Home Palmistry The clash between East and West in the dispute over name-glorification. Nun Cass. Thoughts: nun Cassia (Senina). about the practice of multi-day fasts in the Orthodox Church

Palmistry

The clash between East and West in the dispute over name-glorification. Nun Cass. Thoughts: nun Cassia (Senina). about the practice of multi-day fasts in the Orthodox Church

Cassia Tatyana Senina

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Title: Cassia

About the book “Cassia” by Tatyana Senina

The novel tells about the events that took place in Byzantium in the first half of the 9th century. Against the backdrop of the Empire’s wars with the Bulgarians and Arabs, church-political unrest and the struggle of iconoclasts with icon-worshippers, the story of the life and relationships of the main characters unfolds - the famous Byzantine poetess Cassia, Emperor Theophilus and his wife Theodora. The intellectual life of the Byzantine elite with its problems and life philosophy, the life and customs of the imperial court, the struggle of church parties and the life of monks become the frame for a love story that overcomes all external and internal obstacles and ultimately leads the heroes to realize the true meaning of everything that happened to them.

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Tatiana Senina

* * *

The female tribe is the strongest, and Ezra is truly a witness to this.

St. Cassia of Constantinople

Part I. Grains

Neither good nor evil will be born; they are always mixed.

1. Monk from Philomilia

Whoever, in the hope of victory, strives for more and more, without thinking about the precariousness and uncertainty of happiness, will be drawn into reckless deeds by this conceit.

(Menander the Byzantine)

On the evening of the third of June, the eleventh indictment, when the reddish sun was already setting, giving way to the long-awaited coolness, monk Varsisius, having performed the usual prayer rule, left his cell: his hut made of reeds coated with clay, covered with thatch, was cramped and dark, and in the warm season the hermit more often spent time outside, under a flimsy canopy. Looking around at the dry beds with stunted leaves of beets, beans and celery, Varsisius sighed and went out beyond the rickety fence. A clear, cloudless sunset indicated that the heat was unlikely to subside in the coming days, which meant that rains should not be expected until the Kalends of July. In the distance, on the gentle slope of the hill, on the top of which stood the Philomilia Fortress, farmers were milling around the white houses. Squinting, Barsisius looked at the road winding in the valley, expecting, however, that it would be empty and deserted - travelers rarely visited Philomilia. However, a cloud of dust could be seen on the road; it was quickly approaching, and soon the monk distinguished four horsemen who turned not towards the fortress, but onto the path leading to the hut of Varsisius. Just in case, the hermit retreated to the protection of his wretched hedge and hid in the hut, but soon heard a familiar voice from outside:

- Father, open up! Their!

The monk hastily opened the gate and bowed:

- Hello, Mr. Vardan! What does our humility owe to our dear guest?

- Hello, father! “I need to talk to you... just not on the street,” answered a tall, dark-haired man in a rich robe, entering the hermit’s courtyard.

Vardan the Turk, the strategist of the eastern themes, recently appointed to this position by Emperor Nicephorus, passionately dreamed of the royal crown. The people, especially among the monks, loved and revered the Empress Irina, overthrown by Nikephoros, but did not favor the new basileus: the former logothete of the henikon, already at the beginning of his reign, showed himself to be a tough man, caring most of all about replenishing the treasury - he abolished tax benefits, including for monasteries, introduced several new duties, and, as rumor said, was preparing to burden citizens with other exactions in order to quickly increase state funds wasted under the former empress - as some claimed, on charity, as others slandered, on the personal needs of court eunuchs. The increase in extortions caused discontent among the people, which Vartan decided to take advantage of, especially since the troops also grumbled at the emperor because of the delay in salaries, and the dream of porphyry, which beckoned the general, seemed more and more feasible every day. The Philomilean hermit was an old acquaintance of Vardan, the strategist from time to time turned to him for spiritual advice, and now he came to reveal his intentions and ask for blessings and prayers.

