Suddenly, without any warning, Alexander caused a sensation. Turning to the count he thanked him ‘for the acquisition he had that day made for him’. It then transpired that, through the agency of Vorontsov, he had just bought the nearby estate of Orianda a few miles south-west of Yalta. Excited as a boy with a new toy he told those around the table of his plans for having a palace built as soon as it was possible. His listeners, enthralled, could barely comprehend the details involved before, to their amazement, in a sudden rush of words, he poured out what was uppermost in his mind. ‘When I give in my demission, I will return and fix myself at Orianda, and wear the costume of the Tauria.’
This extraordinary statement brought silence to the table. Doctor Lee, for one, thought he had misunderstood what the emperor had said. However, a short time afterwards, when Count Vorontsov suggested that the large flat open space of ground to the west of Orianda should be made into pleasure grounds for His Majesty, Alexander replied, ‘I wish this to be purchased for General Diebitsch, as it is right that the chief of my état-major and I should be neighbours.’
Diebitsch himself was delighted by this news. A somewhat grotesque figure, with his large head and untidy locks of red hair, he was, nonetheless, one of the tsar’s truest supporters. Alexander now acknowledged his wish to see him installed in an estate immediately adjacent to the one which he himself proposed to acquire.
From the words that he spoke that night, the general and the rest of the dinner guests gathered that Alexander hoped in the near future either to abdicate in favour of one of his brothers, or to delegate enough of his responsibility as emperor to allow him to live happily, at least in partial retirement, with Elizabeth on the Crimean coast.
This proved the reason for glasses to be filled with the famous Crimean champagne, made from local grapes. Count Vorontsov, rising to his feet, turned to the emperor and asked, ‘Sire, may we be permitted to drink the health of Her Majesty the Empress?’
‘Most certainly,’ replied Alexander, whereupon all of those present rose to join in the toast.
According to Lee’s diary, the tsar then thanked Count Vorontsov ‘for the excellent entertainment he had provided; and addressing himself to us all, said with kindness and condescension, ‘‘Your presence on this occasion has afforded me the greatest satisfaction.’’ ’
Walking out of the dining room he climbed some steps up to the flat roof of the house. A small party of Tartars waited to meet him and, looking at them through his eye-glass (he was known to be short-sighted) he exclaimed, ‘What handsome oriental countenances! What a fine race of men! One of the most striking peculiarities of the Crimea would be lost if the Tartars were expelled. I hope they will be encouraged to continue here.’
An effendi, introduced to him, presented a petition, ‘which he did by bending down and raising his hands to his head, without removing his turban’.
Alexander then went to bed but hardly was he asleep before, in the middle of the night, the thunder of hoofs on the hard ground outside the house woke those within. Alexander got up quickly to meet the courier who had arrived with very disturbing news. A new conspiracy to raise rebellion had been discovered. Later it was to transpire, as Lee recorded, that word had come from an agent named Maybor-odka, revealing that a man called Pavel Ivanovich Pestel, small and sinister as another Napoleon, was behind a cartel of four colonels who were planning to cause a rebellion. The slaves were to be freed immediately; the royal family slain.
General Diebitsch, hastily throwing off the nightcap which covered his sprouting red locks, was summoned twice during the night, from the nearby house in which he was staying, to discuss with Alexander the action that should be taken to suppress the threatened revolt. Certainly Pestel’s arrest was ordered, it seems on that very night.
The news was not only disturbing but hurtful to Alexander, who had shown much kindness to the young Pestel, son of the former governor-general of Siberia, for whose education in Dresden he had paid. Returning to Russia at the age of sixteen, Pavel had joined the Corps of Pages in St Petersburg, where he had studied political science. He had then joined the army where fellow officers, who had served in Paris and western Europe, inspired him with ideas of revolution. Transferred to southern Russia, he had organized a local branch of the Society of Welfare where ideas of republican government and the ways by which the imperial family could be forced to abdicate or to accept the new regime had been the main object of discussion.
Distressed as he was by this treachery of a young man he had done so much to help, Alexander spent a sleepless night. Next morning, however, he gave no outward sign of anxiety, or even of exhaustion, as he rose at his usual early hour.
