Metropolitan Vitaly (Ustinov): Recollections of Russia

 

I was born in 1910. In other words, during the first seven years of my life I still knew Imperial Russia. I remember it in detail, and above all I remember its spirit. I cannot describe exactly what I felt or what remained in the depths of my soul. But I know one thing: in the time of the Tsar, everything was peaceful and devout. Sometimes, when you went out into the garden, you would hear the pealing of the church bells. The soul felt so good and sweet, as though heaven were descending to earth, and one sensed an incomprehensible, profound peace. I remember all this not so much with ordinary memory as with the memory of the heart.

We “well-born” children were forbidden to go out into the street by ourselves. Only hooligans ran about in the streets, and we were not allowed to mix with those boys, since we were of noble birth. In Russia this distinction was very clearly observed, and no one took offense at it. It was an unwritten law. For us, of course, this was a temptation: precisely because it was forbidden, we were drawn to it. Sometimes you would look out onto the street and watch the people, the carriages, and so on. And so, one Sunday morning, I opened the gate and saw an old woman approaching, holding a little girl by the hand, probably her granddaughter. I now understand that they were on their way to church for the early Liturgy. The little girl and I waved to each other for a long time. There were various little secluded corners in the garden, among the bushes and flowerbeds, where one could climb in and hide. Sitting down in a place like that, you would experience something you could not quite explain yourself—above all, a sense of peace and stillness.

My dearest memory is of the visit of Sovereign Nicholas II and his family to Sevastopol. It was a genuine celebration. Flags were displayed on every house. A general sense of excitement could be felt in the air. I remember how the Empress and her daughters walked from the cathedral to the hospital. The younger one, Anastasia, kept having her stocking slip down, and she was constantly pulling it up. A soldier was carrying me on his shoulders, and I called out to her: “Your stocking is falling down, your stocking is falling down!” She looked at me, smiled, and waved her little hand at me. Now she is a martyr for our sins.

At that time the Sovereign himself, together with the Heir, was visiting the cruisers. While the Sovereign was speaking with the officers, the Tsarevich was going from one ship to another. The sailors’ cries of “Hurrah! Hurrah!” as they greeted the boy could be heard from far away. The Sovereign noticed this and, when he was told what was happening, he ordered that the Heir should not respond. Poor Alexei was terribly upset when his greeting to the sailors went unanswered. He was almost in tears. Then all the sailors answered him. After that, the Sovereign ordered that he be brought to him, and that was the end of the matter.

I remember that unforgettable contrast when the Revolution broke out. Everything changed. The very sky changed. A mysterious fear came over everyone. Everyone lost their peace of soul. People began to behave irritably. New songs appeared that we had never heard before, and they were so vulgar that I will not even repeat them—so repulsive was it all, so base and vulgar. Vulgarity, in general, appeared everywhere. I had a nanny with whom I often went into town. That day my nanny was going to the post office, and I went with her. At the same time, a Red Bolshevik demonstration was marching down the same street, singing: “Arise, rise up, working people...!” When they passed us, I clutched my nanny’s skirt and said fearfully: “Nanny, nanny, look, they are all wicked, they are all wicked!” You could see it in their eyes. You could see it in the way they walked. They were no longer really people at all, but evildoers. A child understands this with the penetrating perception of the heart. One must always be careful with children, because they understand far more than we think. This intuitive perception in children disappears as they grow up and enter into life, but while it remains in them it is something very precious. Thus, both my sister and I possessed what might be called the “discernment of spirits.”

At our house, evening gatherings were held quite often, to which officers and their wives and others were invited. They always tried to put us children to bed, but of course they never succeeded, because we were far more interested in the guests and the refreshments than in sleep. As we watched the guests, we would give them nicknames, and with such keen accuracy that, as the saying goes, they hit not merely the eyebrow but the eye. There was one rather stout naval officer whom we nicknamed “Boomchik.” We were very fond of him, despite being convinced that it was he who had broken one of our armchairs. In general, we did this sort of thing often and with remarkable success—so successfully, in fact, that Mother would marvel and say, “Where do you get this from?”

The Russian Revolution was an uprising of the Russian boor. I remember that at that time it was dangerous for an educated person to appear in the street. Bands of Black Sea sailors roamed about, and they were proclaimed “heroes of the Revolution,” because the Revolution had begun precisely with the sailors of the Black Sea Fleet. People belonging to the educated, scholarly class, when going out into the street, would put on dirty caps and their most worn-out suits. All this was done simply so as not to look like educated people. I remember how my uncle borrowed a dirty cap from the porter, together with a torn, patched jacket, and only dressed like that did he dare to go out into the street.