In the hut, the monk invited Vardan to sit on the lid of the chest, which served the occupant of the cell as both a seat and storage for crackers, beans and dates, and he sat down on the edge of a wooden bed covered with matting. The strategist was noticeably nervous. Changing his position every now and then, he spoke about his plans and, bowing his head, asked for prayers. Horror was reflected on the hermit’s face, and Varsisius, standing up sharply, said, stretching out his thin, almost bony hands to the commander:

- Mister, don’t dare to do such a thing! Nothing will come of this, you will lose not only your property, but also your eyes and will spend the rest of your days in misfortune! I beg you, listen to my advice - back down! Quickly give up your intention and don’t even think about royal power!

The answer of the monk, who was reputed to be a seer, was so different from the aspirations of the strategist that Vardan, with a change in his face, jumped up and ran out of the hut. When he went beyond the fence, two of his companions, who had dismounted and were waiting for the general, brought his horse to him.

Turk's third companion was prancing astride a black stallion nearby. The tallest and broad-shouldered of all, with a thick head of coarse hair the color of a raven's wing, a hooked nose and black eyes, he was from Armenia; Thick eyebrows gave his face a somewhat gloomy expression. However, he really was taciturn, although on occasion he knew how to express himself beautifully and gracefully - the son of Patrician Varda, a relative of the Turk, he received a good education. Lev’s courage in battles fully justified this name: having left his homeland, as soon as he turned eighteen, he came to the Anatolik theme, entered military service and soon gained fame as a undaunted brave man. Vardan, having received control of the eastern themes, immediately included him among his confidants. Leo had been married to Theodosia, the daughter of Patrician Arsavir, for two years already, and not long ago they had a son.

Vardan's other two satellites only recently became known to local military leaders. One was younger than Lev, his name was Mikhail, and due to a congenital speech defect he received the nickname Lisping. Of medium height, stocky, with small dark eyes and wavy but thin hair, he was a native of Amoria. His mother was the daughter of the owner of an inn on the outskirts of the city, and his father earned his living by farming, but at the insistence of his wife he left him and began to work as a carpenter. Mikhail lived in poverty since childhood and, having matured, decided to go out into the public at all costs. Lisping barely knew how to read and write, but he was distinguished by his outstanding knowledge of cattle breeding, having learned it partly from his father, and most of all from his uncles, his father’s brothers-farmers: he immediately pointed out which of the mules were suitable for transportation, and which were good for riders and not timid, deftly drove unruly donkeys and could tell at a glance which of the horses were strong and fast in running, and which were hardy in battle; It was his last skill that endeared him to Vardan.

As for Turk's third companion, his blond hair, round face and grayish eyes gave him away Slavic origin. He was older than both Mikhail and Lev, limped on one leg, but was very strong in body and strong. His youth was quite stormy: having settled into the service of one strategist, he entered into a relationship with his wife, and having been caught, he fled to the Arabs and spent several years there, studying the local language and customs. However, he failed to get rich, and, returning to the Empire, he reached Amoria, where he met Mikhail in a tavern and decided to try his luck in military service with him. His name was Thomas.

When Barsisius, who ran out after his guest, saw these three, he stopped for a few moments, rooted to the spot, with his eyes wide open, and then rushed to the strategist with the words:

- Mister Vardan, wait! I have something important to tell you! I ask you, listen, for Christ's sake!

The strategist returned, thinking to hear something new and - who knows? - favorable for his plans: the monk was so excited that one might think that something out of the ordinary was suddenly revealed to him. But when he again found himself in Varsisius’s cell, the hermit, without sitting down, turned to Vardan and said in a voice trembling with excitement:

- I beg you, sir, leave your plans! You are honored with a high rank, rich, noble, the emperor himself respects you... Don’t trade all this for future troubles! Know that it is not you, but your servants who are waiting for you there, who will take possession of the throne, first the tall and black one, and after him the one with the drooping lip. The third one also awaits proclamation and praise, but he will not receive the throne and will destroy his poor soul...

- What are you talking about?! - the strategist cried. - What a devil!

