The Romanov Bride

Chapter 29 ELLA

Honestly, I was quite taken aback when a family battle broke out to prevent me my plans, to frighten me about the difficulties -all with great love but with utter incomprehension of my character. More than once I had to assure Nicky dear that I had not fallen under the influence of a prelest duxha-a charmed spirit-and that I alone, without any outer influence, had decided this course. And poor Alicky. In the beginning she was quite disturbed, for she worried that my steps toward chastity and poverty would demean the Family. I knew she imagined I let people call me a saint-she told one of my countesses this-but good gracious, what was I, no better and probably worse than others. In any case, people never said such exaggerated things to my face, for all knew I hated flattery as a dangerous poison.

So I wrote to the two of them, Nicky and my sister:

My Dearest Ones,

Forgive me, both of you. I know and feel alas, I worry you and perhaps you don’t quite understand me, please forgive and be patient with me, forgive my mistakes, forgive my living differently than you would have wished, forgive that I can’t often come to see you because of my duties here. Simply with your good hearts forgive, and with your large Christian souls pray for me and my work.

Only my older sister, Victoria, in England, understood my need-it was only she who from the start thought it was right that I fill up my life with good work. As to those of proper society who said I could definitely do more good in my previous role, I could only answer that I didn’t know if they were right or wrong, only that life and time would show, but certainly God who was all love would forgive me my mistakes, as He certainly saw my wish of serving Him and His. In any case, for me the bitter bite of gossip had long lost its sting.

Suffice to say that during all this time I felt calm and at peace, really it was so, even with so many momentous decisions. I never had one moment of despair or loneliness, surely because the living and dead were near me and I didn’t realize entirely the earthly separation.

Within short years I had accomplished much. I arranged for Maria a marriage to the second son of the Crown Prince of Sweden, for by family law she was of course allowed only this, marriage to another royal, and this match seemed reasonable. Too, I built them a palace in Stockholm, and saw that Maria was set with a proper dowry. As for her younger brother, Dmitri, I took him to the capital, where he was enrolled in the cavalry school to prepare him for his life in the Horse Guards.

Content that my duties to the children had been discharged, I set about my project with even more energy. Day and night I devoted myself entirely to the study and establishment of my Marfo-Marinski Obitel Miloserdiya vo Vladenii Vlikoi Knyagini Elisavyeti Fyodorovni, otherwise to be known in English as the Martha and Mary Convent of Mercy Under the Direction of Grand Duchess Elisabeth Fyodorovna. It seemed quite a daunting name, but the idea was clear, for it was to be inspired by Christ’s own simple words: “I was hungry and you fed me, sick and you cared for me.” The territories that I had purchased for my community along the cobbled Bolshaya Ordinka were most satisfying, spacious and green and abundant with fresh air.

Little did I know, however, that my plans, all of which were intended for charity, would be taken nearly as heresy by the Holy Synod.

First upon my list of things to do was the complete closing of my court, whereupon I let go my dear ladies, who had been all service and kindness to me. Likewise, my servants were released, all with good pensions, and finally I shut up altogether my apartments in the Nikolaevski Palace, leaving behind my icons as gift. From there I moved into modest rooms none too far from my future community, which by 1908 was then in the midst of planning and soon under construction, too.

I still maintained and visited every day my hospital for soldiers-such dear men-and soon I also saw great need for a house of death for women. Such a place I opened in an old house that I had bought from a peasant on a side street, Denezhni Pereulok, and into this house we welcomed a never-ending string of consumptive women. These were the poorest of the poor, most of whom had worked as the lowliest charwomen, only to be turned away from their work when they could no longer hide their illness. When even the hospitals refused to take in these suffering ones and they had nowhere else to go, word got about and they came to my doorstep. I was especially devoted to them all and considered it my duty to offer them a bed of comfort as they prepared for their solemn change of lodging. I had written my sister of the sufferings of these women, for they were always coughing and spitting and had such little appetite and, too, such a nasty taste in their mouths. Responding in all kindness, both Alicky and my great friend, Princess Yusupova, regularly had grapes sent from their Crimea estates, making sure that we were never without.

