by Evelyn Weiss
Olga buts in. “But then, we will go to Switzerland. It’s better that we live there, because they are neutral.”
“Or America” Anastasia adds.
Alexandra looks at Axelson. “So, Professor, you are here under the instructions of these ridiculous Bolsheviks. I believe they want you to hypnotize me.”
“Yes – if your Majesty will permit.”
“I do not permit. In fact my husband said, at first, that we should not even allow you into the house. He doesn’t want to meet you, and has declared the whole thing a tiresome business. But I agreed to your visit, even though I have no intention of being hypnotized.”
The professor doesn’t quite know what to say. I remain quiet too, and smile, a little nervously, at the four girls. Tatiana looks from our faces to Alexandra’s.
“Mother, don’t keep these poor people waiting! Explain – about Alexei.”
“Professor Axelson, I have permitted you and your assistant to visit my family for one purpose only – a purpose which that jumped-up little man Yurovsky must not know about. So, I command you to tell him nothing. Now, I will explain. My son Alexei is not in good health.”
“Your Majesty, I am aware of his medical condition. While my Hypnotic-Forensic Method is a powerful tool, it applies only to the mind. It cannot cure diseases of the body. Also, I understood that the imperial family doctor is here in Yekaterinburg with you?”
“Yes – Dr Botkin is here with us, as well as our most faithful domestic servants. But when I say Alexei is unwell, I mean that, as well as his illness of the blood, he is in poor spirits. He does has lively patches now and then. He is very happy sometimes, when Leonid, the kitchen boy, is here; they are good friends and play all sorts of games. But he also has times when he is quiet and subdued. Not at all how a boy of his age should be.”
“There have been drastic changes in your circumstances, your Majesty. A child may pick up on these things, he may express his disquiet in a number of ways…”
“I’d like you to look into Alexei’s mind, his inner feelings, Professor. This will be your reward for your first session.”
She holds out a glittering ruby. It catches the light, glimmering like red wine in a crystal glass.
“Please, your Majesty. There is no need to offer me any reward. Keep your jewels: you may need them when you travel out of Russia. I am most happy to conduct a Hypnotic-Forensic session with young Alexei, if he himself is comfortable with it.”
“Then we are at your disposal, Professor Axelson. Where will you conduct the hypnosis?”
“Wherever Alexei feels most at home. May I meet him?”
I notice a figure at the doorway that Alexandra came out of. The boy is taller than I expected; his face is handsome and finely featured. His auburn hair glints with copper, and his eyes, gray-blue like his mother’s, seem to look through me, to my soul. I feel I am looking not at a prince, but at a young artist or poet.
He smiles at us, and the faces of the whole family light up. The four girls go over to him. “Alexei, look who is here! This is Professor Axelson, and this is Agnes Frocester. They are here to talk to you.”
Alexandra bends down and speaks to him, whispering in his ear. He shakes his head; she speaks some more, then he nods. She stands and turns to us.
“This is the room my husband and I have, and Alexei sleeps here with us. But he says he would prefer to talk to you, Professor, in the bedroom of the Grand Duchesses.”
Maria laughs. “You mean our room, Mother! Come in here, and we will sort things out.”
We go into a room where four cheap, iron-framed beds are arrayed along the walls. The carpet is frayed and threadbare, the pretty floral wallpaper is faded. A sewing machine stands on a table in the middle of the room, directly under a naked electric light bulb hanging on a thin cord. Despite the paint covering the windows, I can sense the daylight and the bright summer colors outside. I say to myself “Like a caged bird, waiting to fly.”
“What was that?” Tatiana smiles at me.
“Oh, nothing. But I truly hope you are allowed to travel soon.”
“Oh yes, we’ll be leaving here, probably within a few days.” She nods confidentially at me. “Most of us cannot bring ourselves to chit-chat with the guards, but Maria is better at tolerating them: I think she is a saint! She has chatted to one or two of them, and found out some interesting information. Apparently, the Czechoslovak Legion, who are loyal to Father and Mother, have defeated an army of Red Guards, and captured territory near Yekaterinburg. So, the Bolsheviks will move us away from the battle zone.”
