CHAPTER X

Alexander leaves St. Petersburg--His presentiments of his death--The two stars seen at Taganrog--The emperor's illness--His last moments--How they learnt of his death in St. Petersburg--The Grand-Duke Constantine--His character and tastes--Why he renounced his right to the imperial throne--Jeannette Groudzenska

The departure of the emperor naturally meant an increase of work before he left, so that he was not able to write and bid his mother, the dowager-empress, adieu until four o'clock on the afternoon of 12 September. At four o'clock it suddenly became very dark, a great cloud overshadowing the light. The emperor called his valet.

"Fœdor," he said, "bring me lights."

The valet brought four candles; but it grew light again before the emperor had done writing, and the valet immediately entered to put them out.

"Sire," he asked, "shall I take away the lights?"

"Why so?" asked the emperor.

"Because we look on it as an ill omen to write by artificial light when it is daylight."

"What conclusion do you draw from that?"

"I, sire?... I do not infer anything from it."

"But I do. I understand. You think that people passing by, seeing the light inside, will imagine there has been a death in in the house."

"Exactly so, sire."

"Ah, well, take away the candles."

The emperor did not seem to take any notice of his valet's observations, but the incident remained in his mind.

As we have already noted, he left the city of St. Petersburg at four in the morning of 13 September, just as the sun began to rise.

He stopped his carriage, and stood looking back at the city of the Czar Peter, plunged in deep sadness, as though warned by some inward voice that he was looking upon it for the last time. The emperor had spent the previous night in prayer, both in the convent of Saint-Alexandre Nevsky and in the cathedral of Kasan. In the monastery he had an interview, lasting nearly an hour, with the monks and the metropolitan Seraphin. The latter related a story to the emperor of a monk of his convent who had voluntarily submitted himself to a life of the most scrupulous austerity by shutting himself up in a hollow place, scooped out of the thick walls of the convent, where he meant to pass all his remaining days. In spite of the lateness of the hour, the emperor asked to be taken to this monk's cell, and talked with him for nearly twenty minutes.

Before leaving St. Petersburg, Alexander wished to see his beloved Czarkosjelo once more. He mounted on horseback at the palace door and rode over all his favourite haunts, as though to bid them farewell. When Fœdor asked Alexander when he expected to return to the imperial palace, he pointed with his finger to an image of Christ and said--

"He alone knows!"

The emperor reached Taganrog towards the close of September. On 5 October the empress, who could only journey by short stages on account of her state of health, also arrived there. The emperor advanced a little ahead of the empress, and together they made a solemn entry into the town.

Why had the emperor taken a liking for Taganrog? It seemed inexplicable except on the grounds of that fatal destiny which compels men towards the place in which it is foreordained they are to die.

Taganrog is situated in the finest climate of the Crimea, in the midst of a fertile country and in a pleasant place at the entrance to the Sea of Azov, close to the mouths of the Don and the Volga; but the town itself contains nothing but a heap of tumbledown houses, of which about a sixth are built of brick or stone, whilst the remainder are really nothing but wooden huts smeared over with a mixture of clay and mud. The streets are certainly wide, but they are unpaved, and the soil is so powdery that, after the least shower of rain, one sinks in mud up to one's knees. Then, when the heat of the sun has dried up this damp marsh, the cattle and horses that pass by raise such clouds of dust that it is impossible in full daylight to distinguish a man from a beast of burden ten paces away. This dust penetrates everything; it gets through closed blinds, tightly fastened shutters and the most impenetrable curtains; it makes its way through clothing, no matter how thick it be, and fills the water with a kind of crust that can only be precipitated by boiling it with salts of tartar. The emperor alighted at the governor's house, but he went out first thing in the morning and did not return until dinner-time at two o'clock. At four, he took another long excursion, not returning until nightfall, neglecting all the precautions that the natives of those parts themselves take against the dangerous malarial fevers common along the entire coast-line; at night, he slept on a camp bedstead, his head resting on a leather pillow. Presentiments of his approaching end never left him. The very evening of his arrival at Taganrog, just as his valet was about to leave him for the night, he said to him--

"Fœdor, the candles that I ordered you to take out of my study at St. Petersburg constantly recur to my mind; before very long they will be burning for me."

