Moreover, I could not be certain of Nicky’s feelings. Whenever Nicky passed by a fine forest, he would be able to remind himself that this loveliness was his land. He had been chosen by God. Would he not see Love as a vertiginous ascent where you could only maintain your balance by climbing upward?
Still, the damnable question remained. It was certainly conceivable that in His Desire to nourish their marriage, God was enriching them with physical ecstasies. How could I know? I had only the language of their letters, and the reasonable assumption that if God was going to choose a Tsar, He would be ready to support him with Wisdom and Strength—against, of course, the not-small skills of the Maestro.
5
On the other hand, one could also ask how well had God prepared this young man to be a Tsar. It is certain that the court had not. Everyone had supposed that Alexander III would rule for at least another generation, and so Nicky was poorly prepared for public life.
17 January 1895, St. Petersburg
An exhausting day. I was in a terrible state about having to go to the Nikolayevsky Hall and deliver a speech to the representatives of the nobility, and the town committees.
He had been closeted with the Grand Dukes before delivering the speech. They assured him that he must follow in his father’s footsteps. “Nicky, you must be absolute!” His grandfather, Alexander II, had been assassinated. His father had had that close call on the train. Absolute allegiance must be proclaimed.
From Nicky’s speech:
I am aware that recently in some zemstvos there have arisen the voices of people carried away by senseless dreams of taking part in the business of government.
Let everyone know that I will retain the principles of autocracy as firmly and unbendingly as my unforgettable late father.
Despite such promises of unrelenting strength, his official duties oppressed him. He kept lamenting that he could not spend enough time alone with Alix.
As the first winter of their marriage came to an end, she began, however, to develop symptoms. We counted on that. Symptoms were our stock-in-trade. Victorian women were never easy to invest, but we could always send a shiver into their corseted defense of personal virtue. It called for no more than tainting their dreams with one or another smelly thought. Symptoms soon followed.
9 April 1895, St. Petersburg
Unfortunately, dear Alix’s headache continued all day. She did not go to church nor to luncheon.
10 April 1895, St. Petersburg
Dear Alix still has an unbearable pain in the temples and she was obliged to remain in bed, on my advice.
An ongoing headache! When intense enough to be characterized as migraine, these headaches speak of a clear desire to commit murder. I did not believe Alix had such sentiments toward her husband, but it could be another matter with her mother-in-law. The Empress Marie had adored her huge husband for the best of reasons, and one of them was that she had been the Empress. Animosities were developing.
By June, Alix was free, however, of her worst headaches. She was also pregnant. I suspect that her mother-in-law was, in consequence, able to exercise less pressure upon her temples. In an entry to Nicky’s diary on June 10, Alix wrote:
My sweet old darling Manykins, Wify loves you so deeply and strongly…what intense happiness…ours…our very own…what happiness could be greater; only Wify must try and be as good and kind as possible lest another little person suffer for it. A big kiss.
This is June, but the baby will not be born until November. Is Alix suggesting that manykins and wify have no contact down below until the baby arrives?
My comprehension was not advancing. None of us was ready to admit this to ourselves (and never, certainly, to the Maestro) but the presence of real love blurred the clarity of our analysis. We could penetrate every aspect of false love, and be demonic at converting the sensitivities of love to the imperatives of lust. Of course, there are special occasions when God decides that lust will be beneficial for one of His chosen, yes, there is Godly lust as well, and so the issue can offer ambiguity.
It is a curious contest. The angels have powerful sweets to offer, but, in turn, I would say we possess more improvisational skills than the Cudgels. We also lack a quality I do not wish to confess, although I must, or what I offer will make no sense. It is that I know everything about love but Love itself. I do not like to make this confession. Yet, it is true. I recall nothing of my existence as a human, nor even whether I was, to the contrary, always a spirit. This, however, I can say—I have never known Love. I can expatiate upon its properties and tendencies, its dilemmas, its dissipations, I can delineate most of the reasons for its presence or disappearance, I can inspire jealousy, doubt, even periods of revulsion toward the beloved, I can tell you everything about Love except that I cannot distinguish true Love from its artistic substitutes.
