THE GRAND DUKE CONSTANTINE AND PRINCE OLEG
A Remarkable Personality--The Grand Duke's Graciousness--His Tact and
Sympathy--The Wounded Soldier--A Censored Book--Prince Oleg and my
Brother Alexander--A Talented Child--A Strange Premonition--The
Prince's Interest in Public Affairs--His Studious Nature--The Prince
Wounded--His Joy on Receiving the Cross of St. George--He Becomes
Worse--The End
The late Grand Duke Constantine (known in the literary world as "K.R.")
was a man of remarkable character and personality, richly endowed alike
in imagination and those qualities that make for friendship.
He was, of course, widely known and admired for his remarkable musical
and literary talents, and not in Russia alone, while his famous drama,
_The King of the Jews_, revealed in addition a powerful intellect,
combined with deep religious feeling. This greatest and last of the
Imperial poet's works has been translated into several foreign
languages. It has awakened universal admiration, and has been
enthusiastically praised by the Press of most European capitals. All
this, however, is too well known to need repetition. Let me,
therefore, turn to another and still more personal aspect of the Grand
Duke's character: the extraordinarily attractive graciousness and the
sympathetic intuition that endeared him to all who had the privilege of
coming into {248} intimate contact with him. Here, indeed, was a
precious and priceless quality--the gift of unfailing tact and
exceptional intuition, the power always to say the right thing at the
right moment, and to enter warmly and cordially into the thoughts and
feelings of others.
I will quote an instance: I am deeply devoted to the memory of my two
brothers, Alexander and Nicolas, but, realising that this fact is of
interest to no one but myself, I seldom speak of it. The Grand Duke,
however, seemed to have read what was written in my very soul. I had
the privilege of conversing with him at some length on only two
occasions, but they were occasions I shall never forget. The other
occasions were passing and rather superficial. The first time, he
spoke to me at length of nothing but the Slav question and the death of
my brother Nicolas. The Grand Duke remembered all the details of my
brother's untimely end in Serbia.
[Illustration: THE GRAND DUKE CONSTANTINE NICOLAÉVITCH]
On the second occasion---alas! I was destined never to see the dear
Grand Duke again--our conversation was dedicated to the memory of my
brother Alexander and to Old Catholicism and Slavophilism, to which my
brother devoted his whole life, and of which he spoke even in his very
last moments. I must add that I had edited two large volumes of my
brother's works in Russian, but had hesitated to send them to the Grand
Duke, contenting myself with offering him my Berne editions of
Alexander Kiréeff's French works, which, as far as I know, are
unobtainable in Russia. With his usual amiability, the Grand Duke had
thanked me by letter--and {249} now, how indescribably kind and
charming was the manner in which he reproached me for not giving him
all I had edited!
There was another trait in the Grand Duke's character, which, to me,
had a peculiar charm: I refer to his ever-ready sympathy and interest
in all cases where his influence or help might be of advantage. It
goes without saying that neither my brother nor myself ever appealed to
this kind interference unless we had thoroughly investigated the case
in question. The Grand Duke was aware of this, and his help was always
immediately forthcoming, without any needless delays or formalities,
and without a trace of the distressing red-tapeism that is elsewhere
often responsible for so much mischief and sorrow.
One meets with just this same kindness and compassion when one
approaches our beloved Emperor. One has only to be absolutely free
from all egotistical aims, and to be known as were my two brothers--and
once this is so, no appeal to the Imperial sympathy is ever neglected
or fruitless.
It is, of course, exceedingly difficult to reach His Imperial Majesty,
not only because of his exalted position as Emperor, but also by reason
of his being overwhelmed by work. He hardly ever limits himself to an
eight-hours' day labour. An eight-hours' day would be almost a rest to
our Emperor. There is no Trades Union rule for the protection of Kings.
But let me return to my kind Grand Duke.
Perhaps I may be allowed to quote two incidents that took place a few
weeks before his death. There had been brought to my notice a wounded
soldier, {250} whose case was particularly tragic. His friends
considered nothing so desirable as to have him received in the hospital
founded by the Dowager Grand Duchess Constantine, the mother of the
Grand Duke. I wrote to His Imperial Highness on the subject, and in
the course of the same day received a kind reply, informing me that the
matter had been arranged and that the soldier would be at the hospital
in a few hours' time.
