The Witches of St. Petersburg

‘Two?’ she asked, sounding puzzled. She looked at the cards and then looked across at the Count. ‘Well, look after them,’ she bluffed, hurriedly clearing the cards away. ‘Both of them…’

‘And this is Grand Duchess Militza Nikolayevna,’ interrupted the Countess Ignatiev. ‘I am sorry, Count.’ She smiled at Yusupov.

‘I was just leaving,’ he replied, getting to his feet hurriedly.

‘Here’s the someone I am dying for you to meet,’ continued the Countess, bubbling with excitement.

Militza turned and caught her breath. Before her stood a young, heavily bearded priest, swathed from head to foot in a long black hooded cape. Under the cape, his floor-length black robes were emblazoned with a large golden Orthodox cross. His hooded black silhouette was an arresting sight amongst the gold and raspberry velvet of the salon. He looked like the grim reaper himself. Militza stood up.

‘This is Father Egorov,’ announced Sophia. ‘He has come all the way from the Optina Pustyn Monastery to be with us.’

‘Optina Pustyn,’ repeated Militza; its highly devout and austere reputation was well known.

‘Where Dostoyevsky went before writing The Brothers Karamazov.’ Sophia smiled encouragingly.

‘I know it,’ replied Militza, staring intently at the monk, waiting for him to speak, trying to work out what his intentions were.

‘My friend, Prince Obolensky, has an estate not far from the monastery, near Kozelsk. Dreadful place,’ continued Sophia, taking a swing from her glass of champagne. ‘Nothing to do but hunt in the miserable forest. But he heard this amazing story about a holy fool called Mitya Koliaba who makes prophecies. Only recently he predicted that a local countess would have a baby. And Father Egorov is the only person who understands Mitya and his predictions.’ She smiled. ‘Mitya is a mute epileptic.’

‘What baby did the barren woman have?’ asked Militza, wondering why the Fates had brought this man before her.

‘A son.’

‘And you can understand the epileptic?’

‘I prayed before the Icon of St Nicholas and the voice of the saint came to me and revealed to me the secret of Mitya’s sounds,’ Father Egorov mumbled into his lengthy beard.

‘You understand every word?’ she asked. The monk bowed again. ‘And his prophecies are reliable?’

‘As God is my witness,’ he replied.

8 January 1900, Znamenka, Peterhof

It was only a few weeks later and Militza, Stana and Alix were sitting in silence, drinking tea in the Red Salon at Znamenka, their eyes trained on the door. Such was the anticipation of Mitya and Father Egorov’s imminent arrival that none of them could concentrate on their embroidery.

Six months had gone by since the birth of baby Maria and the court was growing restless. The Season was in full swing, the gilded and the well-connected had all left their country estates or Moscow palaces and descended upon St Petersburg for the annual three-month merry-go-round of feasting, dancing – and most importantly of all, gossiping. Two of Alix’s ladies-in-waiting had recently announced their own confinements and the pressure on the Tsarina was growing.

‘Have you seen the Yusupovs recently?’ asked Militza, to break the monotony of the crackling fire.

‘No.’ Alix shook her head. ‘The only people I see are you. Everyone else has abandoned me!’ She laughed wryly. ‘They exhaust me with their questions and their looks. I don’t know how anyone lasts more than a few hours at these wretched balls.’

‘I agree,’ Militza sympathized.

‘And then I am afraid I have to go. Nicky often stays on well after me. He says that it keeps him in touch, that he can discuss politics and that sort of thing. How else, he says, is he to know what is going on in and outside the court.’

‘Well, that is important,’ added Militza.

‘I don’t see why. Nicky rules by divine right and his people love him. You can see it on their faces when we ride by. One smile from him, one glance in their direction and their souls are full, their life is complete. It is better than a basket of bread.’ She sighed. ‘And besides, the Yusupovs spend much of their time at Arkhangelskoye, these days; Zinaida is far more interested in my sister and the Dowager Empress. She, Elizabeth and Minny spend hours taking carriage rides and endlessly discussing Elizabeth’s new Orthodox faith.’ She smiled. ‘I have enough worries of my own without listening to lengthy tales of my sister’s Damascene conversion from the Lutheran church.’

‘How is the Tsar getting on with his herbs?’ enquired Stana.

‘Nicky is smoking hashish every night,’ confirmed Alix. ‘And not only does he sleep so much better than before, but his stomach cramps have completely disappeared.’

‘That is good news,’ said Stana, taking another sip of her tea.

‘At least Dr Badmaev’s cures works for someone,’ sighed Alix. ‘I have been taking them every night and nothing…’

‘Give yourself some time,’ suggested Stana.