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Chapter Text

Moscow. July 17, 1918.

Doroteya Filippovna Lavrova.

Ivan the Terrible belonged to the Rurik dynasty. He was the first Russian monarch to call himself Tsar, establishing the Tsardom of Russia with Moscow at its center.

Ivan was intelligent and capable, but as his name suggests, prone to anger and cruelty. His dark side became more noticeable after the death of his first wife, Anastasia Romanova, who was capable to an extent of controlling her husband's impulsive and violent behavior.

Romanov means "son of Roman.” "Roman" is a Russian-given name that comes from "Romanus", a name original to the times of the Roman Empire.

Anastasia was the daughter of a boyar, a Russian noble. Ivan met her in the traditional bride show, which was a method of choosing a bride from eligible members of the nobility by parading the candidates in front of the Tsar. They usually chose the most beautiful.

When Anastasia died, Ivan ordered to have a great number of boyar nobles tortured and murdered because he suspected them of having poisoned her.

I have seen that she was indeed poisoned, but many of the people Ivan ordered to be tortured were innocent.

Ivan ruled his lands with an iron fist. One cruel example of this is what happened to the northern city of Novgorod. The once independent metropolis had become part of the Tsar's domain. One day, for both real and imagined acts of treachery, Ivan ordered his soldiers to punish the entire population, and thus, for over a month, the soldiers murdered, raped, tortured, and robbed the inhabitants without worry over their innocence, sex, or youth.

By assaulting his pregnant daughter-in-law, Ivan the Terrible caused the death of his unborn grandchild.

As if more proof of the dark nature of the Tsar's character were needed, Ivan also killed his son and heir in a fit of rage, something that would in time have grave consequences for the future of the young nation.

When Ivan died in 1584, his son Feodor I took the throne, but he did not like ruling and spent most of his time praying. Feodor died with no male heirs, and his younger brother, Dmitri, had died years earlier at the tender age of eight from a seizure that had caught him while playing with a knife.

Many people later claimed that Dmitri had been murdered, something I know to be untrue.

With the deaths of Feodor and Dmitri came the Time of Troubles, a period of anarchy, war, foreign incursions, and impostors who claimed to be the deceased Dmitri.

For the Time of Troubles to end, it was necessary to elect a new ruler. A parliament made up of members of the nobility, clergy, merchants, and townsmen known as the Zemsky Sobor chose Michael Feodorovich Romanov.

Michael was the grandson of Anastasia's brother, something that made him a good candidate. He was a former prisoner, a fugitive in the Ipatiev Monastery, a mere child living with his mother. Then his life changed completely, for the day came when he was convinced to accept the throne and leave for Moscow.

Michael was not a fairytale prince but a normal sixteen-year-old who just happened to be related to the favorite wife of Ivan the Terrible. A young man with a limp and a tic in the eye who barely knew how to read and write, chosen by fate. That was Michael, and he knew this better than anyone.

He also knew that what he was being asked to do was extremely dangerous, that people were willing to kill him for even trying, and so, in tears, the boy refused time and time again to take the throne until he was, or so could be said, blackmailed to do so. Russia would be lost without him, is what he was told, the bloodshed would never stop.

Michael had to accept, but that didn't stop him from complaining all the way to Moscow as he was met with the consequences of the war. Bloody corpses on the roads, stolen jewels and ancient crowns, not enough money to pay for anything... and it would fall on him to fix it.

Oo

The first time my mind traveled back to the beginning of Michael's reign, I heard someone cry in my vision.

"Where are you taking me?" A small voice whispered. It belonged to a scared three-year-old who repeatedly asked this question to the people that were carrying him to the place where he would be publicly hanged.

His cries were silenced with a slap.

His little body was so light that it took hours for him to die. The poor baby struggled so much to breathe. He struggled until his face finally became purple, and his body was left hanging for months so that everyone could see that he was dead.

The boy had been the son of one of the fake Dmitris, and his mother had been Marina Mnizech, a Polish noblewoman and religious fanatic who hoped to convert Russia from Eastern Orthodoxy to Roman Catholicism. Marina married not one, but two false Dmitris in her efforts to achieve this, and she condoned the spread of terror and atrocities as well.

I think Marina was like me. I can see things that are happening or happened and occasionally things that will. I have had visions of Marina making the same facial expressions I am told by my husband I do whenever I see something.

My eyes open wide. My entire body freezes, and most often than not, doesn't react to anything that is happening either in my vision or in reality. My soul does, it feels everything.

Dust could get inside my eyes and I still wouldn't blink. It is only when a vision ends that my facial expressions can reveal the nature of what I have witnessed. A dramatic change, impossible to miss. That is what my husband says.

Marina was not a good woman, but she loved her child as fiercely as most mothers do, something I can deeply empathize with now that I am a mother as well. While imprisoned, after she heard that the new Tsar had murdered her son, Marina cried for hours, but her sobs immediately ceased when she had a vision, or a series of visions, over the course of a day.

I could tell Marina was almost forcing herself to keep having visions. Her face looked strained by the effort.

Then her expression relaxed. She smiled sinisterly, looking way too content and even satisfied for a woman who had just lost her son.

Before she was secretly strangled, she screamed to her jailers, to her would-be killers, to anyone that would hear her:

"Be damned, house Romanov! In Ipatiev Monastery you started, in Ipatiev House you will finish! You began with the death of Tsesarevich, and you will end with Tsesarevich's death!"

She screamed this every hour of every day the week before her death. And hear her they did.

The new Tsar did not take her words seriously or even bother to have anyone write them down, but her curse became a legend among the common people.

To this day there are no documents that can confirm she even cursed the Romanovs, but I know what she said, and I know why it sounded like a curse. She was called a witch, but I am sure that she did not actually have the power to make anything happen. She simply had fragmented visions showing her the future of the dynasty, and she tried to use them as a way to hurt the people who had murdered her child in the only way she could. With the truth.

For me, the visions come at least once a week. I can see, hear, and sometimes feel or smell things. I can distinguish those divine messages from normal thoughts or daydreaming because I can't control what happens in them, and I know that I am not hallucinating because I have had other people confirm the things that happen in my visions.

I can somewhat control what I would like to know about by focusing my mind on it, but even then, the visions are capricious.

Sometimes I get visions when I am not focusing on anything, about people I don't know nor am interested in knowing. Sometimes I am not able to get visions of the things I do want to see.

One thing I am sure of is that Marina did indeed have at least one vision of the future, which makes her exceptional even for people like me. Seeing visions of the future is way more uncommon than seeing the past or present.

I know this because I seldom have visions of the future, and when I do, they consist of random nonsense.

The little voice asking "Where are you taking me?" has haunted my sleep since the first time I had the vision. As if the dreams wanted to tell me that if I want to know about the dynasty, I need to be willing to see everything, the beauty and the horror. I am not allowed to walk away from the horror.

The Time of Troubles did not end with the innocent boy's death. He had just been a scapegoat for all of the suffering that the people were going through, and even a third false Dmitri followed, though he was quickly apprehended and executed.

Allowing for the execution of that three-year-old had been almost part of Michael's duty, done for the sake of his people, for the sake of Russia and his new reign. He must have thought himself without a choice.

Oo

After Michael I came his son Alexei I. It is said that Alexei was benevolent towards his subjects but ruthless towards criminals, something that sounds very nice if one does not take into account which people Alexei considered "criminals.” During his reign, several individuals who had taken part in protests against him were tortured as he watched and made suggestions.

Most people who knew him agreed that Alexis was a gentle, warmhearted, and popular ruler. His main fault, some have claimed, was weakness, because throughout most of his reign, matters of state were handled by favorites, some of whom were not the brightest of people. This was, however, not entirely true.

Alexei was one of the best-prepared rulers. An intelligent, restless, and sharp-tongued reformer. He wrote poems, made sketches, and constantly wrote down his ideas about every possible subject. He sought foreign technology to improve his army and palaces, waged war against Poland, and acquired new territories. His rages were dangerous and he was quite capable of thumping a minister in the middle of a council meeting.

The Orthodox Church suffered a schism when the Russian liturgical books, as well as certain rituals, were revised because they had departed from their Greek models. The opponents of the reform were excommunicated and are nowadays called the Old Believers. They were persecuted and burnt alive for a long time under Alexei. People who knew the Tsar most likely didn't consider those slandered as heretics as worthy of any compassion.

Alexei was as tender as he was cruel. When the steward of his monasteries got drunk, he wrote him a letter calling him a "God-hater, Christ-seller, singleminded little Satan, damned scoffing enemy, wicked sly evildoer.” And yet, the man's punishment was simply to read this out in public and to atone for his sins. The punishments he allowed to be inflicted upon his political rivals and the poorest of his subjects were much harsher. The nobility strengthened its hold on the peasants, and disobedience was met with a knout, which was a heavy scourge-like multiple whip made of animal skin. Sometimes metal wire was used to make them.

After his top boyar Prince Nikita Odoevsky lost his son, Alexei comforted him: "Don't grieve too much. Of course you must grieve and shed tears, but not too much.” He was one of the most pious Tsars as well. At Easter, he would pray standing for six hours, prostrating himself more than a thousand times. Alexei was cruel towards the boyars who didn't share this piety and used to throw them into the cold river with their heavy clothes on if they happened to be late for mass.

Alexei married twice, and his son Feodor III followed him when he died. Unfortunately, Feodor himself died without children.

Oo

Peter the Great was Alexei's youngest son from a second marriage. Peter's older half-brother, Ivan, was chronically ill and mentally challenged, so a council of Russian nobles chose ten-year-old Peter to be Tsar. This caused a dispute to break between the families of the first and second wives of Alexei I. Little Peter would witness the horrible murders of many of his family members, who were tortured in front of him during these clashes.

Sophia, one of Alexei's daughters from his first marriage, led a rebellion of the Streltsy elite military corps, which made it possible for Ivan V and Peter I to be declared joint rulers with Sophia as regent.

After Sophia's regency, Peter continued to rule with his older brother Ivan V until the latter died.

Peter the Great was exceptionally tall, 203 cm, as many of his descendants would also be. I think he was also handsome, but he made really weird facial movements intermittently. Not because of visions, they were possibly tics. As a boy, he didn't enjoy books, but he loved learning in other ways. Through real-life experiences, Peter learned about carpentry and the latest advancements in sailing, and he also formed many friendships among foreigners and servants, with whom he created an army of sorts as a child, one that developed as he grew older and taught him about battle strategies.

Through many successful wars, Peter expanded the Russian Empire and transformed it into a great European power. Just like Ivan the Terrible, he was absolutely ruthless at times. During his military campaigns, massacres of all the inhabitants of certain cities were not a rare occurrence.

Peter traveled through Europe extensively and led a cultural revolution that transformed Russia from a medieval society into a modern one by westernizing the political systems. He was quite fanatical when it came to modernizing and seemed to deeply disregard the traditions of his own people, going as far as instituting a beard tax to implement his preferred fashion, which I find kind of amusing. His changes were so abrupt, and his court so full of alcohol, indecency, violence, and even blasphemy, that some common folk believed their Tsar to be the anti-Christ.

One of Peter's reforms was the abandonment of the traditional titles of Tsar, Tsesarevich, Tsarevich, and Tsarina, among others. From then on, the Tsar was officially referred to as the Emperor. It didn't make much difference. Most common people continued to call the sovereigns "Tsars.” Any male child of a Tsar is still commonly called "Tsarevich", and the Tsar's heir is still referred to as the "Tsesarevich.”

Peter was the one who founded St. Petersburg as a window to Europe. This city would then become the new capital of Russia. Legend says that he chose the place where to start his ambitious endeavor after an eagle hovered over a specific spot for a long time. The Church of St. Peter and St. Paul was built there shortly afterward.

Peter thought of St. Petersburg as a new Rome, his paradise. He wanted to take the spiritual leadership of Russia away from Moscow, and for that, he employed clerical publicists to identify St. Petersburg with the New Jerusalem of the Book of Revelation in the Bible.

I am not spared the horror that the city hides either. St. Petersburg was, both literally and metaphorically, built on the bodies of people longing for home. Bodies of fathers, grandfathers, and boys just entering adulthood, whose hope for the future was taken away.

Like many great men often do, Peter the Great had a dark side, his St. Petersburg came to be by using forced labor. Peasants were conscripted and taken by armed guards to the site, but so many of them escaped to go back to their families that only about half reached the place where thousands would die like flies from exhaustion, exposure, or illness. For Peter, these deaths were a minor concern, they were easily replaced by the next draft. It was not much different than slavery.

Many peasants already lived like slaves under serfdom, the medieval practice of indentured servitude and debt bondage. Serfs, just like slaves, could be bought, sold, abused, and murdered. They didn't have any rights over their own bodies, were not allowed to leave the land they worked, and could marry only with their lord's permission. Unlike slaves though, the serfs could only be sold with the land they were attached to. This state of affairs would not change for a long time.

Because no one wanted to live in this strange new city, its population also had to be conscripted at first, just like the labor.

Still, St. Petersburg eventually became one of the most beautiful cities in Europe, and it is there that the Winter Palace, with its gorgeous red walls, white columns, and elegant interiors decorated with gold, was built. That elegant baroque style palace continues to be one of the greatest points of pride of our nation. The abundance of decorations consisting of fanciful cornices and window architraves creates a magnificent combination.

With his first legitimate and yet unloved wife, Peter had a son, Alexei, probably named so in order to honor Peterʼs father, but Alexei was nothing like Peter or his namesake Alexei I. This new Alexei was surrounded by people who detested Peterʼs western inclinations. He was also physically unimposing, a drinker, bookish, sickly, and uninterested in the military.

Peter wished for a different son many times. He considered Alexei weak and unworthy of being Tsar.

Alexei knew how little his father thought of him. He was also deeply self-conscious about his own inadequacies and thus freely gave up his claim, but he ran away with his mistress to Austria instead of becoming a monk as his father would have wanted him to.

Peter begged Alexei to come back, fearing that the Austrians, which were rivals of the Russian Empire at the time, would try to use him. Peter promised his son that he would not be punished for his escape. This was a lie.

Upon his return, Alexei and many of his associates were tortured in search of information about a conspiracy that was not really as extended as Peter believed. There was no one in Russia involved in it.

There was a conspiracy though.

Alexei had indeed, albeit reluctantly, come to an agreement with the Austrians to possibly lead a revolt in the future, and he easily cracked under torture. His fate was sealed. Alexei died from wounds his own father had ordered to be inflicted upon him just like dozens of people before him. Mercy was simply not one of Peter's virtues, and I do not think having refused to help the Austrians would have made a huge difference for Alexei.

Peter the Great changed the succession laws to make it so each sovereign had to choose their successor, but he died without naming one himself. What followed was a period of palace coups led most by women, each new ruler having to get the support of the Imperial Guards for success.

Oo

After Peter died, his second wife, Catherine I, seized the throne. She was the first Romanov Empress.

Catherine's story is so amazing that it seems taken out of a fairytale. She was born Marta Helena Skowrońska, the daughter of Roman Catholic peasants from the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth. She took the name Catherine after her conversion to Orthodoxy and marriage to Peter the Great. She and Peter had two daughters that survived childhood: Anna and Elizabeth.

Catherine I died soon after her ascension though, and Alexei's son Peter II followed her.

Orphaned during his early childhood, Peter II had a short and sad life. Hating almost everything related to the weak son he had killed, Peter the Great was never interested in young Peter's education nor that of his older sister. Both siblings were kept in seclusion for years.

Because of his young age and lack of a proper education, Peter II showed disinterest in the business of ruling, leaving most of the job to other people. Russia was in total disorder during his reign. He was tragically trapped under the influence of older people as any child monarch is vulnerable to be. A powerful minister called Aleksandr Menshikov used to order him around and demean him. Fed up with this mistreatment, Peter II eventually sent the man to Siberia when he became ill.

As if that were not tragic enough, he was corrupted by so-called friends, some of whom were interested in controlling his political decisions and thus encouraged this corruption. Peter was introduced into living a life of feasting, playing cards, and even becoming addicted to alcohol and women at an age when most boys and girls are only starting to become curious about the opposite gender. I canʼt help but wonder why no one thought it their duty to protect that boy.

I genuinely believe that the only true friend Peter II ever had, with no ulterior motives, was his sister, but she tragically died from an illness just when he needed her most. The boy Tsar fell ill from smallpox soon after that, and in his delirium, he ordered to be brought to her. He died in 1730, on the day he was supposed to marry. The fourteen-year-old had been the last male-line descendant of Peter the Great.

Oo

Anna of Russia succeeded Peter II. Anna was the daughter of Ivan V, Peter the Great's mentally challenged older half-brother.

Anna of Russia chose the infant Ivan VI as her successor. Ivan VI was Anna's nephew, a great-grandson of her father Ivan V. Anna disbanded the council that tried to restrict her power and invited her Baltic German ally, Ernst von Biron, to help her rule. Ernstʼs corruption and the luxurious lifestyle of his German court angered the people.

When Anna died, baby Ivan VIʼs mother became regent, but she ruled with little support from the nobility, so Peter the Greatʼs daughter Elizabeth, with the help of the Imperial Guard, took advantage of the situation and arrested both the baby “Tsar” and his influential progenitor. The two would be separated and made to spend the rest of their days in prison, though the mother did give birth to more children in captivity, children who also lived and died in strict seclusion, unable to learn how to socialize or lead normal lives. They were even forbidden from learning how to read.

Elizabeth was crowned Empress, and her 21-year reign was successful. She continued modernizing the country and building St. Petersburg. Her court was as luxurious as that of Versailles in France. Many people have criticized a certain French queen for her excesses, but Elizabeth was not behind. She had thousands of dresses and shoes that the poorest of common people would have to pay for in the years to come. The only difference between them is that the Russian Empress never had to suffer any consequences for her actions, because she proved to be a capable ruler.

Elizabeth chose her nephew, who would become Peter III, as her heir. Peter was the son of Anna, Elizabeth's sister and the oldest daughter of Peter the Great and Catherine I.

Elizabeth arranged a marriage for Peter with the German princess Sophie Friederike Auguste von Anhalt-Zerbst-Dornburg, who changed her name to Catherine when she converted to Orthodoxy.

Peter and Catherine disliked each other almost instantly. Theirs was not a happy marriage, and both had numerous affairs with other people, but they had a son, Paul.

Catherine had a lover at the time she became pregnant with Paul, so it is impossible to know for certain whether Peter III was the father. Therefore, the Romanov dynasty could have, in fact, ended with Peter III, but I do not think that this is the case, because Paul looked and acted a lot like Peter, and Marina's words seem to be about to come to pass, which means that Paul's descendants are definitely Michael's descendants too.

Oo

Most of what people know about Peter III today comes from the descriptions of his much more successful and popular wife, who hated him, so he is remembered as one of the worst Tsars in history.

Peter III was indeed mean at times, incredibly ugly after surviving smallpox, entitled due to his position, brutal with his practical jokes, and a bit childish. He still played with toy soldiers as an adult and was obsessed with military order. He once court-martialed a rat for chewing some of his toy soldiers, and needless to say, he hanged the rat.

Because he had spent most of his life in Germany, Peter III loved that country more than Russia, and he absolutely idolized Frederick the Great, the successful military strategist who ruled Prussia at the time, as well as one of Elizabeth's worst enemies.

When Elizabeth died during the Seven Years War, a war that involved most European powers, Peter made a peace treaty with Prussia and gave up all of the conquests Russia had achieved. This, quite understandably, infuriated the army that had bled and suffered for those lands.

Peter III decided instead to go to war with Denmark for no clear reason.

Despite this, there was more to Peter than that. During his short reign, he passed many laws, some of them very enlightened in nature. He proclaimed religious freedom, fought corruption in the government, and abolished the secret police, which he abhorred for its cruel torture methods, methods that all the previous rulers, including Elizabeth, had approved of and even encouraged.

It was Peter III, and not one of the Tsars loved most by historians, who made the murder of serfs by landowners punishable for the first time.

One of his best-received laws was allowing the nobility to travel abroad, and he also exempted them from obligatory military service. The parliament offered to build him a golden statue for this, but Peter was firmly opposed to the idea.

“It would be a waste of gold”, he said.

Peter III was overthrown by his wife Catherine with the help of the palace guards, one of whom was Catherineʼs lover, Orlov. Peter was arrested and forced to abdicate, and he conveniently died soon after this during a drunken altercation with one of the officers guarding him.

Catherine, who had already seized the throne for herself and become Catherine II, certainly benefited from this.

It was during Catherine's reign that the still imprisoned Ivan VI was murdered after a very tragic life in seclusion, away from his family. Empress Elizabeth had ordered the death of the prisoner if any attempt to rescue him was made. There was an attempt.

I do not think that Catherine wanted to allow his murder, but she rationalized that it was necessary in order to prevent a possible civil war, for Ivan's supporters could have caused trouble in his name. She once said that the young man's life was not one worth living anyway, not after having been a prisoner since infancy, and that his executioners would simply be taking the "creature" out of his misery.

It is sad. Ivan VI had learned to read despite not being allowed to, and although a lifetime of imprisonment had indeed damaged his mental state, he had not gone completely insane or anything like that.

I have seen power desensitize the noblest of people to the loss of thousands of human lives, this as long as the loss in question purports to serve a greater purpose. It must be even easier to become desensitized to the loss of one.

It is no wonder Catherine II is called “the Great” though. She expanded Russia through two Russo-Turkish wars and acquired bits of Poland. There were improvements in public health during her reign, and she was even the first woman in Russia to get a vaccine as an example to others.

Trade was promoted and expanded. Alaska got its first Russian settlers. Catherine encouraged education and philosophy and established elected local governments. She also took measures to prosecute the cruel treatment of serfs by landowners and passed laws that forced the latter to help their peasants in times of famine.

Catherine loved philosophy. The French philosopher Voltaire called her the "star of the north", for she was what some would call an "enlightened despot.” Despite this, Catherine wanted to keep the revolutionary ideas that were spreading at that time throughout France and America out of Russia. She did not, however, like the thought of going to war with France, now a republic, to achieve this.

It was during the reign of Catherine II that a certain Monk Abel entered the scene for the very first time. Born in 1757, his many accurate predictions landed him in prison many times, although some of his contemporary sovereigns looked up to him for advice. A true seer, just like me, but better. Amazing.

He predicted that Catherine II would rule for 40 years and that it would not be her favorite grandson Alexander succeeding her but her son Paul. Close enough, Catherine ruled for 34 years. She died in 1796, and it was indeed her son Paul who succeeded her.

Now, Paul didn't like his mother very much. He blamed her for his father's death despite barely having known him. That might be one of the reasons why his succession laws, the Pauline Laws, would for years to come exclude women from the line to the throne.

Luckily for Paul, he had four sons: Alexander, Konstantin, Nicholas, and Michael.

Oo

Catherine the Great had named her grandson Konstantin after Constantine the Great, the founder of the Eastern Roman Empire, also known as the Byzantine Empire or Byzantium.

When the Roman Empire fell, its eastern provinces stood. They survived and flourished throughout the Middle Ages.

Constantinople was Byzantium's capital. The new Rome. A place of great significance for Orthodox Christians.

In 1453, however, the Eastern Roman Empire fell just like the western Roman provinces had centuries before. The Turks conquered the Byzantine Empire, and the Ottoman Empire has occupied its place ever since.

During her reign, Catherine II hoped to restore the Eastern Roman Empire. She wanted to retake Constantinople, now Istanbul, from the Turks, and make her grandson Konstantin the Emperor of the new and reborn Byzantium.

None of these plans ever came to pass.

Moscow is said to be the third Rome, so it is no wonder that the word "Tsar" means "Caesar.”

Oo

Paul, like his father, was considered harsh, militaristic, moody, and excessively traditional. He was referred to by some as the "Mad Tsar.” Obsessed with Prussian military order and culture, he would enforce the pettiest and most ridiculous of laws, many having to do with his preferred fashions. Sometimes he would burst into rages and beat people with his cane, humiliating important individuals who would later seek revenge.

His subjects both feared and mocked Tsar Paul behind his back.

Despite disliking his mother, during her reign Paul had been loyal to her and refused to participate in all and any coups intended to remove her from power, even when the would-be conspirators had offered to spare her life. Paul and his wife were also interested in learning about subjects that could help their people.

Paul forbade the separation of serf families by landowners, made it so that nobles received the same corporal punishments as those given to the common people for the same crimes, and put a box of letters in the Winter Palace so that any Russian could come and write him suggestions. He read and answered as many as he could.

Paul was no liberal though. He also cut off the import of books coming from France to stop the spread of revolutionary ideas and joined the second coalition against revolutionary France. He changed his position drastically, however, when Napoleon became First Consul in France. Paul soon came to admire Napoleon, broke his alliance with the British, and went as far as attempting to invade British India. This, for many, cemented the idea that the Tsar was completely mad.

The Mad Tsar was paranoid throughout his entire reign, and not without reason. One time, when Paul met with him, Monk Abel made a grim prediction:

"Your reign will be short, and I see your fierce end. From the unfaithful servants, you will accept a tormenting death, and in your bedchamber, you will be strangled by villains whom you warm on your royal breast.”

The prophecy was fulfilled. Paul was murdered during a coup that his son and heir, Alexander, had known about. The Tsar fought back fiercely and refused to abdicate, but despite his resistance, he was viciously beaten, kicked, and eventually, strangled.

Alexander I succeeded his father. He had not known that the coup would include murder and was guilt-ridden for the rest of his life.

Oo

Alexander I is famous for ruling Russia during the period of the Napoleonic wars.

"The Frenchman will burn Moscow", Monk Abel had truthfully predicted years before, "but the Tsar will take Paris from him and he will be called the Blessed. But secret grief will become unbearable for him, and the royal crown will seem heavy, and he will replace the feat of royal service with the feat of fasting and prayer."

Napoleon's invasion of Russia in 1812 was a total disaster, and the Russian winter haunted the invaders during their retreat. As part of the winning coalition against Napoleon, Russia gained territories in Finland and Poland.

Alexander is said to have died without legitimate children, so his brother Nicholas I succeeded him. I say that “he is said to have died” because it is known that Alexander faked his own death and became a starets out of guilt for not having stopped the murder of his father.

Starets are wise holy men who live a life of prayer in monasteries or wander from place to place, living humbly out of charity. It may have been perfect penitence in Alexander's eyes.

Not everyone was happy about Nicholas ascending the throne though, because he had an older brother, Konstantin. Konstantin, however, had given up his claim to the throne.

"The beginning of Nicholas's reign will be marked by a fight, a rebellion", Monk Abel had prophesied.

Liberal army officers used Nicholas's ascension as an opportunity to revolt, hoping to get Konstantin, who did not wish to rule, on the throne, and thus use him as a puppet. Because the revolts took place in December, they would be called the Decembrist revolts.

The Decembrist officers wanted changes in society, like a constitution and more say in the government. These desires were borne out of their experiences during the Napoleonic wars and exposure to French liberal ideas as well as having witnessed the everyday hardships average people endured.

The United States Declaration of Independence had also inspired the Decembrists to a certain extent, but the Decembrists were against slavery, still prevalent in America, and in consequence, they were also against serfdom.

There was no constitution or abolition of serfdom under Nicholas I though, and most Decembrists were sentenced to a life of hard labor in Siberia.

Oo

A war broke out between Persia and Russia during the reign of Nicholas I. The Persians had wanted to regain lands lost to Russia in previous conflicts, but Russia was victorious again.

A rebellion in Poland also broke out. The Poles were not happy with their situation. Years ago, their territory had been split between various European powers, one of them, Russia. The rebellion failed, and Nicholas decided to close down Polish universities and abolish the Polish parliament in retaliation.

Nicholas started to encourage the Poles to speak Russian. Not only the Poles, but also the Ukrainians, Belarusians, and other minorities within the Empire were pushed to talk Russian in what would be called a "russification" campaign. Nicholas I wanted to unite all of his lands in "Orthodoxy, autocracy, and nationality.” This did not sit well with said minorities, especially the ones that practiced different religions such as Catholicism.

Nicholas I did not like serfdom, but he felt that if he abolished it, the nobility would turn against him. Instead, Nicholas ordered the general in charge of the Crown Estates, the lands belonging to the Tsar, to enact changes that would improve the lives of the serfs living and working there. Poorer serfs were given more lands and schools were built for the children, for example. Nicholas hoped that other landowners would follow his lead.

During his reign, the Crimean War also started.

The Crimean War was a conflict Russia lost to an alliance made up of the Ottoman Empire, France, the United Kingdom, and Sardinia. The rights of Christian minorities living in the Holy Land, which belonged to the Ottoman Empire, were the immediate cause of the war for the Russians, or as some might say, an excuse. Britain and France feared that Russia would gain even more territory and power at the expense of an already declining Ottoman Empire.

By the end of his reign, Nicholas was disliked and considered by many a warmongering bully filled with almost melodramatic self-importance and dreams of military glory.

Many books were censored during the reign of Nicholas I, who treated several great authors despicably, in part due to the nature of their works. Nicholas made Fyodor Dostoyevsky go through a mock execution for his writings before exiling him to Siberia, for example, and years before, the entitled man had shamelessly flirted with Alexander Pushkin's wife even though the poet was supposedly one of his friends.

Nicholas was too busy waging wars to worry much about industrializing his nation, and even then he failed to modernize the army, leaving the military far behind those of the other world powers.

Nicholas I had seven children, four of whom were boys eligible for the throne. He died in 1855, and his son, Alexander II, succeeded him. During his last hours, realizing that the conflict in Crimea was about to be lost, Nicholas cried for the many men fallen in battle and begged everyone to forgive him for having failed his army due to a lack of intelligence. He also made his son Alexander promise that he would abolish serfdom like he had failed to do.

"Maybe I loved war too much", the dying Tsar even admitted.

Oo

Alexander II came to the throne when Russia had just lost the Crimean War, so it fell on him to agree to the humiliating terms imposed by the Allies. Russia would need a lot of time to recover from this defeat.

Before dying, Monk Abel had said of the coming Tsar: "He is destined to be the Tsar Liberator, he will give freedom to the serfs, and free the Slavs from the yoke of the Turks. The rebels will not forgive him for these great deeds. They will start a hunt and kill him in the middle of a clear day in the capital.”

Alexander II is best known for abolishing serfdom, and because of that, he is called "Alexander the Liberator", but it was not an easy transition. Many of the freed peasants did not enjoy any improved standards of living after obtaining their freedom. The prices of land were too high.

Alexander tried to help the peasants as best as he could, but he only managed to make them indebted to the government.

Curiously enough, Alexander II was a contemporary of Abraham Lincoln, the president of the United States during the Civil War which ended in the emancipation of their slaves.

During the American Civil War, the Russian Navy wintered in New York to help the Union in the event that Britain or France were to help the Confederacy. Britain and France were Russia's rivals at the time, and it was suspected that they sympathized with the South.

Alexander II also sold Alaska to the Americans so that the British would not take control over it.

Oo

Alexander II was responsible for several liberal reforms, such as abolishing corporal punishment, setting up elected local judges, promoting local self-government, ending some of the privileges of the nobility, and promoting university education.

The Tsar Liberator fought a brief war against the Ottoman Empire, helping the Serbians after an uprising.

The Turks had ruled over, abused, humiliated, and exploited the Serbians for many years, but as a result of this war, Romania, Serbia, and Montenegro achieved their independence from the Ottomans, and Russia annexed some territories in the Caucasus.

There was another Polish rebellion during Alexander's reign. It involved some terrorist attacks. Initially, Alexander II wanted to tackle the problem with a conciliatory approach, so he offered the Poles more autonomy. This did not work.

The Poles were tired of foreign rule, and the rebellion spread to Lithuania, Belorussia, and Ukraine. Alexander then decided to crush the rebellion by force. He substituted Polish officials for Russian ones. Russian language in schools became compulsory, and he banned the printing of anything written in Polish, Ukrainian, Lithuanian, or Belarusian. He remained benevolent with Finland though, and he even encouraged its nationalism and autonomy, maybe because it had remained loyal during the uprisings. Even today, many people in Finland remember him as a good Tsar.

Alexander II had eight legitimate children with his first wife, Maria Alexandrovna: Alexandra, Nicholas, Alexander, Vladimir, Alexei, Maria, Sergei, and Paul.

Later on, Alexander had three more children with his last mistress, a woman he married after his wife's death. Alexander caused her wife a lot of pain with his numerous affairs, and Maria did not have anyone to talk to about it because haughty ladies would ridicule her at court for being bothered by her husband's antics.

Alexander's daughter Alexandra died at a young age, but Maria grew up to marry one of the sons of Queen Victoria. All of Alexander's sons had a good claim to the throne, and many came to have male children of their own who were themselves eligible.

The heir, Nicholas, was incredibly smart, and his tutors claimed that he would someday become the most brilliant and liberal Tsar in history. He became engaged to a Danish princess in a love match. Her name was Dagmar.

Nicholas had been collecting her pictures before even meeting her. When they did meet, the young couple started exchanging romantic letters. Nicholas even gave Dagmar her first kiss after confessing his love for her.

Dagmar became popular in Russia the moment she arrived. She was loved by the people for being sociable and graceful, and Nicholas noticed this. Very regretfully, Tsesarevich Nicholas died in 1865 of meningitis before he could marry Dagmar, but knowing what a great Empress she would make one day and worried about her future happiness, he expressed on his deathbed the wish for his fiancee to marry his younger brother, Alexander.

Alexander was the opposite of Nicholas. Robust instead of lean and completely uninterested in academic or cultural subjects. Some even viewed him as clumsy or stupid. He didn't want to marry Dagmar at first, because he had a lover he was very much in love with, but Alexander II pushed him to do so.

Alexander, now the Tsesarevich, married Dagmar in 1866 after she had changed her name to Maria Feodorovna and converted to Russian Orthodoxy. In the family, Maria was referred to as "Minnie.”

Alexander and Minnie made a strange but loving pair. They bonded over the loss of Nicholas, as both had loved him very much. They even cried for him on the day of their official engagement.

The blue-eyed Alexander had a big brown beard. He was about 190 cm tall and lacking in elegance. His manners were rough, and he possessed tremendous physical strength. Alexander was proud of his roughness and simple tastes, claiming that they made him similar to the humblest of people in Russia. “A true Russian should have just a bit of roughness in him”, Alexander would say. It is true to some extent. Many times in the past, Western Europeans have complained about the harsh and exotic manners of important Russian visitors and ambassadors.

Minnie, on the other hand, was a pretty small brunette with big brown eyes and hair. She was polite, delicate, and comfortable in high society.

Alexander was strong enough to bend spoons and liked to show visitors this ability, but not in front of his petite wife, who did not appreciate him ruining them. There was no adultery in their marriage, something rare for the Russian aristocracy, as almost all the previous Tsars had allowed themselves to take in mistresses. Minnie immediately made it her duty to learn the language and customs of her new country and was immensely happy with her husband.

Alexander and Maria had six children: Nicholas, Alexander, George, Xenia, Michael, and Olga.

Oo

According to the old calendar, Nicholas was born on the 6th of May in the Alexander Palace, a small and simple residence when compared to the ostentatious Winter Palace. The Alexander Palace had been commissioned to be built by Catherine II for her favorite grandson, Alexander I.

The feast of St. Job the Long-suffering happens to fall on the 6th of May.

St. Job is a saint known for being an extremely righteous, God-fearing, and wealthy man with lots of children who abruptly lost all of his wealth and family through a series of attacks by enemies and natural catastrophes. All of Job's children died, and Job himself was later afflicted with a terrible illness that disfigured his face. Despite this, Job never once complained or cursed God, for God had given him everything he had once possessed.

As a reward for Job's devotion, God cured him, restored all of his wealth, rewarded him with even more possessions than he had previously owned, and blessed him with more children.

When a nurse took notice of the date of Nicholas's birth, saying that maybe it was an omen, Minnie looked shocked and concerned. She took baby Nicholas from his crib, and as she cuddled him, told the nurse not to say such nonsense.

Alexander, the second son of Alexander and Minnie, died in infancy soon after, causing his parents and a very sensitive little Nicholas a lot of pain.

Oo

Tsesarevich Alexander had become estranged from his father, Alexander II. Not only had the Tsar broken his wife's heart, but his political opinions were also drastically different from those of his son.

Alexander II was still close to his grandchildren though. He would call Nicholas "sunray.”

Nicholas and his brother George used to play in their grandfather's study while Alexander II worked. One time, Nicholas was greatly amazed by the way his grandfather had remained calm and crossed himself piously during a fierce thunderstorm. From that day on, Nicholas was no longer scared of thunderstorms. Just like Job, he knew that he had to believe in the mercy of God.

Young Nicholas was a good-natured boy who loved history and birds. Once, when a bird fell from its nest, he prayed for it not to die, for God had enough of them. Nicholas was by nature quick-tempered, but he possessed a lot of self-control. Barely anyone ever saw him angry. His uninquiring mind, however, worried his tutors. His brother George was more spirited and imaginative, and despite being younger, he was also the undisputed leader among his siblings. George often made Nicholas participate in unruly games at the dinner table, such as throwing bread at their parents, and one time, he even tripped a butler during one of his mother's tea parties.

Oo

At this time, revolutionary ideas had already started to take root in Russia, and many underground revolutionary groups were present, some of which condoned the use of terrorism.

Despite his many liberal concessions, Alexander II suffered many assassination attempts. This, understandably, made him slightly paranoid and reactionary by the end of his reign. Even then, Alexander II planned to create a consultative committee made up of elected representatives to advise the monarch and toyed with the idea of granting the people a constitution.

In 1881, before he could go ahead with any of those plans, the Tsar's carriage was attacked by members of an organization called "People's Will.” The first terrorist threw a bomb at the Tsar's horse-drawn carriage as it was crossing a bridge.

Alexander II survived the explosion and was unhurt, but many bystanders, including a delivery boy, were injured, and one of his bodyguards, a Cossack, died almost immediately. The Tsar thanked God for his luck and then went to see the wounded to offer moral support. As he was approaching them, another terrorist yelled that it was too soon to thank God as he threw a second bomb at the Emperor. Alexander was fatally wounded.

"To the palace… to die", is what the Tsar Liberator said before he was carried to the Winter Palace. The terrorists were soon apprehended.

Thirteen-year-old Nicholas and his brother George were having breakfast and planned to go ice skating with their mother later when a servant ran in and informed them that an accident had occurred. He explained that the heir, Alexander, had ordered his sons to rush to the Winter Palace immediately. Nicholas and George traveled there on a carriage, and when they arrived, the place was almost silent, everyone had pale faces, and there were spots of blood on the carpets. All of the members of the Emperor's family who had been nearby at the time of the incident were in the study. Alexander II was lying on a camp bed, the one where he always slept, and he was covered with a military coat.

"Papa", Alexander said as he led his son Nicholas to see his wounded grandfather, "your sunray is here.” Alexander II opened his eyes, tried to smile, and pointed a finger at his grandson. He recognized him, but was unable to say anything. The fatally wounded man was given communion for the last time, and all of his family fell to their knees. The Tsar Liberator died quietly. His son, Alexander III, succeeded him.

Oo

I was born in 1894, during the final year of the reign of Alexander III.

I had my first vision when I was four years old. It was that of my mother arguing with a man about the price of a cow. I was at home when that happened, and my mother was in the market trying to sell our cow.

I told my mother that I agreed with her, that the cow was worth a lot more. I loved that cow as if she were my dog. My mother opened her eyes widely, not believing her ears. I did not understand at the time what was so strange.

My family loved me even with my peculiar ability, but they tried to hide it away. They said that people would not understand. Sometimes I felt lonely because I could not talk to anyone about it, I thought that there was something wrong with me.

Whenever I could not help myself and I did talk about my visions, my neighbors accused me of spying or getting into other people's business, because most of my visions were about people I knew, people close to me. Whenever I discovered that someone was lying, I felt that it was my duty to talk about it. I hated lies, and I still do, but revealing them would only get me into more trouble.

I could not keep having visions about my neighbors, so I learned to control my ability by focusing on famous people instead, people whose pictures I saw in the newspapers whenever my siblings and I traveled to bigger villages. I surprised them by knowing a lot about those people even though I could not read.

My two younger sisters and older brother would realize that I had been right about everything when someone who knew how to read and write offered to read the newspaper for us. It is very common for kind people to do that.

Sometimes they would read things that contradicted what I had just said, and my siblings always took this as proof that I was bluffing, but for me it was merely proof that people lied all the time. That is how much I trusted my visions. I still do.

My visions of people close to me gradually decreased until they were so uncommon that they did not bother me anymore. Around that time, I started focusing on the Romanovs like a very nosy newspaper reporter would, only that I had reasons to know for sure that everything I was seeing was true.

My family and I were just peasants, and my sisters and brother still are. We lived in a typical small hut with a stove, a table, and chairs. We used candles and oil lamps to illuminate our evenings. We all slept on the floor or on top of the stove. My parents, grandparents, siblings, and I.

I used to have more than three siblings. I predicted the deaths of the ones who left us too soon.

My sisters and I worked as hard in the fields as my brother, and once a week we worked for someone else in exchange for our piece of land. I loved more than anything to do needlework while chatting with my sisters near the stove after a hard day.

We venerated the Tsar as the father of our people. A picture of Nicholas II rested next to our many religious icons. My brother used to say that the Tsar met with God once a week to discuss what was best for the country, but thanks to my visions, I have come to learn that this is clearly not true. The veneration my family had for the Tsar is one of the reasons I started focusing so much on him and his relatives. I used to tell my loved ones interesting stories about him, his wife, and his children.

The taunts and the gossip did not stop when I somewhat learned to control my visions though. Many people still called me a witch. I did not have any friends, and most of the children in the village made terrible jokes and songs about me, which they said and sang out loud so that I could hear. Their parents did not even allow them to play with me.

Everything changed when I became friends with the priest of our nearest church and talked to him about my visions during confession. His name is Gerasim.

Gerasim said that many priests would have thought of my ability as a curse from the devil, but that he knew that it was a gift from God. How did Gerasim know that my ability was a gift from God? My name, Doroteya. It means "gift of God.” My sight must be so, Gerasim said. He taught me that given names could have prophetic meanings if parents prayed to God for guidance before naming their children. He said that he knew that my parents had indeed prayed before naming me, as they were friends.

The name Gerasim means "respectable", or "honorable elder.” I think Gerasim's parents also prayed before naming him.

That church became my favorite place. I would travel there every week. After mass, I would talk with Gerasim about God and history as if he were my grandfather. He taught me how to read and write. He also taught me most of what I know about Russian history today. The visions are a nice addition sometimes, but I rarely know what is happening in them or who it is that I am seeing. The older the visions are, the more confusing. Gerasim helped me put into context many of the visions I was having and even gave me a history book to borrow.

Despite this valuable tool, I still had trouble understanding most of the things that happened in my visions, especially those of the older Romanovs. I knew no French, which had been the main language of the Russian court for a considerable period of time. I didn't want to give up though, so I told Gerasim that I would learn French one day and started doing so as soon as I got married.

I still go with my husband and daughter to visit Gerasim whenever we have free time, but the poor man is now so old that he can barely see.

Men of God were respected in my village, so Anna became my first friend when her parents finally allowed her to play with me. They trusted Gerasim.

Our friendship began when we were ten years old. Anna and I played a lot together, even games that were too childish for our age. I was making up for the lost time. She would also defend me from all of my bullies. I really loved her.

The visions I have of my contemporaries are way more reliable and understandable than the ones I have of people who lived centuries before. I was awakened today at 2:08 AM by one of those fairly accurate visions of the family I have grown to love. They don't know me, but I know them. They are walking down the stairs towards the basement of Ipatiev House. I wish this vision weren't reliable.

They may be executed, or they may suffer a similar fate to that of the brothers and sisters of Ivan VI. Forever imprisoned, but at least together. The visions I had of the terrified thirteen-year-old boy who is now the head of that family are also reliable.

Dressed in his sailor coat, Nicholas watched as everyone around him wept and wailed for his grandfather.

"Strenght, boy!" Alexander reprimanded his heir when the child started sobbing as well.

Minnie was still holding her children's skates in her hands.

Oo

Alexander III thought of his father's murder as a lesson on what happened when you lowered your guard, when you allowed yourself to be seduced by liberal ideas.

"My father tried to compromise, look what he got in return!" He often exclaimed.

Liberals could not be appeased, they did not want reasonable solutions to the country's problems. They only wanted the destruction of all of Russia's traditions, the destruction of Orthodoxy, the destruction of the monarchy, and thus, his family. The revolutionaries wanted blood. They were willing to kill as many people as necessary to succeed. Collateral damage was of no concern to them.

The Russian people needed to be protected from themselves, and to do so, Alexander III needed to be firm and uphold the values of autocracy, of absolute monarchy.

At least that must have been Alexander's train of thought. He tried to make his son Nicholas see things as he did, but the young Tsesarevich did not need much convincing to think like his father. Watching his tender-hearted grandfather bleed to death in front of him had left a profound impact on Nicholas, and early life experiences have a way of remaining with people forever. The fate of Russia was almost sealed.

The name "Nicholas" means "victory of the people", a sad irony.

Chapter Text

Moscow. July 17, 1918.

Doroteya Filippovna Lavrova.

The murder of Alexander II triggered a wave of pogroms, or riots, in which many innocent Jews were killed, lost their livelihoods, or both. One of the Tsar's assassins was Jewish, something the people rioting knew about and used as an excuse. It is horrible and embarrassing for our nation that even local policemen took part in these riots or at least allowed them to happen. The new Tsar had to order the troops to put a stop to the disorders.

Alexander III was, in some ways, the opposite of Alexander II, just like he had been the opposite of his older brother Nicholas. On the same day he ascended the throne, he stopped his father's plans for an elective consultative commission. A month after his ascension he issued a manifesto in which he committed to the maintenance of the autocracy and promised no attack or challenge to it would go unpunished. His wishes were commands.

At court, Alexander III talked as if he were about to hit someone whenever he gave orders, and when he decided something, he slept peacefully, trusting his judgment. His will was that strong. His personality was perfect for that of an absolute monarch. During his reign, it seemed as if all revolutionary sentiment had disappeared.

Alexander III started to reverse the liberalization that had occurred during his father's reign. He weakened the power of the local elected governments, or zemstvos, placing the peasant communities under the supervision of land captains appointed by the government instead. These men were feared and resented by the peasants. By doing this, the Tsar weakened the nobility and got more direct control over the countryside. He increased censorship of material considered subversive and encouraged the development of the Okhrana, the Tsarist secret police. Thousands of his political enemies were sent to scattered towns in Siberia.

Alexander was a ruthless man with an evil streak, drunk with power. One time he had a political prisoner whipped just for insulting a gendarme. A minister suggested less than 100 lashes because the woman had a fragile constitution, but the Tsar insisted on 100 and she died from her wounds. The so-called "May Laws" restricted the locations in which Jewish people could live. Their settlement in the countryside was forbidden, and only Jewish rural populations that were already there were exempted from this ban. These restrictions applied even within the Pale of Settlement, the western region of the Empire in which the permanent residency of Jewish people was allowed. In other places, it was mostly forbidden.

Alexander III also forbade Jewish people from having certain occupations, limited the percentage of Jews allowed into schools, and in 1891, he expelled them from Moscow under the supervision of Grand Duke Sergei, his younger brother.

These measures caused worldwide condemnation and turned many previously loyal Jewish people against the government.

Alexander III was unapologetic though. His government would not be able to protect Jewish people from pogroms that took place in scattered villages, far away from law and order. Most importantly, he distrusted them. He disliked them. Hated them even. Jews were not Orthodox Christians. Alexander used to blame anything bad that happened on them, refuse to give Jewish officials promotions, and even privately rejoice over reports of their misery.

He didn't like the Polish Catholics much either, so he continued his grandfather's policy of "russification" through the teaching of the Russian language at schools. He wanted "Orthodoxy, autocracy, and nationality" to be values held by all of his subjects. Other faiths were forbidden to proselytize and were only tolerated.

Alexander III was not averse to all changes. He enacted laws against child labor, forbidding children under twelve from working and limiting the hours those from the ages of twelve to fourteen could work. He also made provisions for the education of child workers and instituted a system of factory inspection. Sadly, these laws were not properly enforced most of the time and many workers continued laboring under less than humane conditions.

It can be said, at least, that during the reign of Alexander III railroads were built, and the country was slowly modernizing.

Even the support for the secret police made sense at the time. Although the major revolutionary organizations were broken up under Alexander's reign, individual terrorists continued killing public servants. A mine was discovered in the Kremlin while preparations were underway for the Tsar's coronation. During Easter, the head of the Moscow police received a basket full of artificial eggs, several of which were charged with dynamite. Threatening letters were received all year long.

Of Alexander III, Monk Abel had said: "True peacemaker. His reign will be glorious. He will besiege the cursed sedition, he will bring peace, but it will not last long."

It didn't last long because the peace was a facade based on fear. Maybe underneath his tough demeanor, Alexander was fearful as well. Terrorists had killed his father, and some years before that, dozens of soldiers in the Winter Palace. Alexander never forgot the surviving men's groans of pain nor the fact it could have been him or his children.

One time, he woke up to find his aide-de-camp standing over him with his fingers on his throat. Thinking his servant was trying to strangle him, Alexander grabbed his revolver from under a cushion and fired. Only later did he realize that the aide-de-camp had simply been trying to unhook his military collar so that he could breathe better.

Oo

Alexander III made a very shocking alliance with France, which was a republic and thus the complete opposite of our, until very recently, monarchist nation.

Despite their clear differences, France and Russia had a common rival.

The Balkan region, located in southeastern Europe, is populated mainly by Slavs, which are people with similar languages, cultures, and origins.

Russians, Bulgarians, Poles, and Serbians are all Slavs, and the Russian Empire was until very recently the self-proclaimed protector of Slavs. This would naturally include the Balkan Slavs.

The Russian and Austro-Hungarian Empires both had conflicting interests in the Balkan region, and Austria could count on Germany's support as an ally.

Once, during a state dinner, the Austrian ambassador mentioned the possibility that their army would mobilize in the Balkans due to a crisis. Alexander III picked up a fork from the table and twisted it into a knot.

"That", the Tsar barked in a threatening manner, "is what I am going to do to your army.”

The Republic of France had previously been defeated in a disastrous war with Prussia, the region that had unified Germany and made it a superpower. As a consequence of the Franco-Prussian War, France lost the territories of Alsace and Lorraine. Resentment for these losses was added to a fear of Germany's rising military power and made an alliance with Russia desirable for France.

And so, Russia promised to go to war with Germany if France was ever attacked, and France promised to go to war with Germany if the latter attacked Russia.

Alexander III disliked the Germans deeply and so did his wife Minnie. Her homeland Denmark had also lost territories to war with them.

Oo

Despite his policies, in private Alexander III was a playful man of simple tastes, a completely different person. He was cautious with money, preferred eating with his servants in the kitchen to grand banquets, and liked to show off his strength by carrying his wife with one arm and his sister-in-law Alexandra, the wife of the future King of England, with the other arm. Almost everyone in Russia loved his wife Minnie, who delighted in parties and balls. She loved the people back, as well as her children, who needed a kind mother to make up for their disciplinarian father. One time, before she became the Tsarina, Minnie defended protesting students from the police after being made aware of the fact they were being beaten. The students had screamed and cheered for her.

Alexander often traveled with his wife and children to Copenhague in Denmark for their royal family reunions. One time, a lost tourist asked some of the royal relatives who had gone for a walk which way was the fastest to reach the center of the city. Having gotten his answer, he asked for their names in order to thank them.

"The Emperor of Russia, the King of Denmark, the King of Greece, and the Prince of Wales", they replied.

"And I am the Queen of Sheba", the tourist scoffed at them in disbelief.

The children were raised with relative austerity for most days of the year. The food on the table was not just simple or even poor, as some visitors commented, but the time they had to enjoy it was also scarce because the children were the last to be served and they weren't allowed to take longer than 50 minutes eating. Once, Nicholas was so hungry that he opened the gold cross given to him at his baptism and ate the beeswax inside. This was an act of blasphemy because supposedly, an infinitesimal relic of the True Cross was embedded in the wax. Later Nicholas felt very ashamed but admitted that it had tasted "immorally good.” It soon became a common inside joke among the siblings to call any food they had particularly enjoyed "immorally good.”

Alexander liked playing with all of his children. That is what he loved doing the most. One time he showered all of them with a hose and the five ended up soaking wet. Grand Duke Michael was the Tsar's favorite. The child got his revenge by dumping water from a bucket into his father's head, and the Tsar was not angry, but amused.

Alexander III loved Nicholas as well, but he considered the shy and sensitive boy a bit of a disappointment and worried that he would not be strong enough to rule when the time came. He didn't exactly hide this. Alexander bullied his eldest child relentlessly by calling him a "girly girl" in an attempt to toughen him up. Minnie, on the other hand, was overprotective of Nicholas and spoiled him endlessly.

Despite all of this, Alexander did not make his son's education a priority because he thought that there was still time for those matters. This is not to say that Nicholas was not educated. He was proficient in several languages and was a good student with exceptionally promising knowledge of history, a subject he deeply enjoyed, but he was not getting adequate experience on matters of state.

His tutors, moreover, continued to find him a disappointing pupil. Although he had a good memory and learned well, Nicholas suffered from intellectual lassitude that was hard to arouse him from. He never asked a question, challenged a statement, or pursued a subject on his own accord. He hated every minute spent in the classroom and longed for the wilderness of the outdoors, for the chance to walk as fast as a horse, pitch a tent for the night and cook his food over a fire.

With big blue eyes and dark brown hair, Nicholas was quite handsome, but he felt a bit self-conscious about his height. Because his mother was considerably short, he grew to be only 170 cm tall. A normal height for the average Russian. A pathetic height when compared to that of most Romanov men. In order to compensate for this, Nicholas started exercising regularly, eventually becoming quite well built.

Nicholas was becoming an exceedingly kind and polite young man. He used to give money from his own allowance to the less fortunate and gift scholarships anonymously. When he was sixteen, he met his future wife at a wedding.

Oo

Victoria, Elizabeth, Irene, Ernest, Friedrich, Alix, and Marie were the children of Luis IV, the Grand Duke of Hesse and by Rhine, which is a region of Germany that is usually considered unimportant. The wife of Luis was Princess Alice, the daughter of the English Queen and Empress of India, Victoria.

Alice married Luis IV about half a year after Prince Albert died, leaving Queen Victoria a widow. Alice was there for her beloved father's death and consoled her mother tirelessly, but that wasn't enough for Queen Victoria.

Victoria cried the day of Alice's wedding, stealing all of the attention from the bride, and she forced her daughter to change back to black immediately after the ceremony. Queen Victoria would then go on to claim that Alice's wedding had been more similar to a funeral.

It is possible that the bleakness of the wedding created a curse on the Hessian family. I often have unclear visions about all of Alice's children, not of sight, more of hearing, of smell... there is tragedy awaiting all of them, or at least their descendants. There already has been. For all. Victoria, Elizabeth, Irene, Ernst, Friedrich, Alix, and Marie. Sometimes I see the vision of death itself on them as a whole.

Alice was happy with her new marriage, but she tried, for her widowed mother's sake, not to write excessively about it in her letters.

The most compassionate out of Queen Victoria's children, Alice had dedicated herself to charity ever since she was a little girl, shocking her mother with her interest in nursing. Alice moved on to instill the same dedication in her children, as well as the virtues of living a humble lifestyle. The Hessian children were raised with strict morals.

Much to Queen Victoria's dismay, Alice also breastfed her seven children and was an incredibly involved parent. For that, Queen Victoria called her a cow.

Alice's youngest son, Friedrich, was born with an illness that made him bleed for longer than any normal boy would whenever he was hurt. The disease ran throughout Queen Victoria's family. One of the Queen's sons, Leopold, also suffered from it.

Once, little Friedrich cut his ear and bled for three days. Later on, when he was two years old, Friedrich fell from a window while playing with his brother Ernst. He did not die immediately, but a hemorrhage soon formed in his brain. The little boy may have survived if it weren't for the malady. And thus, the first tragedy shook the Hessian family, the first tragedy that shook Alix.

Born in 1872, Alix was a beautiful girl of fine features, a straight and thin nose, blue eyes, and long reddish-brown hair. As a little girl, she was cheerful and always laughing, forming dimples on her face whenever she smiled, and for that, she was called “sunny.”

Because of her beauty, she was one of Queen Victoria's favorite granddaughters.

Alix's best friend was May, her younger sister. The two little girls were loving playmates. All of Alice's daughters were, in fact, quite beautiful, so much so that the four oldest would one day be known as "the four graces.”

The second tragedy was an epidemic of diphtheria. The entire family fell ill when Alix was only six years old. Alice nursed her husband and all of her children devotedly, but little May did not survive. Alice tried to keep this from the other children for as long as she could, but eventually, she had to tell them. When Ernst became upset by the terrible news of his sister's death, Alice kissed him. This may have been the kiss of death.

Alice had, until then, been without symptoms, but in time she fell ill as well. She succumbed to the illness rather quickly. Her grief over both Friedrich and Marie might have had something to do with it.

Alice died on the anniversary of her father's death. Her last words were: "Dear papa.”

Luis and the rest of his children recovered, but the deaths impacted Alix tremendously. Even her old toys and belongings were destroyed for fear of infection.

Alix became a serious and sensitive girl. Her dear older siblings, especially Victoria, would act as surrogate parents at times, but they were also growing, so eventually, as time went on, she started to see them less and less, gradually increasing her melancholy. She began to grow wary of strangers, becoming extremely shy and blushing for the silliest of reasons around them. Looking back on her childhood, Alix would always tell her friends and husband that it had been like a perfect sunny day suddenly clouded by eternal darkness. Her main refuge was religious faith.

Queen Victoria proceeded to act as a surrogate mother for Alix and her siblings, supervising their education. Alix would send her grandmother proofs of her talents with embroidery, and England would become the little girl's second home.

There, in the Osborne House, Alix would learn the story of her late grandfather, Prince Albert, and the love her grandmother Victoria had shared with him. There she would learn that the things she wished for most in life were love, a place to call home, and a happy family.

Alix was taught that her grandmother Victoria was a constitutional monarch, meaning that while she could influence the government, she didn't have any actual power.

Still, Alix had religious beliefs. She had her own feelings and opinions, which slowly developed as she grew older. The young Hessian princess came to the conclusion that God was the one who had set and anointed rulers on Earth, which meant that democracy was just a tool for those who didn't accept God's will.

Despite knowing very well that her siblings would one day have to leave her, Alix still enjoyed the moments she spent with them. Ernie, the closest to her in age, was her favorite. Luis loved his remaining children with passion. Victoria, Ella, and Irene took care of fourteen-year-old Ernie and twelve-year-old Alix as mothers would. Unfortunately for the family's youngest members, Victoria soon became engaged to Prince Louis of Battenberg, while Ella became engaged to Grand Duke Sergei of Russia. The two youths would miss their oldest sisters immensely.

Elizabeth, or "Ella", had long been considered the beauty of the family, and because of this, Queen Victoria was very interested in her future marriage. One of Ella's suitors had been Wilhelm, another grandson of Queen Victoria and the future German Emperor, but Ella had turned him down. Ella could have been the Empress of Germany, she could have had any position she wanted, but she really did like Sergei.

Grand Duke Sergei was the younger brother of Alexander III. Queen Victoria was not pleased, as she considered Russia an unstable nation. It did not help that Great Britain and Russia had been rivals for a long time and outright enemies during the Crimean War that Queen Victoria herself had lived through.

Ella's family did like Sergei. Alix was especially fond of him. Sergei would give the youngest of the Hesse sisters a lot of attention, teasing her mercilessly by telling her he wished he could marry her instead, as she was the real beauty of the family. Alix would drown with shyness and blush violently.

Twelve-year-old Alix and her Hessian family traveled to Russia for the wedding of Sergei and Elizabeth. Little Alix was impressed with the vastness of the Russian lands and the beauty of St. Petersburg. The elegant, colorful, and extravagant palaces and mansions, some decorated with gold, had been designed by the greatest French and Italian architects. The ornamented gilded bridges were reflected in the water of the Neva River, and near that water stood the gorgeous Winter Palace.

Alix was escorted by Cossacks in red coats, black boots, and fur hats. The Winter Palace was even more impressive at a short distance. All of this was new for Alix.

The court and palaces in Hesse were a lot less fancy. Even Alix's wardrobe was modest and relatively cheap in comparison to the dresses Russian court ladies wore.

The Hessians were warmly received by the Tsar and his family. It was during this trip that Alix's blue eyes first met those of sixteen-year-old Nicholas, who seemed to be in awe of her beauty. This, quite understandably, made Alix blush and lower her gaze the first few times she noticed that his eyes were focused on her.

Many activities were arranged for the Hessian and Romanov children, and Alix came to enjoy the company of Nicholas's siblings despite her shyness. Xenia, called "chicken" by the family, was nice to her. Michael, who was called "flopsy", was a mischievous child, and Olga, the little girl, was called "baby" by everyone, as it is custom in many families to call their youngest.

Owing to the informal environment, Alix stopped feeling shy around Nicholas. They started talking, joking, laughing, and even sharing secrets.

Alix told him about the way she sometimes felt that she could speak to her mother and little sister through the light of certain windows, as if they also opened up to heaven.

Nicholas told her about the day of his grandfather's violent death and how scared he had been. He also told her that he had been born on the day of St. Job and what that probably meant for him. A life of suffering. 

Alix looked sad the morning of the wedding and even cried. Ernie came into her room and comforted her. She confided to her brother that she would miss her sister Ella too much to bear.

Elizabeth was a lovely bride. She dressed as elegantly and expensively as Romanov brides were expected to. Following the traditional protocol, it was Minnie who placed the veil on her head.

Alix wore a white muslin dress with roses in her hair to the wedding ceremony. Nicholas, who was standing beside Sergei, spent most of it staring at Alix as if secretly telling her: "The next wedding is ours.” Alix would usually look down and blush, but she glanced back and smiled at him on several occasions as well.

After the wedding, Alix was moved to witness how much the Russian people cheered for the bride and groom as they drove between the crowds on a carriage back to the Winter Palace. She found the veneration they expressed towards their Tsar endearing.

During a children's ball organized for both the Romanovs and the Hessians, Alix danced the quadrille with Nicholas. She had to wear the same bridesmaid dress she had worn during the wedding, as she didn't have another one as elegant.

Despite her young age, Alix was almost as tall as Nicholas, which made them good dance partners. They had a lot of fun, but there were many awkward moments that night. Their deep stares had made both Nicholas and Alix a bit shy despite having been fully comfortable before.

Once, Nicholas attempted to imply his feelings for Alix by nervously giving her a diamond-encrusted brooch as a gift near one of the windows of Peterhof Palace. At first, Alix received it and thanked him in an equally nervous tone. They talked in short sentences for a while. Then they started joking about loving each other. Alix was the one who called Nicholas away and, enboldened by his playful mood and open affection for her, took a piece of glass, which together they used to carve a heart with an "N" and an "A" inside.

"I mean that", Nicholas said as he looked at the letters they had just written together in the window. "I love you for real, not as a joke.” He took Alix's hand in his, stroking it with his thumb. "I like you very much", he continued, "more than any other girl.”

Alix couldn't deal with the sudden rush of anxiety those words had made her experience. She burst into tears and ran away. Nicholas tried to comfort her, but she disappeared far too quickly. Alix was just a twelve-year-old girl and had never been in such a romantic situation.

Soon after this, Alix gave Nicholas the brooch back, probably out of guilt. She had done something considered improper. Accepting such an expensive gift from a young man was out of the question for a good girl.

Poor little Nicholas was left extremely confused. He later gave the brooch to his sister Xenia.

Despite the heartbreak and confusion, Nicholas was enchanted to have met the beautiful young princess. He found her shyness and inability to hide her childish affection for him endearing. Alix, on the other hand, had loved the politeness and gentleness of the Russian heir.

Oo

As all aristocratic young men were required to do once they reached a certain age, Nicholas entered military service. Along with other lads, the heir cultivated discipline and responsibility as he learned the basics of life as a soldier, which among other things included living in a camp and learning how to shoot. He naturally got to wear many beautiful, traditional uniforms.

Cossacks, for example, wore long red jackets, ceremonial daggers, and black fur hats. The Hussar uniform, on the other hand, consisted of blue tights, high black boots, a long black hat, and a blue jacket with several beautiful golden braids across the chest.

Nicholas loved everything that had to do with the military. The friendships, the uniforms, the outdoors, the parades, and the symbolism of being willing to die for your country. Having been awarded the rank of Colonel by his father was something Nicholas would always treasure more than being the heir. Nicholas never saw actual combat though. Alexander III was able to maintain peace during his entire reign.

Oo

It was in 1887 that a man called Alexander Ulyanov tried to murder Tsar Alexander III. The young man was arrested and hanged. Alexander III made no exceptions. To maintain the peace he needed to keep his promise that no threat to the autocracy would go unchallenged.

In the Tsar's eyes, Alexander Ulyanov had been just another executed would-be assassin, a criminal, but every life snuffed out leaves loved ones behind. When Vladimir Ilych Ulyanov lost his older brother, he swore that "they" would pay for it.

Oo

In 1888, Alexander III and his family were traveling to St. Petersburg on a train when it derailed due to excessive speed. Twenty-two people were killed instantly and two more died from wounds. The Tsar and his family were having dinner inside one of the compartments when it happened. The roof of the car collapsed and Alexander had to hold its entire weight on his shoulders while everyone else escaped.

Nicholas had witnessed it all with awe. The young man admired his father and everything he stood for, maybe too much. The thought of succeeding that tall, strong, and powerful man one day must have been overwhelming. He had carried that roof the way he carried the Russian Empire. This impressive act of strength would, however, cause the Tsar health problems in the future.

Oo

Alix had returned to Germany. Her two oldest sisters were gone and she was beginning to feel lonelier than ever. Her dear friend Nicholas lived in a land far away from hers, and her mother and little sister were once again haunting her dreams and thoughts, leaving her longing for them. Alix could only be grateful to have Ernie and Irene still, and her beloved father Luis was, without doubt, the sunshine of her life. The one person she loved most.

The Hessians visited Queen Victoria quite often. Princess Marie Louise, another granddaughter of the English queen, sensed her serious and melancholic childhood friend and cousin Alix possessed a curious atmosphere of fatality shrouding her.

"Alix, you always play at being sorrowful", Marie Louise pointed out on one occasion. "One day the Almighty will send you some real crushing sorrows, and then what are you going to do?"

Oo

Alix had been blessed with the opportunity to spend more time with her beloved brother Ernst, as they were being educated together. Ernst had a very cheerful personality and sense of humor that brightened her days, still clouded by tragedy. Irene was now the sister in charge of taking care of Alix and Ernst. She also accompanied her father on official ceremonies.

Alix was growing more and more beautiful. She was taller, her cheekbones were becoming higher, and her wavy red-gold hair has so long that she could sit on it.

When Alix turned sixteen, she was allowed, for the first time, to wear long dresses and put her hair up. Her coming-out ball was relatively modest, but she wore a lovely and puffy white gown with orange blossoms and a pearl neckless. Ella and Sergei came from Russia to attend. The couple had been married for four years but regrettably had no children.

The day came when Irene received a marriage proposal from Heinrich, a Prince of Prussia and Wilhelm's younger brother. She accepted. Alix was a bridesmaid at her sister's wedding. The youngest surviving Hessian sister was so beautiful that it can sadly be said she accidentally stole most of the attention from the bride, something that must have been extremely embarrassing for the socially awkward Alix.

While Alix was visiting her grandmother in England, news came that the German Emperor had passed and that Prince Wilhelm had succeeded him. Queen Victoria left for the coronation, and during that time, Alix bonded with her English cousins: Albert, George, Louise, Victoria, and Maud. They were the children of Prince Edward, Queen Victoria's eldest son. Prince Edward's wife, Alexandra, was Minnie's sister as well, so they were also Nicholas's cousins.

Prince George of England and Tsesarevich Nicholas looked so similar that they were often confused or mistaken for twins. They were also good friends and partners in crime, as they saw each other several times throughout their lives during family visits to Copenhagen. Sometimes they switched places on purpose and many people would fall for the trick, which amused them both immensely.

When Queen Victoria returned from the coronation, she talked with Alix and suggested a match with Albert, the heir after Prince Edward, called "Eddy" in the family. Eddy was a very awkward boy who giggled easily. He liked Alix, but she didn't like Eddy, not in a romantic way.

Alix refused the offer as politely as she could but had to explicitly reject it several times, as she was being pressured by the English royal family. They acted as if the marriage were already set in stone. One time, Alix stated that she would marry Eddy if she was forced to, but that she would not be happy.

Despite feeling sad about the rejection of her grandson, Queen Victoria came to admire her granddaughter's strong will. Everyone was confused as to why Alix would refuse to become the next Queen of England though.

The sad thing is that Alix would probably not have become queen either way. Prince Albert died from influenza years later. It is his younger brother George, Nicholas's almost twin, who would eventually become King of England after the death of his father Edward.

Oo

Five years had passed since Nicholas's first encounter with Alix. They saw each other again when the seventeen-year-old girl was invited by her sister Ella to visit Russia during the winter of 1889. Ernie and Luis came along, and they all stayed at Ella and Sergei's palace.

For the aristocracy, winter was the season during which most of the balls took place. They liked to hide in their palaces, to hide from the horror winter means for us common people. Winter is the time of the year we know is always coming, the time we prepare tirelessly for. Hoarding grain, saving money, sleeping tightly together to protect each other from the cold. Praying this winter won't last too long, praying this is not the last winter. Praying for spring to come.

For Nicholas, the winter of 1889 didn't last long enough. Alix was now as tall as him and more beautiful than ever. The two of them met at balls, receptions, and dinners. They ice-skated with Elizabeth and had a lot of fun together playing different games with friends and family, as well as chasing each other and hidding among the magnificent garden statues of the palaces.

Wearing elegant fur-lined coats and matching fur hats, Alix and Elizabeth both skated as well as any Russian. At one point, Alix skated backwards before a very impressed Nicholas, her body moving gracefully from side to side. She sweetly held out her hands to him, he eagerly clasped them, and then they spun around in circles.

Nicholas nervously made it known to Alix that he found her much prettier. He also looked really handsome in my opinion. Despite being short, he was one of the most beautiful men in his family. With his muscular physique, broad shoulders, brown hair, piercing big blue-grey eyes of a unique almond, downturned shape, and growing reddish facial hair, Nicholas easily won over his Alix.

Nicholas and Alix sled down an ice hill with Ernie, Xenia, and little Olga several times. Nicholas ended up sprawled on top of Alix at the bottom of the hill, embarrassing the Hessian princess greatly, as I could tell by her blushing. Nicholas stood up amusingly quickly when this happened, and as he helped Alix do the same, their hands touched for longer than necessary.

They talked, as they had grown comfortable enough to do so quite often. Nicholas was one of the few people Alix could talk to without feeling scared. Alix was nice and simple, and Nicholas liked that. He was also simple in spite of the role he had been born to play. They would eventually tell each other their deepest feelings and secrets.

Nicholas felt inadequate, he confessed. Every day he tried to act as if he thought himself perfect for his future occupation when in fact he feared someday, somehow, someone would unmask him as a complete fraud. Someone would dare say out loud what the young Tsesarevich felt everyone else had already been thinking: "What is he good for?" Nicholas felt too much pressure coming from his mother, but especially his father. He thought anyone else would have been a better fit. Sometimes he wished that he had been born a peasant in some far-away Siberian land.

A rich or middle-class farmer is what I presume Nicholas had truly meant. All of the benefits and none of the shortcomings. But even I think being one of us poor landless peasants would have suited him better.

Alix confessed that the loneliness she had experienced as a child after the deaths of her mother and sister had never truly gone away, which in turn made her feel ungrateful to everyone else she loved. She confessed to feeling jealous of her sisters' husbands, who were now the most important people in their lives. Most of all she couldn't shake off the feeling that people around her didn't enjoy her company. Whenever she attended large gatherings, her heart started beating way too fast. She felt dizzy. She couldn't breathe, let alone think. She found it hard to start conversations without wondering whether whoever was in front of her would end up disliking her. Whenever she went out, she wondered how people saw her. If Queen Victoria asked her to play the piano in front of guests, she would feel self-conscious despite being rather good at it in private.

But they soothed each other. They truly did. Despite their ranks, deep inside they were both simple people who didn't need much from one another. Unconditional love and acceptance were enough. They told each other this. They made each other feel like they were enough.

Alix, a sickly, shy, and awkward girl, shined for Nicholas. She was his sunny. Nicholas shined for her as well. Intensely. He was her hero. The light and hope in her life that had finally managed to vanish her childhood darkness.

During the traditional balls of the season, Nicholas repeatedly made use of any excuse available to dance with Alix.

"Due to a terrible confusion", he would explain, "Princess Alix was left with no partner for this waltz. I simply have to rescue her."

And whenever a mazurka was about to be danced, he invariably said: “Alix doesn’t know the steps and I have to teach her.”

Alix always agreed to dance despite generally disliking the passtime due to the pain she would often end up feeling in her legs. Her sciatica could spoil the fun whenever she engaged in physical activities. She still tried to enjoy life as much as she could though, and so she danced. She wasn't good at first, but she danced with Nicholas wearing white flowers in her reddish-brown bun, an elegant pearl necklace, and the same simple yet beautiful big white dress with delicate short sleeves and pretty light orange flowers on the chest that she had worn during her coming-out ball.

Nicholas and Alix didn't stop looking at each other's blue eyes as they danced. They both felt the same way. The image of Nicholas wearing one of his fancy blue and gold army uniforms as he gently guided Alix and her big dress in the ballroom seems taken out of a fairytale. Carefully, he made sure his big black boots didn't crush her elegant white shoes, which covered her delicate feet. He knew that they were often in pain.

Alix’s smile as she danced with Nicholas was guileless, her blue eyes sparkling, her already beautiful fine features softened angelically by the glow of innocent love. 

Nicholas's shining eyes and wide, joyful smile with every small glance at Alix also betrayed his absolute smittenness.

I only get small glimpses of Nicky and Alix during that trip, so I can only imagine how easy it was for their relatives, living with them, seeing them every day, to understand that they were deeply in love with each other.

It was then that Nicholas fell madly in love with Alix and became sure that he wished to marry her.

Alix was now a very devout Lutheran though, and to marry the heir to the Russian throne, she would have to become a Russian Orthodox. Alix did not consider religious faith lightly. She took everything in life seriously and it was extremely important to her that whatever she believed was the truth. Alix made this clear to Nicholas. She could not marry him. Alix did, however, agree to exchange letters.

Nicholas admired how seriously Alix took her faith, even if sadly, that same deep religious faith was standing in their way now.

Alexander and Minnie discouraged Nicholas from pursuing Alix. The Tsar wanted his son to marry the daughter of the French pretender to the throne, Helena, and also gave Nicholas other options that had more political significance than a simple princess from a small, unimportant duchy in the much-hated Germany of all places. Alix had also made a bad impression with her visit. Her shyness, clumsiness, and seriousness were noted by most ladies at court.

"Too stiff", the ladies would say.

"Too wooden."

"Cold eyes."

"Badly dressed."

"I know! So cheap, right?"

"Can't speak French."

"Can't speak Russian."

"Strange, jerky motions when she bows her head."

"Can't keep up a conversation."

"She is rude."

"There's something wrong with her legs."

"She is so clumsy."

"Her moves are not elegant."

"There's something wrong with her face."

"There is something wrong with her."

The Empress herself, knowing how important popularity was, didn't like the idea of Alix becoming her daughter-in-law, but Nicholas wasn't interested in any of the other girls his father had been suggesting. He once claimed that he would become a monk before marrying any of them.

One time, an exasperated Alexander III shouted at this son: "She won't have you! She's a confirmed Lutheran, and what in the world do you see in her?!"

"Everything!" The usually mild-mannered Nicholas shouted back.

The heir to the Russian throne was aggrieved by how unlikely it was for him to marry his favorite girl, and yet he became distracted upon meeting seventeen-year-old Mathilde Kschessinska, a beautiful ballerina with dark curls. Nicholas and Mathilde shared the same love for ballet as an art form, and soon they became good friends.

Oo

Nicholas traveled with his brother George to many places throughout the Mediterranean, Egypt, the Suez Canal, India, and Japan. The Emperor and Empress hoped this trip would teach Nicholas about diplomacy, and that the warm weather would improve George's lungs, for he was starting to become extremely sick.

George was the funniest among the siblings and Nicholas's best friend. Every time George cracked a joke, Nicholas carefully wrote it down. He would keep the jokes safe in his study and continued to laugh out loud while reading them even years later as the Emperor. Minnie had a soft spot for George, and she would let him get away with lots of mischievous deeds. It is sad to know he never got to meet his niece Anastasia.

The trip bored Nicholas more often than not, and he would complain in his diary about all the ports being the same everywhere. During his stay in Japan, Nicholas did take a great interest in Japanese traditional crafts. He got a big black dragon tattoo on his right forearm similar to the one his already alike cousin George of England had gotten years before during his own visit to Japan.

Nicholas also received a scar on his forehead when he was attacked by one of his escorting policemen, Tsuda Sanzo, with a sword. Fortunately, the heir turned around just in time and the first blow only grazed his forehead. Tsuda tried to hit Nicholas again, but the Tsesarevich's cousin, Prince George of Greece and Denmark, the son of Minnie's brother, used his cane to stop the second blow. Tsuda tried to flee, but he was caught and arrested. The Japanese apologized for the incident, and the Russian government was pleased enough. Nicholas did not want any Japanese policemen to be in trouble for the lack of security, but the experience would still scare him enough to alter his impression of the country.

When Nicholas returned home, he was met with terrible news. A recent drought had caused a famine that was spreading throughout the countryside. Peasants used their roofs to feed their animals. Men had to find work in the cities. Thousands starved to death.

Many blamed the government. Praised writer Leo Tolstoy went as far as blaming the Tsar and the church. In response, the church excommunicated Leo, a decision I consider appropriate, because Leo was known to say horrible things about the church, but the church also advised the faithful to resist accepting help from the organization Tolstoy had generously created to help the famine victims, which I find appalling. I may not be a church scholar, but it seems unchristian to deprive people in such need of charity.

My husband Andrei, who has less love and nostalgia for the old regime than I do, says the government was indeed to blame, and he explained to me why.

To support industrialization, taxes had been too high, forcing the peasants to sell more grain than they could keep. When there was no grain left, animals were taken. Conscripting peasants into the army also damaged their food production. Russia's primitive railways were not ready to distribute grain when the famine made its presence known either, but the worst thing the government did was to continue exporting grain for a long time after the hunger began to avoid economic losses.

I respect his opinion. He knows way more about these things than I do, and despite being able to see things, he is more likely to understand them. Andrei also knows several older physicians who worked in the most affected villages during the famine and gave their opinion on the situation.

Andrei knows lots of things, but he is not someone with strong political opinions at all. His job as a surgeon often renders him far too busy for such matters. My husband says it is more important for people to love and take care of one another because governments will fail more often than not, but good neighbors will always find a way to help out.

The government asked the people to form voluntary relief organizations to help the victims. The Tsar and Tsarina raised millions of rubles themselves, and so did Grand Duchess Elizabeth, the wife of Sergei.

Elizabeth was very sociable, just like Minnie. She liked putting up plays and even acting with Nicholas in some of them. She also knew how to be charitable when the times turned dire. Sergei and Ella loved each other deeply. Sergei was a very smart and well-educated man, but he also had an extremely stern and inflexible side that made few outside the family like him. If a rumor is to be believed, he forbade his wife from reading Tolstoy's scandalous “Anna Karenina.”

Foreign powers also assisted with donations, the United States and England among them.

Because of the terrible circumstances, Alexander III was forced to give a certain degree of power to the zemstvos, or local governments, so that they could buy food, but that only helped the peasants who could repay loans and thus the less needy. The ones who could not afford to repay had to rely on donations.

I had not yet been born when that famine took place, and my brother was a newborn, but my parents and grandparents remember. My family was lucky enough to be able to repay a loan, and their area was not affected as badly as others. They told me many things about those horrible years.

Wealthy people would come to offer my parents, relatives, and neighbors money, but the tax collectors took most of it away. Whenever there were protests, Cossack patrols would come into the village and threaten people with their whips and sabers. Troublemakers were flogged, my uncle among them. His body was too weak from malnutrition and so he died from his wounds. I lost most of my cousins.

All of my family and their neighbors cursed the people who were cruel to them. No one cursed the Tsar though. The Tsar was their little father, and he did not know what they had to suffer. If the Tsar had known he would have fixed everything, they used to say, he would have helped everyone and punished those people, but it will always be too high up to God and too far to the Tsar, so all they could do was endure.

Even during my youth, during Nicholas's reign, when things were a lot better for the peasants or at least for my neighbors and relatives, I heard many of them curse the police, the governors, and the landowners who had so much while most of us had so little. They cursed those who abused their power. But never did I ever hear anyone curse the Tsar, and neither did I. It was not the Tsar's fault but that of his advisors.

My husband says it is silly to think so, he says I always gave him too much credit, but I know it is true. Unlike most peasants, I could listen to the Tsar talk, but he could not listen to me. He knew to a certain extent what was happening to his subjects, but he did not see, experience, hear, or smell. None of the Tsars did, none of them were like me.

Tsesarevich Nicholas headed the relief committee during the famine and later was made to become a member of the finance committee. Nicholas worked hard in both committees, but he had not been aware that the finance committee even existed before becoming a member. These administrative affairs he knew so little about would become extremely important once he was the Tsar, but Nicholas thought that there was still time.

Most days, Nicholas was not required to do anything. He went to the meetings of the Imperial Council but was immensely bored more often than not.

Nicholas preferred to spend his evenings ice skating with his sister Xenia and his aunt Ella. He preferred to spend time with his siblings and relatives, to play hide and seek with them, to drink with his fellow officers or play billiards, cards, and skittles, and sometimes even slip off to the midnight clubs to hear the ladies sing. He liked to go to the theater, to the opera, to the ballet… his reddish-brown beard grew, but even as an adult in his early twenties, Nicholas continued to dread each and every activity relating to his future role.

His romance with Mathilda had transformed into a full affair. He had even bought her a house where they could meet and be together. Nicholas really liked Mathilda, and at one point he felt that he was in love with both her and Alix, but there was only one woman he wished to marry.

Poor Mathilda's feelings for Nicholas were a lot deeper than his feelings for her, but she knew that the situation was hopeless. He was the heir and she was nothing but a commoner. All she could do was enjoy the time she had left with him and prepare herself for their inevitable parting of ways.

In the meantime, Alix spent her days taking care of her father and assisting him in the ceremonies of the German court. All of her older sisters were married, so she was the only one who could do it. In her free time, she prayed, wrote letters, read, played the piano, prepared entertainments for her father and brother, and embroidered excellently. Alex had paid a visit to Ella and Sergei at their Ilyinskoe estate near Moscow on one occasion, learning plenty of new things about Russia and becoming interested in the lives of the peasants. Much to Nicholas's displeasure, Alix had not been able to see him during the course of that trip.

Alix suffered intensely when her father died in 1892. This tragic loss made it a lot more difficult for her to even consider changing her religion. How could she? Alix had promised Luis before he died that she would remain the Lutheran he had raised her to be.

Oo

Alix spent a lot of time with Queen Victoria after her father's death. Alix's grandmother comforted and helped her mourn. The Hessian was feeling as if her entire world were ending, so Queen Victoria would often remind her that she had lost her husband Albert, which was, she said, a loss greater than that of a parent.

While visiting England, Alix spent time with some of her cousins of a similar age: Victoria Melita, or "Ducky", as she was called in the family, and Marie. Ducky and Marie were the two oldest daughters of Grand Duchess Maria, the only surviving daughter of Alexander II, and Prince Alfred, the fourth child of Queen Victoria. Marie would eventually become the Queen of Romania, but Ducky was destined to become Ernie's first wife.

Ducky was never in love with Ernie. She was infatuated with another one of her cousins, the Grand Duke Cyril, who was the son of Grand Duke Vladimir. Fate would separate them for years before they could be together.

Queen Victoria suggested a few more marriage candidates to Alix, but she rejected all of them. She only wanted to marry for love, and the only one she loved she could not marry. She would not change her religion.

Queen Victoria was happy for now, as she did not wish for Alix to marry a Russian. She still considered the country far too unstable and dangerous for her favorite granddaughter, so she wrote letters to Alix's siblings, Victoria and Ernst, asking them to make sure Alix never married Nicholas. Unbeknownst to Queen Victoria, Elizabeth was now working against her plans. She had witnessed firsthand the love Nicholas and Alix had for each other, so she tried to convince Alix to open her heart. She even went as far as telling Alix that she was ruining Nicholas's life by giving him false hopes.

Nicholas was suffering very much indeed. There was no one else he wished to marry, and whenever he lost hope of being with Alix, the future seemed gray for him. He was always respectful and deeply understanding of Alix's dilemma though, and he never made light of it.

Oo

Alix moved on to help her brother Ernie, now the Grand Duke of Hesse and by Rhine, with official ceremonies. She only feared the day her brother would marry and she would no longer be needed. What would become of her? What purpose would her life have? She didn't love anyone but Nicholas.

Still, Alix remained stubborn when both she and Nicholas were at Coburg for a family gathering during which they did not interact, and later in November of 1893, she wrote him a letter strenghtening her commitment to remain a Lutheran:

"Dearest Nicky, I send you my very best thanks for your dear letter and enclose the photograph you wished to have and which Ella will forward to you. I believe it must have been a stronger will than ours which ordained that we should not meet at Coburg, for like this it gives me the chance to write to you all my innermost feelings which perhaps on the spur of the moment I might not have said, or that you might have misunderstood me. You know what my feelings are as Ella has told them to you already, but I feel it my duty to tell them to you myself. I have thought over everything for a long time and I only beg you not to think that I take it lightly for it grieves me terribly and makes me very unhappy. I have tried to look at it in every light that is possible, but I always return to one thing. I cannot do it against my conscience. You, dear Nicky, who have also such a firm belief will understand me that I think it a sin to change my belief and I would be miserable all the days of my life, knowing that I had done a wrongful thing. I am certain that you would not wish me to change against my conviction. What happiness can come from a marriage which begins without the real blessing of God. For I feel it a sin to change that belief in which I have been brought up and which I love. I should never find my peace of mind again, and like that I should never be able to be your real companion who should help you on in life, for there always would be something between us in my not having the real conviction of the belief I had taken and in the regret for the one I had left. It would be acting a lie to you, your religion and to God. This is my feeling of right and wrong, and one’s innermost religious convictions and one’s peace of conscience towards God, so before all one’s earthly wishes. As all these years have not made it possible for me to change my resolution in acting thus, I feel that now is the moment to tell you again that I can never change my confession. I am certain that you will understand this clearly and see as I do, that we are only torturing ourselves about something impossible, and it would not be a kindness to let you go on having vain hopes which will never be realized. And now goodbye my darling Nicky and may God bless and protect you.

Ever your loving Alix."

The heartbroken Nicholas did not reply until December:

"My dearest Alix, Please excuse my not having answered your letter sooner, but you may well imagine what a blow it proved to me. I could not write to you all these days on account of the sad state of mind I was in. Now that my restlessness has passed I feel more calm and am able to answer your letter quietly. Let me thank you first of all for the frank and open way in which you spoke to me in that letter. There is nothing worse in the world than things misunderstood and not brought to the point. I knew from the beginning what an obstacle there rose between us and I felt so deeply for you all these years, knowing perfectly the great difficulties you would have to overcome! But still it is so awfully hard, when you have cherished a dream for many a year and think now you are near to it’s being realized - then suddenly the curtain is drawn and - you see only an open space and feel oh! So lonely and so beaten down!! I cannot deny the reasons you give me, dear Alix; but I have got one which is also true, you hardly know the depth of our religion. If you only could have learnt it with somebody who knows it and could have read books where you might see the likeness and difference of the two - perhaps then! It would not have troubled you in the same way as it does now! Your living quite alone without any one’s help in such a matter, is also a sad circumstance in the barrier that apparently stands between us! It is too sad for words to know that that barrier is - religion! Don’t you think, dearest, that the five years since we know each other have passed in vain and with no result? Certainly not - for me atleast. And how am I to change my feelings after waiting and wishing for so long, even now after that sad letter you sent me? I trust in God’s mercy, may be it is His will that we both, but you especially, should suffer long - may be after helping us through all these miseries and trials He will yet guide my darling along the path that I pray daily for! Oh! Do not say “no” directly, my dearest Alix, do not ruin my life already! Do you think there can exist any happiness in the whole world without you? After having involuntarily kept me waiting and hoping, can this end in such a way? Oh! Do not get angry with me if I am beginning to say silly things, though I promised in this letter to be calm! Your heart is too kind not to understand what tortures I am going through now. But I have spoken enough and must end this epistle of mine. Thank you so much for your charming photo. I send you mine here enclosed. Let me wish, dearest Alix that the coming year may bring you peace, happiness, comfort and the fulfilment of your wishes. God bless and protect you!

Ever your loving and devoted, Nicky."

Elizabeth did try explaining to Alix the Orthodox way of worship, several times, but this insistence was starting to bother the youngest surviving Hessian sister. Alix thought of this constant pressure to do something that went against her conscience to be rather cruel. Elizabeth could only pray that her sister would find happiness.

It was, however, not only Elizabeth who was pushing Alix to get closer to Nicholas. His baby sister Xenia also was. "Why don't you write to Nicky?" The young girl had once innocently asked Alix, who didn't actually know the answer.

Oo

In 1894, Alix's fears came true when Ernie became engaged to his cousin Victoria Melita. The world seemed to be moving on without her, the only one without a purpose. Around the same time, Xenia also became engaged to her distant cousin, the Grand Duke Alexander Mikhailovich, a descendant of Tsar Nicholas I and a good friend of her brother Nicholas. Alexander was called "Sandro" by friends and family.

Xenia was still trying to get Alix to accept Nicholas, so the young Hessian had to touch upon the painful subject in a reply letter to her:

"A tender kiss and best thanks for your dear letter and the charming photos. It seems too funny to think that you are about to be married. God bless you, my sweet child and may you have every possible happiness. Darling, why did you speak about that subject which we never wanted to mention again? It is cruel, as you know it never can be - all along I have said so, and do you think it is not already hard enough to know you are hurting just the person whom of all other you would long to please. But it cannot be - he knows it - and so do not I pray you, speak of it again. I know Ella will begin again, but what is the good of it, and it is cruel always to say I am ruining his life - can I help it, when to make him happy I should be committing a sin in my conscience? It is hard enough as it is, and beginning about it again and again is so unkind. You, who have found what your heart has desired, think only kindly of me, though I am grieving you too. One worry and sorrow follows the other - in 5 days we are off to Coburg for Ernie’s wedding - what my feelings are you can imagine. God grant they may be happy - she is such a dear. I am going to England for two or three months, as I should only be in their way here. The heat is great, but everything is so green and lovely, and all the fruittrees in bloom - too beautiful, we spend many hours in the woods.

Goodbye my little chicken, many a loving kiss from your ever devoted old Alix. Best love to Sandro."

In 1894, Nicholas and Alix met again at the wedding of Ernst and Victoria Melita, during which Nicholas finally gathered up the courage to boldly ask Alix to marry him. He did so in a fairly insistent manner too. After hours of begging, however, Alix could only cry and say "no, I cannot.”

Nicholas was bitterly disappointed, but he would not give up so easily. The next morning, he gave Alix a letter from his mother Minnie, whose son's love for the young Hessian had gradually opened her heart to the match. Her words did something that moved Alix, who went to get advice from Miechen, the wife of Vladimir, Nicholas's uncle and the father of Cyril. Miechen was also a protestant, but she had married an Orthodox man and been in a similar situation. The German Emperor, Wilhelm, also tried to convince Alix to accept the proposal.

Oo

The moment of truth eventually came. Nicholas was talking with Wilhelm, his uncles, and his aunt Elizabeth when Alix entered the room where they were. When the young couple was left alone, the first thing Alix did was say yes.

Nicholas started crying, and so did Alix. Allowing herself to finally accept the man she loved transformed the Hessian princess immensely. She became cheerful, more affectionate, and started to talk and laugh more. Nicholas and Alix were grateful to God and looked genuinely happy for the first time in years. Queen Victoria had also married the late Prince Albert for love, so she quickly warmed up to the new pair when she saw how happy her granddaughter was.

As soon as he became engaged, Nicholas completely broke up his relationship with Mathilda. They were never alone together again. Mathilda would continue to have great success as a dancer and become involved with other Romanov Grand Dukes. She even had a child with one of them.

Alix traveled to England to spend time with her grandmother and promptly started receiving Russian lessons. She and Nicholas wrote to each other almost every single day they were apart, slowly becoming acquainted with their personal likes and dislikes that way. 

Sadly, Alix's health was starting to deteriorate. She had sciatic pain and occasional headaches that would never go away but only increase with age. Her feet would also ache intensely.

Nicholas visited Alix in England, where they spent time with Alix's sister Victoria and her husband Louis of Battenberg. They were allowed to walk together unchaperoned. It was sweet to watch as Nicholas walked through the garden next to Alix, rubbing her feet with such tenderness every time she was in pain.

During a visit to Queen Victoria at Frogmore House, a funny event occurred. Nicholas got stuck in the lavatory for a good half an hour before Alix rushed to his rescue.

Soon enough a Bishop would arrive from Russia to give Alix lessons in Russian Orthodoxy. She did not make things easy for the poor man. Wishing to be wholly certain of the truth, Alix would ask a great number of questions. The Bishop must have done an excellent job, because she ended up embracing Orthodoxy with all of her heart, becoming more devoted to her new religion than most people who are born and raised believing in it are.

The only thing Alix refused to do was renounce her previous Lutheran faith as heretical the way she would otherwise have been required to do. She came to an agreement with the Bishop, who quickly understood that it would have been far too cruel to expect her to do that.

It was also in 1894 that Nicholas's sister Xenia married Alexander Mikhailovich, but the honeymoon of the newlyweds was interrupted by news that the Tsar was sick.

Alix had to travel to Russia earlier than anticipated. Her future father-in-law had fallen dangerously ill from kidney disease.

Oo

Alexander III was staying in his palace in Crimea, as it was believed that the warm climate of the peninsula would be good for his health. When Alix arrived, Nicholas felt a bit better. He had been under a lot of stress and uncertainty, devastated by his father's illness. Only Alix's presence managed to comfort him.

Alix was indignant though. The doctors didn't take Nicholas seriously. They gave all new information concerning the condition of the Emperor to the other Grand Dukes. It was as if they didn't respect her future husband, who would be Tsar if Alexander were to die. Alix encouraged Nicholas to make the doctors tell him everything first. She reminded him of how important he was.

When Alexander III died in November 1894, Minnie was heartbroken. She had hoped that they would both die at a similar age. It was incredibly shocking for Nicholas as well. His strong and imposing father had been only 49 years old.

Nicholas took his cousin and new brother-in-law Alexander to his room, where they embraced and cried together.

"Sandro, what am I going to do?" Nicholas had tears in his eyes. "What is going to happen to me, to you, to Xenia, to Alix, to mother, to all of Russia? I am not prepared to be a Tsar. I never wanted to become one. I know nothing of the business of ruling. I have no idea of even how to talk to the ministers."

Despite Nicholas's doubts, the world didn't stop turning or wait for him to become prepared. Everyone gave the oath of allegiance to His Imperial Majesty, Tsar Nicholas II.

Oo

Alix converted to Orthodoxy officially, and as Nicholas's first Imperial Decree, she became known as Alexandra Feodorovna. The name "Alexandra" means "helper" or "defender", but it can also mean: "The one who comes to save warriors.” Alexandra wanted to be named Catherine at first, but she was convinced otherwise. As usual, she took the choosing of her name as seriously as she took everything in life, and she consulted God before accepting it.

Nicholas wanted to get married in Livadia privately, but his uncles rejected the idea. The wedding was far too important. The four brothers of the late Tsar were able to exert a great degree of influence over their nephew, and they would for a long time.

The Orthodox ceremonies went on in Livadia. The family kissed the Tsar in his coffin and prayed for his soul. The coffin left Livadia for Sevastopol and then for Moscow, where it remained in the Kremlin for a night.

In St. Petersburg, the coffin traveled slowly along with the funeral cottage, on red and gold carriages towards the Cathedral of the Fortress of Peter and Paul, where the Tsars are still buried. Alexandra Feodorovna rode alone, thickly veiled in black behind the rest of her new family.

People's reaction to Alexandra was cold, nothing like the way they had received Minnie decades ago. The timing could not have been worse. As Alexandra passed, the silent crowd watched, and many people shook their heads. Old superstitious women crossed themselves.

"She has come to us behind a coffin", they murmured disapprovingly as they looked at their future Empress. "There she is. There goes the funeral bride.”

Multiple kings and princes from all over Europe came to the funeral, as well as ministers from the Empire. One of these visitors was Prince George of England, Nicholas's cousin.

Nicholas had to endure ceremony after ceremony while grieving.

Oo

Nicholas and Alexandra got married on November 26, or 14 according to the old calendar. Nicholas chose her mother's birthday as the day for the celebration. The official mourning period had not ended yet, but it would become more relaxed on Minnie's birthday.

Alexandra wore a traditional Russian court wedding dress with a big wide skirt. The dress was white with many silver embroidered decorations located mostly around Alexandra's bare shoulders, outlining the shape of her torso, and dividing the dress in the middle. Long open sleeves decorated her arms, and Minnie herself carefully settled a giant half-moon-shaped diamond crown on Alexandra's reddish-brown head. This diamond crown had belonged to Catherine the Great herself. A beautiful transparent and sparkling veil fell down Alexandra's head, and a golden coat surrounded by white fur covered her back. Across her torso, she wore the star and sash of the Order of St. Andrei, and several pearl necklaces and diamonds decorated her ears and neck. Alexandra could not have looked more beautiful. Maybe this was the most beautiful she ever looked. Nicholas also looked gallant in his elegant Hussar uniform.

The wedding took place at the Grand Church of the Winter Palace. She was 22, and he was 26. Because of the mourning, there was no reception or honeymoon, but they did not need either. The rest of their marriage was their honeymoon.

I am watching Nicholas and Alexandra right now. They are about to die together, still glancing at one another like that sixteen-year-old boy and that shy twelve-year-old girl who met at another wedding did. My mother used to tell me few couples continue to love each other until death parts them. I do not know if my husband and I will be among those few, but so far, I do think we will.

Oo

None of the women in the village wanted me to marry any of their sons. I was still considered a witch despite being friends with the priest, and the people who were not closely related to me preferred to keep their distance. The boys would always give me strange looks. Anna and her parents were an exception to the rule.

Most of the other girls were already married by fourteen to slightly older boys who were around sixteen, before the latter were able to be called for military service. I did not marry until I was eighteen.

I met my husband in 1910 when I was sixteen and he was twenty. He studied medicine in Moscow, and my village happens to be located extremely close to the city.

My sisters and I used to travel to Moscow on a cart once every one or two weeks to sell our embroidered dresses, kosovorotka shirts, and other pieces my mother, sisters and I made with our own hands. We also sold flowers from the countryside. We picked up most on the road but also grew some of them ourselves. These extra earnings were extremely useful during the years of bad harvests.

We often sold near the Imperial Moscow University, because we had come to realize that the students and professors there were reliable customers, especially when it came to the flowers. Young men in love would always wish to buy them for their sweethearts. Sometimes they were very friendly and confided to us about the girls in question, and the next time they saw us they revealed whether they had been successful or not in wooing the girls they liked. I loved the sparkle in their eyes, but these kinds of anecdotes could make me selfishly sad sometimes, especially when I remembered no one liked me the same way.

Except for a few who liked to chat, most students and professors would only buy what they needed and then leave, but Andrei would frequently stare at me from the distance for a long time without buying anything. The first time I thought it was weird, but I didn't say anything. I thought he wanted to buy something but didn't have any money. The second and third times made me wonder if he was actually some sort of policeman surveilling us who would someday come and arrest us for selling things where we were not supposed to.

This might have gone on for months, but one day my younger sister Evgenia, fourteen years old at that time, yelled at him to either buy something or leave. She also called him stupid. Evgenia is a little bit too bold sometimes. I scolded her and told her that she was being rude, but ironically, it is possible that I wouldn't have properly met Andrei otherwise. He approached us and bought some flowers for the first time. I gave them to him with a sad look, as I had just realized that he probably liked someone.

I thought Andrei was very handsome. I clearly still do. He has beautiful blue eyes and dark brown hair, full lips, and a small mole on his cheek, near his nose.

The next time we visited Moscow I dragged my sisters back to the university despite the fact that we usually went to a different place every time we traveled to the city, rotating each week. Not anymore. Since I was the oldest, I got to decide where we were going to sell. Evgenia complained, saying she knew I wanted to marry a student because I was far too lazy for the fields. That is why I prefer Katya, my youngest sister, a pure angel compared to Evgenia.

To my great surprise, Andrei approached us again and bought even more flowers, but this time he asked us where the flowers came from. I explained to him with great enthusiasm that a large number of them grew naturally near our village. He left after giving me a smile that I happily returned, but it made me sad to know that he loved some girl enough to buy her flowers every time he came across our stand.

We met again and again at the same spot. He already knew when I would visit the city, and he always bought flowers for the girl he liked. I could have had visions about this girl, but I would have felt madly jealous, so I tried to avoid having visions of Andrei as much as I could. With time our conversations moved on to different topics. He asked me about my life in the village, and I became enchanted by all he told me about his future profession. What he was learning at medical school was incredibly fascinating. He wanted to become a surgeon, and the fact that he was studying to help people made me like him even more.

In 1911, Andrei talked to me about a conflict in the university that had started because of a banned meeting to commemorate Leo Tolstoy, who had recently died. Some students had started a strike and the police had been involved.

Andrei and his friends did not take any sides, not because they did not sympathize with their fellow students but because they didn't want any trouble and just wished to get back to class. Apparently, lots of professors and scientists resigned at the end of the crisis, which really upset Andrei. He admired many of them, poor dear. I was glad he had decided to open up to me about these things. I was, in fact, mesmerized by anything he told me about.

One day, instead of buying flowers, Andrei asked me if I wanted to go with him to a cinema. I had heard of those before, but I had never visited one, and I really wished to know what they were like. I had to take care of my sisters though, and I also had to sell as much as I could, so I explained the situation to him. He was so very kind and understanding! I even think I fell in love that day. He gave me just enough money to make up for the time I would not be working and invited my sisters to come along. They were both so excited! I felt a bit guilty for his other girl but assumed they had simply had a fight.

From that day on our friendship grew, and we learned lots of things about each other. One day he asked me if we could meet alone, and for the first time in my life, I willfully and knowingly disobeyed my parents. I traveled to Moscow on my own when I should have been working. That day he shyly asked me if I could remove my headscarf. He simply longed to see what my hair looked like. I exposed my blonde hair, and he told me it was far more beautiful than he imagined it would be. When he tried to kiss me, I stopped him, explicitly stating he would have to marry me first because otherwise, I knew from experience my family would rage at both of us. Mostly at me.

We did get married six months later, a month before I turned nineteen.

Andrei calls himself a "modern and skeptic 20th century man", so he did not believe in my visions the first time I talked to him about them. He just became extremely worried about my mental condition, which was both painful and amusing at the same time. I had my ways of showing him I was perfectly sane and that my visions were absolutely real. For the first time in my life, someone reacted with awe and excitement instead of fear or embarrassment.

Andrei said he wished someone could open up my brain when I died, which was scary to hear come from his mouth the first time, but understandable once I started to study nursing so I could work near him. I really do want someone to study my brain when I die. Maybe there is indeed something different about it.

Andrei also loves history, so he was completely supportive of my idea of learning French to understand the visions I have had taking place at court. He paid a French tutor for me when he finished school and started working.

I eventually learned English and a little bit of German as well. Finally, I had someone other than Gerasim to share most of my passions with. I find his interest in learning the cause of everything so endearing, and even more so when I am the object of his interest.

After I married Andrei, my visions became less common and more controllable. I had found happiness in my own life and felt important and cherished. I could have control over my ability because now I was more than just the weird things I saw. That is probably the way the last Emperor felt throughout his entire marriage. Even when the world was clearly crumbling down around him, he was invincible as long as Alexandra, or his dear "wify", as he called her, was near him.

Oo

Nicholas and Alexandra lived with Minnie during their first months of marriage. The three of them got along well at the beginning. Nicholas slowly got used to the massive amount of work he would have to do every day as Alexandra struggled with her Russian and French, the court language.

When the mourning period was over, Minnie went back to public life, something that had always made her feel comfortable. According to Russian court etiquette, the Dowager Empress always took precedence, so Minnie would walk escorted by her son to all ceremonies, while Alexandra would walk behind escorted by a Grand Duke.

Alexandra began to resent this, however, and the way Minnie treated Nicholas did nothing to alleviate these feelings. The Dowager Empress talked to her son as if he were nothing but a schoolboy, offering him great amounts of political advice, oftentimes unsolicited. Alexandra's relationship with her mother-in-law was starting to become a bit tense. Arguments became common, the two of them calling each other "dear Alix" and "mother dear" with tones of voice that clearly conveyed condescension.

Some problems exist wherever you go. My mother-in-law and I did not get along at the beginning either. Andrei's mother thought that I was too stupid to marry her son. She never said so to my face, but I noticed. She barely talked to me.

Reluctantly, Andrei explained to me why his mother did not like me after I threatened to use my ability. Natalia would have preferred for her son to marry an educated girl from another middle-class family. She thought that I was only after Andrei's money.

Natalia only warmed up to me when she found out that I wanted to become a nurse, but her initial reaction still stings. What is so wrong with being a simple person? What is so wrong about not wanting to learn anything? Andrei liked me even before I told him that I knew how to read, so it is sad to know that this would have not been the case with his mother, and even more so the fact that she probably thinks little of my family for not being like me.

Us peasants do not take these displays of snobbery too kindly. Urban people may have more knowledge, but without simple-minded folks such as my family to feed them, that precious knowledge of theirs would be completely useless.

Oo

The awkwardness between Alexandra and the former Empress reached its peak when Minnie, who had a passion for jewelry, stubbornly refused to pass down the crown jewels to Alexandra, as tradition demanded, even after Nicholas asked her to do so. Alexandra was so offended that she exclaimed that she no longer cared about jewelry and would not wear any. Minnie, not wanting to cause a scandal, gave her the jewels reluctantly.

Alexandra was happy during the first days of marriage, but she was also worried about and scared of her husband's youth and inexperience.

In the spring of 1895, Alexandra found out that she was pregnant. Her morning sickness was an obvious sign. The Tsar and Tsarina were ecstatic. The baby kicked her mother a lot, a clear sign that she would possess an extraordinarily strong personality.

The pregnancy itself was very hard on the mother, who suffered from sciatica.

In November 1895, Alexandra went into labor. Artillerymen in St. Petersburg prepared themselves. The sound of 301 cannons would announce the birth of a male heir, while 101 would welcome a Grand Duchess into the world.

Alexandra's labor lasted twenty hours. Her mother-in-law Minnie and sister Ella were there with her, and so was Nicholas.

Hearing his wife's cries of pain, the Emperor was frequently suffering in tears while his mother the Dowager Empress prayed for the baby's safe delivery. It took forceps and chloroform to deliver the child.

The Grand Duchess Olga Nikolaevna Romanova was born on the 3rd of November, or the 15th of November according to the new calendar. Nicholas could barely believe that the baby was really his daughter. They called her Olga during prayer, which means "holy" or "blessed.”

"A day I will remember forever", the Tsar wrote in his diary. "At exactly nine o'clock a baby's cry was heard and we all breathed a sigh of relief! With a prayer we named the daughter sent to us by God 'Olga'!"

Olga was a huge baby, with an enormous head filled with light blonde hair that probably held all of her intelligence. She did not look like a newborn at all.

Months before, Alexander and Xenia had welcomed a baby girl named Irina into the world, and Alexandra's brother already had a baby daughter named Elizabeth who was about a year older than Olga.

Nicholas and Alexandra were overjoyed to have a baby girl as well. They had plenty of time for a boy.

"I am glad that our child is a girl", Nicholas said. "Had it been a boy, he would have belonged to the people, being a girl, she belongs to us."

Nicholas and Alexandra generously rewarded the skills of the doctors who delivered their daughter. Alexandra nursed and bathed Olga herself like her mother Alice had done before her, although a wet nurse was hired for backup. Baby Olga rejected Alexandra at first. A strange thing occurred and Alexandra ended up nursing the wet nurse's baby while the wet nurse fed Olga. Nicholas was immensely amused.

Eventually, Alexandra succeeded as a nursing mother. She sang her baby to sleep with lullabies, and when Olga slept, she knitted for her. Nicholas helped with everything he could whenever he was not too busy. Cheerful and noisy, a true bundle of joy, baby Olga only stayed quiet in church, seemingly enjoying the singing in particular. The newlyweds were immensely proud of their big baby. As part of the celebration, Nicholas pardoned many political prisoners.

Baby Olga was christened wearing his father's white robes once the official mourning period for Alexander III had ended. Following Orthodox tradition, Nicholas and Alexandra did not attend the ceremony. The baby was dipped in holy water three times and then anointed with oil. One of the baby's godmothers was her teenage aunt Olga, Nicholas's youngest sister. Other godmothers and godfathers included Queen Victoria, Ernie, and Minnie.

After the ceremony was over, Nicholas invested his daughter with the Order of St. Catherine, which was an award given to all Grand Duchesses upon their christening. Grand Dukes were awarded the Order of St. Andrew.

Oo

In 1896, Nicholas and Alexandra were crowned in Moscow as tradition demanded. Many foreign princes assisted the event, George of England and Wilhelm, the German Emperor, among them. When Nicholas and Alexandra arrived, they went into retreat to fast and pray in the Petrovsky Palace to contemplate the difficult future task at hand.

On May 25th, Nicholas formally entered the city, which was filled with people longing to see him. My family was there, they could not miss it. I was only two, so naturally, I do not remember.

The procession of Imperial Guards riding through the streets with their beautiful uniforms and golden helmets, the Cossacks wearing long red coats, the nobility, and the orchestra provided lots of entertainment for the people until the Tsar arrived behind, signaled by the officials coming in their gold-embroidered uniforms.

Nicholas rode alone on a white horse. He used his left hand to rein the horse and his right hand to salute. From his horse, he didn't look short at all. He looked gallant, magnificent. Behind Nicholas came the Grand Dukes and foreign princes. Two carriages came next. They carried Maria and Alexandra, the two empresses. Alexandra was wearing a beautiful white gown with sewn jewels. Both carriages followed the Tsar into the Kremlin.

The morning of the 26th of May, the coronation took place in the Ouspensky Cathedral. Nicholas sat on a chair encrusted with gems and pearls that had once belonged to Alexis I. Alexandra sat on a throne that had been brought to Russia from the Byzantine Eastern Roman Empire before the Romanov dynasty even ruled Russia. Nicholas wore a heavy chain, the Order of St. Andrew.

The coronation ceremony lasted five hours. After a long mass, Alexandra knelt while the Metropolitan prayed for the Tsar. While everyone remained standing, Nicholas dropped to his knees in prayer for Russia and the people. He was anointed with holy oil by the priest, but this meant to represent that he had been anointed by God.

For the first and only time in his life, Nicholas took communion as a priest would, symbolizing his spiritual equality among Russia's senior bishops and metropolitans. For just one day, the monarch would be regarded by the church as a mixed person, part-priest and part-layman. He communed directly of the Body and Blood using his hands to take the bread and the chalice. This meant to signify that his duty as a Tsar would require the same constant spiritual struggle as the sacrament of priesthood.

It would. What position could have put more at stake?

During the ceremony, the chain of the Order of St. Andrew slipped from Nicholas's shoulders. Gasps were heard. Those who saw this blunder were asked to keep it a secret in order to prevent superstitious people from considering it a bad omen.

Nicholas and Alexandra were covered in big golden robes with white fur around them. There were lots of people from the nobility inside the cathedral, but even more people crowded outside to witness the event, all dressed up in their best clothes and uniforms. As tradition demanded, the descendants of certain individuals who had at one point or another in history saved a Tsar's life were present as guests of honor.

Nicholas had wanted to use the relatively simple Monomakh cap also worn by Michael I for his own coronation, as it was attached to Russia's ancient historical past and was a lot lighter, but he was advised against this.

The crown Nicholas actually used had been the same in all coronations since the reign of Catherine II. It consists of a red velvet cap with its sides and center covered by thousands of diamonds. Each of the two sides has its edges outlined by pearls. A big red stone surrounded by small diamonds stands on top of the center of the crown, and a slightly smaller cross made of diamonds stands on top of the red stone.

Following Byzantine tradition, Nicholas received the crown from the hierarch of the church and then used his own hands to crown himself. The Metropolitan then said a prayer:

"Most God-fearing, absolute, and mighty Lord, Tsar of all the Russias, this visible and tangible adornment of thy head is an eloquent symbol that thou, as the head of the whole Russian people, art invisibly crowned by the King of kings, Christ, with a most ample blessing, seeing that He bestows upon thee entire authority over His people."

After this, the Tsar received his scepter and orb, and the Metropolitan said another prayer:

"God-crowned, God-given, God-adorned, most pious Autocrat and great Sovereign, Emperor of All the Russias. Receive the scepter and the orb, which are the visible signs of the autocratic power given thee from the Most High over thy people, that thou mayest rule them and order for them the welfare they desire."

Nicholas became then, officially, the Most God-Fearing, Absolute, and Mighty Lord, Tsar of All the Russias, God-Crowned, God-Given, God-Adorned, Most Pious Autocrat and Great Sovereign, Emperor of All the Russias, His Imperial Majesty, We, Nicholas II, By the Grace of God, Emperor and Autocrat of All the Russias, Moscow, Kiev, Vladimir, Novgorod; Tsar of Kazan, Tsar of Astrakhan, Tsar of Poland, Tsar of Siberia, Tsar of Chersonese Taurian, Tsar of Georgia; Lord of Pskov and Grand Prince of Smolensk, Lithuania, Volhynia, Podolia, Finland; Prince of Estland, Livland, Courland, Semigalia, Samogitia, Belostok, Karelia, Tver, Yugorsky land, Perm, Vyatka, Bolgar and others; Lord and Grand Prince of Nizhny Novgorod, Chernigov, Ryazan, Polotsk, Rostov, Yaroslavl, Belozersk, Udorsky land, Obdorsk, Kondia, Vitebsk, Mstislav, and all of the northern countries Master; and Lord of Iberia, Kartli, and Kabardia lands and Armenian provinces; hereditary Sovereign and ruler of the Circassian and Mountainous Princes and of others; Lord of Turkestan; Heir of Norway; Duke of Schleswig-Holstein, Stormarn, Dithmarschen, and Oldenburg, and others, and others, and others.

Nicholas took off his crown and approached his wife Alexandra, who was kneeling before him, in order to crown her as well. He put the crown back on his head and then used another smaller but identical crown to adorn Alexandra's head.

For Alexandra, this was like a spiritual wedding to Russia. Every single part of the long ceremony had such a symbolic significance that she did not feel tired for even a second. She took her role as a mother of her people as seriously as she took everything in life.

Oo

Four days after the coronation, a tragedy occurred that would also be interpreted as a bad omen. A banquet was going to be held for the people at the Khodynka Field, where food and commemorative cups would be given.

More people than expected traveled from all over Russia to the field, and soon rumors spread that there would not be enough gifts for everyone. Some even said that the cups contained a golden coin. People tried to get into the lines, the small police force failed to keep order, a stampede formed, and more than a thousand people were trampled to death, including children.

The field was so large that some people were lucky enough not to notice. My family walked away with their commemorative cups and sausages. They only heard about what had occurred a day later. Had they been anywhere near the place the stampede happened, I may not have been here today.

When Nicholas and Alexandra found out about this, they considered canceling a ball that was taking place that day at the French Embassy, but Nicholas's uncles made him change his mind once again, saying it was far more important not to upset the French, their valuable allies.

Some officials in charge of the organization and security of the festivities were fired. The Tsar gave pensions to the families of each of the people who died in the stampede and personally paid for individual caskets for the dead.

Nicholas, Alexandra, and Minnie visited the wounded in many hospitals. Alexandra looked at them with tears in her eyes. She was visibly upset, like a mother suffering for her new children.

But to many intellectuals, the fact the court had declared mourning over the death of Archduke Karl Ludwig Joseph Maria of Austria a few days prior but not after the deaths of thousands of common Russian people sent the wrong message. Were the lives of thousands of innocents really worth less than that of one Archduke?

Knowing the Tsar and Tsarina had assisted a ball the same day the tragedy occurred also made many think that they did not sympathize with the victims.

Grand Duke Sergei, the Governor of Moscow, was not directly involved in the planning of the festivities, but he was blamed by many for not taking the necessary precautions and was called by some "Prince of Khodynka.” Nicholas refused to have his uncle removed from his position. All he wanted to do was move on.

Oo

Nicholas and Alexandra made the Alexander Palace their main residence. This dwelling is located in Tsarskoye Selo, also known as the village of the Tsars, and it is the same modest place where Nicholas was born. At least it can be considered modest when compared to the Winter Palace in St. Petersburg, a few kilometers north of Tsarskoye Selo.

Alexandra decorated the quarters herself in a quite simple manner. The interiors were no more ostentatious than those of any other bourgeois or middle-class home. It was still a far more comfortable place than the house where Nicholas and Alexandra spent their final days. The shooting just started.

Chapter Text

Moscow. July 17, 1918.

Doroteya Filippovna Lavrova.

From the city of St. Petersburg, the Tsar ruled the Russian Empire. This land was so big that while the Sun was setting on the western borders, it was also rising in the east.

Nicholas had a huge weight over his shoulders. All of the people who lived under his rule were his God-given responsibility. If anything bad happened to them, or he made a wrong choice, he would have to answer to the divine sovereign Himself. God had given Nicholas his power.

Nicholas's loyalty to his late father knew no bounds. His admiration influenced him. The moment he ascended the throne, Nicholas II bowed to preserve the autocracy as firmly as his father had done.

Soon after Nicholas became Tsar, a deputation of peasants and workers from various towns' local assemblies, the zemstvos, came to the Winter Palace proposing reforms such as the adoption of a constitutional monarchy.

Although the addresses were written with mild and loyal terms, Nicholas was angry and ignored advice from the Imperial Family Council. He did not want the zemstvos to have any part in the government.

"Forget your senseless dreams", Nicholas told them. He would maintain the autocracy.

Oo

After her birth, Nicholas and Alexandra took Olga on many trips to Austria, Denmark, and England. Olga was the only one of her siblings who got to meet her great grandmother, Queen Victoria, in Scotland.

Victoria and Alexandra spent hours playing with the baby. Many people commented that Olga appeared older than her age, bursting with happiness and knowing just how to behave. She took her first steps with the help of her two-year-old cousin David, the son of Prince George. The little friendship started when David picked Olga up after a fall and gave her a kiss. Queen Victoria noticed the small little pair and jokingly said baby Olga would make a great queen for England someday in the future.

From Scotland, Nicholas and Alexandra traveled to France, their ally. Huge crowds waved at the Emperor and Empress as they were driven across the boulevards of Paris, and whenever they saw baby Olga with her nurse, they shouted in French:

"Long live the baby! Long live the Grand Duchess!" And even: "Long live the nanny!"

Nicholas would look overjoyed by the people's unmistakable displays of affection.

The young couple visited many important sites in Paris, such as the grave of Napoleon, the man who had once invaded Russia. They spent one evening in Versailles, where Alexandra was granted the rooms of Marie Antoinette. During a military review, the French soldiers praised Nicholas, who would never forget the warm welcome he had received in France.

In commemoration of the conclusion of the Franco-Russian Alliance by Alexander III, Nicholas was invited to lay the foundation stone of a bridge still to be built at that time, a bridge that today is known as the Alexander Bridge.

Oo

Back in Russia, Nicholas returned to his tedious, and in his own words, detestable job. The one he felt completely obliged to do. Nicholas never went to bed until he had read all the reports sent to him and made comments on each of them. He survived the stress by becoming, little by little, a chain-smoker.

Nicholas was under the great influence of his four uncles: Vladimir, Commander of the Imperial Guard, Alexei, Grand Admiral of the Russian Navy and famous womanizer, Sergei, Ellaʼs aggressively reactionary husband, and Paul.

As the mildest, Paul did not cause Nicholas any trouble at first, but this would soon change. Paul had two children: Maria and Dmitri, but his wife had died giving birth to the latter in 1891. Dmitri had almost died as well, but Grand Duke Sergei had taken great care of the premature infant, saving his life in the process.

Paul later began an affair with a commoner, and after they had a son, Vladimir, he asked to be allowed to marry her. Nicholas refused. It was illegal for Grand Dukes and Grand Duchesses to marry commoners.

Nicholas spent the first years of his reign in awe of his bellowing uncles, who towered over him and seemed to know better at the time. They had known Nicholas since he was a little boy and treated him as such. For their methods of intimidation, Nicholas dreaded being left alone with them in his office.

Oo

Intimidation was never a facet of Nicholas's personality. He always tried to behave in a kindly manner with everyone, even while raging inside. He thought showing restraint was the gentlemanly thing to do. When he fired his ministers, he would generally do so through the written language, confusing the poor men, who would be treated as if nothing were about to happen days before.

Nicholas hated drama and often found it hard to criticize a man or his ideas to his face. This character trait was considered further proof of his alleged weakness of will, although it would be more accurate to say Nicholas was a man of strong convictions his circumstances of birth had facilitated acting upon who was simply not interested in convincing anyone with a different position that his ways would work better because, at the end of the day, he had the final say.

As the Tsar and head of the Romanov House, Nicholas owned many lands, but despite his wealth, his private purse was often empty. There were seven palaces to take care of with its servants to be paid. The Winter and Anitchkov Palaces in St. Petersburg, the Alexander and Catherine Palaces in Tsarskoye Selo, the palace by the sea of Finland, Peterhof, the palace of Gatchina, the quarters in the Kremlin at Moscow, and the Livadia Palace in Crimea. Nicholas was also responsible for giving each of the imperial members of the family their allowances. Then there were the trains and the yachts. Many hospitals, orphanages, and other charities also depended on him. At the end of the year, the Tsar was usually penniless.

Oo

Alexandra continued learning Russian with the help of her tutor Catherine Schneider, but as the Empress she did not fare well in her role. The Russian aristocracy was critical of Alexandra for her poor French, the court language, as well as her constant unavailability. She was not used to the enormous and opulent Russian court, as the court in her home duchy was ridiculously small by comparison.

Alexandraʼs natural shyness, awkwardness, and difficulty at coming up with interesting topics for small talk were confused for disdain and haughtiness by the snobby St. Petersburg society ladies, who also had a very strong preference for Alexandraʼs mother-in-law. Even as a widow in her forties, Maria Feodorovna had more than enough the energy to dance and gossip for hours. The women at court did not appreciate the fact the more serious Alexandra had replaced her.

Alexandra had been a fish out of the water ever since her first appearance at court as the Empress during the winter season of 1896, little after Olga was born. She had clung tightly to her husband's arms while blankly staring at everyone, later confessing to him that she would rather have sunk into the floor.

Her first meetings with the ladies of St. Petersburg went disastrously. Alexandra rarely smiled in front of strangers or spoke more than a few words of welcome. She awkwardly hung her hand in the air for it to be kissed, as it was custom, and her constant anxious glances to see how many ladies more were coming clearly indicated she just wanted it to be over. The gossiping about all the things that were "wrong" with her continued.

At first, Alexandra attempted to act as her role demanded, but even when she tried, her sloppy attempts could end up failing disastrously. She sometimes showed up at balls covered in way too many jewels and dressed in excessively ornamented dresses because she knew the court admired those sorts of fancy things. Alexandra must have thought that even if they disliked her, they would at least respect her as their Empress. The court ladies ended up laughing at her opulence and mocking her behind her back without much discretion, comparing Alexandra to the simply dressed yet still elegant Dowager Empress.

Raised in the small court of Darmstadt and strictly raised trained, Alexandra was not prepared for the long parties, the love affairs, or the gossip.

"The heads of young ladies of St. Petersburg", the scandalized Alexandra once declared, "are filled with nothing but thoughts of young officers."

She soon started crossing off names from the palace invitation lists, which made people in St. Petersburg consider her a prude. They were not mistaken. During one of the first court balls the new Empress attended, she saw a woman dancing with a cleavage she considered way too low. Alexandra sent one of her ladies in waiting to notify the woman in question.

"Madame," the lady said. "Her Majesty wants me to tell you that in Hesse-Darmstadt we donʼt wear our dresses that way."

"Really?" The young woman replied while pulling the front of her dress even lower. "Tell Her Majesty that in Russia we do wear our dresses this way."

Whenever Alexandra smiled, the ladies called it mockery. If she had a neutral expression, it was confused with anger. Her religious fervor was considered excessive. There was nothing she could do that was not misinterpreted. This was noticed even by Nicholasʼs teenage sister Olga, who sympathized with the unfortunate new Empress.

Alexandra found the strain of fulfilling her ceremonial duties incredibly hard. Social environments were quite scary for her, and she was not oblivious either. She knew about the mockery and could sense the disdain people felt for her. Throughout her first few months of failures, she would often cry in her husbandʼs arms while confessing her feelings of loneliness and inadequacy, but in the end Alexandra began closing off to the outside world.

All she yearned for was a quiet, private, and relatively secluded existence with her family as the center and most important thing in her life. Alexandra wanted safety, and her husband was the only one who made her feel fully safe.

She began to dislike the aristocracy and the people from St. Petersburg's high society in general. She considered them scandalous, immoral, frivolous, mundane, unspiritual, and prone to gossip. She detested the fashions and the tales of extramarital affairs, promiscuity, and other actions she considered immoral but were common among those social circles. She wanted to protect her future children from their pernicious influence.

Alexandra did not even deem most inhabitants of St. Petersburg "real" Russians. She did not care for the cityʼs culture because she knew most revolutionary sentiments were hatched in its cosmopolitan centers, rapidly spreading outwards like plagues. They were not real Russians, she told herself and anyone who would listen, and neither were the workers who went on strike, or the revolutionary students, or the difficult ministers.

The real people were the peasants she had become acquainted with during visits to her sister Ella in her state. Those humble and kind people who fell to their knees in prayer for the Tsar, who kissed the shadow of the Tsar as he walked near them. She was a mother to those people, their Matushka. Those were the real Russians.

Most of all, Alexandra thought the aristocracyʼs lack of willingness to help those less fortunate than them without reward reproachable. In 1896, Alexandra tried to start a charity project called "Help Through Handwork." Alexandra was skilled at sewing and hoped to establish workshops throughout Russia where poor women could learn how to become proficient at crafts and thus complement their income. She started recruiting women from the aristocracy to help her with this new project of hers, hoping they could all sew, knit, and embroider garments for the less fortunate as well. The women expected that either they or their loved ones would be given court promotions as a reward, and when they learned that this would not be the case, many refused to help. These aristocratic women, of course, did not miss the opportunity to mock Alexandra for failing even at charity.

Oo

I do relate to her. Years of bullying can make it hard for anyone to feel at ease around crowds of strangers. I used to feel dizzy before talking to any new person.

Selling flowers was easy, a simple transaction, one I had rehearsed and practiced countless times, and I never talked to the potential buyers unless they engaged with me first.

Andrei was the one to pursue me. God bless him. It was at nursing school that I learned to socialize, but it was a slow process from which I obtained endless awkward and painful memories.

Alexandraʼs beliefs were not correct, now it is clear. She might have created them to hide from reality. It must have brought her peace of mind to think that while few prestigious members of society had ever favored her, the poor Russians, the people that truly mattered, loved her.

She was right about one thing though, us peasants are usually the most loyal of Russian peoples.

Oo

Nicholas and Alexandra celebrated Olgaʼs first birthday with remarkable glee. The toddler was already trying to communicate and was a rosy, happy child who smiled all the time just like her mother had as a baby. Alexandra was proud of her bright girl, whom she considered smart for her age.

Alexandraʼs second pregnancy proved to be even harder than the first one. The mother suffered from severe pain in her back and was barely able to stand. When Alexandra turned around, the sickness overwhelmed her. If she tried to sit up, her back would hurt again. If she moved her legs, they would cramp. The doctors warned her there was a significant chance she could have a miscarriage, so by the end of the gestation she was staying in bed all day long. The second pregnancy was agony.

Minnie advised Alix to eat raw ham in bed every morning before breakfast to improve her condition. Mother and daughter in law may not have been the best of friends, but they cared for each other nonetheless.

Oo

In January 1897, Xenia gave birth to a boy she and Sandro named Andrei. Nicholas and Alexandra hoped the child they were expecting would also be a boy. The succession had to be secured as soon as possible and Alexandraʼs health was beginning to deteriorate, making her dread the thought of having to go through a third pregnancy in a haste, without time to recover after bearing her second child. She wanted to rest for two or three years before dealing with another pregnancy, but she needed to provide Russia with an heir first. It was her duty.

It is said faith healing enthusiast Princess Militza brought four blind nuns from Kiev to Alexandra in the hopes of alleviating her anxiety.

Militza and her sister Anastasia were two Montenegrin princesses who had been sent to be educated in Russia's Smolny Institute of Noble Maidens. Both had then gone on to marry nobles and remain rich and acknowledged among the aristocracy. Instead of attending innumerable balls as the rest of St. Petersburg society did, however, Milica and Anastasia directed all their energy towards their obsessions, mysticism, spirituality, and the occult as a whole. I bet they would have loved me.

I didn't see it, but the blind nuns from Kiev allegedly brought with them four especially blessed candles and four flasks of water from a well in Bethlehem, the birthplace of our Savior. After lighting the candles at each corner of Alexandra's bed and sprinkling her with the Bethlehem water, they assured her she would have a boy.

A deformed, half-blind crippled man named Mitya Kolyaba was also brought to the palace to work a miracle on the Empress. He supposedly had prophetic powers that only became apparent during his epileptic fits, something I am not certain about but could very well have been possible. When Mitya saw Alexandra for the first time, he remained silent, but sometime after that he prophesied the birth of a male child and was therefore sent gifts by the grateful imperial couple. Mitya Kolyaba was perhaps unable to see anything the first time he was summoned to the palace, and assuming that what he eventually foretold was a real prophecy, the vision he needed all along must have unexpectedly come to him later.

Nothing could calm Alexandra though. She was under considerable pressure. After such an uncomfortable pregnancy, Alexandra had been praying every day for a boy.

Oo

Nicholas and Alexandra waited for their second child at Peterhof Palace, and the baby was born on the 29th of May, or the 10th of June according to the new calendar. The pregnancy might have been harder, but although forceps were also needed, the labor was overall easier and the baby smaller this time.

When the effects of the chloroform administered during the delivery wore off, Alexandra glanced at the people surrounding her only to find anxious and troubled eyes staring back in silence.

"My God! It is again a daughter!" She hysterically cried. "What will the nation say? What will the nation say?!"

Needless to say, the baby girlʼs birth was a great shock to the exhausted Alexandra. In spite of this, both she and Nicholas warmed up to their new daughter immediately and without any problems. They would, however, continue their prayers and efforts to conceive a boy very soon after her birth.

Oo

Ever since the Pauline Laws were implemented by Emperor Paul I, it has been essentially impossible for any daughter of a Tsar to become Russia's next ruler. Providing Russia with a male heir was considered one of Alexandraʼs most important duties for this very reason.

The Tsesarevich or heir at the time was Nicholasʼs brother George, but he was becoming increasingly ill and spent most of his days by the Empireʼs southern borders, where the warm climate was said to be good for his health.

George was understandably dissatisfied about not having been able to meet his brother's daughters, and the fact that he was still the heir caused him considerable uncertainty. George would be too sick to adequately perform his duties as Tsar if that were ever his fate, which is why he had truly hoped the baby would be a boy.

Nicholasʼs youngest brother Michael was next in line after George, but he had no interest in ruling and was more of a free spirit, too undisciplined for the arduous task of governing an entire nation.

These factors would motivate the imperial couple to keep trying regardless of the potential difficulties, but it should be noted that Nicholas and Alexandra were only human. The main reason they yearned a son was because, like most parents, they wanted their successor to be one of their children, their own flesh and blood created by the love they had for each other. All parents want their children to become inheritors of their legacy, and the fact that this particular legacy consisted of an entire nation made little difference to Nicholas and Alexandra.

Oo

101 cannons boomed once again, announcing the arrival of another little Grand Duchess.

Just as they had done after the birth of their precious daughter Olga, Nicholas and Alexandra prayed to God for guidance as they thought of a perfect name for the second gem He had blessed them with. The Tsar was promptly reminded of the main female characters in Pushkinʼs "Eugene Onegin", a novel he certainly enjoyed. The sisters Olga and Tatiana.

"The second bright happy day in our family", Nicholas wrote in his diary, "at 10:40 in the morning the Lord blessed us with a daughter - Tatiana. Poor Alix suffered all night without shutting her eyes for a moment, and at 8 o'clock went downstairs to Amama's bedroom. Thank God this time it all went quickly and safely, and I did not feel nervously exhausted. Towards one o'clock the little one was bathed and Yanyshev read some prayers. Mama arrived with Xenia; we lunched together. At 4 o'clock there was a Te Deum. Tatiana weighs 83/4 pounds and is 54 centimeters long. Our eldest is very funny with her. Read and wrote telegrams."

The name "Tatiana" is not originally from Russia, it has Greek roots and means "the one who takes care of the home.”

Tatiana was a beautiful baby with a small, delicate mouth and curly reddish brown hair. She had inherited most of her mother's fine features, although her long, wide-set gray eyes were downturned and almond shaped like her fatherʼs. Tatianaʼs semi-slanted eyes blended perfectly with her beautiful features, giving her an overall unique and lovely appearance that would make her stand out from the rest of her siblings.

Olga was deeply amused by her new sister, and the way the one-year-old acted around Tatiana was truly entertaining for the imperial couple. It was love at first sight.

"Why does she sleep so much?" Olga asked her parents when she first got to hold the baby in her motherʼs bed.

"She is a baby dear", Alexandra answered. "Babies sleep a lot to grow bigger."

"Why is she angry, mama?"

"She is not angry, Olga, she is just very tired, it took her a long time to arrive."

"Where did she go?"

"That is a question for another time, Olga."

Nicholas and Alexandra started doting on Tatiana as much as they continued to dote on Olga.

Being the wife of Grand Duke Vladimir and the mother of many boys, Grand Duchess Maria Pavlovna was suspiciously elated by Tatianaʼs birth. Now there was hope. Her husband, or maybe one of her children, could one day sit on the Russian throne.

Oo

In 1897, the same year Tatiana was born, a law was enacted to limit work hours and forbid night work for women and minors under seventeen years of age. These laws, however, didn't address the low wages that accompanied disproportionally long working hours for everyone else.

There was little done to protect the pay and safety of the workers. Trade unionism was banned, working conditions were terrible despite official factory inspections, and living conditions were similarly horrendous as developers struggled to deal with the growing demand for accommodation needed by the people emigrating from the countryside to cities such as St. Petersburg and Moscow. Many lived in communal houses similar to army quarters where sanitation and running water were limited and kitchens, toilets, and washrooms had to be shared. Others were forced to sleep in the factories where they worked, with little in terms of bedding.

In consequence of all of this, the mortality rate was absurdly high.

Laws protecting the laborers brought about under Alexander III and Nicholas II did nothing to appease their growing resentment against the government. The workers were instead beginning to grow more and more acquainted each day with anarchism and Marxism, among other ambitious ideologies.

Oo

Not as well informed as he needed to be, the Emperor was still somewhat interested in the strivings of his people for a better life. He changed the passport system to facilitate free movement, including travel to foreign countries. A voluntary program of insurance would be introduced under which, in exchange for one ruble per year, any person was entitled to free hospitalization.

As his father before him, Nicholas was immensely proud of being Russian, and he would actively instill that same level of patriotism in his children. He used to work wearing a simple Russian peasant blouse, leather boots, and baggy breeches. He would have loved nothing more than to change the official court outfits back to the ancient, more traditional costumes worn by the courtiers of the Rurik dynasty, but he had to abandon the idea after coming to understand just how expensive his dream would have been. Although fluent in English, French, and German, Nicholas spoke Russian more often than not, and he would seldom use any other language to communicate with his children. Only to Alexandra he regularly spoke in English, for her Russian became fluent only years after her arrival in the country. French was widely spoken and prestigious among the upper classes, but Nicholas encouraged his ministers to deliver their reports in Russian and did not appreciate the use of even lone foreign phrases or expressions.

Even the culture the Tsar favored was Russian. He liked to read Pushkin, Gogol, and Tolstoy. He loved to listen to Tchaikovsky, and his favorite ballet, "The Hunchback Horse", was based on a Russian tale. Out of all of his ancestors, Nicholas admired Tsar Alexei I the most. One time, Nicholas started discussing Russian history with an aide, and when the topic became relevant, the servant talked about Peter the Great with great enthusiasm. After thinking it through for a while, the Tsar explained his unpopular position: "I recognize my ancestor's great merits, but… he is the ancestor who appeals to me least of all. He had too much admiration for European culture… he stamped out Russian habits, the good customs, the usages, bequeathed by a nation."

Nicholas was not oblivious to the way Peter the Great had managed to build his capital city either.

Oo

During their reign, Nicholas and Alexandra donated plenty of money to churches and monasteries, enabling their numbers to peak. Nicholas himself took part in the laying of the first cornerstones and consecration of many of them.

The Tsar hoped to restore Russia to her ancient traditional culture, which had been abandoned by many educated people for modern European fashions. This is why he encouraged the construction of Orthodox churches in their old traditional architectural styles and commissioned the painting of ancestral Byzantine icons.

The Emperor liked the idea of educating the masses of peasant children through parish schools, and as a result, their numbers also grew. My brother himself was educated in one of these small institutions, the one that Gerasim himself supervised. My parents didn't allow me or my sisters to go. They used to say it was unnecessary for girls to learn as many useless things, that both of them were illiterate and could function just fine. Fortunately, their old fashioned beliefs didn't stop me from learning. Both my brother and Gerasim were great teachers.

My daughter will certainly go to school once she is old enough to do so. Not a parish school though. My husband says that priests only fill the children's heads with silly superstitions. I canʼt believe that he is married to a seer.

Oo

In 1898, Nicholas and Alexandra hired an Irish nanny called Margaretta Eagar for their girls. The woman quickly became attached to the little girls, loving them almost as if they were her own daughters. Olga Alexandrovna, Nicholasʼs sister, also loved her brotherʼs baby girls dearly. Being quite young, the teenage girl was more like an older sister to them than an aunt. She had no problem playing with her nieces.

Olga and Tatiana were becoming closer with each passing day. Olga was obsessed with her little sister, and the two little playmates would often kiss each other's cheeks. Olga already played the piano, and she would try to teach her one-year-old sister Tatiana how to do the same. These piano sessions were a source of great laughter and amusement for the two baby girls. Their sounds of joy would blend with that of the piano and be heard all throughout the Alexander Palace.

Oo

In October of 1898, while Alexandra was trying to fall pregnant for the third time, she instructed one of her doctors in Yalta to study the theory of Austrian embryologist Dr. Leopold Schenk, who had written a book called "The Determination of Sex.” She also asked her doctor to get in touch with the man.

Dr. Schenk argued that the sex of the child depended upon which ovary had ovulated. An unripe egg cell, released soon after menstruation, would produce female children, and a ripe one, male. The doctor also believed that nutrition played a key role in the development of sexual characteristics, and his advice focused on the nutrition of the mother up to and during pregnancy. A woman wanting a son, he claimed, should eat more meat in order to raise the level of blood corpuscles.

Dr. Schenk thought that his eight sons were proof that his method worked. Alexandra became somewhat convinced as well and subsequently lived according to Dr. Schenk's precepts.

Oo

Generally speaking, Nicholas detested any sort of discussion regarding politics at informal contexts, and whenever his least favorite subject was brought up during leisure time, he deviated to the weather, the mountains, nature, families, activities, or literally anything else. Political exchanges could quickly turn ugly, and Nicholas despised confrontation.

Being peace-loving in nature, the Tsar made a strange suggestion to the world, unlike any before. In 1898, he proposed an international conference to study the problem of the armaments race, which was having debilitating economic, financial, and moral effects on the people of many nations. He wished for the states of the world to come together and pledge to cut their military forces and submit all international disputes to general arbitration.

Many accused Nicholas of wanting to stop the military growth of his rivals, more specifically Austria, for his own convenience, but the truth is Nicholas had recently invited Ivan Bliokh to an audience.

Bliokh was an important Russian Jewish railroad financier who had several facts, statistics, and predictions based on said statistics about the enormous casualty rates and grim horror that a war in the future would entail. The recent developments in weaponry such as machine guns, shells, and gas made any hypothetical conflict extremely dangerous. Ivan Bliokh himself had encouraged Nicholas in his endeavor.

Some people hailed the Tsar as "Nicholas the Pacific.” Some others like Edward, Prince of Wales and heir to the British Empire, said his proposal was "the greatest nonsense and rubbish I ever heard of.”

The result of Nicholasʼs undertaking, the Hague Peace Conference, was convened on May 18, 1899. Twenty European powers attended along with the United States, Mexico, Japan, China, Siam, and Persia.

There was no stop to the armaments race, but the participants issued a formal statement regarding newly officially agreed upon rules of warfare. A permanent court of arbitration was also established.

Oo

Nicholasʼs family was growing. Three-year-old Olga talked in Russian and English, and she adored her little sister Tatiana, who was becoming an extraordinarily beautiful child of dark, large eyes. Tatiana was always happy, only crying after being bathed and fed. This overall quiet, compliant, and placid behavior would remain constant throughout most of her life. Olga, on the other hand, was precocious and friendly. She freely talked to strangers in a very funny manner. When she turned two, an orphanage was opened to commemorate her.

Maria and Dmitri, the children of the Grand Duke Paul, were among Olga and Tatianaʼs earliest playmates.

Whenever she was in the comfortable security of her own home, near her children, Alexandra was easy going and cheerful around new people such as ladies in waiting. This didn't soothe Queen Victoria, who was beginning to worry about her granddaughter's seclusion and unpopularity. She knew it was important to earn the people's affection, but her dear Alix seemed to be more preoccupied with having a son than anything else.

In November of 1898, it became clear that Alexandra, who had twice fainted in mass, was pregnant again. She decided to keep these happy news a secret for a while until the severe nausea began forcing her to spend days on end lying down. This would continue for the duration of the gestation, as the baby was lying in an awkward position that aggravated Alexandraʼs sciatica.

Whenever she wasnʼt lying, Alexandra would sit on the balcony of the Livadia Palace or rest as her husband devotedly pushed her around on a wheelchair. Nicholas would also read "War and Peace" or "The History of Alexander I" to her daily.

Once again, the concerned Minnie advised her daughter-in-law to eat ham before breakfast.

Oo

It is impossible to overstate how much the Nicholas and Alexandra prayed for a son this time. They had not only prayed but also followed the advice they had obtained from several sources which claimed their precepts would work to conceive a male child. They had followed the instructions to the letter. Alexandra had eaten lots of meat indeed.

Trusting the experts and knowing it was unlikely to have three daughters in a row, the loving couple calmly and confidently waited for the long-awaited heir to come. Olga and Tatiana were encouraged to talk to the baby in Alixʼs womb. Tatiana was only two, so she would only say "hi" to the baby. "Hi" and some other baby talk I didn't fully understand. Three-year-old Olga was much more talkative. She took this task very seriously and started telling the baby not to forget to care for all of his "dollies" and toys once he was born.

On the 14th of June, or the 26th according to the new calendar, only 101 cannons boomed loudly throughout the streets of St. Petersburg after the birth of yet another Grand Duchess.

For the first time since he had become a father, Nicholasʼs immediate reaction to the babyʼs femaleness was one of strong dissatisfaction, so much so he had to take a long solitary walk to compose himself before returning home. Alexandra was disappointed as well, but her motherly instincts did not allow her to feel that way for too long. Delighted with joy, she soon started breastfeeding her baby. Nicholas also warmed up to his new daughter as soon as he returned to see her.

The couple prayed for God to bless their newborn with a bright, happy future, and then proceeded to ask Him to help them choose a fitting name for her. They ended up naming her Maria in honor of her grandmother Minnie, who the baby curiously grew up to resemble more than even her own parents.

I think the prophesy Mariaʼs name brought along has already been fulfilled. The name Maria can be taken to mean "a sea of bitterness" or "wished-for child.” Many other parents in their position would have allowed the birth of three daughters in a row to embitter them, but Nicholas and Alexandra instantly put their worries aside to make Maria as much of a "wished for child" as any boy would have been.

"A happy day", Nicholas wrote in his diary, "the Lord sent us a third daughter - Maria, who was safely born at 12.10! Alix hardly slept all night, and towards morning the pains got stronger. Thank God it was all over quite quickly! My darling felt well all day and fed the baby herself… the evening was marvelous."

Despite loving her new baby girl more with each passing day, Alexandra was still worried about Mariaʼs gender. She would tell her close friends and family members that there was no shame in being a mother of girls exclusively, but that in a country such as Russia it was nonetheless vital to secure the succession.

The Empress was already disliked by the aristocracy, and being unable to have a son was making her even more unpopular. She knew, of course, about this. She could not produce good small talk, she could not form connections with the aristocracy or win their love, and now, she could not even accomplish the most basic task for a Russian Empress.

The superstitious nature of the Russian people exacerbated the situation. The birth of a third daughter inevitably fueled the widespread belief that Alexandra's arrival in Russia coinciding with the dying days of Alexander III had been a bad omen.

Superstitious beliefs were no joke for Alix, as they are widespread among Orthodox people. Her people. After Maria had been dipped in the baptismal font three times as was traditional to do at christenings, her hair was cut at four places in the form of a cross. The removed hair was then rolled in wax and thrown into the font. According to Russian superstition, the good or evil in store for a child's future life depends on whether the hair sinks or swims. Little Maria's hair, just like that of her sisters before her, sank at once, which was taken to mean there was no need for alarm concerning her future.

The Empress was beginning to feel exceedingly pressured to have a son, an outcome neither she nor her husband had any control over. Had Alexandra been a regular woman, she would have probably remained perfectly content with her three daughters, but she was no average woman. Safeguarding the succession was considered exceptionally important for the happiness and stability of a nation with awfully rigid, traditional laws, and a long, violent history of coups and assassinations.

Grand Duke George, Nicholasʼs sickly brother, was rather disappointed by the birth of another niece. The unlucky man was still the heir, and he was yet again unable to assist the babyʼs baptism as he had very much hoped for.

Oo

Georgeʼs lungs never improved. He used to go out and ride his motorcycle fairly often, but one day he did not come back, so his staff sent out a search party. A peasant woman had discovered him collapsed by the side of the road, blood coming from his mouth as he struggled to breathe.

The news reached Nicholas by telegram, and he had to tell his mother. She completely broke down. Minnie had now lost two sons, as one of her babies, Alexander, had died in infancy a long time ago.

George's death was also a great shock for Nicholas, who was very fond of his childhood playmate and friend. George's sense of humor still brightened his days. It especially pained the Tsar to know that his brother would never meet his nieces, something that he had been worrying about with longing days before his death.

Minnie was heartbroken. Her precious son had died completely alone, without his family around. Without his mother.

As George was laid to rest in St. Peter and Paul Cathedral, Minnie stood still next to Xenia without tears throughout the entire ceremony, but as soon as the coffin was put down into the tomb, she abruptly grabbed her daughterʼs arm tightly, and with open and dead eyes, exclaimed: "Let's go home. Let's go home, I cannot stand it anymore!"

The Dowager Empress left so fast that it was hard for the others to pick up on what was happening. Minnie sobbed inside her carriage for a long time after that. This was sadly not the last time she would outlive one of her children.

Grand Duke Michael had become the heir apparent.

Oo

After Mariaʼs birth, which had been so closely followed by Grand Duke George's death, the level of concern escalated in Russia and abroad, for the first time arousing real fears that the Empress would never have a boy.

Letters of advice began arriving from England, France, Belgium, and even as far as from North America, Latin America, and Japan. They all offered their folk secrets for begetting a son. Many correspondents solicited thousands of dollars from the imperial couple in return for divulging their answer.

Other unsolicited advice was offered from within Russia: "Ask your wife, the Empress, to lie on the left-hand side of the bed", said one of these, instructing that Nicholas should lie on the right. If the husband mounts his wife from the left, a girl will supposedly be born, if from the right, a boy. I have undoubtedly heard many people claim this in my village, but I doubt there is any truth to it. My parents have known about that particular "secret" for a long time and yet I only have one brother.

It is unlikely that the imperial couple read, let alone applied, all of the techniques, but it is possible they selected and tried a few. Nicholas, however, was perfectly happy with his personal life. After his brother's terrible death, he had found comfort in his family, especially his new baby daughter.

"I dare complain the least", he wrote in a note to his wife, "having such happiness on Earth, having a treasure like you my beloved Alix, and already the three little cherubs. From the depth of my heart do I thank God for all His blessings, in giving me you. He gave me paradise and has made my life an easy and happy one."

Whenever Alexandra was reminded of the heir she had yet to provide the nation with, Nicholas would make jokes to soothe her distress.

"Should we never have a son, my tall, handsome younger brother Michael would make a fine Tsar one day, do you not think, darling?" He once said to his wife. "And this little girl is the most beautiful gift God has ever given us.”

Maria was the most gorgeous child one could ever imagine. She had a tiny nose, curly golden hair, dark eyebrows, and a perfectly round little face that matched her round blue eyes, which were so big they would one day be known as "Mariaʼs saucers.” Only my daughter seems to have been a prettier baby, but I can admit a motherʼs love can be blinding.

Many people noticed that Maria looked like one of Botticelliʼs angels and bore herself as one as well. Maria was born good. She was incredibly well behaved for an infant and later a toddler. Nicholasʼs oldest uncle, Grand Duke Vladimir Alexandrovich Romanov, called Maria "The Amiable Baby" because of her good and peaceful nature. She was always so cute and smiling, and hers was the sweetest smile possible.

Maria was also an uncommonly affectionate baby, as if she had learned to love quicker than other children.

"This baby was born with the very smallest trace of original sin possible", her nanny Margaretta Eagar used to claim, and no one who knew Maria would have dared to disagree.

I canʼt help but be reminded of the mother of the Saviour Himself, the Theotokos. She was also named Maria and was undoubtedly sinless throughout her entire life.

Oo

Not long after Maria was born, the family traveled abroad, and Margaretta Eagar joined them. They went to Denmark and Kiel to visit several relatives. Their next stop was Wolfsgarten, a hunting mansion in Hesse where they stayed with Alexandraʼs brother Ernie, his wife Victoria Melita, and their four-year-old daughter Elizabeth.

Little Ella was a sweet and merry child of almost black hair and light grey-blue eyes. Being only a few months older than Olga, Elizabeth took great interest in her cousins, placing her own toys in Olga and Tatianaʼs room for them to use.

Olga and Tatiana became friends with Ella the moment they met her, and they would continue to be so for a long time, as their parents often arranged playdates for the little girls.

The three cousins spent most of their time together playing with their toys, but they also enjoyed running outside. Ella did not have any sisters herself and wished for one very much. Since she had liked Tatiana most of all for her cheerful disposition to play whatever Ella chose to play, the little Hessian girl begged the adults of the household to let her adopt Tatiana as her little sister.

"You will not miss her as much as you would miss Olga or the baby", Elizabeth claimed. When she was told she wouldn't be able to adopt Tatiana, Ella asked about the baby, Maria, and concluded that she and her nanny, Miss Wilson, would be able to take care of her. With great interest, Elizabeth learned all the details of how the adults changed the babyʼs diapers until she thought she had mastered them. Ella then asked her aunt, Alexandra, to give the baby to her. She was, of course, denied this innocent wish by the mother, who shook her head as she smiled at the funny child.

With all of this failing, Ella started assuring everyone that Maria was a very ugly baby anyways, and that everyone in Russia would be much better and happier without that stupid little thing. Sadly for Ella, she was still unable to adopt any of her cousins. The poor child looked so sad when her friends left.

The Romanovs and the Dukes of Hesse visited the city of Darmstadt twice and went shopping with the children. They went to a toy shop once, and the girls were told that they might choose whatever they liked for themselves and also for relations and friends at home. Olga looked at the toys and finally chose the very smallest one she could find.

"Thank you very much", Olga said politely. The shop people showed her more attractive toys, but Olga would always reply: "No, thank you, I don't want to take it."

Miss Eagar asked Olga why she would not buy the toys, saying that the shop owners would be very sad if she did not take more, and that she could not leave the shop without doing so.

Olga then said: "But the beautiful toys belong to some other little girls, I am sure, and think how sad they would be if they came home and found we had taken them while they were out."

Margaretta explained the situation to her. They were in a toy shop, not in any little girlʼs house. Miss Eagar explained Olga how shops worked, how the shopkeepers earned money by making lots of different children happy, and how it would make them incredibly happy to have a little Grand Duchess such as Olga buying toys in their shop.

Olga understood. She and Tatiana ended up choosing many more toys.

Oo

Nicholas and Alexandra said goodbye to the Dukes of Hesse and then headed towards Postdam, where they visited the German Emperor and Empress. At that time, Nicholas and Wilhelm, the German Emperor, were friends as well as cousins, although Nicholas and Alexandra secretly disliked some of Wilhelmʼs most eccentric personality traits, such as his sense of humor, indiscretion, obsession with showing off his military power in endless parades, and over theatricality.

Wilhelm was blissfully oblivious to this and genuinely believed Nicholas admired and looked up to him. In truth, the Tsar and his wife would privately joke about their cousin in the most merciless manner.

Olga and Tatiana had tea with two of the German Emperorʼs children, who then took Olga for a drive in their pony cart. After this, the family returned to Russia.

Oo

While staying in Moscow, the Empress thought she would like to have her children's portraits painted, so an artist was summoned to do so. Olga, Tatiana, and Maria were four years, two and a half years, and a few months old respectively. The artist began by taking innumerable photographs of the children, but then, he suddenly decided he could not paint from photographs, as it would not be "artistic" to do so.

Margaretta begged the man to remember that the girls were babies, but he insisted upon them sitting in front of him for three or four hours a day. This was, of course, very hard and boring for the poor children, so much so that one day, the little Grand Duchess Olga lost her temper.

"You are a very ugly man, and I don't like you a bit", she said to the artist.

Amusingly, this adult man was exceedingly offended by the words of a bored child.

"You are the first lady who has ever said I was ugly", he replied. "And moreover, I'm not a man, I'm a gentleman!"

More hilarious than his response to the insult was his reaction to Miss Eagarʼs laughter. The nanny couldn't be more amused by the offense he had taken at the little girlʼs comment. It would not be the first time Grand Duchess Olga bluntly spoke her mind.

Oo

On more than one occasion Olga's temper got the better of her. She could also be very naughty. Miss Eagar once said to her: “I am afraid you got out of bed with the wrong foot foremost this morning.”

The little child looked a little puzzled, but she said nothing. The next morning though, before getting out of bed, she called her nanny and asked her which was her right foot. Miss Eagar showed her, and Olga most carefully descended on it. “Now”, she said, “that bad left foot won't be able to make me naughty today; I got out on the right.”

Oo

Growing up, Grand Dukes and Grand Duchesses slept on camp beds unless they were sick and received cold showers in the mornings. It was an imperial tradition. Olga had missed her soft crib at first but eventually gotten used to the camp bed. She told Miss Eagar that it made her proud to think of herself as a big girl, no longer in need of a crib.

Oo

The family usually spent Christmas at Tsarskoye Selo, where Alexandra would put up many Christmas trees. Margaretta and the children had a tree for themselves. It was fixed into a musical box that played a German Christmas hymn and turned round and round.

Alexandra would sometimes let her two older little girls sleep near the Christmas tree, which must have been like magic to the children, who loved those beautiful ornaments. There were no Christmas trees in my village, but Andrei does put them on, and my daughter and I adore them. The tradition comes from Germany.

The children became awfully sad whenever Christmas ended.

On New Year's Day, according to the old Russian calendar, there was a great ceremony in St. Petersburg. The Emperor, Empress, and Dowager Empress would go to church wearing full court dresses.

The Empress looked magnificent in her court dress of white satin, with its long train of brocade, seven chains of diamonds round her neck, and a girdle of the same sparkling gems around her waist, the ends falling to the hem of her dress. On her head, she wore the kokoshnik, a crescent-shaped headdress, in white brocade, lavishly decorated with large single stone diamonds. A rich lace veil descended from it and hung at the back almost to her knees.

The little girls were always delighted to see their mother as gorgeously attired. They ran around her in speechless admiration, giggling with joy. One time, the Grand Duchess Olga clapped her hands and exclaimed: "Oh! Mama, you are just like a lovely Christmas tree!"

Oo

The Grand Duchesses Olga and Tatiana Nicholaivna loved to listen to stories, and sometimes they liked making them up. On one occasion, Tatiana told Olga a story:

"So, my little girl and my niece went into the wood and a big wolf ate my little girl, so she went to heaven."

"Oh no!" Olga cried, horrified at such theology. "She could not have gone to heaven, because the wolf ate her, and God does not allow wolves to go to heaven. She is walking about the wood inside the wolf." Tatiana calmly accepted this wonderful correction.

Olga was becoming more prone to analyzing everything she was told. Tatiana, on the other hand, remembered most of what she was told in an accurate manner, accepting any new information as it was given to her.

Alexandra told whoever would listen that Olga was a very intelligent child. She was already a promising pianist and had quite an advanced vocabulary for a four-year-old. Tatiana was didn't often come across as exceedingly clever, but she seemed to understand everything she was explained.

Oo

On one occasion, Miss Eagar told Olga the story of Joseph and his brothers. She was deeply interested.

"What a shame!" Olga exclaimed.

"Yes, it was indeed a terrible shame for them to be so jealous and so cruel to their young brother", Margaretta agreed.

"I mean it was a shame of the father", Olga replied. "Joseph was not the eldest, and the beautiful coat should have been given to the eldest son. The other brothers knew that, and perhaps that was why they put him in the pit."

Explanations were useless, all of Olgaʼs sympathies were given to Reuben. She must have firmly believed being the eldest, as she was, had to count for something.

Olga was angry with King David for killing Goliath.

"David was much younger and smaller, and poor Goliath never expected him to throw stones at him", she had spoken her mind upon listening to the famous Bible story for the very first time.

