It’s nighttime on July 17, 1918, and the Romanov family are cowering in their basement. They’ve just been sentenced to death – and a group of soldiers are stood before them. Bullets then spray across the room, and smoke soon chokes the air. But Maria Romanov, a young woman who’s not even out of her teens, somehow hasn’t been hurt. So she sneaks toward the back doors, desperate to escape. Then a gunman looks straight at her…
Before we find out exactly what happened to Maria, though, let’s first take a look at the grand duchess’ childhood. You see, Maria was born on June 14, 1899, to parents Tsarina Alexandra Feodorovna and Tsar Nicholas II – the Slavic equivalent of an emperor. And when Maria came into the world, she already had two older sisters: Tatiana and Olga. Then two years later, another girl, Anastasia, joined the imperial brood, and Alexei, Maria’s only brother, followed in 1904.
So, as the daughter of a tsar, Maria was officially called a velikaya knyazhna. Yet although the title is most commonly referred to in English as “grand duchess,” it’s actually closer to a “grand princess.” Therefore, the young girl and her sisters enjoyed a superior status to other European royals’ daughters. These other princesses were, after all, known as “royal highnesses” – whereas Maria was technically of a grander imperial rank.
Yet although she boasted an impressive title, Maria didn’t experience particularly grandiose formative years. You see, as far as was possible, the tsar and his wife wanted their offspring to enjoy normal childhoods. To that end, then, even their staff were encouraged to do away with honorifics. So the workers instead called the royal girl “Maria Nikolaevna” or used her Slavic moniker, “Mashka.” Maria didn’t have her own room, either; she slept in the same chamber as Anastasia.
But this night-time proximity was perhaps one of the reasons why the two girls grew so close. In fact, family members lovingly referred to the siblings as “The Little Pair,” whereas Olga and Tatiana, the older sisters, were called “The Big Pair.” And by all accounts, the grand duchesses got along well together as a foursome, too. They even occasionally scrawled “OTMA” – an acronym of their given names – at the bottom of notes.
And according to Eagar, Maria worshipped her father. The nanny reported, for instance, that the young grand duchess regularly attempted to leave her playroom in search of “Papa.” So after Nicholas was stricken with typhoid, his third daughter came up with a sweet nightly ritual: every evening, she would smother a small picture of the tsar with kisses.
.png){kind=link}
Maria also had a surprising secret talent: remarkable physical strength. Mind you, a penchant for weight lifting actually ran in the family. Her grandfather, Tsar Alexander III, had also been impressively strong, in fact. During the 1888 Borki train disaster, for instance, Alexander III had supposedly borne the weight of a locomotive carriage’s fallen roof so that his loved ones could flee to safety. Rather than tackling a train, though, the grand duchess contented herself with occasionally picking up her teachers.
And it seems that Maria turned her “saucers” on a certain group more than most. From a young age, you see, the grand duchess was besotted with soldiers. Once, while watching an army unit, she confessed to Eagar, “I love these dear soldiers. I should like to kiss them all!” The nanny apparently then chastised her young charge by saying, “Marie, nice little girls don’t kiss soldiers.”
Eagar’s admonishment notwithstanding, Maria continued to be fascinated by soldiers. She even harbored romantic feelings for a number of them. In fact, the grand duchess once discussed her desire to become a trooper’s wife and bear many children – if she hadn’t been born into Russian royalty, of course. Yet if Maria had fulfilled this wish, it’s possible that her children could have been afflicted by a curious, and dangerous, medical condition.
That’s because hemophilia ran in Maria’s family; it affected her brother as well as other relatives. And while Maria didn’t suffer from the condition herself, any children that she bore might have inherited it from her genetic code. In which case, her children’s blood wouldn’t have clotted properly – meaning that a minor scrape could have resulted in significant bleeding. The offspring would potentially also have been more susceptible to bleeding in the brain.
