The Romanov Empress

by C. W. Gortner

  “I will consider it,” he promised.

  He didn’t say another word about it. One morning, he failed to appear for breakfast. I waited and waited. Pregnant with her first child and suffering from morning sickness, Xenia watched me warily from across the table as I tapped my plate with my fork, until the meal ended and Nicky hadn’t sent up a note to explain his absence.

  “Where can he be?” I pushed back my chair.

  “Mama,” said Xenia. “Perhaps he and Alicky need some private time—”

  “Private time?” I regarded her in astonishment. “It’s eight-thirty in the morning. We have the cabinet reports to review, letters to write, and then he must go to the Winter Palace to check on their apartments. When one is emperor, there is no private time.”

  I went downstairs. The door was ajar; their suite wasn’t spacious, and Nicky had set up his study in the front room, so he could receive his ministers without leading them into the rest of the apartments. He and Alexandra were in his study now. I heard their voices, lifted in dissent. Even as I knew I shouldn’t eavesdrop, I paused behind the door.

  “I must go,” Nicky was saying. “I missed breakfast. Mama will be worried.”

  “Let her wait,” said Alexandra. “She has you at her beck and call every minute of every day. She goes over your reports and correspondence; she must state her opinion on everything. She didn’t allow us to move into the Winter Palace, though these rooms are impossibly small. And we could only stay at Tsarskoe Selo for five days because she wanted us back, although it’s far more comfortable there.”

  “Sunny,” he said. It was his nickname for her, though I found nothing sunny about her now. “She’s in mourning for my father. She needs us with her.”

  “She needs you with her. She needs you to do as she says, when she says. If I want to receive anyone, I must ask permission to use her drawing room. Her servants are everywhere, prying into our affairs. We need privacy, a home of our own so we can start our family.”

  Frozen behind the door, I now heard what I believed was the true character of this supposedly reluctant and timid young woman. It welded me to my spot. I had been right all along; moreover, Miechen had been right. Alexandra knew exactly what she was about. Had Nicky known all along that she was as demanding, as imperious, as she now sounded?

  My son’s weary sigh seemed to confirm he did, indicating they’d had this argument before. “Our apartments at the Winter Palace aren’t yet ready. Mama only wants what is best for us. I don’t know how to rule and—”

  “She will rule for you. She’ll be dowager empress, tsarina, and tsar, if you let her.”

  He remained silent as she added, “Did she not tell you to authorize a Duma, though it undermines everything you represent? And at the farewell banquet for Alix and Bertie, did she not put her hand on your arm and proceed first into the hall? She left me to follow behind like a servant—”

  “That is the rule here,” he cut in. “You know she holds precedence as dowager empress.”

  “She doesn’t need to abide by the rule! I am the empress now. If she truly wants what is best for us, as you say, then she must realize that by not allowing me to enter first with you, my husband, the tsar, she sets an example. I will not be ignored.”

  I’d heard enough. Pushing the door open, I walked in. Nicky swiveled around, his face draining of color. I had to admire Alexandra’s composure, for she didn’t betray a hint of surprise. She looked as if she’d known all along I’d been lurking behind the door.

  My gaze passed over them to her German ladies, seated in the foreground. It was time to send them away and appoint Russian women to attend her, so she could learn that it was not only unwise to criticize me with servants nearby but also in very poor taste.

  I sweetened my voice. “You didn’t come up to breakfast, Nicky, and we have those cabinet reports to address. Did they arrive?”

  He bolted to his cluttered desk, searching for the folder.

  Alexandra met my stare with icy calm. “You must forgive us, Mother dear. I was feeling ill. I asked Nicky to stay and have breakfast with me this morning.”

  Indeed, upon the table was the tray with their crumb-filled dishes and teacups. She must have instructed my staff to serve it here. I’d have a word with Obolensky, who’d stayed on after Sasha’s death to oversee my household. I gave the orders in my palace.

  “You are always welcome at my table,” I told her. “I trust you’re feeling better. Would it be premature to hope your malaise might be the first sign of a joyous event?”

  Her mouth thinned. Though she’d never concede it, she knew I’d overheard their conversation and aimed my remark at her with deliberate malice.

  “After a mere month of marriage?” she demurred. “We can indeed hope. And, yes, I feel much better. Thank you.” She retrieved her embroidery hoop, threading her needle as Nicky brandished the folder.

  “I found it,” he quavered.

  “Very good. When you are ready, come upstairs so we can talk.” Casting another smile at Alexandra—“I hope you continue to improve, my dear—” I swept out.

  No doubt she had more to say to him, but I didn’t care to hear it.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  “She’s unfathomable.” I lit a cigarette in Miechen’s drawing room. “The paint in their new apartments in the Winter Palace was scarcely dry before she had them leave my house. Yet now she sits in those refurbished rooms and refuses to host a single gala. She won’t do any social rounds, either, so I’m told the Season—her first here—was a disaster.”

