Thus on this trip he met his glorious past, the Ipatyev Monastery, and the bloody future, the Ipatyev house, where his dynasty would end with the execution of the last tsar and his family.
In a small town in Siberia, during a church service, he saw a sad group of people. They were the exiled Decembrists. When the liturgy’s litany reached the priest’s petition for prisoners, he turned in their direction and bowed, with tears in his eyes, naturally. Zhukovsky also wept. Everyone in the church wept.
He did not dare promise them anything, on the orders of his father. But he wrote to his august parent, begging him to ease their lot. Zhukovsky awaited the response anxiously, for “the noble impulse of compassion.” Nicholas responded—the exiles were to be transferred from harsh Siberia to be soldiers in the Caucasus, where there was a fierce war with native tribes. From freezing Siberia to face Chechen bullets—that was the extent of the tsar’s mercy.
Nicholas would never forgive them. But Alexander was delighted. His father had acceded to his request. Zhukovsky (who understood better) supported the boy’s delight, and they wept tears of joy.
Alexander brought back sixteen thousand petitions, which would never be read.
He traveled around Russia for seven months, visiting thirty provinces. It was still not enough to cover the vast country, but at least now he had an idea of the boundless land he was to rule. He was pleased that his father was in his prime and that he would not be ruling in the near future.
On December 10, 1837, he reached St. Petersburg. He was not to enjoy his homecoming for long. A week later fire destroyed the Winter Palace. In early winter, Nicholas ordered the construction of a fireplace in one of the palace rooms. The architect dared to inform him that it could pose a danger. Nicholas merely gave him one of his regal looks, and the architect hastened to obey. The flue began to smoke, the servants tried to plug it with a clay-covered mop, and the palace caught fire. Their Majesties were at the theater, watching Abduction from the Seraglio. Nicholas could not stay to see if the ballerinas had mastered the use of sabers. He was informed of the fire during the performance. The royal sleigh had been sent away, so Nicholas took his adjutant’s troika. The empress followed in a carriage.
The younger children were instantly taken to Anichkov Palace. As the tsar approached the blazing Winter Palace he was told that the Galerny Port was on fire, too. He sent Alexander to deal with it. Thrilled by his father’s unusual trust, Alexander rushed to the port in the royal sleigh, which flipped over at the reckless speed they took. He left his adjutant to deal with the sleigh and mounted the adjutant’s horse to gallop to the port. The guards of the Finland Regiment were fighting the fire. He took command, and the fire was extinguished by morning.
In the meantime, his parents were fighting the fire at the Winter Palace. The high winds fanned the blaze. “It seemed like a volcano in the middle of St. Petersburg,” wrote Zhukovsky. The empress stayed in the palace until the last minute, helping to pack things. The flames were approaching her rooms when Nicholas sent an adjutant. “Leave now! The fire will be here in a minute.”
The empress and her favorite lady-in-waiting, Cecilia Frederiks, were walking quickly past the rotunda, when the doors to the rotunda blew open with a howling screech. The enormous chandelier was sucked out the door by the force of the wind and fire.
Flames blazed in the rotunda as the empress and her lady-in-waiting ran to the Saltykov Entrance, where the carriage awaited them.
The guardsmen rescued the royal valuables. These were soldiers brought up by Nicholas, whose only thought was to please the tsar. Some carried out the regimental banners from the Field Marshal Hall, others saved the imperial regalia and the treasures of the famous Diamond Hall, still others brought out personal family items. The empress’s favorite mirror would not come free of the wall. The guardsmen struggled to get it out of the burning bedroom. Nicholas had to break the priceless mirror in order to get the soldiers out of the room to save their lives.
The salvaged items were brought out onto Palace Square and piled up by the Alexander Column. Snow fell on them. In the snow lay the imperial regalia—crown, scepter, and orb—fabled jewels, “sacred icons, vestments from both chapels, paintings, precious ornaments of the palace,” wrote Zhukovsky. The army guarded these riches. Beyond the cordon of troops surrounding Palace Square stood the people, “countless crowds in deadly silence.” All night long in the snowy square the clocks made by famous craftsmen struck the hour and played soft melodies. The palace burned until sunrise.
