Once A Grand Duke by Alexander Grand Duke of Russia. Alexander Mikhailovich
it meant a possibility of getting rid of my usual costume, which up to then had consisted of a shirt of pink silk, broad trousers and high red-leather boots.
My father smiled and shook his head negatively. Of course, I would occasionally be permitted to don the glittering uniform if I were a good boy, but first of all I had to deserve the honor of wearing this noble sword. I had to study hard for many years.
My face became rather long, but the worst was yet to come.
“Beginning with tomorrow,” explained my father, “you are to live in the same quarters with your brothers Michael and George. You will take your orders from their tutors.”
Good-by, my kind nurses. Good-by, fairy tales. Good-by, peaceful dreams. My head sank into the pillows; I cried all night long, refusing to listen to the comforting words of the big-hearted Cossack Shevtchenko. Finally, seeing that his promises to visit with me each and every Sunday failed to produce the necessary effect, he whispered to me in a frightened tone: “Think what shame it would mean for you if His Imperial Majesty should mention it in an army order that his nephew, Grand Duke Alexander, does not deserve to command the Seventy-third Krimsky Infantry Regiment because he likes to cry like a girl.”
I jumped up from the bed and rushed to wash my face. To think that I very nearly disgraced my entire family in the eyes of the imperial court!
An event of still greater importance coincided with this seventh birthday of mine. I suppose it amounted to a veritable spiritual dawn, so strong was the shock caused to my young soul.
The custom of the Greek Orthodox Church required every boy to be taken to his first confession before venturing upon the road of worldly knowledge. The kind Father Titoff did his best to soften the ordeal, but he had to obey the relentless regulations.
For the first time in my life I learned of the existence of various sins accurately classified and described at length by this holy man. A child of seven was called upon to confess his intercourse with the Devil. The God who talked to me in murmurs of red, white and blue flowers growing in our garden had suddenly given way to a menacing and unforgiving Being.
Trying to avoid my horrified look, Father Titoff spoke of the damnations and tortures of hell guaranteed for anyone who would attempt to hide his sinfulness. He raised his voice, and I glanced tremblingly at the Cross on his breast, lighted by the rays of the hot Caucasian sun. Could it be that I had committed some frightful crime, unconsciously and unwittingly?
“Very often little boys steal small things from their parents. They mean no harm, but their deed constitutes a sin!”
No, I felt quite certain of never having stolen even a piece of candy out of the big silver bowl that stood on the mantelpiece in the dining-room, although more than once I had been tempted to do so. My mind traveled back to the previous summer spent in Italy. While in Naples, admiring a group of fruit trees behind our villa, I did pick a luscious red apple, which had a sharp flavor that made me feel homesick for the Caucasus.
“Father Titoff, am I to be thrown into Hell for picking an apple in Naples?”
Well, he could see a way to square this sin of mine if I would promise never to repeat the grave misdeed.
His willingness to compromise prompted my courage. Stuttering, stammering and swallowing the words, I expressed my bewilderment at the existence of Hell.
“You always said, Father Titoff, when you came to lunch to the palace, that God loved all men, women, children, animals and flowers. Then how could He permit these awful tortures to be practiced in Hell? How could He love and hate us at the same time?”
It was the turn of Father Titoff to become terrified.
“Never say it again! It is a sacrilege! Of course, God loves us all; there is no such thing as hatred in His Kingdom.”
“But, Father Titoff, you just told me yourself of those awful tortures awaiting all sinners. Then you mean to say that God loves only the virtuous people and does not love the sinners?”
He sighed deeply and put his soft white hand on my head.
“My dear boy, you will understand all this in due time. Some day when you have become a great commander, you will thank me for developing a spirit of true Christianity in your soul. Now, just follow my advice and do not ask me any more questions.”
I left the church with a firm conviction of having lost something exceedingly precious which nothing could replace, even if I should become the Emperor of Russia.
“Did you say your adieus to the nurses?” asked my father when I climbed on his chair to kiss him good night.
Nothing mattered for me any more. What good could the nurses do if we were all doomed to Hell?
And from then to the age of fifteen my education resembled the training in a regiment. My brothers Nicholas, Michael, Sergei, George and myself lived as in barracks. We slept on narrow iron beds, only the thinnest possible mattress being allowed over the wooden planks. I remember that even in later years, after my marriage, I could not become accustomed to the luxury of a large bed with double mattresses and linen sheets, and ordered my old hard bunk to be put next to it.
We were called every morning at six o’clock. We had to jump out of our beds immediately, for a severe punishment swiftly followed an attempt to sleep “just five minutes more.”
Kneeling in a row in front of the three ikons, we said our prayers, then took a cold bath. Our breakfast consisted of tea, bread and butter. Any other ingredients had been strictly forbidden, lest we should develop a taste for a luxurious life.
A lesson in gymnastics and practice with firearms filled another hour, particular attention being paid to the handling of a mountain gun placed in the garden. Very often our father would pay us an unexpected visit and watch with a critical eye our progress in the study of artillery. At the age of ten I would have been able to take part in the bombardment of a large city.
From eight to eleven, and from two to six, we had to study and do our homework. According to the etiquette of the imperial court, no grand duke was allowed to enter a private or a public school, in consequence of which we were always surrounded by an army of special tutors. Our educational program planned for eight years consisted of lessons in religion (Old and New Testament, Divine Service, history of the Greek Orthodox Church, comparative history of other churches, Russian grammar and literature, foreign literature, history of Russia, history of Europe, history of America, history of Asiatic countries, geography, mathematics (which covered arithmetic, algebra, geometry, trigonometry), natural history, French, German, English, calligraphy and music. On top of that we were taught the handling of all sorts of firearms, riding, fencing, and bayonet fighting. My eldest brothers Nicholas and Michael had to learn Latin and Greek as well, but we, the youngest three, were fortunately relieved of that nonsensical torture.
Learning presented no difficulties either for me or for my brothers; but the unnecessary severity of our tutors created considerable bitterness. No doubt a mammoth meeting of protest would be staged by the fond American parents were their children to be treated in the manner approved of by the imperial family of Russia.
The smallest mistake in spelling of a German word deprived us of dessert; the miscalculation of the meeting-place of those two fatal trains, which seem to exert a strange fascination on the teachers of arithmetic all over the world, meant that the guilty party had to kneel for a full hour, with his nose turned toward the wall; a shy repartee never failed to bring the heavy ruler on our heads or wrists, and the very thought of disobeying the orders of this or that teacher was accompanied by a resounding slap.
Once in a while, feeling the formation of a lump in our throats, we would attempt to come out with a declaration of independence; then a grave report would be presented to our father just before lunch-time, mentioning the names of the ringleaders, as it was his exclusive prerogative to attend to the thrashing.
It shall always remain a mystery to me how such an inane system did not succeed in dulling our wits and fostering a hatred for all subjects we had to study in our childhood.
I