Soon after the bombing the Tsar moved Stolypin and his entire family into the Winter Palace, placing them behind the tall iron gates and thick doors of the imperial home. They hid them there, the best soldiers guarding them day and night, and each time the Minister left the Palace he snuck out a different door, and with great secrecy too. As for the exercise and fresh air that Mr. Minister Stolypin so greatly craved, he was forced to pace the paths laid up there on the roof of the Winter Palace, and I think I once saw him up top, going around and around among the decorations along the edges of the roof.
Because of our failure to kill him, the hangman Minister lived and pressed on, more determined than ever to string up as many members of our Organization as he could, and he nearly succeeded in this, nearly wiped us out completely. Unfortunately, we did not succeed in assassinating him for another five years, not until 1911, when one of ours, the Jew named Bogrov, shot Stolypin with a Browning revolver at the Kiev Opera House, there in the presence of the Emperor.
That finally brought the end to “Stolypin’s neckties” and to his reforms, and in this way we hoped to speed up the struggle of the Oppressed.
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.