If there's a hint of a good story somewhere in the past, Candace Fleming has a talent for extracting it from the timeline with perfect precision, not overlooking a single sentence from the historical record that adds pathos or relevance to the narrative. She's capable of turning even a moderately interesting historical tale into something good, and had so much more than that to work with in the saga of the Romanovs, a royal dynasty predating Czar Nicholas II's coronation by close to three hundred years. The charmed existence of the ruling class has long fascinated the common man, who gaze up at the comfort and wealth enjoyed by royalty and dream of living in such splendor, being waited on by dozens of servants whose sole purpose in life is to make things easier for the first family of their beloved homeland. The regent of any financially stable nation has traditionally been entitled to lavish benefits the working man never will enjoy, but even a leader the people are fond of can reach the limit of how much opulence will be allowed him if his commoners suffer while he indulges in luxury. The have-nots generally show high tolerance for their royals enjoying an aristocratic standard of living, but daily anguish siphons their goodwill a bit at a time, and if the monarch carelessly fails to notice the draining of the goodwill reserve and act to refill it, his lofty lifestyle may come crashing down as though termites had been left to gnaw at the wooden pillars keeping his palace erect. That is the story of Nicholas II and the downfall of Romanov autocracy after more than three centuries of family rule over Russia, the death of a cherished royal tradition and perhaps the pivotal event in Russia's history, both internally and in its major role on the world stage. The collapse of autocratic succession emitted shockwaves that influenced world affairs for untold years to come.
Nicholas II wasn't a natural fit to be ruler. His father, Czar Alexander III, was more the imperial type: a physically intimidating, steel-willed dictator who kept the peasantry firmly under his thumb without being cruel enough to spark revolt. Nicholas, a lithe, sensitive boy without his father's aggressive demeanor, was an afterthought to the imperial court. As long as Alexander III lived, there was no need to think about the crown inevitably being passed on to Nicholas, and the young tsarevich was as relieved about this as anyone. When sixteen-year-old Nicholas met his twelve-year-old distant cousin, Alix, he didn't realize at first it was the start of a courtship that would blossom over the years into a royal marriage. For Alix would become Empress Alexandra after she wed Nicholas, and the final generation of Romanov rule would commence. Even a big bear of a man like Alexander III had to die one day, and when he did, a full-grown Nicholas assumed the throne beside Alexandra, whom he married a matter of days after his father's passing. The imperial couple weren't stilted with each other when they exchanged words in the privacy of their palace home, The Family Romanov assures us, and Alexandra reminded her husband that whatever troubles beset Russia, they would confront them together. "Darling boysy...me loves you, oh so very tenderly...you must always tell me everything, you can fully trust me, look upon me as a bit of yourself...How I love you, darling treasure, my very own one." The empress threw herself headfirst into her relationship with Russia's czar, committed to supporting him as the leader of one of the world's largest and most formidable powers. Nicholas would need every bit of strength Alexandra could give him for the unprecedented challenges ahead.
"I dreamed that I was loved. I woke and found it true."
—Alix, The Family Romanov, P. 27
As the imperial couple maintained a lifestyle of extravagance subsidized by Russia's massive monetary reserve, attending dazzling soirees on a regular basis and moving from one cavernous palace to another as the seasons changed, the lower classes were becoming discontent with the status quo. Millions of peasants rotted in the streets, working physically torturous and often deadly jobs that paid too little to keep a single person in bread, let alone a family. Children had to work a job if they wanted to eat, forgoing education to help their families survive another week. The middle class didn't fare much better, but peasants endured the worst hardship, and their meager income was leached to funnel money toward the palace treasury for upkeep of the Romanov family. The downtrodden in Russia had been in dire straits for years, but under Nicholas the crisis reached its flash point, when the huddled masses would not silently endure their suffering any longer. Alexander III had been a strict czar, though fair enough in the minds of his commoners, and they turned to his successor with the hope that an earnest petition to Nicholas to help them improve their quality of life would be graciously received by a ruler with his people's interests at heart. Would Nicholas hear the peasants and ease their affliction?
Grassroots social movement among the poor had been on the rise for more than a generation, and it started with self-education. At a time when the vast majority of Russian laborers were illiterate, peasants began picking up books and teaching themselves to read, though literature was as carefully censored by the government as newspapers, to eliminate potentially subversive material. Now the common man who worked an eighteen-hour day took time to read before going to sleep, and the literacy trend gained momentum as people learned to read and consider the opinions of social reformers. In the words of a weaver named Feodor Samilov, "Books taught me how to think." How crucial was it for the underprivileged classes to teach themselves to think independently after generations of them had lived and died in extreme poverty, every rung low enough for them to reach on the social ladder rotted to splinters? Literacy provided common points of informed discourse, and a view toward mobilizing themselves to request the lifestyle upgrades they deserved. The poorest of the poor could gather and intelligently discuss the treatment they expected from the czar. After compiling a list of reasoned demands, thousands of them marched on imperial headquarters to present Nicholas with their petition for change.
