Her terrible headaches now went on for days at a time, and she shut herself in the mauve room and would not see us. Sometimes she had trouble breathing and when she was upset—which was often—she took pills Dr. Korovin gave her that made her calm but also made her very sleepy. She slept a lot, even during the day, but then she complained of having bad dreams, dreams that made her scream with fear. She often talked about her mother, and confided to me that she saw her and spoke to her. Whenever she said this I was frightened, because I knew Grandma Minnie was hoping for an excuse to have mama confined as a madwoman and when mama talked about seeing her dead mother she did sound a little mad.
I couldn’t help remembering what Mr. Schmidt—or should I say Dr. Freud—had said that afternoon at Cowes aboard the Standart. The words echoed often in my head: “She’s quite mad all right. Mad as a hatter.”
But most of the time she seemed more or less like anyone else, though more nervous, and with more illnesses. And added to that, papa’s late nights upset her a lot and made her brood. She sent Sedynov to Cubat’s to spy on papa and poor Sedynov hated going there, I could tell by the shamefaced look he had, though he tried to hide it. She sent others too, private detectives who gave her written reports telling her what went on in the special upstairs rooms at Cubat’s and how long papa spent there with Mathilde.
She was careless with these reports, flinging them on the floor in exasperation and then forgetting to pick them up again to prevent the servants from finding them. I found several and, feeling very furtive and guilty, read them and then put them away in mama’s writing desk, hidden under her piles of unanswered letters from her sisters and brother and cousins abroad.
I was worried. What could it all mean? What would happen to our family?
Grandma Minnie criticized papa for smoking too much and even tried to snatch his cigarettes out of his hand as if he were a child. Her comments became very bold. She said quite loudly that papa was no longer able to do his duty as tsar and that Uncle Michael should become tsar in his place. She seemed to forget all about Uncle Michael’s grave sin in marrying Dina Kossikovsky. Of course she never mentioned Mathilde Kchessinsky but she didn’t have to. It was no secret that Mathilde and papa were seen together at Cubat’s, and Aunt Olenka told us that there were murmurs and rumors about them all over the capital. Grandma Minnie could not very well mention Mathilde openly but from the way she glared at papa and the way he shrank from her glare I was sure she was angry at his late nights and at the company he was keeping.
It was all very sad for mama, and I felt sorry for her, though I loved papa no less and I knew that most husbands had mistresses. I continued to use Monsieur Gilliard’s sophisticated expression, and to say to myself that it was the way of the world. I said this whenever some painful but seemingly inevitable circumstance arose. I remember I felt very grown up when I said it. But I still felt ashamed about papa.
In the midst of all this I received a letter from Adalbert saying that he was coming to Petersburg with a group called the Young People’s Peace Initiative, and that he wanted very much to see me. I was just turning fourteen and Monsieur Gilliard was encouraging Olga and me to read a newspaper every day, so I was well aware that there was much talk of war, even of the End of the World through a great and final war in which mankind would destroy itself.
“It is well to apply moderation when reading of such things,” our tutor told us. “Journalists exaggerate, in order to frighten people and make them buy more papers. Still, they are right when they say that the great powers of the world are preparing for warfare. Europe has known no war for more than a generation. If history is any guide, this interlude of peace cannot last.”
“What about the fight between our navy and the Japanese?” I asked.
“That was a mere skirmish,” Monsieur Gilliard said. “A matter of a few ships and a few months of unequal combat. The warfare that is being talked of now would involve many nations and tens of thousands of troops.”
“But Cousin Willy and Cousin George would not actually go to war against each other, surely. I saw them playing skittles together at the Royal Yacht Squadron at Cowes.” Mama’s Cousin George had become King George V, the fat King Edward having died not long before, somewhat to my regret.
“I imagine the members of the Young People’s Peace Initiative agree with you, Tania. That is why they are coming to Petersburg.”
“Tania thinks Prince Adalbert is coming because he’s in love with her,” Olga said in a mocking tone.
“I do not.”