She thought Esau deserved the birthright. He, and not Jacob, had been born first.

When Nicholas first spoke to his daughter about Russian history, Olga was inevitably disappointed by the fact the older half-brother of Peter the Great, Ivan, had been made to rule along with his younger brother, and no rationales about Ivanʼs condition convinced her he shouldn't have ruled on his own as the rightful Tsar.

"Jack the Giant Killer" gave Olga no pleasure. It upset her idea that might was right.

One time, there was a cinematograph exhibition for the children and some of their friends. Part of it showed two little girls playing in a garden. Each of them had a table covered with toys.

Suddenly the bigger girl snatched a toy from the little one who, however, held on to it and refused to give it up. The elder seized a spoon and used it to hit the little one, who quickly relinquished the toy and began to cry. Tatiana started weeping too upon seeing the little girl being hit, but Olga remained incredibly quiet. Once the exhibition was over, she said:

"I can't think that we saw the whole of that picture."

"I know", Margaretta nodded at child, probably hoping the film had taught her a valuable lesson. "I had hoped that in the end the naughty big sister was punished, but we have seen enough, I am glad we donʼt have to see that naughty girl anymore."

"I am sure that the toy belonged at first to the big sister", Olga asserted, "and she was kind and lent it to her sister, then she wanted it back, and the little sister would not give it up, so she had to beat her."

Margaretta looked down at the girl with amusement and probably gave up trying to convince her of anything related to being the eldest.

Oo

Tatiana used to hug her mother at any given opportunity, while Olga would call for her father and run to him everytime he was around. Nicholas and Alexandra would joke about each daughter having a favorite. Naturally, this didn't mean Tatiana loved being carried in her fatherʼs arms any less or that Olga didn't enjoy her time around her mother as she taught both girls how to pray, knit, play the piano, or quite simply, manners.

Alexandra worked hard to make sure her girls were always sweet and polite. On one occasion, the Prince of Siam, an Asian country, came to visit the Empress. The little Grand Duchesses, four and two years old at the time, were in the room. They ran forward and examined the newcomer with deep interest, walking slowly around him and regarding him with beaming smiles of amusement. Dark-skinned and with eastern features, the prince looked different from most people they saw on a daily basis.

"Come, shake hands with this gentleman, Tatiana", the Empress said to her daughter.

"That is not a gentleman, mama", Tatiana laughed, "that's only a monkey."

The Empress opened her eyes wide and blushed, clearly embarrassed. "You are a monkey yourself, Tatiana.”

The young prince laughed heartily though, and he subsequently became good friends with the girls.

Oo

During one of the family's stays at Spala, a Polish village where they had a hunting lodge, a surprise was prepared for the children, much to their parents' delight.

In a little orchard, a teahouse had been built. About a dozen tame deer would approach the area along with pheasants, hares, and other creatures.

These animals would all come and eat from the girls' hands. The deer, in particular, would also follow Margaretta about everywhere and lay their pretty heads on her arm. The Grand Duchess Tatiana called them "the pretty creatures", and by this name they were henceforth known. The girls were incredibly pleased. They petted the animals with tenderness as they friendlily argued over whom the deer loved more. Even baby Maria was able to enjoy herself from the arms of her mother, who watched with pleasure the way her beautiful baby daughter seemingly followed the deer with her eyes. The motherʼs amusement became pure sheer joy whenever her little baby laughed.

A further surprise awaited Olga and Tatiana in the shape of a little carriage drawn by a pair of goats, each led by a boy wearing a Polish costume.

Oo

Spending time having fun with his daughters made work even more tedious for Nicholas by comparison. Alexandra was fortunate enough to be able to spend more time with them. She kept teaching the oldest two how to knit, embroider, and make beds among other things she was good at. As an incredibly involved mother, she hated having to leave her daughters for official functions. She wanted to spend and enjoy every waking moment with her unusually affectionate little Maria, for she knew as all mothers do that the toddlerhood stage is both endearing and short. Maria was, however, one of those little girls who love their papa the most. She always loved Nicholas very deeply.

As soon as she was able to walk, Maria started trying to escape from the nurseries in order to go to her "papa", who she would call for whenever she saw him. If Maria's efforts were successful and Nicholas happened to hear or see his daughter chasing after him, he would always melt with love, wait for her arrival, and carry her around for a few minutes. I would venture to say Maria was, at least for a while, the Emperorʼs favorite.

When the family was vacationing in Crimea and Maria was a year old, she toddled her way into the balcony where Nicholas was having breakfast. Margaretta quickly came after her, but the Emperor requested a chair for the baby.

"It touches me", he said, "to see so much affection…"

"Donʼt say wasted, Your Majesty," Miss Eagar broke in quickly.

"Not wasted, but deeply reciprocated", said the Emperor.

Miss Eagar was fascinated by politics. One time, while she was bathing Maria with a friend, they got caught up in a discussion regarding a French political scandal and took her eyes off the toddler for only a few seconds. Maria scrambled out of the bath, naked and dripping, and started running up and down the palace corridor in search of her papa. Fortunately, Mariaʼs aunt Olga appeared just in time, picked Maria up, and carried her back to Miss Eagar, who was still talking about French politics.

Oo

Despite her parents' affection for her, baby Maria's birth had been met with dismay by everyone but some members of her family. The nation still waited for an heir, and the birth of another Grand Duchess had been nothing remarkable for most people, especially those affected by the economic downturn that marked the early 1900s, leading to a lack of jobs and regular income. This was disastrous for those migrating to the cities looking for work.

Even Maria's older sisters, Olga and Tatiana, slowly began disregarding her. At first, the sisters would beam with excitement whenever they got to hold the new baby. Later, they started viewing little Maria as another one of their little dolls. The baby certainly looked like a doll, so Olga and Tatiana cared for her with the help of their mother and treated her as such, providing her with unwavering attention and showering her with kisses the smiling baby seemed to appreciate. When Maria started learning how to walk, Olga and Tatiana helped her with contagious excitement. They would squeal with joy every time their little sister made progress.

But once Maria had learned to walk without help, this excitement dissipated. Olga and Tatiana started thinking of their baby sister as an unneeded addition to the family.

The two oldest sisters already did everything together. They played dolls, rode their small ponies, played house, and pretended to cook or have tea parties like normal little girls. They went on carriage rides and picnics with their parents, and were so close in age they understood each other as twin sisters would. There was no need for someone else.

Maria also proved to be such a good child that Nicholas and Alexandra began to hold up their youngest daughter as an example to their eldest. Olga and Tatiana naturally began to feel jealous and jointly started calling Maria the "stepsister" while agreeing to leave her out of their established games, much to Miss Eagar and Alexandra's displeasure.

"Remember that in all fairytales, it is the eldest sisters who are the stepsisters and the third is the real sister", Margaretta tried to tell the little girls, probably referring to Cinderella, who was the one who married the prince in the end.

The little girls did not listen and kept shutting Maria out of their games. Sometimes they even tripped their sister on purpose as she walked.

"You cannot expect baby Maria to stand this kind of treatment", the nanny would say. "Someday you will be punished.”

Oo

Despite their occasional childish cruelty, Margaretta found the girls endearing, especially bright, witty, and quizzical Olga.

By 1900, the three little Romanov sisters were attracting considerable attention even abroad, with much discussion of which was the prettiest, cleverest, or most endearing in the magazines. One British magazine said:

The flower of the flock, as far as looks are concerned, is Grand Duchess Tatiana. She is a real beauty, with dark pathetic eyes, and a wistful little mouth. But the Grand Duchess Olga, the eldest, is such a hearty, merry child, everybody loves her.

The author of the article also ventured to imagine a future in which Olga became Queen Consort of England. Other magazines destined for little girls invented or reported stories about the little Grand Duchesses accompanied by pictures.

Despite having dozens of servants, Alexandra spent so much time with her daughters that ladies at court began to say she was not an Empress but only a mother.

Maria Feodorovna strongly disapproved of this. An Empress should be visible, Minnie thought, but Alexandra refused to make a show out of herself or her children. She preferred to play an active role in other ways, like doing philanthropic work as her mother before her. This included establishing workhouses for the poor, crèches for working mothers, a school for training nurses at Tsarskoye Selo, and another one for housemaids. Alexandra was particularly concerned about the high infant mortality rate and the welfare of women during pregnancy, so she also set about organizing midwives for rural areas.

Since producing an heir was also one of her duties, Alexandra kept reading reputable science magazines that claimed to have the answer to her problem. She ate the things she was told to eat, tried to conceive her child the way the magazines explained she was supposed to in order to get a baby of the sex of her choosing, and following advice from all over the world.

Ever since Olgaʼs birth, Alexandra had prayed fervently to present the nation with an heir. Her piousness had only increased with the arrival of her two youngest daughters.

"I have prayed for so long and with such blind faith that I am sure God will bless us this time", she said to Nicholas. "I started Dr. Schenkʼs diet too late before", she told her husband. "This time, it will work.”

Oo

In October 1900, Alexandra was once again pregnant, and this time she had no doubts. She expected a boy.

Nicholas and Alexandra were relaxing in Livadia with their five, three, and one-year-old daughters when their peaceful holiday was disrupted. Nicholas had fallen ill with typhus and would spend five weeks in bed suffering from agonizing pain in his back and legs, becoming very thin and weak.

Despite her pregnancy, Alexandra nursed her husband back to health and proved herself to be exceedingly capable. She allowed almost nobody near her precious husband and handled urgent documents regarding affairs of state to keep the Tsar from worrying. Nicholas was flattered by his wife's excessive care and grew to love her even more if that is even possible.

One-and-a-half-year-old Maria suffered a lot through her father's illness. Her grief at not seeing him was excessive. Miss Eagar had to keep the door of the day nursery locked or she would have escaped into the corridor and disturbed him with her efforts to get to him. Every evening after tea she sat on the floor just inside the nursery door listening intently for any sounds from his room. If she heard his voice by any chance, she would stretch out her little arms and call: "Papa, papa.”

When the Empress came to see the children on the first evening after the illness had been pronounced typhus, she happened to be wearing a miniature of the Emperor set as a brooch. In the midst of her sobs and tears, little Marie caught sight of this. She climbed on the Empress's knee and covered the pictured face with kisses, and on no evening all through his illness would she go to bed without kissing this miniature.

Oo

During the course of the Tsarʼs illness, the question of who would succeed the Emperor if he died arose. Alexandra had yet to give him an heir.

When the Tsar's condition seemed critical, Sergei Witte, the bright Minister of Finance, was summoned to a meeting where he was asked for his opinion. He pointed out that the law left no doubt about the succession: Grand Duke Michael Alexandrovich would immediately succeed. Sergei was then told that the Empress was pregnant and that there was a possibility she might give birth to a boy.

Michael Alexandrovich was the heir, Nicholas and Alexandra knew this, but now that it was a real possibility, neither Nicholas nor Alexandra wished for 21-year-old Michael to accede to the throne in preference to their own daughter, Olga, or the child Alexandra was carrying.

Alexandra insisted that she be nominated regent until her son came of age. Although dangerously ill, Nicholas was consulted and sided with his wife:

"No, no!" He exclaimed. "Misha will get everything into a mess, he is so easily imposed on."

The other ministers in Yalta took that into consideration and suggested for the succession to be postponed for a few months until the Empress gave birth, but Witte replied that the succession law did not take such a contingency into account. The law was clear: If the Emperor were to die without having begotten a son, Grand Duke Michael Alexandrovich must succeed. To act otherwise would be illegal and lead to grave disorders. In any case, no one could predict that the Empress would bear a son. The others agreed.

Then the aged Grand Duke Michael Nikolaevich, the son of Nicholas I, asked Witte what would happen if the Empress were to bear a son after Grand Duke Michael Alexandrovich had ascended the throne. Sergei Witte replied that only Grand Duke Michael Alexandrovich could answer the question definitely, but that he believed that Michael, being a very decent and honorable man, would give up the throne in favor of his nephew. After they had come to an agreement, the ministers decided to inform the Empress about it in private.

Alexandra was certainly distraught upon learning of their decision.

"But what do you mean?" She asked in a fragile voice. "My baby is a boy, it is Nicky's boy, so surely when he is born... even if Nicky isn't here... I mean... no! That can't be!"

The decision prevailed despite her protests, and this had a profound impact on Alexandra. It caused her to grow antipathetic towards Sergei Witte despite the ministerʼs intelligence and efforts to boost Russia's industrialization.

From this day on, Alexandra would become outraged at the mere thought of anyone but a child of hers succeeding Nicholas. She also grew increasingly afraid that the throne would be taken from her unborn son by plotters in court circles, and despite being on friendly terms with them, she started mistrusting Nicholas's extended family. Two people in particular. Grand Duke Vladimir and his wife, Maria Pavlovna or "Miechen". The couple had three sons: Cyril, Boris, and Andrei. All of them adults, all of them potentially eligible, quite unlike Alexandra's three daughters.

Miechen was known for being ambitious, regularly hosting many fancy parties, and having her own court, so much so that Minnie had an open rivalry with her and had nicknamed her "The Empress Miechen.”

Alexandra decided she would secure the throne for her future son, at any cost.

In the aftermath of his illness and worried about his daughter's dynastic interests, Nicholas instructed government ministers to draft a decree to the effect that Olga would succeed to the throne if he should die without a son and heir, but he was advised against this by ministers who worried about the stability of the Empire. Nicholas knew that his brother Michael didn't want the throne, but the other male dynasts would most definitely have opposed his decision. The decree was never published.

Oo

While their father was ill, the three Romanov sisters were seen around Yalta on a carriage, chattering, asking questions, and bowing when the people passing by took their hats off to them. The locals were delighted but gossiped among themselves that the youngest daughter was living proof that Schenk's methods did not work.

The girls were completely unspoiled. They were always modestly dressed in cheap white dresses, short English stockings, and plain, light shoes. All heavy etiquette and luxury were forbidden. Before the Tsarʼs illness, the Tsar and Tsarina had often gone to visit and play with their children in the nursery.

Olga was at five very kindhearted and of noble character. She was already talented at music. Although she and Tatiana had a little English donkey, the Tsar had recently indulged Olga's request to ride side saddle "as grown-up people do" after she had admired the Cossack members of the Tsar's Escort.

Charming Tatiana, meanwhile, was of a gay and lively temperament, always quick and playful in her movements.

When Nicholas recovered and she was finally allowed to see him, Maria's joy was unparalleled.

Oo

The family spent Christmas in Crimea, where holly and ivy were used to decorate the house.

The children were greatly charmed with the decorations and pulled each other under the mistletoe for kissing purposes. Even little Maria took part in these games. They had a Christmas tree as usual, and Maria was especially delighted with it, as she could not remember anything of the kind. She would often say to the Emperor: "Papa, did you ever see anything so beautiful?"

Before they left for St. Petersburg, Nicholas and Alexandra received news that Queen Victoria had died on January the 22nd. Victoria's son, Edward, had succeeded her as King of England.

The doctors did not allow the pregnant Alexandra to travel to England for the funeral, so she attended a memorial service at the English Church in the capital instead. Alexandra wept openly and supported by Nicholas. She could not believe she would never see her kind, witty grandmother again. An England without Queen Victoria seemed almost incomprehensible as well. This was the first and only time Alexandra was seen displaying her feelings publicly.

The death of Queen Victoria not only made Alexandra grieve, it also took away a huge source of encouragement for her. The Queen had written to Alexandra regularly, addressing the importance of developing in high society. She was deeply worried about Alexandra's shyness and therefore would send her lots of advice. Now, without her grandmother for guidance, Alexandra continued closing herself deeper into her little world, which accepted few people other than her husband and daughters.

The loss of her beloved grandmamma was a heavy shock, but fortunately, Alexandra remained uncharacteristically healthy during this fourth pregnancy.

Oo

Unhappy with their already good social status, the Montenegrin sisters had been wanting to become closer to Empress Alexandra Feodorovna for a long time. On their knees, the sisters had previously sworn that they would devote their lives to helping her conceive a boy. Touched by their loyalty and devotion, Alexandra trusted them fully. One of the healers they brought to help the Empress was Doctor Encausse, a Spanish-born French physician, hypnotist, and popularizer of occultism also known as "Papus". He visited Russia several times and gave Nicholas and Alexandra sessions starting in 1901. He served as an adviser, giving spiritual recommendations to the sovereigns on how to rule and assuring them they would have a boy in time.

But one of the most influential men introduced by the Montenegrin sisters to Alexandra was a French man called Philippe Nazier-Vachot. Around 50 years of age, the short man had black hair and mustache.

Philippe's background was shadowy and dubious. At the age of thirteen, he began claiming extra-sensory powers. At twenty-three he started practicing medicine without a license, offering treatment with "psychic fluids and astral forces.”

Preposterous. I canʼt even imagine the number of poor, sick people he tricked into giving him their hard-earned money.

In 1884 Philippe started claiming he could predict the sex of a child to be born and that he could even use his "magnetic" powers to change their sex inside the womb.

Philippe's occult medicine consisted of hypnosis sessions with patients, and his business prospered despite having been fined several times for practicing without any education.

It is possible Philippe was like me. It is likely he had visions of sorts because he was right more often than not, but he was often selective on which patients he accepted. He took some time before declaring whether he would be able to predict or change the baby's sex, and only then did he claim to be capable.

In any case, just because someone has visions doesn't mean they are not a charlatan. We are human, flawed, and capable of being corrupted just like everyone else. I once tried to make money off my ability, both in my village and at Moscow. I stopped once I realized I was profiting from visions that were not always certain or accurate, and that I was claiming to be able to see anything people wanted me to, when in fact, some days I am not able to see anything at all.

Oo

Xenia, Minnie, and Ella were alarmed and warned Nicholas and Alexandra to stay away from Philippe, but all attempts to discredit him in their eyes failed.

Nicholas refused to listen even after the Okhrana made a report on Philippe's unscientific practices. He simply dismissed the agent who had prepared the report. Nicholas and Alexandra took Philippe's words of pseudo-mystical wisdom and claims that Russia was destined to conquer the Far East at face value. Soon they had started referring to him as "our friend.”

Alexandra genuinely believed that if she wasn't expecting a boy before, she was expecting him now, for Philippe had absolutely convinced her that he was able to change the baby's sex in the womb and that he had seen the boy Alexandra was then expecting in a vision. The position of the stars guaranteed a male heir, or so Philippe claimed.

"He is coming now, dearest", Alexandra woke Nicholas in bed one morning. "I can feel him. Our boy is here, my love."

Oo

Before the child was born at Peterhof, five-year-old Olga became ill with typhoid fever. She was in bed for five weeks and became very pale and thin. Her long blonde hair had to be cut short.

Alexandra tried to spend most of the day with her oldest daughter, and the girl appreciated having her mother around. Alexandra's presence seemed to be a huge source of comfort for the ailing Olga, so, for as long as she was able to, Alexandra would sit with her.

Margaretta Eagar nursed her charge day and night as well. It seemed likely at the time that Olga would not survive.

Oo

Olga longed to see her sister Tatiana and was incredibly pleased when the doctor said Tatiana might pay her a visit for just five minutes. Miss Eagar went down and fetched her to see Olga.

Tatiana stood by the side of the bed and conversed in a most amiable and formal manner with her little sick sister. Margaretta was rather surprised, and when the five minutes were up, she told Tatiana she had to go back.

When she left the sick room, Tatiana exclaimed: "You told me you were bringing me to see Olga and I have not seen her!" Miss Eagar told her that the little girl in bed was indeed her sister.

Tatiana cried with great grief:

"That little pale thin child is my dear sister Olga! Oh no, no! I cannot believe it!" She wept bitterly at the change, and it was difficult to comfort and persuade her that Olga would soon be herself again.

Oo

There was concern that Alexandra's efforts to look after Olga would trigger a premature birth, but all was well.

On the 5th of June, or the 18th of June according to the new calendar, the cannon began to fire: 99… 100… 101… but the 102nd gun was never fired.

Alexandra had given birth to a fourth daughter in the familyʼs palace by the sea of Finland, Peterhof, the place where all of the children but Olga had also been born.

When the doctor asked the Empress whether she wished to hold her new daughter, a look of puzzlement crossed Alexandra's face, revealing that the possibility hadn't even occurred to her.

Oo

The labor had been quick and without complications. There was no time for Nicholas's mind to register any sort of disappointment. The Emperor and Empress secluded themselves in their room with the infant and discussed their feelings.

Nicholas and Alexandra had another daughter, and for that, they were grateful. They did not look or act sad nor discouraged. Peacefulness and contentedness inhabited their big room, their little world.

Tatiana and Maria bonded over their shared love for the new baby as they lay in bed with their mother, father, and sister cozily. Almost two-year-old Maria was as affectionate as always, so their parents had to remind her to be careful while kissing the baby.

Nicholas and Alexandra named their new daughter Anastasia during prayer. From the Greek anastasis, "Anastasia" means "resurrection.” This could be the most glorious name of all!

For us Russian Orthodox people, the name is heavily linked to the fourth-century martyr St. Anastasia, who had succored Christians imprisoned for their faith and was known as the "breaker of chains.”

"At 3 o'clock in the morning", Nicholas wrote, "Alix started to have strong pains. At 4 o'clock I got up, went to my room and dressed. at exactly 6 o'clock in the morning a little daughter, Anastasia, was born. Everything went off splendidly, quite quickly, and thank God without complications!"

In honor of both his new daughter and the saint she had been named after, Nicholas ordered the release of the students imprisoned in St Petersburg and Moscow for having rioted the previous winter.

Anastasia was not a usual name in the imperial family, but in naming her thus, Nicholas and Alexandra were perhaps expressing a profoundly held belief that everything was in God's hands, that after pain and death they had been promised resurrection, that their sick daughter would recover if they prayed hard enough, and that maybe, someday, the Lord would answer their prayers. The Russian monarchy, and thus their troubled nation, might yet be resurrected by the birth of a son.

Upon learning of the new baby's sex, Philippe Nazier-Vachot told the imperial couple that his confusion had been a sign that the child was destined for greatness. This way, he would not be discarded by the Emperor and Empress for what is to me clear evidence of his charlatanry.

Anastasia's loving parents, of course, believed Philippe. Strangely enough, despite knowing Philippe was just looking after his own interests, I do believe he was telling the truth. He really did see a boy when he had a vision of Anastasia.

Chapter Text

Moscow. July 17, 1918.

Doroteya Filippovna Lavrova.

"My God! What a disappointment! A fourth girl!" Exclaimed Grand Duchess Xenia upon hearing of Anastasiaʼs birth.

It was June 1901. The Russian people and the extended imperial family were almost completely disillusioned.

"Forgive us, Lord, if we all felt disappointment instead of joy. We were so hoping for a boy, and it's a fourth daughter", wrote Grand Duke Konstantin, a grandson of Nicholas I.

The little girl's birth had caused agitation in a nation still waiting for a boy. It did not take long for newspapers both in Russia and abroad to make sensationalist claims. Exaggerated remarks on the imperial coupleʼs disappointment were abundant, as well as completely false rumors of divorce.

"There is much rejoicing, although there is a popular undercurrent of disappointment, for a son had been most keenly hoped for", a Daily Mail reporter wrote. "The legitimate hopes of the Tsar and Tsarina have so far been cruelly frustrated, whatever may be their private parental feelings be towards their four little daughters.”

But it was in Russia where the news of the fourth baby's birth was met with the most superstitious resentment.

"We said so, didn't we?!" French diplomat Maurice Paléologue reported. "The German, the nemka, has the evil eye. Thanks to her nefarious influence, our Emperor is doomed to catastrophe."

For the Russian peasantry, it seemed clear by 1901 that the Empress was not beloved in heaven, otherwise, she would have given birth to a son already. God was angry at her, or so they said. I remember my mother herself exclaiming these things. I remember everyone agreeing.

Despite the contentment they experienced upon meeting Anastasia for the first time, the negativity coming from the outside world eventually had its effect on Nicholas and Alexandra, making them experience an immense disappointment, a disappointment that, for the first time, the imperial couple was unable to conceal from other people as much as they tried.

Oo

Nicholas and Alexandra loved Anastasia by virtue of her being their own flesh and blood, and the world's reaction to her birth had made them both overly protective of her. The little girl's existence was still a blessing to them, and recognizing it was not the same for many members of their own extended family could make them extremely emotional at times.

"How cruel they are", the Empress once said to her husband as she looked down at baby Anastasia, who slept comfortably in her arms. Nicholas and Alexandra were on the balcony. They had been watching Tatiana and Maria run up the stairs of the palace, giggling and holding each other's hands. "In one year, she will be there, playing with the other girlies", Alexandra continued. "I am happy to have this child, and they don't know what our friend Philippe said about her. She is special.”

"Yes, sunny", Nicholas answered, leaning in to look at his daughter. "If God sent her to us, it is clear that it was for a purpose. She belongs in our family. I think she looks like you.”

"She does", Alix nodded with pride. "Look at her pretty little features. I think she will be the most beautiful of them all."

"We need to make sure people know she is as precious to us as the other three.”

"It is outrageous that they don't realize that already", Alix lamented. "There are always people gossiping maliciously: 'look at that German woman who hasn't managed to conceive a son'. It is never: 'congratulations, Your Imperial Majesty, for giving Russia this beautiful family'."

"It is indeed sad", the Emperor kissed Anastasia's forehead. "Our four little cherubs will look so pretty on official postcards."

"They already do, the recent official pictures are gorgeous. Our three little girls look like angels, especially Maria, and Olga and Tatiana are so photogenic. They were so comfortable having their pictures taken together."

The two parents gushed with pride as they continued talking about their daughters.

"Oh, you won't believe what Olga told me the other day she would do once she was better…" the Tsar would say, and he would tell his wife every single detail of what Olga had said this time, even the things that, in my opinion, weren't that strange or uncommon for a five-year-old to say.

"She is so smart, Olga comes up with the strangest things", Alix giggled. "And to think that because of those dreadful Pauline Laws…"

"We have talked about this sunny, they bring stability to the country."

"By allowing any distant male Romanov to inherit in precedence of a legitimate daughter of the Tsar? This despite Russia's greatest ruler having been Empress Catherine?" Alix spoke sternly. "My dear grandmother Queen Victoria, may she rest in peace, performed her duty just fine."

"You are right sunny", Nicholas conceded with a soft voice. "But things are as they are for a reason, it is God's will, and having four healthy daughters is proof enough of how great His love is for us. We will simply have to see if we are luckier next time.” The color disappeared from Alexandra's face upon hearing that last sentence.

"Do not worry sunny, we don't have to hurry", Nicholas said.

"So many pregnancies, I have the body of an old woman now…"

"Something that, if it were true, wouldn't make me love you any less.”

Alix smiled, and her face acquired a healthy color again.

Oo

Eager to show the world how proud he was of his fourth daughter, Nicholas ordered to have a christening more ostentatious than that of any of his three eldest daughters. The ceremony took place two weeks after Anastasia's birth and followed the same rituals as those of Olga, Tatiana, and Maria.

Anastasia was dressed in a beautiful white dress and baptized. Like her sisters before her, she was given a golden cross, one they were never supposed to take off, and of course, the order of St. Catherine. After this, the cannons boomed all the way from Peterhof back to the capital of St. Petersburg.

Poor Olga wasn't able to attend her sister's baptism, which would have been her first official ceremony. She was still very ill. The little girl was disappointed, but her sister Tatiana told her she would inform her of everything that happened.

Later that same day, Nicholas entertained his guests at lunch. Many of them went up to the supposedly happy father to present their felicitations. Nicholas's facial expressions had conveyed nothing but fatherly love in front of his daughters and wife. He looked different in that lunch though. I truly believe the very likely prospect that a child of his would not succeed him had finally dawned on him.

For once, Nicholas was unable to hide his dismay in public, as much as he tried to present himself as calm around the people he had sought out to impress.

"We must try again!" He lamented with a sad smile to one of the ambassadors. He had given up trying to keep the facade up.

Even though the four daughters were deeply loved, none of their births had made the family whole, for the parentsʼ personal happiness was not the issue at stake.

As a commoner, I have the freedom to think of my only girl, our little Katya, as enough. She is the one we had been waiting for. It has been five years since she was born and my husband and I haven't been able to have any more children yet, but we havenʼt failed. Nicholas and Alexandra must have felt they had at times.

Oo

Olgaʼs recovery from her illness was a welcome distraction for Nicholas and Alexandra. The five-year-old was up and running again with her four-year-old sister Tatiana, who was ecstatic to have her main playmate back. Tatiana had been suffering from longing.

Olga and Tatiana spent the first days after Olgaʼs recovery jumping in each other's arms gleefully. Soon Olga, Tatiana, and Maria would start running up the stairs of the palace while holding hands as a new playful pastime.

"Wait Tatya", two-year-old Maria yelled at Tatiana one time. The three oldest Romanov girls had been indulging themselves in this activity, but Maria couldnʼt go as fast as her two older sisters. Realizing this, Olga and Tatiana let go of Mariaʼs hand and moved even faster.

"Bye, bye stepsister", Olga turned around for a moment and cruelly waved her hand at her youngest sister before running off with Tatiana.

Margaretta, who had been there to witness the whole scene, had to carry a very upset Maria upstairs.

Now that Olga was healthy, she went on playing with Tatiana as frequently as she always had. For the unfortunate Maria, this meant Tatiana would no longer want to play with her as much as she had back when Olga was sick.

Oo

By 1901, Olga Alexandrovna was only nineteen. The young woman was Nicholasʼs sister and aunt to Olga, Tatiana, Maria, and Anastasia. She had been escorted to the theatre and opera by a distant cousin, Duke Peter Alexandrovich of Oldenburg, who was known for his passion for literature and gambling.

Peter asked for Olga to marry him the following year, a proposal that took the Grand Duchess completely by surprise. She was so startled that she said the first thing that came to her mind: "Thank you.”

Their engagement, announced in May 1901, was unexpected by family and friends alike, as Peter had shown no prior interest in women and many assumed he was homosexual.

Nicholas was incredibly amused.

"They must have been drunk when they made the decision to marry", he asserted.

In August 1901, Olga married 33-year-old Peter. After the celebration, the newlyweds left for Oldenburg Palace.

Peter left for a gambling club, leaving Olga to spend her wedding night alone and in tears, probably wondering what she had been thinking when she accepted his proposal.

She found comfort in her nieces and siblings, primarily Michael, the brother she had always been closest to, affectionately calling him "floppy.” Michael was one of the few people she could confide to the truth about her out-of-the-blue marriage. It was never consummated.

Oo

The early years of Nicholas's reign were a period of glittering intellectual and cultural achievements. These included new ideas in politics, philosophy, science, music, and art.

In order to provide ordinary Russians with the opportunity to enjoy the best music and drama their nation had to offer, Nicholas commissioned a great building in St. Petersburg that included reasonably cheap theaters, concert halls, and restaurants. The best orchestras, musicians, and leading actors would perform there. The place became known as the People's Palace, and it is to me a small proof of the overall kindness and goodwill of the Tsar.

The common people who lived nearby and had the time to visit the cultural center probably appreciated it. I certainly would had the place been built close to my village, but having lived in a city for so many years has made me understand why most people who worked long hours at factories with maybe up to a dozen of mouths to feed and not enough money to afford healthcare even following workplace accidents weren't too enthusiastic or ultimately appreciative about a theater.

For now, the enmity of the working class was not in sight, not as it would be in less than five years. Nicholas was mostly oblivious to the degree this antipathy would grow.

Oo

Anastasiaʼs birth was a blessing to Maria, who was granted a welcome distraction. While Olga and Tatiana played, two-year-old Maria watched over Anastasia as the nannies took care of her or Alexandra nursed and rocked her. Maria would ask to be allowed to hold the baby, and her wish would be granted when assisted by the nurses. Nothing could have been more endearing than tiny two-tear-old Maria attempting to rock the newborn Anastasia while showering her with kisses and giving "her baby", as Maria called the newest member of the family, the sweetest lovesick smiles.

Maria acted like a little mother to baby Anastasia and really loved to pretend she was, but the little girl also longed to spend time with her older sisters. Olga and Tatiana played the most interesting games with the toys in the nursery. They included Maria sometimes, but more often than not, they excluded her.

Sometimes they would start playing dolls with Maria only for her to realize in the middle of the game that Olga and Tatiana were ignoring her. Poor Maria would never complain, look angry, or defend herself against her sisters. She looked up to them with an almost pathetic devotion, but that would ultimately change.

One day, Olga and Tatiana made a house with chairs at one end of the nursery and shut out poor Maria as usual, telling her she might be the footman, but that she should stay outside. Miss Eagar made another house at the other end for baby Anastasia, then a few months old, and Maria.

Maria could not help but long to play with her oldest sisters at the opposite end of the room, where the attractive activities were. She suddenly dashed across the room, rushed into the house, dealt each sister a slap in the face, and ran into the next room. After a while, she came back dressed in a doll's cloak and hat, and with her hands full of small toys.

"I won't be a footman, I'll be the kind, good aunt, who brings presents," Maria said. She then distributed her gifts, kissed her "nieces," and sat down.

Olga and Tatiana looked at each other with shame in their eyes.

"We were too cruel to poor little Marie", Tatiana said, "and she really couldn't help beating us." They had learned their lesson, and from that day on, Maria became a constant playmate to her older sisters, who gradually stopped excluding her until their childish bullying became a thing of the past and the three girls turned inseparable. Anastasia would join them as soon as she was old enough to toddle.

Oo

It was immediately evident that baby Anastasia would grow to be a precocious child. Maria had learned to love earlier than the others, but Anastasia had learned to laugh earlier, louder than the others. She would laugh at the slightest attempt by her father and mother to make her do it. Her laughter contrasted sharply with Mariaʼs sweet smiles and moderate giggles.

As good and sweet as she was, however, it was now clear that Maria was very human. One day, the little girl was with her sisters in the Mauve Room, a cozy boudoir where the family was often together whenever none of them were working or doing schoolwork. Nicholas and Alexandra were having tea. The Empress had tiny vanilla-flavored wafers on the tea table of which the children were particularly fond, but they were not allowed to ask for any.

The Empress left the room for a moment to fetch Miss Eagar, and when they returned there were no more wafers left. Little Marie was standing in the middle of the room, her eyes drowned in tears as she swallowed something.

"There! I've eaten it all up," she exclaimed, "you canʼt eat it now!" Margaretta was shocked and suggested bed at once as a suitable punishment.

"Very well, take her," Alexandra responded, but the Emperor intervened and begged that she might be allowed to remain.

"I was always afraid of the wings growing", Nicholas said, referring to Maria, "and I am glad to see she is only a human child."

Oo

One of the first games the four girls played together consisted of pretending to be "mommies.” Olga would be Tatianaʼs and Maria would be baby Anastasiaʼs. The entire game was organized by Olga, as her mind was quick to notice she and her sisters could be paired. Neither Maria nor Anastasia would remember the exact moment the four girls had becomed best friends. It was almost as if they had been born perfectly blended together.

Olga was as lively and witty as always. She used to run around the corridors and talk to the guards. They didnʼt normally talk back, but they were amused by the child, who asked them questions about their families and where they were from. Tatiana didn't make as many comments, but was devoted to her mother and nannies, always affectionate and eager to please.

The four girls were their motherʼs pride and joy. Alexandra never came across as anything but delighted whenever she spent time with her daughters. Only in private did her inner worries manifest, especially around her husband.

About three months after the birth of Anastasia, Nicholas and Alexandra visited the new French president, Emile Loubet. There was an air of melancholy in Alexandra. She seemed markedly withdrawn. She looked beautiful as usual dressed in white and wearing gorgeous jewels, mostly pearls and diamonds, from ears to waist. But she wore them without joy. The French found the somber Russian Empress hard to like.

I think her visible sadness was just a reflection of her being a mother of girls only in a role where boys were most needed. Not only did she look somber at France, she couldnʼt help but let her jealousy and longing for a son show everywhere.

"Do you have children?" Alexandra would ask the ladies presented to her at court, only for sadness to descend upon her features whenever the lady in question replied as she curtsied: "A son, Your Majesty." The Empress would try to smile, but her attempt would come across as sad and pathetic, false even, which made some of the ladies dislike her even more.

She would become particularly uneasy whenever Xenia gave birth to another boy as it began to occur almost every year. Sometimes she cried after spending time with her nephews, and her expression was serious and mournful whenever she visited orphanages and saw the little boys running around. Nicholas didnʼt fare much better.

"Nicholas would part with half his Empire in exchange for one imperial boy", remarked the travel writer Burton Holmes that year, wondering: "Will one of the dear little duchesses someday ascend the throne of Catherine the Great?"

But neither Nicholas nor Alexandra had yet lost faith in their friend Philippe, especially not Alexandra. Philippe calmed the couple's fears with his "spiritual" advice.

"Alix, I received a powerful vision on my way here," he informed the Empress. "There was a great wave of trouble throughout Russia, a massive storm, fire creating a huge cloud of smoke in the sea, death, tears... but your child, your boy, he made Russia rejoice for a moment, helped the sovereign confront the trials to come. Do not worry, enjoy your little daughters, a son is coming. He is already on his way."

Chapter Text

St. Petersburg. September 10, 1901.

Sophia Petrovna Malevsky.

Today is the day of my wedding and I don't know how to feel about it. Count Alexander Pavlovich Malevitch is a very wealthy man who owns a beautiful state in Crimea, where I could have all the freedom to arrange parties, invite all of my friends, and dress in the latest French fashions. He is also incredibly dull-looking. The man's receding hairline doesn't hide the fact that he is fifteen years older than me. What is worse, his personality and topics of interest match his looks. He only talks about agriculture or the daily lives of the peasants, and there isn't much I could be less attracted by.

I look at myself in the mirror and remember why I agreed to this match in the first place. I have always been considered the prettiest of my father's daughters, and marrying such a rich man does have its benefits. I look more beautiful than ever.

My diamond tiara is bigger than the one I wore during my coming out ball six years ago, back when I turned sixteen. My lace-covered white wedding dress adorns my entire neck, making the part of my body I am proudest of look longer than it already is. My bright red hair is pinned up in a bun from which my long transparent veil descends. The skirt around my legs, falling to the floor like the foam of a waterfall, is long enough for Polina, my four-year-old niece, to hide under.

"You are the most beautiful bride I have ever seen!" Polina gushes as she clasps her tiny hands together and places them beside her cocked head in an admiring motion. She has just come out of her hiding place under my dress.

My niece has been observing with quite charming enthusiasm the way my ladies have prepared me for the wedding.

"Wait about sixteen years more, my darling," I bend over to pinch one of her cheeks. "I am sure you will be even lovelier." If I werenʼt wearing such an expensive dress, I would have already picked her up and spun her around.

"Are you ready?" Bogdana, my older sister, opens the door of my dressing room. She probably saw my hairdresser leave minutes ago. She takes just one look at me and gasps, something quite rare for her to do. Fancy things donʼt usually impress her.

"I guess", I reply without thinking. I am not ready. I need like a thousand years more to think about this. But I walk out of the room with Bogdana regardless, her daughter Polina following us.

"Are you happy?" My sister asks with genuine concern. She can detect my ambivalence somehow.

"Not everyone is as sentimental as you, Dana", I smile and roll my eyes. "You are married to a monk, so your concern is ridiculous." Bogdana rolls her own eyes.

We walk down the stairs and travel the endless corridors of our mansion, stopping once we enter the huge living room, where Bogdana and I meet our parents.

Mama, too, gasps when she sees me. She looks as if she were about to cry. Papa, amusingly more so. My friends, dressed in pink bridesmaid dresses similar to my own wedding dress, cheer with enthusiasm. The carriage must also be on its way. I wink at my friends but move to greet mama and papa first, trying to be my usual cheerful self as they rave about how proud they are and how much they love me. How much this means to our family.

There is no way out, how could there be? Everyone is so excited. The only one out of the three Malevsky daughters to secure a good marriage, a marriage to a wealthy man who will save papaʼs decaying state after he lost half his fortune investing it in a scam, a scam that wouldnʼt have been successful if I hadnʼt helped the scammer. A marriage so needed in a family with no sons.

"You look beautiful, my dear", mama kisses my cheeks. No trace of her usual bad mood is left on her wrinkles, no inherent disappointment in my existence. It is the first time I feel like she is proud of me. I accept her affection wholeheartedly.

I hug my father for longer than I should, for I feel so guilty still.

"My dear Lily", he says.

Lily. The way my entire family calls me. I donʼt know exactly how or when it started, but maybe it was when my now-deceased maternal grandmother gifted me a beautiful book about kinds of flowers on my name day. I was younger than five back then, and I remember gushing about the illustration of the lily to everyone who would listen. It is not the meaning of the lily I cared about, it was its beauty. I have always been slightly shallow, something I donʼt hide from myself but do try to hide from everyone else.

My beloved father does care about meanings though. He once told me lilies were associated with purity, passion and rebirth. He put special emphasis on purity, a virtue he claimed was remarkable in me. Always eager to help others, he remembered, even more so than Bogdana.

I donʼt particularly agree with any of this. I usually help others to get them to like me, but I would never try to refute what my beloved father loves most about me.

Papa probably put emphasis on purity for another reason as well, a reason that is almost a given for any proper unmarried lady. I pray he never finds out I am not some pure lily anymore. Although I canʼt say my mother finding out wouldnʼt be fun. If mentioning my stockings at dinner makes her fume, I canʼt even imagine how she would react upon finding out what really went on that night.

"He is a good man, you will see," papa says. "And his family has many boyar nobles for ancestors, just like ours". He gives Bogdana a slightly stern look, but it comes off more as a playful family joke than anything else. Most of the shock and sadness Bogdana's marriage caused my parents have been subsiding for a while now, but the fact I am not following her path still gives papa immense pleasure.

If this makes mama and papa happy then so be it. I can learn to enjoy it as well.

Oo

The day goes on as planned. Most of my nervousness and doubts disappear once I get onto the carriage, which is decorated with lilies. Just like the venue will be.

The ceremony is running smoothly so far despite my usual ambivalence towards church services. It is not that I donʼt love God or donʼt pray whenever I am in trouble, it is just that I often find the rituals boring. "You shouldnʼt only pray when you need Godʼs help, you should pray to become closer to Him." That is what my mother would say. I know, I know. Get out of my head, mama.

I just have never been as pious as my parents or Bogdana. My sister married a simple lawyer just because she claimed he was the most pious man she had ever met. Needless to say, not even my deeply religious parents liked the idea of their precious Bogdana, their most obedient daughter, marrying a man with no title. It was a huge scandal among our distant relatives, almost as big as the one with Evgeniya before. My father almost disowned Bogdana like he had done with Evgeniya. Lucky for Bogdana, she was and still is my motherʼs favorite, and marrying my brother-in-law seems to be the first thing she has ever done wrong.

It is strange how much mama cares about helping the poor as God commands, but when it comes to marriage, seeing the average man as worthy enough to wed or sometimes even befriend suddenly becomes an appalling idea, a worse sin than even my own idleness is in her eyes.

Unfortunately for Evgeniya, deciding to remain unmarried wasnʼt the first of her "crimes." Not according to mother. The first one was attending a university, something father indulged, as he considered it a simple phase. Evgeniya was still young after all, and she had always been the smart one.

Mama didnʼt like it one bit though.

"University?" She would spit at my sister. "What a waste of time! What in heavens for?"

Then came the bad influences, the forbidden literature, and the reunions with unruly classmates. As a small child, I would hear Evgeniya fighting with my mother. Never again did I hear mama sound as furious, not even when I started acting like… well, myself. Apparently, Evgeniya had been reading a book written by a "fat and ugly bearded German Jew", as mother called him, more than she had been reading the Bible. I don't remember mother speaking to Evgeniya ever again after the latter replied that it was possible the book she was reading held as much truth as the Bible. Mama didnʼt accept Evgeniaʼs apology.

Added to that were prior years of rebellion. Ever since father disowned Evgeniya, mother has been gathering tons of so-called evidence that my sister was always the worst daughter, compiling memories and sharing them with her friends. Evgeniya, mother claims, started misbehaving exceedingly from the time she was a baby, going as far as crying more than any of her two other daughters did when we were born.

I donʼt think Evgeniya misbehaved much more than Bodgana and I did back when we were children. I remember playing with her, I remember how nice she was.

I donʼt even think Evgeniya drank, flirted, and gossiped at balls as much as I do now, much to motherʼs dismay. According to Bogdana, who misses our sister like crazy, Evgeniya hated much of the same stuff mother hates about high society. Mother is simply trying to find an explanation as to what happened. What could have possibly led a well-bred woman like Evgeniya to become a fallen woman?

At the very least, Evgeniya wonʼt have to spend the rest of her life with a man she is not attracted to in the slightest, and she will get to have as many lovers as she pleases without even needing to hide it.

I take a glimpse at my future husband and try to find something attractive about his features, anything. I just end up discovering an ugly wart on the lower part of his chin that I hadnʼt noticed before, as the defect is not easily detected unless he holds his head high.

Oo

The litany has ended. It is time to put on the rings, which have just been blessed by the priest. I can only think about my husbandʼs wart though. His wart and my smooth pale skin having to touch that thing.

I must look upset or have been distracted, because the priest has to prompt me to extend my right hand twice. My almost-husband looks concerned as well. I canʼt help but think he should know by now how ugly that distracting feature looks on him and let out a chuckle.

I just chuckled in the middle of my wedding ceremony. I hope no one notices but the priest and Count Malevitch, who clearly did. Mama will not let me leave for my honeymoon without giving me hell for this first.

The time of the coronation comes. This is pleasing enough for me to forget about the wart. Those crowns are so beautiful I have longed for this moment ever since I was a child.

The priest leads us to the center of the church, where we stand on a rose-colored fabric. Just when the moment to profess we have come here on our own free will arrives, I chuckle louder, but by the time everyone is looking at me I have forced my face back into a serious expression. The priest pretends not to notice, but I can tell he is silently praying for God to give him the strength not to kick the bride herself out of the church. He says a few more prayers and our witnesses place the red and golden crowns over my and Alexanderʼs heads.

More prayers follow, and after that, Alexander and I drink from the common cup of wine. This reminds me of the wart again. I almost gag. Then I notice the other imperfections. Too old, too thin, almost no hair. The kindest of my feelings for him is pity.

The priest wraps his stole around my and the Countʼs hands. It is too tight. We are led, followed by the attendants who are still holding our crowns, to walk three times around the analogion, the stand on which several icons and the Gospel Book are placed for veneration.

This is too much. This means too much and he means too little. I try not to think about it. I donʼt care about the meaning. Instead, I focus on the beauty of the church around me. I focus on the style in which the icons are painted.

I donʼt even notice when it is that we are dismissed. The crowns are no longer over our heads. We are man and wife.

Oo

It was a relief to see the venue for the first time. My father didnʼt place a limit on the price of this wedding. He knew he would recover any money spent soon.

The mansion where I will be living for most of the year is beautiful, and the decoration sure makes it even more idyllic. Red and gold tablecloths adorn every round table of the ballroom. A marble vase sits on top of each table, and inside those, unique yet matching flower arrangements have been put in place.

I suppress the urge to explore other places in the mansion. My own home is small in comparison to this. Any doubt or regret I have had vanishes. This is beautiful.

I am supposed to sit with my new husband, but I really want to do so with my friends. My husband doesnʼt seem too interested in keeping me close either way. He has other guests to attend, and he is already talking to them. Most are dull men like him. I am guessing some are members of the aristocracy, and others, simply rich entrepreneurs.

I am on my way to the table where two of my friends, Maria and Elizaveta, are sitting, when my mother gets in my way.

"What do you think you are doing?" She asks with her usual tone as she grabs my hand roughly, although it probably looks gentle from afar.

"I am going to talk with my friends", I answer.

"And what exactly for? Donʼt you see you are not a little girl anymore? You have to greet all the guests, and you now have a husband you havenʼt talked to since the ceremony!" She directs her gaze at the Count.

The warmth she displayed the morning before the wedding has dissipated. She is no longer proud of me, or so it would appear.

"I have already greeted some of them, and Alexander himself is talking to his own guests, mama", I say, trying not to sound whinny. "This is the last night I will have with my friends before I go on my honeymoon.”

"I have already heard people talking, Lily!" Mama exclaims in a whisper. "First bursting into laughter at church and now this…"

"I wasnʼt laughing", I whisper as well. "It was just a chuckle, I remembered a joke Miss Alexandrova told me earlier.” It is a good excuse, as our maid is always cracking good jokes, and even my insufferable mother laughs at them sometimes.

"Why are you doing this, Lily? Why do you always have to be the center of attention? If it were at least a good kind of attention and not the type that rendered us permanently uninvited to any future events at court.”

That subject again. She will never forgive me for that, and to think that if she knew the whole truth she would hate me ten times more than she does now.

"It is not my fault that haughty Empress is so hard to please", I mutter. "Who could have guessed she would get so angry over a simple dress?"

"It was more than that and you know it, you could have ruined all your marriage prospects!"

"I wish I had!" I yell this time without thinking. I see my motherʼs hand move, but she stops herself. It is clear she meant to slap me, but there were some people looking at us already. She didnʼt want them to see.

Tears form in my eyes, but I am too proud to cry over her. I use all my strength to untangle her hand from my arm and rush to my friends. She doesnʼt say anything, and she probably wonʼt apologize or follow me either. She canʼt cause another scandal, of course. I will never forgive her for this.

Since more of my friends are now sitting with Maria and Elizabeta, occupying all the seats, I ask one of the waiters to bring me a chair. I am not spending this evening having dinner with my new ugly husband.

"What was that, Lily?" Elizaveta asks. She definitely witnessed the whole scene.

"What did the witch do now?" Maria follows. This wonʼt be the first time I pour out all of my frustrations onto her.

"Ugh, the same as always, fun is for the devil and all that rubbish", I answer.

Most of the pain in my heart fades away as soon as I start gossiping and making jokes with my friends. We can finally talk freely about our gowns and the jewels we are wearing. They all look so radiant. We ask the photographers to take pictures of us together. I think I will end up having more pictures with them than with my husband tonight.

We also take a look at the many unknown guests my husband has invited. We comment on and guess who is the richest, which one we consider the most handsome, and all of that stuff.

I canʼt wait to be able to talk to those men once I am free. My mother wonʼt be invited to any of my parties or balls, that is for sure. I will find a way to visit my father while spending as little time with my mother as possible.

The food is too delicious to describe. Caviar, salmon, grilled meat, red wine, pastries, and pudding.

My new husband surprises me with a giant diamond ring undoubtedly bigger than the one that sealed our compromise. I put on a show and pay attention to the Count for the first time. I could stare at the ring for hours, but I also enjoy dancing with Alexander. He might not be attractive, but he is certainly a good dancer. Maybe I can grow to like him.

By the end of the night, I feel as if I had married a lifestyle and not really a man. And how could I ever come to regret this lifestyle? Love doesnʼt taste good, it isnʼt as gorgeous as a diamond ring or a ballroom, it isnʼt the sound of a polonaise or the comfort of a warm bed.

After hours of dancing, me and my friends sit back down and keep chatting.

"What is that story about your family being kicked out of court anyway?" Maria blurts out.

"It is not that we were kicked out, we simply haven't been invited back to any events taking place at the Winter Palace and such", I respond. "We donʼt even know why, actually, Countess Irina has no proof it was because of me." I refer to my mother by her first name whenever I am angry at her.

"Oh, it was because of you, Lily", Elizabeta says. "Go on, tell them the story like you told me, half of St. Petersburg already knows anyways." My other friends nod, tease me, and insist, so I look around to make sure the other guests are not too focused on what the bride is saying before I begin.

"Well, I will indulge you", I relent. My friends move their seats to get closer. Half of these girls already suspect what the rumor is about, but I know most of them wonʼt consider it a bad thing but an exciting adventure to be celebrated. "It was about four years ago", I begin. "I remember this because I had just turned eighteen… no, wait, I was about to turn nineteen, yes, I remember mother punished me by not allowing me to have any friends come over for my birthday. It was after my name day, of that I am sure, because it was celebrated as usual."

"Oh, who cares, Lily!" One of my childhood friends exclaims. "What happened?"

"Well, it was the winter of 1897, my first time wearing a brand new ball gown ever since I received my first one for my debutante ball at sixteen", I explain. "You know my parents are not amongst the wealthiest of high society, but lucky for me, my new husband certainly is.” All of my friends burst into giggles.

"I swear I have never liked nor will ever like a dress more than the one I wore that night", I smile at the image. "It was white and adorned with dark blue roses.”

"It was especially flowered around the cleavage", Elizabeta adds for me. "She once allowed me to borrow it."

"I saw you wear it", Maria nods at her. "It is gorgeous.”

"Oh, not only that, the cleavage is low", I say. "It looked exceptionally good on me, I must say, since I am particularly well endowed, but it did not show much more than the dresses other women were wearing. Not even mama protested when she saw me wearing it for the first time. She was there, in fact, when I tried it on in front of the dressmaker, who asked us if it needed any adjustments. Mama said no."

"Irina always blames her daughters whenever something goes wrong", Elizabeta explains our other friends.

"Tell me about it", I roll my eyes. "Anyways, where was I? Oh, yes! My family was attending a ball at the Winter Palace. It wasnʼt my first time there, as I had been assisting the imperial familyʼs balls since I was sixteen, but my other dress elegant enough to be worn on such occasions was way more modest. The new one was more beautiful though, and it looked even better with my earrings, necklaces, and my tiny diamond tiara. Not the one I am wearing right now, clearly.” I point to my head and my friends laugh. My wedding tiara is of a considerable size, and I am proud of how wealthy it makes me look.

"Turns out the Empress didn't like my dress, not that she ever had the courtesy of saying that to my face", I tell them. "It is pretty much impossible for anyone to talk to her. She clearly thinks anyone lower than a Grand Duke is beneath her station."

"I have heard the same", one of my friends, a princess, says. "My mother says she never talks to anyone, and that she likes to leave early. I have never seen the Empress with my own eyes, because she hasn't been in any of the balls I have assisted, but mother says Maria Feodorovna is much friendlier. If only we could get her back as the Empress.”

"Sadly, that is not how it works, but one can only dream, because this Empress acts as if everyone were deficient in her eyes", I say. "I donʼt think she even knows how to smile. I swear I never saw her smile any of the times I managed to get a glimpse of her, and that day, as I was telling you, she sent one of her ladies to tell me that my dress would not have been considered proper in whatever farm it is she came from.”

"Which is nonsense", Maria sympathizes with me. "Everyone dresses like that, and it is not your fault that nature blessed you more than the others.” She says the last sentence playfully.

"Of course not", I smile, raising my eyebrow. "And do you know what I did? I notified the lady that in Russia we do wear our dresses that way before lowering mine even further.” I act out the scene before my friends as I recall it, making them burst into laughter. We all have a good time giggling and joking about it. Some of my friends try to imagine and act out the way the Empress would have reacted had she witnessed it.

"So that is how my family was taken off the list", I finish. "But who cares, there is always Empress Miechenʼs court!"

"Oh, but that is not all Lily, tell us what happened with the young man you met", Elizabeta teases me, and all of my friendsʼ eyes turn to me.

I canʼt believe I told Elizabeta everything. What happened that night is already a scandal, and it is not even half the truth. I donʼt want it to grow out of proportion by needlessly talking about it with everyone. I thought Elizabeta understood. I give her a stern look that is long enough for her to get the message but not for my other friends to notice.

"It was nothing, he was too far beneath me", I answer. "After sneaking out of the palace, we went on a romantic tour through St. Petersburg together on a carriage. We walked under the Moon and watched our reflections in the Neva River, then we sat in the park, and by the time we finished talking, the Sun had already risen. My parents had been looking for me for such a long time that mama almost died.”

My friends are fascinated by the story. I bet none of them have ever even conversed with a man without a chaperon, save for their relatives. They ask me questions about that night, about the strange man. I answer with half-truths until the conversation moves on to another subject.

Oo

The truth is that despite my cheeky reaction, the ladyʼs comment hurt my pride a bit, enough to make me sit down for a while on one of the red and gold benches. That is when I saw Vladimir for the first time.

At first, there was nothing unusual about him. He was dressed in an elegant uniform. Dark blue tights, black boots, and golden stripes just like many of the other men. He looked about six years older than me, and oh, was he handsome!

He was tall, but his huge muscles disguised his height. Light brown hair and eyes, an elegant mustache, and an intense stare directed only at me, not at any other lady present that night. His interest didn't impress me at the beginning. Most of the men had looked at me the same way at some point or another, but his gaze never wavered, so I decided to give him a smile as a reward. Now I wish I hadnʼt done that.

He walked towards me, still smiling of course.

"Why so lonely, princess?" He said to me. It had been such a strange way of introducing himself that I couldnʼt help but frown. I should have known at that moment. There were so many clues. He stayed away from other people, at least for the most part, and his knowledge of court protocol was clumsy at best.

"Princess?" I raised an eyebrow. "I am not a princess, I am the daughter of Count Malevsky.”

"I happen to be a count myself!" He exclaimed. "Count Vladimir Ozerov, at your service.”

He bowed, putting a hand over his stomach and extending the other one as if he were a magician finishing his show. This made me giggle. The smile never abandoned his lips, but it gradually changed, becoming blatantly seductive in intent. A half-smile. I truly thought he was a count, an eccentric one, but a count.

"If you are not a princess, how about a rose?" He continued. "How is a rose as beautiful as yourself not dancing? How is it that no one has asked you to dance?"

"I have been asked to dance", I explained a little bit defensively. "I just donʼt wish to.”

"How can that be? Who has hurt my precious flower?"

I raised my eyebrows in amazement. "Precious flower? I am afraid I understand your intentions sir, and you will not get what you desire tonight, but if there is a small part of your heart that cares for my grievances, I will confess that one of the ladies has gravely injured my pride with what I consider an unkind comment."

By the time I finished talking, my expressions matched my feelings, and Vladimir sat next to me. He really convinced me that he cared, that whatever it was he was actually seeking, part of his heart had been won over by concern.

"What is your name?" He used a different voice, one that left out any sign of pretentiousness, one that melted my heart before I even realized it.

"Lily", I answered. Not my real name, but could as well be. I would later discover Vladimir might have lied about his own name as well. I donʼt know who the man that stole my heart actually is.

"Lily", he repeated with a smile. "That name is perfect for you. Tell me, what did the lady say?" I explained to him what had just happened, not even leaving out the way I had lowered my dress even further out of spite. Now I realize I let him know everything about me. I opened up my soul, but he never let me know who he really was.

"But dear!" He exclaimed with unashamed familiarity. "Havenʼt you seen how everyone else looks at you! This is the least of your worries!"

"Previously, I had only received compliments about my gown from all sorts of princes, dukes, and other people of renown, but how could any of it matter if the Empress herself didnʼt like it?"

He took my right hand, which was covered by a long white glove, and kissed it. I let him do it of course.

"I like you", he told me, and then he whispered something in my ear: "And how could the opinion of the Empress matter if nobody likes her?"

I had been won over, something that stopped me from seeing the light when we started dancing. How could a count be so ignorant about the proper steps? I made him improve though, and he was an unusually fast learner.

A single command in his ear was enough to keep him from making the same mistake again. By the time we danced our last piece together, I can proudly say he had learned to do it as well as any real aristocrat in the ballroom.

We danced for a long time, which sealed my infatuation. Damn me! I should have never danced. I was completely at his mercy after that.

A seductive half-smile would soon become our sign. He used it when he led me out of the palace for a 'romantic adventure', which was exactly as I described to my friends. I tried to protest at first, but it was useless. He kept showering me with unwavering warmth and affection, complimenting my small nose, my skin, my blue eyes, and my red hair. He claimed I was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen, the only girl in the world worth a damn. When he promised me he would ask my father for my hand in marriage, my pride reached sky levels.

I wanted to go so badly. Looking back, I know this man was probably a serial seducer. He knew just what to say, the exact pretty words to use to get me to go with him. With my family, I was just the pure Lily my father loved but didnʼt quite know. For mother, I was the daughter that was never good enough no matter what she did and yet also the familyʼs last hope, upon which its entire legacy rested. Both at the same time.

With Vladimir, I was a goddess. A free-spirited creature and an innocent flower to be cherished, protected, and showered with gifts and compliments. All at the same time.

I knew my parents would be looking for me, I knew my behavior would cause a scandal. I knew and I didnʼt care. This was the main reason my family was excluded from further events at the Winter Palace. The mere rumor must have made the Empress antipathetic to me and my parents. My sistersʼ pasts must not have helped the situation.

Oo

Vladimir and I gossiped a lot about the imperial family as we walked beside the Neva River through the streets and parks of St. Petersburg. I told him all I knew about them. I have many relatives who have met Grand Dukes and Duchesses. He told me he had met some of them as well. I donʼt know if that is true, but he did have interesting facts on them.

"Very little people know about the Empress", Vladimir said. "She mainly sticks to her daughters and husband, which only makes me feel even more curious about her.”

"She must have a very boring life anyways", I add. "Doesnʼt find joy in anything and her only purpose in life is to produce a son. Not even that can she do."

"Didnʼt you feel injured by her dislike for your dress?" Vladimir teased.

"Not anymore", I answered with a smile as I slowed down, and he followed suit. "You liked it.”

That is when he slowly bent over to kiss me.

The rest of the night was one of pleasure and broken convictions. He rented a room in a very luxurious hotel for one night, and I am not ashamed to say I donʼt regret what happened there. I donʼt regret the sinful physical bliss itself, further proof he was a serial seducer. I do regret how much trust I placed in him, how stupid his affections made me. I became a completely different person, like a beggar with a sign saying: "I will do anything for love.”

I talked to him about my life, my fancy tastes, my family. My parents and sisters. I told him about my poor father, his state, and the new business he was building at the time. I described my fatherʼs interest in investment, what he was planning to invest in, the things he feared when it came to investment, and what exactly would convince him to invest in something.

I have always loved talking to my father about such matters. Papa once said that, had I been born a man, I could have been an excellent businessman. He sure does like to exaggerate. I like listening, but reflecting seriously on such matters would be a bore.

Before parting ways, Vladimir said our story had just begun, that my love for adventure had made him fall for me, that he would take me with him to Paris one day, but for now, he was going to visit some French relatives all by himself. He was parting in a week. To visit relatives? More like escape justice! This I know now!

Early the next morning, before the Sun was up and while my poor worried parents were still looking for me, I took a carriage with some money Vladimir gave me and went straight home. I entered through the servantsʼ quarters and asked Miss Alexandrova to help me make up a cover story.

When my parents were back, I told them I had returned home early because I was feeling indisposed. This, of course, didnʼt appease their anger. They had almost died of uncertainty. It was my fault and I am not proud of it.

The damage had been done to my reputation even with my cover story, and either way, I had to tell my parents half the truth when, not even two weeks later, I heard my fatherʼs inflamed protests.

Papa was downstairs, and I was in my room. His loud voice could be heard all over the mansion. He had received notice that the savings recently invested had been lost, for the enterprise in question didnʼt exist.

Father had been a victim of fraud. He had lost a good portion of his money, our familyʼs money, which wasnʼt much to begin with in comparison to other families of similar renown.

With tears in his eyes, papa described to me the perpetratorʼs physical appearance and told me he had seen him at court. That is when I knew I had to tell him the truth, and so I did. While I wasn't bold enough to confess I had shared a bed with him, I revealed I had been with that man the night of the ball.

The police also had to be told. Inquiries were made to the bank, but my father couldn't get a ruble back. Vladimir had covered his tracks.

I confided to the police everything I knew about Vladimir, a likely fake name. I told them he was a count. The guest list for the event where I met him was checked and re-checked. There was no Vladimir Ozerov on the list. In fact, there was no Count Vladimir Ozerov at all. Vladimir Ozerov didnʼt exist, and if he did, he was definitely no count.

I had been played for a fool. I had been made to believe I had elicited feelings in this man when he had only wanted to see what he could get out of me.

I thought I was special, that we had something special, maybe only for one night or a few months, but nevertheless special. That it could turn into more, maybe even marriage, even if not through the usual path.

But that was four years ago. It is done. I cannot undo what happened because of my foolish trust in that shameless yet seductive impostor. The past is the past, and right now, the night is almost over.

Oo

My husband wasted no time once the guests were gone.

I tried to be complacent and put on a good act. I donʼt think my husband suspected how unbearable it was for me to consummate the marriage. I smiled and reassured him at all times, not forgetting to act a bit shy every now and then. The night ended up being a disgusting mess still, at least for me. I even surprised myself by hiding my face under the pillow and crying after we were done. I had really thought that part would be easy. It wasn't my first time, and he wasnʼt even mean or anything. My poor ugly husband was a true gentleman.

I really hope he sets his eyes on another woman soon. I can act like the loving oblivious wife, I just canʼt pretend not to be disgusted by that wart for much longer.

It doesnʼt matter. Women like me have lovers all the time. I will find a way to feel like I felt with Vladimir someday, and I will live a comfortable and luxurious life, which is something that will never change.

I close my eyes and think of the balls I will be hosting, of the sailing I will do in the Crimea, of the expensive dolls and other presents I will give to my niece… or nieces. Bogdana may have more children. I think of how much I will gossip with my friends now that my mother, so similar to that haughty Empress, wonʼt be around to scold me.

In the morning, several prominent newspapers will be mentioning the marriage of Count Malevskyʼs youngest daughter to Count Malevitch, and how instead of taking his last name, she is now Sophia Petrovna Malevsky-Malevich, which is the surname name her son will also have in order to preserve the Malevsky legacy, and the Malevich legacy for that matter.

My parents confidently assume I will have a son as if it were impossible for me to give birth to daughters exclusively, as the Empress has so far. It is likely I will only have girls, and I secretly hope so as well. Boys are rowdy savages most of the time, and I couldnʼt bear it if one of my sons ended up being like Vladimir. Girls are usually sweet little creatures, easier to raise. I donʼt understand how my mother could never appreciate that.

My father is the last male descendant of our family, and he was desperate enough to beg my husband to hyphenate our last names just so that the Malevsky surname doesn't disappear. It is clear us Malevskys donʼt have a talent for producing sons.

Chapter Text

The Alexander Palace, Tsarskoye Selo. Winter, 1901.

Alexandra Feodorovna Romanova.

My most innocent daughter, my happiest baby with the sweetest lovesick smiles, Maria. Miss Eagar told me everything. Maria was looking out the window at a regiment of soldiers marching by. "Oh! I love these dear soldiers!" She exclaimed. "I should like to kiss them all!"

The good Miss Eagar explained to her that nice little girls donʼt kiss soldiers. A few days later, we had a children's party. Grand Duke Konstantinʼs sons were amongst the guests. Having reached twelve years of age, one of them was already a cadet and wore his uniform to the gathering. He leaned forward, wishing to kiss his little cousin Maria, but my baby put her hand over her mouth and drew back from the embrace.

"Go away, soldier," she let out with great dignity. "I don't kiss soldiers." The little boy was greatly delighted at being taken for a real soldier.

I am very pleased with Miss Eagar. Last September, a few months after my precious Anastasia was born, we visited Denmark for a family gathering. I was very glad to see my sister Victoria, her husband Louis of Battenberg, and their children Alice, Louise, George, and Louis.

Uncle Bertie and Queen Alexandra were there, and when they made a stop by the nurseries, Alexandra congratulated Miss Eagar, for she had prepared beautiful dresses for my daughters to wear after being made aware of the English sovereignsʼ upcoming visit. Queen Alexandra later commented on how nicely dressed and kept my daughters always were, making my motherly pride reach immodest levels.

We spent October in Poland, where I became more thankful than ever for my little girls and amazed by the grace and mercy of our Lord even as He sends us trials. Everything happens for a reason, to make us better.

On the way to Spala, the Polish village where our hunting lodge is located, the train in which my little girls and Miss Eagar were traveling went off at an immense speed. I was later told they had gone desperately sick from the rocking. My poor children had been terrified. Olga recalled to me how she and Tatiana had clung to each other and cried but later set aside their fear to comfort poor little Maria, who had been even more frightened. Olgaʼs idea, or so Tatiana confided to me. Leaving my two eldest praying and singing a hymn with their little sister, Miss Eagar had gone to ask the engineer to slow down.

My firstborn is becoming such a brave and compassionate little girl. Olga is passionately devoted to our Savior. She is only six now, and while she wonʼt be able to confess her sins until she is seven, I think she is already mature enough to do so. She certainly understands the meaning and significance of the ritual.

I have always worked hard to raise my children to be, above all, good little Christian soldiers fighting for our Savior, and it seems my big Olga in particular is perfectly fulfilling my expectations, although Tatiana never disappoints either. I congratulated both girls as soon as I learned of what they had done, conveying my pride for them and encouraging their protective instincts around their little sisters. And yet Olga delighted me once again when she said to me: "Mama, we were silly to be so afraid, God was with us, right?" Oh, how I felt!

The train was moving as if about to topple over. The poor servants were also on their knees praying. Everyone was upset. With great difficulty Miss Eagar made her way to the engineer and begged him to reduce the speed. He apologized saying he had no idea the results of going at such a pace would be so frightful, but that he could not reduce the speed, as the risk of running into traffic was too great. For nearly four hours the train rushed up and down in darkness through Germany.

Fortunately, Miss Eagar managed to get the children to go to bed. She is so good with them, and they do trust her. My girls slept, poor little babies, all despite being worn out by the fright and crying.

Both Miss Eagarʼs elbows were bruised and sore by the time the train reached its destination. Her face had also suffered from being dashed against the furniture and falling on the floor.

Nicky and I were greatly shocked by the incident, my husband fuming upon learning of it. He hugged each of our baby girls protectively. Later in our room, he confessed to me that the incident had reminded him of that horrible day when the train in which he and his family traveled derailed. His beloved little sister Olga, five or six at the time, had yelled in terror that they were all going to be killed.

It was terrible for my Nicky to visualize our little girls in a similar state. They are always so happy and lively, playing or walking with their papa in the garden any time he is free to do so. Hiding, running, trying to catch each other. Nicky loves throwing the squealing little ones in the air and then catching them. Witnessing this inevitably stops my heart for a few seconds, but my children seem to love it, and I trust my husband. My heart is rarely strong enough to try such antics, but whenever I am healthier than usual and can freely play with my daughters, I feel closer to God than I do performing any other action besides attending church and praying.

During our stay at Poland, a little girl born the same day as Maria got lost in the forest. She was the youngest child of one of the forest keepers in Spala and was playing close to her mother while the latter prepared dinner. The door was open though, so the little girl toddled out and wandered away. Thinking her daughter was just playing in the little garden, the mother didn't notice at first.

When the father came home for dinner, the baby could not be found. Soon every man about the place was hunting for the lost child. Nicky stayed at home from shooting that day. We were both upset and prayed for the girl.

Guards, police, keepers, foresters, and others all turned out to seek the lost child. The terrible fear was that she had been carried off by some wild beast. A two-year-old little girl like my Maria lost in the forest! Such a horrible thing to imagine! All alone, scared, and cold... and I am not even the mother. She must have suffered so much.

Neighbors stayed with the poor distraught mother. To add to the distress, heavy snow fell. All evening and far into the next afternoon the search continued until a soldier who had been out the entire night found the little one on her hands and knees under a bush, soaked through and perfectly unconscious. He quickly carried her home, where she was undressed and put to bed. In the evening she was quite recovered and playing. A true miracle. As if God were saying to me: "Alix, your prayers are also being heard".

How can I not believe in the mercy of God after so many signs of His presence in our lives? And how can I not believe in my friend Philippe? The way he talks manifests a deep understanding of God. Nicky and I love listening to him. He has been telling us for a few months now that my baby boy is already on the way. He sent me another letter recently, and of my son he wrote:

"It is time for your son to be born, Alix, he is already here. I had a vision, he will be the greatest of monarchs to have ever lived."

I became ecstatic upon reading it. My motherly pride became, if possible, even greater. How I long to meet this special child and hold him in my arms! What an honor it will be! I will make sure what Philippe prophesied comes to pass. I will also make sure he grows to become the most compassionate and Christian of all monarchs.

I havenʼt bled in over a month, so I trust my friend Philippe more now than ever. Godʼs timing is always perfect. I canʼt wait to tell Nicky tonight... or maybe now.

My husband must be coming sometime soon for tea in the Mauve Room, which I decorated myself not too long after our marriage. I wanted to create a bright and cozy environment for Nicky and my children. A room where my husband could come and unburden himself from the affairs of government. A sanctuary.

The Mauve Room is named after the silk on the walls. Matching fabric covers the furniture. I personally picked the color after having asked for one that matched a sprig of lilac my dear Nicky once gave me. I have always preferred pastels. Pale aquamarines and blue topazes over more expensive stones. Pearls are my favorite jewels, my engagement ring being a large pink pearl.

No door leads from the palace corridor to the Mauve Room. Our sanctuary can only be entered through the main bedroom or the Pallisander Room, where only our most intimate guests are allowed.

A thin silk lilac curtain covers only one of the two enormous windows of the room, which is naturally very bright for this very reason. My favorite element of the Mauve Room is the couch on which I am sitting now, especially so when I am surrounded by my children.

Anastasia rests comfortably in my arms. Tatiana and Maria are playing with some dolls on the floor. Apparently, Mariaʼs daughters are sick and she is taking them to see Dr. Tatiana. Olga was playing with them a few seconds ago, before they started playing a game she wasnʼt interested in and cried out she didnʼt like them anymore.

I scolded my eldest for being rude to her sisters and made her apologize for her behavior, emphasizing how unchristian and unladylike it had been. Nothing can be done to fully deter childhood squabbles though.

Olga is playing the piano now. While she is performing an admittedly simple melody, my daughter is so talented no one would be able to guess it is a six-year-old playing. At six months old, my little baby Anastasia is already interested in everything and even walks a little when helped. She is the most precocious of my daughters.

We will be spending Christmas here, at Tsarskole Selo. Anastasia is always staring at the trees, aiming to reach for the decorations and laughing frantically whenever I do allow her to touch them briefly before hanging them on the tree. I have struggled to keep her from dropping anything, but her excessive enthusiasm makes it almost impossible.

I look down at my youngest daughterʼs growing reddish hair and compare its color to that of my own brown curls. My dark hair has a twinge of red-gold as well. Anastasia is much fairer, but I can tell her hair will gradually become similar to mine as she grows older. She will be the second to inherit my color then. Olgaʼs light blonde hair was almost white when she was a baby. Tatiana has dark auburn hair that was a lot lighter, almost bright red, when she was younger, and Maria has golden blonde hair, but she is still a baby, so it will probably darken as well. At least all of them have inherited my and Nickyʼs blue eyes.

Anastasia has been staring at her sisters with her pretty small cornflower blue eyes for a while now.

"Ol! Ol!" She cries, extending her little arm.

By "ol" she means the dolls, of course. She knows so many words already! When I decide to lay her on the ground, Anastasia crawls straight to Maria, who drops the dolls and immediately welcomes the little intruder into her arms.

"Donʼt!" Maria squeals. It appears baby Anastasia has grabbed her hair. Tatiana has everything under control before I even finish leaning forward to intervene though. She gently takes Anastasia's hands away from Mariaʼs hair.

"Not her hair", Tatiana says softly but firmly.

Now free from her mischievous sisterʼs grasp, Maria gives Anastasia the doll she was playing with a few seconds ago, placing it in her arms very gently as if teaching her how to play.

I smile at the scene and rise from the sofa to pick up an unfinished project I started knitting yesterday. If my work turns out particularly decent, I may even sell it at some charity event. As the saying goes, idle hands are the devil's workshop.

As usual, my family and I will be visiting St. Petersburg for New Yearʼs Day, much to my displeasure, but what can be done? Duty is duty. The January of 1901 was marred by mourning for my dear grandmother. This upcoming January, on the other hand, is likely going to be a very happy social season, for those who love social seasons that is. Countless balls, dinners, and supper parties await them. At least Olga and Tatiana enjoy the beauty of the Winter Palace greatly. They are always gushing about the paintings, mirrors, plates, and all those sorts of aesthetically pleasing things. Olga wishes we could live there all year long and particularly enjoys the way Nicky takes advantage of our visits to teach her and Tatiana about their history and ancestors.

I may be the only one who is grateful to stay here in Tsarskoye Selo for most of the year.

Baby Anastasia drops the doll after about a minute of playing with it and crawls back to me. Poor Maria hopelessly follows Anastasia around, extending the arm with which she has picked the doll back up in an attempt to make her little sister pay attention to it again.

"Her mommy!" Maria cries. "You her mommy!" Her tiny voice sounds so anguished. Such is a childʼs innocence. In her eyes, Anastasia is abandoning her "daughter".

"Let her, dear", I tell Maria. "You are her mommy now". My daughter opens her beautiful big blue eyes wide and cocks her head. Tatiana takes care of the situation once again by engaging with her. What would I do without Tatiana? She is such a conscientious child already, always willing to please. I can see it in the way she looks back at me as if seeking reassurance.

"Well done, my dear", I smile at my second eldest, which seems to satisfy her, as I can tell by her grin.

Anastasia raises her little arms and I pick her up her again. It is a bit difficult to knit while holding her like this, especially considering her special interest in my work. I indulge her interest too much and she ends up undoing some of what I had previously knitted with her fingers. My work is hopelessly ruined, and as much as I try to salvage it at first, the noise from the piano doesnʼt allow me to concentrate.

"See Olga?" I say to my oldest daughter, who has stopped playing any melody whatsoever and is now experimenting with no successful result. "Even the baby wants to knit… actually, why donʼt we all start working on something? You can keep playing later, but do you know how many little girls like you donʼt have clothes?"

My two oldest daughters stop what they are doing. Olga does pout, although she seems willing enough. I stand up to fetch the materials, but my husband enters the room before I can do so, making Olga, Maria, and Tatiana start squealing with joy.

Olga is the winner of the race, getting to hug her father first, but he cuddles each of our three oldest girlies for a long time. Nicky holds up Maria in the air and then closer to cover her face with kisses. He kisses me and the little one once he is done greeting the three eldest. These are happiest moments of each day, the moments he is with me, with us.

We ask one of the maids for tea as Olga and Tatiana tell Nicky about everything they did today. They ask him about Babushka and Aunt Olga, about their cousin Irina, they ask him when they are going out with them. Little Maria speaks a little as well, but most of her sentences are a variant of: "I love you, papa."

My two oldest girls sit on their chairs as we have tea while Nicky and I carry Anastasia and Maria in our laps. After we are done drinking, my husband reads the children a short fairytale. As usual, we have to answer some of Olgaʼs questions in the end.

Once Olga and Tatiana are done showing Nicky a fairly good piece they like to play together on the piano, I ask Miss Eagar to take the children back to the nursery. Poor Maria waves goodbye at her papa for far too long. My daughters and I will have to keep working some other day. I already knit with them often, and I am teaching them how to sew and embroider as well. Tatiana really enjoys it.

"Apparently, it is not fair that Ivan was the one to marry the princess", my husband jokingly refers to one of Olgaʼs complaints about the fairytale. "Not when he had older brothers who deserved her more."

Nicholas is sitting on the couch right next to me, and when I laugh, he starts cackling as well.

"No, it seems not", I shake my head, not quite done laughing. He also needs some time to stop.

"Oh, I love her!" He suddenly exclaims. "Well, all of them darling, it feels so good to spend some time with them every day".

"Any stress lately?"

"Not particularly, sunny, no", he caresses my cheek, his smile making me melt today as it did back when we first met. His mere presence excites me as it did on our wedding night.

We small talk for a few minutes as we always do, but then I slowly become more and more quiet. I am so happy right now that I canʼt help but grieve for those who may never feel such joy. How could something like this ever end? Why did it have to happen to my poor brother?

"What are you thinking?" My husband asks as his smile leaves his face.

"Oh, you are going to think I am silly, this again", I sigh, my eyes filling with tears.

"No, no, tell me."

"I was reminded of my brother Ernie, and Ducky, of their divorce in October".

"Yes, it was all so sad and awful, what a shame, and it is hard to believe it happened to someone as close to us. Never be ashamed to talk to me, sunny, sometimes time doesnʼt easily heal wounds, and what happened took us all by surprise".

"Poor unhappy ones, it is indeed hard for us to imagine how something so dreadful could possibly have happened, my brother must be so lonely, and for Ducky to be without her little Ella…"

"It must be terrible", he finishes for me with a nod. I get closer to him, resting my head on his chest as he puts his arm around me.

"It must be so hard for a mother", I add. "Ella is such a happy and funny child, and our girls have so much fun every time they meet".

"Just precious", he says with a huge grin, probably remembering his niece and her antics with our daughters. "But it is Godʼs will darling, and that will never happen to us". He gets even closer.

"No, I love you too much for that, I would die", I smile, and then we kiss.

The kiss deepens, lasting a few minutes. Then I remember what I have wanted to tell him for a while now.

"Oh! Nicky!" I abruptly pull away from our embrace. "I forgot to tell you, I am pregnant!"

He isn't fully sure I am right at first, but as I let out how certain I am our long-awaited boy is finally on his way and why I know it to be so, I slowly see his features change from disbelief to ecstatic joy. Wrinkles in his eyes, a huge grin. Soon his arms are around me, and there was no better place to tell him than the Mauve Room.

Chapter Text

Moscow. July 17, 1918.

Doroteya Filippovna Lavrova.

In many ways, the year 1902 was a distressing one for both Nicholas and Alexandra.

The year before, Victoria Melita had divorced Ernie, Alexandraʼs brother. Their marriage had been crumbling down for quite a while before, with both of them going as far as throwing things at each other. The only thing that had stopped them from separating was Queen Victoria's objection.

Ducky, as family members called Victoria Melita, had married Ernie and given birth to Elizabeth by the time she was only eighteen years old, but she had never stopped loving her cousin, Grand Duke Cyril. Their love had been a doomed one, as the Orthodox Church didn't, and normally still doesn't, allow for first cousins to wed.

Despite also being first cousins, Ernie and Ducky had gotten married upon Queen Victoria's suggestion, and their only child to survive infancy had been Princess Elizabeth of Hesse, also known as Ella.

Ducky loved her daughter as much as any decent mother would, but it was hard to compete with Ernstʼs devotion. Ernst had felt as if he could understand her daughter in a way no one else could since before she had even been able to say more than a few words. He became a child himself whenever he played with her.

When baby Elizabeth was just six months old and a new nursery was made for her, Ernst went as far as consulting the baby on her color preferences. When he showed her a pretty shade of lilac, baby Ella made happy little squeals, and needless to say, Ernst made sure that the nursery was painted the "chosen" color.

Later on, Ernst had a playhouse built for her in its own garden, a playhouse no adult was allowed into, much to the frustration of royal nurses and tutors, who would spend up to hours pacing outside, waiting impatiently for their young charge to emerge.

Elizabeth was greatly favored by her great-grandmother, Queen Victoria, who called the little girl "my precious" and for her sake opposed the divorce of her unhappily married parents. Ella could easily make the old woman laugh for hours.

Elizabeth's maternal grandmother was Grand Duchess Maria Alexandrovna of Russia, Duchess of Edinburgh and only surviving daughter of Alexander II. In 1901, as Queen Victoria died, Maria Alexandrovna led five-year-old Elizabeth to see her on her death bed. After Queen Victoria had passed away, Ella was taken in to see her body and told that her great-grandmother had left to be with the angels.

"But I don't see the wings," Elizabeth whispered.

During Queen Victoriaʼs funeral, Elizabeth sat next to her second cousin Prince Edward of York, called David by his family and friends. Ella took David under her protection, holding him most of the time around his neck. Elizabeth was a deeply sensitive girl with a huge heart and a great influence on adults.

Following the death of Queen Victoria, Ernie and Ducky were finally able to divorce. Elizabeth would spent her next years travelling between Darmstadt and her mother's new home.

The separation of her parents was quite hard for the little Elizabeth, who resented the divorce and her mother in particular, primarily at the beginning. Ernst had difficulty persuading Ella to visit Ducky. One time, he found her whimpering under a sofa.

"I don't think my mother loves me, papa", she confessed amidst tears. Ella had to leave her father that day and very much didn't want to.

"Elizabeth, dear", Ernst said, "your mother loves you too, very much."

"Mama says she loves me, but you do love me," Elizabeth replied.

Victoria Melita did her best to mend her relationship with her daughter. She used to teach her how to ride and even allow her to ride her pony inside her bedroom. Ella became quite a good horsewoman, or pony little girl, just like her little cousins in Russia were becoming.

Nicholas and Alexandra were appalled by their relativesʼ divorce. Shameful even among commoners, a divorce in their midst represented an absolute scandal to the royal families of Europe. Nicholas went as far as claiming that the loss of a dear one would have better than the general disgrace of a divorce.

Alix suffered a lot for the sake of her brother and felt sorry for both him and Ducky, pleading with Xenia not to listen to gossip about them.

Oo

In 1902, while the news about his brother-in-lawʼs divorce were still fresh, Nicholasʼs youngest uncle, Paul, decided to blatantly disobey him.

Grand Duke Paul Alexandrovich had lost his wife Alexandra of Greece some time prior to Alixʼs arrival in Russia.

Seven months into her second pregnancy, Alexandra of Greece was taking a walk with her friends on the bank of a river when she tried to jump directly into a boat that was always moored there and fell, slamming her head awfully hard. The following day, she collapsed in the middle of a ball from painful contractions and lapsed into a fatal coma shortly after giving birth to her son, Dmitri. As she was buried in the Peter and Paul Cathedral, the grieving Paul had to be restrained from throwing himself into the grave with her.

The newborn barely survived, but he did so with the help of his uncle, Grand Duke Sergei, who gave the premature Dmitri the baths prescribed by the doctors, wrapped him in cotton wool and kept him in a cradle filled with hot water bottles to keep his temperature regulated.

Some years after Alexandraʼs death, Paul started a relationship with a married commoner, Olga Valerianovna Karnovich. Olga was so in love with Paul that she divorced her husband, but that didn't make her any more eligible, and when Paul asked the Tsar for permission to marry her, he was refused.

In 1897, Paul and Olga had a son they named Vladimir, but it was in 1902 that the couple decided to marry in Italy against the wishes of the Tsar. As punishment for his morganatic marriage, Nicholas exiled Paul, who was not allowed to take his children, Maria and Dmitri, with him. Pavel and Olga would take Vladimir with them to France and make Paris their official residence.

Sergei and Ella, who were childless, became the new guardians of Maria and Dmitri Pavlovich. Sergei was enthusiastic about his new role, but I canʼt help but think it must have been incredibly hard for those children to be away from their father. I once had a vision of them, one in which they talked about Paul with sad, tortured little eyes and voices.

What did Dmitri and Maria think? Did they resent their father or feel abandoned by him? Did they start blaming the Tsar as they grew older? It is hard to tell. I have visions, but canʼt read minds. Maybe it wasn't even frequent for them to talk about Paul. It was only one vision after all.

Oo

That same year, the Tsar's younger brother and heir, Grand Duke Michael Alexandrovich, fell in love with his first cousin, Princess Beatrice of Saxe-Coburg-Gotha, Victoria Melitaʼs sister. They exchanged plenty of letters and initially planned to marry. The Tsar and the Dowager Empress, however, reminded "Misha" that the Orthodox Church forbade unions between first cousins and that Nicholas would not make an exception for him.

Having much to lose, Michael decided to end the relationship. Victoria Melita was certainly not pleased. Michael had broken her baby sisterʼs heart.

Oo

Nicholas had such an inflexible side. Upholding tradition and thus protecting the respectability of his house was more important to him than his family members' happiness, sometimes more than anyoneʼs happiness. Knowing how hard it was for these people to find what was deemed a "suitable" partner makes me grateful to be a commoner at times, although not enough to consider their lives, free of toil, easier than mine, let alone most people.

One could easily think that having almost lost Alexandra to religious differences would have made Nicholas more understanding.

Maybe he was too caught up in his own happiness. He had the perfect wife, or so I heard him say to her once, and he was as devoted to and proud of his girls as Ernst was of his little Elizabeth.

Oo

Time went on amazingly fast as the little girls grew, much to Alexandraʼs great displeasure. She wanted them to stay little girls forever, or so it seemed. The mother had already taught the oldest two how to sew, and three-year-old Maria was learning amazingly fast. Tatiana was particularly talented.

Though the family's yearly itineraries were rarely ever the same, there were similarities. They would stay in St. Petersburg the entire winter season, which was from New Year to the middle of February. They usually spent much of the spring at Tsarskoye Selo, move on to Peterhof during the late spring, enjoy the late summer in Poland, and spend the autumn at Livadia, their Crimean palace. Finally, they cherished their early winters at Tsarskoye Selo, where the girls helped their mother and servants decorate the Christmas trees.

The girls also loved to sail on the family's Standart yacht. It gave them a chance to play and bathe on the beaches with their long striped swimsuits and swimming caps. They would gather pebbles on the shores and run and play on deck.

The young Grand Duchesses would generally wear simple white or pastel-colored dresses, but they oftentimes wore their dark blue sailor shirts and skirts, which made them look adorable as they sailed. They loved the sailors and officers, who used to carry the little girls around on the deck so they could see the horizon better. These loyal men were wholly devoted to them.

On one occasion, when an officer from the Standart asked them what they had in their hands, the children showed him little bits of green stones they had picked up and asked him to keep them if he wanted to. The officer took a little stone from each child and later attached them to his watch chain. He would never part with them, as the Tsarʼs children had found and offered them to him. All the officers treated the little maidens with the highest regard.

On another occasion, the little girls were getting on a carriage at Peterhof when an officer came running over to say good morning. The little Grand Duchesses, who were friendly creatures, began talking to him, and one of them took a little wooden toy from her pocket and asked him if he would like it. He was much pleased and afterward turned to their nanny and admitted he had been in trouble, but seeing the children coming out, he had thought that if he could reach the carriage in time to bow to the imperial children, he would get lucky and find a way out of his troubles.

"And see", the officer said, "not only did I bow to them, but I kissed their hands and received a little toy from one of them. I shall keep that toy as long as I live."

There was a tall young German officer in the Imperial Guards, and he would ask the Grand Duchess Olga for a doll almost every day: "A little tiny one that I can keep in my pocket and play with while I am on guard", he frequently said, "it would give me much pleasure." But he wanted, most of all, something from the Grand Duchess. Anything.

Poor little Olga Nicolaevna did not know whether he was joking or telling the truth. Margaretta assured her the doll would indeed give him much pleasure. Olga then brought Miss Eagar a couple of very tiny dolls dressed as boys, one minus a foot, the other without an arm. The governess said it would be better for Olga to give the young man unbroken dolls, to which the little girl replied: "Yes, but these are boys and he is a man, I am afraid he would not like a little girl dollie." Margaretta then advised her to ask him when she saw him again.

The next morning Olga put the doll into her pocket and met the officer, who immediately began to reproach her in a joking manner for having forgotten how lonely he was and what a great company a little doll would be to him. Olga plunged her hand into her pocket and produced the doll, holding it behind her back. "Which would you rather have," she asked seriously, "a boy or a girl doll?"

"A little girl doll would be like you, and I should love it very much, but a boy would be very companionable", he answered. She was quite delighted and gave him the doll, saying: "I am glad, I was so afraid you would not like the girl.” He put the doll in his pocket most carefully.

Shortly afterwards, the young officer went for his holidays. When he returned, and on the first day he saw the little Grand Duchess, he began as formerly to beg for a doll.

Olga said, reproachfully: "Is it possible you have already broken the nice little doll I gave you?"

With great tact, he explained that the little doll was lonely all by itself and wanted a companion, and that it did not matter if it was broken. And so, another dollie was carried about for several days till Olga met him again and gave it to him.

Oo

When little Anastasia turned a year old, she started playing with her sisters quite often. Olga and Tatiana would look after their youngest sibling as she pranced around in the parks of Tsarskoye Selo, taking the toddler by one hand each and trying to keep up with her endless energy as she tried to run faster than her older sisters.

The four Grand Duchesses started playing tag as well, chasing each other around the trees amidst giggles. Anastasia would burst with laughter during these games, delighting her parents. Nicholas would be more than delighted, he was part of the fun. I once saw him trying to catch his four daughters at the same time. The girls cried with excitement as their father caught and picked each of them up in his strong arms, one by one. Alexandra tried but failed to take a picture.

They played on the swings. Alexandra would support Anastasia as she sat on one of them and "swung.” The mother wanted the four of them to have their share of fun. Anastasia laughed so loudly it was contagious, transforming Alix back into her "sunny" self.

I remember seeing the proud mother photographing her four daughters together in the parks of Tsarskoye Selo as they went for a walk. The three oldest were dressed in pretty pink dresses, coats with round buttons, and hats with white flowers. Only the girlsʼ boots and stockings were black. The little Anastasia was wearing a huge pink hoodie tied around her head in a white bow under her chin.

They used to ride their ponies, the loyal footman Alexei Trupp guiding the reins. He also loved the girls. Olga and Tatiana liked guiding the reins of Mariaʼs little horse themselves. Riding was not solely a fun pastime for the Grand Duchesses but also a skill they had to learn for future ceremonies, just like dancing.

Although Olga, Tatiana and Maria lived fairly sheltered existences in comparison to most girls their ages, they did play with other children on occasions. Their cousins Maria and Dmitri were constant companions, and so were the children of Xenia and Sandro. By 1902, Nicholasʼs younger sister had given birth to five children: Irina, Andrei, Feodor, Nikita, and Dmitri, who was Anastasiaʼs age. The Grand Duchesses were particularly close to Irina, but they would also play for hours with the rowdy boys.

Olga Alexandrova visited her nieces almost every week to take them to see their grandmother for tea or ice cream. Both Minnie and Olga had a special relationship with the girls. Minnie liked asking her granddaughters about their day-to-day life, pastimes, classes, and to have them show her everything they had learned each week. As an aunt, Olga was fun-loving and indulging with the girls even when they misbehaved. The few times I saw them together, the Grand Duchesses and their aunt came off as uninhibited and cheerful.

Oo

Olga greatly enjoyed learning and asking questions, which is why she admired the people she considered knowledgeable. One day, her arithmetic master told her to write something down. Olga asked for permission to leave in order to go to the Russian master, who was teaching Tatiana in the next room. The arithmetic master allowed her go, but asked her the reason why. Olga explained to him she could not spell "arithmetic", to which the arithmetic master replied by telling her how to do so.

"How clever you are!" Olga exclaimed with great admiration. "And how hard you must have studied to be able not only to count so well but to spell such very long words!"

Olga spent a good portion of her time with her nanny. Consequently, the majority of her seemingly endless questions were directed at her. The governess would answer all of them with pleasure. The young girl deemed Miss Eagar a marvel of education and confided in her music master that no one in the whole world knew as much as she did.

Olga was advanced beyond most children of her age in some aspects, but she was also quite naive and isolated. On one occasion, a milliner brought the girls new hats, and Olga was greatly pleased. She told Miss Eagar that she thought the milliner was "the very kindest woman" in the world.

"She went all the way to Paris," six-year-old Olga said, "and brought us a present of those beautiful hats." Miss Eagar explained that this was the milliner's business and that the hats had been bought, not given as presents.

Olga looked a little puzzled.

"I am afraid you are making a mistake", she said, "you did not give her any money, and I know she did not go to mama for it."

It simply wasnʼt the Empress who had given the milliner her money directly, of course, but Olgaʼs only knowledge of shops and shopping was derived from the toy and sweet shops in Darmstadt.

One day, Olga asked Miss Eagar why the Americans spoke English and not American. The governess told the little girl the story of the Pilgrim Fathers and described how they had built houses, shops, and towns. Olga was exceedingly interested.

"Where did they find the toys to sell in the shops?" She inquired, to which Margaretta replied detailing the fabrication of toys.

When Miss Eagar read "Alice in Wonderland" and "Through the Looking-Glass" to the girls, Olga was horrified at the manners of the queen who chopped peopleʼs heads off.

"No queens", the little Grand Duchess asserted, "would be so rude."

As Margaretta read the section about Alice's journey by railway, Olga thought it very funny that Alice did not have a compartment to herself. Miss Eagar told her that for traveling, most people bought one ticket and occupied just one seat on the train, that some tickets cost more than others, and that the highest-priced tickets meant a better place on the train.

Olga listened carefully. "And when you travel, can anyone with the same kind of ticket you have get into the same carriage as you do?" She asked.

"Yes", Miss Eagar replied.

"If I were you", Olga said, "I should take a whole compartment for myself."

"But you forget that these other people might object to me, and say, 'I won't sit beside that person'", Margaretta explained.

"Oh no," Olga smiled. "Everyone in the whole world would be glad to sit beside you."

When Olga first read about the English cutting off Welsh Prince Llewellyn's head and sending it to London, she was awfully aghast. She later decided to read the story again.

"Well," the little girl surmised once she was done, "it was a good thing he was dead before they cut off his head, it would have hurt him most awfully if he was alive." Miss Eagar said they were not always as kind and sometimes cut the heads off living people.

"Well, I really think people are much better now than they used to be", Olga replied. "I'm very glad I live now when people are so kind."

That innocent phrase summarizes what life was for the four little girls. Loving and devoted parents, no deprivations, and only good people around them.

The Tsar and Tsarina had four bright and healthy daughters they loved to proudly show off to the world in official postcards, none of whom, because of the law, could succeed Nicholas. By 1902 though, the Tsarina seemed to have fallen pregnant once again, possibly with their long-awaited boy. It seemed like a total vindication of their friend Philippe's prayers and claims.

Alexandra had last menstruated on November 1, 1901. She anticipated the birth of her son at the beginning of the following August. The imperial couple kept the news of the pregnancy from their family as long as they could, but by the spring of 1902, it was clear that the Tsarina was getting fatter.

Philippe spent some time at St Petersburg in March of 1902. Nicholas and Alexandra visited him and listened to him for hours with great interest. The charlatanʼs influence over the Tsarina was so great that he convinced her not to allow any doctors to examine her, not even as her due date approached.

By the late summer, Alexandra was showing way too little physical signs of what was supposedly an advanced pregnancy. In spite of this, Nicholas and Alexandra traveled to their palace by the sea for the arrival of their baby, and in August 1902, manifestos announcing the birth were made ready.

Oo

When Dr. Ott took residence at Peterhof for the delivery, he immediately realized that something was wrong.

On August 16, Alexandra bled. The doctors Ott and Günst were called in, but following Philippeʼs instructions, Alexandra refused to let them examine her. It took considerable persuasion before Alexandra finally allowed Dr. Ott to do so, and when he did, the most unexpected thing happened. The doctor announced that she was not pregnant. She had never been.

The scene that unfolded is almost too sad to describe. Alexandra let out a short, evidently fake laugh, turned her head around, and said to the doctor: "Well, at least there will be none of those terribly loud cannons."

The tears came soon after.

Oo

Alexandra's "phantom pregnancy" caused understandable concern among members of the imperial family.

"Dear friend, do not come," a deeply shocked and distressed Alexandra wrote to a friend. "There will be no christening, there is no child, there is nothing! It is a catastrophe!"

It was officially announced by the court physicians that the Empress had suffered a miscarriage.

Later, upon further analysis under the microscope of a discharge of blood Alexandra had experienced, Dr. Ott confirmed there had indeed been a dead fertilized egg, a growing mass of tissue inside her womb that would not have developed into a baby. In his opinion, the Empress had been suffering from a condition known as "Mole Carnosum", and the loss of blood had flushed it out.

This was never made public.

Oo

The news of the so-called miscarriage sparked a wave of merciless vilification and all kinds of outlandish rumors that the Tsarina had given birth to a deformed child, a monster. The hand of God lay heavy on the sovereigns.

As a little girl, I heard some people claim the absence of a son was the Tsar's punishment for the stampede that had taken place during the coronation festivities in Moscow. Other outrageous rumors said that Nicholas would eventually divorce Alexandra just like Napoleon Bonaparte had divorced Empress Josephine in 1810 for having failed to provide him with a son, this after fourteen years of marriage.

Nicholas comforted his wife tirelessly after the incident. He would have never abandoned his Alix.

Oo

As a nurse, I have known three women with conditions similar to that of the Empress. They had most of the symptoms: nausea, weight gain... one even claimed to be able to feel the baby kicking. It was upsetting for me to have to disclose the truth, but more so for them to hear they were not really pregnant. Bizarre.

I talked to them. Most were simply desperate for a baby, a few had harrowing personal problems. Andrei says they were hysterical.

The phenomenon is to me stranger than my own ability. All those women, wanting a baby so much, maybe fearing one, enough to lose their touch with reality.

Oo

Philippe's reputation suffered much after this alleged miscarriage. Accusations of charlatanry and meddling in affairs of state mounted against the French man, making his position at the Russian court unsustainable. Nicholas and Alexandra didn't want to part with him, but at the end of 1902, Philippe was sent back to France with gifts.

Before taking off, Philippe gifted Alexandra an icon with a small bell, which, he told her, would ring to alert her should anyone meaning her harm enter the room. She would also keep a frame with dried flowers, another special present from this charlatan, who claimed it had been touched by the hand of the Savior. Philippe departed, leaving one final prophecy:

"Someday, you will have another friend like me who will speak to you of God."

Chapter Text

Crimea. Autumn, 1902.

Alexandra Feodorovna Romanova.

Princess Helen is here, at the palace. She is a young brunette of about seventeen or eighteen years of age. The daughter of a Serbian prince and a student at the Smolny Institute of Noble Maidens. Helenʼs mother died twelve years ago, so she has lived with her aunts in Russia for quite some time.

My girls like her a lot. She is good with children and is playing with mine in the nursery as I watch, embroidering a shirt and seating on a couch next to Miss Eagar, who rocks my one-year-old Anastasia. My baby is tired now, but she was screaming just a few minutes ago, struggling to absorb the precious attention her sisters were bestowing upon their dolls. Not that this was done out of malice, of course. I donʼt think my little one was even aware of just how loudly she was screaming. I guess playing with her sisters simply makes her overly excited.

Princess Helen, her aunt Princess Vera, and some of her cousins came to have tea with us as they often do, and the young princess kept up playing with my girls. Just like my youthful sister-in-law Olga, Helen still possesses a playful spark that makes children feel drawn to her. Yesterday, with the sincere honesty only children are truly capable of, my big Olga said to me: "Mama, I really like Helen.”

Having wrapped two of the dolls up in white bed sheets, the princess and my girls appear to be organizing a wedding for them.

"Tanechka!" Olga points at the bed sheet Tatiana has cleverly folded and unfolded so that it looks like a dress on the doll. "That is beautiful!"

"The wedding is when the girl looks pretty", Tatiana moves to take Olgaʼs doll and put together a similar dress for it. My eldest is delighted by her sister's kindness, and now Maria, who was pretending to drink tea with Princess Helen, is showing Tatiana her own doll so that she can make a dress for it as well.

I smile down and decide to watch them play together for a while. None of my girlies understand the significance of weddings yet, but that is to be expected. They also enjoy pretending to be nuns or peasant women, and they often do so while covering their little heads and bodies with brown blankets to simulate habits and head scarves. They used to do this a lot with their cousin Elizabeth.

My three oldest have become inseparable. They play in the playroom or the nurseries all day long and love building "houses" by positioning two chairs next to each other and then placing blankets on top of them. Nicky and I have been made to have "tea" inside those tiny spaces the girls call houses way too many times to count. I canʼt bear to think what it must be like for Miss Eagar.

I wish I were playing on the floor with my daughters right now, but I have come to grow tired rather easily lately. My chest often feels tight. My legs, heavy. Sometimes it even hurts to breathe. My heart still longs for that child who never was. I imagined that baby boy so many times I have yet to believe he isnʼt actually here. How I longed for that dear baby!

I wanted a boy, badly, although another baby girl would have also made me really happy... just not that, not that… I cried so much after the doctor told me. The tears simply wouldnʼt stop flowing. And Nicky, my poor Nicky, he was so very disappointed, I know it, but he is a saint.

My long-suffering Job, as my one and only always calls himself. My Nicky never once complained to me or conveyed the deep grief I truly believe his poor heart was enduring. He was too busy being the most perfect and gentlest of husbands to think about himself. Too busy comforting and reassuring me with both words and physical affection. Assuring me that he loved me more than anything in this life and that God had made it happen for a reason. That I know. I trust God, and I know this heavy trial was sent to test my faith, but it still pains me so.

I focus on my daughters to distract myself from the bitter thoughts. Olga is squeezing Mariaʼs cheeks after she said, as my little Maria frequently does, something endearing about Olga or, to be precise, about her doll.

Those lovely giggles. I clearly remember how it felt holding each of them in my arms for the first time. They were all so pink and tiny! I canʼt even describe with words the love I felt. It was so big, so encompassing that no amount of kissing or cuddling those dear babies would have been enough to pour out all of my affection without asphyxiating the poor precious angels. I told Nicky about the joyous realization I had when I held Olga for the first time: It is through the love of mom and dad that babies first experience the love of the Lord. I felt it through my beloved parents, and now I am passing the feeling on.

How I longed to have another newborn around the house! Another baby to cherish. It feels not as if I had never been pregnant but as if I had lost him, my son. I was deprived of the chance to hold him and pour all of that love. I miss him.

As I recovered from the misfortune and was forced to engage with people again, I began to discern unkind whispers around me. I am no good, it is said. I bring bad luck and will never bear a son. Poor Nicky, is what they say, married to that crazy woman. It is never ʼpoor Alexandraʼ. I donʼt even know whether some of the whispers are real or imagined, for nothing is ever said to my face, and I can never pick out full sentences, but I can put the pieces together… and does it even matter what it is that they are saying out loud when I know what they are thinking? High society, not the real Russians. The real Russians are pure-hearted, hardworking, pious, and humble people. Real Russians love their sovereigns.

But maybe there is something wrong with me indeed. I should have known better. I should have suspected something was wrong.

The baby wasnʼt kicking. I knew this very well, and yet instead of acknowledging the truth I tried to attribute any tiny sensation I experienced in my belly to him. I did worry on several occasions, but my friend Philippe would tell me not to, for he claimed to know my son was resting and thinking things through, important matters, as there would be hard times ahead once he was born.

I truly donʼt want to believe this, but it is likely Philippe was simply mistaken. I know he is a good and wise man. I have heard him speak. So much of what he argues coincides with my own worldview, but maybe he is wrong.

"Alix, last night I had the revelation again", he wrote in his latest letter to me. "You will soon give birth to another child. I insist that the greatest Romanov Tsar and most powerful of all earthly monarchs shall come from your womb. What God has confirmed I know to be true. He has a special fondness for Your Imperial Majesty. The Tsar, the great leader, will come this year or possibly next year, just remember Seraphim of Sarov.”

As soon as I received and examined the note, I ripped it into dozens of pieces without even letting Nicky read it first. It was too much. Nicky is a man of faith, but he is also a man of reason, and our friend Philippe is a good and spiritual man, but I suspect he has acquired the dishonest habit of telling us only what he thinks we want to hear.

This year, he said, or possibly next year... and if he is proven wrong he can simply argue he never revealed to us the specific date or month. How convenient! And yet I wish it were true. Everyone thought my little Anastasia would be a boy, and when she was born a girl, Philippe asserted there was a special fate in store for her, an unusual and important destiny. That may not be true either. It is such a shame, but I donʼt need her to be special. She is my happy baby girl and that is enough.

Tatiana has stopped playing, at least for a moment. She is, instead, making funny faces at baby Anastasia, still in the arms of Miss Eagar. Tatiana puts her fingers inside her ears and pulls her tongue out. Anastasia reacts accordingly for her age, with contagious baby laughter. Of course it is easy for Tatiana to make her one-year-old sister laugh. Both Olga and Tatiana love doing it. God bless them.

Philippe spoke to us about Seraphim of Sarov many times, saying he would help us. The only portion of the letter I didnʼt dismiss as absolute nonsense. I do believe Seraphim of Sarov will intercede for us before God and help my husband and I conceive a son.

Seraphim is a Holy Man, and while he may not be a saint yet, Nicky is working hard to change that. My husband and I already believed in Seraphimʼs holiness before even meeting Philip.

Some time ago, a Metropolitan of the church visited the Alexander Palace. I received him in one of the dwellingʼs most illuminated spaces, the formal reception room, where I also welcome the vast majority of dignitaries. The floor is made of a dark gold parquet, an enormous Savonnerie carpet covering a good portion of it. In the middle of the ceiling hangs a crystal chandelier with a ruby glass center.

Pieces of 18th century French furniture as well as a number of small sculptures decorate the room, among them bronze busts of Alexander I and his wife Elizabeth, Paul I, and a colored Wedgewood bust of Alexander I. On the wall hangs a marble carving of Catherine the Great, accompanied by a number of large paintings on the walls, the biggest of which is a huge painting of the Cossacks of the Imperial Guard.

I sometimes write on the reception roomʼs roll-top desk. It is quite comfortable, and several 18th century clocks stand close to inform me of the hour every time I need a reminder.

But one of my favorite elements of the reception room is a tapestry that once belonged to Marie Antoinette. This valuable historical legacy was a gift from the French President Lebrun, a collector. I have been fascinated by that poor woman for quite a while. Such a sad, tragic fate. I don't consider the queenʼs death to be the most unfortunate aspect of her story, which undoubtedly was the forceful separation from her precious son and daughter. She died alone, slandered, and unable to protect her orphaned children from further harm. Her little boy was awfully mistreated. He fell ill and died due to the terrible conditions he was placed in by his jailers. Her little girl survived, but only after a long imprisonment that haunted the poor thing for the rest of her life.

Before we sat down around one of the reception roomʼs small tables, the Metropolitan asked me to pray with him. After we had done so, I decided to ask him about Seraphim of Sarov and the question of his canonization. The man was a bit skeptical, although he was well aware of the devotion common people already showed for the Holy Man.

Oo

Seraphim of Sarov was born in Kursk on 1759. When he was only ten years old, Seraphim fell gravely ill, but the Virgin Mary appeared to him in a dream and promised to heal him. Soon after that, a procession carrying the miraculous icon of Our Lady of Kursk passed through the ailing boyʼs village. Seraphimʼs mother was handed the icon, and as she held it over her sick childʼs head, the boy immediately began to recover, later becoming a monk and receiving the name "Seraphim", which means "full of fire" in Hebrew. Fiery were also his prayers. Seraphim spent most of his time in the temple, where he was blessed with the ability to see angels. He also got to see the Virgin Mary again, many times, and even had a vision of the Lord.

Seraphim ate very little and only once a day. On Wednesdays and Fridays, when most Orthodox Christians are only required to abstain from animal products, alcoholic drinks, and olive oil, Seraphim would not eat at all. He often prayed amidst the trees and would eventually move to a modest wooden cabin in the middle of the forest, becoming a hermit and thus achieving a perfect spirituality and closeness to God. The animals of the forest seemed to sense Seraphimʼs meekness, for the he was more than once witnessed feeding foxes, wolves, hares, and even bears.

One day, a group of thieves attacked the poor man, beating him to a pulp in an attempt to find anything valuable. Seraphim didnʼt fight back. He even interceded for his tormentors before the judge when they were arrested. How huge was his forgiving heart!

By the end of his life, Seraphim had become a starets, blessing hundreds with his wisdom and spiritual advice. He gained great popularity, for he had healing powers as well as the gift of prophecy. It is said Seraphim would answer peopleʼs questions before they could even finish asking them.

"Acquire a peaceful spirit, and thousands around you will be saved", Seraphim used to say. His words soothe my soul. I still have hope, faith that God will help us, but if I donʼt have a son, I know it will be for the best. Godʼs will is always for the best.

Oo

My discussion with the Metropolitan got nowhere that day. We were interrupted by Miss Eagar and my little daughters, who burst into the room excited and talkative, especially Maria. Even almost-a-year-old Anastasia was babbling like a tiny adult. It was sometime afterward that the matter of Seraphimʼs canonization was put into consideration.

Olga and Tatiana, upon realizing who the guest was, stared at the Metropolitan in awe and respect, but my almost-three-year-old Maria innocently asked him why he was wearing a dress when he also had a beard, and Anastasia started babbling even louder while making weird faces at him.

I was awfully embarrassed, of course, and I tried making this known to Miss Eagar without drawing too much attention to myself. She didn't seem to get the message though. Instead of leaving with the girls, Miss Eagar approached me and the Metropolitan, who stood up in order to receive the new guests. Much to my dismay, baby Anastasia leaned forward and grabbed two strands of hair from each side of the manʼs beard.

"I am sorry, Your Majesty", Miss Eagar apologized with a nervous smile, "but they insisted on coming to see their mama and I am outnumbered by these little indians". I was still trying to get Anastasiaʼs hands off the man when Maria began whooping as if she were indeed an indian, running across the room dangerously close to the busts. It was clear she had found Miss Eagarʼs statement hilarious.

"I have a loose tooth, mama! Look!" Olga used her fingers to move the loose tooth in question back and forward.

"I am pulling it off", Tatiana added with a proud smile as she clasped her arms around my waist, barely reaching it.

"That is great darling!" I exclaimed, genuinely happy for Olga but also slightly concerned. I bent down to Tatianaʼs level for a moment. "Donʼt try to pull it off prematurely, Tatiana, you might hurt your sister.” I stroked her hair gently before standing straight again. "You can stay, girls, but I need you to play quietly while mama talks to…"

My attention diverted back to Maria, who was still running and yelling.

"Maria! Stop running!" I scolded her louder than I had intended to. "And stop making that dreadful noise!" I gently moved Tatiana out of the way in order to dash after my third daughter. Capturing the mischievous little girl was easy, but only covering her mouth with one of my hands was enough to make her stop shouting. She got angry at first, as I could tell by her squirming.

"Calm down", I coaxed her. "Be a good girl…"

I smiled down at her and, slowly but surely, she relaxed, smiling back at me solely with her gorgeous big blue eyes, as her mouth was still covered. The sweet Maria had found the entire situation extremely amusing. I put a finger on my mouth with the hand I wasnʼt using to cover hers to dissuade her from shouting again and then let her go.

Anastasia was still tugging the Metropolitanʼs whiskers when I returned taking a giggling Maria by the hand. My youngest was fiercer than ever, growling and grinding her teeth. I honestly donʼt know where she learned that hideous behavior from, although it is possible Xeniaʼs wild boys have somehow managed to become a bad influence even on a toddler.

"Anastasia, leave the poor Metropolitan alone!" I lamented. "You are hurting him!" In response to my pleas, Miss Eagar tried to pull Anastasia away from the man without hurting either of them. "That is not nice! Oh no, Miss Eagar, do detach her from his poor beard!"

Finger by finger, Miss Eagar and I managed to remove Anastasiaʼs hands from the Metropolitan's beard, achieving this over the course of a few minutes. Anastasia might have simply gotten bored though, for knowing my willful little child like the palm of my hand, I find it difficult to believe that she merely gave up. Witnessing Anastasiaʼs unique and strong personality develop makes me hopeful my friend Philippe might be right about her after all.

Thankfully, the Metropolitan did not make a huge fuss about the torment inflicted upon his strands of hair. He even made the sign of the cross on my girls before leaving, but that didnʼt stop me from apologizing countless times for the disastrous event, as I was incredibly mortified. My girls are tender-hearted and usually well-behaved. I take great pride in that.

Oo

A sudden scream interrupts my thoughts.

"Mama, Tatiana pulled my hair!" Olga whines as she approaches me, her small hands rubbing her head. Miss Eagar left the room to change Anastasia's diapers a while ago.

"Not true! Not true!" Tatiana walks in our direction. I wish I had paid more attention, because I really have no clue which one of my daughters might be lying.

I leave the shirt I have been working on by my side, pick Olga up, and let her sit on my lap. She is getting heavy, almost seven years old at last.

"Calm down sweetheart", I soothe her, and she lays her head on my breast. I turn to Princess Helen, who is holding Mariaʼs hand. "Did you see what happened?"

"They were both playing so nicely", the young girl replies with a sad smile, "and in seconds something went down", she shakes her head. "I was fixing Maria's bow, why did you fight girls?"

"She pulled my hair!" Olga exclaims.

"Did not!" Tatiana crosses her arms. "I wanted her to stop breaking the Nini's dress."

"She pulled my hair", the frowning Olga repeats with a tiny voice.

"Who is Nini?" I ask.

"The doll", Helen informs me. They seem to change the dollsʼ names every single minute.

"Girls", I address them both, "it is not right to pull anyone's hair, much less a sister's hair, and not even for that reason, Tatiana".

"I wasn't ripping the dress", Olga says. "I was taking Niniʼs clothes off because she is going to Peterhof to have a baby, and she needs new clothes." I have to stop myself from giggling at that.

While staying at Peterhof, Nicky, the girls, and I went for a walk taking Anastasia on a stroller. My daughters and I were wearing simple matching white dresses and hats. Nicholas was, as usual, strolling in his uniform. All of us were enjoying the sight of the sea when Olga asked me if I was having another baby, for she understood that was the reason we had come to Peterhof, the birthplace of three of my children.

"There is no baby this year, darling", I said to her with a sad smile.

"How do people in America travel to Peterhof whenever they have babies?" Olga then asked. "Miss Eagar says it is very far away.” Needless to say, Nicky and I laughed quite a bit at her occurrence before explaining to her that most babies are not born in Peterhof.

"I didnʼt pull the hair, I just touched", Tatiana argues, bringing me back to reality. My daughterʼs head is down, and her hands are clasped together. I extend my free arm to get her to come closer and put it around her shoulder once she has done so.

"Donʼt fight girlies", I look back and forward between my daughters. "I donʼt know who started it, but it is not good to pull anyoneʼs hair."

"No good", my three-year-old Maria speaks her mind with much righteousness as she shakes her head. "Pull hair hurts." She is talking a lot these days, my baby.

"That is right, Maria", Helen encourages her.

"See? You were very mean", Olga glares at Tatiana.

"Well Tatiana, maybe you owe your sister an apology", I say.

Now it is Tatiana who frowns. Still, she hesitantly apologizes to Olga with a simple: "Sorry".

Getting Olga to accept her sisterʼs apology was slightly harder, but reminding her of what our Lord said we ought to do naturally softened her heart. My two oldest girls canʼt stay mad at each other for too long either way. Now they are back to playing with Helen and little Maria. I, on the other hand, will continue working on the shirt I have yet to embroider.

A child should receive the basic laws of morality at home, where cordiality and tenderness are concentrated.

Oo

Miss Eagar returned without Anastasia, who has been put to bed already. Just before I finish embroidering the shirt, Maria prances towards me, teddy bear in hand. She growls, offering me the stuffed animal.

"What is it, my love?" I leave the shirt on the arm of my seat. She growls again, letting out a giggle in the process. I decide to indulge her by taking the teddy bear as she seems to wish for me to do.

"Grrr!" I growl, stand up, and proceed to playfully chase Maria. My older girls squeal with joy as soon as they pick up on what their mama is doing and gleefully join the game, running around the room with their dolls to escape the wrath of the teddy bear. Still sitting on the floor, Helen looks up at us with a smile of incredulity.

My girlies laugh out loud without moderation. Olga hides behind the furniture, Tatiana screams. Holding her doll under her arm, Maria claps enthusiastically whenever she is not running. She is the most adorable.

I would keep doing this forever if my body allowed me to like his allows my Nicky to catch the girls when they jump into the water. Like it allows him to swim, laugh and splash with the girlies for more than an hour a day. My husband likes to go swimming with the three eldest, and our constant visits to Livadia allow him to do so fairly often.

Not me. Eventually, my legs let me down. First comes the tingling, then the pain. Mild. Bad. Unbearable. I slow down to rub my tired limbs. I have to stop.

"Helen, dear", I extend my arm to hand the teddy bear over, "make sure he eats the little girls." I add with my best attempt at a smile. Princess Helen receives the toy, smiles back, and continues playing with my daughters.

I sit back down and silently lament my situation. I put my hand on my head and recline, praying for the pain to go away. The pain which inevitably reminds me of another kind of pain. Of the baby I will never hold.

The laughter of my girlies, still running around, reminds me of Xeniaʼs boisterous boys. The fact my own sister-in-law keeps bearing boy after boy while I struggle does nothing to improve my state of mind.

God has granted me more than most women could ever hope for. My friend Philippe is right, He has a special fondness for me. A loving marriage, a saint for a husband, four beautiful, adorable, unique, and healthy children… and yet, watching my nephews' typically boyish energy as they tumble play with my girls whenever we visit them or they visit us… watching that not only gets on my nerves sometimes because of their occasional roughness. It simply breaks my heart.

As much as I try not to want it so badly, it is becoming impossible. With each passing year, I am still yet to fulfill my most important dynastic obligation by providing Russia with the much-anticipated male heir.

But it is not even about having an heir now, it is more of a complaint any common woman could also have. I simply want a boy as well as daughters. My own boisterous boy, and why can't I have one?

I hate being envious. I know it isnʼt Christian, and I am happy for Xenia, she is a dear friend, but it is not fair. Four of them now, one after the other, right after Irina. She has as many sons as I have daughters.

It is not fair. It is so preposterous to think Xeniaʼs sons have more claim to the throne for virtue of being direct male-line descendants of a Tsar than my brilliant daughter Olga does. She is the legitimate daughter of the current Tsar, who was chosen by God to rule. Surely it is his child who should rule after him. It is the natural order of things.

Not fair. Why God? Xenia did not even need to have that many sons! And yet: Andrei, Feodor, Nikita, Dmitri... she is also pregnant again, really pregnant that is, unlike me, of course. I am crazy. I am a crazy woman who grieves a dear baby that never was.

I do hope, at the very least, that the baby Xenia is indeed expecting is not another boy. It would be like a slap in my face, or a knife to my heart.

I suddenly feel a subtle tap on my leg. I look down and see my daughter Tatiana.

"Why are you sad, mama?" She asks, and I feel the urge to burst into tears, not tears of sadness but tears of joy. Tatiana doesnʼt understand the reason for my melancholy and thankfully has never experienced as much physical pain as I have. She is only five. And yet she doesn't hesitate. She stops playing in order to climb on to my lap and hug me.

"Donʼt be sad, mama", she says, and I squeeze her tiny body as if my life depended on it.

She did the same thing back in Peterhof. My condition was a lot poorer then. Her constant presence helped me so much. The other girls would be playing outside, and I knew very well that she wanted to be out there, playing with them. But she stayed. Tatiana has a huge heart, my baby, my most conscientious daughter.

Imagining her future makes me awfully emotional and so very excited. She is so precious and unselfish already, and if I keep guiding her on the right path, she will become an amazing woman, similar to her grandmother Alice, devoted to the poor and suffering. So many scenarios run through my mind! I both dread and hope for the day a similarly kind and devoted man asks for her hand and she is with him as happy as I am right now with her father.

"I am really proud of you", I kiss her cheek. "You are being very good right now, mama feels much better." She smiles so widely after I tell her that, looking so very happy. She is the daughter who took after me the most, but right now I am catching a glimpse of her fatherʼs gentleness. I am so happy.

God has blessed me with everything I need. His will should be done. I simply have to pray He concedes us one more miracle.

Oo

Later, in a moment of human weakness, I donʼt actually go straight to my room. Instead, I stop by the corridor and weep. I weep as I did the day I was told I wasnʼt pregnant. For weeks and months following that cursed day, I would sob in Nickyʼs arms for hours. I would do so alone in my room, walking through the corridors, murmuring to myself as I am doing right now: "Why, why will God not grant me a son?"

Chapter Text

The Alexander Palace, Tsarskoe Selo. Winter, 1902.

Olga Nikolaevna Romanova.

Mama said she had a baby when we were at Peterhof, which is why she looked so fat, but papa then told me there was no baby. Mama has been sad, probably because of the baby, but she looks very, very happy now as we decorate the playroomʼs Christmas tree.

Mama and Maria are playing with the spheres. Across from them, Miss Eagar takes care of my baby sister Anastasia. Soon little Nastya will have long hair as Tatiana, Maria, and I do. I love Anastasia, she is very funny. Last night, Maria told me she tried to jump from her cradle. Only Miss Eagar managed to stop her. I have taught Anastasia how to sing half the alphabet with a song. She does this very well for a one-year-old, although sometimes she changes the lyrics to softly sing my name: "Olga, Olga."

Tatiana and I are standing right next to the basket containing the decorations. She hands me the spheres over to hang on the Christmas tree. My sister and I like to make sure that the different colored spheres are distributed throughout the lower half of the tree in a way that looks pretty.

Now I am placing a red sphere next to a blue sphere, and I am planning to hang a silver one close to both of them after I am done.

"This red sphere looks better next to the green one", Tatiana says.

"No, look", I point at the spheres I just hung on the tree. "The silver one is like white, and if you put it next to the blue one that is next to the red one, the three spheres look like a Russian flag together."

"Oh! True!" Tanechka opens her eyes wide. "That is pretty!"

She gets it as well! I give my sister a sudden hug that causes her to lose balance and stumble. This makes us both laugh.

"Then we can put the green one over here", Tatiana stands on her tiptoes and hangs the green sphere as high up in the tree as she is able to.

Looking up, I catch sight of mama, who is carrying my little sister Mashka so that she can reach the top of the tree and hang the sphere she has in her hand.

"Look at me!" Mashka stretches her arms out. I wave my hand at her. Tatiana turns around, smiles and waves at Maria as well.

I miss being carried like that, but I like knowing I am getting bigger more. Our soldier friends carry us whenever we ask them to do so either way. They don't care about how heavy we are getting. My favorite soldiers are the Cossacks, who wear pretty coats and fur hats and are nice and loyal and friendly to us all. Papa has told me the most interesting things about them. Cossacks are among the many kinds of soldiers who fought Napoleon and kicked him out of Russia.

"You are a bird!" Tanechka flaps her arms up and down, making Maria giggle. I imitate Tanechka, as she and I love pretending to be different things, like cats and butterflies, and people who work, and princesses, but princesses from a magic kingdom where fairies exist. We have been mermaids and fairies too. Yesterday, we were people waving at papa as he passed them by.

Mama smiles at us as she carries my little sister. Maria is very cute and looks so very happy.

"No, you are an angel!" I exclaim, causing Maria to giggle even louder. Her tooth gap is evident even up there. Tatiana, Anastasia, and I have tooth gaps as well. We all inherited them from papa.

"Donʼt move too much girlie", mama cautions Maria as she slowly loses her balance. Maria is very fat because she eats lots of candy and no one can stop her. For this, we used to call her fat little bow-wow. We still do sometimes.

Miss Eagar helps mama by taking my sister Maria and laying her back on the ground.

Maria frequently steals cookies and candies from mamaʼs tea table, always saving some of them for the baby, which isn't nice, but I never complain because then I wouldn't get the leftover sweets she always offers Tatiana and I.

"Did you see?" Maria rushes towards us. Tatiana and I smile and nod. Maria gives me a very tight hug. I hug her back, and just when I am about to rest my head on hers, she jumps.

"I was very tall!" Maria exclaims.

"Yes you were", I agree. She stands on her tiptoes and raises her hands high like a ballerina. I laugh and do the same, also trying but failing to pirouette. I end up falling, causing Tatiana, Maria, and I to burst into laughter. Tatiana helps me stand up after a few seconds.

I like the way ballerinas dance. I wish I could be one when I grow up, but mama says little Grand Duchesses donʼt become dancers. We do have dancing lessons, but ballet is not really the sort of dance we are being taught to be proficient at.

"That was stupid", I turn to look at Tatiana, giggling. "I wish I were a ballerina."

"You donʼt dance very well", she grins. "You would need a teacher."

"I like ballerinas as well", Mashka says. "I want their dresses."

"Me too!" Tatiana agrees.

"That is not the only reason I like ballerinas, Mashka", I stroke my little sisterʼs hair. She looks up at me as if I were really smart, which I enjoy. "They are very good at dancing, and the music they dance to is beautiful, and we Russians are very good at creating ballets."

"Oh, no!" Tatiana laments. She is no longer looking at me but has turned her attention towards the Christmas tree. My jaw drops when I do the same.

Baby Anastasia is ripping the spheres away from where we placed them, laughing as they fall. At least one of them breaks before she moves on to pull down several branches of the tree with her hands. When she lets go, even more spheres fall. Anastasia bursts into laughter, seemingly delighted by this. She joins her hands together and claps.

All those had turned out so pretty. They are ruined. Anastasia ruined our decorations. The red, blue, and white spheres too.

I scream, loudly and for quite some time. I do so directly at my youngest sister. I try to scream louder and louder with each passing second. Anastasia becomes so frightened she rapidly sprints towards mama, who picks her up and immediately begins soothing her. Tatiana covers her ears and frowns. Maria starts crying.

"Olga!" Mama exclaims. "What is that dreadful sound? Stop it now!"

"Mama doesnʼt like that sound", Tatiana scolds me, "it makes her feel bad." I slap my sister without thinking, causing her to cry out and frantically rub her sore cheek with both hands to soothe the sudden pain.

Mama hands Anastasia over to Miss Eagar and then menacingly walks straight towards me. Tatiana clings to her as soon as she gets closer, hugging her legs.

"Look what Anastasia did!" I point at the shattered spheres. All is ruined. It will never be as pretty and perfect again.

"Anastasia is a baby", my mother puts her hands on her hips. She is defending Anastasia after what she did. It is not fair. "Babies are not smart enough to know what they are doing yet. You are seven, a big girlie now, and to be honest I thought you were way past this behavior. You should not scream like that or become angry over tiny things. You are being careless of other peopleʼs feelings, and how dare you slap your sister in the face?"

"What about my feelings?" I try to frown as noticeably as I am able to. Mama needs to know how angry and hurt I am. "And Tatiana was being rude."

"Now you are being selfish darling", mama says. "And Tatiana was the opposite of rude, she was being thoughtful, something you must learn to become yourself, young lady, you are the oldest."

"Mama!" I stomp a foot on the ground out of frustration. My entire leg ends up hurting.

I am not selfish. The baby was being selfish. Maybe she is tiny and doesnʼt know much, but she also has to learn, right? And I can be just as thoughtful as Tatiana… or can I? Anastasia is crying in Miss Eagarʼs arms, and Tatiana is on her tiptoes, comforting her. I search through my memories. Come on, Olga! Think! Times I was more thoughtful than Tatiana… oh no! Maybe I have never been as thoughtful after all! I get the urge to cry.

Suddenly, Maria squeals and rushes to the door. She has a huge grin on her face despite the tears still drying on her cheeks. Papa is here. My frown disappears, but I, too, still have tears in my eyes. I hope mama doesnʼt say anything, I donʼt want papa to be mad at me.

"You should reflect on your behavior, Olga", mama advises me in a low tone of voice. "It is something you might like to confess to the priest this coming year." She proceeds to greet papa, who is now hugging both Maria and Tatiana.

Once mama and papa have kissed, mama says some to papa's ear. My fears have come true.

Oo

Papa and I get ourselves wrapped up in coats and then go outside for a walk in the park. I donʼt like it when papa is his serious self instead of his fun self. I like it when we play together and he laughs at my jokes. Now is not the time for jokes though.

Papa scolds me for yelling at the baby and slapping Tatiana. He inquires about my upcoming confession. I assure him I am already writing my sins down as he and my catechism master recommended. This way, I wonʼt fail to remember my sinful thoughts and actions.

I definitely won't forget to write my recent sin down either. I love God and donʼt want Him to be sad about me doing bad things… I just donʼt want to apologize to mama or my sisters yet. I am too scared, not of not being forgiven, for I know they will forgive me, I am scared of not deserving their forgiveness, which might be the way I will feel about God forgiving me when the time comes.

Why am I always bad? It is true that Tatiana didnʼt deserve the slap, and maybe Anastasia didnʼt deserve to be frightened either.

I miss Tatiana already. We are never apart for too long. I am a bit bored without her, and the worst part of it all is that I just thought of a new game to play with her, but she is not here and... oh, no! I hope she doesn't finish decorating the Christmas tree before I am back!

"You should always be courteous, Olga", papa holds my hand as we walk through the park, and despite having scolded me a while ago, he doesnʼt look angry at all. "Regardless of whether it is only I, your mama, your nannies, or your sisters around. I know you are already nice to most strangers, as you are a very gentle-hearted and caring girl."

I smile and hug his arm when he says that. It means so much to me that I can't help but let out a sob, and when I do, he puts his other arm around me.

"But you should also be nice to the people you see every day, the people who take care of you, your mama and sisters," papa strokes my hair. "They all love you very much and will always be there for you no matter where you find yourself in."

"Like Babushka and her sister Alexandra, right?" I pull away from the hug and wipe my tears. My grandmotherʼs sister is the Queen of England. Babushka has shown us tons of pictures of her and our cousins in England. "They were Danish princesses before marrying, grandma told us everything. They would wear big wide dresses when they were younger, as that was the fashion in their days. And then Alexandra met Prince Edward and grandma met grandpa, and all of them knew my great great great great grandmother Victoria."

"Exactly", papa smiles at me. "But Queen Victoria was only your great grandmother, Olga, not your great, great, great…"

Papa canʼt finish the sentence, because he and I are soon laughing. Sometimes it is hard to remember how many 'greats' go before grandmother.

"But great great great grandmothers exist, right?" I ask.

"Sure", papa nods. "It depends on how many generations back you go. Nicholas I was my great grandfather, Pavel I was my great-great-grandfather…"

"And Catherine was your Great great great great grandmother!" I exclaim.

"No, Olga, you added an extra 'great'… oh! I see what you did there, my bright girl!" I feel papa picking me up and soon enough I am being spun around.

This is so fun! I love papa. He lays me down gently after a while, but I am so dizzy I just fall into the snow, making papa laugh. I decide to make an angel.

"So the old person gets one 'great' more every time a descendant is born", I extend my arms and legs in the snow.

"That is right", papa smiles down at me.

"Papa, will you be a great grandfather one day?"

"I hope so", he offers me a hand and I take it to stand up. "It implies at least one of you is going to give me grandchildren."

"I will give you lots of grandchildren if you want!" I straighten up, and I start missing my baby sister Anastasia. I do want to have a baby like her when I am older, all smiling and happy.

"I know you will", he grins. "And you will make some European prince very lucky someday, giving him lots of heirs."

"European?" I ask. "Canʼt he be Russian like you?"

"We will have to see when the time comes, dear."

"If I do marry a European prince, will I have to live somewhere else?"

"Well, that is how it works, but donʼt trouble your little mind with such things yet, you are only seven." Papa is chuckling by the time he finishes the sentence.

"Can I bring Tanechka when I go live abroad with my prince?" I ask.

"Sure, if Tatiana marries a prince from the same country", papa laughs. I am not satisfied with that response.

"If Tanechka is not allowed to come with me to the country of my prince", I frown, "I am getting a disvorce."

"You are getting… a what?!" Papa's eyes widen.

"A disvorce, like Cousin Ellaʼs parents."

"Where did you hear that word?"

"At Aunt Xeniaʼs", I reveal, proud to be in the know about something not even papa is aware of. "Aunt Xenia was talking to grandmamma about Uncle Ernie's disvorce and I hid to listen to them. No one saw me!"

"Do you know what that word means?" Papaʼs voice is shaking. He seems nervous.

"It is when the mommy and the daddy go to live in different places", I reply. "Poor Cousin Ella."

Papa nods. "Well, donʼt let your mama know you are aware of this", he says. "It is a very sad matter, and you donʼt want to make your mother sad, do you?"

I shake my head.

"Do you want to go back now?" He asks me.

"No!" I yell.

I love carrying baby Anastasia in my arms. I love holding her little hands as I help her walk and run around. I love playing with her. But what if she hates me now?

Papa gives me a sad look, but he doesnʼt say anything. We keep walking and eventually come across a bench by the side of the road. We sit down and, after a while, something occurs to me.

"Papa!" I exclaim.

"What is it?" He asks.

"Do you think Father Christmas will bring me presents after what I did?!"

I donʼt actually care about the presents, I just donʼt want mama and Tatiana to say that they told me so when they do open their presents on Christmas morning, and I want my sisters and I to play together with our new presents. The four of us.

"Of course, my dear", papa replies with a gentle smile that calms all of my fears. "You have mostly been good this year and even prior, you are a very Christian girl, remember that time you were riding a car and saw a poor little girl crying in the street?"

"I threw my doll at her", I finish the story for him. "I thought maybe Santa hadnʼt given her any presents." I hope she liked the doll. I, too, liked it, but she needed it more. I hope she still plays with it.

"But you have to apologize to your sisters and mother, the same way we all ought to ask God to forgive our sins. That sound you made hurts mamaʼs head, you know that, right?"

"Yes, papa", I rest my head on his shoulder. We stay silent for a while.

Suddenly, a new thought crosses my mind.

"Papa, isnʼt witchcraft a sin?" I ask.

"Yes, of course", papa replies.

"Then why did the Shah of Persia send a witch to our palace in Crimea?"

The magician I am asking papa about performed tricks at a childrenʼs party. My sisters and I had a lot of fun watching him, for he did plenty of amazing things. He produced a pair of live pigeons from a pudding! After that, using only one hand, he grabbed a cute little guinea pig he had brought with him to carry out his enchantments and covered the tiny creature with his other hand for just a second, after which there were not one but two guinea pigs in his hand!

I wanted one of those fluffy little animals so badly! Tatiana and Maria did as well, so we got on the platform where he was performing. Tanechka was insistent: "Oh! Please, Mr. Conjuror, make me a guinea pig for myself!" But Miss Eagar told us that the little guinea pigs were so fond of their master they would be sad if taken away, so we went back to the hall.

Princess Helen enjoyed the show as much as we did. Mama liked it as well and even congratulated the performer, but I donʼt understand why. She takes all of Godʼs rules seriously.

Papa starts laughing out loud before I am even done recalling the party. He then clarifies that magicians are no witches, as they don't actually practice magic.

"How did he make the guinea pigs appear then?" I ask.

"I donʼt know, my dear", papa shrugs. "That is the real magic of magicians, they are able to perform extraordinary deeds without magic." I smile at papa because I love him too much not to, but his was not really a good answer.

I want to know how the magician made those pigeons and guinea pigs appear. Maybe my cousin Irina will help me figure it out when I see her and her little brothers again one of these days. My Tanechka is very smart, but Irina is older. I hope I can see my cousins soon. My cousins are a lot of fun to be around because they play very cheerful games. Besides, Aunt Xenia just had another baby boy named Rostislav, and I love babies.

"Are you excited for Christmas?" Papaʼs question distracts me from my thoughts.

"Yes, papa!" I jump from the bench. "For both of them!"

"I am glad to hear", papa also stands up. We keep walking.

"I am glad we are Russian so that we can have two Christmases", I say. "Cousin Ella says in Germany they donʼt have two Christmases", my words make papa chuckle. "You do know why we have two Christmases, right papa?"

"Oh, I do know, but I would like to hear why from you."

"We Russians use the Julian calendar, while other countries use the Gregorian calendar, which was created later. Our Christmas falls on January the 7th in the Gregorian calendar because it is thirteen days ahead of ours."

"That is right", papa nods. Talking with him about Christmas has made me miss Tatiana more than ever. I miss mama as well.

"I think I want to go back, papa", I admit. "I will tell mama that I am sorry." He asks me whether I am sure, and I assure him that I am.

"Do the two calendars confuse you when you are working?" I ask him as we turn around and start walking back towards the palace.

"Sometimes", he admits with a chuckle. "But I think our relatives abroad get confused more often." I giggle at that, imagining what it must be like for them.

"I hope Uncle Willy is very confused", I grin. Papa laughs out loud. I do too. Uncle Willy is the German Emperor, but we donʼt like him very much because he is very, very strange. He is obsessed with parades and always acts silly.

"What are you working on now, papa?" I inquire once the laughter subsides. I have always been interested in papaʼs job.

"I have been reading reports relating to the Far East", he replies.

"Oh! Is that like China? What is it about?"

We continue discussing his duties as we approach the palace. I like talking to papa about important, grown-up things.

The guards recognize and let us in, and as we walk through the long halls and towards the playroom, I can only think of how much I want to see my sisters again. I long to tell Tatiana stories so that we can recreate them with our dolls. Tatiana builds the best dollhouses using only sheets. I want to teach little Mashka things and make cute baby Anastasia laugh. I can only hope she is not too scared of me now...

But first I have to apologize to them, to my poor mama as well.

"This is going to be a magic Christmas", I tell papa as we arrive at the playroom. "It is not really magic, magic, though."

Mama will always love and forgive me, all while still wishing for me to be better. Her love is like Godʼs. I think of this as I spin my little Anastasia around and then play with her by chasing her throughout the room. I will be playing with her all evening, for she is the best at this game. Tatiana and Maria can come up with new pretty decorations.

The most magic part about tonight is that papa and mama are both playing with us four in the playroom.

Chapter Text

Moscow. July 17, 1918.

Doroteya Filippovna Lavrova.

After spending another happy Christmas with their daughters, Nicholas and Alexandra prepared themselves for a very special ball, a 17th-century imperial costume ball. It took place at the Winter Palace on January 22, 1903, or February 4 according to the new calendar.

The sheer opulence of the ball was near blinding, as it meant to celebrate 290th anniversary of the Romanov dynasty. The Tsar invited 390 guests, and the festivities lasted two days. The first day featured feasting and dancing, and a masked ball was held on the second, the steps of which had been rehearsed with anticipation. Everyone assisted wearing traditional imperial Russian clothing from the 17th century. Court ladies wore long loose dresses embroidered with precious stones and kokoshnik headdresses adorned with the finest family jewels, while the men donned richly decorated caftans and boyar-style fur hats.

The costumes were designed with the help of historical consultants. Emperor Nicholas disguised himself as his ancestor Alexei I. Following suit, Alexandra dressed like Maria Miloslavskaya, Alexeiʼs first wife. Peter Carl Fabergé chose the jewelry, including Tsarina Alexandraʼs pearls, the enormous emerald on her brocaded dress, and her diamond and emerald-studded crown.

Fabergé is a Russian jeweler who was well known among the upper classes for his famous jeweled eggs. The ostentatious objects look like real, painted Easter eggs. The Romanovs were great enthusiasts of Fabergé's art, and used to gift each other the most beautiful eggs. From the same maker, Alexandraʼs headwear was so heavy she was barely able to move her head, but quite amazingly, she was able to dance.

It was the last great spectacular ball in the history of the empire. While the aristocrats danced, the workers were striking, and the clouds over the Far East were hanging dangerously low. Soon, a great economic crisis would mark the beginning of the end for the Russian Empire.

Oo

Other than Tatiana badly injuring herself by pinching her leg while standing up on a car, the early part of the year went on as usual with few incidents. The family travelled to Moscow for Easter, the greatest and most important festivity in Russia.

Easter holds great significance for Christians all over the world and is also my favorite holiday. Every Passion Week, the Romanovs would receive Holy Communion in Moscow. In preparation for it, one has to fast for seven days, going to church both morning and evening. Then comes the confession of sins to a priest in order to receive absolution.

The rite of confirmation is administered immediately after baptism, and children up to the age of seven can receive communion every month. After that age, confession and churchgoing are essential before receiving communion.

All of the imperial children attended church with their parents fairly often. With time, they learned to comprehend and appreciate the significance of the rituals performed at mass. Aged seven, Grand Duchess Olga was already rather attentive to everything that was said during each service, and she enjoyed telling everyone about it: "The priest prayed for mama and papa, and Tatiana and me, the soldiers and the sailors, the poor sick people, and the apples and pears." The young girl would then ask her parents numerous questions.

Oo

To keep the children quiet, Alexandra used to make them think of things so that she could later guess what those things were. Olga always thought of the Sun, the sky, the rain, or anything celestial, and would explain to her mother that it made her very happy to think of those things. They might have reminded her of God.

Ever since she had learnt how to talk, Olga had loved pointing her fingers at specific words written on books or sheets of paper and asking the adults around her for their meaning, later searching for and finding the same words on other places and enthusiastically telling everyone about it. She had always been a sensitive and intelligent child, so much so that her relentless curiosity had urged Margaretta Eagar to start educating her at the tender age of four.

One time, the sharp little Olga woke Miss Eagar up right after midnight to know how the water came upstairs into the bathroom. On another occasion, Miss Eagar taught Olga the multiplication table.

The Empress had thought it too bad that five-year-old Olga was able to read English but not Russian, and thereupon had gotten her a master, an aged Archbishop and famous theologian but also a very simple-minded old man. When he had been teaching the girl for a few days, he came to Miss Eagar and said: "You know this dear child so well that I feel almost convinced that you know what I have just discovered. The dear child is inspired!"

Miss Eagar gasped.

"I wanted to teach her the multiplication table", the master proceeded to explain, "and judge my surprise when I found out that she knew it already!"

He was very thankful when Miss Eagar informed him that she had taught Olga the multiplication table.

"I was troubled about it", he said, "for I did not see how I could teach one who was already taught supernaturally."

But Olga could also be obstinate and even irrational at times. One Christmas, despite Margaretta's attempts to convince her otherwise, the little Grand Duchess insisted on making a kettle-holder for her father, something that, of course, wouldn't be of any use to him. It had a picture of a little kettle singing on a fire, which she had embroidered around as a blue frame, and the little girl was very happy with her accomplishment. When Christmas came, she presented it to her father Nicholas II, saying: "Nanny was afraid that it wasn't going to be much use to you because it's a kettle-holder, but you can put it on your table and use it as a placemat, or hang it on the wall for a picture. Just see the pretty little frame around it."

Oo

When Grand Duchess Olga was seven, she made her first confession during the Lent of I903 and received a gift from the children of Moscow, an icon of the Virgin Mary. The little Olga was incredibly religious for her age, so this made her immensely happy.

All of the imperial children would get to do the same once they reached the age of seven.

Oo

A Midnight Mass is celebrated the night between Easter Saturday and Sunday. It lasts for about three hours. The atmosphere during the mass is sad at the beginning as the churchgoers mourn the death of Christ at the cross and reflect on its significance. Exactly at midnight, the priest chants: "Christ is risen," and the choir chants back: "He is risen indeed." People kiss each other, and in a moment, the scene is changed from sorrow and mourning to joy and gladness. The four little girls cherished every minute of it. On Sunday, the fast is broken and everyone celebrates with a feast the resurrection of our Lord. Church bells can be heard all day long. That day, the Emperor would kiss all of the men in the imperial household and the Empress would kiss all of the women.

Throughout the Easter week, hardboiled eggs are painted. The little Grand Duchesses used to do this as well. Whenever you meet with an acquaintance you are supposed to say: "Christ is risen", to which the person replies: "He is risen indeed", and then eggs are exchanged. It is such an amazing time of the year! All little children love painting eggs.

Oo

One day, still during Eastertide, Miss Eagar and the little Grand Duchesses were driving on a carriage through the Nevsky Prospect, one of the main streets of St. Petersburg.

Seven-year-old Olga was being very naughty, standing up and then sitting back down on the moving carriage, a very dangerous thing to do. Five-year-old Tatiana was already exhibiting signs of having a meeker and more obedient personality, and she had recently been hurt while standing up in a car. She looked between her older sister and her nanny with a cheeky grin of admiration, but she didn't participate in Olga's antics. Three-year-old Maria only smiled, and Anastasia was, of course, just a toddler back then.

Miss Eagar was struggling to control Olga when a policeman passed nearby. The little girl suddenly sat down without coercing and folded her arms in front of her.

"Did you see that policeman?" Olga asked her nanny.

"Yes, dear", Margaretta Eagar replied. "But that is nothing extraordinary, the police can do you no harm, he has no right to touch you.”

"But this one was writing something", the child insisted. "I was afraid he might have been writing 'I saw Olga, and she was very naughty.'" The governess smiled.

"That is very unlikely", Margaretta assured her.

"But one time I saw the police arresting a woman, and I asked you to tell them not to hurt her and you said that it was right for them to arrest her because she was being really naughty."

"That is because the woman was very drunk in the streets dear", Miss Eagar explained. "You have to do something really big and really naughty before the police take you to prison. It is possible to live your whole life without going there."

When she returned home, Olga asked everyone if the policeman had come or asked for her. She then told her father the entire story.

"Papa, have you ever been a prisoner?" The little girl asked the Emperor. Nicholas laughed.

"I have never been quite naughty enough to go to prison", the proud father replied.

"Oh! How very good you must have been, too", Olga remarked.

Oo

When the family left Moscow and returned to Tsarskoye Selo, Alexandra and the girls developed whooping cough.

Margaretta Eagar told the children they were to be most careful not to cough on anyone, for otherwise that person might take the disease from them. The four girls were very obedient at the beginning, but one day, the little Grand Duchess Anastasia was sitting on her nanny's lap, coughing and choking away, when the Grand Duchess Maria came to her and, putting her face close up to her, said: "Baby, darling, cough on me."

Greatly amazed, the nanny asked Maria what she had meant.

"I am so sorry to see my dear little sister so ill", the girl responded, "and I thought if I could take it from her she would be better."

So incredibly sweet.

Oo

Tatiana was quieter than her sisters but no less endearing or playful. She was completely devoted to both her family and the people who served her.

Being very weak because of her illness, the five-year-old Tatiana was ordered a great deal of nourishment, mainly beef-juice, but it was difficult for her to swallow it. One day, she innocently asked Miss Eagar if she had made the juice. Margaretta Eagar drew a picture of the cook in the kitchen making it. His big knife cutting the beef figured in it conspicuously. Tatiana was greatly interested in the image.

"Would it give the cook pleasure if I drank it?" She asked.

"It would give him the greatest pleasure, my dear", Miss Eagar replied, hoping to encourage the girl to drink.

"Send for the cook then", Tatiana demanded in such a grown-up and dignified way that Margaretta couldn't help but indulge her.

The chef came into the room.

"Monsieur Cubat, did you make this beef-juice?" Tatiana asked him.

"One of the young cooks made it, Your Imperial Highness", Chef Cubat replied.

"Well, send him up and tell him to wear his big knife," was the little girlʼs following request. The little cook came up.

"Little cook," the young Grand Duchess said once he had entered the room, "you made me this beef-juice. Well, stand there and see me drink it." Tatiana did so, gave him the empty cup as soon as she was done, and then let him go. Miss Eagar was astonished by such lack of manners.

"Tatiana", she scolded her charge, "it was very naughty of you to give the young man that much trouble just to have him watch you drink the beef-juice".

"Well", the child replied with a shrug. "You said it would give him pleasure if I drank it, and I certainly did not want to make him cry."

Oo

The illness caused Grand Duchess Tatiana to have difficulty sleeping, so her nanny would be up a good portion of every night to soothe her. Invariably, Tatiana would ask Margaretta to sing for her.

"Rock of Ages" was the song of choice for many consecutive nights until the little girl finally refused to listen to it anymore. Thereupon, Miss Eagar fell back upon a song called "Villikins" that interested Tatiana very much. The ballad was about two lovers committing suicide after being parted by parental interference.

"Why did poor Dinah drink the poison cold?" The innocent girl would often ask in reference to the female protagonist of the song, the dark implication of which she did not fully grasp.

"She had not time to warm it, darling", Miss Eagar used to tell her. "Now, go to sleep."

One night, however, Tatiana's inquiries went further: "Why didn't she get her nana to warm it for her? You would have warmed it for me, wouldn't you?"

Oo

On one occasion, the four girls were being made ready to go out and Miss Eagar left them for a moment to get Tatianaʼs coat. Upon returning, she saw another nurse shaking the girl.

"How dare you shake Tatiana?" Eagar exclaimed. "You are paid to take care of her, not to correct her!"

Tatiana opened her eyes wide and turned them towards Margaretta.

"She is paid?" The distraught child asked her.

"Yes", the governess replied. "She is paid and I, also, am paid."

Hearing that, the little Tatiana put her head on her nurseʼs shoulder and started weeping bitterly. Miss Eagar was flummoxed.

"You have seen me get my money every month", Margaretta tried to tell Tatiana.

"I always thought it was a gift to you!" The little Grand Duchess cried.

A long explanation followed. The child was informed that it was necessary for the nannies and governesses to be paid, as they had no wealth of their own and their way of earning money was to look after children.

When Miss Eagar woke up the next morning, Tatiana was standing by her bed.

"May I get into your bed?" The child pleaded, and as she cuddled down in the arms of Margaretta, she remarked: "Anyway, you don't get paid for this."

Oo

Tatiana was very sensitive. She was also exceptionally polite for her age and expected the same in return. One day, the children and their nanny were walking in the garden of the Winter Palace. The Emperor had some beautiful collie dogs that were exercising in the garden as well. One of them, a young untrained creature, jumped on Tatiana's back and threw her down.

The child was frightened and cried most bitterly. The nanny lifted her up and exclaimed:

"Poor Sheilka! She did not mean to hurt you, she only wanted to say 'Good-morning' to you!"

Still in tears, the child looked up at Margaretta and said: "Was that all? I don't think she is very polite. She could have said it to my face, not to my back."

Some sense of humor she had!

Oo

One of my favorite visions of the four girls took place on board of the Standart. I think it happened in 1903, because little Anastasia was already looking and acting like a two-year-old. Walking very well, saying lots of words.

Seven-year-old Olga, five or six-year-old Tatiana, three or four-year-old Maria, and little Anastasia were playing on the deck, wearing their cute sailor shirts and skirts.

The Grand Duchesses were playing and dancing with the sailors as usual when their mother asked them to stay still so that she could take a picture of them. Olga was about to sit down with her youngest sister on her lap when Anastasia untangled herself from her grasp and started running over the deck. Promptly, Olga, Tatiana, Maria, and some of the sailors began chasing the tiny giggling toddler around. It was incredibly amusing, as Anastasia was quite a fast runner. It was the Emperor who stopped the little girl, carrying her back to Alexandra. Needless to say, the four girls had a lot of fun that day.

Over the course of the year, the girls played a lot with their cousins, a usual occurrence whenever they visited them or the other way around. On one occasion, Olga and Irina did something very funny together while the other children played outside. The two little girls experimented on some stuffed animals to see whether they could make them look as if they had just appeared or disappeared, just like a magician would.

Oo

One of the few problems the sovereigns faced in 1903 had to do with Grand Duke Cyril Vladimirovich, the son of Grand Duchess Maria Pavlovna the elder and Grand Duke Vladimir Alexandrovich, Nicholas's uncle.

Nicholas loved and admired his uncle for his intelligence and sophistication, and Miechen had convinced Alexandra to become orthodox. In spite of this, I think Alexandra might have been a bit mistrustful of their side of the family even then. The way she sometimes spoke to her husband about them often betrayed fear.

Besides Cyril, Maria Pavlovna had two more sons, Boris and Andrei, as well as a daughter named Helena. Alexandra had no sons to succeed her husband, and therefore Miechenʼs sons had a good chance of doing so. Unlike Alexandra, who was was very shy and hated society, Maria Pavlovna loved hosting concerts, magnificent balls, and several other entertainments at her residence, Vladimir Palace, a court of her own. In time, Miechen would become more popular than the Empress herself.

Nicholas and Alexandra had friendly interactions with their relatives, but they were very different from them. Maria Pavlovna and Alexandra Feodorovna were complete opposites. The women's attitudes concerning their duties as members of the imperial family were at odds.

Miechen loved and exploited the glamour to the fullest, believing that princesses should be leaders of both fashion and society. She regarded the luxurious lifestyle her family enjoyed as an indicator of the power and wealth of the country. A duty as well as a pleasure. The Vladimir Palace was filled with treasures set out in glass cases inside Miechenʼs dressing-room. Diamonds, emeralds, rubies, and pearls.

The Tsarina had jewels too, but she disliked the wealthy, the aristocratic, and the powerful. She believed that the monarchy had to devote itself to the poorest people of the country, the "real" people. Her most cherished virtues were honesty, simplicity, and profound religious faith. This did not sit well among Maria Pavlovna's sophisticated circles. The Russian aristocracy could not understand why on Earth Empress Alexandra knitted scarves and shawls as presents for her friends when she had seemingly endless money to spend.

All through life Maria had been cherished, adulated, and spoiled. She would spend what she could. Every luxury, comfort, honor, and advantage her position offered was fully embraced. She knew exactly what to wear for each occasion, never making a mistake. An atmosphere of endless prosperity emanated from "Empress Miechen". It was as if she were the undisputed center of her own world, and she truly seemed to expect everyone around her to treat her with the same devotion she treated herself.

Being a second place to Alexandra, someone who came across as inept by her standards, would end up embittering Maria Pavlovna and bringing out the worst in her character.

Vladimir Alexandrovich had his differences with Nicholas as well. It had been hard for the Grand Duke to accept his duty to obey his inexperienced nephew, someone he had known as a child. Back in 1897, Grand Duchess Maria Pavlova had entertained some of her friends in the imperial box at the Mariinsky Theater, something she didnʼt have permission to do and showed a huge lack of respect for the new sovereign.

In the aftermath, Nicholas wrote a letter to his uncle asserting that the recent occurrence should never be repeated. The Tsar lamented how unfair it had been of them to take advantage of the fact he was young and their nephew. Nicholas reminded Vladimir of who the actual head of the family was and of the fact a Tsar could not turn a blind eye to what he considered inappropriate behavior. He also begged his uncle to help him keep the family firm and united.

It seems ironic now.

Oo

Miechenʼs eldest son, Cyril, was pursuing a career in the Russian navy. He would also prove to be a bit of a trouble maker. Cyril was passionately in love with Victoria Melita, Alexandra's cousin and former sister-in-law. In July of 1903, he asked Nicholas for permission to marry her.

Nicholas refused. Not only was Victoria Cyrilʼs first cousin, but she was also a divorced woman. Victoria Melita wouldnʼt fulfill her long-time wish of marrying her cousin Cyril Vladimirovich, at least not that year.

Oo

By mid-1903, everything was going well on the surface. Seemingly having overcome their disappointment over the distressing events of the previous year, Nicholas and Alexandra came across as exceptionally cheerful, especially when around their girls.

The storm clouds gathered very silently.

Chapter Text

Ekaterinburg, spring of 1903.

Gleb Stephanovich Vaganov finds it way too hard to focus on whatever his history teacher is saying. The twelve-year-oldʼs attention is mainly directed at the portrait on top of the blackboard.

The boyʼs father, Stephen, is not just a Marxist. He is one of those people who place their entire identity on a single ideal or goal. Stephenʼs main goal is to make sure Gleb becomes a dedicated revolutionary, ready to spread his political ideas amongst the workers.

Gleb spent many hours sitting on his father's knee back when he was small and light enough to do that, but he didn't grow up listening to stories or fairytales. He grew up learning about dialectic materialism, alienation, value, exchange value, surplus value, and class struggle.

Stephen Gavrilovich Vaganov has had a hard life. His education started and ended in a parish elementary school, but most of what he knows he had to teach himself. Stephen was far younger than his son Gleb is now when he started working. The manʼs hands are filled with blisters after decades of hard labor and his back muscles ache from work hours that are as long as the wages are low.