During one night in the month of October several of the inhabitants of Taganrog saw, at two in the morning, above the house where the emperor was living, two stars which at first were a wide distance apart from one another, then approached each other and then again separated. This phenomenon was repeated three times. Then one of the stars gradually grew into a luminous ball of considerable dimensions, obliterating the other, and soon afterwards disappeared below the horizon and was no longer seen. In its fall, the bigger star left the smaller one behind in its place; but it, too, paled by degrees, and soon also disappeared. The superstitious interpreted the larger and more brilliant star to be the Emperor Alexander, and the other the empress; they augured from the portent that the emperor was soon to die, and that the empress was only to survive her husband for a few months.

Besides his daily excursions, the emperor would make others that lasted for days together, either in the country round the Don, or at Tcherkask or at Donetz. He was prepared to start for Astrakan, when Count Voronzov, Governor of Odessa, arrived to tell the emperor that discontent was increasing throughout the whole of the Crimea and would cause considerable trouble, if the emperor did not quell the insubordination, and calm the disquiet by his personal presence.

There was a distance of some three hundred leagues to be traversed; but what are three hundred leagues in Russia? Alexander promised the empress he would return within a month, and gave orders for his departure. He was impatient and irritable throughout the journey--an attitude of mind so at variance with his usual gentle melancholy that it surprised all around him; he complained that the horses did not go fast enough; of the badness of the roads, of the cold in the morning, the heat at noonday, the frost at night. Dr. Wylie advised the traveller to take precautions against the changes of temperature which he seemed to feel so much, but here the emperor's wayward mood showed itself: he rejected both cloaks and capes, apparently courting the very dangers his friends advised him to guard against. Finally, one evening he caught cold, and a persistent cough developed into an intermittent fever, which, aggravated by the patient's obstinacy, had, by the time they reached Oridov, become a serious fever, which the doctor recognised as an attack of the same kind that had raged all autumn through from Taganrog to Sebastopol. They immediately turned back towards Taganrog, the emperor himself giving the order to retrace their journey. Whilst on the way back, the doctor urged upon his patient the necessity for taking prompt measures, for he knew the gravity of the nature of his illness. But the emperor objected.

"Leave me alone," he said. "Surely I know myself best what I need--I want rest, solitude and quiet.... Look after my nerves, doctor; it is they that are in such a deplorable state."

"Sire," replied Wylie, "kings are much more subject to nervous disorders than ordinary individuals."

"True," said Alexander in reply, "specially nowadays.... Ah! doctor, doctor," he continued, shaking his head, "I have ample reason for being unwell!"

In spite of the doctor's objections, Alexander would ride on horseback part of the way, until he felt compelled to return to his carriage, and he was so exhausted by the time he set foot in the governor's house at Taganrog that he fainted away.

Although the empress was herself dying of heart disease, she forgot her own sufferings, and rallied when she saw her husband's condition. When he was a little better, Alexander wrote to reassure his imperial mother, telling her that although he was ill, she need not be anxious; that he was able to take food and there was nothing serious to fear. This was on 18 November. On the 24th, the fever set in with increased vigour, and the erysipelas in the leg disappeared.

"See!" cried the emperor, when he saw what had occurred,--"this is the end ... I shall die as my sister died!"

But he still refused to take any medicines. As Dr. Wylie stood by his side that night, he exclaimed suddenly, as he turned towards the doctor--

"What a deed! What a deplorable act!"

What reminiscence was it that drew such a sorrowful exclamation from him? It can hardly be doubted that he was referring to the death of Paul, who was smothered in a room above his head and whose last groans he heard, without daring to go to his rescue.

On the 27th, the emperor at last gave himself into his doctor's hands, who at once applied leeches; this application gave him a little relief, but the fever soon returned worse than ever. They tried sinapisms, but could not reduce the temperature, and the patient realised then that it was time he prepared for his end. A confessor was brought to him at five in the morning.

"Father," Alexander said to him, as he held out his hand, "deal with me as an ordinary being and not as an emperor."

The priest drew close to his bedside, received the imperial confession and administered the sacraments to the noble invalid. Towards two o'clock the emperor's pains increased terribly.

"Oh!" he exclaimed, overcome by his sufferings. "My God! must kings suffer more when they come to die than other men?..."

During the night he became unconscious, and remained in a state of complete lethargy the whole of the next day. On the 29th he recovered consciousness, and faint hopes were raised. The empress watched by his bed, and noticed that he slept a little before dawn. He did not wake until nine the next morning, just as the sun shone out from behind some clouds as brilliantly as on the finest summer day. As Alexander opened his eyes, he saw that he was flooded with sunlight.