“You do. I heard you tell Niuta and Elizaveta.”
I was about to slap my sister but Monsieur Gilliard stepped between us and reminded us that young ladies did not resort to violence.
The truth was, Olga was envious. The Crown Prince of Romania never did come to Tsarskoe Selo to meet her, as had been expected, and there were no other princes eager to marry her, though she was old enough to marry. I, on the other hand, had an admirer in Adalbert, and I had grown taller and prettier than Olga (I am not being boastful, everyone said I was prettier) and that winter I began receiving my monthly flow so Olga could no longer say I was a child and behind in everything.
On the afternoon that Adalbert arrived I stood before the mirror examining how I looked in the grey satin gown Lamanov had made for me. The effect, I decided, was very flattering. I had bought some light pink lip rouge at Druce’s in the Nevsky Arcade, and I applied it to my lips and cheeks. The effect was dazzling. My eyes sparkled, my face seemed to glow. I was indeed pretty, I told myself. Was I vain? Perhaps, just a little.
But then I quickly wiped the pink tint from my mouth and cheeks. Lip rouge was for low women, women like Mathilde. Not for a young grand duchess, who was expecting a visit from a prince.
The Hall of the Nobility was full of visitors coming and going, ushered in and out of the immense room by the dignified doorman in his old-fashioned wig and wide purple doublet trimmed in gold braid. Music played, lights gleamed brightly, then dimmed, then brightened again as the flow of illuminating gas widened and narrowed. The gas jets were newly installed, and rarely worked properly—plus the gas smelled terrible and the guests could not help wrinkling their noses at the odor every now and then.
I sat with papa and mama on the raised dais at the far end of the long room, waiting for Adalbert. I was excited but also nervous, because papa wore his faraway look and was stroking his beard absentmindedly instead of paying attention to what was going on in the room, and mama, who said the smell of the gas gave her a headache, was impatient and cross. She disliked having to greet unimportant visitors, and she considered the prince to be very unimportant, because he was Cousin Willy’s son.
But when Adalbert appeared in the wide doorway, looking so tall and straight and handsome in his white uniform, his long golden sword at his side, flashing in the glare of the lights, I held my breath and felt my cheeks grow hot.
The doorman called out his name and titles and he walked toward us, smiling, his step confident. I was so happy at that moment that I forgot to be nervous and worried and when Adalbert reached for my hand to kiss I held my breath with the pleasure of it.
Later on he dined with us, in our private dining room at the palace, and explained the purpose of the Young People’s Peace Initiative. There were twenty-five in the delegation, he explained, all highborn young men and women from Germany, France, Italy, Sweden, and even one from England.
“We hope to add some Russians to our group,” he said, looking at me as he spoke. “Our purpose is to be a living example of cooperation between countries and nationalities, to show that we can understand one another and not provoke each other to conflict. I am hoping that Tania might like to join us, at least while we are here in Russia.” He smiled at me. “Can we count on you?”
I nodded eagerly but stopped when I heard mama’s voice.
“And what does your father think of this peace initiative of yours? Does he really want cooperation, or does he prefer competition? Competiti
on that he can win, that is.”
Adalbert’s composure was unruffled. “I am here with my father’s blessing,” he replied. “And I bring you all his good wishes.”
After dinner I took Adalbert out to the Children’s Island and we walked among the trees, wrapped in our warm coats and hats. There had been a snowfall the night before and every so often clumps of wet snow fell from the lower branches of the trees, narrowly missing us. I felt that we were in a dreamlike state. After a time conversation faltered, and Adalbert took my gloved hand in his as we continued to walk.
“This is where my father comes when he needs to be alone,” I said at length. “He is always happiest when he is on his own, tramping through a wood or bicycling or stalking ravens or elk. He was born to be a countryman.”
“We could be compatible that way, in the future. Your father and I, I mean.”
I looked at him, unsure what to do or say.
“Of course, you would come to live at Potsdam. But we could visit your family here, as often as was practical.” We stopped walking. He looked down at me fondly, and kissed my forehead.
