The Tsarina's Daughter (Reading Group Gold)

by Carolly Erickson

  It is a season of heightened emotions, when people like to stay up all night singing and drinking with friends, when lovers take to the woods and do not return until morning, when the pious seek revelations and desperate romantics, feeling cheated of the transcendent which they have sought so long in vain, drink vials of laudanum and end their lives under the lucent sky.

  Our guards were restless, wanting a respite from their duties (which were, I’m sure, very grim and dull and even unpleasant, much as they laughed and joked and played cruel tricks on us for their amusement). So when, one bright evening, a swarthy, curly-headed gypsy with black eyes and a thick uncombed black beard wandered up to the main gate of Tsarskoe Selo and asked to be admitted, the guards jeered at him and swore and poked their rifles through the bars to threaten him.

  Until they saw the bear.

  Lavoritya, the great honey-brown dancing bear, twice as tall as a man and with small flat ears and a long snout and tiny eyes almost lost in her thick crust of fur.

  “Friends!” the gypsy called out, “Let Lavoritya come in and dance for you. I promise you, you will not be sorry! And if you should dislike what you see, we will ask for no payment, the bear and I!”

  The jeering stopped. Grinning, the guards opened the gates.

  The bear and her master came in, but before they had gone far the latter made another request.

  “She dances best with music. There is a band—” he indicated a clutch of men carrying musical instruments and wearing matching silver and gold tunics, rather bulky at the waist as if amateurishly tailored but gaudily trimmed at the neck and hem.

  “No bands!” It was the voice of the guard commander.

  “We dance too!” came a voice from out of the band, and as if on cue all the men put down their instruments, folded their arms and began alternately kicking and squatting in a folk-dance, while at the same time singing and shouting together to punctuate their movements.

  “Let them in!” came the clamor from the guards, and after watching the dancing for a moment their chief relented.

  All the guards came out into the palace courtyard to watch the show. The gypsy, a skilled entertainer, paced the great bear’s antics so that each dance was wilder and more fanciful than the one before. Lavoritya wore many costumes; first she was dressed as a ballet dancer, then as a nun, then a soldier. She stood on her two hind legs, on one hind leg, she rolled, she jumped, she clapped her immense paws together, she tossed her huge head and opened her savage mouth when the gypsy offered her honey from a red pot.

  Between dances Lavoritya rested, and the gypsy changed her costume, and the musicians sang and danced in their turn. The evening was warm and the music inviting, and eventually my sisters, mama and papa, and all the servants came out to see the performance, even Alexei, who had been in bed for days with a swollen arm, complaining of pain. He sat in a little chair at the front of our family group, absorbed in watching the show, laughing and swaying to the music.

  I felt a hand on my shoulder and heard Michael’s voice in my ear.

  “Tania, keep your eyes on me. If there should be a commotion, and you see me nod, take your sisters back inside at once. Go to the kitchens and stay there.”

  “Yes,” I whispered. “All right.”

  “Good girl.”

  The gypsy had called for a bucket of water and Lavoritya was dunking her snout in it, drinking noisily and sloppily. The soldiers, impatient for her to resume her dancing, began a rhythmic clapping. They were unruly, they had been handing around flasks and bottles for some time and were becoming rowdy with drink. They began shoving one another, egging each other on to dance with Lavoritya, and the gypsy encouraged them.

  I kept my eye on Michael, who joined enthusiastically in the clapping as he made his way unobtrusively to where a group of guardsmen had formed a circle and were doing something—I could not see what.

  The gypsy shouted above the noise.

  “And now for our final presentation. Prepare yourselves to be amazed! In a few moments you will see—your former tsar!”

  Loud laughter greeted this announcement. Two men detached themselves from the circle near Michael and dashed into the palace, returning shortly afterward carrying a bundle. I could not see what it was.

  I was beginning to be nervous. I felt a need to warn my sisters about what Michael had told me, yet I didn’t want to alarm them or to cause the unpredictable Anastasia to blurt out some question that would draw attention to what Michael was about to do.