"What beautiful weather!" he exclaimed, with that fervid joy at sight of the sun so often noticed in the dying.

Then, turning to the empress and kissing her hand, he said--

"Madam, you must be worn out with fatigue."

Then he relapsed into the same condition of torpor from which he had momentarily emerged. All hope of his recovery was given up on the 30th. Nevertheless, towards two o'clock in the morning, General Diébitch mentioned an old man, named Alexandrovitch, who had, he said, saved several Tartars from the same fever that had attacked the emperor. They sent for this old man at Dr. Wylie's instigation, and he came at eight. He looked at the emperor, shook his head and said--

"It is too late; besides, those I have cured did not suffer from that complaint."

And he left, taking with him the empress's last ray of hope. However, the emperor reopened his eyes towards half-past ten that morning, and all waited anxiously for him to speak. But he did not utter a word; he only took the empress's hand, kissed it and laid it on his heart. The empress remained bent over him in the position her husband's hand caused her to take, and at ten minutes to eleven the emperor died. The empress's face was so close to his that she felt him draw his last breath.

She uttered a terrible cry and fell on her knees in prayer; not even the doctor dared to approach the body, for she had made a sign to all around not to disturb her. Then, some minutes later, she rose in a calmer state of mind, closed the emperor's eyes, which had remained open, tied a handkerchief round his head to prevent his jaws from dropping, kissed his hands already as cold as ice, and, again falling on her knees, she remained in prayer by the bedside until the doctors were obliged to ask her to withdraw into another room, while they made a post-mortem examination.

Whilst this sad operation proceeded, the widowed empress wrote to the dowager-empress:--

"Our angel is in heaven, while I still linger on earth.... Alas! who would ever have thought that I, weak and ill as I am, should have survived him?... Mother, I entreat you not to desert me, for I am absolutely alone in this world of sorrow!

"The face of our beloved dead has resumed its expression of gentle kindliness; the smile upon it assures me that he is happy, and that his eyes see better things than here below.... My only comfort in this irreparable loss is that I shall not long survive him!..."

And, indeed, the empress died six months later.

The letter was sent off by courier to St. Petersburg, where the emperor's illness was already known. He had himself written, on 17 November, to say that he had had to return to Taganrog on account of illness. On the 24th, the Empress Elisabeth had written to the Grand-Duchess Helena asking her to inform the Empress Marie that the emperor was going on well. On the 27th, however, General Diebitch had sent news that the emperor was suffering from an attack of yellow fever; and on 29 November the Empress Elisabeth again wrote to the dowager-empress to tell her of a temporary improvement in the emperor's condition. Although this improvement was so slight, the dowager-empress and the Grand-Dukes Nicolas and Michel gave orders for a _Te Deum_ to be sung on 9 December in the great metropolitan cathedral of Kasan. The people flocked there joyfully, for the good news had been exaggerated for their sake. Towards the close of the service the Grand-Duke Nicolas was advised that a messenger from Taganrog was waiting for him in the sacristy; he was the bearer of a despatch that had to be delivered only in person. The grand-duke rose and went into the sacristy, where he found the messenger, and received from his hands the letter we have already read. He did not even need to read the letter: its contents were revealed to him by the black seal.

The Grand-Duke Nicolas sent for the metropolitan and announced to him the melancholy tidings, charging him to break the news as gently as possible to the dowager-empress, as he felt he had not the courage to fulfil the cruel mission himself. He then returned and took his place by her who, in ignorance of the sad truth, was praying for the life of her dead son. The grand-duke had scarcely resumed his position by her side before the metropolitan re-entered the choir. He was a fine-looking old man, with a long white beard and hair that fell almost to his waist. At a sign from him, all the voices that were chanting hymns of thankful praise to Heaven ceased, and a death-like silence followed. Then, with the eyes of all upon him, he walked slowly and solemnly towards the altar, took down the massive silver crucifix and draped it with a black veil; then he advanced to the dowager-empress and gave her the black draped crucifix to kiss.

"My son is dead!" cried the empress; and she fell on her knees, even as, eighteen centuries before, at the foot of her Son's Cross, another Mother, the Queen of Heaven, whose name she bore, had fallen.

