A Fallen Emperor’s Garden Longings: Tsar Nicholas II’s Last Birthday
This botanical history post was featured on The Daily Gardener podcast:
May 18, 1868
On this day, dear readers, we mark the birth of a man whose life would end in tragedy - Tsar Nicholas II (books about this person), the last Emperor of Russia, King of Congress Poland, and Grand Duke of Finland.
His reign, which began on November 1, 1894, would come to an abrupt end with his abdication on March 15, 1917.
Picture, if you will, the stark contrast between the pomp and circumstance of his coronation and the somber reality of his fiftieth birthday in 1918.
On that day, Nicholas found himself under house arrest along with the rest of the Romanov family (books about this family), confined by the Bolsheviks in Yekaterinburg, Russia's fourth-largest city.
Can you imagine the fallen emperor, once ruler of a vast empire, now imprisoned in a private home ominously dubbed the "House of Special Purpose"?
It was to be Nicholas's last birthday. The following month, in June, he penned these poignant words in his diary:
"It was unbearable to sit that way, locked up, and not be in a position to go out into the garden when you wanted and spend a fine evening outside."
Can you feel the despair in those words?
The longing for something as simple as a stroll in the garden?
His wife, Alexandra, echoed this sentiment in her own writings:
"Out in the garden, fearfully hot, sat under the bushes.
They have given us. . . half an hour more for being out. Heat, airlessness in the rooms intense."
Imagine the once-powerful Tsarina, now grateful for a mere half-hour of fresh air!
Yet, even in these dire circumstances, nature found a way to offer solace. By June 23rd, Alexandra noted a small miracle:
Two of the soldiers came and took out one window in our room.
Such joy, delicious air at last, and one window no longer whitewashed.
The air in the room became clean and by evening, cool.
Can you picture the relief on their faces as that fresh summer breeze wafted through their room?
Nicholas, too, found a moment of joy in nature's embrace:
The fragrance from all the town's gardens is amazing.
Alas, these fleeting moments of happiness were to be among their last. On July 17, 1918, the entire family, including their children and most faithful servants, met a tragic end in the basement of their prison home.
Today, the Ipatiev house is no more, demolished in September 1977.
Yet, the memory of the Romanovs lives on. The land, now owned by the Russian Orthodox Church, is home to the Church on the Blood. Its altar stands on the very spot where the family breathed their last, now honored as saints in the Russian Orthodox faith.
As we tend our gardens this spring, let us pause for a moment to reflect on the Romanovs' final days.
How might we appreciate the simple joys of nature - the scent of blooming flowers, the caress of a warm breeze - that brought comfort to a fallen emperor in his darkest hours?
And perhaps, as we breathe in the fragrance of our own gardens, we might remember Nicholas's words and be grateful for the freedom to enjoy these simple pleasures.