  I moved nearer to Olga and whispered, “Please help me lead Marie and Anastasia into the kitchens if we need to.”

  She gave me a sharp look. “What?”

  “Just help me. Be prepared to help me.”

  “Not unless I know why.”

  “Don’t be difficult now, Olga. This is for our own good, believe me.”

  “Who put you up to this?”

  “Never mind.”

  At that moment I felt no love for my sister at all. Why couldn’t she be cooperative, just once?

  I could feel a stir of restlessness flow through the crowd of men, amid the general enthusiasm. The gypsy was taking too long preparing the bear for the final part of the show. I thought, in a minute the head guard will order everyone back into the palace and whatever Michael has planned will be thwarted.

  Then suddenly there was a renewed burst of laughter as a ludicrous figure emerged from among the guards near Michael. One of the guards stepped out from the group. A woman’s long white lace veil cascaded from his head down to his knees, covering his drab brown uniform. He carried a bouquet of lilies—where had they come from? We were never allowed to have flowers in the palace—and there was a crude paper tiara perched on top of his veil. As he walked he swayed to and fro in the manner of a young girl twirling her skirts, evoking guffaws from the men, and he batted his eyelashes and pouted.

  As if on cue the gypsy led Lavoritya forward, now wearing a gaudy replica of an imperial crown on her head and with a short red jacket and sash that were not unlike what papa had worn as tsar on ceremonial occasions.

  The musicians began playing wedding music. The guardsman and the bear drew closer together, and the gypsy, as if presiding at a wedding, made the sign of the cross before the couple. Amid the crescendo of laughter that accompanied this pantomime Lavoritya farted—a loud, prolonged fart that was like a cannon shot.

  Now the guards were convulsed with laughter and one of them accidentally—drunkenly—leaned too far over and tipped Alexei’s chair onto the ground. Alexei fell. Mama screamed. And Michael, at last, nodded to me—the signal I had been waiting for.

  “Quickly! Olga! Marie! Anastasia! Follow me! Don’t ask why! Just follow me!” I grabbed the two younger girls by the hand and ran to the palace, trusting that Olga would follow. Behind me I could hear sounds of confusion, shouts and cries, a cacophony of music, mama’s anguished screaming, the voice of the gypsy calling his bear, and above it all, Michael’s strong voice ringing out.

  “The boy is hurt! Get the doctor! Get a stretcher! He must be taken to Petrograd at once, or he will surely die!”

  Forty-five

  We ran. I dragged the girls behind me and Olga too followed, though somewhat unwillingly. I think she was frightened by all the commotion and didn’t know what else to do.

  We went into the palace by a side door and down several long corridors until we came to the uncarpeted stairs leading into the kitchens, whose vast cooking rooms and storerooms would have been quite dark had it not been June with its luminous white night. We encountered no servants in the kitchens. It was long past the hour when any cooking would have been done and in any case, our household had grown quite small.

  Panting from our exertions, we chose a place to hide, inside a pantry closet, and shut the door.

  “Michael has a plan to free us from this place,” I told my sisters.

  “What is it?” Anastasia asked.

  “I don’t know. We have to wait here. That’s all I
know.”

  “Should I find Niuta and tell her to pack a bag?” asked Marie.

  “No time.”

  “But there’s no one here. We are just waiting. She could pack quickly while we wait.”

  “No, Marie. We must stay here.”

  I expected at any moment to hear footsteps, voices. I expected activity. The walls of the kitchen were thick, I could not hear any noise from outside. Nothing from the courtyard where Lavoritya and the others had been performing.

  “I’m hungry,” Olga said presently. “I’m going to find some food.”

  “Stay near us.”

  “Do you think Alexei will be all right?” Anastasia asked in a low voice after a time. “I couldn’t see if he was bleeding.”

  “He’s always bleeding,” Marie replied. “You know that. He never stops. The question is, will he die of his bleeding? Or will he just hurt, and scream, like he always does?”

