Text copyright © 2014 by Candace Fleming
Jacket photographs courtesy of the Library of Congress
Map of Russia and family tree by Holly Pribble
All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Schwartz & Wade Books, an imprint of Random House Children’s Books, a division of Random House LLC, a Penguin Random House Company, New York.
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Fleming, Candace.
The family Romanov : murder, rebellion, and the fall of imperial Russia / Candace Fleming.
pages; cm
Includes bibliographical references.
ISBN 978-0-375-86782-8 (hc) — ISBN 978-0-375-96782-5 (glb) —
ISBN 978-0-375-89864-8 (ebook)
1. Russia—History—Nicholas II, 1894–1917. 2. Nicholas II, Emperor of Russia, 1868–1918—Family. 3. Romanov, House of. 4. Soviet Union—History—Revolution,
1917–1921. I. Title.
DK258.F5725 2014
947.08′30922—dc23
[B]
2013037904
Random House Children’s Books supports the First Amendment and celebrates the right to read.
v3.1
ALSO BY CANDACE FLEMING
Young Adult
The Lincolns: A Scrapbook Look at Abraham and Mary
On the Day I Died: Stories from the Grave
Middle Grade
Amelia Lost: The Life and Disappearance of Amelia Earhart
The Great and Only Barnum: The Tremendous, Stupendous Life of Showman P. T. Barnum
The Fabled Fourth Graders of Aesop Elementary School
The Fabled Fifth Graders of Aesop Elementary School
Younger Readers
Oh, No!
Clever Jack Takes the Cake
Imogene’s Last Stand
CONTENTS
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Other Books by This Author
Before You Begin …
Family Tree
Map
Russia, 1903
Beyond the Palace Gates: Peasant Turned Worker
Part One: Before the Storm
Chapter One: “I Dreamed That I Was Loved”
Beyond the Palace Gates: A Peasant Boyhood
Chapter Two: “What a Disappointment!”
Beyond the Palace Gates: Lullabies for Peasant Babies
Chapter Three: “A Small Family Circle”
Beyond the Palace Gates: Another Family Circle
Part Two: Dark Clouds Gathering
Chapter Four: The Year of Nightmares
Chapter Five: Lenin, the Duma, and a Mystic Named Rasputin
Beyond the Palace Gates: House No. 13
Chapter Six: “Pig and Filth” and Family Fun
Beyond the Palace Gates: An Occupation for Workers’ Daughters
Chapter Seven: Gathering Clouds
Chapter Eight: Three Centuries of Romanovs
Beyond the Palace Gates: A Different Kind of Education for a Different Kind of Boy
Photo Insert 1
Part Three: The Storm Breaks
Chapter Nine: “My God! My God! What Madness!”
Chapter Ten: In Defense of Mother Russia
Beyond the Palace Gates: Vasily’s Diary
Chapter Eleven: “The Reign of Rasputin”
Chapter Twelve: It All Comes Tumbling Down
Beyond the Palace Gates: Molecule in a Storm
Chapter Thirteen: “Ye Tyrants Quake, Your Day Is Over”
Beyond the Palace Gates: “Ye Tyrants Quake, Your Day Is Over”
Part Four: Final Days
Chapter Fourteen: “Survivors of a Shipwreck”
Beyond the Palace Gates: The “Tsar’s Surprise Party”
Chapter Fifteen: Into Siberia
Beyond the Palace Gates: Swarming the Palace
Chapter Sixteen: The House of Special Purpose
Chapter Seventeen: Deadly Intent
Chapter Eighteen: “The World Will Never Know What Has Become of Them”
Beyond the Palace Gates: Life Under Lenin
Photo Insert 2
Acknowledgments
Bibliography
The Romanovs Online
Notes
BEFORE YOU BEGIN …
The ruler of Russia is called the tsar or emperor (the titles are interchangeable), his wife is either the tsaritsa or empress, and his male heir is called the tsarevich. His other children are given the title of grand duke if male or grand duchess if female. These last titles are passed down just one more generation, so a tsar’s grandchildren are also grand dukes and grand duchesses. But a tsar’s great-grandchildren hold only the rank of prince or princess. Thus grand dukes and grand duchesses outrank princes and princesses.