  Spring was upon us. The forty days of mourning mandated by our Orthodox Church had passed, but I still wore black, and until now I’d refrained from social engagements, even as I started to chafe at my seclusion. Visiting Miechen for tea was hardly a sign of disrespect for my dead husband, I convinced myself. She’d kept her distance. At first it pained me, as regardless of Sasha and Vladimir’s quarrels, she and I had remained friends, at least on the surface. As time wore on, I began to suspect she stayed away for another reason, so I finally had myself driven to her palace.

  She expressed delight to see me, corpulent now yet dressed as always to perfection in a silk day gown and jeweled hair combs. As we sat over her Limoges tea set, her samovar steeping with a fresh brew, she said, “Oh, it was. Everyone spoke of how our new empress is too proud to mix with boyars. I suppose she doesn’t feel the need to prove herself. She has what she set out to achieve: Nicky in her bed and your crown on her head.”

  I should have heeded the bite in her tone. Since both were German princesses—only Alexandra was younger and ostensibly in a more influential position—it was to be expected that Miechen would denigrate her. But I was too flown with my own frustration. “She doesn’t have my crown yet. And if only for Nicky’s sake, she must make the effort. I certainly did when I was in her position and long before, as tsarevna. Her duty is to ensure that society accepts her. Hiding away in her apartments isn’t going to win over anyone.”

  I exhaled smoke in exasperation, my anger tumbling out, for now that the dam had been breached, my outpour was unstoppable. “She resents me. She resents that he seeks my advice and that his ministers defer to me. She resents that I have my own income and that the imperial standard flies over my palace when I’m in residence, that I have full command over Gatchina, my cottage at Peterhof, as well as the Polar Star and my own train. She might even be perusing my dressmaker bills as we speak to tally how much I spend.”

  Miechen made a moue of distaste. “And in all this, no sign of a child yet?”

  “No.” I crushed out my cigarette and lit another. “I replaced her attendants, of course. They report that while she’s often ill with various indispositions, she shows no indication of pregnancy. I hardly think Nicky is at fault.”

  “Indeed. Now you know why I didn’t visit you while she was there in yo
ur palace.”

  “Need I remind you that I lost my husband? A visit from you would have been welcome.”

  “You must forgive me, Minnie.” She clasped my hand. “Sasha and I had our differences over the years, and I fear he never liked me, but you were in my thoughts every day. I was very affected by his passing. It grieves me to hear you so upset, but…”

  “But?” I fixed my stare on her.

  “Well.” She withdrew her hand. “Despite your terrible loss, you’re still in an enviable position. Nicky relies on you to approve his household and cabinet appointments. Your own selection of ladies attend her, and your estate is intact. Such influence is hardly negligible.”

  “I don’t approve his appointments. He asks, and I give my opinion.”

  “Nevertheless, as dowager empress, you remain above her in rank.”

  “Yes, and she resents that most of all,” I said, recalling what I’d overheard at my palace. “Were it up to her, I would retire, as any self-respecting widow ought to do.”

  “She may despise it, but she cannot change it. I realize you will always grieve Sasha and may wish to wear mourning for the entire year, but, given the circumstances, perhaps you should entreat Nicky to hold a court ball as the new tsar. Then you can demonstrate by example how a tsarina ought to comport herself.”

  I considered this, for while I should indeed remain in mourning for the year, the idea appealed. “I can’t,” I said at length. “Xenia is due to give birth in July, and I’m leaving for Abbas-Touman next month. George wrote to say he’s much better. I must pay him a visit. I wouldn’t allow him to go to the Crimea to see Sasha, so he’s been grieving by himself.”

  Miechen made a commiserative sound. “Not to mention, he’s now our tsarevich apparent.”

  “He may be well enough to return to St. Petersburg,” I retorted, stung by her implication. A sick heir to the throne was also hardly reassuring.

  “I pray he is. All the more reason to hold a ball, yes? To reassure the court and the aristocracy that everything is as it should be.”

  Everything was not as it should be, but in this instance, I thought she was right.

  * * *

  GEORGE WAS SO improved, I could scarcely believe it. His respite in the foothills had put color in his cheeks; he’d grown out his beard and gained some flesh on his lean frame. He was bicycling daily along the narrow pathways outside his villa, and though he was smoking—which concerned me with his malady, but who was I to reproach him for a habit I indulged—he barely coughed during the entire two weeks I spent with him.

  I also found signs he wasn’t lonely—nothing overt, but subtle indications in the way his clothes were arranged and a telltale trace of a feminine touch in the vase of sunflowers on his bedside table. A local woman, I suspected, but I didn’t pry. What he did was his own affair, providing he didn’t create a scandal. A dalliance here, so far from St. Petersburg, was of no account in any event, as he wasn’t married. I did impress upon him, however, that as our tsarevich apparent, he’d be expected to assume his duties once he returned to the city.

  He chuckled. “I still have consumption, Mama. I’m not cured.”

  “People can live for many years with it. Look at you, the very portrait of health.”

  “Here. I’m healthier here. I can’t assume any official duties. Hopefully it won’t be a concern for much longer. Nicky wrote to tell me that Alexandra is with child.” As he lit his cigarette, I sat frozen on my chair. “Didn’t he tell you?”

  “He did not.”