Summoning Robert Lee, he asked him to walk round the lower part of the garden at Alupka where they could talk in private. Firstly, having described the illness of his wife, the empress, Alexander then asked Lee if he would visit her in a professional capacity at Taganrog. Lee having replied that he would of course be delighted to do so, Alexander then threw back his head and, gazing at the clear sky above him, asked the doctor if he had ever known such beautiful scenery as that of the Crimea. Fired with enthusiasm, he said how much he had enjoyed his visit and how greatly he hoped that the country would soon be full of rich vineyards and flourishing villages and towns.
Lee, in reply, carefully choosing his words, ‘hinted, in the most delicate manner that I could, that the frequent occurrence of violent fevers to those who visited the Crimea and to its constant inhabitants, was the only circumstance which appeared to me likely to prevent His Majesty’s anticipations being completely realized’.
Alexander then ended the conversation by urging Lee to remain in Russia, attached to Count Vorontsov, the value of whose public services he had now fully realized.
The evening of the previous night’s dinner party was long to be remembered by those present. Such was the tsar’s happiness that it appeared the troubles which had so long tormented him, particularly his long-held guilt over his involvement in his father’s death, had at last been driven from his mind. To all those who saw him on that early November night, Alexander seemed like a man from whom a burden of remorse had been lifted by a decision to transform his life.
The next day, however, due it would seem to a message delivered by the courier, his contentment seemed to vanish. At midday, having shaken hands with Count Vorontsov and all his attendants, to whom he said a fond farewell, he mounted his horse to begin the ride of thirty-something miles to Balaclava.
Lee was among the group who watched with some sadness as the tall, fair-haired figure of the man who had so charmed them all rode at the head of his party out of sight. Little could any of them guess, seeing him sit so easily astride a rather fractious horse, that the seeds of the illness of which Lee, only that morning, had so prophetically warned, were already wasting his strength.
Alexander left the south coast of the Crimea on a late autumn day, which, although beautiful in the morning, would later turn to rain. Clouds darkened the horizon but the sun still shone as the road climbed up through beech woods, shining glorious in the low rays of the sun.
Reaching the foot of the Merdveen the party drew to a halt as it was discussed whether to try to take the shortest route, which meant climbing the mountains before them, to the height of nearly 4,000 feet, and crossing the narrow pass before coming down into the Baidar Valley on the opposite side. Alternatively they could have gone along the coast, through the little town of Foros, an easier but longer route.
Alexander, needless to say, seized the challenge to cross the mountains, looming dark with approaching rain. They had in fact crossed the pass, and were riding downhill into the Baidar Valley when suddenly the weather changed. Thick mist, swirling down from the hilltops, shut out the sun. An east wind blew hard against them and soon it began to rain.
Wearing only a light coat, Alexander became wet, cold and irritable. His temper became worse as his horse continued to misbehave, shying and stumbling on the b
adly made road. So dangerous was it that the animal Wylie was riding actually came down, nearly breaking the doctor’s leg in the fall.
On reaching Baidar, Alexander dismounted, tired and hungry, to find there was no food on hand. His mâitre d’hôtel had gone on to Sevastopol. Wearily he climbed into an open caleche, his horse being led behind. Yet despite his obvious tiredness, when two miles from Balaclava, he mounted again, and rode accompanied by General Diebitsch to inspect a battalion of soldiers recruited from Greek families in the Crimea. There at last he was able to eat some fish. But his day was not yet done. Alone in the deepening dusk, he rode for at least ten versts86 to the monastery of St George.
By now it was very cold, a sudden frost setting in. With neither a cloak nor a coat, Alexander stayed for two hours before driving on to Sevastopol, where, having visited the church by the light of flaming torches, and inspected soldiers lining the street, he was too tired to eat anything and instead went early to bed. Wylie, who had gone on ahead to Sevastopol, was much concerned, noting in his diary, ‘The Emperor is slightly unwell. One ounce du v-b-re. The news from the Empress was good for him.’
