Post #16: domestic Affairs
June 1895, St Petersburg
Married life was… not what she expected. She knew, of course, that her marriage must be political. Her homeland was small and its independence, wedged between Polgot Austria, the declining but still mighty Ottoman empire, imperialistic Italy and ambitious Serbia precacious.
But she had still dreamed of romance. And, having belatedly given up on those girlish dreams, at least hoped for friendship.
George seemed at first to be all she could hope for. Handsome and intelligent, experienced in the ways of the world in a way she had not been permitted to be, and not at all shy. And of course, Sole autocrat of the largest land empire on the Planet, and the head of the Orthodox Church. A vanity, perhaps, but the thought of besting her elder sisters was a temptation. And of course George was no stranger and his capital a home far more familiar to her than her native hills.
His courtship was, in retrospect, wildly inappropriate and not only due to it's proximity to Alexander III's funeral. Nikola, her father, was clearly willing to overlook propriety in order to secure the marriage and had approved, following a few chaperoned events, George's invitation for an unchaperoned barge ride on the Oka.
It was the first time she had ever been kissed.
Carried away by the moment she had permitted him to take greater liberities than she had imagined he might, and did not insist he desist overmuch when his hands suffused unfamiliar sensations through her body (1). When he did withdraw, leaving her flustered and red faced she accepted his protestations of being overwhelmed by her beauty. The next day she breathlessly assented to his proposal.
Decency required she return to Montenegro for a interval before they wed and she pined away every day waiting for their reunion. She wrote to him every day long, sometimes tear stained letters. In retrospect his own responses seemed, though well written, to be dutiful, rote and almost perfunctory.
But of course, he was Tsar. He had an empire to govern. And it would be different, of course, when they lived together.
Their wedding day, when it finally occurred, was the most joyous day of her life. And the wedding night… she had been fearful of being unable to please him, and of the pain of course, but he skillfully calmed her fears. The pain was less than she expected, and far less than her pleasure both physical and at the validation of her womanhood. And if she grew to desire him, and the sexual act more than her upbringing said she must then what of it? Her mother and her priest was far away and she was in St.Petersburg, the Paris of the east.
And then, after their brief honeymoon cruise to Denmark and England he disappeared.
There were railways to build, reforms to oversee, armies to inspect. Aside from dinner and the long, torturously pleasant nights that followed she saw little of her husband. It did not bother her too much at first. Her sisters, and his own family were gracious and St Petersburg and it’s social and artistic events a marvel.
But he never seemed to want to talk with her overmuch, telling her little of his day, and showing only perfunctory interest in her own. Much as she sought to share her feelings, experiences and thoughts with him he never shared his own conflicts and insecurities with her. She knew there was more to his soul than he revealed to her. While they still slept together she would be awakened occasionally by his nightmares (2).
But he would not speak to her of them. And she realized, after a time, that he did not share with her his true concerns and dilemmas in the business of the state either. Not, at lease, as her father had done with her mother. Was it because he thought this was not a proper topic for women, let alone his own wife? Did he simply not value her mind, not view her as his equal? Or did he find her curiosity, her intelligence, her convictions offensive, even frightening?
She hungered for meaning, for purpose in her life beyond the façade of Ballet and the theater, beyond the social games and flirtation with the occult her sisters practiced. When she found she was with child she thought, for a time, that this purpose had been found.
Her pregnancy had lifted her from the growing malaise she felt. Though they no longer shared a bedroom, out of concern for the development of the child, she felt a purpose in her life that her prior patronage of art and charity could not match.
She felt, too, that Geroge now paid her greater attention and spent far more time in her company. She even felt that their conversations were growing less superficial, more significant.
And then she miscarried the child.
When was it, in the depression that followed, that she realized her husband was having an affair? Was it an innocent question asked by Olga about "the lady"? Was it an incongruity in the schedule he absentmindedly described to her with what she read in the papers?
Whoever she was, she did not wish to know. She knew, at least what she no doubt was. Petite and curvaceous rather than tall and gangly. Striking rather than plain. Chatty and alluring rather than shy and withdrawn. Sexually shameless, even aggressive, rather than passive. Probably older than him, and experienced rather than Naïve. Flighty where she was serious and focused. She was everything she could never be and she had no ability or desire to compete with.
