By Gloria Whelan
In the autumn of 1914, secure at the back of palace partitions, Katya Ivanova sees St. Petersburg as a paranormal place.
The daughter of a lady-in-waiting to the Empress, Katya spends all her time with the Grand Duchesses; the royal kinfolk seems like her personal. yet outdoor the palace, a negative conflict is sweeping via Europe, and Russia is starting to fall apart below the load of a becoming revolution. Now, as Katya′s once-certain destiny starts off to dissolve, she needs to search to appreciate what's occurring to her loved nation and, for the 1st time in her lifestyles, take cost of her personal future.
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Additional resources for Angel on the Square
I had been in the palace for only a few hours, and already I had let down the Tsar of all the Russias. I was mortified, and I resolved I would not let Stana talk me into more mischief. The Tsar turned back to Mama and the Empress and went on with his conversation. Now his words were no longer gentle, as they had been to us. “There will always be people out there who dare to question the authority of the Tsar,” he said in a stern voice. “I let the people have a parliament and even let it meet in my own palace.
The Empress quickly explained, “You must excuse Alexei. He has not been well. ” There was that sad look on her face again. 31 To cover the awkwardness of our first meeting, we all turned eagerly to our buttered bread and our glasses of tea, served in silver holders. I wished that Misha were there to see how simple the tea was, how there were none of the cakes and sweet biscuits we had at home for our tea. Mother and the Empress chatted away, but the girls and Alexei said little. The girls had embroidery hoops on their laps, and from time to time they would take them up and work a few stitches.
Krasivo,” I said, sighing, for it was very beautiful. I would have been content to stay and examine such treasures, but Stana pulled me along. I held my breath as we entered what must have been the imperial bedroom. I was so awed at being in 33 the room that I crossed it on tiptoe, trying to keep out of my head any disrespectful pictures of the Tsar and Empress in their nightshirts. The room was covered with lilac-and-white striped silk. Garlands of flowers were painted on the ceiling, and the walls were hung with portraits of Alexei and his sisters and with hundreds of icons, paintings of Jesus or Mary or the saints.