Grad Kitezh Neil Patterson Originally published in issue XX of Vulgata, October, 2008.

I want to explore with you the ancient Russian legend of the invisible city of Kitezh. This legend, I think, is about God hiding things, the mysterious things that lie behind what is visible, and that make up his Kingdom. There are many different versions of this legend. The most ancient one is from a medieval Russian Chronicle. I won’t quote the whole thing, just a small part. It says:

“In the year 1239 it was God’s will, and because of our sins, that the dishonorable and godless Khan Batu entered the holy country of Russia. He laid waste and burned down many cities and churches, slaughtered many people, struck down small children and raped young girls. There was great lamenting.

“This is what Batu thought he had achieved, or at least this is how he saw it. The city of Little Kitezh on the banks of the Volga died out, and Great Kitezh on the shores of Lake Svetly Yar no longer existed. Or at least this is how it was seen.

“But when someone takes the decision to go to Kitezh, and starts by praying, fasting and shedding many tears; when that person also decides to starve, rather than leave the city, he will certainly arrive there. He will not even leave the city if he has to suffer many insults, for God will save him by ordering the angels to protect him, and record his life in the Book of Life. With this honest decision, a seeker follows the path to salvation as described in the holy books.

“The city of Great Kitezh was hidden and protected by God’s hands. But now that we look at her from the future we declare: She was worth the endless searching and the shedding of many tears. The Lord covered the city with his hands and it was no longer visible.”

Now I think that this story is told best in the opera written by Rimsky-Korsokov, The Legend of the Invisible City of Kitezh. I want to use this opera to talk about conversion because I think that conversion is the beginning of a pilgrimage to the invisible city of Kitezh. It’s sort of a game of hide and seek between man and God, now he’s here and now there. Some find him and some seek him; and we can even spend a day going back and forth between those two. So I want to look at this opera and the various characters in it; maybe they can shed some light on these various questions.

I’ll begin with the Tartars, the villains. They’re seeking out the city of Kitezh but it’s hidden in this deep forest and they can’t find the way. Now they only want to find Kitezh for the plunder and for the sheer joy of murdering and torturing the citizens. They go to the inhabitants of the surrounding area and try to coerce them into telling them the way. But they would all rather die than show them the way through the forest.

In the Liturgy of St. John Chrysosstom, which is used by all the Byzantine churches of the East, the communion hymn is as follows: “Receive me now O Son of God at your mystical supper. For I will not betray your mysteries to your enemies, nor give you a kiss as did Judas, but like the thief I confess you. Remember me, O Lord, in your Kingdom.” What does it mean to betray the mysteries of the Lord? The obvious sense, following the practice of referring the Body and Blood of Christ as the “Holy Mysteries”, is that I should not give over pieces of the Sacrament over to pagans for profane or nefarious usages. How many of us, however, have ever had the inclination (never mind the willing recipient) necessary to accomplish such a deed? But the mystery of God is also his Kingdom and his Church, which he has made one with himself. I can certainly betray the kingdom of God within myself, or within someone else, by any act of sin, of course, but also by making it appear less than it is by foolish speech, superficiality, platitudes and pretensions of all kinds. There is indeed something secretive in the way God acts. Don’t put everything out in the open for the world to see, because it will not understand it. We respect the silence of a chapel because we respect the silence of the inner sanctuary, which forms the dignity of the person. Could we not substitute into the hymn, “for, I will not show the Mongols the way to Great Kitezh?”

To return to the opera, the Tartars do find one person who will lead them: Grishenka, who is sort of the town drunkard, and out of fear of torture he’s willing to lead them. But when they get there they don’t see the city; God has made it invisible. They hear the bells and they see the reflection of it in the lake. The Tartars say, “A wonder and inexplicable wonder; Tartar warriors, wake up and see the wonder. Though there is nothing on the shore across the lake, the image of the royal city appears in the bright lake as in a mirror. The bells are ringing joyfully as in a merry feast day. Come then, let us flee. Come, friends, away from this accursed place; spare us this calamity.”

