The Life of Boyaryna Morozova

On the 2nd day of November. A brief account of the valor, courage, elegant testimony, and patient suffering of the newly-revealed great martyr, the noblewoman Feodosiya Prokopievna, who in monasticism was named Feodora, and by her earthly fame called Morozova; together with her only sister and fellow-sufferer, the pious princess Evdokia, and their third companion in bonds, Maria.

This blessed and ever-memorable woman was born to noble and devout parents. Her father was Prokopiy, a senator of the reigning city of Moscow, from the family of Sokovnin; her mother was Anisiya. Both were faithful Christians who feared God. When she reached the age of seventeen, her parents married her to the boyar Gleb Ivanovich Morozov. She became a mother and gave birth to a son, who was named Ivan after a vision of the great wonder-worker Sergius.

Gleb’s brother, Boris Ivanovich Morozov, loved his sister-in-law Feodosiya with a deep spiritual love. Whenever she visited his house, he himself would come out to greet her warmly and say: “Come in, my spiritual friend! Come in, joy of my soul!” They would sit together for many hours, speaking only of spiritual matters. When she left, he would escort her and say: “Today I have tasted something sweeter than honey from your soul-strengthening words.”

After living only a few years in marriage, she was widowed and left with her young orphan son Ivan. She was instructed in the virtuous life and the true doctrines by the holy martyr and archpriest Avvakum. As soon as she learned the truth about Orthodoxy, she burned with zeal for it and turned away completely from everything corrupted.

By order of the Tsar, emissaries were sent to her: Joachim, archimandrite of the Chudov Monastery, and Peter the key-keeper. She stood firm in her testimony and thoroughly shamed them. Because of her public exposure, the old form of the cross on the communion bread was abolished throughout all Russia, and half her estates were taken from her. Yet no matter how much she suffered, she refused under any circumstances to abandon her piety; she was ready to die for the truth. Thanks to the intercession of Tsaritsa Maria, who was very kind to her and loved her for her virtue, she received a brief reprieve after this trial.

Afterward she gave away huge amounts in charity: she distributed much of her wealth to the poor, redeemed many people from debt-collectors, gave generous support to monasteries, supplied churches with everything they needed, provided for desert hermits, and even cared for lepers in her own home.

Later, through the confessor Father Trifiliy, she heard about a reverent nun named Melania. She summoned her, listened to her words, loved her deeply, and chose her as her spiritual mother. In humility for Christ’s sake, Feodosiya placed herself completely under Melania’s guidance and cut off her own will to the end. She remained an obedient disciple until her dying day, never once disobeying her elder’s commands. Guided by Melania, she finally learned to understand and fulfill every deed pleasing to God. Together they walked on foot to prisons carrying alms, and very early in the morning—like Mary Magdalene and Mary the mother of James hastening to the Lord’s tomb—they went together as a pair of doves to the Cathedral, to Chudov Monastery, and to the Lord’s Robe. There they placed the sacred robe upon themselves as worthy servants, kissed it with warm tears, and reverently kissed the relics of the wonder-workers with faithful hearts.

Feodosiya strove to fulfill God’s will in every action. She forced her body into ascetic labors, fed on fasting, flourished in prayer, trembled at the thought of death, and overflowed with tears of joy. Burned and kindled by the fire of divine love, she blazed without being consumed, for the Holy Spirit refreshed her. I do not know which virtue she neglected; above all, like a firm foundation, she held fast to the Orthodox faith, knowing full well that without faith it is impossible to please God. I boldly declare that this blessed woman could rightly cry out with the prophet of Tishbe and with the fiery-charioted Elijah: “I have been very zealous for the Lord God Almighty! For they have abandoned the catholic faith, fallen in love with Roman-Latin doctrines, killed God’s servants, and are trying to destroy the Church of God to the end.” Anyone among her relatives who clung to the Nikonians she fearlessly rebuked.

Mikhail Alekseevich Rtishchev and his daughter Anna, ardent followers of Nikon, often visited her house. They would praise Nikon and bless his reforms, testing her and hoping to shake her and bring her over to their way of thinking. They said: “Patriarch Nikon was a great and wise teacher; the faith he handed down is perfectly orderly, and it is good and beautiful to serve according to the new books.” After listening in silence, Feodosiya would open her mouth and answer: “Truly, uncle, you have been deceived. You praise God’s enemy and apostate, and you call his books—sown with Roman and all kinds of heresies—blessed. An Orthodox Christian must turn away from his books, detest all his godless innovations, and curse him in every way as an enemy of Christ’s Church.”

The gray-haired elder pressed her further: “Oh, child Feodosiya! What are you doing? Why have you separated yourself from us? Don’t you see this vineyard—the children planted here? We were supposed to look at them like young olive shoots, rejoice and celebrate together with you, eating and drinking in shared love. But now one single division has come between us! I beg you: stop this quarrel, cross yourself with three fingers, and don’t oppose the great sovereign or any of the bishops in anything else! I know perfectly well who ruined you and deceived you—that worst of enemies, the archpriest whose very name I loathe to speak because of my great hatred. You yourself know who I mean—the one for whose teaching you are ready to die. Yet I will say it: Avvakum, cursed by our bishops!”

Feodosiya, seeing the old man raging like a madman, smiled gently and answered in a quiet voice: “No, uncle, no—that’s not right. Your answer is upside-down: you call the sweet bitter and the bitter sweet. Father Avvakum is a true disciple of Christ because he suffers for the law of his Master. Anyone who truly wants to please God need only listen to his teaching.”

She said many more things like this and always fought them with unstoppable courage, and by Christ’s help she put them to shame every time.

One day Anna Mikhailovna started in again: “Dear little sister, those Belëv crones have devoured you! They swallowed your soul like a baby bird and tore you away from us! You’ve not only scorned us—you don’t even care about your only son. You have just one child, and you won’t even look at him. And what a child! Who wouldn’t marvel at his beauty? You should be watching over him while he sleeps, lighting candles of the purest wax, burning a lamp above that lovely face, gazing at his handsome features and rejoicing that God gave you such a precious boy. The Tsar himself and the Tsaritsa have often marveled at his beauty, yet you treat him as nothing and refuse to obey the great sovereign. What if, because of your defiance, the Tsar’s fiery wrath falls on you and your house? What if he orders your home plundered? Then you’ll suffer greatly and make your own son a beggar through your hard-heartedness.”

Feodosiya opened her holy lips and replied: “You’re the one speaking falsehood! I was not deceived by those Belëv nuns, as you claim. By the grace of my Savior I worship God the Father with my whole mind. I love Ivan; I pray for him without ceasing and care for everything that is good for his soul and body. But if you think that for Ivan’s sake I would wound my own soul or, out of pity for my son, abandon piety—” She crossed herself with the two-fingered sign and continued, “May the Son of God preserve me from such unworthy tenderness! I will not—I will not ruin myself to spare my son. Even though he is my only child, I love Christ more than my son! Know this clearly: if you think you can use my son to block me from Christ’s path, you will never succeed. I tell you boldly: if you want, take my son Ivan out to the Lobnoye Mesto and throw him to the dogs to frighten me into abandoning the faith—I still will not do it. Even if I saw his beautiful body torn apart by dogs, I would not dream of betraying piety. Be certain of this: if I remain steadfast in Christ’s faith to the end and am found worthy to taste death for it, no one will ever snatch him from my hand.”

When Anna heard these words she recoiled as if struck by thunder, utterly astonished at Feodosiya’s iron courage and unshakable resolve.

Feodosiya prayed often that God would grant her sister, Princess Evdokia, the same burning love for Christ and the same care for her soul. She instructed her with great tenderness and urged her to place herself under Mother Melania’s obedience. Evdokia joyfully and eagerly begged the elder to take charge of her salvation. Melania refused for a long time, but the princess won her over with many tears and became an excellent disciple. Not only in obedience but in every virtue she emulated her elder sister Feodosiya—fasting, prayer, visiting prisoners—until one could say: two bodies, one soul.

