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قديم 29-04-11, 03:45 PM   #1

Dalyia

إدارية ومشرفة سابقة وكاتبة بمكتبة روايتي وعضوة بفريق التصميم والترجمة و الافلام والسينما ومعطاء التسالي ونجمة الحصريات الفنية ومميز بالقسم الطبى

 
الصورة الرمزية Dalyia

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Chirolp Krackr Zoya - Danielle Steel


Zoya - Danielle Steel



Product Description:
Against the backdrop of the Russian Revolution and World War I Europe, Zoya, young cousin to the Tsar, flees St. Petersburg to Paris to find safety. Her entire world forever changed, she faces hard times and joins the Ballet Russe in Paris. And then, when life is kind to her, Zoya moves on to a new and glittering life in New York. The days of ease are all too brief as the Depression strikes, and she loses everything yet again. It is her career, and the man she meets in the course of it, which ultimately save her, as she rebuilds her life through the war years and beyond. And it is her family that comes to mean everything to her. From the roaring twenties to the 1980's, Zoya remains a rare and spirited woman whose legacy will live on.

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التعديل الأخير تم بواسطة silvertulip21 ; 20-05-13 الساعة 09:22 PM
Dalyia غير متواجد حالياً  
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أنْت يـَـــا اللَّـه 【 تَكْفِينِي 】ツ

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قديم 29-04-11, 03:46 PM   #2

Dalyia

إدارية ومشرفة سابقة وكاتبة بمكتبة روايتي وعضوة بفريق التصميم والترجمة و الافلام والسينما ومعطاء التسالي ونجمة الحصريات الفنية ومميز بالقسم الطبى

 
الصورة الرمزية Dalyia

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Chirolp Krackr

CHAPTER
1




Zoya closed her eyes again as the troika flew across the icy ground, the soft mist of snow leaving tiny damp kisses on her cheeks, and turning her eyelashes to lace as she listened to the horses’ bells dancing in her ears like music. They were the sounds she had loved since childhood. At seventeen, she felt grown up, was in fact almost a woman, yet she still felt like a little girl as Feodor forced the shining black horses on with his whip … faster … faster … through the snow. And as she opened her eyes again, she could see the village just outside Tsarskoe Selo. She smiled to herself as she squinted to see the twin palaces just beyond it, and pulled back one heavy fur-lined glove to see how much time it had taken. She had promised her mother she would be home in time for dinner … and she would be … if they didn't spend too much time talking … but how could they not? Marie was her very dearest friend, almost like a sister.
Ancient Feodor glanced around and smiled at her, as she laughed with excitement. It had been a perfect day. She always enjoyed her ballet class, and even now, her ballet slippers were tucked into the seat beside her. Dancing was a special treat, it had been her passion since early childhood, and sometimes she had secretly whispered to Marie that what she wanted most was to run away to the Maryinsky, to live there, and train day and night with the other dancers. The very thought of it made her smile now. It was a dream she couldn't even say out loud, people in her world did not become professional dancers. But she had the gift, she had known it since she was five, and at least her lessons with Madame Nastova gave her the pleasure of studying what she loved best. She worked hard during the hours she spent there, always imagining that one day Fokine, the great dance master, would find her. But her thoughts turned swiftly from ballet to her childhood friend, as the troika sped through the village toward her cousin Marie. Zoya's father, Konstantin, and the Tsar were distant cousins, and like Marie's, her own mother was also German. They had everything in common, their passions, their secrets, their dreams, their world. They had shared the same terrors and delights when they were children, and she had to see her now, even though she had promised her mother that she wouldn't. It was stupid really, why shouldn't she see her? She wouldn't visit the others in their sickroom, and Marie was perfectly fine. She had sent Zoya a note only the day before, telling her how desperately bored she was with the others sick around her. And it wasn't anything serious after all, only measles.
The peasants hurried from the road as the troika sped past, and Feodor shouted at the three black horses that drew them. He had worked for her grandfather as a boy, and his father had worked for their family before him. Only for her would he have risked her father's ire and her mother's silent» elegant displeasure, but Zoya had promised him no one would know, and he had taken her there a thousand times before. She visited her cousins almost daily, what harm could there be in it now, even if the tiny, frail Tsarevich and his older sisters had the measles. Alexis was only a boy, and not a healthy lad, as they all knew. Mademoiselle Zoya was young and healthy and strong, and so very, very lovely. She had been the prettiest child Feodor had ever seen, and Ludmilla, his wife, had taken care of her when she was a baby. His wife had died the year before of typhoid, a terrible loss for him, particularly as they had no children. His only family was the one that he worked for.
The Cossack Guard stopped them at the gate and Feodor sharply reined in the steaming horses. The snow was heavier now and two mounted guards approached in tall fur hats and green uniforms, looking menacing until they saw who it was. Zoya was a familiar figure at Tsarskoe Selo. They saluted smartly as Feodor urged the horses on again, and they rode quickly past the Fedorovsky chapel and on to the Alexander Palace. Of their many imperial homes it was the one the Empress preferred. They seldom used the Winter Palace in St. Petersburg at all, except for balls or state occasions. In May each year they moved to their villa on the Peterhof estate, and after summers spent on their yacht, the Polar Star, and at Spala in Poland, they always went to the Livadia Palace in September. Zoya was often with them there until she returned to school at the Smolny Institute. But the Alexander Palace was her favorite as well. She was in love with the Empress's famous mauve boudoir and had asked that her own room at home be done in the same muted opal shades as Aunt Alix's. It amused her mother that Zoya wanted it that way, and the year before she had decided to indulge her. Marie teased her about it whenever she was there, saying that the room reminded her far too much of her mother.
Feodor climbed from his seat while two young boys held the prancing horses, and the snow whirled past his head as he carefully held out a hand to Zoya. Her heavy fur coat was encrusted with snow and her cheeks were red from the cold and the two-hour drive from St. Petersburg. She would have just enough time for tea with her friend, she thought to herself, then disappeared into the awesome entranceway of the Alexander Palace, and Feodor hurried back to his horses. He had friends in the stables there and always enjoyed bringing them news from town, whenever he spent time with them, waiting for his mistress.
Two maids took her coat while Zoya slowly pulled the large sable hat from her head, releasing a mane of fiery hair that often made people stop and stare when she wore it loose, which she did often at Livadia in the summer. The Tsarevich Alexis loved to tease her about her shining red hair, and he would stroke it gently in his delicate hands, whenever she hugged him. To Alexis, Zoya was almost like one of his sisters. Born two weeks before Marie, she was of the same age, and they had similar dispositions, and both of them babied him constantly, as did the rest of his sisters. To them, and his mother, and the close family, he was almost always referred to as “Baby.” Even now that he was twelve, they still thought of him that way, and Zoya inquired about him with a serious face as the elder of the two maids shook her head.
“Poor little thing, he is covered with spots and has a terrible cough. Mr. Cilliard has been sitting with him all day today. Her Highness has been busy with the girls.” Olga, Tatiana, and Anastasia had caught the measles from him and it was a virtual epidemic, which was why Zoya's mother had wanted her to stay away. But Marie had showed no sign whatsoever of the illness, and her note to Zoya the day before had begged her to come. … Come to see me, my darling Zoya, if your mother will only let you, …
Zoya's green eyes danced as she shook out her hair, and straightened her heavy wool dress. She had changed out of her school uniform after her ballet lesson, and she walked swiftly down the endless hall to the familiar door that would lead her upstairs to Marie and Anastasia's spartan bedroom. On her way, she walked silently past the room where the Tsar's aide-de-camp, Prince Meshchersky, always sat working. But he didn't notice her as, even in her heavy boots, she walked soundlessly up the stairs, and a moment later, she knocked on the bedroom door, and heard the familiar voice.
“Yes?”
With one slender, graceful hand, she turned the knob, and a sheaf of red hair seemed to precede her as she poked her head in, and saw her cousin and friend standing quietly by the window. Marie's huge blue eyes lit up instantly and she rushed across the room to greet her, as Zoya darted in and threw her arms wide to embrace her. “I've come to save you, Mashka, my love!” “Thank God! I thought I would die of boredom. Everyone here is sick. Even poor Anna came down with the measles yesterday. She's staying in the rooms adjoining my mother's apartment, and Mama insists on taking care of everyone herself. She's done nothing but carry soup and tea to them all day, and when they're asleep she goes next door to take care of the men. It seems like two hospitals here now instead of one….” She pretended to pull her soft brown hair as Zoya laughed. The Catherine Palace next door had been turned into a hospital at the beginning of the war, and the Empress worked there tirelessly in her Red Cross uniform and she expected her daughters to do the same, but of all of them, Marie was the least fond of those duties. “I can hardly bear it! I was afraid you wouldn't come. And Mama would be so angry if she knew I had asked you.” The two young women strolled across the room arm in arm and sat down next to the fireplace. The room she normally shared with Anastasia was simple and austere. Like their other sisters, Marie and Anastasia had plain iron beds, crisp white sheets, a small desk, and on the fireplace was a neat row of delicately made Easter eggs. Marie kept them from year to year, made for her by friends, and given to her by her sisters. They were malachite, and wood, and some of them were beautifully carved or encrusted with stones. She cherished them as she did her few small treasures. The children's rooms, as they were still called, showed none of the opulence or luxury of her parents’ rooms, or the rest of the palace. And cast over one of the room's two chairs was an exquisite embroidered shawl that her mother's dear friend, Anna Vyrubova, had made her. She was the same woman Marie had referred to when Zoya came in. And now her friendship had been rewarded with a case of measles. The thought of it made both girls smile, feeling superior to have escaped the illness.


