The Paleys (1921-1927) - An Alternate Romanov Story

Paris

April 1923

Natalia

Paris was life. Even four months after her return, Natalia still marvelled at how she had survived so long away from the city where she had been born. Paris had an electric pulse, especially now, in the wake of the war. It was as if the entire city had vowed to live with reckless abandon, to savour every moment of peace before fate could snatch it all away again.

People seemed bolder and more experimental. New art forms were emerging that defied logic and long-standing traditions, while music—wild, untamed rhythms that made the older generation shake their heads in disapproval—set bodies in motion with a kind of frantic release. It was as if the city itself had decided to erase everything that was old and was starting to rewrite itself from scratch, and Natalia, alongside Tata, was right in the middle of it all.

Weekdays meant school, but that was hardly a challenge. After years of enduring strict English governesses and tireless Russian maids, her school teachers seemed almost soft by comparison. Sure, the coursework was more rigorous, but Natalia wasn't there to be at the top of the class. She did just enough to stay afloat, content with mediocrity as long as it kept her free for the weekends.

Ah, the weekends. That was when life truly unfolded.

Though always under the watchful eye of two or three chaperones, Natalia and Tata ventured into the heart of Paris. They attended the theatre and watched avant-garde plays that sometimes made no sense but left them buzzing with excitement. They roamed through art exhibitions, where colours and forms blurred the lines of reality. They saw operas that stirred emotions in ways words couldn't. And when the sun was high, they took leisurely, endless walks through the Bois de Boulogne and the elegant streets of fashionable neighbourhoods.

But it wasn't only the sanctioned adventures that made Natalia feel alive.

Two or three times, she and Tata had slipped out of the house unnoticed in the middle of the night. Careful to avoid waking the servants, they crept down the darkened streets until they could catch a cab to the city's centre and discover the smoky, vibrant world of Paris's underground jazz clubs. There, they saw firsthand the music that had taken the world by storm—wild, syncopated rhythms that made the air feel electric. It was nothing like anything they had ever experienced, and they were entranced by the energy of it all.

One night, Tata bumped into a group of friends already at the club, and before Natalia knew it, they were being pulled onto the dance floor and taught how to move to the infectious beat of the Charleston. At first, Natalia fumbled, laughing at her own clumsiness, but soon she was spinning and kicking with the rest of them, swept up in the exhilaration of the night.

The first time they had escaped, they had barely made it back before dawn, rushing through the back door just moments before the servants got up to start their day's work. With her heart pounding and shoes still dusty from the streets, Natalia collapsed into bed, breathless and giddy from the thrill of having outwitted everyone.

In those moments, as she stood under the Parisian sky, breathing in the city's intoxicating energy, Natalia felt she could never leave again.

But reality always had a way of creeping into her existence. With Irina's wedding to Feodor fast approaching, her family was due to arrive in Paris at any moment. The thought of seeing them again was bittersweet. She missed them, of course she did, but the freedom she had enjoyed over these past months would soon be over. Afterwards, she would have to travel to the Crimea for the wedding and, while she was happy for her sister, it was impossible not to feel a sense of disappointment for everything she was going to miss while she was away.

That morning, the air outside was soft and fresh. The soft breeze carried the scent of blooming flowers and damp earth which was as clear a sign as any that Spring had fully arrived and was transforming the city. The bare branches of the trees lining the avenue outside their house were now heavy with a delicate canopy of young green leaves. The sunlight, gentle and golden, filtered through them, creating golden patterns and shadows over the gravel in the avenue. Natalia stood by the entrance of the house, resting her gloved hands on the wrought iron railing as she watched for any sign of her family's arrival.