And a mere nine years after my own royal marriage there I was in the Kremlin’s Cathedral of the Assumption, no doubt in my mind that the Russian Imperial Court was the most magnificent in all of Europe. My dear Grandmama had forever derided Russians for their extravagance, but Nicky’s coronation, which was taking place right before my eyes on that beautiful day in May, 1896, was the most glorious spectacle I had ever witnessed. As I stood amid a sea of kings and queens, princes and princesses and countless diplomats, the sunshine streaked like golden spears into the smoky, incense-thick church, and the dresses and uniforms, the jewels and the sabers all sparkled and danced with light. Candles burned everywhere, golden icons of saints stared down upon us, and I dabbed a tear from my left eye. Before us an incredible event had just unfolded: young Nicky, twenty-six years old and the new husband of my younger sister, had by the grace of God been anointed His Imperial Highness Nikolai II, Emperor and Autocrat of All the Russias.
Nicky then ordered that the Imperial Crown be handed him, which he took directly from the hands of the very important Metropolitan Palladius of Sankt Peterburg. By tradition Russian tsars crowned themselves, signifying there was no man of any rank or priest of any import between Tsar and God. And with his own hands Nicky did exactly that, crowning himself with the great Crown, that blazing masterpiece covered in some 5,000 smaller diamonds, dozens of larger ones, brilliant pearls, and, of course, that magnificent uncut ruby-the world’s largest of 415 carats-atop all. From that very moment, Nicky’s only responsibility was to answer to God and God alone.
Next, in a surprisingly strong and steady voice Nicky commanded that the other insignia-the Imperial Scepter which held the famed Orlov Diamond of 200 carats and the Imperial Orb of gold-be given over.
The pale, grayed Metropolitan Palladius, dressed in blazing gold robes sewn with thousands of pearls and wearing atop his head a gold mitre decorated with diamonds and rubies, held forth the insignia as he proclaimed in a booming voice, “Take this Orb and this Scepter, which are the visible manifestations of the Autocratic power the Almighty gives You to rule over Your People and to lead them to Prosperity.”
Nicky took the Scepter in his right hand, the Orb in his left, and seated himself upon his diamond-covered throne. A few moments later, he rose and passed the regalia to his aids. With tears in my eyes, I watched as Nicky commanded Alicky, my sister nine years younger, to come forth, which she did, kneeling upon a crimson cushion with a border of golden lace. With heart-stopping majesty Nicky then removed his Crown and touched it to the forehead of his beloved consort. Once the Crown was back upon his own head, he turned again to my sister and laid the regalia upon her-the Purple, the diamond-covered Chain of the Order of St. Andrew, and finally the Empress’s Crown of some 2,000 diamonds. Immediately the choir burst into song, wishing the Tsar and Tsaritsa long life and long reign, 101 guns were fired into the sky, and it seemed as if heaven had opened and was pouring its divinity down to earth, such were the waves of glory and beauty and wonder.
Once Nicky had again seated himself on his diamond-covered throne and Alicky upon hers-Ivan the Terrible’s, actually-we members of the Royal Family were allowed to approach the dais not simply to pay our respects but to pledge our fealty to our country and her Sovereign. Minnie-the Widow Empress Maria Fyodorovna-went first, a diamond crown upon her own head, her train stretching forever behind her, and tears by the bucket streaming from her eyes. Of course, this made me cry all the more, for we all knew that her tears were not only of joy and pride but surely of pain, for Minnie had lost her husband, Aleksander III, just over a year earlier.
Everywhere there were court gowns of gold and silver, jewels of red and blue and green, countless diamonds of the first water, and we proceeded by rank, everything being so strictly laid out. My own court gown, the train of regulation length-which is to say the length of nearly three men-was of creamy velvet embroidered with gold thread. And as I approached Nicky, I swept a curtsey as graceful as any ballerina. I could feel that dear boy’s beautiful blue eyes upon me, his warmth, his love. Then I went to Alicky. So that she might be close by me, I had long prayed and done so much for her to find a husband in Russia, and I had succeeded beyond expectation, for here in my new land she had found the truest of love with her Nicky dear. Now as nearly everyone’s eyes fell upon me to see would I kiss the hand of my younger sister, I took her soft fingers in mine and with real joy pressed my lips to them, and it was stunning and sweet, the love flowing between us. In a rush of emotion, I pledged myself entirely to her service and to that of our new Motherland. At that moment I was quite certain that no country was greater or brighter or more blessed than our beloved Russia.
