The Romanov Bride (21 page)

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

Solovetsky Islands, White Sea, USSR October, 1936

Pavel picked up a stick and started poking at the yellow flames, moving reddish embers one way, a moist, sizzling log another. He stared into the fire, seeing not burning wood but her. Yes, he remembered her completely, that gentle smile, that beautiful face, those long robes. Rarely had a day gone by that he hadn’t pictured her. Or recalled her voice. Or gone back over the events of her life.

“So… that’s what we did in those last days, the last two or three of her life,” said Pavel, glancing first up into the dark night sky, then across the fire pit at Vladimir. “We told each other our stories. I was supposed to be guarding her, but really I was following her from the garden behind the schoolhouse, into the small classroom that served as her bedroom, and out to the kitchen just so we could talk. I told her everything-about my beautiful wife, Shura, and how she’d been gunned down, and how that had forced me into the revolutionary movement. And I told her about all my killings of the little men here and there, not to mention my part in blowing up her husband. And…”

Across the way, Vladimir tugged on his long white beard, and asked, “And…?”

“And I told her what I’d done after I heard she’d been arrested, how I went all over Moscow and used all of my connections to be transferred to Alapayevsk. My comrades said I should stay there in Moscow and stick with the real business of the Revolution rather than watching over a bunch of ‘formers.’ The Revolution needed me, they said, but I suppose you could say I needed her more.”

“Why?”

“Because… because I wanted her to understand… to understand all the things I had done.”

“You mean, you needed to confess to her?”

Pavel looked up, a mocking smile on his face. “Perhaps. But the odd thing was that, in a way, she did the same thing to me. She told me of her life of excesses as a princess and she told me of her life of repentance. That’s what I meant when I said we told each other our stories. As much as I wanted her to understand my life, it seemed she wanted me to understand hers as well.”

“So… did you come to understand her?”

“Vladimir, my friend, I came to much more than that-I came to love her.”

“As did everyone, apparently.” Vladimir glanced at a large brick wall some fifty paces away, then turned quickly back, saying, “You said something about how the most interesting thing she told you was also the strangest. What was that?”

For a while Pavel said nothing. He remembered how kindly she’d said it, even naively. How wrong she’d been.

“Well,” began Pavel, wiping a tear from his eye, “when we’d finished our stories-this was that last night, just hours before her… her end-she looked up at me and she said…”

“You know, Pavel, you and I really aren’t so very different.”

I looked at her sitting across from me, pulled my rifle over my shoulder, and laughed. “What in the devil do you mean by that?”

“Well, the two of us, you and I, have been working and traveling toward the same goal, albeit on very different paths.”

“Yes, but…”

With a twinkle in her eye, she said, “Trust me, for if we look into the life of every human being we discover that it is indeed full of miracles.”

Vladimir exclaimed, “Really? She said that?”

“Yes, but she was wrong. She was wrong about everything. While she was traveling a path of charity in the hope of redemption of all people, I was following a dark path of anger with one and only one goal: revenge.”

With a wide gesture, Vladimir said, “You know she was here, don’t you, that she visited this place?”

“What? The Grand Duchess Elisavyeta Fyodorovna came all the way up here to these lost islands in the White Sea? You’re kidding me. I had no idea.”

“Yes, she was here. One of the great pleasures she took in her religious life was visiting as many monasteries and holy sites as she could.” Motioning over his shoulder toward the crumbling onion domes of the Cathedral of the Holy Trinity, Vladimir said, “Yes, before… before that cathedral was converted to our camp toilet, she prayed there inside. You should have seen this place then, back before the Revolution. When this was still a working monastery, it was a masterpiece of Orthodoxy-of its architecture, of its righteous isolation, and most certainly of its faith. In this harsh climate and on these stony islands people found true faith, I tell you. Thousands of pilgrims came here, including her, Matushka. In fact, she came all this way with Prince Feliks Yusupov to pray for a successful end to the war.”

“No wonder fate has brought me here.”

