From that moment on, the boy’s ravaged body began to mend. We could only think of Rasputin as a holy man and the instrument in the healing of my brother. I recall seeing him later--only three or four times--but he made a deep impression on me. He was so different from other human beings. His piercing eyes seemed to look right through me even into the depths of my innermost self. He frightened me. When I first saw him he said, “Is this the little one?” and I was afraid that he would touch me, but he didn’t. He wore a long cassock with a cross hanging down on his chest. He looked like a monk. I was told he walked long distances barefoot, not having the necessary money to travel by train. But when I saw him he wore boots. By nature he was a son of the soil, like a wild plant nourished by accident. Grigory Rasputin was not a monk at all except in a very loose sense. He was not even a member of any holy order. He was a Starets, a pilgrim and lay preacher among peasants. Could he be a biblical character come to life? I wondered. On his many journeys he had learned many of nature’s remedies. He had faith in them in the face of modern scientific medicine. He believed nature had made provision for man’s health as she had made provision for his food and drink. He knew an herb or berry for various maladies. His remedies were simple; it did not seem possible they could be effective. I heard he used to put dried berries in his tea. For bronchitis, he used high bush cranberries or red raspberry juice. We did not follow any of his remedies for my brother. We believed that ultimately God was the only Healer. Father Vassiliev, our chaplain, held services twice a day in the camp chapel, which had been especially built in a large tent in the garden, until our departure from Spala in the late fall. Many different gifts were sent to Alexei during his illness, including some enamel and silver icons of St. Alexius and a Virgin and Christ in gold and decorated with precious stones. These and others came with the blessing of the churches in their incessant prayer for his health. After this dreadful experience in Poland, Alexei was like something that had been lost but was now found. We could not do enough for him, but in spite of the attention we gave him, he was not spoiled. He was only an average boy and there was no reason for him to be different because he had been born to a royal family. There was a magnetism about the little fellow which no one could resist, yet Mother and Father tried to be firm with him. We all knew Alexei was the most important thing in Mother’s life; in fact, he was in all of ours. His condition meant misery or happiness to the whole family. Our first question every morning was, “How is Alexei?” We really did not need to ask because when Mother was happy, obviously he was all right.