By the time Alexander returned from the port, the palace was gone. The homeless royals moved into the Anichkov Palace.
Nicholas gave orders to restore the vast palace, setting an impossible deadline of one year. But it was met. Serfs were brought from all over Russia to work on it. It was minus thirty-five Centigrade, terribly cold, and they kept fires lit inside the palace to dry the walls faster. Hundreds of workers died before the project was completed.
The royal family moved back into the revived palace as Nicholas had ordered. Iron discipline in everything, that was the testament Nicholas left to his heir and to future rulers. Alexander must have thought with longing about his seven months of freedom, traveling without the oppressive, ruthless will of his father. He did not stay long in St. Petersburg.
Zhukovsky’s plan had Alexander traveling in Europe after his Russian voyage, not only to complete his education, but to find himself a wife. His mother did not want a repetition of the lady-in-waiting affair. A list was compiled of possible brides, all German princesses, naturally. As the French historian Charles Masson noted in the eighteenth century, the German duchies had long been a harem for Russian tsars from which to select wives. The former provincial princesses left their parents’ stingy palaces and were stunned by the barbarous opulence of the Russian court.
So, once again, on the road with instructions from his father. Once again, everything was merry and free as soon as Alexander left St. Petersburg. First came Prussia. His grandfather, Frederick Wilhelm, was very elderly, after forty years on the throne. With his grandfather, he visited the grave of his grandmother, Queen Louise, the most beautiful monarch of Europe. His grandmother’s beauty had almost conquered Napoleon. After his defeat by Bonaparte, his poor grandfather lost almost half of Prussia. Queen Louise (then at the height of her loveliness) decided to win back at least a part of the lost territories. At the peace talks, she went off alone with Bonaparte and asked him to leave them several lands. She was so successful that if Frederick had not come in just then, as Bonaparte later related the story, “A little longer and I would have had to give up Magdeburg.” Alexander I, who defeated Napoleon, had also been in love with her.
The Prussian cousins were charming. All the temptresses certainly dreamed of becoming the empress of Russia, but Alexander decided to leave Prussia and continue his journey. They had not won his heart. Vienna was next. They stayed at the home of Prince Metternich, who had not only been a clever adversary of the great Napoleon, but also a top-rank Don Juan. His house was complete temptation. Napoleon had advised, “Marry Austrian women. They are as fresh as roses and as fecund as rabbits.” But Alexander was drawn to the German principalities, where his ancestors had found their incomparable wives.
In the meantime, there was Italy. In Italy no one forced boring ceremonies on him. They stopped in small towns, where he enjoyed total freedom. He recalled his uncle Alexander, who had wanted to give up the crown. Italy’s sky, the marble palaces, the ruins that remembered Julius Caesar made him weep for joy with Zhukovsky under the Italian skies. Things changed in Milan, where he was greeted by cannon fire and long parades in his honor.
Another missive from his father moved them along to the German principalities of Baden and Württemberg. There were princesses there, but his heart was untouched. The voyage continued. They reached Darmstadt, the capital of the tiny duchy of Hesse-Darmstadt. Its princess was not on the list of possible brides, and Sasha stopped there only because it w
as along the way, for one day. But that evening in the court theater, he saw her, the young princess hiding in the back of the box. He was swept off his feet by “the modest charm of the princess,” who was still a child, only fourteen. She was graceful in the style of a Dürer Madonna. Even when she grew up, she remained fragile, spiritual, and girlishly graceful.
Alexander stayed to dine with the boring Duke Ludwig, in the hope of catching another glimpse of her. Princess Maximiliana-Wilhelmina-Augusta-Sophie had a tiny waist, golden hair, and blue eyes. Like his mother.
That night he wrote to his father, “I liked her terribly at first sight. If you permit it, dear father, I will come back to Darmstadt after England.” He had the messenger deliver the letter to his father on the day of the Annunciation, nine days later. The messenger raced through Europe to reach the emperor on that day.
The princess was not in Nicholas’s plans. Yes, she came from a German principality, but she was only fourteen. In monarchic Europe all the kings knew everything about one another. Spicy rumors were passed around, and the word was that the princess was not the duke’s daughter, but that of his handsome stable master, the Frenchman Baron de Grancy.