Next morning, however, despite the tsar’s now obvious indisposition, the tour continued. He inspected forts, a hospital, a dockyard and ships of the Black Sea Fleet. But as he was driven to Bakhchisarai to meet the Tartar chiefs, he was so utterly exhausted that he slept in the carriage most of the way. Nothing, however, would deter him from completing his pre-arranged itinerary. Riding four miles to the Jewish city of Chufut-Kale, he visited the principal synagogue. Then on he went to a Greek Orthodox monastery, where, climbing some steep stairs, he stumbled, and was forced to stop for a rest, admitting that he felt both giddy and weak. Nevertheless, that same afternoon, he visited several mosques.
At last, he sent for Wylie, under the pretence of asking for news of Elizabeth. But his doctor, noticing his pallor and breathlessness, was not deceived. Questioning Alexander, he eventually got him to admit that he was not feeling well and could not sleep. He then suggested several remedies but was met with a sharp rebuff. ‘I know how to treat myself,’ Alexander said defiantly and Wylie, aware of the strength of his obstinacy, bowed and quickly withdrew.
The punishing programme continued for another six days through the steppes of the north-western Crimea. Alexander managed to complete his commitments although obviously a sick man., The area was at least fairly flat, although, as Wylie noted in his diary, stretches of foul-smelling marshland were badly infested with mosquitoes. They spent one night at Perekop and the next between the isthmus and Oriekoff.
‘Nov 1st. Lake sediments on the left, a house in ruins, another lake on the right, stinky, neither fresh nor salt.’
Then, proving how Alexander, despite his now obvious illness, insisted on punishing himself by travelling long distances and visiting churches and hospitals on the way, Wylie continues to describe his progress in the valley of the Dnieper.
2nd. We did 182 versts today to travel to a priest in Znamenka. The hospital in Naslierobomy(?) is in good condition. Bulikovski (?) is good on the banks of the Dnieper: the country is fertile. There is a nobleman here who has 70 thousand sheep . . . The Artillery Hospital in Znamenka is very well maintained.
On the afternoon of the fifth day, in his carriage beside Diebitsch, Alexander was seized with such violent shivering that the general, to his great alarm, heard the tsar’s teeth chattering in his head.
That night he drank some hot punch but could not bear the sight of food. Next day it was suggested that he should stop in the town of Mariupol, but Alexander would have none of it. Notwithstanding that he was now obviously very ill, he insisted on returning to Taganrog, a journey of some sixty miles. A closed carriage was found and, wrapped in a bear skin and a great coat, the emperor slept fitfully as, with stops necessitated only by changing horses, he reached the Sea of Azov and the harbour town.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
‘Come on, my dear friend. I hope you are not angry with me.’
Elizabeth was horrified as she saw Alexander staggering with exhaustion from the coach on his return to Taganrog. His skin was yellow and he complained that he was deaf. Still he refused to take any of the medicines prescribed by Wylie, except for a little calomel. Neither would he allow himself to be bled. He said that all he wanted were sleep, quiet and cold water, the last of which Wylie did not advise.
Wylie, by now very worried, dating his diary 5th November, described their arrival at Taganrog:
The night was nasty. Refusal to take medicines. It desolates me. I am frightened that such obduracy may have some bad effects one day.
6th. The Emperor dined with Her Majesty the Empress and left the table. Fedorov [Alexander’s valet] called me from the table to advise me that His Majesty had a perspiration which happened involuntarily – so strong is his aversion to medicine. After a struggle he consented, between 5 and 6 o’clock, to take a dose of pills.
7th. This fever has a similarity with the endemic Crimean disease. The exacerbations repeat too often for me to assume that it is Hemitritaeus Semitertiana, although that extreme weakness, that apathy, those swoons are closely related to it.
8th. The fever is apparently Febris gastrica biliosa; that putrescent eructation, that inflammation on the liver side, despress-corde, vomiting sine vomitu nec dolore fortiter comprimendo, require that premières voies [bowels] be cleared properly. One has to traire [draw] the liver I told Stoffregen [the Empress’s doctor].