Dalyia غير متواجد حالياً  
التوقيع
أنْت يـَـــا اللَّـه 【 تَكْفِينِي 】ツ

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قديم 29-04-11, 03:46 PM   #3

Dalyia

إدارية ومشرفة سابقة وكاتبة بمكتبة روايتي وعضوة بفريق التصميم والترجمة و الافلام والسينما ومعطاء التسالي ونجمة الحصريات الفنية ومميز بالقسم الطبى

 
الصورة الرمزية Dalyia

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“But you're all right?” Zoya eyed her lovingly, her tiny frame seeming even smaller in the heavy gray wool dress she had worn to keep her warm on the drive from St. Petersburg. She was smaller than Marie, and even more delicate, although Marie was considered the family beauty. She had her father's startling blue eyes, and his charm. And she loved jewels and pretty clothes far more than her sisters. It was a passion she shared with Zoya. They would spend hours talking of the beautiful dresses they'd seen, and trying on Zoya's mother's hats and jewels whenever Marie came to visit.
“I'm fine … except that Mama says I can't go to town with Aunt Olga this Sunday.” It was a ritual she above all adored. Each Sunday their aunt the Grand Duchess Olga Alexandrovna took them all to town, for lunch with their grandmother at the Anitchkov Palace, and visits to one or two of their friends, but with her sisters sick, everything was being curtailed. Zoya's face fell at the news.
“I was afraid of that. And I so wanted to show you my new gown. Grandmama brought it to me from Paris.” Zoya's grandmother, Evgenia Peterovna Ossupov, was an extraordinary woman. She was tiny and elegant and her eyes still danced with emerald fire at eighty-one. And everyone insisted that Zoya looked exactly like her. Zoya's mother was tall and elegant and languid, a beauty with pale blond hair and wistful blue eyes. She was the kind of woman one wanted to protect from the world, and Zoya's father had always done just that. He treated her like a delicate child, unlike his exuberant daughter. “Grand-mama brought me the most exquisite pink satin gown all sewn with tiny pearls. I so wanted you to see it!” Like children, they talked of their gowns as they would of their teddy bears, and Marie clapped her hands in delight.
“I can't wait to see it! By next week everyone should be well. We'll come then. I promise! And in the meantime, I shall make you a painting for that silly mauve room of yours.”
“Don't you dare say rude things about my room! It's almost as elegant as your mother's!” The two girls laughed, and Joy, the children's cocker spaniel bounded into the room and yipped happily around Zoya's feet as she warmed her hands by the fire, and told Marie all about the other girls at the Smolny. Marie loved to hear her tales, secluded as she was, living amongst her brother and sisters, with Pierre Gilliard to tutor them, and Mr. Gibbes to teach them English.
“At least we don't have classes right now. Mr. Gilliard has been too busy, sitting with Baby. And I haven't seen Mr. Gibbes in a week. Papa says he is terrified he'll catch the measles.” The two girls laughed again and Marie began affectionately to braid Zoya's mane of bright red hair. It was a pastime they had shared since they were small children, braiding each other's hair as they chatted and gossiped about St. Petersburg and the people they knew, although things had been quieter since the war. Even Zoya's parents didn't give as many parties as they once had, much to Zoya's chagrin. She loved talking to the men in brightly hued uniforms and looking at the women in elegant gowns and lovely jewelry. It gave her fresh tales to bring to Marie and her sisters, of the flirtations she had observed, who was beautiful, who was not, and who was wearing the most spectacular diamond necklace. It was a world that existed nowhere else, the world of Imperial Russia. And Zoya had always lived happily right at its center, a countess herself like her mother and grandmother before her, distantly related to the Tsar on her father's side, she and her family enjoyed a position of privilege and luxury, related to many of the nobles. Her own home was but a smaller version of the Anitchkov Palace, and her playmates were the people who made history, but to her it all seemed commonplace and normal.
“Joy seems so happy now.” She watched the dog playing at her feet. “How are the puppies?”
Marie smiled a secret smile, and shrugged an elegant shoulder. “Very sweet. Oh, wait….” She dropped the long braid she had made of Zoya's hair, and ran to her desk to get something she had almost forgotten. Zoya assumed instantly that it was a letter from one of their friends, or a photograph of Alexis or her sisters. She always seemed to have treasures to share when they met, but this time she brought out a small flacon and handed it proudly to her friend.
“What's that?”
“Something wonderful … all for you!” She gently kissed Zoya's cheek as Zoya bent her head over the small bottle.
“Oh, Mashka! Is it? … It fe!” She confirmed it with one sniff. It was “Lilas,” Marie's favorite perfume, which Zoya had coveted for months. “Where did you get it?”
“Lili brought it back from Paris for me. I thought you'd like to have it. I still have enough left of the one Mama got me.” Zoya closed her eyes and took a deep breath, looking happy and innocent. Their pleasures were so harmless and so simple … the puppy, the perfume … and in the summer, long walks in the scented fields of Livadia … or games on the royal yacht as they drifted through the fjords. It was such a perfect life, untouched even by the realities of the war, although they talked about it sometimes. It always upset Marie after she had spent a day with the wounded men being tended in the palace next door. It seemed so cruel to her that they should be wounded and maimed … that they should die … but no crueler than the constantly threatening illness of her brother. His hemophilia was often the topic of their more serious and secret conversations. Almost no one except the intimate family knew the exact nature of his illness.
“He is all right, isn't he? I mean … the measles won't …” Zoya's eyes were filled with concern as she set down the prized bottle of perfume and they spoke of Alexis again. But Marie's face was reassuring.
“I don't think the measles will do him any harm. Mama says that Olga is a great deal sicker than he is.” She was four years older than either of them, and a great deal more serious. She was also painfully shy, unlike Zoya or Marie, or her two other sisters. sighed as Marie rang for a cup of tea. “I wish that I could do something wonderful with it.”
Marie laughed. She had heard it before, the dreams of her beloved friend. “Lake what? Be discovered by Diaghilev?”
The two girls laughed, but there was an intense light in Zoya's eyes as she spoke. Everything about Zoya was intense, her eyes, her hair, the way she moved her hands or darted across the room, or threw her arms around her friend. She was tiny but filled with power and life and excitement. Her very name meant life, and it seemed the perfect choice for the girl she had been and the woman she was slowly becoming. “I mean it … and Madame Nastova says I'm very good.” Marie laughed again, and the girls’ eyes met, both of them thinking the same thing … about Mathilde Kschessinska, the ballerina who had been the Tsar's mistress before he married Alexandra … an entirely forbidden subject, to be spoken of only in whispers on dark summer nights and never within earshot of adults. Zoya had said something about it to her mother one day, and the Countess had been outraged and forbidden Zoya to mention it again. It was most emphatically not a suitable subject for young ladies. But her grandmother had been less austere when she'd brought it up again, and said only in amused tones that the woman was a very talented dancer.
“Do you still dream about running away to the Maryinsky?” She hadn't mentioned it in years, but Marie knew her well, well enough to know when she was teasing and when she was not, and how serious she was about her private dreams. She also knew that for Zoya it was an impossible dream. One day she would marry and have children, and be as elegant as her mother, and she would not be living in the famous ballet school. But it was fun to talk about things like that, and dream on a February afternoon as they sipped the hot tea and watched the dog gambol about the room. Life seemed very comfortable just then, in spite of the current imperial epidemic of measles. With Zoya, Marie could forget her problems for a little while, and her responsibilities. She wished that one day, she would be as free as Zoya was. She knew full well that one day her parents would choose for her the man that she was to marry. But they had her two older sisters to think about first … as she stored into the fire, she wondered if she would really love him.
“What were you thinking just then?” Zoya's voice was soft as the fire crackled and the snow fell outside. It was already dark and Zoya had forgotten all about rushing home for dinner. “Mashka? … you looked so serious.” She often did when she wasn't laughing. Her eyes were so intense and so blue and so warm and kind, unlike her mother's.
“I don't know … silly things, I suppose….” She smiled gently at her friend. They were both almost eighteen, and marriage was beginning to come to mind …perhaps after the war … “I was wondering who we'll marry one day.” She was always honest with Zoya.
“I think about that sometimes too. Grandmama says it's almost time to think about it. She thinks Prince Orlov would be a nice man for me….” And then suddenly she laughed and tossed her head, her hair flying free of the loose braid Mashka had made for her. “Do you ever see someone and think it ought to be him?”
“Not very often. Olga and Tatiana should marry first. And Tatiana is so serious, I can't even imagine her wanting to get married.” Of all of them, she was the closest to their mother and Marie could easily imagine her wanting to stay within the bosom of her family forever. “It would be nice to have children though.”
“How many?” Zoya teased.
“Five at least.” It was the size of her own family, and to her it had always seemed perfect.
“I want six,” Zoya said with absolute certainty. “Three boys and three girls.”
“All of them with bright red hair!” Marie laughed as she teased her friend, and leaned across the table to gently touch her cheek. “You are truly my dearest friend.” Their eyes met and Zoya took her hand and kissed it with childlike warmth.
“I always wish you were my very own sister.” She had an older brother instead and he teased her mercilessly, particularly about her bright red hair. His was dark, like their father's, although his eyes were also green. And he had the quiet strength and dignity of their father. He was twenty-three, five and a half years older than his sister.
“How is Nicolai these days?”
“Awful as usual. But Mama is terribly glad he's with the Preobrajensky Guard here and not off at the front somewhere. Crandmama says he stayed here so he wouldn't miss any parties.” They both laughed and the serious moment passed, as the door opened quietly and a tall woman silently entered the room, watching them for a moment before they became aware of her presence. A large gray cat had followed her into the room and also stood watching beside her. It was the Empress Alexandra, fresh from the sickroom where she had been ministering to her three other daughters.
“Good afternoon, girls.” She smiled as Zoya turned, and both girls immediately stood up, and Zoya ran to kiss her. The Tsarina herself had had the measles years before, and she knew there was no danger of infection.
“Auntie! How is everyone?”
She gave Zoya a fond hug and sighed with a tired smile. “Well, they're certainly not well. Poor Anna seems to be the worst of all.” She was speaking of her own dearest friend, Anna Vyrubova. She and Lili Dehn were her closest companions. “And you, little one? Are you well?”
“I am, thank you very much.” She blushed as she often did. It was what she hated most of all about having a redhead's complexion, that and the fact that she was always getting sunburned on the royal yacht, or when they went to Livadia.
“I'm surprised your mother let you visit us today.” She knew how desperately afraid the Countess was of infection. But Zoya's even deeper blush told her what Zoya had done, even without a confession, and the Tsarina laughed and wagged a finger at her. “So! Is that what you've done? And what will you tell her? Where have you been today?”
Zoya laughed guiltily, and then admitted to Marie's mother what she planned to tell her own. “I have been hours and hours at ballet class, working very hard with Madame Nastova.”
“I see. It's shocking for girls your age to tell such lies, but I should have known we couldn't keep you two apart.” And then she turned her attention to her daughter. “Have you given Zoya her gift yet, my love?” The Empress smiled at them both. She was usually restrained, but her fatigue seemed to make her both more vulnerable and warmer.
“Yes!” Zoya spoke up instantly with delight, waving toward the bottle of “Lilas” on the table. “It's my very favorite!” The Tsarina's eyes sought Marie's with a question, and her daughter giggled and left the room swiftly, while Zoya chatted with her mother. “Is Uncle Nicholas well?”
“He is, although I have barely seen him. The poor man came home from the front for a rest, and instead he finds himself here in the midst of a siege of measles.” They both laughed as Marie returned again, carrying something wrapped in a wisp of blanket. There was a strange little peep, almost as though it were a bird, and a moment later, a brown and white face appeared, with long silky ears, and shining onyx eyes. It was one of their own dog's puppies.
“Oh, he's so sweet! I haven't seen any of them in weeks!” Zoya held out a hand and he let out a series of squeaks and licked her fingers.


