ALEXIS NICOLAÏEVITCH--VISITS TO THE CRIMEA
(AUTUMN, 1911, AND SPRING, 1912)
SPALA (AUTUMN, 1912)
The Imperial family used regularly to spend the winter at
Tsarskoïe-Selo, a pretty little country town some thirteen miles south
of Petrograd. It stands on a hill at the top of which is the Great
Palace, a favourite residence of Catherine II. Not far away is a much
more modest building, the Alexander Palace, half hidden in trees of a
park studded with little artificial lakes. The Czar Nicholas II. had
made it one of his regular residences ever since the tragic events of
January, 1905.
The Czar and Czarina occupied the ground floor of one wing and their
children the floor above. The central block comprised state apartments
and the other wing was occupied by certain members of the suite.
It was there that I saw the Czarevitch, Alexis Nicolaïevitch, then a
baby of eighteen months old, for the first time, and under the following
circumstances. As usual, I had gone that day to the Alexander Palace,
where my duties called me several times a week. I was just finishing my
lesson with Olga Nicolaïevna when the Czarina entered the room, carrying
the son and heir. She came towards us, and evidently wished to show the
one member of the family I did not yet know. I could see she was
transfused by the delirious joy of a mother who at last has seen her
dearest wish fulfilled. She was proud and happy in the beauty of her
child. The Czarevitch was certainly one of the handsomest babies one
could imagine, with his lovely fair curls and his great blue-grey eyes
under their fringe of long curling lashes. He had the fresh pink colour
of a healthy child, and when he smiled there were two little dimples in
his chubby cheeks. When I went near him a solemn, frightened look came
into his eyes, and it took a good deal to induce him to hold out a tiny
hand.
At that first meeting I saw the Czarina press the little boy to her with
the convulsive movement of a mother who always seems in fear of her
child’s life. Yet with her the caress and the look which accompanied it
revealed a secret apprehension so marked and poignant that I was struck
at once. I had not very long to wait to know its meaning.
During the years following I had increasing opportunities of seeing
Alexis Nicolaïevitch, who made a practice of escaping from his sailor
nurse and running into his sisters’ schoolroom, from which he was soon
fetched. And yet at times his visits would suddenly cease, and for quite
a considerable period he was seen no more. Every time he disappeared
everyone in the palace was smitten with the greatest depression. My
pupils betrayed it in a mood of melancholy they tried in vain to
conceal. When I asked them the cause, they answered evasively that
Alexis Nicolaïevitch was not well. I knew from other sources that he was
a prey to a disease which was only mentioned inferentially and the
nature of which no one ever told me.
As I have already said, when I was released from my duties
[Illustration: THE CZARINA, A FEW MONTHS BEFORE HER MARRIAGE.
SUMMER OF 1894.]
[Illustration: THE CZAREVITCH AT THE AGE OF FIFTEEN MONTHS. (1905.)
{_Facing page 26._]
as tutor to Duke Sergius of Leuchtenberg in 1909 I could give more time
to the Grand-Duchesses. I lived in St. Petersburg and visited
Tsarskoïe-Selo five times a week. Although the number of lessons I gave
had considerably increased, my pupils made but slow progress, largely
because the Imperial family spent months at a time in the Crimea. I
regretted more and more that they had not been given a French governess,
and each time they returned I always found they had forgotten a good
deal. Mademoiselle Tioutcheva, their Russian governess, could not do
everything, for all her intense devotion and perfect knowledge of
languages. It was with a view to overcoming this difficulty that the
Czarina asked me to accompany the family when they left Tsarskoïe-Selo
for a considerable time.
My first visit under the new dispensation was to the Crimea in the
autumn of 1911. I lived in the little town of Yalta, with my colleague,
M. Petrof, professor of Russian, who had also been asked to continue his
course of teaching. We went to Livadia every day to give our lessons.
The kind of life we led was extremely agreeable, for out of working
hours we were absolutely free, and could enjoy the beautiful climate of
the “Russian Riviera” without having to observe the formalities of Court
life.
