before the Lord to His glory.”
The very next day, Metropolitan Vladimir of Moscow, who had always been my supporter, came, and during Divine Liturgy he elevated me to the position of Abbess. From that day on I was known to all as Matushka Yelisaveta-Mother Elisabeth.
And our community flourished.
Chapter 30 PAVEL
We finally got rid of this Mr. Minister Stolypin, but the truth, we soon realized, was that killing him really didn’t help the Organization or the cause. By then it was too late, and I have forever felt guilty for this, that I didn’t try to kill him with my own bare hands that day he survived the bombing of his dacha. Simply, by the time one of ours shot him at the Kiev Opera, Mr. Bloodsucking Minister had already killed too many of us, some said as many as two or three thousand revolutionaries strung up all across the country. In that way, by the year 1911 we had become an army with not enough soldiers.
But what was strange, what bothered me most, was how quiet things had got. In short, the anger of the people was not like it used to be. The strikes had stopped. There were no more marches. And the people were no longer screaming for food. It turned out that the so-called reforms of this Mr. Minister had begun to work. I heard more and more about peasants even way out there in the back of beyond who owned land for the very first time, and I even heard about a new kind of peasant, the kulak, who not only owned big tracts but could afford to hire people to work for him. In the cities, too, you could see the prosperity, and not just on the street where merchants were driving carriages with four horses, just like real nobles. No, you could see it in the air, too, smell it even, for the factories were belching smoke day and night. Sure, Russia was booming in a way no one had ever seen, which meant, much to our horror, Mr. Minister Stolypin had done it, defeated the oppressed and saved Russia for the capitalist hounds. He and he alone had relieved the pressure, for he had successfully let the steam out of that boiling cauldron which had been so ripe and ready to explode.
Poor Russian slobs, they were happy with so little. They had been thirsty and Stolypin had seen to it that they got a drop, and this single drop had been enough to satisfy them. Who would have guessed that in the end the beaten-down peasant could be so loyal to the Tsar?
I know my comrades had wanted to bypass capitalism altogether, to go straight from the chains of autocracy to the freedoms of socialism and even all the way to Communism in one single leap. That was the goal. Now, however, they licked their wounds by saying perhaps it would be necessary to pass first through the hellish fires of capitalism before true Communism could be built, such was the natural progression.
All I knew was that within a few short years my comrades were either dead, sent off to prison in Siberia, or packing their bags and heading abroad. One of my last comrades, an educated guy who had in his day killed seven or eight government officials and blown up three banks, packed up and took a boat all the way to America.
The last I heard he had changed his name and was teaching mathematics at a university in some northern city called Dakota.
Chapter 31 ELLA
All were surprised at how quickly we grew-all except me, for I had long sensed the need to reach out and knew how well we would be received. There was much suffering in Moscow and so many who needed our help, which my sisters gave with boundless joy and love. I had long felt that Moscow was the hope of Russia, and wealthy Muscovites, long wanting to help, opened up their hearts to us, giving of money and materials to a most generous extent. Yes, our success spawned more success, and was felt by all, for while my community was part of the old Russia, we belonged at the same time to the new Russia, with our new interests and new ideals, not to mention our young sisters, who were so full of energy and strength.
Such was the need that soon my obitel quickly grew to thirty sisters, and within three years’ time there were 97 of us serving in many obediences. Some were employed at the apothecary shop that provided free medicaments to the poor, others at our hospital that had an operating theater and twenty-two beds and which itself was served by thirty-four doctors who could be called at a moment’s notice, still others could be found in the kitchen, bakery, refectory, or the administrative office, and in many other areas as well. Each and every day we served over 300 meals to poor working mothers, and, too, there was my orphanage for girls. Also, I had recently established a home for beggar boys, where they were bathed and clothed and fed, and then apprenticed as messenger boys-these little chaps with red bands around their caps could be seen delivering letters all about town or standing outside Moscow’s best stores, taking parcels from fine ladies and delivering them to their homes. I was most proud of them and hoped so dearly for their bright futures. We taught them how to read and kept close attention to their development so as not to lose their souls.
In short, we grew tremendously, our operating theater became known as the best in the city, and every day my community was full of useful activity. I was determined that though I and my sisters had taken the veil, we would not be dead to the world, and in 1913 alone we saw almost 11,000 patients in our outpatient clinic, and more than 12,000 petitions came across my desk. I personally went over each and every petition, of course, and with my work at the hospital and elsewhere, not to mention prayers, I found not much time or need for sleep.
We had then at our hospital a most horridly burned cook, injured when an oil stove had spilt all over her. From head to foot nearly her entire body was covered with burns, and gangrene had set in by the time she reached us-that such a dire case was brought to us wasn’t surprising since we were often given the most hopeless cases. I knew that there were those who quietly said it might be better if the poor suffering woman passed from this world, but my reply to that was, “God willing, she will not die here.” So determined was I that I personally changed her bandages twice a day, which took well over two hours each time. Oh, the poor creature, she really was in such pain. The change of bandaging was hideously uncomfortable for her, and she cried out at the slightest touch, yet we dared not chloroform her, so close to death was she. Too, the stench of gangrene was unbearable for nearly all, so penetrating that after each session I had to remove my garments and have them aired.
I had just changed into fresh robes after one such session when Nun Varvara came to me, quietly saying, “Matushka, there is a woman from America to see you.”
“Ah, yes, that would be Mrs. Dorr, the journalist.”
“A woman working as a journalist?” asked Nun Varvara, unable to hide her surprise.
“Yes, and why not? She has written at length about woman’s suffrage all across America and Europe, and she has come to tell me about some model education plan in the American city of Gary.”
“I see. And how is our patient, the cook?”
“She suffers greatly, but I sense improvement already. Mark my words, we will be singing a Te Deum to her within a month’s time.”
“Slava bogu.” Thanks to God, said Nun Varvara, crossing herself.
A few minutes later I went to my parlor and found a woman standing there. Her dress was pale blue and her hair brown, and one couldn’t help sensing her determined but pleasant air. Admiring a bunch of my favorite flowers, white lilies, which were arranged in a vase, she stood near my desk, which was piled with papers.
Entering the bright room, in English I said, “I am so happy to find that I have time to meet you today, Mrs. Dorr.”
“Your Highness speaks English?” said the woman, turning to me, her eyes wide with astonishment. “I thought we might be conducting the interview in French.”
“Well, my mother was English, after all.”
“Forgive me, I had forgotten.”
Motioning her to sit, I added, “I welcome any opportunity to speak English, because if one is wholly Russian, as I am, and especially if one is Orthodox, one hears hardly anything except Russian or French. When I was a child I always spoke English to my mother, and German to my father, such were the ways of our household.” My furniture of English willow creaked loudly as we sat down, and I asked, “Tell me, what do you think of my