And that realization, rather than making Pavel bitter, warmed him in a very real way. Perhaps there was a plan, perhaps it was in fact not the revolutionary committee that had ordered him here but her spirit so that they might meet again in a better world. Pavel glanced over at the decrepit cathedral and of what was left of the old Church of Saint Onufry. Then he looked toward the monastery’s old cemetery, which had been all dug up, coffin after coffin dumped out, the holy relics of revered saints spread over the earth.

And then his eye was caught by the faintest of blue in the dark night sky. It would be morning before too long. He had not much time left, for his solemn change of lodging would come with the first light.

“My friend,” said Pavel, “I need to tell you the rest. I must… I must, for of course I was with Matushka right up until the very last minutes of her life.” His head fell. “But how do I tell you, how do I make you understand, when for me there is no understanding at all?”

“Go on, my son, and perhaps you’ll find what is needed.” He took a deep breath, gathered the strength he needed to push through, saying, “Well, as I told you, because of the killings I had done, because of how much I had done for the Revolution, I had some good connections. And that is why I was able to get the transfer I needed. They arrested her that spring and sent her to Siberia, eventually imprisoning her with five other Romanovs and a few of their retainers in the former Napolnaya School there in the town of Alapayevsk. It was a small brick building, built on a field on the edge of town, and because of my connection I was able to get myself sent there. I explained how I had helped kill one Romanov-her husband-and I was ready to kill more. They needed someone to carry out a difficult job, and they knew I could do it. I had proven myself. And I arrived there toward the end of June and was immediately assigned as one of the guards. Immediately we made things more difficult for them. We took almost everything from them-their money and gold, of course, but also their clothes and shoes, linens and pillows. We left them with, I think, just the clothes they were wearing and one pair of shoes. Also, all the retainers were sent away-only two were kept, Nun Varvara, who was Matushka’s cell attendant, and a servant named Fyodor Remez, who served one of the grand dukes, the older one. From that time forward, I was involved in the planning of the events of July 17.”

Vladimir said, “So tell me of that night.”

“Well, we had already told the prisoners that because of disturbances they were going to be transferred to the Upper Sinyachikhensky Works. We said this was for their own safety, since the Whites were approaching and there would be fighting. Usually they ate at seven in the evening, but we told the cook, Krivova, to speed things up. The grand dukes were fed some horseflesh stew, but the Grand Duchess had received special permission for other foods-she didn’t eat meat-so she got milk and some boiled turnips and she ate in her room, just like she always did. In those last weeks she spent much of her time alone in there, either drawing or praying. Mostly praying. It was the corner room and it was very plain, just two iron beds with hard mattresses and no pillows. She shared the room with Nun Varvara. And so later that evening…”

I looked at the clock, saw that it was almost eleven, which was the time for us to begin. With a nod to Yuri, one of the other guards, a big, strapping comrade with dark hair, we started down the corridor and went into her room. Both Matushka and her cell attendant, Nun Varvara, were there, kneeling and praying before an icon of The Mother of God.

“It’s time for us to move you to a safer place,” I said.

I kept my voice calm and low because I didn’t want to excite or scare them. We needed to quietly take them out of town so as not to attract attention, for our instructions direct from Moscow were to dispose of them secretly. No one was supposed to find out.

The two women quickly finished a prayer, and then rose to their feet, their gray robes flowing to the floor. I looked at them, this tall, pretty Romanov woman dressed from head to foot in her religious clothing, and her short, devoted friend, and I felt a kind of sorrow for them. They didn’t know what I did, what was to happen tonight, or at least they didn’t know exactly how it was to come to pass. In any case, they had no idea what had happened just the night before-that not too far away in the town of Yekaterinburg the ex-tsar, the ex-tsaritsa, all of their five children, and four attendants had been shot to death in a small basement room.

Matushka said, “We don’t have many things-shall we bring them with us?”

“No, we need to move quickly tonight. Your things will be brought to you tomorrow,” I lied.

Her eyes held mine, searching for the truth. And I was sure she found it. She and I had talked so much these last days, I had told her so much of my life, so she knew how to read me. Yes, in my eyes she saw the truth of what was to come.

“Please, follow me,” I said, heading out of the room.

