan, the pistol did not go off. He flung it on the ground and fired the other pistol, and the will of God was exercised once more and the pistol did not go off. I continued on my way praying fervently, and raised my hand to bless the officer and bowed to him. He cursed me, and I said to him: "Let grace be on your lips, Ivan Rodionovich." He was enraged with me because of the chanting in the church; he wanted it to be done with dispatch, and I sang the office according to the rule, without haste. Then he deprived me of my house and drove me out onto the road, plundering everything and giving me no bread for the journey. . . .

I dragged myself to Moscow, and by the will of God the Tsar ordered that I should be installed as Archpriest at Yurievets on the Volga. There too I remained but a short time, only eight weeks. The devil inspired the priests, the peasant folk and their women; so they came to the Patriarchal Chancery, where I was attending to ecclesiastical affairs, and they dragged me out of the chancery (they were about fifteen hundred strong); they beat me with rods in the middle of the street and trampled me on the ground, and the women beat me with oven-forks; for my sins I was beaten almost to death, and they threw me against the corner of the house. The governor came rushing up with his canoneers and, seizing me, carried me off to my poor home; and he placed his men around the yard. Meanwhile the mob marched to the house, and they raised a great tumult in the town; especially did the priests and the women whom I had warned against fornication shout, "Kill this thief and son of a harlot, and throw his body to the dogs in the ditch!"

As to me, having rested a while, I left my wife and children on the third day and fled by night up the Volga to Moscow with two companions. I should have liked to stop at Kostroma, but there too they had driven out Archpriest Daniel. Ah my, the devil stirs up trouble everywhere. I got to Moscow, and went to Stephen, the tsar's confessor: he too made a wry face, saying, "Why have you abandoned your church?" So there was more trouble at hand. Then, in the middle of the night, the Tsar came to visit his spiritual father and to receive his nightly blessing, and he found me there, and there was more woe, since he asked, "Why have you left your city?" My wife and children and some twenty retainers had remained in Yurievets; I knew not whether they were alive or dead, and that was another calamity.

Soon after this Nikon, our friend, brought the relics of Metropolitan Phillip from the Solovki Monastery to Moscow. Before he arrived, Stephen, the Tsar's confessor, spent a week in prayer and fasting with the brethren on behalf of the Patriarch (and I was with them), that God should grant us a pastor for the salvation of our souls. Together with the Metropolitan of Kazan, we wrote, and signed with our own hand, a petition which we presented to the Tsar and Tsarina in favor of Stephen, that he should be made Patriarch. But Stephen would not have it so, and suggested Metropolitan Nikon. The Tsar followed his advice. He sent a letter, to be delivered on his way to Moscow: "To Nikon, the Most Reverend Metropolitan of Novgorod and Velikia Luki and all of Russia, greetings," and so on. And once he was there, he was all bows and compliments with us, like a fox. He knew that he was going to be Patriarch and feared lest some obstacle should arise. There would be much to tell about these wily dealings. And when he was installed Patriarch, he would not even let his friends enter his chapel, and soon he spewed forth all his poison.

During Lent (in 1653) [Patriarch Nikon] sent a letter to the Cathedral of Our Lady of Kazan, addressed to John Neronov. . . . In his letter Nikon wrote: "According to the tradition of the holy apostles and fathers, it is not fitting to make genuflections; suffice it to bow from the waist; and the sign of the cross must be made with three fingers." We assembled and reflected upon this. We saw that winter was near; our hearts were frozen, and our limbs shaking. Neronov entrusted the church to me and hid himself in the Chudov Monastery, where, in a cell, he spent a week in prayer. As he prayed, a voice came from the icon: "This is the time of tribulation: you must suffer without weakening." He related this to me, weeping, also to Bishop Paul of Koloma, whom Nikon afterwards had burned at the stake at Kostroma; then he likewise told all the brethren about it. With Daniel, I copied excerpts from the Holy Fathers concerning the fingers used in the sign of the cross and the bows to be made during prayer, and they were submitted to the Tsar. There were a great many of these excerpts, but I know not where the Tsar hid them; I believe he gave them to Nikon. Soon after this Nikon ordered Daniel to be seized and had his head shorn at the Monastery at the Tver Gates, in the Tsar's presence. They tore his cassock from his back, and, heaping insults on him, they took him to the Chudov Monastery and locked him in the bakery. After many torments had been inflicted on him, he was banished to Astrakhan; there he was crowned with a wreath of thorns, and they let him die in a dungeon. . . .