Dalyia غير متواجد حالياً  
التوقيع
أنْت يـَـــا اللَّـه 【 تَكْفِينِي 】ツ

رد مع اقتباس
قديم 29-04-11, 03:47 PM   #4

Dalyia

إدارية ومشرفة سابقة وكاتبة بمكتبة روايتي وعضوة بفريق التصميم والترجمة و الافلام والسينما ومعطاء التسالي ونجمة الحصريات الفنية ومميز بالقسم الطبى

 
الصورة الرمزية Dalyia

? العضوٌ??? » 130321
?  التسِجيلٌ » Jul 2010
? مشَارَ?اتْي » 49,796
? الًجنِس »
? دولتي » دولتي Egypt
? مزاجي » مزاجي
?  نُقآطِيْ » Dalyia has a reputation beyond reputeDalyia has a reputation beyond reputeDalyia has a reputation beyond reputeDalyia has a reputation beyond reputeDalyia has a reputation beyond reputeDalyia has a reputation beyond reputeDalyia has a reputation beyond reputeDalyia has a reputation beyond reputeDalyia has a reputation beyond reputeDalyia has a reputation beyond reputeDalyia has a reputation beyond repute
¬» مشروبك   pepsi
¬» قناتك mbc4
?? ??? ~
My Mms ~
افتراضي

“It's a she, and her name is Sava,” Marie said proudly, looking at Zoya with excited eyes. “Mama and I want you to have her.” She held the puppy out to her as Zoya stared at her.
“For me? Oh my … what will …” She had been about to say, “What will I tell my mother?” but she didn't want them to take back the gift so she stopped instantly, but the Empress had understood all too clearly.
“Oh, dear … your mother's not fond of dogs, is she, Zoya? I had forgotten. Will she be very cross at me?”
“No! … no … not at all.” She fibbed happily, taking the puppy in her own hands and holding her close, as Sava licked her nose and her cheeks and her eyes, and Zoya tried to duck her head before the little spaniel could gobble at her hair. “Oh, she's so lovely! Is she really mine?”
“You would be doing me a great service, my dear, if you took her.” The Empress smiled and sank down in one of the two chairs with a sigh. She looked extremely tired, and Zoya noticed then that she was wearing her Red Cross uniform. She wondered if she'd worn it to take care of the sick children and her friend, or if she'd worked at the hospital that day as well. She felt strongly about her hospital work, and always insisted that her daughters do it too.
“Mama, would you like some tea?”
“Very much, thank you, Mashka.” Marie rang for the maid, who came quickly, knowing that the Tsarina was there with them, and a cup and fresh pot of tea arrived almost at once. Marie poured, and the two women joined her. “Thank you, darling.” And then she turned to her husband's distant cousin. “So, is your grandmother well these days, Zoya? I haven't seen her in months. I've been so busy here. I never seem to get into St. Petersburg anymore.”
“She's very well, thank you, Aunt Alix.”
“And your parents?”
“Fine. Mother's always worried that Nicolai will be sent to the front. Papa says it makes her terribly nervous.” Everything made Natalya Ossupov nervous, she was terribly frail, and her husband catered to her every whim and turn. The Tsarina had often said to Marie in private that she thought it was unhealthy for him to indulge her so constantly, but at least Zoya had never put on languid airs. She was full of life and fire, and there was nothing of the shrinking violet about her. Alexandra always had an image of Zoya's mother, reclining on a chair, dressed all in white silk, with her pale skin and blond hair, with her incredible pearls, and a look of terror in her eyes, as though life was simply too much for her. At the beginning of the war, she had asked her to help with her Red Cross work, and Natalya had simply said that she couldn't bear it. She was not one of life's sturdier specimens, but the Tsarina refrained from comment now and only nodded.
“You must give her my love when you go home.” And as she said it, Zoya glanced outside and saw how dark it had gotten. She leapt to her feet and looked at her watch in horror.
“Oh! I must go home! Mama will be furious!”
“As well she should!” The Tsarina laughed and wagged a finger at her as she rose to her feet, towering over the young girl. “You mustn't lie to your mother about where you are! And I know she'd be most upset about your being exposed to our measles. Have you had them?”
Zoya laughed. “No, I have not, but I won't catch them now, and if I do …” She shrugged with another burst of laughter as Mashka grinned. It was one of the things Marie loved about her, her courage and sense of devil-may-care. They had gotten into considerable mischief together over the years, but nothing dangerous or truly harmful.
“I shall send you home now. And I must go back to the children, and poor Anna….” She kissed them both and left the room, as Marie swept up the puppy from where she was hiding and wrapped her in the blanket again, and handed her to Zoya.
“Don't forget Sava!”
Their eyes met again and Zoya's were filled with love for her. “Can I really have her?”
“She's yours. She was always meant to be, but I wanted to surprise you. Keep her in your coat on the way home. You'll keep her warm that way.” She was only seven weeks old, born on Russian Christmas. Zoya had been wildly excited when she saw her on Christmas Day for the first time, when their family came to visit the Tsar and his family for dinner. “Your mother will be furious, won't she?” Marie laughed, and Zoya laughed with her.
“Yes, but I'll tell her your mother will be frightfully put out if we send her back. Mama will be too afraid to offend her.”
The girls both laughed as Marie followed her downstairs and helped her on with her coat, as she held the puppy in the blanket in place. She pulled the sable hat back over her red hair, and the two girls embraced.
“Take care of yourself, and don't get sick!”
“I have no intention of it!” She handed her the bottle of perfume as well, and Zoya took it in a gloved hand, as the maid told her that Feodor was ready.
“I'll come back in a day or two … I promise … and thank you!” Zoya gave her a quick hug and hurried back outside to the troika where Feodor was waiting. His cheeks and nose were bright red and she knew he had been drinking with his friends in the stables, but it didn't matter. He would need it to keep warm as they sped home to St. Petersburg. He helped her into her seat and she was relieved to see that it had stopped snowing.
“We must hurry, Feodor … Mama is going to be very cross at me if I'm late.” But she already knew that there was no way she would arrive in time for dinner. They would already be sitting down when she arrived … and the dog! … she laughed out loud to herself, as the whip cracked in the chill night air, and the troika leapt to life behind the three prancing black horses. It was only an instant later when they sped through the gates, and the Cossacks on their horses were a blur behind them, as they sped through the village of Tsarskoe Selo.


Dalyia غير متواجد حالياً  
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أنْت يـَـــا اللَّـه 【 تَكْفِينِي 】ツ

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قديم 29-04-11, 03:48 PM   #5

Dalyia

إدارية ومشرفة سابقة وكاتبة بمكتبة روايتي وعضوة بفريق التصميم والترجمة و الافلام والسينما ومعطاء التسالي ونجمة الحصريات الفنية ومميز بالقسم الطبى

 
الصورة الرمزية Dalyia

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¬» مشروبك   pepsi
¬» قناتك mbc4
?? ??? ~
My Mms ~
Chirolp Krackr