Feodosiya now reached higher in her thoughts, longing intensely for the angelic habit. She fell at her mother’s feet, kissed her hands, bowed to the ground, and begged to be clothed in the monastic schema. Melania put it off for many reasons:

First, such a thing could not be hidden in her own house; if the Tsar found out, countless people would suffer interrogations to discover who had tonsured her.

Second, doing it secretly outside the house brought another danger.

Third, even if it stayed hidden, the time was coming for her son to marry, which would require much fuss, wedding preparations, and arrangements—things unseemly for a nun.

Fourth, once tonsured she would have to hide completely, stop even the little pretense she still kept, cease going to church altogether, and stand firm like a man to the end.

Yet Feodosiya burned with insatiable divine love and yearned for the monastic life. Seeing her immense faith, zeal, and unchangeable resolve, Melania finally consented. She asked Father Dosifei to bestow the angelic habit. He tonsured her, named her Feodora, and gave the Gospel portion to Mother Melania.

The blessed Feodora, now granted this great gift of God and seeing the longed-for angelic habit upon herself, plunged into even greater ascetic labors: stricter fasting, longer prayer, deeper silence. She withdrew completely from household affairs, claiming illness, and entrusted all legal matters to trusted servants.

When the Tsar’s wedding arrived and he took Tsaritsa Natalia, Feodora refused to attend with the other boyar ladies. Tsar Alexis took heavy offense, for she should have stood in the front rank and pronounced the ceremonial titles. He summoned her repeatedly; she refused to the end, saying, “My legs hurt terribly; I can neither walk nor stand.” The Tsar replied, “I know she has grown proud.” The real reason she stayed away was that she would have had to call the Tsar “most Orthodox,” kiss his hand, and receive the bishops’ blessing—things she could not avoid. She chose suffering over communion with them, knowing the Tsar would not let the matter drop. And so it was: all that summer he raged against her and began looking for any pretext to exile her without cause.

Toward autumn he first sent boyar Troekurov, then a month later Prince Pyotr Urusov, with stern warnings: submit, accept all the new rites, or face terrible consequences. Feodora, bold in the Lord’s name, answered the boyars: “I have done the Tsar no wrong and am amazed why his wrath falls on my lowliness. If he wants to tear me from the true faith, let him not be angry with me. Let him know plainly: until now the Son of God has protected me with His right hand; never once have I even thought of abandoning the fathers’ faith to accept Nikon’s decrees. I have chosen this: in the Christian faith into which I was born and baptized according to apostolic tradition, in that faith I wish to die. Let the sovereign stop troubling his poor servant; it is utterly impossible for me ever to renounce our Orthodox faith, confirmed by the seven ecumenical councils—as I have told him many times before.”

The envoys returned and reported her fearless words. The Tsar’s anger blazed hotter; he wanted to crush her and said to those around him: “It will be hard for her to fight me—one of us will surely prevail!”

He held council after council with his boyars about what to do with her. In the Upper Chambers they sat more than once, plotting how to break her. All the boyars saw the unjust fury and the evil conspiracy against innocent blood; they refused to join the counsel but, fearing for their lives, kept silent. The bishops, the “Jewish elders,” and the Jesuit-trained hieromonks egged the Tsar on most of all. They hated the blessed woman with a deadly hatred and longed to devour her alive, because wherever she was—at home with guests or visiting others—she fearlessly exposed their errors and publicly denounced their heretical wanderings in front of crowds. Everything reached their ears, and for this they loathed her.

While these plots were brewing, five exiled nuns were living in Feodora’s house. They begged to leave before they too were seized. She could not get enough of their company; she rejoiced to stand with them at the night rule before Christ and to eat with them at table. So she kept them about five weeks after the first warning. When they grew afraid, she comforted them: “No, my doves, do not fear! No one will come for me yet.” Princess Evdokia stayed with her and the nuns the whole time, inseparable, consoling her beloved sister in her trials; she only went home to the prince for brief visits.

On November 14 Feodora said to the nuns: “My mothers, my time has come. Each of you go wherever the Lord will keep you safe. Bless me for God’s work and pray that, through your prayers, the Lord will strengthen me to suffer without wavering for His name.” She kissed them tenderly and sent them away in peace.

On the eve of Meatfare Sunday the princess went home. While dining with her husband, he told her what was happening in the Upper Chambers: “Great sorrows are coming upon your sister; the Tsar is seized with uncontrollable rage and has decided to drive her from her house at once.” Another voice at table added: “Princess, listen carefully to what I am about to say. Christ said in the Gospel: ‘They will hand you over to synagogues and flog you in their assemblies; you will be brought before governors and kings for my sake, as a testimony to them… But I tell you, my friends: Do not fear those who kill the body and after that can do nothing more.’ Do you hear, princess? Christ Himself speaks—remember it well.” Evdokia rejoiced greatly at these words.

The next morning, as the prince was leaving for the palace, she begged him to let her visit Feodora. He said: “Go and say goodbye, but do not linger—I think today they will come for her.”

She arrived and stayed until nightfall; they were expecting guests.

Suddenly, at the second hour of the night, the great gates burst open. Feodora started a little, understood that the tormentors had come, and lay down on a bench. But the faithful princess, illumined by the Holy Spirit, strengthened her: “Dear mother-sister, take courage! Christ is with us—fear nothing! Rise, let us begin.” When they had finished the seven entrance bows, they blessed each other to bear witness to the truth. Feodora lay down on her featherbed near the icon of the Most Holy God-bearer of Theodorov, while the princess went into the little closet that Feodora had built in the same bedchamber for her spiritual mother Melania, and lay down on a mattress there.

Archimandrite Joachim of Chudov Monastery strode in with great arrogance, entered the bedchamber boldly, saw her lying down, announced that he had been sent by the Tsar, and ordered her to rise—at least to sit—so she could answer the Tsar’s words he was commanded to deliver. She refused to obey.

Then the archimandrite interrogated her: “How do you cross yourself? How do you pray?” She folded her fingers in the ancient two-fingered sign handed down by the holy fathers, opened her sacred lips, and chanted: “Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on us! Thus I cross myself; thus I pray.”

The archimandrite pressed a second question: “The nun Melania—you gave her the name Alexandra in your house—where is she now? Tell us quickly; we need her.”

Blessed Feodora answered: “By God’s mercy and our parents’ prayers, as far as our poor house could, its doors were always open to receive Christ’s wandering servants. When the time came, we had Sidors, Karps, Melanias, Alexandras; now there is none of them.”

The duma secretary Hilarion Ivanovich stepped into the closet where it was dark, saw a person lying on the bed, and asked: “Who are you?” The princess replied: “I am the wife of Prince Pyotr Urusov.” He jumped back as if burned by fire. The archimandrite, seeing this, asked: “Who is in there?” Hilarion answered: “Princess Evdokia Prokopievna Urusova.” Joachim said: “Ask her how she crosses herself.” Hilarion, unwilling, replied: “We were sent only to boyarynya Feodosiya Prokopievna.” Joachim insisted: “Obey me—question her.”

Hilarion approached, asked, and she confessed. Lying on the bed, propped on her left elbow, she made the sign with her right hand—thumb joined to the two little fingers, the index and middle fingers extended—and showed it to him, proclaiming with her lips while glorifying the Lord Jesus as Son of God: “Thus I believe!” Hilarion went out and reported to the archimandrite. Joachim, no longer able to contain his fury at seeing his false faith trampled by faithful women, said to Hilarion: “Stay here. I will go tell the Tsar.”

He rushed off and found the Tsar sitting among the boyars in the Faceted Palace. He drew close and whispered in his ear that not only had the boyarynya stood firm like a man, but her sister Princess Evdokia, who happened to be in the house, was zealously resisting the Tsar’s command even more fiercely. The Tsar said: “Impossible! I heard that princess is gentle and does not scorn our services; it’s that madwoman who is the trouble.” But the archimandrite, filled with man-hating malice, pressed: “She has become exactly like her elder sister in everything—and mocks us even worse.” The Tsar replied: “If that is so, take her too.” Prince Pyotr, standing nearby, heard this, was deeply grieved, but could do nothing.

