The Last Tsar (5 page)

The church still stands at Ilinskoe. Then candles burned there, singers’ voices rang out, and the two sisters stood in the sanctuary.

Nicholas continued his meek rebellion. He carried out Papa’s order, but.… He could be forbidden to see her but not to wait for her.

“21 December 1890. This evening with Mama we discussed the family life of today’s young society people. Unintentionally this conversation brushed a most vital chord in my soul, the dream and hope
that carries me from one day to the next. Already a year and a half has gone by since discussed this with Papa at Peterhof, and nothing has changed in either the bad or the good sense. My dream is one day to marry Alix H. Have loved her for a long time, but even more deeply and strongly since 1889, when she spent 6 weeks of the winter in Petersburg. Have fought my feeling for a long time, trying to deceive myself with the impossibility of my cherished dream coming true.… The only obstacle or gap between her and me is the matter of religion. Other than that barrier there is no other, am nearly convinced that our feelings are mutual. All is up to God’s will, and am putting my trust in his mercy, calmly and meekly, looking to the future.”

He was sent away to travel and forget the whole business.

“The Mediterranean Sea, the Adriatic, Venice.… Life truly is a holiday! A ball! A ball!”

When Nicholas returned to Petersburg his father realized that nothing had changed—and it was time to act.

Soon in Nicholas’s diary yet another important character would appear: “Little K.”

All the brilliant Guards officers, the imperial suite, and the imperial family belonged to the famous Yacht Club. It was in March 1890 that the name of Little K. was heard there for the first time.

All the club members were balletomanes. For a century the Rossi Street colonnade, where the Petersburg ballet school was located, had been a favorite spot for the dandies of the capital to take the air. It was an old tradition of the Petersburg elite to have a ballerina for a mistress.

Like the Guards, the ballet was closely linked with the court.

Grand Duke X. (various names could be substituted here) fell in love with a ballerina, lived with her openly, bought her a house, and fathered her children. The list of these scandalous tales was long. The director of the imperial theaters had to be a diplomat and strategist, always current on the complicated disposition of relationships between his wards and the members of the imperial family. Arriving at the ballet, the public first turned to notice the “imperial presence”: which member of the imperial family was sitting in the imperial box. This often determined a ballerina’s status.

——

Vera Leonidovna Yureneva:

“She wasn’t beautiful, her legs were too short. But her eyes! Two pools. She was enticing, a little temptress. She had studied with the Italians and was magnificent technically. She once danced thirty-two
fouettés
and, after a storm of applause, sweetly danced thirty-two more. Someone said about her: ‘She loved ballet in general and life in particular.’ On the contrary: she loved ballet in particular and life in general. All her life she aspired to become a great ballerina, but she never was considered great.… In society at that time it was fashionable to show one’s displeasure: she was doomed to the audience’s disfavor the moment the future tsar fell in love with her. My ballerina girlfriend tried to have her hissed off the stage.… This was duly noted.… And at her own performance my girlfriend received a huge bouquet of flowers and a note: ‘Mathilde Kschessinska thanks you very much.’ She could be splendid. Because of her eyes she was called the ‘fairy of the Parc des Cerfs’: the French King Louis XV had kept his harem at the Parc des Cerfs.”

It was a ballet family. Her father was the Pole Felix Kschessinski, who had taught all of Petersburg high society to dance the mazurka. He produced ballets and himself had danced with all the famous ballerinas of his day. By the end of the century, his children were already dancing on the imperial stage, Iosif and Yulia (or Kschessinska the First, as they would call her when her younger sister’s star skyrocketed).

Nicholas’s diary:

“23 March 1890. Took a carriage to Elagin Island to see a stable of young horses. Came back in a new troika. Had a bite to eat at 8. Went to a performance at the theatrical institute. There were some short plays and a ballet.

“We had a fine supper with the pupils.”

Behind this awkward sentence lies the beginning of the romance.

Mathilde Kschessinska was born in 1872. She would die in Paris in 1971, just shy of one hundred years. In Paris she would write her memoirs, the touching story of the love of a young ballerina for the heir to the throne. She would write about that evening of March 23, 1890, as well, about an evening in vanished Atlantis.