  “Perhaps it’s a recent development.”

  “Perhaps.”

  I cut short my stay. Xenia was due for her confinement and George appeared content. As he kissed me goodbye, he said, “Be kind to Alexandra. Nicky mentioned that you and she are not, shall we say, on the best of terms. You mustn’t make her feel less than you.”

  His words took me aback. Nicky had confided in him but not in me? They’d always been close, yet I felt a clench in my insides, as if I were being denied something I’d not known I was missing. “She thinks rather less of me,” I said.

  George smiled. “Mama. You don’t realize how forceful you can be. If she thinks less of you, make her think more. Do it for Nicky. He has enough burdens as it is.”

  On the train ride back, I had plenty of time to think. Once I disembarked in St. Petersburg, I went directly to the Winter Palace.

  * * *

  —

  “WHY DIDN’T YOU tell me?” I sat in Nicky’s new study as he smoked and avoided my gaze. “I had to hear the news from your brother, who resides in the Caucasus. Does everyone in Russia know except me?”

  “George knows because I wrote to tell him,” he replied. “He mustn’t think because he’s my heir apparent for now that we expect anything of him. We wanted to wait until a certain time had passed for Botkin to confirm it.”

  I detected caution in his voice. “Confirm it? Women know these things; our bodies tell us. The doctor’s confirmation may be required, but it’s superfluous.”

  He set his cigarette in his ashtray. Passing a hand over his beard, he paced to the window. He’d had this study built, refusing to employ the one where his grandfather had died. It overlooked the Neva; as he gazed out toward the river, which glistened like a wide green-blue ribbon in the June sunlight, he said quietly, “She lost one before.”

  I found myself stunned. Again. “When?”

  “Shortly after we moved here. It was very sudden. That’s why when she became pregnant this time, Botkin advised us to wait before we announced it. To be sure.”

  “Is there any danger?” I was overcome by the news.

  “He tells us it’s unlikely. She’s nearing her fourth month.”

  Her fourth month. All this time, I’d been left unaware.

  “I wish you had confided in me. How can I be of any help if you will not trust me?”

  He turned around. “I do trust you. With my life.”

  “I see. But she does not.”

  “Mama, this is very difficult for her. To many, you are still the empress. She feels…unwelcome. Her miscarriage was a humiliation for her; she didn’t want anyone to know.”

  “Especially me.”

  He sighed. “I don’t know what else to say.”

  “You’ve said quite enough.” I came to my feet. “I must go to her.”

  * * *

  —

  SHE WAS ON her chaise in her beautiful new pale-blue apartments, where the fresh gilt and wide windows were overcome by a plethora of overladen tables, cushioned armchairs, and fringed footstools. She’d filled every nook and cranny. One entire wall glimmered like a cathedral iconostasis, covered in blessed icons. For a former Lutheran who’d first balked at conversion, she’d taken to our faith with startling fervor.

  “I hear you’re with child,” I said, as she drew her shawl about her shoulders and tinkled a porcelain bell at her side for tea. There had been no preemptive niceties between us. I was too tired from my travels and the disturbing news to engage in small talk.

  She nodded. “I am, praise be to God.”

  “It’s wonderful.” I thought I should embrace and kiss her, but her expression was so reserved, I couldn’t bring myself to it. “I’m so very happy for you and Nicky. A child is a gift that changes our lives forever.”

  I wondered if she knew I had lost a baby, my second son. It should have brought us closer, for I understood her pain, even if her child hadn’t been born. But she gave no indication that she knew, and I’d come to make amends, not stir up past tragedies.

  “I pray daily for a son,” she said, as her maidservant poured us tea. Not one of my appointed ladies, I noted. Had she cleared her ranks while I was away?

  “You mustn’t pray too much—” I stopped. No advice. She hadn’t asked for it. “Whatever it is, your child wi
ll be deeply loved.”

  She didn’t touch her tea, letting it grow cold while I sipped mine. She preferred bland English brews, not the pungent Asian blends of Russia, which I’d learned to savor.

  “We must celebrate,” I said after another lengthy silence, in which she gazed off into the distance, seeming to forget I was there. I’d never seen an expectant mother behave thus, as though she’d fallen into a trance. “Xenia will give birth soon. We’ll make it a dual occasion—a magnificent gala, where I can personally introduce you to the court.”

  She started to attention, turning narrowed eyes to me. “Isn’t it too soon?”

  I knew what she referred to, and I refused to let it hinder me. “My husband is gone. I needn’t hide myself away to prove my grief. My son is now emperor, and you are his empress, about to bear his first child. It’s the perfect time to display you.” I gave a slight laugh that sounded forced in my ears. “Surely you don’t expect to stay in these rooms until the birth.”

  “I hadn’t expected to stay here at all. I want to move to the Alexander Palace in Tsarskoe Selo. It’s very peaceful. I feel quite at home there.”

  “But it’s too far from the city.” In that instant, I forgot my intention for coming to her. “It’s a summer residence. You can move there for your confinement, if you like; I did when I gave birth to Nicky, but for now you must remain here. Let yourself be seen and admired.”