And in that way Russia learnt she had lost her emperor.

We promised we would relate the history of the strange self-sacrifice by which a man gave up an empire--a history all the more strange in that the empire was an absolute monarchy, and that he would then have succeeded to fifty-three millions of subjects, and to a territory which already covered a seventh part of the world, without reckoning future possibilities of expansion. This history is as follows:--

The reader knows what an Ukranian bear Constantine was, for ever growling, grumbling or roaring, whose countenance was no more like a human being's than the face of Kalmouk is like that of a man; he was as rough as his brother Alexander was courteous, as ugly as his brother Nicolas was handsome; a true son of Paul when he was in a bad temper. We have learnt his reply as a lad to his own tutor, who tried to make him learn to read--

"I do not want to learn to read; you are always reading, and you become more and more stupid every day."

It will be readily believed that a mind built in that fashion had no inclinations in the direction of learning. But in proportion as the young prince grew to detest his mental exercises, his love of military pursuits increased. Here he took after his father, Paul, who rose at five in the morning after his wedding-night, to control the manœuvres of a platoon of soldiers on guard near by. His military predilection led Constantine to spend all his time in soldierly exercises, on horseback, perfecting himself in the use of the lance, manœuvring his men, all of which accomplishments seemed to him far more useful than geometry, astronomy or botany. They only succeeded in making him learn French by means of telling him that the best books on military tactics were written in that language. Great was his delight when Paul had a rupture with France and when Souvarov was sent into Italy. The grand-duke was placed under command of an old marshal, a chief who exactly suited Constantine, since he was one of the old Russian stock, more savage, more brutal, more uncivilised, if that be possible, than his young pupil. Constantine took part in his victories on the Mincio, and in his defeats among the Alps; he watched him dig the grave in which he wished to be buried alive. The consequence of association with such an uncouth companion was to foster the young prince's own peculiarities to such an extent, that people more than once queried whether Paul, in being forced to leave the empire to Alexander, had made a special point of bequeathing his mad temperament to Constantine.

After the French campaign and the Treaty of Vienna, Constantine was made Viceroy of Poland. It was just the post for him. Here, placed at the head of a warlike nation, whose whole history is one long struggle, his military tastes grew with redoubled energy; unfortunately, he substituted lawless encounters for the bloody struggles in which he had just taken part. Summer or winter--whether living in the palace of Bruhl or residing in the palace of Belvédère--he was up and equipped in his general's uniform by three in the morning, without the assistance in his toilet of any valet. He would then seat himself before a table covered with regimental lists and military orders, in a room wherein every single panel on the walls was painted with different regimental costumes; he read the reports that had been drawn up the day before, either by Colonel Axamilovisky or by Suboividsky, the Prefect of Police, signifying his approval or disapproval of them in a side note. With the exception of letter-writing to some members of his family, these were the only occasions he handled a pen. This work generally took him until nine in the morning, when he partook of the hasty breakfast of a soldier. He then went down to the parade ground to inspect a couple of regiments of infantry or a squadron of cavalry. The band saluted him as he approached, and the review immediately began. The platoons marched past the viceroy, a little way off, with mathematical precision--a sight that always filled him with childish joy, and moved him as much as though the men were marching to a real battle. He would stand on foot watching them pass by, attired in the green uniform of the Light Infantry, his cap, which was decorated with cocks' feathers, posed on his head in such a manner that one of the corners touched his left epaulette, whilst the other pointed heavenwards at an alarming angle. Below shone, like two carbuncles, eyes that seemed more like a jackal's than those of a human being, set below a narrow forehead, which was furrowed with deep lines, indicating constant and anxious preoccupation; and his thick long eyebrows were crooked from habitual frowning. In his moments of extreme happiness, the strange vivaciousness of the czarovitch's expression, coupled with the snub nose that looked like a skeleton's, and his protruding lower lip, gave a very savage appearance to his head. His neck, which he could push out and withdraw at will, came in and out of his collar just like a tortoise's from below its shell. As he listened to the music and saw the men he had trained and heard the measured tramp of their feet, his whole being expanded with delight, until he looked feverish with excitement: the flush would come into his cheeks, his arms would stiffen against his body down to his elbows, his rigid, tightly clasped fists would nervously open and close, while his restless feet beat time, and his guttural voice every now and then, between his harshly uttered commands, would give vent to hoarse, raucous, inhuman cries, expressive, alternately, of satisfaction or anger, according as matters pleased him or he saw something that offended his sense of discipline. For, indeed, his anger was a terrible sight, and his good humour was that of a rough savage.

