A Remarkable Personality—The Grand Duke's Graciousness—His Tact and Sympathy—The Wounded Soldier—A Censored Book—Prince Oleg and my Brother Alexander—A Talented Child—A Strange Premonition—The Prince's Interest in Public Affairs—His Studious Nature—The Prince Wounded—His Joy on Receiving the Cross of St. George—He Becomes Worse—The End


The late Grand Duke Constantine (known in the literary world as "K.R.") was a man of remarkable character and personality, richly endowed alike in imagination and those qualities that make for friendship.

He was, of course, widely known and admired for his remarkable musical and literary talents, and not in Russia alone, while his famous drama, The King of the Jews, revealed in addition a powerful intellect, combined with deep religious feeling. This greatest and last of the Imperial poet's works has been translated into several foreign languages. It has awakened universal admiration, and has been enthusiastically praised by the Press of most European capitals. All this, however, is too well known to need repetition. Let me, therefore, turn to another and still more personal aspect of the Grand Duke's character: the extraordinarily attractive graciousness and the sympathetic intuition that endeared him to all who had the privilege of coming into {248} intimate contact with him. Here, indeed, was a precious and priceless quality—the gift of unfailing tact and exceptional intuition, the power always to say the right thing at the right moment, and to enter warmly and cordially into the thoughts and feelings of others.

I will quote an instance: I am deeply devoted to the memory of my two brothers, Alexander and Nicolas, but, realising that this fact is of interest to no one but myself, I seldom speak of it. The Grand Duke, however, seemed to have read what was written in my very soul. I had the privilege of conversing with him at some length on only two occasions, but they were occasions I shall never forget. The other occasions were passing and rather superficial. The first time, he spoke to me at length of nothing but the Slav question and the death of my brother Nicolas. The Grand Duke remembered all the details of my brother's untimely end in Serbia.

THE GRAND DUKE CONSTANTINE NICOLAéVITCH
THE GRAND DUKE CONSTANTINE NICOLAéVITCH

On the second occasion—-alas! I was destined never to see the dear Grand Duke again—our conversation was dedicated to the memory of my brother Alexander and to Old Catholicism and Slavophilism, to which my brother devoted his whole life, and of which he spoke even in his very last moments. I must add that I had edited two large volumes of my brother's works in Russian, but had hesitated to send them to the Grand Duke, contenting myself with offering him my Berne editions of Alexander Kiréeff's French works, which, as far as I know, are unobtainable in Russia. With his usual amiability, the Grand Duke had thanked me by letter—and {249} now, how indescribably kind and charming was the manner in which he reproached me for not giving him all I had edited!

There was another trait in the Grand Duke's character, which, to me, had a peculiar charm: I refer to his ever-ready sympathy and interest in all cases where his influence or help might be of advantage. It goes without saying that neither my brother nor myself ever appealed to this kind interference unless we had thoroughly investigated the case in question. The Grand Duke was aware of this, and his help was always immediately forthcoming, without any needless delays or formalities, and without a trace of the distressing red-tapeism that is elsewhere often responsible for so much mischief and sorrow.

One meets with just this same kindness and compassion when one approaches our beloved Emperor. One has only to be absolutely free from all egotistical aims, and to be known as were my two brothers—and once this is so, no appeal to the Imperial sympathy is ever neglected or fruitless.

It is, of course, exceedingly difficult to reach His Imperial Majesty, not only because of his exalted position as Emperor, but also by reason of his being overwhelmed by work. He hardly ever limits himself to an eight-hours' day labour. An eight-hours' day would be almost a rest to our Emperor. There is no Trades union rule for the protection of Kings.

But let me return to my kind Grand Duke.

Perhaps I may be allowed to quote two incidents that took place a few weeks before his death. There had been brought to my notice a wounded soldier, {250} whose case was particularly tragic. His friends considered nothing so desirable as to have him received in the hospital founded by the Dowager Grand Duchess Constantine, the mother of the Grand Duke. I wrote to His Imperial Highness on the subject, and in the course of the same day received a kind reply, informing me that the matter had been arranged and that the soldier would be at the hospital in a few hours' time.

The second incident was concerned with the publication of a book. In all cases where members of the Imperial family are involved, certain formalities have to be observed by our censors—failing which the book may have to be greatly altered, or suppressed. Anyone connected with literary work knows that such alterations are sometimes extremely costly and troublesome. A dear friend of mine, who had very little money to spare, had written a book that was threatened with difficulties of this order. I wrote to the Grand Duke explaining the facts, and here again everything was immediately and satisfactorily arranged.

I could give countless other instances, but the above, which I have taken at random, are sufficiently characteristic.

I have often had occasion to speak of the Grand Duke, and have always noticed with the deepest pleasure that the mention of his name awakened everywhere, even among people who knew him but slightly, feelings of sincere affection and devotion. The fascination exercised by his personality was unfailing. His literary gifts appealed to poets, his musical talent to musicians—but to me, his most {251} charming and touching quality was that deep, indescribable sympathy and insight which seemed to enable him to read people's souls. Such sympathy, such intuition, is a great living force! Yes—God sometimes sends into the world exceptional people, who can never be replaced, and whose very memory radiates like a warm, shining light, where their footsteps have passed.