But nor did she intend to wane away or waste her days pining for what could never be. She was Tsarina, wherever her Tsar spent his nights, and she would make the most of it.
"Have you heard from your father recently?"
The question startled her. Since the war had started George had taken to sifting over reports during breakfast, and often the entire meal would pass with little discourse. It was a blessing they often shared their meals with his family else she long since would have been driven mad by the solitude.
Today, however, they dined alone.
"I have. It seems Anna will soon be betrothed"
His head rises fully from the report.
"To Victorio Emanuel? I had thought there were… difficulties (3)?"
"There were. His family has consented to Anna keeping her faith provided their children are raised in accordance with the Catholic faith. Is this significant to the course of the war?"
"It's not a war yet. Haven't you heard? The British are still calling it a "Humanitarian intervention". Our men are dying in the mountains of the caucaus while their Indian mercenaries are marching up the blains of Babylon with no Ottoman interference."
He recollects his thoughts.
"Yes, this Italian concession is significant. It may mean that Italy is preparing to actualize their claims on Tripoli and wishes to guarantee Ottoman non-interference by the threat of an alliance with Montenegro and the other Balkan states."
"Could you not do the same? The Ottomans may be prepared to tolerate French and British boots on their soil, but they would surely be forced to draw troops to deal with the threat of war by Montenegro and the other Balkan states."
"They might- but that would involve Austria and Germany. I will not accept the same humiliation my Grandfather did. If this affair shall be settled by a second Berlin conference then our soldiers must make more progress and ensure there are no Turks in the lands we hold when the conference begins."
"Do the generals have hope for a breakthrough?"
"Kuropatkin, at least, is honest. He says he cannot hope to advance into the upper Euphrates before August. It will take him that long to marshal enough supplies and shells, and extend the railway sufficiently westward, to break through the Ottoman lines west of Erzurum. It would go much better, of course, if Alekseyev would cease delaying the Trebizon landings"
The place names were almost totally unfamiliar to Elena prior to the war. Now, like every literate Russian, she has eagerly pored over maps showing the advance of the double eagle into the lands of the crescent. That is unimportant now, however. What is important is that she has her opening.
"There have been reports of terrible suffering in the field hospitals at the front. A terrible lack in doctors and nurses"
George frowns.
"Indeed. We will need to undertake a general military reform after the war to correct errors uncovered during it. The hospitals are the least of it. Shell shortages, insufficient NCOs, outdated doctrines… It is as bad as the great Bulgarian war. But it is better that we learn our faults fighting against the Turk than against a Great Power".
"I have thought of going to Armenia."
George gapes like a fish.
"You? Whatever for?"
"To look after the wounded. And the displaced. Do you remember the refugee camps in Yerevan? Surely there are many more Christians fleeing the atrocities of the Turk. And they too need succor".
"But you have no experience in medicine!"
She meets his eyes head on and draws her chin up.
"I have cared for the wounded of the Great Turkish war when I was still a small girl. I too have seen the angel of death face to face. So too, have my sisters. What we are lacking in formal knowledge we can learn."
Is that a glimmer of respect in his eyes? Or is he simply calculating how much more time he would have for his amorous pursuits if she and her sisters were on the other side of the Empire?
"Besides" she continues in a firm voice "I am Tsarina am I not? The people expect that I should do my part in this war, limited as I am by my Sex. It will comfort them if they know I witness, even if I cannot share, the travails of their sons".
"While I remain at home knitting and looking after the affairs of the state?" he teases her, a hint of the old sparkle in his voice.
She carefully smears her bread with Jam and takes a bite, perhaps fuller than a lady should.
"Are you jealous?"
Nicholas smiles as he remembers the mountains of the Caucasus.
"Perhaps. We will discuss this… tonight."
A victory then. And not a small one. Now she only needs to convince her sisters.
(1) Victorian era. We're talking pretty elementary gropings here, but the erotic impact is that much higher for being forbidden and taboo. The modern world really lost something when nudity stopped being much of a muchness.
(2) PTSD. It's a bitch when left undiagnosed, let alone when it's unrecognized as an actual treatable condition.
(3) Religious differences.