That night, when the vast crowds gathered round the mighty Kremlin walls, their Empress Aleksandra Fyodorovna-my little Alicky-was led to a prominent bastion along the Kremlin walls and instructed to push down upon a particular button. Much to the joy and utter delight of Court and peasant alike, the miracle of electric illumination burst forth in the dark night as the thick walls and formidable towers of the Kremlin glowed for the first time ever with the dazzling magic of thousands upon thousands of electric bulbs. It was all glory, all power, and the future of our Holy Mother Russia seemed boundless and plentiful, stable and assured.
Indeed, none of us could have begun to think, let alone imagine, that this God-Anointed Tsar would ever, ever be pulled away.
Chapter 2 PAVEL
I was full of hope when I was twenty, and for a short while not only did I have a beautiful bride but we were wonderfully happy.
Oh, Shura… my Shurochka. She was the eldest daughter of the village priest, and she had such a big smile, such straight teeth, and such eyes, so blue. Beautiful blond hair, too, that at night she uncoiled all the way down to her waist. And, oh, what soft parts! A real sweet bee! She was the most beautiful girl in our village-we both came from the same small place, a mere crossroad at the foot of the Urals-and I had always wanted to marry her, knew that I would. And I did! Yes, we got married in the fall of 1904. September. She was just eighteen and I just twenty, and not three days after the ceremony-her father performed it-we fled the countryside. My grandfather’s life had belonged to his master, and he basically died a farm animal, crushed in the mud. Years later, of course, my own father cut himself on his rusty plow and contracted tetanus… just heartbreaking. We had to hammer planks to the side of his bed to keep his quaking body from bouncing onto the floor, then we had to tie him down as his temperature rose… and next he passed from us. Granted, Papa was a free man but he left this world without so much as a single desyatina of land to his name, let alone a single ruble, and so I knew I would be leaving the province as soon as I could. To tell the truth, I didn’t want to doom a son of mine to a fate like Shura’s father, either-a poor priest with a big beard, totally dependent on handouts. No, the back of beyond of Mother Russia had not been kind to us, nor to anyone else in our village for that matter.
As my own dear babushka used to say, “Oi, things were better when we lived under the masters-at least then we didn’t have to worry where we would find tomorrow’s bread!”
And how did I do it, get the money for the train to the city? I stole it. I went to a nearby village and raided the hut of an old woman when she was out milking her only cow. But it turned out it was only enough for two tickets for me and my Shura to get as far as Moscow, which was a problem. Shura wanted to go to the capital. She wanted to go to Sankt Peterburg, the city of the tsars. Da, da, my Shurochka was the daughter of a priest and a true Believer, and she wanted to be nearer her Tsar, which was actually fine by me. Rumor had it that wages were higher in the capital, so I said to Shurochka, “Sure, let’s go.” But getting to Peterburg meant traveling through Moscow and then another night of travel, which was amazingly expensive, of course. And where was I going to get that kind of money, enough for two to travel so very far?
In the end it wasn’t so difficult. I just had to steal more money. And this is what I did: me and a pal walked overnight to another village and snuck into three different huts. And that second time we made out pretty good. When the villagers were at church we stole a pile of money, and my half was enough for two tickets all the way to Sankt Peterburg and even enough to pay for our first few weeks in the capital. Oh, I didn’t tell my Shurochka where I really got the money. No, she would’ve killed me on the spot. So I just told her my rich uncle in a nearby village loaned it to me. Even then she was hesitant, but soon enough she was all right, she was, when I told her that Dyadya Vanya expected to be repaid within a year, no more.
And so we packed bread and some dried fish, two meat pies from Mama, a few clothes, then kissed everyone goodbye and got a blessing from Shura’s Papa, the priest, and set off. Oh, I’ll never forget when, a few days later, our train pulled into the Nikolaevski Station in Peterburg. So many people! So many fine carriages! So many people on the streets selling meat pies and fruits and nuts and… and everything was, well, so exciting! The capital back then was amazing, a glittering heart of golden palaces right in the center and a great ring of smoking factories in