So when faced with this vision, the beauty of the bells, the image of the city on the lake, this wonderful miracle, they flee in terror.

This reminds me of Psalm 48: “There was once a rallying of kings advancing together along a common front. They looked and they were amazed; they panicked; they ran.” These are the enemies of Jerusalem, the enemies of God. They are struck with panic when they see the heavenly city.

We see the same thing with Grishenka, the traitor. He doesn’t see the vision of the lake but he hears the ringing of the bells of the city, even when no other character is able to. He is driven insane by this, driven insane by beauty. He says, “The bells are ringing for Grishenka; they fall on me like hatchet strokes.” And the last time we see that character he is fleeing into the forest after seeing a vision of the devil. We don’t know what his final fate is.

So the villains see this vision of faith; their eyes are opened to some extent but then they flee at what they see. A miracle can be scorned or disbelieved, but it can also be a source of terror. If the cross can be likened to a marriage bed, in the strange language of God, surely the gently, joyous tolling of a bell can be a hatchet stroke. I think this relates to the age-old problem in moral philosophy: do we, as Plato suggests, do evil because we are ignorant of good (whether culpably ignorant or not), or do we do evil because we do not believe that good is good. It is such a ridiculous proposition, that good be not good, that it is difficult to even formulate in a coherent way, but it seems that, at least to some extent, we really do look on beauty and goodness and decide that it is ugly and evil. On the one hand, this is precisely why we should not betray the secrets of the Lord, for they do not always enlighten and edify our fallen souls. On the other hand, it is precisely by a miracle that the Tartar horde is driven away. Notice, however, that the miracle is one of hiding. So, God does not betray his mysteries to his enemies, and yet the audience interprets this hiding as an unmistakable sign of God’s providence.

Now through all this, the heroine of the story, Fevronia, is with Grishenka, the traitor, because she has been captured by the Tartars. Through most of the opera she’s looked in a spiritual battle with Grishenka for his soul. So even though Grishenka really doesn’t do a single laudable act in the entire opera Fevronia is constantly and gently calling him to repentance or at least some kind of sanity. For his part he insults her and even spreads the rumor that it is she and not he who has betrayed Kitezh and is leading the Tartars through the forest to the city.

Through all of this Fevronia is given no visions; she doesn’t hear the bells; she doesn’t see the image in the lake; she’s in a darkness of hope and of faith in the sovereignty of God.

Now at the opening of the opera we see Fevronia in the forest. She doesn’t live in Kitezh; she lives in the dark heart of a forest. She has a sense of the forest on a natural level as something given to her by God, a place to live and a place that’s going to protect her. So she sings: “O forest, my forest, wonderful solitude. You, forest, are my verdant empire, the loving mother; you have raised and protected me since my childhood. Did you not amuse your child and entertain her when she was unreasonable? Did you not sing touching songs in the day? And play edifying games and whisper wonderful tales in her ear at night?” She goes on.

In addition to that, she also has a vision of seeing God in his creation, in his forest and in all people. So a little later she sings:

“But isn’t God everywhere? You may think that this is a deserted place,ⁱ but no, it is a mighty church. Open your eyes and look around. Sunday Mass is held day and night here. Day and night we smell thyme and incense. The bright sun shines in the day and the stars glow like candles at night. We have lovely songs day and night, for everything with a voice sings songs of praise; the birds, the animals, everything that breathes sings the wonder of God’s light. Glory to you forever, you brilliant sky, for you make for God the high and mighty throne. And glory to you, too, Mother Earth, for you are God’s sturdy pedestal.

“My dear, how can one live without joy, without cheer or merriment? Look about you. All the birds enjoy themselves. All the animals are happy and leaping. Do not think that every tear that flows from sorrow or heartbreak is blest. Blessed are only those that shine like the dew in the joy of God.