But when his son’s dispatch was brought to Nicholas on the day of the Annunciation, religious Nicholas did not fail to see the good omen of the day of glad tidings. (Just as clever Sasha had planned.) He gave permission for Alexander to return to Darmstadt. While Nicholas questioned the messenger closely on the appearance, education, and moral qualities of the princess, Sasha headed for England.
It turned out that leaving England would be difficult. It was the fault of Queen Victoria. She was twenty years old and she, too, had gorgeous blue eyes. She was flawlessly elegant as only Englishwomen can be. Soon Victoria wrote in her diary, “I like the Grand Duke extremely; he is so natural and gay and so easy to get on with.”
Alexander’s face, as usual, revealed that he was in love again. Victoria was not only charming, intelligent, and witty. There was something about her that he found very attractive: She was completely independent and free in her opinions. He could be free and easy around her, which he could not be at the court of his father.
The next day Victoria and the Russian heir were at the royal theater, in separate boxes. In the intermission Alexander entered the queen’s box and spent close to a half hour alone with her behind the velvet curtains.
Dispatches flew to St. Petersburg: “The queen is clearly enjoying the society of His Imperial Majesty. Everyone is saying they are an ideal couple. Were the Grand Duke to make a proposal to the queen, it would be accepted without hesitation.”
The eternally besotted tsarevich awaited his father’s decision. Victoria described the history of their brief romance in her diary: “Monday, 27th May 1839. Windsor. At 1/4 to 8 we dined in St. George’s Hall, which looked beautiful. The Grand Duke led me in and I sat between him and Prince Henry of Holland. I really am quite in love with the Grand Duke; he is a dear, delightful young man…. I danced 1st a quadrille with the Grand Duke, then followed a Valse, during which time I sat down, then another quadrille…this was followed again by a Valse (of course I and also the Grand-Duke sitting down during the Valse)…After supper at 12 they danced a Mazurka…. The Grand-Duke asked me to take a turn; the Grand-Duke is so very strong, that in running round, you must follow quickly, and after that you are whisked round like in a Valse, which is very pleasant…. This concluded our little Ball at near 2 o’clock. I never enjoyed myself more. We were all so merry; I got to bed by a 1?4 to 3, but could not sleep till 5.”
But it was in vain. His father’s letter was delivered to him. His father’s orders were “Back to Darmstadt!” Russia needed an heir to the throne, not a pathetic husband of the English queen. “Don’t be a milksop!”
Now Nicholas was willing to accept the Darmstadt match with the dubious German princess. Anything to get him out of perilous England, for the tsar knew his son’s dangerous impulsiveness. As the loyal Zhukovsky wrote, “The princess is modest, charming, and even intelligent.”
The sight of the grand duke made everything clear to Victoria. After the last dance on May 28, “which was over at 20 m. to 3, I went to the little blue room next to my Dressing-room, where Lord Palmerston brought in the Grand-Duke to take leave. The Grand-Duke took my hand and pressed it warmly; he looked pale and his voice faltered, as he said, ‘Les paroles me manquent pour exprimer tout ce que je sens’ [I lack the words to express what I feel]; and he mentioned how deeply grateful he felt for all the kindness he met with, that he hoped to return again…. He then pressed and kissed my hand, and I kissed his cheek; upon which he kissed mine (cheek) in a very warm affectionate manner, and we again warmly shook hands. I really felt more as if I was taking leave of a relation than of a stranger, I felt so sad to take leave of this dear amiable young man, whom I really think (talking jokingly) I was a little in love with, and certainly attached to; he is so frank, so really young and merry, has such a nice open countenance with a sweet smile, and such a manly fine figure and appearance.”
With that “jokingly” she freed herself of regrets and of rejection. She understood the Russian tsar, for Victoria was first and foremost a great queen, as she would prove. She must have expected that a lover would at least try to behave as a lover should, but how could he have disobeyed his father? As if anyone in all of Russia could.
As a farewell gift, Alexander gave the queen his favorite dog, Kazbek. She kept it with her until it died.
From London, Alexander returned to Darmstadt, which he had so easily forgotten. While he was falling in love in London, however, his father had come to terms with the duke, whose daughter would convert to Orthodoxy.