If he were pleased, he would double up in fits of laughter, rubbing his hands together noisily and hilariously, stamping on the ground first with one foot and then with the other: if he caught sight of a child at the moment, he would catch hold of it, turn it over and over like a monkey with a doll, make the child kiss him, pinch its cheeks, pull its nose, and then putting it down, he would send it away with the first piece of gold or silver in its hands that he could find in his pocket.

When he was angry, he roared aloud, striking the soldier who had failed in his work, himself pushing the man towards the prison, shouting or rather yelling imprecations after him till the man was out of sight. His severity indeed extended to all--to animals as well as to men. One day he had a monkey hung because it was too noisy: he lashed a horse again and again and again with his riding-stick because it stumbled while he had trustingly let the reins fall on its neck for a little while; and he had a dog shot one morning because it had kept him awake during the night with its howling. Between these fits of anger and moments of exultation he was subject to hours of depression. He fell into moods of deep melancholy which ended in complete prostration. Weak as a woman, he would lie on his couch or roll about on the floor, a prey to nervous attacks.

At these times, not even the most favoured person dared go near him. The last valet to leave the room would open wide the window and the door, and upon the threshold would appear a fair pale woman, clothed almost always in a white dress clasped with a blue girdle, her expression as sad as a ghost's, and, like a ghost, smiling through her melancholy. The vision had a magical influence upon Constantine; his spirits grew brighter, he first sighed and then sobbed, cried out, and, after bitter and abundant tears, he rested his head on the woman's lap and would fall asleep to wake up cured.

This woman was Poland's guardian angel, Jeannette Groudzenska. Once, when quite a child, she was praying in the Metropolitan Church of Warsaw, before an image of the Virgin, when a crown of immortelles that had been placed at the foot of the picture fell on her head, resting upon it, until she removed it and replaced it on its nail. On her return home, Jeannette related this incident to her father, who told it to an old Ukranian Cossack thought to be a seen The old Cossack replied that the falling of the holy crown on the maiden's head meant that God had intended an earthly crown for her, had she not herself renounced it by returning it to the Virgin, who would keep her a heavenly crown instead. Both father and daughter had forgotten all about this prediction, or, if not forgotten entirely, they only thought of it as a dream, when chance, or rather, shall we say, Providence, who was watching over the interests of fifty-three millions of men, brought Constantine and Jeannette face to face.

Then it came about that that hot-blooded savage, that roaring bear, became as timid as a young girl; he who broke down all opposition, who disposed of the lives of fathers and the honour of their children, came bashfully to the old father to ask for the hand of Jeannette, imploring him not to refuse him the being without whose presence he could never be happy again. The old man recollected the Cossack's prediction, and, seeing in the viceroy's request the fulfilment of Almighty designs, the viceroy obtained his consent and that of the daughter. Then the emperor's sanction had to be obtained. Alexander had a constant dread of what would become of the empire in Constantine's hands. More than anyone else did he feel the responsibility of having had the charge of souls committed to him from Heaven. He therefore tried to utilise this love affair for the benefit of the community at large, though without much hope that he would succeed. He granted his consent on condition that Constantine would abdicate his succession, and awaited the brother's answer as anxiously as his brother waited for his. Constantine received the imperial despatch, opened it, read it, gave a shout of delight and renounced his rights. Yes, that strange, inexplicable man renounced his right to the throne, he, an Olympian Jove, before whose frown a whole people trembled. He gave up his twofold right to both an Eastern and a Western sovereignty in exchange for the heart of a young girl--an empire containing two great capitals and territory that began at the shores of the Baltic and ended at the Rocky Mountains, an empire washed by seven seas.

Jeannette Groudzenska received from the Emperor Alexander in exchange, the title of Princess of Lovics.