“And fear not sin, my dearest. We must love everybody as they are. A guilt-ridden sinner may be righteous. In every soul lives the beauty of God. Every lost soul has been sent by God in his pain. May he be welcomed among us; be friendly even if he is evil, and delight in the heavenly joy. Then will happen what never happened before. Everything will grace itself with beauty. The earth will blossom into a marvelous garden and lilies of Paradise will grow. Fabulous birds will come flying by; birds of joy, birds of mercy, they will sing in the trees with angelic voices. The holy firmament will echo with sounds never heard before and through the clouds will burst an indescribable light.”

So this is her faith and her ability to see into other people. This ability is not a psychological intuition, but a spiritual sense that allows her to see the hidden Christ in others, the secrets of the kingdom that are veiled to most of us. In the opera she’s always very merciful to Grishenka, which is consistent with her line, “even a guilt-ridden sinner may be righteous”. But this knowledge of her own ignorance, of the fact that ultimately other people are opaque to us, is itself a great spiritual insight. I am reminded of the sibylline oracle of Delphi who declared Socrates the wisest man in the world because he knew that he knew nothing.

It is only in the end when she finally sees with her eyes the city of Kitezh in its true form, glorified by God. She still has compassion for Grishenka, who is of course not allowed to enter the city. She sends him a message from Kitezh: “Grishenka, since your mind is weak, I am writing to you from heart to heart. Do not count us among the dead. We live. Kitezh did not fall but hid itself. We are living in a wonderful place, which reason cannot comprehend. So many things flourish and blossom here, palms and sweet-smelling flowers. Farewell now, and do not think badly of us. God let you repent. Here is a sign: look into the night sky at the shimmering columns of fire. They say that dawn is breaking. It is the prayers of the righteous rising.”

In contrast to Fevronia, another character I want to look at is Fyodor Poyarok. He is the lieutenant of Prince Yuri, the prince of Kitezh. He, to me, represents natural virtue. He’s completely brave, loyal, upright, just and righteous in every way. But because he gets blinded by the Tartars he is deceived into thinking that Fevronia has betrayed them. So despite his virtue he is not able to see the truth. This is what I might call the inadequacy of virtue—if you’ll allow the phrase.

So he comes to the city; he’s been blinded and enters Kitezh, warning of the coming disaster and they sing: “Fyodor, friend, blind sufferer, tell us: Is Fevronia alive?” And he says, “Ah, she lives but it would be better if she were dead. May the Lord forgive her sin for she knew not what she was doing. She is leading the enemy to us. After they took me prisoner they mocked me and, binding me, sent me as a messenger to you, Prince Yuri. ‘We shall destroy the royal city,’ they said, ‘tear its strong ramparts to the ground and burn down its churches and kill the children and the aged. We shall drag the strong to our horde, put courageous young men under the yoke and the pretty girls in chains. We forbid you to pray to your God of redemption; only our faith is allowed.’”

So this man of virtue becomes the bringer of bad news, the bringer of despair. His impeccable natural prudence and judgment tell him to believe a lie, because God has allowed him to be blind.

This brings me to the next important character in the opera: Prince Yuri. Prince Yuri, the king of Kitezh, is a very powerful character, for me. He represents the virtues of humility, compunction and trust. So when he hears Fyodor’s news he accepts it as God’s just punishment for his sins. This is he who built Kitezh as a holy refuge and is the most virtuous prince in Russia. But it is he who knows deeply that he is a sinner, and trusts in God’s mercy. It’s a kind of paradox: it is those closest to God who know that they’re sinners. He puts upon himself the guilt of the Tartar invasion, even though it doesn’t seem that he’s really done anything that would justifiably cause God to want to destroy the city. He allows God to destroy even Kitezh, which is the thing closest to his heart, believing always that this is somehow in God’s love.