Quickly turning around, he left the hut, cursing the monk with choice abuse, and soon only the tracks of hooves on the path reminded the hermit of his unusual visit. Varsisius stood at the gate for a long time, watching the four horsemen with his eyes, and tears flowed down his sunken cheeks.

On the way, Vardan, laughing loudly and nervously, told his companions about the prophecies of the “rogue monk” about them.

– Another soothsayer has emerged! – a disdainful grin slid across Lev’s stern face.

- Exactly! – Foma picked up with a grin. “They are mortally bored, these hermits, they sit alone all day, and when the opportunity arises they amuse themselves as best they can...

- Yes, he lied everything, Mr. Vardan! – Mikhail exclaimed. - Do not worry! Well, look at me - what kind of emperor am I?! This father here is probably drinking a lot out of boredom, so he’s imagining all sorts of things! I’m drunk, you know, and sometimes I dream about this...

The nun Cassia on hesychasm

Byzantine hesychast texts" / compiled by general and scientific edition of A.G. Dunaev. M., 2012

mon_kassia : The general impression of this book is that you are not there.
For example, Buddhists have sutras that describe methods of meditation and visualization - although not everything is clear there, there are probably different interpretations of all sorts of gurus on this matter. In hesychasm on the topic of meditation we have shish. Everyone writes about how good mental prayer is, but no one writes how to specifically do it. Because “say your prayer from such and such an hour to such and such”, you understand, this is not an explanation. Nil Sorsky, then Ignatius Brianchaninov, and now today’s fathers, who are smarter, say that spiritual mentors have dried up and we must learn from books. But in Lately I am increasingly convinced that it is impossible to learn anything from books if there is no living tradition and living teachers. And this book is another confirmation of that.

In this entire volume of hesychast texts there is only one text about prayer and its technique - “The Method of Prayer and Attention” (the author is either Simeon the New Theologian, or one of the pre-Palamites). I already say that this is a sparse and completely unclear instruction, from which I personally experienced cognitive dissonance.

I missed John of Carpathia, because... I already read it once and I remember that it mostly contained encouragement to monks who had fallen into despondency, and all sorts of ramblings on the topic, that one tear of a monk shed in despondency is worth more than hundreds of virtues of a layman. Everyone praises his own well-known business. It would obviously be stupid to elevate these teachings to an ascetic absolute.

There is also an anonymous interpretation of the Jesus Prayer - entirely exegesis.

A treatise by a certain Dionysius the monk that there is no need to just say the Jesus Prayer, but to sing divine hymns - a rather amusing apology for Orthodox worship, or more precisely, for the fact that you need to go to services and delve into their content, and not just hang around in your cell.

Gregory Palamas, treatises against Akindinus. In my opinion, one would be enough. I read it again, after everything else, but by the second treatise I was frankly bored. It's all pretty monotonous. The only interesting thing is the publishers' notes about where Palamas cheated in quotations from St. fathers - incomplete quotation, partial distortion of meaning, non-existent quotes, etc.

By the way, if I were the publishers, I would make more notes. It would be possible to explain some ascetic and theological terms at least a little. And so - this book is absolutely not for the general reader, not even believers will understand it, let alone secular people especially.

Callistus Angelicud is considered the last Byzantine mystic. “On Divine Union and Contemplative Life” and another treatise. Gives the impression of being a Neoplatonist. Living in general is a sin, one should not think about anything other than the One, one should not love anything other than the One, etc., etc. In general, the first treatise ultimately irritated me: in fact, it is an enthusiastic description of the promised land, which is located who knows where and who knows how to enter it. The second treatise also does not clarify anything particularly on the topic of practice.

Filofey Kokkin, a word to the student about how to stay in the cell. I was impressed, yes sir.

In general, while finishing reading the book, I thought: from what, in fact, does it follow that these monks, whom Palamas defended, really saw the Tabor light and this very divine energy? Only from the words of these monks themselves?)))
And so all these theological studies about essence and energy are clean water medieval dissertations. Whoever best beats who with quotes from their fathers wins.