The archimandrite returned to the martyr’s house and began interrogating everyone present, especially her maidservants, to see who shared their mistress’s faith. The black deacon Iosaf, standing outside the door, said to him: “Question Ksenia Ivanova; interrogate Anna Soboleva.” He did. Both women stood firm, confessed, showed the two-fingered sign, prayed, and placed their hope in the Son of God. They were set apart on one side. All the rest, terrified, bowed to the new way and were placed on the left.

Then the archimandrite said to the boyarynya: “Since you refused to live in submission and hardened yourself in rebellion, the Tsar’s decree has overtaken you: you are to be driven from your house. Enough living in high places—come down! Rise and leave this place!” The blessed woman refused even this. He ordered the servants to carry her out. They brought an armchair, sat her in it by Joachim’s command, and carried her downstairs. Her son, the pious Ivan Glebovich, accompanied her as far as the middle porch, bowed to her from behind (she did not see him), then turned back.

They put horse-irons on the feet of Feodora and Evdokia, locked them in the servants’ quarters in the cellar, posted guards with strict orders to watch them, and left.

Two days later the duma secretary Hilarion returned, removed the irons from their feet, and ordered them to go wherever they were told. Blessed Feodora refused to walk; she commanded her servants to carry her. They spread out cloth, sat her on it, and carried her by Hilarion’s order all the way to Chudov Monastery; Princess Evdokia was led alongside.

They brought Feodora into one of the patriarchal chambers. As usual she bowed to the icon of God, but gave the authorities only a slight and reluctant bow. Present were Paul, Metropolitan of Krutitsa, Archimandrite Joachim of Chudov again, the duma secretary, and others. Blessed Feodora refused to stand while speaking with them; she answered sitting down. They pressed her hard to stand; she would not.

Then Metropolitan Paul began speaking softly, reminding her of her rank and lineage: “This is what those elders and nuns did to you—they bewitched you with their sweet talk, you spent time with them, listened to their teaching, and they brought you to this dishonor: your noble self dragged before a tribunal.” Then with many gentle words they tried to soothe her and persuade her to submit to the Tsar. They kept bringing up her son’s beauty, begging her to have pity on him and not let her defiance destroy his house.

Against every argument she gave wise answers. “I was not bewitched by elders and nuns, as you claim,” she said. “I learned the true path of Christ and piety from genuine servants of God. Stop talking to me about my son. I have promised myself to Christ my Light; I will not break that promise until my last breath. I live for Christ, not for my son.”

Seeing her unyielding courage and unable to silence her, they decided at least to frighten her. They put one final question bluntly: “Since you stubbornly resist our words, we ask you plainly and briefly: will you receive communion from the service-books by which the Tsar himself takes communion, and the pious Tsaritsa, the princes, and the princesses?” With a man’s heart she answered: “I will not receive!” “I know the Tsar communes from Nikon’s corrupted service-books; that is why I refuse!”

The metropolitan pressed further: “Then what do you think of all of us—are we all heretics?” She replied again: “Since that enemy of God Nikon vomited out his heresies like filth, and you now lick up his defilement, it is clear you are just like him.”

Then Paul of Krutitsa shouted loudly: “What are we to do? She calls every one of us a heretic!” Joachim shouted too: “Why, Archbishop Paul, did you ever call her a mother, and a righteous one at that? She is no such thing! She is no longer Prokopiy’s daughter; she deserves to be called the devil’s daughter!”

The blessed woman answered Joachim: “I curse the devil by the grace of my Lord Jesus Christ. Though unworthy, I am His daughter.” The dispute with them lasted from the second hour of the night until the tenth.

Then they brought in the pious princess and questioned her. She showed the same courage in everything.

Again they ordered Feodora carried on the cloth back to her house and placed in the same cellar where they had sat for two days, together with the princess once more. The irons were put back on their feet. Then blessed Feodora said to the princess: “If they separate us and send us into exile, I beg you—remember poor Feodora in your prayers.” Holy Evdokia was astonished; they had always been together and she had never heard such a thing.

The next morning, after their interrogation by the authorities, the duma secretary came. Chains with wooden stocks were brought in. The irons were removed from their feet and the chains fastened around their necks. Blessed Feodora crossed her face, kissed the collar of the chain, and said: “Glory to You, Lord, for making me worthy to put on Paul’s fetters!”

By the secretary’s order the servants lifted her onto a wood-sled and told a groom to drive. She sat down and placed the stock close beside her. As she was driven past Chudov under the Tsar’s covered walkway, great Feodora stretched out her right hand, clearly formed the two-fingered sign of the cross, raised it high, crossed herself repeatedly, and rattled her chain just as often. The saint believed the Tsar was watching her victory from the walkway, so she showed not only that she was not ashamed of their mockery but that she greatly rejoiced in Christ’s love and exulted in her bonds.

Princess Evdokia was likewise loaded with iron chains and taken to the Alexeevsky Convent, where she was ordered kept under strict guard and brought to church. Yet she displayed such courage that the whole royal city marveled at her bravery and how valiantly she resisted the tyrants’ will. Not only did she never walk to their services on her own feet, no matter how much they forced her; even when they dragged her on a mat (as they were ordered to do), she refused to lie on the mat by herself. Though perfectly healthy, at that moment she would make herself like a paralytic, unable to move hand or foot. When the nuns came to lift her, she sometimes made things difficult for them, even to the point of shamelessly slapping her holy, angelic face and saying: “Woe to us! What can we do with you? We ourselves saw you perfectly well and cheerfully talking with your friends just now, but the moment we arrive to call you to prayer you suddenly turn into a corpse and give us endless trouble, lying there like the dead and immovable.” The spotless lamb answered them: “Poor nuns, why do you exhaust yourselves for nothing? Did I force you to do this work? You are the ones running around in senseless frenzy. I weep even for you who are perishing—how could I ever think of going to your gathering? There you sing not to praise God but to blaspheme Him, your Savior, trampling His laws.” So they would lift the saint onto the mat like a dead body and drag her to the service.

Whenever the blessed woman caught sight of any of the faithful she knew standing in the monastery watching her ordeal, she would groan: “Alas, I am worn out—stop a moment!” The nuns would set the mat down. The great one would say: “Nuns! Why are you dragging me like this? Do I want to pray with you? Never! It is not right for us Christians to pray together with those who have abandoned Christ’s law. But let me tell you something: where your singing is heard, that is the proper place to go relieve oneself of excess belly-matter—that is how I regard your sacrifice.”

Feodora was taken to the metochion of the Pechersky Monastery and placed under heavy guard: two streltsy captains, relieving each other, watched her with ten soldiers.

Elena and the other sisters hid for fear; for a whole week they could learn nothing about holy Feodora, and they grieved deeply, weeping like babies torn from their mother. But on November 27, the feast of the Sign of the Most Holy God-bearer, Elena found her by God’s wonderful favor. Great Feodora had come out onto the back porch (the place used for necessary relief), and Elena happened to be walking along that street. By God’s guidance they recognized each other; the spot on the street served the same bodily need for passers-by. Elena drew near and spoke with Feodora, who stood above on the porch.

The blessed woman said: “O my beloved Elena! Nothing in these days has grieved me like being separated from you—not exile from my house, not the Tsar’s anger, not interrogation by the authorities, not chains, not guards. All these are dear to me for Christ’s sake; but it weighs heavily on me that for more than a week I have known nothing about you. For the Lord’s sake, do not abandon me, do not leave Moscow—stay here, do not be afraid! I trust in Christ: He will cover you. I do not sorrow this much even for blood relatives; I weep for you without ceasing. Through Christ who strengthens me all things are possible, but this one thing I cannot bear to the end.”

Maria, the third companion in their struggle, tried to flee while the Tsar’s wrath burned against blessed Feodora. Someone informed on her; a posse was sent, she was seized in the Podonsk region, brought back to Moscow, interrogated in the same way, and followed the example of the blessed sisters Feodora and Evdokia in everything. She fiercely resisted, publicly praised the ancient piety before everyone, and utterly rejected the new doctrines. They imprisoned her in chains under the Streltsy Office.

