The Romanov Bride

Chapter 39 ELLA

In the months after the Bolshevik putsch there were many who came to see me, first those hoping to protect me, second those seeking to spirit me altogether out of Russia.

As to the first, I begged them to give up all efforts of protection, for it was simply too dangerous to stand up for me. A devil had been born in the blood of the revolution, and its name was the Cheka, the All-Russian Extraordinary Commission for Combating Counter-Revolution, Profiteering and Official Corruption. The stories that reached my ears were simply too unbelievable-thousands upon thousands put to death, pushed into furnaces, scalped, some even skinned alive. I wept morning, noon, and night, particularly when came news of the clergy who were crowned with barbed wire and crucified, later taken down and thrown half-dead in pigpens for the beasts to eat. One heard tell of informants everywhere, so much so that no one trusted anyone.

In truth, I was sorely tempted by the second, those who sought to take me away from this chaos. I longed for my family abroad, Irene and Victoria, and sweet Ernie, who were so sadly caught up on the German side of the war. How I wished to see them all and linger in their laughter, as I had done in my youth.

As to my dear ones here in Russia, I was totally cut off. I had virtually no news of Alicky and Nicky and the children, but I continued to write three or four times a week, though I doubted any of my letters made it through. I believed nothing I read of them in the newspapers, and soon enough the newspapers ceased altogether. Lenin and his Reds had seized control of all the press, and when the revolutionary papers started appearing their words were nothing but cheap promises and exaggerated lies.

Once even the Swedish Minister came to see me, greeting me in my own reception room with the blunt words, “I am here to inform you that I have both the means and the permission for your safe transport to my country. I urge Your Highness to leave Russia immediately, if not today, then tomorrow.”

It was quite apparent whose permission this emissary had-both that of Cousin Willy, the Kaiser, and of none other than Lenin himself. But how could I be saved by these men? Willy himself had done so much toward the destruction of Russia, not simply by declaring the war in the first place, but recently by sending that hideous Lenin back into Russia so that the Father-land would be defeated from within. Just unbelievable! Years earlier some of Nicky’s officers had come up with a plan to foment revolution in Germany, but while war was one thing, Nicky would have nothing to do with devious attempts to topple a seated emperor.

As for Lenin, I knew his thoughts were anything but of my safety. Simply, I understood that he wanted to be rid of me. It was said that he was afraid to arrest me because of my good work and the warmth most Muscovites felt toward me and my sisters. It was said, too, that I was the last of all the Romanovs living of free accord. Apparently the rest of us-nearly seventy members of the former House of Romanov-had been taken by the Reds. Could that possibly be? Dear Lord in Heaven, one only had to recall the fate of Marie Antoinette and Louis XVI, not to mention the barbarism of the French Revolution, to fear what thorny path lay ahead. I had had secret word, however, that for the time being the Widow Empress, Ksenia and her brood, Olga and her new husband and baby, and others were still living in relative safety in the Crimea. I prayed this was true, I prayed for them morning, noon, and night.

But, no, I would have nothing to do with this offer of fleeing abroad, for the idea of dealing with such hatefuls as Willy and Lenin was simply impossible. In any case, how could I possibly abandon my aching Russia at the hour when she needed me most?

“Thank you for your kind thoughts, Mr. Minister,” I said, rising and thereby signifying the conclusion of my audience. “But my place is here within the walls of my community and in my beloved country. I have many sisters and countless patients to watch over, you know.”

“I feared such a reply,” he said with a respectful bow.

“But tell me, have you heard any word of… of…” No, I could not bring myself to refer to them as the ex-Tsar and ex-Tsaritsa. “… of my sister and her husband?”

“Only that they have been transferred to Siberia, nothing more.”

“So I have been told. I have written to them numerous times, but I doubt that my letters have reached them.”

Ominously, he said, “I fear for your country, Madame.”

“Please, I beg you, pray for us.”

The gentleman then quietly left, and as the door closed behind him I felt at peace, for my ultimate wish was now forever established: my fate was Russia ’s fate. True, much later Willy again tried to get me to quit Russia -he sent his Count Mirbach twice to see me, but each time I refused him an audience, so despicable was the thought that I might be rescued by our German enemies.