CHAPTER
2






As Feodor raced the troika down the Nevsky Prospekt, Zoya sat clutching the tiny puppy to her, trying to compose herself and desperately inventing excuses to tender her mother. She knew that with Feodor driving her, they would not be afraid for her safety, but her mother would surely be outraged at her coming home so late, and bringing the tiny puppy with her. But the puppy would have to be introduced later. At Fontanka, they turned sharply left, and the horses plunged ahead, knowing full well that they were almost home, and anxious to return to their own stable. But knowing the terrain well, Feodor gave them their head, and within moments, he was handing her down, and in sudden inspiration, she pulled the blanket-wrapped puppy from her coat and thrust her into his hands with an imploring look.
“Please, Feodor … the Empress gave her to me … her name is Sava. Take her to the kitchen and give her to Gallina. I will come downstairs for her later.” Her eyes were those of a terrified child as he laughed out loud at her and shook his head.
“The Countess will have my head for this, mademoiselle! And perhaps yours as well”
“I know … perhaps Papa …” Papa, who always interceded for her, who was always so kind, and so gentle to her mother. He was a wonderful man and his only daughter adored him. “Quickly, Feodor … I must hurry.” It was after seven o'clock, and she still had to change her dress before she could appear in the dining room. He took the puppy from her, and she hurried up the marble steps of their small but very beautiful palace. It seemed to be both Russian and French, and had been built by her grandfather for his bride. Her grandmother lived in a pavilion across the garden now, with a little park of its own, but Zoya had no time to think of her now. She was in a great hurry. She slipped quickly inside, pulled off her hat, and handed her coat to a maid standing nearby, and flew up the main staircase toward her bedroom, but as she did so, she heard a familiar voice boom out behind her.
“Halt! Who goes there?”
“Be quiet!” She turned toward her brother standing at the foot of the stairs with a furious whisper. “What are you doing here?” He was tall and handsome in his uniform and she knew that most of her friends at the Smolny swooned at the sight of him. He wore the insignia of the famed Preobrajensky Guard, but she was not impressed by it now.
“Where's Mama?” But she already knew without asking.
“In the dining room, where would you expect? Where have you been?”
“Out I have to hurry….” She still had to change, and he was delaying her even more. “I'm late.”
He laughed and the green eyes so like her own flashed in amusement. “You'd best go in like that. Mama will be furious if you're any later.”
Zoya hesitated for an instant as she looked down at him. “Did she say anything? … Have you seen her?”
“Not yet. I just arrived. I wanted to see Papa after dinner. Go and change. I'll distract them.” He was fonder of her than she knew, she was the little sister he bragged about to all his friends, all of whom had had an eye on her for years. But he would have killed them if they'd touched her. She was a little beauty, but she didn't know it yet, and she was far too young to dally with his cronies. She would marry a prince one day, or at least someone as important as their father. He was a count and a colonel, and a man who inspired the respect and admiration of all who knew him. “Go on, you little beast,” he called after her. “Hurry!”
She flew on toward her room, and ten minutes later she was downstairs in a navy blue silk dress with a lace collar. It was a dress she detested, but she knew her mother always liked her in it. It was very proper and very young, and she didn't want to upset her even further. It was impossible to appear in the doorway of the dining room without attracting attention, and as she walked sedately into the room looking subdued and chaste, her brother grinned at her mischievously from where he sat between their grandmother and their mother. The Countess was looking unusually pale in a gray satin dress with a beautiful necklace of black pearls and diamonds. Her eyes seemed almost the same color as the dress as she lifted her face slowly and looked unhappily at her only daughter.
“Zoya!” Her voice was never raised, but her displeasure was easy to read as she looked at her. Zoya's eyes met hers honestly, and she hurried to kiss her cool cheek, and then glanced nervously at her father and grandmother.
“I'm terribly sorry, Mama … I was delayed … at ballet class today … had to stop and see a friend … I'm terribly sorry … I'm …”
Her mother's voice was chill as the rest of the family watched. “Just exactly where were you?”
“I … I had to go … I'm …”
Natalya looked her straight in the eye, as Zoya tried to smooth her hair into place. It still looked as though she had combed it in great haste, which of course she had. “I want to know the truth. Did you go to Tsarskoe Selo?”
“I …” It was no use. Her mother was too cool, too beautiful, too frightening, and too much in control. “Yes, Mama,” she said, feeling seven years old again instead of a decade older. “I'm sorry.”
“You're a fool.” Natalya's icy eyes flashed and she glanced unhappily at her husband. “Konstantin, I specifically told her not to. All the children there have the measles, and now she's been exposed to them. That was a wanton act of disobedience.” Zoya glanced nervously at her father, but his eyes were filled with the same dancing emerald fire as her own, and he could barely repress a smile. Just as he loved his wife, he also adored his daughter. And this time Nicolai interceded for her, which was unusual, but she looked so uncomfortable, he felt sorry for her.
“Perhaps they asked her to come, Mama, and Zoya felt awkward refusing.”
But with her other qualities, she was honest, and Zoya faced her mother squarely now as she sat quietly in her seat, waiting for the maids to bring her dinner. “I wanted to go, Mama. It was my fault, not theirs. Marie has been so very lonely.”
“It was very foolish of you, Zoya. We will discuss it again after dinner.”
“Yes, Mama.” She lowered her eyes toward her plate, and the others carried on their conversation without her. it was only a moment later that she looked up and realized her grandmother was there, and a smile lit up her face as she saw her. “Hello, Grandmama. Aunt Alix said to send you her love.”
“Is she well?” It was her father who asked. Her mother sat looking silently beautiful, still obviously displeased with her daughter.
“She is always well when she tends the sick,” her grandmother answered for her. “It's an odd thing about Alix. She seems to suffer every possible malaise, until she is needed by someone sicker, and then she rises to the occasion remarkably.” The elderly Countess looked pointedly at her daughter-in-law, and then smiled proudly at Zoya. “Little Marie must have been happy to see you, Zoya.”
Zoya smiled gratefully. “She was, Grandmama.” And then to reassure her mother, “I never saw the others. They were all closeted somewhere. Even Madame Vyrubova is sick now,” she added, and then regretted it bitterly as her mother glanced up in obvious terror.
“How stupid of you, Zoya … I can't understand why you would go there. Do you wish to catch the measles?”
“No, Mama. I'm truly very sorry.” But there was nothing in her face to make one believe that she was. Only her words were filled with the expected contrition. “I didn't mean to be late. I was going to leave when Aunt Alix came in to have tea with us, and I didn't want to be rude to her….”
“As well you should not. She is, after all, our Empress as well as our cousin,” her grandmother said pointedly. Her own eyes were the same green as Zoya's, and her father's and brother's. Only Natalya's were a pale bluish gray, like a cold winter sky with no hope of summer. Her life had always been too demanding of her, her husband was energetic and robust, he had always loved her enthusiastically and well, and he had wanted more children than she was able to bear. Two had been stillborn, and she had had several miscarriages, and both Zoya and Nicolai had been difficult to bear. She had spent a year in bed for each of them, and now slept in her own apartments. Konstantin loved his friends, and he had also wanted to give innumerable balls and parties, but she found all of it far too exhausting, and used ill health as an excuse for her lack of joie de vivre and her almost overwhelming shyness. It gave her an air of icy disdain, behind which she hid the fact that people terrified her, and she was far happier reclining on a chair near the fire. But his daughter was far more like him, and after Zoya made her debut in the spring, Konstantin was looking forward to the prospect of having her accompany him to parties. They had talked for a long time about abandoning the idea of a ball, and Natalya had insisted that they shouldn't consider it with a war on, but finally Zoya's grandmother had decided the matter for them, and Konstantin was much relieved. There was to be a ball as soon as she graduated from the Smolny Institute in June, perhaps not as grand a ball as they might have given if there were no war going on, but it was still going to be a very lovely party.
“What news of Nicholas?” Konstantin inquired. “Did Marie say anything?”
“Not much. Aunt Alix says he's home from the front, but I think he's going back soon.”
“I know. I saw him last week. He's well, though, isn't he?” Konstantin looked concerned, as his handsome son watched him. He knew then that his father must have heard the same rumors he had heard in the barracks, that Nicholas was exhausted beyond what anyone knew, and that the strain of the war was wearing on him. Some even spoke in hushed whispers about the possibility of a breakdown. With the gentle kindness of the Tsar and his constant concern for everyone, that was almost impossible to imagine. It was difficult to think of him breaking down, or giving up. He was deeply loved by his peers, and most especially by Zoya's father. Like Zoya and Marie, they had been childhood friends, and he was godfather to Nicolai, who had been named after him, and Nicholas's own father had been extremely close to Konstantin's father. Their love for each other went beyond family, they had always been extremely close, and had teased each other about their both marrying German women, although Alix seemed to be a little hardier than Natalya. At least she was capable of rising to the occasion when necessary, as she did with her Red Cross work, and now when her children were sick. Natalya would have been constitutionally unable to do anything like it. The old Countess had been fiercely disappointed when her son had not married a Russian. The fact that a German had been good enough for the Tsar was only small consolation.
“What brings you here tonight, by the way?” Konstantin turned to Nicolai with a warm smile. He was proud of him, and pleased that he was with the Preobrajensky and not at the front, and he made no secret of it. He had no desire to lose his only son. Russian losses had already been great, from the Battle of Tannenberg in the summer of 1914 to the terrible reverses in Galicia's frozen fields, and he wanted Nicolai safely in St. Petersburg. That at least was a great relief to him, and to Natalya.


Dalyia غير متواجد حالياً  
التوقيع
أنْت يـَـــا اللَّـه 【 تَكْفِينِي 】ツ

رد مع اقتباس
قديم 29-04-11, 03:48 PM   #6

Dalyia

إدارية ومشرفة سابقة وكاتبة بمكتبة روايتي وعضوة بفريق التصميم والترجمة و الافلام والسينما ومعطاء التسالي ونجمة الحصريات الفنية ومميز بالقسم الطبى

 
الصورة الرمزية Dalyia

? العضوٌ??? » 130321
?  التسِجيلٌ » Jul 2010
? مشَارَ?اتْي » 49,796
? الًجنِس »
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?  نُقآطِيْ » Dalyia has a reputation beyond reputeDalyia has a reputation beyond reputeDalyia has a reputation beyond reputeDalyia has a reputation beyond reputeDalyia has a reputation beyond reputeDalyia has a reputation beyond reputeDalyia has a reputation beyond reputeDalyia has a reputation beyond reputeDalyia has a reputation beyond reputeDalyia has a reputation beyond reputeDalyia has a reputation beyond repute
¬» مشروبك   pepsi
¬» قناتك mbc4
?? ??? ~
My Mms ~
Chirolp Krackr