Gleb is proud of his father's hard work, and he is proud of the fact he can at least say he also works on the weekends.

The child knows he is supposed to do something so-called greater with his life, which is what his parents want, but there is nothing as admirable in his eyes as toiling like his father or other people like him do. The people that really make the world go round without even knowing it because fate has cruelly separated them from everything they create, because they donʼt own the machines, the materials, the lands. The means of production. The working class people are alienated from everything they do and how they do it, from the fruits of their labor and even their fellow men, as capitalism replaces cooperation with competition. They are alienated from creativity, as being distanced from everything else makes them unable to reach their full potential. They struggle to simply survive.

Gleb likes to make poems about them and everything they are deprived of. He writes poems about many things, but he has to hide those he is most passionate about.

The boy knows there are people who have it worse. There are poorer families, starving families in both cities and the countryside. There are children dying young from preventable illnesses due to unhygienic conditions in the slums they are forced to live in. There are factory owners who pay less than even his poor father is paid. There are owners who break the few regulations put in place for greater profit and there is little the government does about it. And the Tsar. The Tsar is the head of the system that allows all of this to happen.

Gleb was taught about these facts the way most children are taught how to say their prayers. And so, Gleb canʼt focus, not when there is a tyrant on top of the blackboard.

Nicholas II stares at the entire classroom with his big, bulging blue eyes. Gleb is able to see the portrait clearly even at the back, where he is seated. He is able to discern every feature in Nicholasʼs face better than many, but it is the Tsarʼs eyes that bother him the most.

Gleb has a problem with eyes in general.

There are about 25 students in the classroom, all of them boys. All dressed up in black pants, white shirts, and long black buttoned coats that reach their ankles. They are also supposed to be wearing a cap, but very few students wear it inside the building. Gleb does. Why wouldnʼt he? It is part of the school uniform.

Each of the children has a desk and a chair to sit on. There are two huge windows in the right wall, and no curtains hide the fact that it is the middle of the day. Two big maps hang on the left wall, one of these depicting the entire Russian Empire. The other one focuses on Ekaterinburg, their city, as well as its surroundings, which include the famous Urals, a mountain range that runs from north to south between the Asian and European territories of Russia. All members of Glebʼs small family are from Ekaterinburg or the city's outskirts.

Glebʼs mother, Elena, has had an easy life when compared to that of her husband, but she has also worked hard for everything she is grateful to have now. She still does. Elena comes from the countryside, and when the crops of her village failed, her parents sent her and her younger brother to work in the city. Elena's brother came back, but she met Stephen.

Back when her parents were still alive, Elena would visit her childhood home with her son and husband quite frequently. Now they are mostly unable to do so, but Gleb remembers the village fondly. It was beautiful, colorful, easy.

Gleb misses his motherʼs village so, so much. He misses his babushka, Elena's mother. He loved watching the old woman cook her vegetable soups and work on her embroidery. Gleb remembers his grandfather a bit less but knows he liked to weave his own shoes using tree branches. He weaved baskets as well. They didn't last long but were quite easy to make. Elena's father would also make wooden spoons, selling them later at the marketplace.

Gleb remembers how green the village and its surroundings were during the summers. He remembers running through the beautiful wildflowers in the open fields, the towering trees. Playing with wooden horses and bathing in the river with the other children. Gleb had no idea what to talk to them about, but they werenʼt cruel, and they played with Gleb. For him, that meant the world.

The twelve-year-old is finally beginning to realize most people find him strange. Even peasants called him "peculiar" in secret, not that Gleb knows about that. This "peculiar" boy in question never quite managed to master the art of conversation or social interaction in general.

Gleb is interested in many things. He loves all kinds of music, especially cherishing Russian music, the music peasants played in their free time. He is fascinated by poetry and plays the piano.

So, Gleb has, in theory, an endless repertoire of interesting subjects to talk about, but for that, one first needs to find the "right" topic for each different circumstance, for each different person. One needs to understand there is a right time and place to talk about certain things. For Gleb, this is almost impossible. Particularly hard is talking to children his age, children not as well versed in Glebʼs interests.

The children of the countryside were kind despite having little in common with Gleb. The moments when he was supposed to smile or laugh were clearer. The rules he had to follow to interact with people were simpler.

The poor peasants, Gleb remembers, were happy, humble and hardworking despite everything they had been made to go through under the yoke of the landowners, the filthy rich peasants who did very little and still got everything the poorer farmers sweated and died for.

The Tsar loves those landowners, Gleb thinks. He lies down as the peasantsʼ children die in epidemics or from lack of medical care during childbirth. The Tsar loves the aristocracy before the common people, the bourgeoisie before the workers. The rich before the poor. He would rather die before offending any of the higher sectors of society because he relies on them to keep him in power.

Gleb loves reading about his country. Its history and traditions, its people and nature. Its beauty, which for Gleb includes the vast Siberia. Maybe it means Siberia first and foremost, but he knows the Tsar only cares for the region's resources and how to best exploit the workers to make good use of them. All so he can brag about his success, which is not his. At all.

The Tsar only cares about how good of a prison Siberia is. That is one of the things Glebʼs beautiful home is best known for, being on the road towards prison. Everyone knows how bad Siberiaʼs winters are. Few Westerners know how beautiful the Urals look from the distance, or how Siberia has cities with churches, factories, houses, hotels, schools, and shops just like everyone else.

The Tsar and his fear of his own people are the sole cause of Siberiaʼs bad reputation, and his fear is not unfounded. Gleb knows one day, the people will rise up. There will be a revolution, and his family will play a part in it.

Nicholas wears his fancy army uniform with evident pride. It is decorated with awards he probably did little to earn. Not that any of Glebʼs rich classmates would care. He doesnʼt even understand very well what they do care about. Whenever he tries to participate in the activities other boys seem to enjoy, such as playing football or wrestling, Gleb always ends up saying something insensitive without meaning to. And they definitely donʼt like hearing about class struggle like his fatherʼs grown-up friends do.

These kids are so attached to their privilege, the boy decides, that they naturally become upset upon being made aware of it, as discreetly as Gleb is forced to inform his peers of this truth by the circumstances.

Gleb prefers to exercise alone, practicing everything he has learned at gymnastics everyday. The other kids tease Gleb, claiming he sucks despite the fact he has the best marks. The boy is well aware some of his classmates tease him, but he has trouble understanding that the ones asserting he is bad at gymnastics are also poking fun at him, so listening to their mockery only inspires Gleb to practice harder.

Yes, sometimes Gleb prefers to be alone. He can read or simply think about the things that truly interest him without worrying about the person he is talking to not responding, something that, as time went on, Gleb figured out meant they were not invested in the conversation. He obsessed for weeks about the times the same thing must have happened without him noticing. He obsessed about what it had meant. What had those people thought of him?

Right now, the other boys in the classroom are talking too much, too loud. They annoy Gleb almost as much as the portrait does. He wants to bang his head against the table, but he has learned to deal with stress by using different means.

Gleb starts twirling the pen around with his fingers. He doesnʼt stop unless the teacher is dictating, which is when Gleb scratches his hair with his left hand instead or simply bites that same hand, the hand he is not using to write.

He canʼt hear what the old teacher is saying anymore. The other kids are chattering louder than ever. Is he dictating or just explaining? What if he misses something and doesnʼt write it down?

Gleb starts biting his hand.

"Look! He is doing it again!" One of the boys behind him giggles.

Maksim Ilinovich. Of course that is who he is, Gleb thinks. Maksimʼs father owns several metalworking factories, profiting off the labor of hundreds of innocent people without an ounce of regret.

Of course Maksim is also the one who picks on him the most, and whenever he is not doing so, he is bragging about his toys. His parents give him something new almost every week, all while some of Glebʼs neighbors have no toys to speak of.

Now Maksim and his friends are ruining their wood desks by using a coin to scratch some childish drawing on the surface. Gleb is willing to bet their stupid, so-called sketch will consist of male genitalia, because for some reason, they think that is really funny. Gleb doesnʼt.

Gleb knows the teachers will probably turn a blind eye to it. They might erase the drawing by scratching the surface further, but no one will be punished for making it because Maksimʼs father donates a considerable amount of money to the school every year.

Their scratching is making more noise than ever, but the professor is so old he is almost deaf. Gleb is beginning to grow anxious. For some reason, loud sounds bother him more than they bother most people, especially when they are irritating. The sound of that coin scratching the wood off the desk definitely counts as irritating.

He prefers to study alone as well, to review everything after class. That is what works. He has fairly decent grades in every subject. He just canʼt concentrate like this.

Gleb hates school and tells himself he hates all of his classmates as well. That way, he can acknowledge the fact he has no friends without feeling sad. None of the kids around him appreciate their education. They take it for granted instead. Not that Gleb particularly enjoys history, or likes the teacher who is lecturing them all right now.

Gleb likes chemistry and math better. Numbers and elements he can measure to know for sure he has the right answer.

This history teacher doesnʼt teach the truth anyway, Gleb thinks. He praises their oppressive, imperialistic, and capitalistic system. Papa and mama know the truth. They have better books, the right books, free copies they smuggle around their workplace.

Glebʼs parents have books explaining why everything is the way it is, why there are poor people in the world. Most of those books are illegal, but Stephen has successfully taught Gleb that only books containing the truth are banned.

Sitting behind Gleb are Maksim and four of his friends. Gleb knows they are whispering things amongst themselves. He is painfully aware, as the sound of whispers is one of the most irritating for the boy. The fact Maksim and his friends are brainstorming ways to torment Gleb is unbeknownst to him though. They love doing that because no other outcast at school is as fun to bully.

Gleb often reacts with confusion instead of anger, something the boys find amusing. In the few occasions Gleb does manage to deduce Maksim and his friends are, indeed, trying to push him around on purpose, Gleb becomes easily upset, and this sensitivity makes him the perfect target.

A piece of paper hits the back of Glebʼs head and falls on the floor almost immediately. Annoyed, Gleb turns around in search of the person who did it. Maksim and his friends are laughing.

Maybe it was an accident, Gleb thinks. It must have been some sort of game directed at one of the boys in front of him, because Gleb isnʼt friends with Maksim or any of the other lads in the back. Not that Gleb would want to be their friend now, he reminds himself.

But still, he remembers the way it felt to long for friendship. Gleb tried. He tried explaining things to his peers as much as he could without revealing too much about his parents. He did this so that they could be on the right side of history when the time came. They simply mocked him. It just took too long for Gleb to even realize they were mocking him.

"Whose is this?" Gleb asks the boys in the back as he picks up the piece of paper. The history teacher, Professor Ivanov, is already walking toward Glebʼs desk.

The old man's hearing is so bad that Gleb is the only student he can, or wants to, suspect of being distracted. Ivanovʼs eyesight, on the other hand, is not nearly as bad. He can clearly see that Gleb has his back turned on him.

"Can you explain to me what demands your attention, Mr. Vaganov?" Ivanov asks once he is standing right in front of the boyʼs desk.

"Right now? You, sir", Gleb turns his head around quickly to face the teacher. "You, my notebook, and the blackboard, because I am writing everything down".

As it appears none of the kids want the piece of paper back, Gleb decides to put it back on his desk. He then looks down at his notebook so that Mr. Ivanov realizes he is, in fact, paying attention. Desperately trying to.

The old history professor doesnʼt like Gleb to begin with, and now the cheeky future criminal is intentionally using his signature matter-of-fact tone to mock his elder. Sergei Sergeievich Ivanov isnʼt allowing that kind of disrespect to go unpunished, he decides. Not again. That boy will be taught a lesson, the man thinks as he lets out a chuckle. This is deeply confusing for Gleb who, in truth, didnʼt actually intend to mock anyone.

"Look at this one!" Sergei exclaims, gesticulating to get his studentsʼ attention. "Do you think you are funny?"

"No", Gleb shakes his head calmly. He doesnʼt look into the professorʼs eyes but continues staring at his notebook. Despite appearing composed, Gleb is very nervous, his mind coming up with a thousand million reasons as to why the professor hasnʼt put the issue to rest.

"Do you think he is funny?" The teacher asks his pupils now. They chant a "no" out loud. They almost sing it.

The teacher is still angry and all of the other boys have started laughing. Gleb could cry. He wants to scream. He doesnʼt understand what these people want from him.

"What was I explaining before you interrupted me?" Mr. Ivanov inquires again.

"The founding of Ekaterinburg", Gleb replies. Silence.

"And?" He continues. "Explain it to me".

"It was founded under the decree of Peter the Great, in 1723, to exploit the Ural regionʼs mineral riches, and, um…"

"You have the general idea. Now, what was I explaining the exact moment before you interrupted me?"

"I didnʼt listen, sir", Gleb decides to admit. "They were making a lot of noise, but I didn't interrupt you. The one who interrupted you was Maksim, I heard him talking, and another boy in the back threw this piece of paper at me".

Gleb shows his teacher the ball of paper in question.

"Look at me!" Ivanov scolds the boy. "Where are your manners? It is me you are supposed to be talking to, and yet you havenʼt once looked me in the eye".

Gleb hates it when this happens. Why? Why do people have to be like this? It is clear he was talking to the professor. Still, the boy is far too nervous to do as the teacher says, so his gaze stays fixed on his desk and school utensils.

This irritates Sergei Sergeievich, who continues admonishing his student:

"Or perhaps it was your desk who wanted to hear about the history of Ekaterinburg, is that so? I am sorry to interrupt your conversation then." With a serious expression, Professor Ivanov directs his gaze at Glebʼs work surface. "My sincerest apologies, Mr. Desk."

The students burst into giggles. Gleb, failing to detect his teacherʼs sarcastic tone, does not understand how Mr. Ivanov could think he was talking to the desk. The child feels deeply insulted.

"I am not crazy!" Gleb protests, making his classmates' giggles transform into loud bouts of laughter. "I was talking to you, but…"

"Then look at me and tell me what we were talking about", Ivanov insists.

Gleb needs more than a minute to recover. He frantically fidgets with his hands. The sound of laughter directed at him is draining and stressful.

"If you would like…" the boy becomes brave enough to speak again. "I could talk about some stuff I do know of."

Without ceasing the fidgeting, Gleb slowly raises his head to stare at the professor's green eyes. It is so distracting for him. Scary as well. Gleb has never felt so uncomfortable. He decides to look between the teacher's nose and forehead instead. The cruel old man might not notice.

Gleb begins talking about how Ekaterinburg started as a mining plant, about the way it was named after the wife of Peter the Great, Catherine I. He talks about copper, the reason Ekaterinburg exists in the first place.

"The Iset River divided the city", the boy explains effortlessly. "The plant dam with factories was at the center of the city. The main buildings of the early years were located along the dam."

He talks about how, because the local factories needed investment, copper coins were minted two years after the construction of Ekaterinburg.

Gleb likes talking about his city. He loves Russian history. He could drown in everything related to Russia, and now he is being allowed to talk about it all he wants. He was literally asked to.

The main product of all ironworks, state-owned or private, used to be bar iron, and once it began being exported, suddenly all of Europe wanted their iron, the iron produced in Ekaterinburg. Even the Eiffel Tower in Paris was built with Ekaterinburgʼs metal. Gleb hopes his classmates will find at least that fact interesting.

If only the people had directly benefitted from all that commerce, Gleb can't help but mention, and not just through selling their labor to the capitalists, but by actually owning the resources they worked and still work hard to transform into products.

Gleb talks and talks. His knowledge of history is comparable to that of the professor himself, and Sergei Sergeievich is not a fool. He is aware of this and reasonably worried. Gleb spits both facts and opinions. Dangerous opinions. Gleb is perfectly capable of misleading the rest of Sergeiʼs innocent and well-meaning students.

Suddenly, the professor notices that Gleb is, once again, struggling to maintain eye contact. The boy is so excited to be talking about one of his most cherished interests that he doesnʼt even realize his gray eyes have been wandering. Sergei is, on the other hand, absolutely outraged, and he is about to take what he considers a childish act of rebellion very personally.

"Look at me!" The history teacher yells, immediately silencing Gleb, and before the child has any time to look the professor back in the eye, the old man grabs his chin and forcefully makes him do so.

Now, this is physically painful for Gleb, which makes him feel awfully alone. His father doesnʼt understand. No one does. Only his mother tries. Gleb doesnʼt even understand why it is, apparently, painful for him only.

The boyʼs gray eyes fill with tears. He can hear his classmates telling each other jokes and laughing. Some of them sound sympathetic as they keep telling the others to shut up and leave him alone. All of the sounds have one thing in common. They are maddening for Gleb.

"I didnʼt ask you anything about minting or the Eiffel Tower, did I?" Professor Ivanov asks.

He looks so angry, Gleb thinks. He is also old and ugly. Gleb hates having to look at his face. He hates the feeling of his sweaty fingers pressed against his chin, and he hates being unable to move his head.

Why is the teacher so angry about Gleb knowing things? This time I didnʼt even mention the exploitation miners have historically suffered, the boy thinks.

Glen did, in fact, mention it, he later admits to himself. It doesnʼt really matter though, because he didnʼt actually talk about it that much. But still, Gleb knows he shouldnʼt have touched the subject. Last class, Professor Ivanov made it very clear that he doesnʼt truly care about history. The old fool only cares about "noteworthy" people, which means "people with money".

To be fair, Professor Ivanov didnʼt mind the way Gleb spoke about the Decembrists or the persecution Old Believers have endured throughout the Empireʼs history, but he did get mad both times when his pupil kept talking after he specifically told him to stop. Gleb didnʼt want to stop. He wasnʼt finished explaining the class how the Decembrists were still relevant in their day and age, and he hated the way the suffering of an entire group of people was being reduced to a footnote in order to make those tyrannical Tsars look better. Many ethnic minorities were still being persecuted and Gleb wanted to make a point by comparing them to the Old Believers so that some of his more bigoted classmates could come to sympathize with them.

Gleb canʼt lower his chin with that man grabbing it like that, but he wants to look down again at least. No. He needs to.

As soon as Glebʼs eyes move, the teacher grabs him by the collarbone and orders him to stand up. He absolutely hates me, Gleb thinks, knowing he hates his teacher back. At least the other professors treat him fairly. Glebʼs chemistry and music teachers are so nice he has trouble deciding which one is his favorite. Bigot Ivanov becomes mad at the slightest offense.

Not having any other choice, Gleb does stand up. Slowly. Reluctantly. Fearing, for he knows it is coming. One of those things that happen to him and only him. He is about to lose it.

The teacher is so angry he might not want to explain to Gleb what it is he was actually talking about before the trouble started, and then he is certainly going to get back at him by including very specific questions in his tests. Gleb is going to fail his final test. His father will be so angry… Stephen doesnʼt like this school to begin with.

The boy feels a lump in his throat. He knows the professor is scolding him, still asking questions and demanding answers, but it is too much, he is too close to his ear. Gleb might explode. He is about to embarrass himself shamefully and wonʼt be able to do anything to stop it.

The other kids keep talking around him, saying things about him. Gleb canʼt figure out what, but he suspects the truth. Most of them are discussing how strange he is.

"Why is he so upset?" One asks.

"He is so sensitive!" Another boy exclaims.

"Why is he crying?" That is what most of them are wondering. All of the children have been called out like this at least once by a teacher or two. It is embarrassing, but not a reason to cry at their age.

Gleb doesnʼt know how the heck he is supposed to get out of this situation. He doesnʼt even understand what the teacher is saying. He opens his mouth but the words donʼt come out.

It is happening, and once it does, he wonʼt be able to control anything.

Gleb clamps his hands over his ears in an attempt to shut everything out. He starts sobbing, rocking back and forth, struggling to breathe. At this point, he is unquestionably unable to control what he is doing. He canʼt, he is trying… and he is in the middle of the class.

The realization horrifies him. This has happened before, but not like this, not with everyone so focused on him.

It is another boy who gets the right answer, but Gleb doesnʼt listen. He canʼt breathe. He canʼt distinguish any of the different sounds he is hearing and yet he is experiencing all of them at the same time. The questions, the scolding, the mockery, the laughter….

"What a baby!" A boy exclaims. Gleb doesnʼt listen, which is probably for the best.

Too many emotions at the same time, a time that seems to go slower than usual. Hard to describe, but it is like torture, and at times, Gleb doesnʼt even know how it feels.

Glebʼs head hurts, but the shame is causing most of his tears. Why is it only he who reacts in such a shameful way to a professor being cruel? None of the other children do, and some of them have gone through worse, he is aware of that. Gleb has never been hit by a teacher, as was customary for them to do decades before when a child misbehaved.

And yet, Gleb is sure that he looks more childish and pathetic now than the students who faced those cruel punishments in the past did during their ordeals.

Gleb doesnʼt think he will ever be the way his father wants him to. Why is it so easy for him to make friends? Why is it so easy for him to walk through life and face its obstacles? Why is it so easy for everyone?

Whenever the men who work at the same factory as Stephen visit his familyʼs small flat, they all seem to respect him. They all enjoy his company. Stephen has secretly gathered all of them to the side of the revolution with such ease. Gleb has never been able to do that, not even in controlled environments, with the children of his fatherʼs friends. Everyone prefers his father. Gleb is just strange, and he is slowly awakening to the knowledge.

The next time Gleb becomes aware of his surroundings, he is rocking back and forth in the corner of the classroom, facing the wall. That is one of his usual punishments. Standing in the corner to face the wall until the end of the class.

There is blood running down the side of Glebʼs head. He does not remember it too well, but he banged his head against the wall a few times before Sergei asked another student to keep him still. The last time Gleb had done that, he had been five years old. Gleb truly hopes his mother wonʼt find out. He wipes the blood away and is pleased to realize it comes from a very small wound.

The class is already over, and the other children can be heard yelling in the playground downstairs. Far enough for Gleb to feel at ease, but he doesnʼt feel at ease. He is just tired. He wants to keep crying and then fall asleep.

This is only Monday, Gleb thinks as he keeps rocking back and forward. Four more days to go. Almost two years studying here. He will be thirteen years old in September. Five more years and he will be free.

Professor Ivanov is still there. He grabs Gleb by the shoulder, causing the boy to jump and almost faint. The professor leads Gleb away from the wall and tells him to sit back down. There is chalk on the blackboard, but it is none of what had been written before during class. That has been erased, and a new sentence occupies its place: "I wonʼt ever contradict my teacher during history class."

Ivanov informs Gleb he will have to write that down in his notebook 200 times.

Gleb doesnʼt mind writing down the same line over and over again. He likes the repetition, but what Ivanov wants him to write down goes against everything his conscience demands. Glebʼs actions have always followed his beliefs, not the other way around. Answering open questions in Mr. Ivanovʼs tests is hard enough for Gleb, and so is having to sing "God save the Tsar" before class every day.

Professor Ivanov hasnʼt left yet. Standing closely next to Gleb, he soon starts lecturing him:

"The lines are just a formality. I know you wonʼt contradict me ever again, because this is the last time you will get to speak in my class, Mr. Vaganov."

Gleb stays silent, wipes his tears, picks up his pen, puts it inside the ink bottle, and begins to copy the sentence on the blackboard for the first time.

"I have provided you with many opportunities to correct your behavior", the teacher continues. "But you never fail to disappoint me with yet another one of your rants. You love turning our class into a ridiculous two-person debate club, donʼt you?"

He pauses as if to see whether Gleb will backtalk, but he wonʼt. Gleb has nothing to say to him. His words donʼt inspire an ounce of emotion in him. The boy is simply tired, and he is thinking only of copying the exact same sentence correctly for the sixth time.

"You are not as smart as you think you are or even capable of facing the consequences of your own actions", Ivanov declares, "just another stubborn child regurgitating whatever he is being told without any sort of doubt, some of which is factually incorrect as well. I hope you learn to reflect on everything you have been taught before it is too late."

Silence again. Gleb has already done fifteen lines and hopes his teacher will shut up soon so he can go even faster.

Sergei Sergeievich doesnʼt speak again for a minute.

"I have never witnessed such a meltdown over nothing in a boy your age", the old man suddenly spits. Venomously, in Glebʼs opinion.

That would have stung, but Gleb feels numb somehow. The child is more upset about having to write down that he wonʼt be able to state the truth in class ever again, and he is more focused on finishing quickly. He has work to do later.

"If it were up to me, you wouldnʼt be studying here, and your father would be under surveillance right now", the professor says, and for the first time, Gleb feels something.

Fear for his parents. Gleb imagines them being separated. He imagines them freezing or being overworked as prisoners in some faraway location, prisoners like those transported through their city on the way east, escorted by soldiers.

Gleb hates those soldiers, and most of his neighbors do as well. That is something he can talk about with other people without fear of them not caring. They hate the Tsarʼs soldiers and Cossacks. They hate the way they march or ride their horses around the city as if they owned Ekaterinburg more than the locals themselves.

Glebʼs parents could indeed be arrested someday. That is something Gleb grew up knowing. Stephen is in charge of smuggling an underground publication around the city and distributing it among the workers. He writes illegal political pamphlets and has developed a secret workplace organization as well. His wife Elena is deeply involved.

Gleb learned to keep their secrets as soon as he started talking. He canʼt say anything in their defense to the professor though. His mind is working way too slow. Gleb hopes Sergei thinks the reason he stays silent is that his accusations have no basis. Unfortunately for Gleb, that is not what Sergei thinks.

The old man suspects Glebʼs parents are up to something. He knows the boyʼs beliefs didnʼt just spring out of nowhere. He is twelve for Godʼs sake! Those unscrupulous people have effectively managed to indoctrinate their child to their perverse cause, and there is little Sergei can do about it that he hasnʼt tried already.

It is not like the child has ever mentioned the word "Marxism", "Marx", or any of his theories by name. Gleb hasnʼt even talked about them to the other students, although Sergei is not familiarized enough with any of those dangerous writings to know for sure. Glebʼs parents may very well subscribe to the beliefs of another one of those illegal parties. There are several. They might be anarchists for all Sergei knows.

Still, Gleb spits out enough garbage for Sergei Sergeievich to remember that the apple doesnʼt fall far from the tree. If the child is already denouncing their God-anointed ruler, what dangerous plots could his parents be hatching right now? What if this is the only opportunity Sergei has to save some poor ministerʼs life about to be extinguished by some terrorist attack?

But Sergei doesnʼt have any evidence, so it is not like he can report the childʼs parents to the police. All he can do is lament the fact that Gleb and a growing number of children like him are studying in prestigious institutions to begin with.

Sergei knows no one decides the family they are born into, so he pities Gleb a little bit. He just doesn't pity him enough for it to cloud his judgment. Allowing children from poorer strata to have a higher education is dangerous and ultimately useless. They are needed as future workers. It simply shouldnʼt be allowed. Back in Sergeiʼs days, it was greatly discouraged. There were quotas.

Maybe the solution is raising the price of the tuition.

Sergei doesnʼt say any of this, of course, but is not like he hasnʼt made his opinion known to Gleb before, when they were discussing education in the middle of the class. Sergei didnʼt plan to, but one thing led to another, and soon it was as if there were no one else in the classroom except for Sergei and his student, talking about the achievements and failures of higher education in Russia. Sergei doesnʼt even remember what the class was about before the debate started.

If Sergei were truly honest with himself, he would consider Gleb a gifted child, but he isnʼt, and because of that, Gleb pays the consequences.

"You are such a disgrace to this institution", Ivanov says, naively hoping his words will put down the fire in Glebʼs soul instead of making it spread.

The simplicity of the task at hand makes having to deal with Sergeiʼs presence a bit easier for the boy. It is nothing compared to the plight of the working class, Gleb thinks.

Gleb may be bad at detecting sarcasm and plenty of other emotions in people. He may not know how to say or do the right thing in each different social setting, but he is not dumb. He knows how the rich truly feel about people like him. His father has taught him well. He knows the bourgeoisie want to keep the working class down and uneducated so that they need them still, so they can keep stealing their labor and call the fruit of it their "property".

Sergei Sergeievich leaves the classroom. At last, Gleb thinks. The next 150 lines are going to be much easier, but still, now that everything the teacher talked about during class has been erased, Glebʼs entire day is ruined.

Gleb is going to have to genuinely speak to the other students in order to ask them for their notes. It is going to be so embarrassing, especially after… well, what they saw. Copying the notes will take some time, and then Gleb will have to do his homework. He wonʼt have time to read whatever he prefers reading in the library before going to his room as he usually does.

The teachers donʼt usually allow the students to take any books home. They make exceptions though. Gleb once saw another kid leave the school with a book from the library. There are just no exceptions for Gleb. He suspects it has something to do with his background, and he is right.

The teachers are afraid Gleb might steal a book.

Gleb hates studying in a gymnasium, but still, he has to stay. It is the only way to enroll at a university, and once Gleb is studying at a university, he will find lots of friends with his same interests. That is what his father always says. "Universities are brewing grounds for revolution."

Stephen can barely stand the fact his son is studying in a gymnasium. He fears his fellow classmates will corrupt him with bourgeois values, or worse, make him soft. But knowing Gleb has a chance to go to a university is what made him and Elena work twice as hard for his education.

Teachers in gymnasiums are just tools to make students subservient to the Tsar, Gleb believes. In university, teachers think and encourage students to do the same. At least, he hopes so.

Elena works two jobs and still has time for her son. Gleb knows she has already fainted twice. Last time, very recently. Stephen is working most of the time. Day and night. He comes home in pain.

None of them have taken a single break since Gleb began studying in his expensive school. They havenʼt gone back to the countryside. Mama and father are immensely hardworking people, Gleb thinks as he keeps writing, his eyes filling with tears as he remembers the time his father came home from work crying in pain. Some metal pipes had fallen on his foot. Stephen couldnʼt afford to take a break after the incident.

Fear for his motherʼs health is what makes Gleb start crying though. His parents canʼt even afford insurance, not anymore.

Stephen once told Gleb that he didnʼt mind breaking his back if that, ultimately, served as a lesson to show him what it takes to move forward under tyranny.

"Your sole and only purpose in life will be making sure no other working-class parents have to suffer as much as we have", Glebʼs father says to him almost every week.

But Gleb isnʼt sure he has what it takes to make his parentsʼ sacrifice worth it. When he was three, his mother almost died during a surgery needed to take his baby brother out, as he had died in her womb. Elena needed a long time to recover.

Some of Glebʼs earliest memories consist of saying goodbye to his poor little brother and mother, who never got pregnant again. Gleb wishes he could work just like everyone in his household does. He wishes his brother had survived. He wishes it were him studying in the gymnasium instead.

The childʼs tears keep flowing. Some of them fall on his notebook, making two of the lines unreadable. Sometimes, Gleb feels like an impostor, like he is robbing his parents. Like he is not really part of the working class.

Last year, Gleb tried telling his parents he would prefer to start working full-time. His father had gotten really angry, going as far as throwing and smashing things around. After calming down, Stephen had sat Gleb down and talked to him about how far he would go, about the important revolutionary figure he would become. Things Gleb now suspects will never come to be. He is just too strange. He is strange and longs for a single friend.

If Gleb were not an only child, maybe he wouldnʼt have this huge weight on his shoulders. Maybe he wouldnʼt feel this lonely or, most of all, guilty. Impotent about being unable to help and save everyone. All those children who have died young, some of his neighborsʼ children among them, all those prisoners going through his Ekaterinburg.

Sometimes, thinking of the hatred he has for the Tsar makes Gleb feel a bit better. The Tsar does not have to worry about loneliness, the boy thinks. The Tsar does not have to worry about his children dying young. He doesnʼt have to worry about back pains or fainting.

Tsar Nicholas will one day realize he isnʼt as loved as he thinks he is. Someday he will feel as lonely as Gleb does now and will regret neglecting and imprisoning his own people.

These thoughts make Gleb feel better.

Wanting to do so for the very first time, Gleb raises his head and actively stares at the Tsarʼs portrait with the sole purpose of hating the man depicted. Gleb could unironically write an entire poem about his unrestrained abhorrence for the one who is said to be Godʼs anointed ruler.

Oo

Sitting on a bench, Gleb watches as the other kids play football during their second break. He needs one of them to pass him the notes, but he is far too scared to ask. He has been going around in circles through the gardens and playgrounds of the school, wiping his tears every time they threaten to fall. They must all think he is such a baby.

Football is so noisy. That is why Gleb hates playing it. If the boys didn't scream every time they scored a goal, it wouldnʼt be half as bad. Gymnastics is such a better way to exercise. The rings, the pommel horse, or just jumping. It is all so fun. Whenever there is no public around, boxing is also nice.

Gleb stands up and keeps searching. Maybe he will ask the kids sitting on the ground near the big tree in the back of the main building...

No. Maksim and his friends are there. He is definitely not going to ask them.

"Stay away, you weird, ugly little troll!" Maksim yells not at Gleb but at another kid, a small child from a lower grade. "It is mine now, dwarf! If you had stopped bothering us then you would still have it!"

Maksim pushes the small kid to the ground. The petty insults were enough to make Gleb flinch, but that poor kid must have also landed badly and is now weeping inconsolably. Gleb feels so sorry for him.

There is something in Maksimʼs hand, a small toy soldier.

Suddenly, another boy from Glebʼs class rushes to the small kidʼs aid. His name is Peter. Two of Maksimʼs friends get in the way and jump on the newcomer, overwhelming him with kicks and punches.

"Leave my brother alone!" The smaller kid yells pitifully. Gleb immediately rushes towards them, swings his arms, and throws two strong and quick punches at each of Maksimʼs friends, hitting them in the face as hard as he is able to. They end up on the ground, holding their heads. One of them even starts crying. Gleb doesnʼt know how to feel about it.

Peter rushes to his little brotherʼs aid as Maksim stands still, staring at Gleb with wide eyes.

"I am going to tell one of the teachers!" Maksim points his index finger at Gleb accusingly.

"Go ahead stupid!" Peter exclaims. "I am going to tell them I saw you selling cigarettes in your room."

Maksim glares at Peter and then at Gleb, who lowers his gaze. The rich boy tries to look at his friends for support only to discover they have already run away, much to his embarrassment. Maksim turns around, intending to follow them. Gleb wonʼt let him.

"Hey! Hey!" He yells. "That isnʼt yours. Donʼt you have enough toys already?"

Maksim looks down at the little soldier in his hand.

"Well, I am not going to give it back!" He childishly declares, concealing his uncertainty. Despite being an outcast, Gleb has never actually been physically attacked by any of his bullies. He is the tallest boy in their grade and muscular for his age. Gleb used to box, Maksim remembers. He was good at it as well, although he stopped practicing this year. Glebʼs overall passive personality makes him safe enough to tease, which can be fun, but even conceited children such as Maksim have self-preserving instincts.

Gleb doesnʼt need to hit anyone else. He just glares at Maksimʼs ugly face, thinking of everything that entitled little idiot has said to him as he prolongs the uncomfortable death stare. Finally, Gleb takes two tentative steps forward. It works miracles.

In a second, Maksim drops the toy and runs away.

For once, Gleb feels good about himself. Now he knows how he feels about the kid who started crying, the one he punched. He deserved it. He was like an oppressor on a smaller scale. And even if he hadnʼt deserved it, Gleb thinks, that bully would have continued hitting Peter if I hadnʼt punched him.

Intimidating people feels good, Gleb realizes. It gets things done and feels like the exact opposite of being mocked in the middle of a classroom. Working hard to convey strength, as vain as it sounds, is important.

Gleb, Peter, and his little brother Leonid sit under the tree after the incident. Peter lets Gleb copy his notes as Leonid watches them both, his toy soldier back in hand.

"That was so awesome Gleb!" Leonid exclaims. "Did you see their faces? They were scared of you!"

Gleb smiles shyly. It is not often that other kids give him compliments.

"Why did you stop boxing, Gleb?" Peter asks. "I remember you did last year. You were better than any of us, and you will probably grow bigger. You could win any tournament if you wanted to."

"You could go be in the 1904 Olympic games next year", Leonid says.

"That would be silly, he will be only fourteen", Peter corrects him and, after letting out a chuckle, continues: "The 1908 Olympics though…"

"I donʼt like loud noises", Gleb explains. "People are always yelling at competitions."

"I can tell", Peter nods. "Is that why you never talk to anyone? You are always so serious and withdrawn".

"I prefer to read in the library. My parents canʼt afford to buy as many books, and you rich people are never interested in the things I have to say".

The three children stay silent for a long time.

Gleb keeps copying, but the lengthy lack of chattering makes him grow worried. Did he offend Peter? He was just stating the truth. What did he say now? Will Peter speak to him again after he is done copying? Will Leonid?

"Well, Gleb..." Peter finally breaks the silence. "Some of my friends and I actually think a lot of what you have to say is really interesting, but…"

"But?" Gleb asks. He really wants Peter to continue.

"How do I put this? It is just… sometimes, you can be kind of…"

"Strange", Leonid blurts out.

"Overenthusiastic!" Peter covers Leonidʼs mouth.

"But I am enthusiastic about the things I talk about," Gleb protests. "Arenʼt most people enthusiastic about their interests? I donʼt understand a thing."

"Well yea", Peter chuckles, "but there is being interested, there is being really interested, and then there is you. I bet you would deliver speeches against the government even at funerals. You seldom talk about anything else".

Peter and Leonid start laughing, and now Gleb is more confused than ever.

"I wouldnʼt speak up against the government at funerals… well, it depends on whose funeral", Gleb explains. "If the person who died worked for the state and had a role implementing its repressive measures, then I guess that as a form of protest, it could be viable."

Before Gleb can begin to decipher what the "then there is you" part could mean in order to address it, Peter reveals something that makes him blush: "It was a joke."

"Um, all right", Gleb mumbles, red as an apple.

An awkward silence descends upon the children.

"I knew it", Gleb adds after a while. It is not true, but Gleb doesnʼt want Peter to think he is some sort of idiot.

The silence remains. It takes a lot of effort for Gleb to be the one to proceed with the conversation this time:

"You are the serious ones now."

Silence. And Gleb is too scared to look up to see their reactions.

"Our father works for the government", Peter finally speaks.

Gleb is relieved to hear him talk and, wholly overlooking Peterʼs severe tone, decides to say something humorous as well:

"I didnʼt say I was going to kill him. I was just going to make an antigovernment speech at his funeral."

Peter raises his eyebrows. Leonid frowns. Gleb begins to suspect he might have said something insensitive again. He decides to finish copying quickly before Peter decides he no longer wants him to use his notes.

"That was also a joke", Gleb smiles. His friends must have thought he had meant it. "It was a joke because I donʼt know your father. He is probably decent enough and just doing his job. I wouldnʼt make a speech at his funeral if he died, but it is funny that I said I would, because it is a joke like you said. Jokes are like that, arenʼt they?"

Nothing. They stop talking altogether. Gleb understands them a little bit. He loves his father as well, and the mere thought of him dying is painful to contemplate.

Gleb loves jokes but is clearly not very good at them. His heart feels heavy. He thought he had finally made some friends.

Oo

Every day after his final lesson, Gleb returns to his room as late as he is allowed to in order to avoid having to talk to his roommates: Valentin and Timofei. It is not that they are mean, but Gleb finds all sorts of interactions with them overwhelming, so much so that he even has to rehearse his "good nights". The boy also prefers to spend his free time reading in the library.

Tonight though, Gleb decides to go back to his room earlier. There were just too many things on his mind, so finishing his homework took him a lot longer. He also had to re-read the notes he had copied, for he had certainly not focused during history class. By the time Gleb was done with everything, there was no point in staying at the library to read. There would simply not be enough time to fully enjoy it without rush. Glebʼs day is ruined. He truly hopes the rest of the week will not be as bad.

Just as Gleb is about to open his bedroom door, he overhears his roommates gossiping inside.

"Did you see Glebʼs uniform today?" Timofei asks. "Another one of his buttons fell."

Gleb becomes instantly distressed. They are talking about him. Timofei is not even in Glebʼs class, but for some reason that is not stopping him from nit-picking on his tiniest imperfections. Have they talked about him before? Gleb deduces they have, because why wouldnʼt they? He is barely ever in the room.

Gleb presses his ear against the door, knowing very well it is going to hurt. He wants to listen though. He needs to know what these people really think about him so he can understand better how to behave around them without being judged. He needs to know what makes him so damn noticeable.

"It doesnʼt surprise me", Valentin replies. "His black pants and coat are full of holes as well".

Glebʼs uniform is old. He knows it was a gift to his mother from that of another boy who had attended the same school years before, but Elena is good at patching things up. There are no "holes" in his uniform, Gleb thinks.

"Yea, and they are patched up with different colors", Timofei lets out a chuckle, "it looks quite ridiculous, all of his clothes are so old."

The two boys laugh.

"If that kitchen wench canʼt afford a new uniform, she clearly shouldnʼt be sending her crazy son to this school", Valentin remarks. The laughter resumes.

Glebʼs eyes fill with tears. He knew they would mock him. He has been called poor by Maksim and his friends since the first grade. He can take that. Glen was already aware of rich peopleʼs concern for those sorts of shallow things, but he had never heard anyone talk like that about his mother. Insulted and upset, Gleb lies down on the ground slowly, his head still close to the door.

"What were you telling me about before?" Timofei asks once he and Valentin are done laughing.

"Oh, yes", Valentin struggles not to keep on chuckling. "He cried today in class when the teacher scolded him."

"Really?"

"Yes! But not like... just crying. He was sobbing, covering his ears and throwing a tantrum as if he were a little boy. I had never seen anything like that. The teacher wasnʼt even hitting him or anything, he was just asking him to prove he was paying attention."

Gleb regrets not entering the room when he had the chance. He remembers the way Maksim pushed little Leonid down to steal his toy. There clearly must be something about living a life of comfort that robs people of their compassion.

Oo

Wednesday is Glebʼs second favorite day of the week. He has piano and chemistry lessons. His two favorites, both on the same day.

Friday is Glebʼs favorite day. He gets to go home. He gets to see his mother again. Anticipating his freedom and happiness every week, Gleb prepares his belongings in the morning to be ready to go as soon as the last lesson ends. Once he has his cap and backpack, the boy is ready to walk home.

Gleb doesnʼt live near the school, and he could definitely go back home in a trolley car or carriage, but walking saves the Vaganovs some money, and besides, Gleb likes walking. He loves watching people pass by. Common working-class people. Street vendors, ironworkers, servants, street sweepers and nuns. He loves imagining that someday, things will get better for all of them.

"Hey, Gleb!"

The boy turns his head around and is surprised to see Peter running towards him along with his little brother. Despite living pretty much at opposite sides of the city, Peter offers to accompany Gleb home and pay for his ride.

Gleb is ecstatic. He usually hates any minor change to his routine, but he thought Peter would never want to talk to him again, and yet here he is.

"I am sorry I havenʼt talked to you this week", Peter says. "Your joke was a bit weird, but it wasn't that bad."

Gleb sits between Peter and Leonid as the three boys travel on a carriage. Not very practical considering I am getting home first, Gleb cannot help but think.

"His friends also think you are weird", Leonid adds. "Peter doesnʼt want them to know he hangs out with you".

Gleb looks down and sighs in resignation.

"It is not that…" Peter begins to lie. Yes, lie. Gleb interrupts him:

"I know it is!" He exclaims. "My two roommates talk about me behind my back all the time, and I am tired of people doing that!"

"I am sorry Gleb", Peter laments.

"Donʼt be sorry, you seem nice... I am just tired of being told I am weird. I donʼt want to be told that unless I can understand why. I want to correct my weirdness, but I canʼt do so unless I am finally explained what exactly is so weird about me."

"Are you serious? I donʼt want to hurt your feelings."

Gleb doesnʼt know whether he really meant what he said or was just angry when he said it, but suddenly, he is overcome with a very real desire of "correcting" himself. His important message needs to be taken seriously... and he could use some friends as well.

Gleb is now certain there is something different about him. He can't even speak to his own neighbors with confidence, especially not those around his age. He nods. Gleb wants to correct himself. He really does.

"Well, first of all, you blink too much", Peter begins.

"What?" Gleb is startled. Ironically enough, he blinks five times.

"You blink too much", Peter repeats, "and you often scratch your head frantically or move back and forward for no reason".

"Wait! Let me get my notebook!"

Gleb writes every detail down, but every time Peter mentions yet another one of his strange repetitive actions or unique mannerisms, Gleb becomes horrified at the prospect of having to "correct" them. He never noticed before, but habits such as biting and fidgeting with his hands and scratching his head helps Gleb deal with stress. But still, he has to correct himself, he has to.

At the very least, Gleb is pleasantly surprised to hear not everything Peter has to say about him is unfavorable:

"You are very eloquent Gleb. You make many of the teachers look like fools in comparison, especially Ivanov. Even when you talk about boring stuff, you manage to keep everyoneʼs attention somehow, maybe it is your tone of voice".

"Well, that is really nice, thank you", Gleb says, flattered.

"And none of the kids think you are stupid, even if you are kind of crazy".

"That is… comforting to know, I guess".

"Many want to hear you speak again, but Maksim and his friends have spread the rumor that you bring bad luck, and that if anyone gets too close to you, they will become weird and poor as well."

"They should go back to elementary school!" Leonid jokes, and the three boys laugh.

Oo

Stephen wasnʼt home when Gleb arrived, he was still working. Only Elena was back from the restaurant where she cooks and cleans. She received her son as usual.

"My boy!" She exclaims every Friday as she hugs and showers Gleb with kisses. Elena is definitely the reason Friday is Glebʼs favorite day.

Whenever Gleb is upset, Elena puts her hands on top of his head, stroking his hair and making things better. For the boy, it feels like magic. Sometimes, Gleb wishes he were homeschooled so he could stay with his mother all day long.

Elena is a thin, short woman with light brown hair and green eyes. Pretty by most standards.

Stephen is tall and muscular. His eyes are a light shade of gray and his hair is black. Gleb used to feel intimidated by his fatherʼs eyes. He still is at times, but this has nothing to do with Glebʼs natural aversion for eye contact. Stephenʼs eyes can come across as cold to anyone. Despite being friendly around strangers, he is also a very strict person once an individual gets to know him. Personality can, at times, manifest in oneʼs eyes.

Gleb inherited his fatherʼs eyes. The boy reckons that maybe, one day, he will find a good use for those intimidating eyes.

Gleb's hair is black like his fatherʼs, and he will grow to have his fatherʼs body build as well. Despite all of this, he resembles his mother the most. Elena loved to take Gleb to her workplace back when he was little, as the other women would fuss over her childʼs beauty. She knows her son inherited most of his pleasant features from her.

The Vaganovs live in a small, simple flat with only the most basic furniture. The living room consists of a sofa and a small wooden table on top of which two photo frames stand. One of them holds a black and white picture of Stephen, Elena, and Gleb back when the latter was just a baby. A modest existence, but Gleb knows they lack nothing. He has never been hungry... well, not truly hungry, and that is more than can be said for millions of underprivileged people in Russia.

They donʼt live alone in the flat. Another family with two small children, a boy and a girl, live with them. Mr. and Mrs. Bobkov know about the Vaganovsʼ illegal activities. Their picture occupies the other frame, and they usually have lunch and dinner with the Vaganovs in the small dining room. It is Elena who cooks.

"You wonʼt believe what happened this week mama", Gleb says.

"Oh dear! I have never seen you come home so happy!" Elena beams. "Tell us about it!"

Mr. and Mrs. Bobkov are seated at the table with Gleb and Elena. Their toddlers are usually fed before the adults are, so the two children are now playing on the ground with Glebʼs remaining toys. A train, a telephone, and gun. Gleb has given the the rest his toys away to younger children from the neighborhood. Poorer children. This is fine for Gleb, as he has no time for playing anymore, and he really enjoyed donating his small number of toys. The children had smiled and squealed with joy, making the twelve-year-old incredibly happy.

Gleb tells his mother about his new friends, the list of weird habits he should work on, and how some kids are interested in what he has to say.

"Just be careful with the way you talk to them honey, remember what papa and I do is very dangerous", Elena reminds her son as soon as he is done talking. "Explain our beliefs to them, plant the seeds, but donʼt be too specific, I donʼt want you to get expelled."

"Donʼt worry mommy, I am never too specific", Gleb assures her.

"And you shouldnʼt have to change anything about yourself for people to like you", Elena tousles her sonʼs hair. "You are perfectly adorable the way you are, but you have no idea of how pleased I am that you managed to find some friends."

Gleb doesnʼt say anything, but he knows his mother is wrong. She only says he is perfect because she loves him. Otherwise, why is she the only one who thinks so? If Gleb talked to Elena about the things he has recently discovered about himself in detail, she would probably just dismiss them.

"Why didnʼt you invite your friends to come over?" Elena asks.

"I did invite them over, but they said their parents wouldnʼt allow that. I got down from the carriage before we got all the way here anyways."

"Hmm..."

Elena knows why, and she knows her son is not naïve enough to be oblivious to it, but Gleb is so excited about his new friends that she doesnʼt want to touch on her apprehensions. She had to urge herself not to cry or even fall apart from joy when Gleb mentioned having friends.

"Those rich kids are probably just afraid of our stench!" Mrs. Bobkov exclaims abruptly.

"What did you read about this week?" Elena doesn't acknowledge Mrs. Bobkov.

"Peasant traditions from different parts of the country, I love that, I wish I could live in the countryside someday", Gleb tells his mother. "I also read some of Chekhovʼs stories".

The boy talks to his mother and neighbors about Chekhov as they eat. Extensively. He talks about Tolstoy as well. He talks about other authors. The Bobkovs are soon bored, but Elena doesnʼt miss a word. She is proud of her boy.

Just as Gleb is finishing reciting a poem he copied in his notebook, Stephen announces his arrival:

"Nice, Gleb", he says. "Once I am done eating I want us to review that pamphlet again." After that, Stephen blinks at Gleb, who is already running to greet his father.

Gleb is infinitely happy his father is home. Elena just hopes her husband didnʼt notice her sigh. She loves Stephen, she really does. She loves his passion. Most men let hardships destroy their souls, Stephen didnʼt. Most men sleepwalk without a purpose, Stephen has one. He found one when he was young through people similar to what both of them are now. That is why she fell in love with him, he doesnʼt just live for himself and his loved ones. He lives for Russia and its future. He lives for the people.

But Elena hates the way Stephen neglects their son. Nice, Gleb. Is that all Stephen has to say? Her son recited that poem beautifully.

Stephen doesn't encourage any of his sonʼs interests... well, none of his other interests. Elenaʼs husband doesnʼt praise Gleb when he gets perfect marks, he only fumes at him every time they are lower than usual.

Stephen never hugs or kisses his son. Did he at least do it back when Gleb was a baby? Elena doesnʼt remember. He might have, but it is entirely possible he never did. It definitely wasnʼt a common occurrence.

Of course Gleb loves to talk to his father about Leninʼs pamphlet, Elena thinks with concern, it is the only god-damn way Gleb can get any attention from his father to begin with. Elena doesnʼt remember the last time she heard her husband talk to Gleb about anything that wasnʼt in some way related to the cause. She has worried about this for months.

At first, Elena believed her feelings to be irrational. Stephen is a busy man after all. His livelihood, added to his illegal activities, leave little room for anything else on his mind. Elena knows there is nothing more important than the revolution, and besides, she doesn't even know what her husband and son talk about while they are working together. Maybe they do discuss other subjects.

Then, something woke her up to the sad reality. Two weeks ago, Gleb came home almost as excited as he is now. He had finally managed to play, without error, an incredibly complicated piano piece, something he had been struggling to do for weeks with no success. The music teacher had congratulated the boy, saying he had never witnessed a student go from beginner to advanced as fast.

Gleb was so happy with his achievement that he raved about it for hours until Stephen, quite literally, told Gleb to shut up.

"You have been talking about it nonstop and I am tired, I come home tired", he had said.

Elenaʼs feelings are not irrational. She and her husband need to have a talk.

Oo

Stephen loves Elena, he really does, but he will never allow her to nag him about the way he raises his son. His son. She has no idea, she doesnʼt value the cause as much as he does. He thought she did, but he should have known. Elena never suffered as much as he did. She was also poor, that is for sure, but her parents loved her and gave her and her siblings a happy childhood.

Stephenʼs father was a drunk who left him and his mother when he was only eight. It was overall good that he left them though. Stephen never missed him or his beatings. He was a child and a parent to his very ill mother and younger siblings, none of whom lived longer than twenty despite Stephenʼs sacrifice and devotion to them. He would trade his life in a heartbeat for that of any of his three younger sisters. He would trade his sonʼs life as well, he knows, not that this secret doesn't fill him with self-loathing.

Elena has worked like a beast since childhood, just like Stephen, but she never had to defend her mother from some of her most violent clients.

Stephen never liked children, not really. Raising them was forced upon him from a very young age, and as much as it was to be expected, he wasnʼt exactly thrilled to learn of Elena's pregnancy. He is not proud of it either, but Stephen is glad he and Elena never managed to conceive another child after the one they lost. He is barely capable of bonding with the one he already has. Neither one of Stephenʼs parents ever fussed over him to begin with, so Elenaʼs suggestion of hugging his son more often is ridiculous. Gleb has never complained about any lack of affection whatsoever. He has his mother for that.

Gleb is also a strange kid, Stephen thinks. It is the elephant in the room, something Elena doesnʼt allow to be mentioned in their home, but he is. He was a very difficult and dramatic child growing up, throwing tantrums over anything. From itchy clothing to snoring neighbors. The boyʼs picky eating was the cherry on top.

Gleb was unpredictable and, unlike Elena, Stephen was never tolerant of that. He knew how to deal with him, as much as his wife shamelessly attributed Glebʼs improving behavior to herself and her endless petting.

Thanks to a simple smack in the mouth or two, Gleb became tolerable enough. He doesnʼt have those huge tantrums anymore. Stephen is still unhappy with his sonʼs lack of social charm, but that will probably improve with age. He already made those two friends or so it seems.

The truth is, there is nothing Stephen particularly loves about his son except for the fact he sees himself in him. Elena is a fool for not knowing, Stephen thinks with great pride, but there is nothing that brings Gleb more joy than reading and talking about the future of their beautiful country once the revolution triumphs. There is nothing Gleb is more interested in than how to best help the cause. There is nothing he has more knowledge of or thinks more about.

Stephen didn't force his son to be this way. As a child, Gleb would lean in to take a look at what Stephen was reading. Stephen would then sit him on his knee and explain.

While some of Stephenʼs friends struggle to get their adult children involved in revolutionary activities, Gleb has helped him with some of his most successful writings.

Stephen knows he wonʼt live forever, but Gleb is still young and might actually live to witness the event Stephen hopes for the most. His reason for living. Raising Gleb is like planting seeds.

Stephen doesnʼt mind Gleb having other pastimes. As any father worth a damn would, he cares about his education. He wants his son to make a decent living when the time comes. He doesnʼt want him to suffer as he has, but he never, ever, wants Gleb to lose sight of what truly is important.

Placing their own happiness on a pedestal is what people who donʼt care enough do. Stephen wants to raise a revolutionary, not something else.

Elenaʼs conversation with her husband had the opposite effect of what she had intended. Stephen spent the weekend as usual, bringing Gleb to work with him, for laboring is Stephenʼs way of bonding with his son. Bringing him to meetings with likeminded people to talk about politics and philosophy is Stephenʼs way of bonding with his son.

Stephen might not be good at paternal love, but when he talks to Gleb in excruciating detail about his torturous past and the importance of actively working against the system that made it so, he could very well be feeling something similar to love. Maybe the exact same thing.

Changing his ways would be depriving his son of love, which is not what revolution is for, but if he is somehow able to provide some resemblance of love to his son, he will do so the only way he can.

Oo

The pamphlet in question is called: "What is to be done?"

It was written by none other than Vladimir Ilyich Ulyanov, better known by the alias he uses for illegal publications, Lenin.

Lenin's father, Ilya Nikolayevich Ulyanov, came from a family of serfs but had risen to a middle-class status. After marrying, Ilya would go on to become Director of Public Schools for the province of Simbirsk, overseeing the foundation of over 450 schools as part of the government's policy for modernization. His dedication earned him the Order of St. Vladimir, which bestowed on him the status of a hereditary nobleman.

His son Lenin was certainly no commoner. Vladimir was born in Simbirsk on 1870 as the third of eight children, two of which died in infancy. Ilya was a devout member of the Russian Orthodox Church and baptized his children into it, although his wife Maria was mostly indifferent to religion, something that influenced her children, primarily Lenin, to a certain extent.

Among his siblings, Lenin was closest to his sister Olga, whom he loved and would never stop bossing around.

Lenin was a nice child, if maybe a bit too lively. He liked to break his toys instead of playing with them, and due to an extremely competitive nature that could at times be destructive, Lenin excelled at his disciplinarian and conservative school. He could be called a genius.

When Lenin was fifteen, his father died of a brain hemorrhage. Subsequently, the boy's behavior became erratic, rude, and confrontational. He renounced his belief in God.

Just a year later, Lenin's older brother Alexander, a student at St. Petersburg University, joined a revolutionary cell bent on assassinating Tsar Alexander III and was selected to construct a bomb. The plan failed miserably, and the young Alexander was arrested and executed by hanging. This certainly left a deep impression on Lenin, who went on to study law at Kazan University. He would both excel and become radicalized in this institution.

In 1893, Lenin moved to St. Petersburg, where he joined a Marxist cell that would earn him some time in a Siberian prison. He was never seen as a huge threat to the government though. He still isn't.

Lenin has moved abroad with his wife. It is safer. He frequently writes and meets with other Russian Marxists.

"What is to be done?" Argues that the working class will not become political by quarreling with the employers over wages or working hours. To make the working class Marxist, Lenin claims, a political party should be formed, a vanguard made up of the most class-conscious and politically advanced sections of the proletariat. That party, in turn, should attract larger sections of the working class towards revolutionary politics.

Not everyone around Leninʼs circle is on board with his ideas. His party is on the verge of fraction.

Oo

Elena attends church every Sunday morning. Gleb goes too. He is by his motherʼs side now, listening to the priest give his sermon. Elena is praying for her husband, for his soul.

Stephen is not with them. Gleb knows his father does not believe in God and that there is little place for the church in the future, as it will lose all of its current power. Gleb doesnʼt care about that, because his mother is by no means a normal Christian. One time, Elena told her son that Jesus had probably been a socialist Himself. He did say it was easier for a camel to pass through the eye of the needle than for a rich man to enter into the kingdom of God, which is Glebʼs favorite part of the Bible.

The early Christians would, moreover, live communally. Elena has written several articles about them, and Gleb honestly thinks they sound nicer than the ones living today. Most present-day so-called Christians are blind followers of the Tsar, all because he has supposedly been anointed by God, and according to whom? The Tsar himself? The church hierarchy? The oppressive establishment?

There is nothing about Jesus that Gleb dislikes though. Jesus is a fantasy. He talked about love and healed the sick like Gleb wishes he could. He wouldnʼt reveal this to anyone except for his mother, but Jesus sounds like someone who would hug everyone and anyone.

Gleb wishes he could meet Jesus. He just doesnʼt know how to feel about God as a concept. God sounds like a typical fat capitalist oppressor. All-powerful, unlimited resources, and yet He doesnʼt lift a finger to help the poor, or the sick, or any other people, or… His son, for that matter. The concept of hell is also cruel. The boy knows some people need to die, but torture seems a bit excessive.

Gleb canʼt actually pray, not when he has grown to feel as conflicted about God. The last time he did, his mother had been about to die. But still, Gleb canʼt help but enjoy church. He likes the repetition. He bizarrely delights in the rules. Repeating certain phrases, fasting when he is told to. He appreciates how almost every church service is exactly the same except for those taking place during special feasts. Gleb loves the overall silence and peacefulness of the church.

There are lots of things to experience, such as the incense, the beautiful icons, and the chants. Gleb loves the way he can predict everything he will see, hear, touch, and smell. Nothing becomes too overwhelming that way. The manner in which the priest prays for the imperial family, as if they even needed to be prayed for, annoys the boy a little bit, but he can also predict that.

Gleb knows little about the imperial family. His father says it is not good to look at them when their pictures are on newspapers or postcards. He says those are put there for propaganda purposes, to make the Romanovs present in people's lives and thus more lovable. Gleb endorses his father's words thoroughly and never even peeks.

The only thing Gleb knows about the Tsarʼs family is that he has four little daughters, the oldest of which is five years younger than him. He also knows they have everything they could ever need and give back nothing. He knows they need no praying for.

Gleb would like God better if the concept of Him being the same as love were true. Gleb would at least have Him, but the boy doesnʼt know if he even believes or whether he just loves the idea of some great supernatural father loving him. Gleb has never felt lonelier.

On Friday, Gleb told Stephen about his new friends. Stephenʼs reaction was not what the boy had expected it would be:

"As much as I am glad about it, I donʼt want you to cling too hard to those two bourgeois classmates of yours just because they are safe as a start, boy. We need to have a talk, later, maybe tomorrow".

On Saturday, Stephan told Gleb that he was already old enough to learn that the word "revolution" is not just about the problems of the present. It is not just about the utopian future that awaits the world once its solutions are implemented.

"There is a bloody mess in between", Stephen warned his son as they walked back home from work. "People you know may get caught up in that mess if they actively fight against our objectives. You know about class warfare, donʼt you?"

Stephen made sure Gleb nodded before he continued speaking:

"You know of strikes caused by clashes of interests between the workers and their employers over wages and work hours, well…"

"They lead nowhere in the long run with the present system, because those interests are by nature, opposites", Gleb couldnʼt help but interrupt his father excitedly. "The more we work for less, the more they profit."

"Well", Stephen repeated, slightly annoyed by the interruption. "I am talking about revolutionary warfare plain and simple, literal warfare Gleb, because it is a possibility. You must be ready, and most importantly, willing, to see that war as necessary, and not all wars are fought in the battlefield."

As Stephen spoke, Gleb strived to look him in the eye the entire time. The child knew other people felt strongly about eye contact for some reason and that his father was like everyone else in this regard, but at least he trusted his father enough not to feel as uncomfortable with the task.

The phrase 'not all wars are fought in the battlefield' confused Gleb at first. It made no sense to him. If a war is being fought in a street or market, then it has already become a battlefield, hasnʼt it?

What had Stephen meant? Gleb was too afraid of asking and being called stupid. He knew his father could have been suggesting something else, using a metaphor of some sort…

Unless the saying was alluding to the killing of unarmed people. Gleb had already heard of it before from his fatherʼs friends. Some people need to die, he already knew. But still… never before from his father. Never before as a warning. As something that had anything to do with him.

Glebʼs emotions were becoming increasingly conflicted, it was one of those moments in which he didnʼt know what to feel. What did he feel indeed? Frightened? Excited? Motivated?

Despite his confusion, Gleb nodded. Did he feel scared of his father?

Stephen continued:

"For you to be ready, it is necessary that you stop acting like a child and start toughening up. You need to lose this fear of yours of talking to people, and I donʼt mean the speeches you are perfectly capable of giving when it is just me and other friends from work, I mean regular day to day interaction and…"

Gleb opened his mouth to ask how, but knowing precisely what his son was about to say, Stephen answered his question before he could even utter a word:

"I have no idea how, that is your problem, but you canʼt put any individual you meet on a pedestal. Those two children might remain your friends or become your enemies, and if they do, I donʼt want you crying in a corner. I want you thinking about the good of the many, the interests of the many. I want you walking up to the next group of people that might serve our party".

The party in question is the Russian Social Democratic Labor Party, Leninʼs increasingly divided party. It was founded in Minsk but mostly operates outside of Russia. Stephen is a member of a cell in Ekaterinburg.

"But papa, I am different…" Gleb lamented, his eyes filling with tears. "The kids at school donʼt like me".

"I have already explained to you why", Stephen rolled his eyes, exasperated. "Most of them think of you as their inferior, you just have to keep looking. You may be surprised to find one or two more that arenʼt as bad, now… donʼt tell me you are crying!"

The man wiped away some of his sonʼs tears gently.

"Stop that boy, you are almost a man!" He exclaimed, sounding a bit harsher than he intended to. Stephen had no idea how to deal with the situation.

Gleb kept on crying, wiping his own tears uselessly every few seconds. He was scared of what his father would think of him. After taking a few deep breaths, he finally decided to confess something that had troubled him for a while now:

"But there is another boy like me, one of Maksimʼs friends, he is from a poor neighborhood as well, I am just different from everyone."

A sob escaped Glebʼs throat before he kept weeping bitterly.

Stephen sighed. "That doesnʼt mean that little brat you have talked to us about doesnʼt think little of his poor friend as well", he smiled reassuringly. "That other boy is simply not as class conscious as you are, Gleb. That is all it is, and that is all it ever was, that and simple shyness, something you have to get over."

"No…" Gleb protested as he wiped his tears. No one understood. That wasnʼt the reason he was different, he knew, but he didnʼt want to argue anymore. He didn't even know how to explain the things that set him apart from others.

Listening to his fatherʼs attempt at comforting him did make Gleb feel a bit better though. If the schoolboyʼs impressions were correct, Stephen had actually been listening to the concerns he would only share with his mother for fear of bothering him unnecessarily.

On Sunday morning, the church service ends. Gleb is ready to go back home with his mother, but he feels empty. Both God and Stephen are distant. Gleb feels loved around his dear mother, but stupid school and stupid capitalist exploitation keep them torturously separated for more than half of every week.

But still, Gleb guesses his father is right. He has to get over those feelings somehow. He already has the notes on things to correct, and Peter and Leonid are a good start to his social life.

Next week, Stephen plans to take Gleb with him to a real meeting with the party, where the young boy will, for the very first time, meet people who are not just talk but also action. Gleb is excited about this, for he often fantasizes about becoming a real soldier for the revolution. He dreams of waving red flags and opening up prisons. If the revolution starts soon, Gleb thinks with delight, his classes might even be suspended.

Chapter Text

The Alexander Park, Tsarskoye Selo. August, 1903.

The Alexander Palace is an elongated two-story yellow building with double wings on the sides. It has a white ceiling, white window frames, and white rows of columns at the entrances.

The Alexander Palace is the place Tsar Nicholas and his family call home, and it is surrounded by a huge park that can be viewed from the buildingʼs balcony, a common leisure spot for the Tsarʼs family.

More valuable for Nicholas than power are his wife and daughters. Few other ruling families have been as perfectly united as his. Even fewer are right now. The man would have been happier with a simpler job, something that left him even more time to spare for his daughters and wife, especially his fragile wife.

Nicholas, like many Russian aristocrats, loves gifting his mother and wife new and different jeweled Fabergé eggs almost every year, but none of those eggs have exemplified his love for his family more than Lilies of the Valley, a light violet Fabergé egg he gave Alexandra in 1898.

Supported by four gold cabriolet legs from which green leaves veined in rose-cut diamonds spring out, the egg is surmounted by a rose-cut diamond and a cabochon ruby Imperial Crown set with two bows. Quartered by four lines of rose-cut diamonds, the jeweled piece is also decorated with pearls and rose-cut diamonds meant to represent lilies of the valley.

Alexandra Fedorovna loves flowers, so she regularly has them brought to St. Petersburg from Crimea. The lilies of the valley are among her favorites, as are pearls her favorite jewels.

Fabergé eggs usually include a surprise inside. In Lilies of the Valley, this surprise consists of three oval miniatures, one of Nicholas II in military uniform and two more of the oldest Grand Duchesses, Olga and Tatiana. They rise from the top of the egg when a pearl button at the side is turned. A turn in the opposite direction automatically folds and returns the miniatures back to the interior of the egg.

Nicholas knew his wife would love the egg when he had it commissioned, and he knew exactly what she would love about it. A true representation of both their family and Nicholasʼs love for Alexandra.

Maria was born a year later, and Anastasia, two years after that. Still now, almost every day, Nicholas and Alexandra will sit, have tea, and play with their four daughters on the balcony. The coupleʼs time with their daughters often includes acting in ridiculous ways, such as holding the dolls and going along with their childish games to amuse them. They are proud, caring, and indulging parents. If any of them could be considered a disciplinarian, it would be Alexandra. She does attempt to be persuasive more than strict though.

The Alexander Park is a green landscape throughout springs and summers. The roads, surrounded by trees, and the water flowing through the canals are both exceptions to the rule.

Six-year-old Grand Duchess Tatiana says the park looks like a forest. She likes to imagine it as such with her older sister Olga sometimes. The little girls will pretend to be fairies or similar storybook characters from the many folk tales their parents and nannies tell them about.

Most canals can be crossed over with bridges, something the Romanov sisters are doing right now. Today, the four little Grand Duchesses are going on a walk through their forest with Margaretta Eagar, Sonia Orbeliani, and Catherine Schneider.

Sonia Orbeliani is the Empressʼs 28-year-old lady in waiting. Catherine, a Baltic German, is the same woman who taught Alexandra the Russian language many years ago. In the family, she goes by the name of Trina.

"I spy, with my little eye… something blue!" Tatiana exclaims.

Olga and Tatiana are walking side by side, holding hands and swinging their arms together as high as they can, back and forward. Tatiana thinks this is fun.

"The sky!" Olga immediately suggests, looking up and pointing at it.

"Nope", Tatiana shakes her head proudly. There is a cheeky grin on her face. She didn't make this riddle as easy as she has before. Olga infers this and ruins her sisterʼs perfectly done half-up hair with her hands in response.

"Olenka!" Tatiana pulls away from Olga, but her smile does not disappear from her face.

Tatiana makes use of her fingers in an attempt to brush her hair back to normal and then goes for Olgaʼs hair.

Being incredibly close, the four little girls are extraordinarily affectionate with each other. Their closeness may largely involve the usual hugging and head patting, but it also includes pushing, kicking, and making use of any methods at hand to irritate each other.

Margaretta, Sonia, and Catherine are walking slower behind the four children. None of them have scolded the two oldest girls. It is an informal day after all, and Olga and Tatiana are laughing and screaming. They are having fun.

The three women are dressing alike. Only their long skirts are different colors. Catherine and Margaretta Eagar are, moreover, wearing sweaters. The four sisters, on the other hand, are dressed exactly the same way, even two-year-old Anastasia. Black shoes, white stockings, and long-sleeved dresses. Olga is wearing a headband as well.

The youngest Romanov sister already walks perfectly well and even faster than her sisters if she wills it so. Her beautiful strawberry blonde hair is growing. Little Nastasia is slowly becoming a big girl, Olga thinks with delight, and soon we will all be able to play even more games together. The more friends the better.

Those are the thoughts crossing the little empress's mind. Olga is thinking about her youngest sister. She also has questions. Her head is always filled with them. Right now, she has two. Where does the water go after it has rained? Why doesn't the Earth become a huge ocean when it rains a lot? She asks both these things to Miss Eagar.

Once the nanny has replied that water usually evaporates back into the air, Olga thinks of the beautiful Crimean beaches. The girl then recalls a recent music lesson she did exceptionally well at. She is looking forward to the next one.

The first time Nicholas referred to his oldest daughter as "little empress", he had been discussing the most recent affairs of state with her in a fairly simple language any child of a similar age could have easily understood. Nevertheless, the girl surprised her father by his perfectly recalling a past conversation that had taken place the previous winter, a discussion about the troubles in the Far East.

Little empress. Olga was delighted to hear her father refer to her in such a way, a way that implied she was just like him. The young girl had told everyone who would listen about it. The name has somewhat stuck, but unfortunately for Olga, it is far from being the most common way people refer to her as.

Unlike many children with no such fortune, Olga is part of the lucky ones who don't have exceedingly worrisome thoughts nor problems beyond their years. The future of the entire nation may depend on her father, but its troubles are distant. They are fun, like a childrenʼs game. Her father is her hero. He is super smart, for whenever he is not with them, Olga knows he is reading and writing reports and orders. One has to be smart to do that.

Her father knows what to do and can do no wrong. Russia and its people are safe in his hands, and so is she.

Olgaʼs thoughts as she walks through the park are simple and happy. She taps Tatianaʼs shoulder.

"Look at them", she gushes at her younger sisterʼs ear with a giggle.

Tatiana looks to her left, where Maria and Anastasia can be seen walking side by side with huge tumbling steps. They are also holding each other's hands. Tatiana smiles down at them for a second.

Ever since Anastasia was born, Maria hasnʼt felt lonely a day in her life, not even on the days her parents arenʼt home. Her older sisters may be best friends with each other, but Maria doesnʼt mind, because Anastasia is mostly hers, her baby sister who is always ready and willing to play with her, who is on her side whenever the childish squabbles begin, babbling in her defense. The two youngest girls are as inseparable as the oldest two are. Olga and Tatiana love Maria as well, and the four-year-old can tell. Her older sisters always accept her hugs smiling and do play with her now. Maria doesnʼt take that for granted.

To love and be loved, as far as Maria understands, means enjoying her parents' and sistersʼ company. It means being cuddled. Maria is the most tender and devoted out of her sisters.

Suddenly, Mariaʼs big eyes become even bigger. She slows down and startles the older girls by jumping, unclasping herself from Anastasia in the process. Still jumping, the little girl starts clapping. She is incredibly excited.

"I know what you saw, Tatya!" Maria points her finger at the canal they are approaching. "The water!"

Influenced by her sisterʼs enthusiasm, Anastasia starts jumping as well. "The water! The water!" She cries with excitement over and over again. "The water! The water!"

This makes Olga laugh.

"No", Tatiana proudly declares with a grin. "It is not that." She crosses her arms.

Maria stands still, pouting. She gradually begins walking again after a few seconds, but not without bellowing about how much she hates the game. She will get over it in seconds though. Her anger is usually short-lived. The four-year-old has never experienced a grudge.

Anastasia doesnʼt understand the game very much yet, not truly. Unlike Maria, she doesn't stop jumping.

"It is, the water!" The youngest Romanov daughter keeps yelling. "The water!" She grabs the back of Tatianaʼs dress. "It is the water!" By now, the two-year-old wouldnʼt stop her antics regardless of her understanding of the game or lack thereof.

Tatiana protests as she tries to get Anastasiaʼs hands away from her dress. Even Olga becomes startled. She untangles herself from Tatiana to avoid her mischievous youngest sister. Miss Eagar intervenes and picks Anastasia up.

"You are being a little monkey, arenʼt you?" The nanny says. Catherine and Sonia laugh as Anastasia struggles against Miss Eagar. Once the fright has passed, Olga and Tatiana laugh as well.

Tatiana turns around to face her governess and begins walking backwards. "That was very naughty Nastya", She points a finger at her little sister, who smiles down at her from Miss Eagar's arms.

The smiling Olga takes Tatianaʼs hand again. She loves doing that. Olga does wonder though... why, unlike the older women, is she always dressed like her sisters?

"Trina, why canʼt Tatiana and I wear long skirts and dresses already?" Olga asks Catherine.

"What is the hurry dear?" She replies. "You are still a child."

"They look prettier longer", Maria gets closer to Olga. Miss Eagar smiles down at her.

"I would also like a long skirt", Tatiana tells Trina, "like yours, and mamaʼs".

The women and the girls have all slowed down, the little Grand Duchesses having turned halfway around to talk to their elders.

"Believe me girls", Sonia says, "when you are older, you are going to miss your short, little girl skirts. They are more comfortable, easier to run, jump and play with, and better for riding".

"I also like riding! We should go riding tomorrow!" Tatiana exclaims. "It is so fun, right Olga?"

Olga nods at her sister. Sonia Orbeliani is a fearless and independent woman. A talented equestrian who has talked to the girls a lot about her days as the faster rider in the Caucasus.

"I want to be as good as you Sonia", Tatiana continues, "but I didnʼt know short skirts were better for riding."

"They might be better for riding", Trina intervenes, giving Sonia a slightly stern look, "but once young girls reach a certain age, they are no longer appropriate."

Catherine, on the other hand, is a shy older woman who keeps mostly to herself. Quite conservative, she is also warm and devoted to the family.

"Well, one gets used to long skirts anyway", Sonia changes the subject, clearly getting the older woman's message. "Would you let me join your spy game, girls?"

The three oldest girls become excited at the prospect. Olga and Tatiana nod at the same time as if coordinated to do so. Maria starts jumping and clapping again.

"Well, is it a little bird?" Sonia asks. "I saw a blue little bird right up that tree".

Everyone in the group stops walking to look up at the three, trying to spot the bluebird Sonia claims to be pointing at. Even Anastasia becomes calm. The restless little girl does understand she may be about to see something very interesting.

"I really want to see the pretty little birdie!" Mashka exclaims. Yet again, her huge blue eyes become even bigger in an attempt to avoid missing anything. Sonia keeps telling them to look at a certain branch, and the girls do. Margaretta and Catherine continue trying as well. They listen to Soniaʼs directions on where to look.

Time goes by, but eventually, Sonia admits after letting out a chuckle that there is no bluebird. It was a simple yet effective prank.

Everyone laughs except for disillusioned four-year-old Maria, who pouts. Her blue eyes fill with tears. Olga reassures her with a hug when she notices. Tatiana pats her head, repeating over and over again that everything is fine.

Sonia can't believe what she just did and feels guilty for a second. She bends down to pinch Mariaʼs cheek, apologizes, and tells her not to worry.

"There are lots of birds around here", she assures the little girl. "Some other time, maybe even today, you might get luckier." Maria rubs her eyes and smiles. Her forgiveness is quite easy to obtain.

That is when Olga notices it. She was so silly not to have done so before.

"Tatya, is it the ribbon around Soniaʼs hat?" Olga asks Tatiana.

"Yes!" Tatiana admits enthusiastically. The two older sisters hug and squeal in celebration.

Nicholas and Alexandra couldnʼt be with their children today. They are on a trip.

Oo

The canonization of Saint Seraphim of Sarov took place a few days ago, and the sovereigns were there to witness it. They may have two more lilies of the valley, two more angels or little cherubs, as Nicholas calls his daughters, but the imperial couple has yet to beget a son, and in a continuous search for a miracle, the ridiculed Frenchman Philippe was first replaced by the "Holy Fool" Dimitri, one of those people who give up their worldly possessions upon joining monastic orders or deliberately flout society's conventions to serve a religious purpose. Their immense devotion to Christ and perceived feeblemindedness or innocence is most favored by God and is thus said to provide them with special insight.

Later on, proclaimed prophet Daria Osipova, who suffered from epilepsy, was summoned to talk to the couple about their future son.

Despite wholeheartedly believing in these various pious people, Nicholas and Alexandra never stopped placing their utmost faith in the starets Seraphim of Sarov, working to make sure he was canonized.

When the royal entourage arrived at Arzamas, the town where the celebrations took place and Saint Seraphim had once lived, nearly half a million pilgrims had reached the Sarov Monastery, both peasants and well-to-do believers. From every corner of the Russian Empire people came. Young and old. Rich and poor. Dressed in bright regional costumes, rags and fine clothes, but all with one purpose. To venerate Seraphim. Some people walked all the way to the site, as the physical rigor doing so requires is itself considered an act of veneration.

Emperor Nicholas II and Empress Alexandra walked the last stretch of road with the pilgrims, although not without security nearby. On the day of the canonization, they received Holy Communion amidst their subjects.

One hundred thousand pilgrims filled the monastery, churches, and squares. Thousands more stood nearby or on the road. People were lining up as far as through the ancient Sarov Forest, all awaiting the moment when the relics would be opened for veneration.

The Tsar and five Grand Dukes lifted the coffin and carried it from the church. The crowd watched the procession in silence. The occasional weeping was all that could be heard.

After the canonization, Nicholas and Alexandra bathed in the Sarova River, as it was said Seraphim had once done the same. They prayed that the sacred waters would finally bless them with a son and heir.

Oo

Few people receive special gifts from the light. Even fewer are able to make use of said gifts, for those who possess them may require an almost otherworldly spiritual vocation, something the man Russians now call a saint had.

Before he died, St. Seraphim left a particularly important prophecy to Nicholas Motovilov, his chronicler. The recipient of said message was specified in the letter that contained it: "To the Tsar in whose reign I shall be glorified.”

While speaking to Motovilov, the starets often mentioned Tsar Nicholas, whom he called "a Christian in his soul.” He mentioned the Tsar's devout consort, Alexandra Feodorovna, and his mother, Dowager Empress Maria Feodorovna.

Motovilov searched and worked tirelessly for ways to bring about the canonization of St. Seraphim during the reign of Nicholas I, his wife Alexandra Feodorovna, and his mother Marie Feodorovna. When Nicholas I died in 1855, proving his efforts unsuccessful, Motovilov was bitterly disappointed.

What had happened, or more accurately, hadn't happened, had been contrary to Seraphim's prediction. The old man had linked his canonization to an exact combination of royal names. Motovilov died in 1879. No one would have guessed that fifty years after the death of Nicholas I, the very same names would make another appearance among members of the imperial family: Nicholas II, his wife Alexandra Feodorovna, and his mother Marie Feodorovna.

St. Seraphim had not only predicted his own canonization but also the arrival of the Tsar and his family to the celebration. In anticipation, the prophet had entrusted the letter to Motivilov with these words: "You will not live that long, but your wife will live to the time when the royal family will come to Diveyevo, and the Tsar will come to see her. Let her give it to him."

And so, Motovilovʼs wife Elena Ivanovna preserved the letter, and when Tsar Nicholas II came from Sarov to visit Diveyevo, he received it… and was painfully made aware of the future downfall of the Russian nation, the Orthodox Church, and his reign. He was made aware of the suffering that would follow.

As soon as the Emperor read the letter, he began weeping bitterly. The Empress would cry as well. The entourage tried to console the imperial couple, assuring them that while Seraphim was a saint, he had once been a human as well. The letter, they said, could simply be taken as a warning of what might happen instead of a curse, something doomed to happen.

Nicholas and Alexandra thought of little else for days. Needless to say, the letter had been unnerving, adding to the distress the contents of Monk Abelʼs casket had resulted in two years ago.

Not a single complete manuscript written by the famous seer survived, only fragments and some copies. Nevertheless, at the request of Tsar Paul, Monk Abel, like Seraphim, had also written down his most important prophecies and hidden them in a casket to be opened exactly 100 years after the death of the Mad Tsar. The predictions were, to say the least, disheartening for the imperial couple, and only more so once they caught up on the fact many of the events prophesied had already come to pass, the murder of the Tsar Liberator being the most shocking of all for Nicholas, who later also identified his father in Monk Abelʼs writings when an Emperor who would bring peace was alluded to.

There will be a redeemer, read the next prediction, which both Nicholas and Alexandra knew was theirs. He will replace the royal crown with a crown of thorns, he will be betrayed by his people, as once the Son of God was betrayed.

There will be a war, a great war, a world war. In the air, people, like birds, will fly. Underwater, like fish, they will swim. They will begin to destroy each other with stinking sulfur.

The betrayal will grow and multiply. On the eve of victory, the royal throne will collapse, and its many descendants will be scattered and persecuted.

A man with an ax will take power in madness, but he himself will cry afterward. The plagues of Egypt will start.

Blood and tears will water the damp earth, bloody rivers will flow. Brother will rise up against brother. Fire, swords, invasion of foreigners, and an internal enemy. Godless power.

Here and there will be death and nowhere to run. The smoke of fires and ashes, all living things will dissipate. Dead deserts all around. Not a single human soul, not an animal creature. Neither tree nor grass will even grow... and then there will still be more.

The Angel of the Lord will pour out new bowls of calamity so that the people come to their senses. Several wars there will be, the next one worse than the other. A new Khan from the west will raise his hand.

The people between fire and flame will be, but they will not be destroyed like Earth, as if the prayers of the tortured Tsar had saved them.

Warnings, Nicholas and Alexandra decided. Just God's warnings. They had to be firm and prepare for any hardships and tribulations that might come their way, and at the end of the day, they also had to be ready to accept Godʼs will regardless, because every possible happening, even the hypothetical downfall of their nation, was in His hands.

But still, Alexandra knows that as long as they have faith in God, everything is possible. Any prayer can be heard. Faith can move mountains and change destiny if God so decides. At least, that is what she hopes.

Nicholas and Alexandra have discussed the grim topic reassuringly.

"It is not like these sorts of predictions are uncommon either", Nicholas assured Alexandra on one occasion as the two prayed together in their room. "In Russia, apocalyptic prophesies and rumors have circled around for a long time.” They have, existing since before the Time of Troubles. They are particularly popular among the common people.

Dates for the end of the world have abounded and clearly been proven to be incorrect as well, and not just in Russia but all over the world. Nicholas and Alexandra are aware of some of them, and in truth, that knowledge is what preserved their sanity. Their friend Philippe's foretellings of future glory also encouraged them.

Nicholas and Alexandra went on to visit the Diveyevo Convent, where Pasha, another old Holy Fool, spoke to them for several hours. She foretold they would suffer a painful martyrdom.

The Empress, who by miracle didnʼt faint, exclaimed:

"I don't believe you, it cannot be!"

Pasha gave the Empress a piece of red cloth in response. "This is for some little trousers for your son", she said, "and when he is born, you will believe what I have been telling you."

The imperial couple left pale and terrified. Not a coincidence, they both acknowledged in submission to Godʼs will once the panic had dissipated. Hard times were coming, unavoidably so, but the Holy Fool had made them certain of something else as well, something that would not allow them to fall into despair.

Alexandra's son might as well have been born already, making her most important duty as an Empress full filled. Knowing God has listened to their prayers, Nicholas and Alexandra are more than ready to hope He will not let them or Holy Russia down.

Moscow is the third Rome, the center of the true faith. It can't fall. Surely there must be more to the prophecy, especially considering the miraculous advent of their son. Maybe they will have to suffer through the hard times so he can have an easier and more glorious reign.

Oo

Seraphim is not unique in his abilities, and there are those who are since birth so naturally gifted that they may come to have visions or possess special abilities requiring little effort on their part. No outstanding sort of piety, no training.

The early 1900s are unusual, for there are plenty of these powerful people alive at the moment, which is uncommon. They are so rare barely ever are two of them alive at the same time.

There is a little blonde peasant girl living in a village near Moscow who has the sight. She is nine years old now. Born in Siberia, another gifted peasant in his thirties has a family of his own but spends most of his time wandering from holy place to holy place, searching for spiritual meaning in his life, getting a bit lost in the process.

There are others. Each of these living oracles has a purpose, otherwise they would not exist. The more naturally gifted they are, the easier it is for them to be corrupted by the dark.

Oo

Used to having their parents around, the four Grand Duchesses are missing them, but not more than Alexandra is desperately missing her babies, as she calls her daughters. She started missing them more than ever after learning of the prophecy. Their presence and cheerfulness would reassure Alexandra very much right now. The mother has sent her eldest daughter plenty of letters expressing that longing while also describing her journey, something Olga finds particularly interesting.

Sonia helps Olga read her motherʼs letters sometimes. The oldest Grand Duchess likes talking to her little sisters about them. After the bird incident, Alexandraʼs words comforted the disappointed Maria.

"Auntie Olga likes going on walks through the forest with papa", Olga tells her sisters. "They have seen many soldiers of all kinds. Uhlans, Dragoons and Hussars, and infantry, artillery, and cavalry…"

"Oh!" Maria exclaims. "I wish I could have been there to say 'hi' to our soldiers!"

"But there are lots of soldiers here already", Tatiana argues as she looks at her younger sister. "Our guards."

"Yes, I like them all", Maria says.

"The peasants they have met on the trip are all very nice", Olga continues. "They gave mama bread, salt, and flowers they had grown themselves. The children love giving mama and papa flowers and talking to mama. An old lady mentioned us, asking mama where she had left us."

"That is so sweet!" Tatiana exclaims. Maria nods.

"Another one called her mamashinka, which means mother", Olga explains. "Mama and papa are the little mother and father of the nation and have to take care of everyone".

Olga is also aware of the fact her mother reminded her to be good, sit straight, and keep her hands off the table. The girl tries to follow Alexandra's instructions, but she prefers not to talk about them with her sisters, as Tatiana and Maria could definitely use that information against her. Instead, the Grand Duchess continues describing her parents' trip.

"Why did the workmen give mama bread and salt?" Maria asks Olga as she struts around. The four girls are about to cross a bridge.

"It is a tradition", Tatiana replies. "The Slavic way of greeting guests, and mama and papa are guests in the places they visit."

"Well, it is also traditional to give bread and salt to people in other cultures dear", Miss Eagar corrects her.

"Like what others?" Olga turns to look at her nana. She didn't know about that.

"Well, in Scotland, during New Yearʼs Day, the first one to enter a house is required by tradition to bring bread, salt, and coal, and there are many more."

"But why coal?" Olga asks.

"I wouldn't know about that", Miss Eagar admits, much to Olga's surprise. Miss Eagar knows so many things.

"It is also a tradition in the Baltics", Trina adds. "For the blessing of a new home."

Ahead of the group and walking faster, Maria has already crossed the bridge. She is trying to jump on one foot. Unlike light and agile Nastasia, Maria is chubby and stumbles quite easily whenever she jumps. On this occasion, she almost falls on her side. Sonia rushes towards the little girl and manages to catch her just in time.

"Fat little bow-wow", Olga shakes her head at Maria as she and Tatiana catch up to her. Sonia helps the child stand up.

"Did you get hurt, Mashka?" Tatiana strokes her little sister's hair. Maria just shakes her head and smiles.

"Thank God! That could have been a bad one!" A shaken Trina exclaims. Everyone in the little group has started laughing. Only the middle-aged woman remains anxious. Olga thinks it is good that Trina wasn't in the park with them a few days ago, when the four sisters played with their cousins Irina and Andryushka on another nearby bridge.

Olga, Tatiana, and Maria had climbed the railing with their cousins and then thrown leaves at the water to see which one would travel faster. Anastasia had tried to climb as well, but she had not been allowed to.

Olga and Tatiana know Anastasia will always try to follow their footsteps, even at times when it is dangerous for a girl her age to do so. Every hour of every day, the two-year-old girl's greatest purpose in life is doing anything she has learnt results in a funny feeling in her stomach or people making that loud contagious sound known as laughter.

The women and girls keep walking until they come across a bench. Catherine and Margaretta sit, the latter still carrying a slightly tired Anastasia on her lap. Sonia, on the other hand, decides to play Ring a Ring o' Roses with the three older children. The girls and Sonia Orbeliani form a circle, holding each other's hands to close it as they begin singing.

Ring-a-ring o' roses,

A pocket full of posies,

A-tishoo! A-tishoo!

We all fall down.

Olga, Tatiana, Maria, and Sonia have fun pretending to fall every time they finish singing the song. Olga is often the quickest to plummet, practically throwing herself to the grass as soon as the song ends. Wanting Tatiana to share her success, Olga will sometimes pull her down with her so that they can both fall at the same time. This makes Tatiana let out wildly loud giggles. The two oldest sisters are a team.

As the tallest, Sonia is always the last to reach the ground. Maria usually comes second, as her clumsiness certainly entails failing to fall on purpose. She always needs someone to help her stand up as well. The third girl will then keep giggling for longer than either her sisters or Sonia will, missing the beginning of the song every time the others start singing again.

The four girls have enjoyed this innocent little game thoroughly, laughing out loud at the end of every repetition of the lyrics.

Anastasia has watched her sisters from Miss Eagarʼs arms, screaming and clapping as they sing, rise and fall. With a twinge of jealousy, Anastasiaʼs tiredness subsides as quickly as it emerged. She extends her arms and tries to untangle herself from Miss Eagarʼs grasp.

"You want to play with them?" The nanny makes Anastasia sit by her side. "You can go." She strokes the little girlʼs head. As soon as she is free, Anastasia grins devilishly. She has changed her plans.

Miss Eagar realizes she has made a mistake a little too late. Anastasia stands up on the bench, swings her arms back, and jumps. The thump is loud.

Anastasia hits the floor, falling hard on her hands and knees. Miss Eagar could swear her forehead bounced on the ground as well. Catherine and Eagar stand up immediately, their minds quickly filling with the worst possible scenarios. The game in front of them stops. Sonia and the older girls stare at Anastasia. Little Maria, sensing the distress in the adults around her, lets out a sob and covers her eyes.

Everyone can see it. That bench was too high for Anastasia to have jumped from it in such a way. Catherine waits for the child's loud cry as she rushes towards her behind Margaretta, who hopes the two-year-old didnʼt open her knees, hands, or worse...

Before either of the women are able to check up on her, Anastasia is back on her feet. She is back up, and she is laughing.

"Oh!" Catherine exclaims in relief.

"Again! Again!" Anastasia chants.

Maria takes her hands away from her eyes and smiles when she realizes her sister is fine. Olga, Tatiana, and Sonia laugh. Miss Eagar, too, chuckles for a few seconds before preventing Anastasia from climbing back onto the arm of the bench in an unstoppable fit of laughter.

It is not the first time Miss Eagar has to stop Anastasia, at times unsuccessfully, from jumping off furniture and hurting herself. It will not be the last time either.

Anastasia did open her knee, and there is even a bit of blood coming from it. The small wound will probably be healing nicely in a day or two, but Miss Eagar still finds it surprising that Anastasia didn't seem the slightest bit bothered.

After playing Ring a Ring o' Roses one more time, now with Anastasia, Tatiana suggests that they all go visit Childrenʼs Island. Since it is getting late, the girls are promised to be taken the next day.

Oo

Tatiana worries even less frequently than her elder sister. As the second born, a lot less pressure is put on her. She can make mistakes and think of ways to correct them without fearing as many repercussions. She can learn from the ones Olga makes. She can do so discretely.

Tatiana thinks of enjoying life and making others happy. A true people pleaser, Tatiana shines more as a hostess than any of her sisters. Whenever other children come to visit the little Grand Duchesses, Olga and Maria are apt to devote themselves to one or two of their guests, but Tatiana has learned to scrutinize her every action most anxiously, lest any point of etiquette should escape her.

Tatiana was only two and a half years old when Miss Eagar took her to her first party. Olga, Tatiana, and their nanny were met at the top of the staircase by the children they had come to see, Maria and Dmitri, as well as their governess. A few days later, Olga and Tatiana would be the ones to host a children's party. Tatiana was frantically eager to be dressed and ready, hardly standing still to have her sash tied.

"You really must not be so excited, dear", Margaretta said.

"When we went to Maria's house, she and Dmitri were waiting for us at the top of the stairs", Tatiana argued back reproachfully, "and I know it must be right for us to wait for them." Accordingly, she did so.

The first guests to arrive were children a good deal older than this anxious little hostess, but Tatiana still tried to help them take off their wraps. She then took hold of their hands, leading them to the principal sitting room to ask them whether they would prefer to turn somersaults or jump off the sofa, two forms of amusement especially dear to her.

So now, every time Tatiana hosts a children's party, she will try to make sure everyone is well looked after. That way it is more fun for everyone once the games begin, etiquette itself being like a fun little game for Tatiana.

The last time Dmitri and his older sister Maria came to visit the four little Grand Duchesses with their Aunt Ella and Uncle Sergei, Tatiana was still conducting herself, in Ellaʼs words, as a magnificent little hostess. Tatiana takes pride in that.

Oo

The following day, after playing with their motherʼs dog, the four girls went to Children's Island with Miss Eagar. The tiny isle is located across a canal from the west wing of the palace. A boat is needed to reach it, so two sentries were asked to take the girls and Miss Eagar across the canal despite the fact Olga, Tatiana, and to a certain extent Maria already know how to kayak their way to the island.

Once there, a big light blue playhouse awaits them. Today, the girls are playing family inside. After much discussion, Tatiana admits, with a bit of frustration, that it is her turn to be the father, as Olga got the role last time and now wants to be the mother. Maria gets the role of the daughter, while Anastasia plays her part of the family dog convincingly by using Alexandraʼs dog Ara as a reference and barking at her three sisters and nanny.

The game soon dissolves into something different. Maria pets Anastasia and laughs uncontrollably at her barking. Olga and Tatiana attempt to train their "dog" by talking to Anastasia the same way they talk to Ara.

"Good girl", Tatiana will say with a smile whenever Anastasia raises her hand as if it were her paw. Maria laughs at anything Anastasia does. Margaretta canʼt hold back her laughter either.

Olga is a bit bolder. After Anastasia bites her, she storms out of the playhouse, gathers water from the canal in her hands, and springs it over Anastasia. Miss Eagar, naturally, scolds her.

Oo

Olga has thought of Cousin Dmitri recently. He is very playful and funny, even as a big boy of eleven. The other day when he visited and they hid in the same place during a game of hide and seek, Dmitri asked Olga whether she knew if their cousin Irina liked anyone. At first, Olga didn't comprehend why Dmitri had asked that question.

"Like your father likes your mother", the boy explained, and Olga immediately understood.

"I donʼt think so", Olga answered. To be fair, she had not been aware children could "like" like that.

Cousins Alice and Andrew must like each other like that, Olga thinks, otherwise, they wouldn't be getting married. Alice of Battenberg is the daughter of Alexandraʼs older sister, Victoria. She is soon to be married to Prince Andrew of Greece and Denmark, Maria Feodorovnaʼs nephew.

Olga thinks she now knows why Dmitri asked her that. He must be in love with Irina! He must want to marry her as well, just like Andrew will marry Alice. Dmitri had then asked Olga not to tell Irina about his question.

Poor Dmitri. Olga would not tell Irina, but part of her wishes she could just to see her reaction... and what if Irina does like him as well? Olga will tell Tatiana though. She wonders what her sister is going to think. Olga may tell her mother as well, as it would be fun having more people to talk about it.

Dmitri lives with his sister Maria. Aunt Ella and Uncle Sergei take care of them. Olga loves them both very much. Aunt Ella is really nice to her and her sisters, never getting angry nor scolding, and Uncle Sergei is very funny and likes teasing them all. But Olga feels sorry for Dmitri and his sister Maria, because their papa is always away, but not away like Olgaʼs papa is. Olga's father always comes back, and as long as he is staying at the same palace they will see him almost every day. They play together. If Olgaʼs father left her and her sisters to go to Paris without them, Olga doesnʼt know what she would do. She would feel way too sad.

Cousin Ella canʼt see her mama and papa at the same time, Olga remembers. They "liked" each other and now don't anymore. Poor Cousin Dmitri, Olga thinks, poor Cousin Ella. My sisters and I really do have everything.

The young girl has little idea of how right she is. Her father always returns, and he never returns in a bad mood or unwilling to talk to her like a certain father in the Urals does. He never returns with back pains.

Outside the blue playhouse, a few lilies of the valley can be found. After playing, Tatiana suggests her sisters to pick up some of them. It is very fun for the four girls to compete over who can gather the most flowers. We can give the flowers to mama once she is back. Tatiana smiles at the thought.

Chapter Text

Princess Alice of Battenberg is the daughter of Prince Louis of Battenberg and his wife Princess Victoria of Hesse and by Rhine, Alexandra Feodorovnaʼs older sister. Prince Andrew of Greece is nephew of both Queen Alexandra of England and the Russian Dowager Empress. There was a great royal family gathering at Darmstadt to celebrate their marriage on September 1903.

The Hessian sisters Victoria, Elizabeth, Irene, and Alexandra attended the festivities along with their families. A ball was arranged in their honor. The four "graces" looked quite lovely according to numerous prestigious guests.

The four little Grand Duchesses were delighted by the thought of visiting their cousin Ella yet again. As any good hostess would, Elizabeth came out to receive her guests. When the happy reunion took place, Olga and Tatiana were holding hands as Maria and Anastasia stood close by, waiting for Ella. Princess Elizabeth gave each of her cousins a mightily tight hug as soon as she saw them, but her attention quickly shifted to Anastasia, who from then on would be called "my tiny cousin" by the young Hessian princess.

"Can I hold her?" Ellaʼs voice was high pitched as she asked this question, her hopeful eyes wide. Miss Eagar couldn't help but indulge her. Elizabeth picked the two-year-old and the little five girls started chatting on the way to their lodgings.

Ella walked ahead with her tiny cousin in arms. Olga and Tatiana followed her closely behind, unintentionally yet consistently finishing each other's sentences as they told their slightly older cousin about the toys they had brought and the games they wanted to play. Olga tapped Ellaʼs shoulder to get her attention, but the little Hessian princess had been listening.

"It is going to be great!" She turned her head around to face her Russian cousin. "I am also going to show you my new dolls, and we are going to be together for such a long time!"

Maria listened to the conversation in silence as she held on to Ella's dress, looking up at Anastasia with adoration. Unlike her older sisters, Maria had slightly fewer recollections of her cousin Ella, so at first, she resented the Hessian princess for "stealing" her little sister. Maria missed the sensation of having Anastasia walking by her side. This feeling of irritation soon dissipated, however, when Mariaʼs big eyes came into contact with her cousin's. Ella's grey-blue eyes were kind and welcoming, and when Anastasia started laughing and grabbing Ella's face a bit too roughly, the latter grinned at Maria before asking:

"Is she always pinching everyone?"

Maria smiled back and nodded before describing Anastasiaʼs personality to her cousin:

"She is a bit naughty, but she likes us, and likes dolls as well."

"But you have to be careful", Olga cautioned Ella.

"She likes to bite them", Tatiana finished for her sister.

The warnings didn't scare Elizabeth though. She continued showering her tiny cousin with attention. Anastasia was deeply amused by this. As far as the little one understood, the more playmates, the better.

Also delighted was Alexandra, who took pleasure in observing her niece and daughters as they walked side by side recalling past and future frolickings. All the adults were delighted. The five girls were wearing bows in their hair matching the varying colors of their beautiful short lace dresses.

Alexandraʼs childhood had been prematurely turned sour upon receiving an unwelcome visit from the angel of death. She could only hope nothing similar would ever happen to any of her children.

Oo

The eight-year-old daughter of Ernst, Alexandraʼs brother, is a pretty dark brunette, similar in looks to her mother. Her grey-blue eyes have an unusual appearance though. Sadness. Miss Eagar perceives sadness in those eyes, but she wouldnʼt dare make her opinion known to the girlʼs newly divorced father, the Duke of Hesse. It is not her place. She wouldnʼt even disclose her feelings to Miss Wilson, the little girlʼs devoted nanny and someone Margaretta Eagar soon comes to be on friendly terms with.

Margarettaʼs suspicions are not unfounded. Elizabeth's life is not lacking in sadness. Her parents are divorced, and her only sibling, her baby brother, was stillborn. Thinking of her parents' divorce makes Elizabeth feel truly sad, as she loves both of them deeply. She misses mama when she is with papa and misses papa when she is with mama.

She is missing her mama right now and wishes she had a tiny brother to keep her company.

Elizabeth feels lonely at times, but she tries to make up for that by making everyone around her happy.

Oo

The Romanov family stayed at a new palace. Olga appreciated its location near the town of Darmstadt, where she and Tatiana have many good memories strolling around and visiting shops with Cousin Ella. Olga also liked the palaceʼs pretty garden, full of ponds covered in beautiful lotus blossoms.

Tatiana fell in love with Cousin Aliceʼs white wedding dress as soon as she laid her eyes on it. Decorated with numerous flowers, the gown was so beautiful and colorful the little Tatiana couldnʼt stop starting. Cousin Alice looks so pretty, she thought.

The four little Grand Duchesses gushed over the dress before and after the wedding ceremony, and so did Princess Elizabeth. The flattered bride indulged the girls by letting them form a circle around her to have a better look. Alice also allowed them to touch her dress.

Elizabeth and Olga merely marveled at its beauty. Maria looked up to the bride just as much, her little imaginative mind looking forward to the day of her own wedding. She wanted to look just like Cousin Alice.

Tatiana, on the other hand, savored every detail of the gown, and as she carefully brushed her fingers against the skirt, wondered how much work and effort had been put into its making.

"Who made it?" She asked.

"A seamstress, dear", Alice answered.

"But how? It is so big and has so many…"

Just at that moment, Anastasia interrupted the conversation by pulling the dress too hard. Tatiana rushed to Cousin Alice's aid, but Elizabeth picked Anastasia up first. The Hessian princess started playing with her tiny cousin, jumping with her in arms in order to amuse her. The two-year-old started laughing uncontrollably.

"Come!" Elizabeth extended an arm in invitation, and the rest of her cousins followed her. In a fit of giggles, Maria was the first to prance towards Ella, taking her hand while looking up at her in admiration. Soon they were both doing things to amuse the little Anastasia.

The older guests couldn't help but smile every time they came across the five little girls strolling around with big smiles on their faces. The four Grand Duchesses and their eight-year-old Cousin Ella attended the wedding dressed in their finest and most elegant clothes, relatively short white dresses decorated with lace. The white color of their dresses matched that of their bows, socks and shoes, only Olga and Tatiana wearing delicate and shiny black tights and shoes instead.

None of them looked as beautiful as Cousin Alice in Tatiana's opinion, and to that, Olga agreed.

There were two long wedding ceremonies taking place in two separate churches, Lutheran and Greek. Miss Eagar did a good job keeping Anastasia calm. She had been preparing for days and had many little toys and soothing techniques at hand.

The other girls got bored.

"I love the prince's uniform", Maria confided to Olga, who was sitting next to her at church. "He looks like a soldier, I love him." She spoke a bit too loudly.

"Shh", the Empress hushed Maria with a smile, putting a finger in her mouth. She never once reprimanded her little Maria too harshly for chattering at church. The two long ceremonies must have been too much for a little girl of four, Alexandra thought.

Olga did her best not to talk too much with Maria about the groom or the bride's pretty dress in the middle of either ceremony. She did whisper in Tatianaʼs ear the different rituals the ceremonies would consist of before they were even performed though. Olga knew about them, and she wanted Tatiana to be impressed by her knowledge. Olga had asked her master about the sacrament of marriage and now needed to share her wisdom with someone. As expected, Tatiana was exceedingly captivated by her sister's knowledge, her little squeals betraying her excitement whenever Olga was proven right. This delighted Olga, who loves entertaining Tatiana. Usually, the peaceful Tatiana has no problem remaining quiet whenever silence is required of her, but those two ceremonies tested even her patience.

Oo

Grand Duchess Elizabeth Feodorovna of Russia visits her youngest sister Alix often along with her husband, Grand Duke Sergei. This provides her with plenty of opportunities to spend time with her young little nieces: Olga, Tatiana, Maria, and Anastasia. Opportunities to spend time with the rest of her nieces and nephews are a bit rarer, so Elizabeth is grateful to God for these festivities.

Fourteen-year-old Louise, ten-year-old George, and three-year-old Louis are the children of Elizabethʼs older sister Victoria and her husband Louis of Battenberg. Alice, the eighteen-year-old bride, is also their daughter.

Fourteen-year-old Waldemar, six-year-old Sigismund, and three-year-old Heinrich, on the other hand, are the children of Elizabeth's younger sister Irene and her husband Prince Heinrich of Prussia, a younger brother of German Emperor Wilhelm II, Elizabeth's former suitor.

Even Elizabeth's little brother, Ernst, has a beautiful and delightful eight-year-old daughter named Elizabeth like herself. The little girl is Ernst's world.

All of my siblings have children of their own now, Elizabeth realizes. The Grand Duchess can't help but experience a small glimmer of sadness and perhaps even jealousy as she keeps an eye on the little ones playing together in the garden.

Soon after marrying Sergei, Elizabeth learned that they wouldnʼt be able to have children of their own. People will often come to her with all sorts of advice on how to increase fertility, but Elizabeth has already lost hope. At this point, any piece of advice feels more like a patronizing insult than genuine concern. She would never dare say so out loud, of course. It would be cruel.

Elizabeth loves children though. She always has. As a little girl, she was the one out of her sisters to play with baby dolls most often. Victoria was the tomboy of the family, and little Alix preferred animals, as they would interact with and love her back.

Sergei and Elizabeth's Ilyinskoe estate, a few miles west of Moscow, is frequently used to host parties that Elizabeth organizes primarily for children, her nieces, nephews, or otherwise.

Elizabeth also dotes on Felix Yusupov, the youngest son of Princess Zinaida Yusupova, the heiress of Russiaʼs largest private fortune and one of Elizabeth's dearest friends. Zinaida owns a residence near Ilyinskoe, and through the years it has been hard for Elizabeth not to grow increasingly fond of her almost angelic kindness.

Now a slightly troublesome young man of sixteen, Felix used to be a funny, talkative child who craved attention more than anything else in the world. He also loved wearing dresses, a peculiarity Zinaida embraced fully, as she was never blessed with a daughter. Elizabeth found Felix endearing from the moment she first met him and has since been like a second mother to him.

It is hard for her to admit, but the love she has for those dear children has not quite filled the void her childlessness represents in her life. Not even caring for Maria and Dmitri has. Sometimes, having them around only reminds her of everything she can't have, making her experience immense guilt.

Elizabethʼs relationship with Dmitri is easy. She loves that boy and at times can even convince herself that he is her son. Bonding with his older sister Maria, on the other hand, has been difficult so far. Maria was already a big child of twelve when Elizabeth was charged with the responsibility of taking care of her. The oldest of Elizabethʼs adopted children is quiet and closed off, always missing her father. Elizabeth doesn't know how to be a mother to her.

God, forgive Paul for what he has done to his children, she prays.

Elizabeth wishes she had been consulted… but Sergei accepted the responsibility straight away and without asking her. Elizabeth was merely presumed and expected to be happy about it. She didn't even have time to prepare.

Sergei loves making decisions for Elizabeth, which is usually not a problem for her. Maybe this time it was.

And yet, Elizabeth would not change Sergei for anything in the world, not even children. He is not well-liked. Many people consider him arrogant, short-tempered, and cold. An almost emotionless reactionary of ruthless methods.

Sergei is all of that, but Elizabeth knows him better than anyone. He is also tender in his own way. Sergei is ruthless because he worries for the future stability of the Empire. He comes across as cold to most people because he doesnʼt want to show his many weaknesses. He is also sensitive, a lover of art and poetry. The patron of dozens of charities. A lover of God. Elizabeth and Sergei fell madly in love. And while he may be strict at times, he absolutely adores Maria and Dmitri.

Elizabeth has also financed several charities for the poor and suffering people of Moscow. The homeless, the orphans, and the children of drunkards and prostitutes. She has been doing so for a long time.

It is not enough. Elizabeth knows there is more she can do for those people. She doesnʼt want her life consisting of endless parties and ceremonies anymore. She longs to feel close to the poor, so see for herself what is truly happening and not just help from afar, but Sergei is strictly opposed to that.

"This is not Darmstadt and you are not your mother", her husband says almost every time she brings up the subject. "You won't be respected for doing that in Russia as you would in Germany. Your job is to preserve the prestige of the family, and besides, it is extremely dangerous. Any anarchist, revolutionary... even a simple lunatic could assassinate you, or worse. There are savages amongst those people, you don't know what it is like, the things they have had to do to survive."

Elizabeth is not naïve, she does know. She is curious enough to ask the charity workers about the living conditions of the poorest among the people of Moscow. And yet, the spiritual call to do as Jesus did has not abandoned her.

Oo

Olga knew about it already, but as everyone walks out of the second church, her poor little sister Maria is distressed to learn that Cousin Alice will be leaving her mother to live with her husband. Hoping to provide her sister with some comfort, Olga embraces Maria.

"I'll never marry," Maria hugs Olga back tightly. "I couldn't leave my dear mama."

"Oh, dear, everyone who is married has to go live with their new husband or wife", Miss Eagar explains. "Prince Andrew will now live with Princess Alice, but both of them will get to visit their parents pretty often."

"Why do people marry if they have to leave their mamas to do so?" Maria sinks her head into Olgaʼs neck.

"Very few people can stay with their parents forever", the nanny tries to soothe her worries. "Many people are obliged to go away and live with strangers without being married at all."

"Have you ever known anyone who did?" Maria raises her head, surprised. Margaretta Eagar tells Maria about several people who have done so, many of whom the four sisters know, herself included.

"They are perfectly happy", Miss Eagar assures Maria. Then, stroking the little girlʼs cheek, she adds: "I am perfectly happy."

Maria reflects on this for a moment, after which, with a beaming smile, she says: "But that was different, our mama called you."

In any case, there is a mother involved in the situation. My mama is so good she can be like Miss Eagar's mama, Maria thinks.

On the way back to the carriage, Elizabeth takes little Maria by the hand while Tatiana, walking closely behind, talks to her sisters and cousin about dresses. Olga walks closely by Cousin Ella's side, her giggling baby sister Anastasia prancing in front of her. Olga will sometimes come from behind and grab her youngest sister by the arms to help her walk faster or even jump from place to place. Anastasia loves it.

"Donʼt worry, my dear Maria", the young Elizabeth consoles her cousin as she stops for a moment to stroke her hair. "It is not too bad to be away from you mama for a while. Mama and I are separated whenever I am with papa, but it is all right, because I always see her again. It will be that way when you get married. You will see your mother very often as well, every time you want to, and you will both be very happy."

Oo

The four Grand Duchesses and their maternal cousins of similar ages are playing in the beautiful palace garden. Filled with ponds and pretty lotus blossoms, the garden is also large. The children love it.

George is ten, but he has no problem playing with his younger cousins. Sigismund of six is one of the girls' favorite maternal cousins, second only to Elizabeth. Louis canʼt take his eyes off his four-year-old cousin Maria, only a year older than him. Not knowing any better, he once follows her around for half an hour as she plays with her sisters. The poor little boy is too mesmerized by the sight of his cousin to play anything.

Little Heinrich is the same age as Louis, and his personality is similar to that of his cousin Anastasia, causing Alexandra to have a special fondness for him. Heinrich has almost too much energy. He certainly would have enjoyed horseplay more than he has been able to. Every time the children start playing rough, Irene intervenes to take her little boy away or has a nanny do it.

Heinrich suffers from hemophilia, the same illness that killed Ireneʼs little brother Friedrich when he was only two. Ireneʼs oldest son Waldemar is a hemophiliac as well, and she has feared for his life ever since he was born.

When a hemophiliac gets hurt, their blood doesnʼt clot properly, which is why it takes longer for them to stop bleeding. Doctors are still trying to figure out what causes this condition, but something is clear, it comes from Ireneʼs side of the family.

Both my brother and Uncle Leopold died from brain hemorrhages exacerbated by the illness, Irene remembers with fear. Leopold died at thirty, leaving two orphaned children behind. She can only hope her sons will live long enough for a cure to be available.

Fortunately, Heinrich enjoys playing inside with his brothers and cousins. He and Anastasia have made good use of the stuffed animals, making them fight and eat each other.

Oo

Princess Sonia Orbeliani accompanied the Emperor and Empress to Darmstadt.

Suggested as a lady-in-waiting by Nicholasʼs brother-in-law Grand Duke Alexander Mikhailovich, Sonia has become one of Alexandraʼs best friends. Her keen sense of humor, vivacity, and generous nature quickly won the Empress over.

Sonia Orbeliani is a remarkably elegant woman, and yet she is often dissolved in fits of laughter, enjoying slightly wicked jokes. Alexandra and Sonia have spent long afternoons playing piano duets, one of the Empress's favorite pastimes. Alexandra appreciates her friendʼs talent for music, although Soniaʼs greatest passion is sports.

The princess speaks to the Empress in a frank, open way, freely offering her opinion even when she knows it will be unpalatable to Alexandra, whom she hopes to drag out of insolation by arranging social gatherings with ladies at court. While the Empress has enjoyed these small meetings, they havenʼt awakened any social interest in her.

The wedding celebrations, however, have been marked with unrestrained joy, even the socially awkward Alexandra delighting in the family reunion and the round of parties, dinners, and excursions in Darmstadt, her former home. She loves being around her beloved brother and seeing her baby girls happy.

Alexandraʼs mood declines dramatically when Sonia falls ill though. The princess begins suffering from a high temperature and becomes so weak that she is no longer able to leave her bed. Alexandra has doctors called in and soon forgets about the merrymaking to care for Sonia.

Oo

Once the wedding festivities are through and the guests are gone, Nicholasʼs family goes along with Ernst and his daughter to Wolfsgarten. Too ill to go with them, Sonia stays in Darmstadt.

Wolfsgarten is a castle that serves as a hunting seat for the ruling family of Hesse-Darmstadt. It is surrounded by grasslands and trees, the palace itself enclosing a decently sized garden.

Behind the the palace there is a white playhouse surrounded by trees. Elizabethʼs playhouse. The small cottage has white walls, blue doors and windows, and an orange, steeply pitched roof. Elizabeth told his father she had dreamed of a small house of her own, hidden deep in the woods. During one of Elizabethʼs visits to her mother, Ernst brought her dream to life, building a perfect, miniature house, just as the one she had described. There is an inscription above the door: "This little house was built just for me in the year 1902".

Little Elizabeth is the favorite among her cousins. Despite the look of intense sadness in her eyes, the little princess herself is full of life and happiness. Margaretta Eagar never saw such a sunny nature.

Elizabeth is barely ever out of temper or cross. Should any little dispute arise amongst her four Russian cousins, she will settle it with perfect amiability and justice, making whoever is in the wrong give in by reproving them with great gentleness. Wherever Princess Ella is, no angry disputes can exist. She is so sweet and just that the other children always give in to her arbitration. Unsurprisingly, the four sisters have become closer than ever under her guidance.

Olga loves having Cousin Ella around. Playing with her sisters is way more fun and enjoyable when Elizabeth is also there because they spend less time fighting. Cousin Ella gets the best ideas. She is never angry about anything and always shares her toys. Sometimes these things make Olga feel a bit embarrassed, because she does get angry a lot.

Olga treasures her intriguing conversations with Elizabeth, who is very smart. She doesnʼt just agree with Olga but has new ideas to share. Most of all, Olga loves the way Elizabeth notices the beauty in nature before even she does.

Elizabeth is a regular little mother who is never as happy as with her "tiny cousin," as she started calling Anastasia from the moment she saw her. Maria admires her cousin's nurturing nature. Ella's kindness and playfulness towards Maria are rewarded with the latterʼs devotion. It is recently, under Elizabethʼs influence, that Olga and Tatiana have offered Maria the most love and attention.

Elizabeth and her cousins visited the riding-school near Wolfsgarten, where she mounted on a great white horse while her Russian cousins chose each a little pony. Elizabeth rode wonderfully well, for her mother had taught her. The Hessian princess would take any of her cousins before her on the saddle, giving them a ride around the school. Maria and Anastasia truly enjoyed this. They would each make happy little squeals as soon as they were mounted on the horse.

After riding, Elizabeth and the four little Grand Duchesses would go to the stables and give the horses and ponies little treats.

Tatiana was impressed by her cousin and the way she was able to ride a horse meant for grown-up people. The second eldest Grand Duchess learned a lot from the patient Elizabeth, who taught her everything she knew about horses.

Oo

The five little girls are playing tag in the garden located at the center of the castle. They are comfortable and modestly attired. Only the collars of their matching white sailor dresses are decorated with dark blue stripes.

Just as Elizabeth is about to touch her, Tatiana trips and falls to the ground.

"My dress!" Tatiana laments. She quickly straightens up, frantically inspecting her dress to assess the damage. It is dirty, she soon discovers, very dirty. The muddy spot she landed on is barely covered by grass.

The other girls stop running. Olga and Maria approach their sister with concern. Tatiana's sailor dress is soiled with dirt, and her panicked attempts to rub it off are only turning the skirt brown.

Ella realizes her cousin is about to cry.

"Oh, don't worry, Tanechka", Elizabeth throws herself to the ground. "Look! I fell as well!" The Hessian princess smiles up at Tatiana as she rolls in the mud.

Still in tears, Tatiana tries to laugh at her cousin's silliness, but only because she doesn't want her to feel bad. The truth is witnessing Cousin Ella ruin her own pretty sailor dress is not making the six-year-old feel any better.

"Look Tanechka!" Olgaʼs laughter is genuine. "It is alright!" She follows Elizabeth's example, making Maria and Anastasia burst into giggles. This does make Tatiana feel a bit better. Soon enough, Elizabeth and her four favorite cousins are rolling in the green grass.

Anastasia is the first to stand up, this for a very particular reason. She takes a handful of dirt and throws it at her older sisters and cousin. Being in a playful mood, Maria imitates her little sister. The two youngest girls start terrorizing the three eldest, who make it a game of sorts to roll away from the little onesʼ attacks.

The boisterous laughter of the five little girls alerts the nannies that were standing nearby.

None of the parents or nursemaids become angry at the girls when they are made aware of the situation. Elizabeth knows just how to soften them, how to argue her case in an endearing and persuasive way. She always does. She holds great power over adults.

"The grass was just too pretty not to roll in it", Elizabeth pouts. "I gave them the idea, I did it first and my cousins wanted to do it with me." Her four favorite cousins will often follow her lead in an almost admiring way.

Ernst makes Elizabeth aware of how hard it will be to wash the dresses.

"Well, well, I will do it", the Hessian princess volunteers. She has her father in particular wrapped around her finger. There is no one Ernst loves more. None of the girls are grounded, but they are made to help the servants wash the dresses and end up having a lot of fun with the task.

It has been fun for Alexandra to notice the way her own daughter Tatiana has slowly learned to imitate her Hessian cousinʼs eloquence throughout the course of her stay at Wolfsgarten.

The little Grand Duchess is always observant. She has discovered the art of persuasion.

Oo

The autumn weather is truly pleasant in Wolfsgarten, where the girls and their parents have so far had an incredibly blissful time. Alexandra bought bicycles for her three eldest children, so Olga, Tatiana, and Maria have had pleasant grand rides around the place along with their cousin, as well as various excursions to hunt the woods for mushrooms, of which many varieties are found in Germany.

Ella has agreed to call Olga "little empress", for that is the way her cousin likes to be referred to as but seldom is. One day after Tatiana, Maria and Anastasia have gone back to play inside, Elizabeth and Olga decide to stay outside in the fields near the forest.

They are not alone, of course. Miss Wilson is keeping an eye on the two girls as they look for butterflies.

"We saw them near the flowers last time", Olga says.

"Yes, they need to eat what is in the flowers", Ella replies.

"I wonder what flowers taste like."

"Probably very sweet… oh look!" Elizabeth points at a group of flowers awaiting them just a few steps ahead. Three butterflies fly closely above the blossoms. Olga runs forward, reaching the site before Elizabeth does and sitting among the tiny blue flowers, the inner parts of which are yellow. That is where the orange butterflies perch on.

Olga extends her arms and hands in invitation so that the butterflies come to her, but she soon realizes her offering has little to no effect on the actions of the tiny insects. Elizabeth catches up to Olga and gives her a warm hug from behind. The little empress returns the hug for a few seconds before turning her attention back to the butterflies.

Elizabeth remains kneeling behind her cousin, hugging her affectionately. She also places her head next to hers, comfortably laying it on her shoulder. It is a beautiful picture, Elizabeth thinks as both she and Olga delight in the charming flowers and flying butterflies, the midday sunlight illuminating the sight.

"Why donʼt you pick up some flowers so that the butterflies come to eat them?" The little Hessian princess asks her cousin.

It is a childish idea, but whether the butterflies follow the flowers or approach Olgaʼs hands by mere coincidence, it is a childish idea that works. Soon after the little Russian Grand Duchess picks up two of the small blue flowers, the butterflies begin flying closer and closer to the two girls, who start giggling.

"I canʼt believe it!" Ella exclaims.

"They are so pretty!" Olga gushes. "Like fairies in a forest!" One of the butterflies perches on her dear Cousin Ellaʼs nose, making Olga rejoice and wonder if heaven is similar to this place, if God sent them this one butterfly. Both girls grin in excitement, but they stay still, close to one another. None of them want the butterfly to go away. When Ella turns her eyes in to have a better look at her nose, Olga canʼt help but let out a giggle, and the little insect flies away.

"Miss Wilson!" Ella calls for her nanny as she pulls away from Olga. She wants her to see the butterflies from up close as well. "Look!"

Back inside the palace, Ella is sitting on a couch when Olga sneaks from behind. It is the little Grand Duchess who surprises her Hessian cousin with a warm embrace this time.

Oo

The Empress is driven back to Darmstadt regularly to visit the ailing Sonia, sometimes as often as two or three times a day. No one has yet voiced any objection to their Empress out loud, but resentment thrives among the stricter court people, some of whom silently discuss Alexandraʼs behavior disapprovingly, referring to it as an almost insulting breach of etiquette.

Alexandra wouldnʼt care if she knew. She doesnʼt mind being accused of not being true to her class, and she wouldn't allow any interference with her friendships, especially not so when her friends need her most.

Alexandra prefers homely friends to the more brilliant, high-class variety. She doesnʼt mind whether a person is rich or poor. Once her friend, always her friend.

Oo

The playhouse is surrounded by a fence that Elizabeth, Olga, and Tatiana have many times dared each other to climb over. Maria tried to climb over it once, but she would have fallen disastrously if it werenʼt for Olga.

The five girls love pretending to be grown-ups inside the playhouse. They clean, pretend to cook, have tea parties, and often play for hours on end without fighting. Cousin Ella is so nice,Tatiana thinks. Whenever the girls play house, Tatiana can be the wife or the daughter if she wants to, because Cousin Ella has no problem being the husband so that everyone else is happy.

The children are having the time of their lives playing dolls when a nanny announces it is time for dinner. Maria pouts, Olga frowns, and before a very unhappy Tatiana is able to open the playhouse door, Elizabeth shouts:

"We are not going!"

"Come dears, you can keep playing later", Miss Wilson says.

Elizabeth opens a window and sticks her head out so that her nanny can see her. "No-uh", she chants, shaking her head. Olga grins at that. Tatianaʼs eyes widen in horror. Little Maria clings to her beloved cousinʼs dress and giggles mischievously. Only Anastasia remains oblivious and unbothered. The two-year-old keeps playing with the dolls.

Olga joins her cousin in her taunting, which goes on for a long time as more and more adults gather up outside. The five girls resume playing with their dolls, Olga, Maria and Elizabeth looking out the window every now and then to argue with the adults, who haven't stopped urging them to come out. Eventually, once she feels safe enough to do so, Tatiana joins the taunting as well.

"My baby, come outside!" Miss Wilson yells again. "Please!"

"Come out dears, what you are doing is very impolite!" Miss Eagar argues with her young charges.

"Tomorrow!" The quick-witted Olga yells back.

"Never! Not in a thousand years! Not ever!" Tatiana adds just as loudly. Olga grins at her.

"Not in a thousand, thousand, thousand, thousand, thousand, years!" Maria tries to impress her sisters.

"Thousand! Thousand! Thousand! Thousand! Thousand! Thousand! Thousand! Thousand! Thousand! Thousand! Thousand! Thousand! Thousand! Thousand!" Anastasia jumps excitedly. Elizabeth giggles at her tiny cousinʼs understanding of math.

Elizabeth, Olga, Tatiana, Maria, and Anastasia continue to have a lot of fun playing, as well as peeking through the windows at their frustrated parents and nannies, who impatiently pace up and down outside as they wait for the high-spirited young girls to stop their games and emerge.

Their dinner is brought to the playhouse. Elizabeth knew there would not be any adults allowed inside. She used to take refuge in her little house to escape lessons.

Oo

A few weeks before Olgaʼs eighth birthday, the five girls had a picnic outside, after which Elizabeth and her two oldest Russian cousins found themselves on top of a small hill they had an easy time climbing.

It has not been as easy for Maria, who is still stuck in the middle of the elevation, lying flat on her stomach. Elizabeth and Tatiana are cheering her on. Olga takes a more practical approach by giving her advice. This doesn't work. Olga then grabs her little sister by the hands and pulls her up. This isn't helpful for Maria either, only causing her to slip every time Olga lets go.

Anastasia cries and screams in frustration at the bottom of the hill. Unlike Maria, the two-year-old hasnʼt been able to climb even halfway up. Her noisy outburst is making the remaining girlsʼ ears ache. Anastasia is beginning to resent her small size. It doesnʼt match her spirit.

Elizabeth rushes back down, consoles her tiny cousin with kisses and reassuring words just like any grown-up nanny would, and climbs back up carrying her. The Hessian princess ends up feeling proud of having helped the little Anastasia stop crying.

Eventually, the eldest girls manage to help the fat little bow-wow, as Tatiana calls Maria. Once the five children are on top of the hill, Elizabeth and Tatiana make Olga look the other way as they prepare a crown with the help of Maria and Anastasia using flowers and small pieces of cloth Elizabeth had carried in her pockets.

"You can look now", Elizabeth taps Olga on the back. "For the little empress." The modest adornment is then presented to the oldest Romanov daughter as a surprise.

Olga is delighted. She is soon suggesting that they all play coronation so as to give the crown a good use. The imaginative girls use a rock to embody the orb and a stick to represent the scepter. Elizabeth plays the role of the priest. Tatiana, Maria, and Anastasia are the faithful subjects attending the ceremony. Olga is, naturally, the little empress. She makes sure the adequate protocol is followed.

Oo

Alexandra and one of her sisters have just returned from a drive when the horses suddenly take fright and bolt. They rush around the sides of the narrow courtyard and head for the stables, the door of which is shut. Thinking that a smash is inevitable, the old footman throws himself from the box in the hopes of catching the horses by the heads and bringing them to a standstill. He, however, falls and gets kicked in the face by one of the horses.

The Grand Duke of Hesse sees what is about to happen and rushes up in time to catch one of the horses by the bridle as they are heading into the shut-up stable, saving his two sisters. The women are not hurt, and the old servant is not seriously injured.

The children were all inside the playhouse while this was happening, out of harm way, but they watched everything through the windows and were terribly frightened.

Scared herself, Elizabeth prioritizes her cousins:

"Donʼt worry", she soothes them, pointing at the carriage Alexandra is stepping out of. "Look Maria, they are fine."

"Mama is not hurt", Tatiana looks up at Olga, clinging to her. She has put her head on her older sisterʼs shoulder. It is not often that Olga is afraid, but she was on this occasion.

Ella pats each of her cousins on their backs or heads, depending on their size.

"Nothing bad is going to happen", she says.

Oo

Having stayed at Wolfsgarten for a few days, the Romanovs and their retinue took off for the imperial hunting lodge by the Polish town of Skierniewice. Following them were the Grand Duke of Hesse and his little daughter.

A swing and a giant's stride was put up for the children by the lodge. A little carriage drawn by a pair of tame deer was also arranged. The girls continued to run, play, and bicycle in the mornings. They went on long excursions and had even more picnics in the forest, playing hide and seek amidst the trees. Every evening there would be games and romps all over the big rooms of the palace.

The oldest three girls would gossip about Cousin Dmitri supposedly liking Cousin Irina and how conceivable it was for him to end up marrying her as Cousin Andrew had married Cousin Alice. Maria loved listening to these stories.

Laughter and merriment followed everywhere the girls went, Elizabeth taking the lead in most games. She was deeply interested in everything she saw. Like Margaretta Eagar, the girl was horrified at seeing people by the road kneel whenever the children's carriage approached. The Irish governess never got used to this custom nor ever overcame the feeling of horror mixed with pity that she experienced upon seeing it done for the first time. The little Grand Duchess Olga, who is very sensitive, used to look at the people with tears in her eyes and beg her nanny to tell them not to do it.

One day, Elizabeth and Tatiana started acting wonderfully busy and mysterious, running in and out of the rooms and bursting into laughter every now and then. In the evening, once all the girls were in bed, Tatiana took from under her pillow a little box that her dear Cousin Ella had prepared for her. It contained several little colored stones which both girls had picked out of the gravel the day before, some bits of matches, luminous ends, the sand-paper off a match-box, and some tissue paper. A toy Elizabeth had concocted, telling Tatiana that if she ever felt lonely she was to sit up in bed, light a match upon the sand-paper, set fire to the tissue paper, and by its light play with the stones. Miss Eagar did not allow Tatiana to do this. The six-year-old girl was overwhelmed with horror when her governess explained to her that she could have been burned in her bed.

One evening as the game of the shooting party was laid out, Miss Wilson said to Miss Eagar:

"I should so much like to show my baby this, it would interest her."

The two nannies got blankets and shawls, using them to prepare a warm little nest for Elizabeth in the window seat. Wrapped in a dressing-gown and shawl, they brought her from her bed to see the hunters, her father among them, shoot outside. She was quite delighted.

The next morning, Grand Duchess Olga was greatly displeased.

"Ella is only eight months older than I am", she grumbled to Miss Eagar, "and Miss Wilson took her up to see it all, and you left me in bed, like a baby."

"Oh! Dear Olga", Elizabeth said to her cousin with a sweet voice, "don't be angry, you will often see it again, but I shall never again see it." She often made use of this expression at Skierniewice: "I shall never again see it."

The shooting party went on to the hunting lodge at Spala. The whole game was shot during the two days and finished earlier than usual on a Saturday afternoon. Miss Wilson and Miss Eagar discussed the matter and concluded that they might as well indulge their little charges with a sight of it all. They wrapped them up and took them out. The children were ecstatic.

The little Hessian princess was oftentimes full of life and fun, but her unusually high spirits that Saturday evening led her to prepare and carry out an innocent little practical joke on her father and aunt. She asked Miss Eagar to place her three eldest cousins in her bed and leave little Anastasia alone in another bedroom.

"When auntie Alix and papa come," said Elizabeth, "auntie Alix will be looking everywhere for her children, and papa will not know how he has got four."

It was done, and Miss Eagar stepped into the corridor to ask the Empress of Russia and the Grand Duke of Hesse to appear surprised and go along with the childʼs prank. They acted exceedingly surprised indeed, the Empress pretending to be much frightened as she looked for Olga, Tatiana, and Maria, this to Ella's great pleasure.

Laughter could be heard all over the lodge as one by one the cousins were disclosed.

Oo

Olga turned eight years old the next Sunday morning and woke up with a great idea. She convinced Tatiana to go with her to Elizabethʼs room so that they could surprise their cousin before breakfast and have an improvised birthday party.

"Letʼs take all of our toys to her room!" Tatiana exclaimed in happy acceptance. She removed the blankets from her body and walked from her bed towards her sisterʼs.

Olga and Tatiana share a room, while their two younger sisters share another one.

"Maybe she will be sleeping and we will wake her up", Olga gushed, leaping out from her own bed.

"We will scare her!" Tatiana clapped.

The two girls were heading towards the door when Margaretta Eagar opened it unexpectedly, making Olga and Tatiana shriek in surprise and then laugh.

"What were you naughty girls planning?" Miss Eagar put her hands on her hips playfully. Olga and Tatiana kept giggling for a moment before explaining to their nanny what they intended to do.

"Elizabeth woke up with a sore throat, my dears", Miss Eagar told them with a sad expression. "Now, go dress up."

Oo

Miss Eagar made sure the court doctor was fetched. Along with Miss Wilson, she also took Elizabethʼs temperature. As it was normal, Miss Wilson resolved to help Elizabeth get dressed. When the little girl went to the bathroom, however, the nannies were made aware that further symptoms had already set in, so Elizabeth was put to bed again.

By the time the doctor arrived, Elizabethʼs throat was already better. He remarked that it was possible the wide variety of foods during the girlʼs many travels had caused the symptoms, the upset stomach in particular, but he was not alarmed, and neither were the nannies. The remaining girls also kept on playing, even if slightly disappointed about not being able to do so with their cousin. Tatiana merely asked Miss Wilson to tell Cousin Ella to get better. Olga added she would pray for her dear friend.

Miss Eagar kept her charges out of the lodge as much as possible in order to keep the nurseries quiet for the ailing Elizabeth. She would take them on carriage rides and encourage them to play in the swings. When the nanny returned from one of these drives with the four girls, Miss Wilson received them.

"Oh! My baby is ever so much better!" She cheerfully exclaimed. "She has had no return of the sickness for a couple of hours, and is sleeping quietly."

Miss Wilson went on to explain Elizabeth's temperature had spiked but was now back to normal. She then returned to the sick child's bedroom.

Elizabeth's four cousins were awfully happy.

"Can we go see Cousin Ella now?" Olga asked as she and her sisters stepped through a corridor on the way to the nurseries.

"Not yet, dear, she must be resting", Miss Eagar replied. "I am going to ask the doctor whether it would be appropriate for you to see her once she is up.”

Leaving her charges, Miss Eagar went to see the doctor, encountering him just as he was leaving Elizabethʼs room. The Irish governess decided to congratulate him on the improvement in his little patient first.

"Improvement?" He echoed in surprise. "The child is dying of failure of the heart."

Margaretta's eyes opened wide. She felt stunned for a moment and then utterly incredulous.

"But how can that be?" She asked. "As far as I am aware her temperature is fine now, Miss Wilson told me so. She has been sick for only a few hours!"

The man remained silent, gave the Miss Eagar a sad look, and then shook his head slowly.

Miss Wilson had taken care of Elizabeth ever since she was a baby. The doctor was not aware of this, but he had seen the English nanny interact with Elizabeth and thought that by witnessing the same thing anyone would have immediately grasped how much the woman cared for the girl. He pitied the nanny deeply. Because of this, he hadnʼt told her the truth yet.

"Children get horribly sick quickly all the time and recover quite as rapidly", Miss Eagar insisted. "It was just a fever and… and a sore throat, I donʼt understand…"

"I understand you have experience with children recovering, but I am the one treating this child. Her heart is failing from hour to hour, and her temperature has risen rapidly."

It fell on Margaretta Eagar to tell the Empress and Grand Duke of Hesse that Elizabeth was very ill and weak. They both came down to see her, but neither of them acknowledged the fact she was in danger. The doctor tried to explain the situation. Elizabethʼs heart was becoming weaker and weaker.

"The beatings are hardly perceptible", he stated.

The Grand Duke felt his daughterʼs pulse and thought it strong enough. Alexandra and Ernst were in and out of the room visiting Ella all throughout the evening but believed Miss Eagar and the doctor to be needlessly alarmed.

So much did they disbelieve any possibility of danger to the child that they went to the theatre that night.

Oo

Margaretta Eagar continued visiting the sick patient once every few minutes. She sometimes talked to the doctor outside the girlʼs bedroom.

"I am in serious need of a second opinion", he confessed on one of these occasions, and Margaretta Eagar urged him to send a message to the Empress.

Before the specialist the doctor had requested arrived, the imperial family returned from the theatre. Alexandra and Ernst came in to see the little one, who roused herself and spoke brightly to them.

"I just feel very tired, like I couldnʼt move if I wanted to", the little girl said.

"You need to rest to get better", Alexandra told her. "In one or two days you will be up and running again.”

"Yes, auntie Alix.”

"Your cousins are telling me they missed playing in the swings with you today.”

Elizabeth was so weak she could only smile in reply.

Ernie spoke to her daughter for a while longer and then showered her face with kisses, making her giggle. The Empress smiled at this.

"Don't be nervous or frightened about the child", she turned to Miss Eagar. "She will be all right in the morning, you will see."

Alexandra and Ernst went to bed, and the child speedily sank into a semi-stupor.

Oo

The room was dark except for a dim light coming from the night lamp. Miss Wilson had seldom left Elizabethʼs bedside. She was still sitting on a wooden chair next to the small patient.

The Hessian princess had a visibly pained expression on her face. Her muscles ached, and dark circles had already formed under her eyes. The light of the night lamp revealed this, also illuminating the womanʼs face as she held the little girlʼs hand.

On the other side of the bed, Margaretta Eagar occupied another chair. In a moment of weakness, the Irish nanny yawned. Miss Wilson noticed and felt sorry for the other governess.

"You can go now, you need rest", she said to her. "You have done so much for us today…"

"I cannot leave you to suffer through this alone", Miss Eagar protested. She then looked down at the sleeping Elizabeth, smiled, and added: "Or the poor little angel."

As they spoke, death walked through the corridors and rooms of the palace.

Oo

The silence is disrupted everywhere on the floor when Maria and Anastasia start screaming in their bedroom, loudly. Miss Eagar immediately stands up and rushes out of Elizabethʼs chamber towards theirs.

"Good God!" She steps in the room. "What is it?"

Maria and Anastasia are standing on their beds, looking terribly alarmed. Maria is crying.

"A bad man!" The four-year-old bawls.

"What?!" The woman becomes nervous. "What dear?!"

"He entered our room!"

"Bad man!" Anastasia yells. "Very bad man!" She is not crying, but her brow is furrowed, and whenever she is not talking, she is pouting.

"Did he harm you?" Miss Eagar promptly inquires.

"He, scared, me", Maria recalls through sobs. "He is, very bad.” Easily influenced by her sisterʼs mood, Anastasia lets out a loud sob herself and starts wailing.

The girls may not comprehend the severity of their cousinʼs condition, but Margaretta knows they understand she is ill. They listen to adult conversations and must know by now that Elizabeth feels awful. Perhaps the situation has stressed the poor girls out, Miss Eagar thinks.

"Oh, no, my babies, no!" Margarettaʼs tone of voice is sweet as she rushes towards Mariaʼs bed to comfort her. "No one here is going to harm you, your nana is here with you." She wipes the little girlʼs tears and hugs her, taking her time to do so. She then does the same with the even smaller Anastasia, picking her up and carrying her around the room while making rocking motions

As she soothes her youngest charge with sweet words, Margaretta starts to ponder. The girlsʼ chambers can only be entered from either the dining room or the second bedroom, which itself can only be entered from the room in which the little princess lies ill.

The doctor and the sick little princess's faithful servant-man have been in the dining room all night. No one could have walked into Maria and Anastasiaʼs room without Margarettaʼs knowledge.

"Maybe it was the good doctor who entered the chamber by mistake, my dears", Miss Eagar suggests. Anastasia shakes her head almost immediately.

"No!" Maria says firmly. "He was not good. It was a horrible, bad, awful man."

The night-light lamp could have also thrown a shadow, Margaretta thinks, frightening the children into thinking there was someone in the room. Margaretta tests her theory by changing the lampʼs position.

"Look dears”, she begins to say before being promptly interrupted.

"The bad man is hiding behind the curtain!" Little Anastasia clings to her nanny. Maria starts sobbing again.

Miss Eagar lights a candle and uses it to show the little Anastasia that there is absolutely nothing to worry about. She even rolls the curtain over.

The doctor, who has heard the childrenʼs cries, comes into the chamber, and when Miss Eagar explains the situation to him, he makes an effort to help the nanny soothe Maria by assuring her that it was probably little Elizabethʼs servant who came into the room.

It is useless. Nothing is able to soothe Maria, who keeps weeping, and when Miss Eagar tries to put her back in bed, Anastasia refuses to let go, clinging harder to her and screaming loudly. Miss Eagar sighs. She can only hug Anastasia back, trying to comfort her. The little girl buries her face in her neck and squeezes her, trembling and shaking.

It is dreadful for Margaretta to see her in such a fright.

After the doctor leaves, Miss Eagar lights another candle and leaves it on a little table close to Maria's bed. The nanny then sits down nearby with Anastasia still in her arms so as to be close to both children. Lying in bed, Maria keeps talking to Miss Eagar about the dreadful person she and her little sister saw. She often becomes startled, also sitting up in wild horror every now and then.

A while later, the doctor returns to the room and tells Miss Eagar that a new Polish physician has come from Warsaw and given the sick little princess an injection of caffeine.

"Her heart seems stronger", he says. "I think I am beginning to hope for the best."

The next time Maria mentions the mysterious stranger, Miss Eagar turns to the little girl and says:

"Did you hear? A new doctor came from the city to help our doctor make Cousin Ella quite well again, and perhaps he might have come to the door by mistake, or you might have heard him speak, but there is no one in the room now."

"No nana", Maria shakes her head. "He was not a doctor, he was a very bad man who didnʼt speak and didn't come through any door." She suddenly sits up in her bed again and follows with her sight something that the much bewildered Miss Eagar is not able to see.

"Oh!" Maria cries. "He is gone into Cousin Ella's room!"

"Oh! Poor Cousin Ella!" Little Anastasia sits up on Miss Eagarʼs knee. "Poor Princess Elizabeth!"

Oo

Maria and Anastasia fall asleep shortly after seeing the mysterious intruder for the last time. Margaretta has a difficult time unclasping Anastasiaʼs arms from herself but eventually manages to put the child back to bed.

She returns to the sick room as soon as she is able to and stumbles upon the strange new doctor.

"The little child is no better", the specialist informs her.

"What is wrong?" Miss Eagar asks.

"Paralysis of the heart. I have given her many injections, both of caffeine and camphor, but to no avail."

Hours go by. The doctors refuse give up. They continue providing Elizabeth with stimulants quite regularly, and for a while she appears to improve. Suddenly, however, the Hessian princess sits up in her bed and looks from one person to the other with wide, frightened eyes.

"I'm dying!" She cries out loudly. "I'm dying!"

"No, my baby, you are good", Miss Wilson coaxes her to lie down again. "You are good my baby". The nanny strokes the childʼs hair, caresses her face, and takes her small hand in her own. Little by little, Elizabeth calms down. She turns her head to Miss Eagar.

"Send a telegram to mama", she anxiously requests the Irish governess.

"I will", Miss Eagar nods.

"I want to see her again."

"I will make sure of it, child", Margaretta assures her.

"I want to see her again, I always see her again, promise me you will send her a telegram."

"I promise."

"Immediately", the little princess adds.

Miss Eagar goes upstairs and calls for the Grand Duke and the Empress, who come down without loss of time. The telegram is sent to Coburg, to the mother.

Throughout the night and early in the morning, the doctors continue to fan the feeble spark of life, but moment by moment it declines. Elizabeth is so weak she barely moves.

Oo

Miss Eager distracts Maria and Anastasia as Olga and Tatiana sit with their father in the dining room. The two youngest Romanov girls are growing increasingly alarmed by the clear signs of distress their elders are manifesting.

Alexandra feels sick with guilt. Maybe genuinely sick. She is developing a cold and feels horribly guilty. Ernst is sobbing so hard he can barely talk. The Grand Duke of Hesse has visited his daughter's bedside, but he can't stay for long without losing his composure.

If only we had noticed sooner, Alexandra thinks. Perhaps she could have sent for a specialist even earlier. Possibly. Conceivably. Maybe.

Her dear brother is so heartbroken. He paces from one side of the dining room to the other so quickly that Alexandra can barely catch up to him in order to offer physical comfort. She wipes her own tears as soon as they fall. She has to be strong. Alexandra has never seen him like this. Not even after their father died, not ever. Her brotherʼs grief is immeasurable.

"God is with you Ernie, He is suffering with you, take comfort in Him", Alexandra gets Ernst to stop pacing. "She wonʼt die, she will just move on to a better place, a place where she will be so much happier, and you will see her again."

"If she dies, Alix", he weeps, "I will have nothing."

Oo

Unlike countless children with no such fortune, Olga was part of the lucky ones. She didn't have exceedingly worrisome thoughts nor problems beyond her years.

Problems beyond her years may still be unknown to her, but very recently Olga has become acquainted with the most worrisome of thoughts.

"Paralysis of heart…" She has heard the doctors say.

"…but the little girl is dying", the servants talk amongst themselves.

Olga knew what death was already, but the concept has never been less abstract. She understands what is happening better than any of her younger sisters and has been crying in her fatherʼs arms for half an hour. She has been trying to pray in silence for Cousin Ella to get better, but watching Uncle Ernie cry makes the eight-year-old girl way too sad to do so.

Tatiana cried as well. She cried when she and Olga visited their ailing cousin for a moment. It made Tatiana truly unhappy to see her dear Cousin Ella so weak and fragile. Still, the gravity of the situation hasn't hit her yet. She is now sitting next to her father, asking him questions about the doctors and how exactly it is that they are helping her cousin. She sometimes rubs her older sister's back and says:

"Don't cry Olenka, God and the good doctors will make Cousin Ella feel better."

Oo

The entire Hessian entourage is in the sick room, kneeling around the bed. Many of them are crying for their princess.

Elizabeth has lost touch with reality. Her cousins aren't in the room, but she is talking to them nonetheless, seemingly imagining herself playing with them. She asks for little Anastasia, her "tiny cousin", and when Miss Eagar brings the little thing into the room, Elizabethʼs dying eyes rest on her for a moment.

"Poor Cousin Ella!" Anastasia cries, over and over again. "Poor Princess Elizabeth!" The two-year-old becomes so upset that Margaretta decides to take her out of the room soon afterward.

Miss Wilson hasn't left Elizabeth's side. The dying girl turns her head and gives the nanny a kiss.

Just another minute goes by.

By the time Victoria Melita's answer is received, the child has already passed away.

Oo

There were many rumors, among them that Elizabeth had been poisoned by oysters meant for the Tsar. None of them were true.

There was an autopsy made on the body. Princess Elizabeth of Hesse had been twelve days ill when she died of suppressed typhoid, but the symptoms hadn't manifested themselves until little more than a day before the passing.

Margaretta Eagar and her four charges left for Tsarskoye Selo that same evening, as it was thought better to remove the children from the lodge so that the necessary fumigation and disinfecting could be carried out.

Nicholas and Alexandra stayed. They both hoped to attend the funeral, but Alexandra was so sick that she had to remain in Poland.

Kaiser Wilhelm II, the German Emperor, expressed shock at the child's death in a letter to Tsar Nicholas II on the day after:

"How joyous and merry she was that day at Wolfsgarten, when I was there, so full of life and fun and health... what a terrible heartrending blow for poor Ernie, who doted and adored that little enchantress!"

Oo

Ernst's little Elizabeth had been the sunshine of his life. He was inconsolable at first but had then gathered up the courage to comfort Miss Wilson, who had worshipped little Ella, as well as other grieving servants. These efforts soon drained him though, and the bereaved father ended up feeling nauseous and having to lie down.

Elizabeth's body was placed in a silver casket, a gift from Nicholas II for the journey back to Darmstadt.

Ernst arranged a white funeral with this color instead of black for the funeral trappings. White flowers and white horses were also used for the procession. It is what my Elizabeth would have preferred, he thought. She was like sunshine, always wishing to make everyone happy, like light itself.

The Hessian people came out by the thousands to view the funeral procession. Many of them sobbed for their princess.

Ducky, the girl's mother, attended the funeral along with most of her ex-husband's family. She looked miserable and noticeably remorseful as she related anecdotes about her daughter to her family members. Everyone felt sorry for her and tried their best to offer her comfort despite objecting to the fact she had started living with Grand Duke Cyril without being married to him.

Victoria Melita asked the Grand Duchess Elizabeth of Russia whether it would displease her brother to meet his ex-wife. A private meeting was arranged and Victoria and Ernst had a short conversation before the service. Ducky wished to see her daughter, so the coffin was uncovered for her. She asked Ernst for details regarding their daughter's illness as well as the last minutes of her life. They conducted themselves not as a divorced couple but as parents grieving for their child. Ernie was kind, keeping her close by during the entire funeral.

After the service, in a final gesture to Elizabeth and Ernst, Victoria Melita kneeled and tenderly placed her head on her daughter's coffin, setting the badge of the Order of Hesse that had been granted to her upon her marriage on the casket. And just like that, her last connection to Germany was cut off.

Elizabeth was buried at the Rosenhöhe with other members of the Hessian family.

Oo

Alexandra has stayed at Skierniewice for almost six weeks, recovering from her illness. She has had painful symptoms, misses her daughters, and feels heartbroken over her nieceʼs death. Heartbroken and guilty.

She can't believe that sunny little child is truly gone. She has cried so much, making her influenza symptoms much more unpleasant. It is too painful to bear. Elizabeth's death has reminded her of her own mortality and that of other people she loves.

The little girl is in heaven, she knows, but she feels sorry for her beloved brother Ernie and can almost experience his grief. She feels sorry for her sensitive little Olga and wonders how she is coping. She is fearful for her babies, for her Nicky, for everyone... Alexandra worries about the health of her dear friend Sonia Oberliani as well.

Ever since she was a little girl, Alexandra has felt anguish for other peopleʼs suffering much more deeply than most. She has always longed to help people fight their battles and bear their crosses and feels completely impotent and helpless whenever she is unable to.

Longing to help and defend others is Alexandra's greatest virtue and sorrow.

Early during Nicholas's reign, the minister Sergei Witte was summoned to the Empress, who compassionately expressed her surprise that there were so many poor and impoverished people in Russia, almost demanding that he made it stop in a somewhat pathetic way. The man would have mocked her if it werenʼt for her position. Alexandra had sounded like a child.

Back in Darmstadt, when she was little more than a girl, Alix and her family had taken special care of almost all of the impoverished, orphaned, and needy citizens of Grand Duke Luisʼs small duchy. It had been a huge shock for Alexandra to acknowledge that the immense size and population of Russia would not allow for a quick, simple solution to the countryʼs many problems, not even those that involved the deaths of thousands of impoverished children. At first, she had been entirely unable to reconcile herself to Witteʼs explanation that what could easily be done in her former home was impossible in her new, adopted land, a nation she would come to love even more than Germany.

Alexandra has more than sufficient intellectual capabilities, but they are not excellent. She is awfully far from anything resembling a genius. She is aware and at peace with that knowledge. What she has is what God has granted her after all, and a good heart is always more important than wisdom, but she sometimes wishes her intellect were truly exceptional. She would genuinely be able to help Nicholas that way. But the only thing she can actually do is motivate her husband to be strong, for he needs strength to guide their beloved country through the right path, a path no minister should stand in the way of. Now more than ever she has to provide Nicholas with the necessary encouragement to lead the nation through the dark times prophesied to come.

Sometimes, the only thing that stops Alexandra from going mad is her firm belief God has a divine plan, signifying there is a reason for every dreadful and horrible tragedy that has ever transpired.

The Emperor and Empress of Russia are not fully aware of just how much is indirectly kept from them through the endless security protocols and censors of the Okhrana. Through court protocol or simple tradition. Through propriety.

This benefits Alexandraʼs sanity. It also keeps her out of touch.

Oo

It has been a sad and gloomy time at Tsarskoye Selo. Olga is having difficulty coping with her cousinʼs death.

"What a pity that the dear God has taken away from me such a good friend!" Olga lamented right after Miss Eagar informed her of the tragic news.

She cried a lot during the train ride back to Tsarskoye Selo. It pained her to think about Cousin Ella traveling inside her silver casket on another train.

It is not fair, Olga thinks as she wanders through the park with Miss Eagar. Her sisters are inside the palace with the other nurses, but she needed to take a walk.

Olga is wearing black. Black dress, black coat, black tights, black bows, and black shoes. She knows Cousin Ella had a white funeral, she was told, but black is what most grown-up people wear whenever they are sad because someone died, and Olga wanted to be dressed accordingly, at least once.

It is not the first time Olga walks around the park hugging her favorite doll, but Elizabethʼs death has made it a common occurrence. Olga is also back to sleeping with her stuffed animals, like a baby, and she hates herself for it. That is not how big girls are supposed to sleep, she thinks. Olga had stopped needing any toys to sleep with a long time ago. She is confused as to why she needs them again. And why is she so quiet now? Everyone seems to notice that.

It was too soon, Olga thinks. She wasn't even allowed to say goodbye. Not properly, no. And now she wonʼt be able to see Cousin Ella again for a really long time, not until she goes to heaven as well.

For an eight-year-old such as Olga, the feeling of losing Cousin Ella is similar to what she experiences whenever a playdate is over and her friends are gone, only much more painful. Painful in a way it had never been before. There will never be another playdate with Cousin Ella.

Olga has been introduced to the sad aspects of life. She can only look up at the sky and pray Cousin Ella is happy right now.

Tatiana has conducted herself in a truly devoted fashion, offering Olga her dessert at the dinner table and agreeing to play whatever Olga wants to in order to cheer her up. Making Olga laugh or at least smile brightens Tatianaʼs days. It is like a contest, one she often loses.

Tatiana has also been sad, but she hasnʼt cried as much as Olga. She does miss Ella though, and she feels horrible about not having used the toy the two of them prepared with such joy. Poor Cousin Ella worked so hard to put it together.

Tatiana wishes she had lighted the match upon the sand-paper, set fire to the tissue paper, and by its light played with the stones she had picked with Cousin Ella. She recently tried to do so in her room, but Miss Eagar scolded and reminded her once again that she could burn herself. Another nurse had then hidden everything but the stones.

Tatiana feels so sorry for her Cousin Ella. She is desperately trying to look for the matches, the sand-paper, and the tissue paper all over the nursery. Between her dolls and toys, under the chairs. Everywhere. The little girl does not immediately pick up on the fact everything has been thrown away, but when she finally does, she starts crying.

It has been easiest for Maria and A nastasia. They have kept on playing almost as if nothing had occurred, accepting with relative ease that their dear cousin is in heaven. Most of all the positive little Maria.

"She is flying with the angels, imagine how fun Olenka!" She will often try to cheer her gloomy older sister up with a tiny hopeful voice.

The only thing that truly bothers Maria is the memory of that horrid shadow man. She sometimes has nightmares where he hurts her dear Cousin Ella. Tatiana says Cousin Ella is in heaven though. Miss Eagar says so whenever she wakes up crying after having a nightmare. Everyone says so, and Maria trusts them.

Oo

One morning, Tatiana wakes up with a bright idea and rushes towards Olgaʼs bed.

"Olga! Olga! Wake up!" She shakes her older sisterʼs shoulders. Olga groans before reluctantly opening her eyes.

Tatiana ignores Olgaʼs mood. "Do you remember when you told me it made you feel sad to see Uncle Ernie crying?" She asks her. "Let us give him a present that will make him very happy!"

Olgaʼs quick mind starts filling with ideas. She gives her six-year-old sister a smile that makes the latter feel very good about herself. Tatiana sinks into Olgaʼs arms, and the two girls give each other a warm hug.

Oo

Christmas is overshadowed by the recent death. Although the Emperor and Empress have returned and thus provided their girls with much comfort, Alexandra is still sick with influenza, and the festivities without her have been less cheerful than they could have been.

Olga, Tatiana, Maria, and Anastasia have talked to each other much about Cousin Ella and how God has taken her spirit. They enjoy praying and discussing paradise, understanding that later on, God will take Cousin Ellaʼs body to heaven as well. Slowly but surely, these conversations have improved Olgaʼs mood.

"Did God send for Cousin Ella's body in the night?" She asks her nanny as soon as she wakes up on Christmas morning.

Miss Eagar is startled by the question but tries not to let it show.

"Oh no, dear, not yet", she smiles at her charge. Olga frowns, greatly disappointed.

"I thought He would have sent for her to keep Christmas with Him", she explains.

While it is far from being the most memorable of Christmases, a beautiful tree is put up in the playroom, just like every year. Nicholas opens up presents with his daughters and plays with them.

Olga and Tatiana receive a very nice letter from Uncle Ernie in which he thanks them for their kind words and pretty drawings of his daughter, promising he will always take them with him. Along with the letter, the two little girls receive a frame with Cousin Ellaʼs picture in it. Olga and Tatiana cover the photograph with kisses as soon as they see it, moving Nicholas deeply.

"So that you can always have it with you", Ernst wrote of the frame.

Oo

As Olga and Tatiana read letters and Nicholas plays dolls with Anastasia, Maria sits on the playroom floor under the Christmas tree, looking with great interest at a picture of the blind girl of Pompeii in an art book she received as a gift.