For a while longer things continued as before, patients were brought to us, we were allotted enough ration cards, even the good people of Moscow brought us foodstuffs whenever they could. Soon, however, things began to change, quickly so. Many from the outside world stopped coming to see us, fearful, I was sure, of being associated with me, a Romanov. Then the city’s wooden sewer pipes broke and the water of Moscow became entirely contaminated, typhoid broke out, and everything from drinking water to lettuces had to be boiled. Worse, it became impossible to obtain any medicaments except the simplest, quinine and iodine. Still we made do, stretching our soups as far as we could. I spent many an afternoon tearing bedsheets into bandages.

To be sure, my great Russia was gone forever, and yet I took comfort in knowing that Holy Russia existed as never before. As I wrote to one of my countesses, “If one realizes the sublime sacrifice of God the Father, Who sent His Son to die and be Resurrected for us, then we sense the presence of the Holy Spirit, Who illumines our way; and then happiness becomes eternal, even when our poor human hearts and limited earthly minds have to go through moments that seem terrible.”

Yes, it was true, God’s ways were a mystery and perhaps it was a great blessing not to know where we were going and what the future had in store for us. All our country was being snipped into little bits, all that was gained in centuries was being demolished and by our own people, those I loved from all my heart, truly they were morally ill and blinded not to see where we were going. One’s heart ached so, but I had no bitterness-could I criticize or condemn a man in delirium as a lunatic? I could only pity and long for good guardians to be found who could help him from smashing all and murdering all whom he could get at.

I tried to keep this in mind, but like so many others I fell ill and became so thin and exhausted. There were weeks when all that I could manage was to sit on my willow chaise and knit some bandages or, if my eyes felt strong enough, sew some padded dressings. Then in March came the heartbreaking news that Willy had stooped so low as to sign a separate peace with Lenin and his bloody cohorts. Simply unbelievable. I felt so ashamed for all.

And finally came that day that I will forever look back upon as the very darkest. It was the Feastday of the Iverskii Icon, and on that third day of Pascha, spring 1918, things at first seemed calm and we were able to forget awhile the sufferings around us.

Divine Liturgy had been served by His Holiness Patriarch Tikhon, who came to us and comforted us, and I tried to fill myself with the wonderment of our most important holiday. However, toward late afternoon, not long after the Patriarch had left and just when all seemed calmest, there came the ringing of the bells at our gates-yes, sadly we had started keeping the gates locked, particularly as night fell. There were marauders everywhere, people thieving everything from bread and potatoes and sugar and salt to such valuables as silver and jewels, which were oddly becoming less valuable simply because they provided no nourishment.

At first I wondered could it be a person without home or food who’d come to us for sustenance? Or could it be a mother with a sick child desperate for help? Such types often came to us these days, but when the ringing of the bells went on and on, and so loudly, too, I understood this was no weak soul. I understood that the worst had come directly to our gates.

At my insistence, it was I alone who went out, crossing my cherished courtyard in the dusky light. Out in the street I heard the rumble of a motorcar and saw a glimpse of it, too, as it sat there.

“Coming!” I called in answer to the bells, which rang and rang. “I’m coming!”

Moments later I reached the small side gate, unlocked the bolt, and swung it open. Standing there was the kind of man all Moscow had come to fear most, a brooding man wearing a long black leather coat and a tight cap. He looked every inch the komissar that he was, big mustache and all, while behind him stood four soldiers in the drab green uniforms of the Red Army and with rifles slung this way and that, definitely not from the right shoulders as in olden days when our soldiers were properly disciplined. Smiling humbly, I quickly glanced around and appraised the situation. There was in fact not one motorcar but two, and these men who had come to us stood there calmly and quietly with a distinct and obvious task at hand. Undoubtedly Lenin had sent them at the end of services and at the end of the day when the streets were emptiest and quietest. I surmised, and correctly so, that this hour had been chosen as the least likely to cause disruption and protest. They were to do this as quietly and secretly as possible.

“How is it that I may help you?” I kindly asked the one in the leather coat.

“I have orders for the removal of the abbess,” he replied, his voice deep and flat.