It is impossible to learn any practice of prayer from these books, just as it is impossible to distinguish divine light from undivine light, even if you see something there. But there are no teachers of prayer in Orthodoxy; there is no one to even ask what all these patristic words mean. In general, we will probably die unenlightened))

Tatiana Senina

* * *

The female tribe is the strongest, and Ezra is truly a witness to this.

St. Cassia of Constantinople

Part I. Grains

Neither good nor evil will be born; they are always mixed.

1. Monk from Philomilia

Whoever, in the hope of victory, strives for more and more, without thinking about the precariousness and uncertainty of happiness, will be drawn into reckless deeds by this conceit.

(Menander the Byzantine)

On the evening of the third of June of the eleventh indictment, when the reddish sun was already setting, giving way to the long-awaited coolness, monk Varsisius, having completed the usual prayer rule, left his cell: his hut made of reeds coated with clay, covered with straw, was cramped and dark, and in the warm season the hermit spent more often time outside, under a flimsy canopy. Looking around at the dry beds with stunted leaves of beets, beans and celery, Varsisius sighed and went out beyond the rickety fence. A clear, cloudless sunset indicated that the heat was unlikely to subside in the coming days, which meant that rains should not be expected until the Kalends of July. In the distance, on the gentle slope of the hill, on the top of which stood the Philomilia Fortress, farmers were milling around the white houses. Squinting, Barsisius looked at the road winding in the valley, expecting, however, that it would be empty and deserted - travelers rarely visited Philomilia. However, a cloud of dust could be seen on the road; it was quickly approaching, and soon the monk distinguished four horsemen who turned not towards the fortress, but onto the path leading to the hut of Varsisius. The hermit, just in case, retreated to the protection of his wretched hedge and hid in the hut, but soon heard a familiar voice from outside:

- Father, open up! Their!

The monk hastily opened the gate and bowed:

- Hello, Mr. Vardan! What does our humility owe to our dear guest?

- Hello, father! “I need to talk to you... just not on the street,” answered a tall, dark-haired man in a rich robe, entering the hermit’s courtyard.

As for the third companion of the Turk, his blond hair, round face and grayish eyes betrayed his Slavic origin. He was older than both Mikhail and Lev, limped on one leg, but was very strong in body and strong. His youth was quite stormy: having settled into the service of one strategist, he entered into a relationship with his wife, and having been caught, he fled to the Arabs and spent several years there, studying the local language and customs. However, he failed to get rich, and, returning to the Empire, he reached Amoria, where he met Mikhail in a tavern and decided to try his luck in military service with him. His name was Thomas.

* * *

The female tribe is the strongest, and Ezra is truly a witness to this.

St. Cassia of Constantinople

Part I. Grains

Neither good nor evil will be born; they are always mixed.

Euripides

1. Monk from Philomilia

Whoever, in the hope of victory, strives for more and more, without thinking about the precariousness and uncertainty of happiness, will be drawn into reckless deeds by this conceit.

(Menander the Byzantine)

- Father, open up! Their!

The monk hastily opened the gate and bowed:

- Hello, Mr. Vardan! What does our humility owe to our dear guest?

- Hello, father! “I need to talk to you... just not on the street,” answered a tall, dark-haired man in a rich robe, entering the hermit’s courtyard.

The increase in extortions caused discontent among the people, which Vartan decided to take advantage of, especially since the troops also grumbled at the emperor because of the delay in salaries, and the dream of porphyry, which beckoned the general, seemed more and more feasible every day. The Philomilean hermit was an old acquaintance of Vardan, the strategist from time to time turned to him for spiritual advice, and now he came to reveal his intentions and ask for blessings and prayers.

When Barsisius, who ran out after his guest, saw these three, he stopped for a few moments, rooted to the spot, with his eyes wide open, and then rushed to the strategist with the words:

- Mister Vardan, wait! I have something important to tell you! I ask you, listen, for Christ's sake!