Nydia, the Blind Flower Girl of Pompeii, was the most popular American sculpture of the nineteenth century. The subject was drawn from a novel that ends with the eruption of Mount Vesuvius in a.d. 79. Nydia is a character who heroically attempts to lead two companions out of the burning, ash-covered city. Her closed eyes and staff allude to her blindness, her hand raised to her ear representing her acute sense of hearing.

Maria is already learning how to read, but she is often in need of guidance and clarifications.

"Why is Nydia blind?" She innocently asks Miss Eagar, who kneels down next to her as she thinks about the answer.

"Sometimes God makes people blind… or ill, or special for a reason", the governess replies. "There is always a reason, but no one knows what it is."

"I know someone who knows", Maria asserts.

"No, dear, I think not", Miss Eagar shakes her head, "no one knows."

"Cousin Ella knows", the little girl says. "She is in heaven, sitting down and talking to God, and He is telling her how He did it, and why."

Oo

The doctors eventually diagnosed Sonia Oberliani with a progressive spinal disease. The princess would continue to suffer from occasional periods of illness marked by loss of strength and fever. A gradual paralysis would set in as the disease took hold, eventually confining the patient to a wheelchair. The illness was incurable and would most certainly result in death. There was, Alexandra learned, nothing to be done but await the inevitable end.

Alexandraʼs sorrow grew larger and would continue to do so, as would the sorrow of Hesse. There is a reason why a ten-year-old seer from a village south of Moscow has seen death itself on them as a whole.

Chapter Text

One December evening of 1891, a man called Igor Borisovich Cherepanov, who lived in St. Petersburg, had to immediately return to his fatherʼs state, leaving his wife and children behind.

Igorʼs father was a landowner whose state was located southeast of Moscow. Like any other gentleman in the west, Igor wore over his white shirt and dark blue vest a tailcoat with two fabric-covered buttons under the waist. His black narrow trousers were of heavy fabric, and his leather shoes had been recently shined. From the pocket of his vest stood out the golden chain of the watch he was holding in his hand and looking down at as he waited for the train. Igor wore a black tie around his neck, his only genuinely Russian item of clothing being his huge fur collar coat. Many people at the station were wearing similar garments, as it was snowing outside.

Igor Borisovich was a 38-year-old brunet with small slanted blue eyes and a dark brown beard. His hairline had receded dramatically, and he was gaining weight.

Far gone were Igor's days as the young idealistic liberal student who had unsuccessfully attempted to incite a rebellion among his father's peasants. He had fiercely longed to help them, for there had been many similar uprisings back then, but despite dreaming of redistributing the lands for themselves, the peasants had shown no interest in rebelling against their landlords without that course of action being the explicit wish of their Tsar. It had been a heartbreaking affair for the naïve, compassionate, and free-spirited young man. To make matters worse, the incident had also fractured the boy's relationship with his father, which would gradually improve throughout the following years but never fully recover.

The years had made Igor a railroad investor, a husband, and the father of three children with one on the way. He kept a small photograph of his family in his pocket. The manʼs youngest child was only a year old and had been named Boris after Igor's father.

While not among the wealthiest men in St. Petersburg, Igor had left his love of frugality behind. He lived in a relatively small yet comfortable mansion and often took his wife to the opera to listen to the newest compositions by the greatest of Russian musicians. Some other days, they went to the Mariinsky Theater and watched the ballet. He hoped to take his daughter as well, once she was old enough.

Once a year, Igor would gift his wife a Fabergé egg, and each summer, the family would rent a house by the Gulf of Finland.

The man still hoped that Russia would someday become a democracy, and his interest in politics had not yet diminished, but he had also come to acknowledge that the country was not prepared. Progress would come gradually, he thought, and in the meantime, it was good that there was order.

Most prominent members of the "People's Will" had been arrested and executed or sent to Siberia. Parts of the country had been under martial law for years, and censorship was heavily enforced. No student organizations were allowed at universities.

Russia was a police state under Alexander III. Igor thought, however, that this was probably for the best. There were strikes due to poor working conditions, sure, and pogroms against the Jews in the south, but as regrettable and horrifying as all of that was, there were, at the very least, no more terrorists running around with bombs as had abounded during the reign of Alexander II. Igor felt a bit safer, not having much to fear as a liberal man in St. Petersburg either, but the message he had received from his father asking for help had genuinely alarmed him.

The conditions of the peoples of Borisʼs territory were desperate. There was hunger everywhere, the government was not contributing to its alleviation nearly enough, and while the Cherepanov family was doing everything they could, the famine was far too spread, and Boris's health was deteriorating.

As he looked for his compartment in the train, Igor hoped that the situation was not as bad as his father had described in the letter. He didn't want to stay at his former home for too long.

The train whistled and departed shortly after.

Having taken off his coat and given it to one of the waiters in order to be more comfortable, Igor was about to order something to eat in the elegant restaurant wagon of the train. He was bored having no one to talk to though, so when another waiter asked him whether he would allow for two other gentlemen to sit with him at his round table, Igor didn't object.

One of the newcomers was a young man, a stranger with reddish hair and a short beard. His facial features were quite unique. The other gentleman was Daniil Germanovich Isayev, Igorʼs former classmate and the man who had planned the failed uprising with him. Igor hadnʼt seen him in years.

"It has been a long time, Igor Borisovich", Daniil Germanovich sat down. There wasn't much sympathy in his tone of voice. Igor simply nodded.

The former schoolmates hadn't parted on the best of terms. Igor had felt misled.

"This is Vladimir Ilyich Ulyanov", Daniil said in a seemingly friendlier tone, pointing a finger at his companion, who nodded. "He just finished his exams and will be practicing law."

Igor small talked with the two men, telling them about his everyday life and favorite operas. The subject of the famine was brought up, and Igor explained that his father had asked him for help. Igor planned to request a loan to buy food and then use his contacts to make sure it got there on time. Help was also needed to distribute these aids, as the railway system in the country was still very undeveloped. He would first have to take a look at the situation and evaluate its direness for himself.

Igor was far more interested in knowing how life had treated his former friend though. A while into the conversation, it became clear that Daniil had spent a lot of time abroad, but much to Igorʼs frustration, he didn't specify what he had been doing. When Vladimir stood up to go to the bathroom and left the remaining two men alone, Igor was able to ask Daniil about the red-haired stranger.

Daniil revealed that Vladimir's older brother Alexander had been executed after the latter's assassination attempt on Tsar Alexander III, something that had affected the young man deeply, as he had been close to his brother. Learning about this sent shivers down Igor's spine. He couldn't help but ask himself whether he would have been capable of anything as dangerous during his youth.

Alexander's younger brother was, however, much more pragmatic. Vladimir would have never attempted anything as foolish. Vladimir, Daniil explained, was one of the smartest people he had ever met. Assassinating the Tsar, Vladimir Ilyich Ulyanov had once asserted, would only replace him with the next in line. Daniil had fully agreed. Igor was of the same opinion, the matter reminding him of a recent incident. The memory made him chuckle.

"What?" Daniil asked.

"Nothing, I was just thinking back to that happening in Japan last April", Igor said. "Some madman tried to kill Tsesarevich Nicholas. Little would have changed if the heir had actually died."

"That is right."

When Igor remarked on Vladimir's Asiatic appearance, Daniil explained that the Ulyanovsʼ ancestors had belonged to a people native to Siberia called the Chuvash. Vladimir's wealthy father was of humble origins, a simple teacher who had risen up through his own merits, doing a lot for education in the process. Part of Igor felt ashamed of being the exact opposite of self-made. Having been blessed with a huge head start, his wealth and comfort had been mostly unearned.

The conversation became a bit more interesting when Igor finally dared to ask Daniil whether he was still working for the revolution.

Being an active political dissident, Daniil had been forced to live abroad. Exiles like him traveled from one place to another, frequently making use of fake documents and identities. Dedicated to agitation, they assisted conferences and wrote newspaper articles meant to be illegally smuggled into Russia. They made their living by teaching, translating, receiving money from wealthy sympathizers, and sometimes even stealing.

Daniil told Igor about his experiences without fear.

"Yours must be a very fulfilling life…" Igor was impressed. "A fulfilling yet stressful life."

For the next couple of minutes, Igor refused to talk about anything but the things Daniil had dared to do, the things Igor had not done and would probably die regretting not doing. Subsequently, the two men recalled their most treasured memories together. This made Igor feel comfortable enough to tease his former colleague.

"How do you know I am not heading straight to the police?" He grinned. Despite everything Daniil had done to him, despite the resentment he still felt, Daniil embodied Igorʼs youth and past idealistic innocence. Igor simply wanted to get to know his friend again.

"You are no snitch", Daniil replied with a smile. The two men chuckled. Daniil remembered Igor as a weak and emotional boy, but he knew his friend. He knew his values and ideas, and he deeply suspected they had not changed much these past years.

"You son of a bitch", Igor joked. "And yet I have missed you."

"Watch your language, Igor, I was starting to like you again."

"How is it that you manage to obtain so many false papers?" Igor asked, genuinely impressed by all of Daniilʼs anecdotes. "You know what? Forget about acquiring the papers! How is it that you havenʼt been caught?"

"Well, for starters, I have been caught and taken to a prison in Siberia", Daniil corrected him, and before Igor could cut in with another question, he added: "I escaped along with several of my fellow prisoners."

As Daniil went on to tell Igor the full story, the latter could not help but sense a small hint of smugness in his former friendʼs tone. It was as if Daniil were rubbing his thrilling life, no lacking in adventures, all over Igorʼs face.

Igor was pleased when his radical companion moved on to another subject, the documents.

"You have no idea of how much of a business fake papers are these days", Daniil said. "Where I get them from will more often than not depend on my circumstances, but it is not as hard as you might think. Some of my providers are immensely talented and have been doing what they do for years."

"I sure hope so!" Igor was starting to grow increasingly concerned about his former friend.

"Although… strangely enough, one of my favorite forgers is a very young man, not more than five years older than Ulyanov, actually. He appears to be new to the business and yet possess such talent! Such convincing work!"

"How does a twenty-year-old give or take become an expert on forging papers?" Igor asked. "I can barely begin to contemplate how anyone does!"

Daniil chuckled. "He started up stealing passports from tourists and other foreigners at hotels for identity theft purposes, but he never attempted to fabricate documents for anyone else until he was mistaken for someone who would and thought he might as well make some money off of that as well", he explained. "He is such a fun-loving and cunning fellow. I think you would like him, his name is Vladimir Popov, and he spends most of his time in St. Petersburg, just like you, enjoying women and fancy things, but the nature of his activities has made it more practical for him to move around constantly, not that he complains about that. He loves traveling."

"Are you two good friends?" Igor asked, secretly annoyed by the implication his life consisted only of frivolous things or that, like the young man Daniil had mentioned, he frequented any woman other than his wife.

"Popov is as close to me as Ulyanov is, Igor. We are merely acquaintances compelled to meet frequently due to shared interests or plain necessity. Some dissidents fare better, and I have certainly known expatriates who even have families of their own, but when you travel as much as I do, there is little to no room for that."

It was hard for Igor not to feel sorry for people like Daniil, and despite admiring their convictions, he didnʼt exactly envy their positions. He suspected exiles like Daniil became trapped in their own little worlds of secrecy and conspirators, hiding their true faces in fake documents, fake names, and aliases that gradually ended up becoming their real identities. They wasted away their lives and sometimes even their values and personalities in the service of an ideal, the revolution, which would likely never become a reality. Igor would never trade his peaceful life with his family for such a struggle, not even knowing that doing so would make him feel better about himself.

Just at that moment, Ulyanov returned.

"He wants to talk about the revolution, what do you think, Vladimir?" Daniil asked as the young man sat back down. The latter solely nodded, absentmindedly smiling at Igor.

Daniil talked about the numerous leftist movements all across Western Europe, from syndicates to revolutionary political parties. Something struck Igor: Daniilʼs certainty. As young men, the revolution had been such an abstract concept for both, such a dream. Believing it would one day happen was almost similar to faith in God. But now, Daniil talked of revolution as if it were a predictable and inevitable historical process, a process he fully understood. A science. When Igor pointed this out, Daniil smiled.

"Well of course", he nodded. "Havenʼt you read Karl Marx?"

Igor shook his head.

"You do remember Hegel though", Daniil Germanovich pressed on. "Don't you?"

"I think so", Igor recalled. "He developed an alternative method of dialectics, different from the classical one."

"Exactly, dialectics is the key to everything."

Igor tried to remember everything he had read about Hegelʼs dialectics as he nodded at his friend. It was quite a beautiful theory of discourse to establish the truth. Hegel thought that the world was constantly progressing towards a final stage of perfection, the absolute.

This process was composed of different stages consisting of clashes of ideas, each one representing a step ahead in our understanding of the whole, the absolute truth. More specifically, a thesis, or apparent truth, clashed with an opposite idea or antithesis, and from that clash emerged the synthesis which, while still imperfect, was an improvement.

"And the greatest dialectic genius", Daniil proceeded, "has been Karl Marx, because it is through this philosophical theory that he explained the history of humanity... and its future as well."

What followed were some of the most fascinating moments in Igorʼs life.

"Only matter is real", Daniil began explaining the basic proponents of Marxism. "That is the truth underneath everything. From this simple fact derives the name given to Marxʼs doctrine, dialectic materialism.

"Everything is determined by the material means of production, be it the way we feed, dress, extract minerals from the earth, or manufacture products. Consciousness itself, society and laws, everything derives from the contemporary economic structure, and in every society, there are two main classes, the exploiters and the exploited, or in more detailed words, the ones who own the means of production and the ones who are pushed to sell their labor."

"And how does dialectics play into this?" Igor asked.

"Class warfare", Daniil Germanovich replied. "That is the dialectics", he placed an index finger on his chin. "Letʼs see… who owned most of the land in Feudal Europe?"

"The nobles."

"And the exploited peasants worked the land. But that structure was slowly replaced by capitalism. Now the exploiters are the factory owners and the exploited are the workers, the proletarian. Thesis and antithesis."

"And the synthesis?"

"The revolution", Daniil concluded. "The workers will take control of the means of production, capitalism will self-destruct, and we will enter a new era. It is inevitable."

"And how will that 'new era' look like?" Igor asked.

"First will come socialism", Daniil explained, "in which the proletarianʼs government is the owner of the means of production. Further on, we will advance towards perfect communism, in which the state as we know it will cease to be necessary and therefore cease to exist."

"So… that means we are indeed advancing towards the new order we dreamed about as students."

"Yes, but our big mistake back in 1874 was trying to spark a revolution without any sort of theoretical framework. The revolution can only start among the proletariat, not in the fields, and now, thanks to Marx, we know exactly what we are doing. Revolution has become a science."

Igor thought that sounded very well, but was it possible in his country?

"Are there many Marxists in Russia?" He asked.

"Just a few…" Daniil replied, "for now."

Igor was disappointed, and he did nothing to hide it.

"So what follows here in Russia?" He asked Daniil again. "What do the Marxists think?"

"Sometimes, Igor Borisovich, it seems there are as many conflicting views as there are revolutionaries", Daniil admitted with a tone that sounded slightly dejected. "There are around two main views. Officially, Marxism affirms that everything happens in time. First, there is an agricultural economy with similarities to feudalism that is then followed by a bourgeois state from which capitalism develops. This state grows more and more centralized and oppressive with time until it finally falls apart. The laborers take up arms against their oppressors and break their chains. It is clear and logical."

"Russia is just becoming a bourgeois state", Igor remarked, nodding, "which means the revolution you described can't come about here."

"Not according to the classical theories of Marx, but, as I said, there are many views. Another one suggests that Russia is a special case. Think about it, we have an expiring aristocracy, a weak noble class without any sort of significant economic potential that is completely dependent on the Tsar. We also have a very small middle class and a peasantry that has traditionally lived in communes. We are different from the west, weaker. Who knows? Maybe Russia can produce a sudden and unexpected revolution resulting in a primitive form of socialism."

"Well, well, this is all very interesting", Igor acknowledged playfully. "But what do you think, intellectual? Is the revolution starting here?"

"I predict not. I donʼt trust the peasants to champion it, and you must be well aware as to why. I think Russia should go through capitalism first. It is the natural order of things. Capitalism is a necessary stage in human history. Marx once acknowledged the possibility that in countries such as the United States of America, England, and Holland, the workers could one day achieve their aims by peaceful means, and I can't help but notice those are some of the nations in which capitalism is most developed. They have a preexisting democratic tradition as well. The workersʼ liberation would come about by gradualist methods, step by step. First at the municipal level, then county, state, and up to the federal levels of government. Socialism could be one day be instituted through the democratic process, something we certainly donʼt have in Russia."

Igor had never heard of anything similar. If what Daniil had described were about to happen indeed, Igor would definitely not live long enough to see the process reach its completion, and yet nothing sounded better. Igor only hoped he could be part of it somehow.

"That would indeed be preferable", Igor agreed. "But what should be done in the meantime?"

Igor picked up on the fact that Vladimir Ilyich hadnʼt joined the ongoing conversation yet. The young lawyer had been reading a newspaper, but Igor could tell he had also been listening. As Daniil spoke, Vladimir had nodded in agreement, also muttering an "exactly" every now and then. This changed, however, and before Daniil could answer the question, Vladimir Ilych decided to express his viewpoint on the matter for the first time:

"Clearly, everything Marx said should be seriously considered, but we have to take into account that Marx was a revolutionary as well, and that the revolution is not only a matter of theory but also of practice. Marx also stated that in most countries force would be the lever of the revolution, and that there is only one way in which the agonies of the old society can be shortened to give rise to the birth of the new society. Russia is backwards, of course, but its industry is growing, and in consequence, so is the proletarian class. It is not impossible that the conditions Marxism considers essential for a revolution will become a reality during our lifetime, and then… and there is the key to everything… it will be necessary to instruct the proletarian. For this to work, we will need a qualified and driven leader."

The lawyer spoke in a way that revealed he wasnʼt expecting anyone to question him.

Igor recalled his youth, the way he and Daniil had thought themselves such leaders. Igor Borisovich had seen himself as the self-proclaimed savior of the peasants and the poor in general, those less knowledgeable than him. How far gone were those years... at least for Igor, but now the man in front of him, little more than a teenager, had implied without much subtlety that he deemed himself capable of accomplishing everything Igor had failed to do. The young lawyer had insinuated certain other… questionable things as well. Part of Igor felt angry. Why was that? Was it outrage? Jealousy? Possibly. If young Igor had known what he would eventually become, he would have probably killed himself.

Igor challenged the lawyer the same way his father had challenged him after the incident during his youth:

"And tell me, Vladimir, would that leader use any means necessary to implement the revolution?"

The lawyer played with his small beard as he reflected on the question for a minute.

"I would say so", he eventually responded.

"Even terrorism?" Igor queried in disbelief.

"That would probably not work now."

"Let's say, hypothetically speaking, it would", Igor pressed on.

"Then absolutely, why not?" Vladimir said with aplomb.

Igor stayed silent for an uncomfortable amount of time, so the conversation moved on to other topics, and the three men didnʼt mention politics as they had dinner.

Igor couldnʼt help but be amazed by how… normal that charismatic and unique young lawyer started to sound once the topic of politics was left behind. Vladimir was even funny. The three men talked about food, art, and outdoor activities such as ice skating. They briefly mentioned the weather and joked about the recent incident involving the Japanese man who had tried to kill the heir. After a while, Ulyanov announced that he was going back to his compartment, as he had grown tired. Before leaving, however, he said something else.

"It is a huge mistake."

"What?" Igor asked.

"That attempt to alleviate hunger. We shouldnʼt do anything to help", Ulyanov asserted with calm detachment. "We should let the peasants starve. The worst their conditions become, the weaker the Tsarist government gets."

The young man had spoken matter-of-factly, without the slightest trace of malice or anger.

"He has been recommending that all week long", Daniil laughed.

"I am right", the new lawyer stated confidently. He wasnʼt laughing, and Igor wasn't able to detect any irony in his tone.

Igor hid his immediate reaction and then amicably parted with both men, going back to his own compartment as well. Despite knowing he would probably never see them again, he reflected on the encounter for hours, coming to the conclusion that it was not Vladimirʼs appearance but his complete lack of sentimentality that truly made him one of a kind.

Oo

Thirteen years had passed. By the early 1900s, terrorism was making a comeback as a method among many different revolutionary movements. Its purpose? To destabilize the Russian government. One of the first victims was Minister of the Interior Dmitri Sipiaguin, murdered on April 15, 1902.

The young lawyer himself is married to a fellow Russian revolutionary named Nadezhda Krupskaya. Nadezhda was born into a noble yet impoverished family, and her experience growing up poor is precisely what led her to become interested in the improvement of people's lives. By the time Vladimir met her, she was already a dedicated revolutionary.

At the beginning, Nadezhda wasn't necessarily impressed with the personality of the man who would one day be known by the pseudonym of Lenin, but she admired his speeches and convictions, so similar to her own. Theirs was more of a professional relationship than a marital one at first, but not one lacking in love.

The most important individuals in Lenin's life have all been women, his wife, mother, and sisters holding a special place in his heart. He takes their opinions, political or otherwise, as seriously as he takes those of any man.

Lenin repeatedly loses his male friends to heated arguments about politics. They have to agree with Vladimir or bend to his will. This occurs nearly without exceptions. Sometimes he simply grows apart from them as time goes by.

As charismatic as usual, Vladimir Ilych Ulyanov is now deeply devoted to his wife and very fond of children as well. He doesn't have any kids himself though, as Nadezhda is barren. Despite loving to play with the little sons and daughters of his acquaintances, Ulyanov thinks it is probably for the best that Nadezhda hasnʼt brought any children into the world. Both husband and wife agree theirs is not a lifestyle any child should share. They are constantly on the run from governments, caught up in illegal activities, and sometimes even in financial trouble.

By 1902, the couple lived in London, and Lenin was a board member of the Russian Social Democratic Labour Party newspaper known as "Iskra.” Among other members of the editorial staff were Julius Martov, Georgi Plekhanov, Vera Zasulich, and Leon Trotsky, the latter being a young man in his early twenties who was as gifted and well-read as Lenin had been at that age. Born Lev Davidovich Bronstein, Leon had become an agitator as a young teenager, getting into trouble with the Tsarist authorities at an early age. He had adopted the surname "Trotsky" from one of his jailers while held in an Odessa prison and also been exiled to Siberia.

In 1903, members of the Iskra convened the 2nd Congress of the Russian Social Democratic Labour Party in Belgium, but the meeting was broken up by the Belgian police and consequently had to be moved to London.

Something happened during that congress, something important. The big issue at stake was how to apply Marxʼs theories in Russia. Lenin came to disagree with a prominent view that claimed the revolution would not be achieved in a mainly agrarian society. He thought it was possible, but many other communists in the Russian Social Democratic Labour Party did not hold the same opinion.

A split occurred even within Iskra's board during a debate over the meaning of "party member." For Lenin, it meant being an official member of one of the party's recognized organizations. Julius Martov, on the other hand, saw a party member inside any person working under the guidance of the party, not necessarily in a formal way.

Lenin wanted to have a number of professional revolutionaries, a group of elite intellectuals, guiding a more numerous group of sympathizers.

Martov was satisfied with the idea of having a broad group of activists who were all moving in the same general direction but didn't necessarily agree with the Russian Social Democratic Labour Party on every single issue. He wanted a system as classless as that of communism.

Leninʼs position on party members won by two votes, which led to a rift between Lenin and Martov. The latter was backed by Vera Zasulich, Trotsky, and eventually, Plekhanov.

Despite the fact neither side had a consistent dominance over the party, Lenin labeled Martov's faction the "Mensheviks", which meant "the minority." His own faction, on the other hand, Lenin labeled the "Bolsheviks", or "the majority." Later on, Lenin tried but failed to restrict the editorial board of "Iskra" to just three members. This led him to leave the paper, which the Mensheviks promptly took control over.

Other ethical differences between Bolsheviks and Mensheviks soon became apparent.

While living in exile, party member Nikolay Ernestovich Bauman had enjoyed an affair with the wife of a fellow revolutionary. As a result of this, the woman had become pregnant with Bauman's child.

Bauman would then go on to spread vicious rumors about the woman he had slept with, publically mocking her by circulating a cartoon of her as the Virgin Mary with a baby in her womb and a caption asking about the babyʼs looks. The bullying and ostracization ultimately grew to become unbearable, and the woman ended up hanging herself.

By 1902, the story was widely known among Russian political exiles. Some people working in the "Iskra" wanted Bauman expelled from the organization, but in 1903, Lenin interceded on Bauman's behalf. He rejected the party's right to interfere, arguing that Bauman was a valuable member, and that the party's task was to make revolution against the Romanov monarchy, and to vet the morality of comrades only when and in so far as their actions affected the implementation of the task. Most Mensheviks were disgusted by Leninʼs judgment.

Members and sympathizers of the Russian Social Democratic Labour Party living in Russia have been left to figure out whether they have to choose sides, and if so, which one.

What happened in that congress was indeed important, but by February of 1904, it was not Russian dissidents of any kind who posed the most significant threat to the Empire.

Oo

For centuries, Russia had gradually and consistently expanded towards Asia, establishing its authority all over Siberia. As Russian settlements in Siberia grew, so did the Empireʼs need for outlets to the southern seas and aggressive policies to obtain them. China was unable to resist Russian pressure and hence lost many lands north of the Amur River to its rising power. Several territories neighboring Korea also had to be forfeited, including the site where the city-port of Vladivostok was founded.

Due to the industrial revolution, a new imperialist race for domination between the greatest powers had begun in the late 19th century. Great nations claimed more and more lands, further and further away, all with the purpose of exploiting abundant natural resources that had once been inaccessible. The "civilizing" of peoples thought underdeveloped was used as a way to legitimize these great powersʼ endless expansion.

By the end of the 19th century, many poor and underdeveloped Asian countries had become colonies after falling into western hands. England had possession of Hong Kong and Weihaiwei. France owned Indo-China and Hangzhou. Germany controlled the Shandong Peninsula. America occupied the Philippines. All of these nations competed amongst each other and Russia to expand their influence. In 1861, for instance, Great Britain had frustrated Russiaʼs attempt to establish a naval base on the island of Tsushima, located between Korea and Japan.

When Nicholas II ascended the throne, Russian expansionist policy reached its peak as hundreds of settlements were founded, populated, and developed in the eastern regions of the Empire. Russian economic influence grew simultaneously, solidifying the Empireʼs position.

Japan, on the other hand, had by 1904 been transformed from an isolationist feudal state into a rising modern power. This quick process had begun in 1868 with the restoration of the Meiji Emperor.

Japan aimed at extending its authority all over Korea. In 1894, this ambitious policy led to war with China, a nation that had historically laid claim to the peninsula. Owing to its modernized army and navy, Japan was victorious against the Chinese, and in the subsequent Treaty of Shimonoseki, China ceded the Liaodong Peninsula to Japan. Port Arthur stood on that territory.

This display of Japanese power had threatened to close the door of East Asia on Russia. Nicholas II took the initiative. With the support of Germany and France, he convinced Japan to give up its territorial gains, claiming that what the rising Asian power wanted constituted a perpetual menace to the peace of the Far East. In exchange, Russia paid Japan an increased indemnity. The Japanese were nonetheless offended. The Westerners had clearly snatched away the fruits of their victory.

In 1896, Russia concluded an alliance with China, guaranteeing the latterʼs territorial integrity and protection against Japan. Under said allianceʼs terms, Russia obtained the right to lay sections of the soon-to-be-completed Trans-Siberian Railway across Chinese territory. Russian troops would also be allowed to patrol it.

Oo

Nicholasʼs ambitions are far from being fulfilled. At the height of worldwide imperialism, gaining influence and new territories makes nations respectable. It is a symbol of strength and stability. Like many other rulers, Nicholas wants to bring glory to his country, meaning more lands, ports, and trade routes. His heart is filled with patriotic idealism, as well as a naïve sense of adventure.

The Emperor of Russia seeks only the best for his nation and its people, but for a man with a life as comfortable as that of Nicholas, it is far easier to recognize success or improvement when it is presented to him in the form of a map.

A map is tangible, uncomplicated, and easier to visualize than any sort of valuable information on economics, education, medicine, agriculture, or any other of those topics Nicholas understands only the basics of. He has remarkably bright ideas every now and then, and he is aware, in theory, of how bad living conditions are for a huge portion of the people he rules over. He receives reports, and he never ignores or remains passive upon reading any of them, at least not for too long, but Nicholas has a limited imagination. Not even remotely accurate images, sounds, smells, tastes, or sensations of what the poorest of his people are going through have ever haunted Nicholasʼs mind or cursed him with a hard nightʼs sleep. Fasting for church services or feasts is the closest experience he has ever had to hunger.

What Nicholas is capable of conceiving defines his priorities. If his ministers and the world believe that expanding a nationʼs influence is fundamental to strengthening its economy, then so does he. Nicholas has, overall, a fairly conventional mindset.

Just like the wide variety of ancient traditional Russian customs Nicholas works hard to preserve, maps also represent something he can conjure up. They are symbolic depictions of his dear nation, because Russia is the motherland, first and foremost.

Oo

The British Empire remains Russiaʼs natural rival in Asia as both powers seek to expand eastward. Nicholas has an ally, however, in German Emperor Wilhelm II.

Kaiser Wilhelm II is the son of Frederick III and Princess Victoria, Queen Victoriaʼs eldest child and Aliceʼs sister. As such, he is Alexandraʼs first cousin and a cousin through marriage of Nicholas.

A particularly traumatic birth during which both his life and that of his mother were in great danger left Wilhelm with a paralyzed left arm that failed to grow properly. Throughout his childhood, Wilhelm was subjected to painful and completely useless treatments that aimed at making his limb grow. When Wilhelm first started learning how to ride a horse, his bad arm would make it difficult for him to maintain his balance. He suffered both distress and humiliation as he kept falling off the animal over and over again.

Wilhelmʼs character, already willful and stubborn, strengthened with every hurt. Ultimately, the young German prince became a proficient horseman and a force to be reckoned with. His left arm may be mostly useless still and often hidden in his pockets, but his right arm is exceptionally powerful, allowing him to swim, shoot, rower, and play tennis.

Growing up enduring pain and hardships ended up embittering Wilhelm. He came to blame both his mother and the English doctors who had brought him into the world for his disability. Wilhelmʼs relationship with his English mother was aggravated by the latterʼs disappointment in him. Victoria was so intellectually accomplished that her eldest son never managed to live up to her standards.

The militaristic Prussian court worsened the situation by not allowing Wilhemʼs parents to raise him according to their liberal ideals. Chancellor Otto Von Bismarck, the architect of German unification, filled Wilhelmʼs impressionable young mind with purely Prussian military values and ideals, causing those of his parents to come across as weak by comparison. Wilhelm didn't want to be weak. He feared that word.

As a result of this Prussian upbringing, Wilhelm hates revealing any sign of vulnerability to anyone, overcompensating for the physical trait he is most self-conscious about through symbolic displays of military strength and an abrasive personality lacking any sort of self-awareness. Alexander III didn't hide his distaste for Wilhelm, not even when the latter was close by. The deceased Russian Emperor once called the German prince a badly brought up, untrustworthy boy.

Wilhelm has no beard, but his long nose, wide head, gray eyes, and light brown hair are largely hidden behind a big curled mustache he is very proud of and has groomed every morning. At nineteen, he fell in love with his cousin Elizabeth of Hesse, Alixʼs sister. Wilhelm would even write poems about Ella, but when visiting Darmstadt, he was nothing but selfish and rude.

The German prince would expect the hosts to do whatever he wanted. If they were all riding, Wilhelm would suddenly want to shoot, row, or play tennis, and once everyone was playing tennis, he would, out of nowhere, throw his racket midgame and demand for everyone else to follow him. When he was tired, he asked for everyone to remain silent as he read the Bible. Alix was around six when one of these visits occurred, and despite her tender age, the sensitive little girl grew to dislike her Prussian cousin almost immediately. The teenage Elizabeth couldnʼt stand Wilhelm at times, as he was always demanding her to play, sit, or listen to him without offering the same courtesy in return.

Despite this difficult temperament, Wilhelm has had a very happy marriage so far. Rejected by Elizabeth, Wilhelm wedded Augusta Victoria of Schleswig-Holstein in 1881. There could not have been a better match for him. Called Dona affectionately, Augusta spoils, flatters, and dotes on Wilhelm, who loves being fussed over. Similar to the way Catherine I subdued the fits of anger of her husband Peter the Great, Dona is one of the few people who can calm Wilhelm whenever he flies into a rage.

Unlike Elizabeth or even Alix, who grew up to have strong opinions of their own, Augusta merely praises and is easily convinced by Wilhelmʼs. She almost worships her husband, believing he is exceptional and that it is therefore her duty to serve him.

Augusta sides with Wilhelm in some of his most outrageous displays of entitlement. During one of Queen Victoriaʼs Golden Jubilee ceremonies in 1887, Wilhelm was appalled when his grandmother placed the Queen of Hawaii before him in the order of precedence. Wilhelm was, of course, only a prince at that time, but he still considered himself more important than the dark-skinned ruler of a small island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. Donna, of course, sided with her husband.

Wilhelm, in turn, has loved, cherished, and overprotected his wife ever since the day he married her, but that did not stop him from pettily refusing to meet with Elizabeth after she married Sergei.

By the time Prince Frederick became Kaiser, he was already very ill with throat cancer, so his reign lasted only three months before he died and his son Wilhelm succeeded him at the age of 29.

Having a busy parliament, the German Empire is not entirely under the monarchʼs control, but Wilhelmʼs difficult childhood has provided him with a strong will and a small glimmer of compassion. Underneath his impulsiveness, restless temperament, bigoted opinions, vanities, delusions, and rapid plunges from hysterical excitement or paranoia to black despair, the Kaiser is, like Nicholas, deeply devoted to his country.

Concerned about his workers and fearing the revolutionary sentiments brewing all across Europe, Wilhelm ignored Chancellor Bismarckʼs opposition and decided to provide the German workers with pensions, health care, and accident and disability insurance. He later decided to dismiss Otto Von Bismarck, one of the greatest German figures of the time, for differences in opinion.

Ever since the nine-years-younger Nicholas came to power, Wilhelm has encouraged and influenced him, providing him with advice based on personal experience, flattering him whenever he makes a good decision, and agreeing with him on the importance of autocracy.

In character, the two emperors are complete opposites. Nicholas is gentle, shy, and extremely polite, becoming playful only among family members and close friends. Wilhelm presents himself as a confident braggart, a bully, and an exhibitionist who often expresses himself in exaggerated ways he doesnʼt truly mean in order to shock, dominate, or cause outrage. Sometimes he simply loses his temper. The Kaiser laughs way too loudly, throwing his head back, shaking, and stamping his foot on the ground to demonstrate how funny every joke is to him.

While Nicholas tries to listen to every opinion despite heavily disliking some of them, Wilhelm draws judgments before even meeting with his ministers, freely speaks his mind, and often endeavors to convince others to share his views, pestering them endlessly.

Nicholas hates being the sovereign. Wilhelm almost ripped the crown off of his dying father from the excitement the prospect of becoming Germanyʼs new ruler was causing him. While Nicholas tries to live a quiet existence with his wife and without much fuss, Wilhelm delights in parading around in high black boots, white cloak, silver breastplate, and spooky-looking spiked helmet.

Wilhelm is the opposite of Nicholas even when it comes to good fortune or what is considered to be so. The Kaiser and his wife have six sons and only one daughter, Victoria Louise, who is the German Emperorʼs favorite and youngest child.

Neither Nicholas nor Alexandra love Wilhelm, but the Tsar is always polite. He is both disgusted and repelled by but also strangely attracted to his cousinʼs flamboyance and confidence, the latter trait almost reminding him of his father. The Kaiser refers to Nicholas as "Dearest Nicky" in his letters, always signing "Your affectionate Willy."

Whenever they meet in person, Wilhelm taps Nicholas on the shoulder and says: "My advice to you is more speeches and more parades." Nicholas will usually complain to his wife later about Wilhelmʼs excessive familiarity and habit of elbowing him or tapping him on the back as if he were nothing but a schoolboy.

Oo

While visiting Russia in 1897, Wilhelm secured Nicholasʼs support for a German annexation in Asia. Despite having guaranteed the integrity of Chinaʼs territory, Nicholas then decided to seize Port Arthur for himself over his minister Witteʼs objections. The temptation was too strong even for the pious Nicholas, as Russiaʼs only Pacific port, Vladivostok, was frozen for three months a year, making trade impossible.

Nicholas II has a code of honor, the concept of which he admires. Oaths shouldn't be broken and loyalty has to mean something. He tries to live by these precepts and doesnʼt make a habit of fooling anyone. He is, nevertheless, completely capable of fooling himself and making up excuses for his actions, particularly when his initial reasoning to do something dishonest fails as a valid explanation.

On April 8 of 1898, Sergei Witte managed to persuade the Chinese to leave Port Arthur for 25 years. Nicholas got his ice-free port, and the Russians occupied the same peninsula they had excluded Japan from only three years earlier under what then became clear had been false pretenses.

Oo

By the 19th century, the once imposing Chinese Empire was in decline. The seizure of Chinese territory by Germany and Russia was followed by British and French demands.

Japan and the Western powers held considerable influence over the Qing dynasty and continually pushed them to accept foreign control over the country's economy. China had fought many times to resist the foreignersʼ insatiable expansion, resulting in millions of casualties, but the huge nation lacked a modernized military.

In a last desperate attempt to oppose Western imperialism in her country, Dowager Empress Tzu'u Hzi began supporting a group called the "Boxers" by the Westerners for their martial arts fighting style. The Boxers soon grew in numbers and in late 1899 started regularly massacring foreigners and Chinese Christians.

In response, the great powers organized a military intervention the following year. This intervention consisting of British, Russian, American, Japanese, French, and German troops successfully put a stop to the uprising.

Due to the increasing rivalry between these powers, it was agreed that China would not be partitioned further. Instead, the foreign nations received favorable commercial treaties with China and permission to permanently post their troops in Peking. China was also forced to pay a penalty for its rebellion, practically becoming a subject nation.

The Russians took advantage of the crisis by "temporarily" occupying Manchuria, from where they planned to move into Korea. This infuriated the Japanese, as Manchuria was another region Japan had tried to spread its influence into.

In 1902, Great Britain signed an alliance with Japan.

Oo

The narrow-minded Kaiser Wilhelm often rants about the perils of the "yellow" race. Farewelling a group of German marines bound for China, he told them to give no quarter.

The German Emperor will often write to Nicholas asserting that Russia has a "Holy Mission" in Asia. Russia, Wilhelm claims, is obliged to cultivate and civilize the Asian continent in order to defend Europe from what he calls the "Great Yellow Race." Providence calls for Nicholas to defend the old Christian European culture from the inroads of Mongols and Buddhism.

Being an exceedingly dramatic man, the Kaiser once commissioned a special allegorical painting for Nicholas. In this image, the German Emperor appeared in shining armor, holding a crucifix. Under Wilhelm was the figure of Nicholas, dressed in a long ancient Byzantine robe and looking up at his Prussian cousin in awe. In the background of the painting was the blue sea, filled with German and Russian ships. Nicholas did not know what to do with the painting or how to thank Wilhelm without encouraging him to send him another one.

The Kaiser got to watch a fleet of real Russian battleships during naval maneuvers in 1902. He thought it a brilliant idea to signal from his yacht to the Tsar aboard the Standart: "The Admiral of the Atlantic salutes the Admiral of the Pacific."

Wilhelmʼs love for these excessive and pompous displays of self-importance is something Nicholas has simply had to tolerate as both a family member and a representative of Russia. One time, quite reluctantly, he had to defend the Kaiser before Minnie through a letter when the latter expressed her outrage about the fact Wilhelm would be allowed to wear the Russian naval uniform the same way Nicholas had been symbolically made captain of the Kaiserʼs navy as a display of friendship. Minnie still resented Germany, or more specifically, Prussia, for the lands they had taken away from her homeland, Denmark.

Loathing the Kaiser is one of the few things Alix has in common with her mother-in-law Minnie. Alexandra can barely will herself to act civil around Wilhelm for diplomacyʼs sake. She turns away when he inevitably makes heavy jokes and winces in fear and discomfort whenever he picks up any of her four elegantly-dressed giggling daughters with his one strong arm, sometimes playfully throwing them in the air, a reckless idea that made Tatiana cry during the 1902 visit.

Once he is gone, Olga and Tatiana will often make fun of their uncle for his exuberant personality. Being too young and innocent, Maria still has trouble understanding what is wrong with her funny Uncle Willy.

Oo

Wilhelm does not provide Nicholas with advice out of mere selflessness. The Kaiser wishes to manipulate Russiaʼs foreign policy, and despite his prejudice against Asians being genuine, the real reason Wilhelm wants Nicholas to focus on Asia is so that Russiaʼs influence is diminished in Europe, as this would reduce the risk of war between Germanyʼs ally Austria and Russia over the Balkans. With Russia and France as allies, Germany has started feeling encircled and threatened. Russia must be given a distraction from meddling in European affairs.

Much to Wilhelmʼs advantage, Nicholas has never been the hardest person to influence, and the German monarch is hardly the only one filling the Tsarʼs head with unrealistic dreams of expansion.

Oo

Japan regarded Korea as essential for its security and had intended to use it as an external line of defense. The Japanese government also needed whatever resources Korea could supply, as the islandʼs growing population was beginning to cause food shortages. The Russians, on the other hand, thought of Korea as a potential new province that could provide them with endless economic opportunities.

Around the turn of the century, a group of Russian adventurers plotted to establish a private enterprise, the Yalu Timber Company, and then use it as a front to sneak Russian soldiers disguised as workmen into Korea.

The Russian government was aware of this, but many ministers disapproved of this reckless plan, Sergei Witte among them, as he understood the risks better than anyone. Nicholas didn't object to the scheme though. He was impressed by the creativity of the entrepreneurs, rationalizing that what they were doing was not only harmless but would also bring prosperity to his country. He had no trouble convincing himself of this, as some of his ministers and many of his advisors agreed with him.

Japan would have preferred a settlement that benefited both parties. The Russians could have kept Manchuria as long as the Japenese were allowed to keep Korea. Nevertheless, many members of the Japanese parliament felt like they couldnʼt stand by as the Russians expanded rapidly through the coasts of Asia, planting the double-headed eagle in every port.

On 1901, a Japanese statesman, Marquis Ito, had come to St. Petersburg to negotiate but been almost completely ignored. Later, throughout 1903, the permanent Japanese Minister in St. Petersburg, Kurino, issued urgent warnings and repeatedly begged for an audience with the Tsar. It was never provided.

Diplomacy is undoubtedly one of those important subjects Nicholas understands only the basics of.

Oo

St. Seraphim's prophesy could have made Nicholas frightened at the prospect of a war, but as the potential foe in question was Japan, the Tsar didnʼt feel at all afraid. He thought incredibly little of the Japanese, as his trip to their island hadnʼt left him with a particularly good impression of them. As far as he was aware, Japan had just left the feudal stage. Russia had a much better head start by comparison. The Japanese wouldnʼt dare risk a war.

Furthermore, most of Nicholasʼs ministers had assured him that Russiaʼs military was dramatically superior to that of Japan. If a war were to break out, they would claim, Russia would easily win. Not a single shot would have to be fired, they sometimes added playfully, for the Russians would annihilate the "yellow monkeys" by throwing their caps at them. The upcoming war, others said, could not truly be called a war but a walk in the park.

Nicholas himself had lately come to believe that Holy Russia, which represented the only true faith on Earth, was protected by God and the autocracy. His friend Philippe had also said that if there were to be a war in Asia, the Russian Empire would effortlessly come out victorious, triumphantly demonstrating the inviolability of its autocracy. Sure, Nicholas reflected on the memory, Philippe had been wrong before, but he had also spoken to them about St. Seraphim.

Russia was a great power. Japan was an island that had been irrelevant a century ago. If anything, the St. Seraphimʼs prophecy would only be fulfilled if Russia was weak, and the initiative Nicholas was endorsing in Korea was a safe and beneficial method for his country to gain power. Russia had been doing just fine all of these years, quietly expanding its economic and political influence in a largely peaceful way. Stopping Russiaʼs growth in Asia would be a huge mistake with no rewards. The Tsar was more afraid of doing so than provoking Japanʼs anger.

A war wouldnʼt happen anyway. Nicholas didnʼt want one.

Oo

The Tsar wasn't being a hypocrite when he convened the first Hague Peace Conference. This was a genuine attempt to help the world become a more peaceful place.

Nicholas II has never been the type of man who would consciously and deliberately sacrifice lives, much less Russian lives, with pre-planning or calculation. Not for a sense of self-fulfillment, not for glory, not even for Russia.

The Tsarʼs questionable code of honor, as flexible as it is, wouldnʼt have allowed for him to change his views about anything as important and high stakes as the set of circumstances in which waging a war should be considered just or honorable. He involved his soldiers in a brief conflict to defend foreigners in China, but he wouldn't have done the same to amass new land.

While overall not afraid of the Japanese, the Tsarʼs advisors did not support going to war against them either, as they foresaw difficulties transporting troops and supplies from the European to the Asian regions of the Empire. The Trans-Siberian Railway hadn't been completed yet.

Meanwhile, the Kaiser pestered and pestered Nicholas about how great of a threat the Japanese were to the entire white race, claiming they aimed at dominating all of East Asia in order to organize and prepare themselves to wage war against Europe like Attila the Hun and Genghis Khan had done centuries ago.

Never giving Wilhelm's hysterics that much importance, Nicholas replied that he still hoped for a calm and peaceful understanding. The Kaiser laughed as he showed the Tsarʼs response to his chancellor, who remarked on Nicholas's unmanly attitude.

"You innocent angel!" Wilhelm mocked his cousin in a telegram.

On January 13, 1904, Japan proposed a formula by which Manchuria would remain outside Japan's sphere of influence and, reciprocally, Korea would remain outside Russia's.

By February 4, 1904, no formal reply had been received from Saint Petersburg. The Japanese were afraid this meant Russia aspired to keep control over both Manchuria and Korea. The Koreans themselves were caught in the middle of a tense situation, making an effort to figure out what the best course of action to preserve their independence would be. They eventually decided to stay neutral.

Nicholas was heavily mismanaging his government, so much so that the Japanese had begun to reckon the Russians were in fact preparing for war while pretending to hope for a peaceful solution in order to buy time.

On February 6, Kurino was recalled back to his country, and after bowing grimly and slowly, he left. Japan had severed diplomatic relations with Russia.

Nicholas rarely puts himself in other peopleʼs shoes. He doesnʼt spend any considerable amount of time or energy trying to understand their motivations, thoughts, and actions, or the fact they might not share his flexible code of honor.

The possibility that Japan did want war never crossed Nicholasʼs mind. He has a limited imagination indeed.

Oo

On February 8, 1904, Japanese destroyers prepared to fire their torpedoes on the Russian Far East fleet located in Port Arthur. This attack damaged two of the Russiansʼ most powerful battleships, as well as a cruiser. Although none of the ships were sunk due to the effectiveness of their passive ship defensive devices known as torpedo nets, the Russian fleet was seriously weakened.

Early the following morning, the Russians began to return fire. In the resulting battle, both sides suffered damage and casualties before the Japanese retreated.

The torpedoes had produced massive explosions in the ships. 150 Russian sailors died. The ones that didnʼt perish as a direct consequence of being blown to pieces were instead burned alive in the blaze or asphyxiated by the smoke, which rose abundantly from the enormous flames towards the sky. Many more drowned after falling overboard or jumping into the water to flee the fire.

The brave survivors who managed to fight back were left incensed and deeply disturbed by everything they had witnessed. Plenty were haunted just hours later by what they had heard. Their friends had sobbed and screamed for help only for the salt of their tears to join that of the Pacific Sea.

The so-called "Admiral of the Pacific" himself, Nicholas, was dismayed upon receiving the telegram. Not only had the Japanese dared, but they had done so without a declaration of war.

Chapter Text

The Russian soldier stands large on every horizon. They vigorously march along to the music played by regimental bands, often singing choruses. Cossack regiments are the most picturesque among them. These fierce fighters are often magnificent horsemen who can stoop from the saddle and pick up any small article from the ground.

During holidays at Tsarskoye Selo, Cossacks can be seen wearing long scarlet coats reaching nearly to the ankles and top-boots wrinkled at the legs, although their everyday uniform is a dark blue coat lined with scarlet. A Cossacks is always armed with a silver-mounted dagger in his belt, a silver-mounted sword that is often a family heirloom, and a rifle, its cartridges slung across the breast of the warriorʼs coat. When the men are on horseback, the rifle is carried across the saddle. The Cossacks are expert marksmen and can hit a target while going at full gallop. They are also fully devoted to the imperial family.

The Russian soldier barely receives enough to live by. He can, of course, earn a little bit more by doing odd jobs for his superiors or acting as an officer's family servant.

On one occasion, before Anastasia was born, Margaretta Eagar came into conflict with the military of Tsarskoye Selo. A room had been fitted up in the palace as a church where the Tsarina and her children attended services every Sunday morning. Alexandra told the nurse to get into the church by a little side door that would bring her just behind her chair, as the three imperial children were at the church and Maria was so small back then that she would get restless without enough adult supervision. When Miss Eagar tried to do as the Empress had commanded, she found a soldier mounting guard outside the door. He refused to let Margaretta pass. The Irishwoman spoke Russian very badly, so she tried to explain the situation to no avail.

Miss Eagar waited until one of the Grand Dukes came along and ordered the soldier to let Margaretta pass. The soldier again refused. He had not recognized the Grand Duke.

"I don't care if you are the Emperor himself", he stated. The Grand Duke then asked him who had stationed him there, to which the soldier replied: "My corporal, and without his permission, I shall not allow anyone to pass through this door."

The Grand Duke proceeded to find the corporal, who arrived in a terrible rage. He seized the unfortunate soldier by the shoulders and began to shake him, but the Grand Duke interposed, telling the corporal that the man had only been doing his duty in obeying orders, something that should be highly complemented. By the time the Grand Duke finished speaking, the soldier had tears in his eyes. Orders were given for Miss Eagar to be allowed to pass.

On another occasion, the children of Grand Duke Paul arrived at Tsarskoye Selo. A sentry was placed in the garden, but he did not know the children at all and probably mistook the hour at which they were expected. He was dumbfounded when the children came running up and started playing in the swings. He approached and addressed them in the sternest of tones: "What are you doing there? Don't you know that these gardens and all in them belong to Dmitri and Maria?" When Dmitri shyly announced his identity, the soldier said with great scorn:

"Oh yes, it is very easy to say, 'I am the Grand Duke Dmitri', but you are a liar." His distress was great upon discovering that the children were indeed Maria and Dmitri.

It was painful for Margaretta and the little Grand Duchesses to see so many soldiers, familiar faces among them, marching off when the war with Japan broke out. The Irishwoman had never seen such a sight before, and to her eyes, the men looked badly provided for such a long journey.

Huge patriotic crowds filled the streets of St. Petersburg soon after the Japanese attack on Port Arthur. Students carrying banners marched to the Winter Palace, where Nicholas appeared dressed in an army uniform. Staring out the window, he saluted the public.

The national anthem, "God save the Tsar", was heard then and throughout several plazas for weeks.

God, save the Tsar!

Strong, sovereign,

Reign for glory, for our glory!

Reign to make foes fear,

Orthodox Tsar!

God, save the Tsar!

It was played at St. Petersburg and Moscow. Novgorod and Kazan. Plenty of other cities. White, red, and blue flags waved from the windows as troops of all kinds marched through the streets and boarded the trains.

Despite his nationʼs naïve yet patriotic rejoicing, Nicholas was apprehensive. He chain-smoked nonstop during the first week of the war as new and worrying information from his nationʼs Asian provinces kept pouring in. The thought of bloodshed revolted him. But if it was Godʼs will, there was nothing he could do but fulfill his duty and pray for the best possible outcome.

The crossing of Lake Baikal was the worst section of the journey for the soldiers. The train moving across the waterbody broke down, as the ice was not strong enough for the traffic. The men were instead transported on sleds. Every few miles shelters were erected. The soldiers got to drink hot coffee or soup and could rest in front of the fire before proceeding. Even with these precautions, some of them froze to death.

Oo

Feodosia Ivashovaʼs dining room is full of revolutionaries. Bolsheviks now to be precise. Ten men and women sit around the table. Many others stand nearby or sit away on smaller chairs. So far, the issue of the war has consumed most of their conversation.

"A war can only weaken the regime", a man sitting at the table states. "We must see this as a triumph."

"But we canʼt expect the war itself to do our job without taking action", Stephen asserts. "No one in his right mind predicts a Japanese victory.”

Thirteen-year-old Gleb Stephanovich Vaganov is sitting next to his father at the weekly party cell meeting that takes place every Sunday evening. Gleb found out about the war in school, where the announcement was received with a mixture of ambivalence and enthusiasm. The students started blabbering in class about the need to beat the Japanese. Some of the boys even started playing war during recess, but Gleb was not one of them. He doesnʼt consider the prospect of that tyrant succeeding at anything appealing. Later that day, the students of the gymnasium were allowed to go to the Cathedral Square, a big open space in front of the Epiphany Church where the masses cheered and patriotically waved flags at the public speaker who was sharing the latest news from his place on a podium.

"Just another selfish imperialist war", Gleb told his friend Peter, who was standing next to him. "It wouldnʼt have started if the Tsar had his peopleʼs interests at heart.”

"I think you are right", Peter said, and the boys nearby nodded in approval. "He only wants more riches, I didnʼt even know the Japanese were our enemies."

If the people around him had been his fatherʼs friends, Gleb would have also made a speech, but he was not surrounded by a majority of even slightly like-minded people, and he didnʼt quite think himself capable of moving a crowd of strangers. He doesnʼt even feel capable of expressing himself in front of the people surrounding him right now.

As the middle-class owner of a spacious house, Miss Ivashova has served as host for the party meetings since the organization was formed. Her husband is away working most of the time, and although he does suspect the sorts of conversations that transpire in his very home, he chooses to turn a blind eye to the entire affair.

Both left and right walls of the dining room are almost entirely covered by two huge dark wood stands that are filled with books, framed family pictures, vases with flowers, and other porcelain adornments. It is no longer hard for Gleb to keep himself from losing the trail of the conversation by drifting his attention to the many decorations of the house, but it was undoubtedly difficult at the beginning.

The host, Feododia, is sitting right in front of Gleb, the youngest and only child attending the meeting besides Miss Ivashovaʼs fourteen-year-old daughter, also named Feodosia after her mother. There are other youngsters present, but all of them are older than Feodosia.

Although some organization members are educated and wealthy, most of them are simple workers like Gleb and Stephen, several of them coming from the latterʼs workplace.

Before attending his first party meeting, Gleb had only witnessed his father interact with affluent people, the factory manager among them, in a subservient way. Gleb loves the novel way in which the well-to-do people of the party interact with his father. They see Stephen as an equal and respect his views. Gleb never gets tired of witnessing its. It makes him feel so happy for his father. After everything he has gone through, he deserves admiration, the boy thinks.

Gleb wanted to invite his friends Peter and Leonid to one of the meetings, but his father forbade it, saying it was still too soon, that there was no guarantee they would be trustworthy or wouldnʼt tell their parents. Children shouldn't be at party meetings anyway. A few kids are allowed to listen and sometimes speak, but only because their parents are members.

Gleb trusts Peter and Leonid though. They have taught him so much, and thanks to them he has lots of friends now. Well, he has four friends in total, four friends and a few more acquaintances that seem to like him, but even that is a huge improvement. Gleb will tell no one but Peter or Leonid about his opinions, but Peter often shares them with the other boys using a different language. This way, Gleb doesn't have to worry about being overenthusiastic when speaking, as Peter does most of the talk for him.

1903 might have been Glebʼs favorite year. He doesn't spend recess alone anymore. Whenever Maksim and his group of henchmen arenʼt there to bother them, Gleb and all of his friends eat together under the big tree.

If Maksim is indeed there, the boys will visit the gym and play with the gymnastics equipment despite knowing very well they are not supposed to be there without teachers around to supervise them. Gleb was the one who first convinced them to break the rules. He knows it is dangerous, that he could get his friends in trouble. They would not like him anymore if anything bad happened. Gleb himself could get in trouble as well, and if he broke something, he wouldnʼt be able to repay it. His father would be furious as a result, but Gleb cares a lot less than he probably should. It is way too much fun.

One time, Gleb tried to teach Peterʼs little brother how to do an iron cross on the rings. Leonid was predictably not strong enough to do so yet. Gleb is barely able to lift himself like that for more than half a minute. Leonid slipped. Luckily, the rings of the schoolʼs gym are not high enough for any fall to be dangerous, so the five boys laughed for minutes at a time.

Almost every Friday after school, Gleb will have fun with his friends before going back home. Not too far from the gymnasium, there is a very nice candy store where the most colorful and diverse sweets are sold. Huge, round, and flat lollipops of many colors, almost as big as a head. Apples dipped in chocolate and embellished to look like flowers.

Gleb and his friends have to hurry and rush out of the school as soon as the final class is over in order to get to the store early, as the owner is Jewish and closes his shop a few hours before sundown because of Shabbat, a weekly tradition that commences every Friday evening. The proprietor explained this to Gleb and his friends the first time they were late. His name is Samuel Davidovich Zeldovich, and he is a fairly old yet kindly man Gleb has only seen dressed in black and white, which the boy guesses must be a tradition as well.

The oldest of Samuelʼs grandchildren is just a bit younger than the five gymnasium friends, and he is sometimes present at the shop with his cousins and siblings. The two groups of children will frequently talk to each other about their different schools and neighborhoods.

Peter, Leonid, Pavel, and Alexander buy Samuel candies without failure. Gleb canʼt afford to do so as frequently as he would like to, but one of his friends will more often than not buy something for him. On one occasion, it was Mr. Zeldovich who gifted Gleb a pretty dark pink box of pastilas after the boy told him it was his birthday. Pastilas are red, apple-flavored candies that are typical of Russia. Gleb has read all about their interesting story. These sweets were invented around the 15th century as a way to preserve real apples, from which they are made.

The five friends have often gone to the theater, played catch or simply conversed in the city's parks, and visited a temporary fair where, inside a dark tent, they were shown a machine that makes black and white moving images of everyday city life and even entire short funny stories appear before their eyes. Leonid, Peter, Alexander, and Pavel were excited to show this to Gleb and thus see his reaction, as they had already watched films before. Glebʼs jaw, on the other hand, had dropped, his eyes widening in awe.

None of the boys have stayed at Glebʼs house though. None of them. And yet, at the very least, he has been very well received in each and every one of their houses. Their parents have been kind, and maybe that is enough. Gleb is mostly happy. Mostly.

The boy has learned to hide most of his so-called weird habits. Gleb wants Peter to see he has paid attention to all of the advice he has given him. He doesnʼt want his two new friends to think he is weird either. The gray-eyed boy no longer paces back and forward in class, or scratches his head, or frantically bites things. He avoids blinking or moving his hands too much as he speaks. He tries to look people in the eye.

Gleb has come to understand when it is that he should and shouldn't speak. He is relatively better at reading other people, or at least he thinks so. The child has even picked up on the fact that strangers and acquaintances no longer seem to giggle amongst themselves in his presence for no apparent reason as much as they used to before. It would happen a lot, and Gleb never suspected it had anything to do with him until it stopped.

The members of the party are still discussing the likelihood of a Japanese victory.

"It would be a miracle indeed", Feodosia the host says. "I donʼt want to give anyone false expectations, as I am of the belief that the conditions for the revolution wonʼt be ripe for a while, but this war makes me hopeful. I expect the Japanese will at least have their fair share of success."

"It would be about time for a nation like Japan to win", a man agrees, "a far more democratic nation than Russia. They have a constitution, an elected parliament, political parties, a legal opposition, greater freedom of the press, and a population with a broader education. I certainly know where my loyalties would lie… if I had any!"

The ensuing laughter lasts about half a minute. Gleb canʼt help but think, a bit defensively, that the Japanese also have an emperor.

"Hopefully they will give our tiny Tsar a good fight", a worker from Stephenʼs factory jokes, making most of the people at the table start cackling again. It takes Gleb a few seconds to do the same.

Elena comes from the kitchen carrying with her glove-covered hands a tray of chocolate cookies and a golden coffee-maker. She lays everything on top of the table and starts serving and distributing the coffee in small mugs. Gleb forgets himself and tries to take a cookie, but his father slaps his hand away. As soon as this happens, Gleb hears the young girl giggle.

You stupid! The boy scolds himself as he looks down in shame. Acting like a child, Gleb reflects, giving the impression that you donʼt care about the conversation but only for the desserts they give during the break. You had to wait until everyone started eating and drinking.

Not everything is better now that he knows how to pretend to be normal. Gleb has started overthinking everything he does or is about to do and how his actions will be seen by everyone else. Acting "normal" takes so much time, effort, and energy that he forgets to enjoy himself at times, which makes him wonder if there is any use in having friends when he is constantly fretting over the possibility of losing them.

By the end of every day, Gleb is invariably exhausted. He may no longer display his weird habits in public, but none of them have gone away at home. They have only gotten worse, much to his Stephenʼs displeasure. The man will often roll his eyes at his son, and if that doesnʼt get the message across, he will scold Gleb, demanding that he put a stop to it. Sometimes, the boy canʼt shake off the feeling that his father hates him.

Gleb dares look up again and almost immediately regrets doing so. The young Feodosia is looking straight into his eyes and smiling at him. He looks down at his shoes once more, blushing. Now she must think he is childish as well.

It is not the first time Gleb takes notice of Feodosiaʼs presence. It is hard for the thirteen-year-old not to do so when he is enrolled in an all-boys school.

The girl's eyes are honey-colored. Gleb finds her exceptionally pretty, although he is certainly not acquainted with enough girls to make for a fair comparison. Feodosiaʼs long light brown hair is what the boy likes most about her, but he is also growing insanely curious about the fact that despite being only a year older than him, she looks more like a young lady than a child. Gleb is talll and strong for his age, but regardless of this he wouldn't be taken for anything but a kid.

Feodosia reminds Gleb of a love poem by Pushkin. It is such a shame I do not recall its name! He thinks.

Gleb has repeatedly fantasized about getting to know Feodosia. He imagines the two of them talking to each other about the things they both care deeply about or debating the topics they disagree on for hours on end. She always seems so engrossed in the discussions unfolding before her, which means she must be as invested in the revolution as Gleb is or even more so. The schoolboy would never try to start a conversation with her though, he is not crazy. Peter and Leonid didnʼt teach him how to talk to girls. Gleb isn't even sure they know how to do so either way.

After a short break filled with small talk during which Gleb is finally able to try the cookies along with a pleasant cup of coffee, the men and women resume their serious conversation.

"We should not waste the opportunity this war is providing us with, not even while presuming the conditions aren't adequate for the revolution just yet", a woman says. "Whatever happens, it will remain in our nation's collective memory for generations. Imagine what nationwide strikes throughout the country would do to the regime's overall stability. They would impair the Tsarist administration during peacetime and even more so during wartime, when all of the governmentʼs worries are centered elsewhere."

"Right!" A man concurs. "The entire economy could be paralyzed, and only more revolts would follow."

The rest start arguing about the advantages and disadvantages of organizing strikes during a war against a foreign power, the resources they would need, and the technicalities that would have to be thought out.

"But we have to wait until the war has caused serious damage to the peopleʼs morale", someone says, "right now, a revolt could easily be dealt with."

"How many months into the war do you propose?" Stephen asks. "And I am not trying to counter argue, but how do you assert this particular war will on its own cause any significant damage to the peopleʼs morale when we donʼt even know if it is going to be long? From what my son has told me, the news of its outbreak was welcomed with joy."

Gleb doesnʼt want to intrude. He has grown more self-conscious about stating his opinions than ever before. It is not like it is important for him to share his viewpoint anyway, Gleb knows this is not like those small reunions only a few people from his fatherʼs workplace attended. He now understands they would only cheer his childish speeches out of love for his father.

The party has only grown in members since Stephen took his son along to one of its sessions for the very first time. This happened less than a year ago. The party meetings are full of grown-up people, Gleb observes, grown-up people who know their theory better than he does. Intellectuals, he guesses, as he doesnʼt know what else to call them. They are often passionately debating such abstract concepts... more so than anything Gleb is accustomed to, more abstract than the poems he reads and sometimes even writes. They also seem to enjoy applying dialectics to a great number of subjects unrelated to politics, or unrelated as far as Gleb is aware. Chemistry was spoken of on one occasion. Gleb enjoyed this deeply. It is a shame the subject hasn't been brought up again, he thinks.

Most times, Gleb would rather be reading poems. This is hard for him to admit, so he doesnʼt, not even to himself, but it is true. Poems are some of the few abstract things the boy can will himself to care for at all. His first few party gatherings were overall disappointing, as Stephen had assured him that they would be taking action to bring about the revolution, but so far, they havenʼt done anything radically different to what Gleb has always been aware his father and mother do. The Vaganovs are still distributing and sometimes writing propaganda, their child helping them do so sometimes. That is all they do. Gleb does enjoy helping Mr. Ignatov translate banned foreign texts, as the boy is learning both English and French at school, but otherwise, nothing new has happened. He knows the revolution is about making the world a better place, a place where there are no poor or suffering. "An ounce of action is worth a ton of theory", Engels said, but the people around Gleb only talk and talk and talk increasingly complicated rubbish… and they seem to be celebrating this new war as well, Gleb remembers, just like those mindless Tsar-worshipping masses at the plaza did.

At least those other guys, the socialist revolutionaries, blow reactionary ministers up with bombs, even if they are not Marxists, the child continues to think bitterly. They must have a better thought-out strategy as well.

Glebʼs father says the party's priority is to educate the proletarian so that they become class conscious and listen to them when the time comes, but taking into account the lacking number of Marxists in Russia, why would a war be helpful to bring about their revolution now? If the many different revolutionary factions are not able to agree on everything and instead decide to turn against each other, wouldnʼt endless chaos and meaningless deaths follow? Glebʼs overthinking mind wouldnʼt be able to stand the unpredictability this would signify. He is barely able to soothe himself whenever he visualizes the huge amount of pending homework he would probably have to do to catch up upon returning to school from helping his comrades during the revolution if it ever broke out.

A thought unexpectedly occurs to Gleb.

"Shouldn't we have soldiers on our side?" The boy accidentally asks. Part of him meant to, part didn't, and when he realizes all eyes, including those of young Feodosia, are on him, he decides to elaborate: "They are the ones with the actual power, the ones who keep the Tsar in power. I think mutinies are as important as strikes, if not more so."

Gleb tried to maintain eye contact with the people around him as he spoke, but this time he failed, staring at the table and the decorations on the stands instead.

Once he is done talking, Gleb waits a few seconds before taking a look at the people around him. To his great delight, most of the individuals gathered at the table are smiling, including the two Feodosias. They are not smiles of admiration, Gleb doesnʼt think his words have been particularly helpful, they are more likely pleasantly surprised smiles. Good reactions nonetheless, Gleb thinks.

Most delightful of all is the fact Stephen himself is smiling at Gleb. Really smiling, like he hasnʼt done in weeks.

"Just what I was going to say", Stephen tousles his sonʼs hair.

"A smart boy you have there, Stephen", Feodosia the mother adds. "That is what I wanted to talk about."

The rest of the meeting goes better than Gleb could have expected. His father is happy, confident, talkative, and seemingly proud of him. Gleb loves seeing him like that.

The adults move on to discuss the logistics of how they would hypothetically make their propaganda reach the soldiers as well as when, or even if, it would be the right time. Some of them, including Stephen, declare with all certainty that they should not contribute to the war effort in any way. The worst it gets, the better.

There is something bugging Gleb though, which is silly now that he thinks about it, because he was the one who brought up the subject of getting the soldiers on their side: Russia could be the most backwards tyranny in the world, but it is his home. They should be hoping for what is best for the people of Russia and not only for what is useful to their cause. They should be hoping for their needs, hopes, and dreams of happiness to be fulfilled, because that is exactly what is being kept from so many of them. The revolution is for them.

Russia doesn't have to be perfect, for it is his Russia, his beauty. Gleb doesnʼt know what author Konstantin Balmont really intended to convey when he wrote it, but the boy has been reminded of one of his poems regardless:

In the nature of Russia there's some weary tenderness,

The unspeaking pain of a deep-buried sorrow,

Ineluctable grief, voicelessness, endlessness,

A high frozen sky, and horizons unfolding.

Come out here at dawn to the slope of the hillside—

A chill smoking over the shivering river,

The massive pine forest stands darkly, unmoving,

And the heart feels such pain, and the heart is not gladdened.

There the motionless reeds. There the sedge doesn't tremble.

Deep silence. This verblessness lying at rest.

The meadows are running away, far away.

There's exhaustion in everything—all mute and deaf.

Come at sunset, like moving into chilly billows,

To the cool overgrowth of a deep village garden—

The trees are so twilit and strangely unspeaking,

And the heart feels such sadness, the heart is not gladdened.

As if the soul's pleading for something it longs for,

And someone has caused it this undeserved misery.

And the heart keeps on pleading, but the heart begins aching,

And weeps, and it weeps, and it weeps without ceasing.

As the party members continue dialoguing and debating, Gleb can't help but feel as if Russia herself and her pain were being silenced as they have been for centuries. It shouldnʼt be so. We are different, he thinks. These people should be different.

It is only after the Vaganovs have left the meeting that Gleb gathers up the courage to bring his concerns up on the walk back home.

"It makes me slightly uncomfortable", the boy confesses.

"What dear?" Elena asks.

"The way they talk about the Japanese, as if they wanted them to win just because they are better off than we are."

Stephen gives his son a stern look. "They didnʼt say anything that wasnʼt true", he almost spits at Gleb. "And there is no 'we'. The Tsar and the ministers that started the war are not 'we'. We donʼt owe them anything."

"I know father!" Gleb exclaims.

"Now, don't fight…" Elena tries to ease the tension between father and son, but she is interrupted by Gleb, who stares solely at Stephen as he speaks.

"I have nothing against the Japanese and I am glad they have all they have", the boy gets closer to his father. "I know the Tsar must have done something to provoke them on purpose as well, either that or he is an idiot, but I donʼt like the way those people…"

"You mean our party?" Stephen deliberately reminds him.

"I donʼt like the way they are celebrating the outbreak of the war just because it is convenient for us or how they want a foreign power to win despite knowing this would be harmful to the nation as a whole. People will die."

"I see you have switched sides back to the Mensheviks", Glebʼs father points out sarcastically. "I should have seen it coming, but since when do you care so much for the Tsarʼs loyal regiments?"

Stephen has recently taken a liking for calling Gleb a Menshevik every time they disagree on something, on anything. On one occasion, the child spent almost an hour arguing with his father in an endeavor to make him see this wasnʼt the case. The Bolsheviks have a plan, Gleb had told Stephen, and the Mensheviks donʼt. Gleb undoubtedly supports the former because he wants the revolution to happen more than anything in the world. He doesn't want a dream. He wants it to be real.

This awkward conversation took place months before Gleb finally caught on the fact that whenever his father calls him a Menshevik, it is not because Stephen is genuinely convinced that his sonʼs beliefs align perfectly well with those of the aforementioned group. "Menshevik" is simply a clever enough euphemism for "weak", a euphemism Stephen has grown to love using.

Gleb understands now that his father has been teasing him. It just doesn't feel like teasing. Not at all.

"I donʼt feel sorry or care one bit for the Cossacks!" Gleb replies defensively. "Or any loyal brute of the Tsar who joyfully joins a regiment with the intent of fighting for his tyranny. But I do care for the future conscripts. I care for the common people living in Russiaʼs Asian provinces, those who may suffer under Japanese occupation. Men, women, and children. Good working-class people are going to die or be affected, and I am not sure whether undermining the war effort would be beneficial to our cause, why canʼt it be done a different way?"

"What way?" Stephen mocks Gleb. "You say a single smart thing during the entire meeting and suddenly you have an entire strategy thought out, is that it?"

"I donʼt know, but, I mean, maybe I could think of…"

"I have already talked to you about this, but common sense seems to enter your brain through one ear only to leave it through the other one. The revolution wonʼt be a clean affair, and it wonʼt be a clean affair because our enemy is too powerful and wonʼt be clean either. Do you think the Tsarʼs secret police doesnʼt infiltrate us? Do you think they donʼt have their dirty methods or take advantage of the fractures within our parties? Grow up, boy. If a war is helpful to destabilize a powerful police state, then it is an opportunity, and no more people will get hurt in the process than members of future generations would be if we did nothing now."

"But if our methods help the Japanese, wouldnʼt it be…?"

"Wouldnʼt it be what? Treason? To whom?!"

At that instant, Elena sternly shushes her husband. "We are in public", she whispers with a finger in her mouth. Stephen takes a deep breath.

As the exchange between his parents takes place, Gleb notices a middle-aged nurse walking by, a white veil hiding all of her hair. She is wearing a Red Cross uniform consisting of a long white dress. An embroidered red cross covers the woman's chest, the same symbol that can be seen painted over the brown box hanging around her neck down to her stomach.

The nurse has been ringing a small bell nonstop in the hopes of drawing attention to herself. Without ceasing to do so, she stops walking and stands by the sidewalk a few steps ahead of Gleb and his parents.

"Help our troops!" She exclaims to the few people passing by, but it is only Gleb who turns to look at her. "Anything will do, boy, no matter how big or small, even one life saved is a blessing." The last phrase is unmistakably directed at the thirteen-year-old child.

The Sun almost sets. It is weird that she is still asking for coins at this hour, Gleb thinks.

"Donʼt even think about it", Stephen whispers in his sonʼs ear.

"I wasnʼt!" Gleb shouts back in frustration and secretly in full defiance. Stephen gives him a death stare.

Gleb recognizes, for the first time ever, that he thoroughly disagrees with his father in a way he never did before. I wonʼt back down or change my mind either, he decides. The boy would argue with Stephen if necessary, just... not right now. Gleb doesnʼt know how, and it would be very prideful of him to claim to know he is right without having an answer to his father's question. What would he do differently? How would he avoid taking advantage of their nationʼs precarious situation? What alternative strategy does he have? None. What does he even know?

All Gleb can do at the moment to defy his father is frown at him like a petty child while he is not watching. Elena is watching though, and as soon as Gleb notices this, he stops glaring at Stephen, knowing he must have looked stupid and immature doing that.

When the Vaganovs stop by the sidewalk to wait for a carriage, the nurse approaches and starts pestering them. Elena ignores her. Stephen waves his hand at her as if she were a fly. Gleb makes sure both his parents are distracted before he takes a few kopeks from his pocket and tosses them through the slot into the old nurseʼs Red Cross box. He is definitely not buying any candy next week, but he doesn't regret what he just did. Sometimes, Gleb feels as if his life were nothing but a huge, never-ending play. Only at rare moments like those is he allowed to break character.

Oo

It is rare for civilians living far away from the front line to worry much for their safety when a war has just started. It is not an unknown fear among the Jewish population of Russia, where things have never been easy. Ever since they became this nation's subjects, the Jews have been blamed for almost every single unfortunate event that has transpired within its borders. Being blamed for the outbreak of the Russo-Japanese War as well would not have been in any way unexpected.

Before the 18th century, the Russian Empire excluded the Jews from its domains, for Peter the Great had slandered them as rogues and cheats. This changed during the partition of the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth. For the first time ever, Russia took possession of several territories that already had a considerable Jewish population. These lands became known as the Pale of Settlement, an area from which the Jews were not allowed to migrate to other regions of Russia. Upon coming into contact, Christian and Jewish merchants started competing with each other, and laws were implemented to grant privileges to the former.

Unsurprisingly, the Tsar responsible for the Empireʼs early 19th century russification policies was also behind some of the most barbaric anti-Semitic laws of the era. Nicholas I aimed at destroying the Jewish way of life among his subjects, and to accomplish this, he forcefully conscripted all Jewish males from the age of twelve into the army, where many would be forcefully converted. Deemed easily replaceable, the young men were used as cannon fodder during the Crimean War once they grew older. Jewish mothers would frequently cut their boysʼ index fingers in desperation. Without the trigger finger, the children wouldnʼt be able to fight. They wouldn't be taken away.

In the 1840s, the governmentʼs objective shifted to assimilating the Jews, so a special tax was imposed on them. The collected funds were then used to build special schools for Jewish children where they would be taught by Christian teachers. Many Jewish communities were disbanded, and some of their traditions were even forbidden.

It was only during the reign of the liberal Alexander II that some of the Empireʼs worst anti-Semitic laws were withdrawn. Under Alexander's rule, Jews who graduated from secondary school were permitted to live outside the Pale of Settlement, and as a result of these measures, many of them achieved commercial success in different parts of the country. This, however, increased rather than decreased the prejudice among the rest of the population due to the fact that many Jewish individuals soon became very wealthy, this in part owing to their sense of altruism as a community and the importance they placed on education.

The increased presence of Jews throughout the Russian Empire was opposed by various sectors of society that felt both jealous and threatened by their different culture and religion, which had always been enough for many people to justify their hatred, but the fact they had been branded as "Christ-killers" by many religious leaders for centuries with no opposition from the government only aggravated their situation, making them the perfect scapegoats and unlike other minorities.

The Tsarist government censors all sorts of publications against the reigning family that could be viewed as offensive. It censors political opposition.

Publications that paint the entire Jewish population in a bad light are not censored.

As time went on, multiple Western European countries became enlightened in their views on the Jewish people and worked hard for their emancipation, but the backwards legislations of the Russian Empire stuck around or changed very little, the situation for the Jews becoming much worse after Alexander II was murdered and his reactionary son took power. The May Laws were established and violent mob attacks on the Jewish population followed, one of the latest being the 1903 Kishineff pogrom.

Oo

In a town near Kishineff lived two Christians who had custody over their fourteen-year-old nephew, a boy whose wealthy father had passed away. Instead of caring for the boy, the couple conspired to murder him in order to steal his inheritance. After committing the horrible act, they cunningly drained most of the blood off the childʼs body and hid it in the garden of an unsuspecting Jew during the feast of Passover.

For centuries, a medieval myth contended that the Jews had a habit of sacrificing Christian children for their holidays. In consequence, these fictitious stories gave rise to many real outbursts of violence against Jewish communities, going from property damage to mass slaughter. In Russia, the belief in this myth persists even among some educated folk. The guardians of the unfortunate boy knew this and felt safe enough to call the police.

When the news of the alleged Jewish sacrifice broke out, the Christian locals of the region organized a pogrom in which even the police participated. The governor was bribed in advance by the conspirators, so he shut himself in his study, cut off all telephone communication to and from St. Petersburg, and didnʼt give the military his authorization to intervene in order to stop the riots. Dozens of Jewish men, women, children, and infants were massacred as a result of the Kishnieff pogrom. Many of them were brutally tortured first. Children were thrown from the windows and against the walls and pavements. One young man was nailed to a cross in the streets and had all his limbs sawn off.

There were inquiries after the incidents, and the police eventually uncovered the truth. The Christian boy had died in his own home. The two murderers were thus sent to Siberia for life, and the governor who had been an accessory to the atrocities against the Jews had all of his rights removed and is now dead in the eyes of the law. After his property was confiscated, he was deprived of a passport and sent to live in a remote village he will never be allowed to leave. There, he will be forced to work for a family that may treat him however they please.

The people who organized the pogrom, on the other hand, were given extremely short sentences, ranging from months to less than two years.

Minister of the Interior Vyacheslav von Plehve was accused of being yet another accessory to the Kishinev pogroms. A conservative and notorious anti-Semite, Plehve doesnʼt hide his hatred for the Jewish people and has never forbidden the publication of even the most incendiary of anti-Semitic articles. It was his attitude that encouraged the authorities of Kishineff to believe he would not object to a pogrom. When the newspapers started calling for the death of the Jews, Plehve did nothing, and when the first news of the pogrom reached him, he didnʼt react to the violence with any urgency or competence whatsoever, choosing to blame others instead. His inaction caused resentment within the Jewish community.

While the local authorities participated in the pogrom, foreign newspapers spread misinformation, claiming that the government itself and therefore the Tsar had ordered the riots or knew about them beforehand, which was a huge embarrassment to the establishment.

St. Petersburg did condemn the violence, and the governor of the region was replaced with a man of liberal leanings, but Plehve himself was not punished for his neglect. He even retained his position.

Oo

Another reason for the Tsarist administrationʼs virulent anti-Semitism is that the Jews are slightly overrepresented in a considerable number of revolutionary movements. This is, ironically, a direct consequence of the governmentʼs repressive laws.

A Jewish individual living in Russia can only hope to become free from endless legal restrictions by converting to Christianity, but even as converts Jews are often regarded with prejudice and suspicion, so it is not rare for them to continue suffering discrimination. Although their reasons for joining the revolutionary crusade are as diverse as those of any group, being ostracized does give many Jews an intense desire for social change.

Revolutionary movements offer young, smart, and idealistic Jewish people of liberal leanings a chance to belong, to be part of a group where they are seen first and foremost as individuals. They get to fight for a cause as well, a cause they believe to be just. Under Plehve, Russian Jews have been driven in huge numbers to the ranks of revolutionary terrorism in a bitter cycle of repression and retaliation.

Trotsky and Julius Martov are among the many revolutionaries of Jewish origin. Yakov Sverdlov is Jewish as well. The young lad is less than twenty years old, but the Bolshevik party has already tasked him with the crucial mission of causing agitation around the Urals in places such as Kostroma, Kazan, and Ekaterinburg.

Oo

The Jewish community has felt hostility toward Minister of Interior Vyacheslav von Plehve since the events of 1903, but he is equally despised by various ethnic groups as the man responsible for carrying out russification policies in the provinces within the Russian Empire. In his struggle to make them Russian, Plehve has earned the hatred of people from Poland, Lithuania, and Finland. In Armenia, he is unpopular for despoiling their Apostolic Church, different from the official Russian Orthodox Church.

A splendid man for little things but a stupid man for affairs of stare, Plehve permits no political assemblies of any kind as a minister. Students are not allowed to walk together on the streets of Moscow or St. Petersburg, and it is almost impossible to have a party for more than a few people without obtaining permission from the police first.

Despite all of this, his determined support of the autocracy has earned him the Tsar's absolute confidence. Nicholas cares more about his ministersʼ loyalty to the monarchy than for any other virtue they might possess. More than intellect or hard work, more than ideas. He tries but fails not to feel threatened whenever he perceives one of them is taking the initiative, and although he wishes no harm on his Jewish subjects, they have never been Nicholasʼs priority.

Like most Romanovs and his father before him, Nicholas is a very prejudiced man who was raised to be an anti-Semite. His most conservative tutors taught him all about how allegedly untrustworthy and dangerous for the country the Jews are as a whole. His theology teachers talked of them as "Christ-killers.”

While Nicholas can come to love and respect certain Jewish individuals such as members of his orchestra and the railroad financier who encouraged his attempt to put an end to the armaments race, whenever he thinks of them as a group he experiences the usual disdain and irrational fear most members of the upper class share for these people who hold such different beliefs and traditions. Part of that unease stems from unfounded conspiracy theories that feature members of the Jewish community as culprits of a worldwide ploy to take control over Earth by infiltrating or destabilizing the different nationsʼ governments, among other strategies. Nicholas is naïve enough to entertain the possibility, and being a man of limited imagination, not very prone to analyzing the real reason so many Jews despise everything he represents.

It is not possible, Nicholas assumes, for so many sectors of society, ministers among them, to be wrong about the Jews. Jews must be, he believes, dangerous to a certain extent.

Oo

Conspiracies exist. People lie all the time, and sometimes, they organize to do so. Rich people connive with governments to have laws passed or maintained for their benefit. Governments plot to start wars. Jewish people as a group, however, are no guiltier of conspiracy than any other ethnicity. Prejudiced people, ironically, conspire more than any other kind, so much so that they fabricated a text that purported to describe a Jewish plan for global domination, one that fitted their preconceptions.

The so-called "Protocols of the Elders of Zion" were written with the objective of turning public opinion even further against Jewish communities. The book has several keywords modified but is almost word-by-word plagiarized from several earlier sources, some of them novels, one of them a political attack against Emperor Napoleon III that originally had nothing to do with Jews.

The Protocols of the Elders of Zion became very popular among the Tsarist secret police, the Okhrana, and its members distributed the book widely. It eventually caught the Tsarʼs attention, something the conspiracy theorists had been waiting for, as they hoped the sovereign would place even more legal restrictions on the Jews. Nicholas read the manuscript and thought the conspiracy described plausible. 

Unlike her husband, Alexandra has a slightly kinder view of her Jewish subjects. She followed her mother Aliceʼs footsteps and grew up learning about God from fairly open-minded theologians. As a mystic, Alix believes that a little bit of truth can be found in every religion, but as a simple-minded woman, she categorizes Jewish people the same way she categorizes everyone. Just as there are Russians and "not-real" Russians in Alexandraʼs little world, there are "good" and "bad" Jews as well, the "bad" ones being the revolutionaries.

As is the case with all children, the Tsarʼs four little daughters absorb their eldersʼ opinions like sponges, so their views are vaguely similar to those of Alexandra, but right now, because of the war, only rants about how terrible the Japanese are can be heard all over the Alexander Palace, easily reaching the little Grand Duchessesʼ ears daily.

Oo

Even more distressed than Nicholas had been Alexandra upon learning her adopted country was at war. Despite this, the Tsarina did not allow herself much time to lament. Her name does mean "the one who comes to save warriors.”

At once, Alexandra began to take an active part in the war work. While the Dowager Empress headed the Red Cross, her daughter-in-law started an immense workshop in the Hermitage Palace meant to supply the ambulance trains with hospital garments, warm clothes, and medical materials. The Red Cross was incapable of coping with the wants of the military hospitals, as the supplies in Siberia were very small.

Being very practical, the Tsarina considered every detail, made suggestions, and assured they were carried out. At Tsarskoye Selo, the Empress had her own little hospital arranged, a hospital she has started visiting daily to talk to the wounded, although she wonʼt be nursing herself. Alexandra also had a home for disabled soldiers built in the palace park called the Invalidly Dom, the first thing of the kind ever done in Russia. The men there are being trained in all kinds of crafts. Some live in the home, while others will only stay long enough to learn a trade that may enable them to supplement their pensions and earn a living at home. Alexandraʼs efforts have provided her with newfound popularity.

Grand Duchess Elizabeth, Alexandra's sister, has also found freedom in her many charities. She is opening workrooms in the Kremlin to make up packages of clothes, medicines, and prayer books to be sent to the front. She is also organizing the Red Cross trains to transport the wounded, and her husband Sergei has even allowed her to visit and talk to the wounded. Elizabeth is finally able to venture among the common folk like she has always wanted to.

Oo

With six large balls and some theatrical entertainments arranged, the court season had begun as usual at the beginning of the year before everything was broken off by the sudden outbreak of war.

In the nurseries, Olga, Tatiana, Maria, and Anastasia had a few children's parties and then excursions to St. Petersburg, where Anastasia was delighted with the stir and bustle of the city life and deeply interested in all she saw. The four little Grand Duchesses developed a love for the little toy balloons sold on the streets, so whenever they were well behaved Miss Eagar would send someone to get each of them a balloon. The girls would shake them around and play with them for hours.

Sometimes, Anastasia would urge her nanny to stop the carriage and buy the balloons straight from the men selling them, which Margaretta wasnʼt allowed to do. The day came when the youngest Grand Duchess saw a group of small children walking by, each one of them holding a balloon. She drew Miss Eagarʼs attention to them.

"Look, look!" She cried. "Little children with balloons! Get out, take them from them and give them to me!"

Very gently and patiently, Miss Eagar explained to the little Anastasia why doing so would have been wrong.

"Well, get out", Anastasia said, "and ask them nicely and politely, and perhaps they will give them to me."

After the war broke out, the four little girls started working at frame knitting, even the two-year-old Anastasia, who is already exceedingly proficient for her age. Together, the sisters have made numerous scarves for the soldiers, Olga and Tatiana crocheting caps as well.

Oo

The Tsarʼs eldest daughter Olga is considered difficult by some of her nannies and family members. She is certainly difficult for her mother at times, but Alexandra knows her daughter's stubbornness is just an extension of her fairness and blatant honesty.

Eight-year-old Olga hates lies. One day, as she played with the sons of Grand Duchess Xenia and Grand Duke Alexander, one of the boys did something that displeased her. The little girl burst into tears and complained to Anna Alexandrovna Taneeva, a very young and slightly plump noblewoman who is a friend of Empress Alexandra.

"Do you know Anya, what my cousin did?" Olga cried. "He lied!"

The young Grand Duchess possesses an honest character, becomes easily upset about things, and has a temper that is difficult to master.

Few people besides her parents consider Olga beautiful, many who know her going as far as secretly whispering among themselves that her features are irregular. The girl does have a somewhat round face and an upturned nose, but she also inherited her parentsʼ shining blue eyes, golden shimmering hair, and beautiful, fair skin that turns pink whenever she blushes. She is, most significantly, talented. Olga is able to play the piano by ear and she does so excellently. She remembers everything she reads, making her teachers marvel at her unusually good memory. There is little that can disturb Olga when she is studying, and she only needs to read her homework a couple of times to fully understand a subject.

Only Olga shares her motherʼs deep and serious religiosity and developing interest in mysticism. A while ago, the girl was playing in the garden with her sister Tatiana when she picked up a little dead bird that had fallen on the grass.

"I will keep this poor little bird forever", Olga declared. Miss Eagar did not interfere, observing instead the way Olga carried the dead animal in her hands. Sympathetically interested, Tatiana followed her sister closely behind. The governess wondered how long the children would pay attention to the bird before growing tired of it. A few moments later, Olga said:

"Perhaps I am doing wrong to take this little bird away because even at this moment, God may have sent an angel for the bird, and what if it is not there. I am going to put it back." She thus retraced her steps to the spot where she had found the dead animal.

The next day, Olga and Tatiana took the same path in order to look for the bird. When they arrived at the spot where Olga had returned it, the bird was gone.

"Suppose we had taken it away!" Olga exclaimed. "Then God's angel would not have found it!"

"Oh!" Replied Tatiana. "I think it would have been perfectly lovely if He had taken it out of our hands!" The six-year-old is nearly as pious, but duty plays a major role in her religious discipline.

With dark auburn hair that contrasts with her pale skin and wide apart grey eyes, Tatiana is friendly, gentle, and loving, but she is also reserved. The girl can barely do anything wrong anymore. Because she is no longer disobedient to her father and mother as she may have been at times as a toddler, Tatiana is the apple of their eyes. She is also the favorite of some of the teachers because she rarely starts trouble and barely ever has says a bad word.

While Olga has more passion for music, Tatiana is becoming equally skilled, although not nearly as interested. What Tatiana loves and is best at is needlework.

The plump four-year-old Maria has darkening golden hair and the most beautiful big blue eyes still. She is easy-going and kind to everyone she meets, getting attached rather easily. Despite being misbehaved at times, especially when under her younger sister's influence, Alexandraʼs third daughter is more remarkable for her goodness than anything else, but she has also learned rather quickly despite generally disliking schoolwork. She is always anxious to begin her lessons and will listen, look, and try to reproduce everything she is taught with great diligence.

Unlike her sisters, Maria seldom becomes ill. She is, more often than not, perfectly healthy, which sometimes causes her to express pretty freely her peculiar desire to be ill, to stay in bed and have her doll all day, to take her medicine and have the doctor see her. That was until she got influenza.

The social little girl was very sad and felt a great deal of pity for herself. While she was ill, Maria would look out to the streets for any people whom she had met before.

"My friends!" She always called out to them from the window, and Miss Eagar would be very sorrowful about the fact she did not always recognize them.

"You know," Maria said on one occasion, "the lady in Peterhof who wore the green hat? I saw her today on the Nevsky."

Maria never confuses anyone, as she has inherited her father's good "royal memory" for faces. Despite being clumsy, Maria has great determination, and whatever she attempts to do, she always finishes and carries through.

The youngest Grand Duchess is a pretty strawberry blonde with small and fine features. The two-year-old already acts much older than her age and possesses an almost perfect vocabulary. Anastasia has a great sense of humor as well. She is always up to some mischief, making faces, or imitating sounds she finds funny. Olga is the most book-smart out of her sisters, but Anastasia is the cleverest by far if one considers that at an age when most children are mere babies, Anastasia can sit down, count out the cost of any action she wishes to perform, and take the punishment "like a soldier," as she likes to say.

Anastasia loves jumping off of tables and chairs. It is incredibly fun for her to do so and there are few games that bring her as much joy. Sometimes she convinces her sister Maria to do so with her, but Maria canʼt cope with the bumps and bruises as well as Anastasia, who is rarely bothered by the pain of falling just a bit too hard.

One day, Anastasia climbed onto the nursery table and jumped off of it in front of her nanny.

"You must not do that, it is too high", Miss Eagar told her. "You can jump off the sofa if you want to jump, but not off the table."

Paying no heed, Anastasia climbed on the table and jumped off again. The governess slapped her gently in response.

Anastasia finally sat down, wearing a huge frown on her face. "It is not nice to get a slap", she said after a moment, "but it is better to climb on the table and get a slap than to jump off the sofa.”

She promptly climbed up on the table once more and jumped again. Exasperated, the governess tied her in a chair with a sash. Anastasia looked up at her nanny in surprise. "I don't like this at all", she said.

Margaretta explained to the two-year-old that children are not really supposed to like punishments. The little girl was very downcast and sad.

"It's better to climb up on the table and jump off, and get a little slap, than not to climb and jump", Anastasia said, "but it's better not to climb and jump than to be tied to a chair."

Oo

Prussian Prince Heinrich was only about one and a half years older than his cousin Anastasia. The rambunctious little boy had a personality similar to that of his Russian relative and liked to jump off tables and chairs as well, although he was seldom allowed.

Both Heinrich and his older brother Waldemar had hemophilia, a blood illness that doctors still understand little about. What everyone did know already was that hemophilia could, and can, make an accident as small as falling off from a chair life-threatening. Princess Irene knew about this and took great care of both her sons. It just wasnʼt enough. On February 25 of 1904, Irene left Heinrich unsupervised, thinking nothing of it.

Just for a moment, she had thought. Just for a few minutes while I fetch something. No one would have imagined.

While his mother was gone, the playful child climbed up a chair, and taking advantage of the fact no one was there to scold him, he went on to climb onto the table. Hearing Princess Irene approach, Heinrich desisted from jumping. Ironically, this sealed his fate.

The little boy tried to come down faster than he was used to in order to avoid being reprimanded, but as he climbed down the chair, he stumbled and fell on the floor headfirst, hitting his forehead. The child managed to scream, but he was almost unconscious by the time Irene reached him.

The doctor would later explain that the fall had not sealed the boy's fate. It was evident. The child would have survived had he not been a hemophiliac. Heinrich did suffer from this condition though, and it caused him a brain hemorrhage similar to the one the little Friedrich had died from many years before.

Little Heinrich lingered for a couple of hours, dying the following day on the 26th of February. He was four years old.

Princess Irene has been in tears for days, inconsolable, and so has her sister Alexandra. The Russian Tsarina is grieving for both her little nephew and her sister Irene. She is also scared, more scared than she ever felt before.

Alexandra fears for the child she is expecting. St. Seraphimʼs miracle.

The nights following Heinrichʼs death, the Tsarina stayed up late praying that her future child would not suffer from her familyʼs illness, for Alexandra would never forgive herself if that were ever the case.

Chapter Text

The Alexander Palace, Tsarskoye Selo. March, 1904.

Olga Nikolaevna Romanova.

Papa and mama chose to tell me and my sisters the news on the balcony of the Alexander Palace. The Mauve Room would have also been a nice place to do so, but the beautiful green park can be seen from where we are standing, so I guess that is why they chose it. A wonderful view for a wonderful moment, I suppose.

We were all sitting on the balconyʼs chairs moments ago, but everyone is up celebrating right now. Everyone but me.

Tatiana gushes as she rubs mama's belly, which is stupid. It doesn't even look like there is a baby in there yet. Maria is smiling awkwardly, looking amusingly confused. She has no idea babies come from inside mommies. Mama has the biggest grin on her face, which is good, I guess. Good for her.

"I am not going to be the little one anymore!" Anastasia exclaims as she dances with papa. Well, you canʼt really call it dancing. Papa and Nastasia are just holding each other's hands while jumping and spinning around in circles.

It is unsurprising that Anastasia is happy about this. She becomes grumpy every time we four are playing and any of us points out she is the smallest. Lucky her. If I were the youngest, I wouldn't be as angry as I am right now either.

Everyone is happy but me. I am still sitting with my arms crossed.

I am the eldest, which is why I always salute the soldiers standing on guard as I pass by. Mine is not just any salute though, I salute the military way as papa does. I am the eldest, and that is the reason why people sometimes refer to me as "little empress." It is the reason why the ladies kiss my hand, something they rarely do with my little sisters, who are often just fussed over as if they were babies. It is the reason mama gives me more responsibilities and expects me to be the best behaved.

But none of that seems to matter now. Everyone lies. If mamaʼs baby happens to be a boy, he will become Tsar when the time comes, not me. At least that is what papa said: "If the baby is a boy he will become the future Emperor of Russia, isn't that exciting dears?"

No, it isnʼt, but I bit my tongue to avoid being honest. It is not fair because I think the oldest one should go next even if she is a girl, but maybe that is not what anyone thinks, which is not fair. What is wrong with being a girl? Is it because boys are better?

I already knew boys came first, that dear Uncle Mimi was next in line, and that mama and papa wanted a boy, but no one had ever treated me as if it were so. Papa and mama love to play with me and my sisters. They seem perfectly happy with us four all the time and have also called me "little empress." Papa compliments me in many ways, saying I have a sharp mind that will always be useful.

I had almost completely forgotten that papa and mama wanted to have a boy. I had started to believe that my father talked to me about all of those important things he does for a reason. Now I know the truth, and I am disappointed. Disappointed and sad. Thinking of my father makes me sad now. Remembering the time my dear Cousin Ella crowned me during that silly game makes me even sadder. I miss her.

"What happened Olga?" Mama approaches me. "Why that frown? Arenʼt you happy dear?" She looks very worried, and papa and Anastasia have stopped dancing.

My eyes water and I want to scream. Papa is looking at me with concern in his lovely eyes.

"I am happy for you", I blurt out, and then I get the urge to say it all, so I do so. I tell my parents everything I think very, very quickly. "I am glad because I know you wanted a boy and now you will both be happy if the baby is a boy. We weren't of much use, were we?" I am still frowning when I finish talking, my fingers sinking deep into the skin of my crossed arms.

Probably shocked by my words, papa opens his eyes widely, making me regret my words just a little bit. He has even stopped playing with Nastasia, who is raising her little arms and whining for his attention.

"How can you say such a thing sweetheart?" Papa picks Anastasia up. "You know mama and I will keep loving all of you the same way if you have a little brother. Of use? How preposterous! You donʼt even need to be of use, you are our precious children."

Papa turns to look at mama as if searching for her support. Mama is not looking back at him though. She is staring at me, frowning, perplexed, but I canʼt tell whether she is angry at me or just sad. Assuming she is indeed angry, I raise one eyebrow at her in defiance. She should know why I am angry. Mama has always said that as the oldest I need to be the best behaved, an example to my little sisters. I remember what happened a few days ago in the nursery after cousin Heinrich died and become even angrier.

Maria was sad and worried about dying next. It was not because she was afraid, she wasn't, but because she would miss us. Tanechka and I consoled her, explaining to her that nothing of the sort was going to happen and that both Heinrich and Ella had been very sick, which is why they had died. Anastasia made funny faces at Masha and would grab her cheeks to make her smile. I could tell Maria didnʼt particularly enjoy that but was too kind to say anything to our well-meaning little sister. She loves her too much.

After a few minutes of annoying Mashka without meaning to, Anastasia left and came back with a cushion. We started a pillow fight that would move on to include throwing toys at each other. Nothing new, we had done it before. It is very fun and even mama plays with us like that whenever she is not too busy. I love it.

That day, however, Mashka pulled a thread from one of our blankets by accident while we were playing with it. My sisters and I were pretending to be Spanish bullfighters, which was my idea, but it was Mashka who stepped on the sheet and somehow ripped off a portion of it. Then Anastasia, because none other would have dared, kept pulling the string off thinking it was fun or something.

Maria followed suit and last thing I know even Tanechka had joined them, so I also did. It was funny to separate the many strings little by little and watch as the blanket became smaller. The entire bedsheet was eventually undone, and it was incredibly amusing to play with the soft remains, like touching a warm version of snow. We all did it, even Tatiana. I remember her smiling as she grabbed the remains of the blanket and spread them all over my head.

But, oh no! It was all my fault according to mama. "You are older", she said, "you should have known better. There are poor people in the world with not one warm blanket at all." None of my little sisters were scolded, but I was.

I have always been proud of being the eldest, of being ahead in classes, of being the tallest, of knowing more and have my dear Tatiana and sweet Maria look up to me, but what is the point of being the oldest if all you get is the responsibilities without any of the benefits?

I am sorry for hurting mama and even more for the fact she will probably be mad at me for a while, but what I said is what I feel. Looking back, it is likely that the day she scolded me, mama was just angry and sad about poor Cousin Heinrich. I worry more about losing papaʼs special affection.

Oo

Recently, we have been visiting mama's hospital daily. Since the war started, we knit and embroider so much that we have little time to play, which makes me sad. Tatiana and I used to go riding so often as well…

A few months after Cousin Ella died, we started playing dolls every day. In many of these games, our dolls were angels in heaven. I came up with the idea, but Tanechka was the one who organized everything and decided which part of the nursery would represent each part of heaven just as we had imagined it. We even set up a blanket slide on a chair from which the angels would land on the cushion clouds. At times we forget everything is make believe, and Tatiana and I will find ourselves talking about our idea of heaven as if it were real, as if Cousin Ella were there, doing all of those delightful things.

Mashka, darling, is so easily pleased by any game. She always enjoys herself so much, sometimes getting the best ideas. Anastasia is barely more than a toddler, and she sure acts like one, disrupting all of our games and making the dolls say things that donʼt make any sense, which is why Tatiana and I love having her around. She makes everything more amusing. Anastasia doesnʼt get mad when we make fun of the things she says. She even seems to appreciate it, as we can tell by her uncontrollable laughter.

I think God knew what He was doing when He created us four. My sisters and I are perfect the way we are. Tatiana is my best friend, Mashka is our sweet and ever enthusiastic young sister, and little Nastasia is joy and hilarity personified. We have no use for a new little brother or sister. What special thing can he or she do? What role can he or she fulfill that isnʼt already taken? But my little sisters are eager to have another sibling for no reason so… I guess I will just have to accept him or her when they arrive.

Maria is so excited about the baby. She talks to us about it every hour of the day. She also asks mama when "our baby" is going to be born every day and won't play anything, work, or even study before feeding and then singing lullabies to a baby doll that is supposed to be our little brother or sister. Of course we have to call the doll "sweet baby sister" or "baby brother" for poor Masha's sake.

It is starting to become just slightly annoying.

Mama and papa think it is adorable. Miss Eagar, our other nannies, Trina, and all of mama's friends think so too. Tatiana loves to play along, pretending to be a mother or aunt to the baby as well, and Anastasia can find joy in anything.

Well… I will admit, maybe only I think it is annoying.

Oo

Even though I miss the free time I used to have before, I am glad we are visiting our wounded soldiers. Going to the hospital can often be sad, but our brave warriors need to be cheered up, which is why I have brought a little boy doll with me to give it to one of them.

We are all having breakfast as a family before our visit to mamaʼs hospital though, so Miss Eagar, my sisters, and I are going to wait outside papaʼs private apartments for him to come out. Mashka is the one who begged Miss Eagar to allow us to do so, as she just couldnʼt wait to see papa today.

Two Abyssinian guards are charged with opening and closing the doors that lead to the room. These sentries are uniformed beautifully, wearing coats of black wool embroidered with double-headed eagles in gold thread over short white jackets and waistcoats of crimson velvet with wide woolen red trousers. They also wear white turbans.

The Abyssinians have dark, almost black, skin. This is because they come from distant lands. When I was a little girl, I used to think they looked funny as well. One day, I said this out loud in front of them and mama scolded me for being rude. They no longer seem funny to me, just different.

Papa explained to me that the Abyssinians have been part of our Imperial Court since the times of Peter the Great. The Russian Consul to the Empire of Ethiopia, which is in Africa, recruited them. It is said that the rulers of Ethiopia are direct descendants of King Solomon and Queen Sheba, like, from the Bible. That is why they are known as the Solomonic Dynasty. One of the most famous Abyssinians has been the godchild of Peter the Great, Abram Petrovich Gannibal. Because Abram was very good at math, Peter the Great sent him to study in France. Later on, Gannibal became a general. The great Russian poet Pushkin is Abramʼs great-grandson.

One of the Abyssinians standing before papaʼs bedroom door right now is our friend Jim Hercules. It is weird that he was hired, because Jim is not from Ethiopia, but from America. When I was little I thought all people from America looked like Jim, because Jim was the only American person I knew.

Once my sisters, Miss Eagar, and I arrive at the door, I wave my hand at Jim Hercules.

"Hi, Jim!" I greet him in English. Miss Eagar smiles at Jim and gives him a small nod.

"Good morning, Olga Nikolaevna", he replies with a smile as he kneels to be at eye level with my little sisters. No guards are supposed to do that. Abyssinian guards, in particular, stand tall and immobile as if they had been cast in bronze, but most of the men guarding the halls of our many palaces are our friends. My sisters and I enjoy talking to them and they love indulging us.

"How was your day?" Tanechkaʼs tone is as cordial as usual.

"Just beginning", he answers. "But we have had a fine week, thank you very much, Tatiana Nikolaevna."

"How is your family back in America, Jim?" My little sister Maria is touching Jim's beautiful uniform, and so is Nastasia. "How are your friends?"

Mashka loves asking the guards and servants about their friends and families. She remembers everything she is told, and it is amusing to listen to her recalling it.

"Oh, they are very well", Jim replies, and after briefly describing how each of his friends is faring, he adds: "They have asked about you."

"Really?" Mariaʼs eyes become bigger than usual.

"Yes", Jim grins. "They are very curious about the four little Grand Duchesses who live inside a big palace in a mysterious and beautiful foreign land."

"Tell them that we will send them pictures and painted Easter eggs and blinis so they can try them because those are Russian", Tatiana says to him. She then turns to Miss Eagar. "We can ask mama and papa, right Miss Eagar?"

Tatiana and I both look at our nanny expectantly. Blinis are thin wheat Russian pancakes. I do think Jim likes them.

"Sure dears", Miss Eagar replies, smiling at Jim.

"When are you bringing us guva jels again?" Maria asks. "I like them!"

Miss Eagar and I laugh, making little Anastasia laugh as well.

"Mashka!" Tatiana exclaims, appalled by such straightforwardness. Jim doesnʼt seem upset though.

Mashka meant guava jelly, which is like candy made with the pulp of the guava, which is… like fruit, I think, a fruit that grows in America, I guess. Guava jelly tastes very good and sweet, especially on toast, and the last time Jim went to America to visit his family, he brought back some of it for us. Now he knows how much our Mashka loves sweet things.

"Soon I will bring a jar just for you", Jim directs a smile at Mashka. "When I visit my family during the holidays."

Miss Eagar, my sisters, and I continue conversing with Jim as we wait for mama and papa to come out.

Jim used to be a boxer. That is why he is so tall and strong. His parents lived in the South, and they were slaves before the American Civil War happened, so I think it is good that the North won. Jim moved to New York and started boxing, later doing so all over the world. He met my babushka in London, and she was the one who invited him to be an Abyssinian here in Russia even though he is not really an Abyssinian.

Little Nastya loves boxing with Jim. She just started doing it right now. Our friend is dodging my little sister and pretending to be hurt whenever she does manage to punch him, which is making Miss Eagar, Tatiana, Maria, and I laugh a lot, especially because Anastasia makes the funniest faces.

When my youngest sister gets tired of being silly, Jim asks me about the doll.

"It is for a special friend who is suffering very, very much", I explain, and my heart sinks as I remember my friend Vladimir. I lower my gaze.

"You are a good girl, Olga Nikolaevna", Jim says.

Oo

After breakfast with papa, my sisters, mama, and I visit the hospital as planned.

Tatiana and I walk in holding hands, but she suddenly pulls away when something catches her attention.

"What is that thing in his head for?" My sister asks mama, pointing her finger at a doctor walking by.

"That is a head mirror", mama replies. "It is used to examine the patientʼs ear, nose, and throat."

"Oh!" Tanechka exclaims with great interest.

"Mama", I say. "Can you let Tanechka wear one?"

Tatiana's eyes light up as she looks between me and mama, who smiles before asking the doctor for the head mirror. "Just for one second", she assures him.

Tatiana is delighted to try the artifact on, even though it is too big for her. Maria, Anastasia and I giggle at the sight.

"Look at me!" Mashka yells excitedly at Tatiana, opening her mouth widely and pulling her tongue out. Tatiana smiles and immediately joins Maria's game, touching her chubby cheeks and pretending to check her throat. At once, Anastasia grabs Tanechka's arm rather roughly and opens her own mouth.

"Now me!" My youngest sister exclaims. "Am I ill? My throat hurts!" Tatiana attends to her right away.

I chuckle. Anastasia canʼt stand not being the center of attention for more than a minute.

From their beds, the wounded men surrounding mama, my sisters, and I are smiling at us with adoration. I smile back at them. They are so brave and loyal. It is not truly us they love so much, but papa, because papa loves them all and really wants to take care of them as if they were his children. God gave him that responsibility.

I honestly have never been as fond of this place as Tatiana is. Tatiana is always asking questions about everything, such as the way the nurses fold or put on the bandages on the wounded and what each of the instruments we see them cleaning are for. The other day we played doctor with our dolls at her suggestion. Maria and Anastasia got bored rather quickly, so they started playing mommies in the corner, but Tatiana and I had the time of our lives. Tanechka can make everything feel real.

Playing anything with Tatiana is always fun, even playing hospital, but this is a real hospital, and I am too busy looking at the men pitifully to even consider having fun. I don't understand how they are all so cheerful every time they see us when they are stuck in their beds. They become happy, call us by our titles, and ask for us to come and talk to them about our days.

Many have missing limbs. Poor things, I feel so bad. How horrid the Japs are! Wanting people to be like this.

The healthy ones may be sent back to the front soon. It is in moments like these that I am glad I wasnʼt born a boy despite the fact I would have had the opportunity to be like papa if I had indeed been one.

After playing with the head mirror for a while, Tatiana gives it back to the doctor. My sisters and I go separate ways to sit with our favorite soldiers. Mine is Vladimir. He is missing both his legs, which are heavily bandaged under his blankets, and yet his eyes light up every time he sees me.

"Your Imperial Highness!" He happily exclaims.

"Hi", I sit on his bed. "Look what I brought you." I place the doll in his arms.

"Oh, you shouldnʼt have."

"You donʼt like it?" I ask.

"I donʼt like it", his expression turns sour. I look down, pretending to be hurt. I don't actually believe him though. "I love it", he suddenly adds with a playful grin. "Thank you, Your Imperial Highness, this will make my stay here a bit less dull." Vladimir hugs the doll I gave him and I almost get the urge to cry.

Vladimir and I start chatting and he compliments my dress.

"What a pretty dress you are wearing", he says.

"Thank you!" I look down at my skirt and beam. My dress is white, but some of the lace adorning it is blue. Tatiana is wearing an identical dress, but the dresses Maria and Anastasia are wearing have yellow lace instead. Although mama does occasionally have me and my three sisters dress the same way, she prefers dressing me and Tatiana one way and my two youngest sisters another way. Mama has taken a liking for calling me and Tatiana "the big pair", our two youngest sisters being "the little pair". This is probably because I share a room with Tatiana while Masha and Nastasia have a different one. I do like being part of the "big" pair.

Right now, Tatiana is talking to a soldier lying a few beds away from Vladimirʼs. Anastasia is in mamaʼs arms, laughing at another wounded soldierʼs joke. Maria is gently caressing her favorite soldierʼs hand. Both of them are smiling. He is a young man, only a few years older than Cousin Dmitri.

Vladimir tells me about his life. He liked to ride horses and play tennis. Now he will most likely never be able to do such things again. He lost his little brother as well.

By the time we leave the hospital, I hate the Japanese for what they have done to all of these good men more than ever. They are like a pack of wild animals who started killing us for no reason. I hope all those monkeys die.

Oo

The Alexander Palace, Tsarskoye Selo. June, 1904.

Months go by. My sisters and I keep "doing our part", as mama says. We have been making items of clothing for our brave and loyal soldiers. We do other interesting things as well. Papa has gotten thousands of letter-forms printed so that the soldiers who donʼt know how to write can fill them quickly. My sisters, Miss Eagar, and I help by folding the letter-forms, stamping and putting them in envelopes.

The form of the letter goes like this: "My dear parents, I am at_ in the battle of_; I was wounded in_ (or) I am ill in hospital; (or) I am in good health. How are_? Give my love to_."

The blanks are meant to be filled in by someone who can write, often a nurse. These letters will help cheer the hearts of the soldiersʼ families.

People all over Russia have been very generous. There is a corridor at the Winter Palace packed with cases full of things for the soldiers. They are sent off every week.

Mama wished for every soldier to receive a separate bundle for Easter, each containing one shirt, one handkerchief, one pair of socks, a set of bandages for the legs, one woolen cap, one parcel of tobacco with cigarette papers, one piece of soap and tow for washing, tea, coffee, sugar, notepaper, stamped envelopes, and a printed letterform.

Nearly everyone living or working at the palace sent at least one such parcel with the name and address of the donor inside, and in return they received many grateful letters from the recipients after Easter.

I do play with my sisters every once in a while whenever we are not busy making clothes for the soldiers. Last April, Tanechka and I found the first blue flower at the Bablovo Park. Tatiana told Babushka about it in a letter. We hope to see her and our cousins very soon.

Maria, Anastasia, and I were so sick we couldn't even leave bed, so for a while only Tanechka went out to pick flowers with mama and papa. We are better now though. Our friend Sonia has written us a lot of letters. The poor dear is still ill.

Mamaʼs belly has grown noticeably, confirming I have a new baby brother or sister on the way. I am yet to be pleased about it.

I am at papa's study, sitting on the chair in front of his counter. He is working, reading one of the many reports on his desk. The papers are organized in two piles, and the unread pile is bigger, but regardless of this, papa is allowing himself to make a bit of room for me. We have been talking about the war.

The Japanese have attempted to deny us Russians the use of Port Arthur. On the 13th of February, the Japanese attempted to block the entrance to Port Arthur by sinking several steamers in the deep water channel to the port, but they sank too deep to be an effective barrier. In April, two Russian pre-dreadnought battleships, the flagship Petropavlovsk and the Pobeda, snuck out of the port, but Japanese mines sank the Petropavlovsk almost immediately, and the Pobeda had to be taken back to the port to be repaired. This is all very sad because many sailors and soldiers have died.

The Japs are now sieging Port Arthur. They have tried numerous frontal assaults but havenʼt been very successful yet. The good thing is we have learned from our oversights, and papa tells me we have already started mine laying just like the Japanese. On 15 May 1904, two Japanese battleships, the Yashima and the Hatsuse, were lured into a Russian minefield off Port Arthur, each striking at least two mines. The Hatsuse sank, and so did the Yashima! I was very, very glad to hear about it.

It still makes me feel special to have papa tell me about all of these important, grown-up things, but it does not feel the same way anymore. I am scared.

"I am glad the Japs are having a hard time", I tell papa. "They are such savages, putting traps like that, I love that we are also doing it now, I hope so many more of them are killed."

"In no time those silly wild monkeys will be defeated and I will have way more time for you and your sisters, my dear", papa signs a document that he later adds to the pile of papers he has already read, the smaller one. He then takes a new document from the big pile of unread reports and takes a look at it.

I don't think he will have much more time for me when the war is over. I think he will be way too excited about the new baby, especially if he is a boy.

"Papa…" I want to cry out that it is not fair, to tell him that I am scared, to ask him why, but to do so would only worry him, and I donʼt even know if he will tell me the truth. Maybe I should not have started to say anything. Now papa has stopped reading and is instead looking at me with a mournful expression. He knows there is something wrong. I sigh, already regretting what I am about to ask:

"Papa, are boys always smarter than girls?"

"Oh, sweetheart!" He exclaims.

"Why? Why are the succession laws like that? Why do all boys and men in the family go first?"

"Boys are not always smarter than girls", he assures me, "on the contrary", he adds with a grin, "and you are the smartest little girl I know." He caresses my cheek, making me smile.

"But then…" I begin to inquire, but papa seems to know what I am about to ask and cuts in providing me with an answer:

"But the law is very clear, dear. Do not worry too much about it, as it has nothing to do with you." He continues reading his report.

I donʼt like his answer, not because it is not the answer I wanted, but because it doesn't explain anything.

"You said I was very smart!" I complain, frustrated. "And you are the Tsar, so you can change all the rules you like because God entrusted you to take care of Russia, right?"

"Right", he concedes with a grin as he looks back up at me for an instant, shaking his head. He then proceeds reading his report.

It is horrible. Papa thinks I am not being serious.

"I want to do it papa", I insist, becoming confident as soon as I draw papaʼs attention. "I want to be just like you and Catherine the Great when I grow up. I want to take care of my people, only I would become Russiaʼs little mother instead of father because I am a girl. I read and write very well, Mr. Petrov says so. I think I could learn to work just as well and fast as you."

"Sweetheart!" Papa beams, his eyes filled with love. He moves his chair closer to mine, leans forward, and kisses my forehead.

"I can do it papa", I look straight into his eyes. My voice comes out small and childish though. I doubt papa will take me seriously now.

"Dear, it is very good that you are doing well in your lessons, but it is not whoever is smarter that becomes Tsar, but whoever God chooses."

"Well God is fair, isnʼt He?" I frown, crossing my arms. "I think it would be fairer for the oldest to get the birthright regardless of whether they are a boy or a girl."

Papa chuckles. "Little boys and little girls are both meant to fulfill different roles in life", he explains. "Arenʼt they?"

I stay silent for a moment, watching him smile at me. "I guess", I say after a minute or so without being entirely convinced, and I canʼt help but shrug as well. "I mean, boys wear pants once they are old enough and girls wear dresses… but, I didnʼt know we were meant to be so different…"

"We are", papa asserts, "but that doesnʼt mean one gender is better than the other. Men and women were created differently by God Himself, they are meant to complement each other."

"Like how?"

"Well… men are meant to lead as they have always done throughout history, and women should be there to offer support."

"But what is the use of studying so much if all I have to do is be supportive?" I ask, slightly annoyed. "I get bored sometimes in class… what am I going to do with all of the things I have learned?"

Papa smiles at me, places his hand on my back, and draws me closer.

"You", papa begins, "may marry a prince or even a king and in time come to be a very helpful and supportive wife to your husband, just like your mama is to me. You will work to create and finance charities, which requires a lot of knowledge as well, and most importantly, you will use those wits of yours to make sure the people of your adoptive country get along with Russia so that there are no more wars like the current one in the future, how about that?"

I shrug again, rolling my eyes.

"Or you may stay in Russia and help the future Tsar with his job", papa adds.

I place my elbow on papa's desk, rest my head on my hand, and sigh in resignation.

"What do you think?" Papa insists.

"I guess", I repeat unsurely, raising my eyebrows. Now it is papa who sighs. Fortunately, he is not angry. He is barely ever angry at me.

I had never given much thought to what I was going to do when I grew older before, so I don't know why I care so much all of the sudden. All I know now is that being older is not better. It would be fair for it to be, but it isn't, not unless you are a boy. They get to do all the fun stuff, which is not fair.

At least girls donʼt have to go to war and have their limbs blown away once they grow up… I almost shiver at the reminder.

"You are still too young to understand the ways of the world", papa takes his chair back to its original spot behind the desk. "I already suspect you are going to become an exceptional woman", he sits back down, "different from the rest."

Well, I hope not. I donʼt want to be different from other women, why is he saying that?

"I personally would prefer you to anyone else in the whole wide world as a successor", he says, and I smile at that, "but the Pauline Laws are still useful, an extraordinary and valuable document which prevented the illegal transfers of power that had become the norm in Russia before their creation."

"Oh!" I exclaim. "You mean when Peter the Great was illegally succeeded by his wife Catherine I, who was a foreigner and not of noble birth."

"Exactly, and then later when Peter III was murdered by his wife and her allies, she succeeded him, also illegally, by usurping the throne from her own son. Paul I made the laws similar to those of the stable monarchies in central Europe so that Russia could avoid these politically unstable transitions of power between reigns in the future. The objective was that the throne should never be vacant and Russia never without a successor determined by law rather than public opinion. The Fundamental Laws remain a valuable legal document for its solid succession practice, one that leaves no doubt as to who is next in line. I chose to preserve the laws not for our sake, but for the sake of Russia, because I wouldn't forgive myself if any choice of mine were to cause trouble in the future."

"Oh, I do understand better now… but it is a shame."

Papa finishes reading another document and signs it. "I know you love our conversations about my duty, sweetheart, but I keep a lot from you, this is harder than you think it is."

"It is?"

"Yes, it is a burden”, papa starts playing with his mustache. For a while, it seems he has become lost in his thoughts, but then he confides something to me. "I don't know if I have told you this before, but I never wanted to become Tsar, God simply chose me. There are so many things I am responsible for, so many problems plague the country, and there is so little I can do."

"Like what papa?" I am surprised to hear papa sound so worried and helpless. "Problems other than the war?"

Papa shakes his head and smiles, doing so as if regretting having told me anything. "We will talk about that some other day", he says.

Now I want to know what those problems are more than ever.

Papa opens one of the drawers in his desk, looks for his small silver cigarette case, picks a tube, lights it with a match, and starts smoking. "Even if it were a blessing and not a curse for you to carry the same heavy burden as I do, we must all accept God's will, however difficult it may be", he changes the subject. "We all have different roles in life, and I really hope that when the time comes, you will, for the sake of Russia, support whoever happens to become Tsar after me. The entire family must always be united in support of the Tsar so that Russia may prosper, do you understand dear?"

Papa leans in and kisses my cheek. I nod, still unsure and only doing so because I donʼt want papa to think I resent Uncle Mimi or would hate my little brother if I had one… or something. That is not it. I will definitely do my duty for my beloved motherland, whatever it may be, however boring. It is just that I will always, always wonder… what if?

And I am scared.

"Papa…" I say softly, almost whispering. "Will you stop talking to me about your work once you have a boy to do the same with?"

"How can you even suggest that?!" Papa exclaims loudly in a playful tone I know too well. "Of course not dear! I love our talks! I look forward to them in fact. They brighten my days whenever I am stuck here."

I smile, but my eyes fill with tears from the sheer relief, and despite the embarrassment I know I will experience by doing so, I let my tears flow freely as I give papa a very long hug, a hug he warmly returns as he reassures me with comforting words.

Now everything is fine. I still fail to be excited about the new baby, but everything is fine.

Oo

It seems papa talked to mama about my worries, because she is no longer giving me stern looks, and last week she joined me and Tatianaʼs game. My sister and I were playing nurses with our dolls past our bedtime and mama played with us, which is nice. I love mama.

Tanechka has been chattering nonstop lately, which is unusual. Mashka is the one who talks most, but the hospital visits have sparked Tanechka's interest, and we are also going to see our grandmother very soon. Tatiana is excited about that, and so she talks a lot.

My sisters and I are sitting on the playroom floor crocheting some items for the soldiers. Miss Eagar is sitting on a rocking chair nearby, reading a newspaper.

"Do you think Babushka visits many hospitals as well?" Tatiana asks me.

"I think so, because she works with the Red Cross," I reply.

"I can't wait to see her and Aunt Olga at Peterhof."

"Me too", I agree, "but Cousin Irina most of all."

"Remember that time Mr. Petrov mistook me for Cousin Irina?" She stops crocheting for a moment and grins, raising her eyebrows.

"Yes!" I burst into laughter. "I donʼt blame our professor, you do look a lot like Cousin Irina." She really does. Tatiana and Irina both have fine features and similarly shaped eyes, although my sisterʼs eyes are longer while Irinaʼs are a bit rounder. Irina also has a slimmer face.

"I donʼt look that much like Cousin Irina!" Tanechka playfully protests.

"You do!"

Mr. Petrov is our Russian language and literature teacher, although he used to be an army officer and a senior government administrator responsible for military schools. Pyotr became our teacher in 1903, and we love him very much. His full name is Pyotr Vasilievich Petrov, but we usually refer to him by his initials, P.V.P.

I remember that funny day fondly. Irina never visits on school days, but on one occasion Aunt Xenia and Uncle Sandro surprised me and my sisters during tea time, bringing our cousins along with them. Following his final lesson, P.V.P happened not to have left the palace yet when he found Irina playing tag with her brother Andrushka in the corridor outside the classroom.

P.V.P scolded our cousin after she accidentally pushed him against the wall rather roughly, and he did so referring to her as Tatiana. Despite having reprimanded her very gently, our poor teacher was mortified when he took a better look at Irina and realized she wasn't Tatiana. There is trust between P.V.P. and my parents, but scolding a child whose parents he is not as familiar with must have been uncomfortable for him.

"You look exactly like Irina, Tanechka", Nastasia taunts our sister, but her little fingers don't stop working on the scarf she is making.

I smile at Anastasia. I bet she is only saying that to tease our sister.

"Ugh, whatever", Tanechka shrugs. "Irina is prettier than all of you either way", she points her finger at each of us to make her point and then continues crocheting, raising her head in a haughty way and closing her eyes as she does, all of this, I can bet, without making a single mistake.

I chuckle at this. I am aware that Tanechkas's arrogant attitude is just pretend. We have played too many years together. I know her.

"Not true", Mashka protests, taking Tatiana's comment way too seriously, "we are all very beautiful, and mama says inner beauty matters more."

"Sure, Masha dear", Tatiana says gently and with the most pleasant of smiles.

"Remember that time we raced during Pyotrs class?" I ask her.

"Oh, yes!" She exclaims. "Poor P.V.P!"

I am thankful to P.V.P for being so nice to us despite our behaviour. I admit we four can be a handful, wild, and out of control.

My sisters and I love playing with Professor Pyotr, shouting funny things at him, laughing with him, pushing him, and generally hauling him about without mercy.

Tanechka and I may be as meek as mice while studying in the classroom, but as soon as P.V.P departs for just a minute, a wild scramble will follow during which we will jump on the sofa and race along the row of neatly positioned chairs against the wall. It is my sister Tatiana, graceful and supple like a gazelle, who always gives the signal on these occasions and leads the games.

One time, while my sister and I were in one of those wild frenzies, Maria and Anastasia heard us and came rushing in from the nursery. We four then started dancing and racing up and down the corridors. Anastasia thought of bringing a gramophone so we could listen to music as we danced.

We laughed and screamed so much that day, even Maria and Tatiana, who are usually calm. When the next teacher arrived at the classroom, Tanechka almost fainted, but Mashka and Nastasia were not disturbed and in fact tried to convince the teacher to join our games. That did not work.

One day, during class, P.V.P asked me to name him a white-colored object. 

“My blouse”, I replied. 

“And a black-coloured object?”

“My slate pencil.”

“And a green-coloured object?” 

“My sister Tatiana.”

Tanechka does not appreciate me saying so, but green is indeed the colour of her complexion. She is so pale that the noticeable blue veins from under her skin can appear green with certain lighting.

Oo

Nastya became restless after hearing me and Tatiana recall that incredibly joyous day while crocheting on the floor. She started behaving silly, pulling our hair and then daring us to catch her, dragging Mashka along. Tatiana was infuriated by Anastasiaʼs antics at the beginning, but she eventually warmed up to them. The four of us ended up playing tag in the playroom, and we haven't stopped. Poor Miss Eagar becomes startled every time we run close to her chair, but luckily for us, it appears that she doesnʼt want to ruin our fun.

As Tanechka chases a giggling Maria, I get a glimpse of Anastasia peeking out from behind our nannyʼs rocking chair. She catches me staring at her and immediately hides back in a fit of laughter. I rush to seize her and grab the skirt of her dress, causing her to fall. My heart stops for a moment, but my youngest sister is as tough as a rock and doesn't cry but only smiles. Feeling relieved, I tickle Nastasia until her laughter is the loudest noise in the room.

Mashka barely reacts when Tatiana catches her. She is no longer giggling and seems to have lost interest in the game. Miss Eagar is still reading, and when she sees Maria approaching her, she stops rocking the chair she is sitting on and looks at my sister.

"Who are they?" Maria lays her hands on the arm of the chair, tilting her head with curiosity. Nastya manages to untangle herself from me and soon joins Maria, also leaning in to take a look at Miss Eagar's newspaper from the opposite side of the seat.

I decide to continue crocheting and thus sit back down on the floor in front of Miss Eagar. Tatiana sits next to me and does the same thing.

"Those are the children of the Crown Prince of Japan, my dears", Miss Eagar answers.

What our nanny said doesn't seem right. The Japs are not normal people.

"Horrid little people!" Maria slaps the picture with her palm, making me and Tatiana flinch. "They came and destroyed our poor ships and drowned our poor sailors!"

It is sad for me to see Maria act like that. Our fat little bow-wow is usually so sweet… but I don't blame her, because her anger is clearly righteous. Maria loves our dear soldiers, enjoys knowing them, and becomes particularly upset whenever she hears any of them are in pain.

"I hate them too", I agree with my sister. "It is all the fault of the Japanese that papa has to leave so often to see the troops off!"

Miss Eagar's green eyes widen in shock, maybe even horror, which surprises me. "Oh no, darlings!" She points at specific parts of the photograph with her index finger so that Maria can see them more clearly. "It was not these innocent little children who did that, look at them, I bet that they don't even understand what is going on, they are only babies, younger than your little Anastasia."

"Yes", Maria insists with determination, "those little babies did it. Mama told me the Japs were all only little people." Miss Eagar gives Maria a sad, disappointed look.

I had never witnessed Masha displaying such wrathful vindictiveness. Not towards babies, she loves babies, but if the Japs were not such monsters, Maria wouldn't be as mad. I get the urge to defend my sister. I don't think those things in the picture Miss Eagar showed her can be real babies anyway.

"Maria is right", I continue crocheting diligently. "Papa told me they started attacking us for no reason. I hope the Russian soldiers will kill all the Japanese, not leave even one alive."

My three sisters listen attentively. Focused on her work, Tatiana may also be doing so without looking at me.

"Olga!" Miss Eagar gives me a stern look. "Really?"

I stay silent, at first because I do not understand why she is so upset, but then I realize it also makes me angry to hear Miss Eagar defend those monkeys who drowned and burnt our soldiers alive.

"Why do you like the Japanese?" I become increasingly emotional despite my best attempts not to. "They are the ones who are killing our soldiers, but if they all die, our poor country will stop being attacked and no more soldiers will be injured or die."

Miss Eagar sighs. "But dear, there are many people in Japan who are not killing anyone or ever have."

"Really?" I inquire. "That newspaper seems to have the wrong information." Aren't the Japanese just the killers who sink our ships?

"Of course, most people in Japan do not fight", Miss Eagar answers. "Do children in Russia fight? Do the elderly? Or the women?"

But that would mean…

"Clearly not", I admit. "Are there really women and little children in a place that is called Japan? Is that a land like Russia, where the Japanese live?"

What do they do there? Do they spend their time planning how to attack us?

"Really, really", Miss Eagar insists. "There are many little children and women in Japan, people who cannot fight because they are small and defenceless like you and your sisters, who only play and make clothes for the soldiers. Why would they be mentioned in a newspaper otherwise?"

I shrug, not because of a lack of interest, but because I genuinely do not know.

"And the women in Japan also become nurses in order to help their wounded soldiers get better, just like Russian nurses", Miss Eagar explains. "Did you know that there are Russian nurses tending to the Japanese wounded here, in Russia? There are also many Japanese nurses helping the Russian wounded get better."

This surprises me immensely, so I open my eyes widely, raising my eyebrows.

"I did not know that", I confess, absolutely bewildered. "Why would they do that? How can the nurses do that knowing the soldiers they are caring for may have killed some of their own soldiers?"

It doesn't make sense, any sense.

"That is a very interesting question dear", Miss Eagar begins. "You already know that during wars, enemy soldiers kill each other, right?"

"Right."

"Well, some of them decide they do not want to fight anymore and thus surrender to their enemies, maybe by raising their hands in the sky", Miss Eagar raises her own hands to demonstrate what she is talking about before continuing. "These soldiers are not meant to be killed, but taken prisoner."

I nod as a way to indicate I understand, although I do not quite know how one can surrender in the middle of a battle, and what if the other soldier doesn't hear you say you surrender and shoots anyway? So scary… I am glad I am a girl.

"Some years ago", Miss Eagar explains further, "many nations came together in order to discuss, among many other things, how captured enemy soldiers were to be treated. It was decided that all countries must take care of their war prisoners."

"Was Russia one of those nations?" I ask. "Did papa agree to that?"

"Well of course dear", my nanny nods and smiles. "His Imperial Majesty agreed and was in fact the one who made it possible for the nations in question to come together and discuss this."

"Wow!" I exclaim. "That is something I am now looking forward to talking about with papa!"

Miss Eagar chuckles. "After hearing about this, do still think it would be good for the Russian soldiers to kill all of the Japanese? Even little children like these?"

Miss Eagar shows me the picture in the newspaper for the first time. It is that of a couple with two children. One of them is around Anastasia's age, and the other one looks even younger. None of those little babies would be able to kill any of our soldiers, not even if they wanted to.

I have nothing left to do but shake my head. No, I do not think it would be good for our Russian soldiers to kill them.

I take notice of the text underneath the newspaper picture and become curious. Crawling on my knees so that I don't have to stand up, I approach Miss Eagar's newspaper with the unfinished item of clothing still in hand and read: Crown Prince Yoshihito of Japan, his wife Kujō Sadako, and their two small sons, Hirohito and Yasuhito.

They are cute, and I can imagine them behaving like the little pair and... oh, right! Their father is a crown prince!

"Have they an emperor in Japan?" I ask.

"Certainly", Miss Eagar nods.

Those babies are more similar to us than I thought.

"Do they have policemen as well?" I inquire further.

"Of course", she says. "The Japanese want murderers and thieves imprisoned just as much as Russians do. Both nations want their people, and little children like these in particular, to be kept from harm." Miss Eagar raises the newspaper to illustrate her point.

Ha! Why do they kill us then? Because they hate us? But why? And then why do they take care of our wounded soldiers when they surrender? I don't understand… so I keep asking questions:

"And firefighters?"

"That also."

"Do they have schools?" I ask. "Do Japanese children go to school and have lessons like me and my sisters do?"

"Sure, dear."

"Do people in Japan get married?"

"All the time", Miss Eagar laughs. "That happens everywhere."

"Do people in Japan love their children nana?"

"Absolutely, I am sure most of them do, the same way your parents love you and people all over the world love their children."

I stay silent for a while, trying to process all of this new information. Papa never told me about this. If he mentions the Japanese, it is to talk about the war and how much he wants Russia to win. If the Japanese love their children, it means little Japanese kids will also miss their fathers every time our soldiers kill theirs.

I am a little bit ashamed of my ignorance, especially because I thought I sounded really smart when I said I wanted all the Japanese dead. I didn't sound like a grown-up then, I probably sounded like a little girl.

"I did not know that the Japs were people like ourselves", I tell my nanny. "I thought they were only like monkeys."

"That is quite alright dear", she says. "One learns something new every day."

But what I learned today is horrible.

"It doesn't make any sense", I assert. "Why would the Russians and the Japanese help each other while also killing each other? I don't understand it, if the Japanese are people, and they are reasonable and honorable enough to keep promises and tend to the wounded prisoners… if Russians and Japanese can both organize themselves and help each other like that, why not simply quit killing each other as well? Wouldn't that be easier?"

"You are so bright dear", Miss Eagar gives me a sad smile. "But the truth is… I don't know, it is very complicated, and I don't think anyone knows the whole answer…"

I am deeply frustrated right now.

"Why did the Japanese start a war then?" I cry. "Don't they want to be alive for their children? And if we are so similar… why do they hate us so much?"

"Those are difficult questions, but you have already been taught about previous wars in history class, haven't you?"

I nod because I have, but only now does the horror of it all sink in. I just never thought of the French or the Mongols as monsters because they invaded us a long, long time ago... and none of my teachers called them that. My parents and their friends didn't call them that either.

They were all people. I look around to see whether Tanechka, sitting next to the spot where I was minutes ago, is as amazed and distraught as I am, but she is looking down at her work, undisturbed and deeply focused on her crocheting. It seems like she stopped listening to our conversation a while ago.

Maria and Anastasia too. They are back to playing catch... or some other game involving pulling each other's hair. I don't know when that happened. Their game soon turns into a fight when Nastasia pulls too hard and Masha starts screaming and crying.

"I think you will have to ask your father", Miss Eagar stands up in order to intervene. "He may give you a better answer than I ever will."

I want to ask him why he doesn't stop it. If he can get the Japanese to nurse our imprisoned soldiers, why can't he make them stop killing us in the first place so that we can also stop killing their soldiers?

Maybe papa wasn't just trying to make me feel better when he said his job is harder than it seems.

A sudden rush of pity for both my father and my unborn baby brother catches me by surprise. I would have never felt like this moments ago, and yet none of my sisters notice. Maybe it is because I am the oldest.

Maybe being the oldest isn't just about privileges... or even responsibilities, as mama says. I don't think someone as innocent as Masha would handle understanding what I now understand. Maybe, at least for me, being the oldest simply means being alone in the knowledge.

I don't know anymore. All I know is I will probably never be pleased to hear of the deaths of the Japanese, or any other group of people, ever again.

Chapter Text

As August approached, so did Alexandra's due date. The imperial family thus moved to Peterhof to wait for the baby's arrival.

During their stays at Peterhof, Nicholas and his family usually reside in a smaller palace known as the Lower Dacha, where both Maria and Anastasia were born.

The Lower Dacha looks more like a big cabin than a palace and is made of yellow and red bricks. It is far from the big Peterhof Palace and almost completely inaccessible to outsiders, but the main reason Nicholas and his family enjoy this stately home so much is its proximity to the sea.

The four little Grand Duchesses love swimming and playing in the water. Anastasia, in particular, adores the relative novelty of this pastime. Nicholas and Alexandra enjoy the view.

Their perfect safety is an illusion. A number of attempts on the Tsar's life, as well as the lives of his family members, have been made throughout the years. One of the first occurred during his trip to Japan. On the anniversary of that day, thanksgiving religious services are conducted all over Russia.

Just a few years ago, a plot against the lives of Nicholas, Alexandra, and their daughters was hatched. Fortunately, the scheme was frustrated by the police, but had it succeeded, the whole Imperial Court would have been dead and buried.

The grounds of Livadia are open to the public whenever the imperial family is away, so there was a priest in Yalta who used to stroll about among the vineyards and gardens. He was exceedingly kind, displaying tremendous curiosity regarding the familyʼs daily life. He suspiciously asked about the water supply and even penetrated into the wood cellar. One day, while he was walking around Livadia, the police entered his rooms and found many incriminating papers, explosives, and even poisons. The explosives were destined for the wood cellar, and the poison, for the water supply. The man was arrested and severely punished.

Another attempt was made sometime before the governess Margaretta Eagar even arrived in Russia. Just before divine service began at the little Tsarskoye Selo church, a soldier discovered a bomb hidden under a curtain behind the Tsar and Tsarina's spots. Had it exploded, hundreds of people would have been killed.

The culprit was a young man whose mother had been left a widow quite young with only him, a baby, in arms. She was almost penniless when a housemaid who worked at the palace heard of her and gave her some sewing to do in order to help her get by. Later on, the woman was also aided financially when she decided to start a workroom with apprentices.

She used to carry her baby in and out of the palaces, and as the boy grew older, he started to fetch things for her and thus became acquainted with all of the palaces. The guards would let him pass without trouble.

The young man was well educated and even attended a university where he became involved in a secret revolutionary society that benefited from his intimate knowledge of the palaces.

After the terrorist attack was successfully prevented, the young rebel was arrested. He confessed to his actions, but he refused to give the names of his accomplices. He was then sent to Siberia for life.

"My heart breaks for my son's baseness and ingratitude!" His mother cried upon learning of the incident. She died of shock that same day.

One of the most recent assassination attempts consisted of a seemingly harmless parcel sent to the Tsar. Nicholas received it while seated at tea with Alexandra. It was found to contain a piece of dirty cloth apparently cut from an old pair of trousers. "Just look at this!" Nicholas exclaimed in wonder at receiving such a curious thing, but Alexandra was not amused. She seized the dirty cloth and sent it away to be examined.

The curious gift was plagued with germs.

Oo

Nicholas and Alexandra keep everything from their daughters, wanting them to remain innocent and ignorant of the hatred so many people reserve for their family.

The girls haven't heard of any attempts on their lives. They are also ignorant of the recent strikes and demonstrations. The four little Grand Duchesses are playing with their cousins, the sons and daughter of their Aunt Xenia. Olga, Tatiana, Maria, and Anastasia are having picnics by the shore with them. They are playing tag, hide and seek, and rolling in the grass with Irina, her brothers, and Aunt Olga. The Tsar's youngest sister is stuck in a loveless marriage and copes by pouring all of her affection on her siblings, nieces, and nephews, around whom she laughs noisily and acts like yet another untamed grandchild Minnie strives to keep from ruining her clothes.

The Dowager Empress Maria Feodorovna is one of the most remarkable figures in the imperial family. The charm of her amazing personality has a magical impact on all who surround her. Despite her limited height, she can command any room, making it so there is no one else there except her. There is so much greatness in her manners that even the so-called "Empress Miechen" fails to live up to them, as there is a special kind of gentleness and kindness Minnie possesses that does not in any way diminish her dignified demeanor.

The secular, friendly, kind and extremely sociable Maria Feodorovna knows everything and everyone at court. She is constantly seen and loved by everyone, from the representatives of the highest sectors of society to the lower ranks of the cavalry regiment she is honorary chief of.

Since her husband died, Minnie has spent most of her time abroad visiting her relatives in Denmark, sometimes coming back to Russia with presents for her grandchildren. Her father Christian IX of Denmark is one of those relatives, and her sister Alexandra, Queen of the United Kingdom, is another. The two women are very close and visit their homeland often despite having lived apart for many years. They and their remaining brothers and sisters make for a very big and united family.

Maria Feodorovna is so cheerful and outgoing she could be happy anywhere. She loves her fashionable friends at the Russian Imperial Court, although she favors being around her family. There is a problem, however, with her one daughter-in-law, a problem Minnieʼs outgoing personality hasn't helped solve. Years have passed and Maria hasn't yet managed to convince her son's wife to be more mindful of society's perception of her.

Even before the war started, Alexandra had already stopped attempting to make friends with the nobility. She was no longer available for any considerable amount of events, assisting merely the most important, doing the bare minimum. It is not that Maria Feodorovna never becomes tired of those things once in a while, but she knows it is her obligation to be friendly, outgoing, and likable, to build long-lasting ties with the people, and she can't understand how the new Empress can be so grim as to view parties filled with beautiful gowns, music, and dancing as a burden or even just mere duty. Can't she see how privileged she is and how out-of-touch it is of her to complain about parties? Doesn't she enjoy dancing with Nicky? What Dagmar would give to have her precious Sasha back in her arms! What she wouldn't give to dance with him again!

The role of Empress may be more natural for her than for her daughter-in-law, as Minnie has always been sociable and still enjoys making new friends, but she has also had to make sacrifices. When her father-in-law was murdered, the happiest and most peaceful days of Maria Feodorovnaʼs life ended and she was cursed with having to fear for Alexanderʼs safety for the rest of his days, and later, for her sons'.

The day Dagmar received the news of the attempt against her baby boyʼs life during that dreadful expedition to Japan, she almost had a heart attack. She has lost two sons already and yet still understands how essential it was for her to give them away, how necessary it was to let them and her husband to fulfill their duties even when they interfered with her personal desire for a safer, happier, and more private family life, the life she had known as a child before her father's ascension to the throne as King of Denmark.

Minnie didn't always agree with her husband on everything, but in public, she would swallow her distinct views and be there to support Alexander despite the fact it had never been in her nature to hide her opinions before. Her job was to raise her husband and the monarchy up with her charms, to look presentable at the Imperial Court, to make everyone love her, and in consequence, them. The family.

She did more than that. Minnie helped her relatives and in-laws, acting as a mediator in letters before her husband, and later, her son. This with careful tact.

It would only be fair for the new Empress to stop thinking solely about herself in order to play her part as Minnie did before, but that is apparently too hard for Alexandra, who has a bit of a sanctimonious attitude in Minnieʼs opinion, one that still makes her quite unpopular. Alexandra is a fervent advocate of the divine right and believes that it is completely unnecessary to make an effort to secure the approval of the people.

During one of the most recent family trips to Crimea by train, hundreds of peasants wore their best clothes and waited overnight to see their Tsar and Tsarina. Nicholas went to the window and waved, but Alexandra refused to open the curtains or acknowledge the crowd. Dowager Empress Maria was furious when she learned of this, and even more so when she was made aware of Alexandraʼs reasoning. It seems her daughter-in-law thinks that the imperial family should be "above that sort of thing."

What does she mean? Above winning the people's affection? Above making them happy with one simple and effortless gesture? And yet, Maria Feodorovna thinks, how often does Alexandra complain about the publicʼs indifference toward her, blaming it all on her lack of sons.

Minnie is tired of trying to get her daughter-in-law to be more sociable or at the very least agreeable. Alexandra doesn't seem to want to listen. Sometimes, Minnie can't help but concede that the people at court who view Alexandra as a haughty woman have a good reason to.

Either way, Dagmar's concern for her son's wife does not in any way diminish the love she has for her granddaughters. Olga, Tatiana, Maria, and Anastasia are developing into charming young girls. Eight-year-old Olga is so charming and witty! Already knowledgeable in many subjects, she likes to talk to everyone about everything. All seems to indicate she will be different from her mother and Minnie is glad about that.

The Dowager Empress was surprised when she saw Tatiana again. The beautiful seven-year-old is growing so tall that she will probably catch up to her older sister in no time. She is so affectionate as well.

The five-year-old Maria has the most gorgeous blue eyes, and Minnie has never met a child with more personality than the three-year-old Anastasia, who has so much energy she is more like another grandson than a granddaughter. She greatly enjoys roughhousing with the boys.

Minnie has loved watching the four girls swim and play in the sand along with her other grandchildren, Irina, Andrei, Feodor, Nikita, Dmitri, and Rostislav. The Dowager Empress and her daughter Olga have both used their time in Peterhof to talk to the children and catch up with their lives.

Oh, but that little girl Anastasia has proved capable of bringing Minnie such joy! Nickyʼs youngest daughter jumps and laughs all the time and has even asked Minnie to play with her as if the middle-aged woman were a little girl capable of running as much as a youth. The girlʼs childish enthusiasm is so contagious Minnie obeys her at times.

The sweet, beautiful, and shy Irina may hold a special place in Minnieʼs heart for being her first-ever granddaughter, but Anastasia is not too far behind, if she even is behind.

Most adults find Anastasia easy to love. Grand Duke Michael, who is fond of all his siblingsʼ kids, is prone to forgiving and even finding charm in all of Anastasia's mustache pulling, teasing, and innocent yet inadvertently indiscreet comments.

"Why aren't you married yet Mimi?" The little Anastasia suddenly asked her uncle once while the whole family was relaxing in the living room after dinner. Everyone had laughed except for Minnie, who was herself worried about that, and Michael, who was blushing furiously.

Playmates have a harder time with Anastasia, as even at three years old she is already uncommonly competitive and prone to biting and hair-pulling. The little girl is also extremely strong-willed and doesn't let anything or anyone spoil her fun.

Back in spring, the court nurses took the Grand Duchesses and some of their cousins to an orchard near the palace to pick some apples. As a reward, the girls were promised some baked apples with their tea. Once the baskets were full, the apples were sent to the palace and the children were taken off to listen to a military band.

While the band was playing, Anastasia unexpectedly produced an apple that she had hidden and promptly began to eat it. One of the nurses took it away from her and told her not to eat it yet, as it would make her ill. A few moments later, Anastasia produced another apple. "If you take this apple away from me I will scream", she said to the governess, "and then the people will think you are being wicked to me."

"Anastasia", replied the nanny, "be sure as you eat that apple, you will be punished when you get home." The little girl was not frightened by the threat and calmly proceeded to eat the apple, but when the children returned to the palace, she was put straight to bed. During tea time, all of the children were given baked apples to eat, but none were offered to Anastasia. The kids started teasing her by asking her if she did not want some of their delicious baked apples while holding them close to Anastasiaʼs face.

"No, indeed," the little girl would remark, "because you don't know how good that apple was that I had back in the garden."

The following day, Anastasia asked to be taken back to the orchard.

"Why do you want to be taken there again?" Miss Eagar inquired.

Anastasia threw her arms around her neck. "Because it was such fun eating that apple!" She joyfully replied.

Several days later, Anastasia misbehaved in the orchard again, and the girls were forbidden to go for a while. 

“It is too bad”, Tatiana said, “because Anastasia was naughty we cannot go to the orchard.”

“Until Anastasia is good and will promise not to eat any more apples, you cannot go”, their nanny insisted. It was nearly a week after that before Anastasia's stubbornness was subdued and she promised to eat no more apples if the nursery might only go and play in the orchard.

One time, Miss Eagar got a product for the children's hair from England. She had started rubbing it into little Anastasia's head one evening when the child objected.

"It will make your hair grow nicely, darling," Miss Eagar coaxed the girl, who reluctantly submitted to her nannyʼs care. The next evening, when the governess went to get the product from the cupboard, Anastasia ran off into the room next door and returned dragging by its leg an awfully ugly old doll that lacked an eye, an arm, and most of its hair. She grabbed a little piece of sponge and began to rub the product into the creature's head.

Miss Eagar scolded her little charge, telling her she only could get the hair product from England and did not want it wasted. Anastasia looked at her governess most reproachfully. "My poor Vera!" She cried. "She has got no curls! This will make her hair grow!"

Margaretta couldn't refuse her pleas, so the little Anastasia got her way.

Speaking to Margaretta Eagar about the four little Grand Duchesses, someone said recently: "Olga has grace, wit, and good looks; Tatiana is a regular beauty; Marie is so sweet-natured, good and obliging, no one could help loving her; but little Anastasia has personal charm beyond any child I ever saw."

Margaretta does not think the visitor was wrong. His was a good description of the children as they may appear to a stranger, but there is a great deal more depth and strength of character in all of the children than often appears at first sight.

Anastasia may be a rough playmate, but the incredibly ugly Vera is her favorite toy, and she is loyal to that broken thing, often choosing it over her pretty new dolls when she plays with her sisters. Maria isn't just the kindest little girl anyone will ever meet, she is also good at telling stories. The ones she has been told and those she makes up herself whilst daydreaming. Tatiana shares almost all of Alexandra's virtues and defects, one of the latter being an extreme form of shyness that has made her unremarkable to most people.

All strangers notice Tatiana's beauty, some notice her perfect manners, but understandably few are aware of the genuine love and concern she has for people.

The nursery maids trust Margaretta Eagar enough to tell her about the men they fancy and whether they pay any attention to them in return or not. Being older than many of the other nurses, the protective Miss Eagar will often make inquiries about the character, temper, and position in life of these men. If satisfied with the aforementioned points, she makes no objection and allows the wooing to continue.

One of the under-nurses was married recently. She had served for seven years, having come to work at the palace straight from school at seventeen, so she was naturally attached to the little Grand Duchesses. When her last day came, she was in tears, and the children were distressed to see the young lady in such grief. Grand Duchess Tatiana assured the young nanny that she could stay if she liked, and when this didn't work, she went running straight to Miss Eagar and begged her not to send the nurse, called Tegla, away.

Miss Eagar explained that Tegla was free to stay if she wanted to, but that she had promised to marry Vladislav, her own wish, and would not like to break her word. Tatiana was immensely sad, but she immediately understood.

The other nurses organized a little party to celebrate Tegla before her departure, and the young fiancé was amongst the guests. When Tegla heard that he had arrived, her grief broke forth again and the children cried most bitterly. Little Tatiana Nikolaevna took a sheet of paper and a pencil in order to write with great difficulty a letter that can be summarized as reading: "Vladislav, be good with Tegla. Tatiana." She then placed this letter in an envelope and made sure it was sent to him.

When Margaretta Eagar visited the man sometime later to wish him happiness, he pulled the letter out of his pocket and with tears in his eyes begged the governess to thank the little Grand Duchess and to assure her that he would never forget to be good to Tegla. He always carries the letter with him.

Tegla has come to visit the little girls several times since her marriage and is very happy. Whenever she writes to them, she always sends a special message to Tatiana, saying that Vladislav is indeed very good to her.

"Well, I am glad", Tatiana always says, looking very pleased.

Miss Eagar often wonders what use her charges will make of all the talents God has entrusted them with, but she feels at ease knowing that the apple never falls very far from the tree. With such good parents, she is convinced, her dear little girls will never be led astray.

Oo

St. Petersburg, summer 1904.

Sophia Petrovna Malevsky-Malevich.

The war could not have been more inconvenient, and why did it have to happen now? Why now that I need cheering up the most?

The fashionable "Neva" salon is half-empty. Only two of the tables are occupied. It used to be crowded on days like these, Friday evenings. Dozens of officers in uniforms filled with medals would wander around the rooms before sitting and gambling. The high society ladies, dressed in low-cut gowns with lots of jewels, would flirt with them. The men, in turn, would buy them drinks and ask them to dance, only for the newly made couples to leave for somewhere private a few hours later.

I was one of those ladies. I still am, I suppose, but here I am, sitting alone at the bar with only the elderly bartender in front of me. At least I had a good time earlier. There are a few ladies sitting a few bar stools right from me, but my friends already left, and the officers who are not gambling are chatting with other women.

I am wearing a red dress embroidered with golden flowers. A fairly old dress, yes. I can't afford to spend as freely as I did before the war, but all things considered, I am as stunning as ever. As usual during days like these, I am not wearing my biggest diamond ring, the one Alexander gave me after our wedding, but my golden necklace makes up for it. My tempting shoulders are bare, and my beautiful red hair is up in a bun. Someone should have taken notice of me by now, and yet my friends were all approached first. Elizabeta looked particularly ridiculous today in that tight dress she wore. It no longer fits her, not that I would ever tell her that, although it would definitely serve her well.

I am fidgeting with my gloves. Perhaps the men around me can sense that there is something troubling me and choose not to deal with that baggage… or maybe I am just reading too much into it. I sigh, knowing deep down that another escapade won't make me happy anyway, not right now. All I have are memories to comfort me.

My four handsome lovers have been soldiers and sailors from different ranks, but only now are they fully so, in every sense of the word. Any of them could be dead or wounded right now. I silently pray for them before I start feeling guilty, almost instantly, for doing so.

I am a terrible person. My husband hasn't changed. He is still the same kind man I met years ago, although I like him more now. He is a real friend despite the fact we have little in common. Without a care in the world, he allows me to host as many parties as I please in all and any of our residences, being blissfully oblivious to all of my affairs and flirtations. He never inquires further when I lie saying I will be staying with a friend. He even worries for me and my happiness, asking me if I had fun every time I return home from a party or outing.

Sometimes we stay up late talking about the silliest of things, mostly making fun of his business partners and people from the nobility. To make matters worse, Alexander is also faithful, as least as far as I can tell. How I pity him!

I get a familiar sensation that makes me forget my depressing thoughts, so I look behind me and am not surprised to find a handsome young man with blond hair staring at me from behind his cards.

Finally!

I finish what was left of my glass of champagne and raise my hand, giving the young man a half-smile as I wave at him gently, using only my fingers. He approaches, and I see his pretty baby blue eyes more clearly.

"Can I invite you a drink?" He asks. There is something tender about him. I can tell by his uniform that he is a junker, a junior officer who recently graduated from the Cadet Corps. The uniform is dark and simple, with golden epaulets and a long collar that covers most of his neck.

"I will be grateful for the drink love", I reply, "but with that face of yours, I would be happy with your company either way."

He nervously giggles like a child and I try very hard not to clench my teeth.

"How old are you, dear?" I ask. His smile disappears, his jaw drops, and his cheeks turn red.

"Um, sixteen?" He nervously admits, looking down at his shoes. It should not be that surprising, really. This one hasn't actually graduated yet.

Are the men in the salon getting younger, or am I just getting older? Are they simply dying? Either way, maybe, just maybe, I would have refused anyone tonight.

"Is this your first time here?" I inquire, smiling in order to soothe him.

"There was a bet," he doesn't even look up, "my friends are not here but… um…"

Poor boy.

"Is he bothering you?" A different voice speaks before the young junker can recover from the embarrassment. It belongs to a man standing right behind me, almost close enough to be whispering in my ear, a man I know. No. It can't be. I cautiously leave my seat and then turn around just as slowly.

He is not wearing a uniform, but black cotton trousers, a white shirt with a bow tied to his neck, and an elegant black tailcoat. As soon as my suspicions are confirmed, I swing my arm and slap the scoundrel.

"Lily!" The man who once called himself Vladimir rubs his cheek.

"You!" I move closer to the shameless conman. "You… you… sneaky, low-life, criminal, thief! Horrid… liar!"

I point my index finger at him, walk closer, and start poking his chest with it as I continue spitting out accusations.

"Lily, Lily! Relax", Vladimir steps away and grabs my shoulders to hold me back. He may be frowning, but he doesn't look angry, only worried. Maybe a bit surprised as well, surprised by how quickly I turned against him.

Well, what did he expect? I truly want to know what he expected. How shameless of him! And yet somewhere within me, the nonsensical feelings I had for him when I was nothing but a stupid, naïve, and inexperienced girl are resurfacing. It must be his voice, his eyes, and the way he is staring at me right now… like he is both threatened and endeared by me or something. Keep yourself in check, Lily!

"Leave her alone!" The future junker moves towards Vladimir threateningly. He must be very confused. I suddenly remember that we are in public, and looking around I am dismayed to see that the few people left in the bar are staring at us. I calmly untangle myself from Vladimirʼs arms and turn to face the boy, gently placing my extended palm on the young man's chest to keep him from potentially attacking my first lover.

