In 2013, Nun Elizaveta of Leuchtenberg departed unto the Lord in the Protection Monastery in Bussy-en-Othe located about a hundred kilometers away from Paris. She was not only one of the last native Russian monastics in the monastery founded in 1946 by our emigrants of the first wave. She was also a great-great-great-granddaughter of the Emperor Napoleon I and… Josephine de Beauharnais, Napoleon’s wife.
A story about the family of Mother Elizaveta is like the history of Russia in great detail. It is these details that breathe life in dry historical facts. It is exactly why we ought to start this story right from the beginning.
“Your descendants will live in Russia”
The story of her family line begins in 1835, when a beloved daughter of Emperor Nicholas I made an unusual request for her sixteenth birthday: She asked to spend her entire life in Russia.
To understand the boldness of such a request, one must recall that every Grand Duchess was expected to marry into a European ruling dynasty—an arrangement that inevitably meant leaving her homeland forever. In effect, she was asking for the freedom to live by her heart rather than by royal duty. And to make her intentions unmistakably clear, she hinted to her parents that she would sooner become a nun than marry without love.
Nicholas I was a man who demanded much of himself and others. He expected his children to place the interests of the state above personal desires. And yet, he could not deny his favorite daughter this deeply personal wish. He granted her request.
Four years later, Grand Duchess Maria Nikolaevna married… a relative of Napoleon.
At first glance, it was a surprising—even shocking—choice. It stirred indignation among members of the Russian Emperor’s court. Even the relatives of the bridegroom, the Duke of Leuchtenberg, did not give their immediate consent to the marriage. Yet Emperor Nicholas I gave his blessing without hesitation. He had a sincere liking not only for the young duke, but also for his father, Eugène de Beauharnais—Napoleon’s adopted son and former Viceroy of Italy.
Like Nicholas I, Eugène was a man of principle. This quality was reflected in all his actions, most notably in his unwavering loyalty to Napoleon when nearly everyone else had abandoned him. But there was one episode that deeply moved the devoutly Orthodox Emperor: a blessing and a prophecy that Eugène received from St. Savva of Storozhev during the Patriotic War of 1812.
Here is how it happened. As a commander in Napoleon’s army, Eugène led the Fourth Corps in the march toward Moscow. When the French occupied Zvenigorod, the officers were quartered at the Monastery of St. Savva of Storozhev. That night, Eugène had a dream. An old man appeared to him—clearly Russian, likely a peasant judging by his beard—his expression stern yet dignified. In flawless French, the old man addressed him:
“If you order your soldiers not to loot or destroy anything in this monastery, and ensure its protection, you shall return to your homeland alive and unharmed. As for your descendants—they shall live in and serve Russia” (from an interview with Mother Elizaveta of Leuchtenberg).
The dream was so vivid that Eugène awoke in alarm and immediately summoned his guards, demanding to know how anyone had entered his quarters. The sentries swore, upon the liberties of the Revolution, that no one had passed through. Later that day, while walking through the monastery, Eugène entered the church—and was stunned to see the very same old man depicted in an icon. It was St. Savva of Storozhev.
Deeply moved, General de Beauharnais obeyed the saint’s instructions to the letter. The monastery remained untouched. And Eugène, unlike many of his comrades, returned safely to France. His entire family knew of this miraculous vision. They also remembered his final instruction—he died young, at just forty-two:
“If ever you find yourself in Russia, go to that monastery and venerate the relics of St. Savva.”
Maximilian, Eugène’s son, was only six at the time of his father’s death, yet he never forgot those words. When the opportunity came, he made the pilgrimage. From then on, St. Savva became the patron saint of the family of Grand Duke Maximilian and Grand Duchess Maria Nikolaevna Romanov.
After their marriage, the Duke of Leuchtenberg was granted the title His Imperial Highness Prince Romanovsky. He fully justified the hopes of his imperial father-in-law. He proved to be not only a devoted husband to Maria Nikolaevna and a loving father to their seven children, but also a respected member of the imperial household. Tragically, his life was cut short by consumption at the age of thirty-five. Yet even in his brief years, he accomplished much—not only for his family, but for Russia as a whole.
He died early. However, he managed to do a lot not only for his family, but also Russia as a whole
For example, Grand Duke Maximilian was an honorary member of the Russian Academy of Sciences, president of the Imperial Academy of Arts, head of the Mining Institute, and commander of the Corps of Mining Engineers. These were not ceremonial titles alone—thanks to his excellent education and natural aptitude, he played an active and meaningful role in each of these spheres.
In addition to his professional accomplishments, both he and his wife were widely known for their philanthropic work. Some of their charitable projects have endured to this day. Notably, the Maximilian Hospital they established in St. Petersburg remains in operation.