Later on Boris Neledinsky [a good friend of Patriarch Nikon] and his musketeers seized me during a vigil; about sixty people were taken with me. They were led off to a dungeon but me they put in the Patriarch's Court for the night, in chains. When the sun had risen on the Sabbath, they put me in a cart and stretched out my arms and drove me fom the Patriarch's Court to the Andronikov Monastery, and there they tossed me in chains into a dark cell dug into the earth. I was locked up three days, and neither ate nor drank. Locked there in darkness I bowed down in my chains, maybe to the east, maybe to the west. No one came to me, only the mice and the cockroaches; the crickets chirped and there were fleas to spare. It came to pass that on the third day I was voracious, that is, I wanted to eat, and after Vespers there stood before me, whether an angel or whether a man I didn't know and to this day I still don't know, but only that he said a prayer in the darkness, and taking me by the shoulder led me with my chain to the bench and sat me down, and put a spoon in my hands and a tiny loaf, and gave a dab of cabbage soup to sip--it was tasty, uncommonly good! And he said unto me, "Enough, that will suffice thee for thy strengthening." And he was gone. The doors didn't open, but he was gone! It's amazing if it was a man, but what about an angel? Then there's nothing to be amazed about, there are no barriers to him anywhere.

In the morning the Archimandrite came with brethren and led me out; they scolded me: "Why don't you submit to the Patriarch?" But I blasted and barked at him from Holy Writ. They took off the big chain and put on a small one, turned me over to a monk for a guard, and ordered me hauled into the church. By the church they dragged at my hair and drummed on my sides; they jerked at my chain and spit in my eyes. God will fogive them in this age and that to come. It wasn't their doing but cunning Satan's. I was locked up there four weeks. . . .

At this time, after me, Login, Archpriest of Murom, was seized; he sheared him at Mass in the Cathedral Church, in the presence of the Tsar. During the Transposition of the Host the patriarch took the paten with the Body of Christ from the head of the Archdeacon and put it on the altar, but Ferapont, the Archimandrite of the Chudov Monastery, was still outside the sanctuary with the chalice, standing by the royal gates! Alas a sundering of the Body of Christ worse than the work of the Jews! When they had shorn him, they ripped off his surplice and kaftan. But Login blazed with the zeal of the fire holiness, and rebuking Nikon he spat across the threshold into the sanctuary, in Nikon's face. Unbelting himself, he tore off his own shirt and threw it into the sanctuary, in Nikon's face. And wonder of wonders!--the shirt spread out and covered the paten on the altar like it was a communion cloth. And at that time the Tsarina was in the church. They put a chain on Login, and dragging him from the church they beat him with brooms and whips all the way to the Bogoavlensky Monastary and tossed him naked into a cell, and musketeers were stationed to stand strict watch. But that night God gave him a new fur coat and a cap. In the morning Nikon was told, and having roared with laughter, he said, "I know all about those sham saints!" And he took away the cap but left him the coat.

After this they again led me on foot out of the monastery to the Patriarch's Court, as before stretching out my arms, and having contended much with me they led me away again the same way. Later, on St. Nikita's Day, there was a procession with crosses, but me they again carried in a cart, meeting the crosses on their way. And they carried me to the Cathredal Church to shear me, and kept me at the threshold for a long time during the Mass. The Tsar came down from his place, and approaching the Patriarch he prevailed upon him. They didn't shear me, but led me off the Siberia Office and handed me over to the secretary Tretiak Bashmakov, now the Elder Savvaty who also suffers in Christ, locked up in a dungeon pit. . . .  Save him, O Lord! And at that time he was good to me.