Upon my orders I was always to be notified when one of the women was close to end, and one day word came round of one such case. With a basket in hand, I hurried to my house of death, and in one of the white rooms found a woman, Evdokia, unable to open her eyes and struggling desperately for each breath. It was clear she had but hours. Sitting by her side and clutching her hand was her husband, Ivan, who had a large beard and wore torn, dirty clothes. He worked in a smelter, operating the bellows. Upon my entry he looked up at me with tear-stained eyes and recognized me immediately, for it was all true, as much as I wished for incognito, everyone in these parts knew that I was a member of the Ruling House. But rather than greeting me with even a modicum of courtesy, he glared at me with something akin to hatred, and I perceived that this Ivan would rather have brought his wife anywhere but here… and yet there was nowhere else. It fazed me not, however, for all that mattered was the comfort of the dying woman and the proper care of her soul.

“May I join you, sir?” I asked.

Ivan said nothing, simply turned back to his wife, whom he clearly loved so very dearly. I sat down as well, and my first task was to take a damp cloth from a nearby enamel bowl and mop the poor woman’s feverish brow.

I had never and would never consider it my duty to mislead any of my patients with false hopes of recovery. No, none of the women who entered these doors were ever told otherwise. In other words, we placated them not with lies or glibness or false cheer but with the truth that their earthly end was soon to come. In this they all found not fright but peace, and in this way we were able to prepare them for their sacred voyage.

From my basket I took a handful of grapes, which had been chilled deep in the cellar, but as I reached to place them into the woman’s mouth her husband’s thick, gnarly hand suddenly came up. As fast as a pickpocket, he grabbed my wrist.

Not releasing me, Ivan demanded, “What are you trying to do, eh, Princess, kill her? What is that?”

With no great ease, I opened my hand and exposed the small fruits. He looked at them but still there was no trust in his eyes, only confusion at best. Had he never seen a grape before, or did he think my intentions purely evil?

“They are grapes, sir, pure and simple, and I only mean to put your wife more at ease,” I said. “She can no longer swallow, but these grapes are cool and wet, and if you’ll allow me I’ll pack them gently in her cheeks. Within a short time they will begin to crack and slowly release their juices, thereby moistening her tongue.”

“But… but…” he muttered, wanting, perhaps against his better judgment, to believe me.

“Do not worry, no medicament of any sort has been added to them.” And seeing that he still feared I meant her harm, I reached with my free hand into my other-the one he held so tightly-and took a grape and popped it into my own mouth. “They’re sweet and refreshing. Would you care for one, sir?”

He shook his head and, with a nod to his wife, softly said, “Go on.”

Yes, Ivan let me place grapes in each of his wife’s cheeks. And an hour later, when those were smashed of wetness, he let me remove them and place fresh ones into her mouth. I did so another hour after that, and yet an hour later, too, which is to say that this Evdokia lasted nearly another four hours before ascending to the Giver of all life. Finally, when she’d breathed her last, the poor man fell upon her body sobbing like a child. I crossed around to him then, placing one hand upon his shoulder as I said a prayer for this newly departed servant of God.

A short time later it was brought to my attention that this man had no financial means to see to his wife’s funeral, and I told him not to worry, that coffin and prayers and all would be taken care of.

I explained, “We will transfer your wife to the small church across the street, where Psalter will be said over her.”

“Yes, but at whose expense? Whose?” he asked. “Yours?” Of course it was, but I said, “That is of no importance.” And wondering if he was all alone, I queried, “Have you children, sir?”

With some degree of difficulty, he replied, “We had two young boys, but they both died from diphtheria. So now you see, it’s just… just me…”

“Both my mother and young sister died of such,” I confessed, taking both his hands in mine. “Just remember, you are never alone.”

“But… but for me there is no one else…”

“Yes, you have God, and you have us here. Please, just come back later today for prayers, and any other time for a meal as well.”

Without replying yea or nay, he turned to leave, then almost as quickly spun back, bowing deeply and firmly grasping both of my hands in his.

“Thank you, Your Highness,” he said, kissing my fingers.

“Thank you for caring for my wife and… and thank you for the fruits you fed her.”

“It was both my pleasure and my solemn duty. As for the grapes, though, please do not thank me. This batch is from my sister, sent to us here out of concern and mercy for these suffering women.”

“Your sister… the Empress… she sent the… the fruits?” he gasped, unable to hide his shock.

“Yes.”

His face quickly reddening with rage or embarrassment or shock-I couldn’t tell which-he quickly turned and made for the door. Just as quickly, he stopped.

Looking over his shoulder, he quietly confessed, “I would not have become a Communist if I had met your kind before.”

“Please, just don’t forget this afternoon’s Psalter,” I said.

Without replying, he fled out the door, whence I did not doubt he disappeared into the Khitrovka, the worst slums of any city quite round the globe.

