Granny Dan

“I won't let you do that,” Madame Markova said quietly. “You have not danced Raimonda yet, and I was planning to let you do that this year. It would be a shame to die without having at least tried that.” Danina tried to smile but failed. She felt much too ill to answer.

“I can't miss rehearsal tomorrow,” Danina croaked at her a little while later, as Madame Markova sat with her through the night. It was as though Danina felt that if she didn't dance, she might well die. The ballet was her life-force.

The doctor returned to see her again that morning, he applied several poultices, and gave her several drops of a bitter tasting liquid to drink, but to no avail. By late that afternoon, she was much worse. She was completely delirious that night, shouting unintelligibly and muttering darkly, and then laughing at people she imagined she saw, or things she heard but no one else did. It was an endless night for everyone, and in the morning Danina looked ravaged. The fever was so high that it was hard to imagine she had survived it this far, impossible to believe it would not kill her.

“We must do something,” Madame Markova said, looking distracted. The doctor had insisted there was nothing more he could do, and she believed him, but perhaps another doctor would think of something else he hadn't. With a sense of desperation, Madame Markova jotted off a note in haste that afternoon to the Czarina, explaining the situation to her, and daring to ask if she had any suggestions, or knew someone they could call for Danina. Madame Markova knew, as everyone did, that there was a hospital set up in part of the Catherine Palace at Tsarskoe Selo, where the Czarina and Grand Duchesses nursed the soldiers. Perhaps there was someone there who would have some idea how to help Danina. Madame Markova was desperate by then, and willing to try anything to save her. Some people had survived the rampaging influenza in Moscow, but it seemed to be more a matter of luck, rather than anything more scientific.

The Czarina did not waste time writing a response and immediately sent the younger of the Czarevitch's two doctors to Danina. The elder, the venerable Dr. Botkin, was himself felled at the time with a bout of mild influenza. But Dr. Nikolai Obrajensky, whom Danina had met that summer in Livadia, was at the ballet school, asking for Madame Markova long before dinner. And she was greatly relieved to see him, and murmured anxiously about the kindness of the Czarina when she met him. She was still so upset over Danina's condition at the time that she scarcely noticed how much he resembled the Czar, though in a somewhat younger version.

“How is she?” the doctor asked gently. He could see from the state of Madame Markova's distress that the young ballerina must be no better. But even he, having seen severe cases of influenza at the hospital, had not expected to find the young dancer so ill, or so worn by the illness that seemed to have ravaged her nearly totally in the two days she'd had it. She was dehydrated, delirious, and when he took her temperature, he checked it again, unable to believe it was as high as the thermometer said. He had little hope for her survival after he read it again, and examined her carefully, and he finally turned to Madame Markova with a dismal expression. “I'm afraid you already know what I am going to say … don't you?” he said, looking deeply sympathetic. He could see, from the woman's eyes, how much she loved Danina. She was like a daughter to her.

“Please … I can't bear it …” she said, dropping her face into her hands, too exhausted and strained herself to tolerate the blow he was about to deal her. “She's so young … so talented … she's only nineteen … she must not die. You must not let her,” she said fiercely, looking up at him again, wanting something from him he could not give her. Hope, if not assurance.

“I cannot help her,” he said honestly. “She would not even survive the trip to the hospital. Perhaps if she is still with us in a few days, we can move her.” But he thought it less than likely, and Madame Markova knew that. “All you can do is try to keep her cool to bring the fever down, bathe her with cool cloths, and force her to drink as much as you can. The rest is in God's hands, Madame. Perhaps He needs her more than we do.” His tone was kind, but he could not lie to her. He was only amazed that she had survived this long. He knew that some had died on the day the dreaded influenza felled them. And she had had it for two days now. “Do what you can for her, but know that you cannot work miracles, Madame. We can only pray now, and hope that He listens,” Dr. Obrajensky said somberly. He had no hope for Danina.

“I understand,” she said bleakly.