I was sent to Siberia with my wife and children. It would be a long tale, if I related all the tribulations we endured on our way; suffice it to say a little about them. During the journey Dame Avvakum gave birth to a child, and she was driven, sick, in a cart to Tobolsk. We traveled three thousand versts in thirteen weeks or so; we were dragged by cart, by boat or, half of the way, by sleigh. In Tobolsk the Archbishop appointed me to a church, and there I suffered great trials. In a year and a half, I was accused five times of treason against the Tsar. . . . There came an order that I should be taken away from Tobolsk, because I had condemned Nikon for his heresy, speaking from the Scriptures. At that time I received a letter from Moscow, informing me that two of my brothers in the palace of the Tsarina's apartments, had died of the plague, with their wives and children; and many others among my kinsmen and friends had also died. God had let flow on the kingdom the vial of His wrath, and the wretched ones did not repent; they continue to cause trouble in the Church. Neronov had often warned the Tsar: "There will be three visitations resulting from the schism in the Church--the plague, the sword, division. And this is what has happened today. . . .

So then I climbed into my boat again, the one that had been shown to me [in the vision], of which I have spoken previously, and I journeyed to the Lena [in Siberia]. But when I came to Yeniseisk another decree arrived; it ordered us to carry on into Dauria--more than twenty thousand versts from Moscow. And they handed me over into the troop of Afanasy Pashkov and his regiment of six hundred men. As a reward for my sins he was a harsh man; he burned and tortured and flogged people all the time. I had often tried to bring him to reason, and here I had fallen into his hands myself. And from Moscow he had orders from Nikon to afflict me. After we had traveled out of Yeniseisk, when we were on the great Tunguska River, my prame was completely swamped by a storm; it filled full of water in the middle of the river, everything else had gone under. My wife, bareheaded, just barely dragged the children out of the water onto the decks. But looking to Heaven I shouted, "Lord, save us! Lord, help us!" And by God's will we were washed ashore. Much could be said about this! On another prame two men were swept away and drowned in the water. After putting ourselves to rights on the bank, we traveled on again.

When we came to the Samansky Rapids we met some people sailing the other way. With them were two widows, one about sixty and the other older; they were sailing to a convent to take the veil. But Pashkov started to turn them around and wanted to give them in marriage. And I said to him, "According to the Canons it is not fitting to give such women in marriage." What would it cost him to listen to me and let the widows go? But no, being enraged he decided to afflict me. On another rapids, the Long Rapids, he started to kick me out of the prame. "Because of you," he says, "the prame doesn't go right! You're a heretic! Go walk through the mountains, you're not going with Cossacks!" Ah, misery came my way! The mountains were high, the forests dense, the cliffs of stone, standing like a wall--you'd crick your neck looking up! In those mountains are found great snakes; geese and ducklings with red plumage, black ravens, and grey jackdaws also live there. In those mountains are eagles and falcons and gerfalcons and mountain pheasants and pelicans and swans and other wild fowl, an endless abundance, birds of many kinds. In those mountains wander many wild beasts, goats and deer, Siberian stags and elk, wild boars, wolves, wild sheep--you'll lay your eyes on them but never your hands! Pashkov drove me out into those mountains to live with the beasts and the snakes and the birds.

So I wrote him a short little epistle; the beginning went like this; "Man! Fear God, Who sitteth above the Cherubim and gazeth into the abyss; before Him the heavenly powers do tremble and all creation together with mankind. Thou alone dost scorn and exhibit unseemliness"--and so on. A good bit was written there, and I sent it to him. And Lo, about fifty men ran up, seized my prame, and rushed off to him (I was camped about three versts away from him). I cooked the Cossacks some porridge, and I fed them. The poor souls, they both ate and trembled, and others watching wept for me and pitied me.

