August 11, 1909
It was the day before the fifth anniversary of Alexei's death. The palace was permeated with a cold silence. Burdened by the bitter memory of the death of their only son, Nicholas and Alexandra kept silent for much of the day. When they did talk with their surviving children, they quietly did so. Even the kitchen servants did not chatter as much. The numerous guards around the palace grounds hardly spoke at all, so their usual gossip was almost nonexistent.
As the four daughters and their mother stayed in their rooms, Nicholas and his advisors discussed political matters in the Formal Reception Room. The latest reports had arrived from the royal intelligence officers, and a clamor arose. All of his advisors, including Rasputin, argued over what action should be taken. Two sides arose. One side advocated for reforms to satisfy the people, and the other side advocated against any change. Some of the advisors came from nobility, and they feared the loss of their lifestyles from reform. To give up their power and live as commoners was unthinkable to them. Nicholas, feeling torn between the needs of his people and the advice of his advisors, sighed. The constant reports of strikes and protests unsettled him, and he doubted whether he could run the empire of the Romanovs. Even when he was a mere Duke, he was reluctant to become the Tsar. Rasputin, a tall, bearded man with dark hair and blue eyes, called for silence.
"Quiet!" Nicholas loudly said, and the advisors ceased their bickering.
The advisors turned their heads to face their Tsar with surprised looks on their faces. Never before had the advisors heard the quiet and seemingly calm Tsar raise his voice. Each of them thought that the Tsar had reached a decision.
"I want to hear each side present their proposals. I believe that the current situation in my empire calls for action, so I will consider each side before making a decision. But, all of you must remember that I cannot give up my power, as I was predestined to take the throne," the Tasr said as calmly as he could.
"Grigori Rasputin, you may speak again."
"Thank you, Your Majesty. Now, I believe that the old ways are failing to work as they have in the past. That has been the case since the massacre of 1905. People are starving or suffering in horrific conditions throughout the empire. The people's approval is declining, so unrest is growing. Thus, we must consider the possibility of change."
Nicholas clenched his fists upon remembering the tragedy of Bloody Sunday. While he was in his other palace, the masses had flocked to his Winter Palace to voice their needs for better working conditions. However, a few incompetent guards had fired out of fear into the crowds, and they had caused a massacre. Over four hundred were killed or wounded. Yet the anger of his people toward his regime worried him, and he felt that he needed more strict measures to keep them in control. At the moment, he would simply listen to his most trusted advisor, Rasputin.
"Continue, Rasputin."
"The change I propose is to pass laws that require better working conditions for the working class. If we show the people that we care for their needs, their approval will increase. As a result, we will face less riots and strikes, as the anger and upset feelings of the people will be quelled. The lesser the anger, the lesser the risk of a coup."
Nicholas nodded his head, and he looked at the other advisors. "The other side may speak their thoughts on the matter."
A blonde man in a dark blue suit stood up from his seating and spoke with his blue eyes gleaming. "As Rasputin has stated, civil unrest is growing, and revolutionaries are roaming the streets. If we cater to their demands, we are only making this dynasty a dynasty of... pushovers. I mean no offense, Your Majesty, but a leader must not always bend to the will of the people, but to follow what is right. What is right? Right is to keep control over the people before they turn traitorous! If we do not keep control, they will take advantage of us... and finally... slaughter us! Therefore, I propose that harsher penalties for revolutionary activity be implemented."
The man sat down, wearing a stern expression on his face. Silence filled the room as the Tsar made his final decision. Minutes passed as the Tsar reread the reports again. Nicholas the Second thought of how his father, Alexander the Third, was murdered by radicals. He thought of what would have happened if his family were in the Winter Palace during Bloody Sunday. It became clear to him that the commoners and his fellow nobles would never be satisfied with a few new laws. Finally, he thought that catering to the people would only worsen the faltering grip of control his dynasty held over Russia. A part of his conscience urged him to care for his people, but he dismissed it.