Witness, then, my confusion concerning Alix. I could comprehend that Nicky needed Love the way others require drink. But Alix? Could it be that her amorous hysteria was the best way of believing that she felt heights of passion, pleasure, and devotion?
Given, however, one curious line in her letter, “Wify must try and be as good and kind as possible lest another little person suffer for it,” I came to a conclusion. She was, indeed, declaring a temporary moratorium on sex. Over many a milk run, I had watched pregnant women enjoying the act in their eighth or even ninth month. Of course, this might be different. Alix was preparing for the next Tsar, and one wouldn’t dare to bruise the development of that royal head, but still!—was there to be no sex scheduled until November? She was writing this in June! I now leaned to the hypothesis that Alix had strained mightily to rise to the passionate heights she deemed necessary for this first essential of their marriage to be accomplished but now that the heir-to-be had been put in place, she was ready to enjoy a rest. Yes, we must not do it “lest another little person suffer.”
6
Alix was more than pregnant. Her belly was huge. The Romanovs were full of anxiety awaiting the birth of that young bouncing male baby who would soon be Tsarevitch to Nicholas II.
It is the mark, however, of good breeding that no disappointment was mouthed by them when a strapping ten-pound female came forth.
It did not matter that much to Nicky—Alix, at least, was safe!
3 November 1895, Tsarskoe Selo
A day I will remember forever. At exactly 9 o’clock P.M. a baby was delivered and we all breathed a sigh of relief. With a prayer we named the daughter from Almighty God “Olga!”
Two days later, Nicky is fascinated by some unexpected aspects of infant nutrition.
5 November 1895, Tsarskoe Selo
The first attempt at breastfeeding took place and ended up with Alix successfully feeding the son of the wet nurse while the latter gave milk to Olga. Very funny!
6 November 1895
Thank God, all is well, but the baby does not want to take her breast so we had to call the wet nurse again.
I was not surprised. A few of us are able to discern the sentiments of an embryo during the final months. During the last trimester, they express their uterine sentiments through their mothers’ dreams. So we knew that most infants come into the light of the birthing room feeling affection or antipathy toward the benevolent caretaker (or the surly warden) who so recently constituted the walls of their womb. That is exactly why women feel desolate when their milk is refused by their babe.
Nonetheless, these two, the wet nurse and the young Empress, were doing their best to avoid such a recognition. So was Nicky. I expect he was ready to tell himself that huge little Olga had the sturdy instinct to wish to smell and taste the paps of a strong Russian woman. And I, from my funds of cynicism, think that the two women, so profoundly different, were ready to enjoy this open (if still surreptitious) connection of the flesh.
In any event, less than half a year later, Alix has certainly resumed relations with Nicky.
29 March 1896, St. Petersburg
…sweet precious
Nicky mine, no words can express how deeply I love you—more and more, day by day, deeper—truer. Lovy sweet do you believe it, do you feel hearty throb so quickly, and only for you, my husband?
Nicky had been so good about the birth of a princess rather than an heir that Alix to her sweet surprise felt a “hearty throb” on the moment he entered her, a novel event, or, at least, I assume it was novel. Besides, fleshy determinations can shift. Olga, for example, has come to accept the given. Now she feeds at her mother’s breast even as Alix is taking morning coffee with the Emperor.
Our closest attention, however, was on the Coronation of Nicholas II. It was approaching. It is safe to add that there could have hardly been a devil present who was not experiencing his share of elation and dread. There is never a time when the presence of crowds can feel as demonic to us as at a great occasion with a massive ceremony.