The second incident was concerned with the publication of a book. In
all cases where members of the Imperial family are involved, certain
formalities have to be observed by our censors--failing which the book
may have to be greatly altered, or suppressed. Anyone connected with
literary work knows that such alterations are sometimes extremely
costly and troublesome. A dear friend of mine, who had very little
money to spare, had written a book that was threatened with
difficulties of this order. I wrote to the Grand Duke explaining the
facts, and here again everything was immediately and satisfactorily
arranged.
I could give countless other instances, but the above, which I have
taken at random, are sufficiently characteristic.
I have often had occasion to speak of the Grand Duke, and have always
noticed with the deepest pleasure that the mention of his name awakened
everywhere, even among people who knew him but slightly, feelings of
sincere affection and devotion. The fascination exercised by his
personality was unfailing. His literary gifts appealed to poets, his
musical talent to musicians--but to me, his most {251} charming and
touching quality was that deep, indescribable sympathy and insight
which seemed to enable him to read people's souls. Such sympathy, such
intuition, is a great living force! Yes--God sometimes sends into the
world exceptional people, who can never be replaced, and whose very
memory radiates like a warm, shining light, where their footsteps have
passed.
Of such, unquestionably, was our never-to-be-forgotten Grand Duke
Constantine.
On one occasion he wrote the following letter, which I quote as showing
the charm with which he expressed himself:
DEAR AND HIGHLY-ESTEEMED MADAME NOVIKOFF,
Again I take up the pen to thank you heartily for the new series of
valuable and curious autographs, with which you so graciously enriched
my collection, that I already owe to your generosity. The Ikon of
Christ of Andrea del Sarto, before which your brother always prayed,
forwarded to me by General M. E. Keppen for Pavlovsk, is placed here at
the Palace Church, on the Chancel, where all our family attends church
service and where your dear brother often prayed as well. This
beautiful Image will remain a prayer memorial to Alexander
Alekseevitch, who lived so many years in his favourite Pavlovsk. I
hope you will acquiesce in the choice I made for this most valuable
Image of Christ the Saviour--in the Pavlovsk Church.
Allow me to kiss your hand, asking you to keep me your kind friendship
in the future.
Your heartily devoted, etc.,
CONSTANTINE.
{252}
On October 27th, 1914, I received from him the following note: "It is
just a month to-day since our beloved son was wounded--not 'slightly'
as seemed at first to be the case, but mortally. God gives and God
takes away. May His name be blessed now and for ever more."
It will be seen by the date of this note that Prince Oleg, then only
twenty-one years of age, was one of the early victims of the war. At
the time I little thought that the Grand Duke himself would soon follow
his gifted son, Prince Oleg Constantinovitch.
Until the recent appearance of his biography, the fame of Prince Oleg
was too little known, and it certainly had not travelled far outside
Russia.
To me, this charming Prince was particularly dear; for I had seen him
taking such affectionate care of my brother, Alexander Kiréef, who was
already blind, ill and dying. The young man used to come, and talk to
him, the principal defender of "Old Catholicism," of the efforts to
revive the pure teachings of the Church, as it was before the division
of the churches in the ninth century. No subject was dearer to my
brother's heart, and, seeing the beneficial influence of these
conversations, the young Prince returned to the subject many times in
my presence.
One day he said: "General, nobody has ever been so useful as you in
supporting the Old Catholic movement. You are my father's friend, and
I am as proud of you as he is."
Yes, I shall never forget with what loving eyes the young man gazed
into the clever beautiful face {253} before him, where the eyes were
already dim and on the point of being closed for ever. How terribly
vividly some moments come back to our memory.
The talented child of a talented father, it was early evident that
Prince Oleg had inherited the brilliant gifts of the Grand Duke. It is
barely two years since _The King of the Jews_ was produced with immense
success at the Hermitage Theatre in the Winter Palace at Petrograd, the
Grand Duke himself, as well as his sons, taking part in the performance.
Prince Oleg was clearly marked out as belonging to the elect of the
earth, and by his early death not only has Russian literature been
deprived of a future shining light, but the most cultured circles of
Petrograd society are the poorer for the loss of a personality,
touching and lovely in its goodness and unselfishness, and its
youthfully enthusiastic and unswerving sense of duty and obligation.
The young Prince's biography concerns itself with the reminiscences of
Prince Oleg's early governesses and later tutors, with his diaries and
rough sketches, countless unfinished stories and poems, and also with a
particularly interesting undertaking in connection with Poushkin's
works.