- What are you talking about?! - the strategist cried. - What a devil!

On the way, Vardan, laughing loudly and nervously, told his companions about the prophecies of the “rogue monk” about them.

– Another soothsayer has emerged! – a disdainful grin slid across Lev’s stern face.

- Exactly! – Foma picked up with a grin. “They are mortally bored, these hermits, they sit alone all day, and when the opportunity arises they amuse themselves as best they can...

But despite these mockeries, a twinkle flashed through the glances that Michael and Thomas exchanged: this was the second time they had heard the prophecy about the kingdom addressed to them. A year ago, even before the appointment of Vardan as commander-in-chief in the east of the Empire, both of them, then in the service of Patrician Sisinius, strategos of the Anatolic theme, were once invited to dinner with him, and, what is most strange, the strategos began to feast alone with the guests, driving everyone out servants, but there were no other guests. The friends secretly looked at each other in bewilderment, but ate with gusto. When the second jug of wine had already been drunk, Sisiny rose from his seat with a solemn look and said:

- Of course, you are wondering that it was I who called you. But listen! Yesterday I returned to Amorium and stopped at a tavern on the way... And there, not far from this village, lives a monk I know, I visit him sometimes... I consult, you know, this and that... I was told that he also prophesies, and correctly predicts, but he himself I’ve never heard of it, but here... I’m standing in the yard, I look - my monk is coming. “Oh,” I say, “greetings, father!” And what do you think? He didn’t answer anything, didn’t even nod, he came up and looked at me like that, looking... I just felt uneasy. “What are you doing,” I say, “father?” And he suddenly fell to his knees! And he whispers: “Do not be angry, sir, but listen to me, a sinner! Even though you are a strategist, you still have emperors in your service!” I told him: “What are you doing, father?!” For such speeches, you yourself know...” And he: “Truly, truly, I say to you! Michael the Amorite and Thomas the lame, who serve you, will wear the crown!” - and raised his hands to the sky... And then he bowed and left. It was as if he was completely out of his mind, as if truly overwhelmed by the Spirit. Well, no one heard the conversation... So it turns out, my friends, that I am now feasting with future emperors! Well, for fate!

Stunned, Mikhail and Foma raised their cups. Isn’t all this a joke?.. But even if so, they are always not averse to feasting! Eat while they give it, and then we’ll see... The wine flowed like a river, and the drunken strategist, chuckling, raised toasts “to future sovereigns.” Foma drank in silence, smiling and as if not getting drunk; Mikhail, on the contrary, was completely happy, and he was about to sing a Jewish song - one of those that he often heard as a child in the poor quarters of Amoria - when Sisinius invited his daughters Agnia and Thekla into the hall and announced them and his dinner companions as grooms and brides. All four were speechless. Foma sat as if made of wood, and all the drunkenness immediately left Mikhail; both looked in confusion at the unexpected brides. And the girls, now blushing, now pale, glanced sideways at the grooms who had fallen on their heads, then at their father, wondering if this was a joke from an overly amused parent, who the other day was talking about how to marry off his daughters more profitably, and now planned to become related to simple stratiots - and one was lame, and the other tongue-tied... But Sisinius was not joking, and when the first surprise passed, Mikhail, taking a closer look at Thekla, proposed to him as a bride, discovered that she was remarkably pretty, and, rising, solemnly stated:

- Mister Sisiny! I think today God Himself is speaking through you, but is it possible to resist God! - and he and Foma agreed to the sudden proposal.

The rest of the household were immediately called, and the feast turned into an engagement feast, lasting well into the night. True, the brides remained deathly silent and did not show any joy, but Sisiny was always the sovereign master in the family, everyone trembled at him, from his wife, now deceased, to the servants, and any disobedience seemed unthinkable...

“If the monk lied, it doesn’t concern us,” Mikhail said quietly to Foma when they were already leaving the general in the morning. - Sisiny is a fool or not a fool for believing him, but you and I are definitely not losers!