“Yes, little Tania. I have come here to Russia not only to lead the Young People’s Peace Initiative, but to ask your father for your hand in marriage.”
My lip trembled. My knees felt weak, and at the same time I wanted to run. A jumble of thoughts tripped over one another in my mind: won’t Olga be jealous, won’t Niuta be happy, would I like Germany? I don’t want Cousin Willy for a father-in-law. And then there was the main, central thought. The only thought that mattered. Adalbert. Adalbert wanted to be my husband.
I tried to speak, but all I could do was look up at him. I could not find any words.
“Of course, we wouldn’t be married for some time yet. Not for another year, at least. But I intend to ask your father for your hand, as a promise for the future.” He paused. “You do love me a little, don’t you, Tania?”
“I—I—of course I do. You are my second cousin.” As soon as I spoke the words I thought, why am I saying this? This isn’t the way a girl is supposed to respond when a man proposes to her. In my mind’s eye I saw, not Adalbert, tall and handsome in his white uniform, but Constantin Melnikov, the young doctor from the Workers’ Clinic, looking rather rumpled, watching me searchingly.
I shook my head. “We shouldn’t be speaking of these things until you have talked to my father.”
“I have to know whether or not you will say yes, when the moment comes.”
He bent down and kissed me then, and he tasted of wine and smelled faintly of cologne. His lips were soft, I could feel the tickle of his thin moustache. It was a pleasant sensation, but hardly an overwhelming one.
“My parents are eager for me to marry, you see, Tania. They have presented me with several princesses but I did not like any of them. You are the one I like.”
“Why? What is it that you like about me?”
“You are lovely. You will grow up to be a beautiful woman. And you are intelligent, and kind, and you have a gentle manner. You would never try to dominate me, or make me miserable.”
“I may be quite different in a few years, when I am grown up.” Thinking back, I cannot remember why I said that, but I’m glad I did.
I felt Adalbert stiffen. “What are you trying to tell me, Tania? That you want to wait? Or that you do not want to be my wife?”
“I don’t know! Don’t make me decide!” And with that I lost my courage, and ran back toward the palace, feeling impatient and befuddled, wishing I had not drunk any wine at dinner and aware that my cheeks were burning in the chill night air.
Eighteen
Artipo was getting old, and could barely drag himself across the floor. His sore paw refused to heal, and his left foreleg was so swollen and red where the grey fur had worn away that he could hardly bear to let me touch him there or try to pet him.
“Ah! Taniushka,” papa said when I brought him into my room to look at the old dog, lying on my bed, wagging his tail weakly as we came up to him. “How sad! He looks so poorly.” He reached down and petted the soft grey head.
“He must be at least ten years old now, maybe twelve. I remember when the litter was born. We gave you the best of them. I know how you love him, but dogs can’t live forever.” He bent down and looked into Artipo’s red-rimmed old eyes. “He must be in a lot of pain, with that infected leg. Maybe you should let Sedynov take him out to the burying ground and be merciful to him.”
I burst into tears, and papa hugged me, trying to comfort me. I couldn’t bear the thought of Artipo’s being shot and buried, which was what “being merciful” meant.
“No, papa, there must be something the kennel master can do for him.”
Papa assured me that he would have a word with the kennel master, who kept a locked cupboard full of medicinal compounds for curing puppy rash and worms, coughing and the wobbles. But I didn’t think he had a medicine to cure old age, and I spent a wakeful night, with Artipo nestled against me, dreading the moment when I would have no choice but to call Sedynov and let him take my beloved dog out to the burying ground.
I took him for a walk the next day as usual, though he walked very slowly because of his limp and I often let him stop and rest. We were walking along the shore of the small lake by the Chinese Pavilion when I saw Father Gregory coming toward us.
I was always startled to see him, he had an almost feral look about him, like a creature from the forest. Bits of bark and dried leaves clung to his coat, as if he had been sleeping on the ground, and his greying beard was stringy and matted. His sandals were muddy. He carried no satchel or knapsack.
