The details of it do not return to me.

Sweet voices sang, censers gave forth their incense, banners waved, and images of the saints, standing everywhere, smiled upon us fixedly.

Some of us were baptised, and some who had already been baptised were received publicly into the fellowship of the Church, I among them.

My god-father, Stauracius, a deacon prompting him, and my god-mother, Martina, spoke certain words on my behalf, and I also spoke certain words which I had learned.
The splendid Patriarch, a sour-faced man with a slight squint, gave me his especial blessing.

The Bishop Barnabas, upon whom, as I noted, the Patriarch was always careful to turn his back, offered up a prayer.