The Curse of the Romanovs

by Staton Rabin

  “—the Snow Maiden stepped into a ray of sunlight,” Mama picked up the story, “so the peasant could see her beauty all the more. But it was too much for her. The Sun God’s ray shone down on the Snow Maiden. And Lyle watched as she melted—melted, and was no more.”

  Mama sighed. “So beautiful, but so sad. Poor Snow Maiden. She is lonely, she leaves her parents and the land of her birth, and just when she’s finally found love and happiness, it is all snatched away from her. And somebody she trusted very much betrayed her. Do you think it was her mama and papa, for advising her to leave the safety of the forest? Or the peasant, for luring her there with his snake charmer’s music?”

  “Um … I don’t know, Mama. What do you think?”

  She paused, blinking away tears, then replied: “I think that it doesn’t matter who betrayed her. Happiness is fleeting and must be grabbed with both hands while it lasts. Even a brief moment of it can be worth all the suffering in the world.”

  I could not bear to see my mother unhappy. I could not bear the thought of anything terrible happening to her. I was ashamed of my cowardice. I was the future tsar of Russia, and must start acting like one! So I made my fateful decision. And may God forgive me for what I was about to do.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  I FOUND GILLIARD ON THE GROUNDS of the Alexander Palace at Tsarskoye Selo, feeding apples to our elephant.

  “Look at him, Alexei,” he said, pointing to the great gray beast. The fingerlike end of the elephant’s trunk wrapped around a big red apple and put it into his mouth. “He’s standing up to his big wrinkled knees in snow, far away from his home and family, and may never see them again. The world is at war, the Russian people are on the verge of revolt. And he stands there calmly chewing his cud, like he hasn’t a care in the world.”

  “You remember how you asked Papa to let me see more of the world?”

  “Yes. His Majesty promised he’d discuss it with the tsarina. But that was a very long time ago, and I never heard anything more about it.”

  “I am older now. Please ask his permission again. I want you to take me to St. Petersburg. I mean, Petrograd.”

  “What’s in Petrograd?”

  I don’t know how he managed it, but within two hours Gilliard had gotten my father’s permission to take me to the city.

  We knocked on the door to the yellow palace of the Yusupov family. A voice I didn’t recognize answered.

  “Yes?”

  “It is Alexei Romanov, here to see his cousin Felix. With his tutor Gilliard.”

  The door opened only a little, and a tall man with olive skin and a bare, shiny muscled and hairless chest peeked out.

  “It is impossible! Who are you, boy? The tsarevich does not travel without his family.”

  “He does now. Let me in.”

  The man frowned at me. Then suddenly he grabbed me by the collar and tried to throw me into the Moika River.

  “Impostor!”

  I fought like a hussar, swinging wildly, striking only the air.

  Gilliard bravely joined the fray, battling the tall half-naked guard who carried a big scimitar in a scabbard and was twice his size.

  “Are you mad?” Gilliard said between punches, redirecting all the man’s violence toward himself. “This is the tsar’s son!”

  Gilliard socked my assailant between the eyes, which made no impression on the guard. In return Gilliard got a good pop on the nose. The guard drew his sword, and just as he was bringing it down on Gilliard’s head—

  “Release him, Buzhinsky!” called out a familiar cheerful voice. It was Felix, coming to our rescue. “Buzhinsky” let Gilliard go—with reluctance, or so it seemed to me. The guard sheathed his sword.

  “If the boy is injured—even one hair on his head!—the tsar will have both of you shot!” Gilliard said. “And I myself will pull the trigger!”

  “Now, no need to make such a fuss, dear boy,” Felix said, draping an arm around Gilliard’s shoulders. Gilliard twisted out of Felix’s embrace and scowled, rubbing his sore nose. “It was all just a simple misunderstanding.”

  Felix turned his attention to me.

  “My apologies, cousin. You are always welcome here. But etiquette dictates that you should have told us you were coming. It’s open season on grand dukes, you know, and Buzhinsky here was just doing his job—protecting me. Weren’t you, Buzhinsky?” He petted his tall guard’s bare arm muscles like he would a favorite dog, then turned back to us. “Let’s go into my humble little palace, shall we?”