“Do you think the Red Guards will be defeated?”
“I don’t care who wins! All I know is that me and my family are a nuisance to Lenin and his friends. The sooner they can get us out of the country, the better – for them and for us. After the February Revolution, Mr Lloyd George, the Prime Minster of Britain, proposed that we should go and live in England, and the Provisional Government was arranging it. But then there was some last minute difficulty – probably it was dangerous to travel, because of the war. But now the war is nearly over! Do you know any news?”
“No. I’ve been staying at another house in Siberia for months. We got newspapers delivered, but they were always out of date.”
“I know, Agnes, that Russia and Germany have signed a cease fire. And I know that the Germans will surrender soon to the British and the Americans. I will thank God with all my heart, when the world is at peace and everyone stops hating and killing each other. And, our family can travel! I think in a few days they’ll send us to St Petersburg, and put us on a ship.”
Maria pulls out the wooden chair which stands next to the sewing machine. She looks at her brother. “It’s a hard chair, Alexei. Do you want the cushion I made?” The boy nods, and she gets a cushion of sewn patchwork squares for him. So far, he has not spoken, but his eyes are taking it all in. I think: he’s a listener, not a talker; he understands more about life than most boys his age.
Maria smiles. “A chair for you, Professor?”
“Yes – but don’t exert yourself, your Highness.”
“No, Professor, I’ll move the chair. The worst of this Ipatiev House is that we get too little exercise! And I like to be useful. Now, where shall I put it?”
“Thank you. I will sit here – not directly opposite Alexei, but a little to one side.” He lowers his voice. “So that he feels he can look away from me, if he wishes.”
Alexandra sits on the one remaining chair. The four girls and I sit on the beds. The mattresses are thin, and the springs squeak.
We wait, but Axelson says nothing, simply smiling at the boy. The dim light comes in through the painted windows, time goes by, and I hear my breathing, and that of the five other women in the room. All of us steal glances at the little prince.
Axelson takes out his pocket watch. Despite the lack of direct sunlight, the gold glows like a fire. The white face of the watch shines, and we all hear the soft ticking. Axelson smiles to himself, looking at the watch as if checking the time. Then he takes out a pocket-handkerchief and begins to polish the gold and glass.
Alexei watches, fascinated. Axelson continues to polish the watch, turning it this way and that. Then he holds it up by its chain. He looks at Alexei as if he’s only just noticed the boy.
“Do you like my watch?”
“Yes. May I hold it?”
“Of course. Here it is: have a good look at it.”
Axelson’s hand extends, and he puts the round, shiny object into the boy’s delicate hand. Alexei turns it over and over, then he puts it to his ear, to hear the ticking better.
“That’s a piece of fine Swedish watchmaking, young man. Look at how the hands go round.”
Alexei holds the watch, looking at the face. As he looks, the professor begins to speak in a low slow cadence.
“That watch, it belonged to my father. He gave it to me when I was about your age, I should think. How old are you, Alexei?”
�
�Thirteen.”
“Yes. In only one month, in fact, you will be fourteen… however, there’s no number thirteen, or fourteen, on a watch, is there? But you can count the rest of your age… Look, the second hand goes round, pointing at one…. now at two… it’s like you are growing up, one year at a time, as the hands go round.”
Alexei’s sea-gray eyes track the watch hands circling.
“Ten… Eleven… twelve. Two summers ago, you were eleven years old, coming up towards your twelfth birthday.”
“Yes.”
“Do you remember that summer? You were eleven years old, and you went away on a holiday.”
A cloud seems to pass across Alexei’s face, but then he smiles. “Yes. The strange house by the lake.”
“Had you ever seen that house before, Alexei?”