This relatively docile revolution didn't turn out well. Seeing peasants approach the Winter Palace in a sea of dirty faces and tattered clothing, imperial soldiers fired on them in a slaughter that came to be known as "Bloody Sunday", Nicholas being dubbed the "Bloody Czar". The people were confident their czar would have compassion on them, that Nicholas was just so far removed from the cares of the real world that he had no idea what the peasants endured and would leap into action if they let him know, but this incident destroyed the people's trust in him, perhaps irreparably. As serious social upheaval set into motion by insurrectionists such as Vladimir Lenin began, however, the imperial family had problems of its own. The birth of their first child, Olga, was cause for celebration, though slightly dampened by the fact that as a female she was ineligible to succeed Nicholas as heir to the throne. Next came Tatiana, and her birth was more troubling still for a nation and family eager to welcome the next tsarevich into the world. When Alexandra's third pregnancy resulted in another daughter, Marie, Russia was nearly inconsolable. The empress wasn't a young girl anymore, and carrying babies to term was a hardship. A fourth child, Anastasia, was born, and dark clouds of uncertainty shrouded the Russian sun. How much more of this could they take? The long, painful wait made the arrival of Nicholas and Alexandra's fifth child, a son named Alexei, all the sweeter. Russia had its heir to the Romanov throne. If only it were that simple.
Their request for an audience with the czar denied, the peasants' cry for social change grew more fervent, burgeoning into a rebellion that threatened to topple Russian autocracy. Nicholas had no choice but to capitulate to the demands of the furious working class, yielding key functions of the government to a cross-section legislature of citizens from every class of Russians. Imperial power was limited for the first time since its inception, but Nicholas's sadness over this development was tempered by other crises he faced. Alexei was not the healthy boy his parents hoped he would be. The littlest Romanov was born with hemophilia, a genetic disease on Alexandra's side of the family that almost cost the tsarevich his life a number of times. Any undetected internal bleeding was life-threatening, and all the doctors at the Romanovs' disposal could not cure the heir apparent. Many a night Alexei writhed in bed, a sheen of sweat on his fevered brow as he cried out in agony, his parents helpless to soothe the child's suffering. No one outside the family's inner circle knew about Alexei's ailment, for his hemophilia was a closely guarded secret. At about this time Gregory Rasputin entered the scene, and he would do more to advance the plot of the Romanov story than any other individual outside the family. At Alexandra's desperate plea, the supposed holy man attended to Alexei when the tsarevich appeared to be on the verge of death, and miraculously, Alexei recovered from his worst episode of hemophilia yet. Though Rasputin, reportedly a lecherous man who kept unsavory company and routinely drank himself into a stupor, occasionally fell out of favor with the Romanovs, his influence never disappeared, for several times he came when bidden and seemed to work his hypnotic magic on Alexei, snatching the boy back from the cold clutches of death. When Nicholas reluctantly entered World War I with a declaration of war on Austria-Hungary and Germany, Rasputin's clout with the czar extended even to selecting who would head Russia's various war departments, decisions based on who Rasputin liked and who had offended the "mad monk".
Regardless of Rasputin's poor advice, World War I was not going as planned for Russia. Inadequate material support for the military caused their offensive to stall, then be forced into retreat as the enemy pushed them back beyond their own borders, seizing large sections of formerly Russian territory. As millions of peasant soldiers died on the combat front because the czar would not properly equip his army, Russia lost most of Poland, and further losses seemed certain. What started out as a reciprocal defense of Serbia had turned into disaster for Russia, and its people, manipulated by Vladimir Lenin in his desire to implement communism, were out of patience. While Nicholas stewed over the war in a faraway palace, revolution came to Russia, and panicked messages forwarded to the czar had little success making him understand the gravity of the situation. Imperial sovereignty would crumble if he didn't act immediately to appease the public, centuries of Romanov rule vanishing like a burned-out meteor in the still, sacred night. Yet Nicholas continued to dismiss entreaties that he appoint a provisional government without delay, and his opportunity to keep the Romanov dynasty intact came and went. Could imperial succession have been preserved had Nicholas paid attention at this point to how upset his people were? It's doubtful, considering the frenzy they were in over the World War I debacle, but we'll never know for sure. Nicholas had been dethroned without even the dignity of voluntarily resigning, and the people would accept no replacement czar. Imperial Russia was no more.
