Читать книгу Once A Grand Duke by Alexander Grand Duke of Russia - Alexander Mikhailovich - Страница 18

The marriage of my sister Anastasia signified in a certain measure the break-up of our family. My elder three brothers were about to commence their service in the Guards, and a decision had to be taken as to what should be done with me. In any event, it was plain that very soon we would have to be separated from each other. Anastasia was the first one to take up her own life. Tall, slim and dark-haired, she presented a really striking picture in her heavy silver dress—the traditional wedding gown of all grand duchesses—as the Emperor led her at the head of a solemn procession, including the representatives of all the reigning houses of Europe, through the long halls of the Winter Palace to the adjoining chapel. Immediately after the first wedding, performed according to the rites of the Greek Orthodox Church, a second one was conducted by the Protestant minister inside the palace. In such a way both the Emperor of Russia and the Emperor of Germany were given full satisfaction, and their relatives, Grand Duchess Anastasia of Russia and Grand Duke Friedrich of Mecklenburg-Schwerin, were united twice within forty minutes.

A family lunch served after the second religious ceremony and a state dinner at night filled the program of the day. Next morning was allotted to the reception of the foreign ambassadors and various court dignitaries. Then another family meal had to be attended. Only at the end of the second day were the newly-weds permitted to board their special train that was to take them to Germany.

The whistle blew, the guard of honor presented arms, and we lost our Anastasia. Mother cried; father pulled at his glove. The heartless law that forced the members of the Russian reigning house to marry foreigners of royal blood scored its first casualty in our family; it was to continue its tyranny up to the year 1894, when I broke its validity by marrying Grand Duchess Xenia, daughter of my cousin Emperor Alexander III.

The departure of Anastasia made my mother decide to go abroad in the spring. Officially she wanted her sons to meet her brother, the Grand Duke of Baden; unofficially she longed to see her favorite child. It meant that for four months we would have to be separated from the Caucasus by thousands of miles. I tried every conceivable ruse to be permitted to return to Tiflis but my parents were not in a habit of soliciting my advice. Thus, in the summer of 1880 I met for the first time the representatives of a nation which was destined to loom so large in my future life. There were two pretty American girls playing tennis in the park, not far from the ducal palace. I lost my heart to both of them, unable to decide which one of the two I liked better. This fact, however, had no influence on our relations, for I was strictly forbidden to talk to any and all Americans, an aide-de-camp of the Grand Duke of Baden watching my movements at close range. The girls noticed my admiring glances and unaware of the cruel edict of my mother decided that I must be either too shy or too stupid or both. Each time they would finish playing a hard-disputed set, they would come to rest on a bench next to the spot where I stood. Talking in a theatrical whisper they would pass remarks damaging to my manly self-respect.

“What is the matter with that boy?” the taller girl would ask. “Can it be that he is deaf and dumb? Do you think we should learn the language of the mutes?”

I wished to God the damnable aide-de-camp would leave me alone for a few minutes, so that I could show to those adorable creatures what kind of a mute I was, but the German officers are taught to obey orders implicitly: if necessary he would have stood by my side for forty-eight consecutive hours. Even my shy attempts at smiling became known at the palace and were seized upon as an occasion for merciless teasing by both my brothers and my German cousins led by the future Reich Chancellor Prince Max of Baden. I began to find short notes under my pillow written by Michael and George but signed—“your loving American girls.” Tiny American flags would be stuck in the back of my overcoat, and my appearance in the drawing-room would be greeted by a few bars of a popular American march played on the piano by one of the torturers. After two weeks of silent struggle I gave in and kept away from the tennis court for the remainder of our stay in Baden-Baden.

In the beginning of that autumn we returned to Tiflis.