Metropolitan Hilarion of Ryazan often came to Feodora. She argued with him so courageously that he was repeatedly put to shame and left speechless.

Seeing herself loaded with heavy irons and tormented by the discomfort of the wooden stock, Feodora rejoiced. Yet one thing grieved her, and she wrote in her own hand to her spiritual mother Melania: “Alas, my mother! I have done no monastic deed at all! How can I now make full prostrations? Woe to me, a sinner! The day of death draws near, and I, wretched, remain in sloth! You, my joy, instead of earthly prostrations bless me to bear Paul’s chains for Christ’s sake and endure reproach. And if you will, bless me to abstain from beef fat, milk, cheese, and eggs, so that my monastic life may not be idle and the day of death not snatch me unprepared. Only command me to eat fasting oil.” The mother gave her blessing for suffering: “Stand bravely, you who suffer for the Lord’s name; may the Lord bless you to carry His chains. Go like a candle from us to God as an offering. As for food—eat whatever is provided.”

For many days after Feodora’s arrest the Tsar sat with his boyars plotting what to do with her for her fearless denunciations. He summoned her brother Feodor, interrogated him harshly about many things, and demanded: “Tell me—where is Melania? You know all your sister’s secrets!” He pressed Feodor with fierce anger.

He ordered Ivan Glebovich kept under guard. The boy fell ill from overwhelming grief. The Tsar sent his own physicians; they “cured” him so well that in a few days they sent him to his grave. When Ivan died, a Nikonians priest was sent to tell Feodora of her son’s death. The malicious man insulted the saint, quoting Psalm 108 about Judas and applying the godless, mitreless cleric’s words to the blessed woman: because she had turned from their faith, God’s punishment had come upon her—her house would be desolate and none would live in it. But the wise woman paid no attention to their madness. When she saw her beloved son dead, she was deeply wounded. She fell to the ground before the icon of God and wept with tender voice, sobbing: “Alas, my child—they have destroyed you, those apostates!” For many hours she did not rise from the floor, pouring out dirges over her son until others who heard her wept from pity.

The Tsar rejoiced at Ivan’s death, thinking he could now torment the mother more freely without her son. Not content with that, he sent her two brothers—Feodor to Chuguev, Alexei to Rybnoe—supposedly as military governors, but really into exile. Feodor grew so rich in his post that he spent a thousand of his own rubles. The Tsar did all this out of great malice toward the blessed woman, hoping no helping hand from anywhere would ever reach them in their great afflictions. Yet God was with them.

After Ivan’s death all the property was scattered: estates, herds, horses given away to boyars; every valuable thing—gold, silver, pearls, precious stones—was ordered sold. While demolishing the palace they found a huge amount of gold bricked into the wall. One of Feodora’s servants, Ivan, by his mistress’s command hid some precious items with a man thought to be trustworthy. Through the wife’s instigation he was betrayed, cruelly tortured—burned with fire and questioned by six men—and endured everything bravely. Like a good and faithful servant he sincerely followed his mistress’s example and was finally burned in Borovsk together with the other martyrs.

Later, as if the Tsar had softened, he allowed Feodora two of her maidservants to serve her in her chains. Anna Ammosova and Stefanida (called Gneva) ran to her with great joy and waited on her. Though righteous Princess Evdokia did not draw a servant by lot, God raised up a nobler one than any slave—the daughter of a lord—to serve her lady: the maiden Akilina, a boyar’s daughter, constantly came and went, serving her. Later Akilina herself took the veil and was named Anisia.

Maria, sitting there, suffered worse than either of the sisters. The shameless soldiers constantly tormented her with their crude behavior. Nikonians priests kept coming to her, troubling her spirit and cursing her as a schismatic. Once a priest and a deacon came in like devil paired with devil and forced her to cross herself with three fingers. She refused. They lost all shame, lunged at her like dogs, seized her fingers, and tried to twist them into the pinch. She pulled away in disgust and cried: “This is not the sign of the cross—it is the seal of Antichrist!” They shot back: “No! Those two fingers you use to make your cross are what mothers use to scrape filth off babies when they soil themselves.” That is how the godless knew how to curse!

So the three of them sat in separate places, enduring for the name of the Lord.

That same year God granted great Feodora, though in chains and under heavy guard, to receive communion from the hand of the holy father Job of Lgov (mentioned earlier). It happened miraculously. One of the captains on duty was very kind to her. The saint begged him: “When I still lived in my house, a certain elderly priest served in one of our villages; we were good to him. Now I hear he is here. I feel sorry for him because of his age. If you have any mercy for my lowliness, let me call him.” He allowed it. The holy elder came to the holy martyr like Barlaam to Josaphat, to give her the priceless pearl in the guise of a poor man. As he passed through the entryway, the captain himself stood up and bowed to him. After giving the martyr the Body and Blood of Christ, the elder left. The blessed old man was so moved at the sight of the great lady’s immense suffering that afterward he could never speak of her without tears.

Another wonder occurred. The two blood sisters—great Feodora and faithful Evdokia—longed to see each other face to face in this life and talk. They prayed to almighty God to comfort them. Finally Evdokia said to the noblewoman in whose cell she was kept: “Lady, you know the ache of leaving little children. I abandoned mine for Christ’s sake! If I have found favor with you, let me go home just long enough to kiss them and comfort them—and be comforted myself—and I will return before evening. No one will ever know except you and me. It can happen if you will only take pity on me. It is already midday; the abbess is visiting guests, the nuns have scattered, few people are about the monastery. If I cover myself with a veil I will pass unnoticed.” That lady, beyond all human expectation, let the martyr-princess go, asking her to leave the icon of the Most Holy God-bearer: “I know how you love the image of our Lady. Leave it here and go in peace; I am sure the Helper will bring you back.”

The blessed woman set out. On the way the devil stirred up some evil men who said to each other: “Grab her—she’s an escapee!” She boldly answered them back. On the road she met Elena, and together they reached the Pechersky metochion. The gatekeeper told Feodora of their arrival. The blessed woman sent her maid Anna away and Princess Evdokia went up instead; she passed the guard on the porch—he thought it was still Anna. The martyr and the confessor talked with great love.

The devil grew jealous, raised a storm, and the matter was discovered. All ten soldiers started a riot. Feodora begged the captain; he quieted the soldiers, and the uproar died down. For the martyrs it turned out for the better: the captain ordered the visitor to spend the night. “I will let her go secretly at night,” he said. The saints spent the whole night rejoicing in conversation. At dawn Evdokia left; Elena escorted her. She returned to the monastery and everything stayed hidden and calm. Elena stayed with them, serving, providing what they needed—food, clothing—sometimes carrying it herself, sometimes sending others.

Mikhail Alekseevich came to Evdokia more than once. Standing at the window he said with tears: “Your suffering amazes me, but one thing troubles me—I do not know whether you suffer for the truth.”

Crowds of noblewomen came to watch, and common people ran to see the princess dragged on the mat. The great ladies especially marveled with deep affection and grieved as if for a relative. When the abbess saw this she was torn two ways: pity bent her heart at the princess’s suffering and her high rank, yet she was also disturbed that the dragging only brought her more glory—crowds gathered to witness her patience. With these thoughts she went to Patriarch Pitirim (who was then in office) and told him everything: what was happening in their monastery, who the princess was, and why she was there—he had not known, for they had been imprisoned before his appointment. As he questioned the abbess more closely, it was natural for her to mention Feodora too. Finally the patriarch said: “Go. I will speak to the Tsar about this.”

He hurried to the Tsar and reminded him of great Feodora and the blessed princess. “I advise you, Sovereign,” he said, “to give the boyarynya-widow Morozova her house back and grant her a hundred peasant households for her support; give the princess back to her prince too. That would be more fitting. It is women’s business—how much do they really understand?”

The Tsar answered: “Most holy lord, I would have done it long ago, but you do not know that woman’s ferocity. How can I even tell you how she has mocked me—and still mocks me! No one has ever done me such evil as she has. She has caused me endless trouble and great inconvenience. If you do not believe my words, test it yourself: summon her, question her, and you will learn her stubbornness. When you start interrogating her you will taste her sharpness. Then do whatever your holiness commands—I will not disobey a single word.”

