The Crown of the Romanovs

Duke Golovkin´s Palace

Irina and Thiago spent the weekend touring Vienna. Each place brought the lady back memories of her childhood and early youth spent in the city, while her husband was dazzled by the architecture of Vienna and the obvious quality of life that its inhabitants evidenced.

On Sunday, when they returned to the hotel, while Thiago was taking a shower, his wife worked with her laptop. When the young man came out of the bathroom, it was Irina's turn to bathe and while he dried himself, the first one peeked at the screen of the device, more out of boredom than curiosity. Something caught his attention and he carefully read the article written in French. When Irina came out of the bathroom drying her hair, her husband asked her a slightly ironic question.

"My dear, in this article you were reading, it says that Tsar Nicholas' mother, shot by the Bolsheviks, was called Fiodorovna, just like you."

 “So now you're spending your time browsing my computer? Doesn't that seem like a violation of my privacy?” The tone was equally ironic.

“Well ... actually I just looked  ...”

When her husband fell into one of his usual confusions, Irina changed her tone.

“I really don't care, because I have nothing to hide, much less about my origins. Well yes, the mother of Nicholas II and wife of his father Aleksandr III was called Maria Fiodorovna, but it has nothing to do with the branch of my family. Maria was actually Princess Dagmar of Denmark, daughter of the then king of that country. She became Tsarina of Russia by her marriage to Aleksandr III and then changed her name. If we were from the same family that would make us members of the royal house of the Romanovs.”

"Then we are not Princes?" The man's ironic tone had become sarcastic, which convinced his wife to teach him a lesson. She stood in front of Thiago, standing on tiptoe, bringing her face closer to his and with her right hand gently pushed the man's neck to join his lips.

“No, we are not. And I remind you that you should take these things seriously since now you are also a Fiodorov.

On Monday at 5 pm, Cousin Igor accompanied by his beautiful wife Frederika came to look for them to go together to the reception that would take place in the Duke Golovkin's palace. Thiago had received hundreds of instructions on the protocols that governed the actions of the closed community of nobles exiled a century before and yet exhibited remarkable unity and coherence.

“Don't worry” Frederika said to the young man.” I am ethnically German and not Russian, and at the time of my marriage to Igor I also had to adapt to the styles and beliefs of the Russian nobility.”

“Well, it is a consolation.” The Argentine replied without much conviction.

The palace was located on the outskirts of Vienna, in a semi-rural setting and lived up to its name. It was huge, full of windows corresponding to as many other rooms, and Thiago lost count of the ones facing the entrance to the building.

Access was made through a marble staircase that ended in a huge wooden portal. Liveried clerks walked in and out of the palace incessantly carrying all sorts of items, and several men in dark suits wandered the gardens trying to remain unnoticed.

"Security personnel" thought the visitor without fear of being wrong.

In total, a hundred guests were already in the huge central hall of the building, men dressed in strict etiquette and beautiful ladies of all ages wearing luxurious dresses, jewelry and well-groomed hairstyles. Thiago felt transported to some film in a late European court of the XIX century, but he could not hide from himself the emotion and the visual joy that the unfolding process produced in him.

Many of the attendees knew Irina from her youth and childhood and lavished affectionate but formal greetings on her and the young man had to shake scores of hands from ladies and gentlemen who addressed him in French.

Finally Igor approached Irina and Thiago and told them.

“Here our paths separate. I will accompany Thiago to a presentation meeting with Duke Golovkin and some other members of our community. Please you and Frederika join the ladies and the rest of the gentlemen for a reception evening in the next room.”

"Will the black ball show up here?" Thiago whispered in his wife's ear, who burst out laughing.

“There will only be white balls for you, dear. You cannot believe that I have exposed you to a potentially frustrating situation.”

 Igor and the young man entered another room that turned out to be a game room with pool tables. Around an oval table were five elderly men. Igor proceeded to the introductions starting with the homeowner. He did it in French although later the language turned to English to facilitate exchanges with the young visitor.

 “Our host, Duke Golovkin, Count Shuvalov, Prince Vorontsov, General Naryshkin and young Demidov.”

Each of the nominees introduced himself with rigid formality and Thiago tried to imitate the modes as best as possible, taking into account the advice given by Irina and Igor.

Finally Duke Golovkin said.

“Please gentlemen, have a seat.”

In another huge room the other guests were standing or sitting in armchairs, attending a show that had spontaneously originated. Duchess Golovkin, the homeowner's wife, had sat in front of a huge grand piano from which she was playing some tunes. Suddenly one of the seated ladies said out loud.

“Let Frederika sing!”

The aforementioned made a modest gesture to apologize but the pianist cordially demanded.

“Come on dear. Won't you deprive us of your voice?”

Frederika stood by the piano and as if they had tacitly agreed something with Madame Golovkin began to sing a lied in German with a beautiful alto voice followed by the pianist.

"Frederika is a lieder specialist." another lady whispered in Irina's ear.

Finally Duke Golovkin and his companions left the game room and entered the concert hall with a relaxed gesture. Irina looked at her husband and he returned her gaze with a smile.

At that moment Igor said out loud.

"I propose that now my cousin Irina sing for us typical Russian melodies." Approaching the Duchess, he added.

“ I can accompany her to the piano, as we did as youngsters in this same city.”

Before the concurring assent Igor added.

“If you think so dear, we will start with Je vais seul sur la route.”

When Irina began to sing with her clear soprano voice, her surprised husband, since he did not cease to learn new and unexpected aspects of his wife; then he recalled the series of melodies performed by a Russian singer named Svetlana he had heard in the musical center of the flat from Irina the day he met her.

After the magnificent dinner, Duke Golovkin tapped his glass goblet with a teaspoon to attract attention and once there was silence he said out loud.

“I invite you to return to the main room to attend the presentation of the topic that decided us to convene this meeting, which will be in charge of Prince Vorontsov. It is not necessary to remind you of the absolute confidentiality of everything that we will hear next.”

The assistants returned to the main room where in the meantime the dinner had taken place, the employees had transformed by placing chairs for everyone and a table on which were a laptop and a projection cannon. In front of the desk was a large screen that already had a first slide with a title in French and where it could be read.

"The Trans-Siberian journey."

Thiago looked puzzled at his wife and asked her.

"Do you know anything about all this?"

“Of course, it is one of the reasons for our trip to Vienna, in addition to introducing you to my family and friends and returning to the place of my childhood.”