“Open, open the door, the Emperor of Greatness is coming!”
The Craiova Securitate cell block on Pavlov Street was a small part of the newly built Securitate military complex, which both the investigators and the head of the arrest took pride in whenever they had the opportunity. […]
It was Easter morning in 1960. After the fury of collectivisation and the wave of arrests, a period of relative calm allowed both victims and executioners to celebrate Easter, each in their own way and according to their own possibilities. However far some had strayed from the faith, they kept the customs they had learned from their ancestors, more or less openly.
If the spiritual side was neglected for some, the material side, the feast with plenty of food and drink, was enjoyed by all. The morning meal had been served and a perfect silence hovered over the mobile phone of the Craiova Securitate. A light, as vivid as it could be, shone through the frosted gem of the phone, signalling a sunny spring morning. There, on the edge of the bed, everyone was praying, or perhaps thinking of their loved ones back home, of years gone by in the chapel, stirring up dear memories lost in the turmoil of years gone by.
In a cramped cell, with no furniture other than the iron bunk beds, three women sat on the edge of the bed, as the rule dictated. Three women in conflict with the Marxist state met here for the first time: the abbess of the Tismana convent, a brave Romanian woman from one of the villages of Oltenia, and a young chemical engineer. […]
The third inmate of the Securitate cell was Mother Tatiana, abbess of the Tismana convent. Once again, the foundation of Mircea the Elder paid its tribute. In 1948-1949, when it was still a monastery, Abbot Gherasim Iscu, a member of a Romanian resistance group, had been arrested and sentenced by the military tribunal in Craiova. He was unable to resist the inhuman regime in the Communist dungeons. His remains rest in the prisoners’ cemetery near the tuberculosis prison in Târgu Ocna. Other reliable elements of the nationalist right in Oltenia also lost their lives there: students Florea Popescu and Gheorghe Miulescu.
The nuns had been well represented in the Communists’ plans for arrests in 1958 and 1960. Accused of providing food and shelter to refugees and anti-communist fighters in the mountains, Mother Tatiana, as a nun, was subjected to particularly harsh investigations, pressure, coercion and prolonged shocks that brought even the most hardened beings to the brink of mental collapse. The Investigation Department, headed by Toma Popescu, did its duty to the Party. The investigation had long since moved on from the stage begun in 1948 by the shoemaker Constatin Oancă at the Craiova Securitate, who inaugurated the dynasty of Oltenia’s torturers. The confessions were extracted by means of an emergency technique that included beatings with hair, crowbars, electric shocks and spinning on a spindle. Now there are many carefully trained teams of investigators. They had unlimited time. It seems incredible to those who don’t know the reality that people have been going through the various stages of investigation for decades. The wild, unbridled cynicism of the cobbler had been replaced by the intellectual cynicism and cold cruelty of Toma Popescu, who made the sadistic statement: “We are not smearing ourselves with your blood, we are putting you in a position to kill yourselves!”
A prolonged examination led to mental imbalance, especially in women. There have been many cases where those who have gone through it have not been able to regain their lost balance. The investigation of political crimes had not yet been completed when a new problem arose. Where is the monastery’s gold? Only the state, the Party, was entitled to the precious metal. Anyone in possession of an ounce of gold was a common criminal. The militia specialists in charge of the problem came to the aid of their colleagues in the Securitate. Long investigations, day and night, confrontations with Mother Nicodema, who was also arrested, trips to the convent to search and dig, all this had deeply affected the poor woman. Her cellmates discreetly surrounded her with love and understanding, trying to keep her from falling into despair. In such circumstances, a kind word, the feeling that one is not alone, forsaken, abandoned in the arms of unyielding forces, that a heart of strength beats beside one, is enormously important.
The week of passion had been for her a week of agony, of terrible care. There were moments when she spoke out loud, alone. On Easter morning she seemed more at peace. The guards were on duty. At regular intervals they would lift the guards to the peepholes to make sure that nothing was going on in the cell, nothing suspicious.
In the silence and peace of that holy morning, suddenly, as if pushed by a spring, without any further explanation, Mother Tatiana ran to the door and began to pound with her fists, shouting as long as she could:
– Open, open the door, the Emperor of Greatness is coming! Open while you still have time, or woe betide you!
We looked at her in amazement, helpless. Blocked as if by the imperative of her call, we waited in fear for the reaction of the security guards. I had seen enough cases of women being brutalised. Not long before, the peasant women who had resisted collectivisation and helped to clear the land with their bales had simply been beaten to death in the cellars of the Securitate.
Mother Tatiana kept banging on the door, repeating the call. The window opened and the guard on duty looked at us in confusion. I replied with a shrug. Mother Tatiana tried to enlighten him by repeating the divine command. The porter, not knowing what to do, quickly closed the visor. Soon the hall was filled with the sound of footsteps and voices. The bolts are pulled and the door opens. The officer on duty at the unit appears in the doorway. He was known as a pensive man. Perhaps this was his nature, perhaps this was the role he was supposed to play; a conciliatory intervention to achieve a working strategy. When they opened the door, Mother Tatiana calmed down and greeted them with “Christ is risen! “. The officer looked at us, who were anxiously waiting to see what would happen next. Will they drag her under the cold shower? Will they put her in a straitjacket? Will they beat her to a pulp?
The officer puts his hand to his head to show that he’s gone mad and lets her out into the corridor, surrounded by the group of carers. The door closes and we’re left with our ears pricked for some information, out of sight. We try to say a prayer… Silence! Then, suddenly, from somewhere not far away, probably from the stall where they were taking the air, the loud, full voice of Mother Tatiana is heard singing: “Christ is risen!” The melody penetrated the walls and bars, melting the gloomy atmosphere of the cells into a heavenly blessing. She repeated it three times as she used to say whilst she was at monastery in a way that it echoed through the Securitate building on Easter Day.
After a short time they took her to her cell, quiet, her face radiant. The vanity of the captured animal was gone from her eyes. The terror of the never-ending investigation, the fear that had kept her awake until midnight when she was called to the funeral, the bitterness, the despair had all disappeared. The officer thought for a few minutes and then signalled to the guard. The door closed and the bolts were pulled. The nun sat down on the edge of the bed. Her face lit up with satisfaction. She was in another world. She was no longer in the Securitate cell.
After a while, when we looked at each other, we couldn’t hold back the tears. We hugged each other just by looking at each other, because the Securitate officer was constantly watching the room through the viewing slot. After a while he gently dropped the metal guard and moved on.
The follow-up would not be long in coming. Securitate would not be long in paying its dues. And yet Mother Tatiana will survive. One day she will return to the convent, where she will end her life in peace.
In my mind’s eye, years later, I see again the smiling face of Mother Tatiana, who taught me the meditation she used to do every morning when she awoke from sleep: “Today I will be silent, my faith is strong. I will succeed in everything. Calmness, serenity, cheerfulness dwell within me. Divine harmony surrounds my being, and in your name, Lord, I will do more and more good”.
Quiet mornings, oppressive mornings, over which the dark wing of despair hovered; I repeated the meditation I had learned from Mother Tatiana and felt myself gaining strength, regaining my balance and peace of mind.
“Great and wonderful are You, O Lord! Many and unfathomable are Your ways!”
(Viorica Stănulețiu Călinescu – Tear of persecution. From the Struggle of the Romanian Legionnaires, Vol. I, 2nd edition, edited by Laurențiu Sile Iordache, Sânziana Publishing House, Bucharest, 2009)