At the second hour of the night they took Feodora in her chains, put her on a wood-sled, and ordered the captain to go with her. They brought her to Chudov and led her into the Patriarchal Chamber. Patriarch Pitirim was there, Metropolitan Paul, other authorities, and many city officials. The great woman stood before the assembly wearing iron chains around her neck. First the patriarch said: “I am amazed that you have come to love this chain so much you will not part with it.” The saint, her face radiant and her heart rejoicing, answered: “Truly I love it—not just love it, I have not yet had my fill of gazing at these longed-for chains! How could I not love them? Though I am such a sinner, by God’s grace I have been found worthy to see and bear Paul’s chains on my body—and for love of God’s only-begotten Son!”

The patriarch: “How long will you stay in this madness? Stop clinging to that devilish behavior! How long will you refuse to pity yourself and keep troubling the Tsar’s soul with your defiance? Abandon all these absurd ideas and follow my counsel, which I offer out of mercy and pity: join the cathedral Church and the Russian assembly—confess and receive communion.” The blessed woman answered: “There is no one to confess to, no one to commune me.” The patriarch again: “There are plenty of priests in Moscow!” The saint: “Plenty of priests, but not one true one.” The patriarch once more: “Because I care deeply for you, I myself will take the trouble in my old age to hear your confession and serve—I will commune you myself.” The wise woman replied: “What do you mean ‘myself’? I do not understand! Are you any different from them? Do you not do their will? When you were Metropolitan of Krutitsa and kept the Christian customs handed down by the fathers of our Russian land, when you wore the old-shaped kuluk—then we loved you a little. But now you have chosen to do the will of an earthly tsar and despised the Heavenly King and your Creator; you have put the horned klobuk of the Roman pope on your head. That is why we turn away. So stop comforting me with ‘I myself’—I have no need of your service.”

Then the patriarch said to his bishops: “Vest me now in the sacred robes so I may anoint her forehead with holy oil—perhaps she will come to her senses; as we see, she has lost her mind.”

They vested him, brought the oil, and he took the brush dipped in it and started toward the saint. Until then she had never stood on her own feet; the captain and another man had held her up, and she had spoken leaning on their arms. But when she saw him coming, she stood on her own feet and readied herself like a wrestler. Metropolitan Paul of Krutitsa stretched out one hand to steady the patriarch and with the other tried to lift the fur hat from the blessed woman’s head so the patriarch could anoint her easily. The great woman pushed his hand away and said: “Get back!” She shoved both his hand and the brush: “How dare you presume to touch our face so clumsily? You should know our rank!”

The patriarch dipped the brush again and stretched out his hand to sign her forehead. The most blessed woman, like a brave warrior fully armed against the adversary, thrust out her own hand, knocked his aside together with the brush, and cried: “Do not destroy me, a sinner, with your apostate oil!” Rattling her chains she continued: “Why have I, a sinner, worn these chains a whole year? Precisely because I refuse to join your worthless faith. Yet with one moment you want to ruin all my unworthy labor! Back off—away! I will never need your holiness!”

Hearing this, the patriarch could not bear the great shame. He flew into a rage and from bitter grief roared: “O offspring of vipers! Devil’s daughter, troublemaker!” He turned back from her growling like a bear, shouting: “Throw her down, drag her without mercy! Drag her out by the chain around her neck like a dog! She is the devil’s daughter, a troublemaker—no more life for her! Tomorrow the troublemaker goes to the stake!”

The blessed woman answered quietly: “I am a sinner, yet not the devil’s daughter. Do not curse me with that name, Patriarch. By the grace of my Savior God I am Christ’s daughter, not the devil’s. Do not curse me with that, Patriarch!”

By the patriarch’s command they hurled her to the floor so hard she thought her skull would split. They dragged her across the chamber so brutally that she expected the iron collar to tear her neck in two and rip her head from her shoulders. As they hauled her down the stairs she counted every step with her head. They brought her back to the Pechersky metochion on the same sled at the ninth hour of the night.

That same night, at the same hour, the patriarch had Princess Evdokia and Maria brought before him, thinking perhaps one of them would yield. It did not happen. Strengthened by God’s grace they testified boldly and showed themselves ready to die for the Lord’s name rather than fall from His love. The patriarch tried to anoint the faithful princess as well. But the most holy sufferer did something even more astonishing. Just as the Samaritan woman Photini under Emperor Nero once tore the skin from her own head with her hands and threw it in the tyrant’s face, so our thrice-valiant fighter, when she saw the patriarch coming with the oily brush to anoint her, instantly snatched off her head-covering, bared her hair, and shouted: “Shameless madmen! What are you doing? Do you not know I am a woman?” They were covered with double shame and stood helpless; thus the saint escaped their anointing. When the questioning ended they were taken back to their places.

Unable to endure his humiliation, the patriarch told the Tsar everything, complaining especially about great Feodora. The Tsar answered: “Did I not tell you beforehand how fierce that woman is? I have experienced it and know her hardness. You saw her behavior only once; I have endured it for years and do not know what to do with her.” Speaking thus they agreed together to torture them, and if they still did not submit, to decide afterward what they deserved.

Again the next night, at the second hour, all three martyrs were taken to the Yam Coach Yard. A huge crowd had been gathered there. They put the martyrs in a hut so packed with people there was hardly room to move. The saints sat in dark corners among the throng, each thinking she was alone. They did not expect torture; they hoped after one last interrogation they would be sent into exile somewhere. Later Feodora realized they had been brought not for exile but for torment. She learned the other two martyrs were there too. Unable to speak with them or encourage them, she rattled her chains and said in her mind: “My beloved fellow-sufferers, I am here with you! Endure, my lights, like men, and pray for me!” She reached out through the press of bodies, grasped Princess Evdokia’s hand, squeezed it hard, and said: “Endure, my mother, endure!”

Prince Ivan Vorotynsky, Prince Yakov Odoevsky, and Vasily Volynsky were appointed to oversee the tortures.

Maria was led to the fire first. Stripped to the waist, hands tied behind her back, she was hoisted on the rack, then thrown to the ground when taken down.

Then they led the princess to the fire. The tormentors saw the colored cover on her hat and said: “Why do you do this—you are in the Tsar’s disgrace yet wear bright colors!” She answered: “I have not sinned against the Tsar.” They tore off the cover and threw her a plain one. Stripped to the waist like the first, hands tied behind, she was hoisted on the rack and thrown down beside Maria.

Last they brought great Feodora to the fire. Prince Vorotynsky spoke many words to her: “Look what you have done! From glory you have come to disgrace! Who are you, from what family! This happened to you because you received into your house the fools for Christ Kipriyan and Feodor and others like them, followed their teaching, and angered the Tsar.” The valiant woman answered: “Our great nobility of the flesh and human glory on earth are nothing. All you mentioned is worthless because it is perishable and passing. Stop your speeches and listen to what I will say. Think about Christ—who He is, whose Son, what He did! If you are puzzled, I will tell you: He is our Lord, Son of God and God Himself. For our salvation He left heaven, took flesh, lived in complete poverty, and finally was crucified by the Jews—just as we are now tortured by you all. Is this not astonishing? Our suffering is nothing.”

Seeing her boldness, the authorities ordered her seized. They tied the sleeves of her shirt around her breasts, bound her hands behind her back, and hung her on the rack. Even there the victorious woman did not stay silent but rebuked their wicked apostasy. For this they kept her on the rack a long time—half an hour—until the straps cut her wrists to the bone. When they took her down they laid her as the third beside the other two. Thus inhumanly mocking them, they left them lying naked-backed on the snow with arms wrenched backward. They lay there three hours.