“I wanted to chat with you after dinner tonight, Papa.” His voice sounded quiet and strong, as Natalya glanced nervously at him. She hoped he didn't have something unnerving to share, she had heard from a friend recently that her son was involved with a dancer, and she was going to have a great deal to say if he told his father he was getting married. “Nothing important.” His grandmother watched him with wise old eyes, and knew that whatever it was he had to tell his father, he was lying about its importance. He was worried about something, worried enough to drop by and spend an evening with all of them, which was most unlike him. “Actually,” he smiled at the assembled troupe, “I came to make sure that the little monster here was behaving.” He glanced over at Zoya, and she shot him a look of extreme annoyance.
“I've grown up, Nicolai. I don't ‘misbehave’ anymore.” She sniffed primly and finished her dessert, as he laughed openly at her.
“Is that right? Imagine that … it seems like only moments ago when you were flying up the stairs, late for dinner as usual, wearing wet boots on the stairs, with your hair looking as though you'd combed it with a pitchfork….” He was fully prepared to go on and she threw her napkin at him, as her mother looked faint and glanced imploringly at their father.
“Konstantin, please make them stop it! They make me so terribly nervous.”
“It is only a love song, my dear,” the Countess Evgenia said wisely. “That is the only way they know to converse with each other at this point in their lives. My children were always pulling each other's hair, and throwing their shoes at each other. Didn't you, Konstantin?” He gave a crack of laughter as he looked sheepishly at his mother.
“I'm afraid I wasn't very well behaved when I was young either, my dear.” He looked lovingly at his wife, and then happily around the table as he stood up, bowed slightly to all of them, and preceded his son into a small adjoining sitting room, where they could converse in private. Like his wife, he hoped that Nicolai had not appeared to tell them he was getting married.
And as they sat down quietly near the fire, the elegant gold cigarette case Nicolai took from the pocket of his uniform did not go unnoticed. It was one of Carl Fabergo's more typical designs, in pink and yellow gold with a very pretty sapphire thumbpiece. Konstantin was almost certain that the workmaster was either Hollming or Wigstrom.
“A new bauble, Nicolai?” Like his wife, he had also heard the story of Nicolai's allegedly very pretty little dancer.
“A gift from a friend, Papa.”
Konstantin smiled indulgently. “That's more or less what I was afraid of.” Both men laughed and Nicolai furrowed his brow. He was still young but he was wise for his years, and he had a sharp mind in addition to his good looks. He was most emphatically a son to be proud of.
“You have nothing to worry about, Father. In spite of what you hear, I'm only having a little fun, nothing serious, I promise you.”
“Good. Then what brought you here tonight?”
Nicolai looked worried as he stared into the fire, and then into his father's eyes. “Something a great deal more important. I'm hearing unpleasant things about the Tsar, that he's tired, that he's sick, that he shouldn't be in charge of the troops. Father, you must be hearing it too.”
“I am.” He nodded slowly and watched his son. “But I still believe that he will not fail us.”
“I was at a party with Ambassador Paléologue last night. He paints a very gloomy picture. He thinks the shortages of food and fuel are far more serious than we admit to ourselves, the strain of the war is taking its toll. We are supplying six million men at the front, and we're barely able to take care of our own at home. He's afraid that we might crack … that Russia might crack … that Nicholas might crack … and then what, Father? Do you think he's right?”
Konstantin thought about it for a long time, and finally shook his head. “No, I don't. Yes, I think we're feeling the strain of all that, and so is Nicholas. But this is Russia, Nicolai, this is not a tiny, weak country in the middle of nowhere. We are a people of stamina and strength, and no matter how difficult the conditions without or within, we will not crack. Ever.” It was what he believed, and Nicolai found it reassuring.
‘The Duma reconvenes tomorrow. It will be interesting to see what happens then.”
“Nothing will happen, my son. Russia is for always and forever. Surely you must know that” He looked warmly at his son, and the youth felt better again.
“I do. Maybe I just needed to hear it.”
“We all do sometimes. You must be strong for Nicholas, for all of us, for your country. We must all be strong now, and the good times Moll come again. The war can't go on forever.”
“It's an awful thing.” They were both aware of how severe had been their losses. But none of that had to mean an end to what they held dear. Now that he thought of it, Nicolai felt foolish for having been so worried. It was just that the French ambassador had been so convincing with his predictions of doom. He was glad now that he had come to talk to his father. “Is Mother all right?” Nicolai had found her even more nervous than usual, or perhaps it struck him more now because he saw her less often, but Konstantin only smiled.
“She worries about the war too … and about you … and about me … and about Zoya. … She's quite a handful.”
“Lovely, though, isn't she?” He spoke of Zoya with a warmth and admiration he would have denied vehemently had anyone told her. “Half my regiment seems to be in love with her. I spend most of my time threatening to murder them.”
His father laughed, and then shook his head sadly. “It's a shame she has to come out during wartime. Perhaps it'll all be over by June.” It was a hope they both shared, but which Nicolai feared wasn't likely.
“Have you anyone in mind for her?” Nicolai was curious. There were several of his friends he thought might make excellent suitors.
“I can't bear to think of losing her. It's foolish, I suppose. She's too lively to stay with us for very much longer. Your grandmother thinks a great deal of Prince Orlov.”
“He's too old for her.” He was every bit of thirty-five, and Nicolai frowned protectively at the thought. In fact, he wasn't sure if anyone was good enough for his fiery little sister.
Konstantin stood up and smiled at his son as he patted him on the shoulder. “We'd best go back to them now. If we don't, your mother will get worried.” They walked out of the room, with Konstantin's arm around Nicolai's shoulders. And when they joined the ladies in one of the smaller drawing rooms, Zoya was pleading with her mother about something.
“Now what have you done, you little monster?” Nicolai laughed at the look on her face, and he could see that his grandmother had turned her back to hide a smile. Natalya's face was as white as paste, and Zoya's was bright red as she looked angrily at her brother.
“Don't you get involved in this!”
“What is it now, little one?” Konstantin looked amused until he saw the look of reproach on his wife's face. She thought he was entirely too easy on his daughter.
“Apparently,” the younger Countess spoke in outraged tones, “Alix gave her a totally ridiculous gift today, and I absolutely will not let her keep it.”
“Good God, what is it? Her famous pearls? By all means, darling, accept them, you can always wear them later.” Konstantin was in good spirits after his visit with Nicolai, and the two men exchanged a warm glance over the heads of the women.
“This is not amusing, Konstantin, and I expect you to tell her just exactly what I did. She must get rid of it at once.”
“What is it, pest? A trained snake?” Nicolai teased.
“No, it's one of Joy's puppies.” Tears shone brightly in Zoya's eyes and she looked imploringly at her father. “Papa, please … if I promise to take care of it myself, to never let it out of my sight, or my room, and keep it away from Mother … please? …” Tears trembled in her eyes and her father's heart went out to her, as Natalya stormed across the room, her eyes like her diamonds flashing in the lamplight.
“No! Dogs breed diseases! And you all know perfectly well how delicate my health is!” She looked far from delicate just then, as she stood in the center of the room, a vision of exquisite fury. It reminded Konstantin of how taken he had been with her the very first time he laid eyes on her, but he also knew now that Natalya was not an easy woman.
“Perhaps if it lives in the kitchen … perhaps then …” He looked hopefully at his wife, as she strode to the door and pulled it open.
“You always give in to her, Konstantin, don't you?”
“Darling … it can't be a very big dog. Theirs is quite small.”
“And they have two others and a cat, and their child is constantly hovering on the brink of death.” She was referring of course to Alexis's chronic ill-health.
“That has nothing to do with their dogs. Perhaps Grandmama would keep it at her house….” He looked hopefully at his mother and she smiled, secretly enjoying the storm. It was just like Alix to give Zoya a dog, knowing full well how furious it would make her mother. There had always been a secret rivalry between the two women, but Alexandra was, after all, the Tsarina.
“I'd be quite willing to have him,” the elder Countess offered.
“Very well.” Konstantin felt he had found the perfect solution, but the door slammed with a resolute bang, and he knew he would not see his wife again until the next morning.
“And on that happy note,” Nicolai said, smiling around him, and bowing to his grandmother formally, “I shall return to my extremely peaceful barracks.”
“See that you do,” his grandmother said pointedly with an ill-concealed smile, and then chuckled as he kissed her good night. “I hear that you're becoming quite a rake, my dear.”
“Don't believe everything you hear. Good night, Grandmama.” He kissed her on both cheeks, and gently touched his father's shoulder as he bid him good night. “And as for you, you little beast …” He gave the bright red hair a gentle tug as he kissed her, and she looked up at him with the love she felt for him scarcely hidden. “Behave yourself, goose. And try not to come home with any more pets. You're going to drive your mother crazy.”
“Nobody asked you!” she said pointedly, and then kissed him again. “Good-bye, you utterly awful boy.”
“I'm not a boy, I'm a man, not that you would ever know the difference.”
“I would if I saw one.”
He waved at them all from the door with a look of amusement, and then he was gone, more than likely to visit his little dancer.
“What a charming boy he is” Konstantin. He reminds me a great deal of you when you were young,” the elderly Countess said with pride, as her son smiled, and Zoya threw herself into a chair with a look of disgust.
“I think he's perfectly awful.”
“He speaks of you far more kindly, Zoya Konstanti-novna,” her father said gently. He was proud of them and loved them both deeply. He bent to kiss her cheek, and then smiled quietly at his mother. “Are you really going to take the dog, Mama?” he asked the Countess Evgenia. “I'm afraid Natalya will put us all out of the house if I press her any further.” He stifled a sigh. There were times when he would have liked his wife to be a trifle easier to deal with, particularly when his mother was looking on in barely silent judgment. But Evgenia Ossupov had formed her opinions of her daughter-in-law long since, and nothing Natalya did now was likely to change them in any case.


Dalyia غير متواجد حالياً  
التوقيع
أنْت يـَـــا اللَّـه 【 تَكْفِينِي 】ツ

رد مع اقتباس
قديم 29-04-11, 03:49 PM   #7

Dalyia

إدارية ومشرفة سابقة وكاتبة بمكتبة روايتي وعضوة بفريق التصميم والترجمة و الافلام والسينما ومعطاء التسالي ونجمة الحصريات الفنية ومميز بالقسم الطبى

 
الصورة الرمزية Dalyia

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?? ??? ~
My Mms ~
Chirolp Krackr

“Of course. I would like to have a little friend.” She turned to Zoya with a look of amusement. “Which of their dogs sired this one? The Tsarevich's Charles, or Tatiana's little Hrench bulldog?”
“Neither, Grandmama. It's from Marie's cocker spaniel, Joy. She's so sweet, Grandmama. And her name is Sava.” Zoya looked radiant and childlike as she went to sit at her grandmother's knees, and the older woman put a gnarled but loving hand on her shoulders.
“Ask her only not to christen my favorite Aubusson and we shall be fast friends, I promise.” She stroked the fiery red hair that fell across Zoya's shoulders. She had loved the touch of her grandmother's hands since she was a child, and she reached up and kissed her tenderly. “Thank you, Grandmama. I so want to keep him.” “And so you shall, little one … so you shall….” She stood up then and walked slowly toward the fire, feeling tired but at ease, as Zoya disappeared to retrieve the little puppy from the servants. The Countess turned slowly to Konstantin, and it seemed only moments before when he had been Nicolai's age, and much, much younger. The years seemed to fly by so quickly, but they had been kind to her. Her husband had led a full life. He had died three years before at eighty-nine, and she had always felt blessed to have loved him. Konstantin looked like him now, and it reminded her of him in happy ways, particularly when she saw him with Zoya. “She's a lovely child, Konstantin Nicolaevich … a beautiful young girl.” “She's a great deal like you, Mama.” Evgenia shook her head, but he could see in her eyes that she agreed with him. There were times when she saw a great deal of herself in the girl, and she was always glad that Zoya was very little like her mother. Even when she disobeyed her mother, the old Countess somehow thought it admirable, and had long since felt it was a sign of her own blood running in Zoya's veins, which annoyed Natalya even more. “She is someone new … she is her own. We must not burden her with our quirks and failings”
“When have you ever failed? You have always been good to me, Mama … to all of us …” She was a woman who was respected and well liked. A woman of purpose and sound values. He knew her wisdom and depended on her countless but generally sensible opinions.
“Here she is, Grandmama!” Zoya had reappeared with the little dog. She was scarcely bigger than Zoya's hands, and the countess took the puppy carefully from her. “Isn't she sweet?”
“She is wonderful … and so she shall be until she eats my best hat, or my favorite shoes … but not, please God, my favorite Aubusson carpet. And if you do,” she said, stroking the puppy's head as she had Zoya's only moments before, “I shall make soup of you. Remember that!” Little Sava barked, as though in answer. “That was very nice of Alix to give her to you, little one. I hope you thanked her properly.”
Zoya giggled and covered her mouth with a grace-fill hand. “She was rather afraid Mama would be upset.”
Her grandmother chuckled as Konstantin tried not to smile, in deference to his wife. “She knows your mother very well, I see, doesn't she, Konstantin?” She looked him straight in the eye and he understood everything that she was saying.
“Poor Natalya's health has not made things easy for her lately. Perhaps eventually …” She tried to defend her.
“Never mind, Konstantin.” The dowager countess waved an impatient hand, as she held the puppy close and kissed her granddaughter good night. “Come and see us tomorrow, Zoya. Or are you going back to Tsarskoe Selo? I should go with you one of these days and pay a call on Alix and the children.”
“Not while they're ill, Mama, please … and the drive will be too much for you, in this weather.”
His mother laughed out loud. “Don't be foolish, Konstantin. I had measles almost a hundred years ago, and I have never been worried about weather. I'm quite well, thank you very much, and I plan to stay that way for at least another dozen years, or perhaps more. And I'm mean enough to do just that.”
“That's excellent news.” He smiled. “I'll walk you back to the pavilion.”
“Don't be foolish.” She waved him away as Zoya went to find her cloak and returned to put it over her shoulders. “I'm quite capable of walking across the garden, you know. I do it several times a day.”
“Then don't deny me the pleasure of doing it with you, madame.”
She smiled up at him, seeing him as a child again, in her heart anyway, where forever he would remain a small boy for as long as she lived. “Very well then, Konstantin. Good night, Zoya.”
“Good night, Grandmama. And thank you for keeping Sava for me.” The old woman gave her a fond kiss, and Zoya went upstairs to her mauve room as they went out into the cold night air. Zoya yawned to herself, and smiled as she thought of the little dog Marie and her mother had given her. It had been a lovely day. She softly closed her bedroom door, and promised herself she would return to Tsarskoe Selo in a day or two. But in the meantime, she would have to think of something wonderful to take to Mashka.