  “What is wrong, Felix?” My cousin Princess Irina, Felix’s wife, approached us on cat’s feet, a line of worry creasing her delicately pretty brow.

  “Nothing, my dear,” he said, not unkindly. “Just go back to doing what you do best: looking absolutely lovely.” He gave her a peck on the cheek that seemed more like a kiss for a sister than a wife.

  “Are you all right, Zhillie?” I asked Gilliard, using my fondest nickname for him.

  “Yes. And you?”

  I nodded.

  We all went inside the house. Luckily, thanks to Gilliard’s courage and quick thinking, the scuffle had left me completely unhurt.

  Gilliard chatted with Irina downstairs in the parlor. That must have been a challenge for him, since though there was plenty to admire in her face, there was not much in her head. Meanwhile, I asked Felix to show me his collection of rare Chinese vases, upstairs.

  “Now then,” Felix said to me the moment we were alone. “Why don’t you tell me what this little tête-àtête is really all about.”

  “How did you guess?” He sat down next to me on the couch and tousled my hair.

  “My darling Alexei. When a boy of twelve, who should be interested in girls, aeroplanes, and magic lanterns, suddenly develops a burning desire to see my Ming vases, I know that he is either going to grow up to be an interior decorator, or he has some particular reason why he must converse with me in private. It’s about Rasputin, isn’t it?”

  I nodded. In a low whisper and a halting voice I told him all that had transpired. And when I was finished, Felix said: “Well, I can’t say any of this surprises me. I warned you about him, did I not? Think no more about it, my boy. It’s as good as done. Let’s just say I have my own personal reasons, to put it delicately, for sharing your sentiments in the matter. Our nefarious friend the Mad Monk will trouble you and your good mother no longer.”

  “You will not hurt him? What do you mean?” “Why, nothing more than to invite him to a little midnight fishing party at Yusupov Palace. With the fruit of the vine and your pretty cousin Irina as the bait.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  IT WAS AFTER MIDNIGHT.

  Gilliard had already left to see his brother who was visiting Petrograd and had suddenly taken very ill. Buzhinsky went home for the night, and my cousin’s wife Irina had been sent to Yalta. I had been given permission to stay with Felix overnight at Yusupov Palace. Papa was reluctant to allow this, at first. But Gilliard reassured Papa by telephone that he and his sore nose could personally vouch for the palace’s being well guarded. Papa gave in and said they would send a car for me early the next morning.

  I was fast asleep in the small bedroom upstairs when Felix slipped into my room.

  “Wake up, little prince,” he whispered, gently nudging me. “‘’Tis now the very witching time of night,/When churchyards yawn and hell itself breathes out/Contagion to this world.’”

  We went downstairs to the basement dining room. A man wearing rubber gloves, whom Felix introduced to me as Dr. Lazovert, kept glancing nervously toward the windows. He nodded hello to me, and apologized for not being able to shake my hand. I watched as Dr. Lazovert put crystal powders into wine bottles and stuffed them into pastries. I noticed he left two of the pastries and one bottle untouched, and he pointed these out to Cousin Felix. Finally Lazovert removed the gloves and tossed them into the fire. The burning gloves made heavy, sharp-smelling smoke, filling the room.

  “You fool!” Felix
said to the doctor between rasping coughs. “Open the windows, before you kill us all!”

  After the smoke cleared I stood before the blazing fireplace, trying in vain to warm the chill of foreboding in my heart. I sat in the dining room next to Felix, my cousin Dmitri, and another man, Purishkevich, who had arrived while I’d been asleep. Nobody would answer my questions. We waited.

  At around one in the morning, through the windows at ground level I saw a black automobile pull up outside under a lamppost. A man wearing a light blue embroidered shirt and blue velvet pants got out of the car.

  Father Grigory!

  Felix grabbed me by the shoulder.

  “The party is about to begin,” he said. He told me that I could not attend but that if I hid behind the drapes at the top of the stairs, I would be able to hear all.

  “Wait upstairs,” Felix said quickly to Dmitri, the doctor, and Purishkevich.

  I went upstairs too and hid behind the heavy drapes. Whatever was about to happen, I sensed it would not be something the tsar’s son should be in the middle of.