Interim politicians had their hands full designing a government to satisfy the people who wanted democracy as well as those who insisted on full-blown communism, but the deposed Romanovs were not forgotten. They remained a symbol of imperial excess, anathema to the Bolshevik revolutionaries, and could be a danger to the revised political structure if public opinion ever swayed back toward sovereign rule. The royal family was shipped from one secret location to another across Russia, both to keep them safe from Bolsheviks wanting to make an example of them and to prevent their supporters from setting them free, but Lenin's men made it clear what they wanted: the Romanovs had to be executed, even the children. No trace of Russian autocracy could be permitted to survive. And so a game of death ensued, a race between the White Army fighting its way across Russia to rescue the Romanovs, and Lenin's bureaucrats, pleading with their dictator to let them end the Romanovs' lives while they had the chance. What happened next was a mystery that took nearly a hundred years to solve as people around the world wondered: what exactly happened to Russia's last imperial family?
Candace Fleming does what only true masters of nonfiction are able to: fleshes out people in history so skillfully that it feels as though they are fictional characters of ingenious design, almost too intriguing to believe were real. Yet the Romanovs were a historical family just as presented in these pages, and Candace Fleming merely uses quotes and other documentation about them to create a portrait of these captivating, tragically flawed people who still capture our imagination and evoke strong emotional response in us. Nicholas had tyrannical leanings, and could be shockingly callous and brutal in dealing with his own people. Some would conclude he was nothing more than a monster in hand-stitched finery, but that's the kind of one-dimensional thinking Candace Fleming refuses to settle for in this book. We get to know human beings better when we recognize life as a rainbow of subtle shades and hues, not just black and white. Ms. Fleming's unbiased treatment of characters extends to the Romanovs, Rasputin, and beyond, for a comprehensive and trustworthy record of a complex period in world history.
"You are filled with anguish
For the suffering of others.
And no one's grief
Has ever passed you by.
You are relentless
Only to yourself,
Forever cold and pitiless.
But if only you could look upon
Your own sadness from a distance,
Just once with a loving soul—
Oh, how you would pity yourself.
How sadly you would weep."
—Grand Duchess Olga Nikolaevna Romanova, poem dedicated to her mother, April 23, 1917, quoted on page 179 of The Family Romanov
There's so much history to cover that it would be easy to fall into the trap of emphasizing either the plight of the Russian poor or the concerns of the Romanovs, but Candace Fleming somehow affords the two equal time. She sympathetically portrays the hopelessness of peasants before the revolution, especially the heavy hearts of parents who watched their kids perish from malnutrition and preventable disease. Said one working mother: "I had eleven [children], but only three grew up. You'd go to the factory, but your soul always was in torment. Your heart always grieved for your children." And their suffering could have been relieved had the czar commanded it. How could parents not harbor burning resentment for their imperial overseer under those conditions? Russian author Olga Petrovna Semyonova observed the effect this trauma had on peasant mothers. "She soon discovered that because more than half of all peasant children died, their mothers were emotionally distant. They were afraid to love their children." That emotional safeguard used by Russian mothers bled so deeply into the culture that it was passed down from one generation to the next, long after infant mortality rates were not so abysmal. It saturated the Russian way of life and became a stereotypical affect of mothers from that area of the world for a long time. But even the Romanovs with their extravagant riches and state-of-the-art healthcare were not immune to the grim reaper's scythe cutting down their little ones, as Nicholas and Alexandra discovered with Alexei. The reader's heart hurts for them as they prepared for the passing of the son they adored. "When I am dead it will not hurt anymore, will it, Mama?" Alexei asked when a severe bout of hemophilia appeared destined to end his life. The tsarevich's words brought his mother to tears, and I suspect did the same for many of us. The children's French teacher, Pierre Gilliard, insisted that although Alexei could be a haughty, exasperating troublemaker who caused his academic instructors stress to no end, he was "sensitive to the suffering in others because he suffered so much himself". Olga found Alexei lying in the grass one day staring into the sky, and asked her brother what he was doing. "I like to think and wonder," he told her. About what? "Oh, so many things...I enjoy the sun and the beauty of summer as long as I can. Who knows if one of these days I shall be prevented from doing it." Each day of life is an uncertain gift for us all, but that truth was easier to grasp for Alexei because death had held him in its suffocating embrace so many times, only to unexpectedly turn him loose at the eleventh hour. The tsarevich was keenly aware he could not elude mortality forever. He wanted only to enjoy the life he had been born into for as long as he could before that day came when the sun would warm his face no longer.
We love stories about royalty, but the saga of the final Romanov generation holds unique fascination. Nicholas and his family lived at a time in history when the past was turning into a more technological future, with human and political intrigue as intense as ever on the world stage and hundreds of millions of smaller stages globally. Autocracy, monarchy, and classical imperialism were petering out and rule of the people was replacing them, though that was far from the end of the drama, especially in Russia. The end of Romanov preeminence was a jumping-off point for that massive societal change, and the lessons we can learn from Russia's first family are timeless. I would give The Family Romanov three and a half stars, and I could not have been nearer to rounding up to four. Nonfiction abounds about the Romanovs, but I don't imagine any other offering can be much more deeply felt than this book. Браво, Ms. Fleming, and thank you for refreshing my passion for this story.