In the spring of the following year the family again spent several
months in the Crimea. M. Petrof and I were lodged in a little house in
the park of Livadia. We took our meals with some of the officers and
officials of the Court, only the suite and a few casual visitors being
admitted to the Imperial luncheon-table. In the evening the family dined
quite alone.
A few days after our arrival, however, as the Czarina wished (as I
subsequently ascertained) to give a delicate proof of her esteem for
those to whom she was entrusting the education of her children, she
instructed the Court Chamberlain to invite us to the Imperial table.
I was highly gratified by the feelings which had prompted this kindness,
but these meals meant a somewhat onerous obligation, at any rate at the
start, although Court etiquette was not very exacting in ordinary times.
My pupils, too, seemed to get tired of these long luncheons, and we were
all glad enough to get back to the schoolroom to our afternoon lessons
and simple, friendly relations. I seldom saw Alexis Nicolaïevitch. He
almost always took his meals with the Czarina, who usually stayed in her
own apartments.
On June 10th we returned to Tsarskoïe-Selo, and shortly afterwards the
Imperial family went to Peterhof, from which they proceeded to their
annual cruise in the fjords of Finland on the _Standard_.
* * * * *
At the beginning of September, 1912, the family left for the Forest of
Bielovesa,[3] where they spent a fortnight, and then proceeded to
Spala[4] for a longer visit. M. Petrof and I joined them there at the
end of September. Shortly after my arrival the Czarina told me she
wanted me to take Alexis Nicolaïevitch also. I gave him the first lesson
on October 2nd in the presence of his mother. The child was then eight
and a half. He did not know a word of French, and at first I had a good
deal of difficulty. My lessons were soon interrupted, as the boy, who
had looked to me ill from the outset, soon had to take to his bed. Both
my colleague and myself had been struck by his lack of colour and the
fact that he was carried as if he could not walk.[5] The disease from
which he was suffering had evidently taken a turn for the worse.
A few days later it was whispered that his condition was giving rise to
extreme anxiety, and that Professors Rauchfuss and Fiodrof had been
summoned from St. Petersburg. Yet life continued as before; one
shooting-party succeeded another, and the guests were more numerous than
ever.
One evening after dinner the Grand-Duchesses Marie and Anastasie
Nicolaïevna gave two short scenes from the _Bourgeois Gentilhomme_ in
the dining-room before Their Majesties, the suite, and several guests. I
was the prompter, concealed behind a screen which did duty for the
wings. By craning my neck a little I could see the Czarina in the front
row of the audience smiling and talking gaily to her neighbours.
When the play was over I went out by the service door and found myself
in the corridor opposite Alexis Nicolaïevitch’s room, from which a
moaning sound came distinctly to my ears. I suddenly noticed the Czarina
running up, holding her long and awkward train in her two hands. I
shrank back against the wall, and she passed me without observing my
presence. There was a distracted and terror-stricken look in her face. I
returned to the dining-room. The scene was of the most animated
description. Footmen in livery were handing round refreshments on
salvers. Everyone was laughing and exchanging jokes. The evening was at
its height.
A few minutes later the Czarina came back. She had resumed the mask and
forced herself to smile pleasantly at the guests who crowded round her.
But I had noticed that the Czar, even while engaged in conversation,
had taken up a position from which he could watch the door, and I caught
the despairing glance which the Czarina threw him as she came in. An
hour later I returned to my room, still thoroughly upset at the scene
which had suddenly brought home to me the tragedy of this double life.
Yet, although the invalid’s condition was still worse, life had
apparently undergone no change. All that happened was that we saw less
and less of the Czarina. The Czar controlled his anxiety and continued
his shooting-parties, while the usual crowd of guests appeared at dinner
every evening.
On October 17th Professor Fiodrof arrived from St. Petersburg at last, I
caught sight of him for a moment in the evening. He looked very worried.
The next day was Alexis Nicolaïevitch’s birthday. Apart from a religious
service, there was nothing to mark the occasion. Everyone followed Their
Majesties’ example and endeavoured to conceal his or her apprehensions.
