Robert Alexander: The Romanov Bride

“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.