As I dare to speak, I feel trepidation, fearing that I may disrupt the quiet mourning of the Tsarina-Mother or disturb the final silence of the Tsarina-Daughter, who, even amid the splendor of one of the most renowned royal families, found solace in silence during particularly glorious times. And yet, I believe that the prayerful word aligns with this silence, breathing life into it. From the Psalmist, I draw hope that in my meditative reflection, although tinged with sorrow, I may discover solace for my grief. “Hear my prayer, O Lord, and inspire my supplication; do not be silent to my tears." Who offers such a poignant prayer to the Lord? The Psalmist tells us it was David. But what anguish led him to such bitter sorrow? The Psalm itself offers no clear resolution. No guilt is evident to justify his suffering; rather, he who strives to “keep his ways, that he may not sin even with his tongue” (Psalm 38:2) finds himself in misery. “I am a stranger and a traveler with You, as were all my forebears,” continues the King of Israel's prayer. Yet, is not the entirety of the kingdom in some manner the home and family of the King? What depth of inner longing must exist for the King to view not only his home but his entire realm as foreign, standing alone, an outsider, a wanderer! Ultimately, the grieving King calls out to God: “Set me free, that I may find rest, before my time comes, and yet to this I cannot consent.” What profound loss! He does not seek joy or prosperity; he pleads to be liberated from his sorrow, to find rest from his anguish: “Set me free; grant me peace.” He no longer finds joy in life’s continuance; he longs instead for the quietude of his final moments: “I will rest, I will not even leave, thus I shall not disappear.” Contemplating this grave state, and feeling a disconnect from such misfortunes, the heart aches; it strikes me that this condition belonged to a man who was neither forsaken by God nor unloved by Him, even as he prayed in the Holy Spirit—this thought, astonished and disoriented, like a vessel adrift, encounters the abyss of fate, enshrouded in the darkness of the incomprehensible. Let us not allow ourselves to drift aimlessly or to be consumed by unnecessary worry. There exists a haven of faith, perpetually open and close at hand for those in distress; an anchor of hope that can secure both small vessels and large ships alike in safety.
What is the fate that brings trials, tribulations, and sorrows even upon those who are pious and virtuous? It is nothing other than the fate borne of divine love: “For whom the Lord loves, He chastens” (Hebrews 12:6). Why, then, are noble and elevated spirits often more susceptible to affliction than those of lesser status—so that neither the façade of visible happiness marked by lineage or status, nor the anxious care of the tenderest loved ones, can shield them from the blows of the unseen hand? Such trials befall exalted souls precisely because they are exalted; they are as precious as gold and beloved by God like an offering of choice. “For the Lord shall refine them, and find them worthy of Himself; as gold in the furnace, so shall I test them, and as the sweetest fruit of the sacrifice shall I delight in them” (Prem. 3:5-6). But what is the nature of things when the finest souls undergo such severe trials? It mirrors the process of gold being placed in the crucible, or a sacrifice laid upon the altar. The gold emerges pure; the sacrifice brings forth grace; through the flames of suffering, the tested soul radiates purity, ultimately reaching bliss: “when the time of their visitation arrives, they shall shine” (Prem. 3:7).
After this contemplation, it becomes somewhat easier for me to address a topic that weighs upon the heart so heavily. A sovereign lady, whose intelligence and character were as refined as her royal standing—whose intellect illuminated even through her cherished silence—whose heart, meek and compassionate, displayed her true nature to those who suffered and sought solace; she extended her kindness to those engaged in altruistic endeavors, often in obscurity. In the most challenging trials, she did not falter but drew on unexpected strength for daunting tasks, as when her husband fell ill, overcoming her own frailty and sorrow, standing vigil at the side of the ailing. Was not such a soul deserving of every happiness this earth could offer? And was she not surrounded by the means of happiness according to her worth? Oh! If her esteemed spouse had traversed all obstacles to journey to her side to bring healing or, at the very least, comfort in her grave illness—if the most noble Mother had crossed vast distances, tearing herself from her own maternal duties just to share with her the joy of love during her prolonged suffering—what lengths would Alexander and Mary not have gone to secure lasting, uninterrupted happiness for Elizabeth? Perhaps nature, upbringing, or the longing for offspring, especially the deficiency of children corresponding to royal expectations, planted in her heart a hidden, disease-inducing seed of melancholy. This unfulfilled desire, compounded by the pain of short-lived births, long ago sowed despair within her spirit. The catastrophic flood in the Capital quenched this seed; the extraordinarily stirred sorrow of compassion turned into a physical ailment of the heart. Within the heart of the Spouse, the truest remedy lay for her affliction; yet, the very life that nourished her fading spirit suddenly diminished, leaving her in the land of solitude, akin to twilight that fades behind clouds, abandoning an exhausted traveler in a shadowy wilderness. Blessed is the might of faith! Only its celestial fire could stave off the chill of death as it swiftly approached a heart that was drawing near to the grave, while love was leading Alexander toward the coffin. The kindness of his brother and successor inspired him to shield and comfort his grieving widow and, if possible, to restore her to the embrace of family. From the distant city to where she had been exiled, her journey home commenced. On this path, like a guiding star appearing after sunset, a new spark of life—the hope of consolation from the heart of Mother Alexander—illuminated her way. The traveler hastens toward this longed-for light, summoning the remnants of her strength, outstretching her arms; the gracious Mother reciprocates. Reach those life-giving embraces; rest, albeit briefly, within them, Elizabeth, burdened by both corporeal and mental anguish! Alas, the embrace proves futile; Elizabeth does not find the solace she anticipated in her Mother’s arms, but instead in the peace awaiting her purified soul in the arms of the Father of the pure in heart. Without completing her earthly journey, she entered her eternal home, from which no one returns: “She is gone, and there shall be no more.” We do not interrupt Your unchangeable will, accomplished in Your crowned servant, the Pious Empress Elisabeth, on this earth; yet we pray, with boldness of hope, that Your good and eternally blessed will may be enacted for her in heaven. Crowned here with majesty and patience, bestow upon her there an abundance of glory, that she who endured earthly suffering in silence may at last proclaim in heavenly joy the blessed mystery of her trials: “In the multitude of my anxieties within me, Your comforts delight my soul” (Psalm 93:19).
Yet, not the soul of a solitary royal suffers; the entire House of the Tsars, the entire Russian Kingdom, cries out to You, King of Kings: “Set me free, that I may find rest!” Our hearts have yet to recover from past sorrows, as new grief has come upon us. Throughout our land, from border to border, from city to city, the pathways of mourning are laid bare. Grant, O Lord, that your wrath may cease from us; let our hearts find peace before You. Enough has been the triumph of death and sadness; bestow triumphs of life and joy upon the brave successor of Alexander, upon his noble House, and upon Russia. Amen.
THEOSIS