I want someone to call the police, I want Vladimir punished for what he did to my father, but if I scream for attention now, he may not ever explain to me why he did what he did, whether I meant something to him… ugh, such sentimental nonsense! And thinking it through, I have no evidence against Vladimir but my word. He, on the other hand, has already covered his tracks, but most importantly, he knows something he could use against me.

I can't let him ruin what is left of my reputation. I have learned to risk it in a very careful and skillful way these past three years, but it is not in me to throw it all away in some silly emotional outburst.

"It is fine love", I calm the young student down while wearing the fakest of smiles. I then slap Vladimirʼs chest playfully. "This naughty, naughty gentleman over here had the nerve to cheat at a card game last week, you can't really blame me for being mad enough to cause a scene, can you?"

"Did that happen in this salon?" The naïve boy asks with genuine concern. "That is unacceptable! We can tell the owner, we can…"

"That will not be necessary dear", I immediately interrupt him.

"It won't be necessary because the lady is not telling the truth", Vladimir remarks with an annoying smirk that indicates he is more self confident than he deserves to be. The mere outrage causes me to momentarily break the act by giving him a death stare that conveniently lasts less than a second. "It was won fair and square, and I did warn her, I told her I was very good." Vladimir bursts into laughter as soon as he is done lying, probably to lighten the mood and get my chivalrous defender on his side.

"Oh please, mister!" I roll my eyes at him.

"You can call me Count Héndrikov", he corrects me with an evident air of superiority. Oh, so it is Héndrikov now. I raise my eyebrows.

"Well… Count Héndrikov", I put special emphasis on his fictional title, "will you excuse me for a moment?" I look at the student again, smile, and walk closer to him. "Tell your schoolboy friends", I whisper in his ear as I remove my left glove, "that we had a great time tonight."

I kiss his cheek before giving him the glove. The boy smiles and blushes as he takes it, and after staring at me in awe for a few more seconds, seemingly trying to find the right words to thank me, he clumsily starts walking away backwards, not without running into a couple that had just left their seats. I watch as he awkwardly apologizes and then finally returns to his table. I truly hope that his real first time is with someone he loves. Someone his own age, not an experienced serial seducer in search for money.

"That was very nice of you", Vladimir teases me. Apparently, he stayed close enough to listen to what I had to say to the young man. I turn to stare at him up and down.

"Well", I tell the conman, "as you more than anyone may understand, inexperience is only a treasure in women. For men, it is an embarrassment."

He smiles, and I almost melt. I remember looking at that same smile for the first time, in vastly different circumstances. I won't let it distract me though.

"Vladimir", I say, "or whoever you are…"

"Vladimir indeed", he reveals in a playful tone. "I didn't lie about that, Countess Malevsky-Malevich."

"Well Vladimir… I have some questions, and if you don't want me to disappear right in this instant, you are going to answer them."

Vladimir smirks as he tilts his head towards a table.

Oo

Foolish me! I can't believe I am letting him do this again.

As soon as we sit down, Vladimir becomes the one in charge, smooth-talking me into pouring my heart out once more. He is just so… nice. We hadn't even reached the table when he started showering me with compliments.

"As gorgeous as ever", he said, among many other things, "maybe even more so."

"Stop it", I would reply, and he would then crack a joke about the alleged power I have over him. Utter nonsense. Whenever I try to learn more about his life, he derails the conversation to silly, over-the-top, and clearly made-up anecdotes about his time hunting lions in Africa or searching for the lost city of Atlantis on the shores of Ireland with a bunch of scientists of questionable credentials. He obviously expects me to find them very amusing.

I hate feeling so powerless, but at least it is a bit different this time. I have learned from my mistake. I keep my answers short whenever he starts digging for information, and I don't reveal anything compromising about my husbandʼs businesses or properties.

"How is Polina?" He asks after I mention my favorite niece.

"Doing well, she is six years old", I answer truthfully, and I fail to avoid smiling.

"Is she pampered?"

"I bought her a doll yesterday," I smile again. "I do that almost every month because, truth be told, I can't help myself. My niece loved it, but the funniest part is she is always surprised somehow, like she doesn't expect her aunt will keep buying her stuff that will prove to be useless in a few years."

I start chuckling and make the mistake of looking straight into his eyes for longer than necessary. There is that smile of his again, those cheeky brown eyes. He hasn't changed much since we last met.

"Does your brother-in-law still drag Bogdana to church every day?" He banters. "Does he still fail at not embarrassing your mother at family events?"

"More like every hour, and yes to the second question", I grin, "but you know Dana, it doesn't bother her… anyways, my two other nieces are Alina and Gala. My sister Bogdana gave birth to Gala just last month."

"And you, dear?" He inquires. "No children yet?"

"More than two years and nothing," I explain. "I appear to be barren."

"Oh, Lily!" Vladimir exclaims melodramatically. "Don't tell me that, your heart, your vivacity… you would have been a terrific mother." He pauses for a moment before taking my right hand in his. "It must be very hard." I immediately pull away.

"Stop it!" I snap, banging my left hand against the table. "I have talked enough about myself, but I know nothing about you, nothing! I have no idea who you are, how is that fair?"

He opens his mouth to speak, but I interrupt him:

"And being barren isn't hard, what you did to me was! I told you everything about me, I opened up and you gave back nothing, instead you, you… how could you? How could you do that to me, to my fathe…?" My voice breaks before I am able to finish the sentence.

"I am sorry Lily," he says softly, very softly, which only manages to annoy me for some reason. "I know my way of living hurts people sometimes…"

"Sometimes?" I stand up, appalled. "Sometimes?!" Now I understand why I find everything he does irritating. I had harbored some hope that he would be genuinely sorry for what he did.

"It is what I do!" He grabs my naked hand to stop me from leaving. "But I regret the fact our paths crossed the way they did."

"Let go!" I struggle to break free.

"I wish you had come", he says.

"What?" I stop moving and frown at him. "What are you talking about?"

"I asked you to meet me at Summer Garden in three days if you wanted to come with me to Paris, but you refused."

He did. The shock of his betrayal had almost made me forget, but I am not standing for his blatant attempt at diffusing the blame.

"And so you deceived my father? Was that some twisted form of revenge?" I ask, raising my voice. "I swear, Vladimir, if you think I will apologize for refusing to run away with you in only three days when you still promised to take me to Paris someday in the future and even gave me that fictional business card to contact you…"

"No, no, I don't expect an apology", he shakes his head and lets go of my hand, "please, Lily, we are in public."

I give him a death stare. There is nothing I would love more than blowing his new cover, but I decide against it. "Admit it," I murmur, walking closer to him and looking straight into his eyes, "you wouldn't have given up on your scheme, you wouldn't have taken me to Paris even if I had met you at that, that… stupid park!"

"Lily", he breathes deeply, and I can almost hear his thoughts. I could deduce his next excuse.

"You would have played with my feelings for a while longer and then tricked my father without an ounce of remorse."

He doesn't reply but simply looks down. A minute goes by, a minute during which we are both very silent.

"So you do admit it?" I ask in a hushed tone. More silence. It is clear now: I have to end this charade. "I will never forgive you for what you did." I storm out of the salon as fast as possible, but I can't keep Vladimir from following me.

It is dark, but the street lamps provide enough light to walk without getting lost. I stop and stand on the sidewalk, intending to wait for a carriage. Then I realize that Vladimir is following me, so I change my mind. I start running. It is decided, I will run or walk until he gets tired of playing this stupid game.

"You said you knew nothing about me!" He yells behind me. I roll my eyes, slowing down nonetheless, after all, what can I lose? "You are right", I hear him say.

Is he going to tell me something about himself? I stop walking altogether, feeling far too curious. Vladimir approaches me.

"How do I know you won't turn me over if I give you my surname?" He mutters in a barely audible way. I turn around, and for the first time since I met him, I sense an air of vulnerability in the way he looks at me.

"You don't", I answer, "but lets be honest, would that ever stop you?" I give him a half-smile, a smile he returns.

"No", he admits, "it would not."

"Well…" I shrug. "There you have it."

"Popov, my real full name is Vladimir Igorovich Popov, but you can call me Vlad."

Oo

We spend the next hour walking by the Neva River, engaging in deep conversation just like we did the night we met. He finally tells me his life story, or at least what I hope really is his life story.

Born in a small Siberian village, Vladimir never met his father, as he died during an epidemic before he was even born, along with his brothers and sisters. The mother died a few years later when Vlad was just six. I feel sorry for him upon hearing about this.

"My mother is the only woman I have ever loved", he claims, "other than… maybe you, dear."

He stares at me seductively, half smiling. Not falling for the adulation, I roll my eyes and pretty much order him to continue telling the story. Vlad is a sophisticated liar. I have never held power over him, but the more he lets out, the more I forget.

Turns out that Vlad didn't have any close relatives, but he had a few distant cousins. The five lads were a bunch of nomad thieves with no lands and little property of their own. They traveled on carts through different towns and villages begging, stealing, and selling handmade items every now and then. Baskets and such.

It seems to me that those rascals took Vlad in only because they knew that a young child his age would be more successful than them at eliciting sympathy.

"They weren't very nice to me," Vladimir remembers, "but what can I say? I had food and shelter, and soon enough I learned to look out for myself."

It is very distressing to think about, but sure he did. He became a master at manipulation, sometimes using fake crutches and stories to maximize his earnings. He begged, something those wretched boys forced him to do. Whenever Vlad brought back less money than usual, his cousins would surely beat him.

Once Vlad grew a bit too old to inspire a ton of pity among the townsfolk, the young men allowed him to join them in their acts of banditry. One day, however, the youthful delinquents made the terrible mistake of joining a larger criminal gang made up of cunning adults looking out only for themselves. Vlad and his cousins were given weapons and then made to participate in a train robbery that went really, really badly.

Vlad and his cousins had unfortunately been set up to be caught. Being quite young, Vladimir was not punished as harshly as his relatives were and was simply taken to an orphanage. He was sixteen by the time he left.

"It was ultimately for the best", Vlad says. "I learned to read and write, and then I spent a year working in the fields for a rich peasant family."

After that, Vladimir moved to St. Petersburg hoping to become a hotel clerk, but his old lifestyle was too hard to leave behind.

"For the first time in my life, I witnessed firsthand what true wealth was and I wanted a piece", he explains. "So I observed. As a small child I had learned to observe the mannerisms and behaviors of the people I encountered in order to imitate them, to act out what I suspected they wanted from me, but only then did I become a master at it."

"So one day a count stayed at the hotel and you decided to try your luck?" I tease him.

"Not exactly", he chuckles. "Before I got to the point where I felt confident enough to do that, I simply learned to behave the right way, the way that would ensure the greatest tips."

"Well, isn't that harmless?" I ask sarcastically. "What turned you into a monster?"

"Not so harmless, rose", he smirks, "you wouldn't know how many lovely women I met in that hotel."

I raise an eyebrow at him.

"Although none as lovely as you", he adds with a slight bow. "As to what turned me into a monster as you so unkindly say, well, you could say Afasy Denisovich, art forger, and my dear mentor." He finishes with the biggest grin on his face.

Vladimir learned a lot from him, and soon enough he wasn't only selling fake paintings but also scamming tourists, stealing identities, and selling fake documents. Most recently, Vlad has become a semi-regular member of Grand Duchess Maria Pavlovnaʼs court. It makes me slightly jealous to think he may even get invited to her events far more often than I am.

"And where is Afasy now?" I ask. "Do you still see him?"

It would not have surprised me if they had had a falling out over who gets what percentage for each of their cons or whatever.

"The man was already old when I met him, he passed away a long time ago", Vladimir looks down. "He was the closest thing to a father I ever had."

He slows down, sighs, and looks at the river. I too stare at the horizon. We stop strolling and stand side by side without touching. Seems to me that Afasy really meant a lot to him.

"I lost my father recently", I feel safe enough to confess, for Vlad has poured his heart out or at least some of it, he has done what I have required of him. "Less than a year ago, a heart attack… I hadn't gone out alone without my husband in months."

Vladimir sighs. "Lily…" he begins. "What I said earlier…"

"I know."

"I meant it, I hurt people, it is what I do, but I really do regret that our paths happened to cross."

"But you don't regret your actions?" I cross my arms while not-so-secretly judging him.

"And I do like you", he dodges the question. "I liked you since the moment I saw you, my most exquisite rose…"

He takes my hand, the one still covered by the glove, and starts caressing it. "You were not only the prettiest", he continues. "But the friendliest little social butterfly in the ball, no other girl seemed so at ease …"

I am about to pull away when my pride consumes me. It is consuming me, and now I only want to hear what he has to say, just a little bit... but I can't let him know that, so I turn my face away and haughtily raise my chin up, pretending to be having none of it.

"And the way you danced so gracefully", he dares to kiss my hand.

"Oh, how silly you are", I place my opposite forearm over my forehead in an admittedly melodramatic manner, but I don't get any response from him, so I stare at him intensely and add: "Oh, what nonsense were you trying to make me believe?"

And it works, he proceeds with the flattering by telling me that the day we met, the way I gently guided him to dance melted his heart. By the time he is done sweet-talking to me, I am holding on to his arm as we walk side by side. I am also horrified to realize I have been unwittingly batting my eyelashes excessively and caressing my own face dramatically. And Vladimir, he is staring at me with that half-smile I know too well, our sign. I know what he wants, but the loss of my father still stings.

"Stop doing that", I tell him.

"Doing what?" He asks in a deceivingly innocent-sounding tone.

"That half-smile!" I untangle my arm from his. "It is our sign, but I can't do anything tonight, Vlad, you know I can't and you probably know why."

"That smile is our sign?" He gasps exaggeratedly. "But why, dear? That is way too subtle, any smile directed at you could be our sign and you know that I can't help but smile when I see you." He grabs my cheeks gently as he finishes that last sentence, but I play hard to get and pull away.

"But what should our sign be if not a half-smile?" I ask.

Vlad places his right hand on his chest and starts wiggling his fingers. I immediately burst into laughter.

"What?" He stops moving his fingers and stares at me with false shock. "You didn't like that one? How about this one?" He pinches the lower side of his earlobe and starts frantically moving it back and forward. Lastly, he rubs the tip of his right fingers through his forehead.

By the time Vlad stops coming up with wild ideas for our sign, I am laughing so hard I can barely breathe.

After an hour of shameless and exaggerated flirting that is interrupted only by Vlad's jokes, he and I keep chatting. Our conversation is less depressing this time. Less depressing in the sense that it is about someone else's problem, but less depressing nonetheless.

I hear about the murder of Vyacheslav Konstantinovich von Plehve, the Minister of Interior, for the first time. He was killed by a socialist terrorist group not even a week ago, but I didn't know about it. A bomb was thrown into his horse-drawn carriage.

I am too dumbfounded to speak.

"Oh, yes," Vlad insists when he takes notice of my reaction. "How is it that you didn't know already? It is all over the newspapers! And your hundreds of fancy high society friends? What is it that you talk about with them?"

I am instantly annoyed by his blatantly condescending tone.

"Clothes, Vladimir," I answer harshly, turning away from him, "clothes, jewels, and gossip, is that what you wanted to hear?"

"Oh don't be mad dear", he comes from behind and gently takes hold of my shoulders.

"Why should I care about any of that?" I turn around and face him. "It affects me in no way."

"But dear, don't you know? If the socialists ever took over the country, you would certainly lose everything you hold dear".

"Is that so?" I cross my arms. "Well, the police will handle all those bomb-throwing savages, socialists or otherwise."

"Oh… well dear, I wouldn't call them savages, don't get me wrong, it would be incredibly inconvenient for me if any of them... succeded, so to speak, a bit more than anticipated, but they have good motives. I have traveled, there are many freedoms we don't have in Russia that some other nations take for granted…"

"Since when do you know so much about socialists?"

"I know all sorts of people", he states confidently, with a fire in his eyes that makes him look all the more attractive. I remember what he has revealed to me about his illegal activities and connect the dots. Revolutionaries must be in need of his fake papers more than any other group of people, and Vladimir seems to take great pride in being able to get away with anything. A match made in hell.

"Well," I touch his shoulders seductively while pretending to be doing so with the sole purpose of wiping off some dust. "I will have you know, Vladimir, that I know people as well."

"You do?" He encourages me to continue with a smile.

"One of my English friends, Alice, you remember Alice, right?"

He nods, and I continue:

"Alice told me that one time, a fairly well-educated Russian woman, one of those who absolutely adores making a fuss about everything, you know, not so much, but a bit like my sister is… or was, you know the story of my sister, right?"

Vlad nods again, and I feel a bit silly for asking. Of course he knows, I told him almost everything about me.

"Well," I proceed, "a woman of little less education than my sister Evgeniya was talking to my British friend about the alleged lack of freedom in Russia. Alice told her that she would have little more of it in England than she already did here and that everywhere people needed to work for a living, keep the laws, and follow them. This fuss maker was greatly amazed and asked Alice if they had laws in England. When Alice explained that they do and that just like in Russia, people who break them speedily find themselves in prison, the Russian woman was greatly amazed. 'Prisons in free England!' She exclaimed, and she then went on to ask what was forbidden to people in England, becoming increasingly amazed when given a list of examples. In the end, she thanked Alice and told her she would no longer meet with those trouble-making groups at her university who had been telling her she was only a slave."

Oo

Vlad invites me to the restaurant of the hotel he is staying at. It is fairly elegant, and the wine is excellent. I order caviar and stroganoff, a dish of sautéed pieces of beef served in a sauce with sour cream. He orders the same thing.

As we have dinner, Vlad tells me truly interesting things about his adventures. He really is well-traveled. Alexander and I have only been to Europe. France, England, and Switzerland primarily, but Vlad's lifestyle has taken him as far as Asia, where he has also ruined the lives of dozens of unsuspecting innocents, I presume.

We talk about Paris a lot, as we both love the city. The art, the architecture, so similar to that of St. Petersburg, and the fact it is the capital of fashion. He tells me about his cons as well. Fake art, fake jewels, and fake businesses. He told me, straight to my face, that he trusts me to keep his secrets because he knows who my husband is. There is no end to his lack of shame.

After he describes to me the cultural differences between Japan and Russia, the conversation inevitably shifts to the current war.

"All the officers had told me that if there ever was a war with Japan, it would not be necessary to fire a single shot," I remember, "that all they had to do was throw their caps at the Japanese and then those monkeys would be running. Guess they were wrong."

"Wrong indeed", Vlad agrees, "we underestimated our enemy, the Japanese are very disciplined, and I don't think it is going to be easy to continue supplying our large army with the trans-Siberian railroad still incomplete."

"But surely you can't be so pessimist!" I exclaim. "No Asian nation has ever defeated a European power, never! Russia can't be the first to suffer such humiliation."

Vlad shrugs.

"It can't", I insist. "Can it?"

"We will have to see" is his only reply. He quickly changes the subject. "At least we have the Tsar's uncle, Grand Duke Alexei Alexandrovich, as our admiral!"

"Oh, don't remind me! All the officers say he is known for fast women and slow ships only!"

"He probably knows more about jewels and undergarments than anything useful", Vlad chuckles.

We move on to gossip about Cyril and Boris, two of the sons of Grand Duke Vladimir and his wife Miechen. They are both in the navy, although Cyril's battleship was blown up just this April and the Grand Duke barely escaped with his life. He has since been invalidated out of service due to his burns and back injuries.

"That way he has more time for his Victoria", I grin. Everyone knows that Cyril is in love with the ex-wife of the Tsarina's brother.

"And Boris can have the rest", Vlad playfully adds, referring to Boris's womanizing ways.

"Well, it is even said in the 'Neva' salon that Boris has a bastard son dropped somewhere in France."

"I bet", Vlad says. "Speaking of sons, the Empress is pregnant again, did you hear?"

"I heard, I hope for the sake of Russia that it is a boy, otherwise it will be pretty much confirmed that the German woman can't do anything right."

"Don't worry dear", Vlad murmurs with a grin, signaling me to come closer. "I heard from a good source that it is going to be a boy."

"A good source?" I ask, skeptically and without even bothering to lower my tone of voice. This can't be anything serious.

"A little peasant fortuneteller told me", Vladimir confirms my suspicions.

"Oh dear, those sorts of things have never attracted my attention. Many of my friends have asked me to assist those spiritualist sessions with them, and I have. They are fun, but I genuinely find them nonsensical."

"No Lily, trust me, she was different. I found her selling flowers and handmade embroidered shirts and garments in Moscow. Just a little girl, no older than ten, her name was Doroteya."

"It is strange you remember her name," I raise my eyebrows. "I believe your so-called profession must make forgetting names a requirement at times so as not to allow any feelings of empathy to get in the way."

"Oh! Who do you take me for?" He exclaims in feigned outrage. I roll my eyes playfully.

"Come on, it must make things easier", I tease him.

"It sure does", he chuckles.

"So I will take your word for it, this little girl told you the future."

"She just seemed genuine in her excitement", he shrugs.

"I do pity her now though…" I sigh.

"The little peasant seer?"

"No, Vlad, the Empress."

"Oh, yes, the poor Empress, how could I have forgotten?" Vlad jests. "How will she stand all that nasty criticism? All she has are those yachts and palaces for comfort." He starts laughing.

"It is genuinely out of her control," I point out, ignoring him. "The only difference is that I never cared much for having children of my own, not when I have my nieces that is. My poor father is dead, so he will never know of my failure to save the family name, and it is almost a joy to disappoint my mother, so... whatever, but the Empress…"

"Things haven't changed between you and your mother, huh?"

"They haven't", I shake my head and look down. "And our relationship only deteriorated after my wedding."

We have a small chat about my mother. She doesn't know about any of my affairs, but that is fine, for there are endless other flaws she can nitpick about me, of course, including my childlessness. The fact I can't hide my irritation towards her helps us in no way, so we have barely spoken these past few years.

Since my father died, mama has been sending me countless letters asking for us to meet again, mentioning how miserable she feels. I haven't answered any of them. She has Bogdana either way, it is not like she can't get by. And yet, how I wish that I didn't have all of those embarrassing dreams and fantasies about making her proud!

I decide to change the subject when the pastries arrive. I don't want to talk about that woman while eating dessert, it will only sour the experience.

"I agree that the Empress is a prude", I casually bring up the subject again, "and I haven't forgotten what she did to me, but I can't help but sympathize with her situation. With the war going on she must be under a lot of pressure to give the country good news, and all that work she is doing to support the war effort must be a terrible bore. It has been hard for everyone." I sigh.

"It has been hard for you, dear?" He asks with a tone of incredulity.

"Well of course", I answer nonchalantly, but then, after about half a minute, I become aware of Vladimir's mocking expression.

He doesn't understand, of course he doesn't. His life was particularly hard until relatively recently, and so he thinks this gives him the right to mock those of us who have always had vastly different problems.

"I feel poor, all right?!" I exclaim. "Is it really that hard to believe? Before the war, I could spend as much as I pleased on clothes, jewels, furniture, Fabergé eggs for my friends, and… well, that is it, now I can't, happy?! My husband and I have to finance all those stupid hospitals, as well as my sister Bognana's silly pet charities for the war orphans. Even my ladies-in-waiting sense my distress. Last week, the party I hosted didn't last as long as they usually do because we could only afford the musicians for six hours, and the way things are going I don't know what is going to happen to my annual folk dance winter party, I need lots of dancers, do you see what I am going thro…?"

The sound of Vlad's laughter makes me lose my train of thought.

"What?!" I snap. "Why are you laughing, Vlad?"

"Poor girl!" Vlad exclaims, gently caressing my chin. "My beautiful rose can't afford her fancy orchestra for more than six hours a week!"

He keeps laughing.

"It is not funny!" I slap his hand away from my face. "The only reason I married Alexander is so that I wouldn't have to feel sorry for wanting a good life."

"Well dear, why don't you tell your husband that?"

"I am not going to complain out loud about feeling morally obligated to donate money, not when good men are offering their lives for our nation, are you kidding me?"

"And yet you do complain out loud, to me, it seems you still trust me."

"Oh, shut up", I roll my eyes. "My closest friends know, you are not that special."

"You are a nice woman, Lily", he says with apparent sincerity, but I look down, sighing. I know myself better. I have never been as good as papa would have wanted me to be, as he thought I was.

"For doing the bare minimum?" I ask.

He raises his hands as if surrendering, and I chuckle. We stay silent for a while during which he stuffs his face with pastries.

"And you?" I inquire when he finishes chewing. "Are you doing anything for our nation during these trying times? Or does your lack of convictions remain present during wartime?"

"I think you know the answer to that", he replies without an ounce of shame as he wipes his face with a handkerchief.

"Don't you worry you may be called for service?" I use my own handkerchief to wipe off some whipped cream from his trimmed beard, a beard that wasn't there before. I liked him with a simple twirled mustache, but I must admit this new look of his is growing on me.

"Don't worry about me, flower, I learned how to dodge military service a long time ago, I have my ways."

"Of course you did", I scoff, leaving the handkerchief on the table. I am appalled, but also completely unsurprised. He can change his identity as easily as he does clothes... or grows facial hair.

"So, how come I haven't seen you at Miechen's parties?" He asks.

"I prefer those of the Dowager Empress, so maybe that is why we haven't coincided", I say. "Minnie is much classier."

Truth be told, I barely know the Dowager Empress, and I have only assisted some of her balls, so I really shouldn't be calling her that, but a friend introduced her to me one time.

Maria Feodorovna was nice, fun, and attentive, so I hope that in time, we can form something resembling a friendship. I just don't want Vlad to think that he has or even deserves a greater number of prestigious friends than I do. He is a fraud for God's sake!

"Grand Duchess Maria Pavlova has a great sense of humor though, you are surely missing a lot", Vlad argues. "The stories she tells are gold. Back in 1894, only a few weeks after the Tsar's death, she couldn't help herself and tried to drag a very displeased Grand Duke Konstantin Konstantinovich to dance, period of mourning be damned!"

I can't help but burst into laughter at the dark humor, and neither can Vladimir.

"Oh, how loyal of the duke to refuse", I laugh.

"I am serious", he insists, grinning. "It really happened."

"To be honest, Vlad, I suspect that a certain snake, my so-called friend Elizabeta, has been feeding Miechen gossip of some sort, gossip about me, because it has been a while since I was last invited to any of her events. I don't mind as much because I have plenty of my own, not to mention the fact that I have dozens of friends who invite me to their own balls, but still, it hurts a little bit, and more so the fact that Elizabeta is becoming cold and distant when we used to be such good friends…"

Oo

"I am not going along with your sneaky plan Vlad", I repeat again and again for what seems like the tenth time.

Vlad has been offering to investigate what Elizabeta is up to in order to make sure I am back in Miechen's good graces. He will do so by infiltrating Elizabeta's friend group and befriending her, but I suspect he will be using any means necessary, some of which may definitely arouse my jealousy.

I am about to protest again when he kisses me, chastely, then passionately. I stop thinking and kiss him back. He had been moving his chair closer without me noticing.

Vlad is just so warm, so attractive and familiar.

"Can you warm my hand?" I ask him, referring to my left hand, the one without the glove.

"But it is summer dear", he answers softly. When I stare at him longingly in response, Vladimir starts caressing my hand, then kissing it, and then slowly moving and kissing all the way up to my lips until we are kissing passionately again.

Oh, how I missed him! No man has ever made me feel this way. I may even love him, and I think deep down, despite everything, he loves me as well.

"All right", I concede once the kiss is over, leaning on his shoulder. "I accept your help."

Vlad does behave like a gentleman in the end, accepting my refusal to spend the night with him and stopping a carriage for me, but before that, he dares to ask me to meet him at Summer Garden tomorrow evening so that we can arrange a little escapade to Peterhof. I could not believe my ears and refused, until he kissed me one more time that is.

"Go to Summer Garden and try your luck, maybe I will indeed be there", I finally said.

I have a lot of time to think during my ride back home. Maybe I am too cynical, but I have listened to Vladimir rave about cheating people left and right without an ounce of regret all while doing nothing to support the war effort, after forging his way out of any possible form of recruitment no less. This has made me feel a bit better about myself.

At least I have patronized plenty of hospitals and even visited the wounded on one occasion. I couldn't stomach it, sure, but I try to do my best with what I have. What I have is money.

I am a saint compared to Vladimir! I chuckle at the thought. An adulterous saint indeed.

And I hate myself for it, truly… but to be honest, I am meeting him at Summer Garden this time. I want to see Vladimir Popov again, and I want us to go to Peterhof together for a week at least. It would do wonders for my pride and overall happiness.

Chapter Text

St. Petersburg, summer 1904.

The winters of St. Petersburg are long and cold, with a Sun that raises late in the morning and is already down by the early afternoon. The cold wind blows like a whip and the Neva River remains frozen from November to March. When the ice finally breaks, it sounds as if the water roared like a bear coming out of its cave.

Then comes spring. The Neva flows, it smells like lilacs, and the darkness slowly gives way to the “Midnight Sun”, a period from late May to early July in which the city glows almost all day long and the sky is never truly dark.

St. Petersburg is a city of contrast and massive inequality. It was founded on the tears and corpses of the common people and still stands on them. It is also the center of the hereditary nobility, although less than a tenth of the population could be classified as such.

In this great industrial center live plenty of priests, merchants, business owners, and educated professionals. Most numerous are the common folk of peasant origin, the majority of whom are artisans or industrial workers. Cobblers, carpenters, painters, laundresses, bathhouse attendants, groundskeepers, and cab drivers are among other inhabitants of the city.

Many of the peasants in St. Petersburg are seasonal workers who travel to the city every winter to find a job, only to return to their lands when spring comes. Ivan Ruslanovich Sudayev used to be one of them. An increase in the exactions of landlords made him and his younger brother Ilya move to the city permanently along with their families.

Ivan misses the countryside, and he can tell his children do as well, pathetically. All those who leave for good do, it seems to be a common occurrence, but he simply has nothing left there.

Ivan and Ilya traded a hard life working in the fields for an outright hellish one at the foundry, which consists of excessive hours, dangerous working conditions, low wages, and living together with more than twenty other people in a small, miserable apartment.

Ivan can't count with the fingers of his hands and feet combined the number of children he has known to have died from the many illnesses that plague the crowded and miserable hole he and his family call home. Four of his children and all of his brother's are among them.

The 30-year-old Ivan looks decades older, his long, dirty beard accentuating the effect his most recent occupation has had on him. Nothing further from the young red-haired man with bright ocean blue eyes and handsome face he was when he first arrived at the city winters ago.

Metal casting is hard and dangerous work. Noise, nasty chemicals, poor lighting, high temperatures, and molten metal are the only words needed to explain why.

One of Ivan's friends stumbled and almost dropped the container while pouring the molten metal into the cast. The bright liquid substance splashed out into his arms and half of his face, burning him. He can't use his upper limbs anymore, that is for sure, and his face is almost unrecognizable.

The manager fired and replaced the unfortunate man almost immediately, and Kostya became yet another mouth for Ivan and Ilya to feed. Ivan hasn't seen his once happy-go-lucky friend smile ever since.

"I heard some neighboring factories have gone on strike recently, I am sure that is what you and your friends really want, don't you, Sudayev?" The ugly manager pompously remarks. "Well, why don't you go ahead already?"

It is no wonder why the workers at the Polunin Metal Works Factory look up to Ivan as their leader. He is always mothering them around, making sure that they don't exert themselves to the limit, encouraging them to drink water, urging them to be careful with the machinery and avoid doing anything stupid.

The workers agree that if anyone can get the managers to listen, that is Ivan, the one who, along with his brother, managed to convince the owner of the foundry not to lower their salaries a month before.

A new challenge arises every season though, a new threat or attempt to diminish the workersʼ rights. Ivan and Ilya are standing before their direct supervisor in the main office, which is located across the street from the much-dreaded workplace.

"We don't want any of that", Ivan replies, "we just want our grievances heard."

The manager sitting on the chair behind the desk bursts into laughter. The laughter is excessive, exaggerated even, so much so that he almost falls from throwing his head back far too suddenly. "What are you talking about?" He asks. "I am forced to listen to you every week."

Although fat, Mr. Balabanov is actually not that ugly, but Ivan reckons that his attitude often accentuates his least flattering facial features. Ilya gives his brother an angry look, a look that is not actually directed at him. Ivan gets the message.

"These meetings accomplish nothing", the worker argues. "We are still overworked, underpaid, and I have identified certain safety hazards that haven't been addressed."

"I don't understand you people", Balabanov objects. "We have had thousands of workers performing their tasks in the same conditions for years and only now has it become popular to bite the hand that feeds you."

"Fourteen hours a day is too much", Ilya asserts, "we have lives, we should be able to see our families without being on the brink of exhaustion each night… my nephew is dying..."

His voice betrays immense emotion, something that easily produces a similar effect on Ivan, whose sight starts to become just slightly blurry.

"If I cut your hours I would also have to do the same with your salary", Balabanov repeats the same argument he uses whenever anyone mentions the subject. He has lightened a cigarette and is now casually resting his feet on the desk.

"That would not be acceptable", Ilya complains. "We barely make enough to survive as it is, and the cost of living has only increased since the war started."

Balabanov doesn't seem to be paying much attention to the conversation. In fact, he smokes calmly for almost a minute as the brothers wait for an answer in silence. "Fewer hours would mean more men needed to cover your shift", he finally explains absentmindedly after a while. "It is either fewer hours along with less pay or nothing, we can't afford more workers without suffering considerable losses."

"The law limits the workday to eleven and a half hours", Ivan dares articulate, something that takes much courage to do.

Mr. Balabanovʼs careless demeanor disappears. He slowly removes his feet from the table, straightens up, and leaves his cigarette in the glass ashtray without putting it out.

"You illiterate swine!" He almost growls. "You have no idea what you are talking about!"

"Clearly someone more knowledgeable has made me aware", Ivan insists, wishing he could also say that his attempts to teach himself how to read have been successful, but he barely has time to spend with his three children. Ivan met two people recently though, two people who have filled his head with hopes and dreams, people who have helped him deal with the pain of reality, with the most recent horror his family has had to endure, maybe the worst and most torturous. One of those two people has explained in depth the workersʼ rights to Ivan. There is only one problem. Those two individuals are complete opposites.

"You are lucky I am not firing you right at this instant", the manager continues, making Ivanʼs heart skip a beat. "That law does not apply to small workshops, you don't know anything, you and your little assembly have got nothing on us."

Is that so? The Polunin Metal Works Factory is hardly a small workshop, Ivan thinks. The place where his son used to work is, but even if the foundry were a small workshop indeed, that wouldn't make it in any way acceptable for the workers to be exploited and treated as less than human. Something is not right, it sounds like nonsense, the owners must have pulled some strings with the bureaucrats…

The sad truth is that Ivan wouldn't know how to debunk the humiliating rebuttal. He is using what is left of his mental energy to keep himself from pouring all of his rage out on his so-called superior.

The two workers remain standing awkwardly with little to say.

"What else?!" The impatient office worker glares at them. Ivan doesn't feel capable of speaking at the moment, but his brother fortunately saves him from any further embarrassment.

"The conditions are unsanitary", Ilya says. "We would like to ask for a day reserved for mopping the floors, among other things.

"It is also summer, two people have already passed out from the heat, it is like a furnace inside, we need better ventilation, so perhaps another window can be opened."

Having recovered from the unease, Ivan starts to talk about the factory's old and deficient equipment, but the meeting time is up before he can do so in depth.

"I will ask my superiors about it, now get the hell out of my sight", Balabanov puts the cigarette back in his mouth. As soon as the two brothers have walked out of the office, he yells at them to get back to work, as if they even needed a reminder.

Oo

"How did it go?" The old Nikita asks Ivan and Ilya when they return. Many of the workers stop what they are doing and approach them in order to listen.

"Like always", Ivan shrugs.

"Damn them!" Another worker, Michael, curses. "You should have threatened a strike!"

"Do you want to be beaten?" Ilya hoots. "Cause that is how you end up black and blue, remember what happened to idiot Pasha from the textile factory just five blocks away?"

"I am tired of you acting like it was his fault and not that of the police, Ilya", Ivan points out with a stern look directed at his brother. "Same thing happened last time with Kostya, when he both know very well it was the administration that made us work without fixing the defective equipment and uneven flooring."

Ilya shakes his head and looks back at Ivan with an irritated expression, but the other workers nod in agreement.

"You are so right, Vanya!" Michael punches Ivan on the arm playfully. "Those bastards want us to pretend that they are not walking all over us!"

"I have organized strikes before though", Ivan recalls. "It doesn't end up well, it never ends well, and we are not supposed to do that anymore."

You and your family were homeless for a month, Ivan reminds himself. And your brother was punished for something that was your idea.

"I think everything we talked about earlier should be brought up in the next assembly meeting", Nikita proposes, and turning towards their informal leader, adds: "You and your brother could intercede on our behalf."

"I don't think that will help", Ivan looks down. He has always been overprotective of everyone around him, quick to defend people and talk back whenever he finds something unfair. Little did he know as a small child that hundreds of seemingly unfair things weren't considered so at all by the only people who mattered. Ivan doesn't want his children growing up in this cruel and unfair world where fate arbitrarily decides whether one is to be treated with dignity, but he is running out of time. He is running out of time and something in the back of his mind is favoring the more extreme path life has given him as an opportunity.

"What do you mean it won't help?" Ilya asks. "Father Gapon is a good and honest man of God, I do trust him. We could also ask him for advice."

Pheveʼs death did not destroy his Assembly of Russian Factory and Mill Workers, a legal workersʼ organization created and secretly controlled by the police. The associationʼs main objective is to channel the workersʼ economic grievances away from the government and in the direction of the employers.

Despite feeling threatened, most factory and mill owners prefer to have an organization watched and controlled by the police making demands rather than lose their workers to the dangerous clandestine socialist and anarchist propagandists.

The leader of the movement is Father George Gapon, a 34-year-old priest from a Ukrainian Cossack family who has spent much of his adult life studying ways to help the poor and sick. Despite working for the police, Gaponʼs interest in the people is genuine, and he has worked and preached in the working-class districts of St. Petersburg for a few years. With his efforts, Gapon hopes not only to improve the status of the Russian workmen in accordance with what he believes is Christian, but to strengthen the workers' monarchist feelings.

Some of the people Father George Gapon preaches to suspect his connections to the police, but the vast majority of the workers are happy enough with the idea of being able to meet and protest.

"All right", Ivan rolls his eyes. "I will see what I can do." His heart is already somewhere else though.

"Get back to work!" One of the overseers shouts, quickly breaking up the rather informal meeting.

Oo

The Nevsky Prospect and Sadovaia Street are major boundaries symbolizing the division between the poor and the privileged in St. Petersburg. The former is a big boulevard that runs through the city center, its flanks adorned with palaces and big houses meant for royalty and nobility as well as expensive shops, restaurants, and banks. Almost every early afternoon, ladies dressed up in the latest fashions can be seen walking down the Nevsky accompanied by their servants. Bureaucrats, military men in fancy uniforms, businessmen, bankers, and lawyers also parade through the prestigious street.

Likewise running through the city center is Sadovaina Street, which cuts across the Nevsky Prospect. Sadovaina is to the common folk what the Nevsky is to the privileged. The unpretentious avenue is filled with markets where hundreds of middle and lower-class merchants sell goods made by artisans. Small places to eat such as soup diners and teahouses can also be found down Sadovaina Street, beggars and prostitutes occasionally frequenting some of those places.

Beyond the city center and almost hidden from the Nevsky's view, there are northern, southern, and eastern districts riddled with factories and sad little workersʼ apartments and shacks where every night the streets fill with oil and dirt-covered men, women, and children on their way home, or their next shift if they are unlucky.

One such nightfall, a long-haired man with a dark beard walked through one of the poorest slums in the city. With his big cross hanging on his chest like a weapon, Father George Gapon was on his way to visit the Sudayev brothers and their families.

Oo

When he enters the small apartment, Gapon is met by a horrible smell and the dreadful but familiar sound of babies crying. Gapon understands these poor people have limited running water, but not even after all of these years can he get used to the odor. How can anyone live like this? He wonders.

There is little to no furniture. He finds at least five women crowded to the left, mostly sleeping with their many children. Some of them are still awake, soothing their restless infants. They smile at Gapon when he enters.

There are very few men, and the priest presumes the war may have something to do with the reason why. Everyone is wearing the simplest of peasant clothes. Loose dark pants or dresses, black caps and boots, and formerly white shirts soiled by grime that can be buttoned up to the neck. The clock is the most luxurious object in the apartment.

Right in front of him is Ivan, waiting for him expectantly. Father Gapon knows he has been courted by a member of a dangerous organization who has been filling the good, hardworking, and honest manʼs head with treacherous ideas. The priest hopes he can stop and encourage him to stand up for his rights and those of his coworkers in a different way.

To the right is Ilya, carrying on his lap a skinny little boy with black hair and eyes that match the dirt on his face. He can't be older than four, and yet he is holding a small crying baby in his arms, whispering comforting words.

"It is all right Sonya", he says with a tiny voice before kissing her face, "everything is fine, he is a friend, yes he is." Two more kisses and the baby has calmed down significantly. This warms the priestʼs heart.

Even further to the right and next to a lamp on top of the only table Gapon has seen, a man sits on the furthermost corner of the apartment near the altar where all the religious icons are placed. The priest doesn't initially notice the horrible burns that cover half his face, but he does when the man turns to look at him. The pitiful soul immediately regrets doing so when he sees the priestʼs pained reaction, so he hides his face back in the shadows.

Behind the Sudayev brothers is an older boy sleeping on a bed. He is covered by thin gray blankets and looks rather ill. The woman tending to him must be either Maria, Ilyaʼs wife, or Ivanʼs wife Natalia.

"Father Gapon?" Ivan asks.

"Yes?" The priest acknowledges him.

"It has been a while since we last met, I am glad you came."

It has been quite a few months indeed. They met briefly after Gapon preached around their district. Ivan and Ilya were convinced to join the assembly.

"These are Maria and Andrei," Ilya informs Father Gapon from his seat, pointing at the woman with the dark brown headscarf who is placing a wet cloth on the ill childʼs forehead, "and this one over here is Dmitri, with little Sophia."

The little boy on Ilyaʼs lap smiles widely. "He is our uncle!" He exclaims loudly and enthusiastically, looking briefly at a grinning Ilya.

"Hush, Dima", Ivan gently reprimands his son. "The adults are talking, and your brother doesn't feel too well."

The priest gives both father and son an understanding smile. The child in bed has the same red hair his father and uncle have. The adult Sudayev brothers also share the same blue eyes, but Ivan is a bit leaner and shorter despite being the oldest.

"You sent for me", Father Gapon notes.

"Yes", Ivan affirms. "We work at the Polunin Metal Works Factory."

"I know, I remember you and your brother very well. You organized a strike in your previous workshop, correct?"

"Yes, but now we are part of the Assembly of Russian Factory and Mill Workers, and we bring our grievances to you."

"But why did we have to meet here?" Gapon inquires, gesturing with his hands to emphasize the inadequate surroundings. "We have offices to meet and I am a very busy man, busy for you all and for God."

"If you are too busy…" Ivan scoffs with annoyance, giving his back to Gapon and turning his attention towards his bedridden son.

Just like I had suspected, Ivan thinks, Gapon is just like the rest, thinking of me and those I love most as inferior, an afterthought, not worth their time.

"I am here!" The priest loudly reminds Ivan. Gaponʼs work is hard, and encountering people with difficult tempers only makes it harder.

Ivan sighs, faces Gapon again, and starts explaining what he tried to communicate to his manager a few days before. Ilya stands up, leaving Dmitri and baby Sophia on the chair in order to join the conversation.

Once they are done describing their grievances with the Polunin Metal Works Factory, Ivan prepares to talk about his eldest sonʼs situation.

Oo

Natalia, Ivanʼs beloved wife, died from influenza five months ago, not long after giving birth to the baby girl his most tender child is holding. Maria, who lost yet another child recently, is the one who has been breastfeeding Sophia.

Natalia worked as a washerwoman in a laundry, and even though women are not paid nearly as much as men for working the same hours, when she died the family began struggling to make ends meet, so they were forced to find their Andrushka a job. The young boy traded the childhood freedom of running, playing, and roughhousing outside with his little brother Dmitri whenever he wanted for an eight-hour shift at another factory near Ivan and Ilyaʼs workplace. Ivan may never forgive himself for it.

"I was worried about him as you can imagine", Ivan explains, "so I would secretly sneak out of work and visit him whenever I could."

"I have children of my own as well, Ivan", Father Gapon sympathizes, "I understand."

"The main trouble there started when those new machines with the moving parts were installed."

"Oh, yes, I remember a similar complaint at the assembly."

"They were being worked too fast", Ivan continues, "and they weren't properly guarded", he finishes using a harsh tone that betrays weeks of pent-up anger.

"We are discussing it with the directors of the works", Gapon says calmly, trying to soothe Ivan with his voice.

"What is there to discuss?!" Ivan snaps.

"Vanya…" Ilya attempts to interfere, but he is ignored.

"There have been two accidents already and one man has been killed", Ivan rants, "that is just in my sonʼs factory, look at Kostya over there!" Ivan points a finger at his friend in the corner, and Ilya becomes so embarrassed on Kostyaʼs behalf that he leaves the conversation to check up on him.

"I know, I know", Gapon concedes, looking down. "The directors allege carelessness on the workersʼ part…"

"The machines are being worked too fast!"

They stay silent for a moment during which Father Gapon can only nod as he avoids Ivanʼs gaze. The sound of children crying distracts Gapon from the argument.

"Give me a minute", the priest says. He slowly walks around the cellar, wondering whether he truly believes what he claims to stand up for or if the illegal ideals that have attracted so many workers have merit after all.

"We have such a long way to climb", he observes as he helps mothers console crying children and blesses the families that remain awake. "Our struggle is against manʼs greed and avarice."

"Our struggle is against the employers", Ivan counters. He has never been one to put blame on such abstract concepts. His wife was though. Natalia used to blame everything, including their misery, on demons and other evil spirits corrupting people, and she would tell the children rather creative stories about them. Domovoi, Kikimora, Baba Yaga, Leshy. Ivan misses his wife a lot, but not as much as Dmitri misses her every time Ivan tries to tell him a story at night. The child will often complain about Ivan being unable to "do it as mama did."

"You dare remind me of that?" The priest reproaches Ivan as he consoles a visibly ill and exhausted woman. "What are the workers of St. Petersburg but my flock? What have I devoted my life to but the relief of their misery? I have taken up their agony as our Lord took up the cross."

Ivan doesn't want to offend the man, so he chooses his next words carefully: "We need action father, not sermons."

"You must have patience", the priest tells him softly.

"Our lives aren't long enough."

Father Gapon is clearly startled by those words, but he does not stop staring at Ivan as he searches for a good answer. Only when the woman he is kneeling by coughs is the priest distracted. He gently places his hand behind her back.

"Many men in my workplace want to go on strike", Ivan states as Gapon soothes her, "and I am becoming tired of telling them it is a bad idea. How could it be if we have so little to lose?"

"Someday, we will all come out and be listened to", Gapon declares, "but only when the time is right."

"The time is right when the men are ready!" Ivan insists. "Look, I might not know how to read, but those who do talk. There have been strikes in Moscow, in Kharkov, in the oil fields of Baku…"

"In Baku the men struck and came back like beaten dogs," Father George Gapon interrupts him, "their conditions were worse than what they started with."

"Listen father, feelings are running high."

"I know, all the more reason to be prudent", the priest cautions, almost in a whisper. "You say your lives aren't long enough, but what of the men who have died in the war? Boys whose lives have been cut even shorter."

"Better off than some of us."

"Oh, such deaths are violence and a shame for God."

"God?" Ivan scoffs. "God has forgotten us."

"Shame on you", Gapon rebukes him without once raising his voice. "Shame on you for believing such a thing, have you sold your soul to those atheists already? Go down on your knees", he orders.

Ivan stands still.

"Go down on your knees to ask for forgiveness", the priest insists. Ivan frowns, realizing the man in front of him means what he is saying. He is not going to do it though, not only would it be humiliating, but he has also come to find most religious gestures stupid.

"Go down on your knees Vanya!" Maria yells from behind, and Ivan directs a stern look at his sister-in-law. If he is the mother hen of the foundry, Maria is at home. The people they live with need someone to take care of the youngest children when everyone else is working, so Maria has the shortest shifts for a reason. Still, she cooks, cleans, prays for everyoneʼs health and safety before the icons, and commands the apartment as if she owned it. All of the adults respect her, and the children adore her as if she were their second mother.

"Go on papa," Ivan hears his boy Dima add, "the father is right."

Well, he can't argue with both. Dmitri has his father wrapped around his little finger. Reluctantly, Ivan does as he is told and kneels.

"Hear me father", Gapon places both hands on Ivanʼs head, "forgive him this blasphemy, amen."

After raising Ivan from his feet, Gapon tells him things will improve.

"Trust me", he says.

"Say a prayer for the boy, father", Maria requests.

"Is he sick?" He asks, turning his attention towards Andrei and Maria. The aunt is kneeling beside her nephew along with Dmitri and Ilya, who is now the one carrying a sound asleep Sophia.

Father George Gapon approaches, kneels, and touches the boyʼs forehead with the back of his palm. He clearly has a fever.

"Is that going to make him better, auntie?" Dmitri asks. Ivan kneels next to his younger son, strokes his hair, and whispers in his ear that he hopes so before kissing his head.

"What is the matter with him?" The priest asks Maria softly as he removes his hand, but the womanʼs attention is so focused on Andrei that she doesn't hear the question and keeps stroking her nephewʼs hair.

"What is wrong with him?" Gapon repeats, this time looking back at Ivan for answers.

The father of the child stands up, sits on the bed, and moves the blankets just enough to reveal Andreiʼs amputated arm. It is at the level of the elbow, and the once white dressings are covered in blood.

"He slipped", Ivan begins, "falling straight on one of those, those moving… and there are still no safety guards on them!" The indignant father almost roars with anger. "We don't even have money to get a specialist," he says. "After he was discharged from the hospital, they sent him back and gave us nothing.”

Once he is done talking, Ivan looks down on his son and his features soften.

"How old is he?" Gapon inquires.

"He is twelve", Maria answers, "twelve already, my baby, not even a man yet… no, not yet. Say a prayer for him, father."

Oo

Father Gapon said he would attempt to convince the directors of the factory to provide Andrei with a pension, but not even two days had passed since the priest visited the Sudayevs when the boy died. Ivan doesn't want anything from them anymore… not that he thinks they would give them anything now or ever would have.

Dmitri loves his younger sister Sophia. He is always playing with her, trying to make her laugh or catch her attention. It is even hard for the boy to spend a minute away from her, so it truly warms Ivanʼs heart to know his small son decided to stay and keep him company after the funeral.

Ivan is sitting on the grass with Dmitri on his lap, hugging the child tightly. The manʼs sight is so blurred by tears that he can barely see the small tombstone in front of him or the letters and numbers engraved in it.

Andrei Ivanovich Sudayev 1892-1904.

Ivan cannot read every phrase presented to him, but he can definitely read that. He has each of the letters and numbers memorized.

1892-1904.

1904.

Russian tradition states that people can die in two ways, good or bad. A good death is a death that comes naturally at the end of one's life, a death that is planned by God. An elderly person passing peacefully in their sleep.

My boy didn't have a good death, Ivan thinks. Illnesses and accidents are bad deaths.

When someone dies, the deceased personʼs soul will linger for up to 40 days on Earth. It is even said that the souls of those who have suffered from a bad death stay on Earth longer. Dmitri is aware of this. "Don't worry papa", he soothes his father, "Andrushka will be around for a while, right?" His small hand caresses Ivanʼs cheek, which is wet with tears.

"Yes, he will Dima", Ivan smiles down at his son and kisses him on the forehead.

Soon after Andrei passed away, Ivan and Maria bathed his body, clothed it in white, and wrapped it in a belt meant to bind the soul to the body. The casket was open for three days during which everyone living in their quarters paid their respects. They adored Andrei, having all proved so by helping the bereaved father pay for the service, something he is not finished doing. He doesn't actually know how long it will take.

"Can we make the clock work again, papa?" Dmitri asks Ivan.

"Why would you say that?" Ivan worries.

"That way, Andrei will stay here on the ground more time for us to visit him", he innocently replies.

Right. When someone dies, a houseʼs mirrors are covered and all of its clocks are stopped. Mirrors are said to be gateways to the realm of the dead, and the first person to see their reflection in a mirror after someone has died is surely the next to depart from the land of the living. Stopping the clocks helps the deceased person move on quicker to the afterlife.

Ivan pulls Dmitri closer. "Remember that Andrei will probably want to go to heaven with mama, Dima", he reminds his son.

The father would give anything to come home to the loud sound of his boys laughing, screaming, fighting, and playing with the small wooden horses he once carved with his knife for one of his nephews, a boy who did not reach the age of seven. The day before, he swears he heard the familiar sound of Andrei complaining to Maria about yet another one of Dmitriʼs displays of mischievousness. Perhaps hiding his favorite toy or staining his shirt with soup.

Sadness engulfs Ivan, sadness for his son and for his wife who loved him so. She would have been heartbroken.

Twelve years. 1892-1904.

His son should have lived much longer. Andrei was always so healthy, so lively, caring, and helpful with the younger children, letting Dmitri win in all games. He barely got sick, but whenever he did, he recovered faster than any of Natalia and Ivanʼs younger children. If any of them were going to reach adulthood, that was Andrei, Ivan is certain.

It would have been him if those bastards…

"Papa?" Dmitri interrupts the manʼs bitter thoughts.

"Yes, Dima?"

"Can we go back now? Andrei told me it is fine if I want to go, and I want to tell Sophia everything he and I talked about."

Ivan smiles and squeezes his precious Dima. Intending to walk back home, both father and son stand up and hold hands.

"What did Andrei tell you?" Ivan encourages the childʼs imagination.

Dmitri turned five recently. He is not as young as he looks, but he is still too young to mourn the dead the way adults do. There are very few tears, if any, but Ivan has noticed his son's grief manifests in other ways. Dreadful nightmares that wake him up screaming, excessive clinginess, and immense confusion. So many questions Ivan can't give the child a proper answer to…

Why do I remember other children living with us? Why are they no longer here? I miss them.

Dmitri has asked more times than Ivan can count what exactly happened to his mother, infant cousin, and brother, the family's most recent losses. The five-year-old simply can't understand why some people leave while others don't.

At least his son is not afraid of death, Ivan thinks, and he has both his late wife and sister-in-law Maria to thank for it. The child is still too innocent and gullible to question their religious beliefs, and his young mind is filled with nothing but popular stories and superstitions. Silly fairytales that, since his wife died, Ivan no longer takes seriously. It is like Natalia took away almost every bit of Ivanʼs being with her parting, leaving only his cynicism intact.

As they walk away from the open field of the cemetery and into the streets, Dmitri tells his father everything his deceased brother Andrushka has allegedly communicated to him from the grave:

"Andrei has already met with mama, my siblings, and cousins because they visited him from the other side and said that in heaven, Father Christmas gives everyone amazing toys and candies, even to poor children like us papa, can you imagine?"

Ivan looks down at his son and smiles, slightly sorrowful at the fact he won't be able to buy Dima anything this year either, which is not even his main concern relating to the upcoming winter. They are cold in St. Petersburg and especially cold in their room, but Ivan will have to think of that later. Right now, he needs to put on a brave and happy face for his child.

Dmitri has a nose similar to that of his father, but he inherited most of Nataliaʼs looks. Pale skin, jet black hair, and dark brown almond eyes. None of Ivanʼs children have looked as much like Natalia as Dmitri does, and that imagination and aptitude his Dima has for finding something fun or at least redeemable in each and every situation life decides to throw his way is definitely Nataliaʼs, the father thinks with huge pride.

Sometimes, Ivan feels guilty about how much he loves Dmitri, because the love he has for his other children, alive and deceased, can pale in comparison at times, but the fact Natalia had a special fondness for Dima as well soothes his worries, because no one would have ever dared imply a loving mother like his wife played favorites.

Ivan remembers the exact day Natalia got sick. Not wanting anyone, much less her children, to catch the disease, she decided to stay away from everyone after the very first symptom and would sleep behind in the furthermost corner of the cellar, close to the bathroom. Only Ivan was allowed near in order to take care of her.

Dmitri was four. Neither he nor Andrei was allowed to see either of their parents for weeks, so they were each other's primary sources of comfort.

It was all very confusing for Dmitri, who didn't understand at first why his parents were rejecting him, or why one day, his father cried as he carried his mother away in his arms. The boy thought she was asleep, and so, he yelled at her to wake up. He didn't cry when his father explained to him what had happened to her or when he saw his brother weep, but he did wake up crying three months later. He called for his father, telling him he missed his mommy.

Dmitri doesn't fear death, but he dreams of that dreadful injury the brother he looked up to suffered, and he remembers the pain it caused him.

One particularly bad night after being soothed by Maria, Dmitri begged with tears in his eyes for his father to accompany him to work when the time came, saying he was awfully scared of the machines. After learning of this, Ivan promised himself that neither his son nor Sophia would ever have to go through that. Not now, not when they are ten years older. Both his children will go to school and stay there longer than Andrei did. How he is going to achieve that is the real question.

Ivan has been examining his options, and none, as radical as they may seem, has been discarded yet. He would die for them, kill for them.

Ivan's bitter thoughts are once again interrupted by his favorite child's hopeful question:

"Papa, can we go to the highest place in the world before going back home?"

"It is Sunday after all, Dima, isn't it?" Ivan replies with a smile.

The only day he has free to spend with his children.

Ivan picks Dmitri up and carries him over his shoulders, much to the laughing boy's delight.

"To the highest place in the world!" Ivan exclaims before he starts running.

Oo

Peterhof, summer 1904.

Olga Nikolaevna Romanova.

"Aaahhhh!" Maria shouts with joy as Auntie Olga grabs her by the forearms and swings her around. My sisterʼs feet are off the ground as she spins in circles. By the time she is back on the grass, Aunt Olga is having trouble breathing.

It is very nice to have a picnic by the shore. My sisters, cousins, and babushka are also here. All of us children are dressed in white and wearing straw hats.

Babushka is watching as Tatiana and Irina braid some dolls' hair. Close to them, my three-year-old sister Nastaska is playing catch with Andrushka, Feodor, Nikita, and Dmitri. Baby Rostislav is inside with mama and Auntie Xenia because he is still little.

Rostislav is cute, and I have enjoyed holding him so far, so I guess it won't be so bad when my baby brother or sister is born. The only problem is I haven't been able to feel it kick, which is not fair because all of my sisters say they have.

One time, mama told us to come running because the baby was allegedly kicking. I was the last to arrive, and when I did, it was no longer moving. My sisters then started talking about how much the baby was kicking right in my face. I hated that day.

I know it is silly, because it was a while ago and mama is no longer mad at me, but sometimes I wonder if mama can control when the baby moves and makes it stop on purpose whenever I am near as punishment for being rude to her the day she told us she was pregnant.

I try so hard to be nice, but only Aunt Olga and Miss Eagar seem to appreciate me even when I am naughty. One day, we were playing rather noisily when mama came into the room with one of her friends, who began to rebuke Miss Eagar for letting us romp and declared that mama had never made a noise in all of her life. Miss Eagar defended us.

"We have all heard so often that the Tsarina was a perfect angel when she was a child", she said, "but she has only given me human children to look after."

I rushed across the room, threw my arms around my nanny, and exclaimed earnestly: "I won't be a human child. I'll be an angel child, too." But Miss Eagar told me she preferred me as I was. I will never forget that day.

"Now me, Aunt Olga!" My baby sister Anastasia comes running with Xeniaʼs boys sprinting behind.

"Wait Nastaska," I say. "It was my turn."

"Oh, dear!" Aunt Olga exclaims. "Let's see if I can still do it with you."

"Pretty please!" I pout at my dear aunt, who folds her sleeves, grins at me, and leans forward slightly, as if daring herself to do it. She grabs me by the arms and soon my feet are off the grass. I am spinning in circles, laughing, but in less than a minute I hit the ground, hard. Maybe I am getting a bit too big for this.

"Oh my God, darling, I am so sorry!" Aunt Olga puts her hands on her head, concerned.

"I am fine, don't worry", I reassure my aunt with a slight giggle, but the truth is that I fell on my hands, and it hurt. She helps me get back up. "Thanks for trying", I hug her.

"Oh, my dear," hugs me back, "was it fun at least?" I nod.

"You are too heavy!" Irina points out with a grin. I look around to see my grandmother, my sisters, and my cousins surrounding me and Aunt Olga. We all laugh when Nastasia mimics the way I fell and the expressions I made, but Babushka laughs the most. She even picks Anastasia up and gives her a kiss on the cheek.

All of the cousins take turns spinning off the ground with Aunt Olgaʼs help, even Irina, who is older than me.

"Who is too big now?" I tease Irina when her turn ends. Poor auntie ends up exhausted, so my sisters, cousins, and I decide to pick up shells for her in order to thank her for being so fun. It is Tanechkaʼs idea.

It is so delightful to walk on the sand without shoes! Masha is drawing something in the sand with her finger among some of the boys. Three-year-old Nastasia loves seeing how close she can get to the water without wetting her feet. What she does is approach when the water recedes from the shore and then quickly run backwards when the waves inevitably make it return.

My sister Tatiana and I are walking slightly ahead of them with Irina, who is carrying almost-three-year-old Dmitri and showing him all of the interesting things we are encountering on the beach.

"Look at that one!" I point at what seems to be a small shell buried in the sand, but Tanechka is already bending over to pick something else.

"Look, this one is bigger", she says almost haughty as she shows me a big pink and white seashell. "You will never find one bigger than this one."

I push her, almost throwing her into the seawater. Tanechka feigns outrage, but then she grins… and pushes me back. I push her again.

"Come, Irina!" I yell at my cousin, who is a few feet away. She immediately laughs upon realizing that Tatiana and I have been pushing each other mercilessly.

My sister and I show little Dmitri and Irina the pink seashell we just found. Cousin Irina is gushing about how pretty it is when we hear a scream.

Tatiana frantically rushes back to the spot where we left Masha. I follow her closely behind, and we find our fat little bow-wow ankles deep into the water, eyes widened in worry as she tries to drag Anastasia out of the sea. Our youngest sisterʼs face is the only part of her body that can be seen, the rest being underwater. She seems to have been pushed backwards by a wave.

Feodor and Andrushka approach Maria, intending to help her, but in no time she has picked Anastasia up all by herself.

"Mashka! You scared me with that scream!" Tatiana protests. "You are not hurt, are you? And Anastasia?"

"Sorry!" Maria lays Nastya back on the sand. "I got a bit scared."

"It was more of a laughing scream", Feodor smiles."I was there."

"Did you enjoy the bath, Nastya?" Andrushka kneels close to my little sister. Anastasia makes a really funny face in response, smiling, closing her eyes, and nodding playfully. With that same expression, she tries to get back into the water. Cousin Andrei stops her just in time and all of us burst into laughter.

Andrushka carries Anastasia and hands her over to Tatiana. Suddenly and out of nowhere, Feodor comes from behind Irina and throws some water he had been holding in his hands at her. Irina screams in surprise, but she is soon trying to avenge her previously dry hair. Maria immediately follows suit. Then everyone else does the same.

At first, my cousins, my sisters, and I throw water at each other randomly, but we end up playing a game that is a bit like tag, except you also have to throw the other person water, not just catch them.

It is so incredibly fun! Everyone takes part in the frolicking, although Anastasia and Dmitri, being the youngest, start having a bit of trouble keeping up with the rules, so my oldest cousins and I decide to carry them on our backs, something the little ones are instantly thrilled by.

Tatiana carries Anastasia most of the time, and Irina continues carrying Dimitri, but sometimes we switch. Even Mashka has fun being carried around by Cousin Andrei for a few seconds despite the fact she is not so little anymore. I did warn Cousin Andrei she was getting heavy.

"Children!" We hear our Babushka call, and we simultaneously go still.

About to throw some water at Irina, Tatiana stops in her tracks and stares straight at me with wide-open eyes. She is wearing a complicit grin, our complicit grin. The one that says: "Oh, no, we got caught!"

When Babushka calls us again, all of us cousins rush towards her, leaving footprints in the sand. That is when I hear her gasp. She looks so worried, and yet Aunt Olga is right next to her, laughing.

"Oh dear, what have you done!" Babushka fusses over her coming grandchildren, one by one. "Your clothes!" Maria and Anastasia kiss her on one cheek each.

"How could you do that without letting me join first?" Aunt Olga adds, her arms opened wide. Irina and I make good use of them and give her a hug while Maria starts telling her, with almost excessive excitement, every detail of how our games went. Aunt Olga doesn't seem to care her own white shirt with blue dots will get wet.

"Oh no!" Irina cries.

"What?" Maria asks.

"The seashell!"

"You had it last?" I raise my voice. "And you lost it?!" How could she be so stupid?

"I am sorry Aunt Olga", Irina says, looking up at her, "I don't remember if I had it in my hands last, but we were having so much fun, I must have dropped it…"

"Oh, don't worry", our aunt replies. "Wipe that frown off your face Olga, I love you all more than any seashell." She pinches my cheek playfully. Coming from my mother, that would have made me feel ashamed… or maybe even madder, but Aunt Olga knows just how to say things, so I chuckle.

"You are right", I soothe my cousin, "it was a lot of fun, we were all silly to forget about it." That seems to make Irina laugh.

"Yes, we were so dumb!" She crosses her eyes in a very funny way.

"Yep, stupid", I imitate her.

I am glad I didn't say anything mean to poor Irina like I was about to.

"Alright", our grandmother says with a semi stern voice. "Let's move the picnic somewhere sunny so you can dry those clothes."

She picks Anastasia up and we all follow her.

I find out later, along with Bubushka and the others, that my five-year-old sister Maria and four-year-old cousin Nikita have successfully written their names in the sand, albeit with a few spelling mistakes.

Oo

The Sun shines very brightly, although not as much as it does the days that precede the white nights and their Midnight Suns, during which none of my sisters can sleep. Mama advises against it, but my sisters and I will sometimes spend the white nights together in the same room. We play with our dolls or tell each other stories for as long as we can and make it so the first to fall asleep loses, although the next morning we can barely ever tell who did.

All of us cousins are sitting on a red and white blanket with Babushka, who is carrying Dmitri on her lap, stroking his hair. Anastasia sits close by, our grandmother's arm around her. Tatiana, Irina, and I are sitting together in front of them next to our aunt, the boys lying on their bellies near her.

"Tell us the story of Ivan and the Chesnut Horse, Babushka!" Maria requests, and our grandmother smiles.

We are almost done with our grapes and sandwiches. I love eating with a perfect view of the ocean, but not as much as I love listening to Babushkaʼs stories.

I have heard of Ivan and the Chesnut Horse before, and so have my sisters. It is a story Papa and mama have read to us. Many Russian fairytales tell the tale of a hero named Ivan, but none of them is the same, so it is almost as if they were all about different people.

Nonetheless, Masha loves the story of Ivan and the Chesnut Horse, so Babushka starts telling the tale as Aunt Olga acts several parts out, making all of us laugh.

There once lived an old peasant man who had three sons. When he came to die, he gathered them around his deathbed.

"Do not forget," he cautioned them, "to come and read prayers over my grave."

They promised not to forget.

The two oldest brothers were big and strong. The youngest one, Ivan, was smaller, but his eyes were full of fire and spirit.

On the day the three men buried their father, Ivan returned to the grave in the evening to read the prayers. Hours later, a horseman arrived at the brothers' village and blew a loud blast on his silver trumpet. He was the Tsar's messenger.

"The Tsar's daughter, Princess Helena the Fair, has ordered to be built for herself a shrine having twelve pillars and twelve rows of beams", the messenger announced. "And she sits there upon a high throne till the time when the bridegroom of her choice rides by. And this is how she shall know him. With one leap of his steed he reaches the height of the tower, and, in passing, his lips press those of her as she bends from her throne."

"Brothers", Ivan said, "our first thought must be to fulfill our father's dying wish. But, if you prefer it, we could train the horses to jump and take turns to read the prayers over our father's grave."

The older brothers agreed, but when Ivan asked whose turn it should immediately be, they both began to make excuses. This would go on for many days.

Ivan fulfilled his father's dying wish as the other two brothers trained their horses, jumped, curled their hair, dyed their mustaches, and practiced their kissing. They daydreamed so much about the princess at the top of the flying leap, that they began to neglect their meals and that of their horses. The animals were, in fact, beginning to show signs of over-training.

The morning of the great day came. The two oldest brothers were combing their well-curled hair and re-dyeing their mustaches, not forgetting to make sure that their lips were fit, as they were anxious for the kiss. When the two brothers each tried to leap up to the princess's lips, however, they failed to reach them just like everyone else had.

Ivan was reading the prayers over his father's grave when a great emotion suddenly came over him. He stopped reading the prayers, his heart filled with a longing to look just for once upon the face of Helena the Fair. So strong was this longing that he broke down and wept bitterly. A strange thing happened then. Ivan's father heard him from his coffin, shook himself free from the earth, came out, and stood before his son.

"My son, do not fear me," the father said. "You have fulfilled my dying wish, and I will help you in your trouble. You wish to look upon the face of Helena the Fair, and so it shall be."

Ivan's father then called in a beautiful chestnut horse.

"What is your will?" The horse asked. "Command me and I obey!'

The old man took Ivan by the hand and led him to the horse.

"Mount! Go, win Princess Helena the Fair!" Said the father, and immediately he vanished.

With one jump Ivan was astride the chestnut horse, and in a moment they were speeding towards the tower of Helena the Fair. The chestnut horse jumped, and on the third try, the lips of Ivan met those of Princess Helena in a long sweet kiss, for the chestnut horse seemed to linger in the air while the kiss endured.

Ivan got to marry Princess Helena, and the Tsar said to him:

"My son, you and yours will reign after me. Look to it! Now let us go to supper."

I used to complain about the ending because I liked the older brothers more, but I was a bit silly back then. Now I understand that the story is about love and how it is more important than anything. It is more important to me than anything. Papa and I discussed the story on one occasion, and he told me it was about the importance of prayer and leaving everything in God's hands, which is even more essential, he said, than trying too hard to make things go your way like the two oldest brothers.

It is so true! Papa and mama have prayed for baby so much and now it is almost here!

"Ivan and Helena had many children and were very happy forever, like mama and papa", Maria states as soon as Babushka finishes the story.

Some of my cousins and I laugh.

"That is not in the story", Tatiana shakes her head, "but I certainly hope so."

"Yes they did", Mashka insists. I smile at her.

"Of course they did", Aunt Olga assures my sister.

"And they called one of them Maria", Babushka adds, smiling at my dear younger sister.

"And one of them Nikita?" Cousin Nikita asks.

"Of course dear", our grandmother chuckles.

Tatiana rolls her eyes and shakes her head again. She always likes the story being told the same way.

I make fun of Tatiana by throwing a grape at her. The deed does not go unpunished though, and she readily throws it right back at me.

"Can you tell us The Humpbacked Horse now, Babushka?" Maria pleads, clasping her hands together.

"No!" Irina exclaims. "Enough stories about magic horses! Why don't you tell us The Little Mermaid?"

Poor Mashka pouts and looks down.

"Yes!" Anastasia stands up and grabs Babushka by her white shirt. "Please Babushka, mermaids, I love mermaids!"

Babushka grins, and after giving little Anastasia a kiss on the cheek, she lets her sit on her lap next to Dmitri. "The first time I was told this story, I was just a little girl living in Denmark, my beloved homeland", she says. "The writer, Hans Christian Andersen, would be invited to the palace to read his stories to me and my siblings."

"Like Aunt Alix?" Tatiana asks.

"Precisely", Babushka replies with a smile. "Out in the ocean," she begins, "dwell the Sea King and his subjects..."

Oh, how wonderful is the world her friend Hans Christian Andersen created! My sisters and I love to imagine there are flowers and plants growing under the sea and buildings such as the coral castle of the Sea King, with its roof made of shells. We love pretending to be mermaids, Anastasia most of all despite not being a good swimmer yet. The only bad thing about playing mermaids with my sisters is that sometimes we get into fights over who gets to imagine herself having the pink tail. I remember the first time we played mermaids with our dear Cousin Ella, who is now in heaven. She would assure us that we could all have pink tails.

The Sea King, who was a widower, had six little daughters, the youngest of whom was considered strange because she was quiet and thoughtful. While her sisters were delighted with the many wonderful things they obtained from shipwrecks of vessels, the youngest one cared for nothing but her pretty red flowers and a single beautiful marble statue she had found, the carving in white stone of a handsome boy that had fallen to the bottom of the sea from a wreck.

Nothing gave the youngest little mermaid as much pleasure as hearing about the world above the sea, but she, like all mermaids, would have to wait until she was fifteen to be allowed to visit and experience it with her own eyes. In the meantime, the little mermaid made her old grandmother tell her all she knew about the mysterious and magical surface world.

The little mermaidʼs longing for the world above only grew as one by one her sisters went over the surface and told her about it.

When she reached her fifteenth year, the little mermaid finally got to swim above the sea, where she encountered a vessel and decided to approach the cabin windows. Inside the ship, she saw a young prince with large black eyes. He was sixteen years old, and his birthday was being celebrated by the sailors, who were dancing under a starry sky filled with beautiful fireworks.

It was getting late, but the little mermaid could not take her eyes from either the ship or the beautiful prince. Suddenly, a huge storm broke out, and the ship sank into the bottom of the sea.

The little mermaid was able to save the prince and take him to the shore. When the storm ceased, she was amazed by the blue skies, the trees, and everything she saw for the first time on land. A few moments later, a young girl approached the prince, and the little mermaid hid.

At first, the young girl seemed frightened by the sight of the unconscious prince, fearing that he was dead, but she then decided to fetch a number of people. The prince came to life again, smiling upon those who stood around him willing to help. But to the little mermaid he sent no smile because he knew not that she had saved him. This made her very unhappy. When the little mermaid returned to the bottom of the sea, her older sisters tried to cheer her up with no success.

Desperately sad, the little mermaid decided one day to swim straight to a known sorceressʼs dwelling.

"I know what you want," said the sea witch. "It is very stupid of you, but you shall have your way, and it will bring you to sorrow, my pretty princess. You want to get rid of your fishtail, and to have two legs instead, like human beings on earth, so that the young prince may fall in love with you, and that you may have an immortal soul."

Mermaids had no soul, and they could only acquire one if a human fell in love with and married them. Otherwise, they became sea foam when they died.

The witch prepared a draught for the little mermaid, but before giving it to her, the sorceress warned her that she would get her legs, but at a cost. The little mermaid would feel as if a sword were passing through her at every step she took.

"Yes, I will take it," said the little princess in a trembling voice as she thought of the prince and the immortal soul.

"But think again," the witch warned her. "Once you do it, you can no more be a mermaid. You will never return to the water with your sisters or see your father's palace again, and if you do not win the love of the prince, then you will never have an immortal soul. The first morning after he marries another your heart will break, and you will become foam on the crest of the waves.

"I will do it," said the little mermaid.

"But I must be paid also," said the witch. "You have the sweetest voice of any who dwell here in the depths of the sea, and you believe that you will be able to charm the prince with it also, but this voice you must give to me."

"It shall be," said the little mermaid. And it was done.

Over the sea, the little mermaid met the prince, who asked her who she was and where she came from. She looked at him mildly and sorrowfully with her deep blue eyes, but she could not speak. Every step she took was as the witch had said it would be, incredibly painful, but she bore it willingly and was very soon arrayed in costly robes of silk and muslin. She was the most beautiful creature in the palace, but she couldn't sing nor talk. This was a great sorrow to the little mermaid.

The prince said she should remain with him always. They rode together through the woods, where the little birds sang among the fresh leaves. She climbed with the prince to the tops of high mountains, and although her feet hurt, she only laughed and followed him.

As the seasons passed, she grew to love the prince more and more fondly, but he loved her as he would love a little child. The day came when it was said that the prince must marry, and a marriage was arranged for him to the beautiful daughter of a neighboring king.

The little mermaidʼs heart broke, but the morning of the wedding came, and dressed in silk and gold, she held up the bride's train.

On the same evening they married, the bride and bridegroom boarded a ship. The little mermaid could not help thinking of her first rising out of the sea, when she had witnessed similar festivities and joys. She knew this was the last evening she should ever see the prince, for whom she had forsaken her kindred and her home, given up her beautiful voice, and suffered unheard-of pain daily while he knew nothing of it. She knew she would die of a broken heart.

The little mermaid leaned her white arms on the edge of the vessel and saw her sisters swimming. Their beautiful hair had been cut off.

"We have given our hair to the witch," they said, "to obtain help for you, that you may not die tonight. She has given us a knife. Before the Sun rises you must plunge it into the heart of the prince, and when the warm blood falls upon your feet they will grow together again and form into a fish's tail."

Oo

My little sister Maria gasps audibly. "No!" She cries. Babushka is so startled and concerned that she stops telling the story. I approach my horrified sister and give her a hug.

"It is all right Mashka, it is just a story", Tanechka helps me comfort Maria by stroking her hair. Also worried for her, my cousins start giving her words of encouragement to no avail.

"The poor prince!" Mashka exclaims. "Why?!" Aunt Olga says something in Mashkaʼs ear that seems to soothe her.

"Will she do it?" One of the boys asks, sounding way too excited. Anastasia has a devilish grin on her face, and she even giggles. Unlike Maria, she doesn't seem at all upset, which is kind of amusing for both me and Babushka, who stares at Nastya with an incredulous smile before continuing.

Oo

"You will be once more a mermaid", the sisters said to the little mermaid, "and return to us. He or you must die before sunrise, kill the prince and come back" And then they sank down beneath the waves.

The little mermaid beheld the fair bride with her head resting on the prince's breast. She bent down and kissed his brow, glanced at the sharp knife... and flung it far away from her into the waves, which magically turned red.

The little mermaid cast one more lingering, half-fainting glance at the prince, and then threw herself from the ship into the sea. Her body dissolved into foam.

When the little mermaid woke up, she was warmly received by the daughters of the air. Although these creatures do not possess an immortal soul, they can, by their good deeds, procure one for themselves. They fly to warm countries and cool the sultry air that destroys mankind with the pestilence. They carry the perfume of the flowers to spread health and restoration.

And so the little mermaid, who had suffered and endured and raised herself to the spirit-world by her good deeds, finally obtained an immortal soul. Unseen, she kissed the foreheads of the prince and her bride, and then she mounted with the other children of the air to a rosy cloud.

Oo

"I did not like it", Mashka states even before Babushka says "the end" to finish the story.

Our grandmother laughs, and my cousins start discussing the tale loudly along with me and Tatiana who, unlike Maria, seems to have enjoyed it.

"Hey! Hey!" Maria stands up and walks towards our grandmother. Tatiana and I laugh, whispering jokes to each other's ears as we see a disappointed Maria stand in front of us with her hands on her hips.

"Quiet!" She tries to shut everyone up. "Quiet, all of you!"

"Let's hear what Masha has to say!" Aunt Olga helps my little sister out.

"The prince didn't marry that other girl", Maria proclaims. "He was going to but then discovered that she was a witch in disguise, the little mermaid doesn't jump and doesn't turn to foam either, she is the one who marries the prince."

"No, that is not how the story ends", Tatiana protests, which makes Mashka frown and yell in frustration.

"Yes, it is!" Anastasia stands up and claps. Aunt Olga and Babushka start laughing.

"No, it is not", Tatiana insists matter-of-factly.

"I don't care", Maria says. "I like my ending better because it is happy."

"The real ending is already happy", Tatiana argues, "the prince marries a girl he loves and little mermaid goes to heaven, in your ending she is in pain forever."

"But I don't want that to be the end!" Maria exclaims. "The little mermaid marries the prince! Also, her feet stop hurting one day!"

Irina and I exchange smiles, and her brothers laugh uncontrollably.

"But that is not the real end", Tatiana repeats. "And how do her feet stop hurting?"

"They just stop hurting", Maria states confidently.

"They can't simply stop hurting for no reason", Tatiana says.

"The little mermaid prays for them to stop hurting."

"That is still not how the story ends", Tatiana shrugs.

"Yes it is! Yes it is!" Anastasia runs in circles around Tatiana. "You are the witch who tricks the prince! You are the witch!" Anastasia points her finger at Tatiana, which makes Maria giggle.

"Aunt Olga! Aunt Olga!" Tatiana cries for help when Anastasia starts grabbing her hair. I try to avoid smiling as I protectively put my arm around Tatianaʼs shoulder.

"That is quite enough, my little Anastasia", Babushka picks my youngest sister up and kisses her on the cheek. "Your sister is too good to be anything but another princess." Our grandmother gives Tanechka a smile and gently strokes her hair.

"I liked the changes you made to the story a lot, Mashka", Aunt Olga says, and then, walking closer to Tatiana before bending to put a hand on her shoulder, adds: "The first time she got upset, I told her she could make up a different ending for herself, but don't worry Tatiana, that doesn't change the way the story really ends."

My sister nods, still seeming slightly annoyed.

"Don't worry Tanechka, both stories can be true", I tell Tatiana, but the truth is I liked little Mashkaʼs happy ending a lot better.

Oo

Peterhof, summer 1904.

Alexandra Feodorovna Romanova.

My God! How much pain and suffering! These must be the hard times we have been warned about in so many prophesies. So many people dead, the Petropavlovsk sunk, just like that! Sunk with Cyril as First Officer! Thank God he escaped alive. Nicky turned pale when heard the news, and I couldn't help but burst into tears. How pathetic of me.

My poor, long-suffering Nicky doesn't even have as much time to play with the girlies as he has had every previous summer. Right now, he is having a meeting with his uncle, Sergei, who just arrived from Moscow with my sister Ella and the children.

At least my four daughters must be having a lot of fun. They are outside, playing hide and seek among the many beautiful golden fountains of the Lower Garden along with their grandmother, their Aunt Olga, and most of the cousins, including Ellaʼs wards, Maria and Dmitri. Sometimes they scream so loudly with joy that I can hear them from afar. I am thankful for their innocence, and so proud of them.

My daughters care so much for the wounded. They have enthusiastically visited the poor men quite often, offering them their company. They have worked very hard as well, improving their knitting, sewing, and embroidery impressively these past few months. Sometimes they surprise me and Nicky by saying such wise things to comfort and assure us in this trying period.

Olga told us that perhaps one day all nations in the world would learn to get along after talking more frequently. Another time, Tatiana exclaimed that it was lovely to see how everyone in Russia worked together to help the wounded soldiers feel better by either volunteering in hospitals or donating whatever they could. Maria surprises me each and every day, how easy it is for her to love people!

And last but not least, despite her young age, Anastasia predicted that her favorite soldier would get better, and so she paid special attention to him for weeks, this before any of the doctors or nurses did. They had not been as optimistic.

On another occasion, when Nicky had left to see the troops off, the little Anastasia asked me if I was sorry about him leaving. I said yes, to which she tenderly replied: "Don't worry, he will be back soon."

This proves what I now believe firmly. Children are the apostles of God, which day after day He sends us to speak of love, peace, and hope.

Nicky and I love our four little girlies so much. They are our joy and happiness, each so different in face and character. We have recently begun calling them our little four-leaf clover, for they are proof of our luck and Godʼs blessings to us despite the hard times.

I have been kept awake at night, praying, worried about the prophecies, but with faith in God, mountains can be moved, and Holy Russia will only triumph and be stronger after the war.

Oo

The Upper Peterhof Palace is an enormous, beautiful, and elegant complex that has been nicknamed the Russian Versailles. Our lovely Tatiana was born there less than two years after I gave birth to Olga in the Alexander Palace. I prefer our smaller Lower Dacha though, as it is the place where my Nicky carved our names near the back window when we were just children. The Lower Dacha is located in the Aleksandriya Park, near a large greenhouse, and it is the villa where both Maria and Anastasia were born. It has four floors with small rooms and narrow staircases. Not very well built, but it is cozy.

The edifice is made of yellow and red bricks. It has pilasters, loggias, columns, and grey window surrounds. Its roofs are of varying heights, blue-grey, and steeply-pitched.

My reception room at the Lower Dacha consists of a semi-circular sofa made of white wood that is decorated by a fabric of pink and red roses with green leaves. I am sitting there next to my sister Ella now, both of us wearing white lace and linen summer dresses, but alas, she looks so much better. My most recent pregnancy has made me as fat as I will ever be. I am surprised by how close the white table that stands in front of the sofa is to my huge belly.

The war is everything everyone, including my sister, talks about. And how could it not be? Darkness has completely engulfed the nation. Any decent person would be horrified by what is happening. We have talked a lot about the children, but we have discussed our wartime charities even more. We are sick of being unable to do more. My tearful sister is telling me the story of a particular wounded soldier she encountered while making a visit to a hospital.

"You should have seen him, Alix, he was so humble, so vulnerable and devoted to the Tsar and glad to be dying for him. He was so ashamed of having lost the battle and asked me to send his sovereign a message. 'If he knew', he said, 'if he knew what we are going through'. The workers are having such a bad time… I sold some of my diamonds to give to his family and others in similar conditions before he died, I promised I would take care of them."

"That was so nice of you Ella", I squeeze her hand and tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "I pray he has found peace with God. The war must only be making conditions all the more terrible for the poor dears, which is why I pray for peace and victory every day."

"Yes, but I wonder…" Ella wipes her eyes.

I wait patiently for her to continue, but realizing that she won't do so any time soon, I urge her to: "What?"

"No, forget it", she waves her hands dismissively, "maybe I am worrying too much. You are pregnant after all and…"

"No, do tell me Ella", I insist, growing increasingly annoyed by her usual overprotectiveness. I am not a child anymore.

"I was wondering if maybe we are not doing enough, you see… first Bobrikov, the Governor General of Finland, is assassinated, then Plehve", she begins in a casual tone, not a care in the world, but then, as she continues speaking faster and faster every second, I start to realize that she is anxious. "Sergei is absolutely outraged, he ranted to me about treason for almost an hour and told me he would get even more police and spies working in Moscow, that no one would dare even utter a word against the Tsar by the time he was finished with his new wave of arrests, and yet the strikes and riots have continu…"

"Oh yes Ella!" I chuckle. "You are worrying too much indeed! How could the actions of those assassins have anything to do with us? No decent people with love in their hearts would ever consider becoming anarchists or anything of the sort. Murderers of any kind will always be a small and evil lot, finding excuses to kill everywhere. We live in a fallen world after all. And as for those few unruly children striking and rioting…"

"They are not so few anymore, that is what I am telli…"

"They are not true Russians! Especially not if they are doing so during wartime, when the country needs to be united. May God have mercy on them."

Ella doesn't say anything else. She only sighs and looks down. My answer seems to have successfully ended the conversation for now, but my sister doesn't seem convinced, looking rather dejected. I add some words of reassurance: "I know the times are hard, dear, but it will all be over once the war is won, you will see."

"I know, Alix", she replies, "but I am not so sure anymore, with all these things happening all at once… I am worried this could all unfold into something worse unless we do our best to stop it."

"Did you not say the wounded man you visited was brave and loyal? Do you want me to fear those good and honest people, Ella? I don't know why you are bringing this up all of the sudden, you are acting so strange. We help them because it is our Christian duty, Ella, because we love them and don't want them to suffer, not because there is any reason to fear them. The Russian people love us."

I refrain from telling her about the warnings of our friend Philippe, who said the country would be ruined if Nicky condoned anything close to resembling the drafting of a constitution. He has been wrong before, but I am pregnant now with a lively and energetic child I love more than anything in this world already thanks to Philippe insisting that Nicky and I seek St. Seraphimʼs intercession. I trust most of his advice, because even when he was mistaken, he had only our best interests at heart.

Ella wouldn't understand. She gets so bossy and unbearable whenever I mention our friend and starts warning me about false prophets and other rubbish. My sister is a woman of faith, of course, but she does not seem to believe that people with special gifts from God exist today. She thinks they all vanished in the first century. I would not mind her skepticism so much if she had not meddled with my and Nickyʼs friendship with Philippe, but she did.

"Yes of course, Alicky dear, of course the common people love us", she tries to take my hand, "but do you not think we should work to keep it that way?"

"Absolutely not!" I pull my hand away. "The Russian peasants see us as gods, Ella, and you, who spend a good portion of the year in the countryside, know this better than anyone."

"Then why is it so hard for you to even say hello to them? You do not go to balls where you could make useful connections with the nobility, claiming that the arrogant and frivolous people who attend are not worth your time, but then why…?"

Oh, I see where this is going. She is referring to that day I refused to open the curtain of the train to greet the crowd.

"Not that again!" I exclaim. "Did Minnie encourage you to do this? Is that what that strange talk was all about? How impertinent of her! Next time I see her I will…"

"No, do not think that Alix, I just remembered what she told me about that day when it became relevant, that is all, I am sorry, forget it. It is just so hard to talk to…"

Elizabeth looks away before finishing the sentence. She truly seems to regret bringing up the subject.

I hate not having the best of relationships with Nickyʼs mother, someone he and my girlies love so much, but how could I? The last time she lectured me, yet again, about not caring about high society was before the war during one of her visits to the Alexander Palace. She claimed that I wasn't doing my duty, that I was influencing my husband not to do his, and that those formal receptions mattered because Nicky needed to hear from the people.

I politely replied that those privileged aristocrats would have perfectly splendid evenings without us, that they didn't need us nor were entitled to our time and energy, which would be better spent with our children or in more useful charitable projects, and that the peasants and the common people, the real Russians, would love and revere us regardless of whether we spent time with princes, counts, barons and Grand Dukes, because we had been chosen by God to rule over them, and I had faith in Him.

"No, you silly girl!" My mother-in-law rudely replied. "How could they love you? They do not even know you, and they revere the idea of what you represent, for now. And yes, balls and receptions matter because like it or not the autocracy depends on people who hear from lesser people, who hear from even lesser people. The information is mostly altered by the time it finally gets to us, but it is better than pretending to know everything, and as for God…"

"Yes, and as for God, Minnie?" I encouraged her, feeling like I had the upper hand in the argument already. "Do tell."

I noticed that she was about to roll her eyes, but she somehow held herself back. "I do not view God as my personal servant, Alix", she said. "I am not as prideful as to believe that He makes plans based on what is better for me alone, or that all I have to do is sit down and wait for Him to arrive like a waiter with the specific order I requested. I was born a princess, as were you, because a long time ago some ancestor was either handed the crown by a conniving group of powerful men or had the audacity to snatch it away from a predecessor he either murdered or defeated in battle. Sashaʼs grandfather became Tsar only because his older brother Konstantin had married a commoner and given up his claim to the throne. Nicholas I, on the other hand, worked hard to make good use of his. God seems to choose those who act to be chosen, do you not think? He cares for us, but no more than He does for the trees and the squirrels outside, and I do not believe He will save us from the consequences of our own actions."

Absolutely shocked and outraged, I accused her of being impious, which made her incredibly defensive. Our conversation ended there. She has wanted me to be her ever since we met, to fit her idea of what a perfect Empress should be, but I am my own person.

"I was indisposed that day," I explain to my sister after a while in a low tone of voice, feeling slightly ashamed of my actions. Although… why should I feel ashamed? I was indisposed only one day out of many, I am not a circus monkey or a dog who does tricks on command, and what right does that woman even have to criticize me for who I do and don't decide to greet? She is not the Empress anymore.

"I know", she sighs, and then, smiling, adds: "I like the way your hair was done today, by the way."

The change in subject is welcomed.

Ella and I fight at times, but we do love each other so very much. When I was a little girl, Ella would care for me as any mother would for her daughter, and later on, whenever I felt guilty about how much I wanted to marry Nicky due to the sacred promise I had made to my dear papa about remaining a Lutheran, she would comfort me by reminding me that love is sacred as well.

I tell Ella the recent story of how Tatiana asked my maids to teach her how to do my hair. My sister and I have a good time laughing about it, endeared by dear Tatiana. It is a simple bun today, easier to do than even Ellaʼs, but my little girl is clearly learning. I am so proud of her I scare myself sometimes, because I know I should not have favorites even by accident.

"Are the girls excited about the new baby?" Ella inquires.

"Incredibly so!" I reply. "Maria and Tatiana most of all, Maria talks to the baby every day."

"And the other girls?"

"They are happy too, but alas! You know how it is, Anastasia is too young and excitable to care for only one thing at a time, and Olga…"

I did not like Olgaʼs arrogant attitude the day I revealed I was pregnant. It did sour the day and maybe I have not hidden my feelings on the matter too well, but I would not tell that to Ella. I am not in the mood for unsolicited parenting advice, and that, I suspect, is precisely what she would give me.

My Olga is just too clever for her own good, picking up on the subtle ways in which our world diminishes the value of little girls. My special girlie, behaving so well these past few days, although I can tell it has been hard. I should focus on making sure she feels loved at all times.

"And Olga…?" Ella begs me to continue.

"Olga is happy to be the older sister of a little brother for once", I lie, although to be fair, Olga is not unhappy anymore either. She even becomes upset whenever she fails to feel the baby kick.

"We have talked about this, Alix, you don't know whether the baby you are expecting is a boy, why not protect yourself from disappointment by being open to all possibilities?"

There it is, that overprotective attitude of hers.

"Oh, you have so little faith, Ella!" I complain. "We asked St. Seraphim to intercede and grant us a son, and here he is", I gesture to my belly.

"And what of all the times before, Alix? What of all the other prayers? God provides us with what we need, not what we want."

"And when exactly would the nation be more in need of an heir?" I point out, and she smiles. "Do not worry excessively for me, Ella", I soothe her. "I have already gone through four so-called disappointments, as you so unkindly referred to my daughters, I can take a fifth and be delirious with happiness that same day."

"Oh, do not be silly!" She chuckles. "You know what I meant, I adore the girls and I know you do as well, all despite their Irish accents."

"What?" I know my sister mentioned the last thing in a teasing manner, but I still become overwhelmed by concern.

"It is something I have come to notice whenever they speak to you in English, but do not worry dear, it is harmless and barely discernible."

"No, no, Ella, it is not harmless! What will our English relatives say? Where did they even learn that?" I put my fingers on my forehead and think.

"One of the nannies… maybe?"

"Oh! Miss Eagar, of course, how silly of me! It is going to be sad though, the girls love her so much…"

The conversation is abruptly interrupted when the baby kicks me so hard that I gasp. Ella raises her eyebrows and opens her mouth in surprise. I let out a chuckle as I place my palm on my stomach, later pulling Ellaʼs hand over to me so she can feel the baby as well.

"He is so active!" She exclaims with the biggest grin on her face. I am immensely moved by her reaction, and soon my sight becomes blurry.

"You called him a 'he'!" I can't help but notice, and after a few seconds, the tears of joy roll down from my eyes. I am just so happy to be sharing this with Ella, who also becomes emotional.

I know my baby may not be a boy, but this child will be St. Seraphimʼs miracle either way. Something special and fantastic is growing in me, I can feel it.

I have always loved each of my babies without even meeting them, with all of my being, and that is not different now. But never had I felt as if I knew them before birth like I know this child, whose personality I am deeply acquainted with already.

This baby kicks as much as the others did, maybe a bit more often, but they seem to do so primarily when I am feeling sad or ill, as if to comfort me, or whenever I am particularly happy for some reason, as if sharing my joy.

Whenever I rub my belly or Nicky talks to it, this baby is immediately compelled to react and kick. I have prayed for a boy for so long, but I am so pleased with my baby already that I will feel completely fulfilled once it is born.

What I want the most is for my bundle of joy, my little miracle, to be healthy.

"Isn't my baby vigorous?" I ask my sister after we have both wiped our tears. "And he is going to be strong as well, Ella, you will see. I am going to raise the spirits of the people with an heir."

"And if it is a girl?" She raises an eyebrow.

"If it is not a boy, I will call her Victoria, after grandmamma, remember? I am beginning to miss her more now than ever."

"But Alicky, Victoria is not a Russian name."

"I do not care Ella, I am the Empress, and I will convince Nicky to make an exception and name her so. Victoria means victory, and what better way to make everyone see that my baby's birth is a good omen?"

Oo

Olga Nikolaevna Romanova.

My sisters and I are resting in mama and papaʼs bedroom after a long day of playing outside.

Mama is distracted, sewing on a small pink sofa next to the bed, behind which there are lots of religious icons hanging on the wall. Close to her, Tatiana and Maria are playing together with their dolls. Poor papa has a lot to do, so he is still working. I feel so sorry for him, he has to do so much! So many people depend on him!

Little Nastasia and I are certainly benefiting from mamaʼs focus on her work by jumping off of the bed, which we are not supposed to do. Every time Anastasia jumps, I make sure to be close by in case she gets hurt. On this occasion, my youngest sister giggles a bit too loudly when she lands.

"Shh!" I hush her. "Mama will hear us!" My turn comes, so I climb onto the bed, intending to jump.

"Olga! Anastasia!" Mama calls. I freeze, she has discovered us.

"Come quickly!" She insists. "The baby is kicking!"

I relax, quickly becoming worried again as I rush towards her. Will I get to feel the baby this time?

Tatiana and Maria are the first to arrive. They are already sitting one on each of the arms of the sofa and feeling mamaʼs tummy. Anastasia arrives soon after I do, and we both kneel in front of mama, who is looking down at me with a warm smile. I extend my arm and touch her belly.

I instantly feel something bumping against my hand! The most ridiculous chuckle comes out of my mouth.

"Did you feel it?" Mama asks. The excitement can be heard in her voice.

"Yes", my voice breaks, to my great embarrassment.

"Aww, sweetheart", mama caresses my cheek. "You do know I love you, right?"

That only makes it worse. The tears roll down. All of my sisters are giggling, and I immediately understand why. The baby is kicking again, harder this time.

I start laughing and crying at the same time. Very weird and unusual, as I don't even feel sad, but the furthest thing from it. Tanechka kisses my cheek, probably because she thinks I am indeed sad. Mashka follows Tatianaʼs lead and does the same.

I grin as I give each of them a pat on the back.

"Hello!" I say to the baby. "I am your sister Olga." I am immensely happy to feel the baby react to my voice.

"Hello baby", Anastasia follows. "Look, Olga is crying."

"Oh, Nastasia!" Mama chuckles in an attempt to reprimand my little sister gently.

Tatiana, Maria, and I laugh.

"We love you very, very much", Tatiana says, her mouth close to mamaʼs belly. The baby kicks.

Maria, whose forehead is touching Tanechkaʼs from the other side of the sofa, adds:

"We are going to take care of you." And the baby kicks once more.

We are. I am. I know now what am supposed to do and be.

Oo

August 12, 1904.

Alexandra Feodorovna Romanova.

Such a sunny day! Not a cloud in the sky. It has been hot as well, maybe too much, uncomfortably so.

Everything happened without warning. I was finishing my soup when I felt a strong pain that by now I can immediately recognize as a contraction. I quickly retreated upstairs after a brief apology, probably leaving my poor Nicky worried. Ella has already rung people for assistance.

I am now pacing in the room, praying. The icons behind the bed offer some comfort, but I can't stop thinking about what happened yesterday. As one of my maids brushed my hair, the mirror on the wall fell to the ground and shattered into pieces. It shouldn't have. The floor was heavily carpeted.

I feared it was a bad omen and started praying after asking the servants to help me pick up the shards. I knew what the sign meant, or might.

The English curse. My little nephew Heinrich had it. He liked to jump off chairs and beds like my three-year-old Anastasia still does, and yet he died for it. My poor brother Friedrich had it as well, and the little one broke my mother's heart with his death. My brother Ernie still feels guilty about it at times, for he was playing with Friedrich before the accident.

Uncle Leopold also had the illness. After the death of my mother, my siblings and I went to stay in England for a short time with dear grandmamma at Windsor. Uncle Leopold used to go out with us in the mornings and spend the afternoons playing with us. My older siblings had lessons, so I was at times my uncleʼs only companion. We were very close and used to play little card games together. He even showed me how to do my first trick. Sometimes, I simply sat and painted in his room.

One time, I fell in the garden, cutting my leg, and I was proud to show Uncle Leopold my bandages, which were similar to the ones he often used due to his blood illness. Of course I, as a little girlie, did not understand what they were for. I still wear the two bracelets Uncle Leopold gave me before he died after bumping his head during a fall.

Another contraction interrupts my thoughts and I bend over in pain. Just then, I hear a sound that makes my flesh crawl. A bell.

I approach my vanity and the sound gets louder. I see it, the icon with the small bell that my friend Philippe gave me before leaving, the one he said would ring to warn me should anyone meaning to harm me enter the room. Well, it is ringing. I don't know how, but the little bell attached to the icon is moving and ringing on its own. Again.

I look around the room, but there is no one here. Another contraction. I am definitely in labor.

Our Father, who art in heaven, I pray, hallowed be thy name; thy will be done; on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread. And forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us. And lead us not into temptation; but deliver us from evil. For thine is the kingdom, the power and the glory, for ever and ever.

I can feel the anxiety and excitement sweeping over the villa as my family members and servants run up and down the stairs and through the corridors.

Amen.

Oo

I lie down in bed, and the room quickly fills with people, Dr. Ott among them. None of them is who the bell warned me about, I know.

As with my previous deliveries, I am administered chloroform to make the labor easier, but the fact my Nicky will be with me is going to make it all the more easier.

I push and breathe, thinking apprehensively of the first time I heard that little bell ring: 1903, the night before my little niece Ella died.

I don't understand people who don't believe in the supernatural, or God. There are so many things science can't explain, they are so arrogant… impious…

My girlies have seen the spirit of the unfortunate, spurned wife of Alexander II. Olga in particular. When she was only three, my eldest told Miss Eager on several occasions about an old lady in a blue dress, whom she had seen in her room. The governess could never see anything, of course. Then, one day, as they walked through the first floor of the palace, my daughter pointed to a portrait of Maria Alexandrovna and identified her as the old lady.

My mother died the same day my grandfather Albert had, his name on her lips. Sometimes I can feel my little sister Mayʼs presence, as I can feel my dear mother's.

And what my little girls saw the night my niece Ella… I don't think even half an hour has passed since I had my first contraction when I slowly begin to come out of the effects of the chloroform. Nicky looks startled, and his eyes are full of tears. The room is silent, way too silent…

The Holy Fool Pashaʼs prophecy! The angel of death has come for my child just like it did for Ernieʼs little girl!

Oh, no, no!

But the baby cries out, which prevents me from doing so myself.

I sigh in relief. It is such an amazingly loud cry, so incredibly healthy. I get a glimpse of my sunbeam in Dr. Ottʼs arms, and I prepare to insist on naming her "Victoria.” Before I can emit a sound, however, I see the doctor turn to my nervous and pale husband, who looks incredibly anxious about my health and that of our newborn infant.

"I congratulate Your Majesty on the birth of a Tsarevich", Dr. Ott felicitates my Nicky, who stands dazed, unable to utter any words. I don't quite believe it myself, so I close my eyes. I need to make sure that I am not dreaming.

I open my eyes to see Nicholas smiling at me, and the joy in his wrinkles tells me everything I need to know, so I dare to express what I have prayed so very hard for:

"Oh, it cannot be true, it cannot be true! Is it really a boy?!"

By way of an answer, my Nicky falls on his knees and sobs tears of happiness by my bedside.

Carefully, Dr. Ott places the baby into my shaking arms. I make sure to count each of his twenty fingers, memorize his features, and even make sure that he is truly a boy.

"My son, my life!" I cry out. "My sunshine, my midnight sun!"

Chapter Text

St. Petersburg. August 12, 1904.

"No, no, no, Vanya!" Ilya exclaims.

"Shh!" Ivan opens his eyes wide. If it weren't for the fact he is trying to position the wooden pattern inside the metal box properly, Ivan would have already put a finger on his mouth or even that of his brother to shut him up.

Although the day has been exceptionally sunny, it has otherwise been just a normal Friday at the foundry. The men are, as usual, working in simple kosovorotka shirts of different colors, leather boots, black caps, and baggy dark pants.

The light is pouring through the two open windows so abundantly that the molten iron inside the furnace doesn't seem to stand out as much as it usually does.

Although Ivan has finally decided to join the anarchists, he hasn't managed to convince his brother to do the same. Ilya doesn't even buy that becoming an outlaw is the right path for Ivan at all.

"What a stupid thing to do", Ilya grumbles lowly now. "Think, Ivan, think! Who is going to take care of the children if anything happens to you?"

"You know Maria and Kostya will", Ivan asserts as he and Ilya hold a handle each and pick up yet another metal box, this one filled with sand.

"And you know exactly what I actually meant", Ilya counters. "Who is going to put food on the table while they are taking care of them?"

"We will find a way. Anarchists support and take care of each other. Once I join, my cell will not leave our family to perish." Ivan speaks in hushed tones, knowing he and his brother shouldn't be talking about this dangerous and very much illegal subject at the foundry, but the workday is long and boring, and even after hours of arguing at home, the brothers haven't come in any way closer to an agreement.

"You are going to have your family live out of stolen money?!" Ilya accuses his elder brother in an angry whisper as they pour the sand onto the metal box with the pattern inside.

"Expropriated", Ivan corrects him.

Ilya shakes his head in disbelief. "Those college students and intellectuals will abandon us all as soon as you are arrested." He goes to pick up a ramming tool and then begins flattening the sand.

"You don't know them as well as I do", Ivan retorts, "and they are not all intellectuals or even college students, most are peasants or workers like we are. I am tired, and I only want the best for my children."

"You know I would follow you to the ends of Earth, Ivan", Ilya gives up trying to argue. "So think carefully."

The brothers keep pouring the sand slowly, making sure it becomes firm in the box as they do. Having completed a few more steps, they release the pattern from the mold.

Once their gloves and visors are in place, they prepare for the scariest part of the process. Sparks fly and the heat becomes intense as the old crane with the molten metal is lowered. The brothers approach with the mold.

Oo

It is still quite early when Ivan, Ilya, and the other workers hear the first cannon.

Everyone stops whatever it is that they are doing. The Tsar has had another child, something Ivan couldn't care less about.

Another cannon is fired.

A couple of men whistle with joy. They know they may get the rest of the day off. Ilya reminds Ivan of this, and the father's mood immediately changes as he imagines an entire afternoon with his boy Dima and his little Sonya. Others stay silent or sit down on the floor to rest and chatter. Many count out loud.

Three, four, five. Most are too lazy to do so from the very beginning, only joining the chorus after the number of cannons fired has reached 70.

"25, 26, 27, 28!" The workers shout with excitement, glad for the distraction. Happy to have their hellish day interrupted. Ilya and Ivan are among those who gather outside the factory, where many other people await, also counting.

49, 50, 51, 52.

Women from the workshops across the street approach and search for their husbands.

66, 67, 68, 69.

When the 75th canon is fired, Ilya joins the ones counting. 79, 80, 81. He grins at his brother, who tries hard not to smile back.

"91, 92, 93, 94!" The enthusiastic crowd continues, louder than ever before. It is so contagious that Ivan can't take it anymore. "97, 98, 99!" He joins. "100, 101!"

When the 102nd cannon is fired, the crowd roars with joy. It also stops counting.

Oo

The artillerymen from the Fortress of Saints Peter and Paul haven't finished firing the 301 cannons when the Sudayev brothers rush home. They don't need to be told they have the day off. They know.

Ivan can't believe his eyes. The cannons keep booming as people from all walks of life celebrate like crazy. Everywhere he looks couples kiss on the sidewalks, men throw their caps in the air, and soldiers show everyone and each other their best traditional dancing skills in the parks. Some others play their balalaikas or accordions to provide them with music. Ivan is reminded of his life in the countryside and his heart is filled with nostalgia.

Men and women wave Russian flags from their balconies. White, blue, and red. Groups of people sing the national anthem. The poor, the wealthy, and those in between. Men, women, and children.

God, save the Tsar!

Strong, sovereign,

Reign for glory, for our glory!

Reign to make foes fear,

Orthodox Tsar!

God, save the Tsar!

For once, Ivan doesn't want to cover his ears.

When they get to their putrid little neighborhood, Ivan and Ilya find their friends and acquaintances celebrating as well. Of course Maria is celebrating. A picture of Tsar Nicholas II sits amongst the many icons of the corner, the icons that she prays with more than anyone else living in the flat. But even those who have lost their sons during the ongoing war are celebrating, Ivan realizes in awe. Even Kostya has forgotten about the shame his scars usually bring him.

His five-year-old Dima is dancing with baby Sonya, Maria standing nearby to make sure he won't drop her. Dmitri's laughter is immensely loud as he spins Sonya around, giving her big fat cheeks a long kiss or two every three seconds. It is clear what has brought about these displays of affection. Baby Sophia looks more adorable than ever with her growing red hair, dimples on her cheeks, and big brown eyes that follow her brother everywhere. She laughs and babbles uncontrollably at all the faces Dima makes at her, opening her eyes wide to make sure she is not missing anything.

They both look so happy that Ivan's chest tightens as he approaches to kiss them.

"Did you hear, papa?" Dima asks Ivan as the father picks up his baby daughter and showers her with kisses. "Auntie Masha says the future Tsar has been born, she says this is a sign things will get better."

Maria and Ilya have disappeared from sight. To have a private moment is what Ivan assumes.

"Yes, Dima", Ivan replies. "It appears to be that way."

"Are you happy?" The boy cocks his head.

"I am happy you are happy Dima", Ivan ruffles the child's hair, "but let me tell you a little secret." He kneels to talk to his son face to face. "He may be the heir to the throne, but the new Tsesarevich is no more special than our baby Sonya."

"He is not?" Dmitri's eyes grow bigger.

"Absolutely not", Ivan shakes his head. "I have made some new friends and…"

"Who are they?" The child asks before his father can continue.

"They call themselves the anarchists."

"The anartists?" Dmitri echoes.

"Do you know what they told me?" Ivan smiles at his child's mispronunciation.

"What?" The little boy jumps from excitement.

"They told me no one is better or worse than anyone else for being born rich or poor, the child of a beggar or that of a Tsar, man or woman, Jew, Orthodox or Catholic, Russian or from anywhere else in the world. We make ourselves better than our circumstances, and no matter what you hear around you, no one can force you to do anything you don't want just because he or she is more powerful, let alone supposedly better than you."

"Wow", Dmitri grins. "Really?" As much as Ivan has tried to simplify the anarchist ideology for his Dima, those were still big words for such a small child. Dmitri understands the sentiment behind it though. He feels his father's emotions.

"Really Dima. Don't ever, ever allow anyone to make you believe otherwise. You are just as precious as the pampered gymnasium boys with their shiny shoes you see walking down the Nevsky Prospect."

"Does that mean I can stay up after bedtime if I want to?" The little boy giggles.

"Well, I don't know about that", Ivan laughs, which makes baby Sophia chuckle along as if she understood what her father and brother were talking about. Ivan and Dmitri are so delighted by this that they try to prolong her laughter for minutes by making funny faces and noises at her. It is only after the little girlʼs giggles have subsided that Ivan answers his son's question. "How about we have a discussion and come to an agreement on how long you can stay awake each night?"

"Oh, yes, papa!" Dmitri claps, and yet again Sophia imitates him. "That would be great!" Ivan and Dmitri laugh at Sophia's mimicking and start trying to get her to clap again.

"What do you think, Dima?" Ivan asks amidst laughter. "Should your father be an anarchist?"

"But you already are, papa", the child's confusion is evident in his frown, "are you not?"

"Well… yes Dima", Ivan answers unsurely, "I meet with my friends often, but they need my help if we want to live in a world where everyone believes the nice things I just told you about and your papa can spend a lot more time with you."

"Is that why you have been away so much even after work?" Dmitri comes across as sad. "What do your friends need help for?"

This awakens something in Ivan. By way of answer, he kisses his daughter on the cheek. Emulating his father, Dmitri kisses his sister on the other cheek. They play with her for a while on the sidewalk where people celebrate still. Dmitri had a few of his wooden toys in his pockets and allowed his little sister to grab them.

Sophia babbles considerably already. She does so as she plays with her father and brother. Her first ever word was "Dima."

Oo

Ivan is being reminded of the countryside more now than ever. All of the neighbors are having an improvised party at the nearest park, and music they are playing with the accordions and balalaikas brings him back to his home village.

While Sophia rests in Maria's arms, Ilya and a few young lads are teaching Dima how to do the squat dance. It is quite hard, Ivan remembers with a smile. He hopes his Dima can someday master it. Ivan used to win all of the competitions in his village. That is how he met his wife, who swooned over his jumps and kicks.

Dancers squat with folded arms as they kick one leg and then the other, sometimes at the same time, alternating between high and low kicks. Squat dance demands tight muscles and good balance. Ivan can't do any of that anymore. His back would kill him, but he is enjoying the show, and he is most certainly enjoying watching his Dima have fun.

The new generation is just as good, Ivan admits to himself. Too bad they are dancing in a small park and not the endless green fields surrounding the crops of his village, where one could run for hours uninterrupted.

Ivan also remembers Ivan Kupala, the summer solstice feast. It takes place in June, during the shortest night of the year, when evil forces grow most powerful and you can't fall asleep lest you become one of their victims. Nymphs from the swamps and rusalki from the rivers make themselves known and are both at the service of Vodyanoy, the frog water spirit. Witches and demons also abound, and so does Leshi, the forest spirit. They can kidnap children to make them slaves, or so the legends Natalia believed wholeheartedly said.

As a means of protection, men would place nettle clusters on the thresholds. Sometimes we still do, Ivan thinks, amused. They are believed to keep bad spirits from entering homes. Ivan and his brother would take lots of precautions with their landlordsʼ livestock and the horses in particular so that the witches wouldn't steal them.

Some peasants even believe that Ivan Kupala is the only night in which people can understand plants and animals as they talk.

Ivan is being reminded of this feast in part because it never gets darker than dusk during the nights of the weeks surrounding Ivan Kupala. The Sun never truly sets the night of the feast itself either, not even at midnight. The birth of the Tsesarevich can't help but feel like a different type of Midnight Sun to Ivan.

All these weeks have been nothing but darkness. Nothing but news of more and more men and boys lost, of broken promises from the employers. Even then, this baby boyʼs birth seems to have reminded everyone that hope is never truly lost. It is never truly dark. The Midnight Sun is there. The future of Russia.

Ivan doesn't know if he really believes in a better future without struggling for it. His heart wants to though, for the sake of his little Dima, who is still being taught how to dance.

The last time Ivan and his family stopped by their old village in order to visit some distant relatives, the children had the time of their lives.

Swimming during the night of Kupala is also a tradition. Ivan and his family would do so in a small lake. Remembering Andrei and Dmitri's joy always makes Ivan feel better after an awful day.

But one of the main elements of the feast is the bonfires by the river. People dance around and jump over them. It is said that the more you jump the luckier you will be in life. Some villagers also claim that if a couple jumps over the bonfire holding hands and is still doing so by the time they land on the other side, they will be happy together for the rest of their lives. Ivan is not so sure about the latter. He lost Natalia. He hopes there is some truth to the former though.

Very small children are not supposed to jump over the bonfire, and yet Ivanʼs little Dima did, many times. Maybe because he saw everyone else doing it and Ivan, Natalia, and Andrei had all carried the small boy in their arms as they jumped before. The mischievous and sneaky child had always wanted to try doing it all by himself though, so one time, while his father and mother were both distracted, he untangled himself from Nataliaʼs grasp and jumped over the fire without his parents' permission, coming out completely unharmed. The villagers saw it as a good omen.

Dmitri was scolded once his parents' fright had subsided, but it would not be the first time he got his way. Another time he accused his brother Andrei of hitting him, something he hadn't done, and while his parents were too busy scolding their eldest, Dmitri ran to the fire and jumped without a care in the world.

Ivan doesn't think anyone enjoys getting dirty as much as his Dima. In another life, he could have been a great, hardworking peasant, but it would be way too hard to get a good chunk of land in these times, and the father is sure neither his brother nor Maria will have any of it after what they have endured getting used to St. Petersburg.

Still, all Ivan wants is for Dmitriʼs life to be as happy and simple in the future. Forever. He just wonders… will that be possible?

The fatherʼs thoughts are interrupted when Dima manages to kick one leg and quickly return to his squatting position without falling. Ivan claps and cheers for his child. Everyone around does as well, even baby Sophia, still in her auntʼs arms.

"For the Tsarevich!" An old man exclaims. Dmitri nods at that. Ilya and Maria laugh. More cheers are heard. Cheers and whistling.

Ivan can hardly believe it himself, but the happiness is so contagious he is soon completely entrapped in it. He is ecstatic for some reason, and for instants, genuinely happy for the parents even, as if this child were a sign his real duty is with his own children.

His deeply held beliefs are stored in the back of his mind. His hatred subsides and remains solely directed at his greedy employers. Ivan can't help but remember, however, that this doesn't change the fact his little hope is just a baby, and that Midnight Suns only last a few weeks.

Oo

12th of August.

30th of July, to be precise. In Russia, the so-called Julian calendar, thirteen days behind the Gregorian calendar, is still used.

Nicholas and Alexandra's prayers have been answered.

For us a great, unforgettable day on which God's goodness was so clearly visited upon us. At 1:15 this afternoon, Alix gave birth to a son, whom in prayer we have named Alexei. Everything happened remarkably quickly, for me at least. There are no words to thank God properly for the comfort He has sent us in this year of hard trials.

Tsar Nicholas II is happier than ever and his diary entry reveals that. Today, his joy and that of his wife are unparalleled, leaving no room for a single worry. The long-awaited son and heir to the Russian throne is in the arms of his beloved sunny, who felt extremely well after the birth, looked radiant, and soon enough was happily breastfeeding.

Alexandra doesn't want to separate from her baby. She hasn't stopped looking at him. She hasn't stopped holding, cuddling, kissing, and feeding him. Caressing his face and each of his tiny fingers. She can't quite believe it is true yet and barely ever lets the nurses come between her and her newly born baby boy, only allowing them to do their job when absolutely necessary. Her chest is brimming with so much love she may explode.

Nicholas is so ecstatic he can hardly decide between staying with his wife all day long and telling the world about his boy through endless telegrams. The Tsar has done both, running around the corridors of the Lower Dacha from one room to the other like an excited little boy for hours.

Alexei. It had to be Alexei. Nicholas and Alexandra decided amidst exaltation and laughter that they had to break the cycle of Alexanders and Nicholases before they even started praying for a good name, which they carefully did.

The name they chose had been out of favor with the Romanov family. Ever since Peter the Great ordered his son and heir Alexei to be tortured to death, the Romanovs have avoided giving this name to heirs to the throne. There is even a legend regarding an alleged curse on the Romanov line that the bruised and bleeding Tsarevich Alexei managed to cry out before his death.

But Nicholas didn't care. He was set on this name. A name to honor St. Alexei of Moscow, the Metropolitan of Kiev and all of Russia from 1354 who saved Moscow from a Tatar raid by curing the blindness of Taidula Khatun, mother of Jani Beg, the Khan of the Golden Horde.

Nicholas II had long been attracted by the image of yet another Alexei, the Romanov Tsar Alexei I.

He still admires the religiosity of his ancestor deeply. Alexei I did a great deal for the Russian state. Not with cruelty or fierce will, at least not as much as Peter the Great, but with meekness and gradual reforms. And so, Nicholas gave his son this name. God had sent him a message. The name was perfect. It is perfect, and it also connotes "bringer of peace", among other meanings. What could be more suitable right now?

At long last have the cannons of the Peter and Paul Fortress in St. Petersburg boomed out the 301 volleys across the Neva River announcing the birth of a child who is not only the heir but also the first Tsesarevich to be born to a ruling Emperor rather than another heir since the seventeenth century.

People stopped in their tracks to count the number of volleys, which came every six seconds. The appearance of the streets changed quite suddenly, with national flags springing from every quarter, and five minutes after the 102nd gun had boomed out its glad tidings, the people had completely given themselves over to public rejoicing. The excitement only kept rising until the full 301 shots for a boy were given, upon which the wildest cheers erupted all over St. Petersburg and then the whole Empire as the telegrams carrying the happy news kept arriving everywhere.

Cities, towns, and villages all over Russia have broken out in celebration. The evening streets are now bright with electric illuminations of the famous Romanov coat of arms, which also decorates the gates and interiors of several palaces. It is embroidered or painted in several ceremonial uniforms. In plates and adornments. It serves as the Empireʼs official seal of approval.

The main element of this important symbol is the twin-headed eagle. These birds are very common among noble families. They are seen as majestic. The eagle is the king of the skies. It represents power and kingship. For this reason, the eagle was used by the Romans as well, and when their Empire split into two, the eastern Byzantines continued using it. They, however, used a double-headed eagle instead. The two heads of the eagle faced opposite sides to symbolize the fact they were looking both east and west.

Byzantium was the origin of the many Eastern Orthodox Churches, which continued using the double-headed eagle that eventually became a symbol of Eastern Europe. It is clear why the Orthodox Russian Emperors adopted the twin-headed eagle as well. Russia spans Asia and Europe. Looks east and west.

At the center of the dark brown twin-headed eagleʼs body is a red shield framed in gold surrounded by several decorations, among them five blue crosses of Saint Andrew, the apostle who preached to the Slavs living near the coasts of the Black Sea and the Dnieper River. The red shield itself depicts the patron saint of Moscow and the whole of Russia, Saint George, slaying the dragon.

In both the eagleʼs wings and surrounding the main shield are smaller shields symbolizing the regions of Russia conquered over the years. The Tsardom of Kazan, the Tsardom of Poland, the Tsardom of the Tauric Chersoneses, the Grand Duchies of Kiev, Vladimir, and Novgorod, the Tsardom of Astrakhan, the Tsardom of Siberia, the Tsardom of Georgia, and the Grand Duchy of Finland.

Both heads of the eagle are crowned by the same jeweled adornment used during coronation ceremonies. The scepter and orb are held by the eagleʼs claws as if the latter were the Tsarʼs hands, and a blue ribbon connects the two crowns worn by the twin heads with an identical but bigger ornament in the middle and on top of them, the one which crowns the entire coat of arms. The symbol of the Romanovs.

The newborn Tsesarevich is now the heir to that rich historic legacy, and most Russians could not be happier about it.

Orchestras play in the parks, constantly repeating the National Anthem. In many of the capital's best restaurants, champagne flows freely at the expense of the proprietors. Church bells have been ringing all day long.

Somewhere in one of the fanciest hotels of St. Petersburg, Countess Malevsky-Malevich and her lover Vladimir Popov happily celebrate the important event they care little for by making love amidst cologne scented bedclothes. They are planning to tiptoe to Peterhof the next morning without even warning Lilyʼs husband. For once she doesn't care about attracting suspicions. Her husband is oblivious either way.

The Grand Duke Michael is ecstatic by the news. No more of those nasty responsibilities being the heir carries. He is free. He is free and he has another nephew to spoil.

Despite the great wave of trouble throughout Russia, despite the huge storm still raging in the eastern lands and seas of the Empire, Alixʼs child, her boy, has made the nation rejoice for a moment.

Olga Alexandrovna, Tsar Nicholasʼs sister and happy aunt of yet another child to fuss over, is pretty sure that it was Seraphim who brought it about. So are the delighted parents, who bless the day they met their friend Philippe.

"Please, somehow or other, pass on our gratitude and joy", Nicholas is writing to Militza, who along with her sister Anastasia is responsible for introducing the imperial couple to their former spiritual advisor.

Oo

Not everyone was happy. For some, the news provoked nothing but irritation. For Gleb Stephanovich Vaganov in particular. Gleb was immensely annoyed by his classmates' reactions. They all seemed so happy for no reason. Babies are born every day. He was relieved when his lessons ended earlier than usual but was soon disappointed to discover that even his friends Peter, Leonid, Alexander, and Pavel had been sucked into that joyous madness. They started talking about the so-called miracle and the meaning it may have for Russia and the ongoing war as if half the babies born in the world weren't boys anyway. Statistically speaking, the tyrant and his wife had to have a boy sooner or later. Everyone became so stupid when the news arrived.

To make matters worse, in order to escape his friends' temporary stupidity, Gleb returned home only to get into a fight with his father for an incredibly dumb reason.

Gleb was smiling when he stepped into the flat. That is it. That was enough for Stephen to snap, as the man had suffered through a terrible workday, a workday that had also concluded in the worst possible way, with several of the coworkers he believed to have already done a good job educating cheering upon hearing the news of the heir's birth, congratulating each other on their ignorance. It had been absolutely unbelievable.

Stephen had never hit Gleb. Well, he had, once or twice back when the child was a lot younger, but he didn't do it anymore. Stephen has always protected his son, never letting anyone else lay a finger on him. On one occasion, Stephen used his own body to shield Gleb from a supervisor who was about to hit him, allegedly to correct the boy's work. Stephen lost his job that day, but no entitled bloodsucker got to harm his son. Not even a strand of his hair.

Stephen slapped Gleb today. He asked his son what it was that made him so happy, argued with him, interrogated him unsuccessfully for a few more minutes, and then hit him for the first time in years.

Stephen feels guilty though. Gleb was smiling for some reason and he jumped to conclusions without even thinking. But if all those exploited workers were celebrating the birth of the Tsesarevich, who is to say that his son, softened by years studying in a private gymnasium, wouldn't have?

Elena protested, just not enough, which angered Gleb further.

It is so unfair, the boy thinks. Gleb barely even remembered how it felt to be hit. The slap didn't hurt, but knowing his father had been angry enough to slap him in the first place did. It still hurts. He is never able to please him. And it is as if everyone had gone insane! It is just a baby, Gleb repeats in his head like a mantra. It is just a stupid baby. It truly is a stupid baby, the thirteen-year-old thinks, and in truth, he was smiling at the thought of Feodosia.

Gleb was smiling at the thought of Feodosia, and he didn't want his father to know this. Stephen would have congratulated him, sure, but then he would have started pestering him about talking to more and more people, because it is never enough. He is never enough.

For once not content enough with his mother's attempt at soothing him, Gleb went to Feodosia's house, hoping that walking in uninvited after becoming upset wouldn't count as one of those strange behaviors of his.

A few weeks ago, the girl had talked to Gleb after a meeting. She actually had. They had shared a short conversation along with other youngsters present that Gleb had barely managed to be a part of. He had been way too nervous.

Feodosia hadn't been nervous though. She had guided Gleb through it all and then invited him to see the secret part of the library, a small space that could only be accessed by moving one of the bookshelves of the living room, a bookshelf that was actually attached to a door. Inside, all of Feodosia the mother's illegal or suspicious books were kept. Gleb had never seen so many together.

Gleb is in the secret library now. He has escaped to read and talk about books with Feodosia. The two have become good friends these past few weeks, making the boy's deepest wishes come true. At least, Gleb truly hopes Feodosia considers him a friend.

Today, in particular, Gleb and Feodosia are having more fun than ever. That stupid baby was good for something, after all, Gleb admits.

Oo

Ivan holds Dima's hand as they both walk through the busy Sadovaina Street. They are talking about Andrushka and Natalia. Andrushka most of all. Dmitri likes to imagine what his big brother's life is like now in heaven. He misses playing with him.

The little boy still remembers all of his mother's stories. He doesn't talk about her as much as he did before Andrei died though. Not every day nor every night. He doesn't wake up asking for her either. Ivan knows this is a good thing, but part of him can't help but fear his wife's memory will gradually dissipate from his Dima's mind. A few outdated pictures are all they have to remember Natalia with now.

The five-year-old child is overjoyed by the many free treats he has received from vendors celebrating the heirʼs birth. Ivan smiles as he watches his son savoring a vanilla ice cream as if it were the most delicious thing in the world. There is nothing that could be more amusing.

They walk a few steps further and find Mr. Kolesov standing just outside his toy store giving out white, blue, and red balloons for free to the people passing by. Ipatiy Kolesov is a fat bald man in his late thirties with a black twirled mustache. He usually dresses in simple white shirts, dark pants, and black leather shoes, but today he is also wearing a bowler black hat, a blue tie, and his best purple vest.

In a seemingly good mood, the store owner greets Ivan and Dima by taking off his hat and smiling. Then he hands the small child a blue balloon.

"Wow!" Dima exclaims with the biggest smile on his face as he opens his eyes wide. Ivan never gets tired of how easy it is to make his son happy.

"What do you say when people are nice, Dima?" Ivan kneels next to Dmitri.

"Thank you!" Dmitri looks up at Ipatiy.

"You are very welcome", the man replies.

Ivan and Dmitri keep walking. If it weren't for the young heir's birth, Ivan would already have stolen something for his little Dima. He knows it is not right. He is setting a bad example that may someday get Dmitri into trouble, but he would do anything to amuse his son, to make him happy. Anything that causes Dima to make those mischievous sounds of joy and smile complicitly at him is something Ivan would risk getting in trouble for.

Whenever he walks down Sadovaina Street with his child, Ivan will try to buy him something. A chocolate, a candy. Simple things so many street vendors are giving out for free today. If he is not able to buy anything, the father will put a finger on his mouth and make funny faces at his boy, something that inevitably turns what he always does next a lot harder to hide. Ivan will then swiftly get hold of a small treat for his son, put it in his pocket, and then proceed to act naturally before anyone but the little Dmitri can notice what happened. The childʼs awe-stricken reaction always makes the petty offense worth it. One time, Ivan stole a balloon similar to the generous gift his Dima is playing with right now, something that was, of course, way harder to hide, but then again, it was worth it. Balloons are among Dmitriʼs favorite silly pleasures in life.

It is different this Friday, of course, but father and son are still heading towards the same place they frequent every Sunday evening. They call it the highest place in the world, although it is only the highest place Ivan knows how to reach in the city. It used to be the biggest hill surrounding their village back when they visited the countryside with regularity. Now it is the rooftop of a very tall white and yellow apartment building with conveniently terrible security.

Father and son climb up the stairs of a white conjoining building. Once they get to the top, they walk through the door that leads to the rooftop, where there is always a wooden ladder waiting for them. After tying the balloon around his child's wrist so it doesn't fly away, Ivan carries Dmitri on his back and makes sure the child is holding on tightly before he uses the ladder to climb to the rooftop of the slighter taller building.

To say the "highest place in the world" has a wonderful view would be an understatement. The gorgeous Winter Palace can be seen from there, and so can its many white columns and golden Romanov coats of arms.

Ivan and Dmitri also get a nice view of the dozens of other palaces and mansions located all over the Nevsky Prospect. They both love imagining who lives there and coming up with stories about them. Dmitri's stories can sometimes become incredibly far-fetched. He once said that someday, they would both live in a big house like that. Someone would invite them to. Perhaps they would work in the kitchen.

Most of all, Dmitri and his father enjoy seeing the Neva River and the Baltic Sea from afar. The sight is so beautiful that every time he reaches the perfect spot to contemplate it, Ivan lets out a gasp of wonder without fail. The little Dmitri, sitting on his fatherʼs shoulders, will often do the same.

"Bet you can see all the way to Finland from up there, Dima!" Ivan looks up at his son, letting out a little enthusiastic jump that makes Dmitri squeal in amusement. The child loves hearing his father say that, especially when he jumps. It feels so funny in his belly!

"Wow!" The five-year-old exclaims in awe, also trying to jump from his seat on top of Ivan's shoulders. "We will go to Finland someday too!"

"Oh, really? How?" Ivan keeps a firm grasp on his son's legs to make sure he doesn't fall off out of excitement.

"We'll go swimming if we have to!" The boy's little hands play with his father's red hair. "And we will take Auntie Masha and Uncle Ilya and Sonya too!"

"How is baby Sonya going to swim all the way to Finland, Dima?" Ivan looks up again with a grin, trying to get a glimpse of his son sitting behind him.

"We'll build her a little wooden crib so that we can push her around in the sea!" Dmitri replies. Ivan laughs wholeheartedly at this.

Sitting side by side with their legs hanging in the air to watch the sunset, father and son continue having a great evening spotting ships approaching the city and trying to guess what merchandise they carry or who the passengers are.

When the Sun finally sets after a very long and bright day, fireworks start exploding in the sky, illuminating the already lit up streets further.

"Look, Dima!" The happy father points at one of these wonderful spectacles.

"Wow!" The child exclaims again. Dmitri's joy knows no bounds. His eyes grow big, his wide-open mouth locked in a never-ending wonderstruck expression.

While the fireworks may be amazing, the only thing Ivan wants to do is watch his son enjoy them. He looks down at him, smiles, and kisses the top of his head. The day has been crowned as one of the best they have ever had.

Oo

After attending a number of military maneuvers, Grand Duke Vladimir intended to have lunch with a few guests. Upon arriving at the table he was handed a telegram though, and the Grand Duke immediately disappeared.

The guests were left waiting for an hour before Vladimir returned. They all sat down in silence, and as the host did not speak, the rest could not do so either. Only the changing of the plates and the constant presenting of a fresh cigarette to the Grand Duke by the tall Cossack who stood at other times immovable behind his chair relieved the stillness.

After lunch, the Grand Duke absented himself once again. It was only later that the guests learned what exactly had cast such a gloom over their lunch.

Vladimir's hopes of sitting on the throne one day seemed more frustrated than ever. Neither was this dream likely for his sons Cyril, Boris, and Andrei.

Had he known then what Nicholas and Alexandra already suspected, the Grand Duke might have been a bit less gloomy.

Oo

The little Grand Duchess Maria once told a footman working at one of the palaces about a special doll of hers which had a laughing face and a crying face that said "Papa" and "Mama" respectively. It was one of her favorite dolls. Maria was able to rotate and thus change the faces depending on what she wanted to play each particular day.

After describing her amazing doll to the kind man, who listened to the young child joyfully, Maria asked him if his little girl had such a doll. Now, the footman was a bachelor, so unsurprisingly, he had no children.

"I have no little girl", the footman replied with an apologetic smile. Maria was very sad for him, and it showed. "I do have a niece", the man added to comfort the little Grand Duchess, omitting to mention that she was a grown woman.

"Does your niece have a doll like mine?" Maria asked him. He shook his head, so when the little Grand Duchess got back to the nursery, she took her darling doll and gave it to him for his niece. A small gesture that felt big for the Grand Duchess, who loves all of her dolls, especially baby dolls. She likes to kiss, squeeze, and take care of those precious toys.

When Anastasia was born, Maria became obsessed with her new baby sister, so much so that she ignored her dolls for days until she began to feel sorry for them. But the five-year-old Maria doesn't remember how her three-year-old little sister Anastasia looked like as a very small baby, at least not too well. Not anymore.

She knows what her little cousin Rostislav looks like. He is very cute, and Maria does love him, but he isn't really their baby like Anastasia was. Not fully.

For this reason, out of her sisters, Maria was the most excited by the prospect of meeting a real baby. Not a doll. A real little one who can move and is all theirs.

The five-year-old Maria has also grown increasingly curious about the way babies are born.

"Does the infant really get born from the mother?" She wrote to Alexandra shortly after being told another baby brother or sister was on the way. "Mama, please write to me how it is born."

Maria did this with great difficulty, as she just started reading and writing, and she has recently learned that the hand she prefers, the left hand, is strictly forbidden for her to use. But none of that stopped her. Babies fascinate her.

"When is the baby coming?" She had been asking her parents repeatedly days and even weeks before his birth. "When is the baby coming?"

The baby is now here. Through an imperial manifesto, Nicholas called upon all Russian subjects to join him in praying for the prosperity of his first son. An official announcement was soon published revoking the nomination of Grand Duke Michael as successor: "From now on, in accordance with the Fundamental Laws of the Empire, the Imperial title of Heir Tsarevich, and all the rights pertaining to it, belong to Our Son Alexei."

Dr. Ott and the midwife Madame Günst were once again handsomely rewarded for their services. Like his sisters before him, Alexei has been provided with a Russian wet nurse, Maria Geringer, whose special duty is to eat plenty of good food in order to produce equally good milk.

To celebrate, Nicholas took his three eldest daughters to a Te Deum prayer service at the Lower Dacha's chapel, and luckily for the little Maria, it didn't take long for her and her sisters to be allowed to enter their mother's room to see the baby.

The four girls were wearing their simplest white dresses, shoes, and short stockings. Olga was the first to walk in, followed closely by Tatiana, who was holding her hand. Not far behind, Maria and Anastasia also entered the room together.

Their mother was sitting on the bed with her arms wide open and the biggest smile they had ever seen on her face. Nicholas was sitting next to her, waiting. He greeted his daughters with great pride in his eyes.

Olga and Tatiana ran to hug and kiss their mother. The little pair entered the room a bit slower, tentatively, their curious eyes already searching for the baby.

"Hello, big sisters!" Alexandra hugged her two eldest daughters back.

"Where is the baby?" Olga looked between her parents as Alexandra kissed her on top of the head. Maria was the first to notice a nurse was carrying the family's newest member. She immediately turned to look at him.

"Oh!" Maria grinned widely, covering her mouth with her hands out of pure sheer joy. "A baby!"

"A baby!" Nicholas and Alexandra echoed at the same time, immensely endeared by their third daughter's delight. "Dear, will you please?" Alexandra turned to the wet nurse Maria Geringer and extended her arms to hold her son.

"Baby brother!" Anastasia ran towards the nurse. Olga and Tatiana remained with their mother, but their attention had shifted to the baby as well.

"Yes, darling!" Nicholas stood up and went to pick his youngest daughter up. "Do you want to see him?"

"Yeah!" The three-year-old Anastasia nodded.

"You will have to be very nice and careful with him, all right?" Nicholas kneeled to hold his daughter. "If you are going to kiss or touch him you must do so very slowly, very gently."

The little girl opened her eyes wide and nodded.

"Mommy, are you all right?" Maria approached the bed where her mother sat between Olga and Tatiana.

"Yes, my love, I feel very good", Alexandra received Alexei in her arms with a warm smile directed at her little Maria. "That would be all, Miss Geringer, thank you", she told the nurse, who curtsied before leaving the room to let the family have their special moment together.

Comfortably cuddling their mother, Olga and Tatiana were the first to see the baby from up close, squealing with excitement upon doing so.

The girls started discussing the infantʼs looks and behavior in spite of the fact that there wasn't really much to discuss. Like Alexandra's four daughters before him, Alexei too had been born slightly bigger and heavier than most babies, but other than that, the youngest member of the Romanov family looked just like any other newborn. Pale, small, wrinkly, somewhat red, and almost bald.

He wasn't crying, sleeping, or being breastfed. Not at the moment. But very naturally, that is all the little hope of Russia had done since his birth moments ago while more than half the nation put their hopes and dreams on him. This little baby had no clue of how much was and would be expected of him.

Olga and Tatiana saw much more, however, as they didn't expect anything at all from him. Alexei had his light blue-gray eyes wide open and that was enough. He already had those girls wrapped around his little finger. While unable to see clearly yet, his blinks, eye movements, and even yawns delighted Olga and Tatiana, who could interpret anything as a sign of sorts.

"He likes me!" Tatiana giggled.

"Nope", Olga shook her head. "He finds you boring, which is why he yawned." Both girls started laughing.

"My baby brother!" The little Anastasia repeated, now in her father's arms. Like her two oldest sisters, was also deeply amused and interested by all of the baby's movements. "Is that my baby brother?"

"Yes he is, my darling", the Tsar kissed his youngest daughter's cheek countless times. He could not have been more thrilled. Nicholas made sure to pick up Maria with his other arm so both little girls could get on the bed. "You will be gentle too, right?" He kissed Mariaʼs cheek as well, and the five-year-old Grand Duchess nodded.

Once in bed, the two younger girls crawled to sit just in front of their mother, brother, and older sisters. For an instant, Anastasia's speed worried Alexandra, but her daughter cautiously stopped near the baby and observed him with curiosity. The mother let out a sigh of relief and smiled.

"There", Alexandra introduced her son to her two youngest daughters as if the newborn could already understand her. "Those are your sisters, yes they are." Olga, Tatiana, and Anastasia giggled.

"Oh, hi!" Maria waved her hand and greeted the baby with a high-pitched voice that made her mother laugh out loud. "Papa, what is he called?"

"We are naming him Alexei, darling", the father stood around closely to make sure the girls, especially the two youngest, were indeed careful with the baby.

"My baby brother!" Anastasia kept saying as she looked between her father and brother with a big smile. "Yay!" By now, the youngest Romanov daughter was all but jumping on the bed. Nicholas smiled and kissed her again, this time on the forehead.

Olga and Tatiana continued to watch their baby brother with deep interest. Anastasia was immensely curious more than anything. Curious and amused.

Maria, in particular, was fascinated by this tiny human being who had arms, legs, eyes, ears, and a mouth like everyone else and yet seemed so different as well. So small and delicate. He needed to be cared for. She wanted to hold him. She wanted to squeeze him. She wanted him to be happy. She was experiencing something she didn't remember feeling as strongly before, not even with her baby dolls. Protectiveness. Each tiny movement her little brother made sent waves of love and tenderness to her young heart, which was in awe of the incredible new feeling, so big for someone as young as the five-year-old Maria.

"Our very own baby!" The chubby little girl gushed before leaning to kiss Alexei on the forehead rather abruptly. She had not been able to wait any longer to show her affection.

"Gentle, dear", Alexandra stroked her daughter's hair as tears of happiness started welling up in her eyes. Her third daughter's reaction had been incredibly moving for her. Maria leaned to kiss her brother again, this time slower. Anastasia too decided to show her affection by caressing her little brother's blanket-covered legs in a sort of awkward but also loving manner.

The baby made a short high sound, making everyone else in the room become silent. They thought he was about to cry. Alexei remained calm though, and he continued moving his little head, arms, and legs around. His big blue-grey eyes appeared to be searching for something.

"He is so cute!" Tatiana leaned on her mother's shoulder as she gave the newborn Alexei her pinky finger so he could hold it. Maria couldn't stop beaming. Anastasia giggled incessantly. Olga's eyes, just like her mother's, had started filling with tears of joy.

"What does the name Alexei mean, papa?" Olga asked without taking her tearful eyes off the baby. The eldest Romanov daughter was using a finger to caress the infant's head softly.

"Defender", Nicholas replied as he wiped away a tear from Olga's face. He then kissed her hair before continuing. "Defender, helper, or warrior. Isn't that a nice meaning, sweetings?"

"Oh, yes, papa!" Tatiana clasped both hands together and placed them next to her head as she tilted it. "It is perfect!"

"Our very own baby!" Maria continued beaming. "I love him, papa, I love him." She kissed the baby's forehead again.

"We can only pray he will grow to be of great help to his father once he is older", Alexandra caressed each of her daughters with one hand. "And that he is always a fierce little defender of his mother and big sisters."

"And of his motherland as well", Nicholas emphasized.

"He will be papa!" Tatiana exclaimed. "He is already so strong! Look how tightly he is squeezing my pinky finger again! I could barely get it away from his grasp a while ago!"

Nicholas, Alexandra, and Maria smiled tenderly. Olga giggled.

"He gon' kill lots Japs!" Anastasia exclaimed, making her parents and sisters laugh out loud.

The family kept gushing over the baby for a long time. They took notice of the little light blond hair he had and wondered whether it would remain the same color or become similar to that of Olga.

"I hope he has my hair color", the eldest girl smiled.

"Indeed, there has to be another blond in the family already", Nicholas joked.

The family started having fun imitating the little baby sounds Alexei would make and talking about who they thought he looked or would look like. Every few minutes, the three-year-old Anastasia would ask her mother the funniest questions, becoming somewhat displeased whenever the Empress was unable to answer them properly. How does he feel? Does he like us, mama? Is he happy, mama? Why is he doing that? Does that mean he is happy or sad? Is he happy or sad, mama?

"I love him papa", Maria would say repeatedly. On one occasion, without any sort of permission whatsoever, she tried but failed to snatch her baby brother away from her mother's arms in order to hold him, making Alexandra feel as if she were about to have a heart attack. Tatiana's good reflexes kept Maria from succeeding.

"You should have asked first", Nicholas scolded Maria gently. "We could have placed Alexei in your arms so very carefully and taught you how to hold him properly, like a true grown-up mommy."

Maria smiled at her father with eagerness. Very lovingly, Alexandra proceeded to teach her how to hold the baby correctly. "Would you like to try again now?" She asked Maria, whose joy was unmatched as she extended her little arms and looked at the baby with adoration.

Something surprised both Nicholas and Alexandra. Olga didn't protest nor bring up the fact she was the eldest. At all. In fact, Olga helped and encouraged the very excited Maria with evident fondness, placing her little sister's happiness above hers. Alexandra wouldn't have blamed Olga if she had indeed protested, but the fact she didn't could only mean her big girl was growing and maturing beautifully.

One by one, the girls got to hold their baby brother, talk to and kiss him. First Maria, then Olga, and later Tatiana. Even the three-year-old Anastasia got to hold him. She was, of course, supervised by her mother.

Olga became very sentimental, causing a deep impression on Tatiana, who cried almost as much as her. The big pair had a deep emotional bond, their moods affecting each other.

"Look at that, my sunbeam", Alexandra talked to her baby boy as little Anastasia held him and the three remaining girls smiled at him, touching his little head and feet. "You are going to grow up surrounded, completely surrounded by love."

As the day reached its end, Nicholas and Alexandra had a discussion lying in bed. Olga's impressive growth became the main topic.

"We seem to have the same thoughts, because I noticed it as well, sunny", Nicholas said. "And to think our Olga is only eight! Her behavior today was quite heartwarming and impressive."

"I think our baby girl should be rewarded for her big heart and sensitivity", Alix suggested.

"A nice way of doing so would be making her one of the baby's godmothers."

Oo

The first couple of days following the birth of their son were not entirely easy or even happy for the imperial couple. A persistent worry they didn't talk about in front of their daughters troubled their minds.

When his umbilical cord was cut, Alexei bled profusely. The midwife, Günst, had simply swaddled the baby too tightly. This is traditional Russian practice, but the pressure of the tight binding over Alexey's navel had triggered a hemorrhage, causing him to scream out in a frenzy of pain. Alexandra's heart broke constantly at the mere reminder.

That same day, Grand Duke Peter, a grandson of Nicholas I, visited the Lower Dacha along with his wife Militza, one of the Montenegrin sisters. They both offered the imperial couple their congratulations.

As the Grand Duke bid the parents farewell, the deliriously proud father confessed to him that even though Alexei was a big and healthy child, the doctors were somewhat concerned about the frequent splatters of blood in his swaddling clothes. Militza was shocked when Peter told her this and insisted on the doctors being informed about the hemophilia cases that have occasionally been passed down through the female line of Queen Victoria, the Tsarina's maternal grandmother. The Grand Duke tried to calm his wife, assuring her that the Tsar had been in the best of spirits. Nevertheless, Militza insisted, and Peter phoned the palace to ask the Tsar what the doctors had to say about the blood splatters.

When the Tsar replied saying that the physicians hoped the bleeding would soon stop, Militza snatched the receiver and asked if they could explain the cause of the bleeding. Nicholas could not give her a clear answer.

"I beg you", Militza spoke with the calmest voice she could manage, "ask them if there is any sign of hemophilia. Should that be the case, the doctors may be able to take certain measures."

The Tsar fell silent on the phone for a long time. He couldn't even think. When he was finally able to speak again, he started asking Militza questions about the illness.

Nicholas ended the call by quietly repeating the word that had staggered him over and over again.

Hemophilia, hemophilia.

Oo

It took the doctors two days to control the bleeding, after which Nicholas wrote to Militza on behalf of Alexandra explaining what they had said.

Thank God the day has passed calmly. After the dressing was applied from 12 o'clock until 9.30 that evening there wasn't a drop of blood. The doctors hope it will stay that way. Korovin is staying overnight. Fedorov is going into town and coming back tomorrow. The little treasure is amazingly placid, and when they change the dressing he either sleeps or lies there and smiles. His parents are now feeling a little easier in their minds. Fedorov says that the approximate amount of blood loss in 48 hours was from 1/8th to 1/9th of the total quantity of blood.

Weeping bitter tears, Alexandra had taken Maria Geringerʼs hand. "If only you knew how fervently I have prayed for God to protect my son from our inherited curse", she had told her, already well aware that the blight of hemophilia had descended upon them.

Throughout the following weeks, however, Nicholas and Alexandra would remain in a state of denial, hoping against all odds that once the bleeding stopped everything would be well, and that their beautiful baby boy would turn out to be healthy after all. He looks healthy, Alexandra told herself. Her sunbeam, the sunshine of her life, had an impressive amount of strength and vitality for such a young baby. He was big, strong, and rosy. Upon seeing him being bathed, even Grand Duchess Xenia had commented on little Alexei's amazing heftiness. With a chest like a barrel, the heir was so robust and energetic he had the air of a warrior knight.

Alexandra didn't want to believe it. The truth was far too cruel.

Oo

Alexei's birth has indeed been a ray of shining joyful news amidst an incredibly dark year, absorbing for some time the whole attention of the public and diverting it from what is taking place in Asia, but the war is far from over.

Just two days before Alexei's birth, the so-called Battle of Yellow Sea took place. Enemy ships fired at each other. Flames and smoke spread through the air as the men unfortunate enough to have been sailing on the targeted ships burnt or jumped into the saltwater to save themselves. 340 Russian sailors were killed or wounded, and a battleship was severely damaged.

The special child was born between two major clashes. Two days after he came into the world, the Battle of Ulsan was raging. 343 Russians died, 652 were wounded, one of their armored cruisers was sunk, and two more were damaged. The Japanese, on the other hand, lost less than 50 men, and only one of their cruisers was damaged.

Less than a month later, the first major land engagement of the Russo-Japanese War began. Named after the Manchurian city on the outskirts of which it is taking place, the Battle of Liaoyang had been planned for three months with the building of several defensive structures near the settlement. The size of the Manchurian Russian army was 152 000 men. The Japanese numbered thousands less, but they were the first to attack in the hopes of surrounding the Russians.

The Siberian Cossack division has played a great and honorable role in the battle, its members throwing themselves into the fiercest fire to defend their positions from the Japanese or carry their wounded out of harm's way. Both cavalry and infantry stand amongst artillery explosions as they kill hundreds of men and horses. The Cossacks fight with so much composure and courage that the Japanese infantry has more than once stopped before them.

The formidable warriors known as Cossacks are a group of predominantly East Slavic Orthodox Christian people. They are a somewhat contradictory breed. Best known for having formed democratic, self-governing, and semi-military communities in the steppes of Eastern Europe, the Cossacks have been for years among the most trusted military forces of the Russian Empire. They have also represented a constant headache for generations of Russian Tsars who have endeavored to keep them in line. The Cossacks are not a race, a nation, or a profession. They are all of that combined. They don't belong to any particular nationality and many have mixed ancestry. Most are Russian and Orthodox. Several are Old Believers. Their principles and way of life are what truly unites and identifies them as Cossacks though.

The word Cossack itself means free man, vagabond, or fortune seeker. The first of them lived on the outskirts of the Russian duchies in fortified colonies set up to resist attacks from nomadic tribes. These settlements were havens for people who had chosen freedom and danger before safety, for as serfdom, taxes, and centralized government emerged in Russia, Cossack domains started taking in runaway serfs, criminals, or whoever chose to go there.

The first Grand Princes of Moscow began the succession of attempts at putting the Cossacks at the governmentʼs service during the battles against the nomadic Tatars. Under Ivan the Terrible, the Cossacks stood guard against the enemies of Moscow.

In the 17th century, Moscow organized to rule over the Cossacks, but they valued their freedom more than anything else. They governed themselves and attacked Russia's neighbors, disturbing the Ottoman Empire with their raids even at times when the government wished to uphold peace.

The time came when the areas traditionally inhabited by Cossacks officially became parts of Russia. This threat to their independence was the source of several rebellions through the years.

The Cossacks were eventually subdued during the reigns of both Peter the Great and Catherine the Great, becoming an essential element of the Russian nation as the years went by, with special privileges and responsibilities. There are now dozens of different Cossack hosts or armies distributed across the Russian Empire, the Don Cossack host of Ukraine being the largest and oldest one. The leader or supreme military commander of each host is known as the Ataman or Hetman. During peaceful periods, the hosts disband and the Cossacks return to their unrestricted way of life on the steppes, free from several taxes but strictly obliged to appear to be drafted, armed and on a horse at the Tsar's first call to defend the motherland.

The Siberian Cossacks are those who settled in the Asian regions of Russia following Don Cossack Ataman Yermak Timofeyevich's conquest of Siberia. In the early days of Russiaʼs eastwards expansion, many Siberians were referred to as Cossacks without necessarily being so because they were neither landowners nor peasants, but most of them came from northwest Russia and had little connection to the Don Cossacks of the south. They served on the outskirts of the Russian land, protected its borders, and expanded its influence outwards.

Members of the Trans-Baikal host formed beyond the beautiful Siberian Lake Baikal can be identified by their dark green uniforms with yellow stripes. The Japanese were so terrified of them that if their numbers did not exceed those of the Cossacks by more than five times, they did not dare attack.

Most Cossacks can be recognized by their hairstyle, mustaches, or colorful clothing. Boys are taught how to ride, use a sword, and fire a gun from the age of ten. Their upbringing is harsh. Both girls and boys work in the fields side by side with their parents. Their games are military. Singing and dancing are also important for them, as it is said that a true Cossack should always be jolly and fearless.

Cossacks are raised and prepared since birth to serve the Tsar anytime it is needed. They are more loyal even than the average peasant, which is why they are often quite unwisely used by the Tsarist government as a police force to stop strikes, riots, and pogroms despite the fact they are not properly trained to be anything other than lethal warriors.

Oo

In spite of the Russians' bravery and numerical advantage, luck seems to be favoring the modernized and well-prepared Japanese. Even then, the general feeling is that the birth of an heir after so many anxious years of disappointed hopes will change the destiny of Russia. It has certainly made Nicholas optimistic about the outcome of the war. An imperial manifesto following his son's birth granted numerous political concessions. A political amnesty was also issued to all prisoners with the exception of those convicted of murder. A fund was set up for military and naval scholarships as well.

"I am more happy at the birth of a son and heir than at a victory of my troops," the Tsar said, "for now I face the future calmly and without alarm, knowing by this sign that the war will be brought to a happy conclusion." Believing this wholeheartedly and hoping to boost the morale of the soldiers fighting in Manchuria, the proud father made all of these brave heroes, as he calls them, Alexei's godfathers. Hundreds of battle-hardened soldiers were undoubtedly thrilled when they heard of this.

The honors and symbolic titles awarded to the infant heir seem endless. His Imperial Highness, Sovereign Heir and Tsesarevich, Grand Duke Alexei Nikolaevich of Russia, Ataman of all Cossacks, Knight of the Order of St. Andrew, Head of the Siberian Infantry, of the Horse Battalion Infantry, and Head of the Cadet Corps.

Not only are the brave fighting men becoming little Alexei's godfathers but also his grandmother the Dowager Empress Maria Feodorovna, his sister Grand Duchess Olga Nikolaevna Romanova, his great uncle Grand Duke Alexei Alexandrovich, King Christian IX of Denmark, England's King Edward VII, and the German Kaiser Wilhelm II, who sent Nicholas a warm letter upon hearing of this:

Dearest Nicky,

What a very kind thought that was of yours to ask me to be godfather to your little boy! You can well imagine what our joy was when we read your telegram announcing his birth! "A long wait brings good results," says an old German proverb, so may it be with this little dear one! May he grow to be a brave soldier and a wise powerful statesman, and may God's blessing always rest on him and preserve him from all harm of body and soul. May he always be a ray of sunshine to you both during your life.

With the best love to Alix and the "sunray”

I remain,

Ever your most devoted and affectionate friend and cousin,

Willy.

Oo

Letter from Olga Nikolaevna Romanova to Nicholas Alexandrovich Romanov, Emperor Nicholas II. August 16, 1904.

Dear papa,

Today it is pouring rain and we are sitting at home. Maria went to sleep in the afternoon, and Anastasia crept under the mattress and slept there with Maria on top of her. When she got up we all laughed, and so did she. We are all waiting for you to return. Is the weather good where you are? I have not seen mama and out brother. I hope I will see them this evening before bath time. I send you a big kiss, dear papa.

Olga.

Oo

Peterhof. August 24, 1904.

Alexandra Feodorovna Romanova.

Never since my arrival at Russia have I known such happiness or felt this blessed. The days following my joy's birth have been so glorious I barely feel shy around strangers anymore. Why should I? I have fulfilled my most important duty as Empress. Even my sister Ella has noticed that I am more ongoing than ever.

I thank God for His precious gift as I smile down again at the real cherubic sunbeam I still hold tenderly in my arms. I finished breastfeeding him minutes ago, but I simply can't stop looking.

I feel so close to God it is as if I were praying, but this is nothing new. Every day, I sit down on my couch and stare at my beautiful baby boy for hours, admiring his chubby pink cheeks, his little blond hair, and his big long-lashed bright blue-grey eyes, already so alert and observing.

My baby shows signs of having inherited my and my husband's most beautiful facial features exclusively. His fingers are long, indicating he will be tall. I know how insecure his height can make my poor beloved Nicky sometimes. I am so very glad that won't be my sunshine's case.

I am his mother, so it is unsurprising that I find him breathtaking, but neither Nicky nor I are the only ones who think he is beautiful. Everyone who has had the chance to meet my sunbeam has said so. My sister Ella, Sergei, Minnie. Every day he receives endless admirers. Senior courtiers exclaim that he is a chubby, rosy, wonderful boy. My baby was born on Miss Eagarʼs birthday, so I playfully introduced her to him saying he was my birthday present. She says he is very beautiful, and that his lovely eyes remind her of my little Maria's big blue saucers.

All of the nannies shook their heads with amusement when I told them, but my baby already smiles. He did so less than a week after his birth. Everybody says a mother's heart can play tricks, but I know what I saw. He truly did smile. I know he is special as well. So happy, highly spirited, and receptive to love for someone as young. What I really do not know is what blessing brings me the most pleasure, the sight of the gorgeous angel incarnate the love of my life and I have created together, the source of joy and amusement he is to my girlies, or the delight in my darling Nicky's eyes as he watches, carries, hugs, kisses, or tries to play with our little Alexei. His most absolute pride and joy.

My husband doesn't miss an opportunity to show our sunbeam off to friends, relatives, visitors, and ministers whose meetings will be surely interrupted regardless of what our baby may be doing. If he is being bathed Nicky will invite everyone in to gaze. It is quite amusing.

The love I have for my darling girls has only grown, if that is even possible. Despite my initial concerns, the arrival of the little one has not brought about any sort of jealousy from any of the four. My daughters are delighted with their new brother and make many quaint and critical remarks about him. They dote on Alexei almost as much as Nicky and I do. Every day, beaming with joy, they will eagerly ask whether and when they will be able to hold him. My girlies are always helping me and the nannies nurse our sunbeam and giving him kisses, especially my sweet Maria. Our gorgeous cherub behaves just as she did back when Anastasia was born, that loving little mother!