Maria’s brother, Alexei, actually proved that living with hemophilia was no easy feat. The boy was often seriously ill as a result of the disorder, in fact, and came close to death on several occasions. His sickness was especially concerning for his parents, though, because Alexei was the next in line to the throne – or tsarevich. Yet the tsar and his wife were determined to help him. They therefore turned to a bizarre holy man who claimed he could heal Alexei with his mystical powers: Grigori Rasputin.
Originally a peasant who hailed from Siberia, Rasputin styled himself as a mystic who was capable of curing the sick, among other supernatural feats. Alexandra and the rest of the family were wholly convinced by his claims, too, and in 1906 Rasputin started treating Alexei in earnest. Many Russians didn’t take kindly to the enigmatic figure, though, and some were no doubt opposed to his reputation for bawdy behavior.
The Romanov children didn’t seem to share the public’s antipathy towards Rasputin, however. The siblings were actually rather fond of him, at least according to Grand Duchess Olga Alexandrovna, who was an aunt of Maria. “They were completely at ease with him,” she recalled. “All the children seemed to like him.”
And Maria herself seemed close with the monk, if their correspondence is anything to go by. For example, in a telegram sent in 1908, Rasputin wrote, “I miss your simple soul. We will see each other soon! A big kiss.” In a subsequent message, too, he continued to display affection towards the grand duchess, addressing her as “My Dear M! My Little Friend!”
Some Russians thought the monk was actually far closer to the tsarina and the grand duchesses than was appropriate, however. Nonetheless, the available evidence indicates that his relationship with the children never extended beyond friendship. It’s unsurprising that people bought into the rumor, though, as Rasputin himself circulated passionate letters addressed to him that were supposedly penned by Alexandra and her daughters.
But this was only one of the reasons why the Romanovs found themselves at the center of a devastating political fallout. You see, public opinion of Nicholas’ administration had been souring for a while. Various factors, prompted in part by Russian forces’ continued participation in World War I, had in fact given rise to an outpouring of dissatisfaction. It seemed that something had to give – and in February 1917, it did.
Yes, in the spring of 1917 Russia was rocked by the first of two revolutions that would overhaul the country’s leadership that year. So Nicholas formally relinquished his power on March 15, and the unbending absolutism of the tsar was followed by a temporary government. But what was to happen to the former ruler and his family? And would there even be a place for them in this bright new world at all?
It seems that revolution wasn’t at the forefront of Maria’s mind, though. That’s because, while the tumultuous events were reaching their crescendo, the family were battling measles. And even though Maria was the last of the children to succumb to the virus, she also contracted pneumonia – and actually came close to death. Those around the grand duchess feared for her health so much, in fact, that no one told her that Nicholas had given up his title until her recovery was assured.
Following Nicholas’ abdication, then, the Romanovs were taken into custody. Their palatial former home in Tsarskoye Selo – a settlement close to Saint Petersburg – subsequently became their prison. Maria seemed to adjust well to life as a jailbird, though, and quickly ingratiated herself with the guards. Then the family were moved almost 2,000 miles east to the town of Tobolsk. The grand duchess even later said that she wouldn’t mind staying in Tobolsk for good – if she could take unchaperoned walks, that is.
Yet it was not to be. Maria and the Romanovs were moved again – this time further east to the revolutionary city of Yekaterinburg. Their new jail, the stately Ipatiev House, had even been converted in readiness for their stay with the construction of a tall barrier that encircled the compound. So the family’s only contact with the outside world would be through the garden in which they were allowed to take their exercise.
Maria was actually the first of the children to settle into Yekaterinburg, as she was selected to travel there with her parents in April 1918. Her siblings had to stay behind, however, owing to the tsarevich’s poor health. Nevertheless, in a few short weeks the family were reunited. But would any of them ever leave Ipatiev House alive again?
In the meantime, though, Maria seemingly hadn’t taken easily to life in Yekaterinburg. Around a month after she’d moved in, in fact, the grand duchess wrote, “Oh, how complicated everything is now! We lived so peacefully for eight months, and now it’s all started again.” But she did manage to find one salacious way to distract herself from the family’s predicament.