Of such, unquestionably, was our never-to-be-forgotten Grand Duke Constantine.

On one occasion he wrote the following letter, which I quote as showing the charm with which he expressed himself:


DEAR AND HIGHLY-ESTEEMED MADAME NOVIKOFF,

Again I take up the pen to thank you heartily for the new series of valuable and curious autographs, with which you so graciously enriched my collection, that I already owe to your generosity. The Ikon of Christ of Andrea del Sarto, before which your brother always prayed, forwarded to me by General M. E. Keppen for Pavlovsk, is placed here at the Palace Church, on the Chancel, where all our family attends church service and where your dear brother often prayed as well. This beautiful Image will remain a prayer memorial to Alexander Alekseevitch, who lived so many years in his favourite Pavlovsk. I hope you will acquiesce in the choice I made for this most valuable Image of Christ the Saviour—in the Pavlovsk Church.

Allow me to kiss your hand, asking you to keep me your kind friendship in the future.

Your heartily devoted, etc.,
        CONSTANTINE.


{252}

On October 27th, 1914, I received from him the following note: "It is just a month to-day since our beloved son was wounded—not 'slightly' as seemed at first to be the case, but mortally. God gives and God takes away. May His name be blessed now and for ever more."

It will be seen by the date of this note that Prince Oleg, then only twenty-one years of age, was one of the early victims of the war. At the time I little thought that the Grand Duke himself would soon follow his gifted son, Prince Oleg Constantinovitch.

Until the recent appearance of his biography, the fame of Prince Oleg was too little known, and it certainly had not travelled far outside Russia.

To me, this charming Prince was particularly dear; for I had seen him taking such affectionate care of my brother, Alexander Kiréef, who was already blind, ill and dying. The young man used to come, and talk to him, the principal defender of "Old Catholicism," of the efforts to revive the pure teachings of the Church, as it was before the division of the churches in the ninth century. No subject was dearer to my brother's heart, and, seeing the beneficial influence of these conversations, the young Prince returned to the subject many times in my presence.

One day he said: "General, nobody has ever been so useful as you in supporting the Old Catholic movement. You are my father's friend, and I am as proud of you as he is."

Yes, I shall never forget with what loving eyes the young man gazed into the clever beautiful face {253} before him, where the eyes were already dim and on the point of being closed for ever. How terribly vividly some moments come back to our memory.

The talented child of a talented father, it was early evident that Prince Oleg had inherited the brilliant gifts of the Grand Duke. It is barely two years since The King of the Jews was produced with immense success at the Hermitage Theatre in the Winter Palace at Petrograd, the Grand Duke himself, as well as his sons, taking part in the performance.

Prince Oleg was clearly marked out as belonging to the elect of the earth, and by his early death not only has Russian literature been deprived of a future shining light, but the most cultured circles of Petrograd society are the poorer for the loss of a personality, touching and lovely in its goodness and unselfishness, and its youthfully enthusiastic and unswerving sense of duty and obligation.

The young Prince's biography concerns itself with the reminiscences of Prince Oleg's early governesses and later tutors, with his diaries and rough sketches, countless unfinished stories and poems, and also with a particularly interesting undertaking in connection with Poushkin's works.

Poushkin was the boy's ideal from his earliest days, and it was this love for the great poet and his works that gave him the desire to enter the same Lyceum (College) at which Poushkin had been educated. This desire was realised, the completion of his course happening to coincide with the centenary celebrations of Poushkin's birth. On leaving, Prince Oleg presented to the Institution {254} a personally executed facsimile of all the Poushkin manuscripts, carefully treasured in the Poushkin museum, which were written while the poet was a student at the college. The young enthusiast afterwards conceived the idea of editing the whole of Poushkin's works in this fashion, bringing them out in loose sheets and unbound folios, and distributing them among museums and book-lovers. The work was carried out mostly by means of the most detailed and perfect photographic reproduction, not even omitting the smallest line, point, or blemish in the paper. Unhappily this labour of love was not destined to be completed, but as much as has been done is a wonder of execution and a real literary treasure.

For the general reader, perhaps the most attractive pages of the biography are those that deal with the Prince's early years, recent as they are.

"I sometimes try to imagine," he writes in one of the diaries of his childhood, "what would happen in my own immediate circle if I were to die. What would my friend do? I suppose he would grow pale and thin, and would fret terribly. I see him in imagination, mounting the steps of my catafalque to bid me a last good-bye, and I see mama's expression as she follows him with her eyes.

"And then, suddenly, it seems curiously pleasant to have all these people thinking of me so regretfully! There flashes across my mental vision a copy of the Novoye Vremya, and I see on the first page, in large letters, the announcement of my death. I notice also that there is a reproduction of my photograph—and for a moment, I stop to wonder which {255} photograph they will publish. All this gives me extraordinary satisfaction.

"But the pleasantest thought of all is that the Novoye Vremya will print an obituary notice saying that I took my Degree at the Lyceum, that I won the Poushkin medal, and that they liked me there. Perhaps even Radloff himself may write a memoir of his late pupil. At this point, I stop ... really, I was going too far, it is very ridiculous, and I am ashamed of myself! I wrinkle my brow, and try to decide seriously whether I should really be willing to die just now. My inner consciousness tells me that actually, it would be stupid to............