As I suspected, the man did not return for prayers over his wife’s coffin. The reasons were of no importance, all that mattered was that ordinance be followed, so later that afternoon, dressed in a fresh white dress free of any contagion, I went to the church. And there I took it upon myself as duty to read the Psalms over the woman’s open casket, thereby aiding her soul as it passed through mitarstva, the toll gates.

Work on my community continued apace, and with great excitement too. I gathered every book relevant to my scheme, reading in English, German, and French about foundations where prayer and work were braided as one. In my native Germany I visited the fine Kaiserwerth Diakonissen training schools, where nurses and teachers were instructed in the care of young and old. Upon my visit to England, my sister Victoria led me to both the Convent of the Sisters of Bethany and, of course, the Little Sisters of the Poor. By studying these good institutions I was able to more finely perceive what was being asked of me and how I might improve its birth. In short, I understood that I was meant to reawaken a slightly modified order of deaconesses whose goal so closely matched mine, which was to aid the sick and the poor. To me the concept seemed simple and pure, but it came as quite a revolution within our Orthodoxy.

With the sale of my personal things and also an estate in Poltava, which had been left to my husband for the purposes of charity, I raised considerable sums. And with these moneys I was not only able to purchase a proper site but also to hire the artist Nesterov, whom Sergei so liked, and, upon Nesterov’s own suggestion, the architect Aleksei Shchusev. It soon became clear that we would be able to remake four of the original buildings on the property and plan for a church, tying all together with a beautiful whitewashed wall that would be covered with vines. At the center of my complex we planned a quiet, peaceful garden that would be planted with white lilies-my favorite-and sweet peas, lilacs, and fruit trees, too. To Nesterov I assigned the eventual task of painting the interior frescoes of the church, along with some icons, while Shchusev proposed a most beautiful white church that artfully blended the beauty of old Russia-complete with onion domes-with a hint of Style Moderne. Both my beloved Kostya and even Nicky dear, along with a host of others, certainly, came to the laying of the cornerstone of the Church of the Protection of the Most Holy Mother of God. Even the fearfully holy icon, The Iverian Virgin, was brought down from the Kremlin by old carriage for the ceremony. It was a very powerful day.

By midwinter of 1909, even though work on the church continued, enough was otherwise done that I was able to move into my house, one of the little buildings that had been remade and incorporated into the plan for my obitel. In all I had three rooms there, airy and cozy, so summerlike, and all who saw them were enchanted. In my sitting room I placed summer furniture of English willow covered with blue chintz, and a desk too. There was my prayer room, the walls of which I covered respectfully with many icons, and also my simple bedroom, in which was placed only a few things, chiefly a plain wooden bed with no mattress or pillow, only planks. In truth, I was sleeping less and less, usually only some three hours, for I was often called either to prayers or to the bedside of the sick.

And yet I had by this time not received the veil, and because of this we few who were there in the early days were required to begin our operation under the guidance of our spiritual father, Father Mitrofan, the kindest and most devoted of confessors, and a real presence with his long hair, big beard, and broad forehead.

Still I pressed on, and after much time and deliberation I conceived a formal plan for the formation of my order, a plan that I in turn submitted to the Holy Synod. I knew this would be no easy feat. Since centuries Russia had operated her centers of religion under the Basilian Laws whereby nuns lived a most cloistered life, all but permanently shut away from the world around them; they lived a life of prayer and contemplation, venturing beyond the walls of the monastery only in extreme cases, to beg for alms, for example, and then only with a bishop’s permission. But I wished for more than that. I envisioned that my sisters should reach out to a community in need, for despite my great respect for such cloistered institutions of prayer and devotion, I saw a different need and felt a different calling.

Appearing before the Holy Synod, I was faced with many heavy faces, a panel of men in great vestments who took great umbrage at my request.

Hermongen, Bishop of Saratov, clearly disliked my proposal, saying, “I’m afraid your request is quite contrary to our canons. The order of deaconesses was done away with by decree centuries and centuries ago, and that decree was quite definitive.”

“If Her Imperial Highness finds herself in need of a religious vocation,” voiced the most stern Metropolitan of St. Peterburg, “I would suggest that all must be based on our strict Basilian laws.”

“Yes, either that or submit yourself to any other of our fine women’s monasteries, of which Russia possesses a great number, ” suggested another of these religious leaders.

I understood immediately where this was headed, and I knew I was completely done for the moment Hermongen began mumbling that my plan for a group of active sisters smacked of “Protestant leaven.” These words, craftily chosen, lit the fire of opposition under still others, and there came grumblings that the whole idea was not Orthodox enough, simply too Western, and these complaints even drowned out the support I had from the powerful Metropolitan Vladimir of Moscow. In short, it was a complete rout, and I and my petition were summarily dismissed as near-blasphemy.

