With Father Nil Dorobanțu, in the military prison in Iași

I was transferred back to Iași, the citadel of Moldavia, the citadel of great Romanian achievements and, from 1919, the beginning of the national student movements that would gradually spread to all the student centres of the country. I was embarked from Pitesti, via Jilava.

It was the middle of June 1951. […]

I entered the building accompanied by two guards. From the first moment I realised that I was in a military prison. After all the formalities of handing over and receiving the “package” had been completed, a guard took me to my room.

I am alone! […]

After a while I got up and began to walk around. My steps were light, but my forehead was getting heavier. I didn’t know why I was being taken to Iași.

Suddenly I heard movement in the lock. The bolts were being pulled. It was the crowing of roosters.

I jumped and looked over. The door opened!

A saint appeared in the doorway, bathed in the contrast between the light of the hall, which was brighter, and that of the interior, which was dimmer.

His face a deep pallor, his forehead slightly furrowed and his cheeks soft, he paused in the doorway to orient himself. He looked like a living icon.

He came towards me and held out one hand, the other touching my shoulder.

– I’m the priest Nil Dorobanțu.

– Petru Baciu from Bacău, I reply.

I thank God for this gift whenever I think of it. I felt the need for a confessor and when I was in the company of a priest I experienced a state of euphoria and peace of mind at a high level.

Father Nil Dorobanțu was put in the same room by mistake or in haste. We were sure that the political officer would not separate us the next day. We were two people with the same beliefs. But we had to be isolated.

We didn’t go to sleep and talked all night. Father Nil Dorobanțu served in the Vladimirești monastery with Father Iovan and Mother Mihaela, who died in Miercurea-Ciuc after ten years of imprisonment.

That night I received Communion from him in the form of small pieces of prosphora, which I would take to Aiud and multiply with bread. The priests there would give Holy Communion to many who were thirsty for the Body and Blood of the Lord and waiting for peace of mind.

Father was warm from the journey and there was much sorrow and breathlessness in the room, so he took off his cassock.

He remained in a hemp shirt, the kind used by farmers to make sacks of grain.

On the back of the shirt was a large cross made of black material and on his feet were sandals.

In this simple and rough outfit, with the cross in his hand and a hornwood stick, Father Nil Dorobanțu went around many villages, preaching the divine words of the Holy Scriptures: “God is present everywhere, in heaven and on earth, in the depths and in the boundless space of the universe”.

At the trial, Father Nil Dorobanțu, who refused to answer the tribunal, shouted from the dock: “Away with you, Satan! Unclean skins!”. Beneath that hemp shirt beat a great Romanian heart. His father was a general and he was an officer who had fought in the Holy War against Bolshevism.

It was dawning, the opening was approaching and we were about to leave. A sweet silence enveloped our hearts all night, as if we were the only two in this “fortress”. We end the beauty of these moments with a prayer for the sleeping, for the living, for us, perhaps even a farewell prayer. And so it was, after the morning prayer, we were separated forever, because during the long years in prison we never saw or heard anything more from the holy father Nil Dorobanțu. Before we left, we knelt down and Father said in a quiet voice: “O Lord, remember all our dead, our departed spiritual parents, our physical parents, who created us, brought us up and educated us in the world, helped us in our difficult life.

O Lord, forgive our brothers… our sisters… our comrades, our relatives in spirit and in body, known and unknown, remember, O Lord, all those who have fallen asleep in the hope of resurrection and eternal life. Amen”.

In the morning the lock is opened and the bolts are pulled. A count was taken.

– How many of you are here? asks the first guard.

– Two! I replied!

– Only two?!

The door closes and I hear them whispering in the corridor. It was our situation, of course. When we came, from where, etc.

A moment later the door opens and a guard appears in the doorway giving orders: “Dorobanțu, pack your bag!”.

We were both prepared for this step when we met.

Father blessed me, made the sign of the cross on my forehead, embraced me and left with the guard waiting in the doorway.

We parted forever. Having sanctified my ears, my heart and my whole being with the warm words of the “messenger” – a great servant of the Word of God – I was left alone again, I remained waiting.

(Petru Baciu, Hidden Crucifixions. Testimonies, Vol. I, Buna Vestire Cultural Foundation Publishing House, Bucharest, 2004, pp. 253-256)