They tried other torments: placed a frozen block on their chests, brought them close to the fire as if to burn them—but did not burn them. When all their tricks were finished and the martyrs stood up, they covered the bodies of two; the third, Maria, was laid at the feet of Feodora and Evdokia and beaten mercilessly with five whips in two rounds—first across the back, then across the belly. The duma secretary Hilarion said to the other two martyrs: “If you do not submit, the same will happen to you!” Feodora, seeing the inhumanity, the many wounds on holy Maria, and the flowing blood, wept and said to Hilarion: “Is this Christianity—to torture a human being like this?” Afterward they were taken back to their places at the tenth hour of the night.

The next morning the Tsar held council to decide their fate. A stake had been set up on the Boloto. The patriarch strongly urged Feodora’s burning, but the boyars would not agree; Dolgoruky cut the matter short with few words but great effect. For three days Feodora ate no bread and drank no water, trying to die.

Mother Melania had stood at the stake on the Boloto and, returning that same day to holy Feodora, kissed the wounds on her hands and said: “Your house is already prepared for you—very fine and orderly, lined with whole sheaves of straw! You are about to depart to your longed-for Christ, leaving us orphans behind!”

Feodora lovingly received her mother’s blessing to set out on the eternal path. They embraced and kissed; the mother went weeping to Evdokia and brought her the same glad tidings. Standing at the window, gazing at the princess and bathed in tears, she said: “You are our beloved guests. Today or tomorrow you go to the Master. Walk this path without any doubt! When you stand before the throne of the Almighty, do not forget us in our sorrows!”

Everyone expected this to happen, but God willed otherwise: He desired the martyrs to suffer yet longer.

After the beating stopped, Maria passed a towel along her back; it came away soaked with blood, and she sent it to her spiritual father Ioakinf. On the third day great scabs fell from her back like scales. The tormentors demanded them; out of humility she did not want to give them, but finally, forced, she handed them over along with the rest.

Three days after the torture the Tsar sent a streltsy captain to Feodora with these words: “Righteous mother Feodosiya Prokopievna! You are a second martyr Catherine. I myself beg you—follow my advice. I want to raise you back to your former honor. For the sake of appearances before the people, so it does not seem I seized you for nothing, do not cross yourself with three fingers, but simply raise your hand and pass it over those three fingers! Righteous mother Feodosiya Prokopievna, second Catherine! Obey—I will send my royal carriage for you with my own argamaks; many boyars will come and carry you on their heads. Obey, righteous mother—I, the Tsar, bow my head to you—do this!”

Hearing and seeing this, Feodora said to the messenger: “What are you doing, man? Why do you bow to me so much? Stop—listen to what I will say. That the sovereign speaks such words about me is far above my worth. I am a sinner and unworthy of the rank of the great martyr Catherine. As for merely passing my hand over the three-fingered sign—no, may the Son of God preserve me from ever even thinking such a thing about the seal of Antichrist! Know this clearly: by Christ’s help I will never do it! Even if I refuse and he orders me carried home in honor on the boyars’ heads, I will cry out that I cross myself according to the ancient tradition of the holy fathers! As for honoring me with his carriage and argamaks—truly, that means nothing to me. I have ridden in carriages and coaches, on argamaks and Turkomans; all that has passed away. This I count as great—truly wondrous—if God grants me to be burned with fire for His name in the stake you have prepared for me on the Boloto. That is glorious to me, for I have never tasted such honor and I long to receive such a gift from Christ.” Having spoken thus, the saint fell silent, and the captain said no more.

Soon afterward God’s judgment overtook Patriarch Pitirim; he perished by a cruel death.

The Tsar ordered Feodora moved from the Pechersky metochion to the Novodevichy Convent so that no one could bring her anything there. He commanded her kept under strict guard and dragged to services. Yet she showed great courage and rejected all their orders to the end.

God glorified His servant: so many noblewomen came that the whole monastery was blocked with their carriages and coaches. They did not come to plead but to behold her holy, angelic face and witness her steadfast endurance. Her loved ones and those who supplied her needs visited her there too, covered by God, just as they had at the Pechersky metochion, and comforted her suffering heart.

Unable to bear seeing crowds of nobles come to marvel at her suffering, the Tsar ordered her brought back to Moscow, to the Khamovniki quarter. In her old age she was taken to a courtyard; she rejoiced greatly. Her spiritual mother Melania came to visit her there, and Elena, servant of her chains. They rejoiced together with many tears.

Then the Tsar’s elder sister Irina said to him: “Brother, why do you act improperly and drag that poor widow from place to place? It is not good, brother! You should remember the service of Boris and his brother Gleb.” He roared with great anger and answered: “Very well, dear sister, very well! Since you chirp so much about her, I have a place ready for her at once!”

Immediately he sent her to Borovsk, to cruel imprisonment in the stockade built there and its earthen dungeon. Feodora entered the prison rejoicing and found a nun named Iustina already sitting there, confined for the same faith.

When the blessed princess heard that her beloved sister and fellow-sufferer had been taken far away, she wept bitterly like a child for its mother. The same with the passion-bearer Maria. But the all-seeing eye of God beheld their groaning and did not despise it; He desired to grant what they asked and join them inseparably to the great sufferer.

It happened thus: Tsar Alexis ordered the princess sent there too. As she drew near the prison, the doors were opened; she rejoiced greatly and began the prayer. When Feodora saw her beloved one, she seized both her hands and cried in a radiant voice: “All creation rejoices in you, O full of grace!”

A little later they brought Maria too, and their joy was complete.

Merciful God did not leave them without comfort even there, but consoled them like nestlings. Ioakinf, before the captains were sent to Borovsk, took them into his house in Moscow and fed them so they would not be savage. In Borovsk he sent his nephew Irodion, who visited the prison many times, along with many others. Their spiritual mother Melania visited them there more than once, and Elena many times.

But the evil one envied this and stirred up the authorities. They sent an order to investigate who was visiting them and how they got in. A certain Borovsk citizen Pamfil was tortured; they questioned Irodion. He endured great torment but betrayed no one. At that moment Irodion was hiding under the floor in Pamfil’s house. Since he did not confess, they let him go home. Lying there with blood flowing from his wounds, he said to his wife: “Agripina, now it is safe and free—quickly carry a basket of baked onions by daylight.” Later Pamfil and his wife were exiled to Smolensk, where they still suffer to this day.

While they sat in prison they often begged their spiritual mother Melania to visit them, but it was impossible. Then Feodora somehow learned that their departure was near, so she wrote in her own hand: “Take pity—visit us one last time,” and so it happened. She asked her to bring her elder brother too. God sped them on their way, for we heard that in those very days the Tsar planned to send someone to interrogate them strictly and, if they did not submit, to carry out the sentence. But God preserved us.

On Sunday, at the third hour of the night, we reached the prison. Our joy together with them was beyond words. Great Feodora—I do not know what to call her—named her prison a most radiant dungeon and called her spiritual mother Melania equal-to-the-apostles and an apostle of the Lord. “Why, my light,” she said, “have you left us, your fledglings, unvisited for so long? Without your guidance we cannot order our lives rightly.” They kissed both her hands again and again. Maria, the third with them, did the same. We talked the whole night. It was January 11. At dawn Irodion and I left. Mother Melania and Elena, at the martyrs’ pleading and out of their great love, dared to stay the whole day with them and were fully comforted.

After us, as I said, the next evening the captain still had not come to take us. We grieved, our souls torn in two.

But the Lord had mercy; we came to the prison again at midnight. The mother wanted to leave quickly. While all stood together, the mother instructed and admonished them. I do not fully know the reason for her admonition, but I relate what I heard. The teacher said: “I know my unworthiness, but since you yourselves press me hard and lay a heavy burden on my neck to show you God’s path—lest I forget—now, seeing your patience, I fear even to draw near you, lest fire come forth from you and burn me in my feebleness. Yet since you have bound me with the love of our Lord, listen to my unworthy words: strive to amend yourselves. I see that you are bound with the chains of demonic warfare; if you do not free yourselves from those chains, even these iron chains you wear for Christ will not help you.”