“No, never. We go on holiday every summer, but usually to Yalta, on the Black Sea.”
“Who is with you at this new holiday house?”
“Mother is here. She says I am unwell, that I am not to exert myself. I must lie in bed all day. I want to explore the lake and the little islands. Each island has a funny little house on it. It’s like a place in an adventure story.”
The boy is now breathing slowly and evenly, and his eyes seem focused far away. It’s as if he is looking across hundreds of miles, and back through time, and he can see Tri Tsarevny again.
“Is there anyone else on your holiday with you, Alexei?”
“My sisters, and Father are not here. Only Mother. But I like Tutor Nestor, who has come here to give me lessons, and lends me books. And Rasputin is visiting. But best of all is the beautiful lady.”
“Who is she?”
“She lives in one of the houses on the lake. Nestor has given me binoculars: I can look through them, and see the lady. Sometimes she just sits in a chair on the porch of her house, reading. Other times she stands and leans on the porch rail, looking out at the lake. She seems to be thinking.”
“Do you like her?”
“Oh yes. I’ve met her. She asked if she could meet me, and she came up to my room. She said she was sorry to see that I was stuck in my room. She told me that fresh air is good for me – but Mother is concerned about me getting a chill, so my window is closed, most days.”
“What is her name?”
“Svea. It’s Swedish. Like a magic name in a fairy tale. But best of all, Svea said that one day soon, when Mother allows me to leave of my room, I can go along to her little house on the lake, and she will give me some lemonade and cake. We can have our own picnic, out there on the island.”
“So you like her – and she likes you.”
“Yes, I like her very much. And she loves my book.”
“What is your book?”
“My book of drawings. I do little drawings, of all the people I meet. She says she could sit there on the porch of her island with me, after our picnic, and I could do a drawing of her. A portrait.”
Again, Alexei’s face changes; a shadowed frown passes across it. And as before, the shadow disappears, and he smiles.
“Svea asked if we could look through my whole book together, and she sat down by my bed and opened it. My first drawing was of Father, she asked about it, then there was one of our car, the special one with the caterpillar tracks for going along in the snow, and I explained about that. And then there was the picture I drew of me and my sisters building a snowman.”
“And then?”
“And then… the door opened, it was Mother. She said I was tired, that Svea’s visit to my room had gone on long enough, and she must go. So I said to Svea ‘You can borrow my book to look through it, if you like. There are lots of other pictures’. And she said ‘I would like that very much’. And she took the book.”
“What happened then, Alexei?”
“My bedroom door was shut, but I heard Mother and Svea talking outside in the corridor. Svea was saying that sunshine and fresh air would be good for me, but Mother said I am too ill. But I thought to myself ‘Svea is right, and Mother is wrong’. I wanted to get up, go out into the garden – but I knew I would not be allowed.”
“Did you have any lessons with Tutor Nestor that day?”
“No. Mother told the servants to draw my drapes, so my room was all dark, and I was supposed to sleep. But I couldn’t. All afternoon, all evening, until it went dark outside, I lay there. Then I pulled the drapes back and looked out into the night.”
Alexei’s voice trembles slightly; he pauses.
“The next day was lovely and sunny. I wished I could go outside, and visit Svea on her island.”
Axelson’s eyes narrow in frustration: Alexei has skipped over the events of that night, and what he saw out on the causeway in the dark. But the professor’s voice remains calm and quiet.
“So that day, you were still in your room, as usual?”
“Yes – but then in the afternoon, I heard a gun firing! I dashed to the window and looked out with the binoculars.
I could see the islands and the houses. I could see the Cossack captain, who is one of our guards, on the porch of one house, looking all around. Then, after a few minutes, Rasputin came out onto the porch with him. They were both peering around, and talking to each other. Rasputin looked – scared.”
“Could you see anyone else?”
“No, just the captain and Rasputin. But then, my bedroom door opened, and a man came in. He was wearing Army uniform, and he looked worried. He told me not to look out of the window.”