I was brought up well. Ours was a female household: my grandmother, my mother, her sister (Aunt Zhuka), my nanny, the cook, the maid, and my sister. My grandmother was the widow of a general. Her husband had been General Stopchansky of the Gendarmerie, who served in the Caucasus and, while there, learned all the local languages and became a highly valued man. In her youth, Grandmother had graduated from the Smolny Institute, and at a certain point fate took her to the Caucasus, where she was to educate Caucasian girls who, until then, supposedly did not know how to conduct themselves in a genteel manner. There Grandmother met and married the future General Stopchansky. They had many children, scattered throughout Russia. When Grandfather died, he was placed in a double coffin, and they waited until the whole family had gathered for the funeral. Everyone loved Grandmother and, above all, respected her. She was the “matriarch” of the entire family. Once a year all her sons would come to visit her, naturally bringing gifts, which my sister and I eagerly awaited.

Grandmother graduated from the Smolny Institute with an excellent command of German. The Institute educated young ladies, invariably of noble birth, each of whom, according to her choice, was required to speak and write fluently in one of the European languages—that is, German, French, or English. Once, when the Germans were occupying Sevastopol, our porter came to Grandmother and asked her to go and speak with the Germans who had stationed themselves in our courtyard. Grandmother drew herself up to her full height and said in a firm voice: “I do not speak with the enemies of my Emperor.” By this she showed that in her heart the Emperor was still alive, despite the fact that the Bolsheviks had killed him. And that was the end of the matter.

By that time the war with Germany had almost completely ceased, and the German army had reached the Crimea itself. In fact, it was the Germans who saved us from the Bolsheviks, who had appointed a “St. Bartholomew’s Night” for the complete extermination of the entire cultured and educated Russian class. They had also ordered that the children be killed, because, as they said, when they grew up they would take revenge on them, the Communists. We children were hidden in sheds and cellars. One fine morning we heard artillery fire, and after a while, to our great astonishment, soldiers on bicycles began riding past our house. They turned out to be Germans who had occupied Sevastopol. Thus the Bolsheviks fled to save their own skins. Next to our house stood a German Lutheran church, where, with the help of its pastor, about twenty Russian officers were hiding.

Yes, Sevastopol is my native city, and I know it inside and out. We lived at No. 55 Chesmensky Street. It is one of the city’s main streets and runs from Count’s Quay to the Historical Boulevard. On the Feast of Theophany, the waters were blessed at Count’s Quay, and at that time the cruisers would fire blank rounds in order to draw everyone’s attention to this great feast. The Historical Boulevard was remarkable. There stood the famous panorama of the Crimean Campaign. Beside the panorama was the so-called “boletus mushroom,” made of reinforced concrete and so enormous that, whenever it rained, people would take shelter beneath it.

Once a year, after Christmas, the naval officers would hold a Christmas-tree celebration for their children at the Naval Assembly. It was an unforgettable event. There were three large halls. In the first hall there were only refreshments—cakes, sweets, and so on. In the next hall there was a theater. The performance was Little Red Riding Hood. In the last hall stood an enormous Christmas tree. There were games for the children and a lottery in which everyone won a prize. One side was for the boys and the other for the girls. Tall shelves were piled high with gifts, and from each gift ran a long string leading into a common heap. Each child had the right to pull any string and receive the prize to which that string was attached. One of the prizes was a ship, and I very much wanted to win it. Of course, I did not, but instead I won a very beautiful set of skittles representing twelve bogatyrs, together with two balls for knocking them down. For my sister, who, as always, was ill, I drew a black doll. In all this one could sense that boundless expansiveness so characteristic of Russia. But before long, ominous clouds of revolution began to gather over our homeland, and slowly but surely everything began to change for the worse.

Another interesting moment comes to mind. My mother and her sister returned from town. They had gone there to buy various little “treats” for tea. Before leaving, they had told the cook to put on the samovar. When they returned home, Mother and my aunt busied themselves with preparing the tea and casually tossed the newspaper onto the table. I remember distinctly how Grandmother put on her glasses, picked up the newspaper, and said these words: “This is the end of Russia!” On the front page, in large letters, it was announced that the Sovereign had abdicated the throne. When she said those words, I pressed myself against her, and a mystical fear came over me. Grandmother, as the widow of an old Russian general, simply breathed Russia and, of course, understood everything correctly. She rarely expressed her feelings, but when she did speak, she hit not merely the eyebrow but right in the eye.

There you have old Russia—and what do we have now? There were men and women of lofty principles. It was impossible to break them. They could only be killed, and that was the end of it. That was the real Russia, and the Communists destroyed sixty million of the best Russian people. History will not forget this.

 

Translated from the original Russian.