  “Marie!” I had never heard her speak so callously before.

  “Well, he does. We all know it. He’s all mama and papa care about anyway. Not us.”

  I could have slapped her then, but controlled my reaction. I reminded myself that, deep down, she was probably worried about Alexei—and that like the rest of us, she had been under great strain for months. I knew that she felt neglected and, to an extent, rejected by our parents. Her worst side was showing itself.

  Olga returned with some black bread and a few wilted cabbage leaves, which she proceeded to eat without offering any of the food to the rest of us. I could not have eaten it if she had offered it, and besides, it did not look at all appetizing.

  We sat down on the stone floor of the pantry, our backs against the wall, saying nothing. Marie started kicking Anastasia’s leg irritably. Anastasia protested. As their bickering went on, I thought to myself, Michael planned the entire evening. The distracting presence of the bear, the freely flowing liquor, the comedy, the uproar, and, at the climax of it all, the emergency involving Alexei. All a grand diversion—though how could he have known that Alexei would have a fall? Was that too prearranged? And if so, did that mean that my brother was in fact unhurt? I hoped so.

  After what seemed like several hours, we heard the sound of a door bursting open and men’s voices. I opened the pantry door a crack and saw—the musicians! I took a chance that Michael had sent them and stepped out from behind the door.

  “Your Highness!” one of the men addressed me, with a bow. A real bow! No one had bowed to me for months!

  “Your Highness, we have come to take you and your sisters to safety. Permit me to introduce myself and my fellow officers. I am Sergeant Major Archile Dartchia, of the Fifth Circassian regiment, at your service.” He introduced the others, at the same time deftly discarding the shiny loose tunic he had been wearing to reveal a dark green officer’s jacket and a thick black belt—with a long jeweled khinjal fastened to it. A khinjal such as Michael wore. Such as all the Georgian officers wore.

  His companions also transformed themselves from gaudy musicians to officers, fearsomely armed and formidable.

  “We of the Fifth Circassian are loyal to Tsar Nicholas II. We believe that he was wrongfully deprived of his command and his throne.”

  “I’m sure that if my father were here, he would thank you for your loyalty—but urge you not to take any undue risks.”

  “The life of a soldier is risk, Your Highness. Risk for the sake of a great cause—and for glory.”

  All the men assented to this, nodding.

  “Can you tell us what is going on?” Olga asked the men as she came out of the pantry, with Marie and Anastasia following her. “Are we leaving soon? Where are you going to take us?”

  “We will do as Captain Gamkrelidze orders. We have put ourselves under his command.” I realized that they were talking about Michael, who had once explained to me that his family had changed their name from Gamkrelidze to Gradov when they moved to Tiflis. With these men from the Caucasus, it seemed, he had chosen to use his original family name. “Please, Your Highnesses, do not distress yourselves,” the sergeant major added.

  But we could not help but be anxious. Michael was so long in coming. What if he never appeared at all? What were we to do?

  Fortunately Michael came through the door not long after this, but I could tell right away that he was worried. Even so, the sight of him comforted my fears.

  “Everything is ready,” he said. “There are carts waiting to take you into the countryside. All should go smoothly. There is only one problem.”

  “What is that?”

  “Your father and mother are refusing to go.”

  “What?”

  “They will not come with us. They say there is no need.”

  I thought quickly. “Where are they?”

  “On the Children’s Island. I couldn’t think of anywhere else to take them after they refused to leave with the men of the regiment. Alexei is with them. Apart from his swollen arm, which has been troubling him for weeks, he appears to be unharmed.”

  What could we do? The loyal men of the Fifth Circassian were ready to take me and my sisters to safety. But if we left, and our parents refused to leave with us, what would that mean for our future as a family? Would we find ourselves orphans in some foreign place, amid sympathetic people but bereft of family? Or would we be captured and killed, leaving papa and mama and Alexei to mourn us?