Tatiana follows my instructions on how to take care of the gift we now call "baby" with careful precision. Olga has started trying to teach him how to speak already. A little bit too early, I guess, but I would never dare say so out loud in front of my eldest. Perhaps her efforts will soon bear fruit. And each of my little Anastasia's comments is a tiny jewel! She had never been around such a tiny baby for as long as she has now, so quite understandably, being able to observe one from up close almost every day fills her active mind with awe and curiosity. Alexei's birth has brought her so much glee that just catching a glimpse of him drives her to a frenzy of giggles.

Miss Eagar told me that shortly after my baby boy was born, she caught Anastasia eating peas with her fingers again. She always does that. It is becoming quite hard to make Anastasia see the importance of keeping her hands and clothes clean, an endearing trait that is not too worrisome now but may very well be in the future. Margaretta, of course, reproved my little girl, saying very seriously: "Even the new baby does not eat peas with his fingers."

My daughter looked up and said: "'es him does - him eats them with him's foots too!"'

My husband and I laugh so very much every time we recall the incident!

I kiss my dear baby on each of his chubby cheeks and then on the forehead again. I am sure he smiles. The physical pain he has already endured would be too much for anyone, let alone such an innocent. I had a nightmare last night. He was screaming, loudly. He was experiencing the same amount of pain I go through every time the dreaded sciatica reminds me of its hateful and unwelcome existence by shooting fire through legs, burning them. He might have been suffering even more. I find it almost too dreadful to bear.

I know what is going on. It all fits and I know I am only fooling myself by hoping I will be wrong despite the many ominous signs. The excessive bleeding after they cut his umbilical cord. My English family's inherited curse and my friend Philippe's bell warning me about the angel of death, who will surely be quietly following my boy closely behind for the entirety of his life… for what remains of... oh, no! It can't be! How could God have granted us such a perfect gift after so many years of praying only for this to happen?

I cuddle my baby again and he clings to me, seemingly appreciating my affection. From the day of his birth, Alexei has been showered with love and affection from our close-knit family. In spite of what he has endured, the early first weeks of his life have been full of love and happiness. I find comfort in that fact. He is a peaceful and surprisingly calm baby who barely ever cries, just like Tatiana was, as sweet and loving as Maria, as attentive as Olga, as high-spirited as Anastasia. I don't think he even remembers he has ever been in pain. Maybe our love has successfully and fully soothed and overshadowed the little one's horrible experience. It may continue doing so if he does turn out to have…

I should not think about that. Right now, my sunbeam looks as healthy and lovely as ever, but what makes today special is that he is about to be baptized. The elegant white christening gown he is wearing only makes him look all the more adorable.

"Are you ready dear?" My Nicky steps into our room.

"You know the answer to that question very well", I give him a sad smile. "It will be so sad to be away from him during this precious day." Still, I must respect the Orthodox tradition. Parents shouldn't be at their children's baptisms. Missing Olga's was immensely hard. It became easier with each of my girls, but the birth of my son has only renewed that grief. How lucky my big Olga is to be able to attend!

Nicky comes over and kisses me on the lips to comfort me, doing so for a long time.

"Oh, stop it, Nicky!" I playfully push him away with an elbow. "We are in front of the baby!"

"All I am hoping is that the Mistress of the Robes won't drop our little one on the font", Nicky leans to kiss our baby on the forehead.

I giggle like a little girl at that. The Mistress of the Robes is, as usual, going to be the elderly Princess Maria Golitzyna. Her role will be to carry our baby in a golden cushion to the font where he will be baptized. The days preceding the christening we started fearing for our sunbeam though. And who could blame us after the fright we went through?

Fortunately, Princess Golitzyna will have rubber soles on her shoes so as to avoid slipping while carrying Russia's precious heir. A gold-colored band will be slung over her shoulder as well, another precaution to prevent our treasure from being dropped.

Nicky sits on the arm of my sofa and lays his head on top of mine after kissing it. We stare at the sunshine of our lives, both with huge grins on our faces. Our little baby stares back.

"Just look at him, sunny", Nicky smiles at me. "He has our sweet Maria's big eyes."

"Yes", I nod, "but I think his nose is mine."

"Anastasia's as well", Nicky points out. "She also inherited your nose, I would say, and his features are as fine as hers."

"All we know for sure is that he is beautiful."

"They all are, our five little angels", my husband adds. "Look, he is getting sleepy."

"Well, I hope not", I say. "He has a long and important day ahead." Nicky chuckles. "What do you think he dreams about when he sleeps?" I ask. "Do you think he dreams, love? Do you think he ponders what it will be like when he is older and has to help you deal with the ministers?" I joke.

"Oh, I am sure not, sunny!" He laughs, and I do too. "Why would he want to deal with the likes of Witte? That man complains to me every time any of his ideas goes wrong and takes the credit for mine whenever everything goes as planned!"

My husband starts caressing Alexei's pink cheek. "You are not looking forward to that, right?" He talks to our boy using a silly tone of voice. Then he looks back at me. "If he has dreams, sunny, I bet they are about how much he loves to be around us."

"He is a real miracle, Nicky, oh!" I exclaim. "Sometimes I cannot believe he is truly here already, that our family is complete. God is indeed good having sent us this sunbeam now, precisely when we all need him so much. Now you have baby to bring up to your ideas so as that he can help you in the future once he is big, working alongside you and lightening your heavy burden. May God give us the force to bring baby up well, as well as we have brought up our daughters."

Nicky's eyes light up at the reminder of our girlies.

"Oh, sunny! I can't wait to see them in their miniature court dresses!"

Oo

Olga Nikolaevna Romanova.

I cannot believe I am actually going to be my baby brother's godmother! I am almost nine, but I truly thought only full grownups were allowed to be godmothers or godfathers.

Papa tells me being a godmother is a very important thing. It means I have to protect little Alexei and guide him to be a good Christian. I can do that! I like going to church, and I love God. I am going to teach the baby everything I know.

My new baby brother is very cute. He is very blond like I am, pink, and small. He likes me very much already, mama says so. She says he always pays attention when I talk to him.

Papa says his eyes are as big as Masha's. Maria herself thinks that he looks like one of her baby dolls. Tatiana has told me that he looks like her back when she herself was a tiny baby. Anastasia, because no one else would have dared, confessed amidst giggles that she thinks he is quite ugly, but that she loves him anyway.

Today is Alexei's christening! My sisters and I are, of course, assisting. Tatiana and I are preparing for the happy event in the room we two share, already dressed almost the exact same way mama does on special occasions. Tatiana is very happy about it. She has spent all morning gushing about how pretty our dresses are.

We are wearing long white stockings and child-sized court dresses made of light blue satin and embroidered with small silver circles. They aren't long enough to reach our toes, but despite their length and color, our gowns are pretty similar to what our aunts and grandmother will be wearing. Several silver buttons are sewn in over the cloth that covers our chests and legs, one by one lined up from the top to the bottom of the dresses, vertically splitting them in the middle. More embroidered silver decorates them, outlining the wide collar surrounding our shoulders, our long open sleeves, and the long line of buttons.

We are also wearing silver shoes and light blue kokoshniks tied behind our necks with bows. Kokoshniks are traditional Russian half-moon-shaped headdresses, lines of embroidered pearls outlining their shape. A red ribbon is tied across our torsos, going from each of our right shoulders to our left hips. Over our left breasts sits the Order of St. Catherine, which is a pretty shining star made up of many small diamonds. My baby brother is the first out of my siblings to be awarded the Order of St. Andrew instead for being a boy.

Our baptism crosses are hidden under our dresses, but its golden chains around our necks can be easily discerned. We are also wearing short pearl necklaces that can be fully seen though. Mama loves pearls, they are her favorite jewels, and her favorite necklace is a long string of wonderful pearls that she wears very often. This string is so long that she can wear it twice around her neck. Each birthday and name day, mama will give me and my sisters a single pearl and a single diamond so that by the time we come of age we will have two full necklaces, a diamond necklace and a pearl necklace. Tanechka was in awe of our mother's cleverness when she told us this was cheaper than buying full necklaces.

Our brother will also be wearing a pretty dress. Maria says this is funny, but neither Tatiana nor I think so. Alexei has only ever worn dresses. Mama explained to me that baby boys are made to wear them until they are breeched at about four years old. Then they get to wear pants. Mama says it makes changing the diapers way easier for the nurses. I would not know about that. Unlike Tatiana, who wants to learn how Alexei's diapers are changed, I can't bear to stay around that awful smell. Neither can Mashka, as much as she tries to deny it. She is never able stay in whatever room he is being changed at for too long.

I am looking at myself in a small body mirror when Tatiana approaches me. "Olenka!" She exclaims. "Your order is crooked." My dear sister stands in front of me, just a bit shorter than I am, and sets my Order of Saint Catherine straight.

"Thank you!" I hug her.

"Oh, Olga!" Tatiana clasps her hands together as we both pull away and turn to look in the mirror. "We both look so pretty! Like the princesses from the tales mama and Babushka always tell us about!"

We really do. I stare at our reflections. Her wide-set almond-shaped grey eyes shine with excitement and her long auburn hair falls freely behind her kokoshnik. My round blue eyes and even longer blonde hair blend in perfectly with my light blue dress.

"And we look almost like grownups", I smile proudly. "I think from now on we will get to assist many more special functions with papa and mama, would not that be fun?"

"I think so, yes! Especially if we get to wear these dresses with mama, I do love them so, and I am so happy we have a little brother now", Tanya gushes. "It is something new, and he is so cute!"

She says that Alexei is cute every day because it is true.

"But we have to go together everywhere", she adds, taking my hands as if reading my mind. "Always."

"Yes!" I jump. Still holding hands, we start spinning in circles. "Forever and ever!"

"And if they tell us one should go without the other we say no."

Two of our nannies enter the room.

"It is time", one of them says. My sister and I are so thrilled that we start jumping.

Oo

An enlarged cortège of Hussars, Hetmans, and golden carriages led by white horses wound its way to the golden cupolaed chapel of the Grand Peterhof Palace, where my baby brother's baptism took place. Tatiana and I were part of the procession and rode on one of the carriages.

It was a splendid and formal occasion. The men appeared in full dress uniforms, and the women put on beautiful long Russian court dresses of many different colors. Maria and Anastasia wore short white lace dresses and stockings. Light blue bows matching the color of my and Tatiana's dresses decorated their shoulders, and light blue kokoshniks with embroidered pearls also adorned their heads.

I felt so happy when the christening began at 11 AM!

Princess Maria Golitzyna carried my baby brother on a golden cushion, and I proudly held one of its corners as I walked with my grandmother and Tatiana to the font. My sister and I were so nervous! I think she was as scared as I was. We feared doing something wrong during our dear baby brother's incredibly important and christian ceremony.

Our cousins were standing close to a doorway with the little pair. When they gazed open-mouthed at our procession as it passed by, Tatiana and I looked at each other and smiled, allowing ourselves to relax.

Our family's confessor, Father Yanishev, dipped Alexei in the baptismal font. My baby brother cried lustily for all to hear, but just for a moment, and then he quickly became calm. When he was being anointed for the first time, Alexei raised his little hand, looked at all of us with his big blue-grey eyes, and extended his fingers as if pronouncing a blessing. I was greatly amazed, and so was Tatiana, whose jaw dropped.

The ceremony was four hours long, but for the first time since I can remember, I didn't mind its length. I was too focused on doing everything right and listening to what the priest said.

"Did you see what my baby brother did?" I asked Miss Eagar when my sisters and I walked out of the church.

"Of course", she replied. "It was very hard to miss. Some of the guests say it is a very good omen, a sign the little Alexei will prove to be a father to his people."

"Oh, I hope so!" I exclaimed.

"God grant it", my nanny said, "but not for many years to come."

Oo

My parents, siblings, and I went back to Tsarskoye Selo to pose for family photographs meant to be used in postcards commemorating Alexei's christening.

Tatiana and I had our pictures taken in our miniature court dresses. The photographer took pictures of each of us alone and of the two of us together. Sitting and standing. It was very fun to pose, especially side by side. Just before one of the pictures was taken, Tatiana held on to my dress as if it were a piece of furniture. It was a joke, but the photographer liked it.

"I also liked it", I told my sister. "People from all over Russia will see the postcard and think to themselves: 'Those two Grand Duchesses are true friends.'"

Oo

Still dressed in white lace dresses with light blue bows on their shoulders and wearing light blue kokoshniks, Maria and Anastasia also had their pictures taken. They both looked so cute sitting on their sofas and smiling, especially our tiny Anastasia.

Later, Tatiana and I changed, dressing just like the little pair. Not without Maria complaining about it, my sisters and I also had our kokoshniks taken off to have our loose hair styled with considerably smaller blue bows.

Once the hairdresser had left, my sisters and I rested on the sofa. We were not really posing, just cuddling and talking mostly about our baby brother. Tatiana and I love imagining how we are going to help raise our baby brother to be the perfect Tsar for Russia, but a Tsar that always listens and has to do everything we say. We have certainly not told mama about the latter.

"It is not fair!" Maria lamented. "I would have worn my beautiful kokoshnik even while sleeping."

"Oh, do not be upset, Masha", Tatiana rubbed our sister's shoulder. "We can ask mama to give us old ones to play with."

Maria and I were sitting together on the sofa. Anastasia was doing so right from me between the arm and the backrest of the sofa, whereas Tatiana was standing behind the sofa, leaning on it. Just then, the photographer entered the room again and told us to look at him right there where we were, as we were. Together and comfortable.

Our parents were around all the time, smiling and making suggestions. When mama carefully placed our baby brother on one of the sofa's cushions so that he could appear on the picture as well, my two youngest sisters around me started moving and squealing, quickly changing their positions to be closer to him.

"Hi, baby!" Anastasia exclaimed. Maria just kept squealing.

"Girls!" Mama cried.

"His poor little ears!" Tatiana protested with a huge frown on her face.

"Do be careful my darlings", papa warned us.

I used my arms to protect my baby brother, who fortunately didn't seem too bothered by the little pair's loud affection and tumbling on the sofa. He was focused on me, as mama says he always is.

Anastasia looked between Alexei and the camera all the time, grinning and trying to catch his attention with any silliness that came to her mind. She had called the baby ugly before, making me laugh a lot, but I no longer believed she had meant it. Maria smiled a bit more silently at our little one, sweetly. Sometimes she smiled at papa and mama instead. Only Tatiana seemed to focus on the task at hand by staring at the photographer, at least as far as I could tell. The pictures were taken, but I was far too busy smiling at our baby to notice. I had to take care of him.

Oo

Finally, the seven of us, papa, mama, Tatiana, Maria, Anastasia, the baby, and I had our picture taken. This was my favorite.

Wearing her favorite pearls and a simple white dress, mama sat on a chair holding and looking at our baby brother, still in his christening gown. Wearing a buttoned army uniform, papa sat higher, right next to mama. My youngest sister was kneeling on the floor in front of both our parents, papa holding her little hand.

Tatiana's head rested on mama's shoulder as she kneeled next to her and laid her hand on Maria's shoulder. Masha herself kneeled in front of them both.

I was the only one standing, choosing to do so next to our kind and loving papa. I chose to grab his strong arm.

Before bedtime, he asked me if I was happy.

"I am happier than ever", I replied.

"And so is the whole of Russia", papa said. "Everyone is celebrating Alexei's arrival."

This does make me happy, but it is not really what makes me the happiest.

Most of the people celebrating were cheering for Russia's heir, and so were the majority of those assisting the christening. My sisters and I, on the other hand, are delighted with the baby that heir is. The baby who cries, sleeps, moves his little hands and feet, and follows me with his eyes. He is Russiaʼs hope and future, and we are proud and happy that he is ours, our very own, as Masha says.

Papa says that one day I may be a queen abroad, which is true, but wouldn't it be nicer if I stayed? I could take care of the baby I am already so proud of. I could teach him so many things. He would have a true friend around when the time comes for him to inherit papa's strenuous duty by becoming a father to his people as the sign said he would. It breaks my heart to think our cute and tiny baby is destined to carry such a huge weight over his small shoulders. I need to protect him, to give him the strength to deal with it.

I told papa about all of this.

"You are still too young to worry about any of those matters", he replied. "But I am nonetheless pleasantly surprised you are having such sensitive thoughts." I didn't understand very well what he had meant by "sensitive."

Perhaps I am too young indeed. The more I grow, the more I accept this and the less I look forward to the future with impatience. I still long to do grown-up stuff with mama and Tatiana in our pretty court dresses, especially knowing how much my sister likes them, but for now, I could not be happier than I am with my perfect family of seven.

Chapter Text

Grand Duke Konstantin Konstantinovich Romanov is one of the many grandsons of Nicholas I. He may be among the most respected members of the Romanov family today, but ever since he was a little boy, Konstantin has felt different from the rest. While the other Romanovs boys waited impatiently for the day they would be required to join the military and bragged excitedly about their appointed regiments, Konstantin was completely enraptured by letters, music, and art.

The Grand Duke is an artist, a patron, and a talented pianist, the great Russian composer Tchaikovsky having been among his closest friends. Konstantin has founded several Russian literary societies and translated many foreign works into Russian. As an accomplished poet and playwright, he takes great interest in the direction of his plays.

Captivated by all types of beauty, Grand Duke Konstantin wrote a poem about Grand Duchess Elizabeth expressing his admiration for her when she first came to Russia to marry Grand Duke Sergei. Since then, Konstantin has been a close friend to both Elizabeth and her husband.

The Grand Dukeʼs artistic side and devotion to duty endeared him to both Alexander III and Nicholas II. The Tsar loves and respects his cousin. Konstantin and his wife are amongst the relatively few Romanovs on intimate terms with Nicholas and Alexandra, who find Konstantin's devotion to his family absolutely admirable, especially when compared to the playboy lifestyle of many of the other Grand Dukes.

Konstantin is indeed a loving and devoted husband and father. He married Princess Elisabeth of Saxe-Altenburg, now Grand Duchess Elizabeta Mavrikievna, in 1884. Known as "Mavra'' by friends and family, she lives with her husband in Pavlovsk, one of the many palaces of St. Petersburg.

The couple has seven children.

Prince Ioann, called Ioannchik by friends and family, was born in 1886. As the eldest, he tends to be the most dutiful and religious, spending most of his time studying Russian Orthodoxy. Born a year later, Prince Gabriel is a sickly young man who ironically finds himself fascinated by the army. Despite their differences, Gabriel and his older brother are inseparable.

Princess Tatiana was born in 1890 and is currently the couple's only daughter. She is a quiet girl with a talent for piano, an instrument Grand Duke Konstantin taught her to play. Prince Konstantin was named after his father, from whom he inherited a great love for theater. He is a sweet and responsible boy.

Prince Oleg is the brightest and most creative out of his siblings. He loves writing poems and making up games and stories for his family, especially his two youngest brothers, Igor and Georgy, born in 1894 and 1903 respectively. The two lads are among the few constant friends and playmates of the Tsarʼs daughters.

But as exemplary and outwardly perfect as Konstantin may be, he has a secret that torments him deeply. A secret that would break his dear Mavra's heart into a thousand tiny pieces.

The truth is that he has never felt drawn to women. No lady has ever aroused his passion, not even his admittedly beautiful and devoted wife.

It all started back when Konstantin was a young man serving in the Imperial Guards. His first homosexual experience felt natural and desirable in a way his duties to the mother of his children never did.

The Grand Duke has made great efforts to repress his inclinations, what he calls his "main sin", but despite his great love for Mavra, Konstantin hasn't been too successful lately, having instead become a steady visitor to several male brothels and bathhouses in St. Petersburg.

No one suspects a thing though. The respectable Konstantin attended the heir's christening along with his family. His 14-year-old daughter Tatiana made her first official court appearance in full Russian court dress wearing long white gloves, a string of her mother's pearls around her neck, and a satin kokoshnik with a large bow atop her hair.

His sons also went to the christening, the excited young Igor wearing a military attire similar to the one that had made his little cousin Maria take one of his brothers for a real soldier a few years ago.

They all watched as Olga and Tatiana rose to the importance of the occasion, remaining solemn as judges throughout the four hour ceremony.

Olga blushed with pride as she walked with her grandmother the Dowager Empress Maria Feodorovna to the font holding a corner of Alexei's cushion.

Despite not being even nine yet, Olga captured her first heart that day. Eighteen-year-old Prince Ioann Konstantinovich was completely besotted with her.

"I was so enraptured by her I can't even describe it", he wrote to his mother Mavra. "It was like a wildfire fanned by the wind. Her hair was waving, her eyes were sparkling, well, I can't even begin to describe it! The problem is that I am too young for such thoughts and, moreover, that she is the Tsar's daughter and, God forbid, they might think that I am doing it for some ulterior motive."

Nicholas and Alexandra are immensely protective parents. They are enjoying every second of their daughters' childhood, and to even consider pondering about their future marriage prospects in a serious manner would be unthinkable for them. When they are ready to do so, however, they will want nothing but the best for their daughters. They sometimes dream of having each of them sit on a different European throne and make incredibly witty jokes about it. A proper Russian Grand Duke or a foreign prince who is not next in line are the least they would be willing to accept for any of their precious highborn daughters.

Prince Ioann will not stand a chance for many years to come. He may never.

Oo

Tsarskoye Selo. September, 1904.

The spirit of God dwells inside the Mauve Room's atmosphere of love. Of this Alexandra is sure. She is sitting on her favorite sofa, holding her baby son in her arms, and smiling at her daughters, who rest comfortably around her, eager to nurse the family's newest addition. The oldest three each brought one of the room's many lilac chairs closer to the couch, but little Anastasia is sitting on the arm of the sofa with her head lovingly laid on her mother's shoulder. The youngest Grand Duchess gets to have the best view of her little brother this way.

A nanny found the four girls tip-toeing to the nursery already in their nightgowns. They intended to peek into the crib to inspect their baby brother. It had all been Olga's idea. Despite being a bit past their bedtime, Alexandra couldn't help but grant her daughters their wish upon learning of this.

When a smiling Nicholas walks into the room, the little Grand Duchesses instantly switch their attention to him, squealing with joy. The Tsar gathers the four girls in his arms with a bit of difficulty and kisses each of them one by one.

"Has our baby been good today?" Nicholas lays his daughters down gently.

"Oh, yes, papa!" Maria beams. "He is always good!"

"But not as good as me!" Three-year-old Anastasia extends her arms. "Kiss me again papa! Kiss me again!"

Nicholas laughs wholeheartedly, having no choice but to do as he is told. He lifts his youngest daughter and gives her a quick kiss on the cheek before laying her back down.

The little girls follow their father as he moves to greet their mother.

"My brother has been delirious with happiness for weeks", Nicholas kisses his wife on the lips. "He likes to joke and say he is retired now."

"Well, a huge weight has indeed been lifted off Misha's shoulders", Alix smiles, but then her brow furrows just slightly as she looks down at her son. "But you, my sunbeam! Oh, you will have to carry that terrible weight instead!"

"I will make sure he is well prepared for it", Nicholas soothes her. "We will teach him about his future role with anticipation."

"I already taught him a word, papa", Olga informs her father with pride.

"Is that so?" Nicholas grins at his eldest daughter as he takes Alexei in his arms. "Which one, darling?"

"He wasn't saying anything, Olga", Tatiana looks up at the baby as she follows her father around, "he is just a tiny cute little baby."

"He was", Olga insists, "he said 'God', I taught him that because I am his godmother, and he needs to learn about our loving God."

"That is amazing, dear, I am very proud of you both," Alexandra shakes her head without meaning to, revealing the fact she doesn't quite give credence to what Olga just said.

Nicholas kneels before Alix's couch, and his four daughters gather around him to look at the baby, making faces to catch his attention. Alexandra smiles down at her husband and children from the sofa. Baby Alexei's eyes travel from one sister to the next. From his sisters to his father, from his father to his mother. No smile leaves the parents and sistersʼ faces as they gush about the little one for a while.

"May I take Alexei to the nursery on the way to my office, dear?" Nicholas asks his wife. "I want to spend every possible moment with him."

"Must you leave already?" Alix inquires in a dejected tone.

"Don't leave, papa!" Five-year-old Maria exclaims.

"I have to", Nicholas strokes his daughter's hair with one hand as he looks at his wife with sad eyes. "There is so much to do. I only came to say goodnight to my beautiful little princesses", he smiles at his daughters before continuing. "Uncle Sergei has sent several alarming documents from Moscow. There seems to be a lot of unrest in the city, so not even this pretty little fellow has quelled it." Nicholas tousles Alexei's blond hair.

"You work so hard papa!" Olga exclaims in admiration.

"It is nothing compared to what our brave soldiers are going through far from home, deary," Nicholas smiles at his daughter.

"Your uncle is far too pessimistic", Alexandra shakes her head, this time in disapproval. "Didn't he see the crowds at the christening? The people love their sovereign, Nicky dear. Scaremongers are capable of inventing all sorts of nonsense to force you to do things their way."

"It is possible," Nicholas admits, "but I must still read everything I am sent."

"Very well dear", Alexandra sighs. "Take baby, I will go see him as well in a few minutes."

Oo

Alexandra tucks her four daughters in bed after praying with them for quite some time. Tonight is a special one. At her daughters' enthusiastic insistence, she will allow the little pair to have a sleepover in their older sisters' bedroom.

While Olga and Tatiana are already cuddled up under the blankets of Olga's cot, Maria and Anastasia are still having trouble standing still on Tatiana's. They are just too excited.

Lying down on the sofa, Alexandra begins telling a story at Maria's request.

"Close your eyes," she whispers, and the two oldest girls do. Maria eventually lies down and closes hers. Only after some motherly coaxing does the little Anastasia do the same. "Once upon a time in St. Petersburg", Alexandra begins, "there lived a very generous, gentle, and pious Tsar."

"Is he papa?" Little Maria asks, failing to keep her eyes closed.

"No, dear," Alexandra smiles. "Papa is indeed generous, gentle, and pious, but this is another Tsar. Snow was falling, covering the streets with a white veil. The stars were shining and the trees and golden bridges shimmered under the moonlight. Cathedral bells were ringing, and all over the land people sang 'God Bless the Tsar'…"

"Was there a war?" Olga inquires.

"No, my darling, there was peace, you see," her mother replies, "but everyone was excited because the Tsar had arranged a ball for his four beautiful sisters."

"Oh!" Anastasia cries with excitement, already knowing where the story is going.

Alexandra continues narrating the tale of this almost mythical Tsar who ruled all over Mother Russia and her peoples with kindness and justice. She tells her daughters how much the people adored this wonderful, wonderful Emperor. A benevolent ruler who had ended all poverty throughout his nation and was always willing to help whoever came to him asking for aid. His reign had brought about a Golden Age of art, literature, music, and prosperity for all of his subjects.

"Only the best of that music was played at the ball", Alexandra explains. "This great Tsar invited four handsome princes from four distant lands to attend, and when they arrived, each became completely besotted by a different sister of the Tsar."

"Yay!" Maria claps. The three other girls giggle.

"The eldest was wearing a beautiful light blue gown", the mother smiles at Olga, who smiles back. "The second wore a sparkling purple dress, the third wore a yellow…"

"Can't it be green?" The five-year-old complains.

"Yes, Maria", Alexandra strokes her daughter's cheek. "The third sister wore a pretty green dress, and the youngest wore a yellow one."

"And pink!" Anastasia adds.

"The youngest daughter wore a yellow and pink dress", Alexandra indulges her child. "And so, these four sisters were invited by the princes to dance, and dance they did. They twirled around all night. By the time the party was over, the four sisters had fallen madly in love with the four princes, so they decided to marry them, becoming the rightful queens of four different and beautiful kingdoms."

Alexandra describes each of these lovely lands, where the four sisters would triumph as generous Christian rulers, beloved by the people of their adoptive motherlands, as great as their tall, brave, and strong brother, who would create a magical tunnel for the sisters to visit their beloved Russia and each other any time they pleased. And so, the five siblings and their spouses lived happily ever after.

As the end of the story approaches, Alexandra tries to surprise her girls by revealing that this great Russian Emperor bore the face of their beloved little brother Alexei, now a handsome young man. She doesn't truly succeed at making it a surprise, but the four girls end up loving the story nonetheless.

The sleepy Grand Duchesses are already lying under their blankets when Alexandra approaches their cots again. She grabs Olga's hand and kisses it many, many times, doing so quicker by the second, practically attacking her daughter with the kisses until she is playfully pretending to eat her hand. The four girls begin laughing incredibly loudly, but none of them louder than Olga.

Alexandra does the same thing with Tatiana, Maria, and Anastasiaʼs hands. The youngest girl ends up loving this playful silliness so much that she begs her mother to do it again. Alexandra, as usual, indulges her.

Once her daughters have fallen asleep, Alexandra tiptoes out of the room with a huge grin on her face.

Oo

Earlier than usual the next morning, the Tsarina is more than ready to breastfeed and cuddle her sunbeam again only to find that standing by her baby boy's cot is one of the nursery maids holding a wad of red lint and wearing a disturbingly troubled expression.

Breathe, Alix scolds herself, just breathe. The slightly dim light may be giving the lint its deep crimson appearance, she thinks. It is only the lighting.

Then she walks closer, and her heart skips a bit. She lets out a gasp without meaning to. It is definitely not the dim light.

"It is coming from his navel, Your Majesty", the nursery maid curtsies. "It started just a few minutes ago. Would you like me to send for the doctor?"

Oo

Having completed their daily lessons and spent time knitting for the soldiers, Olga, Tatiana, Maria, and Anastasia start playing a variant of hide and seek in the playroom, a variant that the girls themselves invented and consists of hiding the dolls while someone covers their eyes and counts to ten.

Supervising the little Grand Duchesses are their nannies Maria Vishnyakova and Alexandra Tegleva, whom the girls refer to as Shura. Alexandra is a young woman of twenty. With dark hair, full lips, and a long face, Tegleva isn't what most would consider a beauty, but the way her features blend makes many think of her as pretty, quite unlike the unfortunate Vishnyakova, who is slightly older. Both women are wearing long beige dresses with embroidered adornments and puffy mutton sleeves.

Olga is counting now. "One, two, three", her eyes are closed as she leans on a wall, about to count to 30. The first three numbers are always enunciated slowly, without rush.

Tatiana and Maria look calmly for the perfect spot to hide their dolls, whereas the little Anastasia runs from one place to another amidst excited giggles.

"Seventeen, eighteen, nineteen", Olga keeps counting. Tatiana leaves her doll behind a shelf. Maria and Anastasia keep running around the room in search of a good hiding spot. "21, 22, 23", the eldest continues.

Eventually, Anastasia leaves her doll behind a stuffed bear sitting on the counter. Maria doesn't know where to put hers though. She tries to imitate Anastasia, but the latter will not stand for it.

"No!" Anastasia pushes her sister away. "Mine! Mine here!"

Maria's pout makes Tatiana's heart break. It causes Maria Vishnyakova's heart to break too, which is something the second eldest daughter of the Tsar can see in her nanny's eyes.

"But Nastasia", Tatiana pleads with her youngest sister before the woman watching over them can. "Both dolls can be hidden close by."

"No!" The little Anastasia crosses her arms with great firmness.

Olga keeps counting. Maria grows increasingly desperate as she runs from one side of the huge room to the other, pouting and whining in frustration.

Tatiana rushes to her little sister's aid. "Here, my darling", she gently guides Maria to a spot under the sofa, where the relieved girl hides her doll.

"See?" Shura smiles, endeared by what she just witnessed. "Your big sister helped you, how nice of her!"

Maria smiles at her nanny and then hugs Tatiana tightly just as Olga begins searching for the dolls.

The Tsar's second eldest daughter is very mature for her age and has a sweet and nurturing disposition. On one occasion, the Standart officers gifted the imperial children rabbits, but this upset Tatiana.

"How would you like to be squeezed into a tiny cage like that?" She asked one of the men in tears, and turning to her governess, she added: "Do tell him how wrong it is to hurt the poor little thing."

The rabbits were freed in the Crimean countryside. Ironically, the officers had just rescued the rabbits from a snake. Had they been told, the girls would have thought that much worse than a cage.

Oo

The made-up game is a success, and the girls spend a good portion of the evening running, hiding, and screaming with joy and surprise upon finding the toys. Eventually, Shura and Vishnyakova are left with no choice but to allow the little girls to expand their fun to the entire second floor, where their rooms and those of the maids are located. It is difficult for these two nannies to keep up with their young charges when the rules of the game change rather abruptly, becoming instead about catching each other.

Olga chases after Maria through the corridor and catches her for a last time. The grumbling Maria refuses to admit she has indeed been caught though, and she keeps running instead of accepting her defeat. Hearing Maria's complaints, Tatiana stops in her tracks and smirks at Olga from the opposite side of the corridor. Olga giggles in acknowledgment, for they both know exactly what to do when their little sister gets grumpy. They jump for her in an instant.

"We will have to punish you Maria!" Tatiana cries.

"Torture!" Olga puts her arms around Maria's chest and picks her up. Tatiana follows suit and lifts her little sister's legs from the opposite side, leaving a squealing Maria face up and far from the ground between her two older sisters.

"Come, Nastasia, come!" Olga spots her youngest sister behind her.

"Yes!" Tatiana follows suit. "Attack her! Attack her!"

It wasn't actually necessary for them to invite Anastasia to do anything. She already had a devilish grin painted on her face. The giggling three-year-old rushes forward and starts mercilessly tickling Maria, whose screams become as loud as her sistersʼ laughter.

Shura too laughs out loud at her charges' mischief. It is Maria Vishnyakova who intervenes, worried Maria may be genuinely upset rather than amused by her sisters' antics.

Everything seems to be fine this time around though, and the five-year-old Maria starts laughing as soon as she is back on the ground. The girls and their nannies keep doing so for minutes.

Oo

The four sisters are back in the playroom. Olga and Tatiana are happily brushing their dolls' hair. Maria and Anastasia, on the other hand, are playing together in a different corner of the room. Maria's new doll has beautiful golden curls, whereas the three-year-old Anastasia is, very predictably, playing with her bald old Vera again. Both Olga and Tatiana find their little sister's love for that ugly thing amusing and quite often whisper in each other's ears to joke about it.

The day has been jolly and mostly normal, but the two older girls have sensed trouble as well. Olga is the first to put this suspicion in words. "Something is wrong with mama", she says to Tatiana. "I think she is mad at us." Their mother hasn't come to visit them today. Neither has their father. Why? They always do.

At first, Tatiana doesn't want to believe it. How can her kind, affectionate mama be mad enough not to spend time with them? Something like that has never happened before. And what could they possibly have done to make her angry? Well, she did scold them for making too much noise earlier…

And just two days after Alexei's birth, a recovering Alexandra started getting intense headaches caused by the joyful Maria and Anastasia, who would make an awful amount of noise by the bed whenever she was nursing her son, so after scolding and warning his two youngest daughters about this to no avail, Nicholas forbade them from entering their mother's room to see the baby. For a day or two, until Alexandra recovered, only Olga and Tatiana were allowed in.

Tatiana is glad her papa did this for her poor mama's sake and feels proud about having behaved way better than her little sisters, but she suspects Maria and Anastasia were not too pleased about it. Maria was really sad. Still, Alexandra made sure they both understood the reason why she couldn't see them.

If she were angry or ill, Alexandra would have already talked to or sent the four of them a little note explaining everything.

Tatiana knows her mama. "I don't think she is mad, Olenka", she strokes her older sister's hair, and Olga hugs her tightly in response. "She was sad, mama has been crying."

"How do you know?" Olga asks.

"Her eyes were red." Tatiana becomes sad. Both girls stay silent for a few seconds.

"Oh, no!" Olga suddenly cries, pulling away from the embrace.

"What?" Tatiana asks.

"What if Sonia is sick again?"

The health of their mama's friend Sonia Orbeliani hasn't been the best recently. Sometimes she falls very ill and even gets feverish. Alexandra always takes care of her.

"It could be", Tatiana looks down, feeling bad for both her mama and her mama's friend.

"We should pray to God for her to get better, Tanechka", Olga suggests. And the two young girls do so.

Olga longs for Miss Eagar. She is moving back to Ireland, having stopped working for them a while ago, and Olga already misses her almost constant presence and wisdom. They have other nannies, but none is replaceable. It is hard losing people, and Olga can only pray fervently that they won't lose Sonia, at least not too soon. Miss Eagar promised to write, but one can't send letters from heaven.

Oo

Tatiana lies awake on her cot, unable to sleep. It is not only because her mama is sad and Sonia may be sick. She also misses her little brother. The four sisters haven't seen Alexei much today, and it was hard enough for the seven-year-old to accept she wouldn't be able to visit the baby in the nursery any time she pleased.

Out of her sisters, Tatiana is the only one for whom the wonder and fascination brought about by the novelty of having a new baby brother has not yet diminished, if it ever will.

It is not that her sisters love the baby any less, but Tatiana has come to notice none of them seem to miss him as much as she does whenever they have lessons or are unable to see him for any other reason, not even Maria. Well, Tatiana does miss him a lot, sometimes even while knitting or sewing.

Olga is often busy with schoolwork, sometimes eager to learn more than she is required to. Whenever she is free to do so, Olga will read, sing, play the piano, or be up to some mischief. She can easily distract herself. Tatiana knows. Tatiana talks to her older sister everyday because almost everything related to their lessons is a tiring chore unless she does. And so, she knows. Olga's favorite topic of conversation is not solely their brother but something different almost every hour, and despite being one of his godmothers, Olga doesn't mind being unable to see Alexei each and every hour of the day.

Little Anastasia was utterly disappointed when Alexandra told her the baby was far too young and frail to play those wild and lively games of hers like her sisters and cousins, so a few minutes a day to say hello to Alexei, kiss him, and imitate his baby movements would be more than enough for Tatiana's youngest sister.

Maria is, without contest, the most affectionate with Alexei. Not even Tatiana kisses him as much. Only Alexandra's fussing over the baby of the family matches Maria's, and yet Tatiana has noticed her five-year-old sister becomes easily upset whenever he cries, so much so that as long as she is assured the baby is going to be fine and happy again soon Maria will appear relieved rather than distraught when the nannies take him away. She doesn't seem to miss him much either, at least not when her dolls and sisters are around to play with.

Of course Maria didn't like it when Tatiana told her she too could sometimes be a real crybaby about every tiny little thing, even though it was the truth. Even Olga agreed. That is why Maria got mad about the perfect ending of "The Little Mermaid", Tatiana remembers. That is why Maria dislikes Sonia Orbeliani. Sonia is always teasing and pulling pranks on everyone and Maria is the only one out of the four sisters who can't stand it. She is a bit alone in that, Tatiana thinks. Olga, Tatiana, and Anastasia like Sonia, considering her very nice and funny. Little Anastasia is fiercely protective of Maria despite being younger though. On one occasion, she even teased Sonia back after the latter caused Maria to become upset. Tatiana smiles at the memory.

The seven-year-old Tatiana has something more in common with Maria now. She is alone in something for the first time ever. Alone in her almost infinite enchantment with her beautiful baby brother. So captivated she is that a slightly wicked idea crosses her mind. Tatiana tries to brush it off, she is a good girl after all, but it is far too tempting.

Very slowly and carefully so as not to wake Olga up, Tatiana rises from her cot and sneaks out of the room she shares with her older sister. She briefly considers returning and waking Olga up so that they can both visit their sleeping baby brother in his cradle together. Olga knows how much Tatiana misses the baby everyday. She may even be understanding of Tatianaʼs urge to see him.

After all, Olga was the one who came up with the idea of visiting baby Alexeiʼs cradle past her and her sistersʼ bedtime, but only for the sake of Maria and Anastasia, who were gushing about how much they wished to see him.

Maria and Anastasia are younger and much more childish than I am though, Tatiana reconsiders. I am a big girl of seven already. Tatiana doesn't want Olga to start treating her as a little sister who does silly things. They are best friends.

It is much later as well. The little pair must be fast asleep by now and Tatiana doesn't want to wake them up. She doesn't want to wake poor Olga up either. That would be mean.

Tatiana tiptoes through the corridor all by herself, feeling naughtier than she has ever felt in weeks, months, or even years. The last time she did something quite as naughty, Tatiana had been accompanied by her sisters and Cousin Ella, but this is her own idea. What will mama think of her? Tatiana hopes that if her mama does find her, she will just smile and let it be like she did last time.

As she draws near her brotherʼs room, Tatiana starts hearing voices, so she hides behind the door, panicking. She may have to go back now, for her plan is probably ruined.

"It may be nothing", one of the voices is saying. "But whatever it is, none of this is your fault." Papa.

Tatiana peeks in and sees her mother weeping before Alexei's crib, her father standing on the opposite side.

"But you know it is", Alexandra shakes her head frantically. "I am the one who has brought her family curse down upon this innocent angel!"

Curse? The young Tatiana opens her eyes wide. Has her baby brother been cursed?

"Sunny, darling", Nicholas approaches his wife, "you mustn't think that way."

"Who but me, Nicky?" Alexandra's voice grows high pitched.

"Blaming oneself does not help, Alix, and the doctor said the little one should get better in no time, you will see."

Tatiana can't hold back her gasp any longer. "Mama", she walks out of her hiding spot and enters the room, no longer caring about getting scolded. "What is wrong with the baby?"

Both Tatiana's parents turn to face her. Nicholas was already sad, and soon he becomes worried about his daughter as well.

"What are you doing awake, sweetling?" He wonders how much she might have heard and gives her a sad smile that seems to reassure her for a second.

There is too much pain in Alexandra's eyes though, such an intense and unfamiliar turmoil that for a moment the little girl grows frightened, almost feeling as if her mother were a complete stranger. The Tsarina stares at her daughter, the turmoil turning into absolute horror.

"God help me!" Alexandra bursts into a sob. "What if that thing is in you too, or…? Oh, Nicky, what have I done to them all?!"

When the crying Tsarina moves forward to hold her, Tatiana's heart fills with more pity than it ever has. The girl runs into her mother's arms and allows her to pick her up.

"I am sorry, my baby, I am so sorry", Alexandra murmurs over and over again as she squeezes her daughter so hard the child starts having trouble breathing. "Forgive me, forgive me."

"Don't cry mama, don't cry", Tatiana kisses Alexandraʼs cheek repeatedly in order to comfort her. The seven-year-old's face ends up becoming wet with her mother's tears.

Then Alexei cries. Alexandra flinches. She carefully lays her daughter down and rushes to gather her son in her arms.

"Your baby brother will be fine, darling", Nicholas goes over to Tatiana and picks her up, reassuring her. "He just may prove to be… delicate."

The girl watches as her scared mother anxiously soothes Alexei and her own eyes fill with tears. That is the same baby she has fallen so in love with. He still has that silky blond hair that glows in the light like the Sun itself. His brilliant icy blue eyes move around comically as he tries to focus, just as they always do, especially around Olga.

Alexei coos, much too loudly for such a tiny body. For once, Tatiana doesn't laugh when he does. Her tears have rolled down. "But, but…" Tatiana hides her head in her papa's neck as she whimpers, "but Nanny Maria says it is difficult to bathe him because he is always moving around so much, and… and, and he is so strong, and… and Nanny Shura says he is full of life and God's love."

"And so he is, my little cherub, and so he will always be, do not worry", Nicholas kisses his daughter on the cheek, and after soothingly carrying her around the corridors and stroking her hair for a few minutes longer, he tucks her back into bed and returns to his wife.

Oo

Tatiana doesn't fall asleep on her cot. She sneaks into Olga's instead, not caring about acting like a silly little sister this time. The sound of her weeping wakes the older girl up.

"What happened?" The worried Olga puts her arms around her younger sister. Tatiana tries to explain everything in tears, but fails to do so thoroughly. She is way too upset. Olga sympathizes nonetheless and squeezes her little sister in response. "Don't worry Tanechka, God is watching over him and so is his angel."

Olga recites an Orthodox prayer for the sick, and after planting one last kiss on her sister's cheek, she lies back down, persuading Tatiana to do the same. The two girls cuddle and try to rest, Tatiana finding comfort in Olga's prayers and soothing.

Tatiana will always have her parents and big sister to count on, and Olga understands her concern for the baby. They will both make sure that angel they both adore is always well.

But as reassuring as this is, the thing Olga may never understand is the moment Tatiana shared with their mother. Olga didn't see the horror in her eyes or witness her most vulnerable moment. Poor mama needs us so much, Tatiana thinks. She needs us to be obedient and stand strong in the face of this curse that may yet prove to be more terrifying than anything we have ever experienced. Tatiana feels she is and may always be alone in that understanding.

Oo

"Nicky, are you awake?" Alexandra whispers to her husband, who lies in bed next to her.

"Yes, sunny", he tenderly kisses his wife's forehead as he takes her into his arms. "I am having trouble resting while knowing our baby is unwell."

"Supposing it is…"

"We have to pray and hope for the best, sunny. It may still be just a small cut or something. You heard what the doctor said, babies can have extremely tender skins."

"I know but… Nicky, you know it can be, I have told you why", Alix props herself up on an elbow and looks down at her husband with an agonized expression that only the darkness of the room conceals. "What if…?"

"We will find the cleverest doctors in the country and the world if needed", Nicholas cuts in.

"No amount of medical treatment will help", Alexandra's voice betrays her fear. "There is no cure."

He remains silent. The thought crosses Alexandra's mind that her husband is angry at her, but she brushes it off immediately. It is she who is drowning in guilt and self-loathing.

"Nicky, if it is hemophilia, it's all my fault", her voice breaks into a whimper.

"Don't ever say that again, we have discussed this already and you know I hate it when you talk like that", Nicholas sits up and draws his wife into a hug. "If our son does have hemophilia, darling, it is God's will and we have no choice but to accept and learn how to live with it."

"It doesn't matter how much we accept it", Alexandra cries, "the people won't accept it, they will never accept it, you know how superstitious they can be, they will say I have tainted the dynasty, they will reject our baby, the plotters in court..."

"There is no reason for the people to know", Nicholas assures her. "In fact, no one needs to know. We will make sure no one ever knows, no one we don't trust. Our girlies will, of course, have to be told, they should learn as soon as possible how to be discreet in the presence of outsiders and careful around their baby brother. Our doctors need to know as well… and perhaps your sisters too, they will understand our situation better than anyone. Irene may even have good advice to give."

"But our poor baby boy, Nicky, how he will suffer!" Alix sobs now. "Irene… her eldest, the pain he… and little Heinrich… I can't bear the thought, Nicky, I truly can't!"

"If the worst is to come, sunny," Nicholas strokes Alexandra's back, "I am sure you will be able to bear it. You have survived unspeakable losses and came out an amazingly loving mother. You are the strongest woman I know, and I will be there to bear it with you."

"I don't want to try for another, Nicky," she confesses. "Regardless of what happens I…"

"Your health", he finishes for her before kissing her hair. "I understand, I will be careful the next time we…"

"It is not just that", she sniffles. "If baby is ill… oh, Nicky! Trying to have another would feel like anticipating our sunbeam's death in advance, and I love our treasure just as he is, Nicky, I really do, he is so perfect, I don't want anything bad to happen, I don't want us to give up on him so soon..."

"Never!" Nicholas soothes her, trying but failing to sound sure of himself. "We will do everything in our power to protect him, sunny, he is going to pull through, you will see, with faith in God everything is possible."

Nicholas and Alexandra lie back down on their bed, holding on to each other as if their lives depended on it. They are still unable to rest.

"St. Job the Long-suffering", Nicholas suddenly says.

"What?" Alix is startled.

"I was born on the feast of St. Job the Long-suffering. It is not you, sunny, it is me."

Oo

"Alix and I have been very much worried", Tsar Nicholas recorded in his diary. "A hemorrhage began this morning without the slightest cause from the navel of our small Alexis. It lasted with but a few interruptions until evening. We had to call the surgeon Fedorov who at seven o'clock applied a bandage. The child was remarkably quiet and even merry but it was a dreadful thing to have to live through such anxiety."

It started on September 8, but the Tsarevich has been bleeding on and off for two days already. It is now certain. Nicholas and Alexandra's chubby, healthy-looking baby seems destined for a short life.

Hemophilia condemns its sufferers to bleed longer than a healthy person would when hurt. The lightest bump can trigger painful attacks of internal bleeding that may prove fatal because of an inability of the blood to clot. A hemophiliac can hemorrhage for hours and days on end resulting in painful and rock-hard hematomas. Should their joints bleed, hemophiliacs will suffer excruciating agony before being permanently crippled if such episodes become a common occurrence, for once blood enters a joint, it wreaks total havoc, damaging the bone and the surrounding tissue.

Hemophilia is a capricious disease, completely unpredictable. It is pretty much impossible to prevent attacks. A small bump or cut can be no cause for concern one day, and then the next day, a similar injury will leave the sufferer bedridden for weeks. Months and even years can go by without a minor episode, and then suddenly, a dangerous attack will ensue, and so will the difficult task of keeping the victim alive.

The Tsar and Tsarina are under no illusions. They know about hemophilia's effects on its victims. Nicholas can not bear that his only son, his lovable Alexei, stands condemned by medical science to either die at an early age or become an invalid. He would never falter in his love for his wife, but that doesn't stop Alexandra from blaming herself due to the fact Tsarevich Alexei inherited the deadly illness from her family.

Both husband and wife fear for the dynasty as well. They fear for their son's future claim, and most importantly, for Russia. If Nicholas and Alexandra's opponents were to ever find out an invalid is next in line to the throne, they could be emboldened to promote other family members as more suitable heirs. Disunity would then ensue, leading to unimaginable troubles. To make matters worse, Alexandra is already unpopular, and what little popularity she has gained after giving birth to Alexei would most likely vanish if everyone knew just how precarious his health truly is and the fact she is the cause of it.

The imperial couple has been compelled not only to keep their son's illness a closely guarded secret known only by a close circle of family members and loyal retainers, but to continue living in the cocooned Alexander Palace at Tsarskoye Selo as if on an official self-imposed exile from St. Petersburg, an exile neither Nicholas nor Alexandra suffer from.

A few days followong his son's bleeding incident, the worried Nicholas had to leave his Tsarskoye Selo nest briefly, upsetting Olga. Alexandra was more than ready to comfort her husband with letters though.

"What joy your sweet letter brought me", Nicholas wrote back to her. "I found it in the afternoon, and in the evening, before I went to sleep, such a wonderful surprise from our baby. The tiny shoe and the little glove smelled like him so sweetly, and the photograph I had not seen before is charming; the resemblance is remarkable. Thank you many, many times, dear, for your foresight that moved me so much. Only the wife can come up with something like this to bring pleasure to her hubby when he is away. Your telegrams calm me down very much, and I feel closer to all of you as I receive news from you twice a day. It was hard to leave you yesterday. I had to gather all my will…. I was so amazed and moved by Olga's behavior, and I could not even imagine that she was crying because of me before you explained the reason to me. I now begin to feel lonelier without children than before—that is what being an old, experienced papa means!"

Oo

The little Alexei recovered quickly, so the rest of the year was fairly happy and mostly uneventful for the Romanov family. Alexandra and her daughters kept knitting for and playing with the soldiers. The little pair invented new games and stories. The big pair were busy with their lessons at times, but they had more than enough free time to write to their grandmother, cousins, and aunts regularly. They often went horse riding, and once winter made its presence known throughout Tsarskoye Selo, Olga and Tatiana started ice skating on the artificial lakes of the Alexander Park, frequently doing so with their beloved father. The girls have lots of fun holding hands, trying not to fall, and laughing at each other when they inevitably do fall anyway.

Sonia Orbeliani has been well. The girls and their mother have spent a considerable amount of time with her.

But what the whole family agrees on is that the best part of the year has definitely been baby Alexei. He absolutely adored his first Christmas, which was very noticeable, much to the little girls' delight.

Beautiful fir-trees decorate Tsarskoe Selo during Christmas time. One of them is put up downstairs in the Empress's Big Living Room, another one is placed upstairs in the nursery or playroom, and a last one is set up upstairs in the servantsʼ quarters. The first fir-tree to be lit is the one in the nursery when the children get their presents.

These holidays, furthermore, the Metropolitan came to visit, and not only did he give both Olga and Tatiana a prayer book, but he also gifted the five children another wonderful Christmas tree that baby Alexei truly loved.

The special tree has a light inserted at the top, making angels rotate when it heats up. From the moment he first saw this, the months-old baby boy has been mesmerized, his big eyes focusing in disbelief. Little drives his attention away.

The four girls also loved the tree, and when Tatiana saw her little brother's reaction to it, she begged her mother to let her carry him closer so he could see better. The delighted Alexandra consented, not without making sure her daughter was properly supervised around the baby first.

The imperial family has spent many joyful hours indulging little Alexei together, the big pair often taking turns holding him in their arms. The two girls can show their brother the lovely tree from up close that way, they can watch him smile as his curious gaze meets the flying angels. Maria and Anastasia will then look up at him with adoration as he tries to touch the tree, their parents standing around watching, beaming with pride and waiting for their turn to hold the family's tiny treasure.

Despite his incredibly young age, the four sisters already love playing with Alexei. Anastasia enjoys trying to make him smile by clapping, showing him her toys, or making funny faces at him. She rarely fails.

Throughout Christmas season, the imperial family attends several lavish receptions, the little Grand Duchesses wearing their most elegant white lace dresses. Diplomats, aristocrats, and members of the army are among the many guests of these prestigious palace parties, some of which are organized for poor and orphaned children, who get to see their Empress in a beautiful court dress and receive magnificent presents from her.

The Russian Orthodox celebrate the nativity on a later date than Catholics and Protestants do. Christmas dinner is usually a rather private family affair. Nicholas, Alexandra, and their children eat in a small room outside of which there are Cossack guards standing on duty. Once the dessert has been served and enjoyed, the Emperor and his wife will leave the room and ring a bell, signaling to the imperial children that they are now allowed to rush outside and run towards the Christmas tree, next to which there is a table with a white tablecloth and presents lined up on top. This year, Anastasia pushed and screamed her way to becoming the winner of the noisy and joyful race.

The next morning, the spirit of Christmas was felt all throughout the Alexander Palace as the sisters giggled and played together with their new toys, the little Alexei observing them and making little cooing sounds. With great delight and pleasure, Nicholas and Alexandra watched as their children enjoyed themselves.

It has been a Christmas like no other for the four young girls. They have gotten to share it with the family's newest addition. Alexandra and her daughters have enjoyed singing Christmas carols to baby Alexei quite a lot. Olga has given her little brother lessons about the meaning of Christmas, walking him through each tradition as if he could understand her. Tatiana never misses the chance to kiss the child's cheeks as she carries him from place to place.

Still, the babyʼs illness often troubles Olga and Tatiana. Anastasia is still too young to understand the true gravity of the situation, but Tatiana remembers with horror the night she accidentally found out about it. Olga, on the other hand, takes the conversation she and Tatiana had with their mother a few months ago very seriously.

"You must be very careful", Alexandra told her two eldest daughters. "Always, in every situation. If you are the one carrying him, you hold him gently and make sure neither his little feet nor arms get bumped into anything. If the little pair is close to him, make sure they behave themselves and don't move around too abruptly, not near him, you know how mischievous they can be, especially Anastasia."

"Yes mama", Tatiana replied, sounding incredibly decisive for someone as young. "I will always, always take care of him, and nothing bad will happen to him ever, ever, ever."

"I know you will, both of you are responsible little girlies", she paused, smiling at them, "well, not so little anymore."

"Yes", Olga grinned.

"And what was our most important rule?" The Empress raised an eyebrow in mock sternness.

"Not to tell anyone", both sisters answered at the same time.

"Exactly dearies, this is a private family matter, not something to share with strangers."

For the first time since she could remember, Olga didn't feel smug about having had an important, grown up conversation with her mother excluding her little sisters. She simply felt a sense of purpose, of having an important mission trusted to her.

Maria didn't react well to the news of her brother's illness. "Is the baby going to die?" She couldn't help but cry. Her devoted sisters and mother soothed her easily enough by explaining to her that nothing bad would happen if they were all careful with him, also further motivating the little girl to follow her mother's rules on how to behave around the infant.

Christmas has gone by, but the tree is still up in the playroom where Olga and Tatiana sit cross-legged on the ground, knitting and embroidering items for the soldiers. The four little girls are still obsessed with their new baby. Opposite from the big pair and close to the tree are Maria, Anastasia, and baby Alexei, who had been laid by the nannies on an improvised crib made up of cushions so that his big sisters can crawl around him.

"How funny of Masha to send that letter to Cousin Dmitri", Olga smiles.

"It is good that she is writing more and more", Tatiana replies.

"Yes, but remember that time she told us that he looked 'so much like a soldier' in his new Chevalier Guard regiment uniform?" Olga smirks. "You know what that means, too bad he likes Cousin Irina."

"Olga!" Tatiana giggles. "Just because she always marries a soldier in our games doesn't mean she likes every soldier!" Despite her playful scolding, Tatiana can't hide the amusement her sister's comment has aroused in her. She starts laughing with Olga, both looking over their younger sisters with fondness.

"Muah!" The little Anastasia leans to kiss one of baby Alexei's chubby cheeks. The six-month-old has grown quite fat. His hair has also grown, turning slightly darker and more reddish with each passing week. It now resembles three-year-old Anastasia's lovely strawberry blond and is curling adorably over his forehead.

"Muah!" Maria follows, planting a kiss on his opposite cheek. Alexei moves his hands and feet under the blanket, looks up, and smiles at his sisters, making them giggle. "He likes it!" The five-year old gushes, looking between her little brother and sister.

"Now at the same time", Anastasia suggests, and both sisters lean over to kiss Alexei again, this time simultaneously. "Muah!" They exclaim.

"Careful", Tegleva reminds the girls with an amused expression. Maria Vishnyakova, Shura, and two more nannies are standing or kneeling close by, anxiously watching over the three youngest children.

Alexei makes a loud sound, convincing his sisters that he appreciates their tenderness. They kiss his cheeks again.

"For how long will you two be doing that?" Olga laughs. It has been little less than an hour since Maria and Anastasia started their silliness.

"He is going to become annoyed and start crying", Tatiana adds with a grin.

"Nope", Anastasia shakes her head proudly. She knows, much to her and Maria's delight, that their baby brother has been cooing and smiling nonstop ever since they began this affectionate little game of theirs.

"Muah!" Maria and Anastasia keep kissing and hugging the baby amidst giggles, their nannies making sure they don't actually squeeze him.

When Nicholas and Alexandra enter the room, Olga, Tatiana, and Anastasia rush to hug them. Maria doesn't move. She takes her little brother's hand and stares at him with lovesick eyes as she waits for her parents to come.

"What do we have here?" Alexandra asks her four daughters as she hugs Olga. "Is the little man doing well?"

"He woke up from a nap an hour ago, Your Majesty", one of the nannies says.

"Yeah!" Anastasia is being held in her father's arms, for once writhing to be let go. "Let me show you! Let me show you!" Nicholas lays her back down, smiling. His little girl is too excited.

The parents beam with pride as Maria and Anastasia show them their new game. Olga and Tatiana giggle at the sight.

"Muah!" The two youngest girls exclaim as they kiss Alexei. "Muah!"

"Oh, my darlings!" Alexandra cries out, her heart overwhelmed with love. "You two are so sweet, so loving."

"Our little Alexei is so lucky to have such loving sisters", Nicholas jokes.

"We like him," Anastasia raises her arms up in celebration, "that is why we are giving him lots of kisses!"

"And hugs!" Maria adds, and they both keep showering their younger brother with kisses on the forehead and cheeks complemented by gentle pats on the stomach. "I think he really likes us giving him many kisses and hugs."

"It seems so", Nicholas grins. His little Alexei turns around and smiles widely at Anastasia just as she straightens up after having kissed him.

"He loves us!" Maria clasps her hands together, and when she kisses Alexei again, the baby starts making a sound that is far too loud and far too close to that of laughter. He had never laughed before.

"Look mama!" Tatiana points at her brother, looking between him and Alexandra. "He is laughing!"

"He is!" Nicholas exclaims. The two parents are so endeared by what they are seeing and hearing that all they can do for seconds is smile at their son and nod their heads frantically. He truly is laughing at the faces Maria and Anastasia are making, or at least trying to, his cheeks becoming pinker than usual.

The whole family kneels closely around the cushions where Alexei lies. Nicholas puts his arms around Olga and Tatiana, who are squealing with excitement.

Alexandra takes her sunbeamʼs small hand in hers, her two youngest daughters still playing with him. "My love, how are you?" She speaks to him. "Do you like your sisters? Yes you do!" She finishes using a silly voice and then kisses the baby, who is now blowing bubbles with his mouth and moving his little legs and arms.

"From the moment they wake up they are asking to see him, Your Majesty", Shura says with a grin, causing Vishnyakova to nod in agreement. "Right girls? You wake up and the first thing you do is try to see him, you would be there in his face all day long if we allowed it."

Alexandra looks at each of her daughters and then shakes her head playfully. The four girls chuckle.

"We also tickle him", Anastasia proceeds to show her mother how. The baby's laughter becomes louder. From the opposite side of the cushion crib, Maria places her palm on Alexei's chest and shakes him gently from left to right. Alexei stares directly at Maria as his laughter keeps going stronger than ever. Maria smiles back, widely, and she too begins laughing when Alexei extends one of his arms to touch her hands and face as if to play with or show affection to her as well.

Tears of joy well up in Alexandra's eyes at the sight.

"Oh, papa!" Olga lays her head on her father's shoulder. "He is so happy!"

After a few more minutes gushing around Alexei and trying to make him laugh, the family leaves him in the care of his nannies. They head outside to go ice skating on the frozen ponds of the Alexander Park.

Oo

St. Petersburg. January, 1905.

Winter transforms the Empire's capital immensely every year. Gone are the autumn leaves, the wheeled carriages, and the sound of the river flowing. They have been replaced by frozen canals, icy roads, and a blanket of snow covering both the roofs and the ground. The carriages wear long blades instead of wheels. Now the horses slide them through the streets.

Gone with the summer is Sudayev's optimism. Nothing has changed in his workplace. The conditions are as grim and dangerous as ever. His salary is low and the debt he has accumulated these past few months is high. He is trying hard not to think of that right now though. Like several other people around him, Ivan is ice skating with his brother and children on what used to be a fairly big canal. Maria decided not to come because she was worried about falling and losing the baby she is now expecting.

The cold stings their faces, but otherwise, Ivan, Ilya, Kostya, and the five-year-old Dmitri are sufficiently warm in their light brown fur-lined sheepskin pants and coats, black woolen scarves and gloves, and dark fur hats. Even the little Sonya has come. She is little more than a year old, but the precocious little girl already walks, and her brother is holding her by the hand, teaching her how to skate on her old miniature blades, a pair that used to belong to one of Ilya's children. She often falls, but her older brother is always there to catch her, and even if he were to fail, her winter clothes are thick enough to soften any blow.

Together, Dmitri and Sonya giggle their way around several groups of people skating nearby. They are slightly ahead of their elders.

"Slower!" Ilya skates behind the children. "And don't go over there, Dmitri! The ice is thin!"

"It is never thin enough for what you fear this time of the year, brother, relax", Ivan pats Ilya's shoulder before accelerating just enough to reach his two children and then place himself right in front of them, skating backwards to be able to look over them both.

Despite having to keep an eye on both his children to make sure none of them gets hurt, it is only at times like these that Ivan gets to put his mind at ease. It is likewise a relief to know that Kostya is slowly coming out of his shell and enjoying life in the small ways he is still able to.

"Are you two having a good time?" The father asks his children.

"Yeah", Dmitri nods, smiling. "Sophia is loving it! I think she is learning, I am teaching her almost all by myself, papa!"

"I am glad, Dima", Ivan pats Dmitri on his hat-covered head, almost unable to believe he almost gave up on this by doing something that could have landed him in jail or worse. Ivan does miss the friendships he made among the anarchists and worries they may resent him for cutting ties with the movement, but all in all, he does not regret his decision.

The family slows down near the edge of the canal. On the street and close to the frozen water stands a robust old man with a long beard. He wears a bandolier with special cups tied in and holds a big copper kettle. He is selling sbiten, a hot winter beverage of a dark purple appearance made up of honey, jam, and spices that is advertised with loud calls.

Holding the little Sonya in his arms, Ivan approaches the man and asks him for four cups of the sweet beverage. As the man begins to serve them, Ivan watches as his son skates nearby. Dmitri's short size has allowed him to sneak right under people's legs several times, making them lose balance or at least shriek in surprise.

"Dmitri Ivanovich Sudayev, apologize!" Ilya yells at his nephew, but Ivan just laughs.

"Tell your uncle you can do whatever you want, Dima", Ivan shouts so that his son can hear him. "Tell him, 'leave me alone, uncle!'"

Baby Sophia makes a good attempt at uttering those same words out loud before her brother can.

"Leave me alone, uncle!" Dmitri all but chuckles at Ilya as he keeps skating dangerously close to a couple of lovesick teenagers. Ivan and Kostya both laugh at the sight of the lad protecting his sweetheart from Dmitri as if the latter were a dangerous mythical creature.

The man selling sbiten starts handing over the cups, now full. Ivan gives Kostya's to his brother Ilya so that the latter can help the disabled man drink. The father catches sight of his Dima mimicking the young couple he almost hit at full speed, exaggerating the girl's loud shriek and acting out the boy's excessive worry for the girl, who honestly seemed perfectly fine. Ivan almost chokes on his drink laughing.

"Look at him, Ivan", Ilya grumbles, "look how disrespectful he has become." But if anything, Ivan is proud of his son's fun loving personality.

Dima pulls more pranks than any child Ivan has ever known, frequently making such witty comments that even the adults and strangers around him laugh. On one occasion, Dmitri placed a cockroach inside Ilya's cap shortly before he put it on, this without anyone noticing. Ivan still chuckles at the memory of his brother jumping, running from one side of the flat to the other, and touching his hair over and over again in a desperate search for the insect. Last winter, Dmitri soaked Andrei's spare pants in water and then hanged them outside. The next time Andrei needed them, the trousers were completely frozen, more similar to a sculpture than a pair of pants.

Ivan is indeed proud, and he is also relieved that nothing they have gone through has managed to break Dmitri's spirit. Only the sbiten vendor demanding his pay distracts the father from his happy memories. Ivan lays Sophia back on the ice and puts a hand in his pocket, only to feel it empty. He quickly checks his other pocket, but to his horror, it is also empty. Anxiously, Ivan asks both Kostya and Ilya if he lent either of them the money earlier.

"Did you take it for some reason, perhaps?" He insists. "I will not be angry."

"No, Ivan", Kostya replies. "Are you sure you didn't leave it at home?"

Ivan shakes his head and then directs an apologetic look at the man selling sbiten. The vendor's expression becomes stern. What is Ivan going to do now? Should he and his family make a run for it now that they still can in the hopes that the man won't call the police? And where the hell is that money? Even a single ruble means the world to a family like his, he is already working fifteen hours a day and his salary hasn't increased a kopek!

Ivan feels something tugging his shirt and looks down.

"I am a sly fox!" Dmitri extends his arm and gives the many coins he has taken back to his father, who for seconds is too stunned for words.

"That boy will go far!" Kostya laughs. This time, Ilya laughs too.

"When did you take them, Dima?" Ivan asks as he pays the vendor. "And how? I didn't notice you doing it, a very well executed mischief, my boy, was it not?"

"I am a sly fox!" The little boy exclaims with pride again, wearing a mischievous grin.

"Yes you are, Dima!" Ivan hands the child his cup of sbiten. "I am so proud!" Dmitri takes a sip of the beverage before sharing it with Sophia.

Once the Sudayev family and their friend Kostya have finished drinking their sbiten, they return the cups to the vendor and keep skating forward. When Sophia becomes tired, Ivan carries her in his arms the rest of the way back home. All but the little girl chat as they skate.

"And look papa", Dmitri takes two wallets out of his pocket. "Look what I also took without anyone noticing."

"How…?" Ivan's eyes open wide.

"I was going too fast for them to notice! You will be able to pay all you owe now, right papa?"

"Oh, no, little one", Kostya shakes his head, "you can't do that."

"You little…" Ilya stops on his tracks with a sudden and harsh movement of his skates. He then glares at his brother. Ivan and Kostya have both slowed down. No one is smiling anymore. "This is all your fault, Ivan!" Ilya exclaims. "This is your doing and yours only, this is what you are teaching him!"

Dmitri looks between his father and uncle with concern. This was supposed to be fun. This was supposed to solve all of his family's problems, not make them fight.

"Don't be ridiculous", Ivan's voice is firm, but his true feelings regarding the situation are quite different. He doesn't think his brother was being ridiculous. At all. "Look, Dima", he kneels down in order to be at his son's level, as if they were equals. "It is true that sometimes I steal little things for you when we don't have enough money for them, but that is for grownups to do, alright? It is dangerous, and if someone saw you…"

"They didn't see me, papa!" Dmitri reminds his father.

"I know, but you won't always be as lucky, and, and…" Ivan remembers he hasn't actually had a serious conversation with his son about jail or even the police. He decides to do so sometime later. "Shop owners have plenty of money, Dima, whilst the people you stole those wallets from may need them more than even we do. Imagine how worried they will be when they find out their money is gone, imagine how sad your papa would be if his money had really gone missing today, you should think about it."

"Is that it?" Ilya shakes his head and frowns. "Ivan, he is not going to listen to you if you are not consistent with your…"

He keeps talking, but Ivan simply rolls his eyes as he tries to pretend his younger brother's lecturing on how to raise his kids isn't irritating him. Perhaps Ilya is making a fuss out of nothing. Besides, there is plenty of time for Dmitri to learn in which circumstances it is forgivable or even adequate for him to break the rules and when it is that he must instead behave like a responsible member of society. The child is only five, and Ivan isn't going anywhere.

Oo

The birth of an heir has brought about joy, but no luck. The morale of Alexei's "godfathers" deteriorates day by day. The Japanese bombardment has been way too successful, the Pacific Fleet is mostly gone, and Nicholas has more than once wondered whether he should order his Baltic Fleet to cross the ocean to face the Japanese.

The Grand Duke Alexei Alexandrovich has little clue of what to do, and he is still the General-Admiral of the Russian Imperial Fleet. As a strong opponent of naval reform, the Grand Duke is considered partly responsible for each disaster. In 1904, the windows of his St. Petersburg place were smashed, and later that same year, the audience of the city's French theatre hissed him from the building.

To make matters worse, when it was finally decided to transfer the Russian Baltic Fleet to the Pacific Ocean, the fleet commander Admiral Rozhdestvensky almost involved Russia in a war with England.

Not only were the English allied to the Japanese already, but Admiral Rozhdestvensky had been much aghast by Japan's surprise torpedo attack on the fleet at Port Arthur and worried such tactics might have a sequel. What he suspected is that Japanese ships flying false colors would slip through neutral European waters to deliver the Russian navy another blow. In order to avoid such happening, Admiral Rozhdestvensky ordered extra lookouts posted from the moment his ships left home port. Steaming at night through the North Sea in a state of alert, a couple of Russian captains suddenly found themselves surrounded by a flotilla of small boats. Without asking questions, their guns sent shells crashing into the frail hulls of what were actually British fishing boats sailing the waters of Dogger Bank. Two fishermen were decapitated.

The Russians soon realized their mistake. Admiral Rozhdestvensky, however, was so scared that, rather than picking up the survivors, he steamed off into the night. Britain was understandably outraged, but Nicholas, already irritated by the English diplomatic support of Japan, was in no mood to apologize. "Yesterday I sent a telegram to Uncle Bertie, expressing my regret," he wrote in a letter to his mother, "but I did not apologize… I do not think the English will have the cheek to go further than to indulge in threats."

The Russian Ambassador in London, Count Benckendorff, recommended that Great Britain and Russia submit the matter to the International Court at The Hague. Nicholas reluctantly agreed, and Russia ended up paying £65,000 in damages.

Because Russia's economy has slipped into a severe recession, the workers' living conditions have only worsened since the beginning of the war. Production, foreign trade, and government revenue have all declined as well, compelling companies to dismiss thousands of workers and increase pressure on those they retain.

In consequence, homelessness and poverty have increased, and the government's only response has been asking zemstvo leaders to organise charitable relief. Food prices in the cities have also risen, but wages have failed to grow correspondingly.

As if this weren't enough, factory owners arbitrarily impose fines for lateness, failing to meet production quotas, and even trivial offenses such as toilet breaks and talking or singing during work hours.

The strikes and riots continue, the Tsar's authority shaking everywhere.

As the siege of Port Arthur reached its end, students and workers kept going out and protesting while liberal intellectuals demanded a constitutional reform. The new Minister of the Interior, Prince Pyotr Dmitrievich Svyatopolk-Mirsky, has advised the Tsar to concede to an elected legislative chamber.

"If you don't", he warned him during a meeting, "the change will come in the form of a violent and bloody revolution."

"You know very well I don't insist on autocracy for myself", the Emperor replied gravely, sounding as if he were giving a sermon, "I do so solely for the good of Russia." After a brief pause, and knowing very well he was backed up by his uncle Sergei, he added: "I will never agree to any form of representative government because I consider it harmful to the people whose care the Almighty has trusted me with." He paused again. "Every option has failed. Let's just build more prisons."

On January 2, Port Arthur surrendered. After this humiliating defeat, everything seemed lost. A wave of protest against mismanagement of the war swept across the country. Revolution was knocking on the nation's door.

There was yet another strike at the huge Putilov Steel Works of St. Petersburg, one that spread until thousands of disillusioned and restless workers were out on strike, hindering the level of production required for the war. Father Gapon was among those swept along. Fate had provided him with a choice, and he chose to act. He couldn't stay silent as thousands of workers and their children died each day under inhumane working and living conditions not fit for animals.

Rejecting his role as an agent of the police, he chose to lead. For almost a week, he has gone from meeting hall to meeting hall, delivering dozens of speeches, amassing support, and day by day enlarging his list of demands in conjunction with a large number of steelworkers.

Father Gapon has, in fact, fully embraced socialism, sharing many ideals with the Socialist Revolutionaries in particular. In spite of this, he still has some faith left in the Tsar, a conditional sort of faith. The Tsar is supposed to be a father to his people. That is what the peasants call him, after all, "batiushka", "little father", and no father worth having would refuse to heed the cries of his children.

Oo

On January 19, a new massive offensive in the Far East was ordered, the same day Tsar Nicholas II assisted the traditional Blessing of the Waters in St. Petersburg.

Walking alongside imperial courtiers and senior members of the Russian Orthodox Church, Emperor Nicholas II was part of a procession down the Jordan Staircase from the first floor of the Winter Palace to the bank of the Neva River for the Blessing of the Waters during the feast of Epiphany, which commemorates Christ's Baptism in the Jordan River.

A temporary wooden pavilion is constructed every year on the embankment facing the steps leading down to the Neva. The Metropolitan of St. Petersburg dips a cross into a hole made in the ice. A small cup is then dipped into the water and presented to the Emperor, who takes a sip before handing it back to the Metropolitan. Lastly, prayers are said for the health of the Tsar and his family. The common people usually flock in order to collect the holy water, which is believed to have protective and curative powers. The Tsarina, Grand Duchesses, and members of the diplomatic corps witness the ceremony from the windows of the Winter Palace.

The blessing is marked by a military gun salute. This tumultuous year, however, an unexpected incident occurred. Among the many blank saluting cartridges was at least one weapon loaded with live ammunition that happened to be aimed right at the pavilion where the Tsar was.

Nicholas stayed calm, only crossing himself upon hearing the shell whizz over his head. A police officer was injured by the explosion. Nobody else was harmed, but four of the Winter Palace's windows were destroyed, the Tsarina and her daughters were terrified, and the Tsar's mother, Dowager Empress Maria, was sprinkled in broken glass.

The subsequent official investigation concluded that the incident had been an accident caused by negligence, as the artillery hadn't been properly cleaned after target practice two days earlier. Not everyone believed this though. There had been many assassinations and attempts against government officials lately, and blank salutes aren't traditionally aimed right at the Emperor.

Oo

St. Petersburg. January, 1905.

"Fellow Russians, look around you!" The priest proclaims loudly. "Our country is in chaos. This war with Japan has been a mistake, a complete disaster. You are not the only workers who have been on strike these past few months, but the police mistreat us whenever we try to speak up. It's freezing, but most of you can't afford to heat your homes, and many of your children go hungry! How much more of this can we take?!"

Dmitri stayed inside the flat playing with Sophia, and so did most of the neighborhood children, but all of the adult residents of the Sudayev brothers' community are outside, crowding around Father Gapon. Elevated above them by the steps leading up to one of the several living quarters he has visited today, the priest rallies the workers with an extravagantly theatrical vision:

"The time is right. I will personally lead you, my flock, in a march to the Winter Palace, where I will meet the Tsar himself and hand him over a petition on behalf of the Russian people. I have been spreading the word around, and now I am urging you to join your fellow countrymen in this large gathering."

The crowd murmurs. Some seem to embrace the idea wholeheartedly, Ilya and Maria amongst them, while others, like Ivan, are a bit more skeptical. He has decided not to protest though. It may work for all he knows, and he is glad the priest has finally decided to do something about their situation.

"You have planned a revolution all on your own?" A man asks. "Will you provide the weapons too?"

"No, no!" Father Gapon seems startled by the question. "This is not a revolution, this is a peaceful protest. We seek to convince the Tsar to hear us and speak with us. There will be no revolutionaries allowed, and no armed civilians either. In fact, I have already sent letters informing the government of our upcoming procession."

More than one simultaneous conversation can be discerned among those in the crowd. The people have questions.

"What does the appeal contain?" One of the voices inquires louder than the others.

"A list of grievances", Gapon replies, "so that the Tsar can understand what exactly it is that torments his people."

"Because the ministers know nothing!" A woman shouts.

"Look at my children!" A man holding his small son and daughter in his arms tries to get closer to the priest. The people around them move over, allowing them to come through. The small family looks tired and dirty. "My boy and my little girl are hungry! My wife cannot work while pregnant and I don't make enough to provide for them no matter how long I work and how hard I try… will your appeal help us, father?"

"Yes!" Gapon replies solemnly. "Fairer wages, sick leave, better working conditions, and an eight-hour work day are among the demands."

An eight-hour workday. Ivan would kill for such a thing. Discussion ensues among the crowd again. This time, everyone seems to be taken with the idea of marching to the Winter Palace together.

"I am all for it", Ivan says. "You say you have spoken to several other people already, have many agreed to join the protest?"

"You are not alone in this, the people of Russia are awakening!" Gapon proclaims. "And when they do, the despotic and irresponsible government and the capitalist exploiters, crooks, and robbers will stand in the way of the Tsar and his people no more!"

The crowd cheers. The priest can see it so clearly. There, on a balcony above a vast sea of hopeful Russian women and children, their little father will, as in the Russian fairy tales, deliver his precious people from their evil oppressors. He tells the people so.

Maria doesn't read minds, but the priest describes everything so vividly that she has the same image in her mind. She looks over to her smiling husband and kisses him. Ilya then touches her growing belly gently. Oh, what a dream! It would be so exciting to actually meet a Tsar! And if he agrees to the petition, maybe this new child of theirs will get to live, and do so better than anyone else in her family has.

The petition will also demand a constituent assembly, universal suffrage, universal education, separation of church and state, amnesty for all political prisoners, and an income tax. Gapon didn't talk to these workers about any of this though. Members of the Assembly of Russian Factory and Mill Workers such as Ivan and Ilya are aware of the documentʼs contents and even had a role in its drafting, but Gapon knows not all workers are as politically minded, and he hides or reveals information accordingly.

Oo

Father Gapon informed the government of when the march would take place and asked for the Tsar to be present to receive his petition. Mirsky was alarmed. He and the other ministers had an impromptu meeting to discuss the situation. Petitions to the Tsar can be made in the written form following a special protocol, but protest of any sort isn't usually condoned in the Empire, much less a demonstration as big as the one Gapon claims to have planned. Then there is the fact neither Mirsky nor the other ministers trust this bizarre socialist priest. Even assuming his motives are genuine, there is little chance a crowd as enormous will be orderly. And what if they try to break into the Winter Palace?

These were the concerns that plagued the ministers. Asking the Tsar to receive the petition as Gapon had intended, however, was not even taken into consideration. Even the reasonable suggestion of having some other member of the imperial family receive the petition was rejected. The ministers then contemplated plucking Gapon from among his followers in order to place him under arrest for his illegal rally, but after the Prefect of Police informed them that this would be next to impossible, Mirsky and his colleagues could think of nothing to do but bring additional troops into the city in the hopes that matters would not get out of hand.

The sovereign was, as usual, residing in the Alexander Palace. Only the night before the protest did he learn about it for the first time from Mirsky, who advised him to remain in Tsarskoye Selo for his own safety, assuring him that the upcoming procession was no cause for concern and that everything was under control in the city.

"Troops have been brought from the outskirts to reinforce the garrison," Nicholas wrote in his diary. "Up to now the workers have been calm. Their number is estimated at 120,000. At the head of their union is a kind of socialist priest named Gapon. Mirsky came this evening to present his report on the measures taken."

For a brief moment, he contemplated being there, on that balcony, but Alexandra reminding him of the latest Blessing of the Waters dissuaded him. "You don't need to put on a theatrical act and compromise your safety in the process", she said. "There are proper ways to make requests."

But it was the memory of his late grandfather that extinguished Nicholas's remaining doubt.

Oo

St. Petersburg. January 22.

An icy wind blows through the streets of St. Petersburg as the Grand Duke Konstantin emerges from the bath-house.

"How many times must I beg God for forgiveness?" He mutters to himself. Every penance is meaningless. He always sins again. Eventually. "Now I will return home to my wife, too sullied to kiss her trusting lips, and yet I will, and I will tell her lies and spend the rest of this Sunday praying like a Pharisee in the Temple."

Disgust and shame. The familiar emotions rage in his head. Then comes remorse. He steps out onto the open street and is startled by a patrol of Cossacks galloping nearby. Konstantin almost wishes they were coming for him, to expose him for his degenerate hypocrisy and free his wife. But deep down, the Grand Duke knows no one will come to save him from his own flesh. Half the city is on strike, and several factories are currently run by anarchists and socialists.

The Cossack patrol has passed by when Konstantin sees a group of Hussars, among whom is Prince Mirsky. Konstantin quickens his pace, walking now with rounded shoulders and his head down, so unlike the Grand Duke he is, all in an attempt not to grab the minister's attention. He fails miserably.

"Your Highness!" Mirsky exclaims. "It is dangerous outside today!"

"What is happening?" Konstantin asks. Safe in the knowledge he hasn't attracted suspicions, he regains his composure.

"Some deranged socialist priest plans to march along with his large group of followers to the Winter Palace in order to petition the Tsar."

"His Majesty isn't in the Winter Palace", Konstantin frowns. "He is at Tsarskoye Selo."

"I know," Mirsky nods. "It is safer there, and Your Highness should return home as well. Even assuming most of the people mean no harm, there is no way of telling what may happen with a crowd this huge let loose in the city, we are taking very strong measures but..."

"Strong measures?"

"There are soldiers stationed at each of the Neva bridges. If the crowds attempt to cross..."

"You will shoot them?!" Konstantin gasps in horror.

"It won't come to that", Mirsky defensively replies. "We have everything under control. A few warning shots will be more than enough to disperse everyone. Now if you will excuse me, Your Highness, I must carry on, but I insist that Your Highness returns home."

"Yes, of course."

Konstantin sees more troops passing along after the Minister of the Interior leaves. He makes sure they are out of sight before hurrying towards the carriage that always awaits him several blocks away from the brothel or bath-house, not close enough to arouse suspicions.

The coachman has barely turned the corner when he has to stop the carriage. Konstantin looks through the window. The amassing crowds are blocking the route, he observes, but it doesn't seem to be something they are doing deliberately. There are just too many of them, happy workers with no aggression on their faces.

After a few minutes of trial and error, the driver figures out how to move among the crowd, but at a turtle's pace. Every street is as full as the other, and at some point, the horses become too frightened to walk. For almost an hour, Konstantin is stuck inside the slow moving carriage until he can't stand it any longer.

"Wait for me here", Konstantin pushes the door open. "I'll walk ahead to see if I can find a clearer route."

"Are you sure, sir?" The coachman asks. "It may be dangerous."

"Don't worry, I will be back soon."

The atmosphere is peaceful and even joyful. The way men, women, and children smile and greet one another reminds Konstantin more of a church procession than a protest. He sees amongst them a red haired man carrying a skinny black haired boy over his shoulders. Next to them are two other men, one of whom is holding in his arms a little girl who seems no older than a year old. Her red hair indicates they are all related in some way. A pregnant woman wearing a white headscarf and a light blue dress walks alongside them holding an icon of the Theotokos in her hands.

A perfect picture of innocence, Konstantin decides, and they are not alone. There are several families with small children marching, and most of them carry religious icons too. Others hold in their arms images of the Tsar and Tsarina, from small portraits to huge banners asserting their loyalty and allegiance to the little father and little mother of Russia.

The workers have burst into songs that ring through the streets. Songs of peace, faith, and loyalty to the Tsar. No place could be less dangerous.

Feeling something tugging at his sleeve, Konstantin looks around, and then, seeing no one, he looks down as well.

"You're a gentleman, sir", the tiny old woman beside him wears a toothless smile, "I can tell by the cut of your clothes, so elegant!" Konstantin smiles at her. "Could you even be a prince?" She raises her eyebrows in expectation.

Konstantin nods. The woman's innocence and lack of hostility makes him forget for an instant that he fears being recognized.

"Tell me, sir," she continues, sounding adorably excited. "Have you ever met His Majesty?"

"Yes," Konstantin replies. "He is my friend." The old woman gasps, clasping her gnarled hands to her wrinkled face in awe. She abruptly grabs Konstantin's hand and kisses it many times reverently.

"That is amazing, amazing!" She cries. "You probably see him every day! But today is a blessing, sir, do you know why? We're going to show him how much we love him, and we do hope we will get to meet him, so he can show us he loves us too, because he does love us, doesn't he? Do you know if he loves us, sir?"

"Yes," Konstantin's heart aches. "Of course he does."

"I knew it!" She gushes. "And if he knew how much we suffer, he would help us, which is why we must see him, and when we tell him how bad our conditions are, he will change them for us!"

"If he can", Konstantin stutters after a brief pause, both humbled and disturbed by her blind faith. "But you must understand, it is not always as easy."

"Of course it is, he is God's anointed one!" She laughs. "He can do anything!"

Konstantin wants to reply, to tell her that Nicky is no more nor less a miracle worker than she is, that his friend is nothing but a man burdened with an enormous responsibility and constrained by several powers of opposing interests. He wishes he could explain that Nicholas is a flawed man who may have darkness hidden beyond a facade of perfection, maybe even as much so as Konstantin himself… no, not as much, but every human sins nonetheless. And yet the old babushka's stare is so hopeful that Konstantin doesn't dare utter a word that might disillusion her.

All the Grand Duke does is smile. The woman smiles back and moves along, her voice joining the rest of the people in singing yet another hymn.

Oo

A Cossack messenger gallops through the square towards a couple of colonels, also on horseback, who are stationed in front of the infantry guarding the Winter Palace.

"The troops have already ordered the people to disperse but it seems most of them can't hear us", he informs them, nearly out of breath. "I have already tried to inform them that the Tsar isn't at the palace, but to no avail, it doesn't matter if one or two listen, there are way too many, and they are singing out loud."

"Where is the priest?" One of the colonels asks.

"At the front of the procession, they should be arriving at the square within minutes, and you know what the regulations say regarding how close they can get to the palace."

"Do they seem violent?"

"No, they are just walking."

More and more Cossacks return to the square on horseback after having scouted the procession.

"Gapon has these people mesmerized!" One of them exclaims.

"Here they come!" Another Cossack follows.

"They are close!" A third one informs the infantry guards.

"If that priest thinks he is passing through our lines and storming the palace with nothing more than a cross and a deceiving chorus of 'God Save the Tsar' he's sorely mistaken!" A colonel speaks roughly.

"They outnumber us by the thousands", the other colonel says, shocked. "I am ordering my men to load their weapons, this could get out of hand quickly."

The messenger then asks the first colonel for his orders.

"Confront them again, but we need a display of force in order to disperse them, follow me", he replies, galloping towards the procession and taking several other mounted guards with him.

Oo

Dmitri has had a very exciting day. He may not be very good at it, but the five-year-old likes to sing, and he has sung a lot of hymns today. His aunt Maria's excitement is also contagious, and even more so for a child. All he knows about Tsar Nicholas II is what he has been taught by Aunt Maria, but he is anxious to see him in person, even if it is only from afar. The Tsar is a very powerful man who is going to help his father and uncle. Dmitri wonders if he will give the children presents as well, since he is rich and lives in a giant palace and all. He truly hopes so. Dmitri didn't get anything this Christmas, and he would really love to have a toy train.

The procession moves in a compact mass, getting closer by the minute to the Winter Palace. Many people walk locked arm in arm. Gapon walks ahead, holding his cross. In front of the priest are his two bodyguards and a young fellow with dark eyes from whose face his hard labouring life has not wiped away the light of youthful gaiety. Some of the women insist on walking in the first rows in order to protect Father Gapon with their bodies should anything happen.

On the flanks of the crowd run the children, Dmitri among them. He is playing tag with the other boys and girls, giggling as he tries to catch and avoid being caught by those around his age. The boy is delighted by his surroundings. He has never seen so many people in the streets before. Almost everyone is happy and friendly, talking and singing. Right now, they are singing "God Save the Tsar" again.

A group of mounted Cossacks approach the crowd and Dmitri becomes frightened. He listens to adult conversations. Cossacks are very mean and like to whip people, which must hurt a lot.

"Go back!" One of them yells at the crowd. "The Tsar is not at the palace! Everyone turn around, you are not allowed to be here! Turn around goddamnit!"

Several other mounted guards start shouting the same thing, some of them also calling the marchers obscenities. Dmitri would feel embarrassed if the other children didn't also look scared.

"Not at the palace? How disappointing! It is not fair!" Dmitri complains to Victor, a boy his age and one of his new friends. "My papa, uncles, and aunt should know, they will be very mad!"

Truth be told, Dmitri doesn't believe the Cossacks. Aunt Maria always says there are villains around the Tsar keeping him away from his people, and these must be some of them. Dmitri is proud of having figured this out on his own and can't wait to tell Aunt Maria about it. He wants to kiss Sophia and hug her very, very tightly as well. It has been almost an hour since he last did it! And he has a new idea on how to make her laugh.

The boy also wants his father to carry him over his shoulders again. It was nice to look down and see the huge crowds and their many different crosses and icons of Tsar Nicholas II from up there. Now he wants to get a good view of the beautiful Winter Palace as it becomes bigger and bigger, to imagine what it would be like to live somewhere as wondrous. He already got close to the square while running with his friends, but he would like to see it with his beloved papa.

Dmitri runs ahead of the other children, making his way through the masses of marching men and women. His family is almost at the front, with only one or two lines of people ahead of them.

The men guarding the Winter Palace grow noticeably amazed and frightened by the size of the crowd and the speed in which they march. The mounted Cossacks who approach the people shout instructions for them to disperse, but their warnings are drowned out by the chanting and friendly talking of the far more numerous procession, so they fall on deaf ears.

"I do not see the Tsar", a woman marching behind Father Gapon says.

"He must be inside the palace", the priest replies.

Dmitri gets to his father, who is holding Sonya in his arms. Ilya and Maria are there too, and so is Kostya, who no longer cares about people seeing his scars. Most of the people living in the flat have come too. All of them greet the child smiling.

"There you are, Dima!" Ivan kneels to kiss his son on the forehead, quickly, so as to keep walking. "I was worried you might have gone too far, are you bored?"

"No", Dmitri takes his father's hand. "I just wanted to be here with you when we got to the palace."

"Oh, sweetheart!" Maria exclaims. "Are you excited?"

Dmitri nods. "Can you carry me over your shoulders?" He asks his father, but Ivan doesn't hear him.

"Igor! Igor! The guards of the palace are approaching us", Ivan speaks out loud to the man walking in front of him, sounding worried. "Could you ask Father Gapon what is happening?"

But before Igor is able to answer, the priestʼs loud voice is heard throughout the first few rows of the procession.

"We are here to speak with the Tsar!" Gapon holds up his petition in clear view. "We come in peace!"

The troops stop. A row of soldiers gets down on one knee, another line of military men tucking in behind, standing. They raise their rifles and point them towards the crowd.

"Stop!" Father Gapon stretches his arms out. "Stop! Stop walking! Stop!"

Ivan opens his eyes wide and with one hand grabs Dmitri by the collar of his winter coat to drag him behind. Ilya, Maria, and Kolya have already halted.

"What are they doing?" Maria asks her husband with a panicked voice.

"What is happening, papa?" Dmitri is too short to see the danger, but Ivan's fear is noticeable, and it is making the boy afraid. "Why do we have to stop?"

"Stop!" Gapon keeps screaming, both at the soldiers ahead and the crowds behind. "Stop!"

Suddenly, Dmitri is pushed forward by a woman who has also been pushed herself. The child falls to his knees and is almost trampled by two men behind, but he recovers quickly, standing up in order to cling to his father, only to gasp in horror upon discovering his family is nowhere to be seen. Unbeknownst to him, they have been pushed further ahead. The crowd at the back is unaware of the new developments and cannot hear Gapon's pleas. They keep moving, oblivious, packing themselves in behind and forcing Gapon and those at the front of the line to keep moving forward.

In front of the guards, a frantic looking colonel gives the signal to open fire. The shots begin to ring out and several people at the front, mostly women, fall instantly.

Dmitri covers his ears and cries as he searches desperately for his father, but all the five-year-old can hear are gunshots and dreadfully loud shrieks of horror, and all he can see are people falling, running, pushing, and trampling each other in panic. He dodges most of them but is once tackled to the ground amidst the chaos and almost trampled again. He runs towards the edge of the wide way in order to escape the terrified crowds as they begin to retreat.

All of the sudden a piercing cry of alarm arises as a company of Cossacks with drawn swords appears right in front of Dmitri, who screams in fear. They seem angry, they seem hateful. There is rage in their faces. They don't want us here, the child thinks. They gallop rapidly towards the people, trampling them with their horses, lifting their swords and hacking the screaming men, women, and children, anyone within arm's reach.

Dmitri turns the other way around and keeps running amidst hundreds and hundreds of terrified people. He starts sobbing, crying for help, screaming out loud, calling for his papa, for his uncles, for his Aunt Maria, and without noticing, for his mama.

The troops continue to fire even as a colonel yells desperately for them to cease. Moans, curses, and shouts fill the air as the people run away from the Winter Palace, many of them carrying blubbering children or wounded loved ones.

"Nicholas wants us dead!" A shaken woman screams in anguish.

"The Tsar will not help us!" Several others cry. "The Tsar will not help us!"

Oo

The tears may still be constantly clouding his sight, but it is only now, after the barrage of gunfire has gone silent, that Dmitri notices most of the snow has turned red.

He keeps walking, still crying, still hoping to find his father among the dozens of men, women, and children weeping over those who have fallen, those who can't weep any longer. He finds corpses instead.

Some of the bodies would appear to be asleep if it weren't for the crimson snow around them, some others have thick red gashes in their necks or faces. Those corpses scare Dmitri so much he always looks away as soon as he encounters them, and yet they still aren't as scary as the heads belonging to the trampled, most of whom were children like Dmitri himself. Some of his new friends…

The women and children's cries are deafening, especially those of the injured. The ambulances have arrived, sledding between the living and the dead. They consist of horse-led covered wagons with red crosses painted on the curtains. People lurch their way to the doctors and nurses, calling for assistance for themselves or their loved ones, but the medical workers seem overwhelmed by the great number of wounded and the absolute carnage of the scene.

Dmitri comes across a young man screaming over his wife's body, a woman howling and rocking a lifeless little corpse, and a lost toddler crying for her mother just as he was a few minutes ago. Dmitri wants to help that tiny little girl, but he doesn't even know where his own father is. He doesn't even know if he is still alive or whether he has been sled away from the square on one of those ambulances.

More and more tears well up in Dmitri's eyes until he is weeping inconsolably. It is not fair, the child thinks as he wipes his cheeks over and over again, I wasn't even stealing or doing anything wrong this time.

He doesn't want a train anymore, all he wants is to go home.

"Papa…" Dmitri whimpers, wishing some grown up around him would help him find his dad, would help him at all, but for the first time in his life, he is aware that this may not be the case. His whimpers turn into sobs. "Papa!" He cries. "Papa!"

If my father is still around, Dmitri thinks, he should be looking for me right now, he has to.

Dmitri keeps walking, searching, crying. Leaving the square of the palace, he steps on something that doesn't feel like snow. Curious, he looks down to see a blood stained and bullet riddled icon of Nicholas II.

Chapter Text

St. Petersburg. January, 1905.

By the time Ivan has finally managed to drag his injured brother and sister-in-law to an ambulance lined up streets away from the palace, he is absolutely exhausted, his clothes are drenched in blood, and he has completely lost sight of Dmitri. 

“Dima!” Ivan cries out for his son, his daughter Sonya wailing in his arms. “Dima!”

He curses the soldiers. He curses the lacking number of hospital wagons and the time it took him to find one that wasnʼt fully occupied or about to be. He curses the fact he didn't prioritize finding Dmitri or do so beforehand.

The memories are as fresh as the blood on the snow, cruelly drawing him away from the task at hand. My son, my vulnerable five-year-old son, Ivan tries to remind himself. He must look for him. The Palace Square, the fatherʼs mind races as he walks back to where the nightmare took place. Dmitri must be there or at least nearby, he couldn't have gone too far.

Kostya is dead, another voice haunts him. His already scarred face has been sliced open by the blade of an irate young Cossack, unnerved by the sight of the burns. His neck was the horse riderʼs following target.

After several sleepless nights soothing night terrors and changing bandages, all the progress Kostya made with Ivanʼs help and devotion has been for nothing. Everything. He was brutally robbed of it. They were brutally robbed of it.

Ivan knows Maria must also be dead by now. How could she not? The arm gunshot wound Ilya received trying to protect her will probably heal in a few months, but there is a limit to what even the most capable doctors can do. When Ivan left his brother and sister-in-law under their care, the poor woman was already delirious from blood loss.

“My baby!” Maria would repeatedly cry as she weakly cradled her swollen abdomen, blood pouring out of her back and womb so abundantly that it fell in drops from the stretcher after having turned a huge portion of her formerly blue dress red. Ivan doesn’t know much about firearms, but he reckons one of the bullets that struck his sister-in-law penetrated her back and escaped her body through her gut. 

Ivan remembers with anticipatory grief the way Maria cleaned the Tsar’s icon every morning. The way she did so this morning. None of this mattered in her hour of need.

When the soldiers began shooting, Maria may have panicked even more than everybody else did, if that is possible, but her screams were drowned in those of the rest of the crowd. Ivan doesn't know how or when she was shot, for Ilya was there with her the entire time, endeavoring to shield her with his body. Maybe it happened amidst the chaos of the race to safety, foiled by the same people struggling to escape as they pushed, hit, and trampled one another. 

Madness. It was absolute madness. All Ivan could care about during those horrific moments was covering Sonyaʼs head to make sure no harm came to her, his baby girl. He doesn't know what he would do without his daughter right now. He shamefully remembers having punched and pushed some people down in the hopes of getting her to safety faster. Only the poor are reduced to such undignified behavior at the hands of the privileged and powerful, Ivan thinks. The stampede over coins and sausages during the Tsarʼs coronation festivities crosses his mind. He wasn't there, but he has heard the stories. When have the Romanovs been reduced to animals for scraps? When have they ever begged for their pride?

Ivan wonders if he might have unwittingly killed his son in an attempt to save his daughter. The thought sends shivers down his spine.

Minutes pass. Ivan searches for his son all over the square of the palace and moves on to look for him through Nevsky Prospect and other nearby streets, his heart skipping a beat everytime he encounters a child-sized corpse lying on the ground. 

“Dima!” He calls for his son over and over again. No one answers. The little Sonya is no longer crying, but she still seems fairly upset. New tears are constantly rolling down her cheeks. Ivan examines her and discovers she needs a change of diapers. He feels desperate for Mariaʼs help for the first of probably many times.

Tears flood the manʼs eyes. He fears the worst has happened to his child. He is scared. He is hopeless. He doesn't know what to do. And worst of all, he wasn't there. His little Dima might have died a slow, scary, and painful death and he wasn't there to comfort him.

It is only after three hours have gone by unnoticed that Ivan changes his tactics. If Dmitri isn't anywhere near the square or dead he might have been injured and then taken to a hospital by a good Samaritan. 

And so, Ivan allows himself to go home and change Sophiaʼs cloth diapers before leaving her with Mr. and Mrs. Smirnov, the only neighbors who have returned home from the procession. Neither is Ivanʼs friend, but they have lived under the same roof as his family for years and are trustworthy people as far as he is aware.

Ivan stops by the closest hospitals to the Winter Palace in search of Dmitri. He ends up visiting eight in total, solely encountering dead, injured, or grieving strangers. Not ready to be informed of Maria’s death, he doesn't go to the hospital where the ambulance took his brother and sister-in-law until it gets dark, but when he gets there, Ilya has already left. Unsurprisingly, Dmitri isn’t there either. Before leaving, Ivan asks one of the medical workers about Maria’s whereabouts, only to be notified of what he already knew deep down.

Everywhere he goes there is a burglary or brawl between the police and the survivors of the massacre, although some of the troublemakers look more like common gang members and delinquents taking advantage of the disorders. Young men have run past him carrying arms and waving red flags. Some even speak of putting up barricades. It takes him little to figure out a riot has broken out in the city.

In tears, Ivan returns home and finds Ilya sitting on a wooden stool before the chimney fire, his bandaged left arm hanging in a white sling around his neck. He directs a blank stare at his brother, who catches sight of the Tsarʼs icon before it is fully covered by the flames. 

If Ivan weren't as desperate to find his son he would probably restrain himself from asking his brother whether he knows anything about the boyʼs whereabouts. He knows Ilya is mourning for his wife and unborn child and that adding to his distress is the last thing he needs. But Ivan is desperate. 

Ilya doesn't reply though. He doesn't ask Ivan to leave him alone either. He doesn't say anything at all. 

Minutes later, another neighbor arrives at the flat and provides Ivan with valuable information, claiming to have caught a glimpse of Dmitri on the way home.

“He was wandering around a candy shop near Kolesovʼs toy store”, the woman says. “I am so sorry I didn't bring him home with me, I thought I saw you with him.”

“It is quite alright, Valentina”, Ivan replies quickly before rushing out of the house to find his son, “thank you.”

Having reached the vandalized toy store, it takes Ivan only a few minutes walking further down Sadovaina Street for him to spot Dmitri just as the boy is turning left at a crossroad, seemingly accompanied by someone, a man. Ivan walks in their direction and follows them through several streets and alleyways until they finally stop walking. 

What should be the most relieving moment in his life is instead extremely distressing for the father, who panics the second he gets a clearer view of his son. The young man the five-year-old Dmitri is talking to is a complete stranger. Ivan immediately quickens his pace. 

“Really?” The boy is asking.

“Really”, the young stranger smiles sinisterly, “there are tons of candy in my house, I have an entire room filled with them. I can give it all to you if you want and then take you to your father, how does that sound?”

“Amazing!”

“Your father and I are friends, did you know that?”

“Really?” Dmitri repeats excitedly. 

“Yeah kid, sure”, the strange man laughs. “Now, I know you are tired of walking, but you must keep following me if you truly do want the candy.” He keeps moving forward, and the little boy nods enthusiastically before proceeding to follow the man again. 

Ivan's heart aches as he rushes over to them. He grabs his sonʼs coat and kneels down, pulling Dmitri into his arms before he can go too far. 

“Dima… I’m so sorry,” he whispers softly, pressing his cheek against the boy’s head as tears roll down his cheeks. “I’m so, so sorry I lost sight of you, it will never happen again.”

Too startled to realize the man squeezing him is his father, Dmitri doesn't respond to the hug at the beginning, but as soon as he recognises Ivan he clings onto him tightly like a lifeline. A choked sob wracks the boyʼs body, and it takes everything in Ivan's power not to burst into sobs himself. It breaks his heart to think of his son wandering alone for hours after such an upsetting event.

The stranger is nowhere to be seen, probably having escaped upon catching a glimpse of the boy's father. Ivan needs to have a serious conversation with his son about strangers, but that can wait. Right now, he needs to get Dmitri home safe. There are riots in the streets.  

“Come on, Dima, let's go home”, Ivan says. It takes him a few minutes to ask the following question. “Did he do something to you?” He anxiously glances at his child out of the corner of his eye. “Has anyone else invited you over?” 

Dmitri shakes his head slowly, causing his father to sigh with relief.

Oo

Tsarskoye Selo. 

Dressed in a dark military uniform, Tsar Nicholas II paces behind his desk with discernible agitation, anxiously twirling his mustache now that he is done smoking his cigarette. 

“Who ordered the shooting?” He looks between the many ministers summoned to the emergency meeting at his office, still staggering in shock. Wearing their best suits and ties, all the men give the impression of being well prepared for the gathering, something that could not be further from the truth.

“The specific circumstances of this tragic affair are still under investigation, sir, but it appears everything occurred rather spontaneously”, Minister of War Viktor Sakharov says. “The soldiers didn’t know what else to do in order to…” 

“There was not one order”, Sergei Witte cuts in. “The various detachments acted on their own accord.”

“Well, someone must be responsible!” Nicholas opens his eyes wide in confusion and disbelief. “This cannot simply… have happened just like that!” He glares at Witte, but his furrowed brows are those of a completely stupefied man, at loss for words. “How in God’s name could something like this have happened?” Blood flows to his cheeks, and for a moment that childish fear of being unmasked returns. He feels impotent and incapable of stopping anything at all from happening inside his own domain. Deeply uninformed and unqualified for his God-given duties. 

“Your Majesty, if I may”, Minister of Finance Vladimir Kokovtsov speaks. “I am not completely certain the guards were necessarily in the wrong here. The crowds were immensely large and unpredictable, they had to be stopped from storming the palace and possibly putting up barricades, you must remember that most of their leaders are socialist agitators, our men must have panicked…”

“Our guards and those who command them are supposed to be well trained professionals!” Nicholas raises his voice. He stops pacing, ashamed of his uncharacteristic outburst, laying his fists on the desk and looking down instead. A long pause reigned by an awkward silence follows. The ministers look down as well, hoping to avoid eye contact with their Tsar, who is trying hard to bear in mind Kokovtsov’s words instead of dismissing them right away. His Minister of Finance may be right. Nicholas wasn’t there, he didn’t experience what his troops did nor does he know what he would have done differently to successfully protect the government and maintain order. 

All over Europe troops are often used to shoot at demonstrations. Nicholas only wishes it hadn’t come to that, he was assured it would not, but it seems he has been taken for a fool. He raises his head, eyes searching for Minister of the Interior Prince Pyotr Dmitrievich Svyatopolk-Mirsky. 

“Prince Mirsky”, Nicholas spots him behind two other ministers. “Your reports mere hours before the happenings led me to believe that this march was no cause for concern, so much so I ordered the decree of martial law to be revoked and the military units to be dispersed thinking there was no further need for them, and yet apparently, this order was never carried out.”

“I accept full responsibility, Your Majesty”, Mirsky steps forward and bows his head. “Your Majesty is within his rights to carry out any measures deemed necessary.”

Nicholas cannot help but resent the man for a moment. He chose to give the relatively liberal Mirsky a chance after the previous Minister of the Interior, his friend Plehve, was killed by a bomb. Together they have taken steps towards reforming the nation such as permitting members of the local zemstvos to discuss broader policy issues and coordinate with other zemstvos in the formulation and execution of programs. Nicholas has wholeheartedly endorsed several of Mirskyʼs plans, such as the removal of restrictions on the Old Believers. Other proposed reforms he is more uncertain of. The inclusion of elected members to the State Council seems dangerous, and so does expanding freedom of the press and religion, broadening the authority of local self-government, and eliminating restrictions on non-Russians. 

Despite his doubts, Nicholas has tried to keep an open mind in the hopes Mirsky will fulfill his promises. A more efficient system, averting the threat of revolution. The well-being of the people. Modernization. The Moon and stars. It seems almost ridiculous now. Promising is all liberals seem to do. They promise and promise and promise and fail to deliver and get people hurt in the process and then blame everyone else for their own recklessness. The concessions Mirsky made to the moderate and liberal opposition seem to have only achieved their further radicalization. 

“Oh, Mirsky, please…” Sakharov speaks up in defense of the new Minister of the Interior. “Your Majesty, there were guilty among several authorities. It may be bold of me to suggest, but Your Majesty's uncle, Grand Duke Vladimir Alexandrovich, is the commander of St. Petersburgʼs military district, and he has always asserted his policies are designed to enforce order at any cost regardless of what that cost might be.” 

“Your Majesty, we all share in the responsibility”, Sergei Witte surmises.

“It was I who recommended additional troops”, Mirsky insists, “and ultimately these were the troops who carried out the massacres.”

“You were only trying to protect the government!” Kokovtsov exclaims. “We all were!”

Not being able to listen to their squabbles any longer, Nicholas leans over his desk and, still red faced and angry, he takes a minute to compose himself in silence. 

It happened, he thinks. Nicholas can not turn back time. What do I do now? He walks towards a nearby window and looks up at the sky as if searching for a divine answer. He then sighs. “What do I do gentlemen?” His voice is calm now.

“Your Imperial Majesty must publicly disassociate himself from the massacre”, Witte replies immediately, as if he had been waiting for the right moment to present his advice. “The troops fired without Your Majestyʼs orders. That is exactly what happened, and it is precisely what Your Majesty must say, the truth.”

“I donʼt want to place the blame at their feet”, Nicholas shakes his head, reflecting on just how little he truly knows about the tragic happenings. “Not when they did what they did to defend me and even their own lives in some of the cases I have been notified of.”

“His Imperial Majesty is right”, Kokovtsov says. “The Emperor cannot distance himself from the actions of his soldiers. It would be a display of weakness.”

“It would be very honorable of His Imperial Majesty to stand up for his troops”, Sakharov praises Nicholas.

“At least replace the Governor-General of St. Petersburg”, Sergei Witte all but begs the Tsar, secretly fearing Nicholas might genuinely be planning to respond to the tragedy by acting as if nothing had happened. “Fullon failed, he must be sacrificed for someone more competent. We need a scapegoat. The people ought to see we did not intend for this to happen.” 

“I agree with Minister Witte, Your Majesty”, Minister of Justice Sergei Manukhin tells the Tsar. “I also think Dmitri Trepov is a good candidate for Governor-General of St. Petersburg. I have spoken to him, and we both believe it would be beneficial for our public image to meet with several representatives from the procession. Not the radicals, of course, but perhaps a group of workers willing to voice their concerns and those of the crowd in general.”

Nicholas doesn't need much time to come to a decision. Speaking directly to his people could help ease the tensions. 

“Very well, gentlemen”, he accepts the suggestion. 

Oo

There had been no single confrontation between the troops and the procession of workers. At bridges and on strategic boulevards, the marchers had found their way to the Winter Palace blocked by soldiers. Unaware of the happenings taking place essentially at the same time and not expecting any violence, the people had marched forward and bullets had smacked into the bodies of men, women, and children. 

Nicholas II wrote about the day that would forever be known as “Bloody Sunday” in his diary.

A painful day. There have been serious disorders in St. Petersburg because workmen wanted to come up to the Winter Palace. Troops had to open fire in several places in the city; there were many killed and wounded. God, how painful and sad.

The Tsar wasn’t aware of the full extent of the tragedy. He was only informed of the official number of victims. 92 dead and several hundred wounded. The real number was much higher. Thousands dead and several more thousands wounded. These numbers were later greatly exaggerated by foreign and revolutionary papers into hundreds of thousands.

Most of the leaders of the march were captured, but Gapon found shelter in Maxim Gorky’s house. Born Alexander Peshkov in Nizhny Novgorod the same year Nicholas was, Gorky had left home by his early twenties and worked in a small village where he met and became influenced by radical groups such as “Land and Liberty”, which sent people into rural areas to educate the peasants. 

In 1887, Gorky witnessed a pogrom in Nizhny Novgorod. Deeply horrified, he became a fierce opponent of racism and discrimination. Tall, stooped, duck-like nosed and usually dressed in a coat-like jacket and high polished boots, the homely Gorky started getting involved in revolutionary groups, often leaving him under police surveillance. 

He later started to write short stories and articles on politics and literature under his current pseudonym, describing the poverty he would witness during his travels, campaigning against the eviction of peasants from their land and the persecution of trade unionists, and criticizing the country's poor educational standards and the growth in foreign investment.

The Okhrana became greatly concerned with Gorky’s articles and stories criticizing the police and their treatment of demonstrators in particular, but despite having even been arrested and imprisoned, he was starting to become so popular that harsh measures could no longer be taken against him without causing a commotion. 

In 1902, Gorky’s path crossed that of the Tsar for the first time when he was elected to the Imperial Academy of Literature. Nicholas II was furious when he heard the news and made the Imperial Academy of Literature overrule the decision, but this only caused several writers to resign in protest, alienating the monarchy further from the nation’s intellectuals. 

Maxim Gorky supported Father George Gapon and his cause wholeheartedly. He attended his march and provided accommodations for him after they both miraculously survived the shooting and avoided capture.

The priest is aghast, horrified, appalled, his worldview having dramatically metamorphosed in seconds. He says there is no Tsar anymore, no church, no God. Gorky knows George Gapon has great influence upon the workers of the Putilov Works in particular and hopes he will continue to lead them. The writer has also changed. He no longer minds the use of violence among the revolutionary groups he supports, not as he did before. Neither do the crowds. 

There is no better way of turning a multitude violent than shooting at them. Riots broke out following the tragic events, adding dozens of casualties from both sides as the masses of workers clashed with soldiers and policemen. Rocks were thrown, shots were fired, and hundreds of shops and homes were vandalized and broken into.

From his place of hiding, Gapon would issue a public letter denouncing Nicholas. 

May all the blood which must be spilled fall upon you, you hangman! He became a full-fledged revolutionary, inciting an armed uprising against Tsarism.

The many Marxist, socialist and anarchist parties in Russia didn’t need any further encouragement. Feelings were running high, and they immediately began to exploit the situation accordingly, boosting the already brewing revolution.

In the aftermath of the tragedy, Grand Duke Vladimir Alexandrovich, the commander of the St. Petersburg military district, was removed from his post. 

Dmitri Feodorovich Trepov became the Governor-General of the capital, replacing Ivan Alexandrovich Fullon. During a meeting that the now Chairman of the Committee of Ministers Count Sergei Witte presided on January 31, a manifesto expressing regret over the events of January 22 was presented. This proposed document pointed out the fact that the army had acted without the Tsar’s orders. Nicholas, however, refused to cast what he believed to be an unfair aspersion upon the army. The manifesto never saw the light of day, and not a single person was punished for the massacre.

Because of these decisions, as far as the people were concerned the Tsar might as well have ordered the shooting himself. Safe in his cocooned Tsarskoye Selo and detached from the gory reality of the gruesome event, Nicholas did not realize at the moment just how precious of a treasure he had killed with the coldness, aloofness, lack of outrage, and conformity of his response to what had been without doubt an atrocity. 

The workers' superstition and faith that they could ever achieve justice from their little father had died amidst trusting expectant faces, the fateful signal of the troops, pools of blood on the snow, the bellowing of the gendarmes, the dead, the wounded, and the cries of the children as they were shot at.

Nicholas followed through with his ministers’ suggestions and assigned Dmitri Trepov the task of gathering a delegation of representatives from various factories and organizing a meeting. The workers’ furious leaders refused to make the selection, so the representatives had to be hand picked by factory managers and police officials, who were naturally prone to choosing only the least troublesome and most likely to serve as double agents for the police among the workers.

None of this would clean the Tsar’s hands in the eyes of the public, who were already beginning to call him “Bloody Nicholas.”

Oo

St. Petersburg. 

“You need to eat”, Ivan kneels before his brother and tries to hand him the potato soup over. Ilya sits on the ground, leaning against the wall. There are still people eating in the small dining room, so Ivan and his children have done so sitting cross-legged on the apartment floor. 

“What is the point?” Ilya turns his head around to face anything but his brother. He hasn't taken a bite since his unborn child and wife were butchered less than two days ago, nor does he plan to. A sip of vodka or water is all he will have.

Ivan is lucky his factory has been on strike for more than two weeks. He would have no time to grieve and comfort his children otherwise. Ilya would have already fainted while attempting to lift something heavy or, if he is to be believed, thrown himself into the furnace.

“Can't you do it for me? For your niece and nephew?” Ivan insists, trying to get Ilya to look at him. “Mrs. Smirnova made the soup, we all liked it.”

“It is good, uncle”, Dmitri approaches the two brothers, leaving Sophia and a few other children behind playing with wooden toys.

“Why?” Ilya cruelly replies without acknowledging his nephewʼs presence. “So I can take care of them for you now that my wife isn’t here to do so? So that you are free to get yourself killed with a clear conscience?” 

The manʼs words frighten his young nephew, who decides not to say anything. He turns around and goes back to play with his sister and young neighbors instead.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Ivan stands up abruptly, causing some of the soup to splash out of the bowl.

“We both know what I am talking about”, Ilya glares at him. “You will get bored of playing ‘responsible parent’ and go back to your old ways sooner or later. This undercover phase of yours won't last long.” He knows Ivan, he knows his brother. Ilya used to look up to him for being older, and Ivan would definitely take advantage of that, getting his little brother in all sorts of mischief and mayhem. 

Ivan was also his hero, the one who didn’t let anyone pick on him. He was everyone’s hero. No call for help in the village went unheeded if Ivan was close enough to listen. Maybe God, if He exists, knows that, Ilya thinks. Perhaps that is the reason He is at least slightly more merciful to Ivan. Ilya can only conclude that his brother is divinely favored over him.

“You are wrong”, Ivan states, trying not to sound hurt. He truly hopes Dmitri was too preoccupied playing to take notice of his mourning uncleʼs vicious words. 

“I am, that is the worst part”,  Ilya lets out several insincere laughs, as if taunting his brother. “I am wrong!” He opens his arms wide, gesticulating melodramatically. “You were right about everything, Ivan, congratulations! We live in a broken world! Go fight the power!” Ilya claps once in between each word of that last mocking sentence.

“How much did you drink today?” Ivan leaves the bowl of soup on the small round table where Valentina and two of her children sit.

“Do it, Ivan!” Ilya ignores the question. “Do it! Just don’t expect me to care about a goddamn thing anymore!”

Unbeknownst to the brothers, Dmitri is struggling to hide the sound of his crying, which unintentionally becomes louder the more his father and uncle fight. 

If Ilya hasn't eaten, Dmitri hasn't slept. He was too shaken by the recent events to do anything but languish over his aunt and baby cousin the first night, and all of Ivanʼs attempts to get him to rest by lying next to him and Sonya were futile. The five-year-old had a nightmare the second night, one that woke him up sobbing and panting and kept him up until the morning. 

It was not an ordinary nightmare but the worst Dmitri had ever had. His entire family was marching towards the Winter Palace. His brother Andrei was there too, and so was their mother, her face black and white as in the few pictures Dmitri has of her. As they walked forward, the enormous building grew bigger and bigger, more and more majestic and ostentatious. The forbidden palace threatened to gobble them all up, but only Dmitri was aware of this, and no one in his family listened to his pleas to go back. They screamed as the monstrous walls devoured them. When the boy tried to run the other way around, he was met by the angry faces of several mounted Cossacks, their dangerous-looking black horses exhaling fire and smoke from their nostrils. They drew their swords and chopped Dmitri up like meat. After that, Dmitri appeared somewhere else, a dark room. He was completely alone.

Only now does Dmitri understand he should never, ever, think of approaching that palace uninvited again. My hopes of ever living anywhere near as fancy have all been a bit stupid, he reflects on his past dreams.

The effect of the tragedy upon Dmitriʼs family has only deepened its impact on the child. These past few days, his uncle has done nothing but grumble some very mean things to him and his papa, whose life Dmitri now fears for after everything he has picked up on from the words and moods of the adults around him. The boy is scared, he doesn't want his papa to die too. 

A knock on the door interrupts the Sudayev brothersʼ intense argument. It makes Dmitri cry out before rushing towards his father in fear. Has papa done something wrong? The child anxiously guesses as he puts his arms around Ivanʼs neck. Is that why Uncle Ilya has been mad at him? Are the Tsarʼs soldiers coming to kill my papa?! 

Tears well up in the child's eyes as an unwelcome image of those scary-looking Cossacks from his nightmare slicing through his beloved fatherʼs skin with their swords invades his thoughts.

“It is alright, Dima”, Ivan picks his son up calmly, knowing too well the latter has been skittish since the incident.

“They are after you!” Dmitri screams, tears rolling down his cheeks. “They are taking you like they took Patya! Don’t let them, papa!” 

“Shh, shh”, Ivan squeezes the child in his arms, rubbing his back to soothe him. “It is alright, it is alright Dima, I am not going anywhere.” 

The man is, in fact, somewhat concerned. His nextdoor neighbor Patya belonged to the organization he planned on joining months ago. At nineteen years old, the young and idealistic Patya is a typical member, 30-somethings like Ivan being the exception rather than the rule. 

While Patya worked at a textile manufacturer, most of the anarchists Ivan is acquainted with are or were young students of means, some of them even younger than Patya. They frequent impoverished neighborhoods in the hopes of planting the seed of rebellion among the workers. They deliver speeches, circulate pamphlets, and arouse emotions. Sometimes they provide their followers with instructions on how to make homemade bombs. One of these youngsters was even teaching Ivan how to read, taking advantage of their gatherings to do so.

When the police took Patya the night following the Sunday massacre, Ivanʼs entire neighborhood was awakened by the commotion the arrest inevitably caused. Patya tried to escape through a window and one of the policemen deterred him by threatening to shoot his family. The boyʼs mother had been completely oblivious to her sonʼs radical affinities. She repeatedly yelled at the officers that they were making a big mistake. 

Dmitri heard everything. Everyone did. My Dima is scared, Ivan thinks as he kisses the childʼs hair. Understandably so.

It is not either of the Sudayev brothers who opens the door but Irina, one of the women living with them in the flat, her two-year-old son on her hip. She speaks with the individual who knocked for a few seconds before turning around and telling Ivan to come. 

When he approaches the entrance, Ivan is relieved to see a young courier, no older than sixteen years of age, instead of an Okhrana officer. Even Dima seems to relax in his arms. The relief doesn't last long though.

Ivan silently panics again when the messenger boy informs him that his supervisor Andrei Balabanov is requesting his presence at the same Polunin Metal Works Factory office where the two of them used to meet almost every week. Not having much choice in the matter, Ivan is forced to leave his son behind. 

Dmitriʼs reaction is far more alarming than Ivan thought it would be. Crying and screaming, the boy begs his father not to go. It breaks Ivanʼs heart to see his son so terrified by the prospect of a brief absence on his part. His Dima used to be a mostly self-reliant and happy-go-lucky kid, having left such childish outbursts behind before even turning four. Well, they have made a comeback, becoming drastically worse with each tragic loss, Ivan thinks. The fact that Ilya is in no position to soothe the five-year-old child makes everything a lot harder for the father, and warning the friendly and popular Dima that the other children may someday mock him for crying like a small baby instead of admiring him is useful only in the short term. 

As Ivan follows the courier out of the flat and through the alleyways of the poor neighborhood, he braces himself for the worst-case scenario, which is that Balabanov has somehow figured out it is not solely Misha behind the Polunin Metal Worksʼs most recent strike.

Ivan had promised himself not to, but every nearby factory was doing the same thing. He couldn't help but organize the walkout shortly before the march that ended in tragedy. It was the perfect way to put pressure on the authorities before the protest. 

Ivan spoke to all of his coworkers in secret and made sure everyone was on the same page before putting together a list of demands that Michael would take all of the credit for once it was presented to the factory management. The old man had already lost both his sons during the war, he had nothing left to lose by covering for Ivan and pretending to be the brain behind the workersʼ resistance. 

Ivan went as far as publicly denouncing the strike, something the workers knew in advance he would do. He simply wanted to play it safe.

The streets are restless. Few owners have dared to open their shops. Protesters waving red flags still crowd several open spaces, getting into fights with the police. On the way to the factory, Ivan hears more than one gunshot in the distance.

Having been paid in advance, the messenger boy leaves Ivan a street away from his workplace. It is strange for Ivan to see the Polunin Metal Works Factory as quiet, empty, and dark, the nearest source of light coming from Andrei Balabanovʼs office across the street.

When Ivan walks in, his manager is, as usual, smoking. He has gotten fatter since the last time Ivan saw him, if that is even possible, and the glare with which he greets his subordinate is more vicious than the words he uses.

“I don't like you, Ivan”, he casually expresses his feelings, “you are a pain in my ass.”

“I don't know what you have been told”, Ivan begins, trying to conceal his fear, “but I have done nothing these past few days but try to talk sense into my coworkers, time and time again insisting that their stubborn methods will not achieve anything, that we should cooperate with you instead…”

“Sit, Ivan, sit!” Andrei Balabanov rolls his eyes in a contentious manner before looking at the chair in front of his desk and raising his eyebrows in invitation. Ivan obeys, thinking of the offer more as an order. “I don't like you”, the manager says again, “but I am more than willing to admit I seem to have no allies among the workers these days. You, of all people, are curiously the closest thing I have to one.”

Ivan tries to sigh discreetly. “Strikes barely ever solve anything, they only cause more harm in the long run”, he says. “But that doesn't mean I don't sympathize with them, especially considering just how little you do for the workers under your supervision, Mr. Balabanov. I don't think of myself as your ally, I am afraid.” Andrei seems gullible enough, but the last thing Ivan needs is for his boss to notice he is just putting up an act by kissing his ass. He needs his cover story to be believable. 

“I know that!” The fat man barks. “Do you think I am stupid?! What an obnoxious bastard you are!” He stands up and points his finger at Ivan. “For a semi-illiterate peasant, you sure think highly of yourself, Mr. Sudayev!”

Ivan stays calm. Balabanovʼs words would have hurt his old self, the man he was before meeting the young student who introduced him to anarchism, all while treating him as an equal. 

The manager sits back down and smokes in silence. It takes him a while to compose himself. “I have forgotten what I summoned you for… see what you did?” He frowns at Ivan. “What was I going to say?”

Ivan holds back his laughter as Andrei begins frantically tapping his foot under the table and smoking his cigarette faster in the struggle to remember the purpose of the meeting. 

“Oh, right!” Balabanov all but jumps from his seat. “I assume you are already aware of what the government's response to the happenings of January 22 is going to be.”

Ivan shakes his head, inferring that by “happenings” Balabanov means the atrocity that took the lives of his best friend, sister-in-law, and unborn niece or nephew.

“Well”, the manager continues, “you may find this hard to believe, Ivan, but I also receive instructions from my superiors, the only difference is I don't complain about it,” he pauses to check Ivanʼs reaction but disappointedly proceeds upon realizing the redhead is unfazed. “Yesterday, they asked me to choose a representative from among the workers, the least… troublesome, you could say. If they had asked me a month ago, I would have never chosen you, but here we are, and what can I say? Things change, I must admit the workers trust you with their concerns, and sending a leader or willing participant of that outrageous strike would have been an embarrassment. In summary, you are the factoryʼs chosen representative.”

“A representative for what?” Ivan asks.

“For what you have always dreamed of, naturally”, the manager ridicules him, “getting to spit out all of your so-called grievances on someone higher up in the chain of command than me. You won’t be able to do so as bluntly as you are accustomed to, of course, but…”

“When is this person coming?” Ivan smiles, suddenly becoming optimistic. 

“Who said he is lowering himself down in such a way?” Balabanov stands up. “You are coming to him, you and 35 other workers from all over St. Petersburg.”

“When is this happening?”

“Tomorrow. You better start looking for something nice to wear hidden under that pile of rags you call a wardrobe, Ivan. You are about to meet your Tsar.”

Oo

Dmitri is the first to know. Ivan informs him as soon as he returns home from Balabanovʼs office. The news frightens the child, which is something Ivan should have expected. It shocks him nonetheless. 

“Don't go see him!” The boy cries. “What if he gets mad at you like his soldiers did?!”

Heartbroken by his sonʼs reaction, Ivan assures him there will be nothing to fear this time.

“The Tsar wants to talk to me and several other workers about what happened during the march”, the father explains. “He may be hoping to apologize for the incident and help us this time.” 

Truth be told, Ivan knows the Tsar would never dare apologize to a bunch of lowly workers, but he would never make this known to his son. Dmitri is still too young, too innocent. Ivan doesn't want his child to know just yet how distant and immensely unachievable the ideals he has raved to him about are at the moment. 

The worker expects a solution to his and his fellow workersʼ grievances and even hopes for some sort of compensation though. He still does. He wouldn't be about to “lower himself down” the way he is if he didn't. The suffering his family has endured must mean something.

Oo

The little Dmitri hadn't thought much about God until very recently. He only truly did so at night before going to bed. His mother and aunt would pray with him, reciting the Lordʼs prayer and the Theotokos devotion. God and the Virgin Mary were like another mother and father to the boy, who was especially delighted when told he was under the protection of the Lord’s wings. Jesus, Dmitri knew, would make sure he lay down in peace and slept without nightmares, dreaming of heaven instead, the place where Andrei and mama had gone.

Dmitri misses these dreams, but he still imagines paradise as a place where people who have died don't have to work anymore and it is never as hot as it is in papa’s workplace or as cold as the apartment gets during winters. 

Mama taught me how to pray to my angel, Dmitri remembers. She used to say I should do so every night. It is one of the few remaining memories he has of his mother. Natalia explained to his son that each person is assigned a guardian angel meant to instruct them in doing good deeds, set them on the path of salvation, and protect them from all evil influence, but the developing mind of the five-year-old Dmitri understands his late motherʼs words to mean simply that guardian angels are there protect people and keep them from doing bad things. 

I prayed to my angel with Aunt Maria every night, Dmitri thinks as he lies amidst old blankets next to his little sister Sophia. The boy is hiding his face with his hands and then uncovering it to make the toddler laugh. So far it is working. Dmitri is glad to be making Sophia happy, as she has been upset more often than not these past few days.

Dmitri doesn't understand why Aunt Mariaʼs angel didn't protect her or stop the soldiers from doing all those horrible things. Were she and his mommy wrong? Did they lie to him? No, that cannot be. Is God angry at Dmitriʼs family and all of the other workers then? But if so, why? Was approaching that palace really so wrong? Or could it be because of him? Because he was jealous? The boy felt his aunt would stop paying attention to him once the baby was born, and he somewhat resented that. Dmitri would not confess to having felt this way about his cousin to his father though, he doesn't want him to be angry too. 

Ivan has tried praying with his son in Mariaʼs absence, but it is not the same. Dmitri misses Aunt Maria already. The thought he might have killed her and her baby by being jealous crosses Dmitriʼs mind and his eyes fill with tears. 

While there is no closet in the apartment, there is a semi-enclosed space between the living room and the bathroom where the tenants keep their clothes folded on top of a series of wood shelves attached to the wall.

Ivan is there, frantically looking for something presentable enough for Tsarskoye Selo. The men he lives with have all offered their best garments for him to borrow, but so far he hasn't quite yet found anything he would feel comfortable enough wearing inside an actual palace. Even the idea of entering one feels wrong. 

“Be good, baby, I love you”, Dmitri kisses Sophiaʼs forehead, stands up, and approaches his father. “What are you doing, papa?”

“Oh, Dima!” Ivan stops his search abruptly and smiles down at his son. “I am looking for something nice to wear to visit the Tsar. Do you remember that I told you I had been invited to talk to him today?” 

“But why do you have to wear something nice?” Dmitri cocks his head. “What is wrong with our clothes?” The boy is confused about everything. Why does his papa need to look better than usual to see the Tsar? His papa told him no one is better than anyone. 

“I…” Dmitriʼs questions take Ivan by surprise. Precisely, Ivan can't help but think. Why am I doing this? “The palace is very elegant, Dima, we can't just dress in our usual rags, my boy.” He tousles his sonʼs hair. 

Why does papa feel bad about not having a nice suit to see the Tsar? Dmitri wonders anyway. He said we were all equal… did papa lie too? And the Tsar’s soldiers are all so mean… does the Tsar know?

“The boy asked a good question, Vanya”, Ilya appears behind Dmitri. “Who the hell are you and what did you do to my brother?”

“Don’t start with your nonsense, Ilya…” Ivan sighs, exasperated.

“You know I was glad you were beginning to act with some resemblance of responsibility and thoughtfulness towards your family, it was an improvement, but this is too much”, he shakes his head.

“What is too much?” Ivan rolls his eyes.

“Why the hell are you trusting that man?” Ilya’s voice almost cracks. “Why now?”

“Ilya…” 

“Those men… his men, they killed my wife, Vanya!” Ivan’s brother finally bursts into tears, a culmination of almost a week of holding back his feelings of utmost despair.

Ivan doesn't respond. The least he wants to do is fight with his grieving brother when he is at his lowest. He offers him a comforting embrace instead. It is all he can do for now.

With the help of his neighbors and fellow apartment tenants, Ivan eventually manages to put together a reasonably decent outfit consisting of a clean and brand new white kosovorotka shirt with red embroidered patterns on the collar, long dark gray linen trousers, black leather shoes, a long black cotton coat, and a dark khaki English golf cap. 

When the time comes for Ivan to leave, Dmitri becomes a clingy mess once again. Ivan wipes away the boy's tears and promises him that once he is back they will both go together to the highest place on Earth. Ivan makes sure to clean and trim his red beard before dressing. After that, he buttons his coat and heads out. 

Oo

Ivan is picked up by a carriage and brought to the train station, where he meets the remaining 35 workers who will be coming with him. Most of them are younger than Ivan, fresh, hopeful-looking, and wide-eyed men. They continue chatting excitedly, eager to meet their sovereign, even as they enter the Tsarʼs private train. The reason why they were selected could not be more evident. Some of them look nervous, but none seem as apprehensive as Ivan, who spends almost the entire train ride worrying about his attire and comparing it to those of the dozens of men sitting around him. 

To be fair, none of them are wearing anything exceedingly fancier than Ivan, but it is hard for him not to worry about this while examining his surroundings. The Tsarʼs private train is a beacon of luxury. Ivan never thought a train could have a salon similar to those of any hotel in the affluent parts of the city, but the Tsarʼs train does. From the ceilings hang fully functional electric lamps, the walls are cushioned, the floors are carpeted, the furnishings are upholstered, and the windows are decorated with beautiful curtains. Even the lavatory is modern, cleaner, and more efficient than any of the ones Ivan has used before.

Bloody Nicholas has an entire bloody apartment inside his train, Ivan cannot help but resent. My family struggles to pay the flatʼs rent each month and he has a bigger and better apartment inside his bloody train.

A skinny short man in his thirties with dark brown eyes and beard sitting on the cushioned chair across Ivanʼs seems to notice the redheadʼs bewilderment at the trainʼs opulence.

“With a train like this, who needs a palace, right?” He chuckles, and Ivan cannot help but smile and nod, playfully looking around in mock amazement. “I am Vladislav Alexeievich”, the man extends his hand for Ivan to shake, “what is your name?”

“Ivan Ruslanovich Sudayev”, Ivan replies, accepting Vladislavʼs offer and shaking his hand. 

It is nice for Ivan to have someone to talk to. His initial nervousness fades away as he and Vladislav speak to each other about their daily lives, and soon enough the remaining workers are joining their conversation. The rest of the trip is mostly enjoyable for Ivan, although the manner in which all of the other workers but Vladislav chat makes the fact he is the only Bloody Sunday survivor among them evident. The men around him are acting in such a giddy and overly enthusiastic way that at some point Ivan is abruptly brought back the instants before the first shots were fired days ago. The sensation unsettles Ivan so much that he is forced to rush to the bathroom to splash his face with cold water as Vladislav watches from his seat with an understanding expression.

Ivan has come to notice Vladislav is different from the others. He makes sarcastic comments about the Tsarʼs wealth that only Ivan seems to appreciate. He isn’t as eager to arrive, seemingly acknowledging the trip as the serious mission it is rather than the delightful holiday the rest of the workers appear to be taking pleasure in. When Ivan asks him whether he attended the Sunday march as well, Vladislav shakes his head, but regardless of this, Ivan continues to suspect him to be more politically aware than the others. He has no proof of this, of course, politics have not been mentioned at all during the entire journey, but he ventures to wonder if Vladislav has ever been involved in any radical groups like he has, and if so, how is it that he was selected. Could he have worked undercover like Ivan?

By the time the train stops at the Imperial Pavilion, Ivan and Vladislav seem to have developed some sort of special language only the two of them can understand. 

The 36 workers exit the train and are welcomed by a group of maids carrying trays who serve them refreshments such as glasses of juice, fruits, and sandwiches. A number of police officers and imperial guards in colorful uniforms watch the workers closely as well. Their presence makes Ivan deeply uncomfortable, but it doesn't seem to faze any of the other workers, who are all smiling, already overwhelmed with happiness and filled with excitement over meeting their Tsar. 

The Imperial Pavilion is a long white building with a steeped roof made of red bricks, at the center of which there is a spire. The workers move through the structure towards two people who wait for them ahead, sporting army uniforms similar to those of the guards. One of these two individuals is a balding man with a huge dark mustache. Ivan has no clue who he is until Vladislav says to his ear that the stranger is Grand Duke George Mikhailovich Romanov, a grandson of Nicholas I and hence the current Tsarʼs first cousin once removed. 

Next to the Grand Duke is none other than Tsar Nicholas II, the object of Ivanʼs jealousy and even hatred. And yet Ivan is struck by his eyes. They are kind, warm, and a beautiful shade of grey-blue. Black and white pictures can't possibly do them justice. His reddish-brown beard is similar to Ivanʼs, only darker.

One by one, the workers are warmly greeted by the two Romanovs, and Ivan is yet again struck by the Tsarʼs kindness. Nicholas kisses each of the workers on both cheeks as if he were their friend, saying that he is happy to have them as guests. He either means those words wholeheartedly or is simply a really good actor, Ivan thinks.

Palace Commandant Minister Kokovstsov and Governor-General Trepov escort the Grand Duke, the Tsar, and the workers to the huge and elegant dining room of the Alexander Palace, which is filled with magnificent works of art hanging on the walls. 

The Alexander Palace is a big beautiful mansion of yellow walls and white columns, but Ivan can't help but notice it is not as large as the Winter Palace. So this is where the Tsar has been hiding, he thinks, wondering what could have made the Emperor choose Tsarskoye Selo over St. Petersburg. 

As the workers begin taking their seats at the table, several imperial guards position themselves around them, remaining motionless as they continue to keep an eye on them.

Just when Ivan thought there would be no more surprises, the Tsar, who remains standing in front of his guests, begins chatting with each of them with effortless familiarity. It starts with a simple small talk Ivan never imagined emperors would indulge in. Then the conversation moves on to their lives as workers. 

The quick way in which his initial apprehension dissipates makes Ivan feel almost ridiculous. He no longer cares about his clothes, as it is clear as day that the man in front of him would never admonish him for something as trivial. He doesn't worry about the way he will express his grievances to him either. Simply being respectful and mindful of referring to him as “Your Imperial Majesty” like the other workers are doing will be more than enough. Keeping that in mind, it should be perfectly acceptable for Ivan to be honest about everything. 

Ivan’s turn comes to talk to the Tsar. The redhead gives an account of the dangerous conditions at the Polunin Metal Works Factory, as well as the manufacturer his son Andrei used to work at, the factory that took his life. He recalls his hard life as a farmer and then harsher existence as an ironworker, mentioning his wife Natalia and the four children they had together between Andrei and Dmitri, none of whom survived infancy. Ivan endeavors to speak on behalf of every person he has known to have been fired after an accident without compensation or lost children to precarious living conditions. He even tells the Tsar about Gapon, the Assembly of Russian Factory and Mill Workers, and his experience during Bloody Sunday.

Nicholas makes a genuine effort to empathize, not once interrupting his subject like Balabanov would have. Ivan is appreciative of that. When the Tsar does speak, he does so in such a compassionate and thoughtful manner that Ivan can't help but be reminded of the way in which he regularly talks to Dmitri. Indeed, the Tsar interacts with them as a father would interact with a son. It is slightly disconcerting for Ivan, who doesn't quite understand why. He is, overall, comfortable conversing with Nicholas, who assures Ivan that he has taken everything he has said into account. 

By the time Nicholas moves on to the next worker, Ivan is certain that the Tsar couldn't have possibly willed what occurred that dreadful Sunday. A misunderstanding must have taken place, his guards must have acted without orders. Ivan is sure that this will be brought up at some point. 

Once he is done speaking to each of the workers separately, Nicholas goes on to chat with them about their daily lives, this time a bit more lightheartedly. 

Gradually, Ivan begins to grow a bit frustrated. He likes the Tsar, but they are not friends. Ivan knows his place. Once the meeting is over they will never see or have anything to do with each other again. Their paths are not destined to cross in any way, shape, or form. And yet he is wasting the little valuable time they have left small talking to one of the workers about how beautiful nature is. Nicholas hasn't mentioned or provided them with any future tangible solutions to their problems. 

“You, there”, Nicholas suddenly directs his attention back to Ivan, almost making the redhead jump for fright. “We spoke a moment ago… Ivan, yes?” 

“Yes, Your Imperial Majesty!” The spooked Ivan responds excitedly, genuinely touched by the fact that Nicholas has memorized his name. It took his current manager months to do so despite seeing him almost everyday.

“So, Ivan”, Nicholas continues, “how old did you say you were?”

“I just turned 31.” 

“Five years younger than me, then, I didn't realize I was getting so old!” The Tsar lets out a short chuckle, and then he looks down at Ivan with his kind blue eyes, doing so in an almost fond way. “You were telling me about your two little children a moment ago. Your daughterʼs name is Sophia, yes?” 

“Yes, Your Majesty!” Ivan nods, legitimately pleased to have further proof that the powerful man has been listening. “Yes! She is one year old, the apple of my eye.”

“Just like my daughter Maria is to me”, Nicholas addresses all of the workers now. “So, Ivan over here has told me that his little Sophia is quite the ice skater already despite being only one. This couldn't help but remind me of my youngest daughter Anastasia, who is also a fearless and precocious child. She loves jumping off of beds and chairs. One of these days she is going to give her mother a heart attack”, he laughs, and the men sitting around the table laugh with him, Ivan among them. “My daughter Anastasia also skates with her sisters. She started early like Ivanʼs little Sophia, and she says that she wants to ride sidesaddle on big ponies like her older sisters Olga and Tatiana already do even though she hasn't even turned four yet!”

As Nicholas shares a couple more anecdotes about his children, Ivan reflects on how much he sympathizes with the Tsar as a father. Both men love their children fiercely, and that is something no one could ever deny. The ironworkerʼs frustration is, however, still growing. The Tsarʼs soldiers butchered his best friend as if he were nothing but pork meat. Ivan will never forget it. The pain and anger that this caused him won't fade away just by knowing that he has a few basic things in common with the man who still hasn't denied being responsible for the slaughter. When is he getting to the point?

“Ivan also mentioned to me that he wishes to see his baby boy go to school someday”, Nicholas recalls. “Dmitri, yes?” He asks Ivan. 

“Yes, Your Imperial Majesty”, the worker bows his head in respect.

“I have two nephews with the same name”, Nicholas smiles directly at Ivan. “My sister Xeniaʼs Dmitri is three years old, and Uncle Paulʼs Dmitri is, needless to say, actually my cousin, but the lad is only thirteen, so it is natural for me to think of him as my nephew.”

“Yes, of course, Your Imperial Majesty”, Ivan smiles back. 

“It is a good name, Dmitri, very Russian, and the way you talked to me about the manner in which your little boy fusses over your baby girl made me think of my daughters as well, they are also fond of the baby of the family and shower him with both motherly and sisterly affection everyday, so much so that at times it seems like they are plotting to steal him away from Alix”, Nicholas smiles, pausing for a few seconds before addressing all of the workers again. “Ivan lost friends and family members during the terrible events that took place a few days ago”, he sighs, and a long silence descends upon the room. “I know we are all dismayed by the recent happenings, and I would like for all of us to pray for the victims before the banquet.” The Tsar turns to Ivan. “I will also be paying each of the families that suffered a loss a sum of 50,000 rubles.”

Ivan shouldn't be as surprised as he is. This compensation is, in part, what he has come for, and yet he has trouble believing that he will actually acquire it. This is too good to be true, he thinks. 50,000 is more than he makes in years. It is hard to even imagine how he would spend all of that money. He would be able to buy a spacious house by working just a few days a week. He would enroll Dmitri in a good private school and take his brother and children on leisure trips. He would never again have to worry about his next meal or the heat in his apartment.

“God be with you and your family, Ivan”, Nicholas tells the worker, whose eyes and mouth are still wide open in amazement. 

“Tha… thank you, Your Imperial Majesty…” Ivan stutters. “Uhm… God Save the Tsar!” 

The other workers start clapping, some of them patting the redhead on the back to congratulate him, and suddenly Ivan’s tentative joy turns into shame. They are praising the Tsar. The man who may or may not have Mariaʼs blood in his hands. The man who may or may not have very justly earned the name “Bloody Nicholas.” The man who still hasn't spoken a word to defend himself.

Ilya is right, Ivan thinks. I have changed. No concession has been granted regarding more labor laws, no definite answer has been given to any of the menʼs grievances about their workplaces. The other workers still lack insurance for their families. Ivan has been selfish, thinking only of himself and his own family, content enough to receive monetary compensation as if rubles were able to buy lives. 

Ivan sits still, keeping an awkward smile on his face as he tries hard not to let his discomfort become evident. 

“I was sadly not present at the Winter Palace to meet with Father Gapon”, Nicholas acknowledges the rest of the workers again. “But I assure you all that while many of your concerns are valid, you should never believe for a moment that your sovereign fails to understand the difficulties of your lives.”

No, you don't understand, Ivan is convinced. The sovereign has an apartment inside his train, he can afford to give 50,000 rubles away as if that enormous quantity were nothing but a few kopeks, he has more than one palace to choose from, most of which are empty for a good portion of the year, and he probably has enough money saved to last for several lifetimes. 

“Patience is necessary”, Nicholas proceeds. Our lives arenʼt long enough, Ivan thinks, reminiscing the time he let out those same words before Father Gapon. 

Of course the Tsar speaks of patience as a virtue, the workerʼs mind drifts. Nicholas is rich, there is no denying that. A deadline for him has never represented the difference between his family having a roof over their heads and months of homelessness. The Tsar has never had to make his three-year-old daughter Anastasia beg like Ivan did with Dmitri in 1903 after losing his first job in the city. I should have never organized that foolish strike, doomed to fail, Ivan thinks. Sometimes, he wonders if the real reason why he favors Dmitri as much as he does is guilt. The child was never in any real danger, thinking of asking random strangers for money while his mother and father hid nearby as a silly game that everyone found as funny as he did. Ivan regrets it either way. 

“We are still in the midst of a brutal war”, the Tsar sermonizes using a soft tone of voice, “a conflict in which Russia will certainly be victorious, but a challenging one nonetheless. By halting production, your strikes have only succeeded in making the nation's endeavor even more arduous than it already is. Revolutionary demonstrations are an inconsiderate method for you to use in seeking to overcome your hardships…”

The fact that Nicholas has never worried about where his next meal is coming from has never been clearer to Ivan. He has no clue, the ironworker thinks. We just illustrated everything to him and he still has no clue. Ivan finally recognizes what his yearning to hope had made him refuse to admit. He can't expect the Tsar to help them, for he will never be in any rush to do so. He simply doesn't understand. To understand, one must experience poverty first hand knowing that there will be no escape without change. Poverty has to be your life, not one chore among many that you can simply defer in favor of a more important one. 

Nicholas is far too detached from everything. Ivan knows that this is probably not solely his fault, of course. The Tsar has many responsibilities and can't be everywhere at once. But knowing that Nicholas cares more about how the workersʼ protest has impacted on the governmentʼs ability to wage a war that he failed to prevent than the wellbeing of workers themselves is aggravating, to say the least, as well as one of the reasons why the petition urged an end to the conflict.

“You allowed yourselves to be drawn into error and deception by traitors and enemies of our motherland,” the Tsar continues lecturing the men before him. “I know that the life of a worker is not easy. Much should be improved and sorted out. But to announce your needs to me through a mutinous crowd is criminal.” 

Oh, Ivan opens his eyes wide in realization, this is where he gets to the point. The redhead’s lips tighten and curl inwards. Your henchmen kill women and children, and we are the criminals?!  His jaw tenses as blood rushes to his cheeks. Ivan didn't come hoping for an apology, but he did expect some sort of explanation or even a mere excuse, and now that he reflects on it, he would have actually preferred it. Not this, anything but this. 

“Little father!” The worker sitting next to Ivan stands up to catch the Tsar’s attention. “Last Sunday was a disgrace, the work of agitators who tricked the people with wild promises, but we want you to know that your people love you and are loyal to you and your family.”

“Thank you”, Nicholas replies, talking to no one in particular. “But I must emphasize this. Strikes and riots only excite the unemployed to start disorders which will compel the authorities to use force. I promise you all that I will examine the grievances you have presented to me provided that you understand that future demonstrations and disturbances cannot and will not be tolerated. I pardon your transgressions, as I am confident that you will walk out of this gathering believing in your Emperor and his love for the people he rules over.”

The sovereignʼs compassionate tone is that of a parent disciplining an ill-behaved child, and only now does Ivan understand why this was disconcerting for him a moment ago. The Tsar takes his role as a father quite literally, with everything it conveys. Overprotectiveness, punishment. But Ivan is not a child, none of the people sitting at the table are. Whether he is aware of it or not, Nicholas is being so condescending that Ivan can barely stand it anymore. Sitting in front of him, Vladislav directs a sympathetic glance at Ivan.

Once the Tsar is done preaching to the workers about the importance of fulfilling their duties, especially during wartime, the men gather at a nearby church to pray, kissing religious icons and those of the Tsar himself. Ivan swallows his pride and participates.

Finally, the men return to the dining room to enjoy a delicious afternoon snack consisting of more sandwiches, tea, hors d'oeuvres, cookies, and pastries.

Oo

After being brought back to St. Petersburg, Vladislav and Ivan stop by a pub. Ivan barely ever drinks, he doesn't have the time nor the money, and he has witnessed firsthand what excessive drunkenness can do to formerly decent parents, but he thought it would be fun to share a few drinks with his new acquaintance just for one evening. 

The bar they go to is small, with wooden floors, tables, and benches. Vladislav and Ivan pick a spot to sit and ask the waiter for two beers. 

“What a narrow-minded man that Tsar is”, Ivan takes his seat. “For an instant I thought I was going to return home with a huge change of heart.”

“From the moment I met you I knew this wouldn't be the case, my friend”, Vladislav does the same, sitting on the chair across from Ivanʼs and carelessly laying both forearms on the table. “You have self-respect.”

“And can you believe how gullible those men are?” Ivan asks, almost offended by the other workersʼ reverence for the Tsar. “I wish they had a clue of what it is to lose a friend in such a violent manner.”

“They were hand-picked for their gullibility, Ivan, I don't think you can hold that against them.”

“I know, but it is still frustrating. To claim Gapon tricked the people with ‘wild promises’ when the Tsar was right there doing exactly that!” Ivan gesticulates pointedly to express how little sense the other workersʼ devotion makes to him. He lets out a chuckle at the irony.

The waiter arrives with the beers and hands them over to the two men, who start drinking.

“Well, those men were not exactly wrong about Gapon”, Vladislav speaks his mind after swallowing a gulp of beer. “He did lead you all like sheep to the slaughter… no offense.”

Offense taken, Ivan thinks. “None taken”, he says. “But may I ask why you think that? No one could have ever guessed the soldiers would shoot at unarmed men, women, and children for making a petition.”

“Oh, Ivan, you are as naive as the rest of them”, Vladislav grins sympathetically before sipping on his beer. “Do you even know what the petition contained?”

“Of course I know”, Ivan sounds almost offended. “As a member of the Assembly of Russian Factory and Mill Workers, I was bound to know its contents better than most of the workers who attended the march, I even made some suggestions. Sure, the priestʼs demands were many and some of them political in nature, so it is likely that the Tsar wouldn't have agreed to even half of them, but I don't get what that has to do with…”

“Command it to be so, and swear that you will fulfill them…” Vladislav mockingly recites sections of what Ivan recognizes as the last paragraph of Father Gaponʼs petition. “And if you do not will it, if you do not respond to our request, we will die here, on this square, before your palace.”

“What is it that you are trying to imply, Vladislav?” Ivan frowns. “That Gapon knew what would happen? Strong words were used, yes. I have read the whole thing, but the plea was meant to convey the workersʼ desperation for a better life. It was not a damn prophecy.” 

“Father Gapon is not who he claims to be, Ivan.”

“What would you know? Were you ever a member of his assembly?”

“I have a friend who was, and if I may be straightforward, he is closer to Gapon than I am betting you are.”

“Oh, so you have a ‘friendʼ who is close to Gapon”, Ivan sarcastically replies, “are you sure it is not the friend of a second cousinʼs friend?”

“A friend. The first thing you need to know about the priest is that he doesn't even know what side he is on or what he wants, he never has. The man has worked for the police, spying on the workers for them and doing their bidding, but he is loyal to neither the government nor the revolutionaries who have infiltrated his circles.”

Ivan raises an eyebrow. The man in front of him has his full attention.

“Oh, you didn’t know?” Vladislav sounds smug about his inside knowledge.

“I had suspected it”, Ivan replies truthfully. “All of it. I am simply certain now.”

“He is nothing more than an opportunist”, Vladislav continues. “Does he even care about the workers? I don't know, perhaps he is growing confused as to what is best for them, but the fact is he cares about being seen first and foremost, and he will attach himself to whoever can provide him with prominence.”

“I didn’t take you for a monarchist, Vladislav”, Ivan says before sipping on his beer, suddenly realizing he can’t share too much information on his illegal activities with him. Vladislav may not be the ally Ivan had previously suspected him to be.  

“I am not, and you know that, but that doesn’t mean I have to trust the radical opposition or even join them. I don’t think it is in our best interests. That is the only reason I was picked to meet the Tsar.”

“Radical? Father Gapon?” It is too much for Ivan to believe. “We had to convince the man to act even with moderation!”

“People change, Ivan”, Vladislav takes a huge gulp and finishes drinking his beer. “How long ago was that? A year? A few months? Do you have any inkling as to who truly leads the Assembly of Russian Factory and Mill Workers?”

“Everyone knows the police…”

“The police is made up of incompetent fools!” Vladislav exclaims. 

“I am not arguing that.”

“The Assembly of Russian Factory and Mill Workers was infiltrated and is now led by revolutionaries, primarily Social Democrats. The priest works with them all. The police's level of obliviousness and inaction has been ridiculous, but who can blame them? They trust Gapon.”

“I get their agenda may not have been as innocent as we were initially led to believe, but I fail to understand how any of this implies Gapon led us like sheep to the slaughter, or the Social Democrats for that matter”, Ivan tries not to sound as sympathetic to the opposition as he truly is. “The fact is most of the people marching were not aware of this, and they didn't do so out of any desire to demonstrate against the government.”

“Of course not, but the assemblyʼs infiltrators did. Tell me, did you see any red flags waving in the streets that Sunday?”

“I did. I saw several, actually, but only after the massacre had occurred.”

“How soon after?”

It takes Ivan a while to answer. “Immediately after”, he finally admits, looking down at the table.

“Almost as if the people carrying those flags had brought them along just in case, huh?” Vladislav pauses, but Ivan doesn't say anything. “They knew this would happen, they even welcomed it, and they could not waste a second while the peopleʼs anger was still hot.”

“Whatever they were preparing for, if the Tsar had…”

“What? Received a delegation of workers that day? Made it illegal for his troops to shoot at unarmed women and children? Then this whole thing would have been averted?” Vladislav chuckles. “You are right, the Tsar is a small, weak-willed man with little imagination, a bloody coward, but the infiltrators knew this better than anyone. They know the government they are at war with, how it operates, what gets on their nerves, what they do and don't allow, they even spy on them. Why not warn the workers, Ivan? Huh? They knew. Gapon knew.” The man sounds certain. “Did you really think there was any chance for the ministers to allow the Tsar to receive a petition full of political demands with a giant and unpredictable crowd waiting right outside the palace to witness his response?”

“Did your friend tell you this?” Ivan slowly looks back up at Vladislav, who nods.

"I told you, my friend is pretty much a member of Gaponʼs inner circle. He works alongside the radicals. He is one of them. The priest admitted to him that he knew the Tsar would not be there after having been informed of this by a trustworthy source. To his credit, he did find out only shortly before the march, but…”

“But he lied to everyone”, Ivan finishes for Vladislav, anger rising up inside him. 

“He lied to everyone”, Vladislav nods again. “He still needed to incite the workers to go before the Tsar with their petition. Father Gapon and some of his more idealistic friends might have simply had some hope left that the Tsar would come to the Winter Palace at the last minute, but the radicals they associated with had only one thing in mind.” 

“Turning the workers loyal to the Tsar against the government”, Ivan concludes. 

“You are starting to get it, Ivan”, Vladislav points at him with a grin, but Ivan doesn't find the situation amusing at all. “And how do you do that? You get the troops to fire on them. Now, this was all on the government, but the assembly’s radicals knew very well what they had to do to facilitate this, what was needed for the spark of the revolution to be ignited. They understood the authorities would never permit the demonstration and that with enough pressure they would bring in the troops against the workers. They had this in mind when they encouraged the march.”

Ivan feels stupid. He can't believe he wasn't aware of this. In hindsight, he might have been too distracted raising his children and later organizing the Polunin Metal Works Factoryʼs strike while hiding his involvement in it. He had even started to lose touch with the assembly, often preferring to work alone.

It seems ridiculous and even contradictory for someone who had planned to join an anarchist cell less than a year ago, but Ivan feels betrayed by the priest as well. For years, he genuinely believed that Father Gapon was simply a naive yet well-intentioned man who desired a peaceful solution to the nationʼs problems. Ivan saw him as a safe bet, a man who would help him and his fellow workers strife for a better life. Ivan wouldn't have to sacrifice his freedom or time with family. 