"I have decided... that all prisoners who certainly participated with revolutionaries are to be executed. As the leader of Russia, I cannot tolerate traitorous activities. However, I will sign a new labor law to test its effects," Nicholas said.
"But... Your Majesty..." the suited man spoke.
"My decision is final regardless of any further comments. This meeting is adjourned."
All advisors except for Rasputin got out of their chairs and resumed their chatter, giving each other handshakes. The rest of the advisors exited the room, and the guards outside the door closed the doors. Only the Tsar and his closest advisor were left within the room, and they moved from their seats to sit next to each other.
"Rasputin, I must ask you of one other thing..."
"Yes, Your Majesty?"
"It took me three years to persuade my relatives to change the succession rules. Do you approve of my change of the throne inheritance rules, which went into effect a year before?"
"Well, it is too early to tell. I understand that changing the succession laws may be an unfamiliar action to take, but I know that your eldest daughter has the compassion and a studious mind. She may make a wise Tsarina."
"Yes... if you feel ready, you can become the advisor for Olga once she becomes Tsarina?"
"It would be an honor to, Your Majesty."
Once Rasputin agreed to become the advisor for the upcoming heiress to the throne, he knew that he was taking a part in something bigger. He thought of the past mistakes of the Tsar and Tsarina. Failing to provide an apology for Bloody Sunday was a foolish, neglectful action. Dissolving the Duma indefinitely was not a wise move especially when the people felt a need to express their dissatisfaction. If he were Tsar, he would be a ruler open to change rather than one who swept his problems under the table.
Nicholas cleared his throat and folded the reports before placing them into his pockets. He felt comforted that he had someone else beside his wife to confide in. Rasputin, despite the rumors of him sneaking into the bedrooms of his daughters, offered sound advice for much of his decisions. The Tsar overlooked the rumors, as he believed that they were false. After all, Rasputin was nothing but loyal and helpful to him. He looked at the grandfather clock in the Reception Room and he noticed that two hours had passed. The time was now noon: half past twelve.
"I appreciate your encouragement. I wish that we could converse more, but I must check on my children."
"Of course."
The Tsar parted ways with his advisor for the day, and he made his way through the various rooms and corridors to the bedroom of his eldest daughter. He opened the door to see his Olga reading The Prince by Niccolo Machiavelli. As requested by her political tutor, a noble named Ivano, she was to study that work to know the ways of governing a country or empire. Olga looked up with her blue eyes, and she closed the book, making sure to leave a bookmark.
"Papa, is it true that politics do not relate to morals? I thought that a good ruler must care about the people..." Olga said, feeling confused by her readings.
"Well, Olga, I must tell you that sometimes that people may not have the best interests in mind."
"How?" Olga eagerly asked.
"Well, people can be selfish and narrow-minded. They might not respect the authorities that keep order either!"
"Then... how do we handle the people if they riot and strike no matter what we do?"
Nicholas sighed. "Then... we must do whatever it takes to keep that order. I think that a government, despite its flaws, is far superior to anarchy."
"Anarchy? What is that?"
"A lack of order or any government. Such a condition would mean chaos and destruction of our empire. I pray that Russia will never become one, especially during your reign someday."
"I pray so too, Papa. I am worried about those angry crowds."
"As long as I am on the throne, no harm will come to our family."
Olga smiled, and she placed the book on her desk. She thought of the time that she was told by her father about the Bloody Sunday incident. During that day, her naivety disappeared, as she realized that the world was filled with suffering and injustice. Thinking about the likely possibility of inheriting the throne, Olga promised herself that she would become a competent ruler. Now she was the current successor in line for the throne, since her younger brother had been stillborn. She did not dare confess her true feelings about her father's reign, as she would be reprimanded by her parents.