“Yeah,” Foma smiled drunkenly.

However, less than three months passed after the friends became the sons-in-law of the strategist, and fate treated them in the most treacherous way. A certain “rebellious” letter from Sisinius to the deposed Empress Irene was intercepted, and the basileus deprived the strategist of all his estates and sent him into distant exile. Having lost both their father-in-law and their patron at once - Sisinius died in exile five months later - Mikhail and Thomas and their spouses were already preparing for poverty and wanderings, but then they were lucky again: they caught the eye of Vardan, who, starting a rebellion, gathered everyone around him somehow offended by the emperor. And now, the prophecy was confirmed, although in a slightly different version, not very favorable for Thomas. But Mikhail thought deeply...

Meanwhile, Vardan, having had a good laugh at the “monkey in a cassock,” gave up on the prediction. The dream of purple had already taken such hold of the strategist that it was difficult to part with it, and the monk’s prophecy seemed completely absurd. “Well, let’s say it’s still possible to imagine a lion on the throne,” thought Vardan. “But the emperor has a lisp and is semi-literate... what nonsense!” And I, a fool, still considered this liar a man of God!”

The next day, the general began to gather a large army against Emperor Nicephorus - four eastern themes followed him, with the exception of Armenyak, who refused to obey - and on July 19 he began an uprising.

...Subsequently, Vardan more than once had to recall the prophecy of the “rogue monk.” When the rebel troops approached Chrysopolis, the emperor sent Joseph, the steward of the capital's church of Hagia Sophia, to the rebels, and he, having entered into negotiations with the strategist on behalf of the basileus, at the same time began to secretly persuade the Turk's associates to lay down their arms, promising forgiveness and all sorts of favors. Lisping Mikhail agreed immediately and convinced Lev to follow his example. Thomas remained with Vardan, but after the withdrawal of a significant part of the troops, the failure of the uprising was obvious. The rebellious strategist went to the Malagins and soon, despairing of success, left the army, became a monk and retired to the island of Prot. The emperor, as punishment, deprived the estates of many archons who supported the rebellion and left the army without pay, but did not skimp on rewards for those who voluntarily joined him before the end of the rebellion: Leo received the post of head of the federates and the Dagistheus palace northwest of the Hippodrome, and Michael became a committee of the tent under the strategist Anatolik and the owner of the small palace of Kyrian in the Blachernae region.

In Amoria, the main city of Anatolica, Lisping purchased a mansion, and there at the end of June Thekla gave birth to a son. The boy was baptized on the fortieth day, on the feast of the Nativity of the Virgin Mary, and Leo became his successor from the font, having deliberately come to visit a friend for this purpose. Mikhail gave his son the name Theophyl - in memory of his own father, who had already died.

Time passed, Emperor Nicephorus, although constantly wary of conspiracies, nevertheless established himself quite firmly on the throne; it seemed that nothing foreshadowed a change of power, and the words of the monk from Philomilius seemed an absurd fantasy. Leo had already forgotten to think about them, especially since he did not know about that part of Varsisius’s prophecy, which concerned Vardan and came true a few months after the rebellion: the unfortunate Turk, despite the basileus’ promise not to punish him and to allow him to live peacefully in the monastery, was blinded by by order of Nicephorus. Mikhail, however, remembered the words of the soothsayer. Then, on a sultry June evening, standing at the rotten palisade, he managed to look at the monk who, as it turned out, prophesied the kingdom for him: Varsisius did not at all look like a “rogue,” and the more often Mikhail thought about the prophecy, the more the conviction grew in him that the words the hermit will certainly come true...

2. Brother and sister

Fools delight in loud boasting,
But to the wise - silence and peace of mind.