As he came closer I felt myself relax, and the sweetness of his presence poured over me like a balm. His face shone, his deep-set eyes, when he turned them on me, were alight with purpose and a dark vitality that seemed to penetrate to my very core. He came up to me, then looked down at Artipo, shambling along with his head down, sniffing the ground.
“No sorrow!” he called out, lifting his hand, as he always did, in blessing. “All sorrow forgotten! Only the joy of the afternoon!”
He knelt down and put his hand on Artipo’s head. At once I saw Artipo straighten his back and raise his neck and head.
“There, there now, strong young pup!”
Artipo pricked up his ears, licked Father Gregory’s hand and barked. Father Gregory ran his hand lightly down the swollen leg and paw, and murmured something under his breath. Then he stood and looked at me, nodding.
“He will be well.”
Humming, he stood and looked around the garden. He went over to a bed of shrubbery and took a stone from the ornamental edging, then, showing it to Artipo, flung it as far as he could across the brittle grass.
With another bark Artipo took off at a run, chasing the stone, his tongue hanging out and his ears flattened against his head. He retrieved the stone and brought it back to Father Gregory, dropping it at his feet and looking up at him.
I was beside myself with astonishment and delight. I flung my arms around my dear Artipo and buried my head in his fur. I heard Father Gregory murmur, as if from a distance, “Yes! All love!” but when I looked up a moment later he had gone.
Nineteen
When Aunt Olenka gave her charity ball for the Workers’ Clinic mama agreed to subscribe, donating five hundred rubles and offering to supply a table of attractive goods to be sold for the benefit of the clinic so that even more money could be raised. She agreed to donate, but she did not agree to attend the ball; her headaches were plaguing her, she said, and besides, she did not want to encounter Grandma Minnie or Auntie Miechen or any of the other haughty nobles and society women who ridiculed her and spread ugly gossip about her.
Olga and I were sent in mama’s place.
I had been knitting what mama called “woolies,” warm hats and scarves and vests (I couldn’t seem to learn to knit entire sweaters, the sleeves always came out wrong), and my knitted goods plus many more that mama herself had made plus so
me brocade pillows Aunt Xenia had brought from Paris and some lovely Alençon lace that had once trimmed one of mama’s gowns (she never allowed the same lace to be used on two different gowns, but gave it away) were spread out attractively on the long table and Olga and I took our places behind it. We were to sit there until all the goods were sold—then and only then could we dance.
Dancing made me think of Adalbert, but he was not invited to the ball. He had gone to Moscow with the members of his peace delegation and was not expected to return for a month or more, which gave me plenty of time to mull over what he had told me at our last meeting. I kept asking myself, why did I behave as I had during that dreamlike evening on the Children’s Island? Why did I run away? Was I simply too young to think about marriage, even to a man I liked so much? Girls of royal blood were not, as a rule, expected to ponder men’s proposals; they were expected to obey their fathers and marry the men chosen for them. Adalbert was honoring me in speaking to me first, before he approached papa. But I wished he hadn’t. Oh, how I wished he hadn’t!
It was hot in the grand, high-ceilinged room where the charity ball was under way. A crowd of guests milled among the many tables piled with goods for sale, chatting and flirting, some flinging down coins in careless abandon, as if to say, what do I care for a knitted vest or a silken rose to pin on my gown? I can’t be concerned with such trifles! But I will donate money all the same. There was a good deal of variety in the crowd. Handsomely dressed courtiers mingled with military officers, teachers and professors in black coats stood next to bureaucrats wearing stars of commendation on their gold-trimmed jackets. A good many of the donors, having made their contributions, stood tapping their toes to the music and looking bored.
Aunt Olenka, brisk and cheery as she nearly always was, her buck teeth showing prominently when she smiled, came to our table and said how pleased she was that our goods were selling well. And in truth Olga and I were having a good deal of success, for many in the crowd, wanting an excuse to say they had met the grand duchesses, had made purchases.
The Tsarina's Daughter (Reading Group Gold) Page 10