Poushkin was the boy's ideal from his earliest days, and it was this
love for the great poet and his works that gave him the desire to enter
the same Lyceum (College) at which Poushkin had been educated. This
desire was realised, the completion of his course happening to coincide
with the centenary celebrations of Poushkin's birth. On leaving,
Prince Oleg presented to the Institution {254} a personally executed
facsimile of all the Poushkin manuscripts, carefully treasured in the
Poushkin museum, which were written while the poet was a student at the
college. The young enthusiast afterwards conceived the idea of editing
the whole of Poushkin's works in this fashion, bringing them out in
loose sheets and unbound folios, and distributing them among museums
and book-lovers. The work was carried out mostly by means of the most
detailed and perfect photographic reproduction, not even omitting the
smallest line, point, or blemish in the paper. Unhappily this labour
of love was not destined to be completed, but as much as has been done
is a wonder of execution and a real literary treasure.
For the general reader, perhaps the most attractive pages of the
biography are those that deal with the Prince's early years, recent as
they are.
"I sometimes try to imagine," he writes in one of the diaries of his
childhood, "what would happen in my own immediate circle if I were to
die. What would my friend do? I suppose he would grow pale and thin,
and would fret terribly. I see him in imagination, mounting the steps
of my catafalque to bid me a last good-bye, and I see mama's expression
as she follows him with her eyes.
"And then, suddenly, it seems curiously pleasant to have all these
people thinking of me so regretfully! There flashes across my mental
vision a copy of the _Novoye Vremya_, and I see on the first page, in
large letters, the announcement of my death. I notice also that there
is a reproduction of my photograph--and for a moment, I stop to wonder
which {255} photograph they will publish. All this gives me
extraordinary satisfaction.
"But the pleasantest thought of all is that the _Novoye Vremya_ will
print an obituary notice saying that I took my Degree at the Lyceum,
that I won the Poushkin medal, and that they liked me there. Perhaps
even Radloff himself may write a memoir of his late pupil. At this
point, I stop ... really, I was going too far, it is very ridiculous,
and I am ashamed of myself! I wrinkle my brow, and try to decide
seriously whether I should really be willing to die just now. My inner
consciousness tells me that actually, it would be stupid to die before
having accomplished anything. No, not for the world ... I don't want
to die without fame, without having done anything, without deserving to
be remembered by anybody."
How touching this is--especially now, when one can regard it as
something like a presentiment.
Interesting from another standpoint is the description by the then
thirteen-year-old Prince Oleg of the reception by the Emperor, at the
Winter Palace, of the Deputies of the first Duma in 1905. The young,
awakening soul of the child trembled with awe and ecstasy. His eyes,
fixed on the Emperor, noted every shade of tone and expression, and his
description, too long for quotation here, is glowing in the extreme.
On February 10th of the same year he writes:
"Something unusual is in the air. It is said that on the 19th there
will be a rising in the whole of Russia. Recently M---- sent a secret
telegram to Simferopol. A message has also come from the {256} Crimean
Division--they have caught a Revolutionist. They say there is a plot
to blow up Livadia. There has been a rising in St. Petersburg and
disorders in the suburbs of Moscow. On the 4th Uncle Serge was
murdered. Poor Uncle Serge! mama has written us horrible details--she
says we have lost a true friend. This awful incident has made a deep
impression on us all. May it be God's will that everything should
right itself somehow. Disorders in every town! How painfully this
must affect mama! It is a long time since I last received a letter
from her."
Then a page about Port Arthur!
"What have we lived to see! Stoessel has surrendered Port Arthur! It
appears there was no possibility of holding out any longer.
Kondratenko is killed. Yes, many heroes have fallen at Port Arthur."
How significant and how true are the following words, which show a
remarkable insight in a boy so young:
"Our Government is composed chiefly, not of Russians, but of
Germans--and, of course, Germans do not care what becomes of us.
Naturally, the result is that Russians lose. We are too careless--we
do not sufficiently educate ourselves. It is imperative that every
Russian should work at himself and educate himself from his childhood."
When one considers that the writer of the above lines was barely
thirteen years old, one cannot but wonder as much at the serious trend
of his thoughts as at the simplicity of his style.