As the mother spoke these words to them, Feodora held her left hand with her right, and Evdokia her right hand. When blessed Feodora heard such words from her mother, fountains of tears poured down that holy face, and she never stopped kissing her mother’s hand with love. Whenever the mother paused, the most holy one, weeping, would say: “Did I not tell you before, my joy, that without your shepherding we can do no good at all? That is how we all are, lady—without you we follow our own will. Look what you saw in this short hour! Woe to us! We strayed from your guidance and lost the gift of obedience! From where did the Lord give you to us? You are Christ’s apostle to us! O our light! Do not leave us without guidance!”

Seeing and hearing this, I was utterly amazed at the understanding, endurance, and love of blessed Feodora—how, when lovingly corrected, she humbled herself though guilty of nothing.

When that winter had passed, the devil kind a great storm, raging with malice against the martyrs because he was defeated by their patience. It happened thus.

During Thomas week a Moscow clerk named Pavel suddenly burst into the prison with great ferocity. He seized all their necessities and even the scanty food—everything. He took whatever spare clothing they had, leaving them only the shirts on their backs. Not content with that, he took their little books and, in the ultimate satanic wickedness, even the holy icons the martyrs kept—small painted panels. Those foul vessels feared nothing and, worse than the Persian idolaters, stripped them of everything. Feodora had an icon of the most pure God-bearer, the wonder-working Hodegetria. When they carried it out of the prison, tearing it from her hands, she cried aloud with a mighty voice and wept bitterly over the icon. Blessed Evdokia comforted her: “Do not weep—the Helper has not only not abandoned us; Christ Himself is with us and will be!”

There was great uproar among the soldiers; the captains were interrogated about who brought them supplies and who let visitors in. Some confessed they had brought things themselves and allowed others to enter. The captains suffered terrible punishment. The captain under whom we had visited, Alexandr Sezonov son of Medvedevsky, was judged guiltier than the rest; he was flogged, reduced to common soldier, and exiled to Belgorod.

On St. Peter’s day the clerk Kuzmishchev was sent to Borovsk to investigate and interrogated the holy martyrs about visitors and supplies. He burned the venerable martyr Iustina in a log hut because she refused to cross herself with three fingers.

For the sake of those who remained they demolished the prison and made a worse one—dug very deep into the ground—and placed there the two blessed sisters, wise Feodora and glorious Evdokia. Maria they put in the jail where thieves were kept. They were forbidden food or drink. Anyone who dared to give them anything against the order, if later discovered, was to be executed.

The time that followed was utterly cruel. Everyone was now terrified to let anyone in or to offer the slightest comfort themselves.

Who can recount the fullness of their endurance in that deep dungeon—tormented by hunger in impenetrable darkness, choking from the foul air, for the earth’s vapors gathered and caused them great nausea? They could neither change nor wash their shirts. They constantly wore even their thin outer garments for warmth, and from this came countless lice—beyond telling. It was like an unceasing worm: by day it gnawed, by night it gave no sleep.

Yet though the earthly tsar strictly forbade giving them any food at all, the Heavenly King commanded that food be given to the teacher of wisdom—very little and poor: sometimes five or six crusts of bread, but then no water to drink; when water was given, do not ask for food. Sometimes they received one or two apples, sometimes nothing, sometimes a small piece of cucumber. This was done by soldiers who happened to be there and were kind-hearted; seeing the immense suffering of such great people, their hearts melted and, moved to tears, they showed a little mercy—lowering it secretly on a rope so their comrades would not know.

In such extreme need holy Evdokia endured patiently, thanking God, for two and a half months, and departed on September 11. Her passing was tearful. When she grew too weak from great hunger to stand for prayer, to bear her chains, or to move the stool, she lay down and sometimes prayed sitting, moving only her lips. They had no ladder—that is, no prayer rope—for the tormentors had taken that too. The martyrs tied fifty knots in rags and, like climbing the ladder to heaven, took turns sending prayers to God by those knots. When Evdokia saw she was clearly failing, she said to great Feodora: “Lady mother and sister! I am spent and think death is near. Release me to my Master, for whose love I embraced this hardship. I beg you, lady—according to Christian law, that we not remain outside church tradition—sing the departure canon for me. Say what you know, lady, and what I know I will say myself.” Thus both served the departure service. Martyr sang over martyr in the dark dungeon; prisoner wept over prisoner—one lying in chains and groaning, the other standing in chains and sobbing. So the faithful princess Evdokia gave her spirit into the Lord’s hands on September 11.

Feodora called one of the soldiers and ordered him to inform the city commander. He commanded the soldier to go into the prison and pull out her body. The soldier came. Feodora herself bound the body of her beloved sister and fellow-sufferer Evdokia with three threads in the name of the one-essence Trinity and tied it with a rope. When the soldier went out holding the end of the rope, Feodora helped him. The holy preacher poured warm tears upon the holy body of her sister confessor, saying softly: “Go, most beloved flower, and stand before your fair and longed-for Bridegroom Christ!” Having said this, she handed the body to the soldiers; they pulled it out and laid it simply on the ground, uncovered and unburied.

The commander sent a report to Moscow for instructions. The Tsar ordered the body taken outside and buried in the forest. But the duma secretary Hilarion said: “If that happens, the kapitonys and schismatics will find it, take it with great honor as a holy martyr’s relics, begin saying many miracles occur, and the last trouble will be worse than the first.” The Tsar agreed. He ordered the body kept under guard as if still alive and buried inside the stockade. They wrapped it in matting and did so. This was wondrous: until the order came from Moscow the holy body lay five days on the bare ground inside the stockade, yet not only did it not darken—it grew brighter and whiter every day. The soldiers who saw it marveled greatly and said: “Truly these are holy sufferers! This body shows no trace of death’s appearance; rather, as if alive and rejoicing, it blooms and grows more radiant before our eyes.” And they glorified God.

After the martyr Evdokia’s death, the Tsar imagined that great Feodora, worn down by terrible hunger, might soften a little, show some small yielding, and offer even slight submission. With this in mind he sent an elder monk of the Nikonians to persuade her.

The monk came to her prison and began the prayer, omitting the confession that Jesus Christ is the Son of God. He went on like this for a long time; there was no voice, no response. At last he pronounced the name of our Lord Jesus Christ as Son of God, and instantly the blessed woman answered: “Amen.” He entered the prison and said: “Why did you not say ‘Amen’ earlier while I stood outside praying so long?” The blessed woman replied: “When I heard a hostile voice I kept silent; when I sensed it was not hostile I answered.”

The monk spoke to her as he had been commanded, urging her to submit at least a little. But the valiant diamond, hearing such words, shook her head, sighed deeply, and said like a man: “Oh, what profound ignorance, what great darkness! How long will you be blinded by malice? How long will you refuse to rise to the light of piety? Do you not understand this? Even when I lived in my house in complete comfort, I did not want to join your falsehood and impiety. Clinging firmly to Orthodoxy, I spared neither property nor fear of suffering for the Lord’s name. Again, at the beginning of my struggle, when they bound me with these chains for Christ’s sake and showed me every torment, I turned away. And now, after I have tasted abundantly the sweet labors for the sweetest Jesus, do they think to separate me from my good and beautiful Master? For four years I have worn these irons, rejoicing greatly, never ceasing to kiss this chain in memory of Paul’s bonds—especially now that I have sent ahead my beloved blood-sister, my companion and fellow-sufferer, to the Master, and soon, with God’s strong help, I myself most eagerly strive to go there. So put aside all hope of separating me from Christ and trouble me no more about it! I am ready to die for the Lord’s name.”

Hearing this, the elder was moved, wept, and said to the great one: “Most honored lady! Truly blessed is your work! For the Lord’s sake I beg you—hasten to crown the beginning with the end. If you finish bravely to the last, who can recount your praises? You will receive great and unspeakable honor from Christ God.” Having said this, the monk left.

After the repose of the holy martyr Evdokia, blessed Maria was brought to great Feodora, and the two endured together in the same struggle. Who can describe their inexpressible patience—what they suffered from hunger and thirst, from suffocating air, from lice!

