of her husband's involvement in work, it was Marie who clucked over the children, supervised their studies, gave them advice and accepted their confidences. Frequently she acted as a maternal buffer between her growing brood and the strong, gruff man who was their father. Her oldest son, the shy Tsarevich Nicholas, was especially in need of his mother's support. Everything about Alexander inspired awe in his son. In October 1888, the Imperial train was derailed near Kharkov as the Tsar and his family
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were eating pudding in the dining car. The roof caved in, but, with his great strength, Alexander lifted it on his shoulders and held it long enough for his wife and children to crawl free, unhurt. The thought that one day he would have to succeed this Herculean father all but overwhelmed young Nicholas.
As the year 1894 began, Nicholas's fears appeared remote. Tsar Alexander III, only forty-nine years old, was still approaching the peak of his reign. The early years had been devoted to reestablishing the autocracy in effective form. Now, with the empire safe and the dynasty secure, he expected to use the great power he had gathered to put a distinctive stamp on Russia. Already there were those who, gazing confidently into the future, had begun to compare Alexander III to Peter the Great.
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CHAPTER TWO
The Tsarevich Nicholas
It was with special care that Fate had selected Nicholas to be Tsarevich and, later, Tsar. He was not a firstborn son. An older brother named Alexander, who had he lived would have been Tsar Alexander IV, had died in infancy. Nicholas's next brother, George, three years younger than the Tsarevich, was gay with quick intelligence. Throughout their childhood Nicholas admired George's sparkling humor, and whenever his brother cracked a joke, the Tsarevich carefully wrote it down on a slip of paper and filed it away in a box. Years later when Nicholas as Tsar was heard laughing alone in his study, he would be found rereading his collection of George's jokes. Unhappily, in adolescence George developed tuberculosis of both lungs and was sent to live, alone except for servants, in the high, sun-swept mountains of the Caucasus.
Although the palace at Gatchina had nine hundred rooms, Nicholas and his brothers and sisters were brought up in spartan simplicity. Every morning, Alexander IIIarose at seven, washed in cold water, dressed in peasant's clothes, made himself a pot of coffee and sat down at his desk. Later when Marie was up, she joined him for a breakfast of rye bread and boiled eggs. The children slept on simple army cots with hard pillows, took cold baths in the morning and ate porridge for breakfast. At lunch when they joined their parents, there was plenty of food, but as they were served last after all the guests and still had to leave the table when their father rose, they often went hungry. Ravenous, Nicholas once attacked the hollow gold cross filled with beeswax which he had been given at baptism; embedded in the wax was a tiny fragment of the True Cross. "Nicky was so hungry that he opened his cross and ate the contents—relic and all," recalled his sister Olga. "Later he felt ashamed of himself but admitted that it had tasted 'immorally good.' " The children ate more
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fully when they dined alone, although these meals without their parents' presence often turned into unmanageable free-for-alls, with brothers and sisters pelting one another across the table with pieces of bread.
Nicholas was educated by tutors. There were language tutors, history tutors, geography tutors and a whiskered dancing tutor who wore white gloves and insisted that a huge pot of fresh flowers always be placed on his accompanist's piano. Of all the tutors, however, the most important was Constantine Petrovich Pobedonostsev. A brilliant philosopher of reaction, Pobedonostsev has been called "The High Priest of Social Stagnation" and "the dominant and most baleful influence of the [last] reign." A wizened,