“I am the Matushka of this obitel.”

“Then you are to come with us.”

“I see.”

Yes, I did see, and I did understand, quite thoroughly so: I was being arrested. Glancing briefly at the komissar and the four soldiers, I knew there was nothing to be done. These were not unruly peasants, not a mob gone wild on vodka, there was no way to convince these men otherwise. These were members of the Red Guard on an official mission, and that mission was to take me away, presumably out of Moscow and quite possibly into the depths of Siberia, where so many others of the Family had been sent.

“Can you tell me, please, will I be returning here tonight?”

“For your own protection, you are being transferred.”

“Yes, but-”

“For your own protection, you are being transferred.”

So the answer was no, I would not be returning here tonight and would most likely never see this dear place again. Lowering my eyes to the dark ground, I choked back a sob that welled deep in my being and threatened to explode. How was this possible? What of my wounded soldiers, my tubercular women, the orphan girls and my beggar boys? Looking up, I wanted to tell them how much work I had left to do, how sorely I was needed here. Too, I wanted to beg where I was being taken, how far, what then… I wanted to turn away and flee, to cry, to seek safe shelter.

However, I knew that my path, the one God had chosen for me to carry my cross, lay not in desperate flight but in submission to His will, His plan.

“I see,” I said. “May I kindly request several hours’ time to bid farewell to my sisters, appoint a successor, and visit one last time my ailing patients?”

“We will take you in thirty minutes.”

I gasped silently, mournfully, and with a simple bow of my head, replied, “As you command.”

I turned and in a daze made my way back. Needless to say, word of my impending removal spread madly through my community, and my sisters came dashing from the hospital, the orphanage, and the kitchens, up one set of stairs, down another. The sobbing and the wails could be heard rising in the air like a painful song, yet all knew what to do: gather in the church. Wasting not a moment, I returned to my chambers, where I collected but several changes of underlinens and another set of robes. My hands shaking uncontrollably, I looked around here, there-my desk where I had reviewed so many petitions, the willow furniture where I had sat with so many visitors and taken tea, the photos on the wall. Picking up the hem of my robes, I hurried into my private chapel, where I had sought and found so much peace and come to love and appreciate every moment and every soul. My eyes flying over the myriad of icons, I spotted one, The Mother of God, and quickly pulled it from the wall. I could not abandon it, and She could not abandon me.

With my small leather valise in hand, I made my way from my rooms, out the doors, and into the courtyard. All about me was chaos, my sisters running this way and that, Father Mitrofan yelling and even cursing, but somehow I had already begun to detach, to realize how futile was any path but that of acceptance. I had to submit or break down, and I chose the former. It was the only way. And so in a manner I was oblivious to my dear ones. I did as was needed for those in need. I entered my church, weaving amongst my weeping sisters, and stopped at the front, whereupon I looked over all as they knelt on the floor and bowed their heads over and over, pressing their worried brows to the stones. I led them in prayer, and concluded by making a large sign of the cross over all.

And I ended by saying, “Please, my dear ones, do not cry. I have confidence we shall see one another in a higher world.”

There was not time for individual farewells, not a moment to bless this sister or that or kiss this novice or that orphan goodbye. It took all my strength to dam my tears, to remain as I wished all of these dear ones to remember me: strong and con fident in the love of the Lord.

As I passed back through the candlelight of the church and through the doors, the sisters swarmed frantically after me, bowing and clutching at my robes and pressing the cloth of my garb tightly to their lips. I stepped through the gardens, and the sisters, all ninety-seven of them, gathered around, their wails shrieking to the heavens as one hideous choir.

“Matushka, you cannot leave us?”

“Matushka, what will become of us all?”

“Matushka!”

“Gospodi pomilui!” God have mercy!

Only one person did I cling to, and that was Father Mitrofan, whose big cheeks and white beard were soaked with tears. I reached out for his black robes, clutching his arm.

“Please, I beg you,” I said, my voice stony with shock, “do not abandon this place.”

“Never!” he said, choking on his words.

“Watch over these children and our patients.”

“Always!”

“And continue with services for as long as you are able.”

“Until death!”