Later the most blessed Feodora grew utterly weak. She called one of the soldiers and said: “Servant of Christ! Do you still have father and mother alive, or have they reposed? If they live, let us pray for them and for you; if they have died, let us commemorate them. Take pity, servant of Christ! I am utterly spent from hunger and crave bread. Have mercy—give me a little roll.” He answered: “No, lady, I am afraid.” The martyr said: “Then at least a piece of bread.” He replied: “I dare not.” Again the martyr: “Then just a few crusts.” He said: “I dare not.” Feodora continued: “If you dare not, then bring at least an apple or a cucumber.” He answered: “I dare not.” The blessed woman said: “Very well, child. Blessed be our God who has willed it so! Since, as you say, it is impossible, I beg you—do one last kindness: cover my poor body with matting and lay it inseparably beside my beloved sister and fellow-sufferer.”

Later, when she was completely spent, she called another soldier and said: “Servant of Christ! Did you have a mother? I know you were born of a woman; therefore I beg you—arm yourself with the fear of God. I am a woman and, pressed by great need, must wash my shirt. As you yourself see, I cannot go and serve myself—I am in chains and have no maid to help me. Run to the river and wash this shirt for me. The Lord is about to take me from this life, and it is not fitting for this body to lie in unclean clothing in the bosom of its mother earth.”

Saying this, she gave him her headscarf. Hiding it under his coat, he went and washed it in the river. While washing that small cloth with water, he washed his own face with tears, thinking of her former greatness and her present need—how she endured for Christ’s sake and would not join the impious, and therefore was dying. For everyone knew that if she had agreed to even a little communion with them, she would have been honored more than before. But she utterly refused; she chose to die ten thousand times rather than fall from the love of Christ.

After this the blessed and great Feodora reposed in peace in the deep dungeon, from the first to the second day of November, in the hour of the night, on the commemoration of the holy martyrs Akindynos and Pegasios.

At that time her mother Melania was in the wilderness and that night saw in a dream great Feodora clothed in the schema and a most wondrous kukol. Her face was radiant and joyful; she rejoiced in her kukol, looked around everywhere, passed her hands over her garments, marveled at the beauty of her robes, and ceaselessly kissed the image of the Savior that was near her, and also the crosses on the schema. She went on doing this for a long time until the mother awoke from the vision. Rising, she wondered greatly. We came and she told us. Later we learned this too: the night Feodora the venerable departed to the Lord in the Borovsk prison was the same night the mother saw the vision in the wilderness. And we glorified God.

After her holy repose, her holy and much-suffering body was wrapped in matting, as the blessed woman herself had commanded, and buried there in the stockade beside her blood-sister, the faithful martyr princess Evdokia. When Tsar Alexis learned of it, he ordered that no one—no boyar or anyone else—be told. For three weeks it was kept secret in the Upper Chambers, but afterward it became known everywhere.

Blessed Maria outlived Feodora by only one month and reposed to the Lord on the ___ day of December (the manuscript leaves a blank for the number). Thus the third ascended to the two to rejoice eternally in Christ Jesus our Lord, to whom belong all glory, honor, worship, and majesty, with His beginningless Father and the Holy Spirit, now and forever and to the ages of ages. Amen.

When the Lord was about to lead great Feodora and her companions on the path of witness, that year, as they fasted, Father Dosifei communed them in the upper room of Ivan’s house in blessed Feodora’s home. As they drew near to receive the most pure Body and Blood of Christ, all three were bathed in warm tears. The holy father saw a wondrous thing: suddenly the three—glorious Feodora, faithful princess Evdokia, and blessed Maria—had their faces illumined and became marvelous to behold, exactly like angels of God. They remained in such radiance until they had received communion. Later the elder secretly told some people: “This is no ordinary thing; I think this year they will suffer for Christ”—and so it came to pass.

Once Mother Melania fell gravely ill and was dying. Feodora, then at the Pechersky metochion, wept bitterly, unable to bear separation from her mother, and said: “Lord, do not make us orphans! Who will guide us to You and lead us unfailingly on Your path?”

One night the mother grew so weak that she no longer recognized the sisters standing by her and weeping bitterly. Her breath came rarely; the sisters fully expected her to die. Suddenly the mother came to herself and the next day was well. She told the sisters: “I did not expect to live when you were weeping over me that night. My spirit was gathering in my breast; I felt something living drawing from my whole body toward my heart, as if about to leave through my throat. It was terribly hard for me. My legs and arms felt dead; it was so hard I thought my heart would burst. I clearly understood that all the gathered spirit swelling in my breast was about to leave my body at once. Then suddenly I felt that surge of spirit retreat from my breast; like water it flowed through my whole body. I felt my hands and feet come alive; I grew easier, immediately opened my eyes, and saw you weeping.”

The mother sent Feodora a maternal blessing. The maiden Maria came and saw Feodora not only black-faced but with lips cracked apart. She quickly asked: “Is our mother better?” Maria answered: “By your prayers she is well. But tell me—why are you so grieved?” The blessed woman, tears still in her eyes, said: “O Maria! I wept inconsolably over my orphanhood and begged Christ to leave us our mother. Yet I also said to the Master that He should give her something better. I was torn both ways—asking for the better yet desiring with all my heart that she live longer with us, send us to Christ, and herself become a martyr. So I spent the whole night weeping. Now blessed be the Lord our God who has left us our guide to restrain our lack of self-control and comfort us in sorrows!”

Maria went and told the mother everything the blessed woman had said. Everyone understood in their hearts that just as God, because of the tears and pity of the fathers, commanded the soul of Abbot Kozma to return, so here, because of the weeping of His servant Feodora, He granted life to her spiritual mother Melania.

While blessed Maria sat in chains under guard, Feodora sent her this message: “Unless you place yourself under obedience to our mother, you cannot be saved. If you beg her and she takes pity and accepts you as her disciple, you will do all good things and be able to endure to the end.” As soon as Maria heard this, without any delay she begged the mother to come to her. The way was extremely difficult, yet because of her earnest pleading the mother could not refuse. When they met, Maria began to entreat her. The mother refused, saying she was unworthy. The blessed woman fell to the ground, wept bitterly, and never stopped kissing the mother’s hands with her lips and washing them with tears. “Why will you not have mercy on me as you did on those two blessed sisters? I know I am not worthy to be called your daughter like those great ladies—great boyarynya Feodora and faithful princess Evdokia Prokopievna, your excellent and beloved disciples. But count me not even to your little finger—count me to one of your fingernails, only call me yours so that I may be your disciple! For the Lord’s sake take pity—do not separate me from my beloved ones, from Feodora and Evdokia, my lights!” Though the mother strongly refused, she finally said: “You are Christ’s and mine.” Maria rejoiced greatly. Thus all three rivaled one another in obedience.

When the mother and Elena were in the prison that day, the mother told Iustina to leave the prison in her place and go free while she herself remained. Iustina went to ask her elder, who had been her husband by law when they lived in the world; he was confined in another prison in the same stockade. He confirmed her resolve to endure to the end and not lose her crown. “See,” he said, “how they love Christ and willingly accept chains and death for His sake. You have endured much—do not now destroy everything.” She obeyed, strengthened herself to endure unto death. Returning from that prison to the martyrs, while between the two prisons she cried aloud, lifted her voice, wept bitterly, and poured out many words in her sobbing as was her custom. Mother Melania and Elena listened to her weeping, and the martyrs with them; they marveled and glorified God.

Iustina had this habit of weeping: whenever sorrowful thoughts came upon her, she could neither restrain herself nor hide it but wept bitterly for all to hear.

This was the beginning of her lament: “O my light, most holy God-bearer, Queen of heaven! O my light, Helper and Protectress Hodegetria! I have neither kin nor tribe—you are my helper in all things, my kin, my tribe, my protectress, Hodegetria! O my light, Christ Son of God! When You come to judge all on the last day and render to each according to his deeds, I beg You, O Son of God—have mercy on me and make me worthy to stand at Your right hand and hear Your sweet voice saying to the righteous: ‘Come, blessed of My Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world.’ Deliver me from that fearful and most cruel voice You will say to the sinners on Your left: ‘Depart from Me, you cursed, into the eternal fire prepared for the devil and his angels.’ And do not say to me, O sweetest Jesus: ‘Depart from me, you cursed!’” When Iustina reached this word…

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