Russians have three names: a first name; a father’s name with -ovich or -evich (meaning “son of”) added if male, or -evna or -ovna (meaning “daughter of”) if female; and a last, or family, name. Therefore, Nicholas II’s daughter’s full name was Anastasia Nikolaevna Romanova; his son’s full name was Alexei Nikolaevich Romanov.
Russian dates can be bewildering. That’s because during Nicholas’s reign, Russia used the old-style Julian calendar to record dates, when most of the world was using the new-style Gregorian calendar. This meant Russian dates lagged twelve days behind during the nineteenth century, and thirteen days behind during the twentieth. Thus Anastasia was born June 5, 1901, according to the Julian calendar, but June 18, 1901, by the Gregorian calendar. Since readers of this book are familiar with the Gregorian calendar, all dates in this book are given in the new style.
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RUSSIA
1903
“THE CHOSEN”
On the night of February 12, 1903, a long line of carriages made its way through the Imperial Gates of St. Petersburg’s Winter Palace. The great mansion, which stretched for three miles along the now-frozen Neva River, blazed with light, its massive crystal and gold chandeliers reflected a hundred times in the mirrored walls of its cathedral-size reception rooms. The light cast a welcoming glow that contrasted sharply with the snow and ice outside. Bundled in sable, ermine, or mink wraps, the passengers alighted. Bracing themselves against the icy wind howling off the Gulf of Finland, they hurried through the arched doorway.
Inside, the strains of the court orchestra greeted them. Masses of fresh roses, lilacs, and mimosas imported just for the night from the South of France perfumed the air. Handing their furs to the waiting footmen, guests paused in front of the pier glass to straighten silk skirts and pat pomaded hair into place before ascending the wide marble staircase to the second floor.
A series of halls, each more grand than the last, met the guests. Gilded ceilings and doorways. Columns of malachite and jasper. White marble statues. Through these rooms the guests wandered, plucking flutes of champagne from silver trays, clapping each other on the back, laughing, joking, gossiping. They felt completely at ease in their opulent surroundings. That’s because they were members of the nobility—the 870 families known in Russia as the bélaya kost—literally meaning “white bone,” or what we would call blue blood.
Holdi
ng titles like prince and princess, duke, baron, count and countess, the bélaya kost represented only 1.5 percent of the population, but owned 90 percent of all Russia’s wealth. Educated and sophisticated, many of them could trace their family roots all the way back to the ancient princes who had ruled the country centuries before. And most lived lives of incredible luxury that were, recalled one princess, “a natural part of existence.” They built summer and winter palaces filled with fine antiques and priceless objets d’art, ordered designer gowns from Paris, vacationed in Italy or on the French Riviera, and spoke English or French (but seldom Russian because it showed a lack of breeding). Privileged from birth, the bélaya kost socialized only with each other. They belonged to the same clubs, attended the same parties, frequented the same shops, restaurants, and salons. Above all, they possessed an unshakable belief in their own superiority. As one member of the upper crust explained, nobles had “a certain quality of being among the chosen, of being privileged, of not being the same as all other people.”
Tonight, they felt especially “chosen.” Weeks earlier, the court runner had hand-delivered a stiff vellum card embossed with the imperial insignia—the gold double-headed eagle—to their palaces. It was an invitation from Tsar Nicholas II—an invitation to a ball!
St. Petersburg’s upper crust buzzed. Even though the imperial couple was traditionally the center of society, Nicholas and Alexandra detested the social whirl. They rarely threw receptions or balls, preferring to remain in seclusion. This, however, was such a grand occasion—the two-hundredth anniversary of St. Petersburg’s founding as the Russian capital—that even the party-shunning royal couple could not ignore it. And so Nicholas was throwing a costume ball. Guests were told to come dressed in seventeenth-century garb.