On October 19th the fever was worse, reaching 102·5° in the morning and
103·3° in the evening. During dinner the Czarina had Professor Fiodrof
fetched. On Sunday, October 20th, the patient’s condition was still
worse. There were, however, a few guests at luncheon. The next day, as
the Czarevitch’s temperature went up to 105° and the heart was very
feeble, Count Fredericks asked the Czar’s permission to publish
bulletins. The first was sent to St. Petersburg the same evening.
Thus the intervention of the highest official at Court had been
necessary before the decision to admit the gravity of the Czarevitch’s
condition was taken.
Why did the Czar and Czarina subject themselves to this
[Illustration: THE GRAND-DUCHESSES MARIE AND ANASTASIE DRESSED UP FOR A
SCENE FROM THE “BOURGEOIS GENTILHOMME.” SPALA, AUTUMN OF 1912.]
[Illustration: THE CZARINA AT THE CZAREVITCH’S BEDSIDE DURING HIS SEVERE
ATTACK OF HÆMOPHILIA AT SPALA IN THE AUTUMN OF 1912.
{_Facing page 30._]
dreadful ordeal? Why, when their one desire in life was to be with their
suffering son, did they force themselves to appear among their guests
with a smile on their lips? The reason was that they did not wish the
world to know the nature of the Heir’s illness, and, as I knew myself,
regarded it in the light of a state secret.
On the morning of October 22nd the child’s temperature was 103·5°. About
midday, however, the pains gradually subsided, and the doctors could
proceed to a more thorough examination of the invalid, who had hitherto
refused to allow it on account of his terrible sufferings.
At three o’clock in the afternoon there was a religious service in the
forest. It was attended by a large number of peasants from the
surrounding districts.
Beginning on the previous day, prayers for the recovery of the Heir were
said twice a day. As there was no church at Spala, a tent with a small
portable altar had been erected in the park as soon as we arrived. The
priest officiated there morning and night.
After a few days, during which we were all a prey to the most terrible
apprehensions, the crisis was reached and passed, and the period of
convalescence began. It was a long and slow business, however, and we
could feel that, notwithstanding the change for the better, there was
still cause for anxiety. As the patient’s condition required constant
and most careful watching, Professor Fiodrof had sent for Dr. Vladimir
Derevenko,[6] one of his young assistants, from St. Petersburg. This
gentleman henceforth remained in constant attendance on the Czarevitch.
The newspapers about this time had a good deal to say of the young
Heir’s illness--and the most fantastic stories were going round. I only
had the truth some time later, and then from Dr. Derevenko himself. The
crisis had been brought on by a fall of Alexis Nicolaïevitch at
Bielovesa. In trying to get out of a boat he had hit his left thigh on
the side, and the blow had caused rather profuse internal hæmorrhage. He
was just getting better when some imprudence at Spala suddenly
aggravated his condition. A sanguineous tumour formed in the groin and
nearly produced a serious infection.
On November 16th it was possible to think of removing the child, without
too great danger of relapse but with extreme care, from Spala to
Tsarskoïe-Selo, where the Imperial family passed the entire winter.
Alexis Nicolaïevitch’s condition required assiduous and special medical
attention. His illness at Spala had left behind it a temporary atrophy
of the nerves of the left leg, which remained drawn up and could not be
straightened out by the boy himself. Massage and orthopedic appliances
were necessary, but in time these measures brought the limb back to its
normal position.
It is hardly necessary to say that under these circumstances I could not
even think of resuming my work with the Czarevitch. This state of things
lasted until the summer holidays of 1913.
I was in the habit of visiting Switzerland every summer. That year the
Czarina informed me a few days before I left that on my return she
proposed to appoint me tutor to Alexis Nicolaïevitch. The news filled me
with a mingled sense of pleasure and apprehension. I was delighted at
the confidence shown in me, but nervous of the responsibility it
involved. Yet I felt I had no right to try and escape the heavy task
assigned to me, as circumstances might enable me to exercise some
influence, however slight, on the intellectual development of the boy
who would one day be the ruler of one of the mightiest states of
Europe.