Then we moved to Lake Irgen. A portage is there and during the winter we started hauling. He took away my workers but wouldn’t order others hired in their places. And the children were little--many to eat but no one to work. All alone this poor, miseried old Archpriest made a dogsled, and the winter long he dragged himself over the portage. In the spring we floated down the Ingoda river on rafts. It was the fourth summer of my voyage from Tobol’sk. We were herding logs for houses and forts. Soon there was nothing to eat; people started dying off from hunger and from tramping about and working in water. The river was shallow, the rafts heavy, the guards merciless, the cudgels big, the clubs knotty, the knouts cutting, the tortures savage--fire and rack!--people were starving, they’d only start torturing someone and he’d die! Ah, what a time! I don’t know why he went off his head like that! The Archpriestess had an overdress from Moscow that hadn’t rotted. In Russia it’d be worth more then twenty-five rubles, but here, he gave us four sacks of rye for it. And we dragged on for another year or two, living on the Nertcha River and eating grass to keep body and soul together. He was killing everyone with hunger. He wouldn’t let anyone leave to get a living, keeping us in a small area. People would roam across the steppes and fields and dig up grasses and roots, and we right there with them. In the winter it was pine bark, and sometimes God gave us horse meat; we found the bones of beasts brought down by wolves, and what the wolf hadn’t eaten, we did. And some of those near frozen to death even ate wolves, and foxes, and whatever came their way, all sorts of corruption. A mare would foal and on the sly the starving would eat the foal and the foul afterbirth. And when Pashkov found out, he would flog them half to death with a knout. And a mare died. Everything went to waste because the foal had been dragged out of her against nature; she only showed his head and they jerked him out, yes and even started eating the foul blood. Ah, what a time!

And in these privations two of my little sons died, and with the others we somehow suffered on, roaming naked and barefoot through the mountains and over the sharp rocks, keeping body and soul together with grasses and roots. And I myself, sinner that I am, I both willingly and unwillingly partook on the flesh of mares and the carrion of beasts and birds. Alas for my sinful soul! “Who will give my head water and a fountain of tears that I might weep for my poor soul,” which I wickedly sullied with worldly pleasures? But we were helped in the name of Christ by the Boyarina, the Commander’s daughter-in-law Evdokia Kirillovna, yes and by Afanasy’s wife Fekla Simeonovna too. They gave us relief against starvation secretly, without his knowing. Sometimes they sent a little piece of meat, sometimes a small round loaf, sometimes a bit of flour and oats, as much as could be scraped together, a quarter pood and maybe a pound or two more, sometimes she saved up a good half pood and sent it over, and sometimes she raked feed out of the chicken trough. My daughter Agrafena, the poor little love, on the sly she would wander over under the Boyarina’s window. And we didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry! Sometimes they’d drive the little child away from the window without the Boyarina’s knowing, but sometimes she’d drag back a good bit. She was a little girl then, but now she’s twenty-seven and still unmarried. My poor, dear daughter, now she lives in tears at Mezen with her younger sisters, keeping body and soul together somehow. And her mother and brothers sit locked up, buried in the earth. But what’s to be done? Let those broken hearts suffer for the sake of Christ. So be it, with God’s help. For it is ordained that we must suffer, we must suffer for the sake of the Christian faith. You loved, Archpriest, of the famed to befriend; love then to endure, poor wretch, to the end! It is written: “Blessed is not he that begins, but he that has finished.” But enough of this. Let’s get back to my story.

Later [winter 1660-61] we tuned back fom the Nerca River towards Russia. For five weeks we traveled by dogsled over naked ice. He gave me two miserable old nags for the little ones and for our pitiful belongings, but the Archpriestess and myself trudged along on foot, stumbling and hurting ourselves on the ice. The land was barbarous, the natives hostile. We dared not leave the horses at length; keeping up with them was outside our strength-starving and weary people we were. The poor Archpriestess totteered and trudged along, and then she'd fall in a heap--fearfully slippery it was! Once she was trudging along and she caved in, and another just as weary trudged up into her and right there caved in himself. They were both shouting, but they couldn't get up. The peasant was shouting, "Little mother, my Lady, forgive me!" But the Archpriestess was shouting, "Why'd you crush me, father?" I came up, and the poor dear started in on me, saying, "Markovna, right up to our very death." And so she sighed and answered, "Good enough, Petrovic, then let's be getting on."

