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.
