Daughter of Empire [antikvár]

My father could trace his roots back to the ninth century. Through forty-one generations, he was able to recount the lives of our ancestors - royalists, rebels and saints. He never tired of telling me that it was extremely rare for a family to be able to cite two canonised antecedents. 'The first', he would say proudly, 'goes way back to the thirteenth century. St Elisabeth of Hungary was a gracious princess who secretly gave alms to the poor. Her husband didn't approve of this and one morning, ordered her to remove the cover of her basket. And I loved the ending of this story,' her forbidden bread had miraculously turned into roses.' 'The other was your Great Aunt Ella, the Grand Duchess of Russia, who, following her husband's assassination, became a nun and worked tirelessly among the poor and sick of Moscow. In 1918, when she, the chief nun, three young princes, a Grand Duke and a lady-in-waiting were thrown down a mineshaft by the Bolsheviks - along with a few hand grenades for good measure - witnesses heard her clear sweet voice singing "Hail Gentle Light" and other hymns of fortitude to her fellow victims. Before she died, she tore up her nun's veil to provide bandages for the princes' wounds.' 1