Читать книгу Once A Grand Duke by Alexander Grand Duke of Russia - Alexander Mikhailovich - Страница 21

Even the impassive grand master of ceremonies was visibly embarrassed next Sunday night, when the members of the imperial family gathered around the dinner-table in the Winter Palace ready to pass their pitiless judgment on “that awful woman.” His voice expressed grave misgivings as he announced, tapping the floor three times with his ivory-handled staff:

“His Majesty, the Emperor, and Princess Yourievskaya.”

My mother turned her head away in plain disgust. My future mother-in-law, then the wife of the heir apparent, Grand Duke Alexander Alexandrovich, lowered her eyes. She would not have minded it so much for herself but she was thinking of her sister Alexandra married to the Prince of Wales. What will old Queen Victoria say when she hears of this disgrace? . . .

The Emperor walked in briskly with a strikingly attractive woman on his arm. He gave a gay wink to my father and then sized up the massive figure of the heir apparent. He counted on the loyalty of the former but had no illusions as to the attitude of the latter. Princess Yourievskaya gracefully acknowledged the formal bows of the grand duchesses and sat down in Empress Marie Alexandrovna’s chair! Prompted by curiosity, I never took my eyes off her. I liked the sad expression of her beautiful face and the radiance of her rich blond hair. Her nervousness was obvious. Frequently she turned to the Emperor, and he patted her hand gently. She would have succeeded in conquering the men had they not been watched by the women. Her efforts to join the general conversation were met with a polite silence. I felt sorry for her and could not comprehend why she should be ostracized for loving a handsome, kind and cheerful man who happened to be the Emperor of Russia.

A long association did not dampen their mutual adoration in the least. At sixty-four Alexander II acted as a boy of eighteen. He whispered words of encouragement into her small ear; he wanted to know whether she liked the wine; he agreed with everything she said; he looked at his relatives with a friendly smile inviting them to enjoy his idyllic happiness, and joked with me and my brothers, extremely satisfied that at least we youngsters had taken a fancy to the poor princess.

At the end of the dinner the governess brought in the three children.

“Ah, there is my Gogo,” exclaimed the Emperor proudly, lifting the vivacious boy in the air and placing him on his shoulder. “Tell us, Gogo, what is your full name?”

“I am Prince George Alexandrovich Yourievsky,” replied Gogo, and started to arrange the side-whiskers of the Emperor, brushing them with his two little hands.

“Well, we are all very glad to have made your acquaintance, Prince Yourievsky. By the way, prince, would you care to be a grand duke?”

“Please, Sasha, don’t,” nervously said the princess. This joking reference to the possibility of legitimizing their morganatic children made her blush. For the first time during the evening she forgot all about etiquette and addressed her husband by his little name.

Fortunately, Gogo was too much engulfed in playing barber to His Majesty to consider the advantages of a resplendent imperial title, and the Czar did not insist on an answer. It became clear, however, that in his quiet unobtrusive way Alexander II had decided to ignore the sulkiness of the shocked grand duchesses, for even at this first family reunion he was chiefly interested in providing a joyful Sunday for his little children. After dinner a show was given by an Italian prestidigitator, and then the younger guests were taken by Gogo into the adjoining salon, where he demonstrated his skill in riding a bicycle and sliding down the so-called Russian Mountains sitting on a rug. The little chap wanted to make friends with everybody, particularly with my cousin Nicky who seemed to enjoy immensely the idea of having acquired a seven-year-old uncle at the age of thirteen.

On the way back home from the Winter Palace we witnessed another hopeless dispute between our parents.

“No matter what you say or do,” declared our mother, “I shall never recognize that scheming adventuress. I hate her. She is despicable. Imagine her daring to call your brother ‘Sasha’ in the presence of all the members of the imperial family.”

Father sighed and shook his head in despair.

“You still refuse to realize, my dear,” he retorted rather meekly, “that whether she is good, bad or indifferent, she is married to the Czar. Since when is a wife forbidden to use her husband’s little name in public? Do you ever address me as ‘Your Imperial Highness’?”

“How can you make such a silly comparison,” said mother and tears appeared in her eyes. “I did not break up a family. I married you with the consent of your family and mine. I am not plotting to ruin the empire.”

It was the turn of father to get mad.

“I positively forbid you”—he emphasized every word—“to repeat such disgraceful gossip. The future Empress of Russia will be treated with courtesy by you and every other member of the imperial family, including the heir apparent and his wife. The subject is closed once and forever.”