Читать книгу Once A Grand Duke by Alexander Grand Duke of Russia - Alexander Mikhailovich - Страница 17

All large families suffer from the overlapping ambitions of its male members, and the Russian imperial family was no exception to this sour rule.

At the time of my first sojourn in St. Petersburg—the autumn of the year 1879—there were nearly two score young men in the family headed by Emperor Alexander II.

The Czar himself had five sons: Alexander (the future Emperor Alexander III), Vladimir, Alexis, Sergei and Paul.

His brother Michael (my father) had six sons: Nicholas (usually referred to as Nicholas Michailovich to distinguish him from his numerous namesakes in the family), Michael Michailovich, George Michailovich, myself, Sergei Michailovich, and my infant brother Alexis.

His other brother Nicholas Nicholaevich had two sons: “Nicholasha” (Nicholas Nicholaevich Jr. who became commander-in-chief of the Russian armies in 1914) and Peter.

Still another brother of the Czar, Constantin, had four sons: Constantin Constantinovich, Dimitry Constantinovich, Nicholas Constantinovich and Wiacheslav.

The eldest two sons of the Czar, Alexander (then the heir apparent) and Vladimir, having married at an early age, had in their turn three sons each: Nicky (the future Czar Nicholas II), George Alexandrovich (“Georgie”), and Michael Alexandrovich, being born from the marriage of the heir apparent to the Danish Princess Dagmar; and Cyril, Boris, and Andrew, the sons of Grand Duke Vladimir, constituting the youngest male trio of the imperial family.

With the natural exception of the heir apparent and his three sons whose future lay in the direction of the throne, all the other young male Romanoffs expected to make a career in the army and anticipated strenuous competition from their own cousins. Hence, there were several “parties” in the family, the close relationship existing between us failing to prevent certain animosities. To begin with, we, the Caucasians, were inclined to keep aloof from the majority of the northerners. They suspected us of enjoying special favors from our imperial uncle; we accused them of ridiculous haughtiness. We five had our favorites and our “bêtes noires.” We all liked Nicky and Georgie. We all distrusted Nicholasha. The feud between my elder brother Nicholas Michailovich and the future commander-in-chief of the Russian Armies—dating far back to their first meeting, when both were still in their early teens—brought a sharp note of discord into the relations between the younger members of the imperial family: one had to decide whether one supported the tall Nicholasha or whether one’s sympathies were with the learned Nicholas Michailovich.

Although a complete novice in St. Petersburg I had passed severe judgment on the “enemy” of my elder brother long in advance of our actual encounter in 1879; when I met him for the first time in my life at the Sunday family dinner in the Winter Palace I saw no reason to change my opinion.

There they sat, every one of my relatives, at the long table shining with baccara glasses and gold plate. The Emperor, the sweetness of his lovable character plainly marked in his soft large eyes; the heir apparent, stern, domineering, the bulk of his tremendous body making him look much older than his thirty-four years; Grand Duke Vladimir, esthetic, but rough; Grand Duke Alexis, the recognized Beau Brummell of the imperial family and the idol of the “belles of Washington” where he was in a habit of going at regular intervals; Grand Duke Sergei, snobbish, unapproachable, boredom and contempt written on his young face; Grand Duke Paul, the handsomest son of the Emperor and by far the most “democratic” one.

The four “Constantinovichi” were grouped around their father, Grand Duke Constantin, who was extremely unpopular among the “die-hards” of the family on account of his liberal political opinions.

And then our “enemy” Nicholasha! The tallest man in the Winter Palace, which was quite an achievement considering that six-feet-one represented at that time the average height in the imperial family. He must have stood six-feet-five in his stockinged feet, for even my father looked considerably smaller. All during the dinner Nicholasha kept such an erect position that I expected each moment to hear the bars of the National Anthem. Once in a while he shot a cold glance in the direction of the Caucasians and then quickly lowered his eyes, for he was met with a veritable salvo of chilling looks.

At the end of the dinner my policy was set: I decided to strengthen my friendship with Nicky and Georgie, whom I had met during our summer stays in the Crimea, and I was willing to take for playmates Grand Duke Paul and Grand Duke Dimitry Constantinovich. As for the rest of them, I wanted to keep as much room between us as would be permitted by the rules of etiquette and civility. Looking at the proud faces of my cousins I realized that the choice lay between becoming popular or keeping my personality intact. And so it happened that not only in the autumn of 1879 but in the course of all my life in Russia I had very little to do with the members of the imperial family outside of Nicky, his sisters and my own brothers. Poor Georgie died of galloping consumption in my house at Borjom in 1899. Grand Duke Paul (father of Grand Duchess Marie) contracted a morganatic marriage in 1902 and was obliged to leave Russia; as for Dimitry Constantinovich, he developed at an early age some very specific interests—limited to horses and military affairs—which did not favor the growth of our intimacy, although we always remained good friends.

Some day, a novelist possessing the qualifications of an Emile Zola and unafraid of spending long years in research and study, should choose the history of the modern Romanoffs as a subject deserving as many volumes as the epic of the Rougon-Macquards. Fathers and sons, cousins and brothers, uncles and nephews, we were all so different in our characters, inclinations and interests that it is almost impossible to believe that but forty short years and two reigns stood between the death of the Iron Ruler of Europe, Emperor Nicholas I, and the ascension to the throne of his hapless great-grandson, the last Czar of all the Russias: Nicholas II.