But at the end of the day, the priest was just using them to prove a stupid point or at least allowing others to do so. He didn't care for their lives much more than the Tsarʼs men did. 

The point has been proven. Ivan has had a change of heart, although perhaps a foolish one. He can not negotiate with the people who murdered Kostya and Maria, the people who endangered his children. Nothing can make up for that. He will not claim the 50,000 rubles. It is simply not right. Some things have no prize, they shouldn't be paid. It was nice to fantasize about possessing such wealth for a while, Ivan does acknowledge.

He will never again trust hypocrites like Gapon either, those who dance around the problem and play with innocent people’s lives, knowingly putting them at risk to prove there is a problem. Those who lie and scheme instead of trusting the workers to figure out for themselves that the Tsarist government must go. 

Anarchists are honest, Ivan thinks, they have never lied to me. They know what must be done, the people that have to go. 

Oo

When Ivan gets back home, he finds Dmitri playing with Sophia and Pavel, the Smirnovsʼ eight-year-old son. Dima has a lot of questions about his fatherʼs trip, but Ivan assures him they will talk about it later.

The father lovingly kisses his children on the top of the head and then walks towards his brother Ilya, who is still sitting up against a wall and caught up in his own misery. Ivan kneels in front of him. He needs to provide him with a reason to live. 

Surprisingly, Ilya is a bit less irritated now. He apologizes for his behavior and even asks Ivan how everything went. The two brothers are able to engage in a fruitful conversation.

Ivan also apologizes, telling his brother that he is sorry for all the troubles his ideals have caused them both in the past. He then admits to losing his way. Multiple concerns led him to abandon the anarchists, fearing for his childrenʼs future and that of Kostya among them. 

“But I shouldn't have met with the Tsar”, he says. “You were right about that, Ilya, I went too far the other way around. It was a flight of fancy. I thought there was something he could do for us, but he can't. The lives of the people lost during Bloody Sunday can't be bought.”

“You are going back to them”, Ilya states without using a judgemental or accusing tone. Ivan simply nods.

“I was afraid of being executed or sent away and never seeing my children again”, the older brother explains, “but I can't let that fear keep me from doing what I believe is right. I can't keep using Dmitri and Sophia as an excuse, not when their very future depends on me. I am sorry Ilya.”

“Don't be”, Ilya lays a hand on his brother's shoulder. “This will always be you no matter what I think about it.”

“Do not worry about Sonya and Dima”, Ivan adds. “I will borrow some money to pay the Smirnovs to take care of them and come to visit as often as I am able to.”

“Forget that!” Ilya shakes his head fiercely. “I was not being myself, Vanya. I will take care of them.”

“You still have to work, the help will do you good.”

“I am betting the money will come from one or two ‘expropiationsʼ.”

As soon as Ilya says this, the two brothers burst into a laughter that lasts for several seconds. They stay smiling at each other when it stops.

“I can not give you your wife back, Ilya”, Ivan tells his brother after a while, “but I can avenge her for you, I can make the people responsible for her death pay.”

“We”, Ilya says. “We are.”

Oo

Dmitriʼs uneasiness fades away when Ivan starts telling him about his trip to Tsarskoye Selo as they sit before the short white balcony of the highest place in the world, a place they have frequented quite often since the strike began. 

Ivan hates the Tsar, he still does. Having met and even enjoyed Nicholasʼs company has only made this hatred deeper, more personal, but he doesn’t want to taint his innocent Dimaʼs heart with hatred. He is a child. There will be time for hatred when he is older, when it is time for him to fight like his father will, and Ivan still has a small glimmer of hope that it wonʼt come to that. The Tsarist regime may be overthrown before Dmitri reaches adulthood. 

The boy feared the Tsar might have been angry at his father until Ivan lied to him, telling him that the nation's ruler was just a bit dimwitted. The redhead may not want his child to harbor hatred in his heart, but he dislikes the idea of Dmitri fearing or feeling inferior to a man who would be nothing special without his title even more.

“He thought we were all coming to the palace to eat him, and so he sent his soldiers to defend him”, Ivan tells his son, “can you believe that, Dima?”

“How silly”, Dmitri smiles, shaking his head. “He would not even have been enough for all of us.” My son, a true comedian, Ivan thinks as he laughs. “Why did he think that?” The boy then asks.

“I don't know”, Ivan shrugs, “but he told us there are no problems in Russia. That is why he spends the whole day playing board games instead of helping people. He said we should look out for ourselves and leave him alone in his palaces, the idiot.”

“But there are problems, many problems. That is why Andrushka died.”

“I know buddy”, Ivan strokes Dmitriʼs hair, his heart aching at the memory of his eldest son. He continues telling his Dima both real and made up anecdotes about Tsar Nicholas II. In all of these funny stories, the sovereign comes across as a total buffoon, the Grand Duchess Anastasia making some appearances and pranking him.

Dmitri's fear has turned into curiosity. He seems to want to know everything about the Tsar and his Tsarskoye Selo palace. Ivan answers all of his questions, describing the beautiful place to him and promising him that someday, they will find a way to visit it together. Dmitri remains unsure about this, but he doesn't say anything to contradict his father. 

The conversation father and son have the following day is a lot harder. Both of them weep as Ivan promises Dmitri that he will not be leaving forever.

“I will visit every week with more money than we can usually spend”, Ivan tells his child as he kneels next to him. “I will buy you the toy train you have always wanted.”

“I don't want the toy train!” The five-year-old cries. “I want you to take me with you to fight the police and the Tsar’s soldiers.” These words make Ivan wish he could take his children with him and Ilya, but he can't. He doesn't want them involved in that world yet. He doesn't want them anywhere near to see his arrest if he is caught and apprehended. 

“What I am doing is dangerous, Dima”, the father replies. “But you can help me.”

“Really?” Dmitri wipes his tears. “How?”

“First of all, you take good care of your sister Sophia.”

“I will!” The child jumps.

“Be good to Mr. and Mrs. Smirnov as well, alright? Do as they say and be a good boy, don't misbehave.”

“I will try”, Dmitri rolls his eyes. 

“Awesome, Dima”, Ivan pinches his sonʼs cheek. “I am also making sure you start school next autumn.”

“But why?!” The child stomps a foot on the ground.

“Now, don't fight with me”, Ivan chuckles. “You need to do it for me, for yourself as well”, he holds the boyʼs shoulders. “See what is ahead, Dima! You have to learn how to read and write and then never stop learning, that is how we make ourselves better than our circumstances, that is how we make sure we don't end up owing anyone or having to follow their lead. The more you know, the less you will be pushed around by other people”, Ivan sees a frown form on his childʼs face. “You will understand what I mean when you are older”, he smiles, “but perhaps in just a few months you will be able to read better than your own father, wouldn't that be something?” He places his dark khaki English golf cap on Dmitriʼs head and moves on to say goodbye to Sophia, leaving the boy feeling slightly betrayed, abandoned by his father with only a new hat that is far too big for his head as a consolation. 

When the workers who met with Nicholas returned to St. Petersburg, most of them were ignored, laughed at, or even beaten up after trying to convince the others to remain loyal to the Tsar. Only Ivan was spared this fate. 

Oo

Ever since she was a little girl, Alexandra has felt anguish for other peopleʼs suffering much more deeply than most. Longing to help and defend others is Alexandra's greatest virtue and sorrow. It is no wonder she was in a state of despair following the ghastly massacre, her mind sometimes anguishing at the thought of what it might have been like for the victims, particularly the ones who lost children. 

She does not in any way believe, however, that her husband could have done anything to avert the tragedy. Five days after “Bloody Sunday”, she wrote a letter to her sister Princess Victoria of Battenberg.

You understand the crisis we are going through! It is a time full of trials indeed. My poor Nicky’s cross is a heavy one to bear, all the more as he has nobody on whom he can thoroughly rely and who can be a real help to him. He has had so many bitter disappointments, but through it all he remains brave and full of faith in God’s mercy. He tries so hard, works with such perseverance, but the lack of what I call ‘real’ men is great…

The bad are always close at hand, the others through fake humility keep in the background. We shall try to see more people, but it is difficult. On my knees I pray to God to give me wisdom to help him in his heavy task…

Don’t believe all the horrors the foreign papers say. They make one’s hair stand on end—foul exaggeration. Yes, the troops, alas, were obliged to fire. Repeatedly the crowd was told to retreat and that Nicky was not in town (as we are living here this winter) and that one would be forced to shoot, but they would not heed and so blood was shed. On the whole, 92 killed and between 200–300 wounded. It is a ghastly thing, but had one not done it the crowd would have grown colossal and 1,000 would have been crushed. All over the country, of course, it is spreading. The petition had only two questions concerning the workmen and all the rest was atrocious: separation of the Church from the Government, etc. etc. Had a small deputation brought, calmly, a real petition for the workmen’s good, all would have been otherwise. Many of the workmen were in despair when they heard later what the petition contained and begged to work again under the protection of the troops. Petersburg is a rotten town, not one atom Russian. The Russian people are deeply and truly devoted to their Sovereign and the revolutionaries use his name for provoking them against landlords, etc. but I don’t know how. How I wish I were clever and could be of real use. I love my new country. It’s so young, powerful and has so much good in it, only utterly unbalanced and childlike. Poor Nicky, he has a bitter, hard life to lead. Had his father seen more men, drawn them around him, we should have had lots to fill the necessary posts; now only old men or quite young ones, nobody to turn to. The uncles are no good, and Misha a darling child still…

Alix may feel for others more than most people, but she also loves and is completely devoted to Nicholas more than she mourns for anyone. The distress the tragedy caused Nicholas pains Alexandra more than the tragedy itself, for one small grievance of his means the suffering of the entire world to her. She has little sympathy for the people who organized the procession, which was to her an attack against the most important person in her life, an attack she knows could have been worse. She is terrified for her children, painfully aware of the nation’s history, of her Nicky’s worst childhood memory, the one that every now and then still wakes him up at night. Alexander II. The bomb.

Bloody Sunday was a tragedy Alix blames and will never forgive the ministers for, but she thinks of it as an inevitable occurrence, sheltering from its horror by telling herself that God allows all things to happen for a reason. 

Oo

Moscow. February 17, 1905.

Grand Duke Sergei is no longer Governor-General of Moscow, having stepped down out of disillusionment with the state of affairs in Russia. He appears to be at ease, so Grand Duchess Elizabeth is at ease, happy for him. Power brings out only the worst in her husband.

Sergei is still the commander of Moscow’s military district, but as the man who cruelly expelled Moscow's 20,000 Jews and repressed student movements to prevent the spread of revolutionary ideas, he isn’t very popular with the city’s liberals. 

The couple moved to the Nicholas Palace within the safety of the Kremlin shortly after the Grand Duke’s resignation because they had been receiving numerous threats that lately have stopped. Sergei is still taking every precaution advised by his detectives though.

On 15 February 1905, Grand Duke Sergei and his wife Grand Duchess Elizabeth attended a Red Cross charity concert at the Bolshoi Theatre with their wards, fourteen-year-old Maria and thirteen-year-old Dmitri. 

Ella had a great time with her husband and adopted children, particularly enjoying her husband's animated mood. She was also getting along with Maria. Despite the hardships the nation was enduring, her personal life seemed to be taking a turn for the better.

Unbeknownst to the family, a terrorist organization that knew Sergeiʼs route had planned to assassinate him that day. Their lives were spared when one of the would-be killers decided to call off the attack after seeing Elizabeth and the children in the carriage. To kill the beautiful Grand Duchess Elizabeth and two innocent youngsters would have caused apprehension among those willing to sympathize with the revolutionary cause, setting it back years. 

Two days have gone by since the unnoticed incident. Sergei just had lunch with his wife and is now cheerfully walking into the Nicholas Palace rooms where she, Maria, and her governess have resumed working on their Red Cross projects. 

“I can not wait for us to move back to St.Petersburg”, he smiles. 

“Are you leaving now?” Elizabeth asks. 

“I need to go to the Governor General's mansion to clear my office”, Sergei kisses his wifeʼs cheek. “My last duty, and once that is done we’re free.” 

“More time for us”, she beams. Sergei leaves, and Ella keeps on setting Red Cross packages up with Maria and her governess Hélène. 

Because the threats against his life are still recent, Sergei refuses to take his adjutant, Alexei, anywhere, as he is married and a father. Drawn by a pair of horses and driven by the coachman Andrei Rudinkin, the Grand Duke's recognizable carriage passes through the gate of the Kremlinʼs Nikolskaya Tower and turns the corner of the Chudov Monastery into Senatskaya Square, alerting Ivan Kalyayev, an undercover member of the Socialist Revolutionary Party's combat detachment who has been waiting inside the Nikolsky Gate with an explosive wrapped in newspapers. 

Little more than a meter away from the carriage, the terrorist steps forward and throws the nitroglycerin bomb directly into Sergei's lap. The subsequent explosion is so powerful it shakes every window of the Nicholas Palace. 

Too baffled to move, it is only until cries and hurried footsteps from the square below reach her ears that Ella leaps from her chair, terrified. 

“It's Serge!” She cries. 

Hélène follows Elizabeth as she rushes down the stairs and out of the palace. They are both taken on a sleigh to the square, where several soldiers try to hold Elizabeth back as she struggles to see what happened to her husband. 

 “No, please, Your Highness“, one of them begs her, “don’t look…” 

Wide-eyed with fear, Elizabeth gathers enough strength to force her way through the soldiers and the crowd, which has slowly been amassing around the ghastly scene. 

Scattered all over the bloodstained snow lie two dead horses, splintered planks, the shattered fragments of a carriage, and pieces of scorched cloth, fur, and leather. The Grand Duke seems to have died immediately, but the carriage driver bleeds and moans on the ground. 

Elizabethʼs eyes search for the remains of her husband, and she gasps in disbelief and horror when they set on a tangled mass of flesh and bone. Almost reflexively, the dismayed woman, now a widow, starts picking up the pieces of what is left of the Grand Duke. “Sergei didn't like a mess”, she hysterically repeats over and over again, occasionally instructing the people around her who aren't aiding the injured carriage driver on how to help her. 

The shock and disbelief prevents Elizabeth from crying as she hunts for Sergeiʼs treasures amidst the gore-covered snow. His icons, his medals, rings… the fingers that wore them. It is so dreadful and unreal, she thinks.

The Grand Dukeʼs remains are taken to the chapel of the Chudov Monastery, where Maria and Dmitri find their aunt trying to pray. She embraces them, and the witnesses who followed her to the chapel weep at the sight. 

“He loved you”, Elizabeth hugs the children tightly, the children who have just lost their father figure. “He loved you.” It is the truth, whatever else he might have been. “Oh, Sergei!” Her face is pale and stricken rigid, but she is too much in denial to actually cry. She can't cry. She can't believe what just happened. 

The dreadful images of what she has witnessed haunt Elizabeth on her way to visit the coachman Andrei Rudinkin at the hospital. His wounds are fatal, and the most Elizabeth can do for him is assure him that Sergei survived so that the poor man can die in peace.

Back in her rooms, Elisabeth lets herself fall weakly into an armchair, her eyes dry and with the same peculiar fixity of gaze. She refuses to cry that day, looking straight into space and saying nothing for hours instead. As visitors come and go, she looks at them without ever seeming to see them. 

But as reality slowly hits Elizabeth, she finally abandons her rigid self-control, breaking down into sobs. She can't seem to stop crying after this very first loss of composure. For a time, many of her friends and family members fear she may suffer a nervous breakdown, but she quickly recovers her equanimity.

Oo

Deprived of sleep by nightmares, Elizabeth is only able to reflect on what happened days later. How could someone have done that to her husband? She prays for an answer almost as much as she prays for Sergeiʼs soul and that of his attacker. 

Ella doesn't hate the man who murdered Sergei and is instead worried about his eternal resting place. She wonders what could have driven him to such madness. How much hatred does someone need to have in their heart to do something as horrible? Elizabeth has even come to ponder whether she and her family are guilty in some way of causing the murdererʼs resentment. If so, how can she help ease the hatred and suffering of her people?

Dressed in black and with a Bible in hand, Elizabeth summons a carriage to take her to the prison where her husband's assassin is being held. 

The jail is a gray building of dark halls and damp walls that smell like urine. When Elizabeth makes her request to the half-asleep guards at the entrance, they stare at her in astonishment. One of them grabs a bunch of keys and disappears through a passageway. Another one suggests that the prisoner be taken to the main office so that the Grand Duchess can be kept safe at all times. 

“There will be guards inside standing close by”, he says, “and should he insult Your Highness in any way…”

“Thank you”, Elizabeth smiles, “but that won't be necessary. I wish to speak to him alone.” 

He nods, turning pale. A third guard appears and guides the Grand Duchess to a small, barren chamber inside of which there are only two wooden chairs and a table between them. Sergeiʼs assassin sits on one of the seats.

Ivan Platonovich Kalyayev is a bearded man in his late twenties, although the state he is in makes him appear older. He is unshaven, his light brown hair and beard a tangled mess, and he also looks somewhat emancieted. Elizabeth gets the strange sensation that she has seen him before. 

She approaches him, closing the door behind her, and her eyes overflow with tears she reveals upon pulling the black mourning veil she has been wearing over her face.

The man frowns, evidently confused. He intends to walk out of his chair to make a point and stands up to do so, but the glare the guard outside the barred door directs at him compels him to sit back down.

“I am his wife,” Elizabeth answers Ivanʼs unspoken question before sitting right in front of him, only the table separating the two of them. 

“What do you want?” He asks matter-of-factly. A brief silence descends upon them as Elizabeth struggles to compose herself. The tears that cloud her sight seem to unsettle him.

“Why?” She whispers in a barely audible manner, wiping a couple of tears away from her face. “Why did you kill my husband?”

Elizabeth expects him to mock her, she expects him to laugh, to brag about his deeds diabolically like some villain in one of her and Nicholasʼs favorite plays, the ones they have acted out together. “Please, don’t cry,” Kalyayev says instead, and the softness of his tone is so inconsistent with the violence he recently perpetrated that Elizabeth’s astonishment and confusion only becomes greater. 

“Why?” She asks again, her tears flowing more freely. “I sense there is still some good in your heart. What drove you to do such a thing?”

“Why do you care?” He crosses his arms. “I will be dead soon, and you will get your justice.”

“I want to understand what made you hate my husband enough to kill him. I only wish to prevent future tragedies. If there is something he did that caused you pain, we can find a way to rectify it.”

He shakes his head and smiles, looking quite amused. “Now you come and speak to us”, he puts emphasis on the word ‘now’. “Now you want to ‘rectify it.’ You people care only for yourselves! Terror is the only method capable of drawing your attention to those less fortunate. Why didn't you ask this question before? Because it was only us worthless plebs suffering?”

“No, no”, Elizabeth shakes her head, her features contorted by grief. 

“Very well then, I killed Sergei Alexandrovich because he was a weapon of tyranny. I was taking revenge for the people he imprisoned and oppressed.”

“He never meant to hurt anyone, he was just protecting the nation's law and order...” Sergei didn't like a mess… He didn't like a mess…

“The only thing he ever cared about”, Ivan Platonovich nods, chuckling cynically. “But I care about his motives just as much as you truly care about mine, which is not at all. This could have been avoided if the Grand Duke had just listened to his people, but the poorʼs cries for help fell on deaf ears.”

“He did try to listen”, Elizabeth sighs, “I wish we had met before, I could have introduced you to him, if you had addressed him with your concerns he would have…”

“Listened?” Ivan scoffs at the idea. “Like the Tsar listened to the workers of St. Petersburg?! Women and children shot in cold blood! Do you have any idea of how ridiculous and tone-dead you sound after what happened? The Grand Duke didn't care about the people of Moscow any more than Bloody Nicholas does.”

“That is not true.”

“He wouldn't have believed them if they had come to his doorstep with a detailed account of their hellish lives, let alone helped them. He would have deemed the peopleʼs suffering an overstatement in order to sleep at night.”

“You are mistaken”, she closes her eyes at the harsh words, “he knew about the hardships the people have to endure.”

“He had no idea!” He slams his palm against the table. “You have no idea! You go from palace to palace, from fanciful self-aggrandizing ceremony to fanciful self-aggrandizing ceremony, from ball to ball with your fancy carriages, fancy clothes, and fine jewels, and fine food, and petty problems. Have you ever stopped to think that only streets away from those glittering ballrooms, there are babies dying of malnutrition and children turning to prostitution just to earn enough money to live?”

Elizabeth flinches at the straightforwardness of the man and the gruesomeness of what he is describing. Ivan takes notice of this. 

“Oh, I am sorry”, his tone becomes sarcastic. “Have I offended you? Is it too much for a delicate Grand Duchessʼs ears? Are these low-lives undeserving of your distress?”

“I am not the heartless monster you have conjured up in your mind”, Elizabeth replies, “and neither was my husband.”

“Did the Grand Duke care about these children when he sent his spies into the city to exile their parents for daring to speak up for the poor?” He presses on.

“He did care”, Elizabeth insists passionately. “Sergei took part in the activities of so many educational and charitable organizations that he was far too busy for me and even the children at times, he taught me everything I know. The Moscow Society for Charity and Education of Blind Children, the Committee for the Provision of Benefits to War Widows and Orphans, the Moscow Society for the Protection of the Homeless and Juveniles Released from Places of Confinement, the Moscow Council of Orphanages…”

“Not nearly enough”, Ivan mutters, looking down.

“He was a good man!”

“Good?” He jumps up from the chair, shaking his head wildly in frustration. “Tell that to the 20,000 Jews he expelled from Moscow! He surrounded their homes with mounted Cossacks ready to evict them in the middle of the night while the temperature was 30 degrees below zero!” Ivan takes a look at the guard stationed outside and sits back down. 

Having no way to justify her husband's actions, Elizabeth remains silent as she reflects on what happened that night of 1892. “God will punish us severely”, she remembers telling Sergei. And so He did.

“They ransacked every house, barely giving anyone time to pack their belongings”, Kalyayev continues, speaking lower. “Young Jewish women were made to register as prostitutes if they wanted to stay in the city.”

“I know”, Elizabeth decides to say. She could have told him about the way her husband agreed to stop the expulsions until the weather conditions improved, but this small act of mercy could be considered laughable in the grand scheme of things. “Sergei might have made mistakes, but…”

“Might?” The assassin raises his eyebrows.

“He was a sinner, as you are, as we all are, and we need to repent. Don’t let your heart be hardened, it was not your place to be judge and executioner, repent.”

“But it was his place?!” Ivan’s eyes flare up with anger. “Don’t compare me with that sodo…!” The assassin doesn't finish the last word, and a look of guilt crosses his face. Ella wonders if he intended to touch upon the many rumors and false accusations against Sergei that have circulated since her arrival at Russia. “This is not something to discuss with you. I know you are grieving, so I will spare your feelings. It is not you that I ever held a grudge against anyway.” 

“By killing him”, Elizabeth wipes her face, her eyes stinging from crying, “you killed me.” Sergei didn't beat her like strangers love to whisper, he wasn't untrue to her. He was difficult at times, but also a good husband, her world.

“I am sorry about your suffering, but you're not the only widow in Moscow,” Kalyayev replies coldly. “There are widows of those whom your husband exiled to freeze to death in Siberia, widows of soldiers fighting the Tsarʼs war, widows of massacred workers, widows of…” 

He suddenly stops speaking, looking up at the tearful Elizabeth like a child caught doing something wrong. “I know this doesn't change the fact that you hate me, but…”

“No”, Elizabeth denies sincerely. 

“And I know you are not your husband”, the assassinʼs eyes soften. “I risked my life to save you.” 

She cocks her head, looking at him questioningly. 

“Two days ago, the night of the gala performance”, he clarifies. “I had been entrusted to carry out the attack then. I had the bomb and the perfect position. My comrades had prepared everything in advance, and they are prone to anger when things don't go as planned. You would have suffered the same fate as the Grand Duke, I was about to do it, but at the last minute, I just couldn't.”

“So that is why your face seemed so familiar”, the Grand Duchess murmurs, opening her eyes wide in realization. 

“It was you I saw in that carriage, you and the children”, Ivan explains, “not him, and I couldn’t do it.” 

The unexpected revelation of this small act of mercy renews Elizabeth's hope for the manʼs redemption. There is still light beneath the darkness of his anger. She can't help but reflect on the fact he is still a human being, a human being who was once an innocent child, that something in his past might have turned him into the man he is today. 

“I am very grateful for the risk you took to spare me and my young wards”, she says, and he nods. “But you still murdered people.” Ivan rolls his eyes. “And not only my husband”, Ella ignores his contempt, “but also Andrei, the coachman. He was an innocent man. If you can not repent for what you did to my husband then at least repent for what you did to him.”

“Collateral damage”, Ivan shrugs. “Thousands are dying in Siberia fighting the Tsarʼs war as we speak.”

Elizabeth stares at him with a sad expression. “I am aware this may be of no consequence to you, but I still want you to know that my husband would have forgiven you.”

He looks away, shaking his head and smirking.

“I want to help you”, Elizabeth persists. 

“They will hang me, and there is nothing you can do about it. I would ask you to care instead for the thousands crying out for help right now, but nothing will change for them until the whole autocracy is overthrown.”

 “Violence is not the answer”, she says.

“There is no other answer when the people most affected by the governmentʼs policies have no voice to speak up against them, the Tsar makes sure of that. No votes, no elected government, no way to express your grievances without fearing repercussions… but there is no point in talking about this with you. You will never understand, not when your place in life depends on rooting against everything I stand up for.”

“I didn’t come here to discuss our different political views, I came to understand your motives, and now I think I do. I also came because Jesus taught us to love our enemies, and He loves you as well. Do not listen to your pride. Repent... and I will beg the sovereign to give you your life. I will ask him for you. I myself have already forgiven you.”

“I don’t want the pardon of Bloody Nicholas. He is the one who should be begging on his knees for the people’s pardon after the ills they have endured under his yoke.” 

“For your own sake, not for mine, I beg you to repent of this hatred and anger”, the Grand Duchess urges him.

“No!" Kalyayev yells. “I do not repent. I must die for my deed and I will... I want to. My death will be more useful to the cause than Sergei Alexandrovich's death. Others will rise to take my place.”

Elizabeth doesn't respond to that, simply handing him the Bible and icon she brought to the prison. Ivan looks down and reluctantly accepts them. “I am sorry for your grief,” he says sympathetically, “but I don’t regret what I did. It is the simple truth. I am, in fact, proud of it. If I could go back in time, I would do the exact same thing again.”

Ella stands up to leave, and the guard outside opens the cell door for her, but before walking through, she directs one last glance at the assassin. “I will pray for you,” she promises him.

Not long after Elizabethʼs visit, Kalyayev was sentenced to death and hanged. 

“I am pleased with your sentence”, he told the judges. “I hope that you will carry it out just as openly and publicly as I carried out the sentence of the Socialist Revolutionary Party. Learn to look the advancing revolution right in the face.”

Oo

Elizabeth spent the days before the burial in ceaseless prayer. On her husband's tombstone, she wrote: 'Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.'

The experience of losing her husband in such a violent manner would change Elizabethʼs life dramatically. The happy, irrepressible girl who had guided her small, motherless sister Alix to marry Nicholas, fended off the attentions of Wilhelm II, and skated and danced with Tsesarevich Nicholas was gone. She disappeared, becoming instead more dedicated to philanthropy than ever, her gentle, saintly qualities strongly coming forward. Ella would start visiting Moscowʼs slums and poorer districts, selling her jewels and building hospitals and schools for the people, especially the children living in the streets. 

Nicholas and Alexandra weren’t able to go to the funeral, as their lives were believed to be at risk of another attempt. This was mortifying to Alix, who had longed to be there for her sister. But the imperial couple’s advisors were being prudent, for violence was spreading to every corner of Russia as the months went by.

“It makes me sick to read the news,” Nicholas wrote, “strikes in schools and factories, murdered policemen, Cossacks, riots. But the ministers instead of acting with quick decision, only assemble in council like a lot of frightened hens and cackle about providing united ministerial action.”

Bloody Sunday had sparked a revolution. A storm of mutiny swept across the ships remaining in the Baltic and Black Sea. Angered over being served portions of bad meat, the sailors of the battleship Potemkin threw their officers overboard, raised the red flag, and steamed their ship along the Black Sea coast, bombarding coasts all the way to Odessa’s harbor, where the mutineers tried rallying the workers. 

When news of the Potemkin revolt reached Nicholas II, he ordered his military to quash the mutiny at all costs. “Each hour of delay may cost rivers of blood in the future”, he said.

Odessa swelled with protesting workers, many of them urging the Potemkin’s crew to help them take over the city. They began to riot and set buildings on fire. Following the Tsarʼs orders, the city’s military garrison began firing on them as Cossack guards cut through the crowd with their sabers. Around 1,000 Odessans lost their lives, and a mutiny on the battleship of St. George followed.

As this was happening, the British press continued to advocate loudly that the Royal Navy prevent German steamers from coaling the Russian warships, having done so incessantly since the Russians accidentally killed two of their fishermen. This was driving Kaiser Wilhelm mad.  

“I agree fully with your complaints about England’s behavior”, Nicholas had written to his German cousin regarding the matter. “It is certainly high time to put a stop to this. The only way, as you say, would be that Germany, Russia and France should at once unite to abolish Anglo-Japanese arrogance and insolence. Would you like to lay down and frame the outlines of such a treaty? As soon as it is accepted by us, France is bound to join as an ally.”

The summer of 1905, Wilhelm telegraphed Nicholas in secret and invited him to come as a tourist to a rendezvous at sea. Nicholas agreed, leaving Peterhof one afternoon without taking any of his ministers. 

Kaiser Wilhelm and Tsar Nicholas’s imperial yachts, the German Hohenzollern and the Russian Standart respectively, sailed to Björkö on the coast of Finland, where the two sovereigns had dinner together. The next morning, Wilhelm reached into his pocket and showed Nicholas the draft of a treaty signifying an alliance between Russia and Germany. 

“In case one of the two Empires is attacked by a European Power, his ally will help it in Europe with all its land and sea forces”, said the first article.

“High Contracting Parties undertake not to conclude separate peace with any common adversary”, was the second.

The third article made it clear that the treaty would enter into force as soon as the war between Russia and Japan ended, and the fourth agreed that France was to be told only after Russia and Germany had signed and then invited to join. 

“That is quite excellent”, Nicholas said upon reading Wilhelmʼs proposal. “I agree.”

“Should you like to sign it,” the Kaiser replied casually, holding back his almost girlish excitement, “it would be a very nice souvenir of our interview.” Nicholas did sign.

“Oh!” Wilhelm exclaimed with tears of joy. “I am sure that all of our mutual ancestors are looking down on us from heaven in ecstatic approval!”

But when the two sovereigns returned to their respective capitals, both of them received unpleasant responses to what they thought had been a brilliant geopolitical move. The German Chancellor Von Bülow criticized the treaty as useless to Germany and threatened to resign. 

“The morning after the arrival of your letter of resignation would no longer find your Emperor alive”, the hysterical Kaiser wrote to Bülow in a melodramatic letter. “Think of my poor wife and children.” 

Russian Foreign Minister Lamsdorf was aghast and could not believe his eyes and ears. 

“The French alliance”, he pointed out to Nicholas, “is the cornerstone of Russian foreign policy. It cannot be lightly thrown aside. France will never join an alliance with Germany, and Russia can not join such an alliance without first consulting France.”

Wilhelm was eventually informed that the treaty could not be honored as written. 

“Your ally notoriously left you in the lurch during the whole war, whereas Germany helped you in every way”, the Kaiser wrote to the Tsar imploring him to reconsider. “We joined hands and signed before God who heard our vows. What is signed is signed! God is our testator!” 

The Björkö treaty was, nonetheless, never invoked again, and the private Willy-Nicky correspondence would gradually dwindle away too. Nicholas was beginning to reckon that Wilhelmʼs attempts at bringing Russia and Germany closer and advocating for the Russian Empireʼs Asian expansion had been mainly self-serving in nature. 

From then on, the Kaiser’s influence over the Tsar faded rapidly, and so did that of his uncles Vladimir and Alexei after Sergeiʼs passing. After ten years of reign and countless adversities, Nicholas was starting to think for himself. In August, Nicholas signed a manifesto creating the Duma, a sort of parliament that worked in a way which did not conflict with the principle of autocratic power, as the Tsar could still issue laws without its approval. He was developing his own style of ruling, which was neither good nor bad, but it was, for once, his.

But the Tsarʼs eyes had been opened way too late. The strikes and riots continued, and partially as a result of this breakdown of law and order, ancient conflicts had broken out throughout the ethnically diverse parts of the Empire, including vicious pogroms against the Russian Jews and clashes ending up in brutal massacres between Armenians and Caucasian Tatars all over the Russian Caucasus. 

The political assassinations targeting policemen and government officials went on, as did the bombings. In several cities, revolutionaries put up barricades and fired into the streets from houses. 

The war with Japan kept raging on and Russia was losing. After the disastrous Battle of Tsushima, Nicholas reluctantly recognized that Russia no longer had a chance of winning the war and sent Sergei Witte to America. The Tsar hoped his statesman would make the best of an upcoming peace conference that President Theodore Roosevelt had offered to mediate. 

“When a sewer has to be cleaned, they send for Witte,” the minister grumbled. “But as soon as work of a cleaner and nicer kind appears, plenty of other candidates spring up.”

The greatest Empire on Earth had been subdued by an island, but despite his initial embarrassment regarding the whole situation, Sergei crossed the Atlantic on a German liner, giving the image of an undismayed representative of a mighty nation which had simply become temporarily involved in a slight difficulty. 

He was met with a tricky challenge, as the Americans, fruits of rebellion themselves and thus prone to romanticizing whoever seemed like the smallest underdog, were filled with admiration for the “plucky little Japs.”

Not a quitter, Witte succeeded in changing the American public opinion, gradually winning their press over by treating all those he encountered with utmost simplicity. When traveling or dining, whether on special trains, government motorcars, or steamers, Witte thanked everyone, talked and shook hands with the waiters and engineers, and made jokes. Sergei treated everybody equally and took advantage of his charisma to stir the Americans against Japanʼs cause.

The formal and reserved Japanese, on the other hand, rather avoided the press, slowly ceasing to arouse as much sympathy among the extroverted Americans. 

Sergei Witte’s negotiations were relatively successful. Roosevelt decided to support the Tsar's refusal to pay indemnities, but Russia had to recognize Korea as part of the Japanese sphere of influence and agree to evacuate Manchuria. The Russian Empire was also forced to sign over its 25-year leasehold rights to Port Arthur, losing their only and highly valued ice-free harbor. It could have been much worse, however, as many Japanese had expected the war to end with Russia ceding the Russian Far East to Japan owing to the islandʼs success in every battle on land and sea.

The Treaty of Portsmouth was signed on the 5th of September, 1905, putting an end to the Russo-Japanese War. Emperor Nicholas II was so grateful to Sergei Witte that he bestowed upon him the rank of count in spite of his and Alexandraʼs personal feelings for him, which were not too friendly. 

Although the war had been a bloody failure, the Tsar refused to allow the official record to whitewash anything. 

“The work must be based exclusively on the bare facts”, he said. “We have nothing to silence, since more blood has been shed than necessary. Heroism is worthy to be noted on an equal footing with failures. It is, without exception, necessary to aim at recording the historic truth inviolably."

Nicholas could now focus on the many troubles afflicting his Empire, which were many. In Moscow, the bakers were on strike, as were the plumbers, the locksmiths, the tram conductors and the print workers. The newspapers did not come out, making what was happening in the ancient capital all the more mysterious to the government of St. Petersburg.

The appalled Nicholas was mostly ignorant of the underlying causes of the uprising. He had most definitely heard of them, but the safety concerns hadn’t allowed him to visit any slums to see for himself what the people were so angry about, and neither had he thought it necessary to do so in order to understand the nation’s situation better. The main fault, he truly believed, lay with the radicals stirring up the people against their Tsar and thus making it harder for him to help them. 

The fatalistic Nicholas felt as if he were being led by outside factors he had no control over, and in some ways he was right, having inherited centuries of accumulated problems from his ancestors. Whether fate or God's will, the challenge he was facing was bigger than himself. A man of limited imagination, the solutions he implemented were conventional and traditional. He didn't know what to do except hope and pray that the police and the army would successfully deal with the violent uprising as they had done back when the Decembrists stood up to his great-grandfather Nicholas I.

More than looking at the advancing revolution right in the face, uncovering its allure in order to compete with it, Nicholas left everything in the hands of providence, seeking answers from self-proclaimed seers such as Gérard Anaclet Vincent Encausse, whose esoteric pseudonym was “Papus.”

Encausse served the Tsar and Tsarina as a mediumistic spiritual advisor. But Nicholas and Alexandra’s trust in the supernatural turned out to be too much even for the eccentric Papus, who literally made a living out of peopleʼs credulity. Encausse was, in fact, curiously concerned, and he went as far as warning the imperial couple about their heavy reliance on occultism to assist them in deciding questions of government.

As the situation in Russia deteriorated, several ministers started suggesting that the Tsar grant the people more liberties along with a constitution, but Nicholas refused to back down. The only thing that could compete with his love for his family was his love for Russia, and he expressed that love in a very possessive way. His conscience cried that it was his responsibility.

Russia’s “Holy Mission” in Asia had nevertheless ended, the Empireʼs very existence at risk. In the middle of a revolution and humiliated by the Japanese “monkeys,” the Russian giant staggered back toward Europe. While sorry for his relative as he watched the events unfold, the Kaiser was not exactly displeased. With a sullen, defeated army, no navy and a disillusioned, embittered people, the once imposing Russian Empire was no longer a neighbor to fear. Wilhelm soothed Nicholas, reminding him that even Frederick the Great and Napoleon had suffered defeats, and hoping to remain on good terms with him, he bragged about the loyalty he had shown to Russia by guarding its frontier in Europe during the war with Japan from his own ally, Austria. 

Throughout the many catastrophes of 1905, the imperial family has been kept safe and cocooned at either Tsarskoye Selo or Peterhof, granting Nicholas some peace of mind despite feeling deeply ashamed of hiding as his Empire collapses, unable to leave his own home due to security concerns. 

Oo

The four little Grand Duchesses have kept playing and rolling in the Alexander Parkʼs green grass unbothered, only Olga slightly suspicious that something is wrong. They were informed about what happened to their uncle in the most undetailed and child-friendly of manners, being made to understand that some very bad people were currently on the loose. The eldestʼs many questions haven't yet been answered.

Fortunately for Nicholas and Alexandra, who are in no rush to expose Olga to the complexities of Russia's current situation, baby Alexei has provided the little Grand Duchesses with a huge and pleasant distraction, although the girls’ innocence makes drawing their attention away from everything that troubles Nicholas an easy task for the parents.

The day Maria turned six, Alix took the children to a Moleben service of intercession. Later, at 3 o’clock, Nicholas and his family celebrated the birthday with a little picnic in Ropsha, a palace south of Peterhof. They walked around the park, explored the palace, and drank some tea on the terrace. The children had a good time as Olga and Tatiana took turns carrying Alexei to show him the flowers of the garden or trying to teach him how to walk.

The Tsarevich is growing into a handsome little boy with blue eyes and golden curls. From the beginning, he has been a happy, high-spirited infant. Nicholas still fails to miss an opportunity to show him off. When the baby was only a few months old, the Tsar met with the Director of the Court Chancellery A. A. Mosolov just outside the nursery. 

“I don’t think that you have yet seen my dear little Tsarevich,” Nicholas said. “Come along and I will show him to you.” 

Mosolov followed the Tsar to the nursery washroom, where the baby was being given his daily bath, lustily kicking out in the water. The Tsar took the child out of his bath towels and put his little feet on the hollow of his hand, supporting him with the other arm. The director smiled. There was the little heir, naked, chubby, rosy, a wonderful boy!

“Don’t you think he’s a beauty?” Nicholas beamed before going on to talk to Mossolov about his son’s strong constitution. “His legs”, said the proud father, “are in good proportion with his body. And best of all, what lovely ‘bracelets’ he has on his wrists and ankles! He’s well nourished!”

The spring following his birth, Alix took Alexei for rides on her carriage and was delighted to see the people along the road bowing and smiling before the tiny heir, who is developing into an incredibly happy baby who cackles as often and contagiously as his older sister Anastasia did. Now both of them do so together when the four-year-old makes funny faces at him. 

Maria loves caressing baby Alexeiʼs tummy, also shaking him lightly whenever one of the nannies leaves him lying on a big cushion nearby so that the girls can play with him supervised. These innocent displays of affection make the baby giggle at his devoted sister, who also enjoys receiving him in her arms with a hug when he tries to crawl to her, something the smiling Alexei seems to find comforting and amusing as well. 

Whenever the imperial family sails on the Standart yacht, Tatiana will carry Alexei around on deck and show him the horizon. The eight-year-old girl can tell the baby loves the sea as much as she does, and he makes the sweetest happy little noises when she smiles down at him.

Nicholas records almost every single little thing his greatest comfort does in his diary.

He behaved well during a Christmas party for officers that all of the imperial children attended. In February, he grew his first tooth, and later that same month he had a high fever with a cough. He got better in March and is constantly doing sweet things. 

Alexei behaved as well as his sisters when their Uncle Heinrich and Aunt Irene visited. He sometimes conducts himself properly at church as well, taking communion and kissing the cross with great enthusiasm. 

On the 30th of July according to the old calendar, the "little treasure" celebrated his first birthday receiving a deputation of the Ataman regiment, which brought him an icon. Already curious about the military menʼs uniforms, the child climbed into the arms of the sergeant. On October 10th, the baby heir received a deputation of ten people from the Moscow Voluntary Guard, who touchingly wished to see Alix and the little one. They achieved their goal. 

Oo

Olga and Tatiana needed a new French tutor, and Alexandra would soon find the perfect candidate. 

Pierre Gilliard was born on 16 May 1879 in Fiez, a French-speaking municipality in Switzerland. The slim 26-year-old has a round face, dark brown hair, a mustache the same color, and a matching triangle-shaped goatee.

Having become a French teacher at a fairly young age, the elegant Pierre Gilliard is often dressed in suit and tie with a fedora hat topping his head. He traveled to Russia in 1904 to serve as a French tutor to the family of Duke George of Leuchtenberg, a cousin of Emperor Nicholas II and grandchild of Nicholas I.

Pierre stayed at the Duke’s small estate on the shores of the Black Sea, where he was greatly surprised by the tragic events of 1905 as he heard people discussing Bloody Sunday, the much nearer revolt of the Black Sea Fleet, the bombardment of the coast, the series of pogroms, and the violent acts of repression which followed. For a young apolitical man from a small democratic nation, this has all been shockingly ghastly. The vast Russia has been introduced to him under a terrible and menacing aspect.

At the beginning of June, the family of Duke George of Leuchtenberg took up their residence in the attractive Villa Sergievskaya Datcha at Peterhof, where seeing the Great Palace from afar made Pierre think of Versailles.

Tsarina Alexandra and the Duchess of Leuchtenberg were close friends who visited each other often, so Gilliard was able to get occasional glimpses of members of the imperial family while tutoring for that of Duke George of Leuchtenberg. This was all, at the beginning, fairly exciting for the modest Swiss educator, who came from a small village. 

The day came when the Dukeʼs family recommended Pierre Gilliard to the Empress, who trusted their advice. He would stay as tutor to his pupil and at the same time teach French to the Grand Duchesses Olga Nikolaevna and Tatiana Nikolaevna. 

After a short visit to Switzerland, Pierre returned to Peterhof in the early days of September, and on the day appointed for his first lesson, a royal carriage came to take him to Alexandria Cottage, the relatively small mansion where the Tsar and his family were then residing. 

Gilliard learned for the first time ever just how sheltered and protected the Romanovs were in their gilded cage. Despite the orders regarding his arrival, the Swiss citizen was stopped at the park gates by the guards. Several minutes of discussion followed before he was allowed to go through. 

Pierre was then escorted to a soberly furnished small room on the second floor of the building, where he waited for a few minutes before the door opened and the Tsarina came in, holding her daughters Olga and Tatiana by the hand. 

“Monsieur Gilliard!” She greeted him with a smile. “I have heard only good things about you!”

After a few more pleasant remarks, she sat down at the table and invited him to take a seat on the opposite side, the children sitting at each end.

Pierre couldn't help but notice that the Tsarina was still a very beautiful woman. He unintentionally blushed at the thought. She was tall and slender, carrying herself superbly. Then he looked into her gray-blue eyes and saw in them the emotions of a sensitive soul. From then on, he could only think of her as an unreachable mother figure, wiser than her years.

The educatorʼs eyes met next with those of nine-year-old Olga, who surprised him by pulling her tongue out at him while her mother wasn't looking. She was a very fair girl with sparkling, mischievous eyes and a slightly retroussé nose. Amused by Pierreʼs startled reaction, Olga smirked playfully, pleased with herself.

She continued to examine her new teacher with a look which to him appeared to be searching for the weak point in his armor, something that could set him off. There was, however, something so pure and frank about the child that the man could not despise her for it. She liked her straight off.

The second girl, Tatiana, was eight and a half. She had auburn hair, and Pierre thought her prettier than her sister, but the shyness he was unaware of also gave him the impression that she was less transparent, frank, and spontaneous.

When the lesson began, the Tsarina stayed to listen to and observe everything the new Swiss teacher said and did. 

Pierre Gilliard was amazed and even embarrassed by this. I am not giving a lesson, he thought in dismay. I am the one undergoing an examination! He had not imagined the Tsarina would care so deeply about her daughtersʼ education.

To crown his discomfort, Olga and Tatiana were much less advanced than he had assumed they would be, and in consequence, the exercises he had selected for the girls proved to be far too difficult for them. Turning red, Pierre had to improvise his lesson and resort to expedients. 

Throughout the following weeks, the Tsarina remained present at the children's French lessons, in which she took visible interest. When the girls left the classroom, she would often discuss with Gilliard the best means and methods of teaching modern languages, surprising him with the shrewd good sense of her views.

On a late October day, however, the Tsarina remained sitting on a low chair looking out the window, instantly striking the French tutor as absent-minded and preoccupied. Her face betrayed her inward agitation, and although she made several noticeable efforts to concentrate her attention on her childrenʼs lessons, she always relapsed into melancholy. Her needlework slipped from her fingers to her lap, her gaze lost and indifferent to the things happening around her.

Pierre had made a practice of shutting his book when the lessons were over and waiting until the Tsarina rose as a signal for him to retire, but that day, distracted, she did not move for minutes, up to a quarter of an hour. Not wanting to be impolite, Pierre kept reading. It was only when one of the bored Grand Duchesses went up to Alexandra that she became aware of the time.

Two days later, Pierre would deduce what had caused the Tsarinaʼs apprehension. The October Manifesto was about to be signed.

Oo

By mid-October, all of Russia was paralyzed by a general strike. From the Urals to the European regions of the Empire, trains stopped running, factories closed down, and ships lay idle alongside piers. Food was no longer being delivered in St.Petersburg, where the schools and hospitals had closed, the newspapers had disappeared, and even the electric lights had started flickering out.

Crowds marched through the streets cheering orators, and red flags flew from the rooftops. Crime had skyrocketed, so the nights were empty, dangerous, and dark. 

The peasants raided estates and stole cattle throughout the countryside. Overnight, a new type of workers’ organization bloomed, becoming numerous. These councils called themselves the “Soviets” and consisted of elected delegates, one for every thousand workers. 

When the Soviets threatened to wreck every factory that refused to participate in strikes by closing down, companies of soldiers were brought into the city. 

Liberals and conservatives fought amongst themselves as the government struggled to decide what to do. Everyone knew the final decision, whether good or bad, would be the Tsar’s, whose hands were arguably already stained with blood.

“So the ominous quiet days began”, Emperor Nicholas II wrote to his mother at the height of the crisis. “Complete order in the streets, but at the same time everybody knew that something was going to happen. The troops were waiting for the signal but the other side would not begin. One had the same feeling as before a thunderstorm in summer. Everybody was on edge and extremely nervous. Through all those horrible days I constantly met with Witte. We very often met in the early morning to part only in the evening when night fell. There were only two ways open. One, to find an energetic soldier to crush the rebellion by sheer force.” 

Nicholas still was, in many ways, the same man he had been upon assuming the throne. Well-intentioned. Detached from his peopleʼs reality. Not very imaginative. He would do whatever was required to keep the peace, even if this ended up costing lives. 

“There would be time to breathe then”, his letter continued, “but as likely as not, one would have to use force again in a few months, and that would mean rivers of blood and in the end we should be where we started.” 

But ironically enough, the man countless people now called “Bloody” Nicholas dreaded the thought of “rivers of blood” flowing through his cities. He was not willing to consciously and deliberately sacrifice lives, at least not with the pre-planning or calculation attributed to him. 

“The other way out would be to give to the people their civil rights, freedom of speech and press, also to have all laws confirmed by a state Duma—that of course would be a constitution”, he finally admitted. “Witte defends this energetically. He says that, while it is not without risk, it is the only way out at the present moment. Almost everybody I had an opportunity of consulting is of the same opinion.”

More pressure was put on Nicholas when the potential constitution was vehemently endorsed by Grand Duke Nicholas Nikolaevich, his six-foot-six-inch cousin and the man in command of the St. Petersburg Military District. The Grand Duke objected to the idea of becoming military dictator so strongly that he brandished the revolver in his holster and shouted: “If the Emperor does not accept the Witte program, if he wants to force me to become dictator, I shall kill myself in his presence with this revolver. We must support Witte at all costs. It is necessary for the good of Russia.” 

Nicholas had little choice. His self-confidence was at an all-time low. On the 8th of October, the Grand Duke Cyril Vladimirovich had secretly married Ducky against church custom by the beautiful German lake of Tegernsee. Nicholas couldn't even control his own family, let alone his Empire. Perhaps Witte was right. Perhaps, he thought without much certainty, liberals like Mirsky were right all along. 

“Witte put it to me quite clearly that he would accept the Presidency of the Council of Ministers only on condition that his program was agreed to and his action not interfered with”, Nicholas reached the conclusion of his letter. “He… drew up the Manifesto. We discussed it for two days and in the end, invoking God’s help, I signed it. My only consolation is that such is the will of God and this grave decision will lead my dear Russia out of the intolerable chaos she has been in for nearly a year.”

The Imperial Manifesto was issued on October 30, 1905, transforming Russia from an absolute autocracy into a semi-constitutional monarchy. This document promised “freedom of conscience, speech, assembly, and association” to the Russian people. It also granted an elected parliament, the Duma, and pledged that “no law may go into force without the consent of the State Duma.” 

But the Tsar was not willing to forsake his power, which to him was God granted. He made sure to retain his prerogative over defense and foreign affairs and the sole power to appoint and dismiss ministers. 

This was not enough for Alexandra, whose worst fear had come true. Her sonʼs inheritance, his full birthright, had been cruelly snatched away from him, not by plotters in court circles, but by traitorous ministers.

Chapter Text

The Tsar wants to improve Russia's economic situation, but due to the country's backwardness in relation to Europe and advisors who insist that sacrifices must be made for the sake of progress, his efforts have had the side effect of further increasing the burdens of the peasants and industrial workers. The Minister of Finance, the now Count Witte, has worked with the Tsar to base Russian currency on the gold standard, finance the construction of the Trans-Siberian Railroad, and accelerate the growth of Russian industry through subsidies to industrialists. This forced the government to increase the taxes among all classes, placing an additional burden on the lower class, which had already been struggling.

The average yearly wage for a Russian man at the turn of the 20th century was 188 rubles, or less than 95 dollars, while the average American worker in 1900 earned 490 dollars. Russian women were paid half as much, and children earned a third of this.

The working day averaged eleven to fourteen hours, but this did not include overtime work, which workers were frequently compelled to undertake either by lack of money to support themselves and their families or by pressure from the factory managers.

What has driven Stephen to work extra hours is Gleb. His hope for the future.

The working and sanitary conditions where he works are deplorable, but the worst part is being further degraded by the frequent searches for illegal literature, weapons, or stolen parts and tools both at the factories and inside their own living quarters, where they should supposedly be allowed their little free time in peace. One of these impromptu searches through the Vaganovs' flat took place early in 1905, terrifying Gleb, who was convinced he was about to become an orphan.

Fines for inefficiency continue to present another form of degradation to the workers, also making their pitiable earnings even smaller. The workers' living quarters, often provided by the company they work for, are badly built, crowded, unsanitary, and expensive.

Making matters worse, the turn of the century was marked by an economic crisis that forced many workers to return to their native villages while the poverty of those who remained increased. With Gleb in school, Stephen could not afford to go back to his wife's village. Besides, he had a mission.

The harsh conditions in which the workers found themselves made them a dissatisfied class vulnerable to revolutionary propaganda, their concentration in large industrial areas making agitation among them much easier, and although the propagandists themselves didn't like to admit this, there was one more reason why the workers were the most targeted: They were usually just literate enough to absorb new ideas while also ignorant and gullible enough to radically and uncritically accept all of them as long as they offered solutions to their hardships.

The people's grievances have never been enough to spark a revolution though. Previous uprisings have been poorly led, but this is the twentieth century, and there is a class in Russia willing and able to provide the restless masses with much needed leadership and organization. The intelligentsia. Students and professional men such as doctors, lawyers, professors, and engineers, although the term can also include anyone who has had a middle school education and is aware of the new ideas through the reading of books and newspapers. Most of the intelligentsia seeks to improve Russia through peaceful means, scientific discovery, and economic reform, but organized opposition to the autocracy carried out by parties has also arisen, among them the Socialist Revolutionaries and the Bolsheviks who, since the news of Russia's many defeats started coming from the front, have increased their propaganda and agitation among all classes, but particularly the armed forces.

The January massacre didn't take Stephen's party by surprise. While they saw Father Gapon's walkout as an opportunity to increase proletarian solidarity and thus spread numerous leaflets throughout St. Petersburg calling all workers to support and join the general strike, the Bolsheviks did not entirely approve of the spontaneous movement of the workers of St. Petersburg. They saw Gapon as a bourgeois adventurist, at best a well-meaning idealist who was drawing the masses away from the revolutionary movement.

The Bolsheviks could not afford to stay aloof from a movement which could reach the proportions of a general strike, but they considered all attempts to petition the Tsar futile and warned the people that they could only win liberty by their own efforts and not as a gift from a tyrant. Knowing that the police would take action against the crowd, they attended the march with red banners, ready to use any ensuing violence as an opportunity for anti-tsarist agitation.

What happened next wasn't surprising for many Bolsheviks, but it was shocking to most people nonetheless. Fourteen-year-old Gleb Stephanovich Vaganov cried when he heard of the massacre. He couldn't help it. Bloody Sunday had taken the lives of hundreds of men, women, and children. He couldn't stop thinking about what it might have been like to be there, being stabbed or shot at before that palace. The fear and terror of those children…

"Snap out of it, boy!" The no-nonsense Stephan exclaimed to his sensitive son as they sat at the table reading the newspapers the Monday morning following the tragic events. "What did you even think was going to happen? Stop whining and think about what we can do with this!"

Having paced and cried for hours in a self-soothing manner, Gleb did as he was told, renewed anger and hatred for the man responsible for such horror, Tsar Nicholas II, pushing him to set aside his apprehension and speak before the whole school during recess, stirring up the students and causing them to express their outrage about the government's actions by refusing to attend class for weeks. They could not expel all of them, and Gleb couldn't be the scapegoat, not when several of his friends and numerous older students had spoken out in similar ways.

The change in routine and the stomach-turning fear of doing something as embarrassing and socially dangerous as speaking his mind out loud without his father to endorse him would have been hell for Gleb without Feodosia's support.

"It will be fine", she would tell him during his now daily visits to her house. "The teachers are the ones who will have to worry about going through the whole curriculum, not you."

Smart, mature, and knowledgeable about the party's inner workings, Feodosia makes Gleb long to impress her, so much so that he borrowed several books from the gymnasium library without permission in order to read them aloud with her. He has always known that his school administration is made up of elitists who deserve nothing less, but only recently has he dared act on his long-held beliefs. Gleb is bolder around her. She makes him bolder.

"You have nothing to be ashamed of", she tells Gleb about his speeches before he makes them public. "I know what! Let's go break another factory manager's window!"

Throughout the early months of 1905, Gleb has spent his free time throwing anti-war propaganda leaflets at the soldiers passing by, Feodosia often joining him. The police are less likely to give youngsters harsh sentences for doing so, and the party knows this.

Also by Gleb's side have been his friends Peter, Leonid, Alexander, and Pavel, although this is not a common occurrence. The boysʼ parents are not fully aware of the political proclivities of their sons' newest friend. Peter is nevertheless becoming more involved than ever. Gleb even started lending him books after he promised to keep them well hidden while at home.

Gleb has also made a new friend. He had always wanted to talk to Sergei Pavlovich Ivanov, a boy his age who works at the same metallurgical plant where the Vaganovs labor, but only recently has his newfound confidence allowed him to make acquaintance with him and the other boys of the workplace.

Gleb has even befriended and recruited thirteen-year-old Yakov, Mr. Zeldovich's oldest grandchild. The child has often recalled to Gleb the terrible way in which his family and people have been treated by the Tsarist police and soldiers. Always with suspicion, always with disdain. The Zeldovich family moved out of the Pale of Settlement during the reign of Alexander II, but they are still in contact with their relatives living back there. They are dirt poor despite working every day like beasts due to the many restrictions the government imposes on them, and the little they have is often threatened by brutal pogroms. Despite being brighter than most youngsters, none of Yakov's older cousins has managed to get into a university due to the quotas restricting the percentage of Jewish students allowed.

Yakov cannot deal with the unfairness of it all nor his father and grandfather's quiet acceptance of such injustice. The boy is worried sick about the possibility that his family may find out what he is up to though. If they did, they would surely disown him.

Now an official party member who is sometimes even assigned tasks, the fourteen-year-old Gleb has gradually assembled several of these friends and acquaintances and founded a Young Workers and Students' Revolutionary Organization, which may become a battle brigade if a fight breaks out. A committee was elected, and despite the fact Feodosia was the one who gathered the members of the group with her superior social skills almost single-handedly, Gleb was made the chairman. He accepts Bolsheviks, Mensheviks, Socialist Revolutionaries, anarchists, and anyone willing to stand up against the Tsarist regime.

Being too young to play much larger roles, Feodosia, Gleb, and their youth committee friends and acquaintances spend most of their sessions discussing Marxism, although when Sergei's older brother Ivan got mobilized, the group did not waste the opportunity to invite him to one of their meetings and coach him to talk some sense into the other reservists.

"The war is being fought to increase the profits of Russia's capitalists", Gleb told the soldier, "who in the meantime saddle the Russian people with the burden or hardship, casualties, and taxes.

"The Tsar is the people's worst enemy, not the Japanese or whoever he decides to turn you against tomorrow. If you should turn your weapons against anyone, that is him. Talk to you comrades, tell them to join the Russian people in their struggle for a democratic republic!"

A few weeks later, Gleb felt a great sense of satisfaction when he learned that there had been a huge mutiny among the soldiers of Ivan's regiment, impeding its mobilization. No weapons were turned against the Tsar though, at least not then.

Oo

The uprising on the battleship "Potemkin" of the Black Sea Fleet was one of the greatest acts of rebellion that took place during the war, but despite its strict and sometimes even sadistic superior officers, for the most part, the Russian army and navy remained loyal throughout the Empire, and the vast majority of its disciplinary problems consisted of refusals to obey orders rather than active resistance to the government.

All of this still had a huge effect on the people's overall morale and respect for authority.

Oo

From the Swiss city of Geneva, Lenin, his wife Nadezhda, and other Bolshevik exiles received the news of "Bloody Sunday" with emotion, weeping not necessarily from sorrow, as they knew that a revolution would surely begin after such a violent act.

The following week, Lenin wrote several articles instructing his party to arm and organize the proletarian masses and to obtain the support of the army.

"You went to the Tsar to obtain your rights and were met with rifles and gunfire, blows by spears, and sharp swords!" The Bolshevik agitators exclaimed everywhere. "You begged for bread and work and he welcomed you with a hot lead. Didn't we Social Democrats tell you that you would get nothing from the blood-sucking Tsar? Didn't we tell you that he is not a friend but an enemy of the people and does not concern himself with the good of the people but with the good of his mistresses and attendants?"

Stephen's factory went on strike, in no small part due to these words, which he cried out with such passion that several of his previously unconvinced coworkers burst into tears.

Even the fourteen-year-old Gleb was given short assignments distributing propaganda and speaking to the workers of several smaller local factories and workshops, occasionally attracting considerable crowds. He would later disappear into the night as fast as he had arrived.

"Gather around our red banner!" He exclaimed. "Rise. Go down the streets and see that work is stopped everywhere. Down with the Tsar! Down with the autocracy! Long live the constituent assembly!"

Gleb had never felt as happy as he did when the crowd cheered for him, or more importantly, the revolution, the mere thought of which has come to fill him with overwhelming joy. People sharing, workers earning a fair share of what they labored to produce, children growing to be adults…

The boy has discovered his own love for public speaking. He is a completely different person when he engages in it. Proud, passionate, and fearless. No trace of the boy he used to be, the boy who is locked up within the confines of his own mind and becomes easily stressed by bright lights, uncomfortable sensations, and strange sounds. The boy who flaps his hands and repeats words he finds soothing to alleviate this discomfort. That boy comes out only at home now, and the socially acceptable persona he has fully pieced together is who he exhibits to the world.

That filtered persona doesn't draw stares unless that is what is needed. It is not reproached for being distracting, weird, or annoying. When this Gleb is in public, he is careful to mind the way he stands and what he does with his hands. He keeps an eye on his public's reaction to his every word and action, trying not to fidget.

This isn't easy for Gleb, but it is better than loneliness, or being unable to help the cause he is so passionate about.

Oo

Turning a series of strikes into a revolution was proving harder for the Bolsheviks than they had expected. The strikes continued, but some of the workers preferred to keep laboring and thus stay out of trouble. Some others appeared to be slightly confused as far as politics were concerned. They shouted revolutionary slogans and yet also petitioned the government. Added to all of this was the party's rivalry with the Anarchists, the Mensheviks, and the Socialist-Revolutionary movement.

In fact, the great majority of the workers ignored political issues, seeking only to improve their economic condition.

Arming the workers hasn't been easy either. Rifles and revolvers which could be smuggled into the country or stolen from gun shops are rare. The Socialist-Revolutionaries make bombs for the workers, but most are armed with daggers or home-made lances.

Furthermore, the police are not completely incompetent. Apartments serving as Bolshevik meeting places are frequently raided, its many leaflets stored there destroyed.

By late February, it had fallen on Stephen to illegally smuggle weapons into the country for his party cell in Ekaterinburg, only visiting his family and taking other missions sporadically. Most of the time, Gleb doesn't know where his father has been sent, as his mission is very secretive.

The strike movement has nevertheless threatened to die out in part due to the Tsar's attempts to create a committee to improve the workers' conditions. Despite being firmly against this, the Bolsheviks didn't attempt to sabotage the elections for fear of antagonizing the workers, who supported the initiative.

Bolshevik orators and pamphlets were quick to point out that the Tsar was only trying to fool the people, but despite managing to bring about many walkouts, they failed to produce a general strike.

The early 1905 disorders were nonetheless disruptive enough to cause a commotion in Moscow.

Oo

By April, revolutionary ardor and unrest had somewhat decreased, but no one had forgotten about Bloody Sunday, and the situation was far from peaceful. To revive the revolutionary spirit, all revolutionary parties, the Bolsheviks among them, took advantage of every occasion to incite political demonstrations.

On May 1st, 1905, Bolsheviks all over the country took advantage of International Workers' Day for this purpose. A rally took place on Ekaterinburg's Cathedral Square, where the outbreak of the war with Japan had been announced more than a year before. Unlike that last time, however, Gleb did feel capable of moving a crowd of strangers with his words.

In the company of his friends and youth organization members, he spoke to the people about the importance of organizing and demanding a voice, of never conforming to tyranny. The boy wasn't alone in this, for several other men and women of revolutionary proclivities had attended the march and talked to the public:

"As long as the autocracy exists, we cannot organize ourselves into effective trade unions, not as our comrades abroad, and as long as we are not organized, we will be unsuccessful in our attempts at struggling against capitalism. For that we need freedom to strike, associate, gather, and speak, to freely gather, discuss, and print our demands."

Oo

Before his friends and fellow party members, Gleb tried to pretend that the end of the Russo-Japanese war on September 5, 1905, had disappointed him, and in some ways, it had. The longer the war continued, the closer the revolution would have come, so the Bolsheviks didn't exactly welcome the early peace, which left the autocracy in power and released the troops of the Far East for the revolution's suppression. It would have been better, the party members claimed, for the Tsar's downfall to have occurred before the achievement of peace with Japan through a constituent assembly.

Weeks before the ceasefire, the Bolsheviks had been spreading leaflets accusing the government of being in the process of preparing another war, this time against Britain, Japan's ally. This had, of course, no basis in reality, but that didn't stop the reds from holding the much-desired concept of peace out as a bait for revolution, which Gleb secretly found somewhat distasteful, not that he would ever confess to that.

Throughout 1905, the Bolsheviks had been urging for the general strike that they hoped would turn into a final armed uprising. And then, unexpectedly, it happened despite the peace. On September 20, a strike broke out spontaneously among the Moscow printers and spread to the bakers, restaurant employees, and workers of the furniture factories and tobacco shops. As the strike spread through Moscow, the mood of the workers became more and more violent. By October, around a third of Russia's industrial workforce was on strike along with liberal professors, students, lawyers, doctors, and even bank employees and government bureaucrats.

Many of the workers entered the strike demanding civil rights and a real constitutional assembly, but a great number also participated simply to satisfy economic demands or because they had been coerced by the other workers.

Surprisingly, neither the Bolsheviks nor the Mensheviks had incited the strike. They were in fact worried about the workers' lack of weapons and organization. There was no time to waste, however.

By October 12, every industrial enterprise in the city had been affected by the strike and Soviets were appearing everywhere. The violence kept escalating until it reached its peak on October 17, 1905, when Nicholas II issued the October Manifesto that ended Russia's centuries-old autocracy.

The parliament known as the Duma was to be elected by all classes and nationalities previously excluded, and no law could now be promulgated without the consent of the Duma, to which the Tsar's officials were also accountable. Although the suffrage was designed to be partial to the overrepresented privileged and wealthier classes and the executive power remained wholly in the hands of the Tsar, his power had been undeniably limited.

The news was met with various reactions. Russia's conservatives were dismayed. The recently formed Constitutional Democratic Party, a moderate liberal group the members of which were known as "Kadets", was dissatisfied with the October Manifesto but perfectly willing to enter the Duma. The constitutional government they wanted would eventually come. Another group made up of gentry, businessmen, and bureaucrats with centrist and liberal views would soon form the Octobrist Party, which strongly supported the Manifesto and was firmly committed to a system of constitutional monarchy.

The Mensheviks thought of the Duma as a wonderful opportunity to agitate and organize the masses without opposition from the government.

The Bolsheviks, on the other hand, condemned the October Manifesto as an agreement between the Tsar and the nobles. Considering it a grant of limited freedom, an attempt of the Tsar to divide the forces of the revolution, and at best a step towards constitutionalism, the Bolsheviks diligently agitated against the Duma through leaflets, gatherings, and even breaking into liberal meetings, struggling to convince the people that the Manifesto had gained them nothing, for the first few days after its issuing, the streets of St. Petersburg had been filled with rejoicing crowds.

Oo

On 19 October 1905, many of Ekaterinburg's gymnasium students entered the Cathedral Square to discuss the so-called "Highest Manifesto for the Improvement of Public Order", published by Emperor Nicholas II.

Gleb went along with his four school friends after having picked up Sergei from the metallurgical plant.

"This is good news!" Leonid exclaimed when the now fifteen-year-old Gleb finished reading the document posted on the wall. "Is it not, Gleb?"

"But why doesn't it say anything about our salary?" The pragmatic Sergei asked. As a mere worker until very recently, the boy still didn't give much thought to the concept of parliaments.

"Because the Tsar isn't worried about our salaries, Sergei", Gleb replied. "Don't you get it?" He turned around, facing both his friends and the crowd filling the square, mostly older students. "The Tsar is trying to fool us with promises and mock concessions, do you think he is really going to care about what even the rich people in this new parliament are going to say?!" Somewhat scared but also motivated by the thought of Feodosia's encouraging and even somewhat admiring gaze, the boy raised his voice when he noticed that several strangers were listening. "Not so! He is a liar and a tyrant who survives by sucking on the people's hard work, on their blood! He won't give up on that!"

"Hey!" Another boy's voice cried amidst the crowd. "How dare you speak like that about our Tsar!"

Gleb looked at him with open eyes for a few seconds. He was a tall blond a couple of years older than him. In spite of everything, Gleb didn't find the right words to answer back. Before that day, he had only dealt with disinterested people and debaters from his own side at worst, never with outright reactionaries.

"What you heard!" A worker next to the blond said. "Down with the Tsar!"

"Down with the Tsar!" A chorus clamored.

"You all think you could do better, but you are wrong!" A woman shouted."Stupid children!"

"He is our Tsar!" Others yelled. "God's anointed!"

"That is foolishness!" Someone exclaimed.

"Those are fairy tales!" Peter went further.

All around Gleb, more and more students, workers, clerks, teachers, members of the bourgeoisie and other people were drawing closer and closer, making him lower his defenses. And the noise, the noise, everyone talking and yelling… he decided to fidget with his fingers. That is not as noticeable, he thought.

The pressure kept building and building up, and for a moment he felt lost, about to lose it, but he balled his hands into fists and kept everything inside.

"How dare I?" Gleb spoke again as he glared at the older blond boy, his voice clear and sure in order to catch the people's attention. "How dare you defend the slaughterer of your people?" He analyzed the crowd's reaction and made sure they were paying attention before continuing. "He holds his whip threateningly while we sleep on dirty factory floors! He still holds autocratic power! Are his troops and police gone? No, comrades! Not even the promised release of political prisoners has been carried out! How many of your brothers and sisters have been imprisoned?!"

Gleb studied the gathering again, seeing both angry furrowed brows and nods of approval. He must be doing something right.

"He spilled his soldiers' blood over Manchuria and now wants them to spill the blood of the people", he continued. "Will you allow that?!"

"No!" Multiple men and women cried, encouraged by Gleb's friends.

"Down with the Tsar!" Many students yelled.

"Watch out!" Gleb heard his friend Alexander shout, and before he knew what it was all about, he was being pushed aside. Alexander had protected Gleb from the blond boy's assault.

That is when the brawl broke out. The students started fighting each other over the platform in the middle of the square. Everyone was screaming and shouting. Gleb saw a young man with a broken nose fall onto one of the walls of the church. Dodging the violence taking place around him, Gleb ran towards him. It was Pavel.

But before he could help his schoolmate, a fist landed on his face, and Gleb got caught up in a fight with two other boys. The following minutes were unbearable for the fifteen-year-old as hundreds of people punched and shoved each other in intense fits of rage. He couldn't determine who was angrier, the workers and students against the Tsar or the equally ferocious students, village people, and even workers defending him. All he knew is that he was trapped amidst a mass of unpredictable and unbearably loud people. His worst nightmare came true when another one of his fits started. Gleb hadn't had one in public since his most recent and shameful experience in front of the entire classroom. This time, however, it wasn't just his aching head suffering the consequences of his temporary lapse of judgment, it was also the people around him.

Gleb began making his way through the crowd by shoving, quicking, and punching people out of his way, trying hard to unleash his fury mainly on those damned reactionary Tsarist supporters, and once he got hold of his friends and helped them fight off their attackers, he urged them to run away from the square, leaving the dozens of people quarreling behind.

For quite some time, Gleb had been used to talking about the revolution and even mentioning the use of violence as necessary, but he had just witnessed such anger in people's eyes that he was overwhelmed. The whole fight had been too real. Too real. The workers had become violent and unafraid to strike people. They wouldn't stop if beaten, and that was terrifying. Gleb had read about what happened to people who resisted the government, it wasn't pretty.

As the bruised boys ran away from the violence, Peter started laughing. "That was awesome!" He cried.

Sergei gave him a look. "Peter, you should've seen yourself. You looked like you were possessed!"

"I don't know about that, Seryozha... Gleb is the one who beat the two guys that were keeping me on the ground and kicking me!" He grinned. Gleb could have blushed at the compliment. He had been extremely confused when he did that, his body moving almost without his mind's aid.

Oo

Gleb, Sergei, Peter, Leonid, Alexander, and Pavel decided to stop by Mr. Zeldovich's candy store. Gleb planned to use some of his saved money to buy Sergei something, as the child worker barely ever had enough for candy, but when they arrived there, the windows had been smashed open, the shelves were on the ground, and most of the products had been looted.

"Mr. Zeldovich!" Peter called out with horror. The old man was lying on the ground, holding his bleeding forehead as two of his daughters tried assisting him with wet cloths. The women were wearing dark clothes and white scarves around their heads. Next to them stood a very upset Yakov, whose teary eyes met Gleb's.

"The store is ruined!" He exclaimed. "What will become of us now?!"

Leonid approached the family and crouched down to help them pick up the pieces of broken glass scattered across the room and gather whatever was left of the merchandise. The other boys began doing the same thing.

"Thanks, children", one of the shopkeeper's daughters smiled as they guided their father out of the shop with the cloth still pressed against his wound.

"Don't worry, Yakov, we will figure out something", Pavel said.

"We can give you some money so that your grandpa can open this place again", Leonid quickly added.

Alexander looked at the old man and his daughters with pity as they walked out of the shop, wishing to say something. Gleb picked up on this.

"What happened?" He whispered to his friend Yakov as they both took a couple of brooms from a cabinet located at the back of the enclosure and started sweeping the floor.

"A mob of thugs came and broke into the shop", Yakov replied with a low tone of voice. "I was doing my homework sitting next to my grandfather, behind the counter, and they came in shouting 'Down with the Jews! Down with the Jews!'" He turned away from the other boys and crossed his arms, frowning. "They threw rocks at us and would have beaten us too if it weren't for papa and Cousin Isaac. It happened to almost the entire neighborhood, and they even set one house on fire, that is why they are not here, helping us."

"I am so sorry, Yakov", Gleb said.

"Who are these thugs anyway?" Peter asked.

"Yeah, I would like to get my hands on them!" Exclaimed Sergei, making Yakov smile before answering Peter's question:

"I don't know exactly who they are, all I know is that they are a group of Christians who support the Tsar and make no secret of blaming us for everything that is going wrong with Russia."

"Describe them to us!" Peter said eagerly.

"Yeah!" Alexander jumped. "We will find them and teach them a lesson!"

Gleb frowned, feeling uncomfortable with the idea of looking for someone just to beat them up, as much as they might deserve it, but he remained silent, resigned to his friends' desire for revenge. The revolution was at hand, and the recent squabble at the plaza was evidence of that. Gleb couldn't stay inside his comfort zone any longer.

Oo

Despite Nicholas's best intentions, a wave of brutality unlike anything seen before swept the Russian Empire following the announcement of the October Manifesto.

The people loyal to the Tsar were angry at the agitators for having made their sovereign agree to limit his powers. The revolutionaries were not satisfied with the concessions. The ethnically diverse regions of the vast landmass were yet again caught up in a cycle of racial violence as the minorities battled for autonomy.

In the wake of the October Manifesto, another chain of unrest spread throughout big Russian industrial centers, including the city of Moscow.

Nikolay Ernestovich Bauman was very active in assembling and igniting the crowds to march on the Moscow Governorate Prison, from which he had been recently released. He was also the man whose affair with, and mockery of, a fellow revolutionary's wife had driven the latter to suicide and scandalized numerous Russian political exiles years ago, but that didn't matter anymore.

The mobs followed Bauman as he demanded the release of political prisoners, carrying red banners with the motto: "Let's level the Russian Bastille to the ground!"

"Down with the Tsar!" The rebel shouted as he rode a car with the banner. "Down with the Empire!"

His plans were foiled when he crossed paths with Nikolay Mikhalin, an employee of the Shchapov's Factory in his late twenties who was a former soldier with the Emperor's Own Horse Guard Regiment, an elite cuirassier regiment of the Russian Imperial Guards. A keen monarchist, Mikhalin armed himself with a cut-out of a steel pipe and got into the cab to confront Bauman, trying to take a red banner from him.

In the following struggle, Bauman managed to produce a pistol and shot at Mikhalin once, but the former soldier, a six-feet tall dark-haired man of considerable strength and excellent swordsmanship, managed to hit Bauman with the pipe and make him miss. Mikhalin then struck Bauman three times on the head, causing almost instant death to the first member of the Central Committee of the Bolshevik party to perish violently, or at least the first well-known for doing so.

The killer voluntarily gave himself up to the police and was sentenced to eighteen months of imprisonment for excessive use of force.

Bauman's previous scandal was completely forgotten the moment the Bolsheviks decided to turn him into a martyr, effectively 'cleansing him of his sins' in order to play on the sympathies of the masses. Tens of thousands attended his funeral procession, a mighty propaganda exercise. The leaders of the party carried red flags and large velvet banners with slogans made up of golden letters as they followed the coffin, which was carried through the streets of Moscow by the tallest party members.

The procession marched all day, filling the streets with a dark menace. The orations were emotional. Despite not being officially married to Bauman under the law of the Russian Empire, Kapitolina Medvedeva proclaimed herself as the martyred rebel's widow and urged the crowds to avenge his death. Subsequently, several altercations ensued with a few of various pro-tsarist groups that would soon be widely known as the Black Hundreds.

Oo

The Union of the Russian People, the Society of Russian Patriots, and the Russian Monarchist Party, were some of the organizations collectively known as the "Black Hundreds" that had been formed as a reaction to the Empire's growing revolutionary sentiments.

Many times with the local authorities' passive approval and even assistance, although just as often in defiance of all authority, murderous pogroms were carried out against the Jews in Odessa, Kiev, Gomel, Lodz, Belostok, and many other cities, villages, and towns. These pogroms were more brutal than they had been in years, the pogrom of Odessa being the worst anti-Jewish pogrom in the city's history, with around 1,000 Jews murdered, millions of rubles lost in property damage, hundreds of ruined businesses, and 3,000 families reduced to poverty. Among the perpetrators were members of Black Hundreds organizations.

In Saratov, police, troops, and outraged volunteers carried out a general pogrom against local revolutionaries. In Chelyabinsk, ninety members of the local Bolshevik combat detachment were surrounded in a building and severely beaten by the mob.

In Ufa, Sverdlov barely escaped an armed conflict between the Bolsheviks and the Black Hundreds, and in the Siberian town of Tomsk, a large crowd of the Black Hundreds surrounded a building where a workers' meeting was being held and set it on fire, burning about 400 people alive despite the resistance offered by a group of Bolsheviks. Another tragedy was averted in Moscow when a group of students surrounded in their university by a menacing crowd were saved by the police.

Although many of those belonging to the Black Hundreds were undoubtedly fanatical, brutish, and violently prejudiced individuals, a considerable number of them engaged in subtle political activism that was no different from that of their revolutionary counterparts, from whom they had acquired successful methods of working among the masses. While many Black Hundreds organizations were guilty of stirring up hatred and organizing massacres, several others strictly forbade any kind of violence or incitement to pogroms and crimes.

A considerable part of these monarchists' efforts were in fact a reaction to the revolutionaries' activities. Claiming to represent Russia's "silent majority", the common people loyal to or at least content with their "little father" and for that very reason uninterested in politics, these conservative organizations would distribute pamphlets and leaflets meant to make the people resist revolutionary propaganda. They built schools, libraries, and tea houses, spreading the message that a constitution or parliament would only create a bigger and stronger bureaucracy. Bureaucracies only cared about enriching and empowering themselves, they claimed. The Tsar represented the people, not them.

The movement was fairly diverse, with some organizations embracing the new constitution and the majority favoring the preservation of absolute autocracy. Most of the members of these ultra-conservative parties were local aristocrats, civil servants, and soldiers, but this changed as their activism grew and more and more artisans, workers, and other people from different class backgrounds joined the movement until it was as numerous as all of the main revolutionary parties combined.

The Black Hundreds were horrified by Tsar Nicholas II's refusal to strike down harshly on the revolutionaries and therefore decided to organize paramilitary bands that marched through the streets holding pocket knives and brass knuckles, ready to defend themselves against the revolutionaries or even attack them unprovoked. They carried icons, crosses, patriotic banners, and portraits of Tsar Nicholas II. Whenever the revolutionaries killed clerks, lawyers, policemen, or other public servants, the Black Hundreds would assassinate prominent party members in response.

Nicholas II himself was highly supportive of a conservative organization known as the Union of the Russian People and even patronized it, wishing the leaders success in their efforts to unite loyal Russians in defense of the autocracy.

He naively and wholeheartedly put his faith in these loyal and devoted people, actively choosing to overlook the fact that some of them took part in the most violent and despicable of actions. They were on his side, on the side of Russia, and this is all that mattered.

The fact not even his concessions had quelled the revolt managed to turn Nicholas more cynical than ever. He reacted with cold disinterest to the news of the pogroms and massacres that had followed the October Manifesto.

"The impertinence of the socialists and revolutionaries had angered the people once more", he wrote to his mother Minnie, "and, because nine-tenths of the troublemakers are Jews, the people's whole anger turned against them. That's how the pogroms happened. It is amazing how they took place simultaneously in all towns of Russia and Siberia. In England, of course, the press says that those disorders were organized by the police, they still go on repeating this worn out fable. But not only Jews suffered; some of the Russian agitators, engineers, lawyers and such like...

“Cases as far apart as in Tomsk, Simferopol, Tver, and Odessa show clearly what an infuriated mob can do: They surrounded the houses where revolutionaries had taken refuge, set fire to them, and killed everybody trying to escape."

Oo

After Bauman's murder, the Bolsheviks acknowledged the weakness of their combat organization and increased their efforts to build a real army. Many committees were urged to organize small combat detachments and encouraged to clash with the Black Hundreds as a method of practice. Veterans held lectures on street fighting methods used by Western European workers during the revolutions of the 19th century. Stations and escape routes for snipers were selected, plans for lines of barricades were drawn up, and bomb laboratories were set up.

All over the nation workers, soldiers, and sailors rebelled. The riots and assassinations kept occurring frequently, more so than before the publication of the October Manifesto. They were now often followed by occasional and sometimes even successful coup attempts against regional governments. Nicholas was dumbfounded. His sacrifice should have bore fruit by now, and yet the violence only kept escalating.

The Bolsheviks had little trouble in keeping up the revolutionary ardor of the peasantry since, after all, they had plenty of help from the more countryside-focused Socialist-Revolutionaries in that respect. The Socialist-Revolutionaries, or SRs, were agrarian socialists and supporters of a democratic socialist Russian republic. Russia's rural peasantry tended to support the Socialist-Revolutionary programme of land-socialization, the equal distribution of land into peasant tenants, as opposed to the Bolshevik programme of land-nationalization, the collectivization of the land into state management. But all of this was not enough, not when half the peasants still held superstitious beliefs, an independent spirit, a lack of interest in city politics, and a naive sense of loyalty to the Tsar. The poorest of peasants were unhappy with their conditions, but for a successful revolution, organization was needed.

When the October Manifesto was issued, the first reaction of the average peasant was: "What? Nothing about the land?" That is all they cared about, not who ruled the nation.

Seeing that the October Manifesto had only brought on more disorders throughout the countryside, the Tsar issued a special decree reducing and gradually abolishing all payments collected by the state to compensate the landowners for the loss of their serfs' lands in 1861 and establishing a land bank which would provide cheap loans to the peasants. Worried that the peasants would be satisfied with this, the Bolsheviks launched a propaganda campaign against the decree.

"Stop all payments!" The Bolsheviks urged. "Don't comply with their gradual reduction! In the past forty years, you have paid more than the lands are worth! The land bank is a means of making the rich peasants richer and driving you further into debt!"

Several groups of party members were sent out to the villages to organize revolutionary peasant committees with varying degrees of success. Peasants would sometimes seize towns' government offices, confiscate all of the money and arms they could find, and install their own committees. States and lands were seized and mansions were robbed.

Nevertheless, the agrarian revolts of 1905 constituted more of a crime wave than an organized revolution of political aims. This lack of organized cooperation between the peasants and the urban proletariat would be one of the main causes for the failure of the revolution of 1905.

Oo

Count Witte was stuck in an awkward corner. Having convinced a reluctant sovereign to grant a constitution, he was installed as President of the Council of Ministers and expected to make the new system work.

To Witte's great shock and despair, however, rather than getting better, the situation appeared to be growing steadily worse. The conservatives hated him for degrading the autocracy, the liberals did not trust him, and the left feared that the revolution would slip from their grasp. By stripping the local police of many of their powers, the October Manifesto had led directly to an escalation of violence in many parts of Russia. A rash of little village republics were proclaimed as the peasants rose up against their German Landlords throughout the Baltic states.

Feeling slighted by the recent political developments, some priests went as far as supporting the pogroms of Kiev and Odessa. The Trans-Caucasus was the setting of similar attacks made on the Armenians under the guise of patriotism and religious fervor. The Poles and Finns saw the October Manifesto as a much-welcomed sign of weakness, so mass demonstrations clamoring for autonomy and independence followed its publication. Naval mutinies broke out at Kronstadt on the Baltic and Sevastopol on the Black Sea.

In the meantime, Nicholas waited impatiently for the constitutionalism experiment to produce results. As Witte stumbled, the Tsar became bitter.

"It is strange that such a clever man should be wrong in his forecast of an easy pacification", he wrote to his mother that November, and later that month he added in another letter: "Everybody is afraid of taking courageous action. I keep trying to force them—even Witte himself—to behave more energetically. With us nobody is accustomed to shouldering responsibility, all expect to be given orders which, however, they disobey as often as not."

Oo

Gleb and his friends managed to hunt down those guilty of destroying the candy store before getting involved in a fierce and brutal street fight with them. Despite being outnumbered, they ended up effectively teaching all of those reactionaries a lesson, because at the tender age of fifteen Gleb was nonetheless taller and stronger than the most muscular of the gang of loyal monarchists, and he was still growing. Yakov was thrilled by the spectacle, and Gleb couldn't blame him. The grey-eyed boy's heart aches for his new friend, which is why his revolutionary youth organization has gathered a modest sum of money to help the unlucky family start over.

School life has been unstable, with classes often interrupted by news of revolutionary activity. This drives Gleb crazy at times, but right now he has more important things to be perfectionist about.

Feodosia's secret library is the best place for Gleb's youth organization to meet. Not only are there books on every topic from history to religion, science, politics, and mathematics, but the room is also hard to access without knowledge of the house.

For months, the youngsters have gathered there to read aloud and talk about politics and Marxism, discussing and debating complex subjects such as how the Russian proletariat should deal with their enemies once victory is achieved. They have also examined new ways of aiding the cause.

Gleb, Feodosia, and the few members of the group older than both of them by a couple of years or so are the ones who most often have something of value to contribute to the conversation. Like her mother, Feodosia is the perfect host, and she is also good at establishing new social connections and thus attracting members to the organization. She says Gleb comes up with the best and most unique of ideas, although the boy can hardly bring himself to believe that. While he feels flattered, as the leader Gleb understands the need to listen to those older and more knowledgeable than himself, and for now, the two nineteen-year-olds talking about the next mission as they stand before the rest of the youths gathered inside the library seem to fit into the "more knowledgeable" category.

"I am not visiting that village ever again!" Sergei exclaims when they are done, referring to the organization's attempt to distribute pamphlets among the villagers last week. The young worker is amongst the most participative of Gleb's recruits. Unlike, Leonid, Pavel, and Alexander, who only nod in agreement and sometimes ask questions, Sergei always has something to say that could potentially go against what the latest speaker pointed out. "Those peasants are not at all interested in anything we have to say, all they care about is land, land, land..."

"Well, we can not leave them out of the conversation, can we?" Feodosia looks over at Gleb from her place next to him on the floor, where most of the twelve boys sit. "Our numbers are too low, and they shouldn't think our movement is for townspeople only when they are the majority of the country." She looks at Gleb with something resembling a fond smile, making his heart skip a beat. He has often caught her staring at him, but he urges himself not to think much of it. All those times she looked… she was probably just paying attention, he thinks. But it is hard not to get his hopes up when she does, like now, especially since they have become such good friends.

Sometimes, Gleb and Feodosia will meet alone, and not only in the library. They once went to get ice cream before the others arrived. He would have thought himself dreaming if it weren't for the fact he knows Feodosia does this with several other boys and girls. She is simply quite sociable.

Their conversations never get too personal, although Gleb is sure that Feodosia is aware of his insecurities, as they are too obvious. Instead, the fifteen-year-old and the sixteen-year-old talk about the topic that impassions them both the most, the revolution. Doing so is always a challenge for Gleb, as in Feodosia he has found an intellectual equal, which inevitably means he is always trying his best to impress her without much success. Being Feodosia's friend is amazing, but not as much as Gleb fantasized it would be before he spoke to her for the first time. As much as he understands his apprehension is irrational, he still has to hide parts of himself for fear of losing her, maybe even more than he does with Peter and Leonid, who know full well what he is hiding. Despite her kindness and friendliness, Gleb's guard is up more often than not with Feodosia.

"What do you think, Gleb?" She asks, distracting the boy from his thoughts.

Gleb nods slowly, trying not to let his excitement shine through on his face. "You're absolutely right," he tries to sound calm and confident. Their eyes, he tells himself, look them in the eye, but not for too long. "But I have been thinking about what Igor said", he adds, referring to one of the two Socialist Revolutionaries of the organization. "They have a different idea of what would constitute a good land reform." Gleb turns to the young man in question. "Igor, will you please…"

Surprised by Gleb's open-mindedness, Igor begins explaining what a land redistribution would be like under a Socialist Revolutionary program.

"Anything that can get them to rise against the Tsar and his guard dogs!" Peter exclaims, almost shocking Gleb, who is sometimes startled by Peter's passion and enthusiasm for a cause that he was acquainted with relatively recently. His anger is somewhat unsettling, and yet exactly as it should be.

"Now, don't misunderstand me", Gleb speaks again, "I don't mean to say that we will promise the peasants any one type of solution to the land issue. After all, many of you here have different opinions about what that solution might be. My point is that land itself is the only thing that seems to matter to them. Remember the last time we spoke to the peasants? That is all they asked us about! They don't care about what politicians do in towns, they care about and resent the fact richer peasants are exploiting them!"

Most of those present nod in agreement.

"We should take that into account when we meet them again", Gleb continues, "and speak to them about the revolution not as an opportunity to take control over the country, but as a chance to have a say when it comes to the soil they work on."

There is a short silence as everyone takes a moment to consider Gleb's words. This makes the boy grow as tense as he always does whenever he speaks up like this, although he now hides his discomfort very well.

"That is a good idea, actually", a young party member named Yuri suddenly says, making Gleb let out a sigh of relief. "When should we try this? And where?"

"We already know the village where Gleb's mom Elena grew up", Feodosia says, "I think we should go there."

"Does Friday evening after work or school sound good?" Sergei asks.

"Could it be Thursday evening?" Yakov interjects, and Gleb understands why. Regardless of what his real personal beliefs might be, Yakov can't lose his family. He and Gleb have talked a lot about religion, and the two boys share the same ambivalence towards it. Yakov uses his kippah only around other Jews, Gleb won't pray, and neither one of them believes in God anymore. Gleb has tried telling his mother Elena this, and she seems understanding of the fact her son no longer wants to go to mass with her. This, for Gleb, is further proof that religion is nothing more than the opium of the masses. If her mother truly believed in God, Gleb can't help but think, wouldn't she insist that Gleb be grateful to the entity that gave him life? But she doesn't, she doesn't care, which shows that the more open-minded one becomes regarding God, the more likely that person is to understand the fact religion is a man-made construct designed to spare people's feelings and help them through the harsh reality of life, and of course, it is good business to exploit this need the populace has of believing everything will be fine someday.

Gleb wanted God's love, but what is the point of love if it is a lie?

Religion won't be necessary in the future, and it is not necessary to be a revolutionary. The revolution is their true religion. It serves the same purpose, and it is real.

The youth organization eventually decides that the plan will be carried out on Thursday evening.

Oo

St. Petersburg didn't suffer any serious uprising during the last months of 1905, but many other Russian cities, especially Moscow, were to be the scene of clashes between the government and revolutionary forces. This began with the rebellion of a dissatisfied military unit that had been used to restore order in Sevastopol in November, spilling the blood of countless people in the process. This experience had disgusted many of the men with the government.

After taking possession of the regimental arsenal and food stores, the soldiers announced they would no longer carry out police duties against their own people. They also demanded better treatment, abolition of the death penalty, amnesty for all political prisoners, freedom of discussion of soldiers' needs, and the shortening of military service.

On December 3, the city of Moscow received the news that the St. Petersburg Soviet had been arrested, causing an outburst of indignation among the Moscow Soviet, which with the support of the rebellious unit called upon the people of the city to prepare for a general strike and an uprising.

The revolutionary forces consisted of around 300 armed Bolsheviks, 300 Socialist Revolutionaries, 100 Mensheviks, 150 students, and 200 armed men of other groups. It was hoped, however, that others would eventually join.

The Bolsheviks had their doubts about the potential success of the revolution, but with the workers and the soldiers in such a revolutionary mood, they could not pass such an opportunity up, so they recommended the Moscow Soviet to organize a general strike and take up arms. This was also supported by the Mensheviks and Socialist Revolutionaries.

After several officers promised to make concessions to the soldiers such as a raised monthly pay, some battalions refused to join the movement, but the general strike started on December 7 nonetheless. The Moscow Soviet ordered all enterprises to be closed except for essential ones such as the gas works and food stores, which were allowed to remain open after being warned not to charge more than the usual prices and to grant the strikers credit. Furthermore, all tenants were encouraged to stop paying rent.

The disorderly fighting started the day following the beginning of the general strike. There was no surprise coup against all strategic points. Instead, the rebels, consisting mostly of students and workers, carried out a sloppy, scattered, and uncoordinated campaign of attacks on small groups of police and army officers, burglarizing gun shops in the dark and hoping that the soldiers would be won over to the cause. The most unreliable elements of the garrison had been kept within the barracks, however, so they were unable to help. The soldiers who did patrol the streets did not usually fire at the revolutionaries except in self-defense, but they refused to join the rebels.

Oo

After a long and stressful day, all members of Gleb's Young Workers and Students' Revolutionary Organization have gone back home. Only Gleb and Feodosia remain. They are chatting in the library while eating a late dinner, a very late dinner.

It has been the most eventful Thursday of Gleb's life. It was not only eventful, but also quite amusing looking back now that the danger is temporarily over.

Despite being Thursday, Yakov decided not to go with Feodosia and the other boys to the village. There was no way to ensure that they would all get back to the city before sundown, and his parents would have probably stopped by his cousin's house and asked for him, as that is where he always tells them he is staying at whenever he hangs out with Gleb and his friends. Instead, Yakov decided to aid the cause by anonymously distributing pamphlets throughout his neighborhood along with his older cousin Lev, who he recently discovered is involved in a revolutionary movement as well. It was a good decision, because Gleb, Feodosia and the other volunteers from the organization barely got out of the village alive.

It is not that there was something wrong with Gleb's speech, there wasn't, the boy knows by now how to move a crowd, how to read their reactions. Too many hand movements? No, Gleb knew they were fine and even expected to express emotion or emphasize points as long as there was moderation. A smile here and there among the people of the crowd? That didn't necessarily mean mockery as long as there were no chuckles.

Gleb is not an expert on what normal is. The only thing he knows is that he is not it, so he tries to be as unlike himself as possible in all contexts except around his mother. He longs to open up to people, but trying to do so is a real struggle. Controlling his every word and movement is instinctive by now, so much so that he can't let it go.

For speeches, however, none of this had been a problem so far, but in general, the peasants were not at all receptive to the revolutionary message despite the new way in which it had been presented to them. Not even Gleb's distant relatives were happy with a bunch of strange city boys trying to get them to rise up against the Tsar, their Tsar, their "little father", and they went as far as throwing rocks at the fifteen-year-old and his comrades, shouting insults. The teenagers managed to dodge most of the stones, but they were chased out of the center of the village and had to seek refuge among the trees and bushes. Luckily enough, Gleb's endeavor was not completely fruitless. The revolution gained more than a couple of supporters among the landless peasants and the poorest of the villagers. These sympathizers gave Gleb and his friends shelter before promising to join their paramilitary unit in order to fight against the government when the time comes.

The time will come. Ivan and some of his friends from the mutinous regiment are already training the members of Gleb's organization on firearms use and fighting tactics, and Stephen will provide them and his entire party cell with weapons. Gleb knows that his father is working abroad, getting in contact with people who will help him smuggle weapons illegally into the country. He has been away for a while, and Gleb doesn't know exactly where, as Stephen's is a very secret mission.

"You were very brave, Gleb, trying to shield me from the rocks", Feodosia says as she chews her last pelmeni, "that mob almost kills us."

Gleb blushes at the compliment before replying. "I don't know what could get them to give up on their beliefs, and I worry about how hard it will be to convince them to cooperate with us when we win."

"You shouldn't worry about that, they will probably follow whoever is in charge, they see the Tsar as a distant, all-powerful figure, and the loyalty they have for him depends on his power."

"You are probably right", Gleb shrugs, "and the poor peasants will come around as soon as they see how much more we care for them."

"The rich peasants are the problem", Feodosia stands up and picks up her empty plate, which makes Gleb do the same with his.

They leave the library briefly to put the dishes in the kitchen sink and then return. Gleb looks at the clock on one of the bookshelves and realizes how late it is.

"Look at that!" He points at the time, "my mother will be worried."

Feodosia grins as she blocks the door. "Why do you want to leave me?" She pouts.

"I don't want to leave you, I swear!" Gleb replies, startled. "But my mother always worries about me when I'm out late. I could have been arrested, or worse…"

"I know Gleb", Feodosia smiles as she shakes her head playfully. "Don't take everything so seriously." Gleb holds his breath before looking down at her. She is wearing her honey-colored hair up in a ponytail, and the sweat beads on the back of her neck stand out against her smooth pale skin. He long dark skirt clings to her hips, revealing her shapely legs, and her white blouse buttons are undone. She couldn't look more gorgeous. "Relax, you look so scared", Feodosia's pink lips part slightly as she speaks again with a somewhat sly grin. Gleb gulps loudly. They are standing so close to each other… Feodosia suddenly grabs his face, pulls him closer, and then kisses him.

Gleb's eyes widen as he struggles to get used to the sensation of her soft but firm lips moving against his own, trying to part them open, but he doesn't pull away. The wetness of her mouth is making him dizzy, first in a bad way, it is new… new, strange, and too much. He can't help but worry about bacteria invading his mouth, but kissing Feodosia is something he has wanted for too long to let a fear of germs ruin. Gradually the sensation goes from scary to thrilling. New. Forbidden. Feodosia. It is really happening. How can he be so lucky? He decides to open his mouth more widely, allowing her to deepen the kiss, which goes on for several seconds.

When she finally pulls away, Feodosia looks up at Gleb with a big smile on her face and eyes searching for his reaction, for his feelings towards her. "Did you like that?" She asks almost shyly.

Gleb doesn't reply, he just gapes at Feodosia with a lovesick expression.

"Good", she says happily, leaning in to capture his lips in another sweet kiss, a short one this time. "We should do it more often then."

Oo

The following party cell meeting, Gleb and his mother Elena were surprised to see Stephen among the attendees. Gleb pleasantly so, Elena not so much.

An uprising and several strikes were being carefully planned by the party, so neither mother nor son dared interrupt the speakers merely to discuss trivial family matters or express how much they had missed Stephen, but as soon as there was a break, Elena all but dragged her husband away from the dining room and out of the house so that they could talk alone briefly before Gleb noticed their absence.

"When did you arrive?" Elena whispered, her eyes conveying a feeling of betrayal she tried to hide. "What happened?"

Stephen sighed in exasperation. "I missed you too, love."

Elena closed her eyes and looked down in shame. "I am sorry, I did too."

Stephen laughed and then took Elena in his arms, kissing her passionately. When they pulled away, he whispered in her ear. "You look beautiful today."

Elena rolled her eyes, smiling. Her smile disappeared quite soon though. "I am serious though, Stephen, when did you return?"

"Can we talk about this after the meeting is over?"

"Please," Elena said quietly.

"Yesterday evening", Stephen admitted with a sigh.

"Yesterday evening?" Elena raised an eyebrow. "Yesterday evening and I knew nothing about it?"

"Yes", Stephen confirmed without an ounce of regret.

"And you didn't stop by your house to tell your wife and your son that you were alive?!" Elena raised her voice, her face turning red as she slapped her husband on the arm repeatedly. "Gleb was worried about you, you, you…!"

"Ow!" Stephen rubbed his shoulder with annoyance as he stepped away. "Look, Elena, I know you started attending these events for my sake, but can you at least pretend to be understanding toward someone who is still actively working for the revolution? The weapons are in, but there is much more work to do distributing them and organizing and training the different cells."

"So you didn't have a second to stop by and tell us you were fine?" Elena asked. "Can you at least tell me where you are staying?"

"Papa!" Gleb suddenly ran outside to hug Stephen tightly, glad that the separation had provided him with an excuse to do so. "Why didn't you write? How did it go? We missed you so much!"

Elena smiled at her husband and son and decided to stop asking questions, at least for now.

"It is good to see you again, my boy", Stephen smiled as he pulled away. "Look at you! You grew a head while I was gone and now you are almost taller than me!" He ruffled the young man's hair affectionately. "How is school going?"

"I am doing well, papa, and I am doing my part with the party too!"

"Is that so?" Stephen raised his eyebrows, pleased. "That is wonderful news."

Gleb went on to describe to his father everything he had achieved during his absence, trying to impress him with anecdotes about his youth organization, the soldier they had convinced to organize a regiment mutiny, the workers and peasants won over to their side, the speeches he had made, and the leaflets he and his friends had distributed.

"And that is how we helped organized a strike at the small women's textile factory near mama's restaurant", the boy finished, proud of himself, but to his great dismay, Stephen's expression had remained as unimpressed as ever throughout his son's entire retelling of the adventures. The father had, in fact, barely reacted to Gleb's contributions to the cause, only smiling and nodding every now and then, evidently distracted by the fact the break was almost over and the older party members were initiating impromptu discussions on the organization's next steps to contribute to the many uprisings breaking out throughout the country.

"Papa?" Gleb tried to get his attention nonetheless. "What's wrong?" He knew he was no Yakov Sverdlov, the young man who had become a Marxist and an underground organizer at sixteen and was now, at just twenty, organizing the Bolshevik underground cells, workersʼ councils, and committees of Ekaterinburg. Gleb himself had listened to several of his speeches and was proud to have had him operating among his city's revolutionaries. The boy looked up to him.

The Urals had become an important Bolshevik stronghold, in no small part due to the efforts of Sverdlov. Sent to Ekaterinburg on the party's orders, the 20-year-old had organized the revolutionary workers to be more efficient.

Before Sverdlov's arrival, the Bolsheviks had a well-developed web of local rebel groups, Stephen's among them, but they were scattered, had deficient communication, and often acted independently from one another under their different management.

Yakov started taking part in the different party military reunions, standing out as a great speaker, and in little time he managed to organize and unite the many Bolshevik cells into a trustworthy network overseen by a base. Over the course of 1905, he founded the Bolshevik-dominated workers' and soldiers' Soviet of Ekaterinburg.

Gleb's achievements were much more modest, but he had still hoped to please his father and make him proud.

"Nothing is wrong", Stephen smiled softly as he placed a hand gently on Gleb's shoulder. "Nice, Gleb", he added before leaving to join an ongoing debate taking place inside the house.

Something is better than nothing, Gleb thought, but despite this, the fifteen-year-old couldn't help but feel a bit disappointed by his father's lack of enthusiasm. On the other hand, Gleb knew that Stephen didn't often show his emotions, so he was pleased with his approval either way.

Elena had watched as her husband all but ignored their son, again, and she felt utterly helpless to intervene, so all she did was squeeze Gleb's cheek and smile at him before returning to the dining room.

Oo

The first barricades began to appear on December 9, their rough pattern indicating that the revolutionaries were trying to cut off the center of Moscow from the outer districts. There was no coordination between the different rebel units though, so no coordinated offensive could be taken against any strategic point.

Military units would often clear the barricades with shells and case shot, but even combined with the city's police forces, the military was too small to occupy the entire city and it wasn't unheard of for barricades to spring up in the same places where they had been cleared.

The army also had successes. Many places were cleared of demonstrating crowds and armed anarchists. The Fidler school, where hundreds of revolutionaries had gathered for a general descent upon the police, was surrounded by the army and shelled. The defenders surrendered after some ineffective shooting and bomb-throwing, and hundreds of prisoners were taken, most of them Socialist-Revolutionaries.

In response, the revolutionaries adopted partisan tactics, and the Moscow Committee issued a leaflet advising the revolutionaries to operate in small units.

"1. The first rule: Do not act in crowds, work in small details of three or four men, not more. Let there be as many of these details as possible and let them learn to attack quickly and disappear quickly. The police strive to shoot crowds of thousands of people with a hundred Cossacks. To fall on a hundred is easier than on one, especially if that one shoots and escapes unnoticed. The police and army will be helpless if all Moscow is covered with these small and elusive details.

2. In addition comrades, do not take up fortified positions. The army always attempts to take them or simply destroy them with artillery. Let our fortresses be passable yards and all places from which we can shoot and escape easily. If they take such a place, they will not find anyone there and will lose many of their own. It is impossible to take them all, for to do that it would be necessary to settle every home with a Cossack.

3. Therefore, comrades, if anyone should call you to go in a great crowd or to take a fortified place, consider him a fool or a provocator. If he is a fool, don't listen to him. If a provocator, kill him."

The leaflet went on to suggest that the revolutionaries attack soldiers only in self-defense, but that they unhesitatingly kill officers, Cossacks, and high-ranking policemen or those known to have been cruel to the workers.

For the most part, the revolutionaries followed this advice, sniping, running, and attacking individual officers and policemen. Barricades were not seriously defended, but only used to slow up charging troops so that they would provide better targets.

Oo

The Moscow uprising could not avoid having repercussions for the rest of the Empire, and an ever-widening circle of rebellion spread from the heart of Russia outwards. A general strike was called in cooperation with the Moscow strike in Nizhny Novgorod, and a couple of days later workers clashed with Cossacks and patriotic demonstrators. As in Moscow, the revolutionaries would fail to seize the strategic points of the city.

Similar occurrences took place in the Ukraine and the Don Basin, Chita, Kharkov, and Gorlovka, among others. Casualties rose on both sides of the conflict as policemen, soldiers, and civilians died, and whenever the revolutionaries took the towns' governments, they taxed the rich to support the unemployed and controlled prices.

The revolution easily found its way to the Urals, where the Ufa Soviet called a general strike in support of the Moscow strike. Some of the Bolsheviks kidnapped a handful of Cossacks, causing the troops to react incredibly violently.

Oo

The workers of Ekaterinburg had also created a well-organized militia that soon began clashing with the policemen, soldiers, and Cossacks stationed in the city. To Gleb's great dismay, however, he was given an embarrassingly easy and humiliating task. Unlike the adult militia members of his party cell, Gleb and his friends from the youth organization were to guard a few Cossacks who had been kidnapped by the party for political reasons.

The four men are being kept inside the warehouse of a coffee maker factory that has been taken by the rebels. They may be liberated someday, but only in exchange for a ransom, although even that is unlikely. Feodosia, Gleb, and some of the younger boys from his youth organization are taking turns guarding them in shifts, doing so two at a time.

Gleb has a rifle on him at all times when he is around them. He knows very well how to use it, but he doubts he ever will. No escape attempt has been made yet, and Sergei, the boy who is guarding the Cossacks with Gleb right now, loves pointing his rifle at them whenever they move. This scares the prisoners into compliance, and it seems to amuse Sergei greatly as well.

Right now, Gleb is watching over the four men inside the warehouse, while Sergei is patrolling outside.

"What do you want from us?" One of the Cossacks asks with a shaky voice. "All of them have wives and children", the soldier tilts his head towards the other Cossacks. He has dark brown hair and blue eyes, and he seems young, just slightly older than Gleb.

"Shut up!" The boy replies harshly.

"It is useless, Alexei", the Cossack tied behind the one who spoke first says. "These traitors won't take pity on us." They are proud people, those Cossacks, Gleb thinks. Their iconic black fur hats, swords, and daggers were taken from them upon capture, and yet no one could mistake them for anything else.

"I haven't killed anyone", the first one insists nonetheless. "I have a fiancee, my parents are aging and…"

"You're probably lying about not having killed anyone", Gleb rolls his eyes.

"I am not lying!" Alexei insists.

"When we captured you, you had several medals with you", Gleb retorts. "You couldn't have earned them without killing people."

Alexei shakes his head. "I earned those fighting in Manchuria, but I haven't struck down a single subject of the Russian Empire, I swear!"

"That is no better", Gleb asserts. "You are still slaughtering your fellow men to do the Tsar's bidding." He then sees the other three men struggling against the ropes around their wrists. "Stop that, you are not getting out of here until we say so!" Two of the tied-up men glare at Gleb as if nothing gave them more pleasure than the thought of killing him on the spot. This makes Gleb feel wickedly glad to hold power over them, those who would not have given an order to strike him and his fellow working men down a thought weeks before.

Oo

Practically against his will, Gleb learned more and more about his hostage over the course of the next few days. Alexei's father owned a decent amount of land, because of course he did, and Alexei, like the other Cossacks, had spent his childhood working in the fields and perfecting his sword and horsemanship. Riding horses every day, the countryside, the folk music, it all sounded so fun... Gleb didn't even know how to ride, but he loved horses. He almost envied Alexei, and despite his best attempts not to, he had begun pitying him too. But why? The fifteen-year-old often wondered. Alexei belonged to a privileged military culture that in Gleb's eyes was no different from a mercenary organization. He had grown up relatively wealthy and was loyal to the Tsar, committed to maintaining his power. But he also looked scared and… normal. And Gleb loved his war stories, shamefully so. Despite being horrible and useless, the topic of war couldn't help but excite the grey-eyed boy. He felt useless to the revolution performing such an easy and cowardly task. Watching over unarmed men was no fun, he wanted to fight armed soldiers and Cossacks in defense of the workers of the motherland… not whatever this was.

The unearned pity grows stronger than ever when Gleb arrives at the warehouse one morning for his shift only to find two of the Cossacks bleeding from their noses and mouths.

"What happened?" Gleb asks with an annoyed tone of voice, assuming they have gotten into a fight.

The one who looks like the oldest glares at Gleb, and the other one, a dark-eyed man in his late twenties, answers with dripping sarcasm. "They broke our faces, and who do you think did?"

"We are all going to die", another Cossack says grimly as Alexei looks at his swollen eye with a sad expression. Then Gleb realizes that the blood is dry.

"What happened?" The boy asks again, softer this time.

"The tall man with the gray eyes", Alexei begins, "he and his men, they… they wanted to know where we keep our weapons, the ammunition."

"No one told him", the oldest Cossack adds before spitting on the ground with disdain.

Oo

Gleb doesn't know how to feel. While the thought of his father beating people up to get them to talk scares him, he understands why Stephan did what he did. He understands that it might have been necessary.

But Gleb can't imagine himself doing the same thing, and that scares him even more.

He tried to bring up his concern for the ultimate fate of the Cossacks with Feodosia on one occasion, but she just told him not to worry too much and then suggested that they start kissing on the back of the warehouse. That is all she wants to do lately, not that Gleb would ever dare complain and risk what they have now, but he does miss their deep conversations, which seem to have become somewhat obsolete lately now that real action is being taken.

Oo

"Boy, hey, young man!" Alexei tries to catch Gleb's attention the next time he comes for a routine check on the four prisoners.

"What do you want?" Gleb snaps back angrily.

"How old are you?" The question catches Gleb off guard. "You seem young, how did you come to join a revolutionary party?"

"Why do you care?"

Alexei shrugs in defeat, but then he tries to engage Gleb further. "Do you even go to school? Are your parents forcing you to be here?"

"What do you want?" Gleb frowns and crosses his arms defensively, offended by the last question.

"I genuinely wish to talk to you, but to be fair... I do need to pee", the young Cossack looks back at his tied wrists. "Will you help me go outside?"

"My comrade took you outside an hour ago!"

"You have been more generous with the water supply today", Alexei explains, sounding sure that Gleb will agree to his request.

Gleb sighs, rolling his eyes. "Fine, but let's hurry." He approaches Alexei with the rifle hanging on his shoulder and unties him from the other Cossacks quickly before tying his wrists tightly once again with another rope, which the boy then uses to pull him up and outside.

As soon as the pair exit the warehouse and pass the other guard on duty, the prisoner suddenly lunges at Gleb and tackles him, causing both of them to fall to the ground. The Cossack is not as easy to deal with as the majority of Gleb's previous opponents have been, for he is much larger and stronger than the boy, who unlike the soldier didn't go through years of training to become a lethal combatant. The boy struggles under him, trying to prevent him from yanking free of the rope, but the fight is over almost before it starts.

Having successfully untied himself, Alexei is taking off running through an empty alleyway. Still lying on the ground, Gleb looks up at him and panics.

This can't be happening, the fifteen-year-old thinks, this can't be happening. He stands up quickly and uses his trembling hands to aim his rifle at the soldier's back, unsure as to whether he is holding the weapon correctly or not.

Aiming is easy enough, and he is quite a good shot as well. Ivan always says that Gleb is a natural during shooting practice.

I can do it, Gleb tells himself as Alexei runs away, he is not even zigzagging.

But he can't. The boy can't help but think about every silly little conversation he had during his short acquaintance with Alexei, who would ask him questions in what seemed to be good faith and laughed whenever Gleb tried debating him or took something too seriously. As much as any sort of ridicule pains Gleb, the thought of killing someone for not caring about the same things he does can't help but feel disturbingly final. That man will not breathe again. He will never marry his fiancee, never have children.

Gleb doesn't even like Alexei, or what he represents. Alexei is an annoying asshole, and now it is also clear that he had been trying to lower Gleb's guard with all that chatter, but if he was telling the truth… if he has indeed never spilled the blood of his own people, the people of this Empire, well… then Gleb must admit that he doesn't hate him that much. He tries and tries and can't make himself want him dead. Humiliated and perhaps hurt after the success of the revolution? Yes. But not dead.

It is not about what you want! Another voice reminds the boy. But Gleb can't stop thinking about Alexei's little village, which sounds like paradise. Would he be willing to take a part of it away and then destroy it so carelessly? The parents, they will be destroyed… Gleb can't stop thinking and thinking, and before he knows it, Alexei is completely out of reach.

No.

No!

Gleb just failed the simplest of tasks. He mocked the task in his mind, like a silly little spoilt boy, and then he failed. He is failing the revolution even with the simplest of tasks. He is a failure, a failure.

Oo

Alexei's escape allowed him to ask for help, and so it was followed by a police raid on the warehouse during which a member of Gleb's organization was seriously injured and the three remaining Cossacks were found and rescued. Gleb wasn't there, but his father made him aware of what had occurred. The fifteen-year-old dares not confess to the fact he let Alexei escape. He lied to both his father and Igor, the boy he was on duty with the day the first Cossack ran away, telling them that the prisoner had received aid from a mysterious cloaked figure.

The following day, Stephan and a few other party members lined up the youngsters before them right outside Feodosia's house, where they had been summoned to meet the evening before under threat of death. Gleb had acted as the messenger, delivering the frightening letters to his friends and acquaintances.

Now he feels lower than dirt. Because of him and his stupid weakness, the revolution has lost four valuable hostages, and one of his friends from the youth organization is in critical condition, being treated for a bullet wound at a party member's home instead of a hospital for fear of arrest. Gleb still can't quite believe he was capable of such stupidity. The thought a comrade could get hurt by his well-meaning yet hopefully naive actions, or lack thereof, never crossed his mind. And yet the fact someone would get hurt was evident.

"Was it you?! Were you the cloaked figure?!" Stephen points his finger threateningly at Sergei, but he isn't surprised when the boy merely shakes his head. This is only warm up.

"It wasn't me", Sergei says. "I kept a close eye on them at all times."

Stephen takes a deep breath. "Don't lie to me, no one outside our cell or your organization knew about the prisoners' whereabouts." He knows this particular boy isn't lying. He has known him for years, a working-class boy that his own son only recently gathered up the courage to speak to. Stephen has no reason to question his loyalty to the cause, or Yakov's, or Feodosia's, or that of any of the boys known to have belonged to different revolutionary parties before joining them.

"No, sir!" Sergei insists. "I don't lie!"

The loyalty of Gleb's four schoolboys, on the other hand…

Stephen turns to Peter abruptly, causing the rich boy to stop smirking as he was doing. "What do you think about this?"

The fifteen-year-old's eyes open wide. "Nothing, sir, I wasn't even there the day they escaped."

That doesn't mean you couldn't have planned this in advance some other way, Stephen thinks. There is a brief silence before he chooses his final suspect.

"Pavel", he says, pointing a finger at the well-dressed short boy standing next to Leonid. "Were you there when the police arrived and shot Yuri?"

Pavel stares back at the tall man, scared. He opens his mouth to answer, but for seconds, no sound comes out.

"Yes, si-sir", he eventually admits with a stutter. "But… bb… I didn't… bu-ut... he..."

"Why were you not harmed? Did you also help the first Cossack escape? Were you the cloaked figure?!" Stephen takes Pavel by the collar of his shirt, shaking him with fury. Pavel looks completely terrified now, almost ready to pass out. Gleb pities him greatly, for Pavel has never been as invested in the mission as his other friends.

Pavel constantly fails to attend the youth organization's meetings, and whenever he is present, he looks disinterested more often than not. Gleb boy cannot help but suspect that Pavel stays around simply because he enjoys the other boys' friendship and company. Perhaps even my company, Gleb thinks. The idea moves him.

"Answer the question!" Stephen barks, making Leonid let out a terrified whimper. This catches Stephen's attention immediately.

"Don't be such a crybaby!" Peter exclaims, turning to look at his younger brother, who Stephen is already walking towards menacingly.

"It was you!" Stephen grabs Leonid's collar now. "You filthy little leech, you arranged the attack on the warehouse!" He exclaims as the young boy starts crying and shaking his head. "You led them here! How dare you betray us!?"

"Please stop!" Leonid whimpers pathetically. "I am sorry Mr. Vaganov! It wasn't me, I swear!"

"He is telling the truth, sir", Peter defends his brother, worried now. "We are both loyal to the cause, Gleb can tell you, please don't hurt him!"

But Stephen takes out a revolver from his leather jacket's pocket without warning and, still grabbing Leonid by the collar of his shirt, he aims it at his jaw. "Why are you so scared then?" The older man's voice is filled with venom. It is deep, frightening. "Why are you so afraid, boy?"

Gleb does not recognize his father. Stephen yells fairly often, but he had never raised his voice as abruptly and harshly as he is doing now. He had never sounded so angry, so hateful, so willing to do the unthinkable. When yelling, he had sounded worried or strict before, not hateful as he does now. He had never threatened anyone with a gun, much less a child younger than Gleb, Gleb's friend.

Gleb starts fidgeting with his nails and fingers, the guilt swallowing him whole. He can't allow Leonid to take the blame for something that was his fault, but he is finally admitting to himself that which took so long to realize. He is scared of his father, although not because of what he may do to him.

Leonid stays still, trembling and whimpering. Stephen keeps the gun in place as he keeps shouting questions at the paralyzed boy.

"Gleb, tell him to stop!" Peter cries, tears welling up in his eyes.

Goodbye, feeling of hoping father is proud of me, Gleb thinks before confessing to what really happened. "It wasn't Leonid, father." He says, pausing to swallow. "It was me." Silence rigns for a few seconds as Stephen lowers the gun slowly, his head turning towards Gleb with the most unreadable of expressions.

A sob of relief escapes Leonid when Stephen leaves him alone. The man's attention has now fully shifted to his son.

"There was no cloaked figure, I let the first Cossack escape", Gleb continues, speaking very quickly as his furious-looking father moves towards him fast, very, very fast. "He must have called the police and told them where to find the others, I didn't mean it, he tricked me, it was an accident, fath…"

Gleb is silenced by Stephen's fist colliding hard with his face. The punch takes the boy completely by surprise, making him lose balance and stumble forward as his hands move to soothe the burning sensation rising in his left cheek and lower lip. He doesn't fall down to the ground though, and when he looks up after uncovering his face, Gleb finds dozens of eyes staring at him. It takes a while for him to read pity in them. Both adults and peers pity him. He can tell by the way the women cover their mouths and the men shake their heads in disapproval at his father. He can't stand their stares, so he looks down to see that his hands are covered in blood, probably from using them to rub his newly broken lip. He can taste the blood in his mouth, he can feel every drop running down his skin. It is unbearable.

This is too much, Gleb thinks as his breath quickens. It is happening again. The boy kneels, covers his ears, and closes his eyes, but he doesn't have much time to think with horror about the fact he is having one of his episodes in front of almost the entire party cell, because his father soon grabs him by the collar of his sweater, fully intending to hit him again.

"No!" A woman's shout stops the man. "No!" Elena rushes outside the house, where she had been watching everything through the kitchen window. She places herself between her son and her husband, facing the latter and struggling to physically restrain him. "Stop it, Stephen! For God's sake!" Several party members rush to help her restrain her husband.

"Calm down comrade", murmurs can be heard, "let the boy explain himself."

Feodosia has approached Gleb and is now kneeling before him. She puts a gentle hand on his head, trying to console him. Peter and Leonid are also approaching, wearing looks of concern.

The next few moments are a blur for Gleb, both because of the tears in his eyes and the chaos in his head. He hears distant heated arguments between the many party members present and his father's embarrassed and disappointed grumbling.

Stephen is not only ashamed of Gleb for having let the prisoners escape, but is also extremely embarrassed by the boy's childish and weak reaction to such well-deserved punishment. His shame grows into anger, the anger into disappointment, and that disappointment into quiet resignation. He has come to the realization that true revolutionaries can't be raised, much less brilliant ones, because smart children will inevitably rebel against their parents. He can't trust Gleb. He still loves him, he still fights for him, but the boy is weak at best and bound to turn against them at worst.

Oo

Gleb is done with his father. He needs to hold on to what is left of his dignity… if there is any there after he embarrassed himself in front of the whole party. Stephen taught him about what needed to be done, that is true, but Gleb is not a child anymore. He is more than capable of fighting for what he believes in without his encouragement. He doesn't need Stephen. I don't, I don't, Gleb has been telling himself for days. Who cares if his father or even a few other party members believe that he let the Cossack escape on purpose? Who cares? Most of his youth organization, all of his gymnasium friends, Yakov, and Sergei have stood up for him, and so have his mother and Feodosia, who has happily tried to distract him with as many kisses as she can possibly give every time they are alone together. And he never thought that they would react to his darkest secret, his weakness, with anything but disdain, and yet they haven't mentioned his breakdown at all.

He doesn't need a father. He needs to prove himself that he means what he says in his speeches. He wants to fight.

There is a problem having to do with Stephen though, which is that he won't let him. Being a long-time party member with a certain degree of power, Stephen seems to have gone on a petty revenge crusade against Gleb for no reason whatsoever. He disbanded his son's youth organization, selected a few of the older members to join one of the cell's battalions, and then forbid the rest of them from taking part in any fighting. Even their weapons were confiscated, as the party suspected the boys of being involved in contra-revolutionary activities.

Gleb has never been angrier at his father.

Oo

Despite the fact he was born to an aristocratic Russian family, Gleb admires the old Leo Tolstoy a lot. This great Russian writer could come to be regarded as one of the best authors of all time. His novel "War and Peace", detailing the lives of several families during Napoleon's invasion of Russia, is a favorite of Gleb's, as he loves history.

Leo also wrote a book called "Sevastopol Sketches" based upon his experiences during the Crimean War where he examines the senselessness and vanity of war.

He is an anarchist and a pacifist now, and his beliefs are similar to those of Gleb's mother. Tolstoy takes Jesus's Sermon on the Mount quite literally and believes in nonviolent resistance. Gleb can respect that, but he does not agree with those beliefs.

The world is brutal. The boy and his father can at least agree on that. Gleb wasn't able to shoot the escaping Cossack in the back. He didn't think of him as a threat. Now his cell will have to face four more Cossacks in battle. Four possible casualties on their side, four or more.

As he walks through the heavily barricaded streets of Moscow at the heat of the battle, Gleb begins to grow scared that his actions, which at the time felt like sparing an innocent life, will actually just multiply the losses.

The gray-eyed boy was not going to stand by as his father prevented him from taking action. With the help of Peter, Sergei, Igor, and Yakov, Gleb sneaked into the house where the party kept some of its weapons while nobody was using them. The boys stole them, arming themselves for the upcoming battle. Sergei's lock-picking skills played a useful role, but it was Feodosia who had told them about the weapons' location. Gleb truly loves her.

Oo

While she would have been amused to join the boys in their adventure, Feodosia decided not to. She preferred to stay in Ekaterinburg with her mother, aiding the cause in more practical ways. To be honest, she considered them rather foolish for thinking their average and newly acquired shooting skills would help turn the tide at all. Gleb was, in particular, acting very unlike himself, almost completely emotionally. He had always been so rational, so methodical, which is what she liked about him. His recent actions came across as a childish outburst against his father.

Feodosia wouldn't be guided by her feelings, not when so much was at stake. Never. But she pitied Gleb. She would never reveal this to him, but following his breakdown, she heard two of his school friends making fun of him when they thought no one was listening. Pavel and Alexander don't seem too invested in the cause either, which must be the reason why they are not risking their lives for its sake or even providing much money. They don't deserve Gleb's friendship.

Feodosia's sweetheart didn't fully succeed at inspiring unconditional devotion among the members of his organization either, for only one of them decided to follow him. They knew that the idea was stupid. It pains her to know she won't always be by his side to offer him her unwavering loyalty.

Oo

Only Gleb, Peter, Sergei, Igor, and Yakov ventured to travel to Moscow, Russia's capital and the center of a furious battle between revolutionaries from different factions and government's troops. Lev is once again covering for Yakov, whose parents and grandfather think he will be staying with his cousin. Peter told his parents a similar story.

The young men traveled on several peasant carts, and Peter paid the owners generously for each ride. Upon arrival, the boys struggled to find their way in such a labyrinthine city, and if it weren't for their badly hidden weapons, they would have passed for lost tourists. The fact a battle was taking place in Moscow was not immediately evident, but the shooting sounds that could be heard in the distance soon made it clear. The first time Gleb heard a shot, he was so frightened that he grabbed Sergei's arm and squeezed it tightly enough to cause pain. The next few times, he ended up curled up into a ball, rocking back and forth with his hands pressed against his ears. The fact his friends didn't tend to react any better was soothing for Gleb. He only had to fear death, not ridicule. For the first time in his life, his distaste for certain sounds was completely shared by the people around him. He felt understood.

The shooting almost caused Gleb another breakdown, but its almost predictable regularity ended up becoming bizarrely reassuring. The bullets still frighten him, of course, and he, like his friends, always ducks whenever they whistle or sound as if they were whistling particularly close, but he isn't incapacitated by their presence, at least not anymore.

As they approached what seemed to be a barricade made up of old wooden crates and planks, the boys were spotted by three policemen, who were easily identifiable as such due to their uniforms consisting of baggy pants, long black leather boots, long dark jackets decorated with medals, and dark caps. They started interrogating the boys about their weapons, and once it became clear that the latter wouldn't be allowed to remain armed given the circumstances, the five of them ran.

The police chased them for what felt like half an hour, and at some point, the patience their youth had originally inspired dissipated and the firing started. For the first time ever, Gleb feared for his life, and so did his friends.

The chase was abruptly stopped when two of the cops fell dead, having been shot by someone that the boys couldn't immediately see. The other policemen ran away, scattering and leaving the boys panting, catching their breath as they stood over the corpses.

"What do we do now?" Peter asked, clearly shocked by the sight of the dead men despite his best attempts to hide it.

Suddenly, the boys heard a sound coming from an abandoned store. At first it sounded like a man calling a horse, or maybe a dog. "Hey! Hey you!" The voice eventually grew loud and aggressive. "Idiots!"

An angry-looking man wearing walked out of the store slowly, his rifle pointed at Sergei. "You are blocking our view", he whispered, and the boys realized his voice was different. "Come here with us if you want to live."

Gleb, Peter, Sergei, Igor, and Yakov hurried to do as the man had ordered, entering what used to be a clothing store and marveling at the variety of weapons held there, not only rifles and bullets, but also pistols and homemade bombs. A man and a woman, probably the shooters who had saved them from the policemen, appeared to be on duty, kneeling and aiming their shotguns through the window. The two men who had spoken to them made them sit on a couple of chairs located behind a pile of weapons. Due to a lack of seats, Gleb, Yakov, and Leonid sat on the ground.

"You are on our side, right?" The one who had insulted them asked. "Are you anarchists, Bolsheviks, Socialists, or what?" Gleb opened his mouth to reply, but the man interrupted him. "It doesn't matter, you came here to fight against the Tsar, and you are not from this city, that much is clear. We need to set the rules."

Oo

The man went on to explain the rules in question. Gleb and his crew wouldn't be able to stay with them, as the group would have grown too large. Instead, the boys would be sent to a different street a couple of blocks away. They would receive help if needed.

Their job would consist of shooting down any Cossack or policeman who dared to approach them, but they wouldn't stay in one place. Taking fortified positions was out of the question, as they needed to be able to escape if anything happened. The attacks needed to be swift and quick, coming from different places in order to confuse the enemy.

Bullets can still be heard in the distance, but disregarding that, it is somewhat quiet. The boys are in their new hiding place now, waiting patiently for the danger to come, willing to follow instructions and shoot the first policeman they happen to come across. Gleb worries he may not be able to do so, that he will let them be like he let that Cossack be, but he cannot share his fears with his friends, who seem excited by the prospect of killing someone, anyone, for the first time, and even more so by the fact the victim is going to be an enemy of the people. They may doubt his loyalty to the cause or think him weak, even Peter, who truly believes Gleb tried his best to shoot the Cossack and simply failed.

Gleb's strength is finally put to the test when a patrol of Cossacks rides by their hiding spot, an empty classroom full of chairs turned upside down, behind which they sometimes take cover.

"Look!" Yakov whispers in Gleb's ear as he aims his rifle at them. "Look at the bastards…"

Gleb aims too, and so do Sergei and Igor.

"Should we shoot now?" Igor whispers, looking at Gleb in search of approval despite being three years older.

Gleb's heart starts beating faster. Not only does he fear for his and his friends' lives, but the prospect of killing someone without warning makes him feel nauseous. "Wait until they are close to us", he decides to say. "Then we will kill them."

"They are close to us", Yakov frowns.

"Yes, but we should wait until they are even closer", Gleb replies without noticing his friend's exasperation.

Then one of the Cossacks spots the boys inside the old classroom and turns his head around, his eyes meeting Gleb's for a brief moment. He looks way older than Alexei, a hardened veteran, and his gaze makes Gleb's skin crawl. Gleb, who can still hear bullets in the distance. They are more than capable of shooting, he panics. They are lethal, trained warriors. Before the older man can make a move against them, Gleb fearfully and impulsively pulls the trigger of his rifle and shoots the Cossack right in the chest almost without realizing what he has done. Gleb lowers his rifle in disbelief as the lifeless man falls from his horse. That is enough to make the other members of the patrol start shooting.

"Down!" Igor cries as a wave of bullets hits the chairs and walls around them. The boys don't need any convincing to follow his advice. Everyone ducks under the wooden tables or hides behind the walls and chairs. Gleb does so behind a stand.

"We are dead! Mom!" Peter screams in a fit of hysteria. "We are dead!"

"Peter", Gleb whispers softly at the boy cowering opposite from him. "Your head is not fully covered, don't move it, as that will draw attention."

Peter reacts by gasping in horror, but he does as he is told and tries to be still.

Gleb surprises himself by responding in an incredibly calm manner to the situation, patiently calculating how best to protect his friends while also peeking out from behind the stand to look through the window in the hopes of catching sight of another Cossack. I can do this, I can.

The bullets have stopped. Good. At first, Gleb detested the sound shots made almost more than anything he had ever experienced, but he has developed a strange liking for them somehow. They have a pattern. They can tell him things.

The Cossacks must be inspecting their surroundings, looking for him and his friends, or perhaps mourning their fallen friend. Friend. Gleb has just killed someone, and the realization horrifies him. But he has to keep going.

A few minutes go by. The mounted men know where we are already, Gleb thinks, they just fear being shot back.

"Do not imitate me", Gleb says, "I am going to look for them." He starts crawling from his hiding place, keeping his head as low as possible.

"No, Gleb!" Peter exclaims in a whisper, sounding terrified.

"I will be alright", Gleb lies. He has no clue. He doesn't know whether he is going to live or die, and despite the fact his heart is beating faster than ever, he doesn't truly know if he is even worried about dying. He just fears for his friends.

"Be careful, Gleb", Yakov warns him.

"You are insane, kid", Igor adds. Hyperbole, Gleb concludes, for Igor hasn't tried to stop him.

Gleb crawls around different spots of the classroom, trying to get a good look through the window by raising his head for short periods of time. This is incredibly impractical, as a second or two is not enough to get a proper glimpse of the street. He is going to have to step outside, using building walls as cover.

That is what he does. His friends might as well be shouting at him with their sights, but he leaves the classroom either way.

He feels naked outside, weak and vulnerable.

Minutes go by. The relative silence is overwhelming, the bullets in the distance too far away to conceal it. Gleb doesn't move far from the school, only a couple of blocks, but he still feels further from life than his friends. The fifteen-year-old boy chokes down a gasp when he sees one of the Cossacks walk calmly past the corner where he is standing.

Gleb hides behind the wall he was moving parallel to, breathing deeply. Weapon in hand, the soldier is walking towards the school where his friends are hiding. Something else catches Gleb's eye when he peeks at the classroom again. Another Cossack is approaching his unsuspecting friends from behind the building where they are. One more walks a few steps behind.

No, it can't be. If Gleb shoots at those two, the one who just walked by will immediately find and shoot him, but if he does nothing, their friends will surely be dead in minutes. Think, Gleb. His heart is pounding, it is breaking out of his chest.

No, he can not let any harm come to his friends. Friends are hard to find. Friends are gold. An idea occurs to the grey-eyed boy, which is that he can serve as a distraction.

Gleb takes aim and fires twice at the back of the Cossack closest to him, the one who just passed by. This has the intended effect, because the other two turn their attention towards him and begin firing in his direction.

Gleb dodges a couple of bullets that instead hit the walls close to him, making him flinch. He then takes off running with his rifle at hand. The soldiers follow him, often shooting at him and failing. Nearby windows shatter in the process.

Gleb runs for minutes without stopping, taking random turns as the soldiers follow closely behind. They have stopped shooting, but Gleb knows they are just saving their bullets. He looks back constantly to see how close they are, until he catches sight of a mounted man he hadn't seen before riding towards him.

"Move aside!" The man on the horse yells at the two other men chasing Gleb. "I will get him!" He takes out his sword in one swift movement without slowing down.

This is it, Gleb thinks with horror as he lets out a scream, I am going to die. His life amounts to nothing and he is going to die.

But the strike never comes. A gunshot rings in the boy's ears instead, a gunshot that is followed by several others.

When Gleb dares stop running and turns around, he finds Peter, Sergei, Igor, and Yakov standing before the bodies of the soldiers, their weapons pointed at the dead men as if they still feared them.

Peter is crying, Yakov is shaking, and Sergei's eyes are wide open. Gleb wonders if having taken a life or two will come to haunt any of them as much as it will probably haunt him.

Only Igor is composed enough to talk.

"Are you hurt, Gleb?" He asks, sounding fearful and worried.

Gleb truly doesn't know. Is he? Did any of those bullets hit him while he was running? He inspects his own body in search of pain, in search of injuries. There are none, so he shakes his head.

"Good", Igor says. A gunshot rings again in the distance, and he turns around quickly. "We need to find another hiding place, there are probably more coming."

This is only the beginning, Gleb realizes.

Oo

The revolutionaries of Moscow would have several moments of success, but far more costly mistakes were made when they learned that soldiers were far more accurate shots than policemen, and at a far greater distance. Added to this, on December 13, 2800 armed volunteers were sent to combat the revolutionary forces. Another 1000 were to guard the strategic points throughout the city.

"He is now prepared to arrest all the principal leaders of the outbreak", Nicholas wrote on December 14, referring to Witte. "I have been trying for some time to get him to do it, but he always hoped to be able to manage without drastic measures."

The rebels would hold off government forces for days, proclaiming a new "Provisional Government", but on the night of December 15, two completely reliable units arrived from St. Petersburg to aid the government.

By then, the battle raged in full force. Sympathetic towards their comrades held captive in St. Petersburg, the Moscow Soviet had declared a strike and thousands of Muscovites had taken to the streets in protest.

Since their first clash with the Cossacks, Gleb and his friends had taken part in several more battles. Most of them have been less than pleasant. The boys have had to seek help from many other small groups of rebels or risk getting hurt due to their inexperience with fighting and lack of knowledge of the city.

Gleb thinks that Igor has been the bravest. As the oldest, he never loses composure or starts crying like Gleb and the others do sometimes when someone on their side dies, the bullets fly too close for comfort, or the Tsar's soldiers start walking or galloping nearer. Igor always knows how to soothe and encourage everyone.

Sergei also does his best. While not as daring as Igor, he never backs down when it is time to come out of a hiding spot.

Yakov doesn't shoot at the soldiers, not often, not ever, although he pretends to in order to keep appearances before the other combatants. He recently confessed to Gleb that despite the hatred he feels towards his oppressors, he can not bring himself to kill anyone. He has tried, and he can't. It feels so wrong that he always ends up missing his target on purpose. This makes Gleb feel a lot less lonely.

But Yakov makes up for what he considers his greatest failure. He is very good at running errands and delivering messages to other groups of rebels, sometimes doing so under heavy fire. Because of him, Gleb, his friends, and the many older and more experienced revolutionaries that the boys sometimes fight with still have a way of communicating.

The boys have noticed that several of the Cossacks sent to break up the rebel battalions and demonstrations sometimes refuse orders to charge. They seem to sympathize with the revolutionaries and strikers. The Semenovsky Regiment of the Guard that has just been brought from St. Petersburg is far less sympathetic. They have started cornering protesters in Presnia, the Moscow workers' district where Gleb and his friends are fighting, cutting the area off from the rest of the city.

Lastly, Gleb tries, he truly does his best to protect his friends and feel like he is playing a big part in bringing about the revolution, but with every soldier he kills, a small part of him dies, and he feels further and further away from that loving, fatherly God he doesn't even believe in anymore. It is so stupid.

Gleb has only killed three people, without counting anyone who might have died from wounds, but he has also seen many people falling dead around him, eyes wide open in fear for a last time. The first time Gleb saw a corpse, he was confused by how similar they looked to the living, as if they were only sleeping. Only by looking at their faces and feeling the stillness of their hearts and breathing can one know otherwise. It is especially terrifying now that he doesn't believe in God. All of those people ceasing to exist just like that. Their experiences, and memories, gone. Forever.

This only makes Gleb more committed than ever. The revolution has to succeed. Even as the Semenovsky Regiment approaches, he tells himself over and over again that those deaths cannot have been all in vain.

Presnia is a poor neighborhood, so most of the people living there support the rebels with free food and water. Gleb and his friends will sometimes stay the night with the locals, who spare no expense in their hospitality despite having little to offer.

Gleb has become acquainted with quite a few of the men, women, and children who work at the many factories that litter the area. It is hard to dissuade them from putting themselves in danger by bringing snacks when he and his friends are aiming their rifles at the Tsar's soldiers from behind the many furniture, wooden vegetable boxes, and flour sacks making up the barricade that the older revolutionaries have started building around the district. Gleb's comrades in arms have many different backgrounds. There are workers and students among them, and a few peasants and intellectuals. He gets along with the students of the Imperial Moscow University best and hopes to attend that same institution once the fighting is over. Well, I also need to finish my education at the gymnasium, Gleb thinks with horror.

Oo

The day starts as usual. Gleb, Sergei, Igor, Yakob, and Peter have breakfast with Mr. and Mrs. Vikhrov and their five children before they head towards the improvised revolutionary committee that has recently begun assigning them duties. Strong leadership is necessary and has spontaneously arisen now that the situation is dire, for the rebels are completely surrounded and constantly being harassed by snipers from the Tsar's army.

Gleb recently lost a comrade he had just met and was beginning to grow fond of. It happened unexpectedly. One second the schoolboy and the young history student were talking, and the next one a sniper's bullet had shattered the latter's skull.

Gleb doesn't think he will ever get the image out of his head. He has been regularly thinking about Tolstoy's pamphlet "Bethink Yourselves!"

Again war. Again sufferings, necessary to nobody, utterly uncalled for; again fraud; again the universal stupefaction and brutalization of men.

Men who are separated from each other by thousands of miles, hundreds of thousands of such men (on the one hand—Buddhists, whose law forbids the killing, not only of men, but of animals; on the other hand—Christians, professing the law of brotherhood and love) like wild beasts on land and on sea are seeking out each other, in order to kill, torture, and mutilate each other in the most cruel way. What can this be? Is it a dream or a reality? Something is taking place which should not, cannot be; one longs to believe that it is a dream and to awake from it. But no, it is not a dream, it is a dreadful reality!

One could yet understand how a poor, uneducated, defrauded Japanese, torn from his field and taught that Buddhism consists not in compassion to all that lives, but in sacrifices to idols, and how a similar poor illiterate fellow from the neighborhood of Toula or Nijni Novgorod, who has been taught that Christianity consists in worshipping Christ, the Madonna, Saints, and their ikons—one could understand how these unfortunate men, brought by the violence and deceit of centuries to recognize the greatest crime in the world—the murder of one's brethren—as a virtuous act, can commit these dreadful deeds, without regarding themselves as being guilty in so doing.

Gleb often wonders if the author is right. Well, he firmly believes Tolstoy is right about the Russo-Japanese War. Seeing firsthand what mass slaughter actually is makes it hard to believe that people, including himself, are so easily talked into partaking in it willingly, as if it were so normal, good even. But could Tolstoy be right about this war? Gleb wonders. And what about the one father warned me about?

As he and his friends prepare themselves to aim and shoot from behind their spot at the barricade, Gleb's thoughts are interrupted when something changes. From a place he cannot see, the army starts shelling the district.

The boys immediately duck for cover and remain still for a moment, but when the first shell explodes against the wall of the house located just a couple of streets left from them, the ensuing panic becomes so intense that they all scatter, running around and trying to find shelter as the shells start hitting the very pavement they stand on.

The sound the shelling makes is new, louder than that of gunfire, and unpredictable, so Yakov is forced to guide a disoriented Gleb through the chaos in order to hide in a corner until the danger is over. On the way, they are met by the heart-wrenching sounds of women, children, and even grown men crying for their mothers, and when the fifteen-year-old's grey eyes meet those of the youngest Vikhrov daughter, he almost lets out a panicked scream at the sight. The girl was only five. She was only five and now she is dead, eyes and abdomen wide open.

While Gleb doesn't scream, silent tears roll down from his cheeks as he looks away and curls up into a ball on the muddy ground, rocking back and forward and covering his ears to keep the dreadful sounds out of his head. The image of the little girl bleeding on the street with her intestines out stays inside his mind though. How could they do that? Gleb thinks, or perhaps asks himself out loud. How could they do that? How could the soldiers throw those shells to kill us knowing there were civilians among us? He can feel himself becoming more and more hysterical with each passing second until his mind becomes useless and blurry. This is different, he decides, this war is different. The Tsar, Gleb decides, is not just dumb. He is pure evil. A monster. One has the duty to fight monsters.

Oo

Gleb doesn't know how long his attack lasts, but he is quite sure that it takes longer than the shelling to end. The next thing he remembers is desperately trying to stop Yakov's shrapnel leg wound from bleeding.

Help takes time to arrive due to the many wounded around them, but Yakov survives and is sent to live with a local nurse's family willing to treat his injury.

After that, things only became worse for Gleb and his allies. The soldiers only got closer and closer, killing or taking prisoner anyone who fell under their grasp. The boys saw people dying almost every hour.

The day after the soldiers first started shelling, Igor was killed, Sergei was taken captive, and Gleb made arrangements for Yakov to be smuggled out of the district and sent home through the same route they had used to go to Moscow. He knew his friend's health wasn't exactly adequate for such a journey, that the trip would be dangerous in his state, but he couldn't bear to think about what might be done to him if taken captive. The Tsar's soldiers weren't known for being kind to Jews, and Yakov could have accidentally said something revealing regarding his background.

Gleb felt very sorry for his friend. Yakov had saved his life, and he longed to keep helping them all so much. When Gleb said goodbye to him, Yakov was crying, desperate to do more, because they both had experienced the same things, seen the same things.

Now it is only Gleb and Peter, the fifteen-year-old's first friend. It is not uncommon for Gleb to comfort him after a particularly scary shelling. On more than one occasion, he saves his life by making him duck in time.

"There, there", Gleb will hold Peter, "everything is going to be fine." Peter always clings to Gleb tightly, tears falling down his face as he shakes like a leaf.

The boys' friendship solidifies during the three days the army shells the district. They are then cleared from the streets with bayonets along with the remaining rebel fighters.

The day the battle ends, Gleb is taken prisoner amidst tears and confusion just minutes after Peter is tackled and taken away. Unable to aim his rifle, he simply fidgets with it and walks from one place to another, sobbing and gasping for air as the soldiers circle around him, walking closer. For once, Gleb doesn't care one bit about what might be thought of him. The men sense that the boy's mind is not working properly. That and his evident youth are the reasons his life is spared out of pity.

Gleb's weapon is forcefully taken from his hands, and he collapses sobbing on the ground, the debris of a destroyed building serving as a pillow. It is not the innocent childhood dream the revolution represented that he is crying for, it is those men, women, and children he saw die these past few days. The fact it was all for nothing.

The fact all of his fellow revolutionary fighters are surrendering or running away after having hidden their weapons for the next uprising, demoralized because the workers seem to have betrayed them. Many factories, newspapers, and electric plants were back at work, meaning that the workers had actively refused to remain on strike while Gleb and his comrades fought for them. The boy is angry and confused about this.

Then there is also the fact nothing has gone according to plan, that they lost. The revolution had broken out, all he had hoped for, all he had dreamed about as a naive little schoolboy who knew little about death. It had happened, but they had been utterly defeated. Crushed.

It is the fact that they may not ever get another chance.

Oo

Many hundreds were killed during the Moscow uprising, including at least 86 children. 1905, which had started with the Bloody Sunday massacre, had ended with the Presnia massacre. The Tsar's forces, including the much-feared Okhrana secret police, had prevailed.

The rebels of the Urals would end up scattering into the hills after enraging the authorities by attacking and disarming policemen.

As in Moscow, the Bolsheviks built a few barricades and did a lot of sniping, but after they tried and failed to seize some of the strategic points in the area, most of them were surrounded and captured. The rising workers of the Ural towns hadn't generally received support from the army or the peasantry, and they had been short of firearms.

Rebels throughout the entire Russian Empire would suffer similar defeats, although some areas would resist control of the government for longer than others.

The uprising was mostly over, but the Bolsheviks were not, and neither were the majority of the surviving revolutionaries. The days, weeks, and months following the defeat, several defiant leaflets were issued calling for preparation for the next revolt, Lenin's writings among them.

For a time during the uprising, Lenin had slipped back into Russia to lead the Bolsheviks. The police soon found his trail and he was forced to flee secretly from place to place, diminishing his effectiveness. Still, he had been gleeful during those days on the run. "Go ahead and shoot," he would cry. "Summon the Austrian and German regiments against the Russian peasants and workers. We are for a broadening of the struggle, we are for an international revolution."

Having also been active during the uprising, Trotsky and thirteen other members of the St. Petersburg Soviet were arrested for political scheming and spent thirteen months as prisoners in the city jail awaiting trial. In January 1907, each would be given a life sentence of exile in a small Siberian village above the Arctic Circle, 600 miles from the nearest railway station. Trotsky would escape on his journey into exile and travel for hundreds of miles through the Urals before making his way to Finland from where, after an extremely frosty meeting with Lenin, he would go on to Stockholm and then Vienna.

Oo

Torture is, in paper, illegal in the Russian Empire. In 1895, Nicholas II even thanked the Head of the Main Prison Administration, Alexander Petrovich Salomon, for the humane treatment shown to the detained students who had participated in riots in St. Petersburg.

This, however, hardly ever stopped individual policemen and Okhrana agents from inflicting torture on their detainees if they wished to do so. Now at their hands, Gleb is learning this the hard way.

He doesn't want to fight back. His mind is too haunted by the image of that bleeding little girl to do anything, too busy grieving Igor. Luckily enough, it is also too foggy to reveal anything to the two agents holding him by an arm each and making him kneel before a big metal bucket of water.

Gleb's leather boots and sweater have been removed, so he is wearing only a white linen shirt, black striped trousers with suspenders, and black socks. He is so cold. The water is cold, but the air is even more so. Hopefully, the men will give him the boots and the sweater back once they are done with him. That will keep him warm, but he has no clue when the nightmare is going to end. He has been in the jail cell for hours now.

"Where are the remaining weapons hidden?" One of the men holding him asks, grabbing his black hair roughly.

Another boy or man, a braver boy or man, one with a sharper mind full of wit and sarcasm would have probably replied with a clever insult, or perhaps he would have spat at his captor, his oppressor. Not Gleb. He is tired, tired, and so, so cold. Most of all, he now fears that dreadful drowning sensation that threatens to make him lose composure.

"I don't know", Gleb says weakly in response to the interrogator's question. "Maybe under a floorboard..."

Without warning, the man dunks the boy headfirst into the water, and the cold hits him hard enough to knock out any sense of awareness left in him. A few seconds go by and his oxygen runs out. Now Gleb waits for mercy from these two taller, stronger men as the sensation that he is dying slowly invades every part of his body with panic.

Then it is over. He is pulled by the hair again and allowed to breathe, but doing so hurts now. His lungs and chest burn. It is too much, the pain, the water against the collar of his shirt, and the cold. He is feeling too much.

"Where did the rest go? Where are they hiding? How many of them?" The interrogators' questions continue, and Gleb almost gets the urge to cry. He pulls himself together though. He reminds himself that this is nothing. He hasn't been hit or physically harmed, only manhandled roughly at most. This is nothing compared to what Yakov must be going through, injured on the road. Nothing compared to what the mothers of those children are going through. If only he had managed to save that one in time before the roof…

But the torture continues, becoming hard for the fifteen-year-old to bear even while knowing it could be worse. His hair is pulled, the dunking goes on, and soon enough he is shivering uncontrollably. His mind goes back to when he spoke up against his father, opposing the idea of undermining the war effort out of some misguided sense of solidarity with his suffering countrymen. Stephen had all but called him a stupid boy, saying that the revolution would not be a clean affair and that their enemies would play even dirtier. Gleb knows this to be true now. He was just a silly child who thought himself smarter than everyone else. He didn't have a better plan than the adults did, he had nothing. No plan. Not only do his enemies not play clean, but they are also more ruthless than his innocent younger self could have ever imagined.

The boy feels stupid now for thinking he could have proved himself by simply going to battle and being a good shot. There were lots of good shots, he saw them with his own eyes. He had fought, he had killed, but how had any of that helped? Perhaps the real difference could have been made by not letting those Cossacks escape… silly idea, he knows, but now he cannot help but wonder… what if he and others with similar weaknesses are to blame for the failure of the uprising? The thought makes him feel incredibly guilty, so he pushes it away abruptly.

The man dunks Gleb again, barely distracting him from his thoughts. They are all muddled now, his physical discomfort and feelings of hopelessness having combined to make his head spin. Igor is dead, all for nothing… he has never felt this miserable before. The revolution is failing, failing. What is he to do now? And I have been captured, Gleb thinks about the implication for the first time. Will he and Sergei go to jail now? What about Peter? What will become of them?

Oo

As the year 1905 drew to a close, the Tsarist government was still standing. Terror attacks, on the other hand, would continue for several years. Throughout 1905, 1906, 1907, and 1908, several hundred policemen, government officials, clerks, and civilians of many backgrounds and professions caught in the crossfire would fall victim to rebel bullets and bombs.

Russia was no longer the absolute autocracy full of loyal subjects it had been at the beginning of the year, and it would never again be, but it was far from being the democratic republic the Bolsheviks had aimed for.

One of the Bolsheviks' main weaknesses and that of their revolutionary allies had been their lack of weapons, as an entire nation could not be armed by a series of smuggling operations, gun shop burglaries, or assaults on individual policemen.

The inexperience of the revolutionaries fighting battles was another great drawback, for most of the men making up the combat units were merely professional agitators or workers who would soon find that engaging the army was a far cry from merely dodging the police. A failure to execute well-planned attacks against strategic points was evident not only in Moscow but repeatedly throughout countless towns and villages.

The very size of the revolutionary forces had made victory almost impossible. Only a fraction of the proletariat was actually revolutionary. In fact, less than half of the proletariat had participated in the strikes. Added to that, groups like the "Black Hundreds" had succeeded at influencing the workers.

The Bolsheviks and other revolutionary parties had even less support among the peasantry, the largest class in Russia. The Socialist-Revolutionaries were arguably the exception, but their semi-organized peasant uprisings had been scattered, undisciplined, aimless, and almost totally disconnected from the proletarian revolutionary movement.

More detrimental to the revolutionary cause had been the failure to obtain the support of the army, this in part due to the difficulty that evading the army's security and disciplinary measures against agitators and revolutionary organizations posed.

While the revolutionary parties did indeed try to set their differences aside and work together to overthrow the Tsar's government, they were inevitably weakened by division and lack of unified leadership. Lenin was a forceful leader, but he only commanded the loyalty of the Bolsheviks, a small party.

Bickering, mismanagement, and confusion were common. Father Gapon's congress collapsed, and after being discovered to have been a police informant, the priest would be murdered by members of the Socialist Revolutionary Party in 1906.

The 1905 revolution was not a total loss for the rebels though, as it did serve to make the masses more politically aware. The Soviets had been permanently introduced as a concept into Russian politics, and numerous lessons had been learned by the Bolsheviks. The army's support was crucial, and they couldn't rely on the spontaneity of the masses, which could cool down at any moment.

While the Bolsheviks didn't immediately acknowledge the fact they had lost, they eventually did. The scheming continued, and the members of the party learned and adapted, many of them knowing too well, and painfully so, that there probably wouldn't be another revolution for many years to come.

Oo

The consequences of the country's rapid liberalization had been too much to deal with even for Count Witte, its main advocate. He hadn't expected the nation's many rebel sympathizers to be anything but appeased by the October Manifesto, and he had been disastrously mistaken. By January of 1906, Nicholas had completely lost faith in him.

"As for Witte, since the happenings in Moscow he has radically changed his views; now he wants to hang and shoot everybody", the Tsar wrote. "I have never seen such a chameleon of a man. That, naturally, is the reason why no one believes in him any more."

Knowing his position was at risk, Witte tried to recapture the Tsar's good will by cynically watering down the October Manifesto. Without even waiting for the Duma to be elected, Witte drafted a series of Fundamental Laws reinforcing the Tsar's autocratic power.

Furthermore, to make the government financially independent of Duma appropriations, Count Witte used his own personal reputation abroad to obtain a massive loan from France.

Despite all of this, Sergei Witte would end up playing no part in the affairs of the parliament he had helped create, and on the eve of its first meeting, Nicholas asked for his resignation. Witte pretended to be pleased by the move, but for the rest of his life, he would long to return to office.

But Nicholas had made his decision. "As long as I live, I will never trust that man again with the smallest thing," he once said. "I had quite enough of last year's experiment. It is still like a nightmare to me."

Oo

Moscow. July 23rd, 1918.

Doroteya Filippovna Lavrova.

I probably should have asked who it was before opening the door, but I was so scared for my husband that there was only one worry on my mind.

My shift ended early, but he still had to perform a couple more surgeries, so I returned home and waited for him to come. He only took a few minutes longer than usual, but now I know that it was not irrational of me to panic.

Andrei is sporting a swollen eye, and his clothes are dirty and dishevelled.

"What happened?" I ask with a worried frown as I rub his shoulders and lead him inside.

He smiles at me as if nothing were wrong, but his body is nevertheless stiff. "Apparently, wearing glasses is an unmistakable hint that I belong to the, I quote, 'degenerate bourgeois' class", he takes out his now-broken glasses from one of the pockets of his sweater and hands them over to me with an amused grin. It is so like him to find humor in something so awful. I try to humor him by keeping a smile on my face and laughing at his jokes as he recalls the way he was robbed and assaulted by two men. I do so while checking him for serious injuries, but fortunately he has none, just a few scratches from the broken glass.

After having dinner and putting our daughter to bed, we spend the night making jokes and pretending everything is fine. I can take it now that I know everything will indeed be fine, but regardless of our relatively good luck, I don't find the situation itself amusing at all.

It is madness out there. Middle-class people only step outside wearing old clothes for fear of being assaulted. They avoid top hats and expensive or expensive-looking fur coats. Family men grow their beards in an attempt to look poor. With the old police gone, there is crime everywhere, some of it increasingly violent, but all our new law enforcement officials do is encourage people to protect themselves, and as a result of this, the people have resorted to the most animalistic forms of mob violence, even against petty thieves who resort to crime out of poverty and desperation. It is disastrous.

Part of me has trouble understanding how we got back here, 1905 all over again. I was just eleven years old, but information flies from mouth to mouth among us country folk, and it reached my parents' ears through the gossip of peddlers and wanderers.

Throughout the countryside, agitators fired up the peasants by spreading rumors that the Tsar had granted them the land they wanted and that help was needed to take it away from disobedient landlords. Due to this, many peasant mobs stole grain and livestock from the landlords. The motive for these actions was not revolution but robbery and revenge though. I actually heard from my mother that rebellious peasants often returned their loot and even turned agitators who had spoken against the Tsar over to the police.

What happened in the cities I am less sure of, but my parents didn't let me and my sisters travel to Moscow that year, so it must have been chaotic.

Although this was not the case with all neighboring villages, my village remained loyal throughout the many uprisings of the early 1900s, and yet detachments of soldiers were sent to put us under surveillance. A young man who was being hidden by one of our neighbors was found and later hanged for sedation, as he allegedly belonged to a group of bandits and rebels who had taken over a local landowner's state. After all of these years, I am still not sure if he was truly guilty, and part of me is afraid of seeing.