Yuri’s lament for Kitezh is, for me, the most powerful piece of music in the opera. If we conceive the plot as a death and resurrection cycle, this piece is at the very nadir. But even though it’s filled with such pathos, I feel a great joy in it because the backdrop of this despair is ultimately his trust and his humility, giving the sadness an unexpected luminosity that raises it above even the great laments of tragic theatre. He sings:

“O renown, worthless treasure, o life of short duration, the hours are short and fleeting and soon we lie in pine caskets. In accordance with its nature our soul rises to God’s throne for the last judgement but our bones are bequeathed to the earth. Our bodies become food for the worms. But renown and wealth, where do they go? O Kitezh, my Kitezh, mother of all cities! O Kitezh, never-ending beauty! Is this why I built you in a dark and impenetrable forest? Mad with pride, I thought this city was built for eternity, a comforting refuge for all who suffer, who yearn and who seek. Kitezh, Kitezh, where is your renown now? Kitezh, Kitezh, where will your nestlings go?”

That concludes my discussion of the opera. There are other important characters in the opera I have not had the space to mention. The most obvious to those who know the opera being Prince Vselvolod, Yuri’s son and Fevronia’s beloved, but although he is the male lead, he actually gets relatively little stage time (much less than Grishenka) and is not a very interesting character. I also perhaps should have included Alknost and Sirin, the mysterious “birds of paradise” who appear near the end of the opera to carry Fevronia to the glorified Kitezh. I find these characters quite interesting not only because of their obscure status and genesis, but also because of the striking resemblance they have to Coleridge’s Death and Life-in-Death from The Rime of the Ancient Mariner. But I hope you see some of what I tried to illustrate: the mysteries of God deep in the forest, envied by the Tartars, betrayed by Grishenka and yet somehow mysteriously inviolate; the darkness of faith, the poustinia, inhabited by Fevronia; the virtues shown scandalously inadequate by Fyodor and the compunction and trust shown by Prince Yuri.

In the last few months, as many people around Madonna House have noticed, I’ve become somewhat obsessed with this opera. First, I spent several precious free evenings listening to it several times, and then I turned it into a summer programme talk, now this essay and, soon, a children’s book for my goddaughter (and yes, I’m drawing the pictures myself, and the calligraphy. No, I don’t know how to draw or do calligraphy…). Why all this? For one thing, I fell in love with the music, which, of course, I can’t share with you in an essay, but also I would say that the legend of Kitezh has helped me to provide a mythological framework to conceptualize my life of faith and my life here at Madonna House.

Catherine Doherty, who was born and grew up in Imperial Russia, liked to talk about Kitezh. She mentions it in several places, but in Madonna House, What is it? she says: “And then I remembered a legend of Russia. We call it Grad Kitezh. We think, or believe, as the case may be, that the whole beautiful city descended into a lake, and that some day it will come forth by God, where life will become peaceful and the swords will be turned into plowshares. Madonna House is going to become a new Grad Kitezh. It will be like an island, a place where men can become human again, where so many things are going to be pushed back, either by ourselves or by God.”

And this thing that’s happening in Madonna House is a great work of God, but it only happens, Catherine says, because Madonna House is made out of nothing. So it’s only in our poverty—in some mysterious way Madonna House is made out of nothing and so it can be filled by God. It can be made by God.

And of course, Kitezh is the kingdom of God, the heavenly Jerusalem, though it’s all through the Old and New Testaments. I return to Psalm 48; it says, “Go through Zion, go all round her, counting her towers, admiring her walls, reviewing her ramparts…” So we can say the same thing about Madonna House. “Go through Madonna House. Walk all around her, counting her towers, admiring her walls, reviewing her ramparts.” And since Christ is the new temple—which he destroyed and built back up again in three days—and we’re all united to Christ, we can say the same thing about each one of us “Go through Helen, walk all around her, counting her towers, admiring her walls, reviewing her ramparts. Then we can tell the next generation that such is our God, our God and leader forever and always. It is he who leads us.”