We had a good little black hen. By God's will she laid two eggs a day for our little ones' food, easing our need. That's how God arranged it. During that time she was crushed while riding on a dogsled, because of our sins. And even now I pity that little hen when she comes to mind. Not a hen nor anything short of a miracle she was - the year round she gave us two eggs a day! Next to her a hundred rubles aren't worth spit, pieces of iron! That little bird was inspired, God's creation. She fed us, and there at our side she'd peck the pinbarck porridge right out of the spot, or if some fish came our way, then she'd peck at a little fish. And against this she gave us two eggs a day! Glory be to God, who hath arranged all things well! And we came by her in no ordinary way. All the Boyarina's hens went blind and started to die, so she gathered them into a basket and sent them to me in hopes that "the good Father might favor us and pray for these hens." Well sir, I thought some on it: to us she'd been a real benefactress, she had little ones, and she needed those hens. I chanted prayers of supplication, blessed some water, and sprinkled and censed the hens. Then I tramped around in the forest and built them a trough to eat from. I sprinkled it with the water and sent the whole kit and caboodle back to her. And with a sign from God the hens were cured and made whole, because of her faith. It was from that flock that our little hen came. But enough talk about this. It wasn't today that such became the usual thing with Christ; Cosmas and Damian performed good deeds and healed for both man and beast in Christ's name. All things are needful to God; every little beast and bird lives to the glory of Him, who is our most immaculate Lord, and for the sake of man as well.

Then we reached the towns of Russia, and I became aware, concerning the Church, that "it prevailed nothing, but rather a tumult was made." I was saddened, and sitting myself down, I reflected: What am I to do? Must I preach the word of Christ or go into hiding? For I was bound to wife and children. Seeing my distress, Dame Avvakum came up to me respectfully and asked: "What troubles you, my lord?" And I told her everything in detail: "Wife, what shall I do? This is the winter of heresy. Shall I speak or be silent? You have shackled me." And she replied: "God forgive! What say you, Petrovich? Did you not read the words of the Apostle: 'Art thou bound to a wife, seek not to be loosed. Art thou loosed from a wife? Seek no wife.' I and the children bless you. Continue to preach the word of God as fearlessly as before, and be not concerned about us, as long as God shall allow it. If we are separated, then do not forget us in your prayers. Christ is mighty and will not abandon us. Go, go to the church, Petrovich, and convict the heretics of their whoredom!" At these words, I bowed to her, and, having shaken off my grievous blindness, I began once more to preach the word of God and to teach in towns and everywhere, and boldly to condemn Nikon's heresy. . . .

Then I arrived in Moscow and the Tsar received me joyfully, as if I were an angel of God. I went to Fedor Rtishchev, [an influential boyar and a well-known statesman]; he came out of his chamber to meet me, asked for my blessing, and we talked for a long while. He would not let me go for three days and three nights, and then he announced my presence to the Tsar. The Tsar immediately received me in audience and spoke to me kindly: "How fares it with you, Archpriest? God has let us meet once more." I kissed his hand and pressed it, answering: "God lives and my soul lives, Tsar, my Lord! From now on, it will be as God ordains." And he, dear soul, sighed and went to attend to some business. We had spoken a few words more, but it is no use recalling them, it all belongs to the past. He ordered that I should be given lodgings in a monastery in the Kremlin; when he passed my house, he would bow to me, saying: "Bless me and pray for me." One day, as he rode by on horseback, he took his hat. And when he drove in a carriage, he would lean out of the window to see me. And all the boyars did as much, each one bowing to me: "Archpriest, bless us and pray for us." How should one not pity such a Tsar and such boyars? Yes, indeed, they are to be pitied. See how good they were, offering me parishes to choose from, and even suggesting that I should become confessor to the Tsar, if only I would consent to be reunited to them. I counted all this as dung that I might gain Christ, thinking of death, for all these things pass away. . . .

