things Papa had said, I had come to understand that years upon years ago, when he had wandered the countryside on foot in search of God, he had drunk tea and eaten raisins with a small group of Khlysty. But while my father believed as they did in the concept of sin driving out sin-a concept that fit so neatly into our Russian soul-there had been nothing more to the encounter. My own mother had grilled him on the issue, and right to her face Papa had denied ever taking part in a Khlyst ritual of rejoicing, when members would whirl and twirl themselves into a frenzy, eventually collapsing onto the floor.
Whether or not Prince Felix knew that Papa was at the palace, the very fact that he had even insinuated that Papa was out “rejoicing” scared me to the bone. My father had already been accused and investigated for being a member of the sect, but what about Prince Felix? Could he belong to a local ark, a Khlyst community of nobles devoted to group sinning? Had a flying angel-one of their mysterious couriers who moved from ark to ark, keeping them all in secret contact-really just come to town?
I had heard many such rumors, that an ark of the highest-born personages gathered in the depths of some palace right here in the capital, some said even within the shadow of the Winter Palace. Others whispered that a certain Prince O’ksandr headed an ark that gathered beneath one of the Kremlin cathedrals. I had no idea what was true, but was Prince Yusupov, like Madame Lokhtina, who had been clutching my father’s member and screaming that he was Christ and she was his ewe, seeking the penetration of my father as a way to sin, repent, and cleanse himself of his “grammatical errors”? I shuddered at the thought.
And yet…
I had witnessed how the Holy Spirit had come down upon Papa. Not only did he have the greatest of Christian gifts, the gift of healing hands, and not only did he possess second sight, but many women claimed he was also able to treat the sin of lust. Was this the key to Papa’s suddenly intense relationship with Prince Yusupov? Was he performing treatments upon the prince just as he would upon one of his female devotees? Was he trying to restore the purity of love between Prince Felix and Princess Irina, the Tsar’s own niece?
I knew Papa would never speak of any of this, any more than I could ever bring myself to ask. But the prince, gossipy and open, would certainly tell me. And I could certainly broach the subject with him. In this night of extremes, I was determined to find out, and so I dashed over to the nook and peered around the curtain. Immediately, Sasha started to get up.
“No!” I whispered harshly. “Just stay there. I’ll be right back!”
I hurried to the kitchen door, which I threw open. Without a cloak or even a shawl, I moved through the hall and to the top of the steep rear stairs.
“Fedya!” I called in a loud whisper. “Fedya, stop!”
Though I could hear his steps quickly descending, he apparently could not hear my voice. I charged downward. Why was Prince Felix-sole heir to an enormous fortune that included Rembrandts, Tiepolos, jewels like Marie Antoinette’s, dozens of estates, and some 125 miles of the Caspian coast-so interested in a dirty peasant with a dirty reputation? What could someone so high and noble want from someone so low and uneducated? Had he found the same kind of love for my father that Empress Aleksandra Fyodorovna had?
Or did he mean to harm him?
After all, it was no secret that Prince Felix’s mother, Princess Zinaida, was one of Rasputin’s greatest enemies. She-the stunningly beautiful matriarch of Russia’s richest family who was once one of the Empress’s close friends-had essentially been banished from the palace because of her hatred for my father. Was Prince Felix keeping his visits to our apartment secret in order to deceive his mother, or, God forbid, were his visits perhaps under her shadowy auspices and part of a greater plot? Rejected by the Empress, Princess Zinaida had become, I’d heard, especially close to several of the Tsar’s uncles, the very grand dukes who despised Rasputin and saw in him the ruination of the Romanov dynasty.
I flew down the dark narrow rear steps even more quickly than I had so recently come up the front staircase. No matter my haste, however, I couldn’t catch the young prince. By the time I had descended from our third floor, the back door of the building was shut tight. Wiping the frosty ice from a window, I peered out. From the back I saw Prince Felix, wrapped in his heavy coat, moving quickly through an arched passage, and the next instant he disappeared.
