58

Alexandra Fedorovna wore a pasted smile across her face as she received the hundredth fawning subject. She knew none of them liked her, and their flattery was as phoney as her smile. But she had her duty, as she supposed they did also. At least the French didn’t hate her as much as the Russians, and there were a couple dozen of them to divert her.

However, she was glad when dinner was finally over and the group retired to the ballroom for dancing. There she could sit on her dais overseeing the festivities, while isolated from them as well. The music was lovely, and Nicky was at her side. Everyone else was occupied with dancing and didn’t bother her much. She was somewhat miffed, then, when Princess Barsukov approached the royal couple. Still, she smiled. Yalena Barsukov was one of the more genuine of the nobility.

“Your Majesties!” Yalena bowed deeply. “Might I impose upon you for a moment to have a word with you?”

“Of course, Princess.” Nicholas signaled for one of the footmen to bring a chair near them.

“Do sit down,” said Alexandra.

“You are most kind.” Yalena sat in the red velvet chair. Even for a woman like herself, who moved in the best circles, it was an honor to sit in the presence of the emperor and empress.

“What is on your mind, Princess?”

“I have a story I would like to share with you, Your Majesties. I would hesitate in bothering you at all except that I believe in time of war such stories as this are as vital to the war effort as guns and ammunition.”

“Do go on,” Alexandra encouraged.

“I wish to tell you about a young woman who deserves recognition, a woman who has selflessly sacrificed almost all for her beloved country. She was first brought to my attention when I learned how she saved the life of my brother, who had been wounded at the front.”

“We know of your brother also,” said Nicholas. “A courageous man. I was proud to award him with the Order of St. Andrew. But what of this young woman?”

“My brother, Philip, has informed me of some of the deeds of the young nurse, Your Majesty. She has worked within range of enemy fire, tending the wounded, and she served in a hospital in Port Arthur, suffering the privations and bombings of the siege. Sometimes she worked eighteen and twenty hours without rest. I realize many others are sacrificing too, but this woman did not have to go to war. She could have remained in her comfortable home, attending parties, and doing all the other things young noblewomen are apt to do.

“Then, not long ago,” Yalena continued, “she was seriously wounded while undertaking the dangerous mission of transporting wounded through the enemy-infested sea. This young woman expects no laurels for her deeds—in fact, I have been told she would be discomfited by such attention. However, I believe in this difficult time you, Your Majesties, would want to know of the heroic deeds of your countrymen and women. I hope, too, that hearing might encourage you and brighten a dark hour.”

“Indeed it does.” Alexandra’s smile, this time, was genuine. “Who is this girl?”

“Her name is Countess Mariana Dmitrievna Remizov.”

“I don’t know the name,” said the empress. “I’m sure it would be uplifting, as you say, to meet such a young woman.”

“You said she was wounded?” asked Nicholas.

“Yes, Your Majesty. But she is home now, in St. Petersburg.”

“Nicky,” said Alexandra, “I would like to bring her to the palace.”

As soon as Yalena left the emperor and empress, another woman appeared. She was the grand duchess Militsa, one of the Montenegrin princesses who was also married to one of Nicholas’s cousins. She, along with her sister Anastasia, were among the few people whom Alexandra could truly call friends.

“Your Highness,” Militsa said, “I have brought with me tonight a guest I thought you might like to meet.”

“Really?” Alexandra was curious; after all, Militsa had introduced her to the French doctor Philippe, and other itinerant monks and healers and miracle-workers. Even Alexandra had to admit that some of these had been charlatans, but she was so enthralled by the mystical that she continued to hope one day a true holy personage would find his way to the palace.

“He is a starets, a holy man, from Siberia. His religious mentor is none other than Father John Kronstadt.” That was a high recommendation indeed, for Kronstadt had been Alexander III’s private confessor. “Shall I get him for you?”

“By all means, Millie, especially since he’s come this far.”

The grand duchess scurried away, and in a moment she returned with a rather striking man at her side.

He was a tall, lean, large-boned man in his early thirties. Dressed as a peasant, he would no doubt have come quickly to the attention of the royal couple in that aristocratic gathering even if Militsa had not introduced him. But it was more than the man’s attire that was notable.

“Your Majesties,” said Militsa, her tone containing an air of anticipation as if she were privy to a fantastic secret, “I would like to present Father Grigory Rasputin.”

The priest bowed low. “Your Majesties, this is a singular honor.”

“Father Rasputin,” said Alexandra. For a brief instant, their eyes met, and she forgot what she had been about to say—in fact, she was momentarily speechless. Rasputin’s eyes were black like obsidian, like a moonless night, like the depths of a cave of many secrets. Alexandra nearly lost herself in those depths.

Nicky, beside her, stirred and spoke. “Father Rasputin, we are honored likewise to meet a man of God. What brings you to St. Petersburg from Siberia?”

“Ah, Your Highness, the answer to that question is so long and involved it would no doubt bore you. Suffice it to say, I am a wanderer, ever seeking spiritual enrichment.”

“As are we,” said Alexandra, finding her voice at last, though it was breathless with wonder at what was happening inside her.

“That doesn’t surprise me, Your Highness.”

“I should like to speak further with you.”

“I am at your service.”

The remainder of the evening passed far more pleasantly for Alexandra. She spoke for several minutes with the priest and felt as if she had discovered a truly remarkable individual. After the priest left for the evening, she continued to think about him and wonder what such a man could do for her and her husband. He was a simple priest, not a politician, but deep down Alexandra thought the government would be better off with fewer politicians in charge. She didn’t entertain great hopes of this Rasputin having such importance, of course, yet Nicky could do a lot worse. But there surely was a better calling for such a starets as this Rasputin. Little Alexis flickered through the empress’s mind. But the child had been doing better lately. It was possible she had worried for nothing. The malady had probably played itself out. Thanks be to God, he would have no need of healers and miracle-workers.