  From my hideaway I heard the familiar heavy tread of the Siberian peasant’s boots as they crossed the marble floor. I held my breath, terrified he might hear me. Felix greeted him at the door. They went downstairs. Music began playing from a gramophone—an American song.

  “Yankee Doodle went to town, a-riding on a pony …”

  “So,” I heard Father Grigory say to Felix. “Where is beautiful mare you promise: wife Irina?”

  “Patience, my dear boy, patience,” Felix replied, laughing. “You always were like a stallion champing at the bit! Our lovely Irina has been detained by unexpected guests upstairs but will join us for dinner shortly. In the meantime, have some Madeira. And these pastries—they’re just marvelous! Irina made them herself, you know.”

  “Nyet!” Father Grigory replied. “Too sweet. And no drink.”

  “Oh, please have some,” Felix said, sounding nervous. “You will so disappoint my wife if you don’t. And you don’t want to disappoint her, do you?”

  “… Stuck a feather in his hat and called it macaroni. Yankee Doodle, keep it up. Yankee Doodle dandy. Mind the music and the step, and with the girls be handy!”

  “I said, nyet! No time for this. Where Irina? I will go if she not here soon.”

  “Yes—yes, all right,” Felix said. “Please don’t go. I will go upstairs and see what is keeping her.”

  Felix took the stairs up, two at a time. He spoke in tense whispers to Dmitri and Purishkevich, while Dr. Lazovert joined Father Grigory downstairs.

  “He won’t try them.”

  “Why the hell not? Does he suspect?”

  “No! I mean, I don’t think so. You know Rasputin. He knows he is in constant danger, sees conspiracies everywhere. They say he even reads minds!”

  “Try to talk him into it. Taste one yourself. Drink the wine.”

  “I tried that.”

  “Do you know which ones are safe?”

  “Of course! Do you take me for an imbecile?”

  Felix ran back down the stairs.

  “Well?”

  “I’m sorry, Grigory. My wife is just freshening up her rouge. You know how vain women can be.”

  “Only women? I seem to remember that you—”

  Felix interrupted him. “Have a pastry?”

  “Da. Nothing better to do while wait for crazy beautiful woman…. Mmmnnnn. Good.”

  “Please. Have two. There are plenty more where that came from. And here—it’s even better with the wine.”

  “Da, spasibo. Two.”

  There was a long silence. As if they were waiting for something to happen.

  “Would you—excuse me?” I heard Felix say at last. “I think I hear Irina calling me.” He called upstairs. “Yes, dear! Right away!”

  “Father and I went down to camp, along with Captain Gooding. And there we saw the men and boys as thick as hasty pudding.”

  I heard Felix’s light footsteps running up the stairs.

  “What now?”

  “He ate, he drank.”

  “Good. Where do we take the body?”

  “He’s not dead.”

  “What? That was enough cyanide to kill a Hun regiment!”

  “I tell you, he’s fine! He just burped once, like a little indigestion. Now he’s talking and laughing like nothing happened.”

  “Did you give him the right ones?”

  “Of course! Give me the gun, Dmitri.”

  “But, Felix, it will make noise!”

  “Never mind. There is no one home to hear.”

  I wondered if Felix had forgotten about me.

  Shaking with horror, I peeked through a hole in the curtains, and saw Dmitri remove something from under his cloak. Felix stuffed it under his dinner jacket, then ran back downstairs.

  ̶… Mind the music and the step, and with the girls be handy.”

  “I admire carpentry on your ebony cabinet here,” Father Grigory said. “But who made?”

  “Grigory Efimovich, you would do better to look at the crucifix and pray to it,” Felix replied.

  And then I jumped at the explosion of a gunshot.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  DMITRI AND PURISHKEVICH ran downstairs. My curiosity was stronger than my terror, and I followed.

  Father Grigory, eyes shut, was lying face up in the basement on the polar-bear rug, its white fur now partly stained red. Felix stood over him, gun in his trembling hand. Our Friend’s body suddenly jerked once or twice like a marionette, then was very still. I covered my eyes with my hands, as if somehow, somehow, I could erase this terrible picture from the photo album in my mind. Holy Mother of God, what have I done? What have I done!

