(Work for Ext. English course 1)
It never rained, nor poured, but the snow fell down in droves. God had a bucket of ice and tipped it over the world of men. Perhaps he was trying to eradicate our horrid ways?
My hand touched the freezing glass and a stab of pain shot through my arm. The outside world was a palette of white and grey. The soot shooting through the chimney of the fireplace in my room added to the darker colour. Ice fell from the sky – it seemed like rain more than snow; sleet. It drenched everything it touched with a cold, white chill. Far, far below, small black shapes shifted through the street, leaving tiny imprints that were quickly filled over once more. Occasionally a carriage rode through, horses huffing steam that disappeared into the air around them. The poor sat on the edges of the street in groups, sharing warmth, or what little there was, while the upper-class bourgeoisie danced a level above them in a room made of silk, timber and gold edging, fires burning in every corner so they could be dressed in the height of European fashion. How they could not glimpse the proletariat, simply freezing to death, outside of their windows, was a mystery to me. The working class citizens didn’t last long in this country, that was for sure.
Musing too much and not paying enough attention, I turned to see the fire close to dying, only dark embers in an ash-stained hearth. With a sigh and a regret that the servant girls had returned home for the night, I placed two heavy logs on the fire with some strain and moved back to the window. It was summer and the night sky was lit by the suns brilliant glare, bounding off of the hard white layer of extending rooftops. Summer was the season of the sun, winter was dark nooks and crannies for beggars and lechers to hide away in, to die in. Winter portrayed this scene much better than the supposed ‘hotter season’ ever did, but only because it hid the filth. At least in winter we could pretend it was a perfect world.
I pulled the heavy red curtains closed sharply and sat down in a high-backed chair when I heard the door creak open. It was only Nikolas, the heir to the Russian throne, accompanied by a select few guards. It was dangerous for a young boy to be alone in this particular wing of the palace, even though it was Saint Petersburg. I picked up the paper on the ground next to me as the doors closed behind the well-clad boy. He inclined his head, and I raised my hand.
“No need for formalities Nikolas,” I said to him, and he nodded instead. He approached with a hopping gait – he was in a good mood.
“Why do you even buy this, Sascha?” he queried, climbing onto my lap to stare at the large black slabs on the newspaper in large patches. I wondered why the press even tried to print this in the first place. I pointed to a page, the side column marred by ink.
“Because it tells me how much that They don’t want the people to know,” I replied quietly. Even though this was my own private chamber, eavesdroppers were frequently discovered. “Every time I see a black page, it shows all the lies being told, all the secrets being hidden.” Nikolas squinted and scratched at the black.
“So this is bad?” he asked, looking up. I had to pause, thinking before answering.
“It depends. Do we want the world to know everything that happens?”
“Yes!” Nikolas exclaimed. “Of course! Why would we want to lie?” I smiled wryly, basking in the child’s naïveté, for a moment at the very least. “Sascha?”
“Nikolas,” I began, folding the paper in half, and then in half again. “For every person in this country to know everything would set the world as it is known into complete chaos, and most likely, anarchy.” Nikolas frowned, a pout on his small, childish face.
“Why?” he asked. “Wouldn’t they understand?”
“No, they wouldn’t understand,” I replied. “The workers and peasants can not see things from our perspective, Nikolas.” Still the snow fell outside, and the fire crackled on the hearth.
“Why not? Are they all stupid?” Why not indeed.
“It’s because they haven’t grown up in the same environment,” I replied steadily. “If you toiled, turning frozen earth with broken plows and a maimed horse, for your lifespan, would you think that the Czar and his feudal disputes were for the betterment of this country?” Nikolas chewed on his lip.
“I suppose not. But what is the problem with letting them know anyway?” Again, a pause before replying. I hadn’t expressed my opinions of the censorship to any other person. But in order for Nikolas to be a good Czar, he needed to understand how Russia worked.
“They would get…” I tried to think of the right word, or at the very least, a word that Nikolas would understand. “They would get angry, towards your father. They would try to kill him.” Nikolas looked aghast.
“So… we lie to protect us?
“Ourselves,” I automatically corrected. “And yes, protect ourselves, and the people.” Nikolas leaned over and picked up the paper.
“We’re protecting them with lies?” He questioned, most likely for verification. I nodded.
“But Nikolas, don’t let this influence you too deeply. Lying is still a bad act. In the end, everything comes out and just makes things worse. It’s better to tell the truth.” Nikolas frowned, and I wondered if, now, I was just confusing him. He looked at the paper, before giving a serious nod. I smiled. “You’re a good kid, Nikolas.” He smiled and stood up off of my lap, the paper still in his hand. Approaching the fire, he didn’t look back at me as he tossed the folded paper into the flames. We both watched, the only sound the crackling as the fire disappeared.
“When I’m Czar I’m going to do things differently Sascha,” he related, back still turned. “I want the people to trust me and know that what I’m doing for them is the right thing.” I didn’t let the boy see me smile. It was good that he had such ambitions, but if they were going to come into reality, that would be another matter. As his tutor I was allowed to have some influence into his up-bringing.
“Nikolas, it’s getting late, you should go before your mother begins to worry,” I advised, standing and leading the boy to the door. “But you must not tell anybody of what I spoke to you about, is that clear child?” He nodded vehemently, and I gave a quick squeeze to his shoulder, before placing him in the custody of two very capable looking guards.
I sighed, the fire now roaring due to the burning newspaper. It went from a source of hopeless and heartless information to ash that polluted the skies and dirtied the streets again. I had a small chuckle at that irony – no change really occurred. The newspaper still remained a source of disguising what remained pure; truth and snow. Yet then again, nothing remained pure when human interference was involved. The truth was twisted and deformed till only lies remained, and the snow under the feet of humans became puddles of slush, and even in the hands of a child, a weapon. The children. The future of our world rested with them. And we were leading them in the wrong direction.
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