Dalyia غير متواجد حالياً  
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أنْت يـَـــا اللَّـه 【 تَكْفِينِي 】ツ

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قديم 29-04-11, 03:50 PM   #8

Dalyia

إدارية ومشرفة سابقة وكاتبة بمكتبة روايتي وعضوة بفريق التصميم والترجمة و الافلام والسينما ومعطاء التسالي ونجمة الحصريات الفنية ومميز بالقسم الطبى

 
الصورة الرمزية Dalyia

? العضوٌ??? » 130321
?  التسِجيلٌ » Jul 2010
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? الًجنِس »
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?  نُقآطِيْ » Dalyia has a reputation beyond reputeDalyia has a reputation beyond reputeDalyia has a reputation beyond reputeDalyia has a reputation beyond reputeDalyia has a reputation beyond reputeDalyia has a reputation beyond reputeDalyia has a reputation beyond reputeDalyia has a reputation beyond reputeDalyia has a reputation beyond reputeDalyia has a reputation beyond reputeDalyia has a reputation beyond repute
¬» مشروبك   pepsi
¬» قناتك mbc4
?? ??? ~
My Mms ~
Chirolp Krackr

CHAPTER
3






Two days later, Zoya was planning to return to Tsarskoe Selo to see Marie, and instead a letter came that morning before breakfast. It was delivered by Dr. Fedorov himself, Alexis's doctor, who had come to town to bring back some more medicines, and he brought the unwelcome news that Marie had also succumbed to the measles. Zoya read her note with dismay. It meant not only that she could not visit her, but that they might not see each other for weeks, as Dr. Fedorov said that she would not be able to have visitors for quite some time, depending on how ill she became. Already, Anastasia was having trouble with her ears as a result of the disease, and he greatly feared that the Tsarevich was developing pneumonia.
“Oh, my God …” Natalya wailed. “And you've been exposed as well. Zoya, I had forbidden you to go and now you've exposed yourself … how could you do this to me? How dare you!” She was nearly hysterical at the thought of the illness Zoya might unwittingly have brought into the house, and Konstantin arrived on the scene in time to see his wife swoon, and he sent her maid rapidly upstairs for her vinaigrette. He had commissioned a special case for it by Fabergo, in the shape of a large red enamel, diamond encrusted strawberry, which she kept ever near her, by her bedside.
Dr. Fedorov was kind enough to stay long enough to see Natalya upstairs while Zoya dashed off a quick note to her friend. She wished her a speedy recovery so they could be together again, and signed it from herself and Sava, who had generously watered the famous Aubusson rug only the night before, but her grandmother had kept the puppy there anyway, while still threatening to turn her into soup if her manners did not improve very quickly.
“… I love you dearly, sweetest friend. Now hurry up and get well, so I can come and see you.” She sent her two books, one of them Helen's Babies, which she herself had read and loved only weeks before and had planned to give her anyway. And she added a quick postscript, warning Mashka not to use this as an excuse to cheat at tennis again, as they had both done the summer before, while playing at Livadia with two of Marie's sisters. It was their favorite game, and Marie was better than the rest of them, although Zoya always threatened to beat her.”… I will come out to see you as soon as your Mama and the doctor will let me. With all my heart, your loving Zoya….”
That afternoon, Zoya saw her brother again, which at least distracted her, and while waiting for their father to return home, he took her out for a spin in their mother's troika. She had not emerged from her room all day, so upset was she by the news that Marie had contracted measles and Zoya had been inadvertently exposed. Zoya knew she might not come out for days, and she was grateful for the distraction provided by her brother.
“Why have you come to see Papa again? Is something wrong, Nicolai?”
“Don't be silly. Why would you think something's wrong? What a twit you are.” But a smart one. He marveled at how she instinctively knew that he had returned to see Konstantin because he was worried. The previous day when the Duma convened, Alexander Kerensky had made a dreadful speech which included an incitement to assassinate the Tsar, and Nicolai was beginning to fear that some of what Ambassador Paléologue had said was true. Perhaps things were worse than they all knew and the people were more unnerved by the shortages than they all suspected. Sir George Buchanan, the British ambassador, had said as much too before leaving for Finland for a ten-day holiday. Nicolai was hearing a great deal these days and it worried him, and once again he was anxious to hear his father's opinion.
“You never come to visit unless something's wrong, Nicolai,” Zoya pressed him as they sped along the beautiful Nevsky Prospekt. There was fresh snow on the ground and it had never looked prettier than it did then, but Nicolai still staunchly insisted that nothing was amiss, and although she felt an odd twinge of fear, she decided to believe him.
“That's a charming thing to say, Zoya. And besides, it's not true. More to the point, is it true that you've driven Mama to distraction again? I hear she's taken to her bed thanks to you, and has had to be visited twice by her doctor.”
Zoya shrugged, with an impish grin. “That's just because Dr. Fedorov told her that Mashka has the measles.”
“And you're next?” Nicolai smiled at her and she laughed at him.
“Don't be stupid. I never get sick.”
“Don't be so sure. You're not going back there again, are you?” For an instant he looked worried, but she shook her head with a look of childlike disappointment.
“They won't let me. No one can visit now. And poor Anastasia has a terrible earache.”
“They'll all be fine soon and you can go back again.”
Zoya nodded and then grinned. “By the way, Nicolai, how's your dancer?”
He gave a sudden start and then pulled a lock of her hair peeking from beneath her far hat. “What makes you think I have a ‘dancer’?”
“Everyone knows that, stupid … just like they did about Uncle Nicholas before he married Aunt Alix.” She could speak openly with him, after all he was only her brother, but he looked shocked anyway. Outspoken though she was, he expected at least a little decorum.
“Zoya! How dare you speak of such things!”
“I can say anything I want to you. What's yours like? Is she pretty?”
“She is not anything! She doesn't exist. Is this what they teach you at the Smolny?”
“They don't teach me anything,” she said blithely, discounting a very solid education she had gotten there in spite of herself, just as he had years before at the Imperial Corps des Pages, the military school for the sons of noblemen and high-ranking officers. “Besides, I'm almost finished”
“I imagine they'll be awfully grateful to see the last of you, my dear.” She shrugged and they both laughed, and he thought for an instant that he had fobbed her off, but she was more persistent than that as she turned to him with a wicked smile.
“You still haven't told me about your friend, Nicolai.”
“You're a terrible girl, Zoya Konstantinovna.”
She giggled and he drove her slowly home, returning to their palace on Fontanka, and by then their father was home, and the two men closeted themselves in Konstantin's library, which overlooked the garden. It was filled with beautiful leather-bound books, and objects her father had collected over the years, particularly the malachite pieces he was so fond of. There was also a collection of elaborate Fabergo Easter eggs that Natalya had given him each year, similar to the ones the Tsar and Tsarina exchanged on memorable occasions. As Konstantin stood at the window, listening to his son, he saw Zoya bounding across the snow, on her way to visit her grandmother and Sava.
“Well, Father, what do you think?” When Konstantin turned to face him again, he saw that Nicolai was genuinely worried.
“I really don't think any of it means anything. And even if there's a bit of trouble in the streets, General Khabalov can handle anything, Nicolai. There's nothing to worry about.” He smiled comfortingly, pleased that his son was so concerned about the well-being of both the city and the country. “All is well. But it never hurts to be alert. It is the mark of a good soldier.” And he was, just as he had been when he was younger, and his father before him. If he could, Konstantin would have been at the front himself, but he was far too old, no matter how much he loved his cousin the Tsar and his country.
“Father, doesn't Kerensky's speech to the Duma worry you? My God, what he's suggesting is treason!”
“And so it is, but no one can possibly take this seriously, Nicolai. No one is going to assassinate the Tsar. They wouldn't dare. Besides, Nicky is wise enough to keep himself well protected. I think he's in far more danger at home just now, with a houseful of measles-ridden children and servants”—he smiled gently at his son—” than he is at the hands of his people. But in any case, I will call on Ambassador Buchanan when he returns and speak to him myself if he's so concerned. I would be interested to hear his point of view on the matter, and Paléologue's as well. When Buchanan returns from his holiday, I'll arrange a luncheon with them, and of course you're more than welcome to join us.” Most of all he wanted to assist his son's career. Nicolai was a bright boy, with a brilliant future ahead of him.
“I feel better talking to you, Father.” But still this time the fears were not so easily stilled, and when he left the house, he still had a gnawing sense of impending danger. He was tempted to go to Tsarskoe Selo himself and have a private meeting with his cousin, but he knew from what he'd heard about how exhausted the Tsar was, and how worried about his son, that the time was not appropriate. It was an unfortunate time to intrude on him, and it seemed wiser not to.
It was fully a week later, on March 8, that Nicholas left St. Petersburg to return to the front, five hundred miles away in Mogilev. And it was on that very day that there was the first sign of disorder in the streets when the breadlines erupted into angry, shouting people and they forced their way into the bakeries, shouting, “Give us bread!” And at sunset, a squadron of Cossacks arrived to control them. And still, no one seemed overly concerned. Ambassador Paléologue even gave a very large party. Prince and Princess Gorchakov were there, Count Tolstoy, Alexander Benois, and the Spanish ambassador, the Marquis de Villasinda. Natalya still wasn't feeling well and had insisted that she couldn't possibly go out, and Konstantin didn't want to leave her. He was just as glad they hadn't gone, when he heard the next day that a tram had been overturned by rioters on the fringes of the city. But on the whole, no one seemed unduly alarmed. And as though to reassure everyone, the day after had dawned bright and sunny. The Nevsky Prospekt was filled with people, but they seemed happy enough and all of the shops were open for business. There were Cossacks on hand to observe what was going on, but they seemed on good terms with the crowd. But on Saturday, March 10, there was unexpected looting, and the following day, several people were killed during assorted disorders.
And that night, the Radziwills nonetheless were to give a very elaborate party. It was as though everyone wanted to pretend nothing was happening. But it was difficult to ignore reports of turmoil and disturbance.
Gibbes, Marie's English tutor, brought Zoya a letter from Mashka that day, and she pounced on him with open arms, but she was dismayed to read that Marie was feeling “terrible,” and Tatiana had developed ear problems too. But at least Baby was feeling a little better.
“Poor Aunt Alix must be so tired,” Zoya told her grandmother that afternoon as she sat in her drawing room holding little Sava. “I'm so anxious to see Marie again, Grandmama.” She had had nothing to do for days, her mother had absolutely insisted that she not go to ballet because of the problems in the streets, and this time her father had endorsed the order.
“A little patience, my dear,” her grandmother urged. “You don't want to be on the streets just now anyway, with all those hungry, unhappy people.”
“Is it as bad as that for them, Grandmama?” It was difficult to imagine in the midst of all the luxuries they enjoyed. It hurt her heart to think of people so desperately hungry. “I wish we could give them some of what we have.” Their life was so comfortable and easy, it seemed cruel that all around them people were cold and hungry.
“We all wish that sometimes, little one.” The fiery old eyes looked deep into her own. “Life is not always fair. There are many, many people who will never have what we take for granted every day … warm clothes, comfortable beds, an abundance of food … not to mention the frivolities like holidays and parties and pretty dresses.”
“Is all of that wrong?” The very idea seemed to startle Zoya.
“Certainly not. But it is a privilege, and we must never forget that.”
“Mama says they're common people and wouldn't enjoy what we have anyway. Do you suppose that's true?”
Evgenia looked at her with irritated irony, amazed that her daughter-in-law was still so blind and so foolish. “Don't be ridiculous, Zoya. Do you suppose anyone would object to a warm bed and a full stomach, or a pretty dress, or a wonderful troika? They would have to be awfully stupid.” Zoya didn't add that her mother said they were that too, because Zoya understood that they weren't.
“You know, it's sad, Grandmama, that they don't know Uncle Nicky and Aunt Alix and Baby and the girls. They're such good people, no one could be angry at them if they knew them.” It was a sensible thing to say, and yet so incredibly simplistic.
“It isn't them, my love … it is only the things they stand for. It's incredibly hard for people outside palace windows to remember that the people inside them have heartbreaks and problems. No one will ever know how much Nicholas cares about all of them, how much he grieves for their ills, and how his heart has been broken by Alexis's illness. They will never know, and never see … it makes me sad too. The poor man carries so many terrible burdens. And now he's back at the front again. It must be difficult for Alix. I do wish the children would get well so I could go to see them.”
“I want to go too. But Papa won't even let me step outside the house. It's going to take me months to catch up with Madame Nastova.”
“Of course it won't.” Evgenia was watching her, it seemed as though she grew more beautiful each day as she approached her eighteenth birthday. She was graceful and delicate with her flaming red hair and her huge green eyes, her long, lovely legs and the tiny waist one could have circled with both hands. She took one's breath away as one watched her.
“Grandmama, this is so boring.” She twirled on one foot as Evgenia laughed at her.
“You certainly don't flatter me, my dear. A great many people have found me boring for a very long time, but no one has ever said so quite so bluntly.”
“I'm sorry.” She laughed. “I didn't mean you. I meant being cooped up here. And even stupid Nico-lai didn't come to visit today.” But later that afternoon, they knew why. General Khabalov had had huge posters put up all around the city, warning everyone that assemblies and public meetings were forbidden now, and all strikers were to return to their jobs the following day. Failure to comply would mean being drafted immediately and being sent to the front, but no one paid any attention whatsoever to the posters. Huge crowds of protesters swarmed from the Vyborg quarter across the Neva bridges and into the city, and by four-thirty that afternoon, the soldiers had appeared and there was shooting on the Nevsky Prospekt opposite the Anitchkov Palace. Fifty people were killed, and within hours, two hundred more died, and suddenly there was dissent among the soldiers. A company of the Pavlovsky Life Guards refused to fire, and instead turned and shot the officer in charge, and suddenly pandemonium reigned, and the Preobrajensky Guard had to be called in to disarm them.