{257}
Here is another charming page from about the same period, a little
earlier:
"To-day I received a letter from my tutor, I.M. It was so touching
that I nearly burst into tears--but of course I restrained myself. How
stupid I was, when, at first, I was glad of the war! [Between Russia
and Japan.] How much suffering, how many orphaned families it has
occasioned! At the beginning I wanted to run away and go to the front.
If, during our journey to the Crimea, it should be God's will to send
me to the war now, I should still be happy. To-day at lunch they were
saying that there were only 10,000 left in Port Arthur, that Port
Arthur cannot hold out. At six o'clock in the evening, I shut myself
up in my room and prayed that God might help us. I took my Prayer
Book, and thought to myself, 'I will open it just at random, and read.
Perhaps I may chance on something suitable, just for the war.' I
opened the book and read, '_Special prayers for times of war!_'"
The above is an extract from a diary.
"The education of the young Prince and his brothers," says the _Novoye
Vremya_ in an interesting article on the life of Oleg Constantinovitch,
"was very systematic and thorough. They rose at half-past six, were
taken for a morning walk in the park, and at eight were already at
their lessons. Each lesson lasted forty minutes, and between it and
the next there was an interval of twenty minutes. There were from four
to five lessons daily. Luncheon was at one, and from two to four the
young Princes rode daily with their uncle, the Grand Duke Dimitri.
From four to seven preparation for the following {258} day, at seven
dinner, then forty minutes' reading with one of the teachers of foreign
languages, then drawing and dancing. An arduous day's work indeed!"
Here is another charming extract from the diary:
"We must study hard and prepare ourselves. Perhaps we must work even
more seriously than did the rulers of to-day in their youth. There are
hard times coming--and hard times call for serious preparation. The
further we get from the year of Christ's birth, the harder grow the
times, and the harder the times, the more necessary a thorough
preparation."
These are wonderful words from a boy of twelve.
The following words, also written in his diary, this time in the train
when homeward bound after a summer spent abroad, are interesting in
their charmingly expressed and idealistic patriotism:
"We are already nearing beloved Russia. Behind us is France, with her
joyous, charming, talented people, with Paris, Versailles, and
Napoleon's tomb. Now we are passing through this dull Germany, in an
hour we shall have crossed the Russian border. Yes, in an hour I shall
be in Russia, that dear land where there breathes something sacred,
unknown in other lands, on the face of whose soil are scattered
churches and monasteries, in the mysterious twilight of whose ancient
cathedrals there rest in silver coffins the bones of her sons, in whose
dim shrines the faithful kneel constantly at prayer before the solemn
sacred images of her saints. In my beloved Russia there are still
dreamy forests, immeasurable steppes, and impassable marshes.
{259}
"There are moments in one's life when suddenly with a deep, passionate
impulse one realises how one loves one's country. In those moments one
longs unspeakably to work, to help, to do something worthy, to devote
one's life to the service of Russia!"
A later extract from his diary is the following:
"We are five brothers and are all going to the war with our regiments.
This fact pleases me immensely, for it proves that at a trying moment
the Imperial Family knows how to rise to the occasion.
"On the 20th of July, Germany declared war against us. On the same day
we were commanded to assemble at the Winter Palace at 3.30. The
streets were crowded and there was tremendous cheering as we passed.
In the Nicolaevsky Hall there were first prayers, and then the
Manifesto was read. During the prayers the whole assemblage sang,
'Save us, O Lord,' and 'God save the Emperor!' [the Russian National
Anthem.]
"At the moment when the Emperor drove up to the Palace, the whole dense
crowd on the great square on their knees. We were all overcome and
wept with emotion."
The Prince never had the slightest presentiment of his death, and was
afraid only for his brothers. "I am constantly anxious," he wrote,
"about Kostia, Gabriel and John, but perhaps principally about Igor.
For myself, I fear nothing. Something tells me that no bullet will so
much as touch me."
God willed it otherwise! The Prince was wounded during an attack on
Vladislavov by the Second Division of the Guards. Our side started the
firing. {260} The Germans retreated, but were stopped by a detachment
of our Hussars. At this point Prince Oleg, longing for action, eagerly
begged his commander, Count Ignatieff, to allow him with his men to
rush forward and seize this handful of Germans.