Many innocents might have been executed in order to restore order, but the gravity of the situation and the fear of crime and lawlessness made most around my family indifferent to the plight of the condemned.

The great prophet St. John of Kronstadt, who must have foreseen the approaching catastrophe we are now engulfed in, repeatedly exhorted his countrymen to repent, return to their former piety, and support the Tsar, whom he considered God's anointed ruler, lest the people of Russia face untold disasters both on Earth and in the world to come.

"We have a Tsar of righteous and pious life", he warned the people back in those days. "God has sent a heavy cross of sufferings to him as to His chosen one and beloved child, as the seer of the destinies of God said: 'Whom I love, those I reproach and punish'. If there is no repentance in the Russian people, the end of the world is near. God will remove from it the pious Tsar and send a whip in the person of impure, cruel, self-called rulers, who will drench the whole land in blood and tears."

But many parts of the land were already drenched with blood and tears, as they and others are now. Looking back, I am impressed by the fact that the events of 1905 came to nothing. Well, nothing then. The happenings certainly fueled resentment, they certainly planted a seed, a reminder of what was possible, and inspired the revolutionaries that would succeed at toppling the regime twelve years later, as if they had been some sort of sick dress rehearsal for the bloody events taking place right now.

It is bizarre to know that while the Russian Empire struggled for its existence, the happy lives of the four Grand Duchesses and their little brother had remained practically unchanged.

Oo

Following Tsesarevich Alexei's birth, Margaretta Eagar had to return to Ireland for personal reasons. Although the governess received a pension from the Russian government, she continued working with children, something she deeply enjoyed. Margaretta never forgot her four dear charges, and would continue sending them letters for many years to come. Olga, Tatiana, Maria, and Anastasia often wrote back.

I suspect that Alexandra might have been at least slightly relieved by the woman's departure, because despite liking and appreciating Miss Eagar very much, she hadn't been fond of the way people had started commenting on her daughters' Irish-sounding English.

Before Margaretta Eagar left Russia, she asked Empress Alexandra for permission to write her memoirs. Not only did Alexandra allow her to do so, but she also encouraged her, saying that there were many lies about Russia and the imperial family circulating already. Alexandra had faith that Miss Eagar would set the record straight.

Eagar's memoirs were published several years ago, and I, of course, could not resist te urge to see for myself if there was any truth to them. I read Miss Eagar's books and magazine articles regarding her time with the four Grand Duchesses while letting my mind do the rest of the work. There was truth. All of the nanny's anecdotes were true. The girls' family life was just as happy and idyllic as described in them. This did not change during the last months of 1905.

Oo

When Alexei was around a year old, Nicholas took him to a review of the Preobrazhensky Regiment. The soldiers gave the baby heir a mighty "Hurrah!" that Alexei responded to with delighted laughter.

On December, Alix took little Alexei with her so that he was present at a parade, the first of many to come and the beginning of little Alexei's love and admiration for soldiers. The baby's mood always changed around them, becoming exited and joyful. From the moment he was able to, the young heir started imitating their movements and marches.

The six-year-old Maria Nikolaevna also loved soldiers and sailors. I had a vision of her during the last months of 1905. The family was sailing on their yacht, and Maria was playing on deck with one of the sailors. This man was in his twenties, had dark hair and mustache, and was immensely endeared by the little Grand Duchess. In order to make her dream of piloting the vessel come true, he picked her up and let her stand on top of the spindle of the helm. Seldom did I again see her happier than she looked at that moment, feet on the spindle, arms holding the handles as she pretended to direct the course of her beloved ship, face lit up with a huge grin as she burst into a fit of giggles. The young man stood a few steps behind the precious child, smiling at her with fondness.

The little Grand Duchess would grow fond of the sailor too, and she would remember that magical moment for many years to come.

From their early childhood the Grand Duchesses had been accustomed to shaking hands with ladies and giving their hands to be kissed by gentlemen. This chivalrous tribute was especially appealing to Grand Duchess Tatiana, who as a young girl never lost an opportunity to bring herself under general notice. During one of the Tsar's journeys through the country, the little girls were left inside the train at the station whilst their parents attended a function in town. Curious to see the imperial children, many people assembled in front of the carriage allotted to the nursery. Little Tatiana came to the window, but she could not reach high enough to look out, so she climbed on to a footstool and calmly surveyed the people. At first, she only smiled and looked coyly at them, but after a few seconds she diffidently put out her hand, giving it to the lady standing nearest. The delighted lady kissed the girl's chubby little paw, so confidingly held out. This was the signal for all others to come forward, and the young Tatiana, only seven years old at the time, gave her hand to every individual of the assembled group.

"Grand Duchess Tatiana just held her first reception!" The amused Emperor Nicholas joked when he heard of the incident.

As a small child, Tatiana was similar to her siblings, full of pranks and mischief. On one occasion, during an official ceremony that she had to partake in, it was very windy and the four girls had to hold their hats with their hands to keep them from flying away. Finally, Tatiana got tired of this, put her hands down, and started to make faces to the audience. People, seeing that, started to laugh.

She never truly stopped having fun with her family whenever the circumstances allowed for that, but as the years went by and she learned about the effects her brother's illness had on him and their mother, she developed a more mature spirit, becoming a huge help to her parents in almost every situation.

Four-year-old Anastasia kept making people laugh, ten-year-old Olga learned more everyday. Pure souls, the five imperial children. I still fail to understand how anyone could have done what was done to them. How could everything have gone so wrong?

Ask those who like or believe simple answers and they will reply that the man Nicholas and Alexandra met in November of 1905 is the sole cause of their downfall.

Oo

I have conflicting feelings about the man known as Grigori Yefimovich Rasputin, who was born on the 21st of January 1869 according to the new calendar to a family of peasants in the Siberian village of Pokrovskoye. He was a mystic, and almost everyone seems to think of him as either a holy man or an evil hedonist in a pact with the devil himself. There are few people whose opinions place him somewhere in between, but he has also been called a charlatan, a madman, a liar, and an opportunist.

I don't think he was any of those things. He was never a priest or a monk, but I think he truly believed God had endowed him with special abilities, special abilities similar to mine. I think he tried to use them for good. I think he often failed, that the temptations accompanying his eventual success were too many and too much for him to bear.

Rasputin's father Yefim was a peasant farmer and church elder. He also worked as a government courier, ferrying people and goods between the cities of Tobolsk and Tyumen. The couple had eight other children, but seven of them died in infancy or early childhood, causing a huge impact on the young Grigori. His little sister Feodosia survived, and as the godfather to her children, he was certainly close to her.

Rasputin had visions like me, that is all I can say for sure. The other kids in the village would cover his eyes and ask him what object they were holding in front of him. He would always have the right answer. On more than one occasion, he helped the local authorities catch horse thieves. He often saw the burglaries take place, and initially he had thought that everyone had that same ability. One of the first times he made use of his power was when he mysteriously identified the man who had stolen one of his father's horses. From that moment onwards, Rasputin developed a reputation for having a knack for identifying thieves.

Although he was also bullied for his unique ability, Rasputin had a charisma that prevented him from becoming ostracized the way I was. He had several friends and would eventually become exceptionally good with women, with all this entails. Talking to them, seducing them, pleasing them. He somehow found a way to use his visions to learn from other people, to observe what worked to manipulate, to convince, and even to attract. This is not to say that his decent shape and long dark beard drastically contrasting with his piercing, almost hypnotizing, icy blue eyes didn't help.

Rasputin's gift was not always good for his soul, for his power would also cause him lots of inner conflicts, straightening his demons. There are things Rasputin did with our ability that I would never dare do. He saw things more dreadful than I could ever imagine.

Having had a few visions of Rasputin's childhood, I find it hard not to feel sympathetic towards the little boy, who like me grew up with powers he could not comprehend. I would eventually have Gerasim to help me, but he never had anyone to guide him. He had to figure out what to think and what to do about his powers on his own.

Not unlike most peasants, Rasputin was not formally educated, remaining illiterate well into early adulthood. He had an unruly youth involving drinking, small thefts, and disrespect for local authorities. This later fueled rumors that he stealed horses, blasphemed, and bore false witness. These rumors were untrue, but Rasputin was far from innocent.

Grigori Yefimovich Rasputin grew up jealous of his siblings Maria and Dmitri. True or not, he felt that their parents gave them more attention, more gifts. He felt that they went easier on them when they were naughty, particularly Maria, who was epileptic and needed special care.

One night, Grigori dreamt that his sister Maria drowned in the river. Not yet understanding that sometimes even the things he saw in his sleep had prophetic meanings, the boy was pleased with the fantasy and enjoyed the extra attention his parents showed him in the dream. A couple of days later, Maria drowned in the river, truly drowned, and Rasputin never forgave himself. Despite the jealousy, he had loved his sister deeply, he had cared for her whenever she was ill and played countless games with her. She was his precious sister.

Dmitri later died of pneumonia after falling into a pond, an incident that took place following another prophetic dream that Grigori definitely didn't enjoy that time. The supernaturally gifted boy jumped into the water to save his sibling, but he failed to do so when the illness took him.

The deaths affected Rasputin deeply. He never stopped blaming himself for them, wondering if he had caused them, if he was capable of worse, if there was something deeply wrong with him, if his powers came from the devil. Following the funerals, his thoughts started traveling to dark places, and in consequence, so did his visions. He stated seeing, witnessing, the worst of humanity. Thieves, cheats, murderers, corrupt businessmen and politicians, greedy tricksters, and more. He started seeing some of himself in all of them despite the fact that he seldom shared their guilt, and this only got worse when he started becoming interested in women. He saw what some of the worst men often did to them. He saw not only that, but also the way men and women coupled when they desired each other. His young mind became fixated on both situations, especially after reaching adolescence, when he first started experiencing lust.

Focusing on his newfound desires became an obsession for Rasputin, causing him to have many visions of real people from the past, present, and future engaging in these acts. The dark thoughts, fears of being an evil person, and temptations followed him everywhere, making him succumb to them more and more often until he became a shameless womanizer. Occasionally, he was something worse.

All of this was shown to me in only one vision, for Rasputin confessed his deepest secrets to his greater confidant, his wife.

In 1886, Rasputin traveled to the small town of Abalak, where he met a peasant girl not much older than him named Praskovya Dubrovina. After a courtship of several months, they married the next February. Later on, Praskovya would permanently live in the village of Pokrovskoye throughout Rasputin's subsequent travels and rise to prominence, remaining devoted to him until his death despite being somewhat aware of his excesses. The couple had seven children in total, though only three survived to adulthood: Dmitri, born in 1895, Maria, born in 1898, and Varvara, born in 1900.

Oo

In 1897, Rasputin went through a profound spiritual awakening that led him to leave Pokrovskoye and go on a pilgrimage.

Rasputin had undertaken shorter pilgrimages before, but his visit to the St. Nicholas Monastery at Verkhoturye transformed him, for he met and was profoundly humbled by a starets known as Makary. Rasputin spent several weeks at Verkhoturye, where he learned to read and write, although he would later claim that some of the monks of this monastery frequently engaged in homosexuality. Still, he returned to Pokrovskoye a changed man, feeling as if there were hope for forgiveness from God, as if he had a purpose, as if perhaps his special gift could be used for more, something good. He became a vegetarian, swore off alcohol, and started praying and singing much more fervently than he had in the past.

Over the course of his travels, Rasputin came into contact with many religious traditions and even heretical sects that differed dramatically from Orthodox doctrine. Some of them were harmless, but the vastness of the Russian countryside used to harbor several dark cults of incredibly harmful beliefs. On one hand were the Skoptsy, a fanatical sect known for castrating men and performing mastectomies on women in accordance with their teachings against sexual lust, which they believed to have been the original sin. On the extreme opposite were the Khlysty, a perverse religious sect that sometimes took part in ecstatic rituals such as self-flagellation and wild sexual orgies during which no thought was given to morality or blood relation. The Khlysty members who participated in these rituals did so because they believed that salvation could be attained only by total repentance, which became far more achievable for the ones who had truly transgressed.

Rasputin didn't ever join a sect, any sect, not even the Khlysty, but he did acquire one or two beliefs from the latter. "Sin in order that you may obtain forgiveness" was a practicality that seemed to suit both his insatiable desires and his growing spirituality, which urged him to help others heal and find God and peace.

By the early 1900s, Rasputin had acquired a small circle of followers, primarily family members and other local peasants who prayed with him on Sundays and other holy days. The group held secret prayer meetings that were the subject of suspicion and hostility from the village priest and other villagers, as female followers ceremonially washed Rasputin before each meeting, during which strange songs were sang.

Despite rumors that he was having sex with his female followers, Rasputin gained the reputation of a wise starets who could help people resolve their spiritual crises and anxieties, even making a favorable impression on several local religious leaders who would indirectly influence the rector of the theological seminary at the Alexander Nevsky Monastery to arrange for him to travel to Saint Petersburg. This newfound good reputation was in no small part due to the fact Rasputin was said to be able to heal the sick and wounded. I still fail to be sure about whether this is true or not, but Rasputin certainly believed himself capable of healing people through prayer. On one occasion he was witness to an accident during which an ax fell straight into a man's leg. The victim was not expected to survive by anyone, but Rasputin prayed fervently beside him, suspiciously hopeful that his story hadn't yet ended, and just a few weeks later, as Rasputin had miraculously predicted, the wounded man made a full recovery. Did Rasputin have a gift for having his prayers heard? Was he a miraculous healer like the apostles were? Did he simply know who would heal thanks to his visions? Probably only God and Rasputin himself know.

Upon arriving at the Alexander Nevsky Monastery, Rasputin was introduced to Theofan, the inspector of the theological seminary and a man who was well-connected with Saint Petersburg's society and would later serve as confessor to the imperial family. Theofan gained Rasputin entry to many of the influential salons where the local aristocracy gathered for religious discussions.

Many aristocrats were intensely curious about the occult and the supernatural, so Rasputin's ideas and strange peasant manners made him a subject of interest. The fascination only grew after Rasputin started "healing" common maladies such as headaches or the flu and mentioning details about people's personal lives that he had no way of knowing. He always did so before giving spiritual advice, urging the wealthy people he encountered to donate to charity, or predicting future events like conceptions, deaths, and marriages. Two of the aristocrats Rasputin had become acquainted with were the "Black Princesses" Militsa and Anastasia of Montenegro, the occult enthusiasts who had married cousins of Tsar Nicholas II and introduced Empress Alexandra to the infamous charlatan Philippe Nazier-Vachot. These women made it possible for Rasputin to be introduced to Tsar Nicholas II and his wife.

Rasputin first met Nicholas and Alexandra on November of 1905 at Peterhof.

Oo

By late 1905, Anna Alexandrovna Taneeva was a relatively new lady-in-waiting and an increasingly close friend to Alexandra. At 21, she was twelve years younger than Alix, who felt somewhat protective of her at times. The Empress would sometimes even refer to her lady-in-waiting as "fifth daughter" jokingly.

Anna, or "Anya", was a tall, plump woman of regular intelligence who didn't possess any remarkable or stunning features. Born the daughter of noted composer and Chief Steward to His Majesty's Chancellery Alexander Sergeyevich Taneyev, she was attached to the imperial court at an early age. She had two younger siblings, Sergei and Alexandra, and was a childhood playmate of Felix Yussupov, one of the sons of Grand Duchess Elizabeth's close friend Princess Zinaida Yusupova, the heiress to Russia's largest private fortune at the time.

The fun-loving and stylish Felix was not at all impressed with Anya. She was a naive, religious, and somewhat clingy young woman who quickly became mesmerized by the Siberian peasant known as Rasputin, thinking of him as a holy man. Due to her closeness to the Empress, Rasputin never tried anything untoward with her or the Montenegrin sisters, but their connection would give rise to many ugly rumors nonetheless.

No one could have foreseen that this unattractive and unremarkable girl would one day become perhaps the most intimate friend of the Tsarina and one of the greatest sources of gossip among St. Petersburg's high-class circles.

The day Nicholas and Alexandra met Rasputin, they were sitting comfortably on a cushioned sofa inside one of the many beautifully ornamented rooms of the Peterhof Palace. The couple had company, as they were having tea with Anya and the two Montenegrin sisters. Initially escorted inside by armed guards who had been expecting his presence, a new visitor entered the room. Nicholas and Alexandra's three guests had invited Grigory Rasputin to meet them.

The 36-year-old peasant greeted the imperial couple by dropping to his knees. "Little father!" He gasped in childlike awe, closing his eyes. "Little mother!" Grigori then began reciting a short biblical verse.

Despite being acquainted with what to some loyal peasants' was the proper way of showing respect and adoration to their Tsar, Nicholas looked baffled, as if surprised a man held in such high regard and spoken of as awfully wise would behave in such an expected way, if not more adoring than usual. Alexandra, on the other hand, merely smiled at Rasputin, something she rarely did as easily among strangers. She seemed to have been instantly endeared by his devotion and peasant simplicity. He was one of the people, one of the real Russians.

Rasputin joined the imperial couple, Anya, and the Montenegrin sisters at tea, and a long and engaging conversation ensued between the humble Siberian peasant and his aristocratic hosts.

He described his country life in the most innocent of manners, always thanking God for every blessing that had ever been bestowed upon him. Around the imperial couple, Rasputin always played his part to perfection. He was just a flawed yet deeply religious man doing his utmost best to live up to the epithet of "holy man." The extent of his genuine struggle with sin was constantly and carefully hidden.

"During summertime, the Sun painted the sky light blue, warming me", Rasputin described, "and the birds sang their heavenly songs to God, did you know that? That God's creatures worship him too?" He asked, moving his hands and arms enthusiastically in order to stress what he was trying to communicate. "They do it in their own way." He smiled at Alexandra like a little boy recalling his playdate adventures, and Alix smiled back, probably endeared by such an apparently innocent, holy, display of faith. She had always loved animals. "Only the birds and the horses could be heard in the mornings", Rasputin continued. "As a boy, I often dreamed of God. My soul yearned for the outside world so much that I sometimes wept. I would then pray secretly. I was not a very happy boy, for I spent much of my time in contemplation, unable to find the right answer to many things. This made me very sad, so I began drinking and sinning, but God has delivered me from the darkness, only my faith in him worked to do so, and it did work, so it is very wrong to say prayer can't fix everything, because it always can as long as you have enough faith, but not the ordinary type of faith", he held his index finger up for emphasis, "it has to be childlike faith, blind, trustful, all believing, like that of your faithful subjects, those who work the land."

Alexandra nodded, mesmerized. "It feels good to hear you say this, as we… the country has gone through uncountable sufferings lately."

Nicholas cleared his throat loudly, staring at his wife with a slightly stern look. He clearly wasn't fond of the idea of even alluding to political matters in front of someone he and his wife had just met.

"Oh, Matushka!" Rasputin beamed. "You weep and suffer for your children, but the Almighty Himself has shown me that the bad times will come to an end!"

"He told me he had a vision of a calm, healthy, and strong Russia", Anastasia of Montenegro said as she looked at Alix, happy to share her increasing interest in the starets with the Empress.

"Full of selfless devotion to the crown", her sister Militsa added.

"Well said!" Anya clapped as she smiled at Rasputin.

"I am sure all we need is a healthy state of mind for the Tsar", Anastasia continued. "The sovereign having a great mind is the key to the well-being of Russia."

"No, Batushka!" Rasputin raised his voice, speaking to the Tsar directly now. "Where do you feel love? Where do you feel concern? In your mind or in your heart?" He touched his temple and then his chest.

"Here", Nicholas replied, touching his own heart.

Grigori nodded, suddenly turning serious. "Whatever you are going to do for the people of Russia, ask your heart, the part of you that loves, that loves your wife and children, you will soon understand it to be wiser than the mind. Your subjects are also your children. Deep down they love and need their father to guide them, but their father makes mistakes and fails to show them that he loves them, and so when they grow up to understand the nature of things better, they rebel, thinking themselves much more clever than their old papas. Every child has similar phase, and they often return to their parents, all that matters is that the parents see their children with their hearts and open them to what they need."

"Where exactly did you grow up?" Nicholas abruptly asked, clearly trying to change the subject.

"I live in a village named Pokrovskoye, where my wife and children also live", the peasant replied. "Do you know of it?"

"No, we do not", Alexandra turned to her husband.

"Near Tobolsk, is that correct?" Nicholas asked.

"Yes", Grigori replied. "I lived along the Tura River, where my brother Dmitri and my sister Maria died, which is why I named two of my children after them."

"Oh, my!" Alexandra covered her mouth with a hand. "I am so sorry to hear that! I also lost two siblings, you know?"

"They are all friends now, little mother, there are no rich or poor in God's kingdom, no frontiers either", the starets said, making Alexandra smile.

"Were you all young when this happened?" Anya asked.

"We were all children", Rasputin nodded. "Maria drowned and sometime later my brother met a similar fate. The water didn't kill him, but it was very cold, you see. I pulled him out in time, but he quickly fell ill and died days later."

"I am so sorry!" Alexandra exclaimed.

"God allowed it to happen for a reason."

Nicholas cocked his head, his expression conveying more interest in the wise man's words than before.

"I couldn't save them then, you see, I wasn't strong enough, or wise enough as a boy", Rasputin explained. "I didn't care for God back then, but after experiencing that loss, I started looking up to Him for guidance and comfort, and I dedicated myself to being a stronger man, a holy man of great spiritual power. I couldn't save my siblings, no, but I have since saved many men, women, and children like them with my prayers, childlike prayers of infinite faith."

"How lovely", Alexandra smiled.

"How long would you say you have had this… spiritual gift?" Nicholas played with his mustache, looking invested in the man's words, but also quite skeptical.

"Oh! Let's see… I think, in some ways, I was born with it", Grigori replied. "God knew I would need it someday, but it is my connection to Him that has helped me develop it. When I was just a boy, my father Efim had a horse stolen. As you may know, peasants don't take horse thievery lightly, not as city people would otherwise think. We don't have much, so losing even one is a terrible thing. One night, while I was sleeping, the Lord gave me strength and guided me. I saw the man's face, the man who had stolen the horse, in a dream. He was among the many villagers in our home, so I pointed him out!" Rasputin pointed across the room, dramatically reenacting the scene and causing Anya to let out a giggle. "My father was not convinced and neither were the others. As for the thief, he was was so angry that he made a scene, and that night, my father gave me a good beating for the embarrassment, as the man was a friend of his. But God didn't forsake me, and one night, the truth came out when he was followed home and two men who were spying on him saw him take out the horse for a ride in the forest. He had no choice but to admit to the crime and was swiftly punished." Rasputin smiled at the hosts. "My father never hit me as viciously again."

"You would make a good detective, Grigori Yefimovich", Nicholas joked.

"Ah, yes! But I had a greater calling, one I don't regret one bit. I have spent months in monasteries, I have had visions of the Virgin Mary, I have wandered almost all over Mother Russia, I have gone on pilgrimages to Greece and Jerusalem, and now St. Petersburg has called me, telling me that I am needed here. I believe that God has blessed me with immense power, power that comes not from me but from Him. I can see the future and heal in the name of Christ. I can be of service to you and your children any time you are in need." Grigori fell to his knees before the imperial couple, his forehead touching the ground. "The Lord has brought me here today to see you, Batushka, Matushka, our meeting is God's work."

"Come now, dear fellow, rise", Nicholas urged the man to stand up as he touched his back gently, looking visibly uncomfortable. He had never enjoyed having people kneel before him. "I would like to speak to you."

The Tsar led Rasputin out of the room to speak a bit more privately, or as privately as a palace with guards at every corner allowed.

"I saw the impression you produced on the Empress", Nicholas commented. "I believe you can help her, all of us. Our friends think that my wife is prone to mysticism, but the truth is..."

"The Empress has got a very keen mind", Grigori replied, "and she trusts God zealously."

"Yes", Nicholas nodded, "we both are very religious, but her soul is fragile. She is easily distressed by the circumstances surrounding us and suffers much as a result of this. You could support her, give her hope when she is too burdened, and help her confessor advice her spiritually. I could help you settle somewhere near."

"Thank you, little father, but I shall pray for you anywhere. You don't need me right now, of this I am certain, and I have been far from my wife and children for too long. The Empress will be fine with your support."

Nicholas looked baffled. The man in front of him had just refused a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. The Tsar must have thought that whoever Rasputin was and whatever his intentions, he probably wasn't an ordinary man.

"Something horrible will someday happen", Rasputin added ominously, "that which you are fearing, and it will happen several times. Then you will immediately call me, and I will always be there to help you, in presence or in spirit."

Nicholas turned pale. "Go, Grigori", he tried to sound calm. "Call Anya here."

Rasputin did as he had been told, and soon enough Anya was curtsying to the Emperor. The starets left them alone.

"Your Majesty", Anya greeted Nicholas.

"Did you tell him?" He immediately questioned her. His tone was not accusatory, but it was clear to see that the Tsar was not exactly pleased to suspect that a total stranger was now aware of an important family secret.

"I did not tell him anything", the young woman opened her eyes wide. "I would never." She shook her head.

"He used some very strange words", Nicholas looked down in horror and disbelief, "'that which you are fearing'."

Anya nodded quickly, almost smiling. "You needn't tell him anything. He knows."

After Rasputin and the Montenegrin sisters left, Nicholas, Alexandra, and Anya remained seated and caught up in an excited conversation for several minutes.

Alexandra, in particular, was grinning and noticeably taken with her first meeting with the starets. Nicholas sat back in his chair, puffing on a cigarette. The Emperor appeared to be both worried and modestly impressed by the man's possible allusion to Alexei's ailment, but he was still sizing up the rather curious fellow.

"He is just as you had described, Anya", Nicholas said. "Pale, long hair, unkempt dark beard, and the stench of a wild animal!" He joked.

"Oh, don't be mean, darling", Alexandra giggled.

"Not too offensive of an odor, I must admit, it could be worse."

Nicholas, Alexandra, and Anya laughed.

"Either way, what I liked about him was the purity of his faith and his simplicity, the way he speaks about God and nature most of all, but I agree that there is nothing remarkable about his appearance", Alix told her husband, "except for maybe his eyes."

"Yes madam", Anya agreed. "They are the most extraordinary eyes. Large, light, blue, and brilliant. It is as if he could see straight into your soul."

"Perhaps he can. He seems very perceptive. What I truly hope is that he will provide us with some insight into the lives of the common Russian people."

"I am so pleased you agreed to meet him, and indeed, he can help you in so many ways. When you or the children are ill, he can be a healer; when you find yourselves in trouble, he can also pray for you."

"Has he met any church leaders?" Nicholas asked.

"When he arrived back in St. Petersburg from his pilgrimage he was received by Father Kronstadt", Anya replied. "He now has the approval of Father Theophan and Bishop Hermogen of Saratov."

"Impressive credentials, but still… I worry. I have heard some rumors that he is a charlatan."

"Nicky, dear", Alexandra shook her head in disagreement, ready to persuade her husband to leave all doubts behind. "Don't you remember what our friend Philippe told us before leaving for good? He said that someday, we would have another friend like him who would speak to us of God."

Oo

The Tsar would go on to record the event in his diary, writing that he and Alexandra had made the acquaintance of a "man of God" named Grigori, who was from the Tobolsk province.

Rasputin would go back to Pokrovskoye shortly after his first meeting with the imperial couple, not returning to Saint Petersburg until July of 1906.

I know Rasputin was referring to one of Alexei's first hemophilia attacks when he spoke of this horrible thing that would happen, but I wonder if he was fully aware of every dreadful thing that would happen to the imperial family afterward too.

Did he hear the screams down in that cellar? Did he see the smoke? Did he hear the silence that came after? The silence that was only interrupted by pained sobs? Did he know that their downfall would someday be attributed to him?

Whether he saw the future or not, I have made up my mind. I don't want to see what happens next, I don't want to see. I have seen enough, the good and the bad. Their story is too tragic, too dreadful. It is over.

Chapter Text

St. Petersburg. January, 1906.

For many years to come, Dmitri Ivanovich Sudayev will think back to 1906 as the beginning of the end, the year that doomed him to a lifetime as a good-for-nothing scoundrel. 

Not 1905, the year he lost half his family during Bloody Sunday and his father left to fight for the revolution with the anarchists. No. 1905, while undoubtedly a traumatic and chaotic year for the little Dmitri, is nevertheless destined to be remembered by him as a fairly adequate bunch of 365 days, at least in hindsight when compared to other bad years he will have lived through. 

In September of 1905, the six-year-old started school at a free government institution that mainly instructs other poor and lower middle-class children. A couple of the educators there still hate his guts for being the most disrespectful and cunning class clown they have ever had the misfortune of being forced to educate, the religion teacher among them, but most find him amusing, endearing, and clever for his age. 

What is more, Dmitri has made new friends his age, lots of friends. They meet during breaks and after school to play all sorts of games together. They go to the candy shops to get sweets or chocolates and also buy ice cream and sbiten from the street vendors. Now that Ivan is an active anarchist, Dmitri has enough money to pay for himself and his friends. It is like magic.

Ivan and Ilya come to visit Dmitri and Sophia regularly, taking them and sometimes also the Smirnovsʼ son Pavel, a classmate of Dmitri, to the theater of the People's Palace, amusement parks, museums, and restaurants. 

Ivan still takes Dmitri to the highest place in the world sometimes, the little Sophia having joined them on one occasion only to fall asleep in her father's arms, but now that the former factory worker has money, there are just so many more places to go.

It is no wonder the young Dmitri has developed a perhaps impious appreciation for money. A few moralizing teachers have told him that one should not make an idol out of wealth after hearing him brag about his new clothes, no longer worn and patched, but the boy has not paid them any mind.

Nothing is better than the happiness in his father's eyes when he can reply to him with a “Yes!”

“Yes, you can have another plate, son.”

“Of course we can go get ice cream!”

“You passed your test, so as a reward, let me buy you that set of tin soldiers you wanted.”

Money means food and fun with the people he loves, his father, uncle, friends, and sister, so why wouldn't Dmitri care for it?

Ivan too is glad to be able to provide his children with everything they need, with everything they have at times been deprived of, and he is pleased to be achieving this by fighting for what he believes in. 

Ivan and Ilya's anarchist cell has successfully targeted several Cossacks, soldiers, and policemen, most of whom had partaken in the Bloody Sunday massacre. Homemade bombs and strategically placed snipers are the organization's principal methods of combat and political assassination, what the government knows as “terrorism.” 

There is no remorse in Ivan’s heart and little pity for his victims though. His heart could only leap with joy when he personally saw one of those responsible for Maria's death blow up. Ilya's heart leaped even more.

When they are not making bombs, distributing propaganda, or carrying out attacks, Ivan and Ilya are participating in the robberies that finance a considerable portion of the organization’s activities, as well as the allowance given to its members. 

As perfect as everything seems to be, Ivan has nonetheless begun to have some disagreements with the rest of the anarchists, particularly about what should be the minimum age when assessing new recruits and who or what can be considered a legitimate target. Still, these are all minor concerns for now, and he is certain that his comrades have no reason to doubt his loyalty to the cause.

What worries Ivan the most is the fact the country seems to be gradually stabilizing. There are still countless terrorist attacks and minor insurrections taking place, of course, but since the December Moscow uprising in which he and Ilya participated was put down, the government has been taking more and more steps to regain control of the country.

Ivan hasn't yet lost hope that the revolution may ultimately prevail in a few more months or years, but he can not help but fear being caught and apprehended, or worse, being caught and apprehended with his children around to watch. It is for this very reason that he has begun taking precautions by carefully avoiding soldiers, guards, policemen, and even anyone looking at him suspiciously while he is spending time with Dmitri and Sophia.

1906 didn't start as a bad year, but as a continuation of the better half of 1905. Dmitri still has frightening nightmares about Kostya, Maria, and her baby dying, and he and Sophia miss their father and uncle terribly whenever they are away, but Ivan and Ilya's visits never take more than a week or two to come, and things are in general getting better.

In the fourth week of January 1906, Ivan and Ilya paid their second visit to the children that year. They took them to the zoo, where both kids were delighted by the sight of the animals and little Sonya got to ride a small pony with her brother.

After a late lunch at a restaurant, Ilya took Sophia back home and Ivan carried Dima over his shoulders to the highest place in the world.

“Bet you can see all the way to Finland from up there, Dima!" Ivan didn't fail to jump while exclaiming his distinguishing jest phrase, sending Dmitri up on his shoulders into a frenzy of giggles.

Having admired the view of the Neva River and the Baltic Sea for a while, father and son are now throwing snowballs at each other on top of that high, white rooftop, an admittedly dangerous pastime. That is why Ivan compels his son to continue with the fight down below.

The fun resumes on the streets, where Ivan and Dimitri keep throwing snow at each other as they head back home. Their laughter grows so loud that for brief moments it can be heard several streets away, and they only grow tired when their apartment is already on sight.

“I am worried about the lack of progress you are making with your reading and writing, Dima”, Ivan tells his son as they wait for a carriage to pass before crossing the street. 

The little Dmitri frowns, not pleased with the sudden lecture. It is not fair! They were having fun! “I am good at memorizing what they tell me, counting, and doing sums, papa!”

“I am talking about reading and writing, Dima, which is also very important, and yet you are failing to do it”, Ivan replies softly, without condemnation. “Why do you think that could be? Are you paying attention in class? Mr. Mikhailov told Mrs. Smirnova that you like playing the fool.”

“It is not that, papa”, Dmitri kicks a few small rocks out of the way to make his frustration clear enough for his father. “I try, but the letters jump around the page, I can't help getting them mixed up.”

Ivan nods sympathetically. “I am also learning, so let's see what I can do to help you when we get home.”

Dmitri sighs, not feeling too enthusiastic about spending the precious time he has left until his father leaves again doing boring stuff like studying stupid letters. They all look the same!

Had Dmitri known the reason why he wouldn't spend much time studying with his father, his opinion would have been very different. 

That same evening, when most of the children have gone to bed and the grown-ups are either sewing or chatting by the candlelight, a loud knock on the door reverberates through the crowded house. The noise startles Mrs. Smirnova into dropping her needle and wakes Sophia from her sleep on the many mantles that make up her crib. Ivan goes over to pick his crying daughter up and soothe her.

Dmitri has feared the sound of knocking for a long time, but the letters he is still having trouble differentiating even with his father's aid have been such a chore to learn that for once he can only be relieved by the interruption. He closes his notebook with unmasked satisfaction and lays his head on the small, low wooden table he was working on.

The knocking goes on, becoming louder and more urgent each time. Valentina is the one who answers the door, and her face turns pale upon seeing the people standing there.

“Sorry to bother you, miss”, one of the three policemen looks behind her, scrutinizing the humble lodgings in search of the men he is after, “but we are looking for two of your neighbors, the Sudayev brothers, have you seen them?” 

Dmitri raises his head in horror and disbelief, and Ivan and Ilya share a look of panic.

“I… uhm, I…” Valentina stutters. 

Ivan hands Sophia over to Mrs. Smirnova, moves toward his son, and kisses him on the forehead before speaking calmly but firmly. “Stay here with your sister, please, darling.”

“Papa…” Dmitri moans in fear, his eyes filling with tears. This has the unintended effect of drawing the policemen’s attention to him. Just as Ivan and Ilya are moving to the back of the apartment, intending to escape through the window the same way the young Patya tried to do, the officers push Valentina aside and burst into the place uninvited. 

It takes them less than one minute to tackle Ivan and Ilya to the ground as the neighbors scream, Sophia wails in Mrs. Smirnova's arms, and Dmitri cries out for them. The Sudayev brothers writhe and resume their struggle to break free even on the floor.

 “Get away!” The boy grabs the policeman restraining Ivan by the white uniform shirt and uselessly tries to kick him. “Get away from my papa! Papa is a hero, don't touch him! Don't touch him! Stop!”

Dmitri is easily pushed to the ground, and when he gets up and moves to defend his father again, Valentina comes from behind and restrains him. The child is thus forced to watch in total helplessness as his uncle and father are beaten to a pulp. 

The officers are brutal. They hit the Sudayev brothers with their batons repeatedly, without rest. They kick and strike them in the legs, in the arms, and even go for the faces.

The children of the flat, now fully awake, grow frightened and confused, and the women weep at what they are seeing and hearing. Dmitri too cries and screams, unable to do anything as his father and uncle start wailing from the pain.

“Dima!” Ivan gasps between clenched teeth as he tries to look at his son with the one eye that hasn't been swollen shut. “Don't watch, Dima!” That is all he can utter before a painful blow to the mouth silences him. He will never forgive himself for failing to save his child from witnessing yet another horror.

“Papa! Papa!” The boy extends his arm, trying to touch his father. “What are you doing? You are hurting him!” He pleads with the officers, trying hard not to show fear. “Please!”

Valentina tries to heed Ivan's wishes by covering Dmitri's eyes. Her only intention is to spare the child the distress of seeing his father in such an unenviable state, but her efforts prove impossible. The boy is moving too much. He wants to see. 

Dmitri remains stubborn, defiant, and eventually, he manages to forcefully untangle himself from Valentina's grasp just in time to follow the officers outside the apartment, where the battered and bleeding Ivan and Ilya are taken, no longer fighting back.

“Stop! Idiots! Villains! Where are you taking them?!” The black-haired boy tries to follow the policemen for as long as he is able to, walking, then running, but the uniformed men force his father and uncle onto a horse-drawn sled that he ultimately loses track of. It is fast, too fast to catch up to. 

Dmitri ends up panting in the middle of the streets, no closer to his father than he was a minute ago. Finding himself completely alone and out of breath, he lets out a terrified cry and then bursts into sobs. He just lost his beloved father, again, his poor papa, whom those demons beat so badly. Is he in pain? Is he going to get better? Will he ever see him again?  

Oo

Tsarskoye Selo. Spring, 1906. 

Tatiana Nikolaevna Romanova. 

Lies! Papa will always protect us, and I am almost nine years old. I should not fear those silly things my older sister Olenka is describing.

“The angry crowd approached the Winter Palace”, she says, hiding her whole body save for her eyes with one of the sheets of her bed, where we are both sitting, cross-legged and facing each other. “They were crying ‘Give us the Tsar! Give us the Tsar!’”

I too cover myself with a blanket.

“‘And give us his children too…’” Olga continues, pausing dramatically. My heart starts beating fast, is what she is saying really true? “Because we want to eat them!” Suddenly my sister jumps up from her side of the bed and growls, and I can not help but let out a loud scream as I fall backward to the floor, taking the blanket with me. 

My sister's laughter is all I can hear after the thud signaling my fall, and my back becomes a bit sore.

I straighten up with a frown, rubbing my eyes to keep the tears of pain and embarrassment from rolling down my cheeks.

“Aww, Tanya, don't be upset”, Olga has stopped laughing, but she still smirking devilishly. Sometimes she can be as naughty as Anastasia.

“It is not true!” I exclaim, trying not to sound scared. “None of what you said is.”

“I did make some of it up”, Olga admits as I sit back on the bed in front of her, “but the crowd of workers was real”, she insists, sounding proud of herself for knowing this. “Papa says it was very big, and that there were people hiding among them who wanted to hurt us, all of us. Me, you, mama, papa, Masha, Nastya, and even the tiny baby Alyosha. That is why our soldiers shot at them.”

“Oh no!” I exclaim, covering my mouth. I was not yet aware of this.

“Lots of people died”, she nods solemnly, closing her eyes. “Like Cousin Ella, and our soldiers.”

“Only the bad ones?” I inquire hopefully.

“The good and the bad ones alike.”

“But why?!” My question comes out sounding kind of childish. I hate that.

“Because the soldiers couldn't tell them apart, of course”, my sister replies as if the reason were evident, “and if the crowd had kept advancing, more and more people would have joined the procession, eager to meet papa…”

“They would have sent the bad people away!” I argue.

“No”, Olga shakes her head, “the crowd would have grown so large that there would have been no space to walk”, she speaks quickly, in a hushed tone, her eyes wide open and her arms gesticulating her ominous words. “The people would have pushed each other, and some would have fallen. Tens of thousands would have trampled each other and died!” 

“That is impossible”, I assert. It sounds too awful to be true.

“It happened during papa's coronation.”

“How do you know that?” I ask, horrified, and not quite believing that papa would tell her such a grim story.

“I secretly listened to one of his grown-up conversations”, she shrugs before jumping off of the bed. 

“Olga!” I open my eyes wide, scandalized, though I cannot quite scold my sister, not really. She is ten years old, almost two years older than me.

I don't understand why Olga likes to spy on grown-ups, and not just because it is a naughty thing to do. When they are alone, adults only speak about boring or scary things, such as the people who made it so Uncle Sergei went to heaven early.  

However, I must admit that Olga's story caused me quite a fright. 

“Alright”, I concede, following her. “Your story was the scariest.”

We are already in our white nightshirts, for bedtime is coming soon, but in the meantime, we had decided to tell each other the scariest tales we could think of, only that they needed to be real. 

“I told you I was going to win with what I had hidden under my sleeve”, Olga laughs.  

“Where are you going now?” I ask her when I notice that she is leaving our room.

“Let's visit Alexei before he goes to bed!” She exclaims excitedly. 

“Oh, yes!” I follow her to Maria and Anastasia's room, next door to ours. It is very similar in style, for the walls are also full of icons, paintings, and portraits framed in gold. Their floor too is covered in thick carpet, but while above the cornice of our pink-painted room is stenciled a lively frieze with dragonflies soaring through the air, the frieze in the little pair's room shows butterflies in roses stenciled above gray-painted walls. 

When Olga and I arrive, we find six-year-old Maria and four-year-old Anastasia dolling up our oblivious one-year-old baby brother, who is sitting on one of the small sofas of the bedroom, smiling.

There are a couple of open keepsake boxes lying on the floor, and my little sisters are taking pretty little bows and ribbons from them to adorn Alexei's golden curls. Our nannies Shura and Maria Vishnyakova are sitting on one of the beds, watching over the three of them to make sure no fights will break out.

So far, everything seems well. Our baby brother looks more adorable than ever with his white nightdress as Masha and Nastasia keep adding adornments to his hair with great enthusiasm, chattering amongst themselves about what colors fit him better.

“Aww!” I coo, picking him up from the sofa. “You have made him look just like a little angel!”

“Say thank you, darling Alyosha”, Olga tells him with a smile as she approaches. 

“He is the most handsome baby ever!” Maria beams, tilting her head over her clasped hands dreamily. 

“He is, isn't he?” I kiss one of his cheeks, making him smile widely and then try to touch my face with his hands. Olenka follows suit and kisses him too.

“He is not, I was!” Anastasia exclaims, pulling Olga's nightdress down, almost ripping it, and then running away. My older sister fixes her dress with an appalled gasp and then hurriedly chases after the little Nastya. Maria and I laugh, and so do Nanny Shura and Nanny Maria.

Alexei learned to walk almost a year ago, and there are plenty of new words that have become part of his vocabulary. His first one was “mama”, followed closely by “papa” and “Olga.” I am a bit jealous he said Olga's name first, but that is to be expected, since she loves teaching him new words whenever we spend time with him in the Mauve Room, lying cozily on the floor amidst cushions, blankets, and toys.

Olga and I sleep with our nanny Shura, and the little pair and Alexei now share their bedroom with Maria Vishnyakova, so Maria and Anastasia also spend plenty of time playing with him every day. 

If my little sisters aren't having lessons, knitting, having fun with their dolls, or running around the corridor playing hide and seek with us, they are making up songs and dances they later sing and perform before our baby brother as Nanny Mary prepares him for bed. They often use their dolls as puppets in improvised plays for his amusement as well.

As for myself, I am as fascinated with him as I was the day he was born. God has been good to us, because so far He has kept Alexei healthy. My baby brother is always so happy and smiling, and he loves being the heir to our beautiful country, he truly does! We have had a few parades since he learned to walk, and nothing brings him more joy than looking up at the soldiers and sailors, or the mere fact that they salute him whenever he passes by. Whenever this happens, he will beam with joy and dissolve into giggles the same way he does when I pick him up and show him the ocean. Oh, we both love the sea so much! 

My sisters and I spend a bit more time playing Alexei, also kissing and squeezing his fat, rosy cheeks. When the baby starts showing signs of tiredness, Nanny Maria picks him up and puts him in his crib.

The little pair follows me and Olga back to our room, where we turn off the light fixtures, sit on the floor, and cover ourselves with a blanket, using it as a tent.

We start telling each other more scary stories, made-up tales on this occasion, about ghosts, werewolves, and the witch Baba Yaga. 

Olga is the one who tells us about this witch as we hold each other in the darkness, under the cover of the blanket. Baba Yaga was the sister of a woman who had married the widowed father of a girl named Natasha. 

My older sister describes in great detail the way poor Natasha was hated and mistreated by her stepmother, causing Maria to gasp in sympathy for the young girl. 

One day, the evil stepmother forced Natasha to go to the house of her even more evil older sister Baba Yaga in order to fetch some needles and thread. The house was far away, but Natasha had no choice.

“The hut of Baba Yaga stood high up on giant chicken legs and could walk around the yard by itself”, Olga describes, her voice conveying tension. “When it turned to face you, the front windows looked like two eyes and the door looked like a mouth.”

“Oh…” Maria shakes with fear, so I wrap my arms around her body and squeeze her. She hugs me back.

“When Natasha opened the gate doors of the fence, they made a terrible squeaking sound”, Olga continues, “but fortunately, on the ground, she noticed a rusty oil can and poured the few drops left on the hinges.”

“That is so silly”, I object, “how come the oil that she needed was just conveniently lying there for her to use?” 

“Shh…” Anastasia hushes me.

“The story needs to happen, Tanechka”, Olga giggles before continuing.

Natasha then found Baba Yaga's crying servant and offered her a handkerchief. The maid smiled and felt much better. 

Resting before the door to the chicken-legged cabin was a huge guard dog chewing an old bone. Natasha gave the poor animal some bread and meat, and the dog enjoyed this meal greatly.

When Natasha got into the cottage, she found Baba Yaga weaving. The witch had scraggly white hair, a very long nose, and a mouth full of iron teeth. She was old, ugly, skinny, and bony.

The girl told Baba Yaga that she had come for needles and thread, to which the witch replied that she was going to go fetch them.

“The evil Baba Yaga had other plans though”, Olga starts whispering, “so she told her servant to prepare a cauldron with hot water. She was going to eat Natasha.”

My sisters remain silent with dread and expectation as Olga describes the way Natasha outsmarted the witch by begging the servant to take her time preparing the cauldron. The servant was so thankful for the handkerchief that she agreed.

Still, the girl needed to find a way to escape, but she was very scared and didn't know how. That is when she noticed a thin black cat trying to catch a mouse by waiting outside a mousehole. Natasha felt very sorry for him, so she gave him a bit of cheese that she had in her pocket.

“First the oil, then the handkerchief and the meat, and now the cheese?” I ask.

“Do you not believe God can give us what we need in the most unexpected of manners, Tanya?” My older sister retorts, and I feel almost ashamed. “Besides, this is just a story.”

“Mmm…. you are right”, I concede, trying to keep my voice firm and dignified, “sorry, keep going.”

The cat was so grateful that he helped Natasha plan out a way to escape by showing her where to find a couple of magical objects in the house that would enable her to do so. 

After taking these objects, a comb and a towel, Natasha quickly ran out of the hut. The guard dog was so thankful for the meat that he let her go without even barking, and when she came to the gate doors, they opened without making any noise due to the oil she had poured into its hinges.

When Baba Yaga found out that Natasha was missing along with the magical towel and comb, she burst into a rage.

"Why didn't you scratch out the little girl's eyes?" She asked the cat. “And where are my magic towel and my magic comb?”

"You have made me hunt for my dinner”, the cat replied, “but that girl gave me real cheese."

Baba Yaga growled, and turning to the servant girl, she asked: “Why did you take so long to prepare the cauldron?"

“You have never given me a rag”, the maid replied, “but that girl gave me a pretty handkerchief."

Baba Yaga then went to the yard and shrieked when she saw the gate doors wide open. "Gates!” She cried. “Why didn't your doors squeak when she opened you?"

“You never sprinkled a drop of oil on us”, the gates replied, “but the girl oiled us, and we can now open without a sound."

I think it is a bit silly how even the gates can talk in this story, but I don't tell Olga anything about it this time. Instead, I brace myself for the grand finale as my sister keeps telling the story.

Baba Yaga scolded the guard dog for not tearing the young Natasha to pieces when she ran away.

"You have never given me anything to eat but an old bone”, the dog replied. “The good girl gave me real meat and bread.”

Baba Yaga cursed before rushing out of the house on her flying broom. 

"You will never escape me!" She chased after the little girl. 

Natasha knew what to do. She threw the towel behind her, causing it to grow bigger and bigger and wetter and wetter until it had transformed into a wide, flowing river standing between her and Baba Yaga.

Natasha kept running, but after some time, Baba Yaga managed to cross the river by enchanting all of her cows and making them drink the water.  

The witch hopped back onto her broom and flew over the dried-up river to catch the little girl.

My little sisters have grown excited, and neither one of them is able to keep quiet. Maria is cheering for Natasha, and though the little Anastasia too is cheering for her, she also has a habit of giggling maniacally whenever the villain of any story is enjoying a temporary success.

“Just when Natasha thought she was free of Baba Yaga”, Olga goes on, “the dark figure of the witch appeared in the sky and sped up behind her!” 

At first, Natasha thought that the end had come for her, but then she remembered the magic comb and threw it behind her. 

The enchanted object grew bigger and bigger, its teeth sprouting up into a thick forest, so big, thick, and tall that not even Baba Yaga could force her way through it. 

The witch screamed with mad rage for minutes before finally turning around and flying back to her chicken-legged hut.

“Yay!” Maria claps.

The story ends soon after Baba Yaga's defeat. 

When Natasha arrived back home, she told her father that his wife, the evil stepmother, had set a trap for her. The father was so outraged that he kicked Baba Yaga's sister out of the house. From then on, no stranger came between Natasha and her father. 

“And they lived happily ever after”, Olga finishes. 

Suddenly, before I can thank my dear older sister for the wonderful story and tell her that I deeply enjoyed it, I feel a small, bony hand clutching one of my toes forcefully, and almost at the same time, a strange and loud shrieking sound makes me, Maria, and even Olga leap up from the floor in fright, screaming. I look around to see where the sound came from, removing the blanket covering my body as I do so, but it is too dark to see anything.

“What was that?” Olga's voice sounds different now, unsure, shaky. She is scared, but not as scared as the whimpering Maria sounds. My little sister managed to find me again and is holding me tighter than before.

They must have felt it too… and the shriek… what…?

It is Anastasia's laughter that breaks the tension, a peculiar admission of guilt. My little sister's laughter is high, loud, and wild, like that of a squirrel or even a fairytale imp would probably be. There might not be a similar laughter in the whole wide world. I love it and hate it at the same time.

For a brief moment, Maria has trouble grasping what just happened, so Olga soothingly explains to her that the lovely little Nastya has tricked us yet again, that the bony hands and the horrible shriek belonged to her and not any ghost or witch.

We don't have time to forgive Anastasia and laugh off the fright caused by her clever stunt though, because Alexei starts crying next door, rousing outrage within me. 

“Look what you did, Nastya!” I yell, unsure if I am actually facing my youngest sister. 

“Time for bed”, the lights come back on unexpectedly the moment Nanny Shura pronounces those words sternly. “Your yelling has woken up your brother.”

 “And your Nanny Maria is having a hard time getting him back to sleep”, mama adds, moving to stand next to her. Probably back from that formal reception she was complaining about this morning, mama is still elegantly dressed. Her long dress is adorned with pearls and other jewels, her hair is up, and her head is crowned with a small diadem. She must have come to tuck us in. I look up at her and then down at my feet with shame. 

“I am sorry, mama”, I apologize. I hate nothing more than disappointing her.  

Nanny Shura goes back to the other room to help Nanny Maria calm Alexei, but mama comes over to me and strokes my cheek gently with her hand, also raising my head upwards for me to look her in the eye. “It is too late to be making such noise, my girlies, but now that you have heard the story”, she pulls back her hand and addresses all of us, “what did you learn from it?”

“Did you listen to the story, mama?” Maria cocks her head.

Mama approaches her with a smile. “I have been here for quite some time, listening to Olga's wonderful narration in silence, I wanted to pay you a visit before bedtime.”

Olga beams at mama's praise. “The story is from one of the folktale books Mr. P.V.P made me read.”

“I think the lesson is that we should not go to strange houses”, I say, “because it could be dangerous.”

“Houses with chicken legs are the most dangerous!” Anastasia exclaims, making mama laugh. 

“I think the lesson is that you shouldn't be mean and try to eat people like the witch”, Maria suggests.

“That is very true, Maria”, mama keeps laughing at that. She doesn't sound too convinced by the answer, but she indulges my little sister nonetheless. 

“The lesson is that you should be nice to people and they will be nice to you in return”, Olga says.

“Well said, my darling”, mama grins, looking genuinely satisfied with the reply this time. “Why don't you all sit here with me?” 

I should have known that Olga would have the correct answer. 

My sisters and I take a seat with mama on my bed, where she elaborates further on my older sister's response: “Small acts of kindness can mean a lot to people, especially those who have little. Those you help may someday reward you as the grateful animals and the servant did Natasha's kindness, but it is important to be generous either way.”

“Because God is always watching”, I assert, “right?” 

“He is”, mama agrees. She then prays with us four before taking Maria and Anastasia back to their room and tucking them in. 

I am extremely pleased to see her return to do the same with me and Olenka, not surprised, but very pleased. I love mama's hugs and forehead kisses, and most of all I love when she caresses my hair.

“I will do many nice things for others, mama”, I tell her as she moves away from my bed and closer to Olga’s. Mama blows me another kiss in response.

I close my eyes, and as mama tucks Olga in, I cannot help but listen to their conversation. They are not speaking in low whispers after all.

“How is the Duma going?” My sister asks. I open one of my eyes out of curiosity, only to catch sight of mama struggling visibly not to scowl or roll her eyes. I love it when people say that I am the one most like my mother, but in moments such as these, it is hard not to compare the facial expressions mama makes when she is angry about a thing or simply fatigued with something to those of my sister.  

“Those are not the concerns of little children”, mama says with almost mock harshness. She doesn't seem to want to scold Olga for being nosy, but it is clear she would rather not talk about such things with her. 

Things don't always go that way. Sometimes mama and Olga fight. That is why I like to listen to them, so that I can learn from my older sister's mistakes and never have fights with my dear mama, ever. She worries so much over so many things already… especially about baby Alexei. I want her to always be happy with me.

All of my teachers prefer Olga. None have ever said so, but Olenka and I have classes together, and I know by the way their eyes light up whenever she makes a joke or answers one of their questions. They shine in a way they really do not shine with me. 

I couldn't blame them. My older sister is smarter and funnier, and she barely ever gets as shy as I do, but mama doesn't care about those things. She loves us either way. She only wants us to be kind and obedient.

“I am not a little child”, Olga argues, “I am ten years old, and I have heard that the Duma is full of revolutionaries who want to kill us.”

“Where did you hear such nonsense?” Mama asks, appalled. “Because I will have a word with whoever it was that spoke this way around you, and as for that vocabulary…”

“You mean the word ‘revolutionaries’?”

“Sleep well darling, and do not dream about them”, mama smiles, and with a gentle caress, she closes Olga's eyes. “You are all safe and sound.”

 Oo

Western Siberia. September, 1906.

Gleb Stephanovich Vaganov.

I hop off the borrowed horse, a beautiful and tall creature of dark gray hair that I affectionately call “Ivan”, and sit on top of the hill to watch the early morning horizon, tapping my foot to the beat of a melody that for now exists only in my mind.

The security is ridiculously loose. There are barely any guards around, one or two dozens of meters away. I could escape if I wanted to, easily so. I could take Ivan and gallop for hours through the forest, find shelter at different locations in exchange for labor, and slowly make my way out of the country. It is possible, it is often done, but I have already decided that I won't do it. 

I don't like to admit as much, even to myself, but it is not so bad here. It is peaceful. This stunning landscape reminds me of my childhood trips to the countryside, when mama, father, and I would visit our small extended family.  

Long pines forest the ridges before me as far as I can see, and no building, wooden or otherwise, is in sight. Our barracks are back in the village, or at least close enough to the village for me and my fellow prisoners to easily travel back and forth almost every day to perform our assigned chores, which consist mainly of helping local peasant families and landowners with farm work, plowing, planting, irrigating, fertilizing, and taking care of the animals and stored crops.

We dress in loose brown trousers, black leather boots and caps, and different colored plain cotton shirts of skewed collars that open to one side. This makes us blend in with the rest of the population. Back this winter, fur coats were also provided to those who hadn't brought them. Our three daily meals are simple yet filling, the sentries agreeable enough, and our overall existence tolerable. 

I get along with one of the guards particularly well. He is a cavalry officer and veteran of the Russo-Japanese War who goes by the name of Pyotr. When I first arrived at the camp, scared and prone to weeping, Pyotr took me under his wing almost immediately, helping me settle in and become accustomed to life as a political prisoner. A couple of months into my confinement, he even started teaching me how to ride. He now trusts me enough to let me use his horse once in a while for both farm tasks such as herding and recreational purposes. 

I never assured Pyotr that I wouldn't escape, he just seemed to know somehow. I wonder if he can tell how much I appreciate having a stable routine. That is a possibility, or perhaps the emptiness in my soul reaches my eyes. Maybe he sees that I am not a threat, that I have given up, that I am broken. I have been so since the day I saw those children die, failing to save even one. I see their faces all the time, the faces of those who died during the shelling. I cry myself to sleep thinking about them every night, only to dream of drowning in that bucket again and then wake up covered in sweat. I miss Igor too, and my mother even more. I haven't seen her since I left to fight for the revolution, although she has sent me letters and pictures that I have eagerly replied to.

The icy water used to torture me ended up causing me to catch a strong cold that soon evolved into pneumonia. I barely survived and recovered to witness my trial and subsequent sentence, five years of exile at one of the many labor camps I had grown up dreading. 

Mine is unquestionably a pretty lenient sentence though, this in part because I am only fifteen, sixteen in a week. My friend Sergei Pavlovich will be staying here for the same amount of time, so at least I am not alone. He always comforts me when I have nightmares. Peter, on the other hand, was spared punishment. We still exchange letters, which is how I learned that his father interceded on his behalf, pulling some strings and using his influence as a local government official to get him off the hook.

I am glad to know that Peter wasn't punished for following my lead, though I hope to always have an ally in him if another revolution ever breaks out, as unlikely as that seems now…

I must not think about that. It is too painful to dwell on last year's failure. 

Peter and Leonid went back to school earlier this year, as if nothing had happened. I too retain some sense of normalcy, for I have been allowed and even encouraged to resume my education. Keeping up with the prescribed course of studies is surprisingly a lot easier than before now that I can rely mainly on assigned books instead of having to sit through endless noisy lessons. I shall eventually pass the tests required to access further schooling, all while being allowed to fish and swim in the lake by the sleeping quarters, which I share solely with Sergei and other boys around our age.

It is hard not to feel guilty and even confused about the kindness the government has shown me. A strange and humiliating way to break a strong will.  

Winters are awfully chilly in Siberia, and the stoves of the cabins hardly help. The camp's rudimentary wooden installations are simply not well-equipped to keep out the biting wind. We don't have indoor plumbing, only a few outhouses and a banya building used for steam baths and washing up after our daily chores. The water is brought from a nearby river, one of our many tasks.

Still, that is the way the vast majority of peasants live in this country, and the guards share our grievances. Some of them are more stern than others, and though in principle they could lash you if they wished, no such incident has yet occurred during my stay. 

The only real torture I can complain about is the obligatory nature of the religious lessons imparted to us every Sunday after Obednya. I also miss playing the piano.

I can see through the conditional kindness though. I have not yet forgotten what they are, the system their evil, false God protects. The murders, the subjugation, the theft of our fruits of labor and the poverty that follows, which I grew up witnessing and learning about from my father. 

I know that some penal labor camps are worse than others, that not all of us have been as lucky.

There are older, adult dissidents, both men and women, being held in barracks not too far away from ours, and though they are not treated differently from us juveniles in any significant way, they have told me horror stories regarding comrades being held in other camps. 

They have urged me, Sergei, and the other boys not to give up the struggle, lending us books and asking us challenging questions about their contents once we have read them. The destitution of the workers, the mistreatment of the peasants by the landowners, beatings and even extrajudicial executions. 

My convictions have matured and solidified, but all hope is lost. Every newspaper that arrives reinforces the idea. The Tsar dissolved the much-waited-for Duma parliament just this summer, a depressing yet predictable turn of events, and the government is slowly but surely regaining control. There will never be change.

Every day is a struggle to accept that the ones who murdered those children will never be punished. Everything I have lived for since as long as I can remember is gone, and as much as I try to be objective, it is hard not to blame myself for my lack of spine or wish I could turn back time instead of moving forward. I didn't pull the trigger on that fleeing Cossack when doing so could have mattered. 

Only being around horses helps. Ivan has a calming effect on me, and he is one of the many reasons I am not escaping. What good could it do now that the Tsar is securing his power either way? I dread to see more people die. I dread the thought of another failure. I just want to feel the air against my skin and hear another creature's heartbeat. For now, I just desire predictability. I am unhappy, disillusioned, and exhausted.

I look back at the gray animal as he grazes on the grass and smile before taking out my stack of letters from the pocket of my baggy brown trousers. Today's mail.

I beam with happiness the moment I start reading the first letter. It is Feodosia's, and there is a lovely new picture of her there too that I will surely put under my pillow.

Dear Glebka,

I loved the poem you made with me in mind! How sweet of you to compare the color of my eyes to a pot of honey. I always considered my light brown eyes boring when compared to your piercing gray ones, but not anymore.

My family is doing fine, thank you a lot for asking. The police came yesterday to search the house, but they couldn't find you know what. 

I visited your mother today and brought her some money to help her pay for the debt accumulated last year after your father was arrested and she was fired. You don't have to thank me, I know you worry for her every day and I needed to do something. She is writing to you as well, by the way.

There is not much to tell you, everything is pretty much the same around here. The buildings that were damaged during the uprising have all been restored, which I guess is the case everywhere, and the soldiers have become ruder and more violent as of late when apprehending suspects, but that is pretty much it.

The history classes I am taking at the academy are very interesting, and I don't have to do much homework, which is nice. Today they told us about Darya Nikolayevna Saltykova, a noblewoman who beat and tortured at least 38 of her serfs to death. When her evil deeds were finally uncovered, Empress Catherine the Great sentenced her to life imprisonment. 

I cannot help but wonder how many landlords and nobles whose names we will never know have gotten away with similar crimes, using their wealth, power, and privilege to hide them. That is why you and I must not give up.

There is a lot more I wish I could tell you about, but I cannot do so through letters since I know the people working at the camp probably read them before delivering them to you.

But how are you doing? How fast can you ride on Ivan now? Say hello to Sergei. 

P.D. I miss smooching you.

I kiss both the letter and the picture dozens of times and delight in smelling her perfume on them. Touching her lips with mine once again is the only thing I can hope for and look forward to in this wretched life now, and the nights I dream of her are free from terrors and instead filled with fantasies that my cheeks burn at the thought of.

I could thank her a million times for what she did, and I will once I get back to my barracks. Mama has struggled economically like never before. The bastards fired her due to her involvement with the party and for trying to unionize her fellow kitchen workers. It took long before she was able to find another job.

I fold Feodosia's letter and put it back in my pocket before picking the next one. There is one from Peter, but I want to read mama's first.

My beautiful boy!

Your friend Feodosia is a real treasure, a treasure you should work hard to keep. She just came to provide me with the sum I needed to pay all of my debts, so don't worry for me anymore, darling. My new work is a bit further from home than I am used to, but things are fine.

Tell me, how are you doing? I have been told such awful things about those camps and how they treat you, my love, are any of them true? Make sure to listen to the guards, dear. Don't talk back, I know that is not like you, but please be obedient for the sake of your poor mama, who worries so much for you. Take advantage of your time there to study hard.

Well dear, I hope you will write back soon.

I definitely will, mama. I regret every fight we have had so much…

I read Peter's letter next. He writes to me almost every day, which can be kind of annoying. There are always two or three letters from him when the mail comes, and they are often repetitive. I am certain now that he is a true friend though, and I will always, always appreciate that. 

Gleb,

You won't believe this, as you have always been unpretentious, but the kids at the gymnasium are still talking about you. Leonid and I have made sure to introduce the younger kids to your story (And everything else, you know what), so that may be in part why, but even those from our generations are speaking about you and your words, and they consider you a hero. That is because I have told them about the seven soldiers you shot all by yourself. Some others do hate you, Maksim and his friends among them, but they cannot honestly say that they have forgotten about you! So rest assured that our glorious dream is not dead.

How are you doing? What do you and Sergei use to distract yourselves with other than books? And speaking of books, can you recommend any?

My father and brother say hi, they are still very grateful to you. Papa is going to try to arrange something for you to get out earlier, you will see. Hang in there, my friend.

With love, 

Peter.

I laugh at his embellishment of my actions during the last days of the uprising. There were only five soldiers, and I had help from several other snipers. 

It is a short letter, not like the one I received yesterday, where even Leonid added a few words describing how everything is going back in Ekaterinburg, but my friend's brief greeting brings a smile to my face nonetheless, making me feel a lot less alone, like everything is going to be fine. I am glad at least Peter and Leonid haven't given up our struggle. 

The next letter is from a seemingly foreign address, an address written in English that I do not recognize… but I do recognize who it is from, Yakov! I am so glad that he is alive! It has been months since I last heard of him, is he alright? Did his wound heal properly? I sent a letter to Samuel a long time ago asking if his grandson had arrived safely, but he never replied. 

Despite resenting the fact that I got his son involved in revolutionary activities, Peter's father is grateful for what I did during the uprising. He knows that I saved Peter's life more than once because my friend just won't stop talking about it. Mr. Zeldovich, on the other hand, doesn't seem to have taken things quite as lightly. Troublemakers are dangerous for his already despised community, and he must have also feared for Yakov... I am starting to suspect that he will never again offer me free candy.

I begin reading.

Dear Gleb,

I am sorry it took me this long to write to you, but I simply hadn't had the time. Can you forgive me, my friend? 

I arrived home safely, but it took some time for me to fully heal. My leg still hurts, I don't know why, but I can walk just fine. In case you ask, yes, my parents were furious. I think they still are, but they don't show it much because they are more glad to have me back than angry about what I did.

Shortly after my recovery, my family decided to use the money given to us after the shop was broken into to move to New York, where Lev had a friend.

Yakov goes on to talk about his new life in America, and how much better and freer everything is there. He talks about the new businesses his parents and grandfather have built, about his siblings and cousins, about his new school, and about the journalism he wants to pursue.   

While I shall certainly send Yakov a letter telling him how glad I am that he is safe and happy, I cannot help but feel a rush of depression and even anger at the thought of a comrade abandoning the cause to work happily within a capitalist economic system, and not only that, abandoning Russia. I would never leave my beautiful Russia, so it is very hard for me to accept his choice even knowing that it was probably not his at all and that he hasn't fully given up on our cause. 

It truly is over, at least for now, it is still so hard to acknowledge though…

My heart stops when I see who the last letter is from. Stephen Viktorovich Vaganov.

“Father…” I whisper in disbelief, not knowing how to even feel. I have been mad at him for so long, growing to hate him despite also admiring his steadfast convictions. I despise nothing more than the fact that he made me who I am today. 

The first time I heard from him since leaving for Moscow was months ago, when mama sent a letter informing me that he too had been arrested and sentenced to a number of years in a Siberian prison camp. His punishment was set to be longer, and the camp, even further from Ekaterinburg.

One of the many reasons for the government's comparatively lacking leniency was that my father's crime had been considerably more serious than mine. In early 1906, during a snowy day of January, father had assassinated an important government official working for the Governorate-General of the region. 

The murder was carried out as the bureaucrat walked out of an administration building along with several of his co-workers. Aiming mainly for the Governorate-General himself, father rained bullets on them all without warning and then took off running. His attack was only half successful, for though many were wounded, only one of the men died, and not the most important. Still, this was another blow to the system, a small yet significant blow.

Later on, mama sent another letter informing me that my father had escaped the camp along with another prisoner. She had been notified of this not by him, but by his new comrade, a man named Vladimir Konstantinovich Gorlinsky.

Father hasn't written her a single letter since he and Vladimir escaped and moved abroad to keep the flames of the revolution alive in exile. He hasn't written me any letters at all. He hasn't told us where he is. The last news of him came from France, but he could be anywhere in Europe right now. 

I hate him. I hate him so much. Not a single letter, not a word of concern, not a ruble sent, all while mama struggled to make ends meet. What is worse, he left without taking me, not that I would have wanted to leave anyway… but still, he had little clue of how I was being treated. He escaped before either mama or I could inform him. Why didn't he try to help me escape too? I am still his son. Does he really care for us so little? 

I consider ripping the letter into pieces. What excuse could he give? But then I hesitate. Maybe he has had no time to write, like Yakov. Maybe he had trouble with foreign authorities, maybe… there is only one way to know, I guess.

The letter comes from Switzerland. I wonder how my father communicates there. He knows no German or French. Perhaps this Gorlinsky fellow knows a few words, or maybe father has gotten in touch with other Russian political dissidents. They could be helping him learn. 

I start reading.

Son, 

I am sorry I hit you. I realize now that I might have put too much pressure on you all of these years. You were only a boy, you still are. 

Tell your mother to stop asking me for money. I just started working regularly at a factory again, and the additional profit I get from the articles I have been writing is not much. I need to save before sending anything. Tell her to be patient.

The letter ends abruptly, leaving me waiting for more. It has been almost a year since we last saw each other, is that all he has to say? I don't even know if I believe him.   

I didn't know he and mama had exchanged letters either. They must have, otherwise, I don't see how mama could have learned about his Swiss address and then sent him a letter asking for money.

I don't understand why he hasn't written to me then, and why didn't mama tell me? I was worried about him. Was my father still angry at me? Could it be that she was the one who asked him to apologize? 

The thought makes me so unhappy that my eyes fill with tears. I don't need him, I don't need him, I don't need him…

I am rocking again… how many times must I stop myself from doing that? I really thought I was far behind such things.

I stand up, fold father's letter, and put it in my pocket.  

“Ivan!” I approach the animal with a grin. “Come here, boy!” 

I pet the horse gently on his head before mounting him and heading back to work. My break must have already ended.

As I ride towards the village my mind clears and shifts back to my father. Stephen. Perhaps I should think of him that way. He has not been much of a father these past couple of years, but I think it is time to accept that gracefully. I have to be strong and stop being a little boy.

It took me too long to realize that every triumph requires sacrifice, to come to terms with the fact that I have no brilliant ideas, no clue as to how to save the world without the losses this entails.

My father seems to grasp the value of sacrifice in a way I still fail to fully comprehend. Perhaps that is why I have been so angry at him for something as inconsequential in the large scheme of things as his absence. 

He once told me that not all battles are fought on the battlefield. I think that I understand what that means a lot better now. What my father did at the steps of that government building was partake in one of those battles.

Nothing would have considerably changed if I had shot that Cossack, that is true. I was only one person. The revolution would have still failed.

But if another opportunity were to come, the less weakness and hesitation, the better. People need to collectively follow orders from the more knowledgeable and experienced members of the party, and yes, that will mean annihilating threats, wherever they may come from. Those armed and unarmed. Tsarist soldiers fighting back, the reactionary giving them orders, a landowner refusing to cooperate. Even someone like Pyotr, a likable man, more of a father to me these past few months than the progenitor I may never see again, but a soldier of the Tsar nonetheless. 

I am no longer shocked by my father's actions, neither the assassination nor his subsequent neglect, though the latter still stings. I am not even mad about the smack he gave me anymore. Any action can be just for the right end, a world where the weak and helpless don't have to suffer.

I am just a bit worried. Though I can admire the way Stephen unhesitantly raised his weapon and gunned down that official, that unarmed official, I fail to see myself in his shoes, as if my weakness were more ingrained in my heart than in my mind.

Could I have pulled the trigger if I'd been told?

Oo

St. Petersburg. Late November, 1906.

Dmitri Ivanovich Sudayev. 

I had never before bathed baby Sonya. I had never had to, but ever since those mean men beat papa and took him away, Mrs. Smirnova has been really rude, saying that my sister and I eat too much and make too much noise and work too little and take too much time and effort, which is really stupid because she has barely given me anything to eat in months. Only Sonya gets to be fed three times a day daily, whereas I just get lunch if I help with the household chores. It is really not fair.

Sometimes I get so hungry that my tummy aches, and at school it has become hard to focus, because food is usually the sole thing on my mind nowadays. Not only do the letters and the numbers on the sheets of paper dance in front of me, but my fingers shake too much for me to even hold a pen. I am the only one in my class who still can't read or write, and I hate it! I hate everyone who can do it! I hate them even more if they find it easy, those show-offs, especially stupid Natalia with the pretty hair! 

Oh, papa would be so very disappointed in me… I can only hope he will help me learn once he gets out.  

I am losing many of my school friends too, and not just because I sometimes steal their lunches or because I am jealous of them for being able to read now, which I am. I am simply too tired to play during recess, and even if I weren't, I would still spend most of my free time crying for my papa. I always miss him. Some of the teachers worry, so they sit with me as I weep, but I know that the religion professor is secretly happy that I don't do pranks anymore. I hate him so much.

“Why don't you do something for once?!” Mrs. Smirnova yelled when I told her earlier today that Sophia hadn't been bathed in weeks, that she was dirty.

She often grumbles that papa used to pay her and her husband for taking care of us, that he doesn't do that anymore, and that I cannot expect her to look after two young children for free, at least not forever. 

I am beginning to grow scared, because all of that is true. Papa can't pay anymore. After he was taken, Valentina took me to court to see him, so I know that he was sentenced to fifteen years of imprisonment with hard labor. I sobbed for hours when I learned that. Uncle Ilya was also punished. He was given ten years.

I don't know what I am going to do if Sonya and I get kicked out or how I am going to wait fifteen entire years for papa to be free. It is so, so long! I will be a grown-up then, and I already miss papa so much… I have nightmares every day of the way he was beaten, of how ugly and bloody his face looked the last time I saw him, when he told me that he would come to look for me as soon as he was out, and asked me to take care of Sonya, to study hard, and to be a good boy. Only his tender voice was recognizable. He looked so awful that I always cry at the mere reminder, so awful. Poor papa. I wonder if he feels as lonely as I do now. 

If only all of the Tsar's soldiers and policemen would die. I weep every day because I miss papa and Uncle Ilya and Andrei and Aunt Maria so much. I wish someone would soothe me the way they used to when I was upset, but no one does. I can't ask anyone to. Sophia is just a baby who needs me to be the one holding her when she is scared, the other children of the flat could stop looking up to me for seeking comfort like a baby, something I have shamefully failed to keep myself from doing way too much already, and Mrs. Smirnova is just plain scary. Valentina is really nice, she even helped Sophia potty train, but she doesn't treat me like her boy. She has her own children to take care of, the three of them younger than me. She is always focused on them.

At least bathing Sonya was not that hard. There is not always running water in the flat, because the pipes freeze sometimes during winter, and ours are not the best either way. Valentina gave me enough money to buy some water from our local water seller, who always stops by at least once a week. Carrying those full metal buckets was really, really rough, but once I got back home, it was not that difficult to heat up the water, take the wooden tub out to the small backyard, and use it to wash my little sister and then myself. It was even fun to splash the water! And there is barely anything fun to do now that Mrs. Smirnova has sold all of my and Sophia's toys. She says she did so as a form of payment for everything I make her put up with. She also sold our new clothes, everything new that papa has given us, which is why I hate her too. When papa gets out of prison, I will ask him to make her return everything. We will have so much fun together after that!

I am putting my white shirt back on when Valentina comes out of the flat and gasps. I look up at her in startlement, wondering if I have done something wrong, but when her eyes meet mine, she smiles.

“Are you not hungry, dear?” She asks.

“I am”, I reply, opening my brown eyes wide and blinking repeatedly. I have learned by listening in on several secret grown-up conversations that people actually find this adorable, so I hope that she will feel sorry for me and give me her scraps like she did last week, “but Svetlana says that since I didn't help her cook today because I was busy preparing Sonya's bath…”

“Forget Mrs. Smirnova!” Valentina exclaims. 

I do get to eat with the other children, my friend Pavel among them. We sit on the floor while the adults eat at the table, but even as I swallow everything I am served with great relish and pleasure, I start to regret accepting Valentina's offer.

Mr. Smirnov must think that I am stupid. He is whispering about me when I am right here!

“We can not afford this”, he says in his wife's ear. “One meal is not that big of a deal, Svetlana, but you have to think in the long term, our fifth baby is on its way.”

I have never liked him. Even before papa's payments stopped coming, he was a severe man who rarely had a word for me or Sonya. Svetlana was different before, she used to play with me, Pavel, and her other children. I miss those days. Now there is nothing I can do that doesn't upset her. Everything has gone wrong. I can't wait for papa to get out of prison.

“I do pity the boy sometimes though”, Mrs. Smirnova replies, “and our children like him.”

“The children will find other friends.”

“Please”, Valentina interrupts the Smirnovsʼ conversation with a stern whisper. She is sitting opposite to them. “Not in front of the boy, he just lost his father.”

“Fyodor is right, love”, Viktor says. He is Valentina's husband. “I know you have a big heart, but use your head. Every kopek counts.” 

They want to kick me out. Papa would be so mad, and he would be furious with Svetlana for being so mean to me, though at first he wouldn't believe me if I told him the horrible things she has shouted. Papa always said that we should all be treated fairly, and that is not what they are doing at all. I don't understand why my neighbors seem to care for me so little all of the sudden. They were all papa's friends! They used to joke together after work and be sweet to me and Sonya! Seems like most of them were evil all along, but just wait until papa finds out…

The other children finish eating a few minutes after I do. This always happens because I have started eating very, very quickly every day, “as if the food could disappear at any moment”, Valentina often jokes.

Pavel invites me and the others to play hide and seek out in the street with the other neighbors, and I readily accept. Sophia too joins the children, for at two she can already run really fast and somewhat understand what the game is about. I really love hearing her giggle.

As usual these days, I become tired rather quickly, so I go back inside, intending to lie down for just a few seconds. The adult conversation that resumes at the dining table distracts me though, and while the other children keep searching for me anywhere but in our own home, I hide behind a wall and listen.

Fyodor has just suggested that I be taken to work at a factory. Oh, no! Please no! My eyes fill with tears, and I become so scared that I start feeling faint, as though I am about to pass out. I don't want to end up like poor Andrei. That would hurt so much, I want to stay here so that papa can know where to look for me…

“That is illegal”, Valentina objects, “the child is only seven!”

“I know a place where they are a bit more flexible with the law”, Fyodor retorts. “He and his sister could live there until we are better off.”

“Your compassion for him is understandable, Valentina”, Mrs. Alekseyeva says as she picks up the plates, “but it is misplaced. All of us either work all day or are struggling to find another job. We barely have time to take good care of our own children, let alone two more. He is not going to get the attention he needs from us.”

“But he will from a greedy employer who hires children under twelve?” Valentina asks sarcastically. “Just listen to yourselves! The child needs schooling, not work!”

“He is not doing well in school from what I have heard. The school utensils were another waste of money.”

“I visited the landlord yesterday”, Viktor points out. “He is raising the rent again.”

Worried murmurs and curses fill the air. Even Valentina closes her eyes briefly, trying to collect herself before speaking again. “Dmitri has always been playful and silly”, she begins, “so whenever he complained about how hungry he was or I caught him stealing bread, I simply scolded him, assuming that there was nothing more to his behavior than a discipline problem. God forgive me for not seeing what was really going on until now.” Valentina's darkening gaze becomes fixed on Mrs. Smirnova. “I just don't understand what difference two small children could make”, her voice becomes louder and louder. “They don't eat that much, Svetlana, and yet you are starving the poor boy!” She exclaims, sounding scandalized. 

I hold my breath so that they don't hear me, hoping that she will go on, that she will convince Mrs. Smirnova to serve me a bigger portion next time.

“I am doing what I can for those children”, Svetlana defends herself. “It's better than living on the streets, and you are not the one whose job is going to the marketplace, only to find that you can't afford half of the products, or cooking, or assessing how much of each ingredient we need per person. My husband lost his job because of his association with Ivan, and our children haven't been satiated with their meals in weeks, so don't lecture me about the difference two hungry, growing children could or could not make!”

“I saw him today as he dressed up, and his ribs could not have been more noticeable!” Valentina cries with indignation. “Ivan was you friend, he was friends with all of us. We cannot forsake his children just to have ten more grains of rice. Have you no fear of God?”

“I respected Ivan”, Fyodor assures her. “I still do, but we simply cannot afford these many children in the flat at this moment.”

“I will give him half my plate every day, mend his clothes, and make sure we don't need to buy new school utensils, you don't have to worry.”

“That is not the issue.”

“Then what?”

Fyodor sighs. “I have been offered a great deal of money for him, and even more for his sister, enough to pay for what I owe”, he lays his chin on his fists and stares down at the table, looking ashamed of himself.

The room grows silent, and I become confused. Why would the factory pay so much for me? And why would they pay for Sophia at all? She is only two!

“Have you been gambling again?” Valentina asks Fyodor accusingly.

“Love”, Viktor places a hand on his wife's shoulder reluctantly, as if knowing she is about to explode. “I think maybe you should calm down. We had to take the chance, we were struggling to pay the rent even before…”

“You too?!” Valentina cries, turning her head towards him and standing up from her chair in anger. “How could you be so irresponsible? How could you do such a foolish thing after everything I told you about those people?! Every policeman in the city is either afraid of them or in their pocket, for God's sake!” How much do you owe them?!”

“Valentina…” Viktor rises from his own chair, approaches her, and tries to touch her shoulders.

“Don't you `Valentina´ me”, she snaps at him, slapping his hands away. “How much do you owe Michael Petrovich Savin?! How much?!”

My eyes fill with tears as I listen to them fight. How will I avoid getting sent to the factory now if Mr. Smirnov owes money? Papa won't be back for me in about… fifteen years, and each year has 365 days, which means papa won't be back until… 5,475 days have passed! That is so much time! I will have been injured countless times by then… or died like Andrei, and papa won't see me again… 

The tears roll down from my eyes. I just want my daddy now…

The men and women in front of me keep yelling at each other, unaware that I am trying to hold back my sobs to avoid being caught. 

“I won't let you take them to that so-called factory, you monsters!” Valentina cries. “I won't! Ivan would find a way to escape just to kill you all if he found out!”

Suddenly someone touches my back, and I almost jump out of my skin as I turn around to face them. 

“Found you!” Pavel exclaims. 

“Shh”, I put a finger in front of my lips before wiping my tears.

“What is going on?” He asks, seemingly worried. I didn't want him to notice that I was crying, but it seems that he did anyway. 

“Nothing”, I say.

Oo

Valentina shakes me awake before the Sun rises, interrupting the amazing dream I was having. Papa was back, he had escaped to take me and Sophia to Finland and then abroad to explore the world. The three of us were dancing and playing on the deck of a cruise. He would carry me over his shoulders, and like he used to, say: “Bet you can see all the way to Finland from up there, Dima!” I was so happy.

“Don't make any noise, darling”, Valentina whispers as she kneels on the floor where I lie and uncovers my blankets. “Dress up quickly, and make sure not to wake the others.”

“What is happening?” I whisper back, rubbing my eyes, but she just goes to fetch my and my sister's day clothes without answering. 

I am not irritated enough to snap at her, because the curiosity I feel is greater. This is all so strange. Today is Sunday, not a school day. There is no reason for anyone to be waking me up so early. The fear that she could be taking us to the factory fades away quickly, because there is no reason why she would hide that from the others.

When Valentina returns, she amazes me greatly by carefully dressing Sophia without waking her up.

My little sister will be wearing her usual black stockings, gray dress, violet woolen scarf and mittens, and brown fur coat, hat, and boots, while I shall wear my loose brown trousers, my black leather boots, the white shirt which has a collar that opens to the side, and a red woolen scarf to cover my neck.

I have an itchy black woolen coat reaching my knees that Valentina also forces me to put on.

“It is very cold outside”, she says, pointing out that she is also wearing a big coat over her plain white shirt and black skirt. This sucks. 

Valentina extends one of her arms to take my hand and picks up my sleeping sister with the other before we leave the flat. It is snowing and still dark outside, only the streetlamps illuminating the road ahead. The cold is so harsh and brutal that for a moment I wish I had taken my fur hat with me instead of papa's dark khaki English golf cap, but I would never say that to Valentina. She would tell me “I told you so”, and I don't actually regret my decision at all. My cap is the only thing I have left from papa besides a black-and-white picture I keep in my pocket.

The snow on the street reaches my ankles, and I can only just keep up with Valentina. She doesn't let go of my hand, and if I look up at her, she smiles down at me somewhat nervously. 

“Where are we going?” I ask.

“You will see when we get there”, she replies softly and with a sad expression that makes me grow scared. Perhaps she is taking us to the factory after all.

I consider running off, but doing so would mean abandoning Sonya, and what would I do alone on the streets? Would I be able to beg for a living? I don't think my dad would like that. I do remember having fun panhandling back when my family and I didn't have a house, but later on, papa started saying that he didn't want me to do so ever again.

No, I think it is better to wait and see where we are going.

The Sun begins rising almost at the same time horse-drawn sleds slowly start appearing on the roads, carrying passengers or merchandise on the back. Valentina lets go of my hand, puts some of her fingers inside her mouth, and whistles to stop one of them. After she pays the driver, we hop on and move forward, heading even faster towards our mysterious destination.

Sophia wakes up and cries weakly upon feeling the sharp wind in her face, but she soon recovers and starts looking around in wonder as she sits on Valentina's lap.

“Horse!” My baby sister exclaims with a huge smile, pointing at the large and beautiful white animal pulling another sled in front of us. “Horsey, hello!” Our seats are not covered like carriages usually are, so we can see everything that surrounds us clearly.

“Yes, Sonya, well done, that is a horse”, I lean forward and pat her head gently. Valentina smiles and kisses her on top of the head, an unusual gesture for her.

The snow has stopped falling by the time our horse begins slowing down. It does so in front of a tall and wide structure painted pale orange, with many white columns and small windows framed in wood. I hate the building almost immediately. It is too big. It is too fancy.  It makes me think of a smaller, uglier version of the Winter Palace, and I hate the Winter Palace.

There are letters plastered onto the walls in white paint: “O”, “R”, or… yes, I think that is an “R”, but I cannot be sure… ugh, I hate letters!

The sled is no longer moving, but the stupid letters are. It irritates me. 

“Where are we?” I ask with a huge frown, finally growing impatient. 

When Valentina turns to look at me, I notice that her eyes have filled with tears.

“What is wrong?” I panic. “Oh, it is the factory, isn't it? I couldn't help but listen in, I was just curious, I…”

“I am so sorry, Dmitri”, she wipes away her tears with her forearm before they fall. “I am doing this for you, for Sonya, to protect you.”

“What? Why?” My questions come out louder than intended, and my voice higher.

“You will be staying here”, she uses her hand to point at the building.

“What is this place, tell me!” My eyes rapidly fill with tears. “I cannot read!” 

“It is a home for children”, she answers softly. My eyes grow wide.

“It is an orphanage!” I cry in accusation. The tears roll down from my face, and the sound of Valentina's voice as she tries to calm me becomes muffled by that of my sobs and angry screams. This is more awful than anything I could have predicted.

“This is the only thing I could do, darling”, she strokes my hair, “they will take good care of you two here, you will see.”

“But this is an orphanage”, I pant, rubbing my eyes and runny nose on the sleeve of my coat, “and I am not an orphan!” I cry out loudly. “My papa is still alive!”

“I know.”

“He is!”

“I am sure he is, sweetheart, but…”

“We are not orphans!”

“Of course not.”

“He said he would try to escape, and that no matter how long it took he would come back someday and take us to Europe on a boat!”

“Yes, darling, but you need someone to take care of you and Sonya in the meantime”, Valentina insists. “Your father will know where to look when he comes back, I made sure of it by leaving a note with the address to one of the neighbors, someone of trust.”

“Take me to the factory”, I stop rubbing my eyes and look at her. “I will work hard and help you all pay for everything you need, just don't leave me here, please!”

“This is a better place for you than any factory could be.”

“It is not true, it is not true”, I shake my head furiously, and more and more tears keep falling as I do. “This is a place for children who don't have parents, and I will see papa again, I will, I have to. I don't want him to die!”

“This place is not just for children whose parents have died”, she explains gently, “there are children like you here, whose parents are not able to care for them for a good number of different reasons, at least not currently.”

When I try to speak again, my voice is initially cut off by a series of sobs, pants, and coughs. “What about school?” I eventually ask amidst sniffles. “Papa wanted me to go to school.”

“The orphanage has its own school.”

“But I will miss my friends…” I object, knowing too well that most of them will probably be happy when I am gone. 

“I am sure you will make new friends here, sweet thing, now come”, Valentina steps out of the sled and offers me the hand she is not using to hold Sophia.

“Wait!” A great idea occurs to me. “We have relatives in the countryside, you could take us to them, could you not?”

“Wait a moment here, please”, Valentina tells the driver, but she doesn't get back up on the sleigh. “Do you know where they live?” She asks me.

“In the countryside”, I repeat. Didn't she hear?

“Do you know the name of the village, darling?”

The question takes me off guard. I remember the full names of my aunts, uncles, and cousins… well, second cousins that is, because they are the children of papa's cousins, but I always thought of them as simply cousins. I remember the names of the other villagers too. I remember the correct way to call the animals, the flowers, and the trees. But I can not remember the name of the village. Papa barely ever mentioned it. He always talked about “visiting some cousins” when discussing his future plans with friends, rarely specifying where he was going.

“No…” I lament, lowering my head and letting out a loud sob. “I don't know…”

“Alright, alright, let's try this again”, Valentina says. “Do you know how to get there? Could you tell me how?”

My mind works hard to remember the way, but I never once traveled without assuming that my dear papa would always be there to guide me on the right path. I never once tried to memorize the direction to the other highest place in the world, the first one. Never. Worst of all, I was always distracted while on the road, playing with Sophia or with my toys.

“No”, I weep, shaking my head, “I don't know how”, I wipe the slime from my nose, “I just want my dad…”

But he is not coming, not in 5,475 days, not unless he escapes, and nobody loves me or cares for me anymore, not even Valentina. That is the reason why she is abandoning me here. She doesn't care. No one around me cares. I won't see my papa's family again, not until Uncle Ilya comes out of prison and tells me where the stupid village is, and he is not coming out in 3,650 days! 

Oh, no… I want my dad, I want my dad now, please, I just want my dad…

Oo

I fell to the ground and screamed for minutes, crying out amidst painful sobs that I only wanted my father. There, by the side of the road, I rocked back and forth and stomped my feet and hands on the ground until they bled, refusing to move in any other manner.

Valentina tried to be nice at first. She told me that she understood how I felt perfectly well and then compared me to the sweet and calm Sophia, who wasn't making any noise. My two-year-old sister was only staring at me with sadness and confusion.

I screamed out loud on the ground for so long that Valentina's patience eventually ran out. She pulled me by one arm through the street all the way to the front door of the orphanage, saying that I was embarrassing her by making a scene. Having rang the doorbell, she left me and Sophia alone. 

My sister and I are now waiting for the door to open, standing side by side and staring forward with expectation. 

I knew Valentina didn't really care. I no longer think that anyone other than papa, Sophia, and Uncle Ilya really could. I have nonetheless wiped my nose, eyes, and cheeks. I don't want whoever will answer to see me cry like a baby. 

I take my sister's hand and kiss her on the cheek. She smiles at me for a moment before staring back ahead. No one cares for me, but she will always have in me someone to care for her.

The door opens.

Chapter Text

St. Petersburg. March, 1907.

While hardly the best of students, Father Boris Borisovich Popov can see that Dmitri Ivanovich Sudayev is a smart boy, a smart boy who simply has trouble reading and writing.

The child understands everything he is told. When left to his own devices instead of being forced to follow the exact same procedures the arithmetic teacher has instructed his students to use, Dmitri can multiply, divide, and do sums and subtractions better than most children from upper grades. He can memorize dates, names, and facts without a problem. He can understand complex concepts, explain them, and speak about them in a clear and concise manner. He just can not put these things on paper without taking hours to do so, or without making an excessive amount of mistakes in the process, and he would not be able to put anything on paper at all if it weren't for the extra time Father Boris has made him spend practicing almost daily after classes.

The priest thought he could mold Dmitri into a good student by simply helping him learn how to read and write, but his efforts have somehow had almost the opposite effect. 

The Orphanage of St. Paul is divided into two main areas, one for children from the ages of five to fourteen, and a nursery for newborns, babies, toddlers, and other children under five. Likewise, older boys and girls have different dormitories and bathrooms, and occasionally different classes too, especially as they grow older. When the Sudayev siblings arrived at the orphanage, they were naturally split apart.

Dmitri did not take this lightly. That was his baby sister they were taking away from him. He wanted to be able to see her whenever he pleased in order to make sure she was alright. The orphanage had, and still has, strict rules, however, and the only way for Dmitri to visit his sister was to get a special permit from management after having requested one from a warden. 

Obtaining this permit would prove tricky for the precocious Dmitri, as he was quickly on bad terms with all of the institution’s teachers, wardens, nuns, priests, and prefects. When he arrived, he simply had no filter. Whatever crossed his mind, he openly said out loud, and he thought little of the God who had allowed most of his family to die before depriving him of his father and uncle. 

Then there was also the fact Dmitri couldn't stop talking about his freedom-fighting father and how much he admired him. This inevitably caused the boy to get into lengthy debates with the teachers who dared to insult his precious papa, as well as physical fights with the students doing the same. On one occasion, he even went as far as throwing rocks at the chief warden’s office windows. Father Andrei's offense had simply been stating the fact that according to the laws of the Russian Empire, Ivan was nothing but a criminal.

As it was to be expected due to his consistently bad behavior, none of the permits the child requested were ever granted, but Dmitri was smart. He is smart. Father Boris doesn't know exactly how, but the boy found a way to falsify a permit. The nun who received the deceitful document and thus allowed Dmitri to see his sister for the first time since Christmas later swore that it had looked exactly the same as an authentic permit would have. The piece of paper had been cut the right way, sealed the right way, and even the difficult signature belonging to warden Igor Ruslanovich had been duplicated with tremendous accuracy. 

Yes. Dmitri is clever. He is among the smartest boys Father Boris has ever met, but Father Boris doesn't tend to like the smartest boys, or even the best of students. He never has.

The smartest boys can misuse their intelligence. Dmitri's grades have not yet improved. In fact, he may have to repeat the year. He has used his intelligence not to better himself but to steal documents from the chief warden’s office and con his way out of needing to rectify his appalling behavior. He does not have the patience to copy what he needs to copy from the blackboard, to learn his letters and numbers, or to write down the arithmetic procedures he is using when answering tests in a legible manner, but he has more than enough patience to sit down for hours with pen, ink, and a magnifying glass at hand just to be fully certain that a fake document contains the necessary letters, signatures, and seals to pass as authentic, this despite the difficulties doing so presents to him.

The smartest boys take pride in their ability to remember the answers. Dmitri can remember any answer he sets himself to remember. Father Boris does not want his students merely to remember the answers. He wants them to find the truth.

The smartest boys tend to question the will of God. Dmitri not only questions God's will, but he is also capable of defending his position by using witty mockery disguised as argumentation. He is starting to corrupt the other students as well. 

“God has killed more people than the devil!” He exclaimed when Father Boris told his students the story of the flood. 

“Why didn't Jesus use His God magic to heal everyone in the world instead of doing so one by one?” He asked when Father Boris told his religion class the story of Jesus healing the blind man. “Why doesn't He heal everyone now?”

“Why did God kill all of Egypt's first-born children instead of killing the evil pharaoh?” He asked after Father Boris finished telling the story of the exodus. “And why is the Tsar His anointed one now when he is as bad as the pharaoh?”

“Why is He so jealous? I thought that was a sin”, Dmitri pointed out when the class was taught about the Ten Commandments.

To that question, Father Boris replied that envy is when you want to steal that which rightfully belongs to someone else, while jealousy is when you guard what is yours from those who wish to take it. God is entitled to jealously guard the devotion of His people the same way the Tsar is entitled to the loyalty of his subjects. Thieves and troublemakers such as Dmitri's father, on the other hand, are behaving themselves in an envious and wicked manner by stealing and trying to steal that which does not belong to them.

Dmitri didn't like this answer, and Father Boris was not surprised. “The Tsar cannot be entitled to anything if God does not exist”, is what the boy replied. “God is supposed to have anointed the Tsar, is He not?”

The debate continued till the end of the class. 

There is a difference, Father Boris thinks, between memorizing facts by heart or outwitting your elders, and truly understanding the truth. Too often the best and smartest students confuse these skills. That is why small children can oftentimes see the truth in ways that learned scholars can't. But Dmitri is not an ordinary child. Not only is he gifted, but he was also raised by a dangerous, dangerous man. Not necessarily a bad man, perhaps even a good one, but still a dangerous one, with ideas just as dangerous. 

Father Boris cares for the boy nonetheless, and he has vowed to turn him into a proper little Christian, as well as a good and loyal subject of the Tsar, perhaps the best of the best. That doesn't mean he enjoys having him as a pupil though.

The ordinary students appeal to Father Boris much more. Most children can not remember dates, procedures, and facts quite as easily, so they are forced to compensate by making an effort to understand. The smartest children develop an arrogant pride in themselves that the priest considers most unpleasant to deal with. This pride and unearned confidence furthermore leads the rest of the students astray. 

Smart students like Dmitri have a conceited view of themselves. Father Boris has noticed that the child confuses his good memory with intelligence, which he does admittedly possess as well. Because of this, every time Dmitri is asked a question to which he gives the correct answer, he seems to conclude that there is little left for him to learn and much to teach.

Dmitri Ivanovich Sudayev will know the right answer to any question as long as the topic has been previously examined during class, and Father Boris finds the manner in which he often responds quite insolent, especially when the previous student has failed to do so accurately. It has been hard to make Dmitri understand that the smirks and brash stares he directs at his classmates can be hurtful and belittling, but the educator will keep trying. He already suspects that all the bragging about the things that come easy to him is a way for the boy to drive attention away from that which he is insecure about. Reading and writing.

Father Boris is preparing for yet another weekly religion lesson, another lesson during which he will have to deal with Dmitri. He has just entered the classroom, a quadrangular space painted light yellow where three dozen students, both boys and girls, sit on wooden seats arranged in neat rows, laying their heads or arms on the desks before them.

When the students become aware of their teacher's presence, they immediately straighten up and look forward towards the blackboard.

They are all wearing second-hand clothes donated by wealthy benefactors, but few have any that properly fit them. There are simply way too many abandoned and orphaned children for such an underfunded institution, more now than ever before following Russia’s disastrous war with Japan and subsequent disorders and economic crisis. Millions of fathers died in the Far East, and thousands of mothers and fathers were sent there or fell victim to Stolypin’s necktie as a result of their involvement in the 1905 uprisings, that is if they were not killed during skirmishes, plagues, and terrorist attacks, or executed without trial, so in this, the little Dmitri is not alone. Many other parents have dropped off their children because they simply cannot afford to feed them any longer. Desperate single mothers have always existed as well. The institution is, all in all, increasingly and hopelessly overcrowded.

There are no doctors except for those brought from the closest hospital when a child is already dangerously ill. The numerous tall bunk beds have no mattresses or pillows, only old thin blankets that barely keep out the cold and that the children are made to wash just once a month. The pipes of the bathroom are old and only produce freezing water, the faucets are rusting, and the toilets are barely ever cleaned. This is also the children's responsibility, but they never have enough soap to both bathe and clean. 

The food is not too scarce, but it is objectively bad. The children live on canned stew and hard bread that is only edible when dipped in water. This is enough to keep them alive and relatively healthy, but not enough to make those who arrive undernourished gain weight quickly enough. Dmitri arrived so thin that many of his bones were visible through his skin. His condition has improved somewhat, but he is still among the thinnest children his age in the orphanage.

The older children, not left sated by their meals, often steal them from the younger children under threats of violence. Dmitri doesn't really have this problem, because he tends to eat or hide his food really fast. If anything, Father Boris saw him steal from an older boy's bag on one occasion in a rather sneaky way. He didn't scold Dmitri for that, as the older boy was known to have frequently done the same.

To make matters worse, the staff of the orphanage has grown so disillusioned with their poor salaries and the lack of resources they have to work with that many of them take out their pent-up frustration on the children. Even the nuns and the other priests do so. It is not always evident to see, as the beatings are, it can be as relatively harmless as a scream, as inconsequential as eye-rolling or grimacing, but Father Boris knows what this means to a young, impressionable child. You do not really matter to me. Don't count on my help. I am not your mother or father.

The school is the only element of the orphanage that is relatively well-funded, if one ignores the scarcity of books and utensils, and the little the teachers have to work with is mostly owed to the monthly donations sent by the parish of Father Boris's son. By the age of eight, the children start learning a trade, and the orphanage begins procuring apprenticeships for them. The lucky girls end up working as maids in nice homes by the age of fifteen. The least so tend to impulsively marry the first older gentlemen of means catching sight of them, all in order to escape the poor conditions of the orphanage. It breaks Boris's heart, as he firmly believes that the holy sacrament of matrimony should not be taken as lightly, especially not at such a young and vulnerable age. It should also, at least preferably, be for love. The boys tend to go work at small shops, factories, restaurants, or hotels, but there are a few who sadly fall victim to a life of criminality after leaving or even escaping the institution.

The priest intends to make the most of the precarious situation. The unfortunate children depend on him. 

He begins talking about Xenia of St. Petersburg, a woman who, according to tradition, gave all her possessions to the poor after her husband died. For 45 years she wandered through the streets of St. Petersburg, destitute and homeless, and usually wearing her late husband's military uniform. Father Boros believes that she may become a saint someday as St. Seraphim of Saratov did.

“Wasn't she insane?” Dmitri asks loudly without raising his hand. The children around him laugh. He is lucky he arrived recently enough to still have clothes that fit him.

“No, Dmitri”, Father Boris replies calmly, having grown used to his comments. “Xenia of St. Petersburg was a fool for Christ, that is what we call it when someone acts intentionally foolish in the eyes of men for the sake of God. This behavior is caused neither by mistake nor by feeble-mindedness. It is deliberately irritating.”

“Like mine?” 

The laughter reverberates even louder throughout the classroom, and Father Boris allows himself to smile for a moment.

“No”, he says. “A Holy Fool is an almost perfect person in the eyes of God, but they take up the guise of insanity in order to conceal this and thus avoid praise. It is an act of humility.”

Dmitri decides to raise his hand for once. “Why doesn't the Tsar sell or give away all of his possessions like Xenia did if that is such a great thing to do?”

“That is actually a very, very good question, Dmitri”, Father Boris decides to ignore his irreverent tone. “It is true that in Luke 18:22 Jesus called on the rich young ruler to give away everything, but the command to the rich young ruler was not a command to all His followers. In many instances, Jesus commends those who give away fewer portions of their wealth. Zacchaeus is praised for giving away half of his riches to the poor, Barnabas was admired as a son of encouragement in the early church, and though he gave away a field that belonged to him, it is not said that he gave everything.

“Lastly, in Corinthians, Paul instructed the faithful to put something aside for the poor, not everything, just more for those who earn more, less for those who earn less. Put something aside, God knows your heart.”

“The Tsar puts nothing aside”, Dmitri asserts with zeal. “Papa says he has a palace in his train while the poor work every day for tiny flats that don't even belong to them.”

The other children keep silent. Many of them, if they remember their parents, relate to having seen them struggle. A few even lost their parents as a direct consequence of the Tsar's actions, several of which Father Boris himself feels ambivalent about. He needs to deal with this carefully.

“And how would you know that, Dmitri?” Father Boris settles on asking. “Have you met the Tsar?”

“Papa has”, the boy replies.

“Perhaps he didn't tell your father about what he has put aside. That is between God and the heart of each person, but it is known among the well-informed on such matters that the Tsar does finance a great number of charities, and when the ungodly socialists led those poor workers to the slaughter by making them walk like a huge, angry mob towards the Winter Palace, the Tsar gave a generous pension to those who were shot by the soldiers defending his properties.”

“You are a liar!” Dmitri cries, making the other children gasp. It is not safe to call the teachers or wardens liars. If it were any other but Father Boris, they would have already taken out their belts, shoes, rulers, or wooden sticks. “My papa and I went to ask the Tsar for help, but he had his soldiers shoot at us because he was so stupid, and he didn't give us anything afterward!”

“You are mistaken, child”, Father Boris says softly yet firmly, noticing that the boy's eyes have filled with tears that he is struggling to hold back. “You may want to ask your father about what happened to the pension if you ever see him again. He might have spent it helping his little anarchist friends make bombs or print blasphemous books.”

Dmitri doesn't reply, he just wipes his tears before they fall and gives his teacher the meanest glare he has ever conjured. None of that is true, it is not, but he dislikes, in particular, the way Father Boris just said “if you ever see him again” when referring to his papa, because he will see him again, he has to. He can't stand it any longer…

“All of this reminds me of another story”, Father Boris continues, walking between the rows of desks and ignoring Dmitri's death stare. “In John 12:3, Mary of Bethany took a very expensive bottle of perfume and poured it on Jesus's feet. The man who would betray Jesus was there, he was named Judas Iscariot, and he asked why the perfume hadn't been instead sold and the money given to the poor. Does anyone know what Jesus replied?”

The priest pauses, hoping that someone other than Dmitri will participate, but his hopes are immediately crushed when the boy replies, yet again, without raising his hand. 

“Jesus said ‘you will not always have me, but the poor will always be with you because there will always be a Tsar to keep them poor’”, Dmitri jokes, grinning triumphally. His earlier urge to cry is completely gone.

The other children burst into laughter after hearing this clever remark. 

Dmitri has the quick wit and talent required to turn any teacher's serious question into a punchline. The five, six, and seven-year-old boys tend to look up to him as their leader despite his short and skinny frame, but Father Boris knows that most of his so-called friendships are fleeting, superficial, and based on convenience, useful mainly to prevent boredom and to have someone do his homework in exchange for stolen chunks of bread. He can play with them one day and withdraw the next one, usually to cry alone and without anyone noticing. His temper can get the best of him as well, causing him to get into bloody fights with his provisional “pals” and then cease to talk to them for weeks. Someone always ends up getting hurt, and there is no doctor in the orphanage to give the children ice to put on their swollen eyes and bleeding lips. At least he is starting to learn, slowly but surely, to keep his mouth shut and avoid trouble around older students and staff, though not for the reasons Father Boris would prefer. 

The priest can scarcely fault the children for their many sins. From the age of seven onwards, they are all made to come to him for confession once a week, so he knows that their anger and raucous behavior comes from years of grudges and despondency, and Dmitri is no exception. 

When the laughter in the classroom subsides, Father Boris looks at the boy and states simply: “Your answer is incorrect.”

Dmitri's smirk disappears. He is still angry at the priest for having dared to insult his father. 

“Your answer is incorrect”, Father Boris repeats, “because we will not always have a Tsar." 

The children gasp audibly before breaking into whispers of surprise. Even Dmitri's mouth remains open for a few seconds. Has Father Boris become a revolutionary? Has he secretly been all of this time? 

It is difficult to believe considering how he speaks about Dmitri's brave father, but if any of the grown-ups at the orphanage were working for the revolution, that would probably be Father Boris. 

When Dmitri attended his first class the morning following his and Sophia's arrival, he was tired after having spent the previous night weeping, heartbroken over Valentina's abandonment, missing his father, worried about his sister, and in no mood to attempt and inevitably fail to write anything. The Russian language teacher, Mr. Andreev, was far from understanding, and as punishment for the boy's lack of attention and obedience, he made him walk up to the front desk and put his hand on the surface before striking him hard with his steel ruler five times. That was the first time Dmitri had been hit by an adult, and the brutal nature of the punishment took him by surprise. Before he was able to remember that there were dozens of eyes staring at him, he burst into tears and screamed like a baby.

Over the course of the next few months Dmitri would learn the true meaning of pain. He now doubts that working at a factory could be any worse. 

The wardens hit at the slightest provocation. Being late for a meal, taking too much time to wake up or in the shower, and even using tones or expressions arbitrarily deemed disrespectful are considered serious enough transgressions for any unfortunate orphan to be beaten senseless.

Dmitri has undergone punishment for these and even lesser offenses. He has welts on his arms, legs, and buttocks that hurt when he moves or sits, most of them obtained through warden Igor Ruslanovich's favorite rod, which can draw blood if Dmitri is made to pull down his trousers or take his coat and shirt off before the beating.

The boy no longer fears crying out in pain in front of other children, not like he does crying in front of them over other things, particularly missing his father. Everyone cries in pain when faced with the horrid canes used by the staff.

What he does dread is the suffering those sticks elicit when striking his bare skin, as well as their sound, which he has come to be haunted by every night.

He worries that they will beat everything his father stands up for out of him too. That is why during the few first weeks, Dmitri would boldly challenge any and all authority he deemed to be acting unfairly towards others, both the older kids bullying the little ones and the grown-ups hitting everyone under their charge over the tiniest things. After Mr. Andreev hit his hand, Dmitri took the ruler and tried hitting him back. This only earned him five more strikes. When he was first told he would be caned for a prank, he fought back against the older boy who had been tasked with administering the punishment.  

For months, Dmitri would calmly measure the cost of any words or acts of rebellion he wished to say or partake in and then endure the subsequent punishments bravely, like his father. 

The situation has changed. Dmitri is starting to give up. Being caned hurts way more when he already has fresh bruises and cuts, visiting Sophia ended up with him bleeding, sore, feverish, and bedridden for a week, and all he wants right now is for the pain to stop, for his papa to come and save him and teach all of those mean people a lesson, maybe kill them too. He idolizes him so much still that he has started hating the world with a burning passion. 

No one acts the way papa said they should. No one. 

Adults don't treat all children the same. They care more about their own children, so much so that they are willing to hurt other people's children for the sake of their own.

Everyone takes orders from someone else if they are thought to be “better”, because there are, apparently, “better” and “worse” people in the real world, or at least everyone seems to think there are. “Better” can really mean anything, taller, bigger, older, richer, or even more rude, like the older kids who rule over the boys’ dormitories. It can sometimes mean having a name and a uniform that makes all others obey anything you say, like “policeman”, or “officer”, or “warden.” 

Papa said that no one could force him to do anything he didn't want just because they were more powerful or better, but that is not true. They do, they do force him all the time. He has to wake up early, go to class, wash the bathroom, clean the tables and floors, and do his stupid homework or they will beat him. The only rest the boy has had since he arrived was around Christmas time, when the lessons ceased and the staff became slightly less strict with the rules. He got to sleep and play a bit more, and he was allowed a short, impromptu visit to his sister, without a permit, as all the children, big and small, would later get to celebrate Christmas together anyway. Something similar won't happen during the upcoming Holy Week though. Dmitri has already been told that Father Andrei is cruelly punishing him for having dared to see Sophia earlier without permission.

So few people Dmitri knows hate the Tsar and his soldiers despite all the bad things they have done. So many hate his papa, who only wants everything to be fair. And even his papa wanted to look nice for the Tsar the day he went to meet him… but why? The little boy has trouble reconciling the brutal hierarchized society he lives in with the dream his father is fighting for. They are just so different.

Poor papa, the child thinks, he and his valiant friends are going to have to fight so hard when he gets out. 

Father Boris doesn't hit the children. Dmitri has never seen him do so. That is why the boy doesn't hold back his jokes and opinions around the elder. That is why he now wonders if his religion teacher is secretly a revolutionary who believes in fairness like his father, who once said that some anarchists work undercover.

Likewise, Dmitri has listened in to the priest arguing with the chief warden and objecting to the brutal beatings inflicted upon the children of the orphanage, this without much success. So… could it be?

Indeed, Father Boris does not think that such demonic violence is going to lead the children to the truth of God's love. He knows that Dmitri had a bad experience with the previous priest who taught him. While not violent or abusive, that man was humorless, overly strict, and lacking the Holy Spirit's gifts of joy and patience. This has left the child with the wrong impression of God, further than ever from the truth. The priest does not want this to happen to the other children.

Some of the brutal punishments used by the staff are in fact illegal now, and Father Boris has made this known to them several times. Horrendous rod beatings used to be very common in schools, especially gymnasiums. Few balanced children emerged from that abused flock. 

The institution's staff have hardly felt moved or threatened by these facts though, and he can sadly see why. They are not afraid of being reported by the meek priest who always looks for peaceful solutions first, and in the unlikely event that the orphanage were to be penalized by the government for the mistreatment of a few unwanted and destitute children, some of them offspring of criminals and revolutionaries, it is the unfortunate orphans themselves who would suffer the most. They would be simply sent to similar or worse underfunded institutions, overcrowding them even more. Many others would have to fend for themselves, seek dangerous factory jobs, or worse. Remaining silent is thus the lesser evil.

But though Father Boris does not want his pupils to be beaten, he does want them to love God, and he wants them to obey their teachers for the correct reasons, not out of fear. He wants them to understand what the importance of hard work and obedience is. 

“What do you mean, Father Boris?” A boy in the classroom raises his hand, for once not Dmitri. “Why will we not always have a Tsar?”

“Ah, I have caught your interest!” Father Boris turns to look at the child, touching his long white beard with delight, as well as the cross hanging over his neck. "Does anyone here know the story of the Sibylline Oracles?" 

Father Boris looks around the classroom, and when he receives no answer after a few seconds, he approaches Dmitri again. “You, boy, who seem to know everything, do you know the story of the Sibylline Oracles?" 

"What are the Sibylline Oracles?" Dmitri frowns, looking confused for the very first time since Father Boris met him.  

"You answer a question with a question?" Father Boris challenges him, intent on teaching him a lesson on humility. "I asked a question first. Do you know the answer, Dmitri?”

"No", the dark-haired boy replies sourly, with contempt, almost belligerently, and clearly resentful of the old man's insistence that he should acknowledge his limitations. He may not hate him as much as the teachers who hit him, but he does hate him. 

“No”, Father Boris nods. “Remembering is not the same as understanding, Dmitri, and understanding is the key to knowing God and making yourself better than your circumstances, remember that the next time you feel tempted to boast about your good memory to the students who lack similar abilities.”

“I hate you”, Dmitri snarls under his breath. We make ourselves better than our circumstances, that is what his papa says. Dmitri told Father Boris about this once during confession, and now Father Boris is mocking him.

But the truth is that the priest wasn't trying to mock the child. He was trying to motivate him by bringing his beloved father's words to his attention. While Ivan is undeniably a criminal troublemaker, he is still the person the boy loves and looks up to the most. It would be good for Dmitri to follow his good advice, the teacher thinks, rare as it might have been.

“Neither do any of you know the story”, Boris says to all of the students now. Being hard of hearing, he failed to take notice of Dmitri's vicious declaration of hate. “It is time for you to know though. This story will be good for you to keep in mind the next time you hear troublemakers like your classmate Dmitri complain about the Tsar, which is bound to happen. The Sibylline Oracles declare the destiny of Russia", the old man remarks ominously, pointing a finger at the ceiling briefly before continuing. "In pagan times, before the birth of our Lord, the Sibyls were prophetesses or oracles that received prophetic visions, either from God or malicious spirits, we simply don't know. What we know is that they often foretold the things to come. 

“These oracles were famous all over the world, and many great men, even kings, would come to the Sibyls for aid before making important decisions. The days of these oracles came to an end with the coming of the gospels, of course. Since people could pray to God directly, they were no longer in need of an intermediary. It is, in fact, greatly discouraged by the church to seek knowledge of the future. While it is true that our Lord can work in mysterious ways and reveal the past, the present, and even the future to his children if He so pleases, many evil-doers obtain the power of clairvoyance and fortune-telling through the practice of witchcraft, which is a serious sin.”

Dmitri rolls his eyes at the silly things Father Boris is lecturing the class about. He likes stories, even fantastic stories, but serious talks of the supernatural do not impress him anymore.

He spent many months wondering why God hadn't saved Uncle Kostya or Aunt Maria and the baby, wondering if they had done something to provoke the Tsar's wrath and thus God's. He prayed many times, asking for God to give him a clear sign, to talk to him, but He never did. He never had back when Aunt Maria and mama prayed with him either, not that he remembers much except for some happy feelings having more to do with spending time with his mother than anything else. This confused him, because Aunt Maria had often claimed that she spoke to God as if He were a friend.

His first religion teacher, the one at his previous school, told him that God's plans were hidden from the prying eyes of mortals and not to be questioned. This just confused him even more. What would God gain from Aunt Maria's death? What exactly was He planning? When Dmitri asked these questions, the teacher just warned him about hell for the rest of the class, a frightful place full of pain and torture that neither his mama nor Aunt Maria had ever mentioned. 

Dmitri did fear hell for a while, a lot, but then his father came to visit with Uncle Ilya one day and casually told him about a book written by a foreign man called Charles Darwin that all the other anarchists were discussing. It explained where all the animals and the little bugs and the pretty birds and the plants and the different people came from.

Everything made sense to Dmitri then. His cousins back in the village often talked about ghosts and spirits as well, but he never saw or heard any. It is better to worry about things that are real, such as men who viciously beat children.

“As Christianity grew, fewer and fewer people kept going to the Sibyls”, Father Boris keeps going, “until one day, these oracles disappeared altogether.”

“That sucks!” Dmitri exclaims. “They sound much more interesting than church.” Some of his classmates laugh for a moment, but others hush him, feeling drawn by the story. 

“It would interest you to know then, Dmitri, that before their disappearance, one Sibyl gave a great prophecy about the last days before the return of the Lord”, Father Boris says serenely. “At the end of time, the anti-Christ will arise and persecute those faithful to Christ. 

“Who is the anti-Christ? And why is he so bad? This you might ask. According to many Bible scholars, he will fool many into following him out of desperation during a time of great crisis and bring about a period of peace and prosperity.”

“Yeah, what is so wrong about that?” Asks Dmitri.

Father Boris shakes his head in disapproval before replying. “The answer is in the name. The anti-Christ shall stand against everything our Lord preached, truth, love, compassion, charity, repentance, forgiveness, and temperateness. He will lead his followers to commit all sorts of wickedness instead. He will preach lies, hatred, indifference, selfishness, remorselessness, mercilessness, and debauchery. He will make people see good in evil and evil in good. Many of his opponents and detractors will suffer under his yoke, as well as anyone whose pain or death he and his followers deem necessary for their own satisfaction.”

“Like we suffer under the Tsar.”

Father Boris ignores the boy's mouth and continues. “We know all of this from the Holy Scripture. What the oracle also foretells, however”, he raises his finger for a moment, “is that the forces of the anti-Christ will drive the emperor of Rome from the throne and that the anti-Christ will reign over the city for a time. The emperor will disappear along with those faithful to God, with the exception of a few saints who will be tortured and murdered, becoming martyrs for worshiping the Lord despite the anti-Christ’s defacement of the city. There will be rivers of blood flowing through the streets and families turning against each other as the servant of sin persecutes the saints.”

A girl raises her hand. “Do you mean Victor Emmanuel III? Would he not be the emperor to disappear when the anti-Christ comes? He is the King of Italy and rules over Rome.”

“Ah, dear child!” Father Boris is pleased by his student's display of interest. “You forget that when the original Rome fell to the barbarian Odoacer, who then became the first King of Italy, the Roman Senate sent the imperial insignia to the Easter Roman Emperor Zeno, symbolically bestowing upon Constantinople, the center of Byzantium, the title of second Rome.”

“But Constantinople also fell in 1453, did it not?” Another child says.

"Oh, yes”, Father Boris nods. “Dark times indeed. The Turks captured the city of Constantinople, renamed it ‘Istanbul’, and killed the emperor of Rome. The Hagia Sophia Basilica became a mosque for the Muslims and many Christians were martyred for their faith. People thought that the end was near, and based on the calculations of many monks and scholars studying the Bible's book of Revelation, it was determined that the Lord would return in 1492. So certain was everyone of this that the Russian Orthodox Church did not even bother to prepare the calendar for the feasts of that year, but then 1492 arrived… and the Lord did not come.”

“What a shock”, Dmitri rolls his eyes.

“What did it mean?” Father Boris proceeds dramatically. “How could the world go on when Rome had just fallen? Then the monks and scholars of the church realized what had happened. God had aided the armies of Islam and granted them His favor against Constantinople as punishment for Byzantium's many sins, as well as the emperor's alliance with the papist heretics of the old Rome. The title of Rome had been transferred again, this time to Moscow.”

“How could the monks even know that?” Dmitri objects. “What about the right of conquest? Why did the title of Rome not go to the Ottomans? You once said that the Tsars were not land thieves for making Russia become very, very big because the right of conquest had made all the land they took rightfully theirs.”

“There was a sign, Dmitri”, the priest replies, “for in 1472, the Rurik Moscow ruler Ivan III married the last Byzantine princess, Sofia Paleolog. She brought a throne along to Russia from the Byzantine Eastern Roman Empire, and that is the throne, my dear boy, where Her Imperial Majesty Empress Alexandra Feodorovna sat on during her and her husband’s coronation. That is how Moscow became the third Rome and the Grand Duke of Moscow became Tsar, Caesar.”

“So who is the anti-Christ?” Dmitri asks again, more for fun than anything else. The right of conquest seems more valid to him than some stupid chair and some stupid princess marrying a ruler from an old dynasty that doesn't even rule Russia anymore. “When is he coming?”

"Later on, some yet again claimed that the end was coming after the Romanov Tsar Alexei I allowed Patriarch Nikon to reform the liturgy, but the Old Believers who split apart from the Russian Orthodox Church for that reason were only superstitious fanatics. They called the Tsar ‘anti-Christ’, and after that Peter the Great was called ‘anti-Christ’ for his many reforms, but how could the Lord's anointed be the anti-Christ?”

“Why not? Satan could fool people better that way.” What the Tsar's soldiers did to Aunt Maria and her baby, Dmitri reckons, is something that an evil anti-Christ would definitely do.

“No”, the priest states firmly. “We still await the coming of the anti-Christ, and we have no way of knowing when exactly he will come. Some scholars say that there will be not one, but many, each defined by a different age and place, each promising different things, what each nation wants to hear, but never the truth. All of them preaching the opposite of love, charity, repentance, mercy, and redemption. What we know is that when one of them arises, the Tsar's reign will end for a time.

"But let's get back to the oracle, the most important thing she ever said. Though the power and evil of the anti-Christ will be so great that he shall slay the Tsar and his family and rule over the streets of the third Rome, making a mockery of God, in the end, the Lord will raise up a new Tsar. It can be safely assumed that this new ruler will be a descendant of the last one, for nothing is impossible for God. He will miraculously save the Tsar's family from complete and total annihilation and protect the precious survivor the way He protected Christ during the massacre of the innocents ordered by the evil King Herod. A protector will be needed to guide the survivor to safety, just as Joseph the Betrothed took the Virgin Mary and the infant Christ to safety in Egypt. That will be no problem, of course, as God can use both the holiest saints and the most unrepentant of sinners to fulfill His purposes”, as Father Boris says this, he looks at Dmitri in a strange way that amuses the boy, an intense way, but only for a moment before proceeding. “And so, the descendant of this survivor shall appear from where divine mercy has kept him safe and hidden. According to Sibyl, the true Tsar shall emerge from obscurity and overthrow the reign of anti-Christ before the return of our Lord Jesus. This Tsar shall be the greatest monarch who has ever reigned over the Holy Russian Empire and even the Earth, and he shall establish peace and justice, bring about prosperity, and lead his people to the worship of the true God. 

“So, as you see, we shall not always have a Tsar”, Father Boris repeats with great emphasis. “Be grateful that we have a Tsar. He may be a wretched sinner like all of you, he might have made many mistakes, some of which have caused you unthinkable harm, little ones, but I assure you, acts of wrathful envy can be much more vicious than those of mere fearful jealousy, and when the Tsar is gone, when the time comes that we do not have him, it will be an even more dreadful time to live."

The children stay silent as they take in the story. Dmitri must admit that he enjoyed it, but he enjoyed it the way he used to enjoy his mother's fairytales. He also enjoyed hearing the stupid Tsar being referred to as a “wretched sinner.”

The priest is right about the future overthrow of Bloody Nicholas, but that will not be done by the forces of the anti-Christ. Dmitri's father and his brave anarchist friends will overthrow the Tsar, kill all his mean soldiers and policemen, and put him in jail, and after that there will not be any need for another one to return, because the revolution will create a perfect world where everyone is happy and treated fairly, and no one is better or worse than anyone, and no one can beat or force anyone to do anything, not even homework.

Jesus can stay if He truly does come back. Sometimes Dmitri has trouble remembering whether a famous utterance was said by Jesus or one of papa's anarchist friends anyway. 

The children of the Tsar can stay too. His nice papa wouldn't kill them like God killed Egypt's firstborn, which was so very mean… especially not Anastasia, who does pranks on the Tsar.

In the meantime, Dmitri will have fun toying with his teacher. “I liked your story”, he says.

“I am very glad to hear that, my boy”, Father Boris approaches Dmitri's desk and smiles, looking pleasantly surprised. 

“I will remember it”, Dmitri adds smugly, putting emphasis on the word ‘remember.’

"You would do better to understand its meaning," Father Boris replies with a smile that doesn't leave his face.

The bell rings, signaling the end of the class, and as the children leave, the priest notices that Dmitri is still limping from last week's beating over breaking Father Andrei's windows. 

Father Boris looks at the leaving child with sadness and sighs. He still has a long way to go.

God bless you and keep you, Dmitri. 

Oo

1906 provided Tsar Nicholas II with an ally who could have saved Imperial Russia and kept the Sibyl's prophecy from ever needing to be fulfilled.

Pyotr Arkadyevich Stolypin was born to a prominent aristocratic family in 1862, going on to have a rather typical youth for someone of his station. He grew up in the family state and attended a prestigious school with his brother before studying agronomy at St. Petersburg University, an atypical choice for a wealthy aristocrat, as most nobles sought law degrees. Agriculture was Pyotr's real passion though.

At 22, he married a fellow aristocrat by the name of Olga Borisovna von Neidhart, the Empress's maid of honor and the former bride-to-be of his brother Michael, who had been killed in a duel and later avenged by Pyotr himself. The happy couple ended up having five daughters and one son. 

After university, Stolypin worked for three years in the Department of Agriculture, and during his fourth year he was appointed leader of the nobility in the city of Kovno, which he governed for thirteen years. While in power, he took an interest in improving the education of the peasants and introducing new crops and technology. The conservative local nobility opposed these efforts by refusing to fund his projects, but since Pyotr had inherited a lot of money from his old aristocratic family, this wasn't a problem for him.

Kovno began to prosper despite the fact it had been considered poor and rebellious before, arousing the fear and jealousy of the other nobles, who tried getting Pyotr in trouble with the government. Instead of being punished, however, Stolypin was assigned another province, Grodno. 

When Stolypin arrived, Grodno was a starving province with a shattered economy due to the constant Polish uprisings in the region. Pyotr showed himself to be a skillful manager. He began to fight the Polish insurgents while also reforming agriculture as he had done in Kovno, introducing land reclamation and artificial fertilizers, and changing the main crop to potatoes. Pyotr Arkadyevich also reformed the area's public education system, opening free schools for all of its residents. This caused the nobles to complain about him again, and one in particular to attempt to overthrow him. Stolypin stopped him successfully though, and the man was arrested.

Pyotr achieved economic success for Grodno, but immediately after this, he was promoted to Saratov, not because of his agronomical talents, but due to the unrest in the province, which he had managed to cope with before. 

During the height of the 1905 revolution, Pyotr was Governor of Saratov, where the local peasant uprisings were among the most violent. Stolypin managed to suppress these revolts with a minimum loss of life. Often, rather than using shelling, trialless executions, property burnings, and other violent reprisals against the insurgent villages as many different government officials and the so-called “Punitive Expeditions” were doing, Stolypin himself would simply walk into the peasant lodges alone to talk to the rebel leaders and persuade them to have their men lay down their arms. If they surrendered, Stolypin would not even arrest the revolutionaries, but if, on the other hand, they did not comply, he would order his soldiers to kill every last one of them.

Pyotr's experience managing country states and later on as a terrific wartime governor easily earned him a position within the St. Petersburg bureaucracy. In April of 1906, he was made Minister of Internal Affairs of Russia, and merely months later, he would also start serving as Prime Minister of Russia. 

Direct, outspoken, brimming with impassioned patriotism, and overwhelming in his physical energy, Stolypin would need to grapple with the fundamental causes of Russia’s troubles. A passionate monarchist, he hated the revolutionaries and wished to ruthlessly crush the last outbursts of the revolution. But Stolypin was also a realist who sensed that the monarchy would survive only if the government and the structure of society itself could adapt to the times. 

By 1906, the still handsome 44-year-old Stolypin was a big, burly man with dark brown receding hair, elegantly styled beard, and twirled mustache. 

No Russian statesman of the era would ever be more admired. Dressed in a frock coat with a watch chain across his chest, he spoke with so much eloquence and sincerity that even his adversaries at the Duma would grow to respect him, and his big, bearlike figure attracted every eye. 

In May of 1906, the First Imperial Duma was convened. The existence of anything resembling a parliament was so new and alien to Tsarist Russia that no one involved knew how to behave and everything had to be created almost from scratch, the constitution, the parliament, and the political parties.

The elections were carried out amidst political assassinations, strikes, banditry, and the burning of states belonging to the nobility. The Bolsheviks had advised their followers to boycott the Duma, but this only led to the triumph of the so-called “Constitutional Democrats”, also known as Kadets, a party mostly made up of professors, journalists, doctors, and lawyers headed by admirers of the English Constitution. 

On April 27, 1906, 10th of May according to the Gregorian calendar, the Dowager Empress, her youngest son Grand Duke Michael Alexandrovich, his sister Grand Duchess Xenia, and her husband the Grand Duke Alexander escorted the Tsar and the Tsarina from Peterhof to the Winter Palace for the opening of the Duma. 

The Tsar received his new parliament at the throne room of the Winter Palace, the same decorous hall where eleven years before he had advised the representatives of the zemstvos to “forget their senseless dreams”, a patronizing offense not yet forgotten. 

The event did not seem promising. Masses of police and soldiers waited outside at the palace square for the worst to happen. The newly elected deputies, some in their best evening clothes, others wearing simple peasant blouses, stood on one side of the room, several gaping with resentment at the huge throne of crimson and gold and the court officials wearing gold braids over their uniforms and fine attires.

All male Romanovs present were wearing full-dress uniforms, and the females, the Empress and her ladies among them, had been styled in the most elegant formal court dresses.

Grand Duke Alexander Mikhailovich, the Tsar’s cousin and brother-in-law through marriage to Grand Duchess Xenia, reckoned that mourning garments would have been more appropriate. Following the unavoidable Te Deum prayer service, Nicky read a short speech, outlining the problems Russia faced. Everyone stood quietly and listened, Alix without ceasing to involuntarily grimace at the men who had, in her eyes, stolen her baby's birthright. 

The Dowager Empress and Grand Duke Vladimir had tears in their eyes as well, and Grand Duke Alexander would have even cried had it not been for the apprehension that came over to him when he noticed the burning hatred in the faces of some of the parliamentarians. He thought it would be more prudent of him to be strong, keep his guard up, and watch over his cousin Nicky carefully lest one of them should attempt to come too close to him. 

Minnie also sensed that hatred. It was the reason for her tears.

Opposite from the new elected deputies stood the ministers, among them Count Fredericks, a 67-year-old Finno-Russian statesman with a long head and a big mustache who served as Imperial Household Minister, and as such was the man responsible for the administration of the imperial family's personal affairs and living arrangements.

The old man thought of the deputies as a gang of criminals waiting for the signal to throw themselves upon the ministers and cut their throats. 

Fredericks was hardly the only one feeling uncomfortable. Count Vladimir Kokovtsov, the Minister of Finance, couldn't help but stare at one of the deputies in particular with suspicion, a man of tall stature, dressed in a worker’s blouse and high oiled boots, who examined the throne and those surrounding it with a derisive and insolent air. 

“We both seem engrossed in the same spectacle”, Stolypin whispered in Kokovtsov's ear. “I even have the feeling that this man might throw a bomb.”

Not entirely pessimistic at first, Nicholas read his speech with eagerness, sincerity, and a clear resounding voice, controlling his emotions and concealing his ambivalence.

“I sincerely hope that you will commence your work in an atmosphere of pious diligence, inspired by a sincere desire to justify the confidence of your sovereign and of our great nation”, he finished. “May God’s blessing be with me and you.” 

The shouts of “hurrah” were vociferous on the side of the Imperial Council and perfunctory among the parliamentarians of the Duma, the feelings of which were quickly manifested. Scarcely had the hundreds of members taken their seats when they got to work preparing an “Address to the Throne” that to Nicholas’s horror demanded universal suffrage, radical land reform, the release of all political prisoners, and the dismissal of ministers appointed by the Tsar in favor of those acceptable to the Duma. 

With trembling hands and in a scarcely audible voice, the old and gray-haired Ivan Goremykin, Prime Minister at the time, rejected everything the Duma had requested. There was a moment of complete and tense silence after the aged politician sat down, but this didn't last long.

“Let the executive power bow before the legislative!” A Duma member suddenly leaped to the rostrum. A deadening applause greeted his cry of outrage. More and more speakers followed, each of their attacks on the government more stinging than the last.

When the ministers present rose up and attempted to speak, they were immediately shouted down. 

“Retire!” The Duma members screamed. “Retire!” 

Nicholas was so appalled by this behavior that he became eager to use it as an excuse to dissolve the Duma. He recognized that the frail senior Goremykin was not going to be able to ride out the upheaval that would inevitably follow dissolution though. It was then that Prime Minister Goremykin was replaced by Stolypin.

Merely two days following his ascension as new Prime Minister, Stolypin locked the doors of the Tauride Palace, where the parliamentary sessions had been held, and posted an imperial decree dissolving the Duma. Refusing to accept this, a number of elected parliamentarians met at a different location and declared that the sessions of the Duma were resumed, encouraging Russians to refuse army recruitment and the payment of taxes until the Duma was restored. 

This appeal, however, had little to no effect, as Russians were tired of the violence and economic instability that had been exacerbated by the 1905 revolution. 

Sensitive to such forward criticism after years of court protocol dictating how anyone could refer to him and mostly forbidding the raising of any voice in his presence, Nicholas felt wronged and attacked by the clamors of the Duma, and Alexandra felt, of course, wronged on his behalf. 

Not only was it a humiliating trial for him to be merely yelled at, but his workload and worries had continued to increase around the time of the creation and subsequent dissolution of the Duma. Even before the Russo-Japanese War and the revolution, Nicholas had already started getting the sense that suffering lay ahead of him, this in no small part due to the prophecies he had become acquainted with through the years, but the hunch grew stronger following these unfortunate events.

"It was not for nothing," he once told Stolypin, "that I was born on the day of Job the Long-suffering.”

On another occasion, Nicholas said to his Prime Minister: "I have more than a presentiment that I am destined for terrible trials, and that I shall not be rewarded for them on this earth…

“Nothing that I have undertaken succeeds for me; I have no successes. Man's will is so weak... 

“How many times have I applied to myself the words of the holy Job, 'For the thing that I fear comes upon me, and what I dread befalls me.'"

Having prayed a little before making one of the many important state decisions of those crucial months of 1906, the Tsar turned to Stolypin and declared: 

"Perhaps an atoning sacrifice is necessary for the salvation of Russia. I shall be that sacrifice. May the will of God be done!"

He had used a simple, calm, and even voice, and there had also been a strange mixture of decisiveness and meekness in both his tone and his facial features. He had been unshakeable and passive at the same time, unclear and well-defined; as if he had been expressing, not his own will, but rather bowing to some external power. Providence. Destiny.

Oo

While temporarily back home from his duties as a navy officer in order to care of his son Feodor and his daughter Irina, who had fallen ill with scarlet fever and were in a dangerous state, Grand Duke Alexander Mikhaelovich received word from one of his servants that the crew of his ship “Almaz” had mutinied and was awaiting his return to seize him as a hostage. 

“I am very sorry, Sandro, but under these circumstances, you will have to quit,” Nicholas said to his sister's husband. “The government cannot take the chance of delivering a member of the imperial family into the hands of revolutionaries.”

Alexander simply bowed, as he had no strength to put up an argument. He could not believe what was happening. His sailors wanted to seize him as a hostage! An actual hostage! This despite the 24 years he had given to the navy, despite everything he had sacrificed for the glory of Russia’s fleet. 

Alexander knew that some officers were brutal with their physical punishments, but he had never even raised his voice when dealing with his sailors. He had instead fought for their cause with the admirals, the ministers, and even his cousin the Tsar. He had cherished his popularity with the sea men and foolishly thought himself their friend and confidant. 

A hostage! Alexander couldn't take it anymore. None of his attempts to advise his cousin Nicholas on matters of state had borne good fruit. The Tsar often ignored him or changed his mind, always listening to the last person he spoke to. 

Following the Khodynka stampede, Alexander and his brothers had demanded the immediate dismissal of Grand Duke Sergei, whom they had considered partially responsible for the tragic event due to his role as an organizer. They had also insisted on calling off all future coronation festivities for a while. Nicholas hadn't listened. 

Alexander experienced the sudden urge to leave Russia with his wife, daughter, and sons, and Nicholas allowed this. The worst had come to pass, but the country still seemed to be falling apart and nothing mattered any more. He hated Russia.

Oo

The departure of Alexander, Xenia, and their children from Russia deprived the little Grand Duchesses for weeks and even months at a time from much-needed playmates, increasing their isolation. Their grandmother Minnie too was abroad often with the grandchildren from her daughter Xenia, and she had Danish relatives to visit as well. In 1906, she and her sister Alexandra, Queen of the United Kingdom in 1901, purchased the Danish villa of Hvidøre to spend time together. 

Olga, Tatiana, Maria, and Anastasia missed their cousins and grandmother a lot when she was away. They often wrote the Dowager Empress letters telling her how much they longed and wished to see her.

In January of 1906, when her father Christian IX of Denmark died, ten-year-old Olga wrote to her grandmother on behalf of herself and all of her sisters telling her how sorry they had been upon hearing the news.

“I think it will be very dreary and hard for you without him, because you saw him every day and were with him all the time”, she sympathized. “I am thinking so much of you. When will you come to us?”

Earlier, during Christmas, Olga, Tatiana, and Maria had written to her wishing her a happy Christmas and describing their holidays, during which they had ice-skated, sled down a snow mountain, and learned a little German. They had learned poems in this language that they could sing and play.

During the Christmas party, the four girls, ten, eight, six, and four years old at the time, had presented their parents a fable, and numerous presents had been given to them by their loved ones. 

Their beloved Babushka had gifted them toy kitchen and school sets which Tatiana had loved very much. Nicholas and Alexandra had given them a camera and lots of toys, as well as a big gramophone. The girl's dear “Uncle Mimi” had gotten them a wooden fold-up house, their Aunt Ella, a game where you put pictures together, and their cousins Maria and Dmitri, the children of Grand Duke Paul, had gifted them a toy rocking horse. 

Though Minnie also missed her grandchildren when she was away, she could not avoid spending time abroad. She was a free spirit with family and friends to keep in touch with and places to visit. She didn't know how much she would come to regret this.

Anastasia was beginning to enjoy the reputation of being the most mischievous of Minnie's grandchildren. The Dowager Empress had accepted the fact, at least to herself, that she favored her, the one she called “malinkaya”, meaning little one, perhaps in part because the tiny girl's free spirit was so similar to hers as a young girl, before the death of her dear betrothed Nicholas. 

Anastasia can be lazy and rebellious almost solely for the sake of it at times, as if disobedience itself were a sort of game to test the limits of the adults around her. 

During one of Minnie's birthday celebrations, all of the imperial children were made to arrange gifts for their grandmother. Though fond of her, Anastasia determined not to take any part in these arrangements or to select any gift. She simply wanted to know what would happen.

She even refused to learn a simple piece of poetry to recite to the Dowager Empress as all the other children were doing.

When asked if she was going to give her grandmother a bouquet of lilies of the valley tied with a bow of mauve ribbon, she replied:

"Oh, yes, I will gather a bouquet in the morning." 

But the following day, when all the children dressed in fine clothes and went into the carriage to offer their congratulations to the Dowager Empress, Anastasia, alone, appeared with empty hands. 

"I thought we were going to walk so that I could gather some wild flowers for grandma; now I shall have none”, she said. 

"When people go to offer congratulations, they go in carriages," her disappointed governess explained.

When the nursery arrived at the palace, the other children gave their grandmother gifts and recited pieces of poetry to her. Anastasia hung her head when her turn came, and her sisters turned away with shame and chagrin for their sister.

"Have you nothing for grandma?" Maria Feodorovna asked, staring at her granddaughter with a look of sadness.

“Yes, I have brought this, grandma”, Anastasia gave her a small toy that she had taken with her on the ride. 

"But have you made nothing for me with your own little hands?"

"Nothing, grandma”, the little girl began to feel ashamed.

"Well, dear, you are a very little child," said the Dowager Empress, "but perhaps you have learned a piece of poetry to say to me." 

Anastasia began feeling more mortified than ever, but, unwilling to confess her negligence, she decided to deceive her grandmother by reciting the following lines: 

I have a pretty doll, 

Her name is Miss Rose, 

She has two pretty blue eyes, 

And a very small nose. 

She can't stand long, 

On her tiny little toes, 

She just makes a curtsy, 

And then, off she goes. 

“That is very pretty", Minnie smiled, "but isn't that what you said to your mother last week?" 

Anastasia started coughing from nervousness. She couldn't stand it any longer. Her dear Babushka would be disappointed in her, and all for being lazy and silly.

The little girl burst into tears and fled the room, but she soon got the urge to go back to her grandma to tell her how sorry she was and to beg for her forgiveness. The Dowager Empress accepted her favorite grandchild's apology very sweetly, but not without telling her that she would not receive a bonbon as the other children had. 

The little Anastasia couldn't have cared less. All she wanted was her grandmother's love, and Minnie definitely noticed and appreciated this.

The Dowager Empress also knew that the little girl would fare better being cocooned, well cared for, and molded into a proper young lady by her parents and tutors, but she couldn't wait for her to grow old enough so that Alix would allow her to fly away with her old Babushka to Europe. Anastasia had too much energy to remain locked up. Minnie wanted to make something out of that youthful spirit, to lead it to mature and with time become strength of character and determination, important traits in politically minded women. 

The Dowager Empress could perhaps even train her granddaughter up to be the perfect queen consort. Open, amusing, and friendly with the people, unlike the poor, unpleasant Alexandra. After all, Minnie's great-nephew Frederick was destined to become King of Denmark someday, and he was only two years older than the little Anastasia.

Oo

The absence of Alexander and his family was, though sad and unfortunate, evidently the least of Nicholas's problems in 1906, even regarding solely family matters.

Though still heartbroken over having been thwarted in his efforts to marry his beloved first cousin Beatrice, the Tsar's romantic younger brother Michael, whom his devoted nieces and nephew affectionately called “Uncle Mimi”, had fallen in love again. The new object of his affection was even less suitable for a Russian Grand Duke than the previous one. 

Three years older than the 27-year-old Michael, Alexandra Kossikovskaya, also known as "Dina", was merely his younger sister Olga's lady-in-waiting. Dina was a commoner.

Michael didn't care though. He loved her deeply, and he rejected the notion, proposed by his fellow army and aristocratic friends, that he keep her as a mistress. The mere idea of doing that to someone he loved so much disgusted him.

Dina loved him back, so in July of 1906, he wrote to Nicholas asking him for permission to marry her. Nicholas and Minnie were shocked and appalled. 

They firmly believed that royalty should only marry royalty, people within their station and level of prestige, pedigree, and education, who could even secure diplomatic connections with other houses. 

Furthermore, according to Russian law, any children born from a marriage between a royal and a commoner would be ineligible for the succession. 

In order to prevent him from marrying a commoner, Nicholas threatened to revoke Michael's army commission and exile him from Russia if he did so without his permission. Maria Feodorovna would take further precautions by having Dina dismissed as her daughter Olga's lady-in-waiting and taking Michael to Denmark for a time.

The Tsar didn't understand why his brother insisted on acting like a lovesick schoolboy when the precarious times demanded him to sacrifice his fancies for the sake of duty. Now more than ever the imperial family needed to stick together. 

Stressed and disgusted by his first and only experience with an elected parliament, Nicholas would have been more than happy to end the representative government  “experiment.” Stolypin was the one who insisted that the Tsar’s signature on the October Manifesto constituted a solemn promise to the nation, a world of honor that couldn't be broken. Grudgingly, Nicholas held on to his flexible code of honor, abandoned his plans for eliminating the Duma altogether, and gave permission for the election of a Second Duma.

Oo

When he first came to power, Stolypin meant to start up by attacking the root causes of the public discontent, such as the peasants’ long-suppressed thirst for land of their own, but nothing could be done about this or other matters promptly and efficiently until order had been restored, and the assassinations continued at a steady pace. 

In August of 1906, General Vonlyarlyarsky, the Russian military governor of Warsaw, was assassinated, as was General Min, commander of the Life Guards regiment, who was gunned down by a female revolutionary at Peterhof Railway Station in front of his wife.

The Tsarist police struggled to cope with the many dangers threatening Nicholas and his family, leading to the organization of a ridiculously complicated system of spying and tattling. As spies were set to watch and catch spies, and revolutionary organizations attempted to infiltrate the family's security, the air became filled with whisperings and cross-currents of fear and mistrust.

The 32-year-old General Alexander Ivanovich Spiridovich, a successful Okhrana agent who had himself survived a terrorist attack in 1905, was made the head of the Tsar's secret personal bodyguard, becoming one of the few people in the imperial entourage with close access to the family.

While the imperial family never walked out informally through public streets, every eventuality had to be covered by the police, such as those rare occasions when they went out for drives or attended public church services and ceremonies surrounded by crowds.

The press was banned from announcing anything related to the imperial family's whereabouts and daily activities due to these security concerns, so no happy anecdotes about them were published for years. The Russian people had absolutely no understanding of a “sweet family life” in regard to their Tsar and Tsarina. They were cut off from any sort of information humanizing them. 

A few bulletins and official photographs and postcards where both the sovereigns and their children wore their most expensive gowns were sporadically released for public consumption and available for sale, but that was the sum of everything. The Russian imperial family was becoming famous for its dazzling inaccessibility. They were thought of as snobbish, aloof, and unapproachable.

Four different security networks began guarding the Romanovs’ every move, among them the Tsar’s escort and a special police force at Tsarskoe Selo that watched the surrounding streets and vetted all visitors to the palace. 

Any person who approached the Tsar or a member of his family was bound to be immediately interrogated by a member of his security. 

All railway routes taken were closely guarded by cordons of troops positioned along both embankments, and guards on board provided additional protection.

Even then, the fearful Alexandra would insist that the blinds be drawn, and she refused to allow the girls to go to the windows to wave at the people passing by. She lived in constant fear for her husband's life and the safety of her children, and the assassination of General Min had occurred close to their Lower Dacha residence at Peterhof, unnerving her and Nicholas greatly.

But Olga, Tatiana, Maria, and Anastasia often pressed their faces against the slits on either side between curtain and window frame, hungry for sight of the world beyond, about which they were growing increasingly curious. 

Even foreign newspapers commented on the growing isolation of the imperial family. A May article on the Washington Post headed “Children Without a Smile”, featured the Grand Duchesses’ latest set of official photographs. It remarked on the sweetness of the Romanov sisters’ expressions, but erroneously concluded that theirs was a sad life, as the family lived almost as prisoners in their own palaces, surrounded by servants and guards whose allegiance could surely be distrusted.

The family was, in fact, surrounded by numerous loyal servants, maids clothed in light green uniform dresses, nannies, and ladies, princesses and noblewomen among them, whom they considered close friends and even extended family in some cases. Though generally deprived of friends their own age, the four Grand Duchesses barely ever lacked company.

Princess Obolensky, Sonia Orbeliani, the young Anna Alexandrovna Taneeva, called “Anya”, and the motherly 50-year-old Catherine Schneider, called “Trina”, were only some of many of the Empress and her children’s constant companions. 

Like Catherine Schneider, Baroness Sophie Buxhoeveden was a Baltic German who had become an honorary lady in waiting for the Empress in 1904, at around 21 years of age.

Sophie, nicknamed “Isa”, was tall, dark-haired, and full-figured. A chain smoker in private, Isa wasn't an attractive woman, but she was quite intelligent and had a very friendly manner that the little Grand Duchesses appreciated. She also managed to somehow be deferential to the imperial family without it seeming forced and also casual with them when the situation was appropriate for it. 

Upon her arrival at the imperial family's residence, Alexandra had asked her if she was comfortable in her rooms and told her that she hoped she would dine with the family that night.

As the Empress and her newest lady talked, the youngest Grand Duchess, a chubby little three-year-old at the time with bright, curious eyes twinkling with humor that would forever characterize her, had broken into the conversation. 

“Will you play with us, new lady?” The little Grand Duchess Anastasia had inquired. “And can you run?” She had looked at Sophie questioningly out of the corner of one eye, sniffing a little from time to time, for in her babyhood and early childhood Anastasia had been somewhat sickly. 

“Anastasia, you monkey”, Alexandra had laughed, “it is not polite to ask people questions while they are talking to someone else.”

“But I want to know”, the baby had persisted in her slightly imperfect English.

“Let’s play blind man’s buff!” Tatiana had enthusiastically suggested. 

“Well, if Isa doesn’t mind, perhaps you may, just for ten minutes,” the Empress had pushed back the furniture with a smile, and Sophie had played with the girls for the first time.

Blind man’s buff is a variant of tag where the one chasing after the others is blindfolded. On that particular occasion, a silk scarf lying handy had been bound over Tatiana’s eyes first, and the girl had slyly peeped in Sophie's direction to catch her.

When the time came for the lady in waiting to be blindfolded, excited shrieks  betrayed the little princesses. But whenever she made a grab in their direction, they invariably escaped with shouts of glee. 

When the little Maria suddenly pulled at Sophie's belt, the lady turned quickly in the unfamiliar room and would have collapsed into an armchair had not the Empress’s laughing voice warned her: “Stop! Danger! Turn to the left.” That is when she had finally caught Grand Duchess Olga, and the first of many games had come to an end.   

The girls continued playing with their nannies, their parents, and their mother's ladies on a daily basis. Soon after their Uncle Sergei's death, the Grand Duke Dmitri Pavlovich became the Emperor's ward and would for a time live at Tsarskoye Selo, to the great joy of the girls, who were fond of their cousin. The Emperor and Empress treated him as another son, and though he was four years older than Olga, Dmitri had no problem occasionally joining the Grand Duchesses in their childish games too.

As had been the case the year before, the Emperor was asked by his ministers not to travel by land during 1906, this for security reasons.

The family spent those years between Tsarskoye Selo and Peterhof, the palace by the sea of Finland where the court led a simple life in which the officers of the imperial family yacht “Standart” took part and all possible formality was dispensed with.

The Standart was equipped with every comfort. Electric lighting, steam heating, and hot and cold running water. Its luxurious formal staterooms featured chandeliers, the private chapel was complete with its own iconostasis, and the dining room could seat 72. Only the family rooms were relatively modest, as the girls shared small cramped cabins on the lower deck with their maids. The children had no problem with this though. 

They loved to talk to the officers, play deck games, and rollerskate on the smooth wooden surface. Each of the Romanov children was always appointed their own personal bodyguard or dyadka, uncle, from among the crew to take care of their safety at sea. That summer of 1906 the children had been rather shy in front of the new Standart crew at first, but soon warmed to their “uncles” who would sit for hours regaling them with seafaring stories and telling them about their homes and their families. Each child soon had a favorite officer or sailor to hold their hand when they went ashore and sit alongside them in the rowing boats helping with the oars. 

Most mornings, the children would be up and on the deck at 8 a.m. to see the crew gather for the formal raising of the flag to the sound of the ship’s band.

The crew, on the other hand, relished the prestige of serving the imperial family. They loved the four sisters and found them enchanting. Such was the informality on board that the sailors addressed them by name and patronymic rather than by title. 

The little Anastasia would give everyone on board a hard time, rushing around the yacht from dawn to dusk, climbing up to the bridge when no one was looking, always disheveled and difficult to control, only to be finally carried off kicking and screaming to bed at the end of the day. 

Her phlegmatic sister Maria had a rather more relaxed approach to life on board. She liked to sit a little, have a read, and eat sweet biscuits, getting ever plumper in the process and increasing her sisters’ liking for calling her “fat little bow-wow.”

And so, the girls spent their days playing tag with the sailors on deck and looking at the ocean while Alexandra lay down on a couch nearby and watched them, one of her daughters always staying with her when she did not feel well enough to go ashore with her husband and the gentlemen of his suite to walk or play tennis.

During autumn there was some shooting that the officers of the yacht joined, and the young Grand Duchesses often walked and hiked with their father on the many rocky islands of the Finnish archipelago that they visited.

The girls loved exploring Finland. Tall pines grew in the chinks of the grey granite, with few to no houses in sight. Dark forests stretched far into the mainland, and hidden amongst them were only a few lonely fishermen's huts. 

The transparent waters were still and quiet during the wonderful "White Nights" and “Midnight Suns” of May and June, when the light of one day lasted till the dawn of the next. The Empress loved those long, still days, and so did her daughters, especially the older three, who were mature enough to appreciate the beauty of the bright, moonlight nights on the water, the evening prayer of the sailors on deck before the lowering of the flag, when the last rays of the setting Sun rested on the sea. 

While sailing on the Standart, the girls usually wore long black stockings and short leather boots, pretty black sailor skirts, each one with white stripes close to the hem, striped white and dark blue shirts with long sleeves, black sailor coats with two vertical rows of golden buttons each, and black beret hats. 

The little Tsarevich Alexei, younger than three, still dressed the same as his sisters, with skirts and dresses.

During one of these happy journeys sailing the Gulf of Finland, having already gone ashore to pick up flowers for their mother, hunt for mushrooms, and simply play in the forest, the four Grand Duchesses had a lot of fun playing on deck with their little brother as they often did.

First, they ran from one end of the deck to the other, racing each other whilst giggling and screaming with joy. Alexei always arrived last, as his short little legs could barely keep up with those of his older sisters. The happy baby didn't seem to mind though, and his devoted siblings let him win on one occasion, cheering him as he toddled before them.

The four girls were delighted, as usual, to be playing with their little brother, to be making the sweet tiny bundle of joy and energy even more happy and buoyant than usual, and their attention often shifted protectively between him and the camera, as their proud parents had decided to film them as they ran, holding each other's hands, laughing, and enjoying themselves in the simplest way possible, in a manner only achievable to innocent children.

Having sprinted joyfully for a long time, the five kids made a circle and held each other's hands to play Ring a Ring o' Roses, one of their favorite games. The cheerful girls spun and fell to the ground when the song demanded so, carefully making sure that the frail little Alexei didn't hurt himself in the process, and after that, Olga carried her baby brother and laid him on top of an officer's back as the man goofily crawled on his arms and legs like a pony to amuse the children. None more than Anastasia was greatly entertained by this. She would jump around from one place to another with a huge smile on her face and frantic giggles as her baby brother “rode” forward, Olga and Tatiana lovingly holding him still so that he didn't fall.

This was only one of many happy moments that the children’s voyages through the sea were constantly filled with, though merriment for the four little Grand Duchesses and their little brother was not exclusive to the Standart.

The parks of Tsarskoye Selo were also a constant scenery for their mischief and joyous laughter. Alexandra took them out to play on one occasion, all of them wearing simple white sailor dresses with dark blue stripes at the collar as well as tied red handkerchiefs. Baby Alexei was wearing short white socks under his small black leather shoes, unlike his sisters, who were all wearing long black stockings that made it hard to tell where their same-colored shoes ended. Other than that, the five children had been similarly attired, with identical round beige straw hats of different sizes that their mother thought looked adorable on all of them.

Alexandra herself sported a simple dark long dress and a bun, ready to play with her five impish children, and she had brought a Kodak Brownie camera to take them pictures. 

The day was filled with romping, laughter, posing for silly pictures, and playing under the sun. Alix constantly watched over her five happy children fondly, and Maria too would spend most of her time following the little Alexei a few steps behind as he toddled around on the grass. The young child was endeared by her baby brother's curious restlessness and urge to explore the world around him.

The loyal footman Alexei Trupp had also come holding a donkey by the reins and wearing his uniform and tall black hat.

Anastasia was very insistent that she should get to ride the dark brown donkey first, and her mother and older sisters indulged her, Olga and Tatiana even helping her mount the animal. 

“Go! Go!” The little Anastasia yelled at the donkey, but it did not move. “Go! Go, stupid!” 

 “Anastasia, my sunshine, language!” Alix gasped, but Olga laughed at her youngest sister's exasperation. 

“I am sorry, donkey”, Anastasia apologized, petting the creature tenderly. “But move, go now!”

While the big pair was busy holding the reins of the donkey to make sure it didn't move too fast, if it ever willed itself to move, Maria kept following and looking at her baby brother with tenderness as he ran around the grass nearby in circles, chasing butterflies. Eventually, the tiny boy's attention turned to Anastasia and the seemingly lazy, unmoving donkey. He understood the situation and felt sorry for his fun sister, something he barely ever did. Since birth, Alexei had received every possible care and attention from his nannies, parents, and sisters, who coddled, overprotected, pampered, and doted upon him without end or restrictions. He was invariably supervised closely by numerous servants and nannies in order to prevent accidents. The seemingly excessive precautions had borne fruit though, for the young heir's life had not yet been threatened by his malady.

Whenever his little self wanted or asked for was granted, from simple, innocent hugs or cuddles to more milk and food than usual or being handed any toy happening to catch his attention regardless of whether it was being used by someone else. When the guards and soldiers saluted him, he was filled with a young version of arrogance and excessive pride. Nicholas, Alexandra, and the nanny Maria Vishnyakova, in particular, always obliged, giving him whatever he wanted. They spoiled him very much, fulfilling the slightest of his whims in a way they had mostly avoided doing with the imperial daughters. The baby had grown especially attached to his mother and would often cry when she went away after having spent hours cuddling and pampering him.