“What happened then?”
“The Army man went away, I heard the door closing, his boots going along the corridor… and then he was gone.”
“So you were alone?”
“I got up, and I dressed. I opened my door and crept along the corridor, then down the stairs. I could hear Mother’s voice coming from the library, but there was no-one else about. So I went out of the house and down to the lake.”
Alexandra gasps: we all lean forward, listening.
“I wanted to go to Svea’s island. In my head, I pictured her and me together, investigating the shot I’d heard, as if she and I were detectives, working together.”
“Where did you go?”
“I went down onto the long wooden bridge that goes out to the islands. I went along, past the store room, and then past the first house, the copper one. Then I saw the silver house, on Svea’s island. I went to the door; it was open. I could see right through the house, and I could see the lake beyond, and the outline of Svea, sitting there in her wicker chair. I called out.”
I glance at the faces around the room; the bated breath of the silence, the intent listening. There’s a long pause, as if the boy has drifted off into sleep. Moments pass. Then I hear Alexei’s voice again, and I feel a tremor in my pulse.
“I stepped into the house, and the floorboards creaked, but I heard nothing else. Then I went out of the French windows, onto the porch, and I looked at her sitting there. I said ‘Hello, Svea!’.
She didn’t reply, I thought she was asleep. And I touched her shoulder. Her head was on one shoulder, and her eyes were open, but she was totally quiet.”
Alexei is still holding the watch, gazing at the hands as they turn. Its tick is the only sound we can hear.
“Then I walked round to the front of her chair, and I looked at her head, it was just resting on her shoulder, not moving. And on the side of her head was a big red hole.”
The watch ticks on. Alexandra whimpers to herself.
“And – Svea was sitting on my book. I could see my book on the wicker chair, sticking out underneath her bottom. And I pulled at my book, and it came out from underneath her, and I took it, and I ran and ran, all the way back to my room. And no-one noticed me.”
The professor nods at Alexandra. She rises and goes over to the boy: her arms go around him. Axelson whispers.
“This session is finished. Please, your Majesty, comfort your son.”
22 Gunfire and smoke
Silently, Axel
son and I leave the room. Tatiana comes onto the landing with us; the professor bows his head in apology.
“I’m so sorry, your High – I mean, Tatiana. I didn’t realise…”
“It’s all right, Professor Axelson! Honestly, you have done no harm. What happened – what Alexei saw – that was there, in his head anyway. He has had to live all alone with it – until now.”
“In the long term, speaking about what happened may help…”
“I think it will help a lot. He is such a quiet boy, and he’s been carrying this burden all this time. What can we do for him?”
“I will come and see him again – if your mother permits it. I have dealt with soldiers sufferng from the shocks of battle. There are some similarities. Talking about it, and sharing it with all of you, can only help him.”
She looks at him gratefully. “I agree, Professor. After all, I was a nurse myself.”
Unthinking, I reach out and touch her hand. “I did nursing too – in Flanders. It opens your eyes, doesn’t it?”
Her smile broadens, but there’s a faraway look in her eyes. “Working in the hospital – that was the happiest time of my life. Every night, when I pray, I ask God that I can soon start to live again, to do things. I prefer being active and useful.”
I nod in sympathy. Tatiana doesn’t let go of my hand, and carries on speaking, as if a dam has burst inside her, and her feelings are pouring out.
“Before I went to the hospital, I didn’t know if I could do it. A Russian princess – doing real work! But as soon I started working there, I found that I liked to be busy, and most of all, I liked nursing the patients. It was a chance for me to give something back – to all the brave men who have suffered so much. I wanted to treat wounds, to tackle blood and pain head-on. I even enjoyed making beds and sterilising bandages!”
She laughs, but then looks more serious. “I want to be a real person, working to heal men from what this insane war has done to them. I don’t want to be treated like a toy porcelain doll. And now… Russia says it doesn’t want the dolls any more.”