As at her previous residences, Maria tried to befriend her captors. And her efforts didn’t go unnoticed – either by the men themselves or Alexandra. Indeed, the tsarina regularly admonished her daughter for her amiable demeanor. There was one particular guard called Ivan Skorokhodov, however, who really took a shine to the girl. In fact, after Skorokhodov had sneaked in a birthday cake for Maria, the two were later found between the sheets by the soldier’s commanding officers.
Despite her misgivings, though, Maria awoke on July 16, 1918 – two months after she’d first moved to Yekaterinburg – with likely no reason to fear that it would be for the last time. The day proceeded as any other, by all accounts, with the family enjoying an afternoon walk around the garden. The first hint that something was amiss didn’t actually come until dinnertime – when the chief guard, Yakov Yurovksy, delivered a curious message.
Yurovsky told the family that Leonid Sedniv, their kitchen dogsbody and a friend of Alexei, had to leave the property immediately. The 14-year-old was in fact the latest of a string of attendants who had left Ipatiev House earlier that day – for reasons that were still unknown to the Romanovs. When the family finally found out the truth, though, it would be far too late.
Hours after darkness had fallen, Maria and her family were woken up and greeted with some worrying news: there was trouble in the city, apparently, and they needed to hide in the basement as a result. So down they went, bringing cushions and one of their spaniels as well as other assorted items. And during the journey, Nicholas apparently assured everybody that they were “going to get out of this place.” His promise came true – but none of them were alive to see it.
Yes, Yorovsky announced that Maria and her family were to be executed immediately. Almost as soon as he had finished speaking, in fact, the guards opened fire. Maria’s mother and father were killed almost instantly. Yet the grand duchess herself emerged unscathed from the first round of bullets. She then tried in vain to open the basement’s rear doors – but one of the gunmen cottoned on to her plan.
Peter Ermakov, a military official who had apparently consumed a great deal of alcohol that day, then turned his gun on Maria. Despite the smoke that clouded the air, his shot rang true: the bullet sliced into her upper leg. The grand duchess consequently collapsed on the ground alongside Anastasia. But instead of killing her, Ermakov and the other shooters exited the room for a few minutes. Upon their return, however, the vapors were gone – and Maria was doomed.
Moreover, experts still aren’t totally sure about which skeleton is even Maria’s. In 1991, for instance, archaeologists ventured into the woodland beyond Yekaterinburg’s city limits and dug up a number of human bones. The remains, which had been interred together in one large grave, were subsequently identified as belonging to the Romanovs and their attendants through DNA testing. But there was a problem: rather than finding all 11 victims’ skeletons, the team discovered only nine bodies. So who was missing?
As it turned out, international experts had very different ideas. American forensic specialist Dr. William Maples, for example, was convinced that the skeletons of the tsarevich and Anastasia were missing. The Russians had a different view, though, and used computer software to ascertain that it was Maria’s remains that still hadn’t been found. And even though archaeologists returned to Yekaterinburg in 2007 and found the two missing bodies, it’s still not known for sure which skeleton is which.
What’s more, until the skeletons were uncovered, a number of people refused to believe that the grand duchess had died at all. Over the years, in fact, several individuals have purported to be Romanovs who’d survived the massacre. In 1919, for instance, two women insisted that they were the Little Pair. Rather than seeking to regain their alleged power, though, the duo retreated to the Ural Mountains and became nuns. And when they died in 1964, the women were entombed as Maria and Anastasia Nikolaevna.
Elsewhere, others have been adamant that they were Maria’s descendants. In the 1990s, for instance, Alex Brimeyer alleged that the grand duchess was actually his grandmother. According to Brimeyer, then, Maria hadn’t been executed at all. Instead, she’d fled to Romania and then began a family there – resulting in “Prince Alexis.” Brimeyer had a history of making fraudulent claims, though, and had even served a year and a half of jail time for his efforts.