The court welcomed the bride warily. Her “inadequate French” was noted, as was her less-than-perfect nose and her mouth, which was too narrow, “with tight lips and without spiritual sensitivity.” But Nicholas liked her, she resembled his beloved wife tremendously—just as fragile and ethereal, with the same delightfully golden hair. Most important, her slightly bulging blue eyes showed the familiar meekness and all-forgiveness that were so necessary for life with Romanov men. Sometimes, however, her thin lips curved into a sarcastic smile that showed that she understood everything even as she forgave. That was just the wife for his son. Nicholas forbade the court from discussing nasty rumors about her, from even thinking about them. The court immediately shut up. Nicholas knew how to rule.
In 1841, in the Winter Palace that had risen from the ashes, the wedding was held in the Big Church. After her conversion to Russian Orthodoxy, the Princess of Hesse-Darmstadt became Grand Duchess Maria Alexandrovna Romanova. She was magnificent that day, her gown embroidered in silver and decorated with diamonds, a mantle of purple velvet trimmed with ermine on her shoulders, and a diamond diadem on her lovely head.
The bride’s brother accompanied her to Russia. Tall and handsome, with military bearing and elegance, he knew how to swagger in uniform, which predisposed Nicholas to him immediately. He was a treasure trove of anecdotes and jokes, which set him apart from the cowed and cautious court. The tsar’s benevolence and the enormous allowance assigned to the prince gave rise to great hopes for him. But an affair with his sister’s pretty lady-in-waiting ended in her pregnancy. The prince felt he was honor-bound to marry her. Nicholas “could not stand misalliances in the imperial Family.” He banished the prince and the pregnant lady-in-waiting from Russia.
The tsarevna learned to be careful in her selection of ladies-in-waiting. Anna Tyutcheva, daughter of the great poet Fedor Tyutchev, became her next choice. She was an intelligent young woman of strong morals. More important, she was unattractive.
Anna spent thirteen years at the Winter Palace, in a room pathetic in comparison to the opulence of the royal apartments, with her carriage always ready in case she needed to accompany the tsarevna. She kept a chronicle of court life for those thirteen years. Her “Reminiscences” help us see the tsar’s court in the era of Nicholas I and Alexander II, the Rus
sian Atlantis gone forever.
Separation from her favorite brother was a blow for the tsarevna. She got over it with difficulty, but she drew the necessary conclusions. Life in the Russian court demanded “daily heroism,” she wrote. “I lived like a volunteer fireman, ready to jump up at the alarm. Of course, I wasn’t too sure about where to run or what to do.” In fact, after the business with her brother, she realized very well what to do and where to run. Because there was only one thing the court had to do: Please Nicholas. She had to understand the emperor’s wishes and execute them.
The coldness of the court no longer frightened her, because Masha (as Alexander called her) quickly learned how to manage it. Nicholas lived on a rigid schedule, which applied to everything. The “volunteer fireman” made sure she kept to the schedule.
She got up early and made sure the children were dressed and fed, because they had to be in the chapel by eleven. At the stroke of eleven, the emperor walked into the chapel. The tsarevna was inside at 10:50, waiting for the emperor, the family around her. The heir was still and respectful, as were all their children. As the clock struck the hour, the emperor entered and the service began. The emperor stood near the choir and sang along in his beautiful voice. The tsarevna’s face showed complete concentration. Even their smallest child, not yet three, stood still, and most important, quietly.
The emperor’s hearing was excellent, and woe to the courtier or lady who whispered during the service. A few hours later a clerk from the Ministry of the Court would bring an official written rebuke from His Majesty.
Nicholas came to love his daughter-in-law. He considered her intelligent, and sometimes even asked for her advice. Naturally, everyone at court considered her intelligent then, too. That started rumors that Alexander was ruled by his wife. He put up with it, because in the early years of their marriage, he was in love with her. And she was happy with him—a happy wife and a happy mother. She had children one after the other, to the happiness of father and grandfather. Maria Alexandrovna had six sons and two daughters. The first son was named Nicholas, naturally, in honor of the emperor. (Alexander’s brother Konstantin and sister Masha named their first-born sons Nicholas, too.)
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