As I approached the gates, I saw not only the komissar and his soldiers standing there but two of my cell attendants, my forever-faithful Nun Varvara as well as Nun Yekaterina. Each of them held a small valise.

“We have received permission to accompany you,” said Nun Varvara.

“But no, you mustn’t, you can’t-”

“We will not abandon you, Matushka. We are coming,” replied Nun Varvara as forcefully as a princess herself.

I did not want them to come, to bear any unnecessary tribulations, but, truth be told, it was a relief, a cushion. So be it.

Just steps from the gates, I turned and looked out over my beloveds. All at once, in a great wail, every last one of them fell to their knees, their sobs piercing my heart like divine swords. I could not speak, could not find words. I felt light of head, that I might topple. All that I could manage was to raise my trembling hand and once again make over them a large sign of the cross.

Adieu, I cried inside. Adieu, adieu… adieu…

I turned then, and the komissar took me brusquely by the arm, leading me to the first motorcar. I asked, “Can you tell me, are we being taken far?”

But he did not reply, merely pressed me into the rear of the vehicle. Without a word he led my Nuns Varvara and Yekaterina to the second motorcar, whereupon he pushed them into the back.

In a daze we motored off, passing down the Bolshaya Ordinka and quickly leaving the white walls of my beloved obitel behind me. I could not bear to glance back. As we crossed the great river, I did look across the waters at the mighty Kremlin. The double-headed eagles of the Romanovs had been ripped away from the wondrous towers of the ancient fortress, and there instead, flapping in the early night sky, were the crimson banners of the Reds.

And, as I had suspected, we-that is, I and my good Nuns Varvara and Yekaterina-were driven directly to one of the main stations, where we were placed on a train heading east. The four Red Guards accompanied us, making sure no one came to our need. Soon the engine, belching smoke, made a slow lurch forward, and we were off, lumbering through the night. But I could not rest, could not sleep. Rather, I stayed up the entire night composing a letter, which by the grace of God I was able to post the following day.

To all my beloveds at the Marfo-Marinski Obitel, I wrote:

God Bless You,

Let the Resurrection of our Lord give you strength and solace. Let Saint Sergei, Holy Dmitri, and Saint Evfrosinia of Polotsk guard us all, my dears. All is well on our journey. Snow everywhere.

I cannot forget this day, all those dear, kind faces. Lord, what suffering was marked on them, how it hurt my heart. You have become dearer to me with every minute. How can I leave you, my children? How can I give you strength?

Remember, my dears, everything I have told you. Also be not only my children but also my obedient pupils. Be closer to each other, be as one single soul, wholly devoted to our Lord, and say, as did Saint John Chrysostom: “Glory to God for everything.”

I will be living in the hope of soon being with you again and I should like to find you all together. Read together the Acts of the Apostles, besides the Gospels. You older sisters, do your best to keep all the young ones united. Ask Patriarch Tikhon to take the “spring chickens” among you under his protective wing. Make him at home in my middle room. Use my cell for confession and the big room for visitors.

For God’s sake, don’t lose heart. The Mother of God knows why her Heavenly Son has sent upon us these tribulations on the day of her Feast.

Lord, I believe, help Thou mine unbelief. God’s designs are inscrutable.

I cannot express how deeply moved I am by your farewell. Over these years you have made me so happy. And I know that all of you without exception are trying to live in the way I have so often spoken to you about.

Oh! What progress you will now make toward salvation! I can already see a good beginning. Only don’t lose heart and don’t weaken your lofty intentions, and the Lord, Who has temporarily separated us, will strengthen you spiritually. Pray for me, a sinner, that I be worthy to return to my children and that I perfect myself for your sake, and that we all think of how to prepare ourselves for eternal life.

You remember how afraid I have been that you relied too much on my help to find strength to live, and how I used to tell you: You must get closer to God. The Lord says, My son, give me thine heart and let thy eyes observe My ways. If you accomplish this, then you can be sure that you’ve given everything to God because you have given Him your heart, and that means your very self.

The peace of our Lord Jesus Christ be with you, and my love to all of you in Jesus Christ. Amen.

Your loving Mother in Christ, who prays for you all,

– Matushka