9th. The Emperor is a little better today, but he is expecting a full recovery from his illness with a perfect belief in God. The condition of the viscera chylopoetica may at present indicate to the diarrhoea which was so inappropriately stopped at Bakhchisarai.
10th. Starting from the 8th [day] I have noticed that something occupies his thoughts more than his recovery and troubles his soul post hoc ergo propter hoc. He is worse today, and Müller, according to his words, is the cause of it. Prince Volkonsky [the tsar’s personal secretary] was, for that reason, instructed to rebuke poor Müller.
Growing weaker and tormented with thirst, Alexander agreed to take a cordial drink, which had been specially prepared. One of his valets tasted it and said it was bitter and Elizabeth did the same. Wylie, however, tried it and said that there was nothing wrong. The drink was almost certainly harmless – nitrous acid, then widely used for fevers, probably giving it a bitter taste. Nonetheless, as was almost inevitable, rumours that the tsar had been poisoned were soon to be on many tongues.
11th. The illness continues; the intestines are quite unclear, ructus, inflatio. When I talk to him about blood-letting and laxatives, he gets into a rage and does not deign to talk to me. Today we, Stoffregen and I, discussed the matter. Despite his irritation the Tsar did eventually allow a few leeches to be put to his head.
12th. As far as I remember, tonight I prescribed medicines for tomorrow morning, if we manage, by guile, to persuade him to take them. It is cruel. There is no human power that could bring this man to reason. I am miserable.
13th. Everything will go badly because he will not allow, will not hear, what is indispensable. Such a turn is a very ill omen. His pulse is very irregular, weak and there will be exudation unless one administers des mercuriaux (mercurial remedies), saigne (blood-letting), patching, mustard, diuretics and purgatives.
14th. Everything is very bad although he is not delirious. I intended to give him acide muriatique with a drink but encountered the usual refusal. ‘Go away’. I started crying and he, seeing it, said, ‘Come on, my dear friend. I hope you are not angry with me for that? I have my own reasons.’ (‘Venez, mon cher ami. J’espère que vous ne m’en voulez pas pour cela. J’ai mes raisons.’)
At times Alexander was delirious, rambling on about the awful carnage of the battles and of the burning of Moscow which plainly obsessed his mind. Then suddenly, fixing his eyes on Wylie, he told him of the death of his father, the crime which had eaten like cancer into his subconscious thought. ‘It w
as a horrible act,’ he said to the doctor, who through the years had grown to be his close friend, and who now stood, helpless to save him, by his side. It was clear that the end was approaching and, at Wylie’s suggestion, a priest was called in to administer the last rites.
15th. Today and yesterday, what a sad duty was it for me to inform him about his coming destruction, in the presence of Her Majesty the Empress who was going to offer him an efficacious medicine, communion administered by Fedorov.
16th. It all seems too late to me. Only because of the physical and mental exhaustion and diminution of sensitivity did I manage to give him some medicines after the Holy Communion and the parting words by Fedorov.
17th. From bad to worse. See the case history. The Prince [Volkonsky] for the first time took possession of my bed to be closer to the Emperor. Baron Dibisch [sic] is downstairs.
18th. Not the slightest hope to save my adored sovereign. I warned the Empress and the princes, Volkonsky and Diebitsch. The former was in his room, the latter was downstairs with the valets.
19th. Her Majesty the Empress, who had spent many hours in my company, stayed alone at the Emperor’s bedside all these days until death came at 10 minutes to 11 this morning.
For two days Elizabeth had sat beside her husband or knelt by the bedside holding or stroking his hand. Her eyes were fixed upon him as he became weaker and weaker until all signs of life were gone. Rising, she closed his eyes, folded his arms over his breast, kissed his hand, and then knelt down by the side of the dead body for half an hour in prayer.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
The Death Certificate of Doubt
Alexander died on 19 November (or 1 December according to Gregorian calendar) 1825. His body was examined by no fewer than ten doctors but it was left to Wylie, deeply grieving for the man who had been not only his patient but his friend, to carry out the autopsy and to arrange for the corpse to be embalmed. It was Wylie who signed the death certificate, giving Crimean Fever as the cause. And in view of the record of his diary there is little or no reason to doubt his word.
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