I was so tired and confused I didn’t hesitate. Would Fedya really tell me all I wanted to know? I was just so close, I had to try. When I saw a loose brick on the floor, I grabbed it, used it to hold the rear door open for my return, and charged out. A small but very real part of my mind was sure that if I didn’t find out tonight, I never would, and I hurried into the bitter night. My shoes crunched in the snow, my dress swung from side to side, and as I scurried through the rear archway and into the courtyard of another building, I saw him, his fur hat pulled snugly over his head.
“Fedya!”
But my voice disappeared, caught and blown away by a snowy wind. Prince Felix didn’t stop, so I chased after him as he ducked to the left, following a small discreet alley.
We were never, ever allowed to go out with our heads uncovered, and my mother would have been furious had she seen me rushing hatless and cloakless through the terrible cold. But I paid no heed, felt nothing, not even when my feet slipped on the icy cobbles and I nearly tumbled into a snowbank. Hardly anyone knew this back way to and from our apartment, which was why the rear steps weren’t guarded and why Prince Felix used it almost exclusively. I assumed he had parked his car or had a chauffeur waiting for him in some discreet location. And indeed, I caught another glimpse of his narrow figure as he made a final turn through a low passage that led onto the small side street. Ducking, he moved on, reached the snow-covered sidewalk, and turned right.
“Fedya, stop! Stop!”
Running as fast as I could, I struggled to catch up with him. But just as he disappeared from sight, a long motorcar eased past the end of the archway. My heart immediately tensed. Wasn’t that the very same touring car I had seen earlier, parked on our street?
Flushed once again with fear, I slowed, easing my way through the passage. Stopping, I clasped the ice-cold stone walls and peered around the edge of the building. Yes, it was the same one, and it now pulled alongside Prince Felix and came to a stop. Sure that the man with the gun was about to leap out, I nearly screamed for Fedya to run. But the prince appeared not in the least bit apprehensive. Rather, it was as if he had been expecting the car. And he not only seemed to know the vehicle but also its occupant-not the man with the gun but someone altogether different, a tall handsome young man who climbed out of the rear seat. I couldn’t believe what I was witnessing, for I knew him too. It was none other than the Tsar’s twenty-five-year-old cousin, Grand Duke Dmitri Pavlovich, also clad in a military hat and greatcoat. An Olympic athlete and lover of fine automobiles, he was known about Petrograd as something of a rake and better known as the Tsar’s favorite. The Empress had once loved him dearly as well but had come to feel otherwise, for she’d heard rumors of the young grand duke’s drinking, of his late-night activities during wartime-and of his inappropriate affection for Prince Felix.
Of course, there had been great gossip about town of the relationship between these two young men who belonged to the very top tier of nobility. At first and for one simple reason, the Tsar and Tsaritsa tried to ignore what they were hearing: Dmitri had become engaged to their eldest daughter, Olga Nikolaevna. When the sordid stories of Dmitri started cropping up, however, Aleksandra was so upset that she had forbidden the young grand duke from seeing Felix, even setting the secret police upon the two. Nevertheless, reports came back that her orders were being ignored. People had seen them together, tongues were wagging more than ever, and the Empress heard it all, both whisper and report of Dmitri and Felix drinking until morning, dancing, and inviting male ballet dancers into the private dining rooms of the Hotel Europe. Worse yet, when Dmitri moved into his own apartments in the Sergeeivski Palace, Felix not only helped him lavishly decorate his rooms but moved in with him for a while as well.
One night during those days I had accompanied Papa to the Aleksander Palace, where we dined with the royal family en famille. Afterward, over tea in the Maple Room, I had sat on a pillow at the feet of the Tsaritsa herself, and while she kindly stroked my tresses, I listened as she told Papa of the reports being circulated about the two young men. Upset by the dishonesty that would certainly be apparent in a marriage between Grand Duke Dmitri and Olga Nikolaevna, Papa minced no words-he strongly condemned the union. And the very next day Empress Aleksandra Fyodorovna quashed the royal engagement. Ever since, needless to say, Grand Duke Dmitri had viewed Rasputin as his archenemy.
Knowing this, I wasn’t at all shocked when I spied Dmitri kissing Felix, not even Siberian style, three times on the cheeks, but kissing him quite fully on the lips. In the next moment, the grand duke took the prince by his gloved
