The Russian Century: A Hundred Years of Russian Lives

There were ceremonial halls—magnificent paintings on the walls, chandeliers, vases. And amidst this luxury we stood erect in two ranks looking with surprise and delight at generals, the Emperor’s suite, the rare, exalted medals, liveried servants, courtiers, grandees, officers of the cavalry guards, hussars in their red dolmans, and Pavlov grenadiers in their tall shakos. We who had just left provincial Tbilisi, or Omsk, or Orenburg were astounded. What brilliance, what opulence.

Then the solemn religious procession began, moving through all the halls to the Jordan doors and out to the Neva River, the Jordan.1

And here is his Majesty the Emperor whom I longed to see. He is the epitome of modesty and simplicity, despite the glittering surroundings and haughtiness of the courtiers. His sky-blue eyes are plain, tender and familiar as if they were the eyes of thousands and thousands of Russian people. There is something very Russian, something dear in them and, strange as it may seem, something attractively shy. And his rank is only that of a colonel, something immediately apparent amidst hundreds of high-ranking generals. The thought flashes through my mind that he ought to be a general rather than a colonel. But it is also pleasing that he modestly declines higher ranks. But will this be understood, perchance, by the giants in the Preobrazhenskii Regiment who stretch like a wall down the corridors. But what thoughts don’t enter the mind of a provincial youth at his first time at court. The chief thing is to prolong time and to gaze at him intensely. His Majesty walks by slowly and looks kindly and attentively into the eyes of each. And his gaze stopped at me for a moment and filled me with pride, as if I had become known to the tsar.

The empress walked next to him, slowly nodding to everyone with a benevolent and intelligent expression. . . .

Overall, the impression was magical and overwhelming, and later in the tea hall, answering everyone’s questions, I spoke with enthusiasm of the court, parade, and of His Majesty. . . .

Oleg Pantiukhov, A Student’s Summer

53

The next time we saw the emperor was when he came to inspect the academy. There was only one adjutant with him, but he kept to himself, and we all felt as if His Majesty was our personal guest. Nor did the academy administration surround the emperor except for general Shatilov, who, out of breath with joy, pranced behind the emperor trying to explain everything with his hissing, flu-ridden voice.

The emperor was obviously pleased with everything and perhaps most of all with the fact that he was out of his usual environment and in touch with Russia’s youth which had just come from all corners of his extensive empire. Who knows, but perhaps we from Siberia, the Urals, the Caucasus, Pskov province brought with us the air of all the Russian borderlands and His Majesty unexpectedly became immersed in our youthful high spirits and sensed that very connectedness with the people which he so needed.

This was the time of the greatest flowering of our Russian state. There were Russian troops at far-off Kushka and even farther in immense Manchuria. His Majesty was the most powerful monarch in the world. Yet, here he was with us and we could see him up close and examine all the features of his Preo-brazhenskii Regiment tunic and the historic adjutant’s epaulets with the interwoven silver monograms of Alexander II and Alexander III, his grandfather and father. A gilded adjutant’s braid ran down his sleeve from an epaulet. He approached us with tenderness, occasionally posing brief questions. At the doors, where everyone rushed to see him off, His Majesty put on his gray overcoat, wiggling a shoulder as if the coat was tight in the armpit, and said that he was glad to have seen our academy in such exemplary order and that he wished us success in our studies and training.

We were given silent consent to go out onto Spasskii Street and run alongside the emperor’s conveyance. We shouted Hurrah! Then the driver went faster and the sleigh disappeared in the mists of St. Petersburg.

Classes were canceled for the rest of the day and that made us doubly happy.

NOTE

1. In the Eastern Orthodox Church Epiphany celebrates the baptism of Christ by John the Baptist in the river Jordan. The ceremony, which includes a blessing of the waters (hence the exit to the Neva River), occurs on the twelfth day of Christmas.

Chapter Five

Aleksandra Tyrkova-Williams, A Woman’s Autonomy