  “I must speak to them,” I said at length. “We cannot go alone.” And telling my sisters to wait for me, protected by the loyal soldiers, I set off with Michael for the Children’s Island, under the pale and luminous sky.

  Forty-six

  There was bedlam on the palace grounds. The revolutionary guards ran here and there, searching frantically for us (who else?), calling out to one another, now and then shooting off their rifles into the air. Michael threw a long green army cape over my shoulders and tucked my hair under a green soldier’s cap, pulling off his own thick boots and telling me to put them on over my shoes.

  “I’ll go barefoot,” he said. “Another barefoot Georgian will not cause any comment.”

  Thus attired, and summoning my courage, I walked rapidly beside Michael in the direction of the Children’s Island, both of us attempting to look as though we too were joining in the general search.

  There was a small summer cottage on the island—hardly more than a one-room enclosure—and it was in this little structure that we found mama, pacing up and down, jittery and on edge, and papa, watching her uneasily and smoking, and Alexei, stretched out on a wicker sofa, his swollen arm jutting stiffly out from his slender side.

  We reached the cottage unhindered and went inside. I took off the soldier’s cap and returned Michael’s boots to him but left the cape on.

  “Tania! Tania, are you all right? Where are your sisters?” Mama came up to me and looked into my face, half concerned, half accusing.

  “I left them with some of the loyal soldiers, safe in one of the kitchen pantries.”

  “Tania, why all this sudden hubbub? We are in no danger. Our situation here is only temporary. I’ve tried to tell Michael this, but he doesn’t believe me. Perhaps you can persuade him—”

  “Papa, we must get away now. Tonight. You and mama and Alexei must come with us.”

  “But that’s absurd!” mama insisted. “We have no need to leave our home. I have been told—my mama’s spirit has told me—that there is a great change coming. Your father’s illegal abdication is going to be reversed. All these rough soldiers who have held us captive will be court martialed and executed. Justice will be done!” She grasped her velvety lilac rosary and began repeating her prayers, her lips moving silently.

  I avoided looking at Michael. “Papa, you must listen to me. We cannot put our trust in anyone or anything but ourselves. We must decide our own fate. We must act now. Tonight.”

  “But the Provisional Government has assured me that we will be allowed to settle somewhere outside Russia—perhaps at the Danish court am
ong Grandma Minnie’s relatives if Cousin George continues to deny us a refuge.”

  “The Provisional Government may fall tomorrow!”

  “What?”

  “Constantin says he fears there may be a sudden change—that the Soviet may take over everything.”

  “Those hooligans? The people would never stand for that! Constantin is impetuous. He is imagining things.”

  “There is no time to argue,” Michael said with quiet authority. “The hour to leave has come.” He started to draw his khinjal. “Sir, madam, I must insist that you accompany me—”

  But before he could finish his sentence we heard shouting, and a commotion in the little wood adjacent to the cottage. Men in heavy boots were tramping across the wooden bridge that connected the island to the broad lawn with its statue garden.

  I took Michael’s arm.

  “They are coming. It’s no good,” he muttered. “Tania, I can’t let them take me. I can help you more if I go. God be with you all!” He embraced me tightly, then kissed me on the lips and ran outside.

  He had only a moment to get away. Almost at once the cottage was surrounded and some half-dozen guards burst in.

  Throwing off the green cape, I confronted them.

  “Where have you been all this time?” I asked. “We have been waiting for you here. Don’t you know that my brother is ill? He had a terrible fall tonight. He is in pain and can’t move. Help us take him back to the palace—I mean the People’s House—at once. Find Dr. Korovin. Well, don’t just stand there! Help us!”

  Forty-seven

  Michael was gone. I couldn’t be sure he had gotten away safely, for I heard nothing from him. The men of the Fifth Circassian who had helped him on the night of our failed escape attempt had melted away as well. My worst fear was that all of them, including Michael, had been captured and executed by the revolutionary guards. But I simply didn’t know.