After the graduation performance and ball, which the emperor and the heir attended, the tables were set.
Unexpectedly
they stayed for supper. They were seated at a separate table and
suddenly
the tsar said: “And where is Kschessinska the Second?”

The young ballerina was brought to the tsar’s table; the sovereign paid her several compliments and added that he knew her father. The emperor-father
himself
seated the young ballerina next to the heir and added jokingly: “Only please don’t flirt too much.” To the young ballerina’s amazement, Nicholas sat by her the entire evening without saying a word. His tender blue eyes watched her helplessly.

Let us switch from Kschessinska’s romantic tale to prosaic narrative. So the tsar himself sat the girl next to his son and even offered some advice: “Just don’t flirt.” He could scarcely have made himself any clearer.

Vera Yureneva: “This was common. When young boys from wealthy families were coming of age, a beautiful and, even more important, pure servant would be brought into the house. This was a dangerous era.”

Indeed, syphilis carried away young men by the thousands. Heavy drinking, homosexuality, and brothels were a part of life in the Guards. But the heir’s health affected the destiny of the entire country. The affair with the Jewess had been an ominous warning, and the father of the family and the country had decided to take action. Kschessinska was a brilliant candidate: a romance with a future ballet star could only enhance the young man’s biography. But still, the main thing was to make him forget the Hesse princess. The visit to the institute had been devised for just that purpose.

Did the young ballerina understand the rules of the game? Or for her was it all, in fact, cast in a romantic light: the heir, the tsarevich! But then the game was being orchestrated by adults. Whatever the scenario, this was a
game
.

Only in the summer did the little girl with the big eyes manage to resume the romance. In June 1890 Mathilde Kschessinska was accepted into the troupe of the Mariinsky Imperial Theater. Guards training, in which Nicholas was taking part, went on at Krasnoe Selo, where the imperial ballet danced the summer season.

She knew it would happen during the intermission: the grand dukes liked to come backstage, and he would probably come with them, because she knew he wanted to come.

And he did. So they met backstage. He was talking incoherently, and she was still waiting. The next day he was backstage again, and again—nothing. Once during an intermission she was detained, and when she ran out onto the stage, flushed, eyes blazing, so afraid was she of missing her timid admirer, he had already left. When he did see her he burst out with a jealous, helpless “I’m certain you were only flirting!” And, flustered, ran out. Thus he declared himself.

The tsar’s family had the first box on the left, which was practically on the stage. Dancing nearby, the new ballerina Kschessinska the Second devoured the heir, who was sitting in the box alongside his father, with her huge eyes. What was most surprising was that she evoked no displeasure from the terrible emperor. From that moment the director of the imperial theaters took pains to ensure that any available parts went to this ballerina. In a very short time she would win the place of prima donna in the imperial ballet.

“17 June. Detachment maneuvers. Like Kschessinska the Second quite well.”

“30 June. Krasnoe Selo. The growing affair has heated up powerfully.… Was at the theater, talked with little K. at the window [of the box].”

In Paris she recalled how he stood at the box window and she onstage down front. And again the conversation ended in a delightful nothing. Later he came to say goodbye: he was leaving for a trip around the world.

“Went for the last time to the dear Krasnoe Selo theater to say goodbye to K. Dined with Mama until 1.”

She did not understand him. But it was all so simple: he was saving himself for Alix H.

Little K. read the newspapers daily—she was following his travels. News came that left Petersburg dumbfounded: a Japanese policeman had attacked the heir on the street of a small Japanese town and tried to behead him with a sword. By a miracle, Nicholas had survived.

The capital was full of rumors. Fantastic stories about inadmissible courting by a most adventuresome Nicholas. (Well aware of her timid admirer’s character, Little K. did not believe it possible.) Finally the attacker was declared an insane fanatic.

“27 April 1891. Arrived in Kyoto. My eyes didn’t know where to look first, such were the wonders. Watched archery and horseracing in ancient costumes.… At 9 set out with Georgie [the Greek
Prince George, who had accompanied him on his travels] for a teahouse. Georgie danced, provoking gales of laughter from the geishas.”