7
Festivities for the Coronation would take place in Moscow on May 14, and everywhere one saw two large letters, N for Nicky, and A for Alix. Countless numbers of platforms had to be erected for the spectators, as well as false fronts to hide the ugliest buildings on the route. Moscow was awash in visitors coming from many a nation. Those who lived on the route of the parade were renting their abodes to spectators. A window on the street could be leased from dawn to sunset for 200 rubles. Carriages accompanied by coachmen cost 1,200 rubles for the month. Useless to argue that one only wanted the coach for a week, or that one could buy ten good horses for 1,200 rubles! Even to acquire a limited view in a narrow space on a flimsily built platform came to 10 or 15 rubles—woe to the obese. To afford a balcony you had to spend 500.
Nor were hotel rooms easily available. The government had taken over whole floors for foreign princes, diplomatic representatives, noblemen, honored artists, nabobs, moguls, tycoons. The French, determined for reasons of state to leave an imprint on the occasion, proceeded to spend 200,000 rubles, a way of proclaiming themselves as the great and good ally of the Tsar. Since that had once been Germany’s role, their diplomats responded by renting a palace in the woods outside Moscow that cost only 7,000 rubles, a modest gem, but then the Germans did not give a ball, just a musicale. They may have been gambling on bad weather. If so, they lost. The opening procession on May 9 offered beautiful skies.
The parade had to be comparable to the most splendid royal occasions of the past. Nicky and Alix would make their way to the Spassky Gate of the Kremlin from their temporary residence in Petrovsky Park, some six miles away. Since it was no secret that this event was hoping to equal the majestic entry of Louis XIV into Reims in 1654, the procession would look to exhibit to the world how exceptional were the resources of the Russian Empire. First came the Cossacks, with scarlet tunics, silver epaulettes, blue trousers, and black boots; on came Asian princes from unpronounceable regions, exhibiting costumes never seen before in Europe, but then they were representatives of far-off barbarian lands which the Russians had conquered over several centuries.
They were followed by the Arch Grand Master of the Coronation Ceremonies, twelve Chamberlains, twenty-five Gentlemen of the Chamber, Marshalls of the Court, and members of the Council of Empire, who were then succeeded by the regiments of the Royal Army.
Early in this progression came Nicky himself, born, as all too many were whispering, on the sixth of May. Thousands of Russians were passing such information to each other, for May 6 was the Orthodox Feast Day of St. Job the Sufferer, one of the most sinister dates on the calendar. No one would ever wish to repeat the sufferings of Job.
Nicky was most aware of this. In the first weeks of their betrothal, he had seen it as his duty to warn Alix, who replied that it would be her duty to stand beside him. In union with each other, they would overcome such a bad omen. This had to be a test given to them by God. So she saw it. God wanted them to love each other so well that they would not have to suffer like Job, not if they were ready to love God even more than had St. Job.
Just so much did I learn on the day they entered the Kremlin. I had been able at last to enter Nicky’s mind, and never in my experience were so many angels surrounding a human being. Yet, on this day, as he paraded his pale English mare along the six miles from Petrovsky Park to the Spassky Gate of the Kremlin, I was able to approach his thoughts. Be certain, it was a small entry, but the approaches to his mind were not wholly barricaded. Hosannas to the Maestro! Ten years ago when the Tsarevitch was an eighteen-year-old cadet, he had had a lustful set of encounters with one of our devils. She had appeared in the form of a Gypsy prostitute. Since the affair occurred years before the Cudgels had begun to devote their massive efforts to protect him, the Maestro had succeeded in finding an unprotected if narrow ingress into Nicky’s mind.
Now, chosen to use this hard-won passage, I was there for the length of the march up Tverskaya Street to the Kremlin, and so could pick up some of the thoughts passing through the royal head.
There were surprises. On this ride, his memory took him back to the years when he had been a young Colonel in the Life Guards, and he did recognize—for one moment, no more—that his days might be happier now if they could be spent in that rank. The enthusiasm of the troops, their roar of joy at the sight of him, had left a pang.
Nicky’s recollections now turned libidinous. The devil who had been installed into his young experience was one whore who was still calling to him. Each cheer from the troops stirred his groin. The English mare, so elegant, so pale, must also have been alert to such arousal, for she began to offer new steps. How she pranced!