For a long time the commander refused to accede to this request, but,
at last, allowed himself to be persuaded and gave in. Misfortune came
immediately. Prince Oleg, fired with youthful enthusiasm, rode fast
and far in advance of his men. The Germans were caught up, five of
them were killed, the rest surrendered. Suddenly, a wounded trooper
fired from the ground. A report--and the Prince fell. Alas, the
wound, taken at first to be quite slight, turned out, on closer
examination, to be only too severe, and very soon--possibly through the
unavoidable delay in operating--blood poisoning set in. The operation
was performed at Vilna, after a long and weary journey, first in a
plain jolting cart, the only conveyance at hand--and then in the train.
The Prince regained consciousness very quickly and felt well. A
telegram arrived from the Emperor, conferring on him the Order of the
Cross of St. George; also came a telegram from the Grand Duke Nicolas.
"It was good to see the Prince's joy," writes an eye-witness of the
scene, "and the pride with which he showed me both these telegrams."
In the evening the Principal of the Military College at Vilna visited
the patient and congratulated him on having suffered and been wounded
for his country.
{261}
"I am so happy," exclaimed the Prince in answer. "So happy. This was
most necessary. It will encourage the troops to know that the Imperial
House is not afraid to shed its blood."
The Prince was very animated and beamed with joy at the consciousness
of his own suffering for his beloved country. At times it was evident,
in spite of his effort to hide the fact, that he was in great pain.
Here is a very interesting letter from the Grand Duke Constantine's
aide-de-camp, who was with the Prince during all these terrible days.
This letter is published by the _Moscow Gazette_:
"At about one o'clock in the night, I was told that the Prince had just
awakened. I immediately went to him. He was pale as death. At the
sight of me a troubled, welcoming smile lit up his youthful features.
'Nicolas!' he exclaimed. 'Here you are at last! Heavens, how glad I
am now that you have come! Now you shall not leave me again. I will
not let you go.'
"'Of course I shall not leave you,' I answered with emotion. 'Here we
shall stay together till we are quite well again.'
"'Yes ... yes ... together ... till I ... get ... well....'
"So convinced was he that his recovery was to be speedy and certain.
One had to swallow one's tears and to hide one's grief.
"'Has Igor told you everything?' he continued. 'The Emperor has given
me the St. George. I am so happy! There is the telegram, there, on
the table.'
{262}
"I sat down beside the bed, as he asked me, and tried to talk; but soon
noticed that he was falling into a state of semi-consciousness. At my
slightest movement, however, he opened his eyes and exclaimed: 'There,
he is gone--and I said I would not let him go!'
"At about eight o'clock in the morning the Prince grew more restless.
He constantly asked to be moved from one side to the other, now putting
his arms under his head, now embracing me feverishly and stifling a cry
or a groan.
"A telegram arrived, saying that the young hero's parents were on the
way to him and would be with him at five o'clock. At midday the
doctors examined the patient again and found the pulse good, and the
poisoning not advancing. There was still hope. At about four o'clock,
however, a change for the worse suddenly set in. The breathing became
more frequent and the pulse weaker. There were signs of sepsis and
delirium. The train by which the Grand Duke and Grand Duchess were
arriving was two hours late. In the meanwhile the patient's strength
was failing minute by minute and it became necessary to recur to the
aid of injections to stimulate the heart's action. His lips were
constantly moistened with champagne, and in order to hide from the
Prince the hopelessness of his condition, we filled our glasses and
told him that we were all drinking with him to his speedy recovery. It
was horrible beyond words, and never in my life shall I forget those
few sips of champagne in the presence of the dying Prince!
"Clear consciousness alternated with delirium. {263} At seven o'clock
he suddenly threw his poor little thin arms round my neck and
whispered, 'Like this.... Like this ... together ... to meet them.' I
thought at first that he was wandering, but no! He was alluding to the
arrival of his parents. At last they came. For one moment he
recognised them. The Grand Duke had brought his dying son the Cross of
St. George from his Imperial uncle.
"'The little white cross! ... The little white cross! ...' whispered
Prince Oleg, and he bent forward slightly and kissed the shining
enamel. We pinned the Cross to his shirt. Presently the patient began
to gasp for air, and it was clear that the end was near. Those awful
moments of silent waiting, those last short breaths ... how terrible is
the mystery of death. At 8.20 the young life closed...."
A deep and real love breathed in all his life, doubly touching through
the purity and transparency of the innocent heart in which it throbbed.
Perhaps his soul, looking down from Paradise, can see the tear-dimmed
eyes of many Russians gazing sadly up to Heaven's gates through which
the beloved young hero has passed.
Russia is loyal to her sons. She will never forget them.
{264}