Valerie's Russia by Sara Judge

Author:Sara Judge [Sara Judge]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780719815065
Publisher: Robert Hale
Published: 2014-03-03T16:00:00+00:00

Easter, as Pyotr had informed Valerie, was another occasion she would never forget. Although she was a parson’s daughter and had always thought her father a deeply religious man, he was not as devout as Empress Alexandra.

They arrived in the Crimea on the Saturday before Palm Sunday, and the Empress attended services in the chapel twice a day in Holy Week.

‘We don’t go quite so often,’ Olga told Valerie, ‘and you needn’t come with us as you are not of the Orthodox Russian faith. But please come on Holy Thursday, as that is a very special day for us.’

Happily Valerie agreed to accompany them and, although she couldn’t understand what was being said during the service, she loved the musical sound of the Russian language in her ears, and the smell of incense in her nostrils.

From every corner of the church golden icons glittered in the candle-light and from the iconostasis, the high screen before the altar, diamonds and emeralds and rubies blazed out their fabulous wealth. Yet peasant women wearing simple cotton headscarves were standing next to court officials and their wives, and Valerie felt very content in the atmosphere of such deep faith, and the drawing together of people from such different walks of life.

On Easter Eve there was a procession with candles all through the courts of Livadia Palace led by the priest, Father Agathon, who looked remarkably like Grigorii Rasputin. He wore his black hair long on his shoulders and also possessed a full black beard.

But there were no black robes nor long black boots for Father Agathon. Instead, he wore a magnificent coat embroidered with silver and gold, and was almost enveloped in a cloud of blue smoke from the swaying censer in his hand.

To Valerie’s surprise, and joy, Pyotr slipped into step beside her carrying a candle in his right hand.

‘Wait and see what happens when we reach the church, Varinka,’ he said.

Olga and her family were right up at the front of the procession so Valerie, following some distance behind them and surrounded by strangers, was delighted to have Pyotr beside her.

Like a river of light the mass of people wound its way between marble columns and across tiled courtyards, until it reached the door of the chapel. Father Agathon looked inside and, finding it empty, turned to face the crowd of expectant people behind him. With a great cry of triumph he shouted into the warm night air.

‘Khristos Voskrese!’

Tears stung Valerie’s eyes at the sound of exultation in his voice, and excitement rose in her heart. She knew what those words meant. Christ is risen!

Then a huge roar went up all around her as the people replied.

‘Voistinu Voskrese!’

Through her tears, Valerie muttered – ‘He is risen indeed.’

Easter had never been like this during her father’s austere, rather stern services. Was it because her own people lacked the vibrant, passionate, almost gypsy-like character of the Russian folk? There was warmth in their voices and in their enraptured faces, which awakened strong emotions within

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