Nevertheless, when the news of the death of the Emperor Alexander reached St. Petersburg, the Grand-Duke Nicolas ignored the fact of the renunciation, took oath of allegiance to the Grand-Duke Constantine and despatched a messenger to him to invite him to come and take possession of the throne. But at the same time that this letter was being carried from St. Petersburg to Warsaw, the Grand-Duke Michel was on his way from Warsaw to St. Petersburg with the following letter from Constantine to his brother:--

"MY VERY DEAR BROTHER,--It was with the most profound grief that I learnt yesterday evening the news of the death of our adored sovereign and my benefactor, the Emperor Alexander. I hasten to express to you my feelings of sorrow at this cruel misfortune, and at the same time I beg to inform you that I am sending a letter by the same hands to Her Imperial Majesty, our royal mother, in which I declare that, in accordance with the edict I obtained dated February 1822, sanctioning my renunciation of the throne, it is still my unalterable resolution to cede to you all my rights of succession to the throne of the Emperor of All the Russias. I therefore beg our beloved mother and those who are concerned in this matter, to announce that my wishes in this respect are still unchanged, in order that matters may be settled as arranged.

"Having made this declaration, I look upon it as my sacred duty very humbly to beseech your Imperial Majesty to let me be the first to swear faithful allegiance and submission to you, and to allow me to assert that I do not wish for any fresh dignity or any new title; I wish simply and solely to maintain my title of Czarovitch, which my revered father condescended to confer upon me in recognition of my services. Henceforth my only happiness will be to tender your Imperial Majesty tokens of my profoundest respect and of my unbounded devotion; I can offer in pledge thereof more than thirty years of faithful service, and the unswerving zeal that I have displayed towards my imperial father and brother. Animated by these sentiments, I will not cease to serve your Imperial Majesty and your successors as long as life shall be granted me, in my present office and functions.--I am, with the most profound respect, CONSTANTINE"

The day after the Grand-Duke Nicolas had despatched his courier to the czarovitch, the Council of State had informed him that they had been commissioned to keep a document for him, that had been handed to their care on 15 October 1823, sealed with the seal of the Emperor Alexander and accompanied by an autograph letter from His Majesty, who had charged them to keep the document until further orders, and in case of death to open it at an extraordinary session.

Now, as the emperor had died, the Council of State had opened the package, and within a double wrapping they found the Grand-Duke Constantine's renunciation of the Empire of All the Russias. This renunciation was couched in the following terms:--

"SIRE,--I am emboldened by the many proofs of your Imperial Majesty's kindness towards me to venture to crave your further indulgence and to lay my humble petitions at your feet. As I do not think myself fitted by my mental endowments and qualifications, nor gifted with sufficient capability, should I ever be called upon to fulfil the high position my birth would entitle me to assume, I earnestly implore your Imperial Majesty to transfer my rights to my immediate successor, and thus to place the empire for ever upon a stable foundation. So far as I am concerned, my renunciation will give an additional guarantee and added strength to the solemn oath I took, at the time of my divorce from my first wife. The existing condition of things establishes me more firmly in the opinion, day by day, that I am right in taking this step, and it will prove the sincerity of my sentiments to the empire and to the whole world.

"May your Imperial Majesty be moved to listen favourably to my entreaties, to influence our noble mother to look upon matters in the same light and to sanction my wishes with your imperial consent!

"In the sphere of a private life I will ever strive to set a good example to your faithful subjects and to all who are animated by a feeling of affection towards our beloved country.--I remain, with the most profound respect, CONSTANTINE"

To this letter the emperor had made the following reply:--

"MY VERY DEAR BROTHER,--I have just read your letter with all the attention it deserves. I am not surprised at its contents, since I have always understood and appreciated the lofty sentiments of your heart; it has afforded me one proof more of your sincere attachment to the State, and of your far-seeing care for the preservation of its best interests. I have communicated the contents of your letter to our beloved mother, as you desired me; she has read it with the same feelings as those I have expressed and gratefully recognises the noble motives that have prompted you. After consideration of the reasons you have laid before us, the only course we feel free to take is to leave you full liberty to follow your fixed determination and to ask Almighty God to bless your single-hearted zeal, and to cause it to produce a happy issue.--I am ever your very affectionate brother, ALEXANDER"

Nicolas, however, waited for the czarovitch's reply, and not until 25 December did he issue a manifesto accepting the throne that had devolved upon him by his elder brother's renunciation. He then fixed the following day, the 26th, for the taking of the oath of allegiance to himself and to his eldest son, the Grand-Duke Alexander.

And that is the strange story of these two brothers and the refusal of one of the most splendid crowns the world has to offer, and how Constantine remained simply the Czarovitch and Nicolas became the Emperor of All the Russias.