Dalyia غير متواجد حالياً  
التوقيع
أنْت يـَـــا اللَّـه 【 تَكْفِينِي 】ツ

رد مع اقتباس
قديم 29-04-11, 03:50 PM   #9

Dalyia

إدارية ومشرفة سابقة وكاتبة بمكتبة روايتي وعضوة بفريق التصميم والترجمة و الافلام والسينما ومعطاء التسالي ونجمة الحصريات الفنية ومميز بالقسم الطبى

 
الصورة الرمزية Dalyia

? العضوٌ??? » 130321
?  التسِجيلٌ » Jul 2010
? مشَارَ?اتْي » 49,796
? الًجنِس »
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?  نُقآطِيْ » Dalyia has a reputation beyond reputeDalyia has a reputation beyond reputeDalyia has a reputation beyond reputeDalyia has a reputation beyond reputeDalyia has a reputation beyond reputeDalyia has a reputation beyond reputeDalyia has a reputation beyond reputeDalyia has a reputation beyond reputeDalyia has a reputation beyond reputeDalyia has a reputation beyond reputeDalyia has a reputation beyond repute
¬» مشروبك   pepsi
¬» قناتك mbc4
?? ??? ~
My Mms ~
Chirolp Krackr

Konstantin got word of it that night, and disappeared for hours, attempting to find out what was happening elsewhere and secretly wanting to reassure himself that Nicolai was all right. Suddenly, he felt panic sweep him knowing that his son was in danger. But all he could find out was that the Pavlov-sky Guards had been disarmed with very little loss of life. “Very little” seemed suddenly too much, and he returned home to wait for news. On his way back, he saw the lights at the Radziwills and wondered at the madness of a city that went on dancing while people were being murdered. Suddenly, he wondered if Nicolai had been right all along to be so worried about what might be coming. Konstantin was anxious to talk to Paléologue himself now, and decided to call on him the next morning. But it was only when he turned into Fontanka and saw the horses outside his own home that his heart froze and he wanted to stop and run away. He suddenly felt terror seize his heart and pressed his own horses forward. There were at least a dozen of the Preobrajensky Guard outside, there was running and shouting and they were carrying something as he heard a shout fly from his own mouth and he abandoned Feodor and his troika almost before it stopped, shouting to himself, “Oh my God … oh my God …” and then he saw him. He was being carried by two men and there was blood everywhere on the snow. It was Nicolai. “Oh my God …” There were tears streaming down Konstantin's cheeks as he stared at them and rushed forward. “Is he alive?”
One of the men looked at him and nodded, speaking softly to Konstantin. “Barely.” He had been shot seven times by one of the Pavlovsky Life Guards, one of their own … one of the Tsar's men … but he had been fearless and he had felled the other man. “Bring him inside … quickly …” He shouted for Feodor, who appeared at his side. “Get my wife's doctor nowl” he roared as the young Guards looked at him helplessly. They knew that nothing could be done, it was why they had brought him home, and Nicolai looked up at his father with glassy eyes, but he recognized him and he smiled, looking like a child again as Konstantin took him in his own powerful arms, and carried him inside. He set him down on the tapestry-covered couch in the main hall, and all of the servants came running. “Bring bandages … sheets … quickly, get me warm water.” He had no idea what he was going to do with all of it, but something had to be done. Something … anything … they had to save him. It was his little boy, they had brought him home to die, and he wasn't going to let him slip away. He had to stop him before it was too late, and suddenly he felt a firm hand push him aside, and he saw his own mother cradle the boy's head in her hands and gently kiss his forehead as she crooned to him.
“It's all right, Nicolai, Grandmama is here … and your mama and papa. …” The three women had gone ahead with dinner without waiting for Konstantin, and Evgenia had instantly sensed what had happened as she heard the men come in. The rest of the Guards were standing awkwardly in the main hallway, and there was a terrifying scream as Natalya saw her son and fainted in the doorway. “Zoya!” Evgenia called out, and the young girl ran to her as Konstantin stood helplessly by watching his son's blood ooze across the marble floor and seep slowly into the rug. He could see Zoya tremble as she ran to her grandmother and knelt at her brother's side. Her face was white as chalk, and she gently took his hand.
“Nicolai …” she whispered. “I love you … it's Zoya “
“What are you doing here?” His voice was barely a whisper now and Evgenia could tell from looking at him that he no longer saw them.
“Zoya,” she commanded, a general in charge of her men, “tear my petticoat in strips … quickly … hurry….” With gentle hands at first Zoya began to tug beneath her grandmother's skirts, but at the sound of her grandmother's commands, she gave a fierce tug as her grandmother stepped out of her petticoat and Zoya tore it into strips and watched her grandmother tie them about his wounds. She was trying to stop the bleeding but it was almost too late as Konstantin wept and knelt to kiss him.
“Papa? … are you there, Papa? …” He sounded so young again. “Papa … I love you … Zoya … be a good girl….” And then he smiled up at them, and was gone, their efforts too little, too late. He died in his father's arms. Konstantin kissed his eyes and gently closed them, sobbing uncontrollably as he held the son he had so dearly loved, his blood seeping into his father's vest while he held him close. Zoya stood crying beside him and Evgenia's hands shook terribly, as she stroked his hand, and then slowly turned away and signaled to the men to leave them alone with their pain. The doctor had arrived by then and was attempting to revive Natalya, still lying inert in the doorway. They carried her upstairs to her rooms, and Feodor stood weeping openly as a wail seemed to fill the entire hallway. All of the servants had come to stand there … too late … everyone too late to help him.
“Come, Konstantin. You must let them take him upstairs.” She gently pulled her son away from him, and guiding him unseeing into the library, she pushed him gently into a chair and poured him a brandy. There was nothing she could say to ease the pain, and she didn't try. She signaled to Zoya to stand near, and when she saw how pale she was, she forced her to take a sip of brandy from the glass she poured herself.
“No, Grandmama … no … please….” She choked on the fumes, but her grandmother forced her to drink it and then turned to Konstantin again.
“He was so young … my God … my God … they've killed him. …” She held him as he rocked mindlessly back and forth in his chair, keening for his only son, and then suddenly Zoya exploded into his arms, clinging to him as though he were the only rock left in the world, and all she could think of was that only that afternoon she had called him “stupid Nicolai” … stupid Nicolai … and now he was dead … her brother was dead … she stared at her father in horror.
“Papa, what's happening?”
“I don't know, little one … they've killed my baby….” He held her close then as she sobbed in his arms, and a little while later he stood and left her in her grandmother's care. “Take her home with you, Mama. I must go to Natalya.”
“She's all right.” Evgenia was far more worried about her son than his foolish wife. She feared that the loss of Nicolai might break him. She reached out and touched his hand again, and he saw her eyes, they were the eyes of wisdom and time and immeasurable sorrow.
“Oh, Mama,” he cried, and held her close to him for a long, long time, while she held out a hand and drew Zoya to them. And then slowly he pulled away from them, and went up the stairs to his wife's rooms, as Zoya stood in the hallway and watched him. Nico-lai's blood had been washed away from the marble floor, and the rug had been removed, and he already lay silent and cold in the room he had lived in since his boyhood. He had been born there, and died there, in twenty-three short years, and with him went a world they all knew and loved. It was as though none of them would ever be safe again. Evgenia knew it as she took Zoya back to her own pavilion with her, trembling violently beneath her cloak, her eyes filled with shock and horror.
“You must be strong, little one,” her grandmother said to her as Sava ran up to them in her living room and Zoya began to cry again. “Your father will need you doubly now. And perhaps … perhaps … nothing will ever be quite the same again … for any of us. But whatever comes”—her voice quavered as she thought of her grandson dying in her arms, but as her thin hand trembled violently she took Zoya in her arms and kissed the smoothness of her cheek— “only remember, little one, how much he loved



Dalyia غير متواجد حالياً  
التوقيع
أنْت يـَـــا اللَّـه 【 تَكْفِينِي 】ツ

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قديم 29-04-11, 03:51 PM   #10

Dalyia

إدارية ومشرفة سابقة وكاتبة بمكتبة روايتي وعضوة بفريق التصميم والترجمة و الافلام والسينما ومعطاء التسالي ونجمة الحصريات الفنية ومميز بالقسم الطبى