They saw that I was not going to be reconciled with them. So the Tsar ordered Rodion Streshnev to persuade me to be silent. And I did so, in order to please him. He was the God-established Tsar, and he was good to me. I hoped he would advance [to my side] little by little. On St. Simeon's Day [September 1, 1662] I was promised an appointment to the Printing Office to correct the books, and I was extremely pleased; I liked this better than being confessor to the Tsar. He did me a favor, sending me ten roubles, and the Tsarina gave me ten roubles; and Lucas, the Tsar's confessor, ten; and Rodion Streshnev, ten. As for my old friend Fedor Rtishchev, he told his treasurer to put sixty rubles in my bonnet--to say nothing of the others. Each one brought me something or other. I spent all my time with my dear Feodosia Prokofievna Morozova, for she was my spiritual daughter; and so was her sister, Princess Eudokia Prokofievna, dear martyrs in Christ! I likewise visited Anna Petrova Mikoslavsky constantly, and I went to Fedor Rtishchev, to have disputes with the apostates. I lived in this manner for about half a year.

Then I saw that "it availed nothing" in the Church, "but that rather a tumult was made," and so I began once more to grumble. I wrote a long letter to the Tsar, asking him to re-establish the old ways of piety, to defend our common mother, Holy Church, against heresy, and to place on the patriarchal throne an Orthodox pastor instead of the wolf and apostate Nikon, scoundrel and heretic. . . . From that time on the Tsar was hostile toward me. He did not like my speaking out again. He wanted me to be silent, but this did not suit me. And the bishops sprang on me like goats. They wanted to exile me once more from Moscow, for many came to me in Christ's name, and, when they had heard the truth, gave up attending their mendacious services. The Tsar reprimanded me: "The bishops complain of you, they say you have emptied the chruches. You shall be exiled once more." It was Boyar Peter Mikhailovich Saltikov who brought me the message. They took me to Mezen. The good people had given me many things in the name of Christ, but I had to leave everything behind and was accompanied on my journey only by wife, children and family. And again I taught the people of God in the towns and condemned the piebald beasts. So they brought me to Mezen. After holding there a year and a half, they took me back to Moscow with two of my sons, Ivan and Procopy. Dame Avvakum and all the others remained at Mezen. Having brought me to Moscow, they first took me to the Monastery of St. Paphnutius. And there they sent me a message, always repeating the same thing: "How long will you torment us? Reunite yourself with us, dear brother Avvakum." I rejected them like the devils [that they were], and they flew into my eyes. And I wrote a long and wrathful declaration and sent it through Cosmas, deacon of Yaroslavl and clerk in the Patriarch's chancery. This Cosmas was I know not what kind of man. In public he tried to persuade me, but in private he upheld me, saying: "Archpriest, do not renounce the old way of piety. You will be a man great in the eyes of God if you suffer to the end. Do not heed us if we perish." And I said to him that he should return to Christ. He answered: "This I cannot do; Nikon has caught me in his snares." To say the truth, the poor man had renounced Christ for Nikon and could not get back on his feet. I wept, blessed him, poor wretch; that was all I could do for him. God knows how it will go with him.

Thus, after I had spent ten weeks in chains at the Monastery of St. Paphnutius they took me back to Moscow, an exhausted man on an old nag; a guard behind me, a guard in front of me. Whip your horse and on you ride! At times, the horse would fall into the mud, its four legs in the air, and I tumbling over its head. One day we galloped ninety versts and I was half dead at the end of it. In Moscow, at the Patriarch's chapel, the bishops held a disputation with me. Then I was led to the cathedral, and after the Great Entry I was shorn, together with Deacon Theodore; they cursed me, and I cursed them. Great indeed was the tumult at that Mass. Having stayed some time at the Patriarch's Court, I was taken by night to the Chamber of the Palace. There a colonel examined me and sent me to the Secret Gates on the Waterfront. I supposed that they would throw me into the river, but here Dementy Bashmakov, the man of Private Affairs and the agent of the Antichrist [Nikon] awaited me. He said to me: "Archpriest, the Tsar ordered me to tell you: 'Fear no one; place your trust in me.'" I bowed to him, saying: "My thanks for his favor. What security has he for me? My trust is in Christ." Then they led me over the bridge to the other bank of the river, and on my way, I said to myself: "Put not your trust in princes, in the children of men in whom there is no salvation."