  Felix and the others trudged upstairs. Numb, I went with them.

  “We must wait for it to get later to dispose of this business,” my cousin said, “so there will be no witnesses.” We sat in the parlor, but nobody had anything to say.

  After the clock struck two, Felix went back down to the basement. From the top of the stairs I watched him press his fingers against the side of Father Grigory’s neck.

  “No pulse. Still warm,” he said. He shook the body. There was no response.

  As Felix turned away, I could have sworn I saw Father Grigory’s left eye flutter slightly. Just slightly, like a butterfly’s wing. But then I realized I had probably just imagined it. And anyway, Dr. Botkin had once told me that bodies often move for a little while after they are dead. Dead!

  Felix started back up the stairs.

  Like a furious polar bear, Father Grigory sprang to his feet and lunged at Felix with a roar. I tried to shout a warning, but no words came out. He pounced on my cousin with the strength of ten men, grabbing him by the neck and shoulders.

  “What’s going on down there?” Purishkevich shouted from the parlor.

  Felix struggled mightily with Father Grigory. They knocked the table upside down. Crystal goblets crashed to the floor, spraying wine and glass against the paintings on the walls.

  At last somehow Felix managed to tear himself from Father Grigory’s iron grip. Then Felix ran upstairs, shoving me aside to get to the others.

  “He’s still alive!”

  “What?!”

  “The man is immortal!” Felix’s eyes looked like they were going to pop right out of their sockets.

  “Don’t be ridiculous!”

  Purishkevich dashed downstairs carrying a revolver.

  “He’s escaped!” Purishkevich shouted to us. “Jesus Christ! He’s—he’s running across the courtyard!”

  I ran to the window. Father Grigory was stumbling across the snow in the moonlight. Stiff-legged, arms reaching out like Frankenstein’s monster, the wounded holy man staggered forward. He fell, got up again, sprang forward—even stronger than before. Purishkevich bolted after him.

  “Felix, Felix!” Father Grigory growled, as his blood left a jagged trail of red on the snow. “I’ll tell everything to the ts
arina!”

  Purishkevich fired his gun, but missed. Then again—another miss. Purishkevich bit his own hand, as if trying to steady its shaking. He fired a third time.

  Suddenly, Father Grigory’s head bounced back, his body arching like Nijinsky’s. He fell face-first onto the snow.

  Slowly, head jerking, he rose to his knees.

  Purishkevich caught up with him, and kicked him in the head. Father Grigory’s arms and legs slipped out from under him. At last, he lay very still.

  From the other side of the palace I heard a doorbell, then voices.

  “Very sorry to disturb you at this time of night, Your Highness.”

  “Nonsense, my dear boy, you are always welcome. What seems to be the trouble, Officer Vlassiyev?” Felix replied with his usual charm. It would have taken an unusually smart man to notice the slight shaking in his voice.

  “I was on my regular beat on Moika Street, you see, and I thought I heard several shots. Is everyone at the palace all right?”

  “How kind of you to be concerned. That’s what I like to see, a young man always alert, always doing his duty. It’s a dangerous time. Yes, I thought I’d heard something too. It woke me from a delicious dream. But as you can see, it was nothing. All is quiet now.”

  “Yes. Probably just a car backfiring.”

  “Yes, that’s likely indeed. Here’s a little reward for your trouble.”

  “Oh, please, sir. That’s so much! I couldn’t possibly accept.”

  “Nonsense, it’s the least that we can do, and far less than you deserve. Do come back for dinner sometime, Officer Vlassiyev. My lovely wife would be most happy to cook for a young man so devoted to protecting us.”

  “Why—thank you, Your Highness. That’s awfully generous of you. Good night now, sir. Lock all the doors. Can’t be too careful, you know, with all the lunatics about.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  “OOPH! HE’S HEAVY LIKE AN OX! Pssst—Felix!” Dr. Lazovert called. “Help us over here!”

  Felix lifted Father Grigory’s limp arm, and Dmitri, Lazovert, and Purishkevich took hold of his other limbs. They carried him into the palace and laid him near the stairs. Then Lazovert went back outside and shuffled the snow with his boot trying to cover the red.