Giddy with excitement, the nobility flocked to dressmakers and tailors, where they spent fortunes on gold silk tunics, caftans edged in sable, and headdresses studded with rubies and diamonds. Grand Duke Michael, Nicholas’s younger brother, even borrowed an egg-size diamond from the crown jewels to adorn the cap of his costume. (During the festivities, the priceless bauble fell off his costume and was never found.)
At precisely eight o’clock came a fanfare from the state trumpeters. Then the great fourteen-foot-tall mahogany doors that led to the imperial family’s private rooms swung open. The grand marshal of the court appeared. Banging his ebony staff three times, he announced, “Their Imperial Majesties!”
The room instantly fell silent. Men bowed. Women curtsied. And Tsar Nicholas II stepped into the hall.
Short, with a neatly trimmed beard and large, soft blue eyes, Nicholas hardly looked like the imposing ruler of Russia. And yet this unassuming man reigned over 130 million subjects and one-sixth of the planet’s land surface—an area so vast that as night fell along the western edge of his territory, day was already breaking on the eastern border. His realm stretched from Poland to Japan and from the Arctic Ocean to the borders of the Ottoman Empire (modern-day Turkey) and China. He was the richest monarch in the world: his family wealth was once estimated at $45 billion (in today’s U.S. currency). Every year he drew an income of 24 million gold rubles ($240 million today) from the state treasury, which derived most of its income from taxes and fees levied on the tsar’s subjects. And if he needed more, he simply appropriated it. He owned thirty palaces; estates in Finland, Poland, and the Crimea (all part of Russia at the time); millions of acres of farmland; gold and silver mines, as well as oil and timber reserves; an endless collection of priceless paintings and sculptures; and five yachts, two private trains, and countless horses, carriages, and cars. His vaults overflowed with a fortune in jewels.
His wealth was on full display that evening. Dressed as Alexei the Mild (the gentle seventeenth-century tsar whom Nicholas nostalgically admired for having ruled, he believed, during a time of piety and morality), he wore a raspberry velvet caftan embroidered with gold thread, its collars and cuffs flashing with diamonds. He even carried the real Alexei’s iron staff and wore his sable-trimmed cap and pearl bracelets. Too bad, sniffed one grand duke, Nicholas was “not sufficiently tall to do justice to his magnificent garb.”
But it was the appearance of Empress Alexandra that caused many in the hall to gasp. Alexandra was wearing a gold brocade gown shimmering with the thousands of diamonds and pearls that had been sewn onto it—a costume that cost one million rubles ($10 million today). Her elaborate headdress glittered with diamonds and emeralds, and her pearl earrings were so heavy it was hard for her to hold up her head. Around her neck hung an enormous 400-carat blue sapphire. “[She] was just stunning,” one guest admitted. But others disagreed. “She was dressed in the heavy brocade of which she was so fond,” one catty countess recalled, “with diamonds scattered all over her in defiance of good taste and common sense.”
With the imperial couple’s arrival, the court orchestra broke into a polonaise, which was the traditional first dance, and Nicholas and Alexandra led the dancing with “appropriate pomp,” recalled one grand duke, “though [they were] hardly full of enthusiasm.” Even though he was “Emperor and Autocrat of All the Russias,” as he was formally called, Nicholas often felt shy in society, while Alexandra acted nervous and awkward.
Now their guests followed suit, swirling and dipping. “The whirl of the waltz [puffed out] the skirts,” recalled the French writer Théophile Gautier, who’d attended a ball at the palace two years earlier, “and the little gloved hands resting on the epaulettes of the waltzers looked like white camellias in vases of massive gold.”
When the orchestra began playing a quadrille, a relieved Nicholas and Alexandra left the dance floor. He moved among the crowd, greeting guests, while she uncomfortably talked with a group of ladies. The empress’s distaste for the event was obvious, leading some of the women to whisper behind their hands. “She danced badly,” remarked one princess, “and she certainly was not a brilliant conversationalist. She … gave the impression that she was about to burst into tears.”