Then officer Joseph Salov and his musketeers took me to St. Nicholas' Monastery at Ugresha. They sheared off my beard, the enemies of God! And why not? They are wolves and have no pity for the sheep. They tore off all my hair--the dogs!--leaving but a forelock such as the Poles have on their heads. They drove us to the monastery, not along the roads, but through marshes and mire, so that people should not see us. They were well aware of their folly, but were unable to give it up. The devil had clouded their minds. How can we blame them? Were it not they, it would be others. The time is at hand when, according to the Gospels: "It must needs be that scandals come." And the other evangelist teaches us: "It is impossible that scandals should not come. But woe to him through whom they come." Take heed, you who listen to me: Our misfortune is inevitable, we cannot escape it. If God allows scandals, it is that the elect shall be revealed. Let them be burned, let them be purified, let them who have been tried be made manifest among you. Satan has obtained our radiant Russia from God, so that she may become crimson with the blood of martyrs. Well planned, devil! It pleases us, too, to suffer for our dear Christ's sake.

At St. Nicholas I was locked up in a cold hall above the ice-cellar for seventeen weeks. . . . And the Tsar came to the monastery and walked around my prison and sighed, but did not come in to see me. They had prepared the road and sprinkled it with sand. He thought and thought, and did not come in. I think he pitied me, but such was the will of God. When I had been shorn, there had been a great dispute at the palace between the Tsar and the late Tsarina. The dear lady was at that time on our side, and she had preserved me from mutilation. . . . And they dragged me many times to the Chudov Monastery, before the ecumenical patriarchs [Note: this is a reference to the famous Church Council of 1666-67 that condemned the schism of the Old Believers but also deposed Patriarch Nikon]; and our bishops all sat there like foxes. I discussed many things with the patriarchs in the words of the Scriptures. God opened my sinful lips and Christ confounded them. Their last words to me were: "Why are you stubborn? All our people of Palestine, and the Serbs, and the Albanians and Wallachians and Romans and Poles, all cross themselves with three fingers. You alone in your obstinacy cross yourself with two fingers. This is not fitting." I replied to them the following about Christ: "Teachers of Christendom! Rome fell long ago and lies prostrate; the Poles fell with it because to the end they were the enemies of Christians. Your Orthodoxy is diluted because of Turkish Mohammedan [Islamic] oppression; you are weak. In the future you will come to us to learn. By God's decree we have autocracy here. Until the time of Nikon, the apostate, under our pious princes and Tsars we had pure orthodoxy in Russia and a non-seditious church. Nikon, the wolf, decreed with the devil that men should make the sign of the cross with three fingers; but our early shepherds made the sign of the cross with two fingers, and they also blessed people with two fingers according to the tradition of our Holy Fathers." The patriarchs then began to think; but our [Russian] wolves began to howl and belch out words against their own fathers. They said: "Our Russian holy men were ignorant, and because they were illiterate, understood nothing. How can one believe them? They could not read!" And I, miserable wretch, how bitter I felt! But I could do nothing. I reproved them as well as I could, and my last word was: "I am uncorrupted, and I shake the dust from my feet, for it is written: 'Better is one that feareth God, than a thousand ungodly.'" So they cried out even louder against me: "Take him, take him, he has dishonored us all." And they began to shove me and beat me. And the patriarchs themselves rushed at me; about forty of them. I believe that it was a great army of the Antichrist that had mustered. Ivan Uvarov seized me and dragged me along; and I cried: "Wait, don't beat me!" They staggered back and I said to the interpreter: "Tell the patriarchs: Paul the Apostle says: 'It was fitting that we should have such a highpriest, holy, innocent,' and so forth. But you, how shall you celebrate Mass after beating a man?" Then they were seated, and I retired to the door and lay down on my side, saying: "Stay seated, and I shall lie down for a while." They laughed and said: "This Archpriest is a fool, without respect for patriarchs." I answered: "We are fools for Christ's sake. . . . We are weak but you are strong, you are honorable, but we are without honor." Then the bishops returned and began to discuss the Alleluia, and Christ helped me to confound their Roman heresy . . . And [they] said to me: "You are right; it is of no use to discuss anything further with you. . . ."