 
الصورة الرمزية Dalyia

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?  نُقآطِيْ » Dalyia has a reputation beyond reputeDalyia has a reputation beyond reputeDalyia has a reputation beyond reputeDalyia has a reputation beyond reputeDalyia has a reputation beyond reputeDalyia has a reputation beyond reputeDalyia has a reputation beyond reputeDalyia has a reputation beyond reputeDalyia has a reputation beyond reputeDalyia has a reputation beyond reputeDalyia has a reputation beyond repute
¬» مشروبك   pepsi
¬» قناتك mbc4
?? ??? ~
My Mms ~
Chirolp Krackr

CHAPTER
4






The following day was a nightmare. Nicolai lay washed and clean in his boyhood room, dressed in his uniform and surrounded by candles. The Volinsky Regiment mutinied, the Semonovsky, the Ismailovsky, the Litovsky, the Oranienbaum, and finally the proudest of all, Nicolai's own regiment, the Preobrajensky Guard. All of them defected to the revolution. Everywhere were red banners being carried high, and soldiers in tattered uniforms no longer the men they once were … St. Petersburg no longer the city it once was. Nothing was ever to be the same again as the revolutionaries set fire to the law courts early that morning. Soon the arsenal on the Liteiny was in flames and then the ministry of the interior, the military government building, the headquarters of the Okhrana, the secret police, and several police stations were destroyed. All of the prisoners had been let out of the jails, and by noon the Fortress of Peter and Paul was in rebel hands too. It was obvious that something desperate had to be done, and the Tsar had to return immediately to appoint a provisional government that would take control again. But even that seemed an unlikely scheme, and when Grand Duke Michael called him at headquarters in Mogilev that afternoon, he promised to come home immediately. It was impossible for him to absorb what had happened in St. Petersburg in the few days since he had left and he insisted on returning and seeing it all himself before appointing any new ministers to deal with the crisis at hand. Only when the chairman of the Duma sent him a message that night that his family's lives were in danger did he realize what was happening. The Empress herself didn't understand it. But by then it was too late. Much, much too late for all of them.
Lili Dehn had come to visit Alexandra at Tsarskoe Selo only that afternoon and found her totally occupied with caring for her sick children. The tales that Lili told were of disorders in the streets, and it still wasn't clear to her that this was more than ordinary rioting, that it was in fact a revolution.
In the midst of a blizzard General Khabalov sent the Tsarina a message the next morning. He insisted that she and the children leave at once. He was holding siege at the Winter Palace in St. Petersburg with fifteen hundred loyal men, but by noon they had all deserted him. And still the Empress did not understand it. She refused to leave Tsarskoe Selo before Nicholas returned. She felt safe with her most loyal sailors, the Garde Equipage, standing by, and besides, the children were still far too ill to travel. By then Marie had also developed pneumonia.
That same day, mansions around the city were being looted and burned, and Konstantin had all the servants burying silver, and gold and icons in the garden. Zoya was locked in her grandmother's pavilion with all the maids, and they were frantically sewing jewels into the linings of their heaviest winter clothing. Natalya was running shrieking through the main house, running frantically in and out of Nico-lai's room where his body remained. Any attempts to bury him were impossible with revolution blazing everywhere around them.
“Grandmama,” Zoya whispered, as she forced a small diamond earring inside a button she was going to sew back on a dress, “Grandmama … what are we going to do now?” As she attempted to sew in spite of shaking fingers, her eyes were wide with terror and they could hear gunfire in the distance.
“We cannot do anything until we finish this … hurry, Zoya … there … sew the pearls into my bluejacket.” The old woman was working furiously, strangely calm, and Konstantin was at the Winter Palace with Khabalov and the last of the loyal men. He had left them early that morning to go there.
“What will we do with …” She couldn't bring herself to say her brother's name, but it seemed so awful to leave him lying there as they sewed jewels into the hems of her grandmother's dresses.
“We will take care of everything in due time. Now be quiet, child. We must wait for word from your father.” Sava lay whimpering at Zoya's feet as though she knew that even her life was in danger. Earlier that morning the old Countess had attempted to bring Natalya to the pavilion with her, but she refused to leave the main house. She seemed half mad as she kept speaking to her dead son and assuring him that everything was all right and his father would be home soon. Evgenia had left her there, and taken all of the servants to her own home to do as much as they could, before the rioters broke in and took everything. Evgenia had already heard that Kschessinska's mansion had been looted by the mobs, and she was going to save as much as she could before they came to them. And as she sewed, she wondered if they could reach Tsarskoe Selo.
At Tsarskoe Selo, the Empress had her own hands full. The children were still feverish, with Marie the worst of all, and Anna was still sick too. The mutinous soldiers arrived in the village by late that afternoon, but fearing the palace guard, they satisfied themselves with looting in the village, and shooting anyone and everyone at random.
The children could hear the shots from the sickroom, and Alexandra told them repeatedly that it was only their own soldiers on maneuvers. But that night, she sent word to Nicholas, begging him to come home. Still not understanding how truly desperate they all were, he chose to return by the longest route, not wishing to interfere with the routes used by the troop trains. It was inconceivable to him then that he no longer had a loyal army. Both the Garde Equipage and the imperial guard, mostly composed of personal friends, whose mission had always been to guard the Tsar and Tsarina and their children, had left their posts. Even the soldiers from the garrison at Tsarskoe Selo had deserted and betrayed them. And St. Petersburg had fallen. It was Wednesday, March 14, and an entire world had changed overnight. It was almost impossible to conceive of the overall implications.
The ministers and generals were urging Nicholas to abdicate in favor of his son, keeping Grand Duke Michael as regent. But the frantic telegrams being sent to Nicholas on his way back from the front, explaining the situation to him, were getting no answer. And in the midst of his silence, Zoya and her grandmother were equally without news. Konstantin had not been home in two days and there was no way to get news of him. It was only when Feodor finally braved the streets, that he came home to tell them the dreadful news Evgenia had feared for days. Konstantin was dead. He had died at the Winter Palace with the last of the loyal troops, killed by his own men. There wasn't even a body to bring home to them. He had been disposed of along with countless others. Feodor returned with tears streaming down his face and sobbed openly as he told Evgenia what had happened to Konstantin. Zoya stared at him in horror, as they listened to him, and her grandmother spun around and ordered the maids to sew more quickly. All of her jewels had been hidden by then and Natalya's too, and the rest of it would have to be left behind, as she made another rapid decision. They were going to bury Nicolai in the garden. Evgenia and Feodor and three of the younger men went back to the main house, and stood silently in his room. He had been dead for three days and they could not wait any longer. Evgenia was solemn and dry-eyed as she stared at him, thinking of her own son now. It was too late for tears, she wanted to cry for all of them, but she had to think of Zoya now, and for Konstantin's sake, Natalya.
As they prepared to move the body, Natalya appeared like a ghost, drifting through the halls wearing a long white robe, with uncombed hair and mad eyes as she stared at them. “Where are you going with my baby?” She looked imperiously at her mother-in-law, and it was clear to all that she had lost her mind. She seemed not even to recognize Zoya. “What are you doing, you fool?” She reached out a clawlike hand to stop the men from taking him, but the old Countess held her back, and looked into her eyes.
“You must come with us, Natalya.”
“But where are you taking my baby?”
Evgenia refused to answer her, it would only confuse her more or make her hysterical again. She had always had a weak mind, and without Konstantin to indulge her and shield her from the truth, she could no longer cope. She was totally mad, and Zoya knew it as she watched her.
“Put on your clothes, Natalya. We are going out.”
“Where?”
Zoya was stunned when she heard the words. “To Tsarskoe Selo.”
“But we can't possibly go there. It's summertime, and everyone is at Livadia.”
“We'll go there eventually. But we must go to Tsarskoe Selo first. Now, we are going to get dressed, aren't we?” She grasped her firmly by the arm, and signaled to Zoya to take the other.
“Who are you?” She pulled her arm away from the frightened girl, and only her grandmother's sharp eyes on her kept Zoya from fleeing in terror from the woman who had once been her mother. “Who are you?” she asked again and again of both of them, and the old woman answered her calmly. In four days she had lost both her son and grandson to a revolution none of them fully understood. But there was no time to question it now. She knew they had to leave St. Petersburg before it was too late. And if nowhere else, she knew they would be safe at Tsarskoe Selo. But Natalya was refusing to cooperate with them. She insisted that she was staying, her husband would be home at any time, and they were giving a party.
“Your husband is waiting for you at Tsarskoe Selo,” Evgenia lied, and Zoya shuddered at all that was happening around them. With a force she never knew her grandmother had, she wrapped Natalya in a cloak and forced her down the stairs and out the back door into the garden, just as they heard a resounding crash. The looters had arrived, and were forcing their way into the Fontanka Palace. “Quickly,” Evgenia whispered to the girl who had only yesterday been a child. “Find Feodor. Tell him to get the horses ready … your father's old troika!” And then the old woman ran toward her pavilion, panting heavily and clutching Natalya's arm. She was shouting to her maids, telling them to gather up all the clothes in which the jewels were sewn, and throw them into bags. They had no time to pack anything. Everything they could take would have to go in the troika. And as she gave orders, she kept an eye on the palace across the garden. She knew it was only a matter of time before they would abandon the palace and come to the pavilion. But suddenly she realized that Natalya was no longer beside her and as she spun around she saw a white figure racing across the garden. She began to run after her daughter-in-law, but it was too late. Natalya had gone back into the palace. Almost at the same time, the old woman saw flames leaping from the upper windows and heard Zoya gasp behind her.
“Grandmama!” And then they both saw the figure in white racing from window to window. Natalya was darting between the flames screaming and laughing, and calling out as though to friends. It was a hideous sight, as suddenly Zoya bolted toward the door and her grandmother grabbed her.
“No! You cannot help her now! There are men in there with her. They will kill you, Zoya!”
“I can't let them kill her … I can't! … Grand-mama! Please!” She was sobbing and fighting with a strength her grandmother could barely control, but at the same moment Feodor ran into the hallway.
“The troika is ready … behind the hedges …” He had wisely chosen to ease the troika into the side street, so that the looters would not see them from the palace.
“Grandmama!” Zoya was still fighting her, and suddenly her grandmother slapped her.
“Stop it! She is already dead … we must leave now” There were no longer moments to spare. She had already seen a few faces looking out at the garden from the lower windows in the palace.
“I can't leave her there!” She was begging her grandmother to let her go, but the old woman wouldn't.
“You have to.” And then her voice softened as she pulled her close for an instant. But as she did, there was a terrible sound, like an explosion. The whole upper floor was now in flames, and as they turned to look, they saw Natalya leap, with her white robe on fire, from the upper window. It would have been impossible for her to live, between the flames and the fall, Natalya's life had clearly ended, and it was a blessing to her. Her mind would never return after the double blow of losing both husband and son, and her entire world lay in broken shards around her.
“Come quickly!” Feodor was urging them, and with a swift move the old Countess swept Sava up off the floor, pushed her into Zoya's arms, and hurried her out the door to the waiting troika.


Dalyia غير متواجد حالياً  
التوقيع
أنْت يـَـــا اللَّـه 【 تَكْفِينِي 】ツ

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