At midnight, guests sat down to an exquisite French supper. There was soup with truffles, and delicate puffed cheese pastries served with fruit, followed by petite chicken soufflés in a rich sauce and roast duckling. As guests ate, servants bustled about serving wine and cognac from crystal decanters and coffee from engraved silver pots. The champagne bubbled and flowed. “It was,” gushed one guest, “like a living dream!”
ALL DOES NOT GLIMMER
But beyond the golden glow of the Winter Palace, across its graceful courtyard and through its gilded gates, past mansion-lined avenues and the spires and domes of the city, lay the railroad tracks. Farther and farther across the frozen darkness they stretched, over silent steppes and across mountains to thousands of scattered villages where primitive log huts clustered around rutted dirt roads. Here lived the peasants.
In 1903—the same year as Nicholas’s costume ball—four out of every five Russians were peasants. And yet the upper classes knew next to nothing about them. They didn’t visit the peasants’ villages or deal with the hired laborers who worked their estates. Instead, they remained comfortably ensconced in luxurious St. Petersburg. From there it was easy to romanticize the peasants’ life. Most nobility (Nicholas and Alexandra included) envisioned peasants living in simple yet cozy huts, their “cheeks glowing with good health” and their teeth “whiter than the purest ivory,” gushed one Russian writer. It was common knowledge among the nobility that the country’s fresh foods and clean air made the peasants healthier than the “vain city women who sickened themselves with rich food and tortured their bodies with laces, corsets, and shoes made only for fashion,” declared one nobleman. And it was especially pleasing to picture the peasants enjoying life’s simple pleasures “decked out in their holiday best, singing and dancing in fresh-cut meadows.”
Nothing was further from the truth. Most peasants had never slept in a proper bed, owned a pair of leather shoes, eaten off a china plate, or been examined by a doctor. Most had never been beyond th
e borders of their villages.
These villages were dismal places. Along narrow, unpaved streets that were muddy in the spring and dusty in the summer stood a line of crudely built one- or two-room log huts called izby. Inside each, a wood-burning clay oven used for cooking and heating filled the room, taking up as much as a fourth of the space. Its large, flat top was a favorite sleeping place for the sick or elderly. Because most izby did not have chimneys (they cost too much), the smoke from the oven filled the room, leaving everything covered in a layer of black soot.
Most had no furniture, either. Instead, long wooden benches ran along the walls. Used for seating during the day, they were converted into beds at night. Without mattresses or pillows, peasants simply took off their coats and used them as blankets. Wrote one charity worker who visited a peasant hut in the 1890s:
Stooping down, I creep through the low door, and enter the hut. A damp and suffocating air meets me, so that I am nearly fainting. A few rays of light struggle with difficulty through a small window.… A woman is at the oven, busy with a stone jar in her hand. Behind her, two children, covered with rags and pale and dirty, are sitting on a bench, sucking on a hard crust. In another corner, something covered with a battered sheepskin cloak is lying on a bench.… It is a young girl, on the point of dying from starvation.
Often, there was little to eat but dark bread. It was a staple of their diet, and peasant housewives tried to stretch the loaves by mixing clay, ground straw, or birch bark into the flour. They also served a watery cabbage soup called shchi for supper, usually without meat. Recalled one elderly peasant, “It has been a year and a half since we’ve eaten any [meat].” Many peasants were so poor, even the cockroaches abandoned their huts. “A cockroach is a natural aristocrat,” explained one observer, “and requires a greater degree of comfort than can be found in the dwellings of the rural poor.”
Their poverty stemmed from a shortage of land. Most peasants did not own the land. Instead, each village had a group of elders called the commune that held title to all available acreage. It was the commune’s job to decide the number of acres each family received to plant, based on the number of members per household. Unfortunately, the commune’s holdings did not grow along with the population. Year after year, resentful families watched the size of their parcels shrink as communes tried to provide land to everyone. By 1903, the average peasant allotment had shrunk from eleven acres to six, and one out of every five families farmed less than three.
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