Then we returned to Moscow, to the court of the St. Nicholas Monastery, and again they sought from us a profession of orthodoxy. And the gentlemen of the bedchamber, Artemon and Dementy, were sent to me many a time, and they repeated the Tsar's words to me: "Archpriest, I know your innocent, spotless, and godly life. I ask your blessing, together with the Tsarina and my children. Pray for us." Thus spoke the messenger, bowing, and I always wept for the Tsar. I had the greatest pity for him. And he went on: "I pray for you, listen to me, reunite yourself with the ecumenical patriarchs, at least in part." I answered: "Let me die if God wills it so, but I will not be reunited with the apostates. You are my Tsar--but they?--what have they got to do with you? They have lost their own Tsar, and now they drag themselves here to devour you! I will not lower my arms, which are lifted to heaven, until God shall give you back to me!" There were many messages of this kind. One thing and another was discussed. Their last word was: "Wherever you are, do not forget us in your prayers." Even today, miserable sinner that I am, I pray for him as well as I can. Then, after mutilating our brothers [Note: the other Old Believers had their tongues cut out], but not me, they banished us to Pustozersk. . . .

So [in 1666] they took us to the scaffold, and after an edict was read they led me away to a dungeon without mutilating me. The edict read: "Imprison Avvakum in the earth, in a log frame, and give him bread and water." And I spat in answer and wanted to starve myself to death. And I didn't eat for about eight days or more, but the brethren directed me to eat again. . . . Then they covered us with earth. They placed a wooden framework under the earth and another one nearby, and a common enclosure around them with four locks, and guards were placed before the prison doors. And we, imprisoned here and everywhere--sang before our Lord Christ, Son of God, a canticle such as Solomon sang as he looked upon his mother. . . . And in Moscow the rest of us were roasted and baked. They burned Isaiah and they burned Abraham, and a great many other champions of the Church were annihilated. God will count their numbers. It is amazing that the Nikonians refuse to regain their senses: they propose to establish the faith through fire, whip and gallows. Who were the apostles that taught them these things? I do not know. My Christ did not order His apostles to teach in this way, to lead men to the faith with fire, whip and gallows. He commanded the Apostles: "Go ye into the whole world and preach the gospel to every creature. . . ."

Later they took the priest Lazar and cut his entire tongue from his throat. Just a bit of blood there was, and then it stopped. And he again spoke even without a tongue. Next they put his right hand on the block and chopped it off at the wrist, and lying there on the ground, of itself the severed hand composed its fingers according to tradition, and it lay that way a long time before the people. Poor thing, it confessed even in death the unchanging sign of the Savior. And that, sir, was a miracle that amazed even me: the lifeless convicted the living! On the third day after, I felt and stroked inside his mouth with my hand; it was all smooth, no tongue at all, but it didn't hurt. God granted him this speedy healing. They had sliced away at him in Moscow. Some of the tongue remained then, but now everything was cut out, nothing left. But he spoke plainly for two years, as if with a tongue. When two years had passed there was another miracle: in three days his tongue grew back complete, only a little bit blunt, and again he spoke, praising God and rebuking the apostates. . . .

Well, Elder, you've listened to more than enough of my gabbling. In the name of the Lord I command you: write down for the servant of Christ how the Mother of God crumpled that devil in her hands and turned him over to you, and how those ants ate at your private parts, and how that devil set your wood on fire and your cell was burnt but everything in it remained whole, and how you shouted to Heaven, and whatever else you recall, to the glory of Christ and the Mother of God. Heed what I'm saying: if you don't start writing I'll be vexed and no mistake! You loved listening to me, so why be ashamed? Say something, if only a little! The Apostles Paul and Barnabas related before everyone at the council in Jerusalem "what miracles and wonders God had wrought among the Gentiles by them," in Acts, lesson 36; and in lesson 42, "and the name of the Lord Jesus was magnified, and many that believed came, and confessed, and showed their deeds." Yes, and much of this is found in the Epistles of Paul and in Acts. Tell away, never fear, just keep your conscience clear! Speak, seeking glory not for yourself but for Christ and the Mother of God. Let the servant of Christ rejoice in reading it. When we die, he will read and remember us before God. And we will entreat God on behalf of those who read and listen. They will be our people there at Christ's side, and we theirs, forever and ever. Amen.

[Note: Avvakum was burned at the stake in 1682].