After no more than another minute, however, the fine spirits shared by horse and rider sank back into gloom. Born on the Feast Day of St. Job the Sufferer. What, indeed, had God intended?
Just as quickly, however, did his good mood return. I did my best to follow. Nicky’s thoughts came pell-mell, full of clatter and echo, and even a dark mood could not prevail for long in the face of this promenade. The decorations hung upon the façades of the homes on Tverskaya Street. Moscow, on this morning, had the radiance of an old lady who had never been as beautiful before, and the glory of the light occasioned Nicky to think of his best hunting days, when Alexander III had seen fit to compliment his prowess. Nicky had blushed on receiving so rare a compliment from his father, and proceeded immediately to give the credit to his hunting dogs. Whereupon Tsar Alexander III had said, “One can measure a man by his dogs.”
Yes, let the Almighty see him as the most loyal of His dogs. He knew animals, he knew them. Almost always, when drinking the blood of a stag just hunted down, the echo of the last shot still alive in the forest, he would feel close to God. The stag, so immaculate in form, had just lost its existence. Why? For whom? To Nicky, the answer was simple but profound. The death of this beautiful beast would bring a closer understanding between God and man. For it was God who had given human beings the right to take the lives of these exquisite creatures. Now Nicky remembered a blasphemy that once had burned in his throat. It came as he drank his first cup of stag’s blood. He had thought: “This blood must be like Christ’s blood. How else can it taste so pure?” Remembrance of such a blasphemy made him wince. It also made him think of obligations yet to come. He might feel close to God, he could certainly feel close to beautiful animals, but now there were always ministers around, eager to see him, looking to use him. The loyalty of those ministers was most attached, however, to the aggrandizement of their office. Deceit was at their fingertips. Self-interest was in their skin.
He could withstand them. So he told himself. He had a trinity of values with which to protect himself, his father’s guide—Honor, Tradition, Service. Yet, to remain faithful to three such principles would demand unyielding strength. Honor could fall into dishonor, Tradition grow stiff, and Service wear one out. He was not the man to deal with endless intrigues. To keep up with such ministers was like falling through a stairwell. Whereas to kill an animal yet know compassion for the beast—marrow for the soul!
At this moment, his mare rear
ed up. Had she just had an image of the stag’s blood? A cry of fear rose from the spectators. The mare was standing on her hind legs. But then the crowd applauded. On the streets, at the windows, upon the balconies, from the roofs of Tverskaya Street—out of the tens of thousands who witnessed this moment rose a great wave of applause. Nicky, most gracefully, had kept his seat and calmed his horse. The sound of the crowd’s elation traveled all the distance up to the Spassky Gate of the Kremlin. Other tens of thousands of spectators still ahead on the line of march did not see this episode and so did not know why they had heard such applause, but they too began to applaud. Nicky was flushed with pleasure.
Not for long—his future duty was still before him. He was doomed to work with his ministers, and they would never respect him. They were accustomed to the force of his father. Gloom came upon him again.
In five days he would receive the Crown and be overwhelmed with duties. Their opinions would override his own. They knew more. He had not even planned this procession. They had. They had told him that this prolonged entrance to the Kremlin would be his triumphant introduction to the world. That was why there must be so lengthy a parade. It was crucial that he be seen at the front of these many miles of procession. Yet to keep expectations alive for the onlookers, his mother and Alix would only be seen in their two golden coaches at the conclusion. This arrangement, the ministers insisted, was the most dramatic way to demonstrate the amplitude of Russian power.
Alix had wanted, however, to be nearer to him. Nicky tried to explain the intentions of the ministers. She was silent. It was one matter for Nicky to feel like a dog before God, but quite another to suffer such a sentiment before one’s wife. Nothing is worse for an animal who would be brave than to be told by the eye of his beloved that he is no more than a timid and conceivably ignoble creature.
The Castle in the Forest Page 22
