Читать книгу Once A Grand Duke by Alexander Grand Duke of Russia - Alexander Mikhailovich - Страница 13

In the meanwhile, I was still eleven and experiencing the thrill of my first war.

My father having been appointed commander-in-chief of the Russian Army, the peaceful capital of the Caucasus had assumed overnight the stern appearance of General Headquarters.

The mobilized soldiers crossing afoot the mountains separating European Russia from the Southern Caucasus—at that time there was no direct railroad communication between Moscow and Tiflis—were fed daily in the spacious gardens of our palace, and an emergency hospital opened its activities in the halls of the ground floor.

Each morning, we kids escorted our father on his tours of inspection of the newly arrived troops, listening breathlessly to his simple soldierly speeches tending to explain the causes of the war and the urgent necessity for quick action.

Then the Great Day came: my own 73rd Krimsky Infantry Regiment passed through Tiflis on its way to the front, ready and waiting to make the acquaintance of its undersized colonel.

Six a.m. found me standing in front of the mirror and glaring in complete delight at my brilliant uniform, highly polished boots and impressive saber. Back of me I felt jealousy and animosity: my four brothers resented my triumph. They cursed the fate that had kept their regiments in the north. They anticipated that each and every victory scored by our army would be accredited by “that boisterous Sandro” to the prowess of his 73rd Krimsky Infantry Regiment.

“They seem to be pretty tired, those soldiers of yours,” said brother Michael, looking through the window at the four thousand men placed in front of the palace and all along the Golovinsky Prospect.

I ignored this petty remark. They looked beautiful, as far as I was concerned.

I thought I should make an appropriate speech to this regiment of mine and was trying to recall some spectacular expressions contained in the history of the Napoleonic campaigns.

“My dear heroes!”

No, that would sound too much like a translation from the French.

“My glorious soldiers!”

Or better still, “My glorious brethren!”

“What in Heaven’s name are you trying to do?” asked father, entering the room and noticing my calisthenics.

“He wants properly to inspire his regiment,” answered Michael, and it took the strong right arm of father to stop the righteous indignation of the colonel of the 73rd Krimsky Infantry Regiment.

“Try to be serious, children. No necessity to tease Sandro. Nobody expects him to make speeches, anyway.”

That sounded disappointing.

“But, I say, father, am I not supposed to address the soldiers?”

“Just wish them Godspeed. That’s all. Now let us go. And remember: you have to look cheerful and pleased, no matter how tired you feel.”

By midday I understood the meaning of my father’s warning. It took us four hours to pass in review the sixteen companies of the regiment, all made of healthy bearded giants, pleasantly amused at the sight of their very young and exceedingly self-conscious colonel. Sixteen times in succession I had to repeat—“Hail the First Company, hail the Second Company” etc., and hear in reply an overwhelming chorus of two hundred fifty voices wishing me “good health.” It was almost impossible for me to follow the gigantic stride of my father, who towered a full head over these warriors especially picked for their height. Never again in my life did I feel so exhausted, and yet so happy at the same time.

“I would advise your resting for a while,” suggested mother, when we returned to the palace.

The very idea of resting while my four thousand soldiers were on their way to the battlefields! I went straight to the large relief map of the Caucasus attached to the wall and started to draw the line of march to be followed by the 73rd Krimsky Infantry Regiment.

“I never heard anyone doing so much spur-clicking,” exclaimed brother Michael, and left the room in utter disgust. Although younger than he by three years I had outgrown him by an inch and a half that same winter, a thing that worried him considerably.