Earlier I had told the other guards that I wanted to take the Romanov woman and her attendant first because they would be easiest and not rile the others. In truth, I wanted to take them at the start because I didn’t want Matushka to get upset, I didn’t want to have to shoot her or her friend there in the school. That was the least I owed her, to give her as much peace as possible.

“Of course,” replied Matushka.

Without any resistance or hesitation, she and the little sister followed me down the dark hall and out the back door of the school. We were very quiet. I don’t think the other five Romanov men and their one servant even heard us. They were in their two rooms at the other end of the small school and their doors were shut. Perhaps they were asleep. The plan was that they would be brought out after we left.

It was a very nice night. As soon as we stepped outside, the Grand Duchess looked up with a smile. The sky was beautiful, the stars so bright, and she stared up at the heavens for the longest while.

“What glory!” she gasped.

Yes, of course she knew.

“We have a cart out back for you,” I said, leading the way through the garden.

I led the way with Matushka, then Nun Varvara following me, and finally the guard Yuri behind us all. We passed through the rows of vegetables that Matushka and her compatriots had planted with their own hands. They had heard of the famine and cholera sweeping through Sankt Peterburg and Moscow, and so they had taken it upon themselves to plant carrots and cucumbers, even some potatoes. I was surprised by this-that they could think of the future when not even the next moment was certain-and I was surprised how much Matushka herself knew about such things. She oversaw the planting work and taught the Romanov men about working in the earth.

She now asked, “Pavel, do you think we’ll be back to eat from our garden?”

Of course I knew the answer. Of course it was no. But at first I didn’t know what to say, how to reply.

I managed only to mutter, “I… I don’t know.”

“Well, if not, make sure it goes to some needy family, will you?”

“Certainly.”

From the back of the garden we passed through a grove of apple trees, and there, just after that, we came to a small horse and cart. A comrade I’d never before seen stood there, holding the horse by its bridle. All was just as we had planned, and in the back of the cart I found two pieces of material and two pieces of rope.

“We’re taking you to a secret place so we need to cover your eyes,” I said kind of like it was nothing.

Neither of the women said anything. They were so docile. So accepting. Like lambs. They did nothing as Yuri and I took the cotton material and tied it around their eyes, blindfolding them. In fact, they even bowed their heads to make it easier for us. They did nothing, either, as we took the rope and tied their hands behind their backs.

“We are going to seat you in the back of this cart,” I said, explaining. “My comrade and I will sit up front.”

That was all I said, and calmly, easily, they let us help them up into the back of the small cart. I showed them the seat in the back, and Matushka and her Nun Varvara sat down. It was kind of awkward, and when Nun Varvara blindly stepped on the hem of her own robes, I helped her, I lifted up her garments to make it easier.

“Spasibo.” Thank you, she said in clear appreciation.

Yuri and I climbed up in the front of the cart, and the comrade who had been standing there released the horse and saluted us a farewell. Off we went into the darkness, following a narrow dirt lane that passed from the edge of town and into the fields. The old horse pulling us seemed to know the way. Once I looked back and saw Matushka raising her head.

“The air smells so delicious,” she said, delicately sniffing the air, “just like wild strawberries.”

And, yes, there was a sweetness wafting about us. I hadn’t noticed it.

“Wild mushrooms, too,” I added.

“Oh, yes… you’re quite right, Pavel. There’s such a soft, loamy smell,” said Matushka, carefully smelling the air. “We must be nearing a woods.”

“Just ahead.”

Within a few moments we reached a forest and there, in the trees, we waited for the others. It was decided that we would do this, leave town in small groups rather than one big one, and gather there in the woods. The hope was that this way we would be less noticeable. If all of us left together someone might notice and an alarm might be sounded.

“We will wait for the others here,” I said.

Sure enough, about ten minutes later the next cart arrived, carrying two of the Konstantini brothers-Prince Igor and Prince Konstantin. They too were blindfolded, and their hands were likewise tied behind their backs. Not too long after that came a third cart carrying two more, Prince Ioann and the young poet, Prince Vladimir. After them came the last of our prisoners, Grand Duke Sergei Mikhailovich and his servant Fyodor Remez. All of them were blindfolded and their hands bound behind their backs, but I noticed that the Grand Duke’s arm had been bound up with something.