murdered June 17, 1918
what is it like to grow up with four older sisters? Of course, you have a close-knit family, and the girls adore their little brother. What is more, everyone knows how long your parents waited for a son, how they prayed, consulted with doctors and charlatans, how they went on pilgrimages to holy places. And even now the house is filled with girls – sewing, playing the piano, reading French novels, yet you so badly want to play soldiers with other boys, to run around and be noisy.
What is it like when there is nobody around whom you can treat as an equal? You have an entire squadron of boys your age you can march around in formation in the park at Tsarskoe Selo, you can command them and parade about with them, but they are restrained. They know that you are heir to the throne, so they are bashful with you and their play is stiff and unnatural.
What is it like to be almost constantly sick. The first time you bled, it was from the navel, when you were two months old. Of course you don’t remember that, but your earliest memories are all associated with hurting yourself yet again – the bleeding that won’t stop, the pain, the anxious wait for the blood to finally coagulate. It hurts, and then you have to lie in bed for a very long time and listen to the pain in your body, seeing the anguish on your mother’s face as she blames herself for your illness.
Your sisters tiptoe into your bedroom, they kiss you on the forehead, and then they leave. They are worried about you, but nevertheless they do leave and go about their day – they study, they play, but all you do is lie there as the days, weeks, and even months pass. The tree trunks in the garden have been wrapped with special pillows in case you accidentally run into them, and you are constantly followed about by people who have been assigned to protect you. You try to run away from them. You want to live like other boys.
You have traveled with your family to the woodlands around the Belovezhskaya Pushcha, where amazing bison roam like the gigantic bison that the Indians of North America hunt somewhere across the ocean. It’s so much fun here, so interesting, and you can go sailing on the lake. You jump into the boat… and the servants come running. You are surrounded by the frightened faces of your parents and sisters. You are in so much pain that you cannot understand what is happening, and again there are months in bed, days and nights that flow together into an unending stream, and you are unaware that bulletins are published reporting your state and that, in the churches, special services are being held to pray for your recovery.
What is it like when everything is permitted? Many children would envy you. You sit at the table surrounded by some boring adults who call you “Your Highness.” You entertain yourself by sticking your finger in the butter and smearing it on their necks. Their smiles are forced, but they do not dare object. Another time you sneak into the dining room where guests are dining. Among them is your father’s boring and annoying uncle, your Aunt Ella’s husband, Sergei Alexandrovich. Wouldn’t it be fun to creep up on him from behind and bring a half watermelon down on his head? And the most amazing thing – nobody scolds you. Your father doesn’t utter so much as a word of reproach. But maybe this sometimes seems strange? You understand that you get away with things for which other boys would be severely punished. Is it again because you’re always sick? Or is it because you’re tsarevich?
What it is like when the man who is your much beloved father is also the sovereign of all Rus, when you can see that the fates of millions of subjects depend on him? You’re nine years old and you and your father are traveling together across Russia. Everywhere you go they are celebrating 300 years of your family’s rule. You participate in solemn prayer services and take part in reviewing the troops. You don’t feel very well, and they start to carry you. Arms reach out toward you, and, to your great embarrassment, people bend down on their knees before you. You dream of everything you will do for these people. “When I become tsar, there won’t be any more poor and unfortunate people,” you say, and everyone around you is greatly touched.
A year later, war breaks out, and you listen in agitation to news from the fronts, imagining yourself galloping into attack at the head of one of the many regiments to which you belong, at least on paper. Another year passes, and to your joy, your father becomes Commander in Chief. You go with him to army headquarters in Mogilev. This is the first time you’ve been separated from your mother, and when you said your farewells she had trouble holding back her tears, but you are excited and full of enthusiasm. A military uniform has been made for you, and you and your father are together in the train and later at headquarters. Of course, everyone wants the war to end soon, and you also want that, but perhaps it can go on just a little longer so that you have time to fight and crush the enemy.
What is it like when it suddenly turns out that everyone hates your father and mother, your sisters and you? One day you are surrounded by universal adoration, affection, and concern, and the next it turns out that the people in Petrograd no longer want your father to be tsar. You and your sisters are bedridden in Tsarskoe Selo, recuperating from the measles, and your father and mother are with you. Never before has your father had so much free time for you and your sisters – he spends hours reading to you out loud, and when you are finally fully recovered, he takes walks with you in the park. But how sad everyone is, and how rude the soldiers guarding the palace have suddenly become! What chaos has overrun the country!
By now you are 13, and soon you would have been able to go everywhere with your father. You have learned to be cautious and now you almost never injure yourself. You are able to ride a horse and command a regiment. You are ready to go to war, to work on matters of state…. But for some reason you are all sent to Tobolsk. You are with your parents, your sisters, your doctor, your servants, but everything is different. Some people react to you with delight, others with hatred, and nobody knows what will happen next, or what has happened to your other relatives. It’s interesting in Tobolsk. You have always wanted to visit Siberia. But you are not allowed to travel, you are not allowed to go out into the countryside, and every time you attend church it’s a major event – you never know what you’ll find out on the street. Your father is teaching you history and geography. There is still so much to learn and see.
One awful day you take a misstep going down the stairs and fall – and the pain returns. Again you are bedridden for months. You are transferred to Yekaterinburg. The journey is difficult, but you are eager to look out the window and understand just what the Urals are. You hear your parents discussing the White movement and the possibility of salvation, casting furtive glances at the servants and guards. You would like to be the sort of hero you’ve read about in books and save your parents and your sisters. “If I were tsar, I would bring order to the country,” you say. And you believe that, but all you can do is lie in bed. You don’t even have the strength to play your beloved balalaika, and you simply read and reread for the hundredth time a book explaining the rules for playing this rather uncomplicated instrument. But at least you were able to bring your favorite instrument with you, unlike your piano-loving sisters. The situation becomes increasingly tense, it seems that salvation approaches. The Whites are not far from Yekaterinburg. They will be able to help, even if among them are godless socialists just as bad as the ones who are now in Petrograd.
Again, they are calling you to come somewhere, ordering you all out of the house. It seems you will again be moved somewhere. But you are unable to stand. Your father picks you up, carries you from the room. How shameful – the soldiers are watching how you are being carried. Now you have to go outside. How much farther will your father have to carry you? But no – you are not taken outside. Instead you go downstairs into the basement. Armed men await you there, and as if through a fog you hear your father’s words, “So, you are not taking us anywhere?” Shots ring out. The pain is piercing, but you are still alive. It’s not easy to kill a son in his father’s arms, but they keep shooting…
“When I become tsar, there won’t be any more poor and unfortunate people.“
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