I was vexed, there was no doubt of it, and discouraged, too, but I set right about reworking my rules.

I spent the ensuing months studying my books, and with the consult of important clergy, from Vladimir ’s own suffragan to others, I altered my plan, borrowing much from St. Vincent de Paul. Quite some time later I was back before the members of the Holy Synod with a different proposal. Once again, I was met with doubt and dismiss, and they questioned much, and did so without hiding their displeasure, either. Long had I known the obstacles of Russia, but I was determined to both innovate and invigorate, drawing inspiration from my own mother and all the daring good she had done for her people, from hospitals to clean bathing water.

Upon the second visit to the Synod, one of the first questions asked of me was: “Our Orthodox sisters have always worn square-toed boots, robes of black, and a klobuk upon their heads, not to mention a long black veil. Why is it, then, that you wish for this… this combination, a pale-gray habit and no head gear excepting a mere veil?”

Looking calmly at the Metropolitans and Bishops alike, I replied, “It is my intention that my sisters will be active in hospital work, busy with caring from morning into the night. With this in mind, I have proposed garments that would be more suitable for this busy work. My sisters will need to move quickly and ably without being constrained.”

Hermongen groaned with suspicion, then stared upon me, demanding, “But why meat? All of our true Orthodox sisters have always gone without such. True, from time to time they are offered fish, perhaps, but never meat-never.”

“Please understand,” I began, for I had expected this question and prepared for it, too, “that since years I myself have not eaten meat of any sort, not even fish. Only milk and vegetables have served me. But I intend for my sisters to be young and full of energy. I wish them to eat a healthy diet, including meat, so that they may be better able to serve those in need. It is for their strength. You see, I feel that work is the foundation of one’s religious life-to give one’s whole strength to God-and prayer and contemplation its final reward.”

On and on the questions went, and I had to explain so much, why I proposed taking only sisters between the ages of twenty-one and forty-“So that they will be full of energy”-and why I would require all to take an annual holiday-“For their refreshment.”

Again, Hermongen threw an unkind remark here and there, such a pity for he had not seen our place and the good we were already doing. And again it was implied that my Order sought to imitate Protestantism, which was completely unjust. Really, it came as no surprise that the Holy Synod refused me again.

All would have been lost, too, had my brother-in-law not soon stepped forward. Nicky and I corresponded at length, I took his consult to heart, he understood my intent, and finally by Imperial Decree he established the Order of Saints Martha and Mary. With one swoop the whole thing was done.

And what joy it was when my new life in the church began. It was as if bidding goodbye to the past with all its faults and sins, all with the hope of a higher goal and a purer existence. As the official day approached I wrote Nicky dear, asking him to pray for me, for taking my vows was even more serious than when a young girl marries. How interesting it all was, what turns my life had taken. I had come to a dazzling court in a new land as the young bride of a mighty Romanov, and now I was espousing Christ and His cause, hoping to give all I could to Him and our neighbors.

Finally and at long last by 1910 all was scheduled, and the night before the ceremony an all-night vigil was held there on our territories. Just after sunrise, as the early spring sun began to show its bashful face, I gathered my sixteen sisters about me there in the garden. How eager they were, how earnest and yearning of good deed. Collected, I surveyed them with pride, noting there were sisters of every walk, from nobility to the lowest rung, and yet we were of one now. Especially eager to join was Varya, my young lady’s maid, who of her own accord had chosen to follow me from the Palace and down this profound path of self-denial. Soon to be known as Nun Varvara, she would serve the community and Him with as much devotion, I was sure, as she had once served me at Court.

To all these beautiful faces, I said, “I am about to leave the brilliant world in which it fell to me to occupy a brilliant position, but together with you I am about to enter a much greater world-that of the poor and afflicted.”

We were then led into our chapel where Bishop Tryphon tonsured us all, shaving the tops of our heads during a liturgy written especially for us. And finally we were offered the veil.

And, with a booming voice, Bishop Tryphon proclaimed, “This veil will hide you from the world, and the world will be hidden from you, but it will be at the same time a witness of your work of charity, which will resound before the Lord to His glory.”

The very next day, Metropolitan Vladimir of Moscow, who had always been my supporter, came, and during Divine Liturgy he elevated me to the position of Abbess. From that day on I was known to all as Matushka Yelisaveta-Mother Elisabeth.

And our community flourished.