“Even in my dreams the waters of the Gion [the teahouse quarter in Kyoto] flow under my pillow.… Hundreds of geishas filled Gion’s narrow streets. The teahouses’ residents are brocade dolls in kimonos woven with gold thread. Japanese erotica is more refined and subtle than the crude proffers of love on European streets.… The tea ceremony ends.… All that follows remains a secret.”

“29 April. Woke up to a marvelous day whose end I would not have seen had I not been saved by the Lord God’s great mercy.

“We set out from Kyoto in a jinrikisha for the small town of Otsu, where we went to the house of the little round governor. In his house, which was utterly European, he had set up a bazaar where each of us ruined ourselves on some knickknack. This was where Georgie bought his bamboo cane, which was to do me such a great service an hour later. After lunch we prepared to make the return trip, and Georgie and I were glad we would be able to take a rest in Kyoto before evening. We rode out in our jinrikishas and turned left down a narrow street crowded to either side. At that point received a strong blow to the right side of my head, above my ear. Turned and saw the loathsome scowl of a policeman, who was waving his saber over me in both hands a second time. Could only cry out:
‘What, what
do you want?’ He jumped out over the jinrikisha onto the pavement. Seeing that the monster was headed toward me and that no one was attempting to restrain him, I ran off down the street, stopping the blood spurting from the wound with my hand. Wanted to hide in the crowd but couldn’t, because the Japanese themselves were terrified and had scattered in all directions.… Turning around once more as I ran, noticed Georgie chasing the policeman pursuing me.… Finally, having run an entire 60 paces, I ducked around the corner of a side street and looked back. By then, thank God, it was all over. Georgie, my savior, had felled the loathsome creature with one blow of his cane, and as I approached our jinrikishas, several policemen were dragging him off by the legs. One of them was holding a saber to his neck. What I couldn’t understand was how Georgie, that fanatic, and I had ended up alone, in the middle of the street, why no one from the crowd rushed to my aid.… No one from our suite could have helped, evidently, since they were riding in a long file. Even Prince Ari Sugava, who was third in line, didn’t see anything. Had to reassure everyone and stay on my feet as long as possible. Rambakh [the doctor] did the first bandage
and, most important, stanched the blood. The people on the street were touching: most of them got down on their knees and raised their arms in a sign of regret. More than anything I was upset at the thought of alarming dear Papa and Mama and about how to write them of this incident.”

Nicholas’s outcry in this deadly moment as he himself recorded it is striking:
“What, what …?”

Twenty-seven years later he would repeat this same cry, also at a deadly moment, as he stood in that cellar in Ekaterinburg—to be recorded by his assassin, Yurovsky.

So in 1891, for the second time in his life, he eluded death, and Nicholas began to feel that he was under His protection; He would not let Nicholas die. Did this mean he had another purpose?

“1 May. Tokyo. Am not so very angry at the good Japanese for the repulsive act of one fanatic. As before, their model order and cleanliness is a pleasure, and I must confess I keep on watching … whom I see on the street from afar. Received the Mikado at 11 o’clock.”

His father ordered him to return to Petersburg, and again all was joyous; life was a never-ending ball. In Vladivostok he helped lay the first stone at the eastern terminus of the great railway that was to cross all of Siberia. And there was a pleasant journey down the rivers of Siberia, with plenty of card playing and drinking—to celebrate death twice cheated.

On the return trip he visited Tobolsk.

“10 July 1891. At 7 arrived in Tobolsk in a dim, gray light. On the wharf, as always was met by the mayor with bread and salt, the citizens of the town of Tyumen, with platters by the craft guild, and an honor guard.… Took a carriage and rode up the hill to the cathedral—through the original wooden streets of the town. From the cathedral we went to view the vestry, where they keep most of the objects relating to the subdual of Siberia. Went to the museum; here I found most interesting the bell sent away from Uglich because it had been sounded as an alarm on the day Tsarevich Dmitry died.”

Subsequently he himself, like this bell, would be exiled to Tobolsk. As a prisoner he would climb an icy slope to look over a fence at the very edge of the streets and town he had admired in his happy youth.