Love Despite All Troubles
Dmitry Georgievich, Duke of Leuchtenberg The parents of Elena Dmitrievna Romanovskaya-Leuchtenberg—Mother Elizaveta—found each other during one of the most tumultuous periods in Russian history: the Revolution and Civil War. Her grandfather, Georgy Nikolaevich (the grandson of Grand Duchess Maria Nikolaevna and Grand Duke Maximilian), and her father, Dmitry Georgievich, both served in World War I. Georgy Nikolaevich worked with the Russian Red Cross Society at the headquarters of the Southwestern Front, while his eldest son, the nineteen-year-old Dmitry, a graduate of the Military Engineering School, volunteered for the prestigious St. Andrew’s Horse Guards Regiment.
As the revolution unfolded and unrest consumed the army, the entire family was forced to flee abroad. Of them all, Dmitry Georgievich endured the most perilous escape—yet it was this very hardship that led him to meet his future wife.
In the chaotic days following the October Revolution, Dmitry was arrested by the Bolsheviks and imprisoned in the Peter and Paul Fortress. Execution seemed imminent—until a stroke of fortune intervened. A former acquaintance, now a prison warden and once a musician employed by Dmitry’s family, arranged for his escape. It was an act of gratitude for the kindness shown to him in the past.
After his escape, Dmitry joined General Wrangel’s army and retreated with the White forces to Crimea. Though he witnessed his homeland crumbling around him, he could not believe it was the end. Like many in his circle, he clung to hope that Russia’s old order might someday be restored. Even in exile, their hearts remained anchored in the Russia they had lost.
Meanwhile, the battle for Crimea dragged on, though the tide was turning. The Bolsheviks gained ground, the Whites were retreating, and thousands were scrambling to board the last departing steamships. It was amid this desperate upheaval that Dmitry Georgievich visited the home of an old friend. Entering the dining room, his eyes fell on a young woman seated at the table. For the rest of the evening, he could not look away. He didn’t even know her name, but turned to his friend and quietly said, “There is my future wife.”
For the rest of the evening, he could not look away. He didn’t even know her name, but turned to his friend and quietly said, “There is my future wife.”
On that very evening Dmitry learned that the nineteen-year-old Princess Ekaterina Aleksandrovna Chavchavadze had been recently widowed; she and her newborn daughter, Irina, were now alone. Like Dmitry, Ekaterina had been imprisoned—indeed, the Bolsheviks had already led her out for execution when she somehow escaped. She reached Crimea and was searching desperately for passage out of Russia. After great difficulty a berth was found for the princess and her infant. A fortnight later, Dmitry secured one as well. They reached Rome safely, where Dmitry’s father, Georgy Nikolaevich, was living in exile. With his blessing Dmitry and Ekaterina married and soon settled in Bavaria, in the ancestral Beauharnais castle.
Childhood of Mother Elizaveta
Elena was born on 30 May 1922 in the Bavarian castle of Zeon—originally a tenth-century Catholic convent. During the French Revolution its occupants were dispersed and the estate transferred to private hands; it was later purchased by a daughter of Eugène de Beauharnais and thus passed to the Dukes of Leuchtenberg.
The coat of arms of the Leuchtenberg family Elena and her elder half-sister, Irina, were raised side by side. They shared nannies, governesses, lessons, and play. Their parents never emphasized the difference between Irina, a Princess Chavchavadze, and Elena, a Duchess of Leuchtenberg. Titles, they were taught, conferred duty and responsibility, not privilege.
That principle was lived out before their eyes. Their grandfather Georgy Nikolaevich opened Zeon’s doors to compatriots fleeing the Revolution; the castle became a refuge for countless Russian émigrés. The expense was ruinous, and by the mid-1930s the family could no longer maintain the estate. Yet the lesson was clear: wealth can vanish overnight, but generosity and good upbringing endure.
Before the move, a younger brother, Georgy, was born. Quiet and thoughtful, he astonished everyone with his calm nature and love of books—spending hours with pictures long before he could read.
The children’s English nanny, herself a refugee from Russia, respected the culture deeply. She was strict but fair—washing a mouth with soap for a lie, sending a culprit to the corner for disobedience, and insisting that duties be fulfilled. Neglect of duty, she warned, breeds chaos, pointing to the Revolution as proof. Their parents echoed the theme: Prosperity begins with order, and order begins with oneself.
Although their governess saw them daily, their parents were often absent, absorbed in work. Yet by tradition the family gathered for every feast. During Great Lent and the Nativity Fast an Orthodox priest came to serve in their house-chapel; all confessed and communed. Christmas, Pascha, and name days were celebrated around a common table. Elena remembered with delight her mother’s low, resonant voice accompanying Russian romances on the guitar, while adults raised their glasses, “To Russia!” They planned, half-seriously, for a triumphant return. Though the children had never set foot there, they loved Russia fiercely and called themselves Russians without hesitation, despite ties to French, German, and Norwegian royalty.
That happy childhood ended with the outbreak of the Second World War.