(George Pisida)

On September 8 - the very day when Vardan the Turk decided to lay down his arms and secretly left the rebel army at night - George, protospatharius and member of the Synclite, sat at his home at the ivory dining table, and with bitterness dealt with an impressive piece of roast pork , seasoned with Indian pepper and cinnamon. Two servants stood behind him, ready to carry out the master’s orders, and from time to time they looked at each other meaningfully: the master was clearly not in a good mood. George was one of those people who could never feel happy: despite the fact that his life was quite prosperous and organized, he constantly found reasons for anger or envy.

He came from the family of an impoverished Macedonian landowner who was forced to sell most of his estates and lived poorly; To top off the disaster, the mother of the family died, leaving the father with two children in his arms. George was eight years older than his sister Martha and, when he was sixteen years old, with the blessing of his father he went to seek his fortune in the Tsar City. Constantinople amazed the young provincial: huge squares and wide central streets, paved marble slabs, where next to dignitaries dressed in silk one could meet ugly beggars in rags; luxurious porticoes and high columns; numerous statues by famous ancient masters, brought from all over the Empire to decorate New Rome; beautiful temples rising here and there; majestic palaces with gilded roofs, lined with marble and decorated with bas-reliefs; mansions of the rich surrounded by magnificent gardens; bustling markets where you could buy anything from simple barley bread to clothes made of precious silk and Baghdad patterned carpets; and, finally, the dome of Hagia Sophia, floating majestically over the City... Looking at all this splendor, the shocked young man thought: “We must settle here at all costs!” Now he was filled with melancholy and horror at the thought that if he failed, he would have to return home, to a life among vineyards and barley fields, surrounded by farmers in clothes always stained with soil, with rude manners, often unable to connect two sentences, since their constant company there were sheep, goats and dogs. Many adventures and misadventures befell George, but the young ambitious man achieved his goal: able to ingratiate himself with his superiors through skillful flattery and various tricks that God knows from whom he learned, economical to the point of stinginess and prudent, seven years later he was married to daughter of a wealthy Constantinople merchant, had a mansion near the Forum of Theodosius, bore the title of protospatharius and sat in the Synclite. When his father wrote to him that it would be nice to have Marfa in the capital too, George immediately invited his sister to his place, intending to marry her off so that this marriage could strengthen his own position at court.

Martha had just turned fifteen at the time. She could not be called a beauty, but there was something memorable in the shape of her large dark eyes and the oval of her dark face, framed by dark brown hair. Having settled in her brother's house, she lived almost as a recluse, spinning flax, reading the Psalter on Sundays and holidays, and sometimes going to church more often. Georgy treated his sister with the condescension of an elder who had accumulated considerable life experience, imagining how her marriage would work out, and how she would then be grateful to him until her death for brotherly love and care...

But the venerable synclitic suffered a setback: while he was choosing a suitable match for his sister, trying not to make a mistake, Martha took care of herself. It all started with a chance meeting on Sunday on the way out of Hagia Sophia. There were so many people that in the crush Martha was pushed away from her maids; She was slightly confused and, stepping aside, stood in the wall between the doors from the narthex to the temple, hoping that the girls would find her when the crowd subsided. But then, as luck would have it, a ragged man became attached to her, begging for alms. Martha gave him an obol, and he disappeared into the crowd, but soon appeared surrounded by a dozen of the same beggars. They surrounded the girl, reaching out to her with a plaintive whine. dirty hands, and one, apparently to evoke more sympathy, opened the rags on his chest and showed a terrible non-healing ulcer. Marfa felt sick. She looked around helplessly, already ready to cry, and suddenly caught the eye of a tall young man coming out of the temple into the narthex. She looked at him pleadingly, and he, immediately assessing her situation, quickly approached, thrust a small coin into each beggar’s hand and said sternly:

- Now shoot! And don’t you dare pester the lady again!

The ragamuffins immediately disappeared.

- Thank you, sir! - Martha exclaimed. - Otherwise I didn’t know what to do...

“There is no need for gratitude, madam,” the young man bowed slightly, and the girl noted that he had thick curly hair of a golden-brown hue, very beautiful posture and graceful manners.

“A courtier, probably,” she thought. And he timidly asked:

“But why are you here alone, madam?”