Excerpt from The Romanovs by Simon Sebag Montefiore, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

If the challenge of ruling Russia has always been daunting, the role of autocrat could only be truly exercised by a genius— and there are very few of those in most families. The price of failure was death. "In Russia the government is autocracy tempered by strangulation," quipped the French woman of letters Madame de Staël. It was a dangerous job. Six of the last twelve tsars were murdered— two by throttling, one by dagger, one by dynamite, two by bullet. In the final catastrophe in 1918, eighteen Romanovs were killed. Rarely was a chalice so rich and so poisonous. I particularly examine each succession, always the best test of a regime's stability. It is ironic that now, two centuries after the Romanovs finally agreed a law of succession, Russian presidents still effectively nominate their successors just as Peter the Great did. Whether a smooth handover or desperate transition, these moments of extreme tension, when existential necessity demands that every reserve of ingenuity be deployed, every intrigue explored, reveal the fundamentals of power.

The essence of tsardom was the projection of majesty and strength. Yet this had to be combined with what Otto von Bismarck, rival and ally of the Romanovs, called "the art of the possible, the attainable, the art of the next best." For the Romanovs, the craft of survival was based on the balancing of clans, interests and personalities of both a minuscule court and a gigantic empire. Emperors needed to keep the support of their army, nobility and their administration. If they lost all three, they were likely to be deposed— and, in an autocracy, that usually meant death. As well as playing the lethal game of politics, the sovereigns had to exude visceral, almost feral authority. An effective tsar could be harsh provided he was consistently harsh. Rulers are often killed not for brutality but for inconsistency. And tsars had to inspire trust and respect among their courtiers but sacred reverence among the peasantry, 90 per cent of their subjects, who saw them as "Little Fathers." They were expected to be severe to their officials but benign to their peasant "children": "the tsar is good," peasants said, "the nobles are wicked."

Power is always personal: any study of a Western democratic leader today reveals that, even in a transparent system with its short periods in office, personalities shape administrations. Democratic leaders often rule through trusted retainers instead of official ministers. In any court, power is as fluid as human personality. It flows hydraulically to and from the source, but its currents constantly change; its entire flow can be redirected, even reversed. In an autocracy, the power is always in flux, as changeable as the moods, relationships and circumstances— personal and political— of one man and his sprawling, teeming domains. All courts work in similar ways. In the twenty-first century, the new autocracies in Russia and China have much in common with that of the tsars, run by tiny, opaque cliques, amassing vast wealth, while linked together through hierarchical client–patron relationships, all at the mercy of the whims of the ruler. In this book, my aim is to follow the invisible, mysterious alchemy of power to answer the essential question of politics, laconically expressed by that maestro of powerplay, Lenin: kto kogo?— who controls whom?

In an autocracy, the traits of character are magnified, everything personal is political, and any proximity to the sovereign is transformed into power, woven into a golden thread extending from the crown to anyone it touches. There were sure ways to gain the intimate confidence of a tsar. The first was to serve in court, army or government and especially to deliver military victory; the second was to guarantee security— every ruler, not only those in Russia, needs an indispensable hatchetman; the third was mystical— to ease divine access for the imperial soul; and the fourth and oldest way was amorous or sexual, particularly in the case of female empresses. In return, the tsars could shower these servitors with cash, serfs and titles. Tsars who turned their back on the court's brokering arrangement or who performed dramatic reversals of foreign policy against the wishes of their potentates, particularly the generals, were liable to be murdered— assassination being one of the few ways for the elite to protest in an autocracy without formal opposition. (The people's way to protest was urban riot and peasant uprising, but for a tsar his nearby courtiers were far more deadly than distant peasants— and only one, Nicholas II, was ever overthrown by popular revolt.) \

Excerpted from The Romanovs by Simon Sebag Montefiore. Copyright © 2016 by Simon Sebag Montefiore. Excerpted by permission of Knopf. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.