Her father was far from a perfect ruler, and Olga had realized that his greatest strength and weakness was his stubbornness. From a few secret peeks at the reports and newspapers, the eldest Grand Duchess knew what had happened. Nicholas, a stubborn man at heart, feared and resisted change. His failure to handle Bloody Sunday properly and suspending the Duma were proof of that. As much as she wished to enact change, she knew she was still too young for the throne.
"Are you alright? You seem to have something on your mind," Nicholas asked.
"I'm just thinking about the people. I worry that their poor lives will anger them even more," Olga said.
"No need to worry, the issues are being handled as we speak. I am beginning measures to preserve order from those accursed revolutionaries."
"Would shutting down the voice of the people only delay an uprising?"
"Not a coup. We can handle anything below the level of a coup. Now follow me, it is time for all of us to have lunch. Let us not dwell on troubles all the time."
Olga nodded, but she still felt worry for the safety of her family. She knew that her father made an effort to avoid the subject, but she overlooked it. Nicholas led Olga outside her room, and they went to the doors adjacent to her bedroom. Hearing giggles from behind the door, Nicholas rolled his eyes. Perhaps his little imp was up to more mischief. He playfully knocked on the door, and more muffled whispers could be heard.
A moment later, the door opened to reveal two girls: Anastasia and Maria. Anastasia peeked from the gap between the door and doorframe, and Nicholas managed a weak smile. She was his youngest daughter, and the favorite granddaughter of the Dowager Empress. Looking closely at the paint smudged on her fair hands, he shook his head.
"Looks like you forgot to wipe your hands, my little princess," he said in a playful tone.
Anastasia gave her signature pout with her blue eyes looking upwards. "But, Papa... it was Mashka's idea to paint with our fingers!"
"Hey!" Maria said.
Nicholas tried resisting a laugh at the sudden drama between the Little Pair sisters. "Alright, calm down, you two. You both can wash your hands after this, and then we can enjoy lunch. After that, we will have a walk in the gardens."
"Will there be cookies?" Anastasia asked.
"Yes, my little shvibzik, you can have one if you choose not to be a cookie thief like last time."
"I promise, Papa."
Thankfully, Anastasia did not steal or hoard any of the well-crafted shortbread cookies. The royal couple were pleased with how their family lunch went without incident, and they led their four daughters outside into the gardens. Nicholas, Alexandra, and their daughters strolled on the paved stone paths, admiring the towering oak and spruce trees. Olga and Tatiana then spotted a flowerbed, and they made a detour to pick flowers. Scrutinizing the various flowers for her choice, Olga settled her gaze upon a cluster of light blue flowers that grew in clusters: a forget-me-not. She picked it, and Tatiana noticed her choice, solemnly nodding in approval.
The seemingly calm faces of the Big Pair were just a facade, and it was one that took a strength to maintain while the memories of that fateful day about five years ago. It was their first experience with death.
"Olya, Tatya, are you two coming along?" Maria asked, running back to them.
"Yes, we were picking some flowers for Baby," Olga said.
"Oh," Maria said.
The three sisters returned to their parents who had reached the center of the gardens, crouching down in front of a marble headstone. Nicholas and Alexandra remained silent as they looked at the inscription upon the headstone.
Here Lies Alexei Romanov
Our baby, never truly gone.
1904
Olga placed down the forget-me-nots and whispered, "I brought you flowers, Baby."
Tatiana placed down a daffodil.
Maria and Anastasia lacked any flowers, but Anastasia, mischievous as usual, pulled out a cookie from the folds of her dress.
"Here is a cookie for you, Baby."
Before Anastasia could place down the cookie, Nicholas shook his head. The only way that his little imp could have taken a cookie was if she had snuck into the kitchen. He reminded Anastasia not to hoard cookies, but Alexandra thought differently.
"Let her pay her respects, dear," she said.
"Alright," Nicholas calmly